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trashmouth-richie · 6 months ago

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dulcis ut rosa { sweet as a rose 🥀}

part 1 1/2– dulex (the gnat🥀) pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus

pt iii: frangere me 🥀pt iv: ad caelum vel infernum, tecum sum

emperor Geta x female servant reader || word count: 4.4k || smidge of caracalla x reader

summary: brought to Palatine Hill as a gift from your village to the new Emperors— Caracalla claims you as his own, but Geta has his own plans for you when the moon crests into the sky.

tw: anal, p in v, rough inexperienced sex, oral m receiving, use of the word whore, caracalla is a whiny bitch, geta is fuckboy of the era. i googled a majority of the historical events, timelines, roman names for things, and latin translation— if it’s wrong, oh well. bad at feelings! geta, insane! crybaby! caracalla. idk geta is an unhinged mother fucker but what if he wasn’t so bad?

It had been months and many cycles of the moon ago when you were sent as a token of goodwill, a gift to the new Emperors in exchange for peace for the small village you resided in.

Other Virgines and yourself were taken in the dark ebony of twilight, shackled side by side into the wobbly wagon driven by the village's strongest oxen. You didn’t dare object, instead you held your chin high, awaiting fate as the cart swayed this way and that, heart racing and blood pulsing as your journey to the Palatine Hill began.

Some nights were still spent awake, remembering the crippling fear in your chest as you watched women from your village being gifted to generals as their personal servants.

Some were given to soldiers as a sense of “release.” No better than a common whore being passed from soldier to soldier, fitting their needs. The others were pillaged and picked like grapes from a cluster— and finally you had stood alone, defiance pooling in your eyes, pushing back traitorous tears.

Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat on ruby and gold twin thrones, identical in size and power. The tension between them was palpable— so thick you could reach out and stroke its ugly head. Where Caracalla’s grin was full of mischief, Geta had a snarl curled on his upper lip.

You should have known then. The difference between them.

From where you stood, Geta’s dark eyes looked empty. Every so often they twitched as he spun the rings adorned on his left hand. His eyes rolled when his older brother giggled as the gifts from whatever poor village gave away their ripe, untouched women.

Bare toes standing on the marble floor— unable to even grab shoes before you were heaved into the cart— you felt a heat from dark eyes that you were certain would drive someone mad if they dared look back. Like the boiling flames from hell itself were simmering in the coal of his irises.

Caracalla jumped up, stepping forward from his throne, a wicked sense of evilness piercing from the iciness of his stare. His golden tooth caught the sun’s rays and you nearly vomited as he strode forward, eyeing you like a meal.

A feminine laugh bubbled from his throat, he clasped his hands together, bangles clanking in a sick harmony, a childlike grin spread on his pale face, “she’ll do.”

You remember the first night in his chambers. Caracalla himself was bathed in ivory, same as the stone walls that were covered with flowing draperies. Although it was meant to be beautiful, the air felt choked, tight in your chest as you tried like hell to calm your frazzled nerves.

The same giggle you heard in the throne room all morning now reverberated off the walls. He sat on a chaise lounge in only his dressing robes, sweat dampening his temples, that same damning stare as he slid his tongue over that disgusting gold tooth. Was he nervous? Drunk?

You had thought an emperor of his caliber would be used to this sort of thing. Maybe not.

You had been cleaned by the palace servants, hair untangled and dirt scrubbed from under your nails. Hints of jasmine and honey perfumed from your gown as you tiptoed toward him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped at them hastily.

“Sit.”

The singular word seemed to give him trouble, as if he had never been in the presence of a woman before.

He was clumsy, unthreading your gown with clammy hands, dragging across your skin like a damp sponge. Your skin crawled under his touch.

His lips were stained with wine, thin and shriveled as he pecked at your skin. When you reached for him, hurrying this task along, he recoiled from your hand, shaking his head, a pained expression on his face as he held your wrist in a death grip.

His eyes squinted shut and he screamed for you to leave. “Out!” “Get out!” Chalices and gold cutlery were tossed in your direction as you sprang for the door.

Throwing open the heavy wood and running smack into the bare chest of the other Emperor. Emperor Geta.

Although younger, he was taller than Caracalla. His chest was more broad, shoulders stretched tight with muscles. The same death-like stare on his face as he shoved you from him, having you stumble onto the stones into a wall. The cords of his neck strained as he took in your appearance.

He didn’t soften his features as you peered up at him with a fear stricken expression. He snarled, flaring his nostrils at the pathetic look of you, practically in rags.

“Ah, and what do we have here? My brother’s whore in tears outside his chamber door. Can’t say I'm the least bit surprised.” He leaned into you, his eyes burning into your skin as he ripped the last of your gown to the floor, leaving you naked before him.

“Tasteful thing, aren't you?” he gloated, pinching your bare nipple between his thumb and forefinger, laughing when you yelped in surprise and tried to cover your decency.

He crowded into you, pushing your further down the hall way until you reached a dead end, his groin pressed into your middle.

“Pathetic.” he sneered, enunciating every syllable the word held. “Every single one of you.” His voice slithered like a snake against your ear, his breathing was forced, almost erratic and strained like he was holding himself back from bashing your skull into the wall.

“Brought in here like some glorious stuffed hog on a spicket, trying to impress the Emperors so your village would be overlooked..” he clicked his tongue and grabbed the nape of your neck, his mouth only an inch from your own, “I don’t miss anything. Even though my sniffling brother may, I do not.”

“Emperor, please.”

“Do not speak!” he shouted loud enough to wake the entire palace, the veins in his neck stood at attention, throbbing, “a whore will never open her mouth to me unless asked, or you are given something to fill it— understood?”

You nodded feebly, a single tear trickling down your cheek. Geta placed the tip of his tongue to your skin catching the salty wetness, “if you can not please my brother, you will please me… otherwise what good are you here?”

He shoved you to your knees, bits of sand biting into your skin as you hit the ground with a thud. His eyes were ablaze as he pulled out his cock. Veiny and impossibly thick, you’d never imagined one to be so large.

Geta stroked himself, already hard and velvet beneath his palm, “open for your Emperor,” he demanded, the same snarl on his lip you noticed earlier today.

You did as you were told, tongue out mouth agape waiting for him to slide against your mouth. Forcing himself inside, he filled it full until the pink head slithered into your throat, his groans vibrating through your bones.

He rocked his hips into your face, panting and groaning some more as you gagged on his length— spit dripping down your bare chest and down his sack.

He spoke nonsense to himself as you tried to breathe, squinting out tears from your eyes as you peered up at him. “The virgin mouth is fuck, yes, too good… impossibly sweet, untouched by another man, fuck, never get enough.”

His large fist gripped your hair, pulling at the root as he bludgeoned himself further into you, fucking your head into the wall surely to leave a bruise or knock you unconscious, he wouldn’t care either way.

“Stupid sniffling Caracalla,” he choked out between thrusts, “incompetent bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a whore if one fell on his cock,” he laughed and scrubbed at his face, reaching with his free hand to press the column of your throat, feeling himself deep beneath his thumb, “lucky for you, I do.”

He came then, loud and shaky, holding you to him until your nose was tickled by his patch of dark pubic hair. He pulled out, leaving a pearl against his slit to rub against your mouth.

“You might belong to Caracalla, but you will bow to me, and you… my sweet rosa, I have plans for you.”

And that was how it started, how every night you would meet with Caracalla only to be summoned by Geta in the corridor upon your dismissal. Spilling secrets of his brother before pleasuring him with your mouth.

In the light of day, you were ignored by him as you catered to Caracalla’s beck and call, and you often wondered if Geta had another servant he preferred during the sunlight hours.

You were a midnight affair, a servant to one Emperor, a secret to the other. Caracalla was a strange man. Your time with him mostly was spent with him whining about the day's woes.

How hard it was to be an emperor, the many expectations he had, the palace wasn’t large enough, his brother was too mean. Night by night his paranoia spread like wildfire, and he became gaunt, refusing to eat thinking Geta poisoned his food, his cheeks began to hallow.

During all those nights he never once gave in to his own sexual temptations, he laid his head in your lap like an infant, whimpering and sniveling. One particular warm night you were sitting on his bed as you did every night before, listening to him sob about his mother and how he felt her attention was elsewhere.

It took a single second of you being unresponsive for his switch to flip. Caracalla raged, flipping over furniture, ripping his draperies from the walls and pulling at his own hair. You were terrified, scared of him for the first time since the night you came to the palace.

Caracalla bound your wrists above your head, and took force between your legs as you silently let him, disassociating from the entire situation, as he kissed a bruise to your collarbone, and scratched your thighs with his bitten fingernails. His inexperience was evident in his approach, in the way his hips held no rhythm, in the way he screeched like a midnight owl when he was close to release.

He repeated the same thing over and over until he spilled against your stomach, a plea to either himself or to the Gods above, I am worthy.

You shook violently, not with pleasure but with fear. You had thought of spitting in his face, but realized death would be your only future if you were to humiliate him during this catastrophic performance of what he would assume to be lust.

Caracalla finished with a sweaty brow, laying down to fall asleep like a babe, an arm wrapped around your middle. A gaudy rouge colored his pale cheeks as drool slipped from his lips.

You felt sick, defiled and disgusting.

You’d rather be fucked by thirty men at once than have to endure that pathetic, cry baby fit from Caracalla. Gently placing his arm on the pillow, you fled.

Missing your village, your family, the man who you were supposed to marry someday, your tears clouded your vision down the winding corridors of the palace. You would have fought to stay behind, should have pleaded to the men that you could be useful to them. This whore’s life isn’t what you had bargained for, death would be swifter— easier than this.

The sweet scent of the balneum made you take a detour to the right, and you sobbed upon seeing the moonlight glint across the soft bathing water.

Desperate to scrub his filth from your skin, the water was barely warm but you couldn’t care less as you sunk deep into the marble stone basin. Scrubbing your skin with anything your fingers could get ahold of. The jasmine soaps the servants washed you with the first time was tucked into its cradle and you slathered until your skin shined like an apparition.

Tears dropped from the apples of your cheeks hitting the massive pool like a rainstorm over the ocean. Caracalla was a coward, a nuisance to Rome, to the Gods themselves. You damned his name as you scrubbed and lathered, repeating feverishly.

For how long Geta stood in the doorway, you weren’t sure. You weren’t where you should have been, and he was irate upon your absolute disrespect of his time. He wanted to shout, plunge his way into the water and drag you out by your hair, bring you to the coliseum and make everyone watch your death against whatever animal he saw fit.

You broke his rules, his laws, his heart raced with anger at the sight of you casually washing yourself. Nobody in the palace bathed in the moonlight, and when he heard commotion from the tepidarium room, he stomped towards it to find whoever the culprit was idiotic enough to disobey. He was alarmed to find you in there. Frantic, shooken up, no doubt from the hands of his flaccid brother.

“The lamb strayed away from the flock, I see.” his voice was like a snake, cool and calm but dripping with acidity that could kill at any given time. Jumping at his voice you nearly shrieked at his sudden appearance.

“The moon has passed the mountains, yet you do not seek me out? Instead I find you here, helping yourself to the royal bathing quarters, as if you deserve such luxuries.”

Your voice trembled, as you climbed from the water, “I wanted… I needed to be clean.”

His eyebrows twisted inward, confusion riddling his features until he stepped further into the room and noticed the marks across your skin. Caracalla’s mark. The marks of an hungry, untrained runt, trying to prove himself to the litter.

Geta’s face boiled with sadistic rage as his eyes scanned down your body, the scratches of an novice beast unable to pleasure a whore. Bruises from a limp man who deserved a knife to his throat.

“Come.” he demanded, not waiting for you to follow as his stalked from the room, tossing a long cloth behind him to your awaiting hands.

—

Water trickled behind you and down the length of your body as you padded on bare feet to catch up with Geta.

This part of the palace was foreign to you, a set of stairs leading to a dark tower that you didn’t know existed, and then you realized why. He was leading you up to his chambers.

Geta and Caracalla lived on opposite ends of the palace, their hatred splitting them apart as far as it could allow.

He thrust open a concealed door and stomped down a few stone stairs leading into his chamber.

It was decorated in hues of deep ruby and scarlets, black linens flanked his walls. His bed was massive, alluring in the dark majesty of its presence. A single candle flickered beside his bed, casting shadows in the deep night.

His hooded eyes seemed to strike with a ripple of psychotic light when he came back to the doorway to pull you inside by your wrist.

Sitting on a lavish wooden chair he leans back, spreading his legs wide, reaching for a wine filled chalice downing it in one gulp, his eyes never leaving you.

“Let me make myself clear,” he stated, “I do not care what Caracalla does in his chambers I never have nor will I now.”

Geta wiped at his chin and set down the glass, his finger rounding the rim, “You came here knowing what your life would hold as an Emperor’s servant or a soldier’s fuck sack. The little amount of freedom you were once born with has vanished, and what a pity that must be…but quite honestly,” he gleamed leaning forward his face warmed by the light, casting shadows of evil on his brows, “I am not a savior to the fucked raw whores of this palace who weep after fulfilling their master’s needs.”

Your eyes casted downward at the patterned marble floor. “I told you the night we met that if you aren’t pleasing my brother or myself, you have no purpose here, did I not?”

Your head shook up and down, knowing every word he said was true.

“I will grant you gratitude where it is due by saying that you have done everything I have asked of you, sharing my brother’s secrets, using your mouth to fill my needs— it is all very pleasing…”

For the first time you look into Geta’s eyes, the shadows inside flicker with the candle light, and you are drawn to them like a moth.

“… however, I find myself enraged thinking of that shriveled weasel dick not taking you to bed in a proper manner. It is not my style to fuck like a lover would—I use women to my needs and that’s it.”

He rubs his jaw, as if the stubble was itching him, suddenly stopping to look at you dead in the eyes as his narrowed to slits, “but you, are a gnat. An annoyance I can not seem to get rid of, and I can’t decide if you are a woman version of the plague or something else…” His eyes glimmer for a second before he shakes his head to clear his mind, “Get on the bed.”

“Emperor?”

His voice boomed as he slammed down his cup, “do not make me say it twice, I find myself to be quite angry when I have to repeat my words.” His throat pulsed in wrath, and his knuckles turned white from his fists being clenched.

