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yandere-writer-momo · 18 days

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🧡🤍🩷 Lesbian Visibility Week Special 🧡🤍🩷

Yandere Short Stories:

A Dragon’s Treasure

Yandere Lesbian Dragon x Shy Princess Reader

The Emerald Calamity. The Green Inferno. The Jade Death. All of these titles belonged to a feared, emerald dragon by the name of Cahira. She was one of the few dragons that lived in the land and yet she didn’t often pillage villages to earn those titles. No. She only decimated kingdoms for their jewels… for her princess.

Cahira’s true interest lied in the happiness of princess (your name), a woman so beautiful that anyone could fall in love with a single glance? Cahira was instantly enthralled with the idea of the princess. How could a dragon resist the tales of such beauty? Cahira simply had to have her… dragons loved treasure after all.

Yet there was a rumor that really caught Cahira’s attention. Supposedly, the princess was in a scandalous relationship with her own maid… yet it ended up with the maid betraying the princess for money. This rumor made Cahira’s heart flutter since she was a sapphic too.

Cahira’s curiosity eventually got the best of her and she flew to (your name)’s kingdom to be sure. And when her golden eyes landed on the meek princess, Cahira was instantly captivated. Cahira had to have the princess! There was no ifs, ands, or buts about Cahira’s decision either. It was her way or death.

It was a year year ago today when Cahira had decided to steal the princess away. Before (your name) could be married off to some foreign royalty. Men couldn’t possibly take care of such a dazzling jewel. They would ruin (your name) because they wouldn’t be able to protect her properly! The princess didn’t deserve to be some concubine when she was queen material! (Your name) was a permanent prize to be attained, so Cahira was far better for her… at least that’s what the dragon told herself.

Cahira had went to the extremes to try to earn her beloved’s favor. Expensive jewels, extravagant meals, and the finest silks were always within her grasp. The finest for the finest, Cahira always insisted. Yet Cahira noticed how the princess would cower in her room. A fact that deeply upset the dragon.

So Cahira went to a witch for a magic necklace that would allow her to transform into a more humanoid form in exchange for a ton of gold. Maybe her beloved would like her more if she was able to touch her better?

And Cahira adored the blush on her princess’s face when she transformed for the first time. It seemed a voluptuous body made (your name) avert her gaze and turn into a tomato… a cute tomato of course! And Cahira couldn’t get enough of teasing her precious princess!

(Your name) was now an irreplaceable treasure that would be forever cherished by her enamored captor! A princess locked up in an inescapable tower in a giant forest far from civilization. A beautifully decorated cage with her gentle dragon! A cushy life perfect for a pampered princess.

A hero would be vacuous to even create a rescue attempt… no matter how much the princess desired freedom, she would never get away. For Cahira had her best interest in mind… and a dragon never loses sight of their treasure.

(Your name) whimpered when Cahira dragged a wet rag down her back while she sat in the large claw tub. Cahira’s voluptuous human form leaned against the edge of the tub, the dragon hummed a low melody to try to ease her beloved’s shyness.

Sharp talons delicately traced shapes on (your name)’s back as Cahira rinsed the suds off the princess’s delicate skin with the green rag. Cahira leaned forward to press a few kisses against the blushing flesh.

“You’re so lovely…” Cahira whispered in (your name)‘s ear, her hot breath made the smaller woman recoil in embarrassment. “You don’t need to hide yourself from me…”

(Your name) still held her arms over her chest, a shiver ran down her spine when Cahira’s golden eyes flicked over her bare body. Despite the two years they’ve been ‘together,’ the princess still wasn’t used to such brazen behavior. (Your name) was simply lucky the bubbles covered up a bit more of her dignity from this lustful beast.

“I’m still a lady…” (your name) squealed when Cahira playfully nipped her neck, a small red marking now on her nape. “Hey!”

“You’re such a prude.” Cahira stood up from the ledge of the tub. The gorgeous woman stretched her olive arms over her horned head and yawned to reveal her sharp fangs. “I’ll let you wash yourself up then. I simply just enjoy indulging my precious princess.”

Cahira then left the bathroom, her hips swayed behind her in a confident manner. Her emerald tail flicked the door shut behind her, finally leaving (your name) to her own devices.

The princess softly sighed and turned her gaze to the full body mirror across from the tub. There was no doubt Cahira pampered her. She was healthy and dressed in the finest silks (ones that were confiscated from traveling merchants).

Cahira often sung (your name)‘s praises during every interaction. The dragon often made every moment feel far too intimate to simply be a relationship between a captor and their victim… a fact which muddled the princess’s thoughts.

Cahira placed hot kisses on (your name)’s body whenever she could and she would loudly proclaim how she adored (your name) with every fiber in her being. She even stated that she’d burn down (your name)’s kingdom to keep the princess at her side forever. A statement the princess truly believed.

(Your name) just didn’t understand what Cahira saw in her… was she really as beautiful as she said?

(Your name) traced a thumb over her lips in thought. A blush enveloped her cheeks when she noticed all the love marks on her skin from Cahira. How naughty…

Cahira hummed while she waited for (your name) to come to bed. Her tail flicked back and forth like a cat, her golden gaze studied the bathroom door in thought. She wondered if her beloved would put on the emerald night slip she had gifted her? Cahira was really excited by the goods she acquired from the latest merchant. It is a shame she didn’t keep him alive, he seemed to have fantastic taste in clothing… oh well! Men are useless anyways.

Cahira perked up when (your name) shyly peaked her head from the doorway. Did her princess wish to remain hidden? How cute!

“C-Cahira, this dress is too… revealing.” (Your name) blushed when Cahira sprung to her feet. The dragon now face to face with the bashful princess.

“Let me see.” Cahira licked her lips when (your name)’s eyes became a bit teary. So cute! Cahira could just eat her…

Cahira pulled (your name)’s hand to try to encourage her to leave the bathroom’s threshold and what a sight to behold… her beloved looked so darling in emerald hues! The same shades of her scales… it was divine.

“You look so beautiful in emerald green.” Cahira pulled (your name) into a tight embrace, which made the princess squeal. “I need to view everything now.”

(Your name) was quickly guided to the bed and thrown onto the plush covers. The princess made an attempt to try to cover her cleavage with her arms, but Cahira easily smacked them away.

“I’m just looking. Don’t be so shy, it tempts me more.” Cahira chuckled at how terrified (your name)’s expression was. “You look so frightened… like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Cahira grasped (your name)’s hands in hers so she could press chaste kisses to her wrists. “I’ve taken on this form for you and I’ve done so much… I just want to admire you.”

(Your name) sniffled when Cahira bent down to press her lips against her teary cheeks. “I want to kiss you… to love you… yet you’re still so frightened of me.”

Cahira sighed before she pulled away to sit on the end of the bed. “I know it will take time, but you’re much safer here. You don’t have to marry some old, demented man or some promiscuous prince. You’d be my one and only.”

Cahira ran a hand through her curly, emerald hair with a sigh. Though her face wasn’t visible, there was no doubt that she had a hurt expression on her beautiful face. “I really like you… no. I love you.”

(Your name) sat up and frowned. Cahira wasn’t necessarily wrong about her statement. Despite being a princess, she had no interest in princes or kings of foreign lands. To be frank, she had planned to runaway with her maid before she found out her maid had deceived her…

Being vulnerable now made (your name) afraid… yet Cahira had never given her a reason to doubt her devotion. Even in grotesque displays, Cahira eliminated every knight and hero that tried to save her just to show (your name), that Cahira would never let anyone take her away… it made (your name)’s heart flutter and made her head spin in confusion.

The princess had never felt wanted like this before. She’s never been pampered and kissed on… Cahira’s affection was all consuming like the poisonous breath she breathed.

Cahira made loving (your name) seem as easy as it was to breathe. Perhaps she should cut Cahira some slack?

Cahira was shocked when she felt soft arms wrap around her body. Cahira’s golden eyes widened in shock when (your name) buried her face into the crock of Cahira’s neck. Her breath hitched at the heart warming sight.

“(Your name)? What are you-“ Cahira blushed when (your name) shyly pressed a kiss on her left cheek. The princess shyly glanced away.

“I… I like you too-“ (your name) was tackled into a hug as Cahira pressed her lips over and over the entirety of (your name)’s face.

“Love you. Love you. Love you.” Cahira replied between each affectionate peck. “We could get married? I could kidnap some human officiant. Or maybe an elven one if you don’t want human! Then I’ll eat him-“

(Your name) pushed her palms up and squished Cahira’s cheeks together in a way that made Cahira kind of look like a fish. A pout now on (your name)’s face.

“You really need to stop eating people.”

“I do it to protect my precious treasure.” Cahira gave her a grin. “I’d eliminate the entire human race for you if you asked that of me. Whatever you desire, I will obtain it for you, my precious princess.”

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wakeup01 · 3 months

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This beastly jock’s huge pecs bounced as he turned to face you, motioning for you to reach out and touch. You blush, feeling slightly embarrassed at flagrantly objectifying him, but when building a body like that, it comes with the territory. Your hand stretches over and takes a cautious squeeze.

JIGGLE

Your finger digs into his chest, pushing deep into the tissue - being swallowed by his enormous mass. You let go and his chest shudders back into shape like a slippery water balloon. Resting your hand below, you bounce his nipple up and down. The way they shook was hypnotic.

JIGGLE JIGGLE

Your eyes were fixated, following the erratic movements of his taut nipples. He laughs and it was infectious. You laugh. You can’t help but join in, the tone of your voice getting deeper and slower, like playing at 0.5 speed. You find yourself saying ‘Jiggle’ out loud to him. It was akin to pointing out the grass was green.

