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fangswbenefits · 3 months

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Comfortable

Summary: Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Fluff. Aftercare. Oral sex. Pillow humping. Innuendo. Mentions of masturbation.

Word count: 3.3k

It's a wavering sequence of whimpers that catches Astarion's attention just as he arrives at camp after a late night hunt.

The blood on non thinking creatures seldom presents itself as a decent meal, but he finds it unfair to depend exclusively on you.

The boars in the outskirts of Baldur's Gate are delectable enough to blind his hunger for a few hours – maybe a full day, if need be.

The camp seems peaceful and quiet with everyone still catching some rest after in their respective tents, and as the pale moon glows up high in the dark blue sky, he notices the dawn isn't breaking for at least a few more hours.

Maybe he can indulge in a trance to ease his mind and body after feeding, even though it's not a dire necessity.

But it seems that the night has other plans reserved for him.

His steps are light and sure, following the crescendo of sounds that seems to come from near his tent.

He would recognise that voice anywhere.

You.

As he draws near, trying to make out the origin of said whimpers, he vaguely wonders if you're having a dream.

That is the most reasonable explanation.

But then he hears what resembles a muffled groan.

A nightmare?

Instinctively, an eyebrow quirks as he approaches your tent.

And then he freezes.

Even through the obvious failed attempt at reining yourself in, he knows exactly what he heard.

His name. Muffled and barely intelligible, but his name, nonetheless.

An amused smile tugs at his lips as it dawns on him that you are indeed pleasuring yourself. Risky and unexpected, but beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Cheeky…

He could simply entertain this, and leave it to you to reach your peak on your own.

Unfortunately for him, he has just fed.

And unfortunately for you, he has every intention of interrupting your solo endeavour.

His usual cool body now flooded with the warmth and vigour that make it extremely easy not to succumb to your sweet and melodic whimpers.

As such, he tugs at the strings that hold both flaps together, successfully drawing a surprised gasp from you.

“You scared me!”

He finds you propped up on one elbow before rushing to sit and pulling a blanket to cover yourself, a mortified look splattered across your face.

The sight in front of him is enough for the recently drunk blood to rush downwards at record speed.

Predictable, but such is the nature of his body when it comes to you.

Flustered and quickened breaths. His senses are so sharp from the recent blood intake, that he can hear your heartbeat drumming fast in your chest.

By now, he knows you well enough.

So well, that he's sure he has just interrupted your climax.

The confirmation comes in the form of a low growl of frustration.

He almost feels sorry for you, but what crosses his mind is the offer of a moment of pleasure so great only he can provide.

“You were close.”

It isn't a question and he doesn't expect an answer.

But you're so visibly irritated that you scowl deeply. “Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you so much for interrupting.”

“My pleasure,” he retorts, knowing fully well he's about to set off a bomb if he doesn't choose his words carefully.

You have a temper he adores to test. He's used to dancing to your tune and knows exactly which strings to pull to get you riled up in ways that often lead to very enjoyable outcomes.

His cock welcomes your huff of annoyance with a faint twitch.

“Why didn’t you just… wait…” you almost cry out in sheer frustration.

He lets out a taunting laugh. “What, and miss out on all of the fun, darling?”

A dramatic pout settles your lips and it takes all of his self-control not to wipe it off your face with a kiss in an instant.

“How many did you take this time?”

It is a glaring taunt.

And your mouth drops open.

Maybe he should have eased his way in, considering the current predicament.

But the way your body is all flustered and heated from your own touch is enough to flare desire inside him. And whenever desire begins to swell inside him, the fine line between reason and pleasure begins to blur.

Mostly because he knows he was the one on your mind when you had your fingers deep inside you.

Your eyes widen slowly, and you clutch the blanket closer to your lower half, still hiding the proof of your arousal from his prying eyes.

You don't reply at first, your pride keeping you silent.

But Astarion doesn't mind. In fact, he enjoys your resistance at first. Makes it all the more enjoyable when you finally give in.

“How many, darling?”

You frown, averting your eyes.

So stubborn…

His cock adores it.

“How many?” his tone is firmer this time and you slowly meet his eyes again.

“... two.”

He clicks his tongue, crouching before you. “Oh, darling…”

Two fingers are not nearly enough to provide the fullness and stretch that only his cock can. But he appreciates your effort nonetheless.

It's quite adorable and enough to have his cock hardening even more.

Your fingers still glisten in the faint candlelight and he feels the sudden urge to have them in his mouth. He never tires of tasting you in more ways than one.

“You do not need to hide from me,” he says tenderly, but still not moving an inch. He wants you to feel comfortable enough under his gaze. “You've bared yourself to me many times, love.”

Still, you don't let go of the fabric, a slash of defiance crossing your face. “You took too long.”

Ah. “Did you miss me?”

You bite your lip, face softening as you nod twice.

And you were so desperate for him that you just couldn't wait?

Gods.

His cock stirs even more against his trousers at the silent realisation.

“And I am here now,” he says, dropping to his knees, as a wicked smile turns his lips. “So, allow me.”

He reaches out with his hand to tug at the fabric, silently looking for your permission.

A shaky sigh parts your lips and he spots a shiver as he pulls the blanket that keeps you from him.

His eyes drop to the sweet spot between your legs and he almost regrets having interrupted you.

Almost.

Your clit is so swollen it deliciously peeks from between your folds, parting them gently. It throbs faintly as he catches your clenching a few times, wetness dripping out.

After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring the twitches of protest from his cock.

He finds your half-hooded eyes. “May I?”

You hesitate at first, nearly pressing your thighs together, but he stops you with both hands on your knees, a reassuring grip that has you slowly but surely loosen up under his touch.

“You don't have to…”

No, he doesn't.

But he wants to.

In fact, he thinks he needs to.

He rubs circles along your flushed skin, wanting your full attention on him before he speaks, “I appreciate the concern, darling, but I'm impossibly hard and you look incredibly delectable.”

It's more than enough to have you yearning for more, as a surprise gasp parts your lips.

You finally nod, spreading your legs and leaning back as you settle on your elbows.

He offers a sly grin, lowering and positioning himself right where he craves to be.

But not before he eases some of the growing tension on his lower half. The blood coursing through his body is more of an inconvenience for now, and he's sure, under different circumstances, he'd have better control over this.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you're just that good for him.

You jerk slightly when his mouth draws near your slick folds.

“Wait.”

And he does, his concentration slightly shaken as he promptly scans your face for any cause for alarm.

“Just… don't leave afterwards.”

Don't leave–

Astarion's lips are so close to your clit, he has to pull back slightly so he can have a proper look at you, his hardened cock still straining against his undergarments.

“What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed.

There is hesitance in your eyes. “You tend to leave after… like you don't want to be here with me.”

That sounds like a whiplash to him, because it is not true at all.

Your words take him by surprise and he immediately worries he may have said or done something that could be interpreted as mixed signals.

“Darling, I–”

But you immediately shake your head. “If you can stay after… I'd appreciate it. Only you want to, of course,” you quickly add. “It doesn't feel right otherwise…”

It isn't a request. Nor a plea.

It's just what feels right.

He's done this many times to the point of instinct. It comes natural to him to please others. The aftermath, though, is something that he's also used to forgoing. The mess, the sweat, the fluids… the unnecessary and forced talk…

But you are different, aren't you?

You are not… the others.

And after all you've been through, he feels his mind nearly snap in half as he realises just how much he's still holding back with you.

Even something as simple as just staying still felt… tainted.

Slowly, he nods.

And slowly, your lips turn into a tender smile that he's grown to adore beyond comprehension.

“I'll stay.”

You heave a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Astarion counters the impromptu detour with unmatched expertise, lowering his head and admiring just how eager your body is for him.

Before he drags his tongue along your folds, he slithers his hand down to reach for the front of his trousers, hurriedly undoing them.

It's his turn to sigh in relief as his cock is set free.

But now he misses the friction and the carpeted floor of your tent feels too rough.

His eyes roam around in search of something – anything – more comfortable.

And then he's caught off guard by your offer.

“Maybe this will help.”

A pillow.

He chuckles deviously, appreciating your creativity in moments such as these. Promptly, he takes it in his hand and positions it under him, his cock welcoming the soft surface.

“I adore that mind of yours,” he says cheekily.

You are about to voice a reply, but no word comes out when his tongue hits your entrance.

Immediately, your hips buck and his smile never wavers.

He knows what you crave, but he will take his time even if you're already close to the edge.

After all, he's addicted to his devotion to you even if he never utters it out loud. He prefers his actions speak for themselves. Words are treacherous and deceiving. Actions speak louder.

And so he indulges in you. He indulges you, because that is what keeps him from reaching the frayed ends of his mind.

You're what grounds him these days.

And he will ground you with him.

As such, he drags the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness and he only stops once it finds your clit.

A soft moan escapes your lips and he hopes you have it in you to keep it down so as to not wake the others.

He locks eyes with you one last time. “Are you ready, darling?”

Your hips roll twice, but he knows you're not ready. You never are for the pleasure he offers to you so passionately.

Another roll and he knows you're growing impatient, so he gives your clit a quick swipe of his tongue before he latches.

He doesn't begin suckling hard right away, as he needs to ensure he can steady you for what's to come. Both arms loop around your thighs and he allows his eyes to flutter shut, losing himself in you.

It amazes him how your body responds to him, and your hips try to find a desperate rhythm as if you're riding his cock.

The pillow under him provides enough friction for him to roll his own hips, eager to match your tempo.

He could feel the wetness drenching the fabric, but he can't bring himself to care.

Your hand finds his curls and he growls against your clit as you tug gently, but evidently craving more.

And more he gives you.

He's sucking more fiercely this time, taking his time to savour the swell in between his teeth. From this angle, he can feel your wetness coating his chin. He can't directly feel it, but he just knows you're clenching desperately around nothing.

Maybe he should take it slower.

Maybe he should pry you open with two of his fingers, even though you're wet enough to take a third one.

But the unexpected friction caused by the pillow is begging to edge him beyond belief.

Is it from the blood he drank? Is he just so ridiculously aroused? Why is your clit so swollen this time? Is it from his incessant suckles?

His mind turns into haze and he decides he's not looking for any logical answers.

He simply allows his hips to move on their own accord, matching the face with each suckle.

“Astarion… Gods…”

You're fortunate his mouth is kept busy, or he'd hurl a snarky reply. Gods have no place here. The delicacies of carnal bliss are reserved for those who tread the earth.

He's the only one who'd ever worship you, and you'd worship him right back, because that's how it's meant to be.

Precum drips from his tip at an alarming rate. He's too hard. He's too aroused. His body is seeking to be inside yours.

But he decided against it.

No.

He wants to see you unravel for him and in front of him.

His eyes open once again and he takes in the sight of your body undulating. Skin all flushed and eyes read to drop close as you near the precipice.

As always, his latch is impeccable. He never lets go and takes pride in leaving you dripping for him.

A few droplets run down his chin and dangle from it, bestowing upon him the most enticing silent praise he could ask for.

