#total eclipse of the tongue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovebugism · 1 year

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☄. *. ⋆ ┄ We Fight to Make Up

summary: after a run-in with your ex, steve's anger gets the best of him. sometimes you think he picks a fight just for the make up sex. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 7.6k warnings: smut, steve calls himself daddy once, briefly mentioned breeding kink, a touch of angst, insecure!steve, also steve with scruff because that needs a warning too, 18+ mdni a/n: ok i'm not the happiest with this but it's been sitting in my drafts for so long and she needs to see the world now so.. enjoy? <3

You don’t go out anymore. None of the party does, really.

Fighting through the end of the world and somehow surviving for three years straight made bars and clubs and getting drunk seem a little less important. It gets too easy to stay within the inner circle that’s seen the same sort of hell you’ve seen.

Eventually, time goes on and you don’t realize that you’ve only been around the same ten people until the thought of going to the grocery store alone sounds scary.

Fighting monsters, weathering alternate dimensions, beating up Russians soldiers — that’s cake. It’s the getting back to normal that’s so hard.

That's a bitter pill to swallow. None of you got to have too much of a childhood before the knowledge of a sentient darkness swirling beneath your feet turned everything upside down (no pun intended). A life with a regular routine unbound by the impending doom of an armageddon is hard to go back to, when fighting to stay alive is all you’ve ever done.

You try really hard, though. All of you do.

The kids try to find a nostalgic amusement in the arcade they used to frequent while grappling with the fact that they’ll never been those kids again. The older group of you dabbles in the simple pleasure of growing up and discovering what adulthood really means — getting drunk and going dancing just because you can, but facing the inevitable consequences of those actions all on your own.

The six of you find a certain solace at the Limelight. For Steve and Jonathan, they serve good beer — obviously cheap and unusually tangy on the tongue, but nice and cold nonetheless. For Eddie and Robin, there’s a karaoke machine and a stage across the bar, complete with every rock ballad imaginable. You and Nancy take special interest in the dance floor — a platform with light-up rainbow squares for all your drunken twirling needs.

It’s a nice place. More than that, it’s a familiar one. Eventually, going there every friday night is like comfort food in the belly, pleasant and warm. Steve feels safe there when he’s with all of you and tonight he’s especially fuzzy with a quiet sort of happiness that’s got his cheeks all pink.

Maybe the beer is partly to blame.

Or maybe it’s because you’ve got your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, anchoring yourself to him and simultaneously fending off any unwanted attention from the scantily clad women around you who can't seem to take their eyes away from your Steve.

But he only watches you as you smile into your glass while Eddie Munson, all sweaty after his Madison Square Garden worthy rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, tells some stupidly unfunny joke. You’re pressed contently into his side, like you would melt into him if you could, and he’s buzzing with the comfort of your warmth and the chemically induced mellow from the drink in his cup.

It was a good night. An easy one. A fun one.

And then it just… wasn’t.

When your ex waltzes into the bar, he brings the cold air in with him and an unusual sophisticated energy that’s typically foreign to this side of town. He’s got on a gray corduroy blazer and slacks to match. The black turtle neck he wears beneath it clings to his lean torso and broad chest, like he wants people to marvel at how muscular he is.

You don’t even realize it’s him at first. You turn to Nancy to talk shit about the douchebag at your eight o’clock that just walked in while the guy settles at the far end of the bar, around the corner that faces the group of you. He removes the dark Ray-Bans from the straight bridge of his nose and uses them to push back his cinnamon-colored curls.

Steve feels you tense at his side then. You duck inside yourself and force him and Robin to form a makeshift shield around you.

It’s a tad too dramatic for two people who ended on pretty decent terms. It was about as amicable as a breakup can be — you were both seventeen and thankfully already mature enough to know that the relationship wasn’t bound to make it outside of high school. So you split up in search of more fulfilling things.

You found yours, in Steve and in the rest of the party. And by the looks of it — the obviously expensive suit and the silver Rolex glittering under the dim yellow bar light — he found his.

You aren’t exactly sure how, but he sees you.

Probably because Robin couldn’t stop ogling at him from over her shoulder, obviously not getting the hint to act casual and inevitably dragging his attention over to the group of you.

