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wetcatspellcaster · 5 months

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If it’s not [REDACTED] material you plan on covering further on in Pieces, would you mind talking about why Hemlock is so jealous of Rosalie? It seems like every time she’s “on screen” she’s making some sort of jab at Rosie concerning either Astarion/Rosalie’s past relationship, or Astarion and Hemlocks (insinuated?) carnal activities, but hardly anyone ever comments on it. Like poor Hemmie practically spat the fact Astarion comes to her bed in Rosalie’s face during Chapter 12 in front of Shadowheart but no one acknowledges that she’s constantly trying to make Rose upset with this info. Is it just the power of the Ascendant that Hemlock is drawn to and makes her wish she was on Rosalie’s level (in Astarion’s eyes), or is it the bond between vampire and spawn that makes her act like this?

Hey anon! Thank you for the question! I'll try to answer you as best I can without spoilers :)

Firstly, the reason no one ever comments on Hemlock's behaviour or the buckwild things she says is because.... they all find it kind of cringe :') In my mind, by this point in the timeline, this party and Tav have encountered Gortash, Orin, Cazador, Raphael, Mizora, the Emperor's bullshit... not to mention any villains Rose encountered in her post game life, and in Avernus. They've had their fair share of villain speeches! They're used to it! They feel like water off a duck's back at this point! It's easier to simply not acknowledge it, than engage.

(Rose talks about the social energy it takes to interact with evil people in another fic I've written, she's just like "more than anything, it's exhausting to act like I value their opinions and pretend I care".)

Hemlock also thinks her and Rosalie are fighting over an Ascended Astarion... they're not. Rose doesn't want Ascended Astarion. So when Hemlock's like, "yeah, did I mention we fucked", Rose is just like "...and? you and every other person in that house. happy for you, i guess?" Like yes, it does sting a little in the sense that it shows how much Astarion has changed... but it's kind of missing the real mark? And most of Rose's friends know her well enough to know that, but especially Shadowheart, who walked round that awful dungeon with her.

That being said, Rose is more petty with Hemlock when they're alone and no one's there to judge her, but that's more because of the Feeblemind than anything.

As for Hemlock's motivations, it's unfortunately a mixture of all of the things you list above. Astarion's spawn are all people he recruited post-Ascendency, so all of them buy into his spiel to some extent. Hemlock, in particular, is a person who was already evil-aligned before she became a vampire. She was promised a lot of power and a position of supposed equals (where have we heard that before?) I do think, if she doesn't have feelings for Astarion, or may now have started to reach a point where some of the sheen of this hot, all-powerful vampire man has been tarnished, she does at least want the peak ascendency romance: the glamour, the debauchery, and the power that comes with it (she is, essentially, a Tav that picks all the pro-evil plan lines in the dialogue tree and means it).

Instead, she's forced to live a circumscribed and domesticated life, because of some girl she's never met, who Astarion waxes lyrical about whenever he has a free moment to pause for breath. In Chapter 13, I reveal that all the spawn have to live according to Rose's dictate of 'no harm' - notice that Astarion enforces that perfectly on all the people he can literally command, meanwhile he is the only person with freedom in that situation, and he can act however he likes and keeps 'messing it up uwu'. He thinks he's being 'good' and doing vampirism 'well', but what it actually is is just hypocrisy, and a way to continue to exercise power over those he controls, to some extent. Hemlock is someone who actually wants to be an evil vampire, or even a Cazador, and can't, because she's not given the free will with which to do so.

So Hemlock has this mixture of 'I am actually in love with this man and want what he promised me'; or 'I was in love with this fantasy and now I'm facing the reality, after having sold my soul, and even if I hate it here now I'm trapped, I want to find any way to salvage this so I've got to continue pretending he's right'; 'I fucking hate this woman who I'm constantly compared to and can never live up to, even though, to my mind, she sounds fucking stupid'; ....AND then there's the bond between vampire and servant. Hemlock tells Rose that she's already under orders not to displease Astarion - I fully believe that order has been in place for a long time. This Astarion words commands and orders in a way that means the spawn have the illusion of cooperation and free choice, which basically means he makes the spawn complicit in their own oppression. He'll say something like "because you've upset me, you should go to the dungeon cells and starve yourself and not move, while you think about what you've done" - that's still, to all intents and purposes, an order (especially when you're already under orders not to displease him).

Hemlock says a lot of what she says to Rosalie because it's easier to hate the woman who 'ruined her life' and 'prevents Astarion from reaching his full potential', rather than examine anything too closely and realise she's ruined her life herself. If she stops buying into the vampirism she chose, she's fucked bc it's not like she can leave it, so better to hate anything else but being a spawn.

It's just also unfortunate, that she thinks the way to hurt Rose is to brag about sleeping with Astarion. But then, the only version of Astarion Hemlock has ever known is obsessed with sex, so why wouldn't she think the woman who loves him wouldn't be as well?

I hope that makes sense! Sorry, this ended up being very long!

#asks #anons #wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth #I'm not sure if Hemlock feels like a consistently written character but tbh she just has the same cognitive dissonance as an act 1 astarion #so like... spawn 'how dare you try to save me. i dont want to be saved' syndrome. only she hasn't admitted any of what she has is trauma.#but this is then coupled with the fact that she's evil aligned. so it's hard to want to give her free will when part of her baggage is:#'but what if i want to commit atrocities :((((((('#hemlock tag

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simcardiac-arrested · 5 months

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um. hey

ns - nwb cd - son fta - wt ris - soar

YESSSSYEYAYEYSYES AHHH WELCOME TO CAT WORLD

#I LOVE ALL OF THESE SO MUCH YOU DID SUCH A GREAT JOB!!!!!#FATES IS SO PRETTY OMGGGG LOVE HOW U INCORPORATED HIS SYMBOL AND ANTENNAE #YAYYY YIPPEEE RUNNING AROUND AND RUNNING AROUND. AND RUNNING AROUND #weaving is so tired old man cat #AND IT’S SO COOL HOW U KEPT THE SHAPES FOR RIS AND SOAR UEAHYYY #giving soar the craycr autism stare #it’s what they would’ve wanted #cramswering #is for me tag #oh what the fuck do i have to tag them all Fuck me #oc: needless separation #oc: no way back #oc: cognitive dissonance #oc: speaks of nothing #oc: fates torn again #oc: weaving tales #oc: recognition in spirit #oc: spins on axis rapidly #good lird

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alectoperdita · 2 years

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Some people in this fandom really like to blatantly ignore the original cultural context of this canon and continue to apply American-centric reading to the characters and situations while simultaneously using their original names. When will this tedium end?

#look just use their dub names #it will give significantly less cognitive dissonance #stop pretending you care about the Japanese characterization when you don't #lean into your American-centric worldview and own it at least #god these hormones really got me raring to fight #Alecto vents about dumb inconsequential shit #also just had to drop so much money on repairing a waterstain that sprouted in our bathroom virtually overnight #cranky and now ranting about dumb shit instead

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thekenobee · 1 year

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Never have I ever binge-read ANYTHING like this series | BOOK NO 4

#FIRST chapter was such a bittersweet symphony ahhh #Jack doesn't want to upset Sophie so he keeps on pretending yet Sophie KNOWS he's pining for being out there at the sea #also a bit where he admits he wanted a boy to TAKE him to the sea BC it's the only thing he knows ... why don't you give me a paper cut #Mr O'Brian #and pour some lemon juice on it #also Im having a wee bit of a cognitive dissonance as HOW can the author call Stephen LIZARD face and then ...you know Paul Bettany #I DON'T HONESTLY KNOW #also all the bits where jack is OBESE (Stephen it might be best if you weren't so forthcoming in the first place) and then You've got #RUSSELL CROWE #i can't #when it comes To Murder In Provence Series i had NOT one problem with picturing actors as these characters- Roger Allam as Antoine Verlaque #but here im like LIZARD FACE PAUL BETTANY??? 😂#DEFFO NOT ADONIS RUSSELL CROWE? 😂#my thoughts #MY PROBLEMS #patrick o'brian #aubrey/maturin #aubrey maturin #jack aubrey #Stephen maturin #of mice and me #books #debs reads