You do as you're told, gingerly making your way to the enormous frame and mattress, sitting rigidly. Geta undresses himself, standing bare before you, that glorious length springing freely.

“The difference between Caracalla and myself, is I know how to use my God bless-ed cock to pleasure a woman, and I’m damn good at it.”

He’s on you in a flash, his breath sweet from the wine he had consumed. His body was solid on top of yours, pale skin never exposed to the sun. Enormous shoulders dressed in muscles that were hidden with robes daily. He sniffs loud, taking in your scent you feel his body shiver above you.

His teeth nip at your earlobe, piercing through the flesh releasing a trail of hot blood onto your neck. It’s swiftly lapped away by his tongue, a low groan following as he tastes you.

“If your blood is this sweet I would hate to know how you taste between your legs.”

You squirm beneath him as he bites your lip the same way, his canines piercing your plushy flesh and he moves his mouth over the bites, enjoying the iron-like taste. A flood of wetness rushes to your core and you suddenly feel hot everywhere… something Geta doesn’t miss.

“My brother’s whore is quick to becoming wet.” he says with a chuckle, sweeping his fingers between your folds, his rings collecting your arousal on his knuckles before he pulls them into his mouth, “mmmm leave it to Caracalla to fuck a bitch when she’s drier than a well.”

His mouth assaults your neck. Sweeping circling as he groans into you, his cock rutting against your sex as you pull him further into you, a hand coiled in his golden hair, yanking slightly, a traitorous moan escaping his lips.

Your hips widen to try to sneak the tip of him into your cunt but he only laughs at your attempt.

“Look how desperate you are, pathetic thing… so eager to be filled by a man who knows how to fuck.” He groans when your nails scratch down his back, and he licks his lip to not get too carried away.

That pitiful excuse for a human couldn’t satisfy his own hand, let alone a whore who begs to be brutalized.” You moan his name when he skims blunt nails around the peaks of your nipples, running his palms along your rib cage.

“You're teasing me, Emperor, te necessito.”

The snarl that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face curls on his lip, “begging is a good start, we both know how good you are on your knees, but I like the pity showing in your eyes, as if I’m your God.”

With that final word and title, Geta thrust himself into you, shredding your walls with each delicious inch of his cock buried inside of you. All breath is expunged from your lungs as you stare into the devil’s eyes, a chokehold to your own.

“Ora pro me, Deus meus, pray for me God,” he grunted as he pistoned back into your heat. Your screams filled his chambers, the tower shaking with seduction as he matched your shouts with grunts and moans of his own.

He pawed at your tits, squeezing and claiming every inch of skin he could get his hands on. Your thighs were wrapped around his waist, your hips circling to meet his rhythms. A large hand wrapped tight around your throat, and you licked your lips letting a grin spread against them.

Geta was leaned forward just enough for you to put a hand against his own throat, squeezing as tightly as you could. He wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting someone to match his own sadistic fantasies.. let alone a commoner from a village he didn’t care to know the name of.

His eyes embellished like a dark jewel in a burning hell before he snarled and backhanded your cheek. He had never been more turned on, practically fucking you stupid as the welts from his rings raised on your skin.

“Puella pulchra, pretty girl,” Geta whispered into your ear after flipping you over, his cock wedged between your ass cheeks. “Mea es, mea es, you’re mine; no one else’s.”

His rings bit at your sides as he positioned your ass upwards, leaving his dental records in each cheek before slapping them hard in unison, mocking your yelp as he dribbled spit where he needed it to be.

With no warning he entered your other hole at a bruising pace. You saw black when Geta bottomed out and you swore you were near passing out from the stretch of his giant cock stuffed tight inside of you.

Your pussy throbbed to his commands as he pulled you by your neck with one hand, so your back was leaned against his chest. Thick fingers slotted themselves in the heat of your core until his rings were nestled against your clit. “How dare you let Caracalla have at you first, this cunt is too sweet, too sinful to not be mine.”

Babbling along to everything he said you simply screamed yes over and over, as your head lolled back on his shoulder. You came so hot and bound tight that it flooded his fingers and spread down your legs as he kept pounding inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” Geta grunted, shoving your forward to gain leverage on your hips as he pistoned into you a final time. A great yell breached his throat as his seed flooded your ass, filling it full and spilling over both himself and you, down to the laundered sheets.

You collapsed onto his bed, legs shaking and quaking struggling to catch your breath. Geta fell onto his back beside you, his skin glistening with sweat, his release coated thickly on his softening cock and pasted into the curly hair.

“Dulcis ut rosa,” he murmured with his eyes closed, licking his lips to savor your taste once more.

Tumbling on shaky knees, you lift yourself up just enough to eye his length, wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking off his spend and yourself from him. Moaning as you devoured him.

He hissed at the contact, reaching out to stroke your cheek with his thumb “you’ve made a fool of me, you wicked thing, I’m nothing but a fool.”

When you were finished, Geta laid in silence beside you. His thumb strumming along his torso his eyes wide staring into the ceiling, deep in thought.

Noticing a decanter of wine you asked if he’d like another glass. “No,” he said, still staring upward, unable to look at you. “I’m tired, leave me now.”

Removing yourself from the bed you find the dressing robe he was wearing when he found you in the bath and slipped it over your shoulders.

Leaving his chambers left you feeling rotten.

It was strange how he looked at you during and after, he was talented just as he said he was, and you knew you’d never forget the night the other Emperor bed you in his sheets. For tomorrow was another day, back to Caracalla and his blubbering whines of the hardships of royalty.

Geta lie awake for hours. Eventually seeking refuge on his balcony staring into the pale ivory moon, silently asking the Gods for answers he himself didn’t know. He had bedded hundreds of women. Every shape, size and color. But you. The little gnat. You had been buzzing in his ears every night since you had gotten to Palatine Hill.

Since the day he laid his eyes on you and scoffed to try to denounce his admiration, Geta silently wished death on Caracalla when he claimed you as his own. His original plan was to spoil the apple from the inside out, use you as a spy to gain information about his deranged brother— but it became more to him, you became more. But why?

The God’s didn’t have the answers tonight, just like they hadn’t the night before, or every dawn since the night you showed up here. Guilt struck him like a bolt from Jupiter’s mighty hand and he pushed it down with the remaining wine he had stashed beside his bed.

The facaded mask he wore these days almost slipped off tonight when you lay beside him. How he wanted to reach out and touch your skin while you laid in euphoric bliss. And he shut you out to avoid something he couldn’t risk. He didn’t know how to love a woman, his love was for war and power, blood and gold— still the gnat buzzed, unrelentless.

Laying in the sex sodden sheets, he knew what his dream would be of tonight. It hadn’t changed in the months of you arriving here: Caracalla dead by his hand, and you, the gnat, sweet as a rose…his empress.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

latin translation:

virgines— virgins

dulcis ut rosa— sweet as a rose

balneum— bathing room

te necessito— i need you

ora pro me deus meus— pray for me my God

puella pulchra— pretty girl

mea es— you’re mine

tagging some moots: @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @etherealxwitch

#joseph quinn #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader smut #geta #emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #geta smut #emperor geta smut #emperor geta fanfic #geta fanfic #gladiator ii

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personalheroin · 2 years ago

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just gonna send this through rotation again ❤️

#the twilight saga #twilight saga #bella swan #twilight carlisle #alice cullen #twilight renesmee #jasper hale #twilight renaissance #eclipse #rosalie hale #team jacob #team edward #Jacob Black #Edward Cullen #Edward v Jacob #Twilight #twilight new moon

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dalivanmagritte · 2 years ago

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NCT FIC REC : JEONG JAEHYUN

back to the nct fic rec

favs

just us. (fav, smut, fluff, royal!au)

promise of duke (fav, smut, nobless!au)

oops, baby (i love you) (fav, smut, fluff, angstish, modern royal!au)

a summer love (fav, fluff, suggestive, 60's!au, smalltowngirl!au)

seeds of pomegranate (fav, angst, smut, fluff, greek mythology!au)

no smut

just friends (fluff, college!au)

i've got my eye on you (fluff, deaf!jaehyun)

je ne sais quoi (fluff, suggestive)

stars, moons & other celestial bodies (angstish, fluff, retro!au)

boyfriend material (fluff, fake dating!au, angstish, college!au)

7:37 (fluff, college!au)

pastas? (fluff)

classics (smut)

team captain (smut, fluff, college!au)

the charming (smut, housemate!au, college!au)

romanée-conti (smut, fluff, sugardaddy!au)

the v week spy (smut, fluff, college!au, stvalentine!au)

king of the streets (smut, fluff, angst, streetracer!au, journalist!au)

begin again (smut, angst)

die in your arms (smut, angst, spooky!au)

rose bud (smut, fluff, angstish, college!au)

pregnant partner (fluff, smut)

boy toy (smut)

body party (smut, boxer!au)

milf (smut, fluff, milf!au)

no distraction (smut)

one of the girls (smut, neighbor!au)

sleep well, princess (fluff, smut, brotherbff!au)

horizon (smut, office!au, ceo!au)

chained (smut, arranged marriage!au)

Fucking up the sheets (smut)

back for more (smut)

our little secret (smut, ceo!au)

teacher's pet (smut, teacher!au)

deadly kiss (smut, office!au)

jaehyun's new secretary (smut, office!au, ceo!au)

stress no more (smut, ceo!au)

make a mess for me (smut)

racer (smut, angst, streetracer!au)

trick or treat (smut, halloween!au, dad!jaehyun, neighbour!reader, ceo!au)

trick or treat (smut, halloween!au, neighbour!au, voyeur!au)

a nonsense christmas (smut, camgirl!au)

christmas puppy (smut, fluff)

cockwarming (smut)

runway (angst, fluff, smutish, e2l!au, fashion!au)

you have one missed call (smut)

tits obsessed (smut)

19:30 (smut)

heart aches (smut)

honeymoon avenue (smut, angstish)

around the corner (fluff, angst, rich!au)

deadly kiss (smut, fluff, office!au, architect!au, engineer!au)

baby making (smut, new parents!au)

daddy in the streets, husband in the sheets (smut)

bf! jaehyun (smut, fluff)

hearts won at practice (fluff, smut, junior footballplayer!au)

that's it (smut)

popsicle (smut)

perv! jaehyun (smut)

handle with care (smut, office!au)

alternate universe (magics, gods, royalty, etc...)

just us. (smut, fluff, royal!au)

sleep well? (smut, incubus!au)

of sunrise and roses (fluff, suggestive, demigod!au, mythology!au)

on the shore of the styx (angst, mythology!au)

son of zeus (fluff, demigod!au, mythology!au)

son of lachesis (fluff, angstish, demigod!au, mythology!au)

son of dionysus (angst, demigod!au, mythology!au)

two worlds appart part.2 (angst, smut, royal!au)

midday reverie (smut, angst, fluff, abo!au)

not so charming (fluff, hogwarts!au)

twilight (smut, vampire!au)

shapeshifter wolf (fluff, angst, witch!au, shapeshifter!au)

head over broomsticks (fluff, suggestive, hogwarts!au)

wrong hands (smut, bodyguard!au, mafia!au)

motives (1) (smut, demon!au)

perfume (smut, werewolf!au, witch!au)

can't get you out of my mind (smut, fluff, angst, abo!au)

with another member

danger x johnny (smut, abo!au)

can you handle it? x johnny, jeno, jaemin (smut)

i wanna make you scream (smut, ghostface!au)

send in the clowns x mark x haechan (smut, halloween!au)

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lushandlamb · 17 days ago

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Notes on Krittika Nakshatra

*Krittika nakshatra is a Sun ruled nakshatra located in Sidereal Taurus.

Krittika’s shakti is the ability to burn or purify impurities. Krittika is ruled by Agni, who is the God of divine fire. From my own research, I’ve seen Agni as destructive or as nourishing. Fire can cook food, warm people, and in a spiritual sense, motivate people. Fire can burn, kill, destroy everything in its path, and in general, cause harm. It’s all about how the power is wielded.

On Astro Tumblr and Twitter, we’ve seen a few people mention Krittika’s connection to the vampire, which can represent a tempestuous bodily desire that makes one feel unclean, dirty, immoral (i.e Nosferatu, Interview With the Vampire) and the need to find discipline, control over one’s power/ability to cause chaos (i.e Twilight). In conjunction, it should be mentioned that the Sun is an enemy to Venus (those pleasurable comforts, for brevity) and friend to Mars (harnessed power, ambition, and action). Therefore, Krittika often has these dilemmas on morality (good v. bad), how to properly conduct themselves, how to not succumb to their own desires and their image. And if we follow the understanding of Krittika as the first man or Adam, it makes sense!

Many Krittika natives will be able to understand the feeling of being unable to keep up to the moral standard / personal and societal expectations, debating whether or not they are acting in good faith. This could lead to going the path of a lone wolf, nomadic, not beholden to the obligation of any tribe / being afraid of taking care of their responsibilities. The Sun is prideful, but ultimately provides light to everyone. It has to show its face and is aware of their duty and power, their potential to rise/fail. Krittika natives can often be self-critical, anxious, and want to burn away all of their impurities to show a better version of themselves to the world. As a result, they may be highly self-conscious, when underdeveloped. Potentially, this could lead to having very strong feelings / reactions and then rationalizing them because Krittika’s symbol is, of course, the knife. They make sense of the world by cutting through their beliefs, trying to get to the root of themselves and being self-aware.

And, for a real world example, I think it’s interesting that Zion Williamson, an American basketball player, (AA rated birth time) has Jupiter conjunct Saturn in Krittika (3H). Williamson is often mocked for his weight, being overly indulgent with food and women, being undisciplined and not being a team player (he didn’t even introduce himself to a new recruit for the New Orleans Pelicans.) Williamson was highly lauded in the beginning of his career, but did not know how to take care of his power, and became prone to various injuries that kept him out of commission. To be fair, he has a Purva Phalguni Moon, but it’s something to look at.

#sidereal astrology #vedic astrology #astro notes #astro observations #lushandlamb #krittika #kritikka #sidereal taurus #krittika nakshatra

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satcnus · 19 days ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐘

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. ex-military widower ✖ runaway stray

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. older protective male x vulnerable teen fem. widower x runaway. paternal elements within romance. male saviorism. size differences. opposites attract. ride or die. hurt, comfort, healing. v-rginity loss. dead dove do not eat.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! The following original fiction contains potentially triggering content, including: extreme age gap, homicide, child and spousal death, kidnapping, s-xual as-sault (background only), r-pe recovery, child abuse (background only), post-traumatic stress disorder and disabling mental illness, and mild ddlg themes (clothing, nicknames). Read at your own discretion.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐎𝟑. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑.

