#vampire stomach ache

[lgbtiwtv]

he didn’t even think she could dream.

he spent 70 years thinking she didn’t dream. he believed the lies she told herself just like he believes the lies he tells himself. he didn’t think she would lie. he didn’t think about how she suffered too, how she needed the stories too. how she’s a complete person with fears and hopes, how she would lie to herself to get through the pain of life just like everyone else. he forgot so much of her, so much of the realities of everyday life that he believed her when he himself witnessed otherwise. he didn’t even think she could dream

[morningstarlucemon]

Spoiled Companion

The downsides(?) of being a vampire with a partner who's just a little too willing to let you drink their blood... Astarion and my Tav: Obsidian, a heretical Lolthsworn Drow who's terrified of spiders, likes to cook, and enjoys seeing his traumatized bedmate spoiled rotten. He very sensitive about it, tho... Listen, i just want Astarion with a full, achy belly and a warm, safe home with someone who cares a lot about him. Joining the "get loved and cared for, idiot" troop...

Posted using PostyBirb

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 21 - Second Chances

Masterlist

Author's Notes: this one got long! I guess Dante had a lot to say.

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, vampire whump, beaten, bruises, broken bones, thirst, hunger, exhaustion, poisoned, fever, stomach ache, drinking blood, angst, emotional whump, survivor's guilt

----

They stagger into the house moments before the sun appears on the horizon. Knowing they won't make it upstairs, Dante guides Matteo to the living room, where they collapse onto the couch side by side.

Dante's muscles burn from so much exertion after years of little use. His bruised face and ribs ache so badly. His mouth is swollen from pulling his fang out. He's never been so tired or so thirsty.

Well...maybe not never.

Beside him Matteo struggles to catch his breath. He looks awful, malnourished and worn down. Dante can't believe he's here, that he found him, that he was never that far away all this time.

It hurts a little to think that he was so close but didn't return. Would he rather be out in the woods alone than here? At the same time, Dante feels a stab of guilt for not looking harder for him, or trying harder to stop him in the first place. No wonder Matteo felt like a burden.

Matteo opens his eyes and catches Dante staring at him. He gives a weak little smile.

"We made it."

Dante relaxes a little. "Thank you. I don't think I could have walked all that way on my own."

Before you found me, I don't know if I would have cared.

Matteo turns towards him. "Can I take a look?"

Dante nods and lets Matteo unbutton his shirt. Matteo draws in a sharp breath as he takes in the dark bruising coating the lower half of Dante's torso, which took the brunt of the beating.

"That looks bad..."

"I think something is broken." Dante groans. "When I move I can feel it."

Matteo tilts Dante's chin up and leans close to take in the damage to his face, then examines his arms, which he used to try to shield himself. Dante lays still and savors the touch.

"What do I do?" Matteo asks. "Do you still have any medicine? Can you even take medicine?"

Dante sighs and shakes his head. "I can't. It doesn't do anything. I just...need to get something to drink..." He starts to stand.

Matteo gently stops him. He pulls off his hoodie, just a tank top underneath, and offers his arm.

"Here. Take mine."

The pulse lightly drumming beneath Matteo's skin beckons Dante closer. He trembles, trying to maintain control despite his gnawing hunger.

"I - I can't. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Matteo insists. "You need it bad."

Dante takes his arm and strokes his thumb up and down over the veins of his inner wrist, but still resists biting. "When is the last time you ate?"

"...few days ago. I haven't had much of an appetite, that's all. I'll eat tomorrow. Promise."

There was no real point resisting. Dante does need this, and Matteo needs to sleep, and he can give him that.

It's a little difficult with just one fang, but Dante bites down and takes a tentative sip, not wanting to overdo it. He's about to take another, when the taste first hits him.

Dante quickly pulls away and spits Matteo's blood onto the floor. "Ugh!" He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and spits out more.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's bitter." Dante licks his lips and makes a face. "Something is wrong."

Matteo is much worse off than he has been letting on. Dante felt it early on but there was so much else to worry about that he tucked it away. But now it's so obvious - the flushed skin, the strained breathing, the way he rubs his stomach when he thinks Dante isn't looking. Not eating for days, when he has money for food now.

Before Matteo can argue, Dante presses a hand to his forehead. Whatever Matteo was about to say falls away on a sigh as he leans his face into the touch.

His skin is feverishly warm. Dante's hand trails down to cup his cheek. When he starts to pull away Matteo grasps his arm and keeps him there.

With his other hand Dante brushes some damp curls from Matteo's face.

"You're not well," he says softly.

Matteo closes his eyes. "The wolf, it...ate something. Some kind of berry. I got r-really sick for a while there."

"You still are."

"I'm fine." Matteo finally releases Dante's arm and stands, shaky on his feet. "You need blood. Is there some in the fridge?"

"Yes, but I can get it - "

Dante tries to stand too but pain shoots through his ribs and he drops back to the couch with a ragged cry.

"Let me," Matteo insists. He pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Dante's lap as if it will pin him down and Dante has no choice but to give in.

While Matteo slowly makes his way to the kitchen, leaning on the wall for support, Dante leans back and gingerly feels over his side to assess the damage. He hopes he has enough blood in stock to heal this...

"Here."

He must have dozed off for a moment because suddenly Matteo is there again, holding out a jar of blood. A second one sits on the coffee table.

"Thank you." Dante takes the jar and drinks slowly.

Matteo drops down beside him, out of breath again. But at least he poured himself some water, which he chugs down in the blink of an eye then slumps against the cushions panting.

"So...is that why you were going to come back?" Dante asks between sips. "Because you were sick?"

Beside him Matteo gets a little tense. He must know what Dante is really asking: is that the only reason you were going to come back?

"That was part of it. But even before that, I really regretted leaving. Not just because living in a tent sucks. I got a tent, by the way. But it's not just any of that. I - I missed you."

Dante pauses mid-sip. He sets the glass down and turns to Matteo. "You did?"

"Well yeah. I like you, Dante. You know that, right?"

Dante's silence answers for him. Matteo frowns.

"I wouldn't be here if i didn't like you. I know we haven't known each other that long, but...really, you know me better than anyone back home. You know the worst thing about me and didn't reject me."

"You did the same for me," Dante reminds him.

Matteo smiles sheepishly. "Being a vampire isn't even close to the worst thing about you," he jokes. "You play chess and watch QVC. You're like my grandpa."

"I'm old enough to be your grandpa."

"Well you look great for your age." The tension has dissipated and Matteo is relaxed, curled up on his side with his head against the back of the couch, looking at Dante warmly.

Dante clears his throat. He picks up his jar and takes a few more sips of blood before speaking again.

"So you want to stay."

"Yeah. If...if that's okay."

"It is. I'd like that. I'm just...afraid."

Matteo's face falls. "Of me?"

"No! No. Not at all." He could laugh at the idea of being afraid of Matteo. The wolf, sure, but Matteo himself? Never. "I've, um. Been here alone for so long. It's weird having someone else here. I don't really know how to act sometimes. Or what to say. But I like it. And I'm afraid to get used to it."

"Me too," Matteo says. The warmth has returned to his expression, along with understanding. "I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe you'll get sick of me. Maybe the wolf will do something terrible, or get me killed. I don't know. I just know that...I was happier here with you than I have been in a long time. And someone once told me that happiness is in short supply, and we should stock up whenever we can. Or, it was something like that - "

Matteo trails off. Dante is left speechless.

Hearing his father's words echoed back to him from anyone else would feel blasphemous. But from Matteo it is as if for a moment his dad is speaking through him, telling Dante it's okay. It's okay to have something good. It's okay to be happy. Your mother and I gave everything for you to be happy.

All these years he has hated himself for surviving when everyone who ever loved him was gone. He searched for meaning in it and found nothing but pain. And then he stopped searching, or hoping, for anything.

Well if the universe won't offer up an answer, he can decide for himself. Maybe he survived so that this house would be empty and waiting for Matteo to find shelter. What would have become of him if it wasn't?

"Can I - can I just..."

He reaches for Matteo, who doesn't recoil or ask what he wants. Dante pulls him into a loose embrace and he sinks into it willingly, eagerly even. One of his warm hands comes to rest on the small of Dante's back, the other on his hip. He smiles into Dante's shoulder.

"Thank you," Dante whispers.

After a long moment he reluctantly lets go. Matteo obediently pulls away too, blinking drowsily. He covers a big yawn with his arm.

"Come on, let's get to bed."

"Bed," Matteo sighs. "That sounds amazing. Do you think we can get up the stairs though?"

"I think so. The drink is already helping - see?" He opens his shirt. There is still considerable bruising, but the broken bones are healing. The swelling around his eye has gone down and he opens his mouth to show Matteo the start of a new little fang poking through.

Matteo is visibly relieved. "Good. Take the rest up with you."

"And you bring more water. And a box of cookies."

Drinks and snacks in hand, the two trudge up the steps, using the railing for support. Matteo reaches the top first and opens the door to the spare room - his room. He takes it in with a look of pure gratitude.

Dante stands at the door to his own room and watches him. Just the day before he thought he would never see Matteo again. Now here he is, and they have another chance to see if they can be happy despite what they are.

Matteo turns and gives him a tired smile. "Goodnight. And...thanks. Again. I'm just going to keep thanking you, so get ready for that."

"Goodnight, Matteo." Dante leans against the door frame, his mouth turning up at the corners just a little. "I'll see you tonight."

[junebuggeryy]

artfight 2023 header

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artfight 2023 footer

[angstyaches]

"Is your belly feeling off...? Mine kinda is..." pretty pls? 🥺

Thank you so much, Soup!!

Timeline: unspecified

Word Count: 423

CW: stomach ache/indigestion, belching, emetophobic sickie (no emeto).

AO3

___

"Is your belly feeling off…?”

Felix was slumped in the passenger seat and fighting off a yawn. He had a hand on his stomach, his fingers resting just inside the open zip of his bomber jacket. “A tad overfull, but I wouldn’t say it’s feeling off.”

Elliott cleared his throat. “Mine kinda is…”

“Oh, no.”

“I’m not nauseous. It’s just…” Elliott grimaced as he experimentally placed a hand against the taut swell of his upper belly. His stomach clenched, snarling like a beast that had been prodded. He put both hands on the steering wheel again. “Achy.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I’ll run you a hot bath when we get home.” Felix smiled. “And I’ll brush out your hair. How does that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Elliott could practically feel Felix’s eyes on him; now that he was focused, there was no doubt that his partner could hear it every time Elliott’s stomach groaned and wrestled with its contents.

“Shall we pull over and swap? I really d-don’t mind driving the rest of the way home,” Felix offered, though his clenched hands in his laps betrayed the lie that Elliott wouldn’t have fallen for, regardless.

“No offense, boo. I love you, and thank you, but your driving might not do my stomach any favours right now.”

“No offense taken,” Felix agreed.

A traffic light flicked to red as they approached it, and Elliott was grateful for a moment of sitting still. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his suspenders out of place, hoping that might reduce the pressure on his torso in general.