He’s confused by the attention at first and then beaming when he notices you. The man flashes a set of pearly whites beneath a plump pink grin, all but shoving through the crowded bar to come and meet you.

Steve is able to get a better look at him when he’s no more than a couple inches away. The guy wrenches you away from him to wrap you in a friendly embrace, smiling like a ray of a thousands suns while he laughs with a hearty mirth.

A childlike and terribly jealous scowl settles upon Steve's features as his stomach wrenches something fierce. This stranger is touching you, and he hates that he’s touching you, but it’s more than that.

Steve’s almost certain this is what he would look like if he hadn’t been through the end of the world. The ornate suit and sunglasses worth more than most people’s salaries could’ve been his. In another life, he could’ve been this pretty and perfect and pure.

But, instead, here he is — dressed in an aged Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans that are frayed at the hems. There are bits of dried blood on the knee that he can’t get out. He isn’t quite sure if it’s his or if it belongs to one of the three varying monsters he’s been face-to-face with over the years.

His hair is pushed back and visibly un-styled, fluffier than usual because it hasn’t been washed in a while. And only now does he notice the prickly layer of scruff itching at his jaw and above his lip because the effort to shave is just too much sometimes.

He wishes he had, though. Now, he wants to completely perfect his appearance and change his life entirely — all at the sight of some stranger he didn't know existed before now.

The man introduces himself to the rest of the group when he parts from you — Todd.

Because of coursehis name is Todd.

No one says that out loud, of course, but you do share pairs of knowing looks. Eddie’s the only one brave enough, or rather drunk enough, to take the piss out of the guy.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for Limelight?” he asks before laughing into his beer.

The rhetorical question leads to the man, Todd, to start complaining about work — how he’s making more than he knows what to do with, that the lifestyle isn’t as lavish as everyone made it out to be, that work is his best friend most days because he doesn’t have time for real relationships anymore.

And it doesn’t sound braggy. This isn't some rich guy complaining about all the money he has. He’s genuine, and that’s somehow even worse.

Steve can tell he’s working for some big four accounting firm without him having to say it. He can practically smell it all over the guy. Todd’s just got that air about him, that he’s got an office on the fiftieth story with large glass windows that span from the floor to the ceiling. He’s making well into the six-figures if that’s the case. Just like his goddamn dad.

Just like he would be if the endless cycling of fighting hadn’t stripped him flesh from bone.

Steve forces himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind.

“You know I’ve actually been thinking about, you know, just dropping everything. Putting in my two weeks and fucking off to France,” Todd admits. His eyes sparkle like a pair of fucking diamonds when they lock in on you. “Like we always used to talk about.”

That was your dream. The kind of reverie that wasn’t at all practical or the least bit tangible, but the kind you fantasized about nonetheless.

And here this asshole goes, living it for the both of you.

You’re grinning at him anyway, patting him on the shoulder while you congratulate him. You tell him he should do it. That he deserves it.

Steve, meanwhile, is so angry he can feel the prickle of the red-hot rage on his skin, like so many little needles. It’s a simmering heat for now, all slow and lazy. The longer he holds it in, the more likely he is to pop into a full boil. He knows that. But he keeps the fire in his chest and wallows in that high-pitched ache.

Todd leaves not too long after. Makes it a point not to overstay his welcome. He’s polite when he goes, making sure to talk to all your friends even though he didn’t exactly come for them — he compliments Eddie’s leather jacket and Robin’s taste in style, Jonathan and Nancy are both blushing pink when he praises their work with the local paper. He says something to Steve he can’t quite register because he’s too busy fuming.

The brunette girl beside him is practically swooning, and he has to remind her — “Robin, you’re gay.”

The man was kind, terribly so, the sort of politeness you can’t help but notice and marvel at, like a pretty pebble you’ve found on the ground. He didn’t overstep any boundaries with you either, like he respected that you two were practically strangers now — fucking asshole — and whether or not he knew you were with Steve, he kept a chivalrous distance anyway.