In the forest, where nightfall sings in humming silence against eardrums, the sound of his own breath was deafening.

Cold, biting air swirled into his lungs in deep heaves that rang to the tune of his axe’s swing. The moon climbed its way to the apex of the sky, slowly, as day fell into twilight, and then into dusk. Where no street lights or paved roads existed, there was nothing but the silence, and the stars, and if he measured his breaths, if he quieted them enough, and listened intently, Reuven swore he could hear the earth rotating.

Even despite the brisk temperature and the icy drizzle that never seemed to go longer than a day without returning, the man had a quickly-drying sheen of sweat upon his neck, his chest, dripping from his hair. Or, perhaps that was the rain.

His breaths billowed from his lips in heavy grunts, as the density of his axe’s blade went swinging above his head, and slicing down into the half-gashed wood to fully part it. His muscles ached. His knees ached. If he were any less of a stubborn man, perhaps he would have already retired for the night. Hell, retired for his life. He only had ten years left before Uncle Sam gave him that seal of approval. Job well done, kid. Thanks for playing.

But Reuven Aronov was not a surrendering man. Not in the face of the rapidly approaching storm. Not in the face of his arthritic joints screaming for relief. Not in the face of his own metaphorical death, back in New York, where time seemed to tilt on its axis, and get swallowed up whole by the same forces that controlled the oceans, and radiowaves.

He didn’t have much memory of it now. Or, rather, he remembered it all perfectly—exactly where he was, what he was wearing, what was playing on the television, what second the clock’s hands were passing. It was its edges that were blurred; the existence of everything but it. He couldn’t recall what happened before, or after. He couldn’t recall who he’d spoken to, or anything he’d bought, or who was at the funeral.

That horrible, devastating agony—like the very structure of his existence was splitting at the seams and whatever remained of him would soon be swept away by the wind… That is what he remembered. There were no faces. No voices. No phone numbers. No dates. Just his babies’ cold and pale bodies, lined up in three coffins side by side, eyelids closed, to never wake again.

He could still see them in his dreams, vivid as the day was bright. He would dream of them playing downstairs in his current residence, arguing with each other. The baby, Ezra, crying for his overdue meal of formula and pureed carrots. He never thought to consider it—that coffins came in infant sizes.

Another hunk of wood when dividing into pieces of itself with a grunt; a crack.

Yes, Reuven was slowing down. He was getting old. His driver’s license read November 24th, 1970. That would make him fifty-four. That would make him old enough to have had grandbabies by now. He quickly expelled the thought from his mind every time it surfaced.

His age continually found a way to throw a wrench in this whole master plan of his. Fifteen years ago, when he’d first bought these four acres, tucked in the middle of the Olympic forest, he’d still been young enough that all the wear and tear his time in the Navy had caused wasn’t so bad. It was tolerable. But then he went and became consumed with grief. And what was a man to do, with a grief so insurmountable that it made him feel like he was drowning every second of every day? Like he was gasping and sputtering for air against a wet rag, and the water just kept coming.

Reuven did the only thing he could think of. He kept his hands busy. He kept his body moving. If he awoke every day and worked from the second his eyes opened until the second he collapsed in bed, then there was no time for thinking about it. At least, that was the plan in theory.

In reality, flashes of his wife’s gurgling and pleading would overtake his sight. He could be bent over in the garden, ripping carrots from the soil, and suddenly not feel like he was in Washington state at all. He would become disoriented, and tremble, and his grief would seem to overtake him physically, until he was either wailing out like a wounded animal or snuffing out the fire of his agony with liquor, or whiskey, or wine. Most of the time it was a packaged deal. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything anymore, really.

Some nights he would get back in from working on the homestead all day, dirty and sweaty and aching with exhaustion, and he would have no peace. His mind would rage on with his grief. And his anger. And his violence. And he would fester in it; stewing in the lividity that he felt ache in his hands, in his biceps, in his back; as if his body itself was desperate to kill in the name of protecting his children, long after they were already gone. Some nights drinking was enough to ease it all, and lull him to sleep, instead of out to the road.

Others, there was no amount of alcohol, no amount of marijuana, no amount of meditation or positive self-talk or whatever cliche was preached—none of it could touch this evil, homicidal need within him to take the justice he deserved, instead of waiting around for the universe to do the right thing.

Ask him twenty years ago if he ever imagined he’d abandon his religion so thoroughly. He would have never been able to conjure up his current reality, not even in his wildest of predictions. Was it how he coped, then? By going out into the late evening, where night became indistinguishable from morning, and performing those acts of God?

The first time it had happened, it had never been intentional. Not until the last moment. He’d gone into the nearest town, past the Quinalt’s reservation, and had nursed a soda in a bar. After his children were killed in that crash, by a driver who fled and never faces the consequences of what they’d done, something had broken inside of Reuven. There was no justice to be had, because there was no perpetrator to accuse. Reuven had lost his appetite completely for bars, but that night he had gone in, almost as a way to self-harm To torture himself with it all, if only to feel the pain.

He’d been sitting in the back corner, where the seating led into the restrooms, and where gazes did not automatically stray to. He was nursing that soda. No alcohol. It was a sprite. The carbonation had bitten at the back of his throat on its traversal down, and when it hit his stomach with that same bite, the man he’d been watching got up from his barstool, threw some cash on the bar, and stumbled out the front doors. Reuven, silently, had mirrored him.

He still held the silent step of a Navy SEAL, even if he had long taken off his uniform. His gait was silent, and went completely undetected as he followed the guy out. A younger man, maybe thirty, with blonde hair, and a stench of entitlement. Reuven watched as he stumbled into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and his sleek black SUV rumbled to life.

Reuven, quietly, mirrored him again. His truck, though ancient, was not loud enough to cause attention, especially not from a guy who’d just downed two final shots before getting behind the wheel.

The widower’s intention was just to follow the drunk. Make sure he didn’t kill anyone. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself, as he trailed behind with his lights off, just a few cars’ distance.

He remembered the haziness of that night. How his mind had buzzed, and his heart had pounded in his abdomen.

Was it an act of divine intervention, then? That the drunk driver met his demise before Reuven’s gaze? Reuven was no longer spiritual, but he liked to think, in some sick, twisted way that it was, indeed, God who had killed that man. God who had sent him to carry it through to its natural conclusion: the end. Lights out. Justice.

The two-lane road had been stretching on for miles, endlessly, without reprieve. No street lights to offer guidance. No other car in sight for miles.

It happened when the road narrowed and took a bend, one that was warned of well ahead of time by bright yellow signage. Still, the black SUV seemed surprised, and it first made contact with the guardrail, and then spun out, inertia cracking against the density of a tree. The SUV rolled, twice, before landing on its tires again. Broken glass littered the asphalt. A distinct, white smoke emanated from the hood of the car, illuminated by its still-on highbeams.

Reuven had crawled into a stop behind the wreckage, and stared at the scene, in the silence, for a long moment, before finally opening the creaking driver’s side door to go and check on the driver. That was the right thing to do, right? That was what anyone else would do. They would suck it up, and put their resentment aside, and act in the light of morality and decency.

But was he a moral man, anymore? Was he decent?

The driver had been ejected from the car’s windshield. He was splayed out in the grass, limbs crumpled against the base of a tree. Weak, rapidly deteriorating cries were lifting from the man’s chest in strange, inversed breaths. Reuven had stared at him. Blank, deadpan. His deep, dark gaze glued to the pool of blood scraped against the road.

He wasn’t sure when he’d made the decision. Which moment, truly, he had sealed the man’s fate.

All he knew was that instead of walking up to help him, Reuven returned to his car, scruffing out his bootprints on the road as he went, and then, with one curt turn of the wheel, sped off, leaving that nameless, drunk stranger to die in a pool of his own red, sticky consequences.

That night he’d gotten the best sleep he’d managed since the funeral.

The following morning, it was like a weight had lifted from his chest. He could hear the bird singing again. He could see the light dancing on the trees. He could feel the warmth of the morning.

Was there any way to articulate it, then? Why he had gone back out, to a different bar, farther away from home, not a few days later, and done the same thing? Followed the guy out, tailed him for five miles, and when God didn’t do what he was supposed to, Reuven did it instead

He’d flashed his lights at the driver and honked, pulling up beside him to gesture at the driver to pull over. And he had. And when he had, Reuven had gotten out of his truck with two black nylon gloves and a knife. He remembered how he had laughed, when the driver rolled down his window. His own chuckle had surprised him. The drunk driver thought he was a cop.

All Reuven had said was, “I look like a cop to you?” and the kid’s throat was cut ear to ear before he could even respond.

That was where he’d untethered. That moment, drenched to the elbows with another man’s blood. That was where Reuven Aronov had resurrected.

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chrissdollie · 9 months ago

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eclipse masterlist ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

series playlist taglist

last updated: may 17th

summary: you moved from the sizzling hot arizona to the depressive rainy washington in a small town called forks. it was terribly boring.. until you meet a gorgeous townie and fall in love. but what do you do when your childhood friend interferes with your feelings?

warnings/notes for this series: reader x c.s x m.s love triangle, cursing, anxiety mentions, lowercase intended, smut (mdni + ageless blogs dni), p in a v, back scratching, gore, i do use "yn" bc i dont want to give the reader a name or refrain from using a name in general

ACT 1: TWILIGHT

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

ACT 2: NEW MOON

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

ACT 3: ECLIPSE

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #𐔌　♡ 　˚₊ chris sturniolo　₊˚ ⊹#𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ✧˚ · .#𐔌　♡ 　˚₊ matt sturniolo　₊˚ ⊹

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sunfyresrider · 2 years ago

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Festering Desire

Jake Sully X Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Summary: After witnessing something you were not meant to see a new emotion began building inside you. It plagued your dreams, your thoughts and every part of your life until it reached a boiling point. Tags: Minor description of injury, simping?, bad at communicating, wet dreams, minor jealously, confessions, neural link, smut, daddy-ish kink, p n v intercourse. Author’s Note: This could have really benefitted from a Jake POV but I am so exhausted lately I couldn’t. Also, my smut definitely needs improvement, but I can/will improve that when I am not half asleep.

It was past twilight when you pulled yourself out of the river and began the long walk home. You escaped here for tranquility and a place to clear your head of unwanted thoughts. The Olo'eyktan, Jake Sully, had pretty much banned you from traveling after eclipse along with several other members of the clan, his children to be more specific.

He explained it as a safety precaution since the sky people had returned but they rarely ever struck after the moons emerged. Your sister, Käani, said it was because you got too lost in your head and were a safety hazard yourself. You’ll admit you were cursed with clumsiness and the ability to completely forget your surroundings, but you’ve lived here all your life, and nothing ever happens after eclipse anyways.

You wrapped your loincloth around yourself, basking in the time you spent alone. The bioluminescent plants beneath the water's surface always brightened the night so you never had to fear the dark. The forest was filled with noise every eclipse, animals much preferred to roam in the comfort of darkness. You were wrapped in a shroud of warmth as you skipped your way home, becoming distracted by various plants all around you. Your home was nothing short of stimulating, always something beautiful to look at or to play with.

A Kenten laid on a large plant, blissfully unaware of your presence. You snuck up behind it, waiting for the proper time to pounce. Slowly, it veered its head in your direction, gazing at you cautiously. Your tail began swishing through the air excitedly, waiting for it to do the thing. The kenten blinked slowly before you gently blew air towards it. It’s fans spread almost immediately, flying into the air in a circle and eliciting giggles from you.

You began to chase it deeper into the woods, forgetting about what might be waiting for you. It led you all the way into a part where the bioluminescent barely shined and the original animal noises you heard were hushed. Its fans retracted and it disappeared into a nearby tree, leaving you mildly disappointed. You let out a deep sigh, your ears falling flat against your head at the loss of it.

Your feet began to turn to walk back home, for real this time. Until you heard a twig snap in the distance, your ears shot up alerting you to a nearby noise. It was far away from where you were, but it faintly sounded like an animal whimpering in pain. It made your heart ache hearing such noises, you knew you should ignore it and forget but it was impossible. You slowly crept towards the noise; in case a larger animal was feasting on it.

The closer you got to where the sound originated the more Na’vi-eaque it sounded. A woman moaning in pain to be more precise. One thing Jake Sully taught everyone was no man left behind and that involved ones left in the eerie part of the forest too. You saw a faint light from the corner of your eye, quickly you turned to locate its origin. The thing you saw was beyond words, leaving you had frozen in place. Your feet planted themselves firmly into the ground, your eyes nearly popping out of your skull.

The Olo'eyktan had a woman’s legs wrapped around him, thrusting into her at an intense speed. It felt as if your skin was set ablaze, a swirling sensation beginning to form in your gut. Your mouth hung agape at the sight, shocked by what you were witnessing for the first time. You blinked once, twice, before backing away and stepping directly on a branch. The sound echoing through the once quiet area.

As if on cue she spotted you, her eyes locking onto yours, and letting out a choked yelp to signal your presence. It shocked you out of your daze, fear shooting through you as he began to turn. You took off, sprinting in the direction of your tent and avoiding any further unwanted interactions. At several points you felt sharp plants cutting you as you made your ways towards your bed, but it did not matter. All you could think about was escaping Jake before he knew you saw anything.

Once you arrived you practically lunged onto your tent, securing the flap that granted you privacy from the outside world. You nervously paced around your room, panting from all the energy you had excreted. You shook your head violently, trying to banish the image from your mind entirely. The sounds of footsteps approaching your tent made you dive onto your mat, curling up into a ball and pretending to sleep.

You tried to steady your breath, burying your face in your arms so they couldn’t see you. The flap opened silently, you felt someone peer in before slipping away just as quickly. You prayed to Ewya it was just Käani making sure you arrived in one piece.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to forget what you had seen and letting sleep take you away. Since his mate had died, he had become a bit of a man-whore. Instead of accepting the emotional comfort he so badly needed, Jake fucked his way through many women of the clan. Mainly other widows as they understood each other's stance. Käani, who understood the ways of sky demons better explained they were relationships without strings attached.