As soon as he bent forward at all, his shirt buttons pressed unbearably into his belly. A curl of discomfort bloomed in his chest and pressure rose in the back of his throat.His shoulders jumped and his stomach clenched inside him, its contents turning over and gurgling as he belched.

In a moment of desperation to be rid of the disgusting feeling, he tightened his abdominal muscles and curled his spine forward, hoping to force out even more of whatever was building up at the base of his oesophagus.

He felt his stomach flip over, and promptly snapped his mouth shut. He touched the back of his hand to his lips.

“Gosh, something’s really not happy in there,” Felix observed.

Elliott shook his head in agreement and swallowed. The relief wasn’t quite as strong as he had hoped.

“Green, darling,” Felix said gently, gesturing towards the lights.

Elliott grunted as he put the car in gear and moved off. “Thanks, boo.”

[rigahmortis]

i never posted my girl Apple here omg she's a vampire and she loves animals like little birds and dogs and also her best friend is Trixxie and they like to go shopping together :3

[dancingaboutthetrees]

Outdated Soda of the Week:

This week it goes tooooo: THE BUFFY JONES SODA SET!!!

It came out in 2010 so 13 years old soda! It'a kind funny that dawn is inexplicably a centaur now. Maybe something happens in the comics? Anyway if you ever want a stomchache this is the best drink for it! Enjoy your soda!

[monstersholygrail]

Vampire bf spooning you in the middle of the night, nuzzling into you so roughly that it causes you to slowly wake up. As soon as he senses you’re not completely asleep, his arms curl around you and he bury’s his face in your neck. Groggily you bare your throat to him, thinking he might be hungry.

But instead he simply whines and cuddles in closer. It’s only then that you notice he’s shivering. A soft “What’s wrong, darling?” croaks past your lips. He doesn’t respond, letting his actions speak louder as his hands slip under your shirt and brush along your soft stomach as if trying to steal up all your warmth. You hiss at his touch, his usually cold skin even colder for some reason. “You’re freezing,” you can’t help but exclaim the obvious.

Your vampire bf whimpers, nodding his head within the warm fold of your neck. “Need your warmth. Need your heat, baby please,” he says in a soft whine, one hand tugging at the seam of your shorts and giving you an idea of what he means.

As soon as you’ve pulled your panties down, he’s sliding himself between the warm supple flesh of your thighs. He hisses in the space of her neck, his body shuddering with pleasure.

Your lips part, feeling his throbbing cock push its way through your legs, so close to where you need him. His tip bumping up against your clit with every snap of his hips. Arousal pools within you till it drips onto his cock. Your bf growls, hips moving faster.

“Ah, fuck! More. Please,” you beg, baring your neck once again. Your hips tilt, craving the feeling of being filled by him.

“My heart, I could devour you whole and still crave more," he rumbles, his hips bucking to catch every drop of your essence on his length.

His hand tenderly cups the underside of your neck and brings it to his lips. You sense the heat of his breath and goosebumps rise along your arms a second before you feel the sharp prick of pleasure caused by his fangs. You shiver as he slowly sinks them all the way in.

The combination of his fangs inside you and the way he slows down the rocking of his hips causes your eyes to droop as you begin to drift back to sleep. His hand massages your plush thigh, gently shifting it back over his own, legs intertwining.

With your thighs open, your bf has easy access to slide his length inside your eager and dripping walls. You both moan as he pushes past your entrance, his girth carefully stretching your precious pussy as he takes his time stuffing you full of him. Bringing a delicious dull ache to the apex of your thighs.

He settles in once he’s buried his length to the hilt, your hips fitting together like two puzzle pieces. He relaxes against your body and wraps every limb that he can around you. Cocooning your being in his protective embrace. Making you feel exactly as treasured as you are.

“That’s better,” he slurs contently in an attempt to speak with his fangs in your neck. Soon after you start to feel his skin warming back up against your own. You smile softly, finally falling back asleep and happy you were able to help him.

Never finding out that Vampires have full control over their body temperature.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

BLOODTHIRSTY

PAIRING: logan howlett x vampire mutant!female reader

RATING: mature | WORD COUNT: 990

SUMMARY

when your next shipment of blood won’t be delivered to the x mansion for another two days, logan offers to help keep you fed.

part two, animal instinct

WARNINGS/TAGS

typical vampire themes (blood, biting), no use of y/n, reader being picked up, grinding, kissing

LINKS

masterlists | support for palestine

You're pacing the length of the kitchen, filled with anxious energy. There's a pit in your stomach, a gnawing pain that's keeping you awake and lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling wasn't helping.

You hear footsteps in the hall and pause, watching as the thick wooden door opens and Logan steps into the kitchen, flicking the light switch and bathing the room in brightness that hurts your eyes. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you.

"Can't sleep either?" he asks, sauntering further into the room. He's fully dressed, a tight white t-shirt stretching across his defined chest and biceps and a pair of jeans hugging his legs, covering boots that click against the tile with each step. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his neck, to the thin skin that covers his fluttering pulse, but you look away quickly in shame.

"Too hungry," you reply. He looks around the room.

"Well, you're in the right place for eating. There's plenty of food."

"Not the kind I need."

He tilts his head, assessing you. "You some kind of vampire or something?"

"Or something," you reply, dancing around the truth. You're not sure what you are, not exactly, but Charles has helped you unlock enough information to get by. "Anyway, Charles said the next shipment should be here in a couple days. I just have to make it until then."

"I could help you out," Logan suggests. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Absolutely not," you snap. You move to leave, walking past him, but he wraps a hand around your arm to stop you.

"Why not? You can't kill me. You won't even leave a mark."

"You don't know what you're offering, Logan."

"I got a pretty good idea," he says with a huff of laughter. "You're a predator. I know what it's like to suppress that side of yourself."

You don't know much about Logan. He hasn't been at the X Mansion for very long, but he's made quite the impression among the staff. You can see why -- he's charming, handsome, rough around the edges. You know of his abilities but you don't know him, not really, and the fact that he's offering himself for your hunger is planting nasty seeds of suspicion in your brain.

"I can't," you whisper. He steps closer.

"Why not? Afraid you'll get addicted, sweetheart?"

He's goading you, tempting you. Your gums ache with the need to bite, to feed, to fill yourself full and find sweet relief from the pain of hunger. He pulls you closer and your treacherous body obeys, ignoring the warnings from your logical brain.

"Come on," he says. "You'll feel better."

It's been a long time since you've fed from a living person, having grown so used to the donor blood Charles is able to obtain for you through various channels, but the muscle memory is there.

You're chest to chest with Logan now, pressed so tightly to him that you can feel his heart pounding against you, can hear the rush of blood in his veins. He smells like the woods and smoke, an earthy combination that makes you a little lightheaded. He wraps an arm around your waist.

"You want it?" he asks. You nod. "Do it, then. I've got you."

You're helpless to it now, nothing in your mind except survival instinct demanding to be fulfilled. The prick of pain as your mouth grows crowded with longer, sharper teeth meant to tear and ravage and maim. You lean into him, running your lips against warm skin and relishing in the sharp breath he takes at the contact.

Like any predator, you give no warning, sinking your teeth into his flesh. Blood rushes over your tongue, warm and lush, invading your senses. His heavy palm settles on the back of your neck, cradling you to him, and the intimacy of it pulls a moan from deep in your chest.

"Fuck," Logan growls, his other hand tight on your hip. You lift your head to ask if he's okay, but the words are lost when he bends his knees and grabs the back of your thighs with both hands, urging you up. He settles you on the counter, fitting himself between your spread legs.

"Again," he demands, eyes wild and teeth bared in a snarl. You switch to the other side of his neck, biting down hard. He moans, loud and deep, hips flexing into yours. You can feel the hard length of his cock through his jeans and the friction against your core makes you whine and writhe against him.

You drag yourself away from him, licking your lips. His pupils are blown wide, the black of them nearly engulfing the gorgeous hazel of his irises. His gaze drops to your lips and he leans in, kissing you like a hungry animal, trying to devour you in turn.

He pulls away from you, begins to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. You grow tense, the sudden realization that Logan's favor has devolved into something more hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You push him away by the shoulder and he stares at you with a furrowed brow, confusion coloring his features. His chest heaves with breath and his mouth is stained red, lips kiss bitten and slick. The wounds you would have left behind have already closed, leaving no trace of you on his skin. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

"Thank you, Logan," you whisper. You ease yourself down from the counter, the man stepping back slightly to give you space. "Goodnight."

He clears his throat. "Right. Hope you can sleep now."

"I hope you can, too."

You leave the kitchen, the weight of his stare on your back not lifting until you're in the hall and can take a deep breath. When you return to your room, you still can't sleep.

But it's no longer because of hunger.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting, I’d love to hear from you 💕

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

All masterlists

Logan Howlett masterlist

[moonlight-prose]

SWEETNESS OF THE DAMNED

a/n: this was a quick drabble at first, but somehow turned into an allegory for persophone and hades. which isn’t surprising for me given that i’m already plotting october fics. logan isn’t a monster in this, nor is he a vampire even though the vibe and title may give that off. i just really love gothic vibes in everything i write so who better to give it to than old man logan.

summary: when night falls and wine overflows in glasses of crystal, logan finds his home in between your thighs.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, p in v sex, alcohol consumption, allegories for persephone and hades, biting, scratching even though he heals, cumplay, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, older logan is so filthy i’m blushing.

The acrid embers of the fire burned your nose the deeper your breaths became. Red wine remained chocolatey and bitter on your tongue; the dinner you tried to eat quickly was now forgotten in favor of something else. You thought you could smell the cigar he smoked on the porch an hour ago on his bare skin. You couldn't.

Not when his fingers dug into your hips, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. He grunted with each slap of skin. The wet slick of how he pounded into you echoed loud and bright in the cabin.

You would have been embarrassed if it weren't for the sounds he let out. The way his eyes fell shut the closer you got to that fiery peak.

"C'mon baby," he sighed, ragged and needy. "I can feel ya."

Wine had gone to your head the second he poured you a third glass. Your red dress of crushed velvet lay in a heap on the floor. A pair of his jeans and a shirt beside it. The soft fabric of his flannel was smooth beneath your knees where he dropped it. Careful to keep your skin from going raw as he took you before dinner could even finish.

The alcohol is what brought this night to an early conclusion.

You already knew it would happen. Hoped for it on long days with hours that stretched for miles. Ached for his presence when you curled up in bed—the scent of his body still stuck on the cotton sheets. Logan promised to give you everything with a soft kiss at the door, his fingers gripping your chin to hold you there a minute longer. To slip his tongue past your maroon painted lips and lick along your teeth.

"'S too much," you garbled.

He laughed as you clenched around his leaking cock—tearing a deep moan from his chest. The heat of his body burned its way into yours where the fireplace couldn't reach. Each muscle and ridge along his stomach pressed into your back—his hips strong enough to break you slowed into punishing thrusts that bounced you on his thighs.

Time didn't exist; seasons began to blend into one.

The both of you resided where spring met summer and the shadow of night met fall's full moon. You wore a crown of wilted flowers—red spilling over your hands from where he asked you to bite into his skin. This was your damned hour. Your time of need.