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shortscircuits · 1 year

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just finished confessions of a failed southern lady and it was so good </3

#thats the second memoir ive read recently about/by gay southerners and its made me feel so in touch with my heritage #it sounds obvious but like...reading about gays who were raised in the same culture as me is so healing #its like. my feelings about queerness make sense because of that context #i feel like growing up online can distance people from the context of their upbringing. at least thats how it feels for me #or using the internet makes me feel an urge to dismiss or ignore the context of my culture and the way i was raised #and it creates this cognitive dissonance that just blends in with any discomfort i still have with my own queerness #and makes it feel like my internalized homophobia feel so much bigger and stronger #WHICH IS ALL TO SAY...thank fuck for queer memoirs giving me that context again and effectively shrinking my discomfort with my identity

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mybrainproblems · 2 years

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many many selfish and unintelligible and conflicting and angry thoughts. i'm sorry. please ignore.

#i feel like i'm being so whiny and entitled bc i'm american but of ukrainian heritage and russia's war hits in an emotionally weird way #like this is not happening to me but it's probably happening to my unknown distant relatives #unknown and distant bc my relatives who immigrated fully assimilated but there are some cultural practices we held onto #and even tho they fully assimilated culturally and never passed on language or much history there are still these little pieces #of our heritage that i grew up with and even in assimilating they were still proudly and emphatically ukrainian #so russia's war is simultaneously personal and yet has nothing to do with me and i have no idea how to feel about this #i alternate between the emotional distance of being an american and crying bc this is where part of my family is from & it feels so selfish #i am sad that my relatives felt the need to assimilate and we lost that connection to our heritage but russia's goal is exterminating it #this feels so fucking selfish to be upset and i hate talking about it but it's hitting me *hard* again this morning #i hold the cognitive dissonance of being an american with the luxury of being anti nato/military while also being pro ukrainian military &#supporting nato expansion to curb russian imperialism #ideologically i am against militarization. realistically i know that russia doesn't give a fuck about diplomacy. western leftists fuck off #talking about n/azis in ukraine and not supporting ukraine bc of that and being anti nato expansion #it is selfish for me to be talking about this and being so upset but western leftists are making me so angry. RUSSIA is making me angry.#i'm sorry for venting about this and making this about me but i just need to get this out somewhere #so. slava ukraini 💙💛 i hope russia is defeated. i hope someday we see an end to nato and militarization but today is NOT that day.#this feels personal and yet the only way i'm personally affected as an american is by increased prices and orgs i donate to #i'm sorry and i hope ukrainians are able to return home soon. that western europe helps rebuild and support doesn't end with guns & bombs

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arabaka · 17 days

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you know what's absolutely insane? in 20-30 years, if i'm alive, i'm going to be one of the adults in a pride parade breaking down into the arms of someone holding a sign like this

#every day my heart breaks a little more about my mom #every day she gives me another reason to hurt and my brain is like “but moms shouldn't hurt their daughters so it's fine we still love her”#but... idk anymore #cognitive dissonance ig

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myname-isnia · 2 months

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I’ve been so completely out of it all day bc of last night’s revelation, it’s literally been the only thing I could think about, and the deeper I get in analysing my life experiences the more realisations I come to, and each one feels more horrific than the last.

Not horrific as in terrible, but as in it feels like whatever remains of my sense of self is completely falling apart. I thought I was bi for so long, didn’t even spend a single second questioning it. Never did I even think that I may be wrong, it seemingly made too much sense for me to be wrong. But the sense it made was the fact I was attracted to both male and female characters in animated shows, not real people.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a crush on a real person before. Not on someone I knew irl, nor on some actor/celebrity, nor on someone I saw on tiktok or wherever. And it’s like, I can acknowledge someone is attractive, even that someone is beautiful or hot, but it’s never personal when I do. Pretty girls I see don’t linger in my mind at all. I can’t picture myself dating them or getting intimate or kissing them or anything. It’s a purely aesthetic attraction with no feelings behind it. With animated/drawn characters it’s different, I can actually feel all the physical side-effects of looking at someone you’re romantically attracted to. But when the scale of a drawing slides too far towards realism, like with museum paintings or even that one Suiren portrait I drew once, the attraction fades again. I’m just not and have never been attracted to real people.

At my old school the topic of which celebrities you found hot came up often and I never knew what to say. Naming the ones I knew were conventionally beautiful but I wasn’t personally attracted to felt like lying, so eventually I started naming people my mom found hot. She’d tell me which actors she had a crush on when we watched movies or shows together and I pretended to see her point. After a while I managed to convince myself that it wasn’t pretending and that I really agreed with her. I realise now it all boiled down to purely aesthetic attraction again, I had no genuine interest in them. And one could assume it was just my preference for women showing, but female celebrities faced the exact same treatment from me.

I started reevaluating a lot of sexuality-related feelings and life moments. My dad’s SIL often laments how I’m 17 and don’t have a boyfriend yet, and when I say I don’t want one she goes “Why? It’s not like you have to sleep with him, wouldn’t it be nice to be gifted flowers and taken on dates and the like?” I usually just shrug but my internal answer was always a resounding no. I once again thought I just liked girls more, but when I actually thought about what if dad’s SIL wasn’t homophobic and posed the question in a sapphic way, I realised that my answer wouldn’t change. I don’t want a partner of any gender or to be taken out on dates or anything like that.

It was here that things really started to go downhill for me last night bc then, once I realised I didn’t want a girlfriend, I turned my attention to the more sexual side of things. It’s possible to be aromantic and allosexual, right? But I’ve known for a while that a lot of sex-related things are a very big ick for me, penetration of any kind being on top of the list. Forget dicks and toys, I don’t want fingers or tongues inside me either, not have I ever used a tampon. But not everyone likes penetration, that’s fine, there are other things. But the thought of someone lavishing my tits with affection just makes me way too hyper aware of them which triggers my dysphoria, and I’ve always found kissing to be extremely gross, and… pretty much every sexual act I can think of causes some kind of rejection in me. Fantasies are fine, fics/writing are fine, even watching porn is fine for the most part (even then, I can only get off to it if I imagine 2d characters in place of the people), but the second I think of something actually being done to me? It makes my toes curl in a very much bad way.

I’m by no means a completely non-sexual being, quite the opposite actually. I’m horny a lot of the time and it’s completely normal for me to get off at least once almost every day, but again, it’s all only in fantasies (which never feature me, only characters). I’m so averse to the idea of fucking or being fucked that I don’t even touch myself, ever. I accidentally discovered that rubbing my thighs together in a specific way feels good when I was younger and have just been doing that ever since. I’ve tried using my hands but it’s just not pleasurable in any way. I really don’t want anything or anyone touching me, ever, at all. And it’s so weird to realise because it seems natural for someone with as high of a libido as mine to want to be fucked, right? But the mere thought disgusts me and causes insane anxiety to overtake my entire body, and idk if there’s a clearer way for my mind to tell me that no, you don’t want any of that, trust me.

That’s another thing. Maybe I’m just scared. I have debilitating anxiety, I’m terrified of literally everything, of course that, added to my body image issues and complete inexperience in all manners romantic or sexual, would result in these types of feelings. Maybe I just haven’t met the right person yet who will awaken my attraction to real people and cause me to want a partner and romance and sex and whatever else. Maybe I’ve convinced myself that I’m too much of a mess for anyone to love me so it’s better to label myself as aroace before I get my heart broken. I don’t know. But writing it off on all that doesn’t feel right, and while I’m not exactly the best judge of my own feelings, my gut is telling me that I’m wrong. It’s not anxiety and inexperience, it’s my very real borderline aromantic and asexual feelings finally being acknowledged.