Käani knew many things. She taught you everything you knew, purposefully leaving out select details. Unlike humans, information about sex was not as easily accessible. A person would have to ask another who had experienced it what happened and that was far out of your comfort zone. It would be incredibly awkward, not to mention it made you look clueless.

She did tell you enough, the different appendages, what goes where, and most importantly how to make tsaheylu with your future husband but you stopped asking her questions there. How exactly everything was performed was lost on you, though you hoped you would simply figure it out in the heat of the moment. Except, now you knew exactly what to expect from intimacy with someone else.

༺♡༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺♡༻

There was a warm sensation in between your legs. The feeling of something hard entering an area you never gave much attention to. Your core felt as if it was tingling, causing your body to squeeze around something. You grasped at their arm on instinct, pulling them closer to you. An appendage moved in circles around your clit, eliciting sensations you had never felt before. His mouth moved to suckle at your neck, pulling soft moans out of you. You practically melted into him, wrapping your legs around his warm body and pulling him closer. They were large, so much larger than you, “babygirl,” he whispered into your ear. You lazily opened your eyes, looking up to see who was bringing you such pleasure...

... "Jake?"

Your body jolted awake, your eyes scanning for any intruders. They landed on Käani, who in your tired state looked blue, just like Jake.

“Ahhh! She shouted back, “Ahhh!” Her voice ripped you out of your nightmare, you narrowed your eyes at her. “What are you doing here?!” She threw her arms up in the air as a response, “Why are you screaming at me?!” You settled down, pulling your legs up to your chest in an attempt to hide your embarrassment. You winced as an ache spread through you, your eyes peered down at your body which was covered in bruises, small cuts and dried blood.

“I was trying to prepare some balm for all your wounds before you decided to shout.” Your cheeks burned bright as you remembered last night, you hadn’t even noticed the damage you had done to yourself whilst fleeing the scene. “Oh, sorry tsmuke…” She scooted closer to you, huffing as she pulled your legs towards her and slapped on healing cream to your injuries. Käani was judging you, her eyes boring into you as she tried to decipher what happened.

“Should I ask or assume you are living up to the name of self-safety hazard?” You kicked her in reply, making her chuckle quietly at your expense. For a moment you tried to keep your lips sealed, harboring his secret for him. But your sister was nothing if not persistent and if she didn’t get it from you now, she inevitably would later. “I saw Jake with a woman last night.” Her eyes shot open, forehead wrinkles gracing her forehead as she stared at you. “No shit! Were they…?”

You nodded your head silently in reply, watching her mouth open wide as she stared at you in shock. Käani slapped your leg, “who was it?! Don’t tell me it was Ninat.” You rolled your eyes, the drama between Ninat and your sister was never ending. Both of them were in a constant quiet battle to be the best singer of the clan… Käani, having youth on her side, was winning by a vast majority. “No, I couldn’t tell who and I don’t want to discuss it any further.” She raised her eyes at your reaction, “You’re jealoussss.” Käani shoved your arm suggestively, biting her lip trying to refrain from laughing. “I am not!”

She leaned in, pretending to sniff the air. “I can smell it on you! You’re jealous he’s not showing you that type of attention, huh?” You swatted her hand away, “You’re so gross! It is not like that.” A faux pout formed on her lips, her hands clasping her heart. “Aw you’ll hurt Jake’s feelings if he hears you say that.” That made your ears perk up, your tail beginning to sway behind you.“What do you mean by that?” A sly smirk crept its way onto your sister's face, you hated when she got that look. You could practically hear her thoughts,‘I know something that you don’t know’.

“You know Jake always gives you extra attention during training and his hands always linger on you longer than normal. He practically watches your every move when you're in his line of sight and don’t get me started on how overprotective of you he has become.” That made you slump back against your tent, thoughts whirling around your head like a storm. “Jake probably pretends all those girls are you.”

Käani was like a devil whispering in your ear, encouraging thoughts you should not be having about your Olo'eyktan. It was impossible for him to fancy you, not in the same way he loved his late wife anyways. Not only that, but you were also younger than him by a noticeable amount. But it did nothing to ease the thing stirring within you, a strange desire beginning to form that you had never felt before.

You were scared of the unfamiliar feelings boiling inside you, the thoughts you had about a man who had already mated once and had children! They were only thoughts, as long as you did not act upon them then you were safe, you told yourself. She patted your leg, scooting backwards to the exit, "I see I have lost you,” Käani stood up, stretching her arms and gathering her things. “I’ll leave you be for now but don’t even try to skip out on the celebration tonight.” You nodded your head silently as she strided out of your tent as if she owned the place.

༺♡༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺♡༻

The camp was alive with music from Ewya, bonfires setting the forest alight with their glow. You held tightly onto Käani’s hand as she pulled you through the crowd, fighting for a log to sit on. You tried to avoid the nervous pit forming in your stomach, Jake was here somewhere.

You didn’t have the heart to face him, spending the entire day safely tucked away in your room. Times like this were rare, especially since the sky people came back. The entire clan was happy, carefree as they celebrated. You should be feeling the same, enjoying the night for what it was but you could not. Your heart ached, knowing the reason why, a lump forming in your throat.

Whereas you were on a mission to avoid someone, your sister was actively hunting men down. Atan was her current best pick for you, a strong warrior with excellent beading skills. When you were younger you used to have a bit of a crush on him, but feelings change like time. Käani heartedly disagreed, scanning the crowd for any sign of him. Whilst she continued singing praises about him in your ear, your eyes locked onto a familiar face.

Jake Sully was watching you.

You swallowed hard, unable to look away from his dark eyes. It felt as if he was staring through you, deep down you wished you could be invisible. He looked especially handsome tonight, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat across it. His long dark hair was braided neatly behind his head, the braids complimenting his strong features. He smiled politely, his eyes twinkling. Your mind floated back to your dream, the way his lips felt against your neck and the feeling of his body pressed against you.

You looked away quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. Your ears flattened against your head, that was a wildly inappropriate thought to have at this moment or any moment for that matter. Käani turned her attention towards you, raising an eyebrow at you and following your gaze. "Lover boy is looking at you, tsmuke.” You nudge your sister with your elbow, huffing, "shut up."

She giggled to herself, leaning in close as your eyes focused on the ground, “And he’s coming this way!” Your eyes snapped up, staring at her in disbelief. Before you could protest, or attempt to make a mistake, he was standing right in front of you. Käani quickly stood up to make a place for him, she nodded her in respect, silently reminding you of his position. "Sir." Jake happily nodded back, taking his place behind you and watching your sister walk away before he spoke.

“You didn’t join us for breakfast this morning or show up to training.” His eyes gazed at you quizzingly, an incredulous look plastered on his face. You lifted your leg, showcasing the marks on it without thinking of the implications. “I hurt it last night, Käani demanded I rest.”

“Last night?” The memory flashed back in your mind ripping you out of your drunken stupor. You scramble your words together, speaking fast. “Not after eclipse… I swear.” His face softened as he looked at your body, his fingers gently tracing a cut near your knee. He felt so warm, a strange feeling rose in you, causing you to shiver. You blinked slowly, praying to Ewya he didn't notice. "You need to take better care of yourself, what if this had been more serious?”

You weren't sure if he was scolding you or sincerely worried, both options made you nervous. You mumbled, “sorry, Jake.” His fingers slowly pulled away from your skin, creating a cool void you were beginning to hate.“Are you too injured to dance with me?” His eyes seemed to glimmer in the firelight, a stupid grin lighting up his face. The way his lips curved had you memorized, your eyes glued to them. It was impossible to say no, you nodded your head excitedly.

You followed behind him as he led you through the crowd, weaving between the many bodies. He gently tugged you closer to him as you danced, guiding you around each other and pressing against one another. You couldn't help but notice how strong he felt against you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he moved to the beat. Käani’s words echoed through your head ‘lover boy’ and ‘he imagines those girls are you’ as you danced with him.

You peered up at him, admiring the way his lips parted as he took a deep breath. The way his eyes lit up and pupils dilated when he stared at you. A burning desire began to bubble up inside of you, a feeling you had never experienced before. It was like Ewya herself was pouring her fire inside of you. You lowered your gaze to your feet, suddenly embarrassed about your feelings towards him. "You seem flustered today,” his fingers brushed your cheek, tipping your chin back up to look at him. "What's the matter, baby girl?"

You dared to look him in his eyes, feeling the camp starting to spin around you. “I- I am not,” you fumbled your words. He watched you for a moment, a Cheshire grin spreading across his, making your heart stop. "Oh really?" His body inched closer to yours, your heartbeat picking up speed with each passing second. You nearly choked on air, you wanted to say something witty but all that came out of your mouth were a series of broken words. "I, uh... Uh-" a new wave of nervousness washed over you. Jake took another step closer, his body pressed up against yours, his hand holding your waist tightly.

“Jake! Ma’Olo'eyktan,” the shrill voice of none other than Ninat pierced your ear lobes. You snapped out of it quickly, pulling away from Jake as if you were burned. He cleared his throat, forcing a polite smile as she quickly approached. "Ninat, is everything okay?" Her eyes focused on you for a moment, an unpleasant scowl plastered on her face. "The hunters request your presence immediately. They want to celebrate your recent achievements.”

Jake nodded his head, "I'll be right there." She left without another word; you turned your attention back to Jake who seemed annoyed by her interruption. "I’m going to find Käani.” He gave you a faint smile, "I'll find you once I'm done with this.” You didn’t give a proper goodbye, instead quickly turning around and making your way through the crowd, bumping into people as you tried to escape.

༺♡༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺♡༻

You did not return to the celebration or participate in anything that may involve Jake the next few days. Jake had been giving you an alarming amount of space, though his attempts to communicate were all futile at best. Käani was greatly disappointed with it all, constantly reminding you that it was your time to shine.

The past several nights you could not escape the dreams that invaded your mind at night. Your peace was sorely disrupted as the thoughts consumed you at every waking moment. If his head was not between your legs, then he was inside of you. If Jake was not on top of you, he was beside whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Sometimes the dreams weren’t of sexual nature at all, which scared you the most. You would be doing mundane things with him like flying, playing with the children or simply laughing enjoying each other’s presence.

It further proved what you were feeling was not hormonal nor would it go away so easily. You tried to remind yourself he was widowed; you were just a kid to him but there was always that seed of hope.

The combination of Jake merely existing and Käani’s constant presence was driving you to insanity. You couldn’t imagine how he would react if he ever found out what was going through your mind. Which is why tonight, you decided to escape to what remained of the spirit tree. You hoped to find solace in a place where Ewya was so prominent. The great mother does not take sides and she does not involve herself in things so trivial. You still hoped this place would give you something to ease your mind.

You sat in front of the tree, bowing your head to show your respects. For a moment, there was silence. You opened your eyes and stared at the light in front of you, watching the tendrils dance around each other. Then you heard the sounds of leaves cracking beneath someone’s soles. “She’s alive,” You didn’t have to gaze at him to see the grin creeping onto his face. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as he took a seat beside you, he peered into the sky. "I was wondering when I would see you again.” You continued staring at the tree in front of you, “You know where to find me.”

Jake let out a disappointed breath, knowing the expression on his face faltered. "Have I done something to upset you?" You let out a shaky breath, "it’s not your fault." He watched you closely, you felt like he could see right through you, peeling back each layer and finding the deepest secret you were hiding. Your eyes slowly moved towards him, "Jake... I," your voice trailed off, searching for the right words to say. You took a deep breath, letting the air slowly escape your lips. "Do you like me," the words tumbled out, leaving you in a state of vulnerability.

You glanced up at him, you were met with a soft smile, a strange twinkle in his eyes. "Of course, I like you," he replied so quickly you weren't sure what to do next. Your mind scrambled, trying to formulate a proper response. "I don't mean as a friend.” He leaned in closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes bored into yours. "As what?" You were painfully aware of his every movement, the warmth of his hand and the smell of the herbs he was wearing today.

“More,” you spoke quietly, not wanting to hear the reply you were hoping for. Jake’s thumb brushed your cheek softly, your ears flattening against your head as you felt yourself losing control. "I have always liked you." His voice was as gentle as his touch, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. The weight of his words hung in the air, all the uncertainty and fear that had plagued your heart suddenly disappeared, replaced by warmth.

You took a deep breath, his eyes locked with yours, and mustered the courage to speak your truth. "I want you," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and longing. The connection between you deepened, the air crackling with an electric energy. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Jake leaned in closer to you, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck. "You can have all of me."

Your lips pressed against his cautiously, your heart hammering in your chest as you pressed into him. His lips parted, his tongue tracing the curve of your lower lip. You let out a shaky breath as you felt yourself begin to lose control, his hand moved to the neck of your neck and pressed you closer into him. You kissed him deeply, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you mounted his lap.

You pulled back, panting heavily as he mourned the loss of you. “What is it,” Jake whispered into your mouth. You felt your heart ache at the thought, “you’ve already mated… we can not-” He hushed you with another deep kiss, his hands reaching around to grab at your queue. “I’m still part human… which means I can.” His voice was full of sincerity, as he pulled his forward, slowly you watched them interlock. The way you felt was indescribable, you could feel every heightened emotion, every throb of his heartbeat, every rush of blood, and every bit of pleasure.

He moaned against your mouth, your fingers tangling themselves in his locs. You were able to feel the warmth radiating off his skin, your thighs squeezing around his waist as he ran his hands across your back unlacing your top. You gasped against his mouth as his fingertips danced along your bare back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You began to move your hips slowly, a soft sigh escaping your lips as he suckled on your neck. His lips parted from your neck, a faint growl escaping his lips, “you’re so perfect, babygirl.” He gripped the sides of your loincloth, untying them with haste, you shivered when the air hit the wetness between your thighs.

Jake gently eased you on the ground, maneuvering himself in between your thighs. He gazed down at you for a moment, admiring you in the moonlight. The way the moon illuminated your skin and hair, how your body shone with a sheen of sweat and the way your eyes seemed to glow. His finger slid against your folds, "so wet already." You shivered, a whine escaping your throat. "Jake-"

"You've never been touched like this before, have you," His cock prodded at your entrance, the head slipping inside of you. Jake moved his hands, placing one on your hip while the other gripping your thigh. You let out a loud scream, the feeling of being stretched making your legs weak. “N-No,” you whimpered out. Jake pushed you down, his cock forcing itself into your tight cunt. “You’ve been a good little girl waiting for me huh?”