You were the other half of an already broken soul, and he found that in your absence he couldn't hold it together for quite as long.

"You feel that?" His hand cupped your cunt—fingers spread around where he ended and you began. "She's leakin' for me baby."

"L-Logan," you gasped your throat thick with too many emotions.

The slow grind of his hips into yours sent your body hurtling towards yet another release. Your stomach was sticky where his other hand pressed - already coated in the three before. Holding onto the fraying pieces of your mind proved to be difficult when his teeth latched onto your shoulder. His fingers drew a shape around the edge of your throbbing clit.

His initials.

"You want another one don't ya honey?"

Yes. No. Please never fucking stop.

Instead all you could get out was a whine of his name. Your back arched into his hold, head pressed hard against his chest, as you fought to keep up with him. To grind against his lap and feel the drag of his cock along your walls.

"Yeah. You do," he murmured against your ear. "She wants to be good for me."

Down in the base of your stomach you felt the familiar pull of bliss begin to draw tight. You knew what came next. The rush of mind numbing pleasure trickled into your veins. Slowly drawing you higher with each stunted thrust—each echo of his fingers toying with your stretched cunt. You could count the seconds until it finally burst.

"I'm gonna–" The breath caught in your throat, hands clasping around his wrists as something shifted. "F-Fuck. Logan I'm–"

"Fuck yeah ya are," he grunted into your neck. "Gonna lick you clean after this. Get my fuckin' dessert."

His cock pounded deep against your walls, fingers pulling up the hood of your clit to circle rapidly against nerves that were already shot. And you sobbed his name. Your nails drew red angry marks on his arms that healed moments later; your body too fucking rigid and too hot to process what the fuck he was doing.

Elysium and the River Styx were ripping you apart. As if you were being pulled in two very different directions.

A clatter echoed beside you when he reached for your glass of wine, still stained with the now faded red of your lipstick. You felt his thigh shake—his cock twitching in the heat of your body. You wondered if this is what it felt like to burn alive. The sweet aching bliss of being held by your lover as he drowned you in the fire. Would this be how he took you to the Underworld?

The cold wash of wine spilled along your body as he poured out the remainder of the glass. His tongue quickly dragged across your blistering skin—drinking the cabernet off your body with a raspy groan of your name.

"'M almost there." He gripped the back of your neck and yanked you back with a kiss. His tongue plunging into your mouth—sharing the wine as his fingers pressed hard and fast against your swollen bud. "Give it to me huh? Fuckin' cum on my cock."

Your release ripped through your body with a scream. The echo of his name came back to you eventually, yet you couldn't figure out if you were the one saying it. With your nails piercing his skin, he felt you gush, choking his cock and milking him dry. A splatter of something wet landed on his thighs as he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you still.

To bury himself as deep as he could go and finish with a blissful ragged groan against your shoulder. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over your spent body and you felt him fill you until it began to leak out. Coating the inside of your thighs.

"Are you breathing?" he chuckled, lips sliding along your neck to find your mouth.

You answered with a whimper. Which proved enough for him.

The stickiness of the wine began to dry against your bare body while his fingers dragged through the mixture of your cum that stuck to your thigh. He sighed—content and warm—as he lowered himself to the floor. His back pressed against your clothes and softening cock still buried in your dripping cunt.

"Speak to me bub." His fingers tapped your cheek, nose nudging against your jaw. "I can't have killed ya."

"You almost did," you mumbled, barely able to open your eyes.

Exhaustion sunk right down to your bones the longer you lay there wrapped in his arms. You knew the both of you should shower. Clean up and actually eat something in its entirety this time around. Logan would say the same if it weren't for the comforting press of your weight against his body. He cupped your breasts, thumbs toying with your peaked nipples, and kissed you with a sigh.

The both of you should say something to get the other moving. Yet neither of you did.

Instead you were met with silence and the crackle of the fire. Time, now a nonexistent variable to a night spent in each other's arms.

[almostfoxglove]

BLOCK PARTY

written for @auteurdelabre's TROPE OFF! challenge & a special thank you to @jolapeno for coming up with this idea - ilysm!

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 4.6k | TROPE: FAKE RELATIONSHIP CW: Tooth-rotting fluff, so much soft!joel, a tiny bit of protective!joel as a treat.

SUMMARY: After your ex moves into the neighborhood, Joel offers to pose as your boyfriend at the annual block party. It shouldn't be hard to pretend for a night, since he's hopelessly into you.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Joel remembers the day you moved into the house on the corner perfectly—that orange craftsman with the cute triangle yard and a pergola on which the last owners let their wisteria die, left empty for nearly half a year. He’d just gotten home from a job, sweat-stained and spent, desperate for a shower when he’d heard the hum of an unfamiliar car. He’s not curious by nature, keeps happily to himself, but that day he found himself spying out through the picket of window between his curtains, wondering who it might be.

Thank god he did.

Thank god, too, that no one else bought that house. Has a little wrap around porch, a red door. Whole block wanted it—hell, Joel even heard the couple left of him consider it one evening. We could sell, one had said, hushed and conspiratorial, then buy that one.

But they didn’t, and a few weeks later you and your beat-up hatchback rolled up into the driveway, gifting Joel one measly glimpse of the back of your head as you rushed inside. No sight of you the next day; you kept the curtains drawn. But two evenings later a moving truck squealed up the quiet street and Joel, well. Joel happened to be near the windows when the truck happened to stop outside your orange house and happened to catch a look at you slogging down from the porch to roll up the back of the van with a distant grunt, unveiling your boxes and towered belongings.

He was pretty much a goner right then, right there. 

Because you looked miserable, an Atlas lugging the world on your shoulders. Dark shadows clinging to the hollows of your cheeks. Your hair pulled back and greasy, your t-shirt a size too big, puddled at the hem with a stain. And maybe he’s getting soft or was from the start, because against his better judgment and the complaints of all his tired joints, Joel jogged out of his house and right on up to you. Offered to help you carry it all inside.

Took an hour to trek the boxes in, twenty minutes to tetris the couch, and another thirty for the rest of the furniture. One lampshade broke, for which Joel will never forgive himself but you swore it was fine, insisting it wasn’t one you liked, that it belonged to an ex. 

The whole evening sped by and bruised blue, and Joel’s stomach sank just a little when it was done. Though his body howled and ached, he wouldn’t have minded if it’d taken eight more hours to haul all that shit into your house. Might’ve offered to help you unpack if that wouldn’t have been a creepy thing to do.  But you shook his hand in thanks, gave him your name and a stiff smile, promising him dinner, or muffins, or whatever the fuck neighbors do as you walked him to the door with the urgency of a vampire who has only a few minutes left to black out all the windows and doors before sunrise. Hurrying him out, wanting to be alone.

When his own front door was latched, the house dead in its quiet, Joel swore to himself that once you got settled, he’d find some way to tell you that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that the caw of laughter you let out when he’d dropped the foot of your couch on his ankle was the best fucking sound even if it did bruise purple and green, that all the furniture you own is somehow perfect and warm and exactly what he’d never think to buy but would love to come home to, and that just shaking your hand made him feel like a kid again. That he’d pretty much do anything to be the one who puts a smile on your face.

But you’ve lived across the street three years now and he’s never told you. 

Can’t now. It’s too late. You’re friends.

And anyway, these days you smile plenty on your own; you don’t need him. Took the better part of a year, but you perked up. Transformed that triangle yard into an Eden, built trellises for sweet peas and tomato vines. Every year, bushels of strawberry plants bloom in summer and rows of squash unfurl in autumn. Stalks of bulb plants flower every month right on cue. Your birdfeeders never vacant, the little wooden house driven into the yard on a stake dizzy with mason bees in spring.

Three years after you moved in, no one would ever believe Joel if he told them how you’d looked that first day. Her? Can’t picture that girl sad. Her? The one who’s always smiling? You’re messing with me.

Now, both of you swaying on his porch swing—looking out into the rutted wasteland of backyard he swears one day he’ll landscape—Joel watches that old shadow cross your face as you lift your lemonade to your chewed-up lips. He can see it. The light in your eyes swishing dark like you’ve drawn the curtains. For three years he’s watched you build yourself up, coax yourself into the sunshine, only to have it extinguished by your ex—an ex who’s moved in just five houses down.

It might kill him to see you like this again.

Joel might kill the bastard just to prevent you any more harm. Burn that goddamn house to the ground. He’s glad that he broke that lamp when you moved in. Not that he says.

“C’mere,” he says, stretching out one arm, and without hesitating—without even turning your head to look at him—you sink against his side, cheek squished to his chest. A torture and miracle, the gift of your touch. How you have, over the years, decided to trust him. 

“Of all the fucking neighborhoods to—” you start to say, but your voice cracks, betrays you, and there’s a jagged edge to your next breath that makes Joel’s whole body yank with pain. “Of all the fucking neighborhoods for him to choose.”

“I know, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Praying he doesn’t imagine the way your body deflates at his touch.

“Block party’s gonna suck,” you sigh, and if he closes his eyes Joel can almost imagine that this is something that it’s not. That if he wanted to, he could kiss you right now, touch you properly. Pet and lick and fuck every thought and worry right out of your head. That your heart’s racing even half the speed his is right now. 

You must hear it, he thinks—with the shell of your ear resting so near that traitorous organ—but if you do you don’t say a word.

Joel squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t gotta go alone,” he says. 

This stiffens your shoulders, holds your breath. You peel yourself from his side and evening sun paints your face orange as a clementine, gilds your eyes with tendrils of gold. Your brows pinch together so sweetly, curving down above your nose as a laugh rises to your lips. “Right,” you chuckle. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Joel says, and takes his arm off you to sit up straighter, rocking the swing. “Could go together.”

He’s not sure why you look so surprised. You’re friends. You go places together. Lunch, the movies, to the grocery store. Shit, you drove him home loopy from the dentist after they cracked out his wisdom teeth. Took photos of him after you waddled him into his house, drugged up and chipmunk-cheeked. Relished showing him every snapshot for weeks afterward, giggling and pinching his face until he blushed. 

Going to the annual block party together seems a hell of a lot more neighborly than that.

“What,” you say, still smiling at him like he’s crazy. “And you’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?”

It’s possible Joel’s heart stops. All his thoughts certainly do. All sound, reasonable logic floats away until all that matters in the world is your face, your gob-smacked smile. The dissonance of what he was offering and what you heard.

“If you want,” Joel hears himself say.

And that’s that. He digs his own grave.

If anyone was around to see Joel’s face when he first lays eyes on the guy, they’d probably assume you used to date the devil himself. Jaw grinding, arms crossed tightly over his chest, every nerve flayed and hair on end—doesn’t seem to matter how much you assured him that your ex isn’t a bad person, Joel hates the guy. If he were a younger man, as reckless as he’d once been, he’d knock the guy on his ass for daring to step foot in the neighborhood, let alone buy up a place.

You’re with Joel in your front yard showing off the mason bees that dart in and out of their paper tubes when something flickers in the corner of Joel’s eye—a man running on the sidewalk, earbuds in, sweat pooled in a V on the front of his t-shirt. He does a double take at the sight of you. 

