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#it was cold last week and you could see it in the sky
wexlermendelssohn · 1 year
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osaemu · 4 months
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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ IS IT OVER NOW? (IT ISN'T) ❜❜
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.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: all good things come to an end, including your relationship—but don't worry, broken hearts can be mended, but only if you're both willing to try.
contents: fem!reader. you two break up and make up! you guys fight/break up over something that coulda been resolved with better communication. kinda suggestive ending, maybe i'll drop a part two if this does alright. satoru announces your break-up on his stream. longest fic i've posted so far, 4k words (kms).
author's note: the long awaited angst has finally arrived.. big thank you to @screampied for beta-reading!! tagging @yunymphs who read it early and @sutorus + @kentopedia who i both miss very much!!
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ever since you first joined satoru on his stream, it’s gotten way more popular than either of you could’ve ever expected. before he brought you onto his live, he was averaging about eight thousand views per stream. now, his average was well over fifteen thousand—and that wasn't even including the publicity he got from other websites. when satoru accidentally left the camera on while you two made out, you two went viral on twitter. and when another user tried to swipe him away, the clip got over a hundred thousand views on youtube.
at first, satoru didn't mind the change his stream was going through—in fact, he welcomed it. but lately, things have been… different.
last week, while satoru was playing in some competition, he won first out of hundreds of equally proficient players. had it been anyone else, their comments would've been filled with congratulations and good job's, but in his case, all satoru got were messages asking where you were. that wasn’t the first time—ever since that very first day, when you showed up on his stream, satoru’s audience has entirely shifted. and honestly, if you were in his position, you'd be a bit annoyed. anyone would be. 
but you had never expected that it would be so big of a deal that you and satoru—the "cutest couple on the internet"—would break up over it.
you walk along the chilly, suburban sidewalk up to your boyfriend’s house. satoru had just sent you a message asking if you could come over, and like always, you answered with an immediate yes. a flock of crows fly by, raven feathers providing a stark contrast between them and the pale gray sky around you. it’s gray and gloomy, but not unpleasant. 
a sweet, romantic song plays in your ears as you knock three times on satoru’s front door. his familiar voice calls out “coming!”, and you can hear his footsteps grow louder and louder until he swings open the door. satoru smiles down at you, cheeks already rosy from the cold winter air. “hey.”
you tilt your head and smile back at him. “that’s all i get? hey?” you huff, walking into his living room behind him as the door closes behind you. “d’you have any hot chocolate? i’m freezing,” you say, licking your lips. satoru turns and pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “satoru?”
after a moment, your boyfriend snaps out of it. “oh, yeah, sorry,” he says ruefully. satoru rubs his eyes with one hand and uses the other to open the door to his bedroom, and as you follow him in, you’re hit with a blast of warm air. “i’m just kinda tired, but yeah, i have some hot cocoa in here. c’mon.”
“anything i can do for you?” you offer, sitting down on the corner of his bed. you’ve been to his house so many times that it feels like home—maybe even more so than your own place. everything about satoru’s room is comfortable, from his plush chairs to the faux-fur blankets draped over every single piece of his furniture. you could probably fall over at any given point and it wouldn’t actually hurt—you’d just land on something soft and/or fluffy.
but that wasn’t all that made you so in love with his home. it was just the way it felt—words couldn’t describe the way everything was just so right and just so perfect, and you really did hope that you’d never have to see a time where you wouldn’t be able to spend time with your boyfriend here.
it really is a shame that all good things had to come to an end. at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as satoru finally told you why he called you over. unlike nearly every other time, it wasn’t because he missed you or wanted to cuddle—it was quite the opposite, really.
“i don’t think this is working.”
six words that shattered the life you had come to know and love.
“is this a joke?” you try, an unnerved smile spreading across your lips against your will. he doesn’t reply instantly, which is so out-of-character for him that it makes you stiffen up. “satoru, this isn’t funny—”
“i’m not kidding,” satoru murmurs, looking away. he refuses to meet your eyes, and some part of you is still desperately trying to find reason in the chaos that’s slowly taking over your mind. how could it be that everything was just fine two minutes ago and now it’s anything but that? did something happen? did you say the wrong thing? did you—
“it’s not funny,” you insist, still somehow clinging onto your slowly-dwindling hope. maybe you’re in denial, but still, you were sure that everything was fine—no, that everything is fine. there was no past-tense, right? how could the glass home you’d built with your bare hands just crash down at the throw of a pebble?
satoru finally meets your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s no amused glimmer in his eyes, no “just kidding” in sight, and even worse, you can’t even see an ounce of the love or adoration you’d come to grow so attached to in just a couple months.
“what happened?” you whisper, miraculously managing to keep yourself together. you’d never forgive yourself if you just started crying over a breakup you weren’t even sure was happening—what little’s left of your pride is holding on. you allow yourself to wrap your arms around your chest, curling into your own embrace. 
satoru doesn’t reply for a long second. right when you’re sure he just won’t reply, he does, and it all comes spilling out in a messy stream of words. “it’s just… i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep going online and seeing everyone on my stream talking about you. i love you, i really do, but it’s just—” satoru shakes his head frustratedly. “i don’t know how to say it, but you know what i mean, right?”
your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head. “you’re breaking up with me because you’re tired of seeing me?”
“no, fuck,” satoru groans, running a hand through his hair. his previously cool and collected demeanor starts to fall apart as he takes a step back. “i don’t know how to explain it, but— shit, you wouldn’t understand.”
you swallow and start to stand up, still willing to try. “then help me understand, satoru, i—”
“you’ve seen the comments, and you’ve seen all the posts on twitter,” satoru says, tilting his head back and glaring at the ceiling. “it’s not your fault, but i really just can’t stand everyone disregarding me and turning my own stream into a youtube channel starring you.”
his words sting like alcohol in an open wound, and you fight the battle of your life to prevent the thousands of tears hiding behind your eyes from being visible. even so, your voice wobbles ever so slightly as you say “that’s a bullshit reason to break up, satoru—”
your boyfriend—is he even still your boyfriend?—scoffs and shakes his head, stumbling back and falling into his chair. "for you, it isn't. you wouldn’t understand. for me, it's like everyone's just... invalidating the three years i've spent on this shit. and i can't do it anymore, i just can't."
you blink slowly, backing away towards his bedroom door. "what does that mean?"
satoru exhales a bitter laugh and turns away, the back of his chair facing you. you think you can hear him take a soft, shaky breath as the room falls silent. neither of you make a sound before satoru turns back toward you, a blank look on his face.
he looks up at you, azure eyes devoid of the sparkle you've become so familiar with. satoru smiles sadly, but to your dismay, there's no real emotion behind it. it's almost like he's already accepted it when he says, "it means we—" he pauses and looks away. "this is over."
you reach out toward him, desperate to hold on to him—to the invisible string that ties you and satoru together, but he's just out of your grasp. "satoru, it isn't even that big of a deal, why are you—"
satoru turns and fixes you with a stern glare, and just like that, the string that kept you and satoru together for months, maybe years snaps, and you're left with a limp strand of what it once was. taking the hint, you walk out of his room in a daze, hardly noticing the way he says "i'm sorry".
and the worst part? he said he still loved you. but apparently that wasn’t enough.
satoru has every right to be annoyed that his stream is only growing because of you—his stream was the way he made money, and after all, it was never meant to be about you. 
and maybe he was never meant to be for you either.
the walk home is cold and lonely. you slip a hand into your pocket—the pocket of satoru's hoodie, which you should probably return to him—and extract your earphones. it probably isn't a good idea to wear both outside as you walk home, but you do it anyway—this day can't possibly get any worse.
a soft voice murmurs words of sorrow and encouragement in your ear as the music takes you to another world. maybe this—the breakup—was meant to happen. maybe it was a mistake to date a boy with thousands of fans.
as soon as you get home, your phone dings softly. you pick it up and frown when you see it's from toru. you'd have to change that name later.
toru: idk if u blocked me already but i still have a lot of ur things, do u wanna come pick them up later?
toru: or i can drop them off tmrw ig
you miss the way he used to text you—with an obnoxious amount of exclamation points and an even worse amount of emojis. now, it's like all of the flavor's gone from his words, and it hurts. that's when it actually settles in, that this is really over. it hurts like an icicle being driven straight through your heart, and it stings like one, too.
satoru's texts are left on delivered for five whole minutes before you reply, and it's only with an "i'll come by tmrw". he likes the message less than a minute later, and you're left to wallow in your misery alone until you finally drift off to sleep.
the next morning, you open your phone to a notification alerting you that satoru’ll be live on stream in ten minutes. curiosity kills the cat, but in this case, maybe it’d be worth it to see what he tells his viewers about your breakup. after all, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell them—he always had something to say about you, and he’d probably rather tell them for sure rather than let them come up with ridiculous theories on their own.
so you hastily make a new account using some email account you haven’t touched since middle school, trying a couple different passwords until you remember the one that works. the website hits you with a hundred questions, asking you about your favorite games and who’d you like to subscribe to first. you choose satoru, albeit after a second of hesitation. two minutes later, sparklingzebra672 joins your ex-boyfriend’s stream. you wait a second, holding your breath as the live loads. a brief moment later, satoru’s painfully familiar face appears on your screen.
“hey guys,” satoru says, forcing a smile on his face. even from behind a screen, you swear you can feel his eyes on you. “how’s everyone today?” 
the already unstable smile on satoru’s face falls when he opens the comments and gets greeted with a flurry of where’s your girlfriend’s. had you been anyone else, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the way satoru’s eyes dulled ever so slightly or the way he curled into himself, but being the girl who once knew him best, you could tell.
“oh, she won’t be back on here for… a while,” satoru starts, dancing around the topic. he leans back against his chair and tilts his chin up, azure eyes focused on the ceiling. “we broke up.”
nothing could’ve prepared you for the way satoru’s comments explode. it’s almost like you can hear the shocked gasps coming from all fourteen—no, twenty thousand viewers as the words nobody thought would ever they’d hear from satoru are spoken.
suguru-geto: holy shit im so sorry 
toji-fushiguro: wait wtf r u kidding?? that's fuckin crazy
yuuji-itadori: omg i thought u guys were together forever :(
inumaki: chat is this real??
satoru shrugs, averting his eyes from the hundreds of comments pouring in, but you scroll through and read them all. everyone, even satoru’s haters, seems genuinely shocked. in fact, had this not been your own breakup, you would’ve been one of them, begging and pleading satoru for more details.
“yeah, we did,” satoru murmurs, eyebrows furrowing just enough for you to read his expression. now that you’re looking closer, you can see the subtle redness underneath his eyes—had he been crying too? and maybe you’re imagining it, but his hair seems a bit dishelved too. your ex-boyfriend shrugs, forcing his face back into his usual lighthearted expression, but it’s not fooling anyone.
satoru scowls at the new flood of comments asking him why you two broke up. some people are already hypothesizing—maybe it’s because you got jealous of his fame, or maybe he got sick of you. maybe you left him to go date some other streamer, or maybe—
“i’m actually gonna end the stream here, ‘cause i don’t really want to deal with all of this right now,” satoru says with a frown. his eyes are narrowed irritably as a couple users protest, still begging for more details. “you guys know that i’m a real person with my own life, right? fuck off.”
and just like that, the stream ends. you’re left with a blank screen and a message saying that satoru’s ended the live, so you shut your laptop. your stomach turns as you groan, just remembering that you have to go over to his place later to retrieve your things, and somehow, you’d have to pretend that you didn’t just stalk his stream to see if he’d say anything substantial about the breakup.
a couple minutes after the stream ends, your phone blows up—every mutual friend you and satoru have is messaging you about what he said, but you can’t bring yourself to open any of them. except for one.
suguru: r u ok?
you: yeah ig
suguru: do u want anything?
satoru’s best friend’s question catches you off-guard—there are a lot of things you want. you want this whole situation to go away. you want the world to disappear. and most of all, you want satoru back, without the online world attached.
but suguru can’t do any of those things, can he? so you leave him on read. 
somehow, you fall back asleep, tossing and turning in your bed without satoru’s steady arms to accompany you. a couple hours later, you wake up again, wincing from the dim sunlight that pours through your windows and directly into your eyes. it’s just past five, so you figure that you might as well go down to satoru’s house and get your things. better to do it now than drag it out for an uncertain amount of time.
the walk is shorter than you remember, but maybe it’s just the absence of music pouring into your ears that makes it seem that way. you watch the wilted autumn leaves flutter in the wind, falling down onto the sidewalk like pieces into place. once upon a time, you had walked these very streets with satoru—it’s a fond memory you remember only all too well.
when you finally step onto your ex’s doorstep, the door opens before you even have a chance to knock. and there he is—the boy who’d once been the love of your life. satoru looks down at you with an unreadable expression. “hey.”
you think you’ve seem this film before, and you didn’t like the ending.
satoru spares you from having to reply by opening the door wider and beckoning you inside. “i already put most of your stuff into a couple boxes, but i thought you’d wanna check on your own. just in case i forgot something.”
you nod and walk past him, not trusting your voice to be steady. this was harder than you expected—much harder. in fact, you’re practically on the verge of breaking down when you step into satoru’s room and look around and see just how different it looks without the touches of you everywhere.
the fortnite poster you’d given him as a joke for the second anniversary of his stream was gone from his wall, and so were the two mini succulents that used to sit on the corner of his desk. the white cat plushie that used to rest on his pillow was gone, too—probably stuffed somewhere in one of the boxes outside his bedroom door.
after nearly a minute of looking around, you decide that whatever satoru possibly could’ve missed wasn’t important enough for you to have to stick around any longer.
you turn and start to exit satoru’s room so fast that you nearly crash into him when he suddenly appears in the doorway. “shit, sorry about that,” you mumble, trying to walk around him. but of course, because the universe is actually praying on your downfall, you and satoru both walk the same way at the same time. you awkwardly try to go around each other, and eventually, the humiliation is over.
“so, you got everything?” satoru asks, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets. you nod, bending over to pick up one of the two boxes. it’s pretty heavy, but not unmanangable. you just don’t really seem to know if you’ll be able to carry both back home at once. 
“oh, uh, i’ll be right back,” you say tentatively. a flash of confusion appears in satoru’s eyes, so you clarify, “i’m gonna go grab my car. that’ll make it easier.”
satoru’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “no, it’s alright. your place isn’t far from here at all, i’ll just take the other and walk back with you.”
“no, really, it’s alright.”
“it’s the easiest option, ba—” satoru cuts himself off, stopping himself from calling you baby for the first time since you two had started dating. “sorry.”
“let’s just go.”
the walk back to your house is brutal. you walk side by side with satoru since the path is wide enough for you to do so, and you two just keep bumping into each other. had you still been dating, satoru probably would’ve dropped the box and scooped you up instead, kissing your cold face to warm it up. of course, that would’ve added five minutes to your walk, but it would’ve been better than the tense silence dividing you and satoru right now. 
the wind whistles around you, brushing at your skin and making you shiver with every gust—there’s nothing more you’d like than to go home, plop on your couch and cry while watching the titanic for the hundredth time. 
after what seems like three hundred awkward hours later, you and satoru finally make it to your house. “thanks,” you say quietly, setting down your box in front of the door. 
satoru places his next to yours and slips his hands back into his pockets. he nods and replies, “no problem,” but still doesn’t leave.
you cross your arms, and tilt your head, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “umm, do you need anything else?”
satoru coughs tensely and shrugs. “oh, uh, not really, just—” his eyes drift down to your top, and your face grows warm when you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie. 
“shit, my bad,” you mumble, internally cringing and resisting the urge to say every curse word you know. could this day really get any worse?
well, at least satoru looks equally as embarrassed. he shakes his head and gestures for you to keep it on. “it’s fine, it’s kinda cold anyways. keep it.” satoru hesitates, shuffling his feet before continuing, “if you want something… to remember me by.”
what you say next was done entirely against your will. “do you still love me?” you ask suddenly, not sure what otherworldly force prompted you to do so. you instantly regret it when satoru’s face goes even redder, and you can tell it’s not from the cold the way his blush spreads to his ears.
“i— uh, i mean—”
“answer me, satoru, i think i have a right to know.”
he looks away and mumbles something about needing to go back home, to feed his fish or something (he doesn’t have a fish), and you grab his hand just as he starts to turn away. “please, satoru, i need to know,” you breathe, squeezing his hand harder when he flinches. 
ten silent seconds tick by, but you still don’t let go. so satoru sighs, a soft white puff of air coming from his lips. “yeah.”
your heart breaks again.
“then why did you—”
“because i don’t know how to do this,” satoru says, blue eyes darting all over the place. “i love you, i really do, but i just can’t— i don’t like having thousands of people thinking that i’m only worth looking at if i’m with you, it’s annoying and it pisses me off and i don’t want to accidentally take it out on yo—”
you cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the way he yelps a little in surprise. but thankfully, he doesn’t push you away—instead, his arms instantly wrap around you and pull you closer into his warm, warm chest. satoru’s lips are a little dry, but still minty as ever from the peppermints he’s constantly munching on. he kisses you back like a man starved of affection, and when you two finally break apart, his eyes are just as hungry.
“you idiot,” you whisper, trailing your fingers through his hair as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “you shoulda just talked to me about it first.”
“i know,” satoru mumbles, looking down bashfully. “‘m sorry.”
“you should be.” you pause, watching satoru’s lips curve into a pouty frown. “i’m sorry too,” you murmur, and he looks up, confused. “i should’ve seen this coming.”
satoru shakes his head and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a couple seconds before pulling back. “i missed you.”
“i was gone for less than a day, satoru.”
“oh, so you didn’t miss me?”
“i did,” you admit, exhaling a puff of air when satoru smiles smugly. “shut up, it’s not a competition!”
“yeah it is, but fine, you win,” satoru gives in with a dramatic sigh, reaching down and twining his fingers with yours. his hands, which are significantly bigger than yours, instantly warm you up. “but only ‘cause i don’t want you to break up with me next.”
“i hate you, y’know that?” you grumble, leaning into his side and letting satoru kiss the top of your head. he hums in agreement, reaching out and opening your front door. 
“i’m sure you do, baby. now c’mon, let’s get inside n’ warm up. i wanna make it up to you,” satoru says with a grin, bending over and scooping up both boxes. 
“oh, yeah? how do you plan to do that?” you challenge, going inside first and holding the door open for satoru. once he’s inside, you close the door and instantly get pinned against it by satoru, whose hands are already creeping underneath your clothes. “satoru, your hands are col—”
he cuts you off by pressing his equally cold lips to yours, smiling against your mouth as he tugs at your clothes. “i know, baby. but i’ll keep you nice n’ warm for the rest of the night, i promise!”
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angelltheninth · 6 months
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Genshin Men + It's Getting Harder to Sleep Without You
Pairing: Kaeya, Diluc, Thoma, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Zhongli x Reader
Tags: fluff, established relationship, domestic fluff, insomnia, kissing, cuddles, tea, naps, hurt/comfort, reunion, slight angst, purring (for Nauvillette and Zhongli)
A/N: I know I shouldn't say sorry for the lack of content lately but turns out that a novel takes a lot out of you. The good news it that it's almost done!