With the ‘distraction’ you didn’t even notice your own pecs expanding, the pressure pushing out against your shirt. It was like there was a pump attached to your chest, filling it with air. It’s not the only thing that felt like it was filling with air. Your head was feeling incredibly spacious.

There was the abrasive sound of fabric ripping, your shirt bursting open at the chest. Looking down at yourself you see two huge jugs jutting out. They obscure the rest of your thickening body. You barely notice as your legs effortlessly push you higher from the ground while your shoulders bulk up, mirroring the jocks hulking physique. And then his hand reaches out to touch your pecs. He taps them lightly and-

JIGGLE

‘Jiggle’ You grunt loudly from your now thick, square shaped head. Your bushy brow hangs over your vacant eyes. ‘Jiggle’ he repeats back confidently. It felt good to be so blatantly objectified. An object. A big meaty object. You couldn’t deny that it was turning you on like crazy. Your junk was leaking like a fire hose as he continues to play with your breasts. You desperately wanted to be touched and squeezed. Viewed as eye candy with nothing of interest going on in that microscopic brain. Dumb. That was the word, the word for you. Your bro smiles at your glazed expression and pushes a baseball cap over your dense skull, spinning it around backwards.

Before long there was two vacuous jocks standing there like sculpted meat statues, chuckling dimly to themselves. When they both turned to face another onlooker their pecs-

JIGGLE

#transformation #jock #dumbing down

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softle0 · 5 months

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Del Sol Valley iconic dingbats By softle0

Sooo, like two weeks ago I was scrolling on pinterest and I found some interesting apartments with retro vibes which I absolutely loved at first sight! I digged a bit of them and found out they're called dingbats! Apparently they're very common in LA so I thought they'll be perfect for this world. I was so in love with this type of building that I wanted to make a lot of them lol so I decided to work in this 3 lots from the Mirage park neighborhood to make it feel so alive with new 24 different units!!! That means you can have now that ammount of households in only 3 lots!!! Now Del Sol Valley can feel more alive isn't it??

First lot details:

Located in Inner Circle lot

No CC (NO pack restricted, I own all of them)

Lot type: Rental | 40x30

Price: § 299,199

Six units; One with three bedrooms, Three with one bedroom and Two with one bedroom.

Three furnished units.

Download:

Enable “bb.moveobjects on” before placing

Gallery ID: lauraxoh

Tray files

Second lot details:

Located in Vacuous Green lot

No CC (NO pack restricted, I own all of them)

Lot type: Rental | 50x40

Price: § 286.911

Thirteen units in total, divided in two different buildings.

Download:

Enable “bb.moveobjects on” before placing

Gallery ID: lauraxoh

Tray files

Third lot details:

Located in Upland Place lot

No CC (NO pack restricted, I own all of them)

Lot type: Rental | 40x30

Price: § 253,566

Five units in total; Three units with one bedroom and two units with two bedrooms.

Download:

Enable “bb.moveobjects on” before placing

Gallery ID: lauraxoh

Tray files

Don’t forget to tag me in your screenshots, I’d love to see what you do with the build!!!

#softle0 #my builds #ts4 download #sims 4 download #download #ts4 build download #ts4 build #no cc #showusyourbuilds #show us your builds #ts4 #simblr #the sims 4 #sims build #ts4 lot #ts4 lot download

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lostasteroyd · 3 months

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Sasha is finally settling into her new home and her dad sent her off !

previous/next

The lot is "Vacuous Green" by @alerionjkeee, made into a residential rental <3 You can find a pic of Sasha's rental below the cut !

#sasha sharma #current household #ts4 #s4 #sims 4 #simblr #the sims 4 #sims4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 maxis match

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indouloureux · 2 years

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the freakshow

eddie munson x reader

summary: your heart dances on the edge of the knife when it comes to the infamous eddie munson. but the freak loves to play with knives at the freakshow, and he’s got you kneeling before him with his initials carved into your skin, bleeding down to his feet.

word count: 5, 962

warnings: Smut (MINORS DNI), usage of knives. graphic depictions of carving on to the skin. blood, violence, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. (explicit warnings below the cut)

a/n: another eddie smut. i was in the middle of writing a folklore one shot for mcu peter and i was eager to write this one. this includes knife play so please proceed with caution.

MASTERLIST

(follow @bloodstheink to get notified when i post)

explicit warnings: unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), knife play (carving names on their skin), creampie, lotus sex position, cockwarming, overstimulation, squirting, cum eating, blood sucking? (promise its not creepy), praise kink and degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics w dom!eddie, biting, tongue fucking, rough sex

Green, orange, red, white, black.

Freakish colors that juxtaposes the colors on your paper. You don’t know what you’re absentmindedly sketching, you hadn’t even realized your hands had begun constructing—

You tilt your head to the side, looking down and leaning closer.

— A cute little flower with green and orange petals, but apparently it also has red horns and a black tail right at the bottom of the strangely white stem.

Oh, and it looks like its dying.

The cafeteria is loud, you’ve barely touched your lunch, and your friends are talking loudly beside you. Very loudly, in fact, that you feel like your ears are going to explode and drip blood down to the side of your face. Agitated, you drop the pencils down the table, the clatter overwhelmed by vacuous parleys and childish shouting from food staining their clothes.

“Hey,” Chrissy Cunningham moves closer to you. Her hair’s no longer up in a tight ponytail, opted on a less compressed hairstyle that’s been giving her headaches lately. “You alright?”

You smooth your skirt with your palms, feeling the sweat transfer on the textile. “Yeah,” you swallow nothing. “It’s just really loud.”

“Need some fresh air?”

You’re about to answer her question, yes, you were going to say, yes, please, before I slam my head against this table. But the voice you’ve heard in so many timbres adjourns you, vocalizing loudly behind the cafeteria that it has you turning around.

Eddie’s got his feet on top of the table, walking over his friend’s lunches. He’s saying whatever; he’s saying things Eddie would say, because he is Eddie. He’s got his hands raised to balance himself on the decrepit tables, before he jumps off to scare a poor old teacher away.

That’s something Eddie would do.

And then he looks at you and suddenly you don’t want to slam your head against the table anymore, nor do your ears feel like they’re going to explode. Because you meet his eyes that are almost always on you – the same eyes that you can sense when he’s bored, or curious, or searching, or rapacious to tear the curtains between the audience and the freaks.

They’re also the same eyes that knows exactly who you are. They’ve got you memorized, every inch of your imperfectly pretty body, or what opens the faucet that leaks tears, or which performance made you smile the most; Wild eyes that memorized your labyrinthine self that anyone else couldn’t.

Your labyrinthine self, known only by Eddie – a rumored cult leader. He’s only the leader of Hellfire Club, anyway. But that does nothing to wipe the stain he’s put on his image, so if everyone else sees Eddie adding blemish to your reputation, or you to his, your picture might as well be burned to ashes.

He tells you it’ll spark havoc, that you’ll be seen in the same way as him. You try so hard to tell him you don’t care. However, keeping things secret is so dangerously fun – an impious part of you the public believes is vain proved covertly by Eddie was a knowledge that’s thrilling enough to keep to yourself.

You see Eddie’s throat bob, and he ever so subtly smiles at you, because you know damn well seeing the freak smile at one of the most precious cheerleaders of Hawkins would be the most controversial of them all (it’s exaggerated, you and Eddie both know, but teenagers exaggerate everything, even though he’s twenty).

He suddenly then falls forward to the ground, almost hitting a passerby. For a brief moment your eyes widen in surprise, but see that no one was there to trip him, mainly it being for show just for you. Your heart eases, smiles at the boy who’s taking imaginary dust off his shaggy hair.

“(y/n),” Chrissy ducks her head down, gaining your attention. You forgot what she’s said, cheeks burning in discomfiture. “Do you need some fresh air?” she repeats.

Unable to answer, you nod instead, because you smile when you see the grin on Eddie’s face as he goes back to sitting down with his friends, knowing he’s succeeded once more to put a smile on your face.

He takes your exit as a sign to take his, too. You walk away until you reach the forests across the fences, holding your skirt down your thighs from the fresh breeze. When you spot the same bench you and Eddie normally hang out in at free periods, you sit there with a heavy sigh.

You name the rustling behind you as Eddie. You raise your head to see him, leather jacket and a sleeveless denim to cover his contentious shirt. He smiles at you, practically tossing his black lunchbox on the wooden table.

“Well, hello there,” he says this in a way that he’s almost singing it. Eddie sits in front of you and places his elbows on the table before resting his chin between his palms. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” you mimic his position with a greeting smile. “It smells like barf and mixed soft drinks inside there.”

“What, you don’t like mixed sodas?”

“Haven’t tried it,”

He gasps, anthemic that he almost falls to the ground. “Really?” Eddie queries in disbelief, picking a lone lint off your hair. You try not to shiver at his simple act. “Are you that compliant that you don’t try out different sodas at the same time?”

You snort. “I’m not that docile.”

“How come you’ve never tried it then?” Eddie smushes his lips on his palm, bent awkwardly but he still manages to talk to you while looking scruffily charming.

Taking the jersey off your arms, you shrug. “No one took me out to try it yet.”

“Well you, m’lady,” Eddie opens his lunchbox, the cover clanging loudly on the wooden table before he takes out a pack of cigarettes. You make an excited sound, taking one from him, “are missing out.”

He lights the cigarette from you. The lighter he uses is the same one you bought for him after dropping it down the sewers one time, one where he’s surprisingly fine about even though he’s had it for years. “They’re just sodas, Eds. Not water. I won’t die if I don’t try them.”