He must’ve known, though, he did have eyes after all. There’s no way he missed the way Steve had been looming over you the whole time. Or the possessive arm he had around your shoulder. Or the stern chocolate gaze that had ping-ponged between you and him the entire conversation.

When he leaves, there’s nothing to talk shit about or make fun of him for. Not only is that really fucking annoying, but it’s boring, and it leaves you and Steve as the punching bags for all their stupid jokes.

“You certainly have a type, don’t ya, doll?” Eddie teases you as he reaches behind Nancy to shove at your shoulder. “Steve’s practically a carbon copy of that douchebag.”

“Holy shit, I can see it now,” Robin marvels breathlessly. Her deep ocean gaze is still locked on Todd across the bar. He’s minding his own business now, ordering another drink, while the rest of you can’t seem to stop talking about him. She turns back to Steve, her eyes flitting over his features like it’s the first time she’s seeing them while she puts the pieces of a puzzle together.

“But, Steve’s like the dollar store version of him, though, right?” she wonders rhetorically and then feels the need to explain herself when Steve furrows his brows at her. “—Because, you know… he’s a lot richer than you are…”

The boy rolls his and brings the beer back to his lips. The clarification makes it sting more.

“Thanks, Rob.”

Steve isn’t quite sure what’s got him seething. He’s the personification of a forest fire now — scorching, raging, and deadly — without a reason to be. It’s entirely likely you’ll never see Todd ever again. He lives in the city these days and he just told you that he was planning on moving to fucking France.

But these facts don’t mean as much to him when he knows that the guy isn’t totally over you.

Steve knows Todd would be more than happy to take you out for coffee tomorrow morning to tie up any left-behind loose ends. He’s a rich guy going through a quarter-life crisis (Steve knows a little about what that’s like, too), he’d be more than happy to sweep an old ex-girlfriend off her feet and take her all the way to France with him. She’d need only to ask him to.

Maybe that’s what angers him. There’s a man, all rich and pretty and unscathed by war, that might love you like he does.

The wildfire in his chest grows. It’s a wonder it hasn't seared a hole in the fabric of his sweatshirt. And it burns. It leaves aching blisters on his skin like it’s the real damn thing. It’s like punches to the face, worse than every time he’s ever been beaten up combined.

He manages to keep the ashes of himself together. It's the least he can do for the rest of you, who obviously aren’t as bothered by Todd’s lingering presence and have since moved on to things more meaningful.

It wouldn’t be fair to project his ache onto you.

You guys don’t get too many nights like this, with work and school and lingering bouts of PTSD — who’s he to ruin this night for everyone else when he’s the problem?

But if any of you notice his simmering anger, you don’t show it.

He isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or not.

Nancy and Jonathan stay no longer than fifteen minutes after the fact. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” the say with a shrug, though everyone knows what that’s code for. Robin makes kissing noises at them as they make their exit.

Now, the brunette girl stands in front of the stage that Eddie parades on. He belts “If you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever!” into the microphone for the hundredth time. She cheers for the boy like it’s the first time she’s ever heard the stupid song.

The bartender hands you two drinks, a couple of Sex on the Beach’s for you and Robin to try.

She hadn’t stopped talking about it since she spotted it on the menu even though she hates peach schnapps. You tell Steve you’re going to run it to her and that you bet she won’t make it through one sip without gagging. You also promise that you’ll try and pull Eddie away from the stage when the Bonnie Tyler song fades and then inevitably loops again.

He only nods and mumbles a vague affirmative under his breath. He doesn’t even look at you. Just stares down at his empty glass of beer and draws patterns on the cloudy cup with his finger.

It’s hard not to notice his uncharacteristically long silence.

He hasn’t been King Steve for quite some time, but that version of him always manages to peek out after a couple of drinks. He gets loud and brash and smiley and stupid. It makes the quiet demeanor he possesses now that much more daunting. Like a flag he’s waving to make sure everyone else knows that he’s upset about something or other.

Eventually, it makes you burst.

“Is something wrong?” you blurt.

He finally glances at you then. And has the gall to look confused. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. You shift your weight on your feet and try to ignore the distant stinging of the ice glasses in your hand, how the cold of them shoots pins and needles into your palms. “You’re just… being really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses with a shrug of his own. A hint of a smile flashes at the very corner of his mouth before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows down the rest of it in one quick gulp. You watch anxiously as he waves to the bartender for another.