Joel squares his shoulders.

The guy comes to a jogging halt, pops an earbud out as he calls your name, and Joel’s heart might rip clean out of his chest when your face falls at the sound of his voice, all the pride in your smile snuffed in the blink of an eye. You turn so slowly. Wave a little sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Do you—” the guy starts to ask, his bright eyes flickering between you and your orange house.

You nod. “Three years now.”

His eyes damn near pop out of his skull—this, at least, is one small comfort. He had no idea you lived here. He’s not following you or nothing. As you rub the back of your neck, suddenly quiet, Joel hears your voice in his head saying, You’ll pretend to be my boyfriend? 

Guess that starts now if you wanna sell it. At least that’s what Joel tells himself as he takes a small step closer and settles his hand on the small of your back over your t-shirt. Swears he can feel your every tiny twitch beneath his palm, every degree of your body heat. There’s just one second of lag before you inch closer, too, making a shrew of his nervous heart. Blood races in his veins; his stomach turns to molten gold.

A twitch snags in your ex’s cheek and Joel’s lips tighten, fighting back the smug urge to smile. Tucked against his side, you look up at Joel and he can’t help feeling like next to you is exactly where he belongs. Perfect, you smile before drawing your eyes away, and slip your arm around his waist. 

“Sorry,” you say, grinning in a way Joel’s not seen you manage since this jackass showed up. “This is Joel. My— uh—boyfriend.”

Maybe heaven is one beautiful lie.

Joel must be a greedy man, because he slips his hand up your spine to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s either the best or worst feeling in the world, the way you don’t resist for a second. The way you melt against him, your hand gripping at the hem of his t-shirt over his hip. 

“Right,” says your ex, still doe-eyed when he meets Joel’s blackened stare. “Clark. S’nice to meet you, man.”

Joel hmphs , gives him fuck all but a stiff nod, and for just one second you turn your face into his chest like you’re trying to smother a laugh. Pride has never filled him quite as quickly as it does now, knowing he’s the cause. That he’s put that smile on you, making you bite your bottom lip. He’s the one who’s made this gentler on your heart.

When Clark takes off again, you and Joel wait until he disappears around the corner to withdraw your arms, then you break into stomach-y laughter, smothering your face in your hands. “Oh god,” you wheeze, your whole face split by joy. “His face. That was—shit, that was incredible. That felt so good.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Joel looks out into the empty street to hide his blush, focusing on the golden light of August’s showboating. It’s a perfect evening, oak trees gossiping in the balmy breeze. It’s small, sure, but knowing he’s made you feel so good sets him on fire, fries his brain. He wants to make you say so good, so good, so good, in every possible way. 

You snort, you’re laughing so hard. 

“Happy to be of service,” he mumbles.

“Jesus,” you go on, and he turns to find you’re wiping your thumbs under your eyes. “That felt so much better than I thought it would. I think you might be a genius.”

Sure, genius. That’s the word for it.

On the day of the block party, you ask Joel to creep across the street at the break of dawn, insisting that people could be setting up, and, wouldn’t it look weird if we didn’t come out of the same house? We have to look like we’re sleeping together, dumbass. He only managed to restrain himself from suggesting that he just sleepover by the skin of his teeth, so tempted by the thought of being close to you at night—even isolated on your couch, so many doors away from your dreams.

But he’ll take the morning. He does. As early light sets the asphalt ablaze, Joel slinks across the road to your house, finds your front door unlocked, and lets himself in. Inside is cold like winter, the air-con cranked, and you’re on the couch in a sweater that’s cuffed at your wrists, coffee smoking in your hand, your legs folded up beneath you, bare.

“Morning,” you say, when you see him, a kind smile on your lips.

Joel shuts the red door behind him, clears his throat. “Mornin’,” he says.

There are hours until the block party begins, so you and Joel kill the morning on your couch watching shitty TV and drinking enough coffee that Joel’s hands begin to shake—though maybe that’s just the cold, the air frigid in a way that transcends summer. Maybe it’s just you. You, transforming leftovers from your fridge into a breakfast hash, rich with cilantro from the plant on your windowsill. You, knocking your knuckles against his arm whenever you laugh at something stupid he’s managed to say or a joke on screen. You, handing him his refilled mug or breakfast bowl or taking them back to wash up, brushing your fingertips against his hand. Every time.

It’s a jolt to his whole system, this small meeting of your skin.

Soon the television is challenged by the din of your neighbors setting up tables and booths and games for the kids—at which you straighten on the couch, craning to peek through one of your picture-frame windows. A sigh blooms from your lips, then you set down your mug.

“Should put clothes on,” you tell him as you rise, legs unfolding. You look so soft. Joel knows you would be. “Gimme a second.”

Then you’re gone, and his head falls down against the back of your couch, the heels of his hands grinding into his eyes. It feels like you’re only gone for a second before your footsteps pinch down the stairs once more. “Headache?” he hears you ask, catching him with his hands still over his eyes. “Did I give you too much coffee?” 

You’re teasing. Joel can hear your smirk as his hands slip back down to his lap, craning over the back of the couch to look up at you, and the world crumbles below him and falls away. Brows folded low over your eyes, you slide your hands down your front to soothe wrinkles from the skirt of your red sundress that only you can see. Slack-jawed, Joel finally manages to sit up, then twists to look back at you properly—perfect, that’s what you are. Every temptation and every vice and every poison he’d willingly drink.

“The dress is too much, isn’t it?” you say, sounding worried now.

He shakes his head, fights not to reach over this goddamn couch and pull you onto his lap. The thought alone makes his cock twitch traitorously in his jeans. You’re close enough that he could. You’re right there.

“S’perfect,” Joel croaks.

You let out a sigh of relief and nod before moving toward the door for your shoes. With his last remaining sense, Joel turns his head just before you bend down to reach for a pair of sandals. This was a terrible idea. He sees that now. A huge fucking mistake. 

But it’s too late to back out now, because you’re already calling him over, sliding your hand into his as you step out onto the porch like this is normal, like you’ve done this before, like you don’t mind his sweaty palm. Outside the street is a racket, a flurry of children chasing each other between driveways and neighbors cracking the caps off beer bottles, a painted banner strung over the road between two maples: 

B L O C K   P A R T Y ! 

He hears you make a quiet hmph sound of amusement as you draw toward the crowd.

Joel waits, but to his surprise, no one asks why you’re here together, why you’re holding hands. Sorta figured you’d have to do the awkward uh, yes, it’s very… new for everyone, but nobody asks. In fact, when you vanish momentarily from his side to get drinks—the ruffle of your dress flirting with the tops of your thighs—someone tuts sweetly to Joel, “I knew it.”

Then you’re back before he can blush, two bottles sweating in your hands, and the neighbor vanishes the second you pass one to him. Your forehead has pinched up with nerves. Must mean you’ve seen him, Clark or whatever, and Joel’s a man of his word—you’ve asked him to do a job—so he glides one hand around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. Mumbles softly, “I’ve got ya,” against your skin as he breathes you in. There’s something sweet in your perfume, he thinks. Lilac or honey.

As if on cue, a soccer ball zips beneath the banner and a moment later it lifts as someone chases after it. Clark, obviously, looks up, sees you in the nook of Joel’s arm, and tucks the runaway ball under one arm without a word, then takes off in the direction he came from without so much as a nod.

Joel feels your chin jut into his chest as you squeeze him, smiling. “This is gonna be fun,” you grin.

Joel takes a deep breath to keep himself from hoping. That glint in your eye—one part mischief and another affection—ain’t good for him, but he can’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that instinct to return your smile. “Careful, darlin’,” he mumbles, and as he brushes his thumb across your cheek you lean into his hand. “Face might stick like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “What, you don’t like it like this?”

Though he only hmphs, Joel suspects you know that he does, in fact, like you very much like this: smiling up at him like he’s painted the sky with stars just by standing at your side. 

How quickly the day passes with you beside him. For every year he’s lived in the neighborhood Joel has too attended the block party, but like most obligatory functions, he finds himself worn down quickly, always the first to leave, retreating into the quiet of his house when he’s reached the end of his meager tolerance. When he’s had too many conversations and seen too many faces too close together and he’s desperate for quiet, for sleep.

It’s different with you. You buffer so much of the polite conversations he’s never been good at having with grace and ease, always drawing the focus away from him just as he starts to feel it’s too much, like you can tell when Joel’s at the end of his rope. Sure, he’s still gotta stand there while you chat to whoever about mixed up mail or work or garden soil, but so long as they’re looking at you, that swell of too much never comes. He can just stand there, sipping his beer or lemonade, and focus on the swipe of your thumb across his knuckles as you hold his hand. The heat of your body when you lean into him.

By sundown, Joel forgets that it’s all pretend. He forgets this is nothing but a favor between friends.

Now the food has dwindled, that summer smell of hotdogs dissolving from the air, and all the lawn chairs once relegated to each person’s lawn shuffle into the black street as cicadas form their nightly orchestra. You don’t have any lawn chairs, but Joel’s got two. Always has—he doesn’t know why. Only ever just him at these things.

Maybe he was hopeful, back when he bought them.

It’s hard not to feel—as he drags both out to sit at the back of the crowd—like he was waiting for you. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“So prepared,” you tease him, as you settle into your seats. 

“Keep it up,” he replies, his eyebrows warning in their slow rise. “I’ll take that chair you’re sittin’ on.”

You scrunch your nose. “No you won’t,” you say.

Obviously he won’t. But you don’t have to be so cute about it. 

Then a sudden chorus of children shrieks, announcing the first firework. There’s a hissing, then a dart in the darkness, and a small spark of golden light cracks open overhead. A smattering of applause simmers, punctuated by oohs and awws, and all the kids giggle every time a sparkler booms. Beside him, the glitter of each explosion forms a galaxy in your eyes, your lips parted with wonder. The prettiest thing Joel’s ever seen, just like that first day. After a while you notice that Joel’s not watching the show, and turn slowly to look at him, your expression open and tender.

“Missing the show,” you say.

He shrugs. “I’ll see ‘em next year.”

When you smile, he wants to kiss you so badly his heart might actually stop, strangled by its longing.

But your head whips back at the thunder of a vibrant firework—a dandelion of neon blue and searing white—and the moment passes. Then Joel watches your smile falter as your eyes fall into the crowd; Clark, sitting up near the front of the pack, is looking back at you over his shoulder. Trying to be subtle and doing a shitty job; head snapping away the moment he sees Joel’s glare. 

“Ignore him,” Joel says, and reaches down to wrap a hand around one leg of your chair, dragging you closer to him. You let out a giddy yelp of surprise and draw your ex’s attention again. 

This time you don’t flinch or falter. One glance at the guy and you’re reaching for Joel, fist gripping the collar of his t-shirt to tug him toward you. He’s got no chance to think, to panic; it happens too fast. Your sweet mouth closes over his—not for a peck, but a real kiss. Lips parting to taste his bottom lip, a breathy sigh passed from your tongue to his. Joel’s lost all at once, no use resisting. His hand curls gently over your wrist to keep your grip on him as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth. 