He knows you're close when your fingers close around his curls, desperately rocking your hips against him.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his chest and he's starting to struggle to keep his pace.

He has to find a way to still his hips before you reach your climax in fear you'll drag him along with you far too soon.

And so he does.

This time, he wants to see it.

He wants to see you as you come for him.

He's mostly perplexed that you found a way to muffle your moans, your shirt rolled up and captured in between your teeth, granting him the privileged view of your heaving breasts and hardened nipples.

Momentarily, his hips threaten to buck driven by pure instinct.

But he manages to hold back.

And when he's sure you're too far gone, head tilting back and legs shaking ever so slightly, does he unlatch from your clit.

He pulls back enough to witness the first sets of contractions course through your body.

Wetness drips from his chin, and he can't tear his gaze from the mesmerising way your entrance clenches rhythmically before him.

He's felt those contractions many times. He is well aware of just how vicious and relentless they can be around his cock, never failing to draw every last drop of his cum deep inside you.

Your muffled cries and the way your hips still momentarily, are all he needs to get lost in his own pleasure again.

He props himself high enough to place his hips at the right angle, rolling them urgently against the soft fabric of the pillow.

He's so close… so deliciously close.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and the vision of you still writhing under him holds his gaze almost painfully.

Your fingers ease on his curls and he feels the familiar tightening of his balls warning him that he's about to reach the point of no return.

It comes and overtakes his body so violently his mind blanks for a brief moment, as his mouth drops open.

He wants to groan and growl and hiss, but no sound comes out.

The friction is so overwhelming, he can't help but to lose balance, his lips finding your swollen clit once again.

And just like before, he latches instinctively and you try to jerk away from him, definitely being hit with a sting of oversensitivity.

He comes undone, suckling on you harder than ever before.

Ropes of cum spill from him rhythmically, his own contractions taking over. He can feel the fabric underneath him drench with each thrust, and he vaguely wonders how much of it he still has left in him.

Your clit is now the only thing grounding him as he rides out his climax and, in the far corner of his hazy mind, he's thankful that you eased into him once again, granting him the solace he is seeking so desperately.

There's only so much he can withstand as his senses are flooded with overwhelming pleasure, and he finds himself unlatching and almost slumping against your lower abdomen.

He's spent.

Utterly spent.

He thinks he hears a tender giggle, but maybe it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

With effort, he hoists himself along your body, collapsing, the side of his face resting against your stomach.

He wants to say something, but he's rendered silent by the aftershock of his climax.

And that's when he feels your fingers again, raking along his scalp and through unruly curls.

“Are you leaving?”

He says nothing.

Your fingertips work their magic along his skin and he's sure you can lull him into a trance if you so wished.

You're too powerful and he's too in love with you to care.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is low and sweet and he hums in return, arm wrapped around your waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?”

Who's he to deny you of it? Or himself?

He's sweaty and his cock drenched in cum and precum and you're a mess yourself. Hardly the epitome of romance.

Or maybe he's wrong because when you bring a soft piece of cloth to his temple and drag it along his face, he suddenly gets it.

He finally understands why you want him to stay.

Why it makes sense.

His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your tenderness and adoration.

You hum a soft tune under your breath, cleaning him up.

Face and neck first.

“Can you shift higher?” you ask.

He realises your intentions and lifts his head to stare at you.

“You don't have to.”

All you do is offer him a smile. Your smile. “I want to. Allow me, lover.”

No one has ever taken care of him. No one has ever bothered to. Not until you.

He silently does what you asked, too stunned to come up with a clever tease.

His eyes flutter shut in what comes close to embarrassment. For some reason, he feels more exposed than ever when you wrap the cloth around his cock.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” you say, your voice but a whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Not with you.”

A hiss parts his lips as you tenderly take care of him.

Astarion rests his head just above your breast and

“Do you wish to talk?” he asks.

Your lips find their way through his damp curls, placing a kiss atop his head.

“Do you want to?”

He chuckles, feeling his cock soften in your hand – definitely a first. “I fear I'm too drained to do so.”

“Silence it is,” you say and he feels your warm breath against his skin.

Not just any silence.

Comfortable silence.

The rare type old romance books mention in passing and that many seek to no avail.

But he's found it because he's found you.

Masterlist

#astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion x f!reader

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theguiltinessisyours · 1 year

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nothing frustrates me more that Rein Raus is on the Mutter album

#my apologies to all Rein Raus enjoyers but I can not stand that song #and I think Mutter would be the perfect album #if it wasn't on there #rammstein #r+

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bookofbonbon · 26 days

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ours is the hunt - daemon targaryen.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: 18+ Cheating. Hunting. Death/Killing. Mentions of pregnancy/ending a pregnancy. This is kinda fucked up, read the summary. Probably major spelling and grammar mistakes. Tense/POV mix ups.

Summary: Based on a request from the lovely @holy-minseok. like how westerosi kings warn the people of the consequences if they move out of line, reader presents daemons mistress to him on a spike with her swollen belly as a final warning for his betrayals.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: This took on a life of its own and didn't play out exactly as the request but, hopefully it's still enjoyable (well... as enjoyable as it can be). Italics section is a flashback.

The Kingswood is eerily silent in the minutes before sunrise. The party, like many of the woodland creatures, still slept, peaceful in their oblivion as servants moved quietly around the camp to prepare for the rush that daybreak would bring. You take a deep breath, the crisp forest air a welcome change from that of the stench of King’s Landing; the smell of the previous afternoon’s rain also lingers but it would dry with the promise of good weather and a bright sun.

“My Lady,” Ser Eadric Qyle calls, your most loyal, your sworn sword. “Everything is prepared to your instruction.”

“How many?”

“Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.”

The snap of a twig, a slight breeze, the distant wail of a wounded animal and the flutter of wings as the early morning bird sings its song as it flies across the waking sky. The forest whispers your name and you answer its call.

“Let the hunt begin.”

Your horse slows to a trot and eventually, to a stop as you approach the camp; an accompanying stablehand taking hold of the reins as a stool is brought to aid your dismount.

“I had wondered where my wife had gone,” Daemon’s voice comes from beside you with a hand held out. “I should have known to check the woods.”

Your smile is wide, eyes lighting up at his presence as you take his hand and dismount. He is still dressed in his sleeping robes, the Targaryen Prince having obviously just woken not long ago. The thought that he immediately came to seek you out upon waking endears you.

Steadying yourself with a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, you find your balance and firmly plant your feet on the stool; with the added height you find yourself at eye-level with him and greet him with a kiss to the side of his head.

“Good morrow, my love.”

Daemon returns the greeting by leaning into you with a groan, head dropping into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his arms wrapping around you.

“Remind me again why we must be here at this bloody thing?”

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, hand soothing his back.

“You cannot get out of this, Daemon,” you tell him with a small laugh.

Daemon groans again, his breath hot against your neck as he attempts to burrow his face deeper, grumbling all the while. He doesn’t get far however, when you thread your fingers through his unruly hair and pull.

“What was that, my love?”

“When you said you arranged a hunt for my name day, I thought it would be just us. Not a whole fucking camp for a Royal Hunt.”

While Daemon was content to revel in celebrations of his victory, a Royal Hunt and a Royal Tourney were two entirely different things. Besides, he could think of much better things to do on his name day and he makes it known, allowing you to hold his head in place, a familiar glint in his eyes that you force yourself to ignore.

“Did you really think your Lord-King brother would allow that? You have him to thank for-” you release his hair to gesture at the several tents. “-this.”

“Hm. How generous of him.”

You hum in agreement, adjusting the top of his robes.

“Very but, worry not, my love. Despite reports of only one stag, Ser Eadric and I managed to gain the trail of one other.”

A grin pulls at the corner of Daemon’s lips.

“The Royal Hunt will track one stag and we will hunt the other,” you finish. Using your grip on his robes to pull him closer, you brush your nose against his, before pressing your lips to his for a brief moment. He tries to deepen the kiss but you don’t allow him.

“Now, come,” you step down from the stool, taking his hand in yours. “Let's get you ready for the day.”

“Very well,” Daemon agrees, pressing a kiss to your hand with a charming smile.

You return the smile before turning and leading him back to the centre of the camp with a tight jaw.

Daemon’s mood lightens considerably thereafter. The Rogue Prince noticeably happier after you broke the news that the two of you would separate from the Royal Hunt because while Daemon loved to hunt, he hated not being the one to actually do it. He didn’t need someone else to track down the game just for him to land the final blow in some false display of strength and authority. He could do it himself. He wanted to do it himself. He liked to do it himself. And though his mood had lightened, you noted that it didn’t stop his eyes from wandering around in search of someone else.

By mid-morning, the camp is teeming with life, the several Lords and Ladies of Westeros who gathered in celebration of Daemon’s name day dotted all over the grounds and inside tents. You yourself enter the main tent with Ser Eadric, the grand structure larger than that of most of the homes of the smallfolk.

You don’t have to look far to find Daemon, Viserys’ great laugh leading you right to him; the two brother’s seated beside one another at a long table surrounded by other lords.

Turning to Eadric, you place a cloth in his hand. “Release the last stag and give this to the bloodhound,” you instruct. He nods, taking it in hand and departing.

Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back to loosen them, a delightful smile gracing your lips as you approach Daemon and Viserys. Daemon immediately reaches out for you out of habit once you're seated, and you cradle his strong hand between your own.

“Ah my Lady,” Viserys greets you and you, him, with a bow of your head.

“Your Grace.”

“I have been meaning to offer you both my condolences following the death of your brother and my congratulations, I hear you have been named heir of Bloodstone.”

You tighten your grip around Daemon’s hand then loosen it, both hands releasing his as you begin instead to fidget with your own fingers. Daemon notices immediately, taking hold of one of your hands in his, his grip firm in silent comfort as he sends you a reassuring look.

“A regrettable hunting accident,” you pull at the collar of your riding jacket. “But, please, accept my thanks for your congratulations, Your Grace. It is an honour and I can only hope to be half the ruler my Lord-father is of Bloodstone.”

“Well, I cannot say what type of ruler you will be but, from what I heard you are double the hunter of that of what your brothers were and rival even that of your father-”

“Better,” Daemon interrupts proudly with a squeeze of your hand.

“Better?” Viserys’ repeats in amusement.

You breathe a laugh at Daemon’s antics, “I am able to hold my own somewhat.”

Daemon scoffs at your downplay of your skill, “my wife is humble, brother but, I am not. She is the better between her and her father. Perhaps one of the best in all the land.”

You make a show of balking at the declaration, forcing a meek laugh “I- that is not-”

But, Viserys’ cuts you off, holding one hand up in surrender, “if Daemon says you are one of the best then I believe him. I mean what good is it if House Chase’ words are ‘Ours is the Hunt’ if they cannot do exactly that?”

Viserys’ laughs heartily at his own joke and you spare a glance at Daemon who grins at you playfully.