He groaned; his cock burying itself deep inside of you. "That's right, baby. You’re doing so good for me." Jake’s hands moved to your waist, moving you up and down his cock. "M-Ma’Jake, ahh!" You cried out, each time he hit your center. You gripped onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. "S-so pretty," his words slurred. The once holy area, meant to connect with Ewya, was filled with the sound of your skin slapping together and the sounds he was ripping out of you.

Your cunt began to tighten, a sickly-sweet heat building inside of you. "P-please," you cried out. He slowed his thrusts, biting his lip hard "not yet, princess" he pulled you on top of him, his length filling you completely. "We’re gonna cum together." He rammed himself into you, hitting the spot inside that made your legs turn to jelly. Jake moaned, "s-good babe." He bounced you on his lap, admiring the way your breasts moved with each thrust. Jake slipped his fingers underneath you, rubbing at your clit. He continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear, praising you for how good you take him.

Jake gripped your hips, slowly lifting you off his cock and slamming you down again. The forest began spinning as you felt yourself nearing climax, the sweet agony building up inside you. "That’s it,” he hissed, "Cum with me, babygirl." You whimpered loudly, the coil in your stomach tightening. His words made your mind go blank, his finger began rubbing faster against your clit, and the heat in your core was nearing its breaking point. “Ah- Ah- Jake!” Your eyes rolled back into your head as the coil snapped, pleasure racked your body. Jake’s thrust became sloppy, until he buried himself deep inside you, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” He growled as he began filling you with his seed, your body collapsing on his. You laid there, tangled in each other's arms, as you slowly came down from the high.

His cock slipped out of you, cum dripping from your womb and down your thigh. Jake pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, "my little princess," he grinned, "You should have told me how you felt sooner." Your entire body felt sore, yet you were completely at peace. Jake kissed you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth and making you melt. "I’m never leaving you alone again."

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully x you #jake sully x omaticaya!reader #jake sully x na'vi reader #jake sully smut #jake sully fluff #avatar fic #jake sully imagine

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aerltarg · 11 months ago

Text

thinking again about my sad boys, aegon and rhaegar, the dragonbane and the last dragon, being depressed since childhood, finding solace in their happy ladies, daenaera and lyanna. but while aegon's older siblings died, rhaegar lost his younger ones. but hey, at least aegon got to be close to his dear younger bro viserys! meanwhile, rhaegar just couldn't have a chance to build any proper relationship with his younger bro viserys, with everything between them. also to think that daeron the young dragon was aegon and daenaera's son and jon, rhaegar and lyanna's son, admired him and considered him one of his heroes... oh bless them, i love them so much

[...] As she stood before the king that Maiden’s Day, clad in pale white silk, Myrish lace, and pearls, her long hair shining in the torchlight and her cheeks flush with excitement, Daenaera was but six years old, yet so beautiful she took the breath away. The blood of Old Valyria was strong in her, as is oft seen in the sons and daughters of the seahorse; her hair was silver laced with gold, her eyes as blue as a summer sea, her skin as smooth and pale as winter snow. “She sparkled,” Mushroom says, “and when she smiled, the singers in the galley rejoiced, for they knew that here at last was a maid worthy of a song.” Daenaera’s smile transformed her face, men agreed; it was sweet and bold and mischievious, all at once. Those who saw it could not fail to think, “Here is a bright, sweet, happy little girl, the perfect antidote to the young king’s gloom.” (Fire & Blood)

When Aegon III returned her smile and said, “Thank you for coming, my lady, you look very pretty,” even Lord Unwin Peake surely must have known that the game was lost. (Fire & Blood)

[...] Hope and good feeling reigned over the Red Keep as the new year dawned. Though younger than her predecessor, Queen Daenaera was a happier child, and her sunny nature did much to lighten the king’s gloom…for a while, at the least. Aegon III was seen about the court more often than had been his wont, and even left the castle on three occasions to show his bride such sights as the city offered (though he refused to take her to the Dragonpit, where Lady Rhaena’s young dragon, Morning, made her lair). His Grace seemed to take a new interest in his studies, and Mushroom was oft summoned to entertain the king and queen at supper (“The sound of the queen’s laughter was like music to this fool, so sweet that even the king was known to smile”). (Fire & Blood)

[...] “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.” “You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested. “Not sour, no, but… there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense…” The old man hesitated again. “Say it,” she urged. “A sense…?” “…of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.” Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar's birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?” “Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he came back he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved.” (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

“At the welcoming feast, the prince had taken up his silver-stringed harp and played for them. A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp.” (ADWD, The Griffin Reborn)

“The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle.” (ASOS, Bran II)

“By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes.” (AFFC, Cersei V)

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” (ASOS, Bran II)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. [...] the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called. When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying, 'Teach your squires honor, that shall be ransom enough.'” (ASOS, Bran II)

“He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black.” (AGOT, Eddard I)

“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature. (AGOT, Eddard IX)

“It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy.” (AGOT, Eddard X)

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xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox · 5 months ago

Note

hil, love ur writing!!

could i request a Paul Lahote x Bella's Younger Sister! Reader (Luna Swan). y'know how in new moon Jacob does this like parkour climb into Bella's room (Imao). maybe like reader is doing her night time routine to get ready for bed then hears pebbles being thrown at her window and she already knows it’s her bf paul is out there. she opens the window for him and he climbs up showing off his strength. he immediately wraps his arms around Luna’s waist and puts his head into her neck/shoulders. she reciprocates his deep hug, rubbing her hands up n down his back and shoulders (bc he shows up shirtless in true werewolf fashion😌). she asks him all coy “what are you doing here” so he just explains how he needed to see her and be with her bc ofc we all know how protective of an imprint Paul must be. it’s all cutesy then they kiss and cuddle to sleep.

btw… obsessed with ur writing🫶🏼. literally im always checking back on ur account for updates💞

Pebbles

Paul Lahote x reader

Now Playing: Ho Hey by The Lumineers

I hummed to the song on the radio as I sat at my vanity, applying creams to my skin and oils to my hair. It had been a long day; school was tiring, I had a million assignments, and work was… well, it was the service industry, so about as good as could be expected.

The sun had set already. Dad was on a hunting trip for the winter break, and Bella had taken the opportunity to stay with Edward for a few days. This left me alone in the house, but it wasn’t all that bad.

I had gotten up to dig around under my desk for a face mask, finding it and sitting back on my bottom as I read the back for instructions.

A thud made me look over towards my window. I watched for a long moment as nothing happened, until a small pebble hit the window again. I got up, making my way over to see who was there.

I peered through the glass, only to see a familiar face staring back at me. I smiled as I saw him, pushing my lacy curtains back to unlatch my window and open it.

“What are you doing?” I call coyly, laughing at Paul as he grinned up at me

“What, I can’t come see my girlfriend? Can’t make sure she’s okay after a long Monday without her?” He teased, adding, “Watch out, I’m coming up.”

I take several steps back, watching as he takes a running leap up to the ledge of my window. I watch as he shimmies his broad shoulders and long legs through the small opening, laughing as his foot gets caught in the curtain.

He scowls at me, taking long strides forward to envelop me in a hug. He presses his face into the crook of my neck, bowing his body over mine to reach, and his arms circle my waist tightly.

I sigh with content as I wrap my arms around him, one over his shoulder to take through his hair and the other around his torso to run my hand up and down his spine.

“You’re lucky Charlie isn’t here,” I murmur, “If he saw you climbing up here, he’d bust in to kick your ass, and also to give you a shirt.”

He snickers, complaining that “Shirts are restricting, and I run hot.”

“‘It’s a werewolf thing’.” I quote, smiling as I add, “I was about to put on a face mask, you want to join?”

He pulled his head back to eye me, suspicious of my proposition. I only laughed at him, pulling away and reaching for the tube of “Green Tea Detoxifying Face Mask Gel”

---

We end up cuddled together on the bed, the fan blowing towards both our faces to dry the mask.

He’s laying on his side, his hand propping his head up. His other arm is wrapped around my waist, keeping my back secured to his chest as we watch reruns of old movies.

I yawn, so comfortable that I’m almost falling asleep.

“Tired?” He asks quietly, and I shrug.

“Comfortable,” I reply, “You’re so warm, makes me want to fall asleep.”

He laughs a little, reaching up to poke my cheek, “Mask’s dry, let’s take them off.”

I groan as I roll to my feet, padding to the bathroom to peel off the mask. I do mine first, leaning over the counter and carefully taking the dry, rubbery substance off of my skin and throwing it in the trash. When I’m done, I haul myself up to sit on the counter as Paul props his arms on either side of my legs.

I take off his mask, careful of his eyebrows and the short hair on his chin and jaw.

“You didn’t shave this morning,” I comment, turning to throw the part of the mask I had gotten off into the trash.

“Ran late today, Sam dragged me to school before I could,” He replied, his eyes glued to my face, “Jared hogs the bathroom trying to fix his hair.”

I smile, peeling off the nose strip now.

“Tell him to quit sleeping with his hair wet, and he won’t have to fix it as much in the morning.”

He sighs, “I’ve tried. He’s stubborn.”

I hum, “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching my thigh and making me laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” He says sarcastically, “But the only stubborn hot-head you love is right here, letting you torture him with face masks.”

I laugh, “You know you love them!”

Again, he rolls his eyes, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips as he says, “I love you, I tolerate the masks.”

I giggle as he presses dozens of quick kisses across my face, never more grateful for life than I am in this moment.

———

Thank you so much for the request!! It was super cute and I had so much fun writing it 🥰

And I’m so glad you like my writing!! That made me so happy 😁 I really hope you enjoyed this, and lmk if you have any more requests 💕

#eclipse #new moon #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight #x reader #bella swan #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #jacob black #swan sister!reader #charlie swan #sam uley #emily young #jared cameron #quil atera v

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ancuninfiles · 6 months ago

Text

Lithium Pt. 4

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

9.3k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: Astarion nearly walks in on Ronnie during a very private moment. Mortified, Ronnie throws her toy under a pillow, pulling up her pants and… letting him into her apartment, as he's found a better way to restrain her this time.

Oh... and Ronnie makes Astarion watch Twilight: New Moon

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, AU modern setting in London UK, mental illness, p in v sex, creampie, cunnilingus, shibari, bondage, TW domestic violence (not with Astarion and Ronnie), roleplay, dirty-talk

MASTERLIST (Other works and chapters)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes: CONTENT WARNING for this chapter, but Astarion will always be a softie :3 I promise.

9.3k words. Like Comfort™, This one has been sitting in my files—over 90% done—for a long time. I guess sometimes I just agonize over how to finish a chapter... it's like... my motif or something LOL.

I really got my Gonzo on with the beginning of this chapter. I was ✧*̥˚𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯' 𝘪𝘵˚*̥✧...

Anyways, to the few people who like to read fucked up shit like this, enjoy <3.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭

꧁꧂

The dildo: an object shaped like an erect penis used for sexual stimulation—according to the Oxford Dictionary.

—Boring, basically useless phallus. Does nothing.

—Good for nothing.

—Takes thirty minutes to get me off; If I do at all.

—Fucking sucks.

—Waste of my Godsdamned time.

...

Jen had taken Ronnie to a sex shop when she first got together with Alfira, suggesting it would "spice things up". However, the extra "spiciness" became unnecessary once Alfira’s trachea nearly collapsed in Ronnie’s grip.

It happened in Jen's bed, the morning after one of her parties. While Jen was making breakfast, Alfira and Ronnie had taken over her bed. They'd been intimate before—always at Jen’s place. Although they weren't exclusive, their relationship was certainly developing. At that time, Ronnie had only ever been a danger to herself—her violent outbursts occurring solely in the privacy of her own flat. She didn't yet know what she was capable of.

From what Ronnie could recall of the incident, one moment she was giving head, and the next, she was on the floor of Jen's bedroom while Jen tried to calm Alfira down.

Apparently, Ronnie had straddled Alfira and was attempting to strangle her to death—her hands like a vice on her lover's neck. Alfira had been screaming, calling for help until her throat was seized. Jen barged in at the perfect time, put Ronnie in a headlock, and dragged her off Alfira.

Jen did the damage control—she let Alfira know that nobody would ever believe her and that if she told anyone, she would never be allowed at her house again. Shortly after that, Alfira was completely excommunicated from their “friend group"—if you could even call it that.

And it was true that nobody would've believed her. Ronnie was known to be a pacifist, even standing back, unable to form words and frozen in place as she watched Jen get into fights. Jen always said it was better that way so that Ronnie wouldn't get hurt.

Since that day, she hadn’t seen Alfira— hadn’t been able to apologise, get closure, or make amends. Nothing . She knew Jen was only trying to protect her, but the rot in Ronnie's stomach grew tenfold that day; not only from discovering the boundlessness of her violent ailment but also from the guilt of what she’d just done.

Remembering such things didn't aid in Ronnie's climax—or lack thereof.

—Distractions

—So many distractions.

So she pulled the phallus from her top drawer, eyeing it with scepticism, knowing it would bring back bad memories.

However, in it went.

It was a wretched pink silicone thing—a “rabbit” or something of that nature. Press a button, and it tickled the outside and undulated on the inside; both futile operations if you're too anxious to get off

—Fuck.

Trying to cum was a regular occurrence for Ronnie—at least once a week. She didn't care for porn—it was all made for men, so she relied on her own broken imagination.

Lately, her imagination brought her to Astarion; but with the thoughts of Astarion came the shame of wanting him, and, subsequently, the knowing that she'd never have him.

The cycle would repeat in circuits of two minutes or so, on and on for thirty minutes until she gave up or fruitlessly orgasmed on the wretched, pink, silicone phallus.

—Useless.

Not like sex is important, anyway. Sure, it felt good.

Well...

It felt great; but was it necessary? Certainly not.

Especially in regards to friendship—and she and Astarion were just friends… Barely friends.

—Just met.

—Wretched friends.

—Just kill me, already.

—Anyways...

Resisting the nymph would prove challenging; thankfully, it's extremely responsive to “no” and “stop”.