“We can go home if you want—”

“Jesus, I’m fine,” he interjects. The laugh that spills from his throat borders on annoyance. “Just go get the freak before he drives me crazy.”

With that, the two of you part ways. You, with the knowledge that something’s wrong with your boyfriend but having no way to make it better because he won’t tell you anything. And Steve, with another irrational reason to be angry at the world because how do you not get it?

If his ex-girlfriend showed up to a bar, looking like an airbrushed model with more money than all of you combined who’s got brains and wit and humility, he’d want you to get a little fucking jealous too.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But he chooses to wallow in his anger than reflect on it, anyway. He takes pity on himself and makes everyone else out to be the enemy. Like he does best.

Even hours later, when he’s sobering up with room temperature water and a bowl of pretzels — and you’re calling a cab for a significantly drunker Eddie and Robin — he still feels the sting.

He makes sure you know it too.

The drive back home is uncomfortably quiet, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he at least had the radio on. But when he stuck the key into the ignition and music started blaring from the speakers (because he forget to turn it down beforehand), he turns it off completely. You feel to awkward to touch it.

“Do you, uh… Do you wanna talk about it now?” you ask him.

You’re unfamiliarly timid with him as you peer at him through your lashes. It’s like you’re looking at the sun, the way you have to glance at him from the corner of your eye so he won’t blind you. And it isn’t because of his usually sunny disposition because, somewhere along the course of the night, his shine got snuffed out. It’s because he’s practically lit himself on fire with his anger where he sits next to you.

And he still has the nerve to shake his head. “Talk about what? I told you, there’s nothing wrong,” he dismisses with one hand in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the other resting its elbow against the driver’s side door while his fingers pick anxiously at his lower lip. Nothing wrong, my ass.

“Are we seriously gonna play that game tonight?”

“What game?” he scoffs out a laugh.

“The game here you’re upset about something, but refuse to tell me why, so I have to guess what’s wrong with you until I get it right and you let me make it better.”

Steve glances at you and then back to the road. “I… I don’t do that.”

Oh, fuck, he totally does, he thinks to himself. Fuck, he hates that you know him so well.

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

“Well, I can’t be. Because I’m not upset about anything,” he argues with a shrug. “That’s, like, a mathematical impossibility. Or whatever.”

“Considering this is the most you’ve said to me all night, I know that isn’t true— And it’s not even a conversation! You’re just being passive aggressive!”

“Passive aggressive, huh?” he repeats sardonically.

“Yes!” you seethe. “You’re mad at me and I can tell that you’re mad, so just tell me why—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Steve grumbles. He feels even more like shit for making you think he was acting all pissy because of something you had done. You hadn’t done anything. You were perfect. You’re always perfect. And here he goes, making you think otherwise.

He slows to a stop at the last red-light before home. The neon scarlet matches that anger sweltering in his belly. He still refuses to look at you.

“Then what happened between when we got to Limelight and right now that’s got you so fucked up?” you ask him with a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes.

The boy only huffs. His chest deflates with a heavy breath. He almost forgets to answer you because he’s too busy praying for the light to turn green so he can get the fuck home.

He just needs a little food in his system, he concludes, and a nice hot shower and a bed to rest his tired bones. Maybe then he’ll be able to function like he’s meant to.

He feels a sense of relief for the first time in hours when the light bathes the two of you in a neon emerald glow.

You let out a sharp exhale through your nose at his silence. You shake your head at him like an annoyed parent and cross your arms over your chest. Your knees turn away from him and towards the door in time with your gaze that flits to the window. Now you’re the one that’s pissed.

Steve mumbles lowly when he finally answers you. It’s nearly inaudible.

“Your douchebag ex.”

“What?” you reply, sparing a glance over at him. It isn’t a question of whether you heard him or not, but of why that’s what he’s being so mean to you about.

“Your douchebag ex,” he repeats louder and picks chapped skin from his bottom lip. He rubs his tongue over the irritated skin to soothe the burn. “That’s what I’m upset about.”