I think back on my life. I thought I had serious crushes before, I even had a girlfriend for a few months, but that was all initiated by someone else. The other person showed interest first and I thought “Okay, they’re pretty enough, maybe I can do this, maybe I just need to get into it and the feelings will come later”. Nothing ever went anywhere beyond hand holding or brief hugs, and I was okay with that. I enjoyed spending time with them and lit up whenever they showed up and thought that’s what loving someone felt like. But now that I have real friends that I’m 100% sure I’m not attracted to, I realised I feel the exact same way towards them. I just like being with people who want to spend time with me and who I share common interests with, and I like being paid attention to. Nothing romantic to it. When it comes to my good friends I always had a position of “Well I don’t find them particularly attractive but if they were romantically interested in me then I’d go for it” and thought that was a crush. It’s no wonder anything vaguely romantic in my life ended before it could properly start. Really hard to be in love with or build a relationship with someone who clearly doesn’t feel romantically interested in you, even if they’re trying very hard to be.

And that’s the center of the whole issue. There’s nothing wrong with being aroace, nor with being wrong about the label you chose when you were 12. What makes be sob for hours is this feeling as if a knife was driven through my heart. All these years I’ve been subconsciously lying to myself and I didn’t even know. I can’t blame myself for that, I’m aware, I had no way of realising I was wrong because I never had any experience. But the pain and confusion and sense of being lost are still there, beyond all rationalisation. And all those times I said I wanted to be railed by a pretty girl and other similar things to that? Also not true. I said those things because it felt like what a horny queer girl should say. It wasn’t a conscious lie, I really believed it when I said it, it never even registered as false until now. Until I dug deep inside myself and realised I don’t want to be railed by anyone in any way ever. For the longest time I genuinely thought I wanted what’s normal for queer allosexual women to want. It��s hard coming to terms with that I really, really don’t. I’ll definitely need some time to process everything properly,

Honestly, this revelation isn’t too surprising, all things considered. I once had a conversation with someone who talked about those younger years of every queer girl, staring at other girls in the changing rooms, wanting to date them, wanting to be a boy so it’d be possible before they knew gay people existed and becoming sneakier with their glances after they found out. And I really couldn’t relate to that. I’ve never felt attracted enough to someone to experience any of that. Back then I thought I couldn’t relate bc I never had a sexuality crisis nor did I hide my sexuality from the other girls in my class, almost all of whom were queer too. Turns out I just genuinely don’t experience attraction like that. Or at least I think I don’t. I don’t know. Now that I’ve got most of my thoughts regarding all this on ‘paper’, hopefully I’ll have a clearer mind and can come to a more concrete conclusion. And for now… let’s just put me very firmly in the ‘questioning’ box.

#maybe I am wrong. maybe it is my inexperience talking for me and once I lose my virginity I’ll realise it feels good and start wanting it #but that most likely won’t happen anytime soon. if ever #that’s another point. in any other circumstance there would be no rush to figure it out #I could make it to college or whatever and maybe try dating around a little to see if it really does cause such an aversion in me #but I don’t have that time guaranteed #I don’t know how long I could go on for. I don’t know if I’ll even reach my 18th birthday #what if I lose myself in my darkest thoughts and snap. give up. end it all #wouldn’t really matter what I identify as then. would it #but I’m trying hard not to think about that #just… if I were to go. I’d prefer to do it with at least some certainty gained in life #out of all possible things. sexuality feels like the most realistic one #I’d like to know that about myself #but that’s all hypothetical. I’m not planning anything. I’m too much of a coward to even be capable of it #for now. at least #and currently I just… feel so weird about all this #and how could I not? it’s like I said. my entire sense of self is falling apart #I’m pulled in so many different directions. am I aroace or just scared or traumatised??#does it even matter? should it matter? why do I care so much?#the cognitive dissonance between saying I would consider immigrating to be railed by a hot girl #and then realising I don’t want to be railed at all withing like. an hour of each other #is driving me absolutely mad #who even am I anymore #I still enjoy reading smut. nothing’s changed. I’ve just became acutely aware that idk what any of what’s described would feel like #nor do I really want to find out #and all of the kinks I’ve labelled as mine are actually just things I like reading about. not what I want to experience #god.. I almost wish I never stared thinking about this. life is hard enough already #I don’t want to feel like I’ve been lying to myself for the last five years even if it wasn’t intentional #I don’t want to have to reassess my entire being #I was comfortable and confident in calling myself bi. but after today and last night that label just doesn’t fit anymore #I just feel so lost… fuck. I spent 2 hours typing all this out. I need a nap. and perhaps a long cry too

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douglasthedragon01 · 1 year

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Mini vent in the tags lol

#my mom is singing that tiktok victorias secret song #yknow the one about how beauty standards have fucked over people? (specifically young girls but w/e)#the fucking irony is that she spent my childhood/ adolescence telling me to feel bad about my body.#yesterday she apologized for giving me my arms #the cognitive dissonance would be impressive if it wasnt so fucking depressing.#she makes me feel bad for every bite i take in her presence and she has the gaul to sing that song

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simcardiac-arrested · 9 months

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Needed a warm up, remembered how I saw this little guy for the first time and literally screamed

She is so ever to me, I think she should cause so many problems on purpose

i just opened tumblr and saw this and i am being so serious when i say this made my organs turn to mush and make me pace around the house for a good 3 minutes just to start having coherent thoughts

#but don’t be fooled i do NOTTT have coherent thoughts anymore because HUH ?!?! HUH ?!?!?!?!? C ?!?!?!!?!?!#⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ THERES JUST NO WAY THIS IS IN MY INBOX RIGHT NOW IM HALLUCINATING THIS BECAUSE OF THE 31 C HEAT SURELY #OH MY GODDDD #screaming at a brick wall HHHEEEELLP HELP MEEEEE SOMEBODY HHHEEEELEPPPPP GHEEELLPPPP #WHAT ARE YOU DOIGN TO ME #oh my god they look so fucking good in your style i dont even know what to say. i dont know. i need to give you money #THE POSES???? THEY ALL LOOK SO AWESOME SHE’S SUUUUCH A LITTLE EVIL BEAST DOING STRETCHIES #oh good gracious (falls on the ground and explodes)#i’m in love with how you drew her human form as well i need to ruffle her hair. quickly #the warning sign on her eye ueeeueuehgghhhshhh #literally what are you doing to me. whag are you doing to me #cramswering #is for me tag #oc: cognitive dissonance #adding tags with tears in my eyes #do you u even understand what you’ve done I HAVE MUSIC CLASS IN 15 MINUTES I SHOULD BE FOCUSING ON THAT #BUT INSTEAD I’LL BE THINKING ABOUT HOW U DREW CD FOR THE WHOLE HOUR. DO U UNDERSTAND #aueueghhhgg THANK YOU SO MUCH MAN i’m so honored you would draw my ocs as warmup ueeue #soungof crying

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sluttywoozi · 2 months

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Bloodhound Pt. I | chs x reader

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.5k | Pairing: chs x reader | Genre: romance, supernatural au

Life as a vampire isn't the easiest for Vernon, friend-wise or feeding-wise. He's ready to find a solution, and he thinks it just might be you.

Warnings: blood mentions (i mean it's a vampire fic like ...), non explicit sexual advances from strangers online, suggestive thoughts, involuntary thoughts of violence/murder, the briefest angst (it's me lbr), food mention, mention of being unable to eat

Reader Notes: human, has 2 brothers (i don't name or describe them so they can be other members if u want), currently ungendered (will have breasts and vagina in future smut)

It took a while for Vernon to figure out what happened to him. He still doesn’t know all the details, just that he woke up in an alley with blood all over his clothes and a burning in his throat that wouldn’t cease, and even now, he doesn’t know who did this. Who made him like this.