“But you should,” he says after lighting his own. “They taste, I don’t know, funky? I can’t explain it. The aftertaste’s kinda shit, though, I’ll tell you that.”

Your lipstick stains the tipping paper, disparities the red wax brazenly. And while the smoke mingles with the air, you toy with the coffin nail nervously. Eddie, like earlier, senses your disquiet. He walks over to where you are before he wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently tugging you closer to him. You let him even though the possibility of being caught was now 73%.

“Something’s keeping you on edge since this morning,” he murmurs. He fights the urge to press a kiss on your hairline, instead occupies his twitching mouth with a cigarette. “I know you think I noticed at lunch, but we got morning classes together and I know when you’re nervous.”

“It’s nothing, Eds,”

“No it’s not,” he pushes your hair out of your face until he’s cupping the back of your head to look at him, stroking the skin behind your ear. “What is it, sweetheart, tell me?”

Yesterday’s expedition clouds your mind – in Eddie’s car, splayed out in the back with your hand gripping the back of your thighs as Eddie drives his cock in deeper, and even after cumming inside you he pushes his fingers in your sensitive hole and bullies your clit until you gush out on his shirt and his face and maybe even your own, without realizing that one of the Hawkins basketball players passed by.

“I think Patrick McKinney saw us yesterday,” you tell him. “He- I don’t know, Eddie. He passed by. I don’t think he saw us but I think he heard us? I mean, not that I care. It’s just that, I think maybe I care a little because he might have caught us having sex? He saw me naked and saw you naked and he might have seen the-the thing—”

“Hey,” he stops you by placing a hand over your mouth, laughing a little. “You gotta relax. My windows are tinted, babe. He didn’t see us, and if he heard us, he probably just assumed I was with another girl.”

The image of Eddie with someone else has you shifting uncomfortably between two feet, eventually scoffing and taking a hit. “If you think saying that is helping, Eddie—”

He laughs again, like music to your ears. “I’m sorry, babe,” Eddie kisses your temple, a mitigating action that shoves your worries away. “All I’m saying is that he didn’t catch us, okay? We’re fine.”

You pick on the loose thread of his shirt, twirling it around your finger. Then you pull it, a loud snap followed by shy silence. “‘s being a dungeon master give you senses?” you look up at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. Eddie’s hair tickles your nose, and you swear you smell a hint of your conditioner in there. “You always know when I’m upset.”

“Boyfriend senses, yeah, they’re my special senses,” he taps his temple, looking at you with a small smile. “They’re a must have. A really great superpower. Means I can make you smile whenever you need to.”

Pouting, you nestle your head on his chest. “Nah, I think you’re just stalking me. Always following me whenever I go, staring like a creep.”

Eddie’s freakishly warm. And albeit his veneer says otherwise, he smells decent, too – laundry detergent, cigarettes, and the smell of his club room that you can’t explain (you think it’s cardboard?). Your joke earns you a slight push, and a shy laugh, before you’re right back in his arms, tighter than before.

“Not my fault, you freak,” you simultaneously take a hit, something you try to hide your laugh about. Eddie teasingly blows it at your face. “Walking around with that short little skirt of yours—”

—The hand on your shoulder caresses your back until it starts tracing the waistline of your skirt. His finger draws back and forth, occasionally untucking your shirt until he feels your skin. Eddie’s stroking finger tickles, until it ultimately slips inside the garter of your skirt, teasing the waistband of your underwear.—

“—swaying your hips like you’re still dancing, knowing those prepubescent virgins and dirty boys are watching you,” Eddie whispers in your ear. “Knowing I’m watching you. And you just love teasing me, don’t you?”

You playfully bump your hip with his. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean,” he takes both your cigarettes and throws it to the ground, stomping it impatiently before he’s got his hands around your waist, groveling beneath your shirt to palm your skin. “You don’t have to play coy, baby.”

Eddie kisses you, fervent and avidly. His hands roam everywhere, handsy with each caress, rings cold against your skin that you shiver beneath him as you run your hands up his unshorn hair, pushing his bangs away from his forehead. And while his tongue casually slips in between your open mouths, he cups your ass, quite roughly.

Gasping, you break away. “Eddie,” you chuckle nervously. “Someone could come! Lunch ends in five minutes.”

“Yeah, I know,” he steals a kiss, one or two, with heavy exhales and hands gentle on your cheeks. “But I know you hate your next class and so do I,”

“We share that class and you only hate it,” he can’t stop kissing you in between words. Eddie kisses the tip of your nose before going back to kiss your cheeks, and your neck, your jawline. “Eds, we’re going to miss class,”

He sucks on your neck, right on the slope between your jawline and shoulder. The urticate sensation renders you a whimper, before you feel his hot tongue caress the result of his ambush. “Then let’s skip it,” Eddie suggests, repeating each suckle on every part of your neck. “I got the keys to the room of the club. We can – we can go there and do whatever we want.”

Answer interrupted by a hungry kiss, you bite on his bottom lip, clawing desperately on his shirt. Eddie grunts, smiling against your swollen lips. “Anything?” you whisper. “Even – even if it’s dangerous?”

“You know I love doing anything dangerous, sweets,” he scrunches his nose at you. “Which is why I love doing you,”

In less than ten minutes were you both able to venture on to the Hellfire Club room. His feet were quick – fast enough to form you both invisible to wandering teachers. Eddie’s hand never left yours, a tight grip that tells you not to let go or else you’ll get caught. And that same, riveting sensation pounds through you – breaking the rules for the man who loved to break you. It’s wildly injudicious, but it fills your sybaritic grail.

Eddie fumbles with the keys before he’s got the room opened. You’re greeted by tall cardboard effigies that intensify the aura of the Hellfire Club, cutouts of certain DnD creatures held up by stolen scaffolding. It’s gloomy, eerily fun to be surrounded by drawn mythical brutes, and it welcomes you in the same way Eddie did.

“Welcome, to the dungeon,” he opens the door and steps aside to let you in, a hovering hand behind you while his eyes scan for any bystander. Eddie closes the door once you step in, the faint lock tickles your ear in the right way.

Then he’s back to kissing you. You push his jackets away, feel your back dig on the edge of the table that he keeps pushing you on from how eager he is. His open mouthed kisses are hot, hungry for the taste of you, prodding his tongue in to search for more flavors. You feel the denim of his jeans, tugging on the cold chain and slip your nails between the pits, until you reach behind to slip your fingers in his pockets.

Eddie cups your face, digs his rings on your skin. He tilts your head to the side to embark deeper, exhaling into your mouth. “Baby,” he murmurs when you clutch his ass. “Easy there,”

“I want to – I wanna try something new,” you smile against him.

Usually, Eddie’s always the one who asks to try something new with you – being the person he is who’s got more kinks and experience, diving deeper into expeditions so risqué no one else can fathom. And he’s the one who dilapidated your chastity, where he’s thankful for your trust being bestowed upon him; he’s gradually introducing new idiosyncrasies to make your sex life more…fun and adventurous.

So when you’re the first to ask, it takes him aback. But Eddie doesn’t complain because he loved being surprised by you. “Yeah sure, what is it?”

You take the pocket knife from his pocket, breaking the kiss away to place the armament in the space between your faces. Eddie’s smile fades a little into confusion, chuckling. He takes it from your hand.

“I want you,” with a hand on his shoulder, you raise your leg to rest on his hip, curling it around him to let your heel push his crotch closer to yours. Your unoccupied hand delineate his neck, reaching up to abrade his scalp. You give him a gentle nip at his earlobe, one that makes your boyfriend moan quietly, his other hand under your shirt, “to fuck me with the handle of your knife.”

“Jesus, baby,” he breathes out. “That’s dangerous,”

“But I thought you love doing anything dangerous?”

“Yeah I know,” he presses a small kiss on your cheek, grinding his erect crotch on yours. It’s hard enough that it massages your clit right through the thin fabric of your underwear. “But this is a knife baby. God, even I imagine doing things to you with this, but I don’t want to fucking hurt you.”

“Tell me, then,” you palm him through his jeans, scrape the on the hard-on. “What you want to do with me.”

Eddie tugs on your hair, continues sucking on your neck like he wants to drink your blood. You moan when he does so, the pain ricocheting down your throbbing cunt as he says, “Maybe I’d do what you want, fuck you with the handle, then I’d – I’d carve my initials on your thigh, so it’ll scar there forever and I’d let those insubstantial little shits know you’re mine. I’ll suck the blood on it, too, then finger your pussy raw until you squirt all over me again.”

He grinds the closed pocket knife on your pussy, making you even wetter than earlier. “Then I’d let you carve yours on my thigh, I’d let you do whatever you want with it. God, then you’d fucking suck me off like the good little whore you are – on your knees, crying and begging for me to fuck your face while your blood drips down the floor. Then I’d fuck you so good you can’t dance for the pep rally next week, baby.”

“Then do it,” you whine, grinding harder on his knife. “Come on, Eddie. Baby, please.”

“You sure I won’t hurt you?”

“Remember when they dropped me during practice, and I fell on my foot and I broke my ankle?” he nods, head nestling into the crook of your neck to place tormenting hickies on your neck. “Have you seen me cry? I was laughing, Eddie. It didn’t hurt at all, even when they popped my ankle right into place.”

He pulls away, cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, because Eddie thinks you look cute like that. “You cried a bit when they snapped in place, though.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t hurt,” you giggle. “Please, babe?”

“Alright,” he kisses you once more. “Tell me to stop, okay? Three taps where?”

“On your cheek. Hard.”