Your brows furrow as you rack your head for the conversation you had with Todd that you’d already forgotten about. He’d said hello, and that you looked nice, and then asked you what you’d been up to before making conversation with your friends. He’d wished you luck and walked back to his seat not too long after. You wonder if there was some code in his words that you’d missed.

“…I don’t get it. What did he do?”

“Really?” Steve wonders with an emotionless laugh. “You don’t have a single clue why that might’ve pissed me off?”

He barely slows at the sign of the four-way stop. The block is practically a ghost town now. No one’s out so late into the night. Any other time you might’ve said something about it, but you’re just as eager to get home as the simmering boy next to you.

“No! He stopped by to talk for, like, five minutes! Are you really upset because another man talked to me?” you shout and it burns him because, yeah, that is kind of what he’s mad about — but it’s more than that and you don’t seem to get it. It’s not your job to either. He’ll just burn for the both of you.

The car jerks to a stop when he parks in the driveway.

“Yeah, you’re right—” Steve mutters to himself as he snatches the keys from the ignition. “You don’t get it.”

You feel the impact of the slammed of the car door as he exits. The headlights illuminate the boy as he uses his key ring to unlock the front entrance of your shared home. The dim orange overhead light slowly dims above you and then shuts off completely, bathing you in darkness.

With a sigh and a fleeting thought of oh, it’s gonna be that kinda night, huh? you follow less unenthusiastically behind him.

“Then just explain it to me,” you plead, your voice coated with exhaustion. The warmth of the living room seeps into your bones and makes you that much more tired. “I really, really don’t wanna do this tonight.”

“That asshole was all over you,” Steve finally chooses to air his grievances while he toes off his sneakers.

“He hugged me once! What was I supposed to do? Push him off?”

“That’d be a start.”

“I would’ve done it!” you promise.

He plops onto the couch with a rather dramatic huff as you struggle to take off your boots, what with the zipper getting caught in the slider and being distracted by the storm cloud across the room.

“I don’t care about him! I literally haven’t seen him since I was eighteen! I basically forgot he existed in the first place.”

Steve doesn’t let himself take any solace in your words.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs with the shake of his head. He rests his elbows on his knees, runs his palms over his face once before dragging his fingers through his mussed hair. “Sometimes… I don’t know, I guess, sometimes it feels like maybe you deserve someone better than me.”

His confession feels like a stab in your heart.

You can only imagine how many daggers are piercing him now.

“Steve…”

“No. Don’t give me that bullshit spiel, alright?” he spurns with a shake of his stubborn head. When he laughs, it lacks any and all emotion; it’s gut-wrenchingly bitter and coated with venom. “We both know he could take way better care of you than I ever could. He’s practically a fucking millionaire, babe! And he’s, what, twenty-five? He has the money to drop everything and fly across the world— to France.”

“Steve—” you try again, to stop the spiral before it starts.

He doesn’t let you.

“I mean, fuck, I know how bad you wanna go there. You’ve been talking about it since we were eight,” he laments with wide, glassy eyes and an hand splayed out towards you. He brings it, then, to his chest and clutches at his heart, “But I can’t take you. Because I’m so broke, it fucking hurts. You deserve someone to do that shit for you, alright? And it’s not me. It’s never gonna be me.”

“…You really think he can take better care of me than you do?” you ask him so quietly that it sounds like a whimper. Your face is twisted in anguish, like his sadness pains you too.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles like the answer’s obvious. He sniffles. “Considering we’re working our asses off just to make it through the week and you’d never have to work a day in your life if you were with that asshole.”

“It’s not about the money, Steve,” you agonize with the shake of your head. “I don’t love him. I would be so unhappy if I were with him because he’s not you. I don’t give a single fuck about France if you’re not gonna be there with me.”

You close the distance between you as you walk from the entrance to where he sits in the living room. He can hardly look at you as you round the couch to stand ahead of him, sparing only meek glances your way.

The small smile on your lips only half puts out the fire raging in his chest. It’s one of those natural wildfires now. The kind that you’ve just got to let burn.