But, likely, also very responsive to “fuck me” and “kiss me” and “spank me” and—

—Kill me... Maybe not that one...

Of course, Ronnie knew she was attractive, but her naked form was disfigured with jagged, protruding scars all over. She felt like a monster—her beleaguered skin only matching the sickness within.

Nothing a long-sleeved shirt and leggings couldn't hide—that is until you're spread open. Maybe then, the darkness would help, but eyes adjust eventually, and Ronnie would only be lying to herself if she thought otherwise.

She felt ill, her stomach lurching at times by simply staring at her own reflection. Other people surely would feel the same. The only reason she’d felt so comfortable being nude around Alfira was because Alfira has similar scars.

Yet, Astarion had seen her nude form and...

reverence, every time. Washing her like an expensive car, stitching her like a cherished doll, and touching her as if—

... as if she mattered to him, God knows why.

Well... maybe it was because he wanted her to kill his boss—however that would go down, she wasn’t sure.

She got the impression that he wanted to teach her how to win—how to cheat at poker in exchange for her assistance… as if she could control it. As if she wanted to “bask in gore” as he did.

—Gods... what a freak.

There are limitations to what a friend would do. Ronnie might kill for Jen if she asked—if she needed her to...

Jen would kill for Ronnie—without a doubt, or a second thought. That's what friends do—that's what Jen says.

But to build a friendship based on murder? Well... that was—

... different, to say the least. She'd come close before—to murder—but never succeeded. She never wanted to succeed.

She wanted a break: a drink.

꧁꧂

Movie night at Jen's place was the day after Friday afterparties, where Jen would invite some close friends to watch cheesy classics, horror, and comedy—but mostly horror.

Nocturne would sit on the couch with Jen and Wyll. Sometimes, others would join—the flatmates—but Ronnie sat in her own seat, away from the fray of intimacy, not speaking to anyone.

The movie night-goers were accustomed to this. They let her watch quietly in the corner because they were nice people —respectful adults. Jen wouldn't have it any other way, of course, lest they wish to be tossed in the teeming rain on their arses.

And so they sat with the TV as the only light source, eating popcorn and drinking vodka straight or mixed with anything.

A proper Saturday night—in recovery from Friday night. Jen's hand-me-down velvet chair more than sufficed as a routine seat. Nag champa incense burned on the coffee table, and tarot cards might be read later, as Jen was an avid believer in their prophecy.

This night’s movie was Twilight: a supposed romance about a vampire and a teenage girl who fall hopelessly in love with one another.

Bella, the main character, moved from Arizona to Washington to live with her dad in a small town called Forks. Shortly after, she met Edward, the aforementioned vampire who happens to sparkle in the sunlight.

Bella's eyes lit up upon seeing his glittering form, but Edward recoiled in shame at her admiration. “This is the skin of a killer, Bella,” he said.

Everyone in the room giggled when he said that, and Ronnie joined in the joviality, realising that it was indeed a very silly interaction between the two characters, considering the inoffensiveness of sparkles.

At one point, Edward seemingly teleported into Bella’s room where he watched her sleep, to which Wyll said, “That's just not right.”

It was discomforting to watch the choked-up vampire talk about how he wanted to kill Bella... just because he thought she was hot? And because he couldn't read her mind like he could with everyone else?

Perhaps he confused lust with hunger somewhere down the line. To Ronnie, craving chips felt quite different from horniness. However, they allegedly abstained from sex until marriage in the penultimate movie because Edward was too afraid of hurting Bella while shagging.

—Relatable. But as if marriage would make him less dangerous.

It could have made more sense, and the story could have been better, but Ronnie actually enjoyed it overall.

How wonderful it would be to be lifted from your mundane reality by a romance with a supernatural creature. Also, she related to Edward in the way that she, too, felt like a monster—always on edge, worried about being a danger to others.

That night, she slept in the spandrel as usual, only to be woken by the sound of plates smashing in the kitchen. Lae'zel—Jen's girlfriend—had stayed over, and their relationship was tumultuous, to say the least.

At times, they would almost seem like the perfect couple. Other times, however, they were at dire odds, and Lae'zel would hurt Jen in a myriad of ways.

“You think you're such a princess because Vic takes care of you. Some of us have experienced real hardship,” Lae'zel would say, but it was untrue.

Jen had been kicked out plenty of times, and she'd had to fuck for a place to rest her head at night. Vic was anything but merciful when it came to Jen, and it didn't help that she was her landlord, her boss, and a huge philanthropist to the hospital where her dad stayed.

Vic had kicked Jen out for a slew of unjust reasons, those being:

Not paying rent on time, but Vic hadn't sent Jen's pay that month.

Not cleaning up after her disgusting flatmates.

Jen struggling with addiction.

The list goes on, truly. Unfortunately, it was after these bouts of verbal and physical violence perpetrated by Vic and Lae'zel that Jen would spiral further into substance abuse. Ronnie had seen it many times—where Vic would leave after letting Jen know how “worthless” she was, or Lae'zel would slam the door after claiming that it was “over”; though she would always be back within a week with a box of cheap chocolates, apologising and claiming that she'd change.

“I love you to death,” Lae'zel would ominously exclaim, as if she'd be the one to end Jen.

Ronnie knew the look on Jen's face too well by this point—the pursed lips and wet eyes. Surely, her stoicism was crushing her throat. But there was no stopping her in her ascent to her bedroom, where she'd lock the door behind Ronnie, unwilling to accept any comforts—the type that she'd consistently given Ronnie. No , she'd dig her stash from under her bed and get to work, meaning: get as fucked up as needed to numb herself.

It often ended in Nox having to knock the door down, lest Jen drown in her own vomit or overdose on ketamine or whathaveyou. Vic and Lae'zel weren't aware of Jen's fragile disposition—or, at least it didn't seem that way, considering their unrelenting cruelty towards her. Jen would never tell them about what she'd done after they’d stormed out—it'd probably not make a difference, anyway.

Ronnie would wait outside Jen’s door, leaning her back on it as she sat on the ground. “Jen,” Ronnie would say, not knowing what to offer other than her presence. “Please, Jen.”

Jen would not respond. All Ronnie could hear were the rustling of bags, sounds of nasal insufflation, or the sharp exhales after swigs of liquor.

Narcan was kept in the "House of Grief” and it'd been used on Jen before. She always acted resentful when the ambulance showed, metaphorically pushing everyone away because she thought herself deceitful enough to make her friends believe that she was a cunt, after all. To which they would retort with a “nice try” sort of attitude.

— As if losing Jen: my cunt friend would be easier than losing Jen: my friend.

When she'd get out of the hospital, she'd essentially pretend that nothing ever happened—life went on like normal, and “I'm fine” became her two favourite words in the English language.

Cliché.

꧁꧂

Ronnie sat on her shabby couch, scrolling and scrolling. It was a Monday night, and she'd had the day off work. She'd prepped her meals, stretched, exercised, and cleaned her flat—it always becomes a wreck after a few days, but she usually manages to tidy once a week.

Behind the couch was the chipping-white-paint-covered beam and stool, then a blank space, then the kitchen where the ceiling light dimly illuminated almost the entirety of her basement flat, except for her bedroom and bathroom.

The leak dripped, and the mould on it grew every day. Ronnie wanted to get it fixed, but then she'd be alone with the handyman in her flat: a terrible idea, considering her history of violence.

It had been almost two weeks since the tavern and, of course, no sign of Astarion. Maybe he'd changed his mind about her, or maybe he simply got bored.

Ronnie… missed him. They never exchanged numbers, as neither Astarion nor Ronnie brought it up. She would have thought that he'd leave a piece of paper with it written down for her to see when she woke up at the tavern, at least, but no. Nothing . She thought it might be better that way because if she hadn’t scared him away yet with her problems, she'd surely scare him away with her eagerness. She'd have to make a constant effort to text him no more than once a day—at most.

Since the events at the tavern, Astarion had been on her mind more than was justifiable. It bordered on entirely obsessive—obsessed with countering the lustful thoughts, contemplating the meanings behind his words. What was the deal with his boss—was he some sort of mobster? And Astarion—what part did he really play in all of this?

Over the past two weeks, she had likely spent hours staring in her bathroom mirror, admiring her wound, pulled tight like a corset—although not too tight, of course. She would examine it up and down and run her fingers along the sides, feeling the slight burn of her swollen tissue. It felt almost as if the dissolving thread was Astarion himself, diving through her laceration and holding it together. She imagined herself tearing it open and reaching for her heart through her ribcage, handing it to him like a cat with a dead bird at his doorstep.

And then there was the fourteen hundred pounds he'd given her—she hadn’t spent it yet. She didn't know what to do with it.

—Maybe something for Jen.

Jen needed a new laptop—she was always complaining about hers glitching out, freezing, and crashing. So Ronnie browsed the web in search of just that.

It was amazing—the type of laptops one could buy with fourteen hundred pounds; but what brand would she want? Would she want a large screen or something more compact?

— Hmm... I'm bored.

But, out of her periphery starred the wretched, pink phallus—the torturous, useless thing.

Though; useless as it was, Ronnie sought to give it another go—not accepting total defeat just yet.

So she sat up, pulled down her flannelette pyjama trousers, grabbed the thing off the coffee table, hoisted her knees up, and got to work. Facing the black TV screen, she closed her eyes to avoid visual distractions, mainly her scars.

She tried thinking—imagining ideas of what ought to get her off.

A beautiful woman above her, glistening all over with dexterous fingers. Or maybe a man with a skilled tongue, or maybe—

—Alfira.

...

No. She would stay focused.

The man with the skilled tongue is... doing things with his tongue and he is hot...

— No.

— I need to get groceries. I hate the grocery shop. Maybe I can just use some of Astarion's money to have them delivered.

—Astarion is hot.

— No. I can't think of him while I'm doing this.

—But he...

Ronnie remembered vividly their first night together, when he'd been inside and teased her so. What if he'd continued? What if things went further? They both could have finished—finished with each other. On each other, in—

She was so close. She allowed herself to imagine that maybe he was right there—inside her. She tried picturing his body, and the way his muscles would ripple with the smallest movements—with each thrust, perhaps.

How his hair would be damp with sweat and his expression— oh, his expression would be sinfully picturesque. It would be a face one would never catch him making except for in the moments before rapture.

And his sounds—his little grunts of pleasure.

“You take me so well, Ronnie,” he'd say. “Such a good girl, all for me.”

It was the closest she’d been in weeks—right on the precipice—

*Knock-knock-knock*

…

She panicked, throwing the thing under a pillow on her couch and hastily pulling on her trousers.

—Who would be knocking on my door at eleven at night?

She tiptoed to the spyhole in her door, making sure not to be too noisy in case she didn't want to answer.

But it was Astarion, standing and waiting patiently with a bag on his wrist and his hands in his pockets. His hard chest was evident under his buttoned-up shirt.

Her face reddened; it couldn't have been worse timing for him to show up—or better timing, depending on how she looked at it. Maybe he could cuff her to the pole and take her on the floor— NO.

She couldn't. What if she lost her wits amid a shag? It would be humiliating for her.

—But he said he would wait there for me—wait for it to be over.

Even still, was that enough insurance? No. She thought she'd better be safe than sorry.

Elated, Ronnie opened the door to look at him through the chain lock, but she suddenly became very aware of how plain and makeupless she was, so she bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself.

“Astarion!” she started, sounding much more eager than she'd meant to. “Hi. What are you doing here?” She smiled, lowering her pitch.

He wore a dress suit again, but this time, with an unbuttoned raincoat. Dressed nicely, as always.

His pocketed hands drew Ronnie's eyes lower to where his narrow hips were, but her gaze didn't linger there for more than a moment.

He looked relieved. “ Ah —finally. I've been coming here almost every night looking for you,” he said. “ Er —may I come in?”

—He's been looking for me? Oh my Gods, yes. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much.

Ronnie cleared her throat. “ Ahem —do you have handcuffs?”

Astarion held up his bag. “Yes, I have all the fixings.” He grinned roguishly.

Ronnie wanted to scream into her pillow and punch her mattress a hundred times or more. She had an unignorable rising feeling in her chest that reverberated through her arms—a feeling she knew was bound to make her stupid. What could he possibly mean by “ all the fixings”? Had he brought treats? Games? Gifts? She had to know.

Reeling herself in, she responded coolly, “Right. So the protocol is you have to cuff me to the beam immediately as soon as you come in. That always has to be our number one priority. Yeah?”

Astarion gave a curt bow. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Are you ready?”

“Very.”

—I hate you, you stupid freak.

—I hate how you make me feel.

—Why do you make me feel like this?

Ronnie gritted her teeth. “Set.”

Astarion huffed a laugh, throwing his head back—which exposed his perfect smile—but ultimately, he bent his knees in a playful battle stance.

“Go.”

Ronnie slammed her door shut and unhooked her chain lock. Astarion opened the door before she could open it for him herself, and she giddily ran to the stool that was always at her pole. He closed the door and laughed mirthfully, approaching her already. She tried to suppress a grin as he ran up and hooked her cuffs on behind her in one swift movement.

Ronnie tugged to test her restraints, and she sighed happily, feeling the stability they provided as Astarion hung his coat on her coat hooks and rolled up his sleeves.

Astarion stood in front of her, arms crossed with his bag on the ground beside him, looking awfully satisfied and smelling delicious. She wanted to bite him, only softly to steal a salty taste... or to immobilise him. She scrunched her features, shooing away the intrusive fantasy.

“Have I ever told you how good you look when you're helpless?” Astarion joked.

Ronnie blushed, averting her gaze from the handsome man. “Whatever. You can quit the evil act. I know you're not going to hurt me,” she spat; although, she wanted him to hurt her—only a little. And she knew he would if she asked.

“ Oh? But why would I do that when you clearly respond to it so well,” he teased with a devious and toothy grin. She wondered how much of her bullshit he could see straight through.

Ronnie chuckled, craning her head back. “What did you come here for, anyway?” He'd been looking for her. It had to be important. Or maybe she was important. Or... what she was capable of. Nevertheless, he was there—right where she wanted him, or close. She preferred him to be closer. But she wouldn't—she wouldn't cave.

He held his chin in thought for a few moments. “To see you,” he started, “and I suppose to teach you a few little tricks—using sleight of hand with card games.” His voice was smooth but raspy, almost like the sound of a bowling ball rolling towards its pins.