This being a vampire, of course.

He knew they existed, but in his short twenty five years walking the earth as a human, he doesn’t think he ever met one. He supposes now he has, considering the fact that he didn’t just wake up like this out of nowhere. He wonders if they meant to change him, or if he bit back and managed to get some of their blood in his system before they left him for dead.

Either way, he’s a vampire now, and it fucking sucks. Literally and metaphorically.

There are many cons, and only a few pros, he’s discovered in the six months since he was turned. He can’t go out in the sun anymore, and he’s so strong, he’s broken three phones. Worse than that, he likes the taste of blood now, likes feeling the coppery liquid fill his mouth before he swallows it down, likes the way it soothes his throat and sates his hunger. His brain still screams at him that it’s not normal or right or cool of him to be drinking fucking blood, and the cognitive dissonance gives him a headache every time he feeds.

That’s another con, the feeding. He doesn’t want to just snatch innocent people and drain them dry like his maker did, but he can’t afford blood bags like the rich vampires, and he also hates the synthetic options available on the market. They all have an awful taste, like too sour grapes, and the weirdest consistency, just a bit too thin to alleviate the burning he still feels.

That leaves him to find willing donors, which is surprisingly difficult when you don’t want to fuck them too. He doesn’t have anything against fetishists, but he also doesn’t have a lot of experience, and gaining it with people who only like him because he’s a vampire isn’t what he wants.

He’s tried the apps, tried the matching services, but they all lead to people who just want him for his venom, and he’s grown tired of it. So, he does the next logical thing.

He puts an ad out on Craigslist.

Vernon wakes from his daily rest to find his inbox completely full, his phone buzzing on a near constant vibration with every email received. He props himself up on an elbow in bed (no, he doesn’t sleep in a coffin), and scrolls through, cringing at all of the sexual subject lines and wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have included pictures.

He felt like it was the normal thing to do, share part of himself in hopes someone will share back, but it seems all he’s done is made them feel bolder, made them feel more comfortable being open about what they want from him, even though he clearly put NOT DTF in the listing. But maybe that’s a good thing?

He can easily weed out the people who don’t actually want to help him out, and he doesn’t even have to open every single message to find out who they are. His thumb blurs as he deletes email after email, the amount in his inbox dwindling the longer he swipes, until finally, he’s left with one unread.

The subject line is innocuous enough, [interested in becoming friends with “benefits”], and he opens it to find a picture of you, with your arms extended on either side and seemingly wrapped around something, though nothing appears in the picture. You begin by saying that your two vampire brothers took the photo with you, which explains the empty spaces, and continue to tell him that they were changed against their will, attacked on their way home from seeing Spiderman in the movies a few years ago.

That tugs the corners of his lips down, makes him feel sorry that there are other vamps out there like him, other vamps who didn’t choose this life. He knew he wasn’t the only one, but seeing, or he supposes not seeing proof drives the idea home.

Apparently, they struggled with finding a source of sustenance too, never wanting to turn to you for your blood or your help, and when you saw his post, it made you think maybe you could help someone, in some way.

He’s curious what solution your brothers found, and curious if you’re really offering to be fwbb (friends with blood benefits), but reminds himself to be cautious - this could all be a lie to lure him in, to get his defenses down so you can go after what you really want. He maintains that thought as he types out a reply to you, trying to play it cool and not get his hopes up.

Vernon | hey! im sorry to hear what happened to your brothers, my turning was under similar circumstances. ive been looking for someone for a while, someone who i could feed from without hurting, but maybe also a friend too? Idk i lost most of mine when i was changed, even though i didn’t ask for it, and it would be nice to have someone who understands like it seems you could

Okay, so that didn’t come out cautious at all. He practically laid his soul bare and sent it off to you with a smile (literally he ended the email with his name and a smiling emoji). But it’s already in the void, in the cloud, out of his hands, and now all he can do is wait.

Vernon doesn’t have to wait for long, he finds. You reply within minutes, the buzz making him jump and glance away from the space he was staring into. He does that a lot now, just finds some point in the room and sets his eyes on it, thoughts running through his mind in circles and zig zags and parallel lines.

His phone is still lit up with the email icon, and when he brings it up to his face, it unlocks to reveal a new message from you.

You | Oh no, I hate to hear it happened to you too! Is it still fresh? I know you said you were only turned a few months ago. My brothers wouldn’t even see me for a year after, too concerned that they’d snap and hurt me. I never had that fear, but I never blamed them for it either.

Funny, that’s the fear that drove his friends away in the first place. It’s nice to hear you don’t have it, that you accepted your brothers’ new forms immediately and also accepted their worries, didn’t get upset or hold it against them when they felt they couldn’t be near you for your own safety.

You | I think we could definitely make this work! I have blood and friendship to spare, and you’re in need of both. My only restriction is that I can’t offer too much of the first on weekdays, I teach third grade and I need all my energy to wrangle those kids :-)

So you’re a teacher too? Are you just entirely altruistic or…?

If you are, he thinks this might really be good, maybe even great. His heart would be racing if it could still move, and he can’t stop himself from scrolling back up to find your picture. He didn’t pay much mind to it before, didn’t study your face like he’s doing now, and he really should have before responding to you.

Because you’re beautiful, and he’s in danger.

In danger of what, he doesn’t know, but he can feel it stirring in his belly, burning like hunger and brewing like need, and before he knows it, his fangs are poking at his bottom lip and his dick is throbbing.

But he won’t give in, won’t ruin this with his base desires, won’t become something to fear.

He needs a blood source and a friend, and if he wants you to be both, he can’t be lusting after you like the monster he worries he really is.

Vernon exchanges emails with you for days after that, going over logistics and preferences and possibilities. You decide together that you’ll meet next month, after some time spent getting to know and trust each other, and he decides not to feed from you that first meeting, wanting you to feel comfortable and safe with him before he sinks his teeth into you.

It makes him feel giddy almost, the anticipation of having a friend, of having someone to drink from who doesn’t carry ulterior motives, of having you. Emails become texts which become calls, and soon enough, he’s got the tone and cadence of your voice memorized. He learns how you take your coffee in the morning, knows that you’d both die and kill for your kids, hears the love in your voice when you’re talking about your brothers.

You’re a real, genuine person, and Vernon can’t wait to meet you.

The days and nights fly by now that he has someone to talk to, and it only hits him the week before your meetup that not only will he be meeting you, you’ll be meeting him.

You’ll be seeing and hearing and perceiving him, and suddenly, he’s nervous out of his mind. He hasn’t met anyone that stuck around since he was changed, and he’s all too aware that you could slip out of his life just as easily as you slipped in.

In the days before, he tries to remind himself that you’ve already heard his voice, already seen his face, that you know he’s a vampire and haven’t shown any sign of running.

It doesn’t occur to him to worry about his own reaction to you, which is mistake number one.

Mistake number two is going to your meeting hungry.

You settle into the booth, latte in hand and heart beating out of your chest, and keep your eyes locked on the door. Vernon should be arriving soon, and with so many conflicting emotions razing your thoughts, you don’t know how you feel exactly.

You’re nervous, of course, as you should be when it comes to meeting online people in real life. You’re scared a little, because what if he’s not as harmless as he seems? He is still a vampire, and he could still easily kill you. But you’re also a bit… excited? He’s cute and sweet and in dire need of a confidante, and you think you could be that for him.

Over the weeks spent getting to know Vernon, you’ve grown fond of him, fond of his dry jokes and his media recommendations and his fascinating opinions, and you’re interested to see if your easy back and forth will remain in person.

This should be a good environment to test it out, you think.