Kaeya falls asleep pretty easily on most nights on his ship, it's only in the last few weeks that he's had trouble. Staying up will make him sloppy so he would take a few walks outside under the sky and find himself thinking of you. This helped him sleep but only served to make him miss you more. Maybe the solution is to bring you along more often, then he can hold and kiss you every night, no more daydreaming for him.
Diluc has never had an easy time sleeping and it's always worse when he doesn't have you to hold. He would toss from one side of the bed to the next, eventually sighing in defeat and fully waking up until the next day. His tiredness was obvious and you weren't gonna have him falling asleep standing. A nap seemed like a good solution but he demanded you sit in his lap and cuddle him. Despite sleeping in a chair it was the best nap he's ever had.
Thoma sleeps like a baby after a long day... usually. For some reason it feels like something's been missing lately. No matter what he couldn't figure it out, his routine was the same. The only thing that he could think of was... oh, those late, very intimate nights with you. Were you the key? He wasn't sure but it was worth a try. You were like a big blanket on top of him, nuzzled against his chest. Just what he needed.
Childe forces himself to have a good sleep because otherwise it would get in his way of getting stronger. But lately he can't seem to sleep for long periods of time if you aren't there, which is troubling for his missions. To make up for lost time he sleeps in your bed every night after, hogging all your attention, his face firmly pressed against your chest and arms around you like you'll vanish at any moment.
Dottore tells himself he only needs a few hours of sleep every night. It was like that before he started letting you stay in his bed. After that he can't even get a few hours without your warm, most of the time naked, body laying against his. He will drink tea to make himself fall asleep by force, he did this many times before you saw him look all groggy and grumpy one night with a steaming cup in his hand. You took him by the arm and told him he needs to rest that dangerous brain of his, or else you won't ever sleep with him again.
Pantalone can only get a really good sleep if he's kissed you goodnight. Your kiss, gentle, soft and loving, is like the best sleeping medicine to him. Truly he's tried everything else and the moment he started kissing you one night when he was feeling frustrated he knew he found the solution to his insomnia. Now he just needed to make sure you're willing to make out for a little while before going to bed. An easy task seeing how you practically jump his bones after he comes home.
Neuvillete used to love sleeping with the sound of rain against the window. Yet now every time it rains it's due to his bed being too cold, too empty without you in it. He's gotten so used to you combing your fingers through his hair and smelling your sweet scent that now he's unable to rest otherwise. Only when you kiss him and tell him you're back to visit does the rain stop falling so fast, instead becoming a pleasant backdrop as he sighs, purrs and plants tired kisses on your exposed skin.
Wriothesley has a habit of late night workouts to burn his extra energy. Not necessary as much now that he's in a relationship with you, which is nice but messes with his routine. One that he's had for a very long time. Lately you've noticed him flexing his fists whenever you'll be separated for a time, but he will deny it if you bring it up. No, he won't say anything when you get home, just wrap his arms around you from behind and kiss your shoulder, his body shaking with all that pent up energy mixed with a lack of sleep. And only you can help with both.
Zhongli doesn't mind lack of sleep but he knows you do and he knows you're awake when he's awake. Therefore he decides to fix that by sleeping together with you when you stay over. It felt nice, really nice, too nice and he finds himself wishing for it more and more often. So much so that it becomes his only way of getting deep sleep, the rest are more like power naps. You can't complain either, the sounds of the content rumbling within his chest is very soothing to listen to while you sleep.
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familyvideostevie · 4 months
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steel drum weight of me
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joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni
summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k
warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie
a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.
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Jackson looks its best in the winter.
You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.
It's also fucking cold.
But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.
Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.
Things could be worse.
You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.
Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.
You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.
The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.
"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"
"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.
The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.
The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.
He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.
"How was the wall?"
"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"
"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"
He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."
You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.
"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.
"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.
"Hey now, what --"
You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"
He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.
The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.
And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.
It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.
"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.
"I'm fine --"
"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"
"I said I'm --"
"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.
"Alright," he says. "Move, then."
You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.
"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."
Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.
"What's it made of?"
"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."
He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."
You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.
"Cute."
"Gimme those hands, big guy."
The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.
"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"
"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.
"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."
He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."
You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.
And, boy, he touches you back.
So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.
Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.
"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."
"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.
"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."
"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"
You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.
"What? Can't hear over the water."
You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."
"Don't think that's what you said."
"It's what I meant."
And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.
"Alright," he says.
You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.
Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"
"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."
"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"
"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"
"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.
So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.
"You just gonna look at it?"
You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.
Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.
"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.
It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.
Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.
You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.
He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."
"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.
He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."
You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.
"So is that a no?"
You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.
"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.
"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.
"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.
Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --
The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.
You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.
"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."
He laughs.
His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.
"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"
"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"
"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"
His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.
Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.
You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.
"Hell of a salve," he manages.
You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."
His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."
"You never stop, do you?"
Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."
You laugh into his neck. "Good."
thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!
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wordstome · 4 months
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kosovo maiden (könig x reader)
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Well, I did it again, gang. I wrote another story based on a painting. This one is by Uroš Predić in 1919, and was posted to Tumblr here (thanks to arcana-imperii for posting!)
I don't know anything about Kosovo, so the reader here isn't explicitly Serbian ;; please forgive me. Also, apologies for possibly inaccurate ambiguously late-1800s setting, medical information or German. Please enjoy!
2.2k words
There are soldiers in the field.
You heard the sounds of battle early in the dawn, the piercing explosions of gunfire and cannons ringing out as the sun rose. You weren’t concerned at first: it was far enough away that you felt safe enough to carry on as usual. But the gunfire drew closer and closer, and by noon you could hear the shouting and the battle cries, driving you trembling into your attic with terror. Mercifully, the fighting peters out as the sun sinks lower in the sky, but when you finally work up the nerve to peek out of your window, you find to your horror that the grassy field adjacent to your humble little home is littered with the bodies of dead and dying men.
Without a single further thought to your own safety, you grab a lantern and a pitcher of water and rush into the night.
It’s awful. Most of the men left behind are already cold, some whose eyes you have to shut yourself. The ones who were able to be saved were likely evacuated by their comrades, so the only ones left to face the cruel nighttime are the ones who won’t see the morning after. A few are still conscious when you find them, but you have little more to offer them than a gentle touch and one last drink of water. Their eyes are what will haunt you most after today: slick with tears as grown men weep, all semblance of courage and proud masculinity stripped from them as they face down their imminent demise. It’s terrible, heart-wrenching, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You’re the only living thing left that can offer them comfort in their last moments.
The jug of water dangles from your hand as you trudge through the field, looking for anyone at all that you can provide help to. You’ve long abandoned any hope of finding someone you can save when you come across him: the giant in the grass.
It’s well and truly nighttime at that point, your lamp the only source of light upon what seems like a sea of human misery. The light hits his face, and you gasp. Your first thought is of how huge he is, at least 200 centimeters if he were standing. Your second thought is of how handsome he is…
You jolt to attention as he shifts and groans. He’s alive! Shaking some sense into yourself, you don’t hesitate to rush to his side. Your hands roam across his body, assessing the severity of his injuries. To your surprise, he doesn’t seem to be mortally injured. They’re severe, to be sure—he won’t be able-bodied for weeks. But he’s far from at death’s door, only confused and dazed…had his comrades only left him due to his sheer size?
Using your hand to support the back of his head and neck, you tip some water into his mouth in an attempt to revive him. The man cracks an eye open, regarding you with feverish wonder.
“Ein Engel…” he murmurs. You’re too elated that he’s alive, so you don’t actually properly hear what he said. With light, deft fingers, you tear strips of his tattered shirt and use the cloth to wrap up a scrape on his arm and stem the flow of a very nasty-looking wound up along the broad plane of his torso. To your alarm, however, the man seems to slump, his head laying back as if he’s about to lose consciousness.
“No, no,” you cry in panic, shaking him without heed of his injuries. “Sir, you cannot sleep here, I am unable to carry you…you will die out here!”
He mumbles something inaudible, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He hasn’t passed out on you yet, but you have to act quickly to properly care for his wounds. You shift your body so you can maneuver his uninjured arm onto your shoulders. Luckily, he seems to comprehend what you’re trying to do, and manages to stumble to his feet while leaning his weight on you.
It’s an awkward, fumbling dance, considering your earlier assessment of his height was correct—he’s a huge man, and his torso alone nearly dwarfs your entire figure. But with a good measure of patience, you manage to get him moving towards your house. It’s high time you returned home, as well: your stomach roils as you remember what happens to corpses left outside for scavengers to find.
The two of you stumble through the doorway of your home, you murmuring soft affirmations and encouragement to the man. He makes no indication that he understands what you’re saying, but he’s nodding along, responding to your gentle tone. You guide him to lay on your bed, his body visibly relaxing as he sinks into the mattress.
You bustle around, lighting candles, stoking your fireplace, and rummaging around for medical supplies. You return to him with a basin of warm water, a cloth, and some bandages—before stopping dead in your tracks.
In the low lamplight out in the field, you hadn’t noticed the color of the man’s uniform, much too preoccupied with his signs of life. But now the truth is laid bare in front of you as you take in his attire, eyes traveling over his broad body—
You’ve just taken in an enemy soldier.
The man has seemingly fallen asleep, likely exhausted by the battle and the effort it took to get into your home. That does nothing to assuage your fear, though: what are you going to do if he passes away right in your bed? Even worse, what are you going to do if he wakes? Will he be hostile? Will he attempt to take you as a hostage to secure safe passage out of his enemy’s territory?
It's clear to you, though, that if you don’t help this man, he will die. His wounds could easily turn septic, and then he’s a goner. You steel yourself and approach him, kneeling at his bedside.
You work slowly and carefully to reveal his injuries, wincing when they’re completely exposed. He’s no longer bleeding profusely, but he will absolutely need stitches. For now, you settle for cleaning them with a damp cloth, trying to keep infection at bay.
He must be well and truly knocked out, because he doesn’t even stir as you wrap his arm securely with clean bandages. You’re much more hesitant to deal with his chest wound: if he wakes and struggles, he could make it much worse. But his unconscious state affords you the best opportunity to stitch him up…
You furrow your brow and go to find a needle.
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You’re awoken by a gentle touch on the shoulder.
You stir from your sleep, wondering what your mother could possibly want at such an early hour. At least she put the fire on—you can hear the crackling. But why is your bed so hard? Did you fall asleep on the floor? Actually, now that you think about it, you do recall dozing off on your sheepskin rug last night, because—
Your eyes shoot open to see a huge, hulking figure standing over you.
The soldier startles when you scream, scrambling to move away from him. He cuts an intimidating figure in the early morning light: he towers over you in a state of undress, the bandages you put on him last night splotched with rusty dried blood. But you calm down as you realize he means you no harm, his hands outstretched in front of him as a show of peace: no weapons.
“Wo bin ich?” he asks. You squint at him. That sounds like German, but you can’t speak a word of it.
“I don’t speak German,” you try. He tilts his head, looking as puzzled as you feel right now.
“Never mind all of that,” you say, shaking your head and pushing yourself to your feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed!” The soldier watches with amusement as you press your hands against him, careful to avoid touching his chest where you know his wound lies, in an attempt to get him back into bed. He allows you to do so, lying back down like an obedient dog.
“Muste pissen,” he murmurs as you fuss over him. You shoot him another confused look as you check the stitches you put in his chest wound. All seems well, you note with relief.
“What?”
He huffs a sigh. He gestures towards the door, and then then to his…oh.
“I see,” you say, cheeks feeling hot. You can’t bear to look at his face, but when you do, you find he’s watching you with amusement.
You tap his chest with a finger, then mime a sewing motion. “Don’t get up on your own from now on, you could tear your stitches,” you tell him, pointing to the door and then to patting your own chest. “I’ll help you.”
He snorts, but nods. You start to unfurl the bandages on his arm, heart twinging with sympathy as he grits his teeth in pain. You bite your lip in chagrin as the wound is revealed. It was much less severe than the one on his chest, but it’s doing much worse: pus and fluids are leaking everywhere, and to your horror, you think some parts of the torn flesh might actually be turning green.
“Es sieht schlecht aus?” he asks, concerned. You put on a smile you hope is comforting and rise from his bedside to go downstairs and rummage through your cupboards.
You return to him holding a bottle of liquor, the strongest you could find. He seems to realize what you intend to do, and shifts slightly to allow you better access to his arm.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “This is going to hurt.” Without further warning, you dump a good amount of alcohol on his wound.
“SCHEIẞE!” The bellow of pain that rips out of his throat seems to shake the very foundations of your home. You wince as he hollers and lays back heavy against your poor little bed, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. That can’t have been pleasant…
“Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen,” he grits. You give him a sympathetic little pat before withdrawing to get the bandages.
He’s calmed down by the time you return to him. He watches you curiously as you wrap him up nice and snug, then turn your attentions to his chest wound. The stitches are still in place—it seems he was careful when he relieved himself—but you still need to clean and dress the wound. He lets out a sigh of relief when you opt for a clean cloth to dab away the dried blood instead of the liquor bottle.
You work quickly and efficiently, worried about him catching a cold with his chest out like this. You also can’t deny that the whole situation is starting to make you a bit shy—a foreign man, and an attractive one at that, is in your bed, shirtless, and you’re all but sprawled out on top of him to get up close to his injury. By the time you’re done, you’re fully blushing at the closeness of the contact between the two of you.
“You should be alright, it’s a good sign that you lasted through the night and haven’t developed a fever yet,” you tell him as you gather up the soiled bandages to be washed. “You’ll need to stay in bed so I can keep an eye on you—”
You’re drawn up short when you look up to see his face. Far from the angry scowl he wore when you disinfected his wound, his expression now is almost…admiring? You shift slightly, caught off guard by the adoration in this stranger’s stare, and your arm brushes against something solid and warm.
You stand up as if burned, turning to see what you just touched. To your chagrin, you find that the soldier is…well, he’s hard.
You whirl around to fix him with an outraged look, but he only laughs at you with obvious delight. What a pervert! You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do or where to look, but you’re stopped by the sensation of him reaching up and pressing a hand to your face.
You stare at him, wide-eyed, as he strokes your cheek with a sort of reverence that stops you in your tracks. “Mein Retter…” he murmurs. “Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders.”
You huff, recognizing that he’s trying to apologize. “You don’t act like an injured man at all,” you complain. A spark of mirth comes into his eye at your pouting tone as he just chuckles at you. You turn to walk away, yelping when you feel his hand brush against your bottom. You shoot him with a deadly look as he laughs again.
You scurry away, feeling awkward and hot all over. You had been so concerned last night about whether you should stay in the same house as the potentially dangerous soldier, pacing the floor and biting your nails as you pondered whether you should give him up to the local authorities. In hindsight, you’re glad you didn’t—they would surely have locked him in a cold cell with nobody to look after that festering gash on his shoulder, to say nothing of his chest wound. It was worth it to risk waking up to a man angry and spitting hatred at you, if you could save his life.
But now you’re realizing that you hadn’t considered the opposite possibility: that the soldier might like you a little too much.
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ein Engel = an angel Wo bin ich? = Where am I? Muste pissen = had to piss Es sieht schlecht aus? = Is it bad? Scheiße = shit Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen = That hurt worse than getting the damn wound in the first place Mein Retter = my savior Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders = I'm sorry. I couldn't help it
Once more, I wrote this in a frenzy akin to being possessed, so it's a little short. But there will definitely be more! Thank you for reading <3
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azurelyy · 5 months
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Let's see if I've been shadowbanned by tumblr for not posting in forever. Also, let's see if this gets flagged for me not knowing the TOS anymore LOL. I know most of my followers are here for Naruto content and I am so sorry that this fucking vampire elf has taken over my brain so much that he's the first thing I've written about in forever!
Title: A Bloody Affair
WARNINGS: NSFW beneath the cut. Period oral. F!reader. Astarion goes feral. Fem!reader. Established relationship and slight Act II spoilers. This is just a drabble(ish... I got carried away lmao), but I haddddd to. I’m aware this has been done to death (no pun intended).
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His vermillion eyes were darker than usual as you all sat around the firelight, enjoying a hot meal after an unusually hard day of travel. Specks of orange flickered in his gaze like shooting stars through Avernus’ red-hot sky. His hands were tightened into leadened fists by his sides, his lips formed together in a thin line. He’s hungry, and he’s not even trying to hide it.
Amused, you tilted your head to the side, exposing the faded bite marks from when you last allowed him to feed on you a few weeks ago.
“Everything alright, Astarion?” You hummed. “You look pale. Well, paler than normal.”
Astarion laughed, a dark and twisted thing that left your stomach in knots. Would you ever learn to stop teasing him? It only ends badly for you. Every. Time.
“Me? Oh, I’m just fine.” His eyes slowly trailed down your body, locking onto your midsection before flicking back to your face. “You, however,” his fangs glistened in the pale moonlight as he smiled. “You look a little… hot. Too close to the fire, perhaps? Your cheeks are absolutely flushed, my dear.”
And they were. Knowing what the two of you had agreed to out on the battlefield earlier. Awaiting the moment everyone else fell into a deep slumber while you had to sit there, your thighs clamped together as thoughts of Astarion’s tongue ravishing at your core filled your head… It was torturous. Worse than anything Loviatar could come up with.
Karlach scoffed and playfully covered her ears. “Guys! No flirting around the bonfire, pleeeease. It’s hard enough I’ve gone so long without touching someone. I can’t sit here listening to you two flirt all night on top of it.”
You laughed and whispered a soft 'sorry' while Astarion merely hummed his acknowledgement. The rest of the evening was a blur, your mind occupied elsewhere entirely. Finally, when the sounds of snores filled the air and the last of the firelight flickered away, you got up from your bedroll and slowly made your way to Astarion’s tent.
The flap was left partially open and you found Astarion fumbling with a book. He looked distracted, almost like he wasn't reading it at all. The moment you got to the tent entrance, his eyes were upon you - dark, hungry, lustful. You smiled, heat creeping its way up your neck and cheeks, as Astarion swiftly closed the book and tossed it aside.
“Don’t tell me I have to invite you in, darling,” he drawled. “Come here.”
He reached his hand out and you took it gently as he guided you to sit down in his lap. He sighed and nosed his way up the side of your neck, gently swiping his tongue along your still-healing fang marks. His arm wrapped around your midsection, pushing your back against his chest. He's cold, and a small shiver snaked its way down the entirety of your spine as he chuckled a low, "Sorry, pet."
Sweet kisses made their way from your neck to your jaw, until Astarion gently nipped at your earlobe, his free hand slowly roamed up and down your body, squeezing and grabbing at your stomach playfully.
You moaned gently, running your fingers through his silver locks. Astarion's breath hitched in his throat and he slid his hand down to your thigh. His arousal poked into your ass and you rocked in his lap gently; teasingly. His hand became more desperate as he grabbed at your thigh, thrusting his hips gently. You turned your head and ghost your lips over his, meeting his gaze.