“What do I have to do, Steve? What do you want me to do to prove that I just want you?” you ask him softly, nudging your sock-clad foot with his own. “I’ll fucking— I’ll find his number in the phone book right now and invite him over if you want—”

Yeah, because seeing him again is gonna make any of this shit better, he thinks bitterly to himself, though he’s pleasantly surprised by your following promise.

“I’ll make him come over here, act like I wanna catch up or whatever, and then make him watch while I suck your cock,” you paint the picture for him in a suddenly low, sultry tone.

Steve can almost see it — the look on Todd’s face as he stands in the foyer, his hands balled into fists at his side, wearing an angry amber tint upon his perfect face while he watches the girl that got away take a mouthful of another man’s dick. “I’ll get all nice and pretty on my knees for you and make him watch.”

Steve tenses at your words. His fingers twitch where they rests on his knees, itching to get a hold of you. His eyes go heavy as he gazes up at you, his stern stare looking much darker than before — hungrier.

Your eyes carry a similar sort of desire. They swim with innocence and yearning and knowing.

Because both of you understand how your fights usually end. You’ve been together long enough to know. The anger grows and grows in the belly of a dragon until it’s all you can do to keep your hands off of each other. You make Steve come so hard he forgets all the reasons he was raging in the first place and then he apologizes with his tongue deep inside you, touching you in all the tender ways he knows how.

“Yeah,” he breathes with a nod, the word heavy on his tongue. “That’s what I want.”

“You wanna own me, don’t you, Stevie?” you purr.

Your movements are calculated and cat-like as you mount him. Your hands caress him from his knees to his thighs, then rise up to his chest when you straddle his lap. “You wanna fuck me and make me forget about every guy that’s ever had me before you. Is that it?”

He nods, too dumb to speak for now. Your voice is all silk and heat. It reminds him of your wet, hot pussy sitting just over his lap. Only the thin layers of your clothes separate you from him.

“You wanna ruin everyone else for me, huh?”

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, both in an answer and a moan as your hand reaches between you to grab his cock through his jeans.

“You already have,” you assure with a sincere twinkle in your eyes. “But feel free to remind me.”

When your mouths collide, it’s all tongue and teeth and spit. It’s not passionate, it’s dirty.

His tongue forces its way between your lips and into your mouth, rubbing every part of you he can reach with the muscle, like he wants you to feel all of him there — a lingering touch that you can’t get rid of.

Your mouths caress each other and then break apart again in acute, wet, and filthy clicks that fill the silence in the house.

His stubble softly scratches you as it rubs against your skin. The feeling of it sends chills down your spine. Fuck, you curse to yourself. It’d feel even better between your legs.

Steve separates from you suddenly, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. A whimper leaves your throat as he mouths at it. With hooded eyes, he lets it go and watches it fall back into place. Then he grabs your cheeks with two large palms and drags you back to him, sucking on the bitten skin and then on your tongue.

The sensation’s got you moaning, your eyes rolling back in your head, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Your obedient hands worm between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

“You gonna be good for me?” Steve asks you while your fingers undo that button on his pants. His lips are pinker and more swollen, coated with a fine sheen of spit that matches what's smeared on his chin.

“I’ll be so good for you, Stevie,” you promise before reaching through the band of his underwear to wrap your fingers around his warm, half-hard cock.

A grunt escapes his throat as he slides your panties to the side. He’s suddenly grateful for the easy access granted by your dress — the one that makes your tits look like heaven, the one he was cursing just hours because it had Todd drooling all over himself when he saw you.

The thought of the man no longer angers him. He’s not the one with his finger between the lips of your pussy, already drenched and coated with you.

“Yeah? You want daddy to fill your hungry little cunt?” Steve asks you, almost taunting you. He only uses that nickname when he’s in a certain mood — the mood to ruin you.

The tip of his finger catches the peak of your swollen clit and you keen.

His touch makes you so stupid that you’ve already forgotten to answer his question. He makes sure to remind you, though, when his hand rears back and smacks against the bare flesh of your cunt.

You hear the wet slap before you feel it.

It makes you clench around nothing and moan louder for him, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Words,”he demands softly.