You chose this cafe because it’s open twenty four hours, but also because it’s welcoming to vamps, serving a few synthetic options and even carrying donated blood for those with a bigger budget.

What will Vernon get, you wonder? Will he go for synthetic even though he’s admitted to you that he hates it, or will he spring for a blood bag, drink it in front of you with a straw like it’s expensive cherry cola?

Will he buy nothing, deny his hunger and his state of being?

It’s a shame you don’t get to find out.

Vernon takes in a no longer necessary deep breath to steady his nerves and places his hand on the door of the cafe, primed to pull it open. There’s a growl in his stomach, an emptiness that reminds him he didn’t have a chance to feed before, and he pushes it down, drowns it out, ignoring it for all he’s worth.

There’ll be time later, after he finally meets you.

His hand is steady as he pulls the door open but his ice cold heart is in his throat, lodged there like something he can’t swallow down.

“Come on in!” The barista calls out, allowing him to cross the threshold and enter the cafe. He nods in thanks and starts to scan the tables for someone familiar, someone whose picture he definitely doesn’t look at before he lays himself to rest every morning. His eyes catch on a hand raised, one that leads down a soft arm to a gently sloped shoulder and up a tantalizing neck to a sweet, kind, open face. Your sweet, kind, open face.

He grins, beams really, and races over, stirring napkins and shifting chairs with his sudden movement. He’s about to slide into the booth across from you when it hits him.

Your scent.

It’s like a brick wall smashing into him, every sane, rational thought in his head scattering like rubble in the wake of your natural perfume, unmarred by synthetic smells and caustic chemicals like so many others out there.

Instantly, the burning in his throat starts, except this time, it’s an inferno, a supernova of pain and need and desire and hunger screaming at him to take take take. His fangs shoot out, bursting through his bottom lip and making him cover his mouth, frantically backing away from you with his eyes wide and his other hand held out to keep you in the booth when it looks like you might follow him.

He bumps into tables and chairs as he flees, his blazing red eyes still locked with yours, part feral, part apologetic. The door slams behind him but he doesn’t hear it as he runs, his ears full of a roaring voice telling him that he’s going the wrong way, that he needs to go back to you and steal you and keep you and sip drink devour until you’re his, all his, until you’re glassy eyed and your heart is slow and your breaths are even slower.

Which is fucking terrifying, the thought of ever hurting you like that, of wanting to hurt you like that, making him shake with rage at himself and despair over likely blowing it with you.

He’s miles out of the city before he stops running.

When he finally does, he turns in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings and attempting to find his humanity again even with his mind still screaming at him to find you and fucking kidnap you. His clothes are torn and his bones are aching and his stomach is empty, so very, very empty, but nothing is worse than the shame.

He wasn’t strong enough for you. He wasn’t in control, wasn’t even capable of sitting across from you without wanting to drag you over the table and either kiss you breathless or suck you dry.

Numbly, he sinks to the ground, laying himself out on the forest floor and staring up at the moon peeking through the trees.

He feels like it’s taunting him.

The moon used to be his friend, back when he was human. He was a perpetual night owl, always staying up late with his curtains open and music blaring and the light of the moon filtering in through the window. His roommates didn’t mind the noise because they were all making their own, and it wasn’t often any one of them would be sleeping before the sun came up.

He lived most of his life at night and slept during the day, wasting the sunshine and warmth and normal waking hours like the ungrateful bastard he was.

He can remember the moon that night. The night he was bitten.

It was a blood moon, foreshadowing trouble around the bend, and it’s about the only thing he does remember before the agony blinded him and his memories started to flicker through his brain, going too fast for him to make sense of much.

Some stood out, like when his baby sister came home for the first time, screaming and crying until she set those big eyes on him and fell silent, transfixed. Or when he was thirteen and broke his arm sledding in Prospect Park, pretending after that it didn’t hurt because all his friends were watching, waiting for tears. Or when he got a full ride at Berklee for music production, every exhausting day sped up and reduced to a flash before he saw himself walking across the stage and shaking the Dean’s hand.

He succumbed to the encroaching darkness soon after, the red moon growing nearer and nearer in his mind’s eye. He awoke hours later, just minutes before the sunrise, with his throat on fire and his body feeling like someone else’s.

This moon is full and silver, friendlier looking than the last one he remembers, but no less foreboding.

This moon is the one he ruined everything under.

He’s sure any chance he had with you is gone. Any chance to be your friend or maybe even more, as he’s realizing only now that he did want more. Does want more.

How could he not, when you matched his energy, met him quip for quip, made him a playlist and a hypothetical skincare routine? When you devoted so much of your time to helping others and still made some for him? When you’re so beautiful inside and out, that it would take his breath away if he needed to breathe?

How could he ever not want more with you?

You stare down at your undoubtedly cold latte and furrow your brows, scrunching your mouth to the side as you remember how Vernon ran from you.

The barista has already been by to check on you, and you can still feel their eyes every so often, concern and pity rolling off of them in waves. You appreciate their empathy, but you feel a bit raw, a bit on edge, and you wish you could just burrow into the booth and go unseen. You’d leave but too many people who witnessed it remain, and you don’t have it in you to walk past them just yet.

That leaves you to wrap your trembling hands around the mug and bring it up to your lips, attempting to act like nothing is wrong. Like it’s normal for your possible friend and perhaps crush to dash away at one whiff of you.

You have to assume that’s what happened. He seemed so happy to see you, his mouth stretching wide in a smile and his hand coming up to mirror yours as he zoomed over in a blur. The wind he created made you laugh but it also rustled your hair, blew it away from your neck and probably wafted the scent of your rushing blood toward him.

You don’t wear perfume or use fragranced products, your brothers’ noses are too sensitive for that, and you bite your lip, considering that perhaps you should have just this once. Your brothers are old enough to be able to control themselves but Vernon isn’t.

He may be twenty five in human years but in the vampire world, he’s still a baby, and you didn’t approach him as such.

Fuck, this is all your fault.

You sip down the latte slowly, the rich bittersweetness heavy on your tongue, and take a small bite of the cake the barista brought over while you were stewing in your thoughts. It settles like a stone in your belly and you push it away, unable to eat with the idea that you may never see or hear from Vernon again blaring in your mind.

It’s only been a few weeks since you started talking to him but he feels… special. Important. Like someone who’s meant to be in your life. You’d hate to go back to not having him in it, especially now that you know what it’s like with him around.

Everything is brighter, happier, more vibrant. You wake with a smile on your face knowing you’ll have a goodnight text from him, countdown the minutes from sunrise to sunset knowing he’ll call you as soon as he opens his eyes, go about your day wishing you were sleeping next to him instead.

You don’t want to be a vampire, but by God you really think you could love this one.

So you’re not going to let him go that easily. You’re not going to let him fade into the night, never to be seen again. And you’re definitely not going to let him be alone anymore, not like he has been since he was turned.

With determination alight in your veins, you unlock your phone and find Vernon’s contact, pressing call and assuming he’ll send you to voicemail. You have a lot to say, and you’ll be glad to get it off your chest. You’re surprised when a ragged voice greets you, sounding, for all intents and purposes, dead inside.

“Hello?”

“Vernon?” You gasp desperately, any thought of a speech gone from your head as soon as you hear his voice.

“Y/n?” He gasps back, suddenly full of wonder and light and life. “I didn’t check before I answered, I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Why can’t you believe it’s me? We talk every day,” you joke halfheartedly, not even trying to suppress the frown at his response.

“I thought you’d never want to speak to me again after I went feral like that,” he confesses, shame and dejection obvious in both his words and his voice.

“Vernon, you didn’t go feral. Feral would have been killing me. You ran instead, hell, you protected me!”

“Yeah, from myself,” he laughs acerbically, making you roll your eyes at his self-deprecating tone.