His tongue clicked against his teeth as he stared at you. You twisted his hair round your index finger and smile up at him wantonly. The two of you hadn't been intimate since his confession a few weeks ago. You have let him feed on you since then, but never initiate anything sexual. You wanted him to do it. Wanted for it to be organic. He was the best thing that had happened to you in a long time, and you wanted him to know it; to feel it; to be unable to deny your love for him.
Astarion kissed your forehead tenderly, his sweet mouth cool to the touch against your heated skin. He had been surprisingly gentle with you since his confession. Weary, you knew. He had to fight against his instincts every day, doing what he could to unlearn his past behaviors of doing someone else's bidding. It was going to take time, you knew that. You were okay with it. But when he looked at you like this, when he kissed you softly, it made your heart melt completely. You loved him. You'd never say it first, of course, but the feeling was undeniable to you now. Gods, he was going to fucking ruin you.
His mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. His tongue parted your lips and hungrily dominated the kiss as Astarion flipped you over, pushing you down onto his bedroll. His hands were everywhere - in your hair, on your stomach, rolling down your sides. Yours did the same, needily pawing at his body as you wrapped a leg around his waist and gently clawed at his shirt trying to get it off.
He broke away, his tongue sliding from your mouth slowly. His breathing was ragged, not as controlled as it had been in the past. You realized he's letting go, not forcing himself with you. He's being... real. It's so sweet you nearly ruined the moment by blurting out a stupid confessional right then, but as if sensing your anxiety, Astarion simply smirked devilishly.
"You look beautiful," he whispered. "And you smell even better. I'm going to enjoy tasting you tonight." His voice was sultry and hypnotic, practically intoxicating. You squirmed under him nervously as he adjusted to his knees and leaned over to unhook the latch of the tent, leaving you both immersed in nothing but the flickering candle light.
He was back over you in an instant, untucking his shirt from his trousers and over his head, tossing it to the corner of the tent. His body never ceases to amaze you. His skin is made of pure moonlight, pale and annoyingly perfect, with abs that would put even the most acclaimed gods to shame. Astarion winked and pushed his knee to your inner thigh, spreading you open like a tome as his hands glided across your body.
Your heart thundered within your chest as he stripped you of your undershirt, delicately removing the straps like a present. The sting of the cold night air hit your exposed nipples and they puckered from the temperature change. Astarion's practiced hands moved up the length of your arms, guiding them up above your head and he captured your wrists together in his grip, trapping you under him.
He kissed his way down your temple, your cheek, your neck; gently licking his way down your exposed flesh until his tongue rolled around your areola teasingly.
You glanced down and met his burgundy gaze. His pupils were completely blown out with lust and he continued watching you as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, allowing his tongue to swipe over it gingerly. With a loud gasp you closed your eyes, letting the sensation of his tongue completely overwhelm you. His hand dragged its way from your wrists and his thumb and index finger grip your other nipple as he suckles hard, causing your hips to buck and another garbled moan to fall from your traitorous throat.
A wet 'pop' echoed through the tent as his mouth released you. Astarion growled, actually growled, as he slid his hands up your arms again and gripped your wrists, harder this time.
"Hush now, my sweet," his words were sugary but his tone commanding. "I don't want you waking the whole campground. If you do it again, I'll have to force you to be quiet. Understood?"
You nodded in response.
"Sorry, Starry," you whispered. 
He had started making work of dragging your trousers down the length of your legs but stopped abruptly at your apology.
"Don't be sorry, love," he said. "Just don't do it again."
You were way past the point of being turned on - you were practically going mad with arousal as he removed your pants and slowly kissed his way down the length of your stomach. You kept your hands placed above your head, nervous about what he may do if you dared to touch him. It was exhilarating. Filthy. The blood at your core was dripping to the rag placed between your thighs and your pulse quickened as Astarion's mouth worked its way towards your cunt.
Lust-stricken and dizzy, your vision blurred as he gently pulled down your panties with his index fingers, testing you. He was working slowly, playing with his food. Such a tease.
You squirmed beneath him and clenched the muscles in your thighs, eagerly anticipating his mouth against your sopping pussy. A chill ran down your spine as your panties were fully removed, and you suddenly became all too aware of what was about to happen. You peered at the silver-haired man above you through your eyelashes and were pleased to find him entranced by what you were sure was a bloodied, messy affair and your panic decreased ever so slightly. Of course a vampire spawn wasn’t going to shy away from some blood… no matter the source. 
"You know," you did your best to keep your voice calm and gentle. "That we don't have to do this if it's too much, right?" Even though Astarion was the one to propose this little midnight rendezvous, you couldn't help the small sting of fear from creeping its way to the forefront of your mind. You didn't want him to feel any pressure. And you now knew how hard intimacy was for him. You couldn't believe how blind you had been before; how obvious the façade he put on for you was in hindsight, and you weren't going to allow him to put himself in a position like that again. Not ever.
A low chuckle rumbled from the man below you and you almost passed out from how good his breath felt against the thin veil of fabric covering his mouth from where you needed him most. You tried to shut the thoughts of your arousal out as you waited for his answer, but it never came. Instead, he responded with his tongue gently sliding filthily down the blood-stained cloth that was slowly being removed by his deft hand. Astarion’s voice was nearly indistinguishable to you as he ripped the cloth away, pure gravel.
“If I didn’t want to,” he murmured, placing a kiss on your entrance. “Then you wouldn’t be naked in my tent, love. No more talking now.”
His tongue zig-zagged its way through your pussy before you had a full chance to take in his response, and a loutish moan escaped from deep within your throat as the air was filled with a symphony of lewd slurps. His breath was icy from how aching and seething your cunt was for him, and chill after chill overcame your body with each swipe of his practiced tongue. 
He moved your legs to his shoulders as he continued lapping at you like a dehydrated mutt, completely feral for you. Your thighs clamped against his head and you dug your nails into the pillow, clinging desperately onto something to give your soul purchase to the Earth lest it be transported to the fifth dimension. His arms looped under your thighs and he sunk his nails deep into your flesh, marking you as his while he continued licking you desperately. His mouth was rolling over your folds and sucking at you raunchily - every single move he made was audibly wet and absolutely filthy. It was amazing. You were afraid he might lose control, and you almost yanked at his hair to rip him off you, but his tongue slowed then and rolled up the length of your cunt before circling your clit. 
You whined greedily as you rocked your hips, trying to maneuver his tongue to your engorged nub without permission. Astarion immediately withdrew his tongue then, licking his way down to your inner-thigh and kissing your slick skin before piercing you with his sharp fangs. A frosty sensation shot through your bloodstream and you gasped loudly, tangling your fingers into his hair just as the frigid pulses from where his fangs sunk into you melted to an almost unbearable fever. 
Astarion’s nails were embedded into the soft skin of your hips as he drank from you. Your heart banged against your chest like a prisoner trying to escape from their cell and you were certain it was loud enough that it could be heard by the entire camp. Just as your grip started to loose on his hair, his fangs were replaced by his tongue swiping at the small punctures on your thigh. 
“Such a lovely little treat you are,” Astarion hummed, punctuating it with a final kiss to your thigh. “Thank you.”
Thank you. It was so sincere. So intimate. Two words, yet they held such power over your heart. His mouth was against yours again and your core was burning for him. You were needy. Desperate. Your hips thrust up towards him and he pulled away with a hum. 
“Greedy little thing tonight, I see,” he teased. He smirked down at you and kissed your cheek before moving his mouth once again to hover over your entrance. Two nimble fingers pushed into your core as Astarion’s tongue glided swiftly over your clit. An unfamiliar sound erupted from your chest, a high pitched whine, before his free hand was clamped over your mouth. 
“Shut up.” He commanded, and you were done for. Your hands tugged at his hair hysterically as his tongue circled your clit with a brutal slowness. There was no decency left in you. You were nothing but a husk, awaiting Astarion’s mercy of allowing you the pleasure of coming all over his sweet tongue.
Your teeth sank into the skin of his hand while he fucked you with his mouth. He was loud; slurping and sucking at your pussy like he needed it to survive. The air in the tent was unbearably hot. Your skin was sticky with sweat and your lungs hardly had any oxygen left. Astarion pulled back slightly, his fingers pushing in and out of your entrance with lewd squelching sounds as he demanded, “Look at me.”
Without hesitation, your eyes fluttered open and you watched as he dived his face into your cunt again, his gorgeous eyes locked onto yours. You tried to speak but he only clamped his hand harder over your mouth as he continued lapping at you, the flat of his tongue firmly planted against your clit. The familiar coil in your stomach tightened and then released harshly as you orgasmed, your entire body squirming in delight. Astarion moaned through your orgasm, the timbre of his voice sultry as he drank you in like the most lavish of wines.
“Fuck,” you groaned when Astarion released your mouth. He seductively pulled his fingers out of you and licked off the mess you made on them with a smile before he maneuvered himself to spoon you. 
“Wait,” you said, “I wanted to-”
“Hush, love,” he assured. “I promise I’m content with everything. I want you to be comfortable now. Will you stay with me tonight?”
He nibbled at the top of your ear as his arm wrapped around your middle and brought your body close to his. You hummed and nestled into him, allowing him to be your protective barrier. Being this close to him wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed to be this close to him forever. He was security. He was warmth. He was home.
You nodded as you felt yourself start to succumb to the unbearable drowsiness from the day, but you clung to his hand in yours as his finger painted pretty pictures on the skin of your stomach. 
“Goodnight, love,” he whispered. “And thank you.”
“For what?” You mumbled, doing your best to fight against the fade of sleep.
There was a brief moment of silence as you listened to the sound of your heartbeat steady itself. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Astarion nestled his face closer, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek and right as you started to drift away, he said the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.
“For being mine.”
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Thank you for reading! If you made it this far, be sure to drop a like or a reblog to support my work <3. I have tons of other stuff on my page if you want to give it a read. This was my first Astarion piece, but I'm sure they'll be plenty more to come because this man singlehandedly got me out of my writing slump!
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luxaofhesperides · 3 months
Text
Soulmate AU: First Words + End of the World ; requested by @justwannabecat!
Duke has long since accepted that he doesn’t have great luck. Most things in his life tend to go wrong very quickly, or complicate situations he was already struggling in (see: being a meta and getting his powers in the middle of a fight). Having an incomprehensible soulmark is an unpleasant discovery on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, but not entirely unexpected.
He had been hoping for something simple, a common one like hi it’s nice to meet you or sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you.
What Duke gets instead isn’t even words. 
Scrawled across his left hipbone is a string of symbols glowing a faint green. They’re not in a language he recognizes, and the symbols seem to move, shifting ever so slightly so they look different every time he blinks.
“Well,” he says after a solid five minutes of staring into the mirror, unable to rip his eyes off his soulmate’s words, “I hope theirs looks nicer than mine.”
He spends his birthday in a bit of a daze, enjoying time spent with the Waynes and his friends. It’s hard to be fully present when he’s all too aware of the soreness on his hipbone flaring up each time he moves. It’s hard to keep his mind off of it, wanting nothing more than to search for answers, unravel the mystery of his soulmate’s first words.
“Something on your mind?” Jason asks, as the attention shifts off of him for a brief moment as Harper and Cullen get ready to leave and everyone rushes to give their goodbyes,
Duke shrugs, carefully keeping his hands still so they don’t drift to where his soulmark is hidden beneath his clothes. “Yeah. Nothing you need to worry about, though.”
Jason looks him over critically, then nods. 
Duke resigns himself to being investigated by the rest of the Bats. If he’s off enough that Jason had to comment on it, then that means everyone’s noticed and are trying to figure out what’s happened. They’re not going to ask him, because they think he needs space to work through whatever’s got him so distracted, but they’re also not going to just do nothing. 
This won’t be the first time they’ve done this. Duke expects it. Frankly, it would be stranger and much more concerning if they didn’t try to dig up all his secrets the moment they caught wind of him hiding something.
He’ll tell them about getting his soulmark soon. Soulmarks can appear on any birthday between the ages of thirteen to twenty five; they might suspect he got his, but they won’t be able to confirm.
For now, Duke can keep his soulmate’s first words (whatever that gibberish means) to himself.
He makes the decision then and there, as his birthday party winds down, to tell them in a week.
And because his luck is abysmal, a world ending threat hits five days later and suddenly there is no time for soulmarks and first words.
Duke is the last to arrive at the Fortress of Solitude, hitching a ride from Superboy to get there. The biting cold and the harsh winds keep the place far from the reaches of the rest of humanity, surrounded by nothing but deadly white. 
Desolate as the landscape is, it’s still in better shape than the rest of the world.
Things would be better if it was alien invaders. It would be more bearable if some sort of cosmic colossus tried to eat their solar system. At least then there would be something physical that they could fight.
Instead, the world is breaking apart, the sky and earth both fracturing to reveal glowing green faultlines. Timelines are getting mixed up and muddled; just yesterday, Duke had to evacuate a building that had been demolished forty years ago, then stop a gang leader who wouldn’t be born for another eight years from taking over a neighborhood block and holding the residents hostage. Strange creatures are appearing out of nowhere, crawling out of shadows and tide pools and from beneath the roots of trees, all horrible, monstrous things that go after people with teeth and claws. 
The Flashes and the rest of the speedsters are nowhere to be found. The last time anyone get communication from them, it had been Impulse sending Red Robin a glitchy, barely audible video chat saying something along the lines of “trying to fix—unstable—keep us here—never been alive before.” All things that are very concerning to hear, made worse by the fact that no one had been able to contact them at all. 
The quiet loneliness of the Fortress of Solitude is a welcome change from the constant screaming, death, and destruction that’s taken over Gotham as well as the rest of the world. Last he heard, even Justice League China was at the end of their rope. 
“In here,” Superboy instructs, guiding Duke through the halls. There’s no time to look around at Superman’s secret base. All his focus is stuck on staying conscious for another few hours to see if this gathering of heroes is able to find a solution to the world breaking apart.
Batman stands besides Superman. Both nod at Duke when he enters the room. Wonder Woman is watching over John Constantine as he writes something on the floor, muttering under his breath. The rest of the Justice League lean against each other, visibly exhausted as they wait for Constantine to finish up what he’s doing. A few other heroes are here too, and Duke goes to join them where they lean against a wall, fighting to keep their eyes open.
“Hey,” he greets, voice low. “Hanging in there?”
Wonder Girl sighs. “Somehow. I don’t know how much longer we can do this. There’s just too much…”
“We’ll get through this. I mean, even without us out there, plenty of civilians have formed rescue and relief groups to help with keeping things under control,” Speedy says, gently knocking her arm against Wonder Girl’s. “We just gotta keep going. No giving up.”
“What’s this plan, anyways? I just heard that they needed me here to some attempt to fix things.”
“Well, without the speedsters, you’re kind of the only one who can help with time and power related stuff,” Speedy says.
“That’s definitely a stretch. My powers don’t really have anything to do with time. It’s all just light and shadow.”
Speedy shrugs. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Too late to complain about it now.”
Duke doesn’t get a chance to say anything else when a loud clap catches his attention. The entire room goes still and silent as Constantine stands up and surveys the circle and symbols he’s written, taking up an entire corner of the large room. 
“Alright,” he says. “Time to get started. Remember, let me do the talking. If you have to speak, it’s only to back me up or when a question is directed to you.”
Batman nods to the other Justice Leaguers, and suddenly everyone is falling into formation behind Constantine. Duke hurries to join them with Wonder Girl and Speedy, taking a place on the edge of the group where he’s a little closer to the circle than the others. 
Constantine begins chanting. His voice is steady though none of the sounds make any sense, refusing to form themselves into recognizable words, and the air the in the room feels heavier. The chalk circle glows a blinding white and Duke can see magic swirling through the air, his power kicking in the let him watch as reality tears and a glowing star in the shape of a boy comes out of it.
Duke blinks, forcing his power down. The hypnotic swirls of magic fade from sight, but the boy still glows, bright and terrible as he floats above the circle and surveys them all. A crown engulfed in blue flame hovers above his head and the fabric of the cosmos is draped over his shoulders as a cape. 
Just from presence alone, Duke can tell that this figure is now the strongest existence in this universe. He hopes this boy king is kind; no one, not even Superman, would be able to beat him in a fight.
The boy king opens his mouth and speaks, but it’s not words than comes out. A strange static like sound emerges, but light and almost melodic. 
His left hipbone burns.
Duke gasps, hand flying down to it, and the boy king’s gaze snaps to meet his.
The world stands still. No one moves. No one dares to breathe.
And then the boy king drops to the floor and walks out of the circle.
“I thought you said that would hold him!” Batman hisses at Constantine, who is looking more and more distressed.
“It was supposed to! I wrote it specifically to hold the King of the Infinite Realms!”
The boy king glances at Constantine. This time, when he speaks, it’s in smooth English. “Did you name the king in your circle?”
“Yeah, I named Pariah Dark… Bloody hell, you ain’t him, are ya?”
“No,” the boy king smiles, “I’m Phantom.”
The cape and crown fade away, and suddenly it’s not an all powerful, terrifying king standing before them, but a young man with white hair and green eyes who looks Duke’s age. Like he could be any other new generation hero in the room. 
“Phantom,” Duke repeats lightly, just under his breath, but it makes Phantom look at him again.
He walks forward, ignoring the other heroes’ aborted attempts to stop him, coupled with Constantine’s frantic back off motion happening behind him. Phantom leaves the circle and the Justice Leaguers behind to stand before Duke, a soft smile on his face.
“Hi,” he says softly, “I dreamed of you.”
“You—what?”
“I dreamed of you. I have for years now. To think that being summoned was what made us meet—” Phantom breaks off into a breathless laugh.
Duke swallows, then drops his had from where it had been pressed against his hip. “So we’re really—? You have my first words too?”
In the corner of his eye, he sees Batman stiffen up. Maybe he should have just told them the day after his birthday, but in Duke’s defense, this is the definition of extenuation circumstances. 
“First words?” Phantom repeats, “Is that… Do we have different soulmate connections?”
“I think so. Here, everyone gets the first words their soulmates say to them appearing somewhere on their body.”
Phantom’s gaze darts down to Duke’s hip, then back up. “Oh. I get dreams. Where I’m from, we dream of our soulmates, and the closer we get to meeting them, the more we remember the dreams.”
“And you dreamed of me.”
“I did.”
“As touching as this is,” Constantine interrupts, and Duke gets to watch as Phantom rolls his eyes, “We summoned you here for a reason. Our world is falling apart at the seams and we need someone powerful, from the Realms, to help us fix it.”
“Okay.”
“...What do you mean ‘okay’?”
“I’ll help,” Phantom says.
“Just like that? No deal to be made, no price to be paid?”
“Just like that. I’m not one for deals anyways. If I can help, then I will. But I do want to see what the problem is with my soulmate by my side, if you don’t mind.”
Batman steps in, fixing Duke with a steady gaze, a barely noticeable tilt of his head. “Signal?”