“Oh... that’s calm. Okay.” She nodded, looking at his feet.

She should have guessed that he'd only come to continue their “business”—not to simply hang out. It might make it easier to keep it in her pants, but his flirtatious remarks were tugging at her strings already. She was thankful that he'd shown up with a purpose, after all. And she was thankful that he hadn't abandoned her—that he'd been looking for her, even.

She never thought someone could want her after knowing what she was capable of, or what her body looked like—save for Alfira, but it was hard to come by someone with morals as pure as hers.

He'd called her visage “ominous.” Shouldn't that have meant that he was repulsed? But he still made advances on her after sharing his derogatory and unwanted opinion—maybe he liked “ominous.”

“Also, I've thought of some solutions to the mobility issues that would arise given our use of handcuffs.” He put one hand on his hip, and all of his weight on one leg as he feigned disinterest, looking at his nails. “Although the cuffs are the most convenient, they didn't seem like the most... practical, nor the most comfortable idea.”

Ronnie's lips parted, her eyes sparkling with intrigue, or perhaps enamourment at his thoughtful consideration.

“Do you want to see what I've come up with?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.

She bit her inner lip. “Yeah, sure,” she drawled, unsure of exactly how much gratitude to display, as she had to avoid leading him on.

He fussed with his phone for a moment and then showed Ronnie an image of a mannequin that had been intricately tied around its torso and waist. It looked beautiful, but it also looked quite lewd, somehow.

“This is called ‘shibari’. It's an ancient Japanese roping technique that has been historically used on prisoners. Now, however, people primarily use it for art and— er ... sex, to be quite honest,” he said, briefly chuckling after his statement.

Cheeks flushing, Ronnie kept her gaze on the screen as he swiped to another picture of a mannequin tied similarly, but this time the rope extended through the groin.

“Of course, some of these are a bit more... salacious than others, but I thought I'd give you options. Given your circumstance, it only seemed fair.”

He swiped to the next image, this time showing the back of a mannequin with its arms fastened straight vertically, adorned with knots along their length. It looked much more comfortable than the handcuffs.

“Um... is this okay?” Ronnie asked, rubbing her knees together nervously. She couldn't quell the dirty images in her mind of her tied up—naked and displayed—free for him to touch in whatever way he pleased.

“What, tying you up? Sure! It's perfectly fine— er ... that is, if you want to, of course.” He tilted his head, smiling awkwardly.

—This doesn't have to be sexual. He said it was originally used with prisoners. I am just being tied like a prisoner, she justified to herself.

“ Um ... we—we can try,” Ronnie stammered.

—Fuck. Now I'm stuttering? Stupid.

“Just don't make it weird, please,” she added, only partially confident that she would be able to rein herself in. She would have to count on him.

“ Me? ‘Make it weird’?” He scoffed. “Why, I would never,” he said, frowning disingenuously.

“Astarion... I need your help with this,” she tried her best to sound serious. She knew that shagging him would be wholly reckless—unfair to both of them, given her condition.

“Relax! I'm only joking. Ugh —you’re no fun,” he teased. “ So ... which one would you like?” Astarion asked.

Ronnie squinted at his screen as he flipped through the carousel of pictures, looking for the one that looked the least perverted.

One, in particular, caught her eye: a harness that only hugged the torso and shoulders without riding between the breasts or groin. It was perfect and safer than the handcuffs for both parties involved. She doubted that she'd be able to free herself of the binding, and she wouldn't be able to dislocate her wrists in it either. Additionally, it looked like a comfortable setup, and she'd even be able to traverse a portion of her flat—as much as the rope connecting her to the pole would allow.

“Can we do that one?” she asked.

Astarion looked at his phone. “Of course. This one should be quite easy, actually,” he exclaimed, squatting to grab a red rope from his bag. “Could you stand, please?”

“ Oh —yes, of course,” Ronnie said, standing and moving around the pole—away from her stool.

He unravelled the rope and then folded it in half to find the middle. Then he began his wrapping and knotting. He wrapped above her shoulders and around her ribs, honed into his work as he was when he'd stitched her.

His brows knitted together and he bit his bottom lip while he focused, pulling the rope through the loops made around her shoulders as it brushed against the fabric of her loose cropped t-shirt. Ronnie held her breath almost the entire time, as each brush of his tender digits made her internally recoil in shame.

Next, he moved to her back, fastening her arms to the harness and immobilising them. The binding felt more secure than the cuffs, but without the discomfort.

As he was finishing up, Ronnie had a fleeting recollection of what she’d been doing just before he came in—what she'd been thinking about. But she gritted her teeth and attempted to relinquish the thoughts.

It was a consistent effort, in the silence, though. She thought she might have more luck once he began his lesson.

To be fair, Ronnie didn't really care about learning how to cheat at poker, but he seemed like he wanted to show her, and she was simply happy to spend time with him at this point—she wasn't going to be picky when genuine friendships were so difficult for her to come by.

Once he bound from her shoulders to her elbows, he unlocked the handcuffs and then proceeded to tie his last knots along her upper limbs. Then, he pulled a separate rope from his bag and stuck his fingers under one of the loops in the middle of her back, inadvertently jostling Ronnie and consequently gripping her arm to steady her. She must have been hot because his hand was cool against her skin, and she wondered if she was red like the ogre at the tavern.

He fed the second rope through her harness and knotted it to her before doing the same with the other end on the pole.

At last, she was free of his touch, grateful for the chance to create some distance between them.

Astarion stood in front of Ronnie with his hands on his hips. “All done, safe and secure. You’re free to walk about, but the second rope is only about three metres long. It’s safest to keep it that way.”

Ronnie tugged at her restraints as hard as she could, but they didn’t budge. She walked until the rope connecting her to the pole was taut, then leaned her entire body weight on it, giggling as she balanced on her toes at a forty-five-degree angle.

She felt a slight tug and looked back to find Astarion pulling at the rope towards the beam, also testing its strength.

“As I thought, it won’t come undone easily,” he said, letting go of the rope.

“How’d you learn how to do this?” Ronnie asked as she straightened up.

Astarion paused for a moment, walking around to the sofa with his bag in hand. “Let’s not exhume the past tonight, eh?” He plopped onto the sofa, awfully close to the pillow under which the thing was hidden, causing Ronnie to gasp sharply through her nose.

When it came to exhuming the past, she could do without revisiting what she’d been doing immediately before Astarion arrived. She really ought to have put away the thing before letting Astarion in, but she’d been too distracted by his presence, and she could all but hope she wouldn’t have to pay for that mistake.

She climbed over the back of her sofa in her bare feet and settled on the opposite end from Astarion, feeling the plush cushion beneath her.

He pulled out a deck of cards and began to shuffle, the cards snapping crisply between his fingers. “The first thing is that, of course, you’ll need to know where the cards are in the deck.” He set the deck on the table and flicked the corner up with his thumb, exposing each card for a split second. “That’s how much time you have to take in the contents of the deck. Now—if I’m looking for the Jack of Spades, I can find it right here.” He lifted a portion of the deck and showed Ronnie the card at the bottom of his chosen section—it was the Jack of Spades. “You’ll need to learn the weight of the cards—how ten cards feel versus... twenty-two cards, and so on.”

Ronnie watched him put the deck back together and riffle the cards, her eyes drawn to the way his fingers moved deftly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each gesture. There was something hypnotic about his movements—a grace that made everything he did look effortless. She imagined those hands on her skin, the same dexterity applied to tracing lines along her body.

He continued shuffling in a myriad of ways, his voice a low murmur. “The most important part, when you’re first starting, is to wait for an opening—wait until your opponent’s eyes are busy. That’s why you’ll begin with Heads-up—one-on-one poker—”

Ronnie could hear the cadence of his words, but her focus was on his lithe fingers, the way they worked through the cards with such precision. His fingernails, perfectly manicured, danced across the deck, and she wondered what those fingers would feel like in her mouth.

“Ronnie?” His voice snapped her from her trance, and she realized he’d stopped talking and she’d been staring at his hands.

She shook her head, trying to clear the haze. “Sorry. I’m just—distracted. Do you think we could maybe watch a movie instead, tonight?” she asked, giving him a tense smile and hoping he didn’t notice the flush creeping up her neck. Though; the mischievous glint in his eye and his roguish grin informed Ronnie that he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and that caused her to stir slightly in her spot.

“If that's what you'd prefer.” He shuffled the cards one last time before placing them in the box and away in his bag. He retrieved the remote from the coffee table and switched on the TV, navigating to the built-in streaming service.

Ronnie hung her head in relief before looking at the list of recommended shows and movies. He flipped through them, witnessing her embarrassing stack of dating shows under the “Continue watching” section. Tensing, she held her breath, but he didn’t seem phased by her taste in media. She could've been sure that he’d tease her about it, but he didn’t say a word.

One movie in particular caught her eye: New Moon, the sequel to Twilight. Her eyes widened with excitement. “ Oh! Can we watch New Moon?” she asked.

“I remember hearing about this one a decade ago. It’s about werewolves and vampires, correct? Infamous for its mawkishness?” Astarion asked.

“Yes! Exactly!” She bounced excitedly. “I just watched the first one at Jen’s not that long ago.”

“ Hm— I’ll entertain this, sure. We have to change it if it's boring, though,” he said, clicking on the movie and then getting up to flick her kitchen light off before returning to his spot on the couch.

“Yes! Okay, I'm so excited. I've never seen it before.” She shimmied, bringing her knees to her chest.

Ronnie watched raptly as the opening scene began with Bella in a forest clearing with Edward. They approached an elderly woman, only to find out she was Bella’s reflection. Glancing at Astarion, she saw his brows knit together in a frown, clearly already entranced by the film.

He was… cute —the way he seemed utterly intrigued.

“He can go in the sun? He's sparkling,” Astarion asked.

“Yeah. He's all bitter about it, as well—haha,” Ronnie giggled.

“Bitter? Gods . You think he would be grateful that he doesn't burn to ash.”

Bella and Edward were standing together in the school parking lot when Edward said: “Jacob's here,” before Jacob was within eyesight.

“How did he know that Jacob was there?” Astarion asked.

“He can read minds.”

“Terrifying.”

“Except for Bella's, but Alice can tell the future, and Jasper is always hungry and constipated-looking,” Ronnie exclaimed.

Bella was sitting at the back of the class watching Romeo and Juliette with Edward. They were casually talking about the movie when Edward—out of the blue—exclaimed that he envies Romeo because he committed suicide.

“He envies Romeo because he killed himself? Edward is a fool,” Astarion said, frowning.

“You're granted immortality, and you can walk in the sun, but you spend your days in high school around a bunch of teenagers? Their master must be some sort of eccentric. Though, it beats rotting away in a kennel.” Astarion seemed personally offended by this premise, causing Ronnie to stifle a giggle.

“Those ‘Volturi’ seem like awful creatures. Quite ugly, as well,” Astarion said, and Ronnie enjoyed his commentary on the movie—keeping her entertained.

Jasper—the constipated one—became feral over Bella's papercut. In response, Edward pushed Bella away from him to protect her, but she flew into a table, injuring herself further. Alice had to escort Jasper away.

“ Oh —I like this movie,” Astarion exclaimed, smirking.

—Of course he would say that during the most chaotic scene, Ronnie thought.

Carlisle—the “father”—stitched Bella's wounds, and he mentioned to Bella that he believed he was “damned” due to his vampiric condition.

“‘Damned’? These vampires are free of a master, they live in a comfortable abode, they can walk in the sun, and they think they are ‘damned’? Ridiculous,” Astarion said.

“I know. It's a little silly, but I guess I understand if they're depressed,” Ronnie added.

“Edward is in love with this beautiful young lady, and he refuses to change her? The stupidity,” Astarion spat.

A scene played where Edward breaks up with Bella in the woods because he's moving away. Bella said: “I'm coming,” to which Edward responded: “I don't want you to come.”

Astarion huffed a chuckle. “I would never not let you come, Ronnie.”

“Sod off.”

As a result of Edward's abandonment, Bella fell into a deep depression, and a scene played where she was staring out of her bedroom window as the months passed by.

“Is this what you do when I'm not around?” Astarion asked, grinning.

“No.”

“I'm hurt,” he said, grabbing his chest in mock offence.

Bella began spending more time with Jacob after experiencing a hallucination of Edward’s presence while riding on the back of a stranger's motorcycle. She realised there might be a link between the hallucination and engaging in life-risking behaviour, so she decided to take advantage of Jacob’s skills as a mechanic. Bella brought him two dirt bikes from the scrapyard, and Jacob helped her fix them. She rode one of the bikes intending to induce the same “Edward hallucination.” While it worked, the distraction caused her to crash the bike and smash her head against a rock.

“He's clearly reinforcing Bella's dangerous behaviour. How does he not see this?” Astarion protested.

The movie continued, showing Bella spending even more time with Jacob, their friendship nearly approaching romantic territory.

“This Jacob boy isn't half-bad,” Astarion said. But when Jacob started lashing out towards Bella and her friends, Astarion changed his mind. “Nevermind. I take back what I said about him earlier.”

Eventually, the plot dragged on and Astarion became frustrated. “There are no vampires in this movie!” he complained, shifting his position on the couch and sitting on the pillow.

The moment he descended on the pillow, it began to vibrate—or rather, the thing began to vibrate under it.

Mortified, Ronnie's eyes widened and she held her breath as Astarion half-stood to search for the source of the buzzing beneath him.

“Wait!” she raised her voice in a panic.

He stood, crouching in front of the couch. “Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out where that sound is coming from. I can rewind in a second, don't you worry. I—” He froze, lifting the pillow to find her toy undulating beneath it. “Oh—I see.” His face of confusion quickly warped into one of mischief at his discovery.

Grinning, he lifted the phallus and inspected it before switching it off. “We've been very naughty, today—haven't we?” His head was unmoving but his conniving stare landed on Ronnie's face. He smiled, almost strategically so—or that's how it felt.

He looked away only to pause the movie—a freeze frame of Bella.

Ronnie sat back in horror, watching him examine it . If it wasn't for her restraints, she would've snatched it from him already. Blushing, she frowned, gritting her teeth as her heart raced with embarrassment.

There was no going back now—not since he'd seen it . If she could've erased it from his mind like her amnesia, she would've.