The fireworks fall away.

You taste like lemonade and hops and the raspberry cobbler someone cooked up, and there’s not a cell in Joel’s body that doesn’t swoon at the way your lips chase and melt into his, humming softly against his mouth when he cradles the back of your head in the palm of his hand. How you tug gently at his bottom lip before you draw away, forcing his hand to slink from your hair.

Clark’s staring. Your lips proud and grinning. Plush and kiss-bitten. Looking every bit as calm as Joel feels walloped. You hm smugly to yourself and drop your head on his shoulder, attention once more captured by the crackle of fireworks Joel forgot were happening, and even though he’s a fool for agreeing to something he knew would rip him up, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you’ve kissed him like that. Not when you’re lying against him still, even though Clark has turned away.

The whole rest of the show passes in a dizzy haze. A blur of shattering light, and the heady weight of you leaning against him. Near the end you slip one hand over his knee. Your ex isn’t watching, doesn’t see the way your thumb glides slowly across the denim of Joel’s jeans, intoxicating. 

It feels, or else he hopes, that it’s just for him. 

The night is black by the time he walks you home, all your neighbors disappearing into their darkened houses, his lawn chairs stowed safely on his porch, and even though everyone’s gone when you reach your porch you still don’t let go of his hand until you’re at the door and you have to get out your keys. 

Your lock surrenders with a metal crack and you let your red door swing open. Inside your furniture beckons from the shadowed living room, cozy and soft. But you hesitate in the doorway, looking up at him. Joel has to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from pulling you against him properly, and pinning you to the wall. 

You scrunch your nose at him again. “Thank you,” you say, and your bottom lip pinches between your teeth as Joel’s gaze falls to your mouth. “Was actually pretty fun, in the end.”

Joel nods, drops his eyes shyly to his shoes. “I had fun too,” he manages to say. 

Your sandal nudges the toe of his boot as he stares at his shoes. “Y’alright?”

No, he’s not alright. He knows what it’s like to kiss you now—how the hell’s he supposed to go on living with that, and not ever have it again. “Mhm,” Joel lies, head snapping up to meet your gaze. He mistakes the look in your eyes for discomfort, thinks he must be keeping you from your night, from sleep. That after you were so sweet to him all day, he’s got the nerve to bother you. His heart winces as he forces himself to take a small step back. “Sorry. Don’t wanna keep ya.”

“Oh,” you say, face falling a little. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

There’s no way the pathetic flinch of his lips looks anything like a smile as he mumbles a sorry g’night.  

Then your face shrinks slowly in the closing gap of the door, a darkened look haunting your face that Joel swears—in the split second he sees it—almost looks like disappointment. Like you don’t want him to go. 

When he licks his lips, Joel remembers the plush of your lips, the soft hum you’d made when he licked into your mouth, how you’d leaned into his hand when he cradled your head. How your ex could never have seen or heard any of that sitting so far away. 

Maybe you just wanted to. God, he hopes you wanted to.

So before he can talk himself out of it, Joel’s hand jumps out and smacks flat against your door, holding it ajar. Through the slender gap he watches a grin bolt across your face as you sigh thank god and grab hold of his shirt, hauling him through the doorway to crash your lips against his.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

@burntheedges @jolapeno @la-eterna-enamorada29 @iknowisoundcrazy @guiltyasdave

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal 

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @helenanell

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours 

@noisynightmarepoetry @kyberblade @beezusvreeland @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack 

@pedrospatch @yopossum @toomanytookas @sawymredfox @galway-girlatwork

[judyvan]

Keep It Down - Matt Sturniolo Fanfic

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Summary: You desperately want Matt, but his brothers are in the house. Will you be able to contain yourself to avoid the awkwardness?

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ mattxfem!reader/ p n v/ soft dom!matt/ bf!matt/ hair pulling/ begging/ daddy kink/ mouth play/ vulnerabiliy/ use of "you"

A/N: This is my first fanfic. Interactions are appreciated. There are multiple parts to this story, this is the second one. The song very loosely relates to the storyline. Please don't steal my shit. Thanks!💋

To read the first part (Movie Night) click here.

To read the last part (The Morning After) click here.

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Matt hands you one of his t-shirts and grabs some pajama pants for himself. You head to the bathroom to change and do your nightly duties. Upon returning to Matt's room, he leaves to do the same. When he comes back in, you can't help but stare. He's wearing the pjs that he picked out and his chain rests flatly on his bare chest. You've seen him like this so many times, but you can't take your eyes off of him. Just the sight of him makes your insides fill with desire.

He walks over, crawls into bed next to you, and resumes the movie that you guys were watching downstairs. Matt's arms wrap around you, pulling you into him. Your head is now resting on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating. The smell of his cologne and the feeling of your face on his skin starts to make your head spin. You push off of his chest and give him a soft, sweet kiss. Matt cups your face with one hand, wrapping his other around your waist, as he kisses you back. As per usual, neither one of you can stop with just one. His taste is intoxicating, his touch is tender, and your heart begins to beat out of your chest. You slowly slide your leg up over top of his while his hand slightly veers from your cheek to the side of your neck. His thumb and pointer finger rest on the outline of your jaw, the rest of his large hand covers your throat. He holds your face in place as he kisses you more passionately. Your stomach flips and you begin to feel a pulse in-between your legs. Next thing you know, you're straddling Matt and his tongue slips in your mouth, launching your make-out session.

The feeling of wetness in your panties and the aching at the center of your thighs controls your every move. You begin to grind on the stiffness in Matt's pants, desperately searching for friction. Matt's breath hitches and your kisses become more and more hungry. As your lips collide, you gently tug on Matt's bottom lip with your teeth, hinting to him that you want more.

"We can't do that, and you know it," Matt says panting, his lips swollen.

You let out a desperate whimper, continuing to grind on him. "Matt, please," you beg. "I want you so bad."

"Baby, I know. I want you right now too, but Nick and Chris are still awake. They'll hear us." Matt empathetically pulls your head towards his, leaving a gentle peck on your neck. He then whispers in your ear, "Listen. Whenever they leave tomorrow, we'll make an excuse to stay here. Then we can be as loud as we want."

You straighten your posture on top of him. "Yeah, that's a great plan! I'm all for it. But I think we should also do it tonight." You smile cheekily at him despite the intense throbbing that you're feeling in areas downstairs, coming from both you and Matt.

Matt lets out a soft laugh. He brings his hands up to your thighs, making circling motions with his thumbs. "We can't. I'm sorry."

You let out a whine placing your forehead against his. "Mattttt! Pleaseeeeuh! I'll be quiet I promise."

"You know what? Fine. Fine, let's do it. But I swear if you are too loud and they start some shit, I'm telling them it was your idea." Matt says laughing.

"Wow! I thought that was going to take a lot more convincing."

You laugh as you dip your head down into the crook of his neck biting him lightly and kissing him sloppily. Matt lets out a groan as you continue to devour him. You veer away from his neck, continuing to pepper kisses down his chest and stomach. With every kiss, you feel Matt tense slightly under your lips as he releases soft moans. Right as you reach Matt's happy trail, you feel him sit up, grabbing your face and pressing an eager kiss to your mouth.

"Your turn," he says. In a swift motion, Matt trades you places, flipping you over. He begins to plant kisses on your neck, everywhere he touches being left ablaze.

Typical Matt. Missionary Matt. Soft moans escape your lips as you become more and more desperate. It's not just a want, it's a need. Matt pulls his shirt off of you. He takes a second to admire you laying in his bed wearing only your panties.

"I'll never get tired of looking at you. Especially like this."

You help him slip out of his pj pants and immediately, he's back on top of you. His lips gradually travel from the top of your throat to the waistband of your underwear, leaving you tingling all over. "God. You're already so wet," he says seeing your panties almost completely saturated with need.

Matt leans over top of you, reaching in his nightstand to grab a condom. As he does so, he places his knee in between your legs, putting slight pressure on your swollen clit. He knows what he's doing. You bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. You don't want it to stop before it even starts. Holding the protection between his teeth, Matt removes his boxers. Your eyes widen in awe as you examine the length of him. It's something that'll never stop surprising you. You lift up your hips as Matt removes the only thing you have on. Opening the wrapper with his teeth, Matt slides the rubber onto his dick, throwing the trash in the floor.

"I'm going to go slow and easy. If you can take it and stay quiet, I'll give you more."

Lining himself up with your entrance, Matt pushes into you slowly, slightly struggling from the size of himself even though you're practically dripping. You both gasp at the same time, your needs starting to be fulfilled. Your walls stretch and then squeeze around him as he slides in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts, only giving you half of his length. You press your lips together to keep your sounds of pleasure silent. Matt groans lowly trying to please you both, as much as possible as quietly as possible.

"You feel so good inside of me," you muster to him, trying your hardest to convince him that you can take more.

"You're doing so good," Matt whispers surprised at how quiet you're staying. With each thrust he slowly starts to give you more of his length.

"Matt, I need more. Please give me more" you plea, desperately wanting him to go harder, deeper, and faster.

"Are you sure you want to? Do you think you can take it?" he asks, keeping his rhythm consistent.

"Yes. I'll stay quiet. I promise," you respond.

Matt pulls out of you and drags you to the side of his bed, letting your legs dangle off the side. He reaches over top of you to grab a pillow. You lift up slightly as Matt slides the pillow under your hips, giving him more access to go deeper. After pumping himself a few times, he inserts himself back into you, his movement quicker and harder than before. You let out a low moan as quietly as you can. Matt places his hands on your stomach, pushing down firmly. He knows this is your favorite because it allows you to really feel him, every last inch. The cool touch of his metal rings covers you with goosebumps. You start to whimper. As he begins to buck his hips into you, faster and with more force than before, you feel him repeatedly slam into your g-spot. Your soft pants increase in volume. Matt leans forward to kiss you, trying to keep you silent. He picks up his pace slightly and applies more pressure to your belly. Every returned kiss becomes a struggle. You need to cry out desperately, no longer being able to contain yourself. You bite Matt’s shoulder attempting to maintain composure. A series of moans escape your lips, each one growing louder. Matt’s eyes snap directly to yours, knowing you're getting too noisy.

“Stay quiet for me,” Matt says through his own low moans. You bite your bottom lip, doing everything in your power to suppress your noises, your pleasure building. Loud whines leave your mouth. Matt removes his hands from your stomach, placing one on the bed and the other one your mouth. “Keep it down,” he says speeding up his pace even more.

The tension builds in your stomach. You’re almost there! “Yes Matt!” you cry out, his hand barely muffling your screams, failing to keep your act discrete. There was nothing quiet about the high-pitched shriek that you let out. Matt rips himself out of you with no warning, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and hurt. Your body is still aching for him.

"I told you to be fucking quiet. Now roll over." he spits at you walking over to his side of the bed.

You curl up in the fetal position facing away from Matt, not wanting him to see the tears of shame, frustration, and pure sadness filling your eyes. He has always been the sweetest boyfriend. You never thought that being too loud while he pleases you would make him so angry. He was so angry to the point that he was going to leave you both there unsatisfied, never getting your release. As Matt gets on the bed himself, you feel your throat burn as you try to hold back your tears.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he says his tone now aggressive. You feel his hand slide around your waist. He pulls you towards him and lifts you up, leaving you on all fours. "I'm not fucking done with you." He glides his hands up and over your ass. "Now, arch your back."