“Yeah I’ll go with him. Of course I will. The sooner the better, in fact, because everything’s gone to shit.” Duke turns to Phantom, taking hold of one of his hands. “It is really bad out there,” he warns, “If you need help—”
“I’ll ask for help from others in the Realms,” Phantom says. “No offense or anything, but if it’s really that bad, I doubt living mortals will be able to do much to fix things. It’s why I was summoned, right?”
“Right. Let’s get to it, then.”
There’s a flash of mischief in Phantom’s eyes, and cheeky grin stealing across his face for a moment, before he says, “Aye aye, captain!” and picks Duke up like he weighs nothing and flies up through the ceiling.
Duke is able to hear everyone’s surprised, panicked shouts before they’re outside the Fortress of Solitude and Phantom is flying them away. He only needs a few directions from Duke before he finds the first of the large fractures in the sky.
“Yikes,” is all he says, which is not a great thing to hear. “I think I know how to fix it, though. We’ll need to do a little investigating as to who, exactly, started messing around with reality, but once we find the source, it’ll be an easy fix.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”
“Even better than meeting your soulmate?”
“I haven’t slept for more than four hours all week. Knowing there’s an end in sight beats everything else.”
Phantom laughs, throwing his head back and Duke can’t help but drink in the sight of him, so ethereal and bright and full of life. “Fair enough! Got any ideas as to where we should start?”
“I’ve got an entire crew of detective vigilantes,” Duke replies. He’s not taking any more chances. No more waiting to talk about important things; he messed up by keeping his soulmark to himself, so he needs to make sure everyone meets his soulmate before shit goes south again. 
“Let’s go find them, then!”
They take off again, soaring through the skies that are barely holding themselves together. 
The world is still ending, and every hero is being stretched thin, but held carefully in Phantom’s arms, racing head first into a solution, Duke can’t help but feel that everything’s going to be alright now. 
He’s had enough bad luck. Now, his soulmate with him, bearing the title of King with grace, things are finally starting to look up.
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appocalipse · 2 months
Note
hello! can I please request "I really, really want to kiss you right now." with steve and our shy!reader friend?!
here you go my love! hope you like it ♥ 1.3 k
The rain catches the two of you by surprise.
It pours down relentlessly, the cold droplets stinging your skin as you and Steve hurry towards his car, sadly parked way too far away from the charming flea market you had somehow dragged him to earlier that afternoon. 
Well, not really dragged exactly — Steve himself had volunteered to give you a ride the moment he heard you telling Robin how much you wanted to go and see if you could find some new furniture for your apartment, maybe even some decorations. But you felt as if you had dragged him there because, c'mon, what kind of guy thinks walking around a flea market with a friend is any fun?
And to top it off, the summer rain had come out of nowhere, sending everyone desperately running for shelter somewhere. Some lucky vendors had their tents already set up when it started, others began trying to cover their wares with tarps or whatever else they had at hand. A good number of them simply started to pack up their things to leave though, as did most of the potential customers who had been taking a look around — you and Steve included.
He had left his BMW in the parking lot of a closed store. It had seemed much closer before than it does now, as you and him run through the rain, palms over your heads to try to shield your faces from the relentless water.
You accidentally step into a puddle. Water splashes around your ankle, wetting the bare skin all the way up to your calf. You mutter a curse under your breath, deeply resenting your decision of wearing a summer dress today. "Oh, great." 
Steve chuckles, looking over his shoulder to you. Then what you can only assume is instant karma happens, and he slips and falls into a larger puddle, splashing water all over his pants and shoes.
You try to hold back, you really do, but the laughter is already building up inside of you, threatening to come out. And besides, he makes no move to get up, sitting there on the ground all wet, looking up at you like an abandoned puppy.
You giggle, which makes him laugh as well. 
"Sure," he says, "go ahead and laugh."
"Sorry, I'm sorry!" you choke out, trying to hold back your laughter as you approach him, offering one hand to help him up. "Are you okay?"
But of course he is. Except for the blow to his ego, that is. And now, in addition to just being wet, his jeans are also partially stained with mud.
And the t-shirt — which is white, no less — starts to stick to his skin, giving you a view you didn't ask for but that's certainly hard to ignore.
Steve accepts your hand, but you use both hands and too much force to pull him up, so he almost collides with you when he finally stands, his face inches from yours. You both laugh, because it was supposed to be funny — his head almost bumps into yours — but he grabs your shoulders and the remnants of the laughter from before slowly die when you realize without a doubt that he's looking at your mouth.
And you at his. In the rain. Doesn't get any more romantic than this.
Except for the fact that Steve is Steve, the former King Steve, the boy who had a pretty girl on his arm every week, while you are...you.
You're not sure who pulls away first, who clears their throat, changes the subject. But before you know it, you're sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car, staring at the dashboard as lightning cuts across the darkened sky in the distance, a storm clearly brewing.
And it's worse. This feeling you have whenever you look at him or he says your name or anyone mentions his…it's somehow worse like this, in this moment, inside this car.
As if that wasn't enough, he offers you a jacket that he takes from the backseat. His jacket.
"Thanks," you murmur, taking the jacket and putting it on. It's warm. You remember the last time you saw him wearing it and resist the urge to close your eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent that still clings to the fabric. It's like a mix of laundry detergent, soap, and something uniquely Steve.
You feel a blush creep up your neck, and you look away, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.
He hasn't started the car yet, you notice. Perhaps  he's considering waiting to see if the weather will get a little better? It doesn't look that bad that it's not safe to drive, you think.
“Sorry for dragging you here for nothing,” you say, when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything.
“You didn’t drag me,” Steve assures you, sitting half to the side to look at you. "And what do you mean, for nothing? You wanted to look at the furniture, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but we didn't buy anything and now you're all wet."
He chuckles so quietly you almost don't hear. "I didn't come here to buy furniture."
You think about asking what he actually came for, but that would be a stupid question, wouldn't it? A hope of hearing something that he probably won't say. He came so you could buy what you wanted. He's a good friend like that.
Still, when you turn your head to look at him, there's something different in the way he's looking back at you. You smile, hoping to God he doesn't notice the nervous edge behind it, "What?"
Steve opens his mouth. He's pretty sure he didn't give those words permission to come out, and yet they come out anyway,  hoarse and low, "I really, really want to kiss you right now."
You watch his lips move as he speaks, but it's like your mind can't process the words. 
And once you do, you blink, not quite sure what to say to that. Your heart feels like it's trying to escape your chest, a wild thing thumping against your ribs. But there's something else in there too. Something warm. Something you haven't felt in a long time.
The front seats are close enough, so Steve reaches out, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your lips. "I've wanted to for a while now," he whispers, leaning in closer.
You feel hot all over, the air in the car suddenly too thick to breathe. 
Steve's fingers trail down your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip, teasing you. It's a slow, deliberate movement, as if he's memorizing every inch of your face, every second of this moment. "Do you want me to?" he whispers, and the teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flip over. 
Your mind is spinning, but somehow you manage to force out the words, "Yes." You mean it. God, you mean it.
Steve's smile grows in that charming, lopsided way he has when he's happy. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leans in closer, closer…and then his lips are there, pressing softly against yours. Feather-light at first, like he's testing the waters, making sure this is what you want. But when you part your lips, letting him in, he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a slow, lazy rhythm, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him.
And then, all too soon, he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. "Was that…was that okay?"
You smile, leaning as close to him as you can without jumping over the gearshift.
"It was more than okay."
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xan-izme · 10 months
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Crybaby (Sully fam X daughter!reader)
Summary: Reader has always been a crybaby. Sensitive and had a soft spot for all living life. Jake disliked how sensitive you always were, he sent you out on your own for a month and came back a cold-blooded killer.
Warnings: Death, gore, mentions of death, mentally unstable reader, violence, Trauma
You were kind, sweet. Always looked on the bright side, you were on the same path as Kiri, training to become Tsahik. But it was clear you weren't as good as Kiri, which you were quick to admit.
That lead to Jake placing you with your brothers, training to become warriors. He wanted to tough you up, Jake loves how much you cherished love, he loved seeing the world through your optimistic eyes.
But ever since the sky people came back, he just needed his eldest daughter to be strong. Be there just in case he would leave this world a little too early.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Y/n, I need you to keep your balance! keep tripping like that you'll get killed." Jake's words hurt you, but you remember how upset he was the last time you nearly cried.
You inhaled sharply "Yes father." You stood up from the ground and faced your twin, Neteyam. He gave you a knowing look that wanted to know if they should stop, you shook your head lightly, not wanting to seem more of a wimp to your father then you already are.
You were an average hunter, your skills in fighting weren't that bad either.
But that wasn't enough for Jake. He needed to know that you were as skilled as Neteyam, as skilled as your mother was. So, it was always.
"Be faster"
"Hit stronger"
"Not good enough, try again!"
You would push your limit. Till you couldn't keep your eyes open. Your father would say words of gratitude here and there. Like small nods and a "Good work"
Your brothers sometimes feel like that's not enough for how much he makes you do. But just the smallest amount of approval from Jake made you feel like you were on cloud nine, causing you to do more, work harder.
Then one day, you were having a hard week, you were getting frustrated at the simplest things. Even your fathers nagging was annoying you.
When it came to training, you slipped up and made multiple mistakes that Jake just could not take it.
"Y/n, come now." Jake spoke calmly. You and your twin glanced at each other. You stood up with the help of Neteyam and followed your father.
The two of you walked through the woods.
"Baby, you know why I push you and your siblings so much, right?"
You nod your head, feeling a little nervous even if Jake was using his usual soft tone. "Then you understand--" Jake held you by your shoulders "--That this family, this clan is our fortress. And protecting this family is everything"
His words were deep to you, it was clear this was important to him. "And I need you to be strong. And training here hasn't been helping. So, Im sending you off. Away from here, so you can improve more on your own" Jake saw how your expression dropped "don't worry! It'll only be for a month. Ill check in every few weeks." He tried to reassure you. It didn't really calm your nerves down, but seeing how desperate he was to make sure you and the family was safe?
there was no way you could say no.
So, you left, you were on your own. The first few days were hard. And there were multiple times when you got seriously hurt and cried. God, you cried so much. All that crying made you hate yourself.
Hate every flaw you had. You even hated the soft part of you. Scolding yourself, knowing that kindness and your crying will not protect the clan, your family.
Jake did try to visit you. But you never stayed in one place. The two of you talked a little over the inner coms when you two would be miles apart. But those convocations didn't last.
You were training harder than ever. Perfecting every little thing down to the bone. In all honesty, you did go a little off from the safe zone, where you ran into a few sky people. You made it our alive, as for those sky people?
Well, you only let one live, still having that small kindness and mercy in you. Which was a big mistake.
You received a message from Norm and Max when they wanted to check on you, that a sky person bombed up a small part of the safe zone close to the high camp. No one was killed, but a lot were majorly injured.
Gaining all the details of the incident, you realize that it was the sky person you let live.
Cursing yourself and beating yourself for being so foolish, so naive for thinking nothing of what that sky demon after setting it free. So, you vowed to not give your enemy's any type of mercy, to kill all those evil demons, to protect you clan, your family.
Because this family was your fortress. And you were determined to be theirs.
Your month was over, and you were just so excited to go home. To hug and smother your siblings with kisses. To show your dear parents how strong and skilled you've become. To make your father proud of you. To officially be seen as enough to help protect everyone.
Norm gave you an inner com that was connected to your family, being told that your parents and dear twin brother were on patrol at the moment.
You decided to fly your Ikran to where you were told you parents and twin would be at. But when you were a few clicks away from them, you heard Lo'ak's voice. Saying he has gained sight of intruders. Ones who were carrying guns.
Dreamwalkers
You spoke into your inner coms.
"I'm closest to their location. I'll engage."
"Y/n-- wait, no! Y/n you better not!" Jake shouted.
"Y/n te i'tri Mo'ata Sully. Stay down! that's an--"
You turned your intercoms off. The safety of your baby siblings was the only thing you had in mind. It was almost eclipse, and telling by how the winds picks up and the clouds, it was to rain soon.
Your Ikran felt the panic and determination you were feeling and speed up to get to the location faster.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
You made it before your parents and twin could. You killed off every single dreamwalker. And that demon who took your mother's home away, who took Kiri's mother away.
The demon who caused so much harm to your clan.
"Any last words Demon?" you say, tilting your head as you held the sharp dagger to Quritche's throat. The Demon growled and spat in your face.
You weren't very pleased with that; you turned your head towards your siblings who were huddled against a tree.
"Spider"
The small human boy flinched by the way your voice sounded.
"Close your eyes." You said with a small fond smile. But it felt nothing like that. Kiri quickly brought Spider close to her and covered his eyes.
You looked back at Quaritche. The moment you slit his throat and began to detach his head from his body, was the moment Jake and Neytiri entered the scene.
Neytiri was quick to go by her younger children's side. Your ears perk and notice Jake. Once you laid eyes on him. Your face lit up.
"Father!" Youran to him and hugged him. Jake was in utter shock at the scene in front of him. He slowly hugged you tight. You pulled away, smiling, unphased by the amount of blood that was on you.
"I did it. I saved them. Look!" you pulled Jake to where Quaritche's dead body was and grabbed the head of the demon.
"I have killed him. I did it!"
Neteyam slowly entered and looked over what you had done.
"Mommy!" Tuk whined and was quickly embraced by Neytiri.
You were smiling, happy that you've finally rid your father of the nightmare that had burdened your family.
But when you began to see the look Jake had. You started to notice that was not the look of approval you hoped for.
"Y/n . . .What have you done?"
Your smile dropped, being replaced with confution
"Wha-. . .what? what's wrong? what did I do wrong!?" You didn't understand. Did you not put them down fast enough? Should you have taken out the leader before the others? What was it that was wrong??
"Y/n, baby. This--" He was pointing out to the bloody battle around them "--Is wrong. You tampered with their body's. Some of them are still bleeding out!"
"N-no! it's okay you see! I made it for them to not move at all and suffer their punishment." You tried to defend yourself. Tried to make your dear father know that it was okay. And that you did a good job.
Neytiri hurried the children to exit this part of the forest fast, including Spider. Neytiri didn't like Spider, but the boy didn't deserve to see all of this. None of her children did.
"That is not our way!" Jake yelled. Frustrated, worried and scared for his daughter in front of them.
Your ears pinned back. Feelings of sadness, betrayal and anger infecting your heart.
"Well, your way didn't work for me. You said so yourself! Why can't you just be happy!?" Your nose scrunched up in anger.
"I did this for the clan, for our family-- For you!" You were getting upset. All you wanted was the feeling of being called a Sully, worthy of the tittle as Toruk Makto's daughter.
"You can't do this. Your way will bring unbalance to the clan. And if you can't do that. . . then I'll have to strip your tittle as a warrior of this clan." Jake's words caused everyone to stop.
"Ma jake." Neytiri spoke, her eyes glancing between her mate and child.
You felt your bottom lip quivering. But your eyes refused to release the tears. You slowly backed away from Jake, nodding your head a little. Your eyes found its way to Spider who kept tripping, his legs still shaking from what he witnessed.
"Spider." You spoke up. The boy forced himself to look at you.
"Keep tripping like that. . . . . and you'll get killed."
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maybankslover · 24 days
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dropped my hand while dancing II- rafe cameron
rafe cameron x kook!reader
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part 1
moodboard?
warnings: angst, mention of pregnancy, break up, mental health
summary: what happens when the only love you've ever known doesn't love you anymore?
playlist: ghost of you by 5sos, champagne problems and bigger than the whole sky by taylor
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the cameron's were the one in charge of the cancellations and to let everyone know the wedding was off. sarah now had y/n's wedding dress hanged in her closet as the store called her when it wasn't picked up on the day it was supposed to and neither y/n or her mom answered their calls.
rafe it saw it when she brought it to tanyhill, it was gorgeous and it represented y/n so well. and even if rafe tried to fool everyone, he wasn't doing alright, her family got everything out of their once shared home and when he came back after they'd left it was as if she had never been there at all. not one piece of her had been left behind except for the pictures hanging in the walls, he couldn't sleep that night, his sight set one the cold spot next to him in bed. he missed her.
the news on the island spread really quick and he now got dirty looks on the streets, even in the country club by the elder people who known them since they were kids, wondered how he could leave his high-school sweetheart and pregnant fiance. she is a very beloved girl in their circles.
he hadn't seen her since she left the hospital, her parents wouldn't even open the door of their hose and his mom then told him that y/n and her mom had left the island, probably to her grandparents home in the mainland.
a month later sarah told him y/n and the baby were okay and that she was expecting a little girl.
topper's pov
"dude." I sit next to rafe in the living room of my house.
"what top?"
"I thought you'd want to see this." I hand him my phone. "y/n sent this to maia last night, she said she's entering the third trimester and almost seven month. y/n mentioned that she has almost everything for the baby."
rafe looked at the picture, a round belly showing.
"she broke down crying when maya asked what she was missing so we could maybe send it to her."
to me rafe fucked up so badly and will forever regret allowing his intrusive thpught to overcome his feelings, he won't ever find anyone as good as her or someone he'll love as much as he loved/loves y/n. he still loves her, he wouldn't have become a shell of who he was at her absence if he didn't love her.
third person pov
two weeks after topper sent him the picture he couldn't stop looking at thinking about how it would feel to touch her belly, how his daughter moving would feel under his touch. the texts he had been sending for the past two and a half months for almost everyday to y/n finally got a reply.
"hi, my due date is ironically september 21st. thought I would let you know, hope you're doing alright." 1 picture attached.
rafe almost jumped from his sit at his office. 21st their anniversary.
"y/n, can I call you? please." delivered.
he was now living at tanyhill again, couldn't stand being in their home without her.
"rafe!" sarah shouted from the living room. "rafe get the fuck down here right now."
"I'm coming jesus, why are you screaming?" he jogged down the stairs. "what happened?"
"y/n/n gave birth last night. the 20th at 19.37 pm." he almost fainted, his daughter was born and he hadn't been there.
"what? how did you found out?" rafe took her phone from her hand to watch the picture, the two pictures in fact. y/n holding the baby girl and another of the baby girl alone.
"she's perfect. how did she call her?" tears streaming down his face.
"sky. she said it's the name you liked and that she looks exactly like you." rafe sat down with his head in his hands.
"what have I done sar?"
"I wish I knew but she gave me the hospital she's in, told me ti let you know."
the same afternoon rafe knocked on the door giving it a few seconds before coming in.
"y/n/n."
"hey." the baby girl peacefully sleeping in her arms.
"are you alright?" he asked approaching the bed.
"yeah in a bit of pain but it's alright." she looked down at her daughter. "she's sky." y/n smiled at him. "wanna hold her?"
"yes yes please." once he had sky in his arms and sat on the chair beside the bed, his eyes instantly filled with tears and everything he had been repressing, all his love for y/n came rushing back in an instant. "she's perfect y/n/n."
they spent a few minutes in silence contemplating their daughter before y/n spoke up.
"I'll alow for you and your family to see her but it'll be arranged for my parents to bring her to y'all. I'm not prepared to be around you yet." she couldn't really maintain the eye contact.