The conversation teeters off soon after that as Daemon and Viserys’ listen to the report sent by the Royal Huntsman. You in turn, turn your attention to one of your Ladies-in-waiting, Lady Millicent. While the custom of having Ladies-in-waiting was unusual outside of the Great Houses, the custom was needed within your own House as it was in fact greater than even that of your liege lords, House Baratheon. House Chase commanded both a larger army and fertile lands that weren’t felled by the terrible weather that surrounded Storm’s End. House Chase was second to Baratheon in rank only.

“My Lady, I’ve been meaning to ask but, where is Lady Gwendolyn? I’ve not seen her around the camp all morning, I fear-”

“Yes,” Daemon interrupts abruptly. “Where is Lady Gwendolyn?”

You delight at the question, ears burning as you turn your attention to Daemon about your newest Lady-of-waiting of six, maybe seven months.

“I did not know you had such a keen interest in my ladies of waiting. Husband.”

“My only interest is that she attends to my grooming every morning and yet, when I needed her this morning, she was nowhere to be found.”

Daemon shrugs the question off with a practiced ease while your lips almost pull dangerously downwards, mask hanging by a thread and nearly slipping completely at the brazen statement. Instead you fix your smile, reaching across to smooth the neck of his hunting attire.

“I have given Lady Gwendolyn leave while we are here, she is likely with her kin in the woods.”

A dull light permeates from the lantern in your hand, bathing its immediate surroundings - including yourself - in a warm glow as you carefully navigate the unfamiliar bed chambers that your husband had come to frequent as of late. Shadows bouncing off of the walls, the silhouettes of the two figures in the bed become clearer the closer you get.

See, you weren’t naive to the ways of men and their crude sexual appetites; the way they would seek out other women when their wives could not sate them.

‘It is the way of men, he will have his whores and his playthings but you are his wife and no whore can take away from you.’ is what your mother had told you but, you would not heed her words. You would not lay down while your husband took mistresses and whores alike and you had told him so, warning him once of the consequences.

Placing the lantern down on the bedside table, you peer down at the Baratheon beauty laid in the bed with your husband; a few drops of milk of the poppy in their goblets and it was keeping both husband and whore sedated.

The mattress dips slightly under your weight as you settle yourself beside her sleeping figure, hip to hip as you take a closer look at your Lady-in-waiting, who had also taken up position as Daemon’s mistress, stealing both his time and attention from you.

Lady Gwendolyn of House Baratheon, the niece of a cousin of a second son nobody; a distant relative carrying the Great name of the Great Stags of the Stormlands.

“Ser Eadric,” you call on your sworn sword; fingers ghosting over her abdomen. The swell is slight but it is there. “Our Prince’s name day is fast approaching. Ensure arrangements have begun at first light. We will celebrate like none before.”

The sun sits at its peak in the sky, streams of its light filtering through the tops of the forest's trees. The crossbow is heavy in Daemon’s hands as he sits astride his horse, sweat gathering on his forehead as he watches his surroundings; the reins of your own horse in his other hand. He had led the first few hours, and now you had taken over.

As planned, the two of you went out with the Royal Hunt and eventually broke off under the guise of returning to the camp.

Daemon’s ears perk at the sound of a nearby wail and the flutter of several wings as a group of birds seem to scatter. Dismounting, Daemon joins you on the ground, coming to stand behind you as he scans the woods for any signs of danger. There is no danger however, just your blood hound.

Daemon moves past you and calls the hound to heel at his side.

“We’re close,” you toss the hours old droppings back onto the ground and pick up your own crossbow. “These droppings are fresh.”

“Very close.” Daemon calls you over to where the bloodhound sits obediently by his feet. There is blood around its jowl. A thrill goes down your spine at the sight, knowing that the two of you were close now.

“We go on foot from here,” he declares, trying the reins of your horses to a nearby tree and you agree.

Moving silently ahead through the Kingswood, what was once vibrating with life, has now come to standstill with your approach. All the woodland creatures recognising the two predators hunting in their territory.

Your eyes flitter from the ground to up ahead as you follow the Stag’s tracks, Daemon trailing behind you and then- the sudden trample of hooves to the left of you and a blur of brown and then silence.

“Daemon,” you whisper and nod up ahead.

There in the distance stands the Great Stag the two of you had been hunting for the better part of four hours, its mammoth antlers moving frantically as it turned its head over and over.

Daemon places a hand on the small of your back and you turn your head toward him.

“From here?” you ask and he nods, stepping carefully in front of you.

The Stag stumbles around clumsily, which Daemon can only assume is from when the bloodhound must’ve sunk its teeth into it but it otherwise remains in the same area, believing itself to be safe.

“Let us test out the might of these crossbows from here,” Daemon croons quietly. The armourer had declared it the single most powerful crossbow, capable of bringing down the greatest creatures from an even greater distance.

Positioning himself, Daemon presses his body against yours, your hand touching his collar before you slide it down and place it on his waist. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of both of your breaths as you watched over his shoulder. He lines up the shot, finger on the trigger, your breaths in harmonious sync, his back against your chest as your hearts beat as one. You slide a hand underneath his arm, steadying his hold and with a kiss to his shoulder blade, he pulls.

Thwack!

The recoil is slight as the sound reverberates with a sickening crunch. The Stag cries out but, before it can make a move to run, you’re passing Daemon your own crossbow and he sends another arrow straight through its neck with perfect precision.

There’s a beat of silence as the entire woods including yourselves come to a halt, your breaths the only sound that could be heard. It’s soon broken however, by your laughter, the sound building into something hysterical as you step away from Daemon. Catching Daemon’s attention, he turns to you, initially in concern, it doesn’t take long however for him to join you when he sees how delighted you are. Catching you by the back of your neck, Daemon pulls you into him, his mouth covering yours in a searing kiss which you happily return.

“Shall we claim our prize?” you break the kiss, foreheads pressed together.

Daemon nods, taking your hand into his and eagerly leading the way.

You hum happily beneath your breath, keeping a keen eye on him as the two of you get closer, watching and waiting, watching and waiting until finally- there’s a catch in his breath, footsteps faltering as his head tilts, bemused. You feel the way his hand twitches in your hold, grip loosening as he glances back at you, confused until- a sharp intake of breath and the realisation of not, what he has killed but, who.

You slip your hand from his hold as he chokes on a gasp at the sight of his mistress, his whore, the Lady Gwendolyn. She is covered in a layer of mud, her usual gown replaced with a dirty and ripped tunic and pants, a strip of cloth tied around her mouth and gagging her. One arrow shot through her chest, nailing her to the tree behind her and the second through her neck; on the floor beside her lies the head of a stag.

Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.

“What is this?” Daemon speaks in abject horror.

“The last one,” you tell him grimly.

Daemon continues to stare at Gwendolyn, dazed and not understanding what was happening as he watches blood drip from her wounds and onto her swelling belly.

“What have you done?”

“What have I done? What have you done?” you tut, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Do not fret, I granted her this small mercy, my last mercy,” you inform him, hand adjusting his collar. “A quick and clean death.”

Your words seems to bring him back to himself, horror and confusion short lived and replaced with a fury you had never seen before. It does naught to frighten you though.

“She was with child,” he turns on you, jaw impossibly tight as he spits the words at you; crowding you against a tree. “My child.”

“I know,” you tell him softly with a nod.

Your placidness unsettles him. You can see it in his eyes and the way he flinches at your touch when you brush his hair back from either side of his face.

“So heed this as my final warning for your betrayals. I won’t be so nice if there’s another one.”

Steadying yourself with a hand on his arm, you reach up and press a kiss to the side of his head, “happy name day, Daemon.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x female reader #hotd fanfic #matt smith x reader #matt smith fanfiction

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dallaji · 6 months

Text

Control Freak.

♡ bada lee x reader / NSFW❗❗❗

SUMMARY: Your girlfriend doesn’t like giving up the reins, but perhaps with some gentle urging she will finally let loose. Even if it's just for a little bit.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

CW: PORN WITHOUT PLOT (like leech rallay NO plot), established relationship, reader is a power bottom and bada is perplexed!! befuddled!!11, bada with a strap, toys.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: please don't kill me for not releasing a request. (〃´▽`〃) this has been in my drafts for a while, so i decided to finish it. kind of experimental / out of my comfort zone, but hopefully still enjoyable!!1 not proofread yet btw.

————— ୨୧ —————

Bada always needed to be in control.

You had noticed when you first met her.

That particular club had never been on your radar before, but your friends dragged you along and the crowd and music were decent enough. It had only taken fifteen minutes of you dancing around strangers, the heavy bass of the music controlling the sway of your body, until a pair of magnetic eyes met yours from across the room.

Something about her beckoned you, the anticipation blooming in your stomach. Even when her arm had snaked around your lower back, signaling to any passersby that she had staked her claim, Bada couldn’t help but glance over to her friends every once in a while; making sure they weren’t going overboard with drinking. Before she took you to her place she checked in on each and every one of them, her hand never leaving your lower back.

When Bada had invited you to watch one of her dance classes, you immediately picked up on her ability to command the room. When her students performed the taught choreo back to her, Bada's eagle-like eyes searched for any out-of-place formations or unsharp movements. If anyone was off the beat, she would make them redo the entire routine start to finish. Not in a draconian way, but with words of encouragement, only ever wanting to see them give their very best.

You noticed again on one of your first dates. After offering to cook for her that evening, Bada insisted on tagging along with you to the grocery store. She had wricked the basket from your hand straight away with a half smile. Without even needing to, she reached any tall shelf regardless.

Once settled in your small one bedroom apartment, Bada had lurked over your shoulder with curious eyes like a patient puppy, watching you prepare the meal. Before you could even ask, she handed you whichever utensils or ingredients were needed. All that despite your constant urging to have her sit back and relax.

Instead, Bada shook her head with a bashful smile: “I want to help.” Is what she had said.

You noticed in more private settings, too.

Whenever she made you orgasm, she would lock your legs in place and deliberately hold down the thrashing of your limbs. Bada wanted to feel you lose yourself to her, and never make you forget who got you to that point.

Her hungry gaze didn't leave your face, as if she needed to commit every expression to memory. “That’s it, baby,” She’d coax, “So good for me.”

When she wore the familiar harness with her strap-on, she immediately had you bent over in a perfect angle; a hand on the back of your neck to keep you exactly where she wanted you as she pistoned her hips against you. As soon as you got close, she would pull out with a giggle, only to move you onto your back; hoisting your legs over her shoulders to see how far she could edge you along.

Sometimes you wanted to return the favor: “Let me make you feel good,” You would whisper against her lips, Bada panting underneath you as her hands found purchase on your hips.

Despite her unwavering dedication in keeping you pliant, you were desperate to give back to her. So you would throw a leg over her waist in a foolhardy attempt to lock her into place, and Bada followed your every motion with a lovestruck expression.

However, once your fingers pressed into her, half-lidded eyes meeting yours, her hand would curl around your wrist: sometimes dictating your motions, and sometimes just to keep a tight hold on you. A silent reminder of who is in charge.