You do as he says. You were slightly put off earlier, but his aggressiveness turned you right back on. His massive hands continue to move from your lower back to the middle of your back, pushing you into the mattress. The side of your face pressed against the pillow, your stomach completely flat on the bed, your ass propped up in the air. He thrusts himself into you roughly, forcing your mouth to fall open and your arch to deepen.

"Since you want to be so fucking loud, I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. Give you somethin’ to scream about." Him and his Mattitude. He starts to buck into you hard, deep, and fast, proceeding to do just what he said he was going to do. You let out a shriek, gripping onto the sheets tightly, needing something to hold onto. Your mouth finds the pillow case and bites down hard.

"No! Get that shit out of your fucking mouth," he says speeding up his pace. "Let me hear you fucking scream."

You let out pornographic moans, your mind now clouded with how fucking good he's making you feel.

"Oh Matt! Yes!"

He slows his pace down, wanting to prolong both of your orgasms. If he keeps doing what he's doing, neither one of you will last long. His right hand leaves your back, and his two middle fingers enter your mouth. He begins thrusting his fingers down your throat at the same time as his dick is pushing into you.

"Now, if you can't stay quiet next time, I'm going to fuck this pretty little mouth of yours," he says in a cocky tone. He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, you suck on them as he does. "Do you understand?" he asks.

"Yes, Matt," you quietly whimper, breathless. You're trying your best to answer him, but he is quite literally fucking you senseless. Suddenly, you feel Matt wrap the length of your hair around his hand. Roughly, he pulls your head back towards him, forcing you to cry out.

"I'm sorry. What was that? I couldn't fuckin’ hear you," he responds. His other hand drifts from your hips, meets his tongue, and finds its way to your most sensitive spot. He begins to rub small circles around your bundle of nerves.

"Yes Daddy!" you scream, a jolt running through your body.

"That's what I like to hear," Matt says groaning loudly. He releases his hand from your hair and pushes you into the bed again.

After stabilizing himself on your back Matt begins to pound into you, fucking you as hard as he can. As his pace speeds up, so does the movement of his fingers on your clit. Your stomach clenches telling you that you're about to finish.

"Matt," you pant, "I'm gonna…," a loud moan finishes your sentence.

"Me too," he replies out of breath, "Give it to me. I wanna hear you scream."

Your muscles contract as you have the most intense orgasm you've ever had, your whole body left shaking. Matt cums with you. He continues to buck into you a few more times as you both ride out your high. Matt's moans fill your head. The sound of Matt bouncing off of your ass shakes the room. Your shouts ricochet throughout the house. There is absolutely nothing quiet about this. The both of you then collapse and catch your breath, the room now painfully quiet. Eventually, Matt pulls out of you and he gets up to dispose of the condom. He uses his shirt that you were wearing earlier to clean you up. Your trembling body was not in the state to move. He grabs a new shirt for you out of his drawer and dresses you gently, the complete opposite of how he was just fucking you. Matt picks up your panties and walks towards you.

"Just forget those," you say, your legs shaking. Your voice is now hoarse and raw.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Matt laughs. He puts on his boxers and slides into bed with you. He cracks open your water bottle and takes a long drink.

"That's not yours," you poke at him playfully, your croaky voice breaking up your words.

"You said we can share."

"Well, currently I think I need that more than you do."

He hands you the bottle as you both giggle. After taking a sip, you return the bottle to him. He closes it and sits it back in it's place. Matt pulls you in and gives you a long, deep kiss, sending chills down your spine.

"Now, let's go to sleep before they decide to come in here to investigate," he says. With no response, you curl into his chest and you both doze off.

[morningstarlucemon]

Glutted Vampire Lord

Poor Astarion's been through so much-- he deserves to sit back and be spoiled, even if his poor belly can't handle it... They've got a lot of meals to make up for, after all... _when you're too proud/scared to admit you wanna be stuffed stupid so you ask your TAV to do a force-feeding scene with you..._ Just wanted to play with this belly shape a bit.

Posted using PostyBirb

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 22 - A Gift

Masterlist

Author's Notes: So I'm thinking this will be the end of this particular series. NOT the end of Dante and Matteo's story!! Think of it like one book in an ongoing series. Next time I post I'll start a new series with a new title and new chapters continuing where this one leaves off. Otherwise it would just trail on indefinitely because I don't really have a set END end in sight for them. I never do, I like to always leave room for more. But I do have ideas for contained story arcs that I can group into series.

Also, re: the title - at first Shun the Light was in reference to literal light - the sun for Dante, the moon for Matteo. But as the story developed it also meant them rejecting any possible happiness for themselves out of fear/grief/trauma. And I think they've reached a place where they're letting a little light in now, so I want the next phase of their journey to grow from that.

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, poisoned, illness, fever, stomach ache, dehydration, dizziness, exhaustion, biting, drinking blood, comfort, caretaking

----

Matteo sleeps soundly through the day, but when night falls he grows restless. Overheated, he kicks off all the blankets and removes everything but his boxers. Soon he's awake, writhing with discomfort on the empty bed.

Poison still lingers in his system. It wages war on his body, and it is only because of his inhuman nature that he doesn't succumb to it. The thing that got him into this mess is the very thing keeping him alive.

Half-delirious, he tries to call for help but his throat and mouth are so dry. He props himself up on one arm and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand. Moving makes him dizzy. The room blurs and turns upside down and Matteo drops heavily back onto the mattress. He muffles a groan into his pillow.

Please...

Matteo lifts his arm again and fumbles for the glass...only to knock it over. It shatters on the floor, spilling water everywhere. Shit. He groans again, rolling onto his back. His breathing is becoming erratic, his heart beating rapidly.

The sound brings Dante to his door. At first he taps politely and Matteo barely hears it. When Matteo doesn't respond, Dante cracks open the door.

"Matteo? Oh my god - what happened?"

The bed dips and Dante's hand settles on Matteo's heaving chest. Matteo tries to open his eyes to look at him but whenever he does the room spins. He tries to speak but is so parched he can only manage a hoarse whisper.

"D-don't feel good..."

Fingers brush his cheeks, wiping away tears. Then a cool hand is on his forehead. Matteo gasps; it's almost too cold, but he needs it so badly, he feels like he's boiling alive...

"Matteo? Matteo, look at me."

The words barely reach him through the haze of heat and pain. A sharp pang in his stomach makes him wail and claw at the sheets beneath him.

Suddenly Dante's presence is gone. Matteo whimpers and feels around for him but he isn't there.

"Don't leave," he pleads.

Hands hold his face and brush his sweaty hair from his forehead.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm getting more water. Can - can you look at me?"

Matteo forces his eyes open. Dante's face is so close he can see nothing else. His silver eyes start to glow.

"Breathe. Breathe deeply, slowly. That's it. Good. You're doing good."

A shudder runs through Matteo.

"Just breathe. That's all you need to do. I'll be right back."

Then he's gone again. Matteo's eyes flutter shut and he focuses on breathing in and out, in and out. His racing heart calms enough to pull him from the edge of a full blown panic attack.

Dante returns quickly with two glasses of water which he sets on the bedside table. He sits beside Matteo again and gets an arm around his shoulders to prop him up. Matteo tries to do some of the work but he can barely move without help. His limbs feel heavy and useless.

"You're burning up," Dante remarks as he manhandles Matteo into a sitting position. "Okay - drink."

He holds one of the glasses to Matteo's lips and cups the back of his neck to keep him steady. Matteo drinks slowly at first, then starts to chug the cool water down desperately.

When he's finished he has to take a moment to catch his breath. He lets his head droop onto Dante's shoulder, his hot forehead pressed against Dante's neck. He tries to form words, to thank him, but with his thirst solved now all his other pains come into sharp focus. The worst of them is his aching stomach - made all the worse by gnawing hunger. It's been over four days since his last meal.

"Ah - ow -"

"What? What hurts?"

"Stomach," Matteo mumbles. "Ngh!"

He starts gently rubbing his stomach to try to relieve some of the pain. Dante nudges his hand away and replaces it with his own, moving in light, slow circles.

Matteo clings to Dante's shirt, struggling to catch his breath. Suddenly he feels a pinch on his arm. Before he can put together what it is, he's out like a light.

-

Upon waking, Matteo feels heavy and weak...but no pain. It has been replaced with a pleasant numbness. His fever broke while he was out. A gentle breeze from the cracked window feels amazing on his clammy skin. It is nighttime again; he slept for almost twenty-four hours.

Something moves in his peripheral, startling him. Matteo tips his head to the side and opens his eyes.

As his vision clears Dante's form comes into focus. He's in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, reading a book titled Common Poisonous Plants and Mushrooms of North America. In one hand he's holding a jar of blood. Every now and then he'll grimace and quickly take a sip from the jar.

Dante looks as healthy as ever, like no one ever laid a hand on him. His skin is smooth and almost human in coloration. His face is no longer gaunt nor his eyes hollow.

Matteo yawns and it draws Dante's attention away from his reading.

"Finally," Dante says, putting the book and drink aside. He sits at the edge of the bed. "I thought I might have put you into a coma."

Matteo lifts an arm and sees the fading puncture marks.

"You drank my blood."

"Yes. It was disgusting. I still can't get the taste out of my mouth." He feels Matteo's forehead. "But I think it helped."

"But won't you get sick?"

"So far I feel fine."

Even so, Matteo can't help feeling guilty.

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbles.

"I didn't know what else to do. You were in a lot of pain, looking it up would have taken too long."

"Well...I appreciate it." Matteo sighs. "I'm pathetic. First day back and you already have to be my nurse. I swear it's not usually this bad. The last few months have just been rough."

"Hm. Maybe I'm a curse," Dante says. His tone is light but there's an edge to it, like deep down he might really mean it.

Matteo nudges Dante's leg with his head. "No way. You somehow made it bearable. Usually I do this alone."

"That must be hard..." Dante traces over some of Matteo's scars. Matteo shivers and he pulls his hand away.

"No, wait - can you, um - "

Dante waits for him to finish. Matteo chews at his lip, embarrassed, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

"Can you just..." He falters again. Instead of trying to talk, he takes Dante's hand and brings it to his cheek. "It feels nice."

"Oh." Dante looks surprised.

"You don't have to -"

"Scoot over."

Matteo does as he's asked and Dante sits on the bed beside him, leaning back against the headboard. Once he's settled Matteo leans his head against Dante's thigh and Dante cups his face with one hand.

"You're all sticky," he states bluntly. "I almost forgot about sweat."

"You don't sweat?"

"No. It's actually kind of a problem. I get overheated very easily."

"Huh. I never considered that. Guess I have a lot to learn about vampires."

Matteo falls silent, just thinking. Dante seems to understand that he needs the company, so he stays where he is. He picks up his book and continues reading, only removing his hand from Matteo's face to turn the page. Occasionally he'll even run fingers through Matteo's hair.