"y/n/n about that..."
"it's okay, you stopped loving me and even if it still hurts me like hell and I can't wrap my head around it. she deserves to know how good it feels to be loved by you."
on that moment rafe truly realized the mistake he had made.
if you liked it please reblog my works
taglist: @gillybooboo @julczimozart @bellbottombaby @silkylovey @dropperyourhnd @jaydaaasworld @chenslucy @congratsloserr @carrerascameron
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radioactiveparker · 1 year
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Ride It Hard - Mechanic!Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader (Smut)
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Summary - Your car breaks down and an old friend helps you out
Warnings - Strong language / Use of Y/N / Unprotected sex (PiV) / Fingering / Pain kink
Word Count - 6.1K
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"Piece of shit!"
Your car sputtered to a stop, smoke starting to plume from the hood. You had ran out of gas about 8 miles back, having made the decision to skip the last gas station just to get home a bit quicker. A decision you now regretted. You had gone to visit your parents in Georgia for a few days and was now making your way back home to Hawkins, Indiana. But alas, here you were, on a long winding road somewhere near Weathertop Hill with no phone to call for help. Truthfully, you weren't too far from home, much too far to walk of course, but if you were lucky, you could wait for someone to drive by and drop you off. Someone nice, you hoped.
With a huff, you shut off your engine and stepped out of the car, trying your best to ignore the chill. It wasn't an ideal time for your car to break down. It was the transition period from summer to autumn. The leaves were falling, the days were starting to get shorter and the air was getting colder. Clouds hung low in the sky, threatening a heavy downpour, and distant thunder rolled nearer. You prayed that someone would drive by before nightfall, or at least before it rained. You slammed the door shut, but not before grabbing your cardigan from the passenger seat. You opened the hood, coughing as you wafted the smoke away with your hands so you could see what you were dealing with. The smoke finally cleared, but it had made no difference. Your knowledge of cars, or rather lack there of, kept your brain fogged as you stared blankly at the car's engine.
With a sigh of discouragement, you slammed the hood shut and tried your best to remember how far of a walk it was to Hess Farm. If you remembered correctly, it was about three and a half miles East. You could walk it, it would only take about an hour, maybe 45 minutes at a push. You could get there quickly, have Farmer Hess call for a tow-truck, and get a ride back home with enough time to have a shower before The Golden Girls started. Yeah, that sounded like a better idea. Who knows how long it would take for another car to drive by.
Clunk.
A single droplet of rain landed right on the hood of your car. You looked to the sky and another landed on your chin. It was cold, you would describe it a refreshing after almost being suffocated by hot car fumes, only it looked like you weren't walking anywhere anytime soon, not unless you wanted to be sick in bed for a week. 
All at once, the clouds spat out their droplets, soaking you to the skin almost instantaneously. With a gasp, you quickly rushed to get back into your car and out of the rain. You pulled on the handle, then pulled again, and once more. But it was no use. The door was firmly shut.
With your car keys inside. 
"You fucking idiot." You grumbled at yourself, crossing your arms and letting the rain pour over you in defeat. 
You guessed you had no choice now but to walk to Hess Farm. You shivered when a strong gust blew over you, washing you in more rain and practically blinding you. Pulling your cardigan closer, although it didn't help much, you started to make your way to the farm. The rain beat down on you in cartoonishly large drops, so strongly it felt more like the flow of a river than a rain shower. It hissed along the road and filled pot holes into miniature rockpools. You took no less than ten paces from your car when you heard it, even over the rain. 
Drumming - loud drumming, and then a guitar. It was muffled, barely distinguishable, but you could hear it coming closer and closer. You turned to where it was coming from, just in time to see a van swerve around the corner, much to wild for the weather conditions. But that didn't matter to you right now, there was someone who could help you. You stepped into the middle of the road, waving your arms above your head to get the drivers attention. You breathed a sigh of relief when the van slowed down and pulled up beside you. 
The window rolled down and the music lowered. "Long time, no see Stranger."
"Eddie?!"
You knew Eddie from high school. You were friendly to each other and you had even joined his Hellfire Club whenever they needed a sub. But you wouldn't consider yourselves friends, in fact, you didn't know what you were. Or rather, had been. There had been times where you were more than friendly with each other; making out in the back of his van as a thank you when he dropped you off home after Hellfire, or running a hand up your thigh in the school library instead of studying like he had asked in the first place. But that was it, no matter how much you wanted him, it never went further than that. You wished he would've made a move, but maybe he just wasn't interested in you the way you were in him. It felt like it was a whole lot of erotic build up for nothing. You hadn't even exchanged numbers, which is probably why you hadn't seen or spoken to him in the year since leaving school. In all truthfulness you hadn't thought of Eddie much since leaving school, despite the minor crush that you had had on him. 
Eddie leaned over to open the passenger door, "Hop in."
"But, my car..."
"I've gotta tow in the back, don't worry. Just get in, I'll sort it."
You gratefully jumped in, cringing when your soaked clothes started seeping into the material of his car seat. You looked at him apologetically, but he just smirked at you before opening his door and jumping out.
"Eddie!"
You could hear him laughing as he moved to open the back of the van. You looked behind you to see him foraging through the jumble to find his tow, positively drenched. There was a quiet "Got'cha" and he pulled out the rope. He made quick work tying it to the towing hitch on his van and then jogging to attach it to your car. He ran back quickly, jumping back into the drivers seat. He made an uncomfortable squish sound as he plopped into his seat, rain dripping from his tight-ringed curls, and running down his leather jacket. You stared at him speechlessly.
"What?" Eddie breathed as he started his van.
"You're crazy." You laughed, shaking your head to yourself and putting your seat belt on, remembering how crazy he could drive. 
You thought for sure he would have waited for the rain to die down a bit before going out there. If you remembered what he was like in high school correctly, there was no way he would have ruined his hair like that. Perhaps he had gotten his priorities straight after school? If you were being completely honest, his hair didn't look that bad. Sure, it was lacking in volume and lay flat on his head, but his chocolate coils hung so delicately and product free thanks to the rain - they were naturally beautiful. You watched a drip fall from his fringe. It landed softly on the tip of his nose, steadily running down to his philtrum and pooling on his cupids bow. You watched as he licked it from his lips.
Eddie had felt you staring, but kept his eyes on the road. "So what happened to your car?"
"Ran out of gas." You groaned, sitting back and diverting your eyes to the road too. "I think I might have broken something. My car started smoking when it stopped." 
"You drive on an empty tank?"
"Yeah, is that bad?"
"Yeah, you probably damaged your fuel tank."
You turned to him, impressed. Although he could be talking out of his ass and you wouldn't know the difference. "You know about cars?"
"You know the Motorbay Auto Repair shop by Motel 6?"
"Yeah, you work there?"
"Ever since I graduated." He smiled at you, but it was more like a smile of pride for himself. 
The majority of Eddie's life he had been told he wasn't going to make it. He would never graduate and he'd be stuck in a dead-end job, and that was if he didn't end up becoming a drifter. You could remember graduation like it was yesterday, maybe because Eddie had made it more memorable for you. You remember how he had almost stumbled up the steps to receive his diploma, the way he had snatched it from Principle Higgins' hands while giving him the middle finger, and how he grabbed your hand after you had both gotten your diplomas and had a celebratory make out in the empty school hallway. You wondered where those days had gone. You hadn't realised how much you had actually missed Eddie until now. It was like how the desert gets used to a rainless sky, but then when it showers over the sand, it craves to thwart the draught.
"I could take a look at it for you, if you'd like?" Eddie continued. "My Uncle Wayne might have some spare parts lying around."
"I don't have any money with me."
"Y/N, do you seriously think I would charge you? Besides, who would I be to take money from a damsel in distress?"
You smiled at him and thanked him for the offer, which you had appreciatively took. Eddie took a left, going the opposite direction to your house and made his way to his. Without thinking, Eddie placed a hand on your thigh, stroking his thumb gently along the fabric of your jeans. You tried not to clench them together, you didn't think he realised how high he had placed his hand. But at the same time, you didn't object. The heat of his palm was nice on your cold and wet thigh in a way that felt familiar. All of those times Eddie had picked you up, or took you back home, he always drove with a hand on your thigh. You used to call him out for it, telling him he had to keep both hands on the wheel, but you didn't this time. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence the rest of the way, with you looking behind every now and then to make sure your car was still attached. The rain had started to soften, not hanging around for long - just enough for the duration of your drive. You could feel the mud mush under the vans wheels as Eddie parked in front of his trailer. He was still living with his uncle, but assessing the missing car out front, he wasn't home. In all fairness, you couldn't judge. If your parents hadn't decided to move out of Hawkins, you would probably still be living with them to. After all, you were still living in your childhood home to this day.
The clouds were spitting out pathetic drops every now and then, but nothing for you to worry about. Not that it mattered, you and Eddie were still soaked. The two of you jumped out of his van, Eddie jogging around to your side to open the door for you like the gentleman he was. You followed him into his trailer, trying not to wince at the feeling of wet clothes stuck to your skin. Eddie quickly ran off, cleaning up bits of clutter along the way, and you took the time to look around. Despite your history, this was the first time you had stepped foot in his trailer. You took your shoes off by the front door, noticing that you were standing on carpet. The trailer was a mess, to put it nicely. You could tell his Uncle had been away for the day; clothes randomly strewn about the place, couch cushions had fallen onto the floor, ripped envelopes and pieces of mail thrown onto the coffee and dining table. But that didn't take away from the cosiness of it all. There was nothing worse to you than going to someone's house and it looking completely lifeless - like no one even lived there. Where you're too scared to touch anything in case it might break, or when everything is perfectly polished and it made you feel grubby. Besides, it felt very ... Eddie. You didn't have much more time to look around when Eddie came back from (what you assumed was) the bathroom with a towel bunched in his hands. He handed it to you and you immediately got to drying the hair that was uncomfortably sticking to your forehead and the nape of your neck. Your eyes followed him as he walked to the washing machine by the hallway. You ignored the water stain on the carpet and watched him reach into the laundry basket and pull out another towel, giving a sniff to make sure it was clean before drying his own hair.
"I'm gonna get changed and then I'll take a look at your car." Eddie said, walking backwards into the hallway.
"Do you maybe have something I can change into?"
He stopped in his tracks, staring at you like he was thinking hard. His eyes lit up, "I'll be right back."
He didn't take long. He came back wearing an oversized tank top that was cut low under the armpits, showing off the delicious shape of his ribcage. He had paired it with an old pair of ripped, oil stained jeans , of which the front of his tank top had been tucked into. These were obviously clothes he didn't mind getting dirty, but you worried that they would be much too cold. Although, you wouldn't object if kept them on. This was the most of Eddie you had ever seen. You guessed working at an Auto Repair shop was a work out, because his arm muscles looked much more defined than you remembered them being, and the shape of his pecks peeked out from the neck of his tank.
"Here." He smirked at you.
You hadn't even noticed that he had been holding out a bundle of clothes for you. Heat rose to your cheeks as you took the clothes from him. Yeah, he had definitely seen you checking him out. 
"Give me your car keys, and I'll make a start." He kept his hand held out.
"Umm, that might be a problem."
"What do you mean?"
"The keys are in the car."
"You mean you locked your keys in your car!?" He rubbed his forehead in disbelief. 
"Maybe..." You dragged out, rocking from side to side innocently. 
He sighed. "Alright, I'll sort it, you get changed. Bathroom's the first door on the right."
He made his way outside, leaving his trailer door open, causing a chill to run along your body. You quickly moved to the bathroom, peeling your clothes from your skin and drying your body off with the towel. Reaching for the shirt, you unfolded it and held it in front of you. It was a 3/4 length black sleeve on a white tee, with the large head of a horned devil dead centre. Above it in thick letters read the iconic: Hellfire Club. You laughed to yourself as you put it on - of all the shirts he had, he had to give you this one. You had secretly wanted one, but you had never played frequent enough to be considered part of the club, despite how much Dustin, Lucas and Mike would say you were. It fell just below your backside, definitely too short not to wear something underneath. You picked up the bottoms he gave you and rolled your eyes. Of course he had given you a pair of his boxers to wear. You put them on anyways and walked back out into the kitchen area. You stopped to watch Eddie from the window as he bent over the engine of your car. Those jeans may be old, but they did wonders for his ass. 
A cold breeze whipped around your bare legs and snapped you out of it. You remembered Eddie had left the door open. There was no way he wasn't freezing out there. You hoped he wouldn't mind when you started to search through his cupboards for some mugs, deciding it was probably best not to use the ones hanging on display in the living room. You picked two random ones you could find; one in the shape of He-man, and another with Big Bird on the front. You started boiling some water on the stove to make some coffee for you and Eddie, getting distracted every now and then when you watched him from the kitchen window. You filled the mugs, poured a little milk in each, and then tidied and washed your mess. Finding an old pair of sandals by the door, you slipped them on and carried the two cups of coffee outside. You were careful not to trip over the oversized footwear as you walked down the steps. Eddie stuck his head out from under the hood and straightened himself as you approached. 
"Hey, how did you get the hood up?" You questioned, handing him the He-man shaped cup. He pulled your car keys from his back pocket and dangled them in front of you. "How did you get in?"
"My dad may have taught me a few tricks." He picked up a duct tape covered sick off the ground. "You see, you tape it to the window and then use it as a lever to pull the window down. It's pretty neat, but I wouldn't recommend leaving your keys in the car again. I could damage the door mechanism if I had to do it again."
"Noted." You took a sip of your coffee and then placed it down, balancing it on the side of your car. 
"Hey, be careful with that."
"Calm down, it's just a car."
"Just a car?" He looked at you like you were a mad woman. "This is a mechanical work of art, not a cup holder." 
He plucked up your mug and moved it, as well as his after taking a sip, to the floor of his van. He had left the door open from when he was scrounging around for duct tape.
You bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling, but it didn't stop the smile stretching on your face. You saw him looking at your lips when he approached you again. "I didn't realise you felt so strongly about cars."
"I just think you gotta treat them right, you know." He leaned against your car, crossing his arms over his chest. You didn't miss the way his eyes travelled up the length of your legs before they met yours. He licked his lips. "Cars are like people; you look after them and they'll look after you. But you can't just treat a car like it's anybody, you gotta treat it like it's the most beautiful woman that you wanna keep around forever."
"Oh really?" You moved to stand next to him, also leaning against the car. The denim of his jeans scratched against your thigh. You hadn't realised you stood that close, but neither of you moved. "Please explain."
"Well, you gotta look after it, treat it well and it'll satisfy you." Your eyes widened slightly and you gulped when he stepped closer to you, your breath mingling. "You gotta be gentle with it," he stroked a finger down your cheek to the softness of your bottom lip, "and then when you ride it, you ride it hard."
Those cliché sparks had ignited a blazing passion deep inside of you. You cleared your throat to snuff it out. "Not all women like it hard."
"Oh yeah? What about you, Princess? How do you like it?" He placed a finger under your chin and forced your eyes to his. "You like it soft and slow?"
Your desire was concealed behind a see through disguise. He could see the fire burning in your irises. He dipped his head to the junction of your neck, stopping before he could press his lips there. The soft fan of his breath gave you chills. "Is this okay?"
"Yes." You breathed. It had been so long since you had felt like this.
He replaced his finger with his lips, placing a tender kiss to the underside of your chin. He continued to trail them down your neck, so light and feather-soft that your eyes fluttered shut. "You like it when I touch you like this?"
You nodded wordlessly, whining that he had stopped. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer so your bodies pressed together. "I love how desperate you always are for me." And he continued to kiss your neck. He went straight to your sweet spot, clearly he had remembered, and pressed a silky kiss there. 
But you wanted more. 
And he could tell.
"Is this pace good enough for you?"
"More." It was a breathless whisper. "Please." You added.
He began suckling and licking at your flesh, eating you alive like a god damn vampire. You moaned aloud at the feeling and threaded your fingers through his hair. His fingers wiggled their way under your shirt, surprisingly warm despite working in the colder weather. His hands rested there, thumbs stroking your ribs just under your boobs. You wanted nothing more than for him to grab them and play with them, but maybe not so out in the open.
He seemed to have read your mind when he pulled away and opened the back door of your car.
"Get inside." He ordered.
You complied immediately, your sandals falling off as you clambered in and laid down across the back seats. He followed you in, climbing on top of you and shutting the door behind him. Desperate to feel his lips on you again, you pulled him in, only this time you smashed your lips together. His lips were just as soft as you had remembered them, sliding over your own effortlessly. His tongue prodded at your lips as an indication for you to invite him in. And you did so welcomingly, the pair of you enjoying the coffee taste of saliva. His hands went back under your shirt, trailing higher and higher before stopping where the band of your bra should be. Only, you hadn't put it on after getting changed.
He groaned against your lips, "You're such a tease, you know that?"
"Am not" You pouted.
He kissed the pout right off your lips and moved his hands higher. His rough hands grasped your tits, kneading them deliciously and making you gasp into his mouth. The texture of his palms rubbed against your nipples and you arched your back into him, moaning.
"You make such pretty sounds, Sweetheart."
Taking full advantage of your arched back, he made quick work of taking his your shirt off. Goose bumps broke out across your skin and your nipples pebbled at the cold. He stared at you in awe, asking himself why he had never gone this far before. 
He noticed your goose bumps. "Don't worry, Princess, I'll get you warmed up real soon." His voice was deep and gravely, and it went straight to your core.
You moaned again when his lips attached themselves to your chest, suckling love bites all over and using his tongue to flick around your nipples. Your hands combed through his hair again, pulling slightly at the damp tangles, but he didn't seem to mind. His mess of curls tickled against your skin and you collected it in your hands. Using the hair tie around your wrist, you pulled his hair back into a low bun. He allowed you to play with his hair, actually preferring it out of his way as he continued to kiss at your chest. Your hips impulsively thrusted upwards, trying to feel him against you, but you were met with nothing as he pulled away from you. You had no complaints though when he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the pale expanse of his torso. He didn't give you enough time to admire it when he brought his lips to yours again, forcing his tongue between them to play with your own. He shivered when your blunt nails raked down his chest. You could feel his stomach tense when they trailed below his belly button and through his happy trail. You carried on down to his jeans and fiddled with his buttons before pulling down his zipper. He pulled away from you again, clumsily pulling his jeans off and sticking his tongue out in concentration, being careful not to squish you.  
After successfully removing them, he pulled your bodies together, flesh to flesh and hips to hips. He grinded himself against you, the bulge of his erection gently prodding at your clit causing you to moan. You could feel your slick dampening your panties, allowing them to glide over your clit as he moved his hips against yours. You moulded your lips back with his, whining against them as your way of telling him you were getting impatient.
"What's the matter, Sweetheart?" He teased, stopping his hips altogether. 
"Please Eddie, I need more."
"But you sound so pretty when you beg." He rasped in your ear before nibbling on the lobe.
"Please don't tease me Eddie. I've been waiting for you to do this since high school."
"Oh yeah?" He pulled back, looking into your eyes with a smirk on his lips. "Then it wont hurt to wait a little longer."