She hadn’t spent all that much time with Astarion yet, but she already surmised a few of his consistent character traits.

One: he was an instigator.

Two: he was cunning.

And three: he was opportunistic.

“No,” she denied his allegation, as it was all she could manage in her fragile state of shame—feeling stupid for letting him in; for not putting away her toy properly beforehand.

Her desire crept up on her, its languid grasp much like a boa constrictor. Attempting to ground herself, she shook her head. She knew what was coming next—he wouldn't drop this… wouldn't let her live this down.

“ Hm ... Good girls don't lie,” he purred, hovering over Ronnie as his shadow cast on her.

Checkmate.

He had her.

And she felt small under his stare.

“Now—I'm going to give this a little wash, I think, and then I'll be right back.”

Ronnie watched as he waltzed away, past the couch, out of her field of vision, and into the darkness of her kitchen.

Visions of Astarion played in her mind as a needle on vinyl—visions of him “torturing” her with the thing. Her womb throbbed at the idea.

She heard the ominous sound of running water emanating from the kitchen, and then—even more ominously—the footsteps towards her after it stopped.

Astarion—phallus in hand—climbed onto the sofa, facing her. “You must've been in an awful hurry to hide this, considering its location and the remnants that adorned it,” he cooed. “Pray tell—it was within you when I arrived at your door, was it not?”

— How did he...?

Cunning

Opportunistic

Perceptive

Instigator.

Ronnie bit her inner cheek, her brows tensing as she shook her head. Her breath was caught in her chest as her head became weighty on her neck. Instinctively, she laid back, her nape resting on the arm of the couch as she watched him crawl closer, like a feline.

“ Tut tut, Ronnie. You truly are too easy to read, you know,” he teased. “I’ve always wondered: do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

—Yes, you bastard.

She looked up at him—framed by her thighs—eyes pleading, and excuses stuck on her tongue.

Her eyes pleaded for mercy—mercy of any breed. All or nothing. But—at this point—she'd prefer the former.

Her thoughts became muddied, snuffing the enervated flames of coherence and obligation.

“Your lips look so pretty when you bite them like that—so... kissable,” he rasped, climbing atop her.

The sudden taste of iron invaded her mouth. She hadn’t realised she was biting her lip—but she’d been biting it hard enough to break skin.

Ronnie released her lower lip from its toothy restraint, and she saw a flit of something restrained in him when her lip bounced back into place.

The way his palms sunk into the sofa on either side of her made her arch her back expectantly.

He leaned in, and she gasped, feeling his cheekbone fleetingly make contact with hers.

His breath brushed her ear. “You know, Ronnie,” he started, “I wish for you to confide in me—your desires,” he whispered.

Ronnie's knees neared her shoulders—his hips, hovering inches from hers.

“If it helps, I'll share mine first. Would you like that?” he purred, playing with a lock of her hair.

He rose from her torso, humming low and soft as he watched her, tilting his head condescendingly and sitting on his heels.

And Ronnie felt like something precious was torn from her.

Her skin tingled, yearning for his touch. Astarion's cadence was soothing and his demeanour, benevolent. She let her eyelids fall closed, remembering the safety of his embrace after their first coupling. She'd never felt so cherished before; or at least… not that she could remember.

She wanted it again.

“Tell me,” Ronnie said, her voice trembling with nerves.

“ Hmm... ” He snaked his hand down her shin, leaving sparks in its wake. “I want to roam your body with my touch,” he began. “I want to make you whimper and squirm as I fill you,” he cooed, teasing under her waistband with his fingers. “I want to hear you breathless while I make you come undone.” He splayed his fingers under the hem of her shirt. “Your turn,” he instructed.

Ronnie arched her back, finally finding her breath again as the nerves melted into solace. “I want... your touch,” she whispered. “I want to kiss you again… please ,” she pleaded, rolling her pelvis into his, and—to her delight—finding his hardened length; though, it was imprisoned by his trousers.

Dropping the phallus, he grabbed at her hips and pulled her core to his hardness. “ Mm —there we are. You'll find that I'll reward you for honesty,” he hummed, slotting his fingers under her waistband and pulling her pants off, leaving her fully exposed, scars and all. He leaned into her, caging her in with his elbows. “How innocent of you—to want a kiss; though I'm sure you want more than that,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as they shared breath.

Ronnie let her lashes flutter shut as she basked in the feeling of his skin—so close to hers. He pressed his forehead into hers—their noses, staggered.

“I'm right, aren't I?” He smooched her experimentally. “You wish to be ravished, don't you?” Teasing, he pecked beside her lips.

Ronnie felt as if her shabby couch had transformed into a cloud as she wrapped her legs around him. Even her disorder felt like a distant axiom, with the way he enveloped her.

“Tell me,” he said, pecking her cheek. “What is it that you truly want?”

Ronnie craned her head forward, capturing his lips, to which he promptly reciprocated. Astarion groaned into her mouth, and she could feel his smile as they kissed. His cunningness was troublesome and inescapable.

She was at a threshold she hadn’t planned to cross with him again, but the safety of her bindings began to feel much like the safety provided by her lithium on the day they’d met—safety that would give consequence to the morrow.

Capitulating, Ronnie pulled from his kiss. “I want…” she breathed, “I want to have sex with you.” She found his lips again, pecking him roughly.

Astarion growled his assent, their lips colliding once more as Ronnie could hear him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers—music to her ears.

Their mouths disconnected with a pop, and Astarion stood to unbutton his shirt. As she'd expected, his body was impeccably toned, and his muscles rippled as he discarded his top on the coffee table.

He slotted his thumbs under his waistband. “What a sight, you are—now that you've given yourself to me, at last,” he teased, relinquishing himself of both his formal trousers and his briefs.

His length sprang free—it was much larger than her meagre toy and it glistened with precum in the television's dim light. She had no recollection of shagging someone with a penis, and, of course, her sexual relationship with Alfira was painfully short-lived. And so, excitation became her, as she laid with her thighs resting on her tummy which bounced ever so slightly as Astarion sat on the couch to pull off his socks.

“You're such a princess, you know?” he teased.

—Princess?

Ronnie tilted her head away, huffing. “ Hmph —I’d be doing more if I wasn't tied up like a... rabid animal.” She scowled.

Astarion threw his head back, chuckling darkly. “That’s not what I meant—and you're tied up like a gift, not a ‘rabid animal’,” he mocked, crawling atop her form. “I'd quite like to unwrap you, my dear.” He tugged at her shirt, easing it through her bindings to crumple just above her breasts. “ Oh —your wound healed beautifully, I see.” He traced his finger beside it, languidly.

“Yeah.” She blushed. “Thanks, again, by the way.”

Astarion quirked up the corner of his mouth as his hands slotted beneath her—one under her back and the other, carding through her hair. He eased her towards him so that her head rested comfortably against the pillow. Consequently, she felt his length brush against her folds.

“Better?” he asked, peering into her eyes as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah... Thank you,” she said, her eyes, heavy-lidded with desire.

— So courteous.

His face seemed relaxed, except for a barely perceptible intensity in his brow. At last, he descended to her breast with his open maw, flicking her hardened pebble with his tongue. Thumbing her other nipple, he gave her nip a playful bite, causing Ronnie to squeak as he rocked his heavy length between her folds.

He created a trail of small hickies from one breast to the other, thumbing her now-wet nipple.

Ronnie twirled her pelvis, trying to urge him inwards, but her efforts proved futile.

Groaning, he disconnected from her mound—a string of saliva between them. He kissed her, hungrily sucking on her lower lip and grabbing her waist rough enough to bruise her marred flesh.

Breathless, he pulled away, and Ronnie’s lip bounced back into place.

“I’m sorry. I seem to be... getting lost in you. Are you okay?” he asked, frantic.

Ronnie welcomed a reasonable level of pain—their first tryst being evidence of that—and his ungentle treatment hadn’t phased her. “I’m good,” she said, attempting a smile to stifle his woes. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he said loudly before catching himself. “No. I just... need to keep my teeth to myself, that's all,” he scolded himself, looking away.

“ Hm —I don't mind. Don't worry,” she hummed. “I like it.”

He sighed, closing his eyes as he held her waist. He snaked his hands under her bottom, and crouched, lifting her core to his mouth. He relaxed in his position as he began lapping at her clit, sticking a thumb inside her as he licked and held her up with his forearm.

Sucking on her bud, he removed his thumb, only to replace it with two digits which he pumped into her at a consistent pace. Astarion closed his eyes, his brows furrowing as he feasted on her like a starved man—lewd, wet sounds emanating from his tongue and lips.

Ronnie's thighs tensed as she approached her climax—breathing heavily, pliable in his grasp.

He placed the flat of his tongue on her, working her similarly to her toy, but—of course—better, as it was Astarion. Astarion, who she'd been restraining herself from since after their first coupling—denying herself the pleasure out of trepidation... because she didn't want to hurt him. But, with her wrapped up, he could more than handle her— devour her.

One last raucous emission—deep from within Astarion's chest—was enough to break the bough, splintering Ronnie into broken cries of release.

She went limp entirely, his fingers still working inside her, and his tongue relenting before he removed his face. "That's it," he murmured, " good girl." He spread his digits apart inside her. "You're going to take my cock so well, Ronnie. You're doing so well," he said, kissing her clit ravenously and making her hips lurch as she panted, overstimulated from her orgasm.

Chuckling darkly, he let up, grabbing her thighs and parting them as he aligned himself with her weeping nethers. He sunk into her slowly, allowing her to stretch and adjust to his size as his tip hugged her cervix. “See? You were made for me,” he purred, setting a dilatory pace. “ Really. I should have kept you tied up for me to fuck whenever I pleased the day we met—kept you hidden away for my own personal use—my little prisoner,” he rasped, snapping into her. “You would like that, wouldn’t you—to be my cherished fuck slave?” His rutting quickened.

“Yeah,” she whined, picturing herself, his bound and subservient personal whore. Astarion truly had a way of plucking the right strings, as if he knew exactly what would make her sing for him.

Nobody had ever done that before.

He used her hips as leverage, rotating them forward so that her back arched and he could thrust into her at the right angle. “You wish to be mine to fill whenever I want, I know it. You want me to spill inside you and coat your womb with my seed—to be fucked until you’re swollen and sore from my cock,” he rasped.

Eyes wet, Ronnie nodded, messy with perspiration as she cried her assent.

“ Good girl. See what happens when you’re honest?” he praised, sucking his fingers and then dutifully reaching them to rub her clit.

Ronnie moaned through gritted teeth as she watched him work her, feeling awfully stuffed by his member—so long and wide and pressing up into where she felt it most.

With a snap of his hips, he sheathed himself fully, stilling as he worshipped her bud with a rapidly moving hand. “I want to feel you cum on me, darling. Cum on me, and you’ll get your reward,” he said, warming his pulsing girth in her channel.

Tears flowed from Ronnie’s eyes, and her muscles flexed as she felt him twitching inside of her. She let go, weeping, watching him choke out an undignified moan as she quivered around him, violently clutching him with her climax.

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut as he finished with her clit, allowing himself to move again. Grabbing the backs of her thighs, he pushed her knees towards her chest, forcing her to fold in half. Watching himself stretch her folds, he would languidly pull out—almost completely, leaving only his tip sheathed—before thrusting back in with punishing snaps of his hips. Ronnie's bound body was no match, as it was forced up with each sloppy pound of his pelvis.

His lips pulled into a satisfied smirk, watching her bounce haplessly. All she could do was take it; it was everything she wanted since she began to crave him. Her body and mind's reaction to his ruthless sexual treatment came as a surprise to her, as she'd only ever been with the kind and gentle or selfish types; or at least, that's all she could recall.

His grip on her thighs was pressuresome and wild—sure to mark her skin. Her back rubbed against the rough polymer texture of the cheap couch as he slammed into her, his smirk faltered as his breathing became more erratic.

Again, he slowed. “Does the princess want to be filled with my cum?” he asked, condescendingly. Entering her fully, he began twirling his hips teasingly so that his girth would compress against every bit of her inner walls in a venerated circle. “Honesty, my dear. What have we learned?”

Ronnie felt entirely debauched with her damp, limp body and her humiliating whines. She wanted to get him back for his incessant teasing, but the euphoria was overwhelming. He must’ve been close, she could tell by the way he kept stopping. So she clenched her lower muscles, squeezing him inside her—babbling out a broken cry of agreement as she took her revenge by bestowing pleasure.

As she'd expected, his composure shattered momentarily at that. He began slurring curses, and leaning in—resting his elbows at her sides. Kissing a line from her lips to her neck, he sucked her skin into his mouth. His rhythm picked up—hard and fast as he chased his climax.

Ronnie closed her eyes, tilting her head, and allowing him to ravish. Although he was glistening with sweat, his cologne still whelmed her, relaxing her as he speared her over and over. She flinched when she felt a sharp and sudden pain on her throat, where he was creating hickeys, but it quickly faded. Unbothered, she let him continue, as she loved the feel of his lips and tongue anywhere on her body.

She wished she could wrap her arms around him, embrace him how he’d embraced her, and she mused about doing so the next time they were somewhere less secluded.

For now, she pressed her legs into his sides as he slammed into her, emptying himself at last. But he was unrelenting with his latch on her throat. Pity, she wanted to see his o-face, but she revelled in the feeling of his churning tongue on her neck.

Fully within her, he muffled a whine on her skin before tearing his maw from her and licking her where he had placed the bruising kiss. “Shit,” he whispered, pumping into her before lifting his torso from hers and admiring their entanglement, frowning and grunting.

He thrust into her once more before pulling out, covered in their combined fluids. Sitting back, he stared at his mess for a moment, leaning his side on the back of the sofa and quirking a brow.

“Are you okay, my dear?” he checked in.

And he massaged her knee…

The reverence…

The tenderness…

It felt like… like nothing she’d ever felt before.

And she wanted it to last forever.

“I’m good, yeah.” She swallowed, nodding with the smallest smile as if she didn’t just experience a drug-like euphoria because of what they’d just done.

She had to be cool…

She had to be calm…

He hung his sweaty head, shaking it as he laughed. “Do you remember how I told you that there were things I couldn't disclose to you yet?” he said, his voice quiet and benevolent; although you could hear his smile when he spoke. “I seem to have created a situation that requires my transparency.”

꧁꧂