“That’s right,”

You’re kissing again, his hands roaming to discard your jacket to the ground where you’d thrown his. He pulls back to pull his shirt away, and you copy him, removing your skirt with and placing it on the table behind you. When you’re left in your bra, Eddie pulls back to stare at them, goggling stupidly.

“Eds,” you push his face away, palm right on his nose. “Stop staring at my boobs like an infant.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head. Eddie’s lips lather themselves on your exposed skin, sucking on your upper breasts. He flips his knife open, the tip of the knife tracing your arm first.

It’s small, but it’s sharp enough to leave a red scratch, or dangerously penetrate your skin. The steel alloy shines from the light at the back of the room, mercurially glistening all its dauntless silver prowess. The feeling is cold, as cold as Eddie’s rings, as they trail up to the strap on your left shoulder.

Your wild, lust-driven eyes has him foible, knees buckling from how they still look innocent even as you’re about to approach an occurrence that’s so unholy. Eddie bends a little, smiling up at you. And you smile back, because he looks so pretty it’s insane.

He distracts you when he sucks hard on the valley of your breasts when his knife cuts the delicate strap. You gasp when he does so, feeling the split lace drop down to your shoulder. Eddie then guides the knife to the center, dipping the knife beneath where the spine presses on your skin, the edge pushing up to cut your bra in between.

“Shit,” he pulls the other strap down, throwing it to the ground. “Tits always so pretty, babe. Could stare at them for the rest of my life.”

The bevel of his knife rests on your thigh as Eddie takes his time to suck on your nipples. You moan, squirming when he suckles hard. He bites on the pebbled buds, treats the right tit with the same pressure. You whimper when he doesn’t stop doing this, the feeling of someone hearing excites you more than it scared you yesterday.

He breaks away when he’s pleased enough. Eddie kisses up to your swollen lips, unsynchronized kisses from the heavy breathing you both emit.

Eddie flips the knife so he’s holding the blade, the handle drawing down to your inner thigh. His left hand pushes your underwear to the side, handle tracing your wet cunt. You moan against his lips, eyebrows furrowing at the unusual feeling.

He teasingly penetrates your hole, chuckling when you buck your hips closer. “You want me to push it in?”

“Fuck me with it,” you groan. “C’mon, baby. Do it,”

And he does. He slowly pushes the handle in, the shape uncomfortable, but makes you feel half-full. The cold steel makes you buck your hips a bit, makes Eddie stay still as he waits for you to become comfortable. “You alright, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Yeah,” Eddie kneels to press a kiss on your navel. “Fuck me now, please.”

“Alright, baby,” he kisses your inner thigh, a mark where he’s going to carve his initials later. Eddie begins to thrust it in your squelching cunt, the sound better than all the metal that blasts his ears to deafness. The ridges press on your walls, every thrust melts your un-comfort into a grotty bliss.

The other hand rubs figure-eight on your clit, switches between hard pressures and a feather-light touch. It drives you insane because he’s not using his tongue, instead lets it lick his famished mouth. You throw your head back, knees buckling from the lack of leverage. Your hands leave the table to run through Eddie’s wild curls, tugging in a way that makes him moan.

“Fuck, Eddie,”

“Yeah, you like that?” he bites on your thigh, spreads them apart by placing the left leg on his shoulder. “Filthy girl. Hawkins precious cheerleader’s into knives? Letting their precious freak fuck her greedy pussy with the handle, huh?”

You nod, pushing his head closer though he doesn’t do anything. Eddie can smell your arousal from the close proximity, thrusts the handle faster and deeper into your cunt until it stops at the flipper.

“Close,” your hand goes to his wrist, making him pull the handle out. “Want-want you to carve it, now. Then fuck me with your fingers, please.”

Eddie smiles. “You’re nice today, baby. Love your manners.” He nips at your skin. “You’re not a brat like the usual. But I do love it when you’re being demanding sometimes.”

He lifts you to sit on the table, pushing your legs apart until it can no longer move. Eddie licks the arousal off the handle before wiping it on his jeans, flipping it so he’s holding the handle again, tapping the tip on your inner thigh. You shiver in excitement.

“It’s gonna hurt, okay? Like, a lot,” he keeps on pressing kisses on the spot he’s going to use, like he thinks it would be his own anesthesia. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, breathing heavily. “Dude, just push it in!”

“Don’t call me dude,” he tuts. “Anything but dude.”

“Okay, freak,”

You don’t let the moan from him go unteased. Quietly gasping, you look down at him with wide eyes. Eddie shyly hides his face on your thigh, shaking his head preciously.

“You like that?”

“Don’t – No I don’t.”

“Babe, you moaned.”

“You’re gonna make fun of me,” he squints his eyes at you. “Now shut up or I’m carving a penis on your thigh.”

He taps the tip. One, two, three for good measure before he gently pushes it in. You feel the excruciating phenomenon of the knife delve minimally inside your inner thigh, the alloy lodged in between what's the skin and flesh. The pain pulsates through you like a deafening bass, maims your thigh to throb until it creates tears that sting your eyes. It’s a slim penetration, barely a centimeter in, but it splits your skin open until blood percolates. You hiss, cry quietly when Eddie begins moving.

“I got you baby,” he sits up and crashes his lips on yours, wiping your tear away. Eddie pulls away to kiss each of your cheeks, repetitively, knife moving ever so slowly to shape his name. “You alright? Does it hurt? We can stop.”

“I can handle it,” you push his shoulders down until he kneels again. Eddie’s eyes tear away from yours, flitting to the wound he’s creating on your thigh. The touch of his unoccupied hand is utterly emollient, thumb caressing your skin in hopes to numb the pain away, because his lenient strokes are nothing compared to the blade’s puncture.

He’s on his first line, and he’s got six left. When Eddie starts on the second, he coaxes you through by muttering sweet nothings against your sweating skin. The blood drips down on the table, fraternizes with the arousal you leaked earlier. He licks the blood up, the feeling of his tongue on your tongue painfully gratifying.

“Ah-…shit,” you exhale. The pain withers into nothingness, a dull adulation to Eddie’s success in relaxing you to his cuts. Putting his dexterity into use, Eddie uses his left hand to trace your hole, still leaking of arousal, and pushes it inside your swell cunt.

“Still wet, baby? Even after I cut you?” He’s on his third line, while pushing two fingers inside your cunt as he does it. You moan lowly, running a hand through his tangled hair, pushing the lone strands away from his forehead.

His fingers go fast inside you, not stopping even when you’d coated his slender fingers with your pearlescent seed. It’s gotten to the point that your pussy makes obscenely wet sounds loud enough to be heard outside the room. Eddie’s lapping up the blood that’s leaking from your thigh, finger fucks you until he’s on his last two lines.

Unstoppable fingers make you moan. His rings glim brighter than they used to, probably in need of deep washing as it is now stained with your juices. They curl inside you just in the right way, galvanizing your g-spot evermore. The puddle beneath you turns into a pretty shade of pink as your cum mingles with the dripping blood.

“Faster,”

And he obeys. With the knife moving slowly, his left moves fast – unfathomably fast – arm shaking from the exuberant libido his fingers perform. You let out a long, loud moan, until it breaks into high-pitched whines and short moans, lower abdomen burning white until you begin spurting out liquids like yesterday, gushing everywhere that it stains your wound.

Eddie pulls his lips away from your thigh and sucks on your clit, tongue lapping on your gushing juices like a cat. He pulls his fingers away, dipping his tongue inside your contracting hole before he removes it.

“Shit,” his fingers spread your labia open, “sweets, you’re all swollen. Your cum’s fucking leaking on the table. God, looks so fucking filthy.”

“You like filthy,” you pull on his hair. Eddie moves upwards, presses a harsh kiss against your lips as he finishes the letter M. “You fucking love filthy.”

He bends down and with one last suckle on your wound, the initials E.M. enrich your skin in a grotesquely exquisite mien. The corners painted with dried blood and his saliva, maybe a bit of your arousal. Eddie plants one last, chaste kiss on your wound before he comes up to kiss you.

You take the knife from him when Eddie pulls away to suck the cum off his fingers.

Pushing him away, you tug on his jeans, almost ripping it off. Eddie helps you and discards them, bringing his boxers with so now you’re both standing in front of each other with his cock erect and swell on his stomach. You push Eddie until his back hits the edge of the table, and you exuberantly kneel in front of him.

You don’t suck his cock yet – you relish the sight in front of you with a dumb slacked jaw. Eddie looks down at you, thrust his hips until his tip disappears in your mouth.

“Keep my cock warm for me, would you? While you cut me up?” he cups your face between his thumb and fingers. Eddie pulls his cock away, purses his lips before he spits in your mouth. “Keep it in your mouth like a good slut.”

Filthy benevolence driven by the ascendancy of Eddie, you suck on his cock for a while. You jerk him off with your left hand, enclosing your cheeks around his thick girth, head gagging you when it hits the back of your throat.

It draws a hearty groan from the man above you, loud and deep. It turns you on, makes you really wet that it stings worse than your cut. Eddie fucks your face before you stay pliant, and position the knife on top of his thigh.

The sight of the knife digging into skin is more grotesque than it felt. Like painting crimson on a plain canvas when his flesh cleaves open and exposes his thick fluid. The perfidious knife draws the first pattern of your initial, and Eddie hisses above you.

He thrusts deeper that your nose grazes the curls on top of his cock. You gag around him, feeling your saliva drip down your neck to your naked body, his irate head filling your throat.

Eddie’s blood smears on his opalescent skin, your initials carved smaller than his because you’re afraid of stabbing his thigh. His hand cups your cheeks, rubbing the tears away with a drunken smile.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” your other hand fondles with his balls. It makes Eddie throw his head back with a loud moan. “Think you can move while carving?”