"Eddie!"
"I'm joking, I'm joking, Baby." He laughed. "Now, tell me what you want."
"Touch me, please."
"And where would you like me to touch you m'lady?"
"You know where, Eddie."
He laughed at your bluntness, smiling against your lips when he kissed you again. He placed his palm flat on your stomach before going down slowly. Finally his finger tips slipped under the band of his boxers and into your panties. The two of you groaned at the feeling, your hole dripping wet and begging to be filled. He started at your clit, spreading your slick by rubbing soft circles. You sighed with relief that he was finally touching you. Using his middle and ring finger, he started gliding downward to play with your hole before sinking inside. You moaned at the feeling of him stuffing your emptiness. His fingers were sweet torture as they moved inside of you ever so slowly.
"One more Eddie, please." You begged for him to stretch you open with a third finger.
"You think you can handle that?"
You nodded frantically, your noses bumping together. He obliged without more torment and opened you wide with a third finger. Tears sprung to your eyes. In the beginning you thought that maybe he was right, you couldn't handle it like you thought. But when he curled his fingers enticingly inside of you and collected more of your wetness, the line between pleasure and pain became blurred. The heel of his calloused palm stroked against your clit with every thrust, making your insides burn. You moaned openly into his mouth, mutterings of "just like that" and "right there" breathed onto his lips. You could feel him grinding on your leg like a dog - he was getting off on your pleasure. Your moans of his name went straight to his cock and he just couldn't help himself. He was starting to get desperate. He wanted nothing more than to find out how you would moan with his cock inside of you.
The deliberate actions of his fingers paused and he removed them from you. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, giving Eddie a frown - you were getting so close. He released a breathy laugh at your expression, placing a kiss to your lips.
"Open wide, princess."
You did so willingly, opening wide and sticking out your tongue ever to slightly to welcome his fingers. He groaned when the warmth of your tongue slid along his fingers and your cheeks hollowed to take their full length. He could just imagine how beautiful you would look with your lips wrapped around his cock.
But that would just have to wait for another time.
He pulled his fingers away from your greedy mouth, replacing them with his tongue so he could taste your sweetness. He wanted nothing more than to eat you out, to taste your sweetness from the source, but with his cock painfully straining against his boxers, he knew he had to hurry things along. He made quick work at pulling down your bottoms, and then echoing his actions with his boxers. He tried his best to withstand the hiss that was on the tip of his tongue as his cock met with the cold air.
"Ah shit, I don't have any condoms on me."
"It's fine Eddie, just pull out. I need you."
He didn't need much more convincing. "As you wish."
He rubbed the head of his cock along your slit, teasingly bumping into your clit every now and them as he lubed himself up with your juices. Your eyes rolled back when he gently pushed himself inside of you. You secretly thanked him for stretching you with his fingers before, otherwise this would be 10 times worse. But still, you moaned at the pain, a sadistic part of you enjoying it more than you probably should have. You gasped and whimpered when the head of his cock finally sank in.
"What's the matter sweetheart? Too much?"
"Not enough." You teased.
He was more than enough, there was no denying it, and Eddie knew that. There was nothing you could say that would bruise that ego of his, especially when it came to the size of his cock. You could feel him laugh against your shoulder, muttering a quiet "Alright then" before his hips snapped flush to yours.
You cried out, digging your nails into his back as he sheathed himself completely inside of you. He gave you time to adjust, trying his best not to laugh at the expression on your face. He could tell you were enjoying it, but your face was contorted into a mixture of pleasure and pain - eyes rolling back before squeezing shut and your bottom lip caged between your teeth. You were certainly a sight to behold.
"Let me see those eyes, beautiful."
You pried them open, trying your hardest not to squeeze them closed again at the slow drag of his hips. He filled you up so good it was like you could feel him everywhere. Not one part of you was left untouched and you were practically sobbing. His mouth was on yours again when he rolled his hips, causing you both to gasp against each other. He was so deep inside of you, you thought for sure that he was in your stomach. His dick barely moved from inside of you as he grinded against you, the soft hair on his pubic bone tickling at your clit. You wanted more, Eddie knew this, but he was too much of a tease to let you get your own way.
"Please" You begged.
"Please what sweetheart? Go on, don't be shy. Tell me."
"Harder, please."
"But baby, I thought you liked it soft and slow?"
"C'mon Eddie, please."
"Alright, since you asked so nicely."
He pulled out, almost completely, before pounding into you. The two of you moaned at the feeling. He continued to ram into you relentlessly, finally giving you what you wanted. He tongued and kissed at your clavicle, becoming hooked on the taste of your sweat. Your heavy breaths mingled and the windows began to fog. He was becoming harder to see as the night time drew in, but the yellow glow of the street light rolled along his structures. He glowed like a radiant god, hearing your prayers and relishing in your faith to him. You gave yourself to him completely, allowing him to create an entirely new universe of pleasure for you to get lost in. You clenched around his length, sucking him in deeper and causing his breath to stutter. You did it again, loving the effect it had on him when he pulled his lip between his teeth. You tucked the loose strands that had fallen out of his bun behind his ears to see his face a bit more clearly. The soft glaze of sweat across his forehead had matted his fringe, sticking it above his eyebrows. The sweet dews trickled down his face, much like the rain had earlier, although now it was from his unabating exertion.
"Fuck, I'm so close Sweetheart." He shamelessly moaned.
You nodded in agreement, your climax was fomenting deep within you. You were constantly being pulled closer to the edge, just waiting for Eddie to make one final push to take you over. His ceaseless thrusts kept his cock shoved gloriously against all of the right places, not once did he hold back. His eyes squeezed shut and his breathing became laboured.
 "Let me see those eyes, beautiful."
His eyes snapped open at your words - the exact words he had spoken to you just moments earlier. He almost stopped his movements entirely in surprise, but he was so busy trying to chase his high, that instead he wiped the smirk off of your lips by bringing a hand to your clit.
"Be careful Princess, or I might just change my mind about letting you cum." He warned, slowing his hips, but still pressing his thumb harder to your clit, just to prove how hard he would make it for you to hold off your orgasm.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, trapping him inside of you just in case he decided to stop completely. "No! Please Eddie, I'm sorry. I'll be a good girl, I promise." You sobbed, not even caring how pathetic you sounded. 
"I know you will, Baby." He cooed softly against your lips. While the offer to torment you was appetising, he was so close to exploding that he had no patience left in him.
His hips started up again, ploughing into you, your walls constricting around him as you drew closer and closer. Your body became tingly and your toes curled. It was like all of your nerve endings had been set alight and were now firing a sudden release of energy, sending you into euphoria. Wave after wave crashing into you and drowning you in pleasure as you finally came. 
"I can't pull out when you wrap your legs around me like that, baby."
You had hardly heard what he had said, your heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears. It was only when he started pulling away, did you catch on and release him from your hold. He felt his balls tighten and pleasure steadily increasing until it was unbearable, almost painful, but he never wanted it to stop. It was a close call, but he finally pulled out of you, rubbing his length along your folds as hot cum spurted from his cock, landing on your stomach and pooling in your belly button. The moans he released had made you want him all over again, but you were far too sensitive for that. Even as he stroked the side of his length up and down your slit, he prolonged your orgasm until it was almost agonising. 
He eventually collapsed on top of you, chests pushing together with each desperate lungful of air. And in this fulfilled silence, your breathing blended with the gentle pattering of rain that rattled against the metallic body of your car. You hadn't even realised it had started raining again. It wasn't as heavy as before, but was still enough to get you wet if you tried to run back to the trailer.
Eddie had noticed it to. "Looks like were gonna be here for a while."
You nodded in agreement, fidgeting to unlodge the belt buckle that was digging into your back. Eddie's breath was cool on your skin as the two of you calmed down, shivering as the adrenaline dwindled away from you. It was truly dark now, and you had most certainly missed the episode of The Golden Girls. 
You felt the cold even more when Eddie propped himself up on his elbows, the loss of contact with your bare skin brought you a chill. Your arms wrapped around his neck, wanting to pull him back into you, but you halted at the look on his face. His dreamy eyes conveyed a message of appreciation and sparkled with unmistakable desire.
"So," Eddie broke the silence, "you up for round two?"
A part of you for sure thought that he was going to tell you those three little words. It was naïve of you to think that he would after such a short amount of time together, but you could feel the electricity between you. Not unless a brewing lightning storm had disorientated your feelings.
"Only on one condition." You prompted, feeling ballsy.
"And what's that?"
"You take me on a date."
"Sweetheart, you read my mind."
5K notes · View notes
little-miss-vader · 9 months
Text
Gentle Hands
Pairing: Anakin x Jedi!Reader
Summary: Anakin doesn’t like being touched. Everybody knows they shouldn’t touch him unless it’s absolutely necessary. Until…
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Word count: 6.5K
Trigger warnings: 18+ smut and drinking
A/N: Slow burn baby! It’s Clone Wars era Anakin cuz I’ve been watching Clone Wars a lot but just imagine early ROTS Anakin bc Hayden. Okay? Okay. Also we are so back. Ps, Zeltron spiced wine is an aphrodisiac. Just fyi. No relation to this piece of writing, of course.
It was a regular day. There was a soft buzz of commotion in the Jedi Temple. Nothing loud enough to annoy you but if it was gone you’d notice. Footsteps, voices speaking, the sounds of droids doing their business. It’s what normally woke you up everyday, the relative silence of the night would begin to turn into the early morning sounds of Jedi business. In all honesty, it made you feel excited to wake up. To see what new mission would be brewing, to hear the stories of the most recent expedition. The war had its effect on you and your Master but it never broke your spirit. You were proud to be who you were, to do what you do. You were even prouder to have Master Plo Koon as your teacher. He was the kindest one, at least to your knowledge. The two girls you often hung out with on your off time told you stories of how their Masters were very strict and had little to no empathy once the war had started. You deemed yourself lucky and even more so, grateful.
Your eyes watched the small skylight that was fixed to your ceiling. Being one of the older younglings, and now a Padawan, you got to move to your own living quarters in the main complex of the temple. They all had skylights and balconies whereas the younglings were bunked in big rooms in the lower levels of the temple so they would be harder to get to incase of an ambush.
You watched the thin clouds move across the bright blue sky quickly, telling you the weather was warm with a breeze. Your legs slid off the bed, your body following suit to bring you to a sitting position. The cold marble floor of your apartment was hidden by a single carpet right by your bed and your feet revelled in the feeling of the soft fibres keeping them warm.
The clock read 7:45 and you sighed. You only had 15 minutes to be up and outside before breakfast was served and with a sigh you walked on tiptoe across the cold floor into your bathroom.
With a lazy flare you brushed your teeth and washed your face. Your hair was still damp from the shower you had taken late last night instead of sleeping. You brushed out the damp curls and they turned into soft waves. You decided that was good enough before changing and heading out the door. The second you opened the door you were greeted by your Master.
“Glad to see you awake.” Plo Koon spoke with his arms crossed over his chest. You gave him a half smile as you reached out a joking fist to punch his arm lightly.
“You stalking me now?” You said and the sound of your own voice speaking for the first time today shocked you. It sounded like you just woke up for sure. A small laugh was heard coming from your Master and it brought a smile to your face. “What’s the plan for today, Master?” You asked in hopes to sway him from thinking you’d slept in.
He gave you a shrug. “Only thing I’m planning is breakfast. We’ve been on the go for weeks. You and I both deserve a small break.” He said as he peered into the space behind you. It was a mess. Your hand pulled the door closed with a nervous laugh.
“I could eat.” You replied with a shrug and he turned on his heels and you followed him to the dining hall. The two of you walked until your eyes landed on a taller figure. His dark clothes immediately made him stand out as he spoke to one of the Clones, you believed his name was Rex. With a shaky breath you watched as Plo Koon walked over to him. They spoke about something and you tried to unglue your feet from where he had left you standing. When you finally began to move toward them, Anakin glanced at you. Your breath caught itself in your throat and before you could take another step he nodded to Plo Koon and walked away.
“Your staring doesn’t go unnoticed.” Your Master said simply as he walked past you and it took every ounce of will in your body to move and follow him. As you walked you could have sworn you felt a pair of eyes on you and you whipped your head around to see Anakin talking to somebody you didn’t know, his back was turned to you and his hands were folded behind his back. You rolled your eyes, kicking yourself for being stupid enough to think he’d ever look in your general direction.
It wasn’t as if you two had never spoken. You were the same age, both partaking in the same level of Jedi training under equally fantastic Jedi Masters. Although, your interactions had never exceeded anything beyond polite and courteous conversation due to being in the same room as each other.
As the years went on, he became a bit taller, his hair grew and he chopped off his Padawan braid, his shoulders got broader, and your heart started beating a little faster every time he was around. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. It wasn’t some strange feeling that came out of nowhere. It was very prominent in your head at all times, your growing attraction to the boy. It was almost more aggravating to deal with when you knew it was happening. You’d fight yourself every day on repressing the thoughts that would populate in your minds eye at the sight of him. You’d heard multiple stories of his aversion to people. He didn’t like being touched, he barely even liked talking to strangers. You’d seen somebody try to give him a side hug once after he and Obi-Wan had successfully completed an assignment and the look on his face mixed with his blunt words of rejection made you fear ever coming close enough to touch him. The idea of touching him was reserved for your fantasies now.
The day had gone achingly slow and it felt as though your brain was far away from your body. Your master allowed you to go eat breakfast with your two friends and the three of you chatted and caught up, though you didn’t retain much of what they said. You barely even spoke, assuming a listening role, too busy thinking about the eyes you had sworn you felt on you earlier.
Once you had finished eating you returned to your Master who was sat amongst other amicable Jedi. The two of you walked through the gardens while Plo Koon gave you advice and some of literature to read up on. You nodded your head and made a mental note to visit the archives and pick up whatever he was talking about. He dismissed you, having no further work to give you. It had been three days since your last mission had ended and you thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t gotten a new assignment as you made your way across the long and beautifully decorated hallways of the Jedi Temple. Your eyes scanned the art that hung between every window. You heard quick footsteps behind you and your body turned in an instant, your relief was obvious when you saw the face of your friend who had clearly been wandering around looking for something to do.
“Where are you off to?” She asked as she slowed her pace, nearing you. You met her halfway.
“Just the archives. Master Plo Koon gave me some stuff to check out.” You spoke and she rolled her eyes.
“Just once I wanna hear you say you’re doing something normal.” She laughed and now it was your turn to roll your eyes. The two of you fell into step together as you walked toward the room full of all the information a Jedi could possibly need.
“Jedi’s don’t live a very normal life.” You responded and she simply shrugged her shoulders. She was a bit erratic and always had been an unconventional person. It had always been clear she longed for a normal life but she wasn’t from a good family nor a good place, she knew she was better off here.
“Well you’re not a Jedi yet.” She nudged you gently with a small smile on her face. You turned your body to face her as you walked in front of her with a look of mocked shock on your face. Turning the corner, you began to say something snarky in response but her hand reached out to you and her eyes went wide.
“Y/N watch ou-“ She pursed her lips, cutting herself off when you felt a light thud against your back. You felt hands grip your shoulders gently and you whipped around to see who you had so carelessly walked into. You were faced with a chest at first but with a small upward tilt of your head you saw the curly hair and blue eyes you spent most days thinking about staring directly at you.
Of course it would be him.
Your embarrassment was painted over every aspect of you. Your shoulders slumped and your cheeks reddened. Until you realized that there was no glare, no scowl. He looked down at you with what seemed like a hint of a smile. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest as you backed away from his touch. His hands seemed to attempt to linger on your shoulders before dropping to his sides. With a deep breath you began to apologize and he looked between you and your friend.
“Didn’t see you there, my fault.” He said gently as he slipped by the two of you. “Have a nice evening.” He finished. You looked back at your friend and you couldn’t imagine your facial features were much different from hers. With wide eyes and slightly parted lips you both shook your heads as he walked away.
“Sorry!” You finally blurted out behind him, causing your eyes to squeeze shut. You wished you could curl up inside yourself and die when all you heard in response was his distant chuckle. The two of you watched as he entered a room and closed the door behind him and the second he was gone, your friend began to cackle.
“Sorry.” She mimicked as you stared at her. “Man. I was expecting him to tell you right off.” She continued to speak through her laughs. You didn’t say anything. You shoulders were burning where his hands had been and your stomach felt like it had been tied into knots. Another deep breath eased you into being able to move again.
“He’s so weird.” You said, brushing it off in an attempt to neutralize her. It worked and you desperately tried to change the subject by asking her about herself. The two of you walked and she rambled on about some mission she had just come back from until you got to the archives. When you were done downloading everything onto a small device, you turned to her. “I have to go back to Plo Koon. I forgot to ask him something. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You lied, desperately trying to be alone. She nodded and said something about seeing you tomorrow, you weren’t listening, before leaving you to go find something else to do.
You rushed to your apartment in the Temple, finally letting out a deep sigh when you heard the door of your safe space close behind you. You tossed the small device that held all the information you needed on the small table in the middle of the apartment before sitting on the couch beside it. You felt as though there wasn’t enough air in the apartment for you to breathe in, which made no sense, but you opened your balcony door anyways.
The soft sounds of the fountain in the garden and the bustling of people below you didn’t seem to clear your head. You sighed, feeling as if you might finally be going insane. The thoughts in your head were clambering over one another in order to be heard as you paced the main room. You ran a hand through your hair and tightened your fist at your scalp with another weary sigh. Without a second thought you began to drop all your clothing off your body, leaving them behind you like a small trail to the bathroom. You adjusted the shower to be on the coldest setting and stared at the water, thinking of how water never looked cold or hot; it always just looked like water. Before you let yourself think your way out of it, you stepped in and a loud yelp escaped your mouth.
“Shit!” You yelled as the freezing water unrelentingly pelted against your skin. You cursed under your breath as if you were mad at the water for not realizing you were uncomfortable but you pressed your eyes shut and took heavy, pursed lipped breaths. When you began to feel as if you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand reached out to the faucet and you turned it to a higher heat setting. The sudden heat hitting your body made you feel like you could drop to the ground so you did. You let yourself sit on the floor of the shower and warm up. Your breathing became normal and your heart rate slowed. The thoughts got quieter but they were still there. The feeling of the hot water on your shoulders mimicked a feeling you’d felt earlier and that’s when you stood back up and turned the water off completely.
With legs that felt like jello you dried off and pushed yourself toward your closet and found something to lay down in. You’d sleep early tonight and forget about it all in the morning, you thought. Soft linen pants and an equally soft shirt adorned your frame and you decided a drink wouldn’t kill you. You settled into a spot on your couch with crossed legs, a large glass of wine on the table, and a salty snack you’d been waiting to try in your lap. Your hand reached for the small remote next to you and you watched the screen in front of you flicker to life at the press of a button. You let whatever was on the Holo play, not bothering to find something you enjoy. You just wanted something to distract you.