And despite this clear-cut dynamic in the bedroom, neither of you ever cared for strict roles. It wasn’t something you had ever explicitly discussed. You worked her up just as much as she did you. Some days you were both desperate for it, one shoving the other against a wall after a long week of barely getting to see each other; other days the two of you giggled under the sheets, the early morning rise peeking through the blinds as soft pants filled the room.

Yet the outcome was always the same. Completely surrendering yourself to her as she, almost obsessively, found new ways to have you exactly the way she wanted you.

You didn’t mind, though, as it was so inherently Bada. Soft, yet capable; kind, but forthright; sometimes shy, though always poised.

But sometimes, you wondered.

After a particularly stressful day, she would lay you down on the bed and put on her strap without you even imploring her to do so. Wearing her harness, she could sometimes come from just watching your eyes roll back as she fucked into you, the suction on the back of the strap rubbing against her mound at just the right angle.

Other times, you pushed your hand down her harness, fingers circling her folds in an attempt to keep up with the unforgiving pace of her hips.

But most of the time, she would hold your hands over your head or against your back, and intently watch you come undone, not paying attention to her own pleasure whatsoever.

It almost seemed to be cathartic for her, having such a control over you when her grueling schedule was something she simply underwent. When her professional life had become hectic, she barely found the energy to say ‘no’ to things. She would come to your place with tense muscles and a tired smile, but never too tired to pull you into the bedroom with a meaningful look in her eyes. You were more than willing to give her that release. What were you if not at her disposal?

But you still wondered. You believed that, from time to time, it was healthy to let go of the reins. Perhaps finding a way to relinquish at least a little bit, allowing herself to unravel in your hold, could help her blow off steam too.

You had an idea, and what better time to try it than today?

Bada had started her day with an early photoshoot and ended it with a filmed interview. Once she had reached your apartment, you already had takeout food laid out on the table for her. She greeted you with a warm embrace, pressing a tender kiss on your lips before digging in.

With a mouthful of fried rice, she complained about unfriendly hairstylists and bad traffic, rubbing at her temples to will away a commencing headache. You listened intently before sharing your own frustrations with a project at work; Bada squeezed your hand, urging you to take a break from time to time. You chuckled at the irony. Look who’s talking.

“I have a day off tomorrow,” Bada said nonchalantly, scooping some leftover slices of beef into her bowl.

“Good thing I changed my sheets today.” You replied teasingly, stealing some of her beef.

Bada looked up at you with a mischievous grin.

Soon after you were on your bed entirely naked, panting and sensitive all over, as Bada hunched over you in nothing but her underwear. She had been teasing you relentlessly, dragging her fingernails up and down your thighs as she scattered hickeys across your skin, tonguing at each bruise she created.

"Tell me what you want, princess." She mouthed against the soft skin of your inner thigh, before her teeth pressed down in a lovebite.

"Want to get fucked," You managed to rasp, your fingers tangling into the locks of her hair.

She hummed thoughtfully, as if she was deciding on what to eat for dinner, and you felt the reverberations against your skin: "It has been a while, hasn't it?" Her tongue licked a long stripe along the area where your cunt and thigh met, her fingertips squeezing into your quivering legs; holding them still.

It was difficult to stay focused with Bada winding you up as much as she did, but you managed to find a stable enough voice to speak: "I- I want to try something new, though..."

"Oh?” She glanced up at you from in between your legs, her mouth slick from the kisses she had left all over you.

You nodded timidly, slowly moving to sit up. Bada followed suit, watching you curiously with her hands resting atop your thighs.

From your bedside drawer you pulled a small box, quickly opening it and placing the contents on the bed. Bada raised her eyebrows.

It was a small pink bullet vibrator, and a remote.

You watched Bada do the math in her head.

“Do you want to have both…?” You almost choked on your spit, flustering not only at her suggestion but the way she seemed incredibly interested in the prospect.

“No! I want you to… wear this, while also wearing your strap,” You muttered, feeling more embarrassed by the second. Bada’s mouth formed a small ‘o’, and you continued hurriedly: “I think it would feel good, for the both of us.”

The way Bada smiled was almost cheshire-like, and she slowly pushed you down on the bed again, a newfound eagerness in her ministrations that let you breathe a sigh of relief. “Does my baby think she can handle it?” She spoke with a cloyingly sweet lilt to her voice, and you had to swallow the bratty remark on the tip of your tongue.

Of course Bada could not conceive of herself not being able to handle it- she was still under the impression that you would be the main receiver here.

Before you could think of something to respond, Bada placed the remote and the vibrator in your hand, pressing her lips into the crook of your neck.

“Go ahead. Put it in.” She whispered, and all you could do was obey with an eagerness that left you mortified.

As her lips parted against the sensitive skin of your neck, the tip of her tongue drawing circles, your hand moved into her underwear; you rolled the bullet along the front of her heat, fingers reaching to feel the wetness of her folds. Bada hummed encouragingly, her own hands clinging onto your hips.

You moved further down, coating the bullet with her wetness and letting it aid you when you slowly pushed it into her entrance with the tip of your finger. It earned you a soft moan from Bada, who let out a shuddered breath against your collarbones.

Before you retreated your hand, you made sure to cup her into the palm of your hand, fingers gliding along her folds. You loved how wet she got, and so fast at that.

She sucked in a breath at your lingering touches, the sound turning into a mocking giggle. “Are you trying to tease me?”

You shuddered at the silent threat that hid behind her words, and shook your head bashfully. You promptly removed your hand, and Bada clicked her tongue in feigned indignance; but her eyes were still glazed with affection.

It was part of the game the both of you played, but you were still intent on reversing the roles at least a little bit.

Her hand came up to grab a tight hold on your face, fingertips digging into your cheeks as she forced you to meet her in a kiss. You made a desperate noise, immediately parting your lips for her as she kissed your breath away, tongue prodding against yours.

But she ended the kiss much too soon for your liking, and you chased after her mouth. The taller girl chuckled, pushing you flat against the bed a second time by the grip she had on your face. “Patience” is all she said before moving off the bed and rummaging through the drawer for something familiar.

The strap is a similar bright pink as the bullet, and your shuddered in anticipation. You were always mesmerized from the way Bada stepped into the harness. Everything about her body language alluded to how often she wore it; she hoisted it up and expertly tightened the belts around her hips. Bada was lean, yet soft in all the right places, and the way the straps of the harness hugged around her figure complimented the subtle formation of her abs.

Nothing was ever lost on her, so Bada shot you a lopsided grin when she noticed your hungry stare. She stalked back over to you, much too patient for your liking, and climbed back to her rightful spot between your legs. You held your breath as Bada sat up on her knees, her hands curling under your thighs before she tugged you closer to her with an almost predatory look in her eyes.

She manhandled you in place, and you leaned back on your elbows in surrender.

Her eyes raked along your figure underneath her and she leaned closer; the cold strap pressing against your navel. You subconsciously ground against it, but Bada was just beyond reach for there to be any satisfying friction.

She tilted her head playfully, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your face: “Do you want my fingers first, or can you take it?”

You sucked in your lower lip, bringing your hands to the firmness of her stomach. “I can take it,” You responded confidently.

She hummed quietly: “Of course you can,” The look Bada gave you almost turned you into putty, and she pulled your leg around her waist, tilting her hips in such a way that the near end of the strap pressed to your folds. You wanted to rub yourself against it, but you knew better than to defy Bada in a moment like this.

Her other hand moved in between the two of you and she felt at your wetness, just as you had done to her prior. Bada, however, didn’t hesitate before drawing circles against you, your head lolling to the side with a sharp breath. She brought the strap lower on purpose, digging it between your folds before coating it with your arousal, slicking it up.

You tried to stay still, but every slight roll of her hips had you jump at the sensitivity and you squeezed your eyes shut. That only made it worse however, as Bada took the opportunity to begin gliding the strap up and down against you, relishing in the shudders of your body. You weren’t looking, but you knew she was smiling.

She pressed a wet kiss to your collarbones and brought her hand to the base of her strap, angling her hips at your entrance. Teasingly, she prodded the tip of the strap against you and you were almost certain she was going to drag this out until she hoisted your hips onto her lap; pushing into you without a warning.

You gasped, clutching onto her waist as you felt the strap stretch your walls. The glide was familiar enough but you couldn’t help but feel full already. You loved the way she stuffed you.

With murmurs of encouragement, Bada grabbed a hold of your hip to push in all the way to the hilt with a sharp jerk, and the movement punched a moan out of you. You clutched onto the sheets as you spread your legs further apart, and Bada greedily crowded over you.

She pulled out until just the head of the strap was still buried in you, and gave you barely a second to breathe before slamming back inside. You dug your nails into the skin of her waist with a drawn-out whine.

The pace she set was immediately ruthless; a slow retreat before punching into you, her hip bones knocking against the back of your thighs with a slapping sound. Soon you became slack jawed, almost feeling drunk on pleasure. Bada’s hands had found purchase atop your breasts, squeezing them as her hips fucked into you, your nipples peeking from between her slender fingers.

“You take it so well,” Bada groaned, teeth gritting as she accelerated her thrusts. “It’s fucking amazing.”

If you hadn’t initiated this with a clear plan in mind, you could feel yourself come incredibly fast this way: Bada dominating you, who was so open and willing. Your head lolled to the side as the sound of skin on skin got louder.

Through the daze of pleasure coursing through your body, your hand managed to find the remote belonging to the bullet buried inside Bada. The taller girl didn’t notice what you were reaching for, much more focused on fucking you faster and harder.

Your fingers somehow managed to find the ‘on’-button, your body rocking back and forth as Bada fucked you, and you pressed on the first setting without warning.

Bada faltered with a curse on her lips as she felt the vibrator set off, hips momentarily freezing. She was still buried deep inside you, and you gasped. You could feel the light pulsing of the vibrating as well, and the thought made you lightheaded.

Bada found her footing again fast enough, an incredulous laugh falling from her lips. She brusquely grabbed a hold of your face, forcing you to look at her as she stared down with fiery eyes. She slipped back into her previously unforgiven pace, almost as if she didn’t feel the vibrator at all: “You do want to— tease me.” She stated, cooing, but almost interrupting her own words with a moan as the vibrator pulsed inside of her.

You shook your head despite the grip she had on your face: “No,” You moaned breathlessly, fighting the urge to meet her thrusts because it would surely get you to your orgasm much too fast. “Jus’ wanna see you come…”

Bada groaned at your words, leaning down to meet your lips in a messy kiss that was more tongue than anything else. She angled her hips sideways, hitting into a spot that she knew could drive you crazy, this time being no different. You moaned into her mouth and she swallowed greedily, the pace of her thrusts turning faster as you felt the vibrations through her strap.

It felt so good it was dizzying, but Bada still clearly had the upper hand here, and that was not how you wanted this to go.

You moved the vibrator one setting higher.

Bada almost keeled over at that, pressing the palms of her hands at either side of your head as her lips parted in a silent gasp. Once again her hips stuttered against you. The vibrations were stronger now: you felt it well enough through the strap buried deep inside of you.