"Is this strange?" Matteo asks quietly after a while.

"Hm?" Dante lowers the book.

"Is it strange that this doesn't feel strange?"

"...what?"

"I just mean - we barely know each other. But I feel really comfortable right now. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

Dante is quiet and Matteo hopes he didn't ruin what was such a nice moment, something he really really needed.

"Maybe it is strange," Dante replies. "But we're strange. I drank your blood before I even knew your name. Normal people don't meet that way."

Matteo lets out a relieved laugh. "Yeah, good point. Nothing about this is normal."

He looks up at Dante and sees something new and wonderful.

Dante is smiling.

It's not bright like the sun but bright like a candle. It is small but genuine, and it's just for him. Matteo is the first and only person to see him smile in almost fifty years. It feels like a gift.

Matteo closes his eyes and remains tucked against Dante's side. He hears the rustle of paper as Dante returns to his reading and his hand returns to Matteo's hair. Another gift.

I don't know how I'll ever thank you, Matteo thinks, far too content to break the silence.

But as long as I'm here I'm going to try.

[kentopedia]

♰ pain reliever — okkotsu yuuta

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 2 - vampire!yuuta

your vampire boyfriend can't resist the taste of you during a certain time of the month

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, smut, period sex, vampire!yuuta, cunnilingus, blood drinking, slight teasing — 2.2k

a steady ache in your abdomen pulls you out of your previously deep sleep, the dull throb increasing with every second. it’s the middle of the night, and your eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, the back of your eyelids burning when you try to squeeze them shut once more. 

though, no matter how many times you flip to the other side, the pain won’t subside, not even a little bit. you’re left curling into a ball, glaring at the emptiness of the dark. 

beside you, the bed is empty, though that wasn’t unusual for the middle of the night. still, it would’ve been nice to curl up into another body, to feel your boyfriend’s large palm rub over your stomach, in the hopes that it would ease the cramps.

you shift onto your stomach and check your phone, already missing yuuta. it’s just a little over three, but there’s no messages from him, no indication as to where he’d gone for the evening. 

you contemplate calling him; but when your finger hovers over his name, you click your phone off and sigh. they’re just cramps—nothing you can’t handle on your own. this time of the month had come and gone a hundred times before. you just need a heating pad and some pain reliever, and that should be enough to lull you back to sleep.

with eyes that are half-shut, you lazily slump towards the door, feeling far too much like a zombie. the floor is cold under your bare feet, and you shiver, picking yuuta’s sweatshirt up off the edge of the bed to throw it on. 

the moment you open the bedroom door, a wave of overwhelming perfume assaults your senses, the mixture one of every fall aroma. it combines into a cloud of smoke and wax, and its too much, far too much. the smells nearly have you choking. 

in the living room, there are thirty different flames lit, spread across the surfaces. they illuminate the room with a haunting glow, showcasing yuuta, who sits in the corner of the sofa, contemplative. 

“yuuta?” you say, calling out his name. he clenches his jaw but keeps his eyes forward. with his acute hearing, he’d probably heard the breath you took when you woke up, and every movement you’d made after that. “the candles are giving me a headache, baby.” your eyes begin to water from the smoke in the air, and one by one, you start to blow them out. 

“no!” yuuta exclaims, and when you turn, his irises are darker, wide as they watch you move around. “leave them.”  

you frown, but blow another one out as yuuta squeezes his palms to his side. his back goes taut, straightening as tension stretches him thin.

“it’ll just make me nauseous.” there’s a sour taste growing in your mouth, a pain in your temple. you reach for the final three candles. they aren’t as strong, but they still fill the air, a culmination of pumpkin, vanilla and coffee. “i started my period.” 

yuuta’s eyes flash as he watches you bend over to blow out one of the candles, your lips puckering, before you move to the last flame. his gaze is careful, considering as your little exhale extinguishes the fire.

“i know,” yuuta says, grabbing your wrist before you can blow out the final flames. his dark locks are loose, falling over his paler skin as he licks his lips. a sharp gaze pins you, tracing from your forehead to your chin. “i could smell you all the way from the bedroom.”

you blink, swallowing at his predatory eyes, the way his pupils darken, sharp white canines curling over his lips. it’s easy to forget, truly, how dangerous he is. he’s sweet and caring—not like the vampires you’ve seen in the movies—but he is, still, a vampire.

yuuta lures you in, inching you closer until you’re beside him on the couch, your breath the only sound between you. “i thought you were…” you trail off, a part of your voice cracking. “didn’t you go hunt?” 

it seems like a strange word to say, but you couldn’t think of a better one. you suppose, at the end of the day, he is more of a creature than a man. his instincts ones of bloodlust, ones that he has to fight against every moment that he’s with you. 

“couldn’t leave,” he says, his voice coming out clipped. “tried to, but i just kept thinking of your sweet blood. tastes so good.” his hand rests on your thigh, fingers rubbing small circles near your hip. “are your cramps getting bad?” 

you look at him from under your lashes as he licks his lips, pushing you backward slowly, until your head hits the arm of the sofa. the palm on your body is cold, but it does little to cool your heated skin. 

“it hurts,” you finally nod, breathing heavily as he smiles, sympathetic to your pain. 

“let me help,” yuuta inches a finger into your waistband, slowly dragging down your shorts. his tongue darts out across his lip, hungrily, like he might have trouble controlling his urge to devour you. 

you swallow. when you still him with a touch to his wrist, he simply cocks his head, curious, his fingers still resting between your shorts. 

“get a towel first,” you say, but the request is ignored. he slides the shorts completely off, lowering his head. “you’ll make a mess.”

yuuta ignores you, salivating as he kisses from the crevice of your knee, up your thigh. he inhales deeply against your hipbone, the strong aroma of your arousal and blood almost too much for him. 

bowing his head, he presses his lips to your cunt, licking you through your panties, lapping at the spot of blood that had already begun to stain there. “i don’t plan on wasting a drop, princess.” 

a stuttering breath leaves you, and your head falls back as yuuta kisses you softly over the cotton. his tongue flicks out, warm and wet, licking a stripe through your folds. the thin piece of cloth sucks into them, blood seeping through. 

“yuuta,” you whine, impatient he takes his time with you, his long fangs catching on the flimsy underwear. 

“don’t want to go too fast.” finally, he glances up, stares at you with hungry, black eyes. yuuta drags your panties off, but he’s far too slow, teasing you. “you know how much i love sucking the blood from your pretty pussy, hm?” his voice comes out in a near growl, and his grip grows tight around your knees, spreading your legs further. “wait for it all month.” 

he runs a tongue over sharp white teeth, hungry at the sight of you spread out, bloody and bare, just for him. 

“even when it hurts?” you ask in a small voice, but yuuta smiles, his thick eyelashes fluttering. his dark lips curl at the corners, more mocking than kind, drinking you in.

“it won’t hurt for long, love.” yuuta kisses the inside of your thighs, licking every inch of skin he can manage to get his tongue on. “besides, you get turned on so easily when you’re bleeding.”

he pushes his tongue against your entrance, curling over your wet arousal. the kisses are with such care, reminiscent of the sweet boy you’re used to loving, the one who stumbles over his words and still flushes hot when you kiss him. though, that familiarity only lasts for a moment. once yuuta gets a taste of you, his hunger doubles. 

he sucks, hard, his lips around your clit, the pressure sending a wave of desire through your body. you reach down and grip his dark locks, in any attempt to guide him within your thighs. though, you’re under yuuta’s control completely, and he licks deep in you, gathering the clots of blood onto his tongue. 

“fuck,” he hums against your cunt, his nose nudging your clit as he curses. the vibrations of his words shake you, and instinctively, your thighs try to squeeze together. but yuuta is stronger than you—much stronger—and he keeps them spread apart, fingers leaving tiny imprints on your skin. “you’re so sweet. so good for me. never tasted anyone like you before.” he praises, but its hard for him to speak as he fucks his tongue into you, lapping at your juices like its the nectar of gods. 

you can’t think of anything to say, and a soft whimper leaves your lips, the sound of his name barely audible with your exhale. yuuta’s fangs are smooth against your hot body, almost soothing as he runs his tongue along your folds. 

“i’ll make the the cramps go away.” he says. yuuta’s been replaced by a much cockier, confident version of the occasionally awkward vampire. his fangs gleam as he looks up at you, and your eyes flutter shut, hardly able to focus on the sight of him sucking at your bloody pussy. “promise, princess. it’s the least i can do when you keep me so well-fed.”

you nod, humming, but the sound is lost as yuuta dives back down, the blood coating his lips, his nose, dark against his chin. he takes both your thighs and throws them over his shoulder, reaching deeper in your hole as you moan, far too sensuously for the silent room. 

“yuuta—” you start, but you don’t remember it feeling this good before, you don’t remember pain ever being taken from you so easily. the words die, and you begin them again. “your tongue—”

he smiles, tightening his grip as he sucks faster, harder. “feels better?” 

“almost,” you say, breathless. “it’s… not enough.” 

yuuta groans, but he pulls back, licking the blood off his lips. “course it’s not,” he says. “so greedy, sometimes.” he presses, small, quick kisses across your thigh, teeth grazing the skin, and slides a finger into you; then another. 

his fingers are long, far longer than his tongue, and he stretches you, your walls sucking them right back in. with a gasp, you squeeze your thighs around his head, but yuuta just sighs. 

“please,” he says, teeth against the soft skin of your thigh. “please, can i?”

he’s close to begging, even though you’re the one who’s desperate, and you nod, needing him to curl farther into you, to reach the spot that’s deep within you. the sounds grow louder, lewd as his fingers sink in and out of you, so thick within your tight cunt.

yuuta bites you, then, sinks his fangs into your thigh, and you nearly scream, arching up into him as you start to tremble. 

his usually white teeth stain a deep scarlet, and he groans against your body, pulling back to watch you. “want you to cum for me, nice and hard, okay baby? we gotta get rid of those cramps.” he drinks from your thigh again, and you’re so close, not even realizing that you’re thrusting your hips up to meet his fingers as he goes inside you. 

“y-yuuta” you say, taking two hard breaths when he abandons the open wound on your thigh, and returns to sucking your clit, rubbing you with just enough force. the ache builds up and up, and you’re right on the ledge, about to fall over, his name leaving your lips once more in a cry. 

“that’s it,” he says, pumping in and out of you, graceful and heavy. “oh you’re so pretty, you know that? i’ve lived for centuries, and in all that time, i’ve never seen anyone look as perfect as you when they cum.” 

you break then, squeezing his fingers as babbled words leave your lips in a moan. your entire body shakes, convulsing as you reach blissful release, and you slump back on the couch, your head hitting the arm rest.

yuuta slides his fingers out of you slowly, and then he sticks them in his own mouth, licking every drop of your blood and juices from his hand. his eyes are blown wide with lust, hazy and dark as he drinks you up. 