Hours passed and your eyes were yet to get heavy. There was no level of relaxation that could make you go to bed. You glanced at the clock on the wall and chewed at a piece of skin that had released its hold on your lip. You lifted the glass to your lips and found it to be empty. The bottle was on the table, empty as well. You rolled your eyes and let a breath out from your closed lips causing them to flutter and make a funny noise. You felt seemingly alright for somebody who’d polished a bottle of Zeltron spiced wine, you thought. With a swift motion you stood up and wobbled like a newborn deer.
You might have slightly misread your sobriety level.
It took a few steps to steady yourself but you did it. Your hand reached for your hooded robe on the hook by the front door and you slipped on your boots. The pairing looked silly with your pyjamas and you decided to tie up your robe in a small effort to hide it.
You opened your door slowly and peered around the dimly lit hallways before stepping out completely and closing the door behind you, locking it twice to make sure you did it. Your footsteps seemed so loud no matter how quietly you tried to walk, they echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings. It wasn’t a crime to be out at night but as a Padawan your Master should always know what you’re doing, and Plo Koon was definitely in the dark on your actions.
You wandered through the hallways and noticed how vastly different they looked without the natural light pouring through the ceiling high windows. The paintings almost had an eerie look about them and the dim lighting had the opposite of a warm effect on you. You ignored your paranoia, it was just the wars sick effect on you. You began to hum to clear your thoughts, a tune you remember from your childhood. You didn’t remember much other than your life at the Temple but you held on dearly to the small bits you remembered from before.
Without you even realizing, the hallway you had wandered into seemed to have broken light fixtures and it was completely dark. You slowed your steps and reached into the Force for a brief bit of direction. You felt something in front of you and you felt your heart begin to race. You froze in place and squeezed your eyes shut when you felt it get closer. A small thump made a yelp escape your lips as hands gripped your shoulders tightly. One hand left your shoulders and your eyes widened in fear, your mouth dropped open but no sound escaped.
The loud hum of a lightsaber igniting filled the air just as quickly as the blue light that illuminated the face in front of you. Your look of horror didn’t wash away when you saw who it was.
“Y/N, what the hell are you doing sulking around in the dark?” Anakin spoke in a hushed yet aggressive tone. Your mouth opened and closed but you couldn’t get any words to fall through. He raised an eyebrow, his shoulders dropped and he looked more relaxed now that he knew you were harmless. It seemed he had the same fear as you did, walking through the dark halls. “Have you been drinking?” He asked, his hand never left your shoulder and you turned your head slowly to look at it before looking at him again with a nod.
He laughed. Now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow.
“What’s so funny?” You said, your voice barely audible.
“Nothing. Just the second time today you’ve walked directly into me.” He mused.
“I wasn’t walking.” You shrugged.
“All the same.” He shrugged back, his hand dropped from your shoulder and he made his way next to you, his hand now found a spot on your lower back. “Let’s get you back to your room.”
You shook your head. “I left my room for a reason.”
“And what would that be?” His voice had never been this quiet before, it made you feel safe.
“You ask a lot of questions. Why are you sulking around in the dark?” You built up the courage to speak to him like a normal person. Your drunken mind didn’t even notice that he hadn’t once let his hand fall away from your body since you had bumped into each other.
“I was going to the gardens to think.” He answered and it shocked you, you almost thought he wouldn’t. You looked at him for a moment before shrugging again, giving your head a tilt.
“I was too.” You said with all the certainty you could muster, which wasn’t much. He smiled again, it was rare you saw him laugh or smile and in the last minute or so, you’d seen both. It made your stomach feel warm and it wasn’t just the wines fault.
“Right. Let’s go then.” He played along, guiding you down the dark hallway with his lightsaber. He disengaged it when the exit of the Temple came into your vision. The door was pushed open by him and the hand he had on the small of your back, ushered you out in front of him. You realized his level of touchiness when he rushed over after you to place his hand back on you.
Your heart felt like it was making its way up your throat and you couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. Something in your stomach began to feel warm and your head felt so far from your body you thought you could faint. You didn’t want him to stop touching you so when you both got to a small spot in the garden, surrounded by bushes, you pulled him over by his arm and sat on the soft grass. He looked down at you with the ends of his lips curled and sat crossed-legged across from you. You mimicked his position and inched forward so your knees were touching his. Every single place that was touched by him went fire hot. You’d never felt like this. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or him, either way you would live like this forever if you could.
When he didn’t protest to your knees touching his, you looked at him. “Thought you didn’t like being touched.” Your words came out slightly slurred but you tried your best to hide it by articulating a little better.
“That is circumstantial, Y/N.” He responded, eyeing you. It seemed as though he was trying to read you. You felt judged but not in a bad way. You allowed him to look, even sitting up a bit straighter. Your head tilted again at his response. Your hand absent mindedly fiddled with the grass under you, twirling the blades between your fingers.
“To what?” You asked gently, feeling a quiet in your mind that you hadn’t felt since he had touched you outside the Archives. His eyes watched your hands play with the grass when he spoke.
“You.” He didn’t look at you. Was he nervous or lying? You couldn’t tell and it caused a small laugh to escape your lips. He finally looked at you, his puzzled features were desperately scanning you to figure why you would laugh at him.
“Me? You want me to touch you?” You laughed again. You wouldn’t be surprised if in a few moments you woke up in a cold sweat on your couch. Your nerves were gone, and he was here with you. He was touching you, he was looking into your eyes. It had to be a dream.
“What if I do?” He leaned back on his hands, his long torso extended in the most delicious way and you didn’t bother trying to disguise your staring. There was an intensity in the air that made it feel okay to be like this. You felt like you were heating up more and more by the second and you wondered if he felt the same. You watched his chest, it moved faster than a normal persons would, signalling that was breathing heavily.
“We did a mission together once.” He spoke again, snapping you out of your trance. You looked at him, your head shook as a reaction. That was two years ago, when you were both 20. You went on a mission with three Jedi and three Padawans including yourself, Anakin, Plo Koon, and Obi-Wan. They thought a big mission like that would do better with a larger group.
“I’m aware.” You said nonchalantly. You remembered it but you were shocked that he did too.
“You helped carry me back onto the ship. You got me water and dressed the cut I got on my face.” His hand touched the scar over his eye instinctively as he spoke. You looked away, following your arm down to where your hand was gripping the grass gently.
“It was nothing.” You shrugged.
“It was protocol,” He started, a shrug of his own mimicked yours. “But it felt so intimate. I felt like electricity had run through me every time you touched me. Every time you apologized for accidentally hurting me I felt my heartbeat in my ears.” He looked at you and you prayed he didn’t see you holding your breath. You ripped one piece of grass out of the ground and raised it to tie it into several small knots, the same knots you felt in your stomach. There was no use in pretending his words didn’t affect you the way they did.
“You can always tell me to stop if you want me to shut up.” He whispered as his hand reached to yours, taking the blade of grass from you and replacing it with his own hands.
“There’s no way you’re doing this right now.” Your drunken words came out a little louder than you wanted and you laughed as a response at your own inability to self regulate. You slipped your hands out of his and crossed them over your chest.
“What? You think you’re the only one here capable of feeling things?” He smirked, a joking tone laced in his voice. Your eyes widened and you looked at him.
“You don’t act like it. You’ve never spoken to me for more than a few minutes. You found me drunk and alone at night and suddenly you felt electricity all those months ago? Your heartbeat in your ears?” You laughed. Sober you wouldn’t dare speak to anybody like this. You were kind and curt no matter what the scenario. It felt like you had been possessed by an over-confident, aggressive, and unserious version of yourself. You didn’t mind it when you saw the look on his face. He had been joking but your serious response clearly wasn’t what he had been pining for.
“Would you rather I follow you around like a lost puppy? Or try to talk to you every chance I get? Why would I make my feelings obvious, Y/N?” He asked, his voice was still gentle and it made your arms tingle with the feeling of goosebumps raising.
“Maybe. Maybe I do. I spent years watching you, praying you’d let your eyes linger for long enough to see how highly I feel about you.” Your words probably didn’t make sense, but you felt they did. He got it, you could tell by the way his eyebrows pushed themselves apart from their furrowed position and his eyes adopted a more understanding emotion.
“Why dwell on me being an idiot and not focus on the fact that if you were anybody else you’d have been left alone for the night?” He asked and you rolled your eyes. Was he really that arrogant?
“Because you being an ‘idiot’ made me feel like a bigger idiot and a bit of a creep.” You said bluntly and he laughed.
“If I told you how I felt about you, I’d be the creep.” He chuckled and you raised your chin in curiosity.
“Do tell.” You mused, the serious air leaving almost immediately as leaned back on your own hands with a grin.
“No.” He shook his head with a small grin finding his features as well.
“Please? I’ll tell you if you tell me.” You tried to barter and even though you felt like a young, naive, school girl you enjoyed the aura of the interaction.
“Fine.” He sat up, his knees raised and he draped his arms over them and you followed, sitting in the same position. Your faces were a few feet away on account of how long his legs were but you stared at each other for a moment, stifling giddy laughs and smiles. “At first, I thought you were the most talented Jedi I’d ever seen. You’re smart too. Dedicated.” He started and you smiled.
“I know all of that, Anakin. Get to the good stuff.” You gestured your hand in the air as if saying ‘hurry up’ and he rolled his eyes.
“Patience.” He made a mockingly serious face before going on with his grand revelation. “I like that you’re confident in yourself. Everything I’ve heard about your missions was always positive, the trust your Master has in you is incredible.” He cleared his throat. He was beating around the bush and he knew it. You groaned a bit and he held his hand up. “But you’re also beautiful. I can always tell who’s laughing when I hear you. Even if I’m not looking. I know it’s you. It’s very distinct. If the suns raised every morning just to see your face and head your laugh it wouldn’t surprise me. I can always feel when you’re around, your presence alone is so loud… Warm and.. Inviting. I always think about you and whenever I catch it I beat myself right the hell up.” He shrugged.
You stared at him. That wasn’t what you expected. Not from a man with his reputation. You expected something baseline and boring. Even a bit sexual. He is a man after all but he shocked you for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.
“Why would you beat yourself up?” You asked, skillfully dodging all the soft and mushy stuff he had mentioned. He shrugged.
“Obvious reasons, Y/N.” He said simply and you nodded. “Your turn.” He smiled and you internally screamed at yourself for promising this to him. It was only fair but Maker, it was embarrassing.
“I hate to be the person who says something as easy as ‘I feel the same’…” You trailed off and he leaned forward, like he was eager to hear what you had to say. It made you feel special. “But I do. I might even feel more intensely than you.” You took a deep breath to help yourself get it over with. “I admire you more than you could know. I’ve never known anybody who’s been through so many adversaries and came over them to be as amazing as you. I think of you every day and since earlier, it’s gotten almost unbearable to deal with. I think about you during the day and I dream of you at night. I know it’s not right but I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. Every aspect of you.”
You didn’t get very far in your confession before Anakin pushed both of your legs down and pulled you toward him. You almost floated toward him and into his lap. Your eyes stared at him wildly as his hand touched the side of your cheek, stroking it gently. “Anakin..” You started and he shook his head.
“Please let me try this. It’s all I can ever think about.” He whispered and you didn’t object. His nose touched yours and your eyes fluttered shut. His breath against your lips made some kind of switch inside of you flip and you pushed your lips against his as your hands grabbed at the fabric on his back before moving up to the nape of his hair. He moaned against you and you let out a heavy breath between your lips. The sound alone made you push him down on his back and you clambered over him.
He held you tightly to his body and rolled the two of you over so he would be over you. Through heavy handed kisses he whispered something but you couldn’t make it out.
“Hm?” You asked, pulling away. He stared at you with an intensity you’d never seen before and it made your blood feel like lava in your veins. You anticipated his response.
“Keep this up and I’m going to have to take some extreme measures.” His voice was gravelly and his breath hit your face with every syllable. You felt your breathing become erratic and sharp. You stared up at him and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes almost closed at the feeling. You pulled him back toward you, engaging him in another longing kiss. You moaned when his tongue slipped between your lips. Your hips moved up toward his instinctually and he pushed them back down with a sound that almost sounded like a growl.
“Don’t.” He whispered.
“Why not?” You responded. The wine had taken its natural affect on you and at this point, having him was all you wanted.
“I want it to be special.” He said as he pulled away from you. He had a level of restraint that he was struggling to maintain and you could feel it.
“You’ll have plenty of do-overs.” You mumbled before pulling him back to you and he gave in. He untied your robe and looked down at your pyjamas that were hiding underneath and a small chuckle escaped him before he began to pull away the clothing on your body. He left your panties on before he pulled his own shirt off. His pants stayed on and you didn’t care. You could stare at his body forever, so you stared with wide and lustful eyes. It was far better than you could ever have imagined and it made you squeeze your legs together.
His hand traced down from your cheek to your chin, across your collarbone and down the side of your body. He hit a spot where you were a bit sensitive and you jerked at the ticklish feeling. He smiled, tracing his finger up and down a few times to see your reaction. You whined in response and he didn’t waste anytime in giving you what you wanted.
His hand felt ginormous between your legs and you sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers danced over your panties. He felt how wet you were and a smirk washed over his face. “I’m not even gonna say it.” He laughed gently as he increased the pressure of his movements against you.
“Say what?” You said, your words mixed into the sound of a moan.
“How wet you are and how much I like it.” He leaned down and began to pepper kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he slipped your underwear to one side and ran his fingers through your folds. Your back arched and you spread your legs a bit more for him and he smiled against your skin. “Good girl.” He whispered, causing a small whimper to leave you.
Anakin’s fingers worked your throbbing heat gently, starting with one pumping in and out of you at an alarmingly slow pace. You wriggled under him and he used his free hand to hold you still. “Patience.” He repeated his words from earlier. You tried to keep still while he added a second finger and increased his pace, curling them ever so gently. Moans fell from your lips and you tried your best to silence them. You focused on staring up at the stars above you, not even caring that the two of you were doing this outdoors, hidden between a few bushes.
After what seemed like a decade, he pulled his fingers out of you and pressed them against your clit. Your own excitement was all he needed for lubricant. He rubbed it slowly while sucking gently at your neck. “Anakin.” You moaned and he hummed as a response. “Please don’t stop.” You said desperately.
“I like it when you beg.” He whispered as he moved his fingers in quick circular motions against your clit. You felt your entire body jerk up toward him at the new feeling. You’d done this yourself multiple times and it had never felt as good as it did right now. Your eyes squeezed shut as your felt yourself get closer and closer to euphoria. Your hands gripped at his hair, pulling and tugging it, causing a moan to leave his mouth and you felt the feeling come barreling at you like a freight train. You felt your body begin to vibrate and all it took was a few words from him to tip you over the edge. “Cum for me.” He whispered and a yelp left your mouth as you released every bit of tension in your body. You grinded against his fingers and he slowed his movements. You rode it out until you were able to open your eyes. When you did, you saw him staring down at you and your cheeks flushed.
“I’m sorry..” You started and he shook his head.
“Please don’t be. I’ve thought about doing that for months.” He smiled and you returned the expression. Your embarrassment left as quickly as it came and you began to reach for his pants. His hand rested over yours. “Have you ever had sex?” He asked and you shook your head reluctantly. He sighed. “I can’t do that right now. I won’t make that something that happens when you’re drunk, let alone in a field outside the Temple.” He finished and you sighed. A nod followed.
“Okay..” You smiled and he gently pulled your shirt back over your head and began to raise your pants to your waist again. You lifted your hips to help him as he got you dressed before he put his own shirt back on. He grabbed your robe and tied it around you the same way you had done earlier before brushing your hair behind your ear.
“You’re beautiful.” He said and you pushed at his chest lightly. He grasped at his chest as if he’d been shot and fell over onto his back. You laughed at him and he laughed with you. It was nice seeing this side of him, it made him seem like he was just a normal boy. You liked feeling normal.
“I want to take you out. Somewhere nice.” He sat up, his hand rested on your leg. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“Like a date? As if we have the time.” You laughed gently.
“We both have time, while the council decides on what we need to do about this stupid war.” He shrugged and you looked at him, resting your hand over his on your leg.
“Fine. I’ll go on a date with you.” You nodded.
“Don’t sound too excited.” He joked as he stood up, pulling you up with him.
“I’ll try not to.” You smiled at him and your cheeks went bright red when he laced his fingers within your own, holding your hand as he walked you back through the dark hallways to your apartment.
When you finally arrived at your door, you unlocked it and he stepped in with you. You turned back to look at him with confusion.
“I couldn’t find my key. That’s why I was wandering around earlier.” He said sheepishly and you laughed harder than you had in years. It took a few moments for you to compose yourself.
“Oh that’s why you said and did all that? You just needed a place to sleep?” You joked and he rolled his eyes.
“I’d have found a cleaner apartment to do so if that was the case.” He joked back and you giggled.
“You can stay here.” You smiled and showed him the bathroom and the room, even though your apartment was small and you didn’t really need to. He made his way to your couch and you scoffed. “You just made me cum in a field and you’re trying to sleep on my couch? Go to the bed.” You said as you walked into the bathroom and you heard him chuckle behind you.
“You got a point.” He said as he sat on the edge of your bed. He pulled his shirt off and folded it neatly on the floor beside him, ignoring the fact that half your clothes were strewn across the room carelessly. He could fix that later.
The two of you laid down and he held you close as you fell into a deep sleep. You’d never slept that well before and neither had he.
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feyascorner · 1 month
Text
9 | The Fangs Between Us
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summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”
“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”
“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”
You blink. 
Has he always looked at you like this?
warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks
pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader
parts. TFBU masterlist
a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are
also praying the tags work this time
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“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”
His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.
Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.
“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”
You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”
Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.
“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”
You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.
“I’m going to love watching him scream.”
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Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.
“Again.”
Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.
Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.
“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”
Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”
“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”
“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”
“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.
You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”
“There are no warnings in a real battle.”
“We’re not in real battle!”
She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.
You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.
By some miracle, it lands.
She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.
“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”
You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”
“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.
“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”
Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”
“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”
You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”
Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”
“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.
“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.
“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”
“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”
She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”
They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.
There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.
You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.
Still…
The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.
It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.
This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.
“Shadowhea-”
“I shouldn’t have done it.”
You blink. Twice.
She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”
You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.
“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”
“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”
“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”
You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.
She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”
“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.
“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”
Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.
“Whatever would you do without me?”
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You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door.  It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…
The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.
Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.
A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.
Petras.
Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.
The floorboard creaks under your weight.
Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.
He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”
Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”
“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”
“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow. 
“Fine. His blood bank.”
Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.
“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”
“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.
He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”
“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”
“You nearly killed my sister as well.”
“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”
“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”
“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”
Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”
“What?”
He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”
“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”
“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”
“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”
Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”
You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.
“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria…they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”
The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.
“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”
“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”
This makes your throat go dry.
“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”
“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”
You don’t know why you’re defending him.
But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.
With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”
“Still—”
“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”
For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.
You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.
Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.
“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”
You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”
“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”
With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.
Shit.
The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”
And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.
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You need a bath. Terribly.
Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.
Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.
You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.
Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.
But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.
You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”
“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”
A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”
Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.
You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.
“Are you drunk?”