You watched her intently through half-lidded eyes, hands moving to her hips with the remote still in your hold, tenderly caressing along her sides. Her eyes fell shut and she wetted her lips, hips jerking in small motions as she zoned in on the pleasure. Soft gasps were slipping from you at the shallow thrusts, but you did not dare to make her go faster or deeper. The sight hanging above you was much too beautiful.

Bada snapped out of a daze, as if she could read your mind, wild eyes meeting yours. With a tight hold on your thighs, she tugged you impossibly closer to her; her body falling on top of yours, chest to chest, and then she forced her strap deeper into you with a sharp thrust of her hips. You let out a shocked gasp, ankles crossing over her lower back as she hit the spot that made your toes curl. You could feel the vibrations even stronger now, and it seemed Bada was well aware.

“Should I make you come like this? With me staying still?” There was bite to her tone, and you mentally cursed yourself for the lewd moan that fell from your lips as she gave another thrust. You had to actively fight the urge of grinding down on the strap. You knew that, if you did, you would lose this game.

Bada rested her forehead against yours as she remained frozen, watching your every expression, but you noticed her breathing growing heavier by the second.

It was the sign you needed to press the button again, activating the second-to-last highest setting of the bullet.

“FUCK!” She hissed, burying her face in the crook of your neck as her hips flinched immediately.

You could hear her whine, a sound you rarely ever heard from her, and your mouth went dry.

You brought a hand to the back of her head, keeping her in place as your legs remained tight around her waist, heels digging into her lower back. The vibrating was maddening for you too, already feeling a red hot tension building up in your lower stomach, and you knew well enough from alone time how strong the third setting on the remote was.

You could tell she was still actively trying to take charge, but the soft pants against your neck betrayed her true state. Bada began thrusting in small motions, trying to get back to fucking you, but she was so clearly oversensitive from the bullet between her legs that every motion came with stutters.

While rubbing soothing circles into her scalp, you felt her thighs clench together. Bada’s hands gripped onto the sheets, and the messiness of her thrusts became all the more apparent.

Still, you wanted to push her further.

With the hold your legs had on her, you maneuvered Bada onto her back in one swift motion. She gasped in surprise and you groaned when the strap hit deeper into you, the buzzing of the vibrator sending chills along your spine.

You sat up with an arched back and looked down at her. In turn, Bada was already staring up at you with wide, frantic eyes; her face entirely red and bangs sticking to her forehead. Her lips were parted, and even though she was entirely bewildered, the adoration was easy to read from her expression. She was looking at you as if you were the only person in the universe, almost all her bite from earlier gone.

In a last ditch effort, her hands came to grab a hold of your hips but before she could start thrusting up into you, you turned on the final and highest setting before dropping the remote next to you.

You could see her eyes roll back, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She was gritting her teeth, and from the way you pressed down on top of her you could feel the vibrations even clearer. With your palms pressed right above her breasts, you began to fuck yourself on her strap, your back arching even further as the pleasure ran through your body.

Bada squeezed her eyes shut, uncharacteristically motionless under you and still hiding her moans under her palm. You promptly wrenched her hand away from her face, pinning it next to her head and you didn’t know her pupils managed to become impossibly bigger.

“Let me hear you,” You whispered on top of her, and with a particularly hard thrust you dropped your hips down on her, making Bada’s body shake.

With that encouragement, you opened her floodgates. Her thighs squeezed together below you, and the moans that began spilling from her lips were completely obscene. She was jerking her hips once again, but no longer in an attempt to fuck you into submission; instead, she was frantically chasing after the unbearable pleasure.

Bada did not know what to do with her hands, one of them clutching onto your hip for dear life as the other balled into a fist next to her head. You angled your hips a bit differently to reach the spot that spurred you on, deftly bouncing on the strap and fucking yourself to completion.

Bada was no longer closing her eyes, staring up at you half lidded as if she never wanted to forget the sight of you on top of her. You, similarly, found her completely irresistible. Bringing your hand to her chin, you pressed your thumb to her lower lip and Bada immediately took your digit inside her mouth.

She was clearly in a daze, intoxicated from her ecstasy, because she was barely able to suck; instead dragging her tongue messily along your finger through short moans. You dug your thumb into the hollow of her cheek, and with that Bada involuntarily jerked her hips with a groan, punching up into you. It felt as if electricity ran down your spine, and you almost felt yourself orgasm right then and there.

Her hand came up to curl around your wrist, keeping your hand in place as her eyes threatened to fall shut at how overwhelmed she felt; the buzzing of the vibrator seemingly getting louder and louder as the both of you got closer to your release. The redness of her cheeks had cascaded down to her collarbones and her eyes were uncharacteristically wet.

You pulled your thumb away, Bada whining at that once again, but you instead grabbed a hold of her face; your wet thumb smearing her own saliva across her cheek, keeping your pace on the strap steady.

“You wanna come?” You asked softly, the delicateness in your voice betraying how much of a novice you were to this dynamic.

Bada, who still seemed to be coming to terms with the switch of your positions, could only nod, though her eyes said it all: she was completely desperate.

You began gyrating your hips at that, spurring yourself closer and closer to your orgasm with heavy pants. You were feeling the familiar coil in your lower stomach, and your body was begging for release.

“Come with me,” You pleaded, and Bada tightened her hold on your wrist as she took your index- and middle finger into her mouth, moaning deeply around your digits.

Something about that sight did you in. With a few more hard drops of your hips, the sound of your ass slamming down onto the top of her thighs filling the room, you came hard.

You dropped your head with a loud moan, fireworks coursing through your body and thighs shaking from the exertion of keeping yourself steady on top of her. In tandem with your orgasm, you felt Bada jerk violently underneath you.

She threw her head back, a silent moan stuck on her lips as your fingers slipped out of her mouth, but her grip on your wrist only tightened. Her knees came off the bed, and soon enough she was panting from the overstimulation of the vibrator still pulsing inside of her, while you were still grinding out your orgasm on her strap.

You had half a mind to grab the remote, your own motions coming to a halt when the sensitivity became too much, and turned off the bullet.

With a lot of effort, you managed to hoist yourself off the strap; hissing at the loss of fullness. Then, you dropped yourself next to Bada, who was trying to catch her breath, thighs absentmindedly rubbing together as she could still feel the phantom sensations of the violent vibrations from the bullet.

Bada turned her head to look at you, and before you could say anything she leaned over to kiss you deeply; head tilted and lips parted. Your hand came up to cradle the side of her face as her own arms circled around your waist, pulling you close to her.

“Thank you,” She muttered against your lips, her voice laced with something deeper as she scattered lazy kisses along your jaw, and you hummed in contentment.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, your fingers blindly searching for the belts of her harness.

“Tired…” She murmured, and you had to bite back a laugh. Now she knew how you felt after each time she had her way with you.

Finally, you found the straps of her harness and began to unbuckle them, helping her slip out of it. Subsequently, you lowered your hand down her panties and Bada huffed a breath, still sensitive.

You promptly removed the bullet and fixed her underwear back in place with a pat right on her crotch, purposefully forcing a reaction from her. She gasped once again, playfully glaring at you- or at least, attempting to do so. The taller girl was already on the brink of dozing off by the looks of it.

“Go to sleep,” You whispered, enveloping the both of you in a blanket with a final peck to her mouth; Bada pursing her lips a beat too late.

“You’ve got something else waiting for you in the morning…” Bada slurred with her eyes already shut.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #girlies....... . . i am sorry for whatever this is #2 out of 4 works ending with bada knocked tf out #i'm becoming a one trick pony

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soulprompts · 4 months

Text

IDEAS FOR A DATE! ( A PROMPT LIST! )

now before i give this list, i want to address two things: 1) i'm enclosing a list of reasons for people to go on dates, because i want to, and also because there's some very good reasons for dates, and 2) i plan to write another list that's not as modern and contemporary, for my historical and fantastical and science-fictionally minded angels! for now, bon appetit: remember, your muses might be undercover, on a blind date, on a first date, matched online, a platonic date, trying to make other love interests jealous, like there are so many reasons, don't be shy, and DON'T ADD TO THIS LIST.

[ LEARN ]: the sender and receiver attend a class together (e.g. for cooking, baking, dancing, pottery, etc.) for a date.

[ ARCADE ]: the sender and receiver decide to visit an arcade together for a date.

[ DRINK ]: the sender and receiver meet each other at a bar for a date.

[ SANDY ]: the sender and receiver go to the beach together for a date involving strolling, a picnic, swimming and watching the sunset!

[ STRIKE! ]: the sender and receiver meet at a bowling alley for a date to practice their bowling skills.

[ MORNING ]: the sender and receiver decide to meet for a breakfast date rather than a dinner one.

[ FOREST ]: the sender and receiver take a weekend break in the woods, staying in a lovely cabin surrounded by nature.

[ TENT ]: alternatively, instead of finding a cabin to stay in for the night, the sender and receiver pack their tents and head out for a camping trip instead.

[ POPCORN ]: the sender and receiver opt for the classic date option of going to see a movie at the cinema together.

[ CAFÉ ]: going for a more relaxed option, the sender and receiver arrange to meet up for coffee and cake at a local café for a date.

[ MUSIC ]: finding tickets to their favorite band's concert, the sender and receiver head out for the night to listen to them play.

[ BICYCLE ]: the sender and receiver mount their bikes and head off to cycle in the countryside together.

[ DUO ]: the sender and receiver set up the bluetooth speakers and dance together in the peace of their own home to the sounds of their favorite songs.

[ DIY ]: the sender and receiver are about to go out for a date, but instead end up staying at home to complete a DIY project together.

[ ESCAPE ]: the sender and receiver attempt to solve an escape room together for a particularly exciting date.

[ COMMUNITY ]: the sender and receiver visit a local fair, festival, market or parade together for a date.

[ PLUS ONE ]: the sender and receiver put on their glad rags and attend a very fancy and prestigious event together.

[ WINNER ]: the sender and receiver set up a game night (card games, board games, video games, etc.) at home for their date.

[ GELATO ]: the sender and receiver head out to the best ice-cream parlour in town for a cold and sweet date.

[ SPEED ]: the sender and receiver go to a go-karting track for a particularly competitive date.

[ HIKE ]: the sender and receiver lace up their hiking boots and head out to a scenic hiking route together.

[ SADDLE UP ]: the sender and receiver take the reins and head out for a scenic horseback riding session together.

[ UP ]: the sender and receiver take an unforgettable ride in a hot air balloon for a date.

[ SING ]: the sender and receiver find a local karaoke bar and take turns singing solos and duets together.

[ PAGES ]: the sender and receiver find a cozy library-café and spend an enjoyable date reading books and drinking coffee together.

[ CHEF ]: deciding to stay in for the evening, the sender and receiver decide to make dinner together in the comfort of their own home.

[ HOLE IN ONE ]: the sender and receiver find a nearby mini-golf course and decide to play a few holes together.

[ MOVIE ]: the sender and receiver pick a few movies to watch for the evening and curl up on the sofa with some snacks to watch them together.