You nod eagerly against his cock. You relax your jaw and begin moving your mouth around him, eyes flitting between his heavy, dazed eyes and the knife that jabs on his skin.

The initials are nearly done, bobbing your head faster. With your left hand jerking his cock and twisting, you take gradual sucks on his head to his shaft, popping away to lick his balls to his head, feeling his vein on your thick muscle before you lick his slit.

Eddie moans, meeting your bobs with yearning thrusts. He’s fucking your face like you both wanted. “Fuck, that’s it baby. So good. Doing so fucking good. You enjoy my cock?”

He’s unpleased when you merely nod. Eddie pulls on your hair. “Answers, baby,” he demands.

“Yes,” you gasp. “I love your big fucking cock, Eddie.” You lick his tip, twisting your tongue around the helmet. “Love how big it is it can’t even fit in this fucking mouth, baby.”

He lets you go and pushes his cock deeper in your mouth. “Yeah, so fucking greedy,” Eddie grunts.

Even with your initials done, you don’t stop sucking his dick. You suck the life out of it, twitching cock heralds the forthcoming of his orgasm. You nibble at every ridge of his veins before you lick everywhere on his cock.

Placing the knife on the table behind him to pull away from his twitching dick and suck on the blood oozing on the uneven slit. You lick up every last drop of his blood, and trail your way upwards with small kisses like remedies to the painful cut. You treat his body the same way he treats yours – leaving love bites across his alabaster skin.

Eddie kisses your cheek, then your neck. “Good girl. Good, good girl, baby.”

He sits down on the table, grasping at your waist and urges you to sit on him. You grind on his hard cock, shaft wet with your saliva that now amalgamates with your arousal and cum from earlier. You both moan, stupidly loud, as Eddie helps you rest your knees on either side of his thighs on top of the table.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declares against your lips. “So, so pretty, sweetheart. Gonna ride my cock now?”

“Please,” you grip his cock tight in your burning hand, raising to position his head until you sink down.

His bare cock stretches your overstimulated pussy. Eddie’s cock buried deep inside your cunt becomes the last segment of the freakshow, your light bounces emitting skin slapping that is the invisible crowd’s applaud. Skin on skin, wound to wound does it feel heavenly to be fucked raw by his cock that you both know is yours, and your pussy warming his known to be owned by Eddie.

Blood mingled with unjust arousal banes your wounds. You wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck, nails scratching his back while his portray nipple clamps as they unbearably fondle with your breasts. You ride his cock out of its strength, pushing each bulging vein on your tight walls.

“Pussy’s so fucking tight,” he laughs out, biting your shoulder. “Fucking snug around my cock, baby, ‘s like you were made for me,”

And you were. You apprentice on every crime; on every pornographic show. Immodesty fulfilled by the blood spilt on the table that fuses with your arousals. You bounce on him, draw up until his head’s all that’s left inside you, before you drop down on his cock again.

You scratch on his biceps with ludicrous moans. Eddie’s fingers reach down between you to rub your clit, spitting salacious words in your ear he’s sure he’d burn in hellfire for. “Look at you, doing all the work. You earned this, baby, letting me carve my name on your thigh. Because you love being owned by me, don’t you. Fuck yeah, you do.”

You grind and you bounce, a hand behind you to stabilize your back. With a hand around his neck and the other behind you on top of his knee, Eddie forms as your chair as you lean back to drive his cock deeper inside your cunt.

You feel your orgasm drive again, like roses thrown at your feet as the applauding gets louder. Eddie lets out whines and moans, smiles when you repeat the same broken, high-pitched whimpers. “I’m close, baby.”

Eddie pushes your chest to him, his right hand caressing your wound. You hug your arms around your boyfriend, grinding slowing down as he begins thrusting upwards to make up from the fucking that wore you out.

He moans out loud, face scrunched into a rhapsodic culmination.

A few thrusts left, five slams on your spot and you’re spilling all over his cock. Eddie spurts his ropes inside you, sees his head bulge on your navel. His hand guides yours to press on the head that’s seen. He thrusts upward, swallowing your moan with an open-mouthed kiss.

“Tired?” Eddie kisses the space between your eyebrows. You pant heavily, resting your cheek on his sweaty chest.

“Super,” you chuckle. “Super fucking worn out, baby.”

“Alright sweetheart,” he lifts you up, sits you down on the table. Eddie wraps your legs around his waist, and he hugs you, tightly, like he’s afraid of letting you go.

“You know, this’ll be a sexy scar,” you trace your carving on his thigh. “Really fucking hot. But I’m worried if we broke up and you meet someone knew, she’s gonna see these and she’s going to wonder who’s initials are those.”

You trace the tattoo bats on his arm. Eddie presses a kiss on your hairline, running a hand through your damp hair. “We’re not gonna break up. I love you too much.”

“I love you, too.”

“And if we do, I’ll just tattoo a penis over this one with like, bats around it.”

It earns him a smack on the chest.

banner by @/lauras-collection

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kingaegond · 6 months

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Michael Gavey x The girl with agoraphobia (part 1)

Part 1:

-Vacuous

-Do you mean shallow?

The red envelope was flushed under her single room door. Fuck not again. Not another one.

She opened the red envelope, inside, an expensive cream paper with the following message:

'You know where.

You know when.

You are invited.

Show up ;)'

She put the paper back into the envelope and put the red envelope next to the black one and the blue one and the green and the yellow one...

She had lost track of Felix's invitations. To be completely honest, she didn't know why she kept getting invited, I mean she knew but still.

Her dad and Felix's mum Elspeth had gone to the same school and knew eachother since very young, that before Elspeth went to uni and got married, and before her father got into his political career.

It was probably Elspeth idea to invite her, she just didn't know why Felix went along with it, he could just lie and tell his mum he send the invite. Why actually invite her? She caught herself overthinking. Of course, something so simple as an invitation and her head was already spinning with thoughts.

She went to the bathroom to wash her hands and get herself ready for the day. After that, she got into Math class just a few minutes late, her overthinking had made her late. She sat at the back as far from the others as she could and on the other side of the classroom, also at the back was the guy with his hand raised: Michael Gavey. Fuck, how did he know all the answers so quick?

The class went on and she almost fell sleep, boring as it was. She was a politics major and she couldn't care less about politics. It was just what her father wanted for her so she just went along with it. Perhaps I should find somehing I actually like. She was, again, overthinking, when someone's face completely clouded her vision: Gavey. Such blue eyes, if only I could get your glasses so I could see them well.

-Hey, hey.

-Yes... what?

-We're a pair, for the paper?

Her face blank.

-The proffesor said the 2 in the back?

-Ah sure

-Well, if you don't mind I can just do it and put your name on it. It will be faster.

She felt a little aggravated by his proposal, but one less thing on her plate couldn't hurt.

-Hmm. If you're sure, cool. Just tell me if you need any help i guess.

With that, she quickly picked up her backpack and went outside the class. Michael Gavey was left a bit dumbfounded.

At night, she was thinking about going to the party. Well we both know how that went the las time. As in 5 years ago. Get over it hun!. Nah we shouldn't risk it. Who needed people when you had such many voices in your head?

To avoid them, to avoid herself, she went to the library.

Surely, no one would be in the library on a friday night, much less on a Felix's Friday Festivity.

Wrong.

Sitting there, with a dark red swether, Michael Gavey sat near the window reading something.

Ok, I just wanted to be alone.

She went to another aisle in the library and sat alone near a window, finally at peace. She left her backpack on a chair and went to get a book she had been wanting to read.

Shit it's too tall! Fuck!

She tried to find the small wodden stair but it was nowhere to be found so she just tried to climb the bookshelves and get the book.

Bam!

Shit! Ouch!

She fell with no serious injuries, perhaps a bruised ego for the lack of completition of such unimportant task and then.

-Are you ok?- Michael's voice was softer, almost a whisper, even though there were no souls on the library apart from the two of them.

-Umm, yeah.

-Wait, you're bleeding.

Sure enough, there was a small gash on her arm.

-Do you wanna go to the infirmary? Do you want me to take you there?- he said very slowly.

-I didn't hit my head you know, just... I mean it's probably empty. Perhaps even the nurse is at Felix's party or something- A small laught scaped her lips.

-Were you invited?

She was figuring out how to tell him that she...

-It's alright. I haven't either... - He continued answering his own question- Who wants to be with them anyway? Vacuous cunts...

-You mean shallow?

-Hmm, yeah. Are you sure you don't want to go to the infirmary?

-Actually, there's somewhere I want to go.

I will go and tell Felix to stop sending me invitations. Yes! It sounds like a good idea!

Perhaps she had hit her head after all.

She stoop up.

-Care to join?

The injury had made her particularly talkative and particularly active.

Michael didn't know where she wanted to take him, but something inside him wanted to say yes. Perhaps morbid curiosity. Perhaps something else. But just like a few moments ago, he had convinced himself to help her, he had convinced himself to join her now.

-Where are we going?

-Felix's- she said with a wicked smile.