“Please,” you moan helplessly into his shoulder. You love when he gets like this, assertive and showy with the power you let him have over you. He gets mean with you, but never too much that you forget how much he loves you, and that’s when you like him best.

His finger slips so effortlessly into you. You could easily take more than that with the way your pussy is so eager to suck him inside. He knows it, too. He just wants to tease you.

He wants to leave you empty and yearning before he fucks you silly. For now, he’s taunting you with his slow and clinical touch, observing everything he’s doing to you and how it has you twitching and begging for more.

He wants to commit it all to memory.

He’s barely got the tip of his pointer and middle finger prodding at your clenching entrance; it’s your pussy that drags them further in, opening for him and then tightening around the appendages so they’ll never leave. The obscenity of it makes both of you moan.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Steve mutters to himself. “And so fucking wet— enough for me to slip right in, don’t ya think?”

You’re not so sure but you nod into his shoulder anyway. Even after all this time together, you can’t quite get used to how big he is. He still has to work you up to take his cock, with three or more fingers shoved inside of you until you’re ready. Even then, it still burns for the first couple of seconds. There’s always a grace period that you have to wait for before he can move.

And you feel the ache of him in your belly after, every damn time. Like he’s still there.

But you’re so wet now, impossibly so, you don’t think you could feel a thing other than pure bliss when he nestles his cock deep inside of you.

You whine quietly when he pulls his fingers from you, though it turns into a breathy moan when you see them glisten with your wetness. He slides them over his length, jerking himself to lube himself up for you. Just for good measure, he grabs hold of his cock and rubs the rounded tip between your velvet lips, coating it further with your slick.

“Think there’s enough for me to take your ass tonight, baby?” he asks over your low moan. He has to hold back his own, grit his teeth to keep it from leaving his mouth. God, you feel exactly like silk. “You want me to fuck that tight little hole, huh? You’ve only let me in there, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer tightly.

He doesn’t know which question you’re answering. Probably all three. Or maybe you’re just moaning because he’s got you all stupid with his cock and it’s not even inside of you yet. Both seems most likely.

Steve positions himself against you. When you feel the bulbous tip of his head, you hardly wait to slide down, down, down upon his cock.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel full. It takes less time before he reaches the apparent end of you. The feeling makes you jolt against him, like your body’s trying to move back up and away from the sensation on instinct. He’s quick to grab your hips to keep himself inside you.

“Uh-uh,” he hums. “Don’t run away from me.”

“Fuck,” you moan into his shoulder and then whine. The pleasure and the accompanying ache has your head spinning. “You’re already so deep.”

“I know, baby. You gotta take all of me, though, okay? Said you were gonna me by good girl, remember?”

His coo is enough to comfort you. You nod against his neck and let him guide you further and further down his cock.

You grit your teeth when you think he can’t possibly fill you anymore. The burn peaks all at once and ebbs so quickly, letting the rest of his inches slide in you with ease. And, god, if you don’t feel him in your fucking throat.

He stills, thankfully, and lets you get used to the feeling of him all over again.

“There you go,” Steve praises like he always does and then laughs at how rigid you’ve gone. “Breathe, baby.”

The exhale comes out as a sob and a small “fuck”, but you force yourself to relax against him nonetheless. His warm hands rub soothingly against the buzzing skin of your thighs beneath the skirt of your dress. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“I can feel you in my fucking guts right now,” you slur, voice fragile like glass.

Your words are almost enough to make him burst and you haven’t even moved yet. A deep, hearty groan climbs from his throat. He tips his heavy head to the back of the couch and clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the feeling.

He makes himself climb down from the peak of pleasure and quickly gain his bearings all over again.

“Ride me, honey,” he whispers you.

Immediately, you start rocking your hips against him. His sigh is blissful, almost dreamy, as he watches you work yourself on top of him.

You’re always so patient with your pleasure, so calculated and attentive. You slide your hips back over his thighs and then up again, moaning every time the material of his sweatshirt rubs against your clit. You’re not chasing the feeling, you’re letting it come slowly and ease its way up to you. You know you’ve got all the time in the world.

Steve has always admired your patience, but it’s never one he could hope to possess. He rides toward an