[ PAST ]: the sender and receiver go to a museum or an art gallery together to see the displays and get to know one another better.

[ CLUB ]: the sender and receiver get dolled up and go to a very popular and newly opened nightclub together.

[ PORTRAIT ]: the sender and receiver get canvases and paints and begin to paint one another at home, leaving plenty of peace and quiet to get to know each other.

[ AIM ]: the sender and receiver get suited up to go for a paintballing session together.

[ OUTSIDE ]: the sender and receiver get their nicest blanket, their favorite refreshments, and head out to a park for a nice relaxing picnic.

[ ITALIANO ]: the sender and receiver attempt to make their own pizzas at home together.

[ DINNER ]: the sender and receiver go to a nice restaurant together for a dinner date.

[ ROAD ]: the sender and the receiver embark on a long but worthwhile road trip together.

[ ROWING ]: the sender and receiver get into a rowboat together and guide the boat down the river.

[ QUICK ]: the sender and receiver meet one another for the first time at a speed dating event.

[ ROLLER ]: the sender and receiver put their roller-blades on and hit the rinks together.

[ RELAX ]: the sender and receiver head out to a luxurious spa resort together for some well-earned rest and massages.

[ COMFORT ]: the sender and receiver transform their home into a makeshift spa and give each other facials and massages for the evening.

[ STARS ]: the sender and receiver stretch out on the rooftop/lawn/back of a truck etc. for a night of star-gazing together.

[ WALK ]: the sender and the receiver go out for a nice, relaxing stroll together to see the sights.

[ POOL ]: the sender and receiver go out to the pool, beach or lake for a swimming session together.

[ SHARE ]: the sender and receiver split the evening in half to teach one another a skill that they're particularly good at (e.g. the sender teaching the receiver how to paint, etc.)

[ QUIZ ]: the sender and receiver go out together and find a local pub that's hosting a table quiz event, which they decide to enter.

[ AWAY ]: the sender and the receiver decide to indulge in a long vacation somewhere that they've both wanted to go for a long time.

[ BREAK ]: in the spirit of compromising, the sender and receiver book a nice quiet weekend break together.

[ SIP ]: the sender and receiver book tickets for a wine tasting event in a local vineyard.

[ SAIL ]: the sender and receiver go out on a yacht for the evening.

#roleplay meme #rp meme #sentence starters #ask meme #roleplay prompts #rp prompt #writing prompts

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tofics · 9 days

Text

Broken - Chapter 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes... Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he'll never get.

Word Count: 3964 words

Warnings: Cursing, near death experience, mention of blood, insomnia.

Chapter 1 - A Brush With Death

Joel didn't know there could be so many types of snow. Texas didn't get all that much of it, at least not where he lived. He'd seen his fair share of the white stuff when he lived in Boston, but somehow, snow is different out here in Jackson. It could have been just an illusion, that it had only seemed different because Boston was different, crowded and dirty and falling apart at the seams, whereas Jackson is open, wide and free and clean.

Whatever it is, snow feels different here. Today, the flakes are big and heavy, a lot more like rain but not yet quite like sleet. They're coming down in chunks, flakes stuck together in tiny little icy clumps that fall to the ground in quiet and wet, prickling thumps. It's not as enjoyable as the soft and powdery kind that came down during his patrol yesterday. The shreds of ice prick his skin as they get blown across his face where his bandana doesn't reach. He rubs a gloved hand over the slither of exposed skin, but it remains itchy, irritated by its icy attackers.

Joel grunts and squints through the white flurry. "Can't see a damn thing in this damn weather," he grumbles, but carries on regardless. His horse lazily trots through the snow. Joel can't help but wonder what the animal thinks about this weather. Probably having as much fun as I am, he thinks and runs his glove over his eyes again. Some snowflakes got caught in his eyelashes. He feels the icy flakes melt on his eyeballs as he rubs the glove back and forth and shudders. Not a pleasant sensation.

He trudges through the snow for a few more minutes, but it doesn't let up. If anything, it looks like it's getting worse, more and more flakes fluttering through the air until visibility drops below 20 feet. "Alright, that's enough." His voice comes out in puffs of hot air. Joel flicks his tongue and softly tugs on the left rein. His horse immediately obeys. They do a 180, careful not to slip off the road. There's no point in staying out here in weather like this. Not if I can't goddamn see, he thinks. Once they're turned around, things are a little better. With the wind on his back, the brim of his head provides enough protection from the flakes and they're no longer blowing straight into his eyes.

15 minutes later, he's made it about half-way back to Jackson. The snow is coming down so heavy and quick that his horse's tracks are nearly covered again, the sheet of white almost seeming as undisturbed as before. Joel scans his surroundings as they trot back, peering across the black and white landscape in search of anything out of the ordinary, but he finds nothing. Now that his sight is undisturbed, the scenery is almost hypnotizing. With the wind on his back, the soft falling of the heavy flakes mixes into a soothing background noise. He notices his eye-lids getting heavy, straining to stay open as they run over white and more white, an endless canvas of the same coated trees and bushes.

It's no wonder then that he almost misses the set of tracks that cross his own in the snow, slurry and less precise than his horse's hoofmarks on the ground. It feels like a trick of his eyes at first, but Joel's instincts have had too many years of training. He perks up and flicks his tongue again, softly tugging on the reins so his four-legged companion stills. Joel peers down at the ground, inspecting the tracks. They're fresher than his own; the flakes didn't have enough time to fill the gaps on the snowy surface yet.

He slides the rifle off his shoulder as his eyes follow the tracks to the bushes on his left. Awaiting an attack, his gloved finger has already wandered down to the trigger, but he doesn't shoot right away. "What in the...?" His question hangs in the air along with little clouds of hot breath. What the hell am I lookin' at?

It's hard to make out at first. Animal? It's big and lumpy, but the contortions don't fit anything he's ever seen. Its coat is puffy and bloated and white, blending in it with its surroundings almost too easily. Joel's eyes travel over the unfamiliar creature until he suddenly realizes what he's looking at. "Aw, shit!" The curse comes out in a hiss as he slides off his horse.

What he thought to be an animal at first is nothing less than a human. He approaches the lump on the ground with a raised rifle, pointed at what he now makes out to be the head. This could be a trap, a voice inside him thinks, but something tells him it's not. It's nothing more than a gut feeling, but he still approaches the figure carefully.

"Hey." The person on the ground doesn't respond, doesn't even stir. "Hey," he repeats, this time a little louder. He nudges his foot against what he judges to be a leg, but again, there is no response. His gut and brain discuss for a moment before he leans down. In one swift motion, he's removed one of his gloves and shoved his hand into the fur that encircles the head. Immediately, he can tell that his gut was right. Heat simmers below the person's coat like a hot furnace. His cold fingers run over the naked skin until he finds the spot just below the chin.

A breath of relief leaves him when he feels a pulse softly thrumming against his fingertips, but it's weak. Carefully, he lifts the head and gently turns it so he can look at the face. It belongs to a woman, pale and ashen, tinging on blue. It's the look of someone who has no time to waste. "Alright," he mutters and hoists his rifle again before he places one arm under the woman's torso, his other wrapping around it firmly from above. "C'mere." He grunts as he attempts to lift her body off of the ground. She can't weigh much, but the angle is awkward and his shoes don't have much tract in the snow.

It takes him a couple of tries, but eventually, he manages to heave the limp body across his saddle. Once it stays up, he awkwardly climbs into the settle behind the woman. Her legs are dangling off to one side, her arms and head to the other. It's not ideal, but it'll have to do. "C'mon!" He kicks his horse's sides and they dash off, back towards Jackson, back to where there's doctors and medicine. He just hopes it's not too late.

You come to with a gasp, eyes flying open as your torso shoots upwards. Your first few moments of consciousness are overwhelming, a complete chaos of blurry vision, a dizziness that's threatening to push you over and the drumming of your own pulse in your ears, loud and deafening over the frequent beeping noises in the background. Your fingers dig into the material of the surface beneath you, a frantic search of something familiar, something that'll tell you where you are, something to steady you.

Before you've had any time to adjust, something's touching your shoulder, followed by a pressure that's pushing you backwards. You panic and grasp at the things that are forcing you down before realizing they are hands, but the realization doesn't slow your panic, it only fuels it. You flail, fighting against your attacker with flying limbs, scratching and screaming and putting everything in it that you've got. There's a sharp pull in the crook of your right arm, but you don't relent, determined to fight off your assailant.

Despite your strenuous attempt, you lose the fight and fall backwards. As your head slams backwards, your world suddenly regains focus, as if someone turned up the sharpening setting in one swift go. The dizziness remains, but despite your blood still rushing in your ears, you can also hear a voice.

"It's okay! You're okay! You're safe!"

You blink rapidly a few times. Your eyes are swimming in and out of focus before they settle on the person in front of you. It's a man dressed in faded blue scrubs. The arms that are pinning you down are his arms, but despite the threatening gesture, his face is full of concern, not threat. You slowly take in your surroundings as you catch your breath. You appear to be in a hospital room of sorts. It's got all the equipment that comes with the territory, beeping machines and all, which you realize are the source of the frantic beeping you heard just seconds ago; their rhythm gradually slowing as your breathing becomes more steady.

The man holding you down releases his grip on your shoulders and moves around your bed to your other side. You follow his movements closely and jerk back when he reaches for your right arm. In response, he takes a step back, hands raised.

"I just wanna help. Can I do that?" He points to your arm when you don't respond. Your eyes briefly flit down to follow his finger. There's blood leaking out of the crook of your arm; the bloody needle of an IV dangling on your bed's railing not far off. Must have pulled it out when I was panicking. It's your first coherent thought since coming to.

You give a court nod and he resumes his work immediately, tending to your wound with concentration. While he works, your eyes work over the room again.

"Where am I?" Your voice comes out rusted and croaky. How long has it been since I've been out?, you wonder and try to think back to the last thing you remember, but you come up blank.

"You're safe," the nurse responds. He's wrapped your arm up in a neat bandage - clean, you notice - and moves over to a cabinet where he retrieves a freshly packed IV needle. "Can I?" He nods at your left arm and you hum in agreement. You watch him insert the needle into your skin before you speak again.

"That's not what I asked." He finishes up his work by attaching the lines of your IV bag to your new access point, checking for air bubbles and tangles, then places his hands on your hand railing. His eyes find yours. "Look, you're safe, and that's all that matters right now." You want to interrupt him, but he holds a finger up. "No, just wait. Someone will be by to explain everything shortly. I'm not at liberty to say. But I promise," he leans in closer, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I promise, you're safe here. Okay?"

It takes a moment, but you nod and sink back into your pillow. Safe my ass, you think. When's the last time that anywhere was really safe? But what choice do you have? Your body is in no shape to fight, let alone to flee. Besides, this hospital bed is the most comfortable thing you've laid on in months. Might as well enjoy it while you can. Who knows what's waiting for you.