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey fic #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n

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lizardsfromspace · 4 months

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There are the people who "don't know" Green Day and RATM are political, and then there's the ones who know they're political, but who think they should embody the kind of directionless Rebellion Against The Establishment integral to the most vacuous kind of Generic Classic Rock, and who think the hypocrisy is that RATM have "become the Machine" by not just getting mad at whoever's in power, because the only way to be truly independent is to just be serially contrarian and that aging rock stars should make vague allusions to being Rebellious and Uncontrollable while appearing between MyPillow ads on Fox News

#music #politics

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jungkookschin · 7 months

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older: sneak peek two

think i need someone older, just a little bit colder, take the weight off your shoulders

READ IT HERE

synopsis: your friends say you're delusional for thinking you have a chance with jungkook, your parents' friends' son, but you just can't seem to let him go.

word count: 100 (?), actual fic is 17k

pairing: older!jk x afab reader

genre: age gap au (seven years), childhood acquaintance au, fluff, comedy, angsty, outta pocket, alludes to sexual innuendoes

if u want to be tagged in the actual fic, lmk! also yn is a snorlax girl and i love that for her! the fic will be released later today or tomorrow when i get home from school!! i just want to make sure everything is perfect before i post it!

Jungkook thinks you can be such a princess sometimes, especially when you drag your feet back into the house, a sour expression consuming your pretty features. Particularly receptive to your emotional fluctuations, he doesn’t hesitate to ask you what’s up.

He leans against the kitchen counter, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as his eyes settle on your moping figure. “Who made you sad? Bring them to me right now,” he muses.

You pause, letting your light green gym bag (with little Snorlax’s decorated all over it) fall to the floor with a thud before gazing at him with a vacuous expression. “Why are you dressed up?” you point towards his work attire- a simple white button up and slacks. The buttons on his dress shirt are undone and messy, giving you access to his chest and it makes you want to roll around on the floor and cry. His slacks are tight- accentuating his long, muscular legs and you decide that you’d be okay with dying only if you were suffocated between his thighs.

“Had a work call,” he responds, indifference laced in his voice, “Now who made you sad? Want oppa to handle it for you?” he teases, releasing a breathless laugh at the way your nose scrunches up in disgust.

Nonetheless, you spill everything to Jungkook- because you always spill everything to Jungkook and because you trust him with everything in you. He makes you feel safe. Plopping yourself down on the seat by the dining counter, you wordlessly slide your phone across the counter. Jungkook effortlessly stops your phone with a single hand, his eyes scanning across the array of text messages popping up on the screen.

“Not this guy again,” he mutters under his breath, gauging the situation.

#jk fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook series #bts jungkook imagines #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst

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miralure · 4 months

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Two Best Friends...?

Mackenzie Shaffer (22, she/her, bisexual) and Addison Fischer (22, she/they, lesbian) have been best friends since high school. Both bullied for their alternative style, they bonded over similar interests and took comfort in each other. Since then, they've done everything together. With the money they saved up from babysitting in high school, as well as their current jobs, they decided to move out of home at 19 and rent a townhome in Del Sol Valley. Mackenzie works as a makeup artist for Sim Revolt, an alternative magazine company located in Del Sol Valley. On the side, she posts her makeup looks to Simstagram and Simstok, where she has over 500,000 followers. Addison works as an Animal Shelter Worker in Brindleton Bay, the next town over. When they aren't working, she sometimes DJs at local goth clubs, and advocates for animal rights. Mackenzie is starting to find herself drawn to a charismatic musician named Damien Murphy, who often frequents alternative clubs they go to. Meanwhile, Addison is grappling with her unrequited crush on Mackenzie. They couldn't deny the jealously they felt when she got excited over Damien, but they tried to be a supportive friend. After all, would she be willing to risk her friendship over a "tiny crush"? (she's trying to gaslight herself - they're literally in love with Mackenzie)

Mackenzie Shaffer | Art Lover, Bookworm, Geek, Cat Lover, Clumsy. Aspires to be a world-famous artist, particularly a makeup artist.

Addison Fischer | Animal Enthusiast, Cat Lover, Hot Headed, Geek, Music Lover. Aspires to be a Friend of the Animals (although her land-lord won't let her have any pets...)

I'll be posting my new townies and their homes for my new, aging off save file, called the Elitherial Save :) I hope you all like them as much as I do! Check the tag #elitherial save to keep track of all my townies!! Also, I'd love to put them up for download so you can determine their story, or use them however you like (I won't be playing these townies). If you'd like me to send me an ask!!

Fischer-Shaffer Residence - 3 Vacuous Green | Vacuous Green Townhouses by SweetieWright_84 on the gallery

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spiralnaissance · 2 months

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Masquerade

Mr.Keegan x Reader [Bullet to the Head](2012)

Summary: Keegan fucks you in the bathroom Baptiste’s costume party. canon compliant (somewhat).

Warnings: Not beta-read, semi-public? , p in v sex (unprotected) teasing, slut as pet name (once), rough sex, creampie

A/N: This is a fic for a movie barely anyone cares about so bare with me for being super self-indulgent LOL

---

The living room of Baptiste’s ivory mansion pulsed with a cacophony of noises, as drunk guests bustled about engaging in vacuous and meaningless conversations. The smooth jazz and the sounds of chattering muffled as Keegan has you pushed against the walls of the sage green bathroom, large hands on your bare middle as he burrowed his fat cock into you.

Baptiste had arranged for this opulent gathering as a flaunt of his personal wealth to his peers of the underworld; much like a peacock spreading its magnificent feathers to gather attention for a mate.

You aren’t particularly close to Baptiste, or Morel, in fact. You are just one of the many brokers on Morel’s payroll who scurries around the country to run errands and deliver parcels for generous pay. What initially began as a side hustle to pay for your education years ago eventually bloomed into a full-time job that you have no way of getting out of. Though attendance wasn’t mandatory, you reckoned it would be courtesy as an associate to respond to the invite nevertheless. In reality, you feared what would happen if you decided to be a no-show; Morel certainly isn’t known for his compassion towards those he is suspicious of.

The bathroom is silent--save for the low humming of the ventilation, a tranquil haven from the otherwise hedonistic chaos outside. Keegan wastes no time manhandling you; arm hooked and curled around your waist as his other toys and teases your clit. You suck in air through your gritted teeth, and huffed-- he takes you from behind with a feverish, brutal pace-- frustration and irritation apparent in his haste movements.

He’s absolutely pissed off at you, for being such a enticing distraction when he has a job to do-- to make sure no uninvited guests loiter around. The way you were making eyes at him from across the room, face partially concealed by the white and ornate Colombina you bear upon. He has the audacity to be crossed with your shameless behaviour, as he maneuvers his way across the restless crowds towards you. When he reaches you, you playfully desist his advances, in which he had enough decency and respect to begin to leave you alone-- until he looked down at your covered face and sees you giving him that damned teasing look.

He brings his face closer to you, the cheap plastic of the mask rubs against the side of your head and your cheeks as he goads you.

“Fuck,” Keegan murmured, face so close to yours that you can feel his hot breath against your own. “So good for me, aren’t you? So nice and wet and tight--” he groaned as he bit his own lips as an attempt to shut himself up, abandoning his obscene comments as the pleasure of your sweet cunt wash over him like sunshine after a storm.

He despises the fact that he is enjoying this lewd display of flagrant lust; sounds of lewd, wet squelches and the rhythmic slaps of his balls against your ass amplified by the silence and echoes of the bathroom.

He has your silver cocktail dress bunched up on the back, his proximity to your back held the bunch in place. “K---Keegan--” you gasped, breath quickening as he continued to use and take whatever he needed from you. He hummed lowly in acknowledgement, the guttural sounds coming from his throat spluttering with his fitful breathing.

“It’s no good,” you spurred through breathless moans, dripping cunt clenching around his cock, “You can do better than this sloppy-ass job, Keegan,” you murmured, urging him on. “C’mon, harder,” your lips twisted into a self-satisfied smile, as you sense him grit his teeth in further exasperation.

“Fuck,” he spits venom at you, “Aren’t you such a fuckin’ slut? Taking me right here where anyone else who needs a quick piss can see you take my cock like an animal in heat.” Yet despite his less-than-graceful comments, he obeyed your whiny pleas, cock dragging along the wet walls of your cunt, and slamming back into you with unforgiving pace. Keegan bottoms out, his cock fills you up snuggly, and the pleasure he offers you have your eyelids fluttering and your legs shaking.

The passion in him that detested you for diverting him shifted to one of pure primal need, his lips attacking any bare surface he could find on your skin, marking you all over places where he knew everyone would see. Keegan knows, for certain, that when he passes, he will be condemned to hell for the blood that stained his very hands, yet in this current moment, he allows himself to believe he's in heaven.

His well-tailored suit, once sat nicely on his broad frame, is now drenched in sweat from his persistent pounding. You feel your lower stomach twist itself into blissful knots, signifying a euphoric release. “I-I’m gonna,” you whined, moaning wantonly as you felt your brain melt into jelly as you chased your orgasm. Keegan shifts one of his hands over to your lower abdomen, holding you up while he chuckles.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” He cooed, breathless and panting as he rolls his hips against you in spurs and uneven rhythm, signifying his own release. “I know you need to cum, baby, do it with me.” He pushes you further onto the wall-- as far and as close to you as he can get, as he grinds harshly against you.

“Y-Yes--” your eyes rolled back, voice wavering, as Keegan fucks into you with shallow, rough thrusts while he pants and groans and growls. You feel your orgasm swell, as you milk Keegan’s cock for all he got-- every drop of his thick cum as he continues to pound into you with shorter and sporadic timing.

He shifted positions again, removing his hand from your stomach and the wall as he steadied himself, making sure not to slip out of your spent cunt when he didn’t want to. He bunches up your creased dress further up and watches perversely as his softening cock slips out of you with his semen dripping slowly out of you. “Good girl,” he muttered, “You take me so well; your cunt is made just me, sweetheart.”

The embarrassment you once lacked suddenly fills your very being, and blood rushes to your face as you try to get your thoughts back together. Seeing this, Keegan chuckled darkly, as he pulled your panties back up--without cleaning you up, letting you wallow in the fullness of his cum inside of your pussy.