“Listen, you’re still new. My brothers had run-ins like this too, it’s not a sign of your character or your control. It’s just a byproduct of your nature, you can’t help it,” you insist, pleading with him to understand and stop blaming himself.

“That almost makes it worse! The fact that there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can change. I don’t think I can see you until I figure this out,” he sighs regretfully, and somehow you can picture him shaking his head, his brow furrowed and his mouth tight.

“What are you going to do until then? How are you going to feed?” You ask in concern, knowing it’s already been a few days and selfishly wanting him to change his mind.

“I don’t know, I’ll spring for the blood bags and try some synthetic too,” you can tell he’s shrugging, and his nonchalance at being able to fucking eat has you lighting up with anger. You tamp it down, try to temper it, but your anger isn’t just at him.

You’re upset with the world, with the greedy overlords who decide the price of life, with the asshole who took Vernon’s away from him, with the fact that he may never be able to control himself around you. Talking has been enough for the last month but that’s just with you in the crush phase.

What happens when you finally fall in actual facts love with him?

“Vernon…,” you start, not knowing where you’re going but knowing where you want to finish (with his teeth in your neck and your body on top of his).

“Y/n, I’m not risking you.”

He sounds as firm as you’ve ever heard him, and you feel the anger ramp up and then wash away as you realize you’re simply not going to win. There is still a way you could help him though. It might be tedious and painful, but you’re willing to endure it for Vernon.

“What if I go to a donation center and have them reserve it for you? You’d just have to tell them your name and show your ID and you could drink my blood instead of paying for bags. You may still need to supplement with synthetic but together they could tide you over until we can meet again.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few minutes, minutes you spend picking at your nails and going over tomorrow’s lesson plan in your head. You doubt he realizes how long he’s been thinking about it, but you’re not going to rush him when it’s likely that his hasty answer would be no.

“I don’t know… I could still- You’d have to be so far away from me, I couldn’t even smell you,” he sounds unsure, apprehensive, and you don’t want to force him into it but you know this is the best solution.

“You could wait a day or two before going to pick it up? It’ll be less fresh but maybe by then my scent will have faded,” you offer, nearly ready to beg him to say yes.

A few more beats follow, your breathing steady and calm though your heart is racing, galloping in your chest as you wait for his response. You just want to know Vernon is happy and healthy and fed, you just want to take care of him. It seems like no one has done that in a long time, maybe since even before he was turned.

“Okay, we can try,” he still sounds reluctant, but there’s an edge too, a determination that wasn’t there before.

You bite back the squeal, vibrating in your seat as you look up centers nearby. There’s one just down the street and it’s open twenty four hours, so realistically, you could go right now.

“I’ll donate tonight, just don’t change your mind in the next couple days, okay?” You rush to say, grinning and relaxing in the booth when you hear him let out an easy laugh.

“I’ll do my best,” he chuckles, and though you know you should hang up and get going, you can’t help but linger.

“Did you make it back to your apartment alright?” You ask, realizing you don’t hear any music or TV in the background like you normally do.

“Ummm, I think I might be in Connecticut actually.”

He’s not nearly as bothered by this as you are, he even sounds almost carefree compared to how he first picked up the phone.

As if he can anticipate your responses, he says, “I’m not coming back until you’re home safe, okay? With the door locked.”

“You don’t even know where I live,” you remind him, jest in your voice and fondness in your heart.

“That doesn’t matter. I could find you anywhere with how good you smell,” his admission sounds apologetic almost, like he’s sorry for wanting your blood so bad he could find you by fragrance.

Honestly, you preen a bit, flattered that you seem to affect him so.

“Let me go to the blood bank and get you squared away first, then I’ll go straight home and lock all my locks,” you can hear the smile in your voice, hear the affection, and you wonder if Vernon hears them too. You hope he does.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

AN: i was super excited to kickstart baby vamp vernon so i figured i'd post on his (and dk's) birthday!! this was inspired by a series of asks, but mainly this one. it got a bit more plot heavy than i expected but i'm having a good time so far!! i have the second part written already and i'm hoping to write part three before i release part two just so i can stay ahead of it and yall don't have to wait too long!

pls pls pls reblog and lmk how you liked it! you don't know how happy it makes me to see your thoughts and feelings on my work, they're my fuel to keep sharing my writing 🥰

*warnings for this were a bit tricky so if you think i missed anything, lmk and i'll be happy to add it!

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Part II

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yourpeepysucksdotorg · 12 days

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As weird as it sounds a big perk of being nonhuman is the cognitive dissonance. Like yeah I’m in a human body but I’m not really a human at all, and when that feeling of disconnect is the strongest - but not actively painful - I can sit back and watch that, despite everything, humans are good. Most humans want to help each other thrive, spread kindness, and bring joy to the lives of others. They love people in their lives so deeply. Sometimes they give me that love, too. Even if I am not one of them, they do not mind. They’ll care for me as if I was their own kind. There’s something indescribably beautiful about that, that I don’t think humans really see.

#Fecto speaks #kin #alterhuman #alterhuman community #fictionkin #otherkin community #otherkinity #otherkin #nonhuman #nonhuman community #therian community #therian #therianthropy #humans

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slightlypossessed · 17 days

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Synopsis – Steve let's someone take care of him, for once in his fucking life

Who? – Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

18+ content – MDNI // handjob, thigh riding, marking and kissing.

4.05k – 17 mins

words are lost on him

it's not that there are none coming to mind — they are, they're just not sticking: light flash-bangs that don't last enough to know if he's really seen or imagined them.

the words are too quick for him to grasp onto, nerve endings fried as they spark alight with every stroke of your hand.

The movements you so torturously inflict on him are gentle, yet cruel. ministrations calculated and precise to ensure the most damage to his mind and fragile, vulnerable, state as he lies bare beneath you.

Body bare and soul rested on a silver platter for you, laid prettily at your feat for you to take as much as your heart, and lust, desire.

"Baby..." his whisper is husky, voice wrecked and all scratching-on-metal as he tries not, but fails, to beg.

Cognitive dissonance is a killer thing, Steve decides as you give a particular rough tug to his straining cock, more so than he's realised now that he's in the deep cusps of it. On one hand he's trying to hold himself together, trying to be man — in his mind, he's made to please, to be a caretaker — it's why he puts up with the bloody kids that he knows will make his hair go gret by the time he's 32, it's why he's there after every argument max has with her father, every time dustin feels lonely, every time Lucas has a falling out with the rest of the boys — always there, an invisible hand on the back, guiding, cautious, caring.

And it's why it's typically the other way around with you two than it is now. Steve's gotten comfortable with the unintentional routine: you beneath him, mouth and sex hot as you beg and scratch while he wrecks you piece by piece. He's your boyfriend, he's yours, and it's his job to please you. He's gotta care for you, for your pleasure — because he's your man, and because he goddamn wants to.

But as his darned luck would have it, your hands feel too good on his cock for him to push you away: far too gentle to push him over, but determined to press all the delicate parts of him, your fingers deft and rubbing down the areas you know to be sensitive — just enough times with every stroke to keep him constantly on edge.

He's lost time, how long it's been: maybe five minutes? ten? fifteen? maybe just the one? a torturously slow minute of pure ecstatic and exhilirating agony? He's doesn't know, all he knows is that he's at your mercy to grant him what he most needs.

And right now he needs more of what you're giving, just – god, please, more – enough to quiet the voice in his head telling him he's failing... something. Your pleasure? His supposed boyfriend duty? he doesn't know, but he wants it quiet — you've already told him you want to take care of him.

However long it was ago, his brain is half-mush and he can't quite remember, you took in your arms mid make out session and told him you wanted him, your tone different than every other time you've said those words, your hold on him more tender and enveloping.

"let me take care of you," you'd whispered against his lips, your hands on his chest and steadily caressing lower, "please."