According to the clock on the wall, half an hour passes before the door to your room opens again. This time, it's not the male nurse but a woman that enters. She carries herself with the confidence of someone who's word counts. You prop yourself up as she approaches you, stopping a few feet away with crossed arms.

Neither of you speak for a moment. You eye each other, seizing the other woman up, a silent first introduction that seems to go well when she drops her arms to her sides and her body language switches from closed off to more open. Still, you're the first one to speak.

"You in charge?"

"One of the people in charge, yes."

"One of them?"

"There's a council, elected by the town's members." She seems to hesitate but then crosses the remaining distance between you two before holding a hand out.

"I'm Maria. It's nice to finally meet you." You can't help but raise an eyebrow, yet shake her hand anyway.

"Finally? You heard of me?"

"Oh, we heard plenty! Can I?" She nods at the open space on your bed in front of you and takes a seat when you gesture for her to sit down. "You were quite the talk of the town, the way you arrived. On the brink of death." She smiles at you and, to your surprise, it looks genuine. "Happy you pulled through."

There's an uncomfortable silence where you don't know what to say. You fiddle with the blanket between your fingers as quiet settles over you two.

When Maria reaches out to lay a hand on yours, you instinctually flinch back, but then allow the touch. You see a hint of sadness fluttering across her face, but she quickly hides it behind a sympathetic smile. "I don't know what you've been through, but it can't have been pretty. We're willing to offer you a place to stay, a new home if you want it, but we got rules."

A place to stay? A home?

What's the cost? you think, but don't say the question out loud. "Most of all, you've got to be willing to put in the work. We all chip in here," Maria says as if she overheard your thoughts. "Do you think that's something for you?" She gives you a moment to think about it. A smile spreads across her face when you finally nod.

"Great. Now relax, regain your strength. We'll figure everything out over the next couple of days. I'll come by and introduce you to some people so we can figure out where to place you, okay?" Maria slides off your bed and heads for the door. You can see her wringing her hands in anticipation, a mixture of concern and gladness on her face when she turns around to you once more. "You're safe here. You don't have to worry anymore."

She gives you one last smile and then she's out the door. Yeah right, you think. We'll see about that.

There's 57 cracks in the ceiling. You know this because you've counted them yourself, every single night since this house was first appointed to you. Despite the comfortable - clean, one might add -bed, the roof over your head, hell, despite the damn blackout-curtains, you can't find any sleep.

Your insomnia isn't new. The last good night's rest you've had was probably 22 years ago, before all hell broke loose and the world turned into the shithole it is today. You don't remember a day since where you didn't go to bed hungry or worried for your safety. To be fair, it was better when you had her. Despite worrying for two, it was better when she was there, her tiny body curled up against yours-

You stop the thought when the familiar hole aches in your chest. You try not to think about it, about her, because it always ends up hurting, the pain chipping away at the sides of the hole and making it larger with every relived memory.

"Fuck." You whisper, but it's almost as loud as a shout in the dead-quiet of the house. An entire house for a single person. It seems bizarre to you after having lived in tight quarters for so long, presumptuous even. It feels wrong. And lonely, a small voice chirps in the back of your head, but you swat it away like a fly.

"Alright, enough." There's no point in staying in bed any longer. Dawn is approaching outside, the faintest whisper of light slowly creeping over the horizon and casting long shadows across your bedroom. You roll out of bed and slip on your shoes, never having taken off yesterday's clothes. They provided you with an entire new wardrobe when they granted you residence, PJ's included and all, but old habits die hard.

You make your way downstairs where you brew yourself a quick cup of coffee. Out of all the amenities your new home comes with, this one just might be your favorite perk. Where your adrenaline betrays you during the day, you finally get to rely on caffeine again instead. It's one of the small pleasures you grant yourself every now and then, when a night has been particularly rough.

You lean against the kitchen counter in the semi-dark as you drink your coffee, savoring every sip. The world doesn't seem quite so bad in these moments, in the morning quiet with a steaming cup between your hands and the warm liquid running down your throat, warming you from the inside out and filling your body with fresh life force.

It's then that you hear two mumbled voices outside. Fuck. You mouth the word, cursing the fact that you left your gun upstairs. Carefully, you set your cup down and then open the top drawer next to you, taking out a large chopping knife.

Knife in hand and slowly, so as not to make any sound, you tip-toe towards your front door while keeping your back against the wall. You hear the voices growing louder through the thick glass panels that frame the entrance of your house.

"Seriously, Tommy, why me? Just 'cause I brought her in? It's not like we got a special connection or somethin'."

"Then you'll make one! It's not that hard."

You manage to peer out of one of the glass panels and realize with some relief that it's Tommy Miller, Maria's husband, and Joel Miller, his brother.

The fuck they want here so early in the morning?

"Look. When you and Ellie got here, you were all fidgety for the first few months, and I don't blame you with what you've been through. Hell, some nights even I don't sleep thinking about all we got to lose here." You watch as Tommy and Joel climb the front steps of your porch. "But you saw what this place is. What it means, what it stands for. We got something good going here, Joel. I know you can see that. I just want you to help her see that too."

There's a moment of silence between the brothers while they're staring each other down. "Fine." Joel sounds exasperated. "But why me?" An expression takes form on Tommy's face that you can only describe as 'knowing'. You don't like it. "Because," he starts and raises a hand to knock on your door. "You and her, you got the same kind of twitchy."

Before he can bring his fist down on the cold wood, you open the door in one swift motion.

"Mornin', boys."

They turn to you with a stunned look on their faces. Tommy in particular looks a bit strained, obviously wondering how much you heard.

"Saw y'all walking up on my porch when I came through the hallway," you offer in explanation and watch in amusement as relief washes over the younger brother's face. "What's got you comin' up here so early in the morning?"

"Ah." Tommy smiles broadly and slaps his older brother on the back. "Jeff got sick and Joel here needs a replacement buddy for his rounds. Thought maybe you could fill in for him, seeing as how we haven't found a job for you yet." He smiles at you expectantly, but his smile wavers a little the longer you let him wait for a response.

"Fine," you eventually say, mimicking Joel's tone from earlier. "Lemme' just get my jacket."

The first few rays of sunshine trickle over the land as you ride out of Jackson. You keep a steady, albeit not hasty pace next to each other. Despite what you overheard, Joel doesn't make any attempts of forming any kind of connection. You just ride together in silence, keeping a lookout for anything out of place. You're a little too proud to admit it, but the fresh, cold air feels really good on your skin. You make a mental note not to thank Tommy for this little set-up. Twitchy my ass, you think. What's it to him anyway?

The first half of your morning patrol passes by uneventfully. Joel leads you to what you can only assume was a camping site back in the day where he wipes some snow off of a picnic table and pours steaming hot coffee out of a thermos flask into two cups; one for him, one for you. Despite your morning coffee, you gladly accept the little tin cup and sip on the hot liquid.

You both drink your coffee in silence. You don't mind it, in fact, you almost embrace it. Everyone else you come across in Jackson is just so happy all the time, so open and welcoming and smiling that it makes you sick. Joel's stoic silence, in comparison, is refreshing.

"So, you don't talk very much, do you." You blow on your coffee as you watch his face. He turns to you and his eyes lock onto yours where they remain for a moment. "Not really, no," he says finally. "You mind that?"

You can't help but scoff. "God, no. It's refreshing, really. Everyone else is just so... chipper, like, all the time. It's maddening." You wrinkle your nose in disgust and hear a deep chuckle coming from Joel's chest. "That they are."

When you've both finished your coffee, you get back on your horses to start on the remaining half of your patrol. It starts snowing softly, a few flakes here and there, and for a moment, you almost feel something resembling peace.

"Aren't you supposed to be bonding with me?" you quickly say before the feeling can take root. Joel looks over at you. "You heard that, hu?" "Sure did." Now it's Joel's turn to scoff. "Then you heard it was Tommy's idea, not mine."

You purse your lips but nod, your pursed lips eventually growing into a smile. "I can work with that." It's the last words you speak while the two of you control the perimeter. Even though you're not looking, you can tell Joel's smiling out of the corner of your eye.

Back at the stables, you help take the saddles off of your horses and brush them down. You're on your way to leave when you hear Joel behind you. "Y'know, this place really is safe." You don't turn around, but have stopped walking, an indicator that you're listening. "Didn't believe it m'self when I got here, but Tommy's right. They got a good thing goin' here."

"They?" You've turned around after all. Your eyes seek out his. "Thought you're a member of Jackson?"

A dry smile plays around Joel's lips. He turns from you to pick up one of his horse's behind legs. "Sure am. 'S just they're better than I am, is all," he says as he scrapes the bottom of the hoof.

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. The silence stretches between you two and it becomes clear that he's said all there is to say. "Alright." You turn and start your walk home, back to your house that's too big for just one person, but is one of the few places where people will leave you alone. Safe or not safe, it's the only place you've got to go to.

Joel straightens as you leave the stables. He watches as you make your way across the snowy grounds, away from the people and back towards the residential area. He watches and wonders what your story is before returning to the task at hand. None of my business, he tells himself and resumes his work.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

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bunny-lily · 24 days

Text

Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them.

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air.

You envied them.

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia.

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before.

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse.

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation.

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it.

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last.

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively.

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word.

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether.

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward.

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded.

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing.

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you.

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver.

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway.

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud.

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went.

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done.

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living.

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door.

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no. A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them.

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing.

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you.

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not.

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close.

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food.

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction.

There was nothing.

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

banner by cafekitsune ♥

#Tether Me #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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kairiscorner · 8 months

Note

Miguel x nerdy glasses wearing reader 💗

he loves a sweet little nerd to match his big, gruff nerd energy 💓

miguel o'hara x nerdy glasses-wearing reader

miguel o'hara is an intimidating man, a scary, aloof man that always seems to have some reason to be angry at and snap everybody whenever he's in a sour mood. though, little does anyone know that miguel... is a big biology nerd; he spends hours in his personal laboratory and study, just reading and rereading research manuscripts authored by his favorite geneticists and biologists, not because he needs to, but because he finds solace and enjoyment in doing so. he has never shown this side of himself to anybody, not until the new recruit came in and wowed everybody with their extensive knowledge of the human body and the anatomy of spiders.

you were the perfect recruit, and be it in the lab making up all sorts of serums and necessary chemicals, or being in action and finding all the loopholes to the villains' and anomalies schemes—you were just the smartest cookie any of the spiders have ever met, and one with the prettiest eyes underneath those big glasses of yours. you weren't the most confident about your glasses, you preferred your contacts because they didn't stand out, but you hated getting them in and out everyday and maintaining their cleanliness. you resorted to glasses to make your life easier, and the first time you wore glasses at HQ... you really hadn't expected miguel to be staring off into your eyes behind those lenses longer than he usually does when talking to you.

one instance was when miguel took you to his personal lab as his lab partner, or so you call yourself, and he couldn't help but stare at your beautiful eyes every time they lit up when you'd see all the technologically advanced lab apparatuses he had and all the specimen in petri dishes—it was like you were a kid in a candy store, you were so exciteable around all these equipment and all the possibilities that would be made into realities at these. you were helping miguel whip up a new batch of rapture for him, and when you took the reins this time in making it, miguel couldn't help but keep looking at you when you were measuring the components and mixing the chemicals together. when he'd hand you some equipment, he'd accidentally fumble about and hand you the wrong tool—making you correct him awkwardly and smile while stifling a laugh.