“i can’t get enough of you,” he says, his voice so hoarse that the words are almost nothing at all. “my sweet little human girl.” yuuta doesn’t move, but he’s so lost in the taste of you, even as his cock strains hard against his flannel pajama pants. “just right there for the taking. a warm body full of the most delicious blood. mine.”

you pull him close then, needing to kiss him, feeling his hard teeth bump against your own. he tastes metallic; it’s not as good as he makes it out to be. still, if it drives him crazy, turns him into an absolute addict from just the scent of you, you’ll gladly give him every drop he wants. a smile graces your lips as he groans into you, licking your mouth. 

“yuuta?” 

he pulls away for just a moment, blinking lust-blown eyes. “hm?” 

“my cramps are gone.”

tags: @satohruu @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

btw this was going to be a toji fic and then he lost the poll ... i did not know there were so many yuuta fans following me

[angstyaches]

ooh 16 and 25 for sick eli would be so cool! we haven’t had a proper sick eli for so long 🍄

Hehe you're so right, thank you for the prompt!

Prompt List by the magnificent @butterfliesornauseous 🖤

CW: (imagined) danger of falling from a height, body horror, supernatural abilities, blood drinking mention, emeto, sick character with emetophobia*, anxious caretaker.

(*accidentally published with emetophilia earlier, oops)

___

Felix sat at the edge of a rock, sucking on a blood lollipop. A few minutes ago, he had started swinging his legs rhythmically in an attempt to soothe his nerves. It had helped… marginally.

He knew he ought to be enjoying what was one of the most stunning views he had seen in his life. That was why they had pulled the rental car over into this viewpoint – a dusty little outcropping on the side of the mountain road, separated from a sheer drop by a wooden barrier. But that was more than a little difficult, considering that the view might, at any second, be spoiled by the sight of the love of his life plummet from the sky like a sack of potatoes.

As much as he couldn’t bear to look, the faint shape that seemed to pass between him and the sun drew his gaze upward. He didn’t so much see the shadow as feel it, as though it had passed across the surface of his brain instead of his skin. He wondered if he’d have noticed it, if it hadn’t been for his heightened vampiric senses. Were there humans on this mountain who were experiencing unexplained shivers up their spine in the middle of their summer hikes? Did they keep glancing towards the sky, unnerved by an undetermined sense of the supernatural?

Would today see the birth of local legends that people would whisper around campfires? Even in his state of anxiety, Felix had to admit that would be pretty cool.

He had to lift a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. His stomach burned with squirming discomfort as a faint, black smudge zipped across the sky, probably about forty feet higher than the plateau where they’d parked the car, if Felix’s spatial awareness could be trusted. He didn’t even want to guess how high Elliott was flying over the bottom of the valet itself.

He let out a high-pitched hum, leaving the lollipop sitting in his mouth while he squeezed the fingertips of his left hand, starting with his thumb and working his way across to his pinky.

Please, Elli, he thought. Come down soon.

___

Elliott rode the wind.

No. No, that wasn’t intimate enough to describe what this felt like.

Elliott was the fucking wind. A force of nature, slipping and dancing through the cracks between the physical and the otherworldly.

Technically, he was a swarm of ethereal bats, but when you were faced with scenic majesty on a scale like this, it was hard to give a shit about technicalities. The summer air rushed through the fur on each of the individual creatures, each shard of him. He had a bird’s eye view of the landscape, and instead of having actual bird’s eyes, he had hundreds of eyes to drink it all in.

He tumbled through the air, whipping up wisps of water vapour and bathing in dazzling sunbeams. He twisted his way up the side of a sheer mountain face, cut through the crystal rush of a waterfall, cast his form out through the endless blue sky like a dark, shadowy firework.

If he’d been in his humanoid form, he’d have been whooping and laughing until his lungs collapsed, but he settled for a contented chittering.

Elliott was in his element.

___

A shudder bolted down Felix’s spine as the beat of a thousand wings filled the air, lifting dust from the dry ground.

Elliott moved the swarm like the bats were performing an interpretive dance, swirling them in a circle around the rock where Felix was seated. He couldn’t tell if this little display was intended as a greeting (the bat-cloud equivalent of a hug, or a kiss on both cheeks?), or if Elliott was just showing off how well he could control this form’s movements now.

The bats shot together as though pulled towards the centre of the swarm by a magnet, and Elliott’s figure materialised a couple of inches above the ground. He dropped delicately onto his feet, lifting his head to grin at Felix as soon as his eyes and mouth had formed. His pupils were blown out wide and his mouth hung slightly ajar.

Gosh, he was beautiful. Felix drew a trembling breath, feeling his gratitude for Elliott’s safety congeal as tears in the corners of his eyes. He swallowed back the emotion, though, not wishing to taint Elliott’s experience.

“How w-wash it, darling?” he asked, slurring his speech around the lollipop.

“Oh, Fee, it was…” Elliott pressed his hand to his head, dumbstruck.

He stared at Felix for a few seconds and then turned to lean on the barrier and stare off across the valley, as though he was still trying to comprehend the fact that trees and mountains and rivers could possibly exist. The view from the platform must have looked as flat as a postcard after he’d been tearing through the air above it.

“Fee, that was unlike anything I ever thought I’d ever experience.”

Felix sat forward to rest his chin in his hands, feeling a smile of his own coming on. This was why his anxious waiting had been worthwhile; Elliott was happy, and nothing else came even close to being as important as that.

He watched his partner spread his hands to the landscape, and followed his gaze as though he were seeing the view for the first time himself.

“Everything we’re seeing right now, from here…” There was a faint distant quality to Elliott’s voice, as though he knew human languages couldn’t encompass what he wanted to say. Felix could understand that. He’d gone through the same thing the first time he’d tried Kobe beef.

“It – it’s only a fraction of what is like out there. It’s magnificent. It’s –”

Elliott retched and sagged forward.

Oh, boy. Felix lurched to his feet instantly.

Elliott’s hands clawed at the wooden barrier as he hung his face over the side, saliva and bile and swallowed blood draining from his lips as his torso convulsed. The sticky combination dripped down into the rocks and foliage that awaited on the other side of the barrier.

Felix jogged over to the car, sparing only a brief flash of concern over his own decision to run with a lollipop in his mouth. Not a good idea, but his darling needed something. They had packed a cooler box – mainly for Felix’s benefit – which he dug through now, pulling out a bottle of water.

Felix pulled his lollipop out of his mouth and tried for an encouraging smile.

“God fucking damn it,” Elliott was muttering to himself as Felix approached him.

“Agua?”

Elliott turned his head. He blinked heavily as he put out his hand to take the bottle. “Gracias, mi amor.”

“Are you alright, darling?”

Elliott closed his eyes and nodded in that gentle, tentative way he did when he wasn’t quite sure if he was alright, but deeply wanted to be.

He lifted the bottle and filled his mouth with water, holding it in his cheeks as he glanced briefly across the valley again. The hyperactivity had drained from his expression, and now his eyes were watering, his pupils shrivelled into his golden irises. He spat the water from his mouth over the side of the barrier, and lifted the bottle again. This time, he took three long, deep gulps that made his throat ripple with the force of them.

“Ugh,” he muttered, propping his elbow on the wooden barrier and letting his head hang forward. “Fuck, my stomach…”

Felix’s nerves spiked at the thought of the barrier giving way under Elliott’s weight, but soothed himself with the knowledge that Elliott could switch into bat form and fly himself to safety.

Maybe there were perks to having a flying partner after all?

“I was… quite nervous about you flying so high,” Felix admitted, again trying to keep a light tone. He started fidgeting with his fingers again, despite himself. “But I didn’t think it would make your stomachhave such a bad reaction…”

Elliott groaned as he took one more swallow of water. His breath trembled while he exhaled. “Yeah, me neither. I might’ve thought twice.”

That made Felix’s heart sink. The thought of his adventurous partner restricting his indulgence of his new power was like… well, it was like Felix giving up cake and bread despite being perfectly capable of ingesting gluten. It just didn’t sit well with him.

But as he leaned on the barrier, trembling and gulping audibly, Elliott seemed to be letting his eyes fall anywhere but on the view that he’d been so in love with until a few moments ago. It looked like he was trying to avoid making eye contact with someone he’d once kissed at a party.

He wasn’t just shaken by the sudden onset of nausea; Elliott was embarrassed.

“Perhaps you’re still getting the hang of it, darling,” Felix said softly. “I’m certain it will get easier with time. Like me, with my car sickness. A few years ago, I’d never have been able to make it all the way up here in a car, with all of those switchbacks.”

Elliott grunted in acknowledgement.

“Perhaps I’ll let you steal some Dramamine for next time,” Felix chuckled softly.

Elliott’s eyes drifted up towards Felix’s face at that. His eyelids drooped a little, and his lips were glistening. “Do… you think it would help, if I took some right now?”

“Now? It is better to take it beforehand…”

Elliott gave another – sadder – grunt of acknowledgement. He lowered his head again, jolting as a low, wet belch crept up his throat.

“Honestly, darling, I don’t think medicine can help your belly if it's this upset.” Felix started to lift a hand to rub Elliott’s back, then stopped himself. “It would be better to… get it over with.”

Elliott let out a small, closed-mouth whine. He had hated the sensation of vomiting ever since his transformation to full vampire had ridden him constantly nauseous for month-long bouts at a time.

On top of that, he had always been repulsed by touch when he felt sick, meaning that Felix was left with very little to do.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Elliott groaned.

Felix’s heart sank. “Darling, you were… you were thinking that you have an awesome new power. You were thinking that you were awesome. Which is true; you are. Just because you feel a little sick now, it doesn’t mean you failed at anything.”

Elliott shook his head and let out a soft burp.

“You… you aren’t weak, Elli.”

“I appreciate,” Elliott murmured, “that you believe that’s true.”

“Are you saying that I’m wrong? Does seeing your strength and power make me silly?”

“I… no, boo, of course you’re not silly.”

“I resent that,” Felix smiled. “I am the silliest, I’ll have you know. But for a multitude of reasons, not one of which has anything to do with believing in you and thinking you’re amazing.”

Elliott shook his head again, though Felix could have sworn that the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, deepening his cheek dimple just a little. As far as cheering him up went, that would have to do for now, because the moment was interrupted by a sharp gurgle, and Felix had the feeling that this time, Elliott’s stomach wasn’t just churning up a belch.

“Fuck, fuck, it’s happening again,” Elliott whined, knuckles tightening on the wooden barrier. “Fee, it’s happening again.”

“I know, my darling, I know.”

Felix moved his body as close to Elliott’s as he dared. He might not be able to touch him, but at least Elliott could lean into Felix’s side if he decided he wanted a little bit of support. If Elliott appreciated the thought, he didn’t say so, but it might have been because his gratitude was muffled by another mouthful of red, glistening vomit.

Felix grimaced as the natural greenery continued to be painted in red. It looked like strawberry syrup dribbled across a salad. He tucked his lollipop back into its wrapper, which he’d thankfully saved in his pocket, his desire to snack away his anxiety dissolving.

Elliott’s shoulders convulsed with another retch.

Felix sighed in sympathy and rested his hands on the barrier. His heart lifted as Elliott stretched out his pinky finger, so that it interlocked slightly with Felix’s.

“I’m right here,” Felix whispered. “I’m right here, darling.”