He couldn't say no to you then, can't say no to you ever — his sweet girl, whatever you want, you'd get — and he's decided then that he'll be most compliant for you, he'll relent underneath you as you take care of him, in whatever way you'd wished to do that.

and fuck, he wasn't prepared – doesn't think his brain has relaxed ever since you pushed him against the headboard and straddled his legs and fucking told him to just relax.

How can he? when the prettiest girl he's ever seen is on top of him looking so pretty with earnest eyes tracking every emotion and expression that passes over his face. You're so keen, attention completely tuned in on him.

Nerves firing blast rapidly, blinding white light behind his eyes, whether his eyes are closed or not.

He's not even sure anymore if they're open or closed, there's just glimpses of you, and he's not even sure if his short-circuiting brain is catching up a moment late, doesn't know if by the time he's caught to the beautiful sight of you as you stoke more heat in his belly, he might've already drifted in another mini ecstasy and closed his eyes again.

Fuck, he needs more — he's not sure he can handle it — so much going on in his brain, so much pleasure emitting from your soft hands on his hard cock, but he needs more. Maybe it'll quiet his mind, maybe it'll ramp up the frequency to a million, maybe he'll completely lose it and go insane by your hands — but he craves what you give.

"Please," his voice is foreign to his own ears, broken and pleading. If he were to really think about it, you haven't even done that much to warrant his half-wrecked state. But he's there, and he seems relenting to the idea of you completely breaking him.

Maybe the idea of you taking care of him has done more to him than he thought it would.

A low moan escapes his throat as his hand previously gripping the sheet moves to anchor itself to your hips.

"Fuck," another broken sound, "please, honey, more." He isn't sure more what, faster? harder? both? he just needs your hands on him and to forget all his thoughts before he even has them.

"shh," you soothe as your hand tightens around the tip of him– and by god, you're evil, a wicked little thing— you know he's most sensitive there, and if you'd had any doubts about that, they were now for sure quelled by the debauched moan that escapes his throat. "I've got you, sweetheart, just relax for me."

But he can't relax, oh god, what are you doing to him?

Evil, he's decided.

Heavenly, his heart argues, as you lean down to give him a saccharine kiss on his parted lips, your tongue swirling with his.

Deep down, you're aware that your torturous and slow pace over the last few minutes has built him yet kept him consistently at bay, kept him all achy and squirmy underneath you – all because of you, for you.

He whimpers quietly, the sound low and vulnerable against your lips, and you pull back to hear his sweet sounds better – and immediately he gifts you another desperate sound as he chases your lips.

Usually, hand jobs are quick business in your relationship. Quick things done in foreplay before Steve's putting his tongue on you and making you cum a few times as he gets hard again to fuck you – sometimes he's even pushing your hand off him before he cums, choosing to sink himself deep inside you instead.

But it's been on your mind for a while now, this urge to just take care of him. You're brain constantly wandering to how he'd look like, sound like, if lets himself loose and handed over the reigns of his pleasure to you. He's stretching himself too thin everyday — acting as a brother, a father and a friend to a group of 15-year-old kids united by other-worldly trauma. He's the perfect boyfriend 24/7, small gifts every now and then, dates every week, fucking you silly almost every night – and on top, he's got a full-time nine-to-five.

You want to do something for him, get his mind of off everything for a while. And maybe this opens the door for more later – it's not that Steve doesn't let you take charge often, but even then he's still very much a giver rather than a taker, and this time you want him to just take and be as selfish with you as he'd wish to for once.

And so you stroke him faster in your hand again, your grip tighter this time.

A low groan sounds from his throat when your hand squeezes him at the base. Electric shocks from the centre of him to his brain.

You can't deny him what you want, can't ignore his pleas for more pleasure, not when he's so pretty underneath you, face red and flush, and his hair a mess all over a place with a few strands down his forehead.

Beautiful, in every sense. Debauched facial expression: eyes heavy-lidded and mouth agape, heavy pants in and out.

So pretty, and so you really can't even think to deny him what he aches for. Your hand moves faster without meaning to, just wanting to see more of him in this state. He rewards you with another groan, his hand tightening on your waist.

faster and faster, the sudden change of pace makes his back arch of the headboard bringing his chest closer to yours and he can feel your hardened nipples from beneath your thin shirt. The feel of it makes him shudder and he feels the need to be closer to you.

He can't think to even lift hands to take the shirt you're wearing of you, feel you closer to his skin, his heart – but he can lean his face up towards you and hope you understand his polite request.

And you do, instantly, because you were already halfway down to laying another kiss on his soft, pink lips.

Your lips meet his, gentle and tender as you feel his soft lips between your own. Your hand moves even quicker now, your thumb pressing down on the on spot you know makes him keen — and his reaction is instant. His mouth opens mid-kiss as he moans unabashedly against your lips as you continue to press over that one spot over and over again.

He's going to go insane, by god, you're going to drive him to the crazy house, because the things you're doing to him are effectively frying his brain.

You leave his mouth, and choose to kiss his exposed neck instead.

He's welcoming of it; without meaning to, he tilts his head to give you more access to suck and bite all kinds of marks along his neck – and he'd wear them with pride, let everyone now how good his girl takes care of him, how good she makes him feel. Fuck, he just wants you all around him, your soft lips on his neck and hands on his cock. He can feel your thighs against his, your calves rubbing against his knees – with every brush of your skin against his the fire in his belly grows warmer, moving from his core and spreading to his chest, his head, his limbs – rendering him tingly all over and loose beneath you.

Your hand move down as you caress his balls in slow circles as your other hand moves to continue stroking his cock.

And Steve keens, whimpers uncontrolled rolling out of his lips. And you time your hand encircling and tightening against his taut balls as you bite down on his neck, your lips suck on the tender flesh of his neck, suck and bite on a tender point on his neck.

And Steve? fuck

Steve's mind goes blank.

No thoughts, no words, nothing.

Just pleasure.

White, hot, blinding pleasure.

He feels it deep within him, a feeling like hot, melted honey so visceral it moves along from his center to spread all over him in intense waves.

In a haze, he's aware his thighs have begun to shake, his sartorius muscle clenching and rippling underneath his skin as the feeling begs to claw out of bones and release.

He's keening, hot moans and whimpers flowing through his lips in a steady flow. You can feel the sounds before you hear them, your lips still pressed to the length of throat.

Both of his arms are now gripping your hips hard, urging you closer to him. He wants– no, needs you closer. There's some part kf him that feels like he can't handle anything else, that if you were to repeat the same movements you've just done, of you were to press down on that spot along his tip, he might just go insane. Maybe lose all cognitive ability as your constant infliction of pleasure fries his nerve endings.

But these thoughts don't last, nerves frayed and through barely able to keep grip as your hands continue to jerk him quick8and quicker, unaware of how intensely you've just wrecked him.

— it's quiet and yet he can't think.

"Please," a voice he doesn't even register as his own, "please, baby, I lov- fuck, love you —oh – fuck, oh, honey–"

He's not sure what words he's saying, not even sure if he's speaking or thinking them, but the desired effect comes anyway.

The precum on your fingers help keep your movements quick, and you continue to move your fingers up and down as your other hand massages his balls.

On one particularly hard jerk, his legs twitchs beneath you, resulting in his thigh rubbing hard against your center, brushing your clit the way you've been abstaining of doing for the past god knows how long now.

shit, you might just come from this slight touch. You hadn't even realised how hot and wet you've become over the duration of pleasuring your boyfriend.

He's always been so hot to you (to everyone really, if his reputation so implies), and one look from him would've been enough to have your underwear ruined.

But, god, he's given more than just a look. He's given you his pleasure, his bare form against yours – he's given you his moans and mewls, his vulnerability. He's given you full control over his body and his pleasure – hadn't even tried once to flip you over and switch roles (not that he'd even be able to with how week in the knees you've rendered him)

So, how can you not be all hot and bothered by this? by the lascivious site of him beneath you as he desperate and weak cries fill the room around you?