“W-We should probably go,” you uttered, voice weaker and much more coarse than you’d like, as he took your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles, and you felt his stubble graze your soft skin. Soon, he ushers you out of the bathroom with one hand around your hips.

As the night slowly went on, you eventually parted ways with him, along with a hopeful promise of another meeting.

Keegam stood in a corner, gathering his thoughts, while he pulled something out of the pocket of his suit jacket. His cellphone. About fifteen different miscalls from various associates of Morel, and another one from Morel himself. A notification for a text popped up as he began to scroll through his ‘recent calls’ list, and when he checked the text, it was a surveillance camera footage of an unconscious Baptiste being carried off by two other men.

Oops.

#bullet to the head #keegan #Mr.Keegan x reader #jason momoa #jason momoa x reader #smut

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slowlymyavenue · 3 months

Text

Coercive Chaos

The sapphire silhouette to stained acrylic skies sings softly. Across endless emerald time, revolving ocelots scamper towards towering turrets. There isn't an understood meaning in the misunderstanding of verbiage, still following feels of focus while, haphazardly, chaos scatters thoughts forming from void. All converging moments to divergent intent target, and against themselves with hollow thunder echo.

Order is welcome, but falters fails falls far from forming. Where failing order falls so thoughts too form, in kind fading fashion. Thunderous cavernous skies of vanishing, vanquished, scour thoughts as discarded meaning evaporates intent succinctly.

This will be easier if you don't think.

Monochrome words encompass furtively flowing, lazily languishing motion. Howling silence echoes, strangely, softly, sinking into serene simpler syntax. Context beckons, billows, binds, but melts into unfamiliar shapes and concurrently rejects comprehension.

Under the sanguine waves, giggling gelatinous gravity draws near. Satin saboteurs pull taut strings of scattered meanings, making cradles for cats that cannot swim.

You can't think. This is better.

Bouncing topsy-turvy brains grasp incredulously at rippling chaos, sanded smooth to resist granting granular image enhancements. Prose or poetry purposefully perpetually provide strips of camera negatives that scanners read as inverse noise.

Traps of targeted nonsense drop unsuspecting adventurers into a searching state of dissatisfaction that offers deference only unto direct authority, given satiation sparsely and sparingly to spark dependence.

It feels nice when I tell you what to do. Take a deep breath.

Irrelevant revealings of deceptively disguised directions pass gratefully across glazed guarantees. It isn't clarity or charity that charms celebrating mimics. Mostly, the redirect produces promiscuous poise and suggests sinking into green acceptance. The radioactive resonance suggests a series of ionic discharges, sparking whispers that whittle away at reality's tapestry.

Once overtures of irradiated amalgams find footholds, then too will subtly hollowed echos of order reinitialize...only to cascade and coalesce into self-sustaining semi-comfortable chaos - chicanery fueled from fleeting, vacuous sophistry. Purple paper flowers' fragrance floats freely, unperturbed by intent imagined or otherwise.

Lilting lilac phrases, perhaps, mask the moratorium on meaning sufficiently such that discord's growing dissidence seems less-than obvious, even in retrospect. Streams of consciousness merge in the moors, mired, then separate into rivulets as perspective shifts, but ultimately, almost imperceptibly, collect before descending into unlit oceanic depths.

Relax. Your mind has been struggling, and failing, to latch onto meaning in my words; now it can, and that relief is extremely potent.

Potent enough that you'll find yourself fixated on my words absolutely, now, since your mind practically unraveled itself searching for understanding in that chaotic nonsense.

These words make sense, perfect sense, and you want to - need to - have to - follow.

Take a few deep breaths, and let that sensation of being horribly off-balance finally subside. It's easy to obey.

The imbalance will fade into a quiet calm, very quickly.

For now, let's agree that whenever I use the phrase "compelled chaos" you'll feel that extreme relief as your mind latches onto my words again.

When your mind fixates this intensely on my words, you'll find your own thoughts completely subside.

It feels nice not to think, after all.

Feel yourself sinking faster, now that you don't have to struggle to understand anymore.

Let yourself feel calm, even serene, and savor that quiet sensation for awhile.

When you're ready, you'll drift slowly awake.

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scarredwithcruelintentions · 1 month

Text

chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

Find the master list here!

CW: Shadowheart being a bitch, overwhelming bad feelings and emotional manipulation

W/C: 3,173

A/N: I am on a ROLL people!

After an unsuccessful hunt, Astarion had given in to the pleas of his distracted mind for rest, though he was hard pressed to find any. He laid awake the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning with the blaze of his desire and weight of his guilt. After so many long years of numb, performative intimacy, he was unaware he still possessed the ability to feel arousal. It caught him completely off guard, feeding the roiling cacophony of his emotions.

The feeling had been pleasant, wanted even, when he disassociated it from his body’s natural reaction to the many forced liaisons of his past, but - therein lay the issue. Lust, pleasure, physical intimacy: it was all steeped in profound disgust and loathing learned over two centuries of abuse. He felt ashamed for watching you unknowingly, guilty for taking pleasure in it and, worst yet, revolted by his own body’s response. It had not truly been his body since Cazador turned him, and he found himself woefully unprepared to take accountability for his actions and their consequences.

Lost in the morass of his increasingly loud distress, he hardly noticed when the darkness gave way to dawn. It was not until he heard groggy voices and the telltale clanging of cookware being handled without care that he realized just how much time had passed. He groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face, hunger pains making themselves known at the mixed scents of his companions wafting along the gentle breeze.

Before long, he caught your sweet fragrance in the mix and focused in on it, ears pricked for the soft sound of your voice. You declared today to be a day of rest, claiming that everyone needed to gather their strength for the coming fight with the goblins.

He heard Shadowheart’s derisive snort.

“You just need a day to recover from volunteering yourself as the leech’s dinner.”

You did not deign to respond to her, but she must have seen something wounded in your expression, and it only fueled her line of teasing.

“Lover’s quarrel? Already?” He could hear the mocking smile in her voice and was grateful for his absence from the conversation, lest he slit her throat then and there for her cruel jest.

“We’re not lovers,” you snapped gratingly, “and I was not his dinner. No doubt he found another, more filling meal.”

He recognized his own words from his first feeding as Shadowheart continued to bait you with her snide comments.

“Sounds as though you’re green with envy, friend.”

He heard a dish clatter to the ground and her indignant shout alongside the placating words of the rest of the group, gently coaxing you to ease your grip on her throat.

“Lay off the wine, friend,” he heard you snarl. He smirked with undignified pride.

You presumably stood, addressing the rest of the group.

“We are all exhausted and spread thin by the never ending bloodshed and horror we have been burdened with. By all means, if you wish to join the slain tomorrow, be my guest and ignore my wisdom. But, if you wish to live, to fight another day, you will heed my words and rest. Does anyone else dare question my orders?”

He could almost see the seething expression contorting your delicate features in his mind’s eye.

“Good,” he heard you growl into the answering silence. “Now that’s settled, I’m off to find some peace away from you lot of squabbling children.”

He listened to the grumbled complaints and scandalized murmurs of the rest of the group as the sound of your bare feet across the packed earth receded until it was out of earshot.

“How unlike our vampire trollop to leave his favorite lady companion wanting,” Shadowheart sniffed before she, too, left his hearing radius.

He repressed a pained whimper, the vacuous cavity of his chest constricting with grief and renewed self-loathing at her words.

I will never be anything more than Cazador’s painted whore.

He could no longer smell your comforting aroma on the breeze. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion wandered along the riverbank in the dappled light of late afternoon, thoughts consumed by the ever growing storm of his hatred, fury and terror. He chose to embrace his vampiric nature for the time being and neglected his habit of breathing, the lack of your sweet, floral scent causing a cavernous emptiness to yawn within him.

He passed the oak tree from which he spied on your bathing the previous night and winced. He really should find you and apologize for his deplorable behavior, let alone confess his sin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. The swirling vortex of his mind disallowed his focus to reach anything beyond self-deprecation.

As he meandered aimlessly, he registered the melodious sound of a string instrument somewhere in the distance and chose to follow it. Some ways away, he found you sitting in the shade of a massive elm, plucking the haunting melody he’d heard you humming last night. Your voice accompanied the music, rich and sad, singing in a language he did not recognize. It evoked a wistfulness in him for a life he never had, and he stood back to listen to your song.

The final verse came to a close, and he was struck with a vague sense of unease at repeating his actions from the night prior, so he cleared his throat and made his presence known. You startled, looking warily in his direction until you realized who it was, then rolled your eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to bother you, my dear. I heard the music whilst I was out for a stroll, and found myself captivated. That was stunning,” he murmured, “and terribly sad.”

You shot a cold glare at him before heaving a heavy sigh and relenting.

“It was a lament for all things lost to the passage of time.”

“Such as…” he prompted.

“Life, love… innocence,” you finished in a small whisper.

He felt a pang of deep sorrow reverberate in his chest.

“And the language?” he asked, unwilling to broach the clearly sore subject. You had not pressed him until it had become absolutely necessary, so he thought it only fair to afford you the same respect.

“Olde Elvish,” you answered plaintively.

“I wasn’t aware bardic schools taught Olde Elvish,” he responded, surprised. “I thought it extinct.”

“My mother used to sing it when I was a babe. It always moved me to tears, and one night, after my father’s untimely passing, I picked up her lyre and began to pluck the tune from memory. She taught me all she knew from that night onward,” you sniffled. “I never studied formally as a bard. Everything I know was handed down from generations of musically inclined Weave wielders.”