“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”
“I was at the tavern.”
He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”
Curse him.
“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”
“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”
He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.
Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.
“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”
While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.
“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.
Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”
You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”
“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.
“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”
You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”
His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”
You don’t want to imagine it, actually.
“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.
“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”
You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”
“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.
You can count his eyelashes from this distance.
He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”
“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”
“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.
He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”
Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”
“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”
“And let him kill more people in the process?”
Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”
Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.
“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“The night’s only begun, though.”
The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”
Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”
You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.
“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”
“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”
You blink. 
Has he always looked at you like this?
He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.
“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”
He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”
His delirious expression says otherwise.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.
“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”
Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”
He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”
What in the hells is going on?
First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.
You should leave.
Your legs remain rooted in place.
You should definitely leave.
“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”
“Convince me.”
You quirk a brow. “What?”
“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”
Gods, has he lost it?
“Are you serious?”
“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”
Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”
“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”
“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”
He hums.
“Three, you’re an asshole.”
“Very convincing, darling.”
“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”
Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”
The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.
“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”
He nods. “Go on.”
“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”
Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”
With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”
Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.
Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.
Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.
Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.
He’s kissing you. 
Astarion is kissing you.
And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.
What. The. Fuck.
Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.
He starts. “Darling, I–”
Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.
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yandere-wishes · 9 months
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𝐼𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒮𝓎𝓃𝒹𝓇𝑜𝓂𝑒
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Summary: Miles is the villain. You are the hero. You two shouldn't be in love...
Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, afab!reader, canon typical Marvel violence. the reader is an undefined hero (but you can think of them as Spidergirl). No NSFW but both reader and Miles are 18+
Part #2 (The Perfect Girl)
part#3 (The Spider's Web)
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There's something about the New York nights, that leaves a faint melancholy glow across Miles's soul. 
Some vanquished feeling that humbles him as the stars and moon look down laughing. Celestial bodies that mock him for every sin he's ever committed. Howling at the blood that drips from the edge of his claws. 
Miles never thought he was an insomniac. It just so happened that most of his life and routine took place in the dead of night. It had all been a coincidence until he met you. Now he's not sure if it's bad habits or sheer serendipity. All he knows is that he needs to see your face before the night comes to an end. 
He hadn't really met you. Not in the traditional sense at least. He'd been sent to kill you. An initiation from the sinister six. Back then he'd thought you were just another sanctimonious fool who was trying to play the role of the righteous hero. There had been many like you before. foolish and virtuous. All were left dead in some ally by daybreak. And yet when you'd landed punch after punch to his ribs. Your body slam caused him to spew blood from behind his mask. You were a tough bug to squish he'd give you that much.
Miles hadn't fallen in love with you that night. Nor the nights after that. 
It wasn't love the first time your web dagger nearly missed his heart.
It wasn't love when he had you pinned between his body and the cold street concrete, as you tried to pry off his mask to gouge out his eyes. 
It wasn't love when he'd shattered the bones in your leg and you'd been out of commission for a week.
It wasn't love when the two of you lay bleeding on a rooftop. Delusional enough from all the blood loss to try and trace constellations in the polluted night sky.
It wasn't love when you'd returned to that same rooftop the next week to beat him up. And he'd managed to lay a nasty blow to your face. 
It hadn't been love all those times. Yet all he knows is that somewhere along the lines Miles Morales had fallen in love with the new hero in town. 
He knows you're coming 
Senses your presence right as one of the sinister six's weapon cartels blows up in the distance. You never were one to be caught in the aftermath. Ever the dramatic sweetheart, who didn't like to get her hands dirty. 
He waits for the telltale sign of your feet hitting the rooftop to turn around. Mask on and heart on his sleeve. "Prowler" you greet, courteous as always. "Hey," he responds. Solid and simple and overflowing with every emotion he wishes he could spill at your feet. 
His eyes roam over your suit. Modest and girly, all things you wouldn't expect from New York's only superhero. You look like a doll. All porcelain and ivory. How you've survived so long in this city is beyond him. 
There's something wrong with you. Something Miles just can't put his finger on. Every time he looks at you it's like looking into a broken mirror. You're Disfigured, mangled, damaged. Yet all he sees in those shattered shards is the face of the boy he once thought he'd be. 
You're the light of New York. The one that promises to save this nightmare of a city. Made up of frilly bows and dreams to big to keep locked up in your head. The rage of the city, of the civilians boils through your blood. 
He's the Prowler. A boy born with rebellion in his bones and violence in his veins. A broken heart and a broken soul stitched together with barbwire and cheap glue. He's the sinister six's newest protege and uncle Aaron’s last hope. 
He's the villain and you're the hero. You shouldn't be in love. 
You skip across the rooftop, arms locked behind your back and spinning when it takes your fancy. You've long since shed any fear you may have once held for him. Standing on your tip toes you rest your chin on his shoulder. "Whatcha looking at?" you ask, with a voice filled with daisies and the summer breeze. "Pieces for my new suit were in the warehouse you just blew up." Oh how Miles wishes he could throw you over the edge. Watch you fall to your death. Maybe then you'd stop plaguing his every thought. 
"Sorry, Prowler just doing my job." You sound so carefree, it almost reminds him of how he used to be when his dad had still been alive. "You're an insufferable little insect, you know that?" He feels you smile  from under your silk mask."I try" 
You're not meant to be the hero. He knows this in his bones. You're too naive and soft-hearted to deal with the terrors of this city. More than anything else Miles Just wants to drag you away. To lock you up somewhere. Somewhere only he knows. A home where the burdens and terrors of this world can't find either of you. A place where you two can finally become one. 
 But you're not him and he's not you. All this is just a puppy dog crush. And puppy love is for baby-faced boys who didn't watch the life drain from their father's eyes. It's for sweet boys who didn't have their first kill at ten years old. 
"what's it like being the hero?" Miles asks, eyes glazing over the stars, staring straight at destiny. Who chose their roles anyway? Who made him the monster carved from rage and pain? Who painted you as the Guardian angel in gold? Why couldn't he be the hero?
You don't respond. Breath hitching and for a second Miles thinks he's hit a nerve. No one ever said doing the right thing was easy. He wonders if you claw away at your own soul. Peeling off your flesh each night to replace it with a silk suit and copper-tainted values. 
He imagines you throwing cheap knives at the night sky, watching as God's light deflects them back into your heart. 
You walk over to the edge of the roof and sit down. And for the first time ever Miles thinks he sees you for who you really are. Actually sees you. A kid with the weight of the world on their shoulders. An onomatopoeia of breaking glass and the cheers of the cities oppressed. 
"They're coming for me, Prowler." You pull your knees to your chest. Eyes looking over the city skyline. "I don't mind. I knew what I was getting into...It's just."
"Just what" his voice reverberates through his mask, he's grateful the metal and digital layers keep the  anxiety from seeping through.
"I just never thought I'd die this way" There's a smile in your voice. A  final giggle before an impending war. Miles takes a step back. Head heavy as the weight of your words crash down on him. "I saw Venom lurking through my apartment before I came here. They found me, I think they plan to strike tonight." 
He wishes he could tear this city apart, break its seams, and rapture its pillars. He can't let you die. He just can't. With a forceful tug on your shoulder he turns you his way. Mask slipping away as he slides his finger under your silk facade as he pulls it away. 
Miles's lips capture yours. As he kisses the dying stars trapped under your tongue and behind your teeth. His lips trail down your neck as he kisses the fatigue from your bones. Metal claws clutched tightly around you as if you may decay if he lets go. 
Sometimes he wants to dismantle his ribcage, piece by piece. Pickaway at the ribs and offer you his blackened heart on a silver platter. It's not his fault that he fell in love with the girl stitched together from radioactive spider bites and misplaced nightmares. 
every time Miles sees you he feels a certain feeling like the world turned upside down. Like he woke up fundamentally broken with no way to piece himself back. 
His claws trace up, gliding past your shoulders' to your neck. You don't refuse him, feeling safe for the first time since you dawned your mask and made your vows. You let him touch your neck as your naivety shines through. He won't hurt me, you think. But oh, how wrong you are. 
Miles wraps his fingers around your neck. Squeezing and squeezing as he watches you claw at metal. You look so beautiful suspended over the edge like this. There's something about being half awake and half asleep and half dead and half alive that makes you glow. He wants to say something along the lines of 'I love you'. He doubts you're conscious enough to hear him.
You're not his, not exactly. But Miles can't bear to let anyone else lay claim to you. It's a sickness he knows. But he'd rather be sick than lose you.
He'll keep you safe, he swears it. By the time you awaken, he'll have found somewhere safe for the two of you to hideout until he can convince his "mentors" to spare your life. It'll be fine, It has to be, after all...
He's Miles Morales, the Prowler
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honeybeebard · 2 months
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Other Forms of Stimulation (Gale x Reader)
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Summary// After a fight in the Shadowlands that very nearly takes your life, you realize just what Gale meant when he mentioned that book about brushes with death.
(I am so down bad for this wizard and I had to write this. It has been a while since I’ve written so I hope you all like it!! I’d love to write more if anyone is interested but for now, enjoy this :)! Also, while this is in second person, the name used for you is Tav!) 
WARNINGS: 18+, smut, talks of almost dying
As your sword cuts across the last of the shadow entities you stumble to the ground, your knees aching as you take in a deep breath. The only sound you can hear is your heartbeat as it thrums in your ears, your mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. 
It had been an ambush that, thanks to the curse, you couldn’t have even perceived coming. You and your friends were already weak after the fight with the cursed drider and his group of cultists so the last thing you were prepared for was something like this on your way back to camp.
However, your group had made you proud as they battled the shadows fiercely. Karlach and her great axe, Gale and his magic, and even Astarion was kicking misty ass with his longbow. It would have been over within minutes if you had been more on guard, if you had realized just how far you had gotten from your friends while fighting. 
A cold chill, like a kiss of death, had raced up your spine as you felt one of the wicked creatures wrap its hand around your ankle, knocking you prone and dragging you into the darkness. The scream you had let out could’ve woken the dead as you dug your nails into the rocky earth, scrambling for anything to hold onto. 
Darkness wrapped around you within seconds, your mind screaming in pain as you felt this dark energy seep into your lungs and heart. It only lasted seconds at most before Gale had saved you, a gigantic fireball lighting up the sky, but to you, it felt like hours. 
The warm hand that had pulled you back to the light was your lifeline, your words dying in your throat as you looked up at Gale who was surveying you for any damages. He had been so focused that he forgot about the fight, forgot about everything that wasn’t you, but you saw one of the wretched creatures coming towards him with its claws raised.
That was when you had leaped forward, using the last of your adrenaline rush to throw Gale back behind you and cleave the beast in two. It had let out an inhumane screech, turning into a vestige before your eyes. 
Now, as reality comes back to you, so does the realization of just how close to death you had been. You turn to examine the damage, seeing your companions in various stages of exhaustion. Astarion was leaning on Karlach who was leaning on her axe, both of them complaining about wanting to go to bed which made you smile. When you turned to look at Gale you saw him watching you with a mixture of awe and concern, strands of hair stuck to his forehead. 
Your eyes locked together, the tension from the past few weeks of adventuring and the fight coming to a head as you saw him move his gaze from your face to the rest of your body.
It could have been an innocent survey to see if you were hurt but when you saw the color of his cheeks and the way he licked his lips you knew it was something much more darker. Lustful, even. “I, um, once read a book that explained in some detail the effect the brush of danger has on one’s desires for uh…other forms of stimulation. Have you ever read anything on that subject?”
Gale’s earlier flirtation came to the forefront of your mind as the world seemed to close in on the two of you. While you were absorbed in your thoughts, Karlach and Astarion seemed to catch on to what was about to happen. Or, Astarion did at least. 
“Come now Karlach, camp’s just up ahead and I don’t want to be here to hear their pathetic humping in the bushes.” The vampire snarked, his smirk growing when you sent him a warning glare. Karlach gave you and the wizard her own knowing smile, wiggling her eyebrows, before dragging Astarion away towards the nearby campfire. 
“I, um, want to thank you for-” Gale began, stepping closer to you only to grunt in surprise when you all but grabbed him by the collar and went to a nearby tree, thankful for the brazier that was lit close by. “What are you doing?!”
“Thanking you for saving my life…and showing you how much I know about that book you mentioned earlier,” You smiled, pressing him up against the bark before pulling back slightly. “That is, if you want me to. I thought you were flirting earlier but if you were just going on another rant I am so sorry-”
He silenced you with a heated kiss, his soft hands coming up to cup your face gently as he spun the two of you around so that now your back was against the tree. “Hush now,” Gale murmured, his eyes dark as he slipped a hand up your blouse. “You’re talking too much.”
“That’s rich coming from you-ah!” You gasped, back arching as deft fingers went under your bra to palm at your nipples. It felt incredible. “Gods, Gale, more please.”
Gale hummed to himself, helping you rid yourself of your top and maneuvering your pants to sit around your ankles. It had been years since he had taken a mortal lover but he had been head over heels for you for a while. He intended to prove himself worthy to you. Worthy of saving you. 
Worthy of you.
You pulled him from his thoughts with another kiss, this one rougher than the last. The adrenaline seemed to be wearing off but somehow the desire was only increasing. He groaned low in his throat when your tongue brushed against his, tasting the uniqueness of you before he pried himself away. A whine grew in your chest but it was cut off when you saw him sink to his knees, his large hands resting on either of your thighs.
“Gale, I…” You trailed off as you watched him through your lashes. “What are you doing?” His gaze was intense as he tugged your pants the rest of the way down along with your underwear, settling himself between your legs as his lips turned up in a wicked smirk. 
“Thanking you for saving my life.” He echoed your earlier statement, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement before he trailed a single finger down your sex. You let out a huff of air when he brushed your clit, blushing as he felt just how slick you were as he whispered, “By the weave, Tav, you’re dripping.”
A whine builds in your throat once more as he continues his ministrations. He gently dips two fingers into your aching cunt, his own groan covering another one of your cries from just how tightly you grip his fingers. You can’t stop from bucking your hips forward towards him, silently begging him for more stimulation.
“Such impatience.” He chides playfully though you can see how ragged his breathing has gotten. 
“Perhaps you should hurry up then, wizard.” You say through clenched teeth, your eyes fluttering close as he bristles at your challenge and suddenly buries himself between your legs, licking a long stripe up your pussy. It was divine. “Fuck, yes!”
Gale’s tongue sets a pace that immediately has your thighs shaking, your hands flying into his chestnut hair as he shows you just how talented his tongue can be outside of spellcasting. You had lovers in the past who would taste you, some hesitant and some enthusiastic, but none of them even came close to the man beneath you. 
His nose bumps against your clit with each fervent lick, savoring the taste like he was a man starving. You raise one of your hands over your head, the other still fists in Gale’s hair, and start to roll your hips in time with his tongue. He moans into your cunt, his fingers digging into your thighs until you are they are going to leave bruises. 
“Please, Gale, gods it feels so good,” You whimper, voice an octave higher as he finally seals his lips around your clit and sucks. “Ah!”
“That’s it, love, take what you need.” He growls, worshipping your pretty pussy as one of his hands rustles under his clothes to rub against his aching cock. It was already hard and leaking, a stain on the front of his pants that he was sure he would be embarrassed about later. 
Your ears perk up at the schlik sound, your head dropping to watch as he fisted himself while eating you out. His eyes found yours, watching you in adoration, which made your hips increase in desperation. At some point you had hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, grinding deeper into his face to the point you were afraid you would smother him. 
Not that you think he would mind that.
A fire starts to brew in your stomach as he holds your gaze, his own hips rutting up in a desperate attempt to find release. You can feel yourself on the edge as he starts flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue, the sounds positively sinful. And just as you find yourself tipping over into the pleasurable abyss of Gale’s tongue, your defenses come down and your tadpole greedily reaches out to his.
He flinches at first, his pace stuttering as he sees himself through your eyes. The desperate look in his eyes, the way the entire bottom half of his face is covered in your arousal as he fucks himself needily into his hand. Gale could practically feel your pleasure through the link and it spurs on his own orgasm.
You feel your voice grow hoarse from your screams of pleasure, not caring that the camp could hear as Gale continued to take everything you gave him. For a moment you swore you could see the orb in his chest pulse with untamed magic, could feel an electric current pulse through your veins right before he pulled away with a gasp of air.
Gale smiles up at you as you sag into the tree. He takes in your disheveled appearance, from your hair to your slick-covered thighs, and ingrains the vision into his memory. You have never looked more beautiful. 
“I should,” You begin, chuckling when it takes you a moment to catch your breath. “I should save your life more often if that is my reward.”
“You don’t have to do anything quite so grave for us to do this again, Tav.” He murmurs, watching as you sink to your knees to join him on the ground. “I would gladly spend eternity between your thighs if you asked me. It is better than any heaven promised to me by the gods.”
Your lips turn up in a wicked smirk as you take his cum covered hand and bring it to your mouth, sucking the digits clean as you make sure to keep eye contact. Gale tenses, his mouth parting as you bat your eyelashes innocently. 
“I might take you up on that offer but first…” You trail off, pulling him closer so that your lips brush his cheek. “We have to face Astarion’s teasing.”
A loud laugh escapes his chest as he shakes his head at your teasing, cupping your face and kissing you tenderly. The taste of your and his cum mingles pleasantly on his tongue and he has to stop himself from deepening the kiss. 
“A small price to pay.” He smiles, standing up and holding his hand out for you. “Come, let’s show him exactly what a pleased woman looks like.”
656 notes · View notes
margowritesthings · 8 months
Text
A Job Well Done
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pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer
taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*
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You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.
It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here. 
His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame. 
He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.
There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you. 
Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight. 
You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes. 
It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to. 
Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable. 
You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you. 
He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake). 
Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in. 
“Arthur?”
He’s here.
“C’mere, darlin’.”
You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him.  Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner. 
He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.
“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him. 
“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less. 
It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together. 
Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.
“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?” 
A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.
“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together. 
“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.” 
You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.
“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”
“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”
You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying. 
“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.
“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”
“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.
“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”
Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them. 
“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.
You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you. 
“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest. 
“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing. 
“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully. 
“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this. 
“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat. 
“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”
A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view. 
The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand. 
You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…” 
He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always. 
Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.
“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”
His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to. 
Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can. 
“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it. 
You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-
“Arthur! That you?” 
Marston. 
For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs. 
You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below. 
“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”
Straight to the point.
“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”
All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering. 
“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”
Subtle, cowboy.
Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”
He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.
You wouldn’t.
Oh, but I would.
And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.
“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…” 
It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin. 
You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur. 
“You alright, brother?”
He won’t be.
You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world. 
“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge. 
“Where’s the Mrs?”
A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation. 
“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him. 
John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.
“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”
Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open. 
“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need. 
The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering. 
It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation. 
Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force. 
“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment. 
Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore. 
“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.
The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you. 
“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”
It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.
“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it. 
There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?” 
He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose. 
“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?” 
You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul. 
It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy. 
“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.” 
His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it. 
Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share. 
“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same. 
It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.
“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again. 
“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”
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