Without meaning to, your hips rock against his thighs, moving in tandem with the rhythm you've set with your hand against his cock.

The feel of your dripping centre against him weakens him further, his eyes closed and head burying in the pillow. To know that his pleasure affects you that much makes his cock twitch in your fingers, makes his heart swell with an affection that is so foreign to him.

He's felt it before with you, with his tongue on your center and fingers buried deep – he's cum many times as he ate you out, unable to control himself from letting go as your pretty sounds spurred him on.

But it feels weird for the script to flip, for his immense pleasure be reason for your own, even as you remain untouched above him.

Your lips move from one spot on his neck to the other, biting and sucking as you go, feeling the vibrations of his throat down to even your core as you steadily grind yourself back and forth along the thick expanse of his muscular thighs – feeling every bulge of his muscles, every twitch of his form against the folds of your pussy, the curve of your clitoris.

His voice gruff and broken as he whimpers for you.

And despite the oath you took to only focus on him tonight, you can't stop your hips from moving even faster, motivated by lewd noise he makes.

You are human after all, and the intimacy of the atmosphere around you can't be ignored. The sight of his heaving chest gone red from blush of pleasure tempts you to feel him against your skin – to feel more of him as you make him (and yourself) cum.

You can feel it now, the shift in the atmosphere as your fingers keep moving and your hips keep rocking – it's all coming to a crescendo.

Maybe when your done milking him till you're both reasonably satisfied, you'll kiss him stupid as he recovers and then ride him till he's coming inside of you — maybe he'll sound even prettier then, cock deep in your cunt as you bounce up and down the length of him. You'll kiss his pretty neck all over then, too, feel the whimpers as they form his throat and kiss his lips as he moans for you.

or maybe you'll let yourself go now, core molten against his thighs as he cums for you spurt after spurt.

You can already feel yourself growing weak and weightless with euphoria, filled with a fever-like weakness that pulls you lower and lower to the throes of passion.

Before you can register your movements, you're pulling your hands away from Steve and ripping his shirt that still on your body off you.

The moment of reprieve, or perhaps frustration, shocks Steve, and he mewls against your throat for more.

"so close, bab– oh god–" his pleas are cut short as your hands resume their earlier position, moving faster and harsher now, more determined to get him to his high before you lose it yourself.

Your thumb drags over his slit and down to his pleasure points, up and down gripping the base. Up and down and a squeeze to his balls. Faster, gentler, more – Steve can't think, can't hold it together anymore. It's too much, please, oh please– too much yet he needs more, needs that final push to euphoria. Needs it, fuck– wants it and can't take anymore.

You lean down to kiss him on the lips again, and your nipples bush against his chest – the feeling making you both keen against each other. The soft curve of your breasts rubs against the peaks of nipples. Each rock of your hips against his thigh moving your body against him, electrifying touches all over his body and your chest rubs against his.

You bite his lips as you kiss, taking his plush bottom lip between your own and awarding it a slight tug, before letting go and soothing his tender lips with your lips.

You pull back a moment to admire your handiwork. His lips are red and kiss-bruised. His eyes are heavy lidded and you can see the dreamy and half-present look in the crescents of his eyes. He pants against your lips and tilts his head upward to kiss your lips and intertwine your tongue with his own. You watch his eyes fully close before your own do and you kiss him back.

And it appears that Steve's torture has gotten the best of him, because beneath you his chest hitches as his back begins to arch the way it always does before he cums. The sounds escaping his throat and vibrating against your lips are sporadic and disjointed. He's less kissing you now, more letting you kiss and suck at his parted lips.

His muscle tense and twitch against you, and you know all you need to do is just give him a little more, an extra nudge, and he'll topple over.

Your thumb presses against his slit as you jerk him, and your other hand massages and circles his balls just a tad bit harder.

And Steve feels himself fall.

He's not sure if the sounds he hears are his own or yours — pitches and tones melting into one, sounds coming in and out of focus as his eyes roll back and his body breaks out into tremors.

The feeling is intense, hot and burning and too much, spreading from his cock to his guts to his chest and head.

Steve shakes beneath you, body vibrating as shot after shot of hot cum fills your fist and releases over your hands and onto the sheets.

His abdominal muscles twitch as you milk him for all he's worth, your hands continuing to move as he experiences his high. Your hips rock harder and harder against his thighs, clit brushing faster as your wetness soaks his thighs.

You only slow your hand when Steve begins to thrash beneath you, his silent scream turning to aching cries.

"Steve," you moan against his lips as you rock harder, electricity filling you as your head begins to buzz and your eyes roll.

"Fuck," his whisper is quiet and rough with use, "cum for me, baby, come on," his hands, despite weak with euphoria, grip your hips with all his might to help rock your hips faster against him. "cum, honey. I love you– come on."

Steve, despite barely able to even blink his eyes open or keep his head straight, moves a hand to the back of your head to bring you closer, granting you the same intimacy you'd given him for his own orgasm.

He pulls your face to his lips, biting your plush lips in the same manner you did to his lips moments prior.

Despite the fact that Steve's brain is so euphoria-riddled that everything he experiences feels as if through a haze, he's completely and acutely in tune to your pleasure – to the hitch in your throat as your whimpers grow breathier, to the jerk of your hips against him, to how you seem to burrow yourself closer to him as you approach your own high.

Desperate and nerves frazzled to meet your own high, your hand moves to your own centre.

You bow your back as you begin to circle your clit, using Steve's sticky cum to intensify the feeling.

As your hand moves, Steve pulls back from kissing your neck, tilting his head to watch you make yourself cum with his own spend.

"oh, steve– I love you, fuck, baby–gonna cum fo'you," your words are just ramblings, breathless and desperate as you near your high.

A whimper releases from his throat as he watches your fingers circle your clit – one, two, three tugs before your body tips forward, tremors and twitches racking through your body. Your front presses against your boyfriend's chest as soft, gentle pressure fills your core and your body, leaving you weightless and pliant in the aftermath.

Those gentle waves of euphoria render you speechless against Steve, your limbs are jelly as you melt against your lover.

If Steve wasn't so spent, if his head wasn't already far too high in the clouds of venus, he might've gotten hard all over again and fucked the mix of yours and his cum deeper into your cunt.

But that'll wait, maybe a few minutes, or an hour – maybe...

His eyes are already closing.

Bone-deep euphoria induced exhaustion pulls him deep into a restful slumber.

He'll clean you both up later. You know he'll repay the pleasure you've given him with a hundred acts of care and praise. But for now you'll let him pull you down again him, let him bask in the intoxicating feeling of intimacy that comes after your love making. He settles you close, his hips against your own as you lay over like a weighted blanket.

A soft, comforting, supple blanket.

His hands fumble next to him as he reaches for the tissue box on his bedside and hands you one to wipe your fingers, eyes still closed. The rest of you can be cleaned...later, in the shower, or with his tongue; he'll decide later.

Right now, he just needs you against him.

As a final act of love before he's out, his hand moves to the back of your head and kisses your lips one last time, slow and tender, and another against each eyelid, before coming back again to your lips.

"Steve..." you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, "you gotta let me take care of you often." your words barely even a slur. Despite your love-drunk state and sensitivity, you already know that you want a repeat of this night; of the gratifying feeling as you give your lover pleasure.

Before you can respond to his weak chuckle, you're both out like light, his arms wrapped tight against you as yours rest around his neck, keeping him close to you as you bask in the post-euphoria quiet intimacy.

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A/N – wasn't really sure how to end this. It's been almost two years since I've written anything at all so it feels great to get back into it. Feel like I've forgotten how to describe things??? but oh well Feedback is always wanted and appreciated

Requests are open <3

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