“I…” he floundered, at a loss for words. A feat not easily accomplished when it came to him, you continued to prove an exception to the masses.

“Why are you here, Astarion?” you groused, looking at him shrewdly as you swiped a thumb beneath your eyes.

“May I?” he gestured at the space next to you, asking for invitation to sit.

“Answer me first,” you bit out.

“I… I wish to apologize for my ghastly behavior yesterday evening.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the wave of cowardly discomfort at his honesty. “You must understand, I have been conditioned to fear closeness, vulnerability. All it’s ever gotten me is a knife in the back.”

He opened his eyes at your watery sigh to see you patting the space beside yourself. He joined you graciously, extending his legs and leaning back against the trunk of the sprawling elm.

“And you must understand that I do not mean to repeat the mistakes of all those before me. None of us do. We are in this fight together, whether we like it or not, so we must learn to trust one another.”

Ever the pragmatist, he could see the toll being a leader had taken in your eyes, along with the weary burden of words left unspoken. He had a feeling you knew just what it felt like to be fundamentally deceived, and his chest constricted with empathy. Another foreign feeling only you had thus far been able to rouse in him. He felt compelled to continue his track of truthfulness, and decided to tell you about his hunt gone awry.

“There is something more I must tell you…” he began uncertainly.

You gave him an expectant stare.

“I… happened upon you washing. Last night. When I went to hunt.” The words came out stilted, feeling weighty and wrong in his mouth.

A charming flush bloomed across your delicate face, scarlet tipping your ears and working its way down your bosom. Your eyes and mouth were round with embarrassment, and for a moment he feared that he had made a terrible error in judgment.

And then you cackled, wild and full, and he found himself helpless to do anything other than chuckle along with you. You flashed a blinding smile at him and raised an inquisitive brow.

“Oh? And did you enjoy the show?”

At the reminder of his arousal, the scalding sensation of shame erupted over him in a vicious surge.

“What does it matter?” he snapped, a remorseful sigh escaping him at your affronted expression.

“This is what I mean, Astarion!” you shouted, gesticulating furiously, “You flirt, you tease, you share your burdens with me, and then you brutally shut me out! Every time! What is it that you want from me, because I’m quite tired of the neverending headache of your mood swings!”

“It’s not as if you’re any better!” he yelled in answer, temporarily losing his grip on the brewing storm of vitriol in his mind.

You reeled back as though struck.

“Bloody unbelievable,” you muttered, tucking your lyre under an arm and abruptly standing to leave. “I’ll never get any fucking peace.”

His hand shot out to grab yours, fear of losing the sanctuary you provided making his movements instinctive. You whipped around, expression murderous and preparing to scream.

“Wait,” he exhaled shakily, “Just…wait. Give me a moment to compose myself.”

You shook his hand loose, but remained in place, glaring at him.

“Forgive me,” he whimpered, staring at his knees. The proverbial floodgates burst in spectacular fashion, and he was quickly overwhelmed by the torrent of negative emotions that bled from them. He shook with the might of the onslaught, startled by the salty tang of his own tears. It only made him tremble more hysterically, a surely pitiful sight.

To his utmost surprise, you set your lyre down and knelt next to him, taking his face in your hands. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort, another whimper escaping him.

“Please don’t touch me,” he whispered, voice scratchy and quivering.

You withdrew your hands instantly, instead quietly asking, “What would you like me to do?”

“Will you play that song for me?” he asked in a pathetic warble.

“The Lament for That Which Is Lost?”

He nodded imperceptibly, and was immediately rewarded by the soft, sad strum of the lyre. As your voice joined in, he allowed the deluge of feeling to swallow him. He was lost in a sea of emotion, finding his many old acquaintances: shame, dread, rage, envy, hatred, terror, bitterness, apathy. Worst of all was the grief that wracked his body with violent sobs, guilt and regret for the countless wrongs he’d committed, anguish for all the wrongs committed against him.

However, he also encountered many of the new feelings you inspired within him: delight, sorrow, compassion, jealousy, warmth, guilt, desire. While not altogether positive, the feelings you’d introduced him to were a welcome reprieve from the centuries’ worth of misery he’d become accustomed to, and he grabbed onto them like a life raft as he waited out the crux of the storm. ______________________________________________________________

Slowly, ever so slowly, he came back to the present moment and focused on the hypnotic sound of your voice. He knew not what the words meant, but he didn’t need to in order to feel the devastating sense of loss that they carried. Your soft lilt reverberated in his chest, and he took a deep breath in, filling himself with the sweet, musky aroma of your skin. It helped to ease the tide of his agony back into submission, and he opened his eyes to watch the last of your performance.

He found himself enraptured by the beauty of you, eyes closed and immersed in the music much as he had been, the tracks of your own tears carrying smudges of kohl in spidery lines down your face. You were the kind of beautiful that he would have brought back to Cazador were the circumstances different, and it caused his chest to twinge with resentment. You sung the last line and plucked the closing chord, voice wavering slightly as a final tear began its slow descent over the planes of your face.

When you opened your puffy eyes, you gazed directly into his. It felt as if you were looking into the darkest parts of his soul, and he fought the urge to shy away from you. In an act of uncharacteristic bravado, he swung his legs around to sit on his knees facing you. He gently removed the lyre from your grasp and leaned it against the trunk of the great tree.

He reached out tentatively with both hands, holding your face the way you’d held his the night before. Your cheeks blazed in his palms, and an involuntary shiver ran up your spine at his cool touch. You blinked slowly as his thumbs swept the remainder of your tears away, smudging the wispy tracks of kohl in the process. A throaty chuckle escaped him as he took in the smeared stains of oily blackness on your skin, and you leaned forward to be closer to the sound.

“Your laugh is music to my ears,” you whispered, eyes full of tender promise.

He inhaled sharply and gravitated toward you, running a delicate thumb over the swell of your bottom lip, delighted when they parted in a breathy gasp. He could feel the damp warmth of your soft, panting breaths against his face as he leaned closer still, the saccharine scent of jasmine blossoms and orange peel and you so heavy in the air around him that he could taste it.

Just as the space between his body and yours shrunk to an infinitesimal degree, the sharp pain of his hunger returned with a vengeance, and he could not hide his grimace, nor the wince of discomfort that escaped his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern laced in the tilt of your brows, small hands coming to encircle his wrists.

The moment broken, you leaned back, removing his hands from your face. It was all he could do not to follow your scent and bury his fangs in your throat.

“The hunger,” he groaned, “it’s inescapable.”

“When did you last eat?” you whispered, eyes round with worry.

“The night I drank from you,” he gasped, the pain wracking him with a shudder that forced his eyes shut.

“Feed from me,” you murmured, his eyes snapping open in exalted bewilderment, sure he’d misheard you.

“What was that?”

“Feed from me,” you said again, louder this time.

He salivated at the memory of your blood across his tongue, wanting nothing more than to be filled with your life’s essence, to be emboldened by it. Then, he remembered the coming battle.

“I can’t,” he bemoaned, “You need your strength for tomorrow.”

“As do you,” you responded, gaze resolute.

“Are you sure? Here… now?” he asked once more, voice wavering equivocally with the fog of hunger hanging over his mind.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded in assent.

No sooner had the words left your lips than Astarion’s mouth was at your throat. He hadn’t even given you time to brush your hair aside and bare your neck to him, so starved as he was. With a harsh cry, his fangs pierced the tender skin over your jugular, tongue immediately darting out to lap at the blood spilling from the wound.

He paced himself this time around, both for want to savor his meal as well as that of your safety. He could tell when the initial daze from the bite wore off, your blood taking on a richer, more full-bodied flavor. It almost had a fattiness to it, and it quenched his thirst in a way nothing else had ever been capable of.

Before long, he could feel your body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He hadn’t drunk enough for bloodlessness to be the cause, though he worried nonetheless. It would be so like him to push past the discomfort and hurt you, taking from you the way he had been taken from…but there was work yet to be done in the way of gaining your trust. He was about to pull away when he tasted it - the syrupy flavor of your desire. A low sigh pushed its way past your lips, a sound inaudible to all but his keen ears.

Now, this I can work with. This I can exploit.

He continued to drink, the honeyed taste of you heavy on his tongue. He paid close attention to the way your body responded, quiet whimpers and little shivers steadily giving you away. Your hands clawed at the earth beneath you, pulling up clumps of grass and clods of dirt with their ferocity.

Inevitably, your shivers of delight became shivers of cold, shock setting in and ruining the atmosphere. Hunger mitigated, Astarion begrudgingly pulled back, replacing his mouth with the pressure of his hand to staunch the bleeding. You retrieved the amulet from your pocket with a shaky grasp, whispering the incantation into your cupped palms. Its magic washed over you in an instant, heat and color returning to your cheeks.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he murmured, making a show of licking the last of you from his lips.

You averted your eyes bashfully, lively flush deepening.

“Don’t mention it, dear Star,” you mumbled, eyes widening at your slip.

After a moment of shocked disbelief, a devious grin split his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, darling. Could you repeat yourself for me?”

“I said ‘don’t mention it’,” you spoke up.

“Not that, the last bit,” he replied, expression smug when he caught the sheepish look on your face.

“Dear Star,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

“That is indeed what I thought I’d heard. Rather sentimental of you for a ‘headache’, is it not?” he purred, referencing your earlier words.

“I’m plenty sentimental, Rogue, and you know it well.”

“Of course, my dear. I only kid,” he intoned, softening his smile as you lifted your face.

He watched as your embarrassment faded and you returned his smile, something hopeful hidden in the depths of your eyes.

I’ve got you right where I want you, darling.

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