"mig, i asked for a graduated cylinder... this is a beaker." you told him with a shy chuckle as you set the glass apparatus away, making miguel scratch his head and apologize softly, a rare sight for such an intimidating man. you giggled gently and nodded. "it's okay, mig." you reassured him as you leaned over to his side and took the graduated cylinder, moving yourself a little closer to miguel than you were before; practically touching him as you leaned over to him.

you two also nerd out a lot about science, specifically biology—you loved learning all about the natural processes of life, it excited you so much to learn more about biology and about life, which... kinda made miguel excited, too, because he had never met anybody like you, or like him for that matter. whenever he'd bring up an obscure biology term, you'd quip with a few more of your own, all the way until you two were talking like walking and breathing biology research papers, smiling all the while as you two nerded out, with everyone else being lost at what they're hearing and seeing unfold between you two.

and when your glasses slowly begin to fall off your face as you're excitedly nerding out to him or discussing to him your interests, miguel instinctively pushes them back up your face all gently, and his touch on your cheek lingers for a short moment, until he forces himself to move back and let go of you. "you're... really nice to look at like this. i like your glasses, a-and i like your... face when you wear them, i-i really... like your... your eyes." he murmurs, looking up at you from underneath his eyelashes, his chestnut brown eyes gazing up at you and looking away from you shyly, making you all embarrassed and smiley at his bashful and flattering remark. "th-thanks..." you whispered as he chuckled under his breath. "no... problem."

he wasn't the most skilled at being a sociable person, but he, too, was like you—a nerd, a nerd that loved the most intricate parts of life—and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, regardless if he was able to articulate his truest feelings towards you to your face or not. he just wanted you to know that he found you beautiful, oh so beautiful—and that nothing will make him love you like this any less; he'll just keep pumping out more oxytocin for you involuntarily as his serotonin levels go up every time he's around you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

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fangswbenefits · 7 months

Text

Lockpicking

Summary: You ask Astarion to teach you how to lockpick and things get... out of hand.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Fingering. Dry humping. Innuendo. Praise kink. Finger licking.

Word count: 1.7k

You should have known better than to have asked him this.

Initially, he had regarded your request with an entertained scoff and no less amount of smugness.

But Astarion did find enjoyment in showing off his skills whenever the situation called for it.

And that was what landed you on your knees, inside some dingy cave near Baldur's Gate.

“You do need to focus, darling.”

You repositioned yourself and straightened your back to properly eye-level with the rusty chest in front of you, thieves’ tools in hand, prodding the stubborn lock.

Astarion was down on one knee, right behind you, body pressed faintly against yours.

An unwanted distraction, no doubt.

His cool hands gripped yours as expert fingers twisted and turned the sharp tools inside the opening.

He always made it look so easy, unlocking doors and chests in the blink of an eye.

“Maybe the lock is faulty,” you huffed in annoyance, allowing him to guide your fingers. “Should we try another one?”

“You're too impatient,” he said disapprovingly, his voice but a whisper next to your ear. “The lock isn't faulty, but it requires some tender love and caring to pry it open.”

Your brows furrowed as you took a deep breath, taking the reins and twisting both tools to the right.

His fingers gripped yours in an instant, and he took control once again, but all to no avail.

You let out a low growl of frustration.

“Darling, lockpicking is like making sweet love,” he chuckled briefly, fingertips grazing the back of your hand. “You need to exercise patience and focus.” You could feel his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Just as a lover, you must listen to them and tend to their needs.”

You nearly rolled your eyes. “You did not just make that comparison.”

“You'll find it to be true. Every lock is different and requires not only the right tools but the right amount of dedication.”

An innuendo?

“That is nothing like love-making.”

A metallic click.

“Did I not just describe how I make love to you, then?”

Inadvertently, your heart jolted into a quicker thrum, and heat rushed to your cheeks as his words caught you off guard.

“Must you be so vulgar?”

He rotated the metallic rods in your hands effortlessly, his body pressing further into yours.

“It's simply the truth, darling,” he said with a click of his tongue. “It's not my fault that dexterity comes in handy in various situations.”

This entire ordeal felt strangely intimate all of a sudden, as if you were both dancing to a tune only Astarion was privy to.

The mechanism clicked once more.

“You're doing good.”

Being sincerely praised by him provided the kind of pleasure that you wouldn't easily find anywhere else.

He rubbed the back of your hand tenderly, effectively letting you know you were on the right path.

“Grip it tighter with the tips of your fingers,” he urged before pressing a fleeting kiss just behind your ear. “You must keep a firm grip.”

Shivers spread across your body at the feel of his cold lips caressing your sensitive skin.

You swallowed hard, finding it extremely difficult to concentrate on the task at hand with your lover actively working against you.

Your hands jittered, and you nearly dropped one rod.

“You're awfully distracted.”

The familiar pool of heat in your lower abdomen flared at his taunting words, but you cleared your throat and shoved one of his hands away, wanting to keep your focus and sanity intact.

“I've got this.”

He scoffed. “Have it your way, then.”

You expected a snarky remark and triumphantly smiled to yourself as you were met with his silence instead.

Narrowing your eyes, you kept prodding the opening with renewed focus, following his previous instructions.

You heard a few more clicks, but not the one you were in search of.

And then you felt his free hand grazing the waistband of your trousers, fiddling with the buckle of your belt.

And just like that, your concentration was broken yet again.

“What are you doing?”

Silence.

Experienced fingers pulled on the strap until it was set loose.

Your eyes widened, and the tools in your hands quivered as you came to a halt. “...Astarion?”

He undid the button next and gently tugged on the fabric. “As you said, you've got this,” he whispered dangerously low in your ear. “And I've got you,” he finished before slipping his hand inside.

Your mouth dropped open as his finger trailed past your undergarments and settled between your folds.

Immediately, your hips jerked, and you let out a strained gasp as the throb intensified.

“Focus,” he cooed, rubbing gentle circles. “You're nearly there.”

His other hand steadied your grip around the tool.

“Try rotating it to the left.”

Your hands were getting sweaty and far too jittery, and you nearly dropped the one on your left when he began drawing circles anti-clockwise to match his words.

Words failed you, and you could only gasp, allowing him to take control, using the tool to turn the mechanism.

“Hear that sound?”

You heard a faint metallic pang coming from the opening.

“Focus on the sound coming from the lock,” he said in between kisses on your neck. “Make it sing, and it will open up for you.”

He increased the pace, and you moaned loudlier than intended, eyes fluttering shut as you rolled your hips against him, yearning for more and more friction.

“Hear how beautiful it sounds?”

“Yes…”

At this point, you weren't sure if he was indeed referring to the locking mechanism or to how you kept whimpering under his touch.

He then bucked his hips into you, and you felt the unmistakable print of his strained erection pressed against your lower back.

The motion nearly had you tumbling forward had it not been for his free hand that steadied you.

“Easy now, darling,” he teased, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Maybe you should part your legs. For balance, of course,” he added, but you doubted that was the real motive.

Even so, you quickly shifted your knees apart just enough to grant him further access.

“Good girl.”

You had to bite down hard on your lip to suppress a moan.

One finger circled your entrance, and you felt a gush of wetness spilling from you with each stroke.

Your hands quivered from the stimulation, rattling the metal rods inside the lock.

He brought his hand back to yours, his thumb caressing your unsteady fingers. “You're nearly there… just a little more prodding…”

“Astarion…” you groaned in frustration.

He immediately hushed you. “Careful… we don't want to draw unwanted attention, do we?”

Just as he finished delivering his taunt, he dragged his finger to spread your wetness across the throbbing swell in between your folds.

The overwhelming sensation was too much to bear, and your hand dropped to your thigh, gripping the rod tightly as if holding on for dear life.

He paused his ministrations in an instant.

“You'll need to slide that one inside to unlock it, darling.”

You couldn't care less about the damned chest, as the need for release took over you.

But Astarion seemed to have other plans.

“Slide it in,” he said, gripping your wrists. “Go on… I'll help.”

You slumped lightly against him, enjoying how his cock kept on hardening against you, and how he was beginning to lose his composure, low grunts erupting from the back of his throat.

He lifted your hand, and just as he slid the tool back inside, you felt a finger slip inside your entrance until he was knuckle-deep.

“See how easily it slides in?”

You rolled your hips, wanting to fuck yourself on his finger, riding it desperately.

The increasing pressure in your lower abdomen began to blur your vision as your mouth fell agape, your senses taken over by him.

You were close.

Too close.

Deliciously close.

And he knew it.

Of course he did.

Astarion was a dedicated and devoted lover who didn't shy away from having you come undone for him.

“Nearly there…” he said, rolling his own hips into you.

You kept on riding his finger, the heel of his palm pressing down between your folds, further pushing you over the ends on your sanity.

His free hand still covered yours, his slender fingers fully guiding you, and you couldn't even understand how he was able to keep his focus on the damned lock as you rode him.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, and he seized the moment to tease your exposed skin with his fangs.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard a familiar clicking sound.

“Let go, darling… I've got you.”

His sweet guidance was all you needed from him to finally tip over the edge, plunging headfirst into the blinding wave of pleasure that began tearing through your body like lightning.

He added a second finger just in time, prompting the neediest sobs to erupt from deep within you, and he quickly covered your mouth with his other hand, muffling your cries of pleasure.

“There you go.” He cooed sweetly.

You immediately dropped the tools to the floor with a loud pang and gripped his wrist in the hopes that would be enough to anchor you.

For a split second, you considered biting his hand to suppress the uncontrollable moans but decided against it, enjoying how your voice reverberated across his palm.

And as you began spasming against him, you heard the most delicious hiss spill from him, his strained cock rutting further into your lower back.

You clenched hard and rhythmically around his fingers, riding out your wave of pleasure.

His hand eventually dropped from your face, and he planted the softest kiss to the flushed skin of your cheek.

“Well done, darling.”

You gradually went limp against him, struggling to control your breaths and hearing your heart still pounding hard in your ears.

“Gods… that was…”

The words died in your throat as he slid out of you, earning a whimper from you.

As you regained some of your strength and battled your sore muscles, you turned your head to face him.

“How are you so good with your fingers?"

He chuckled as he tasted your wetness that dripped from his fingers.

“In which way?”

Your gaze was fixed on how his tongue expertly wiped you clean from him.

“Don't play coy. I wish I could be this skilled…"

His crimson eyes narrowed deviously. “I'm sure you'll get there, eventually – well, probably not, though.”

You gave him an offended glare.

He nudged his head to the chest in front of you, and you watched in perplexity as the lid had slightly shifted.

“Not that hard, was it?”

Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x mc #astarion scenario #astarion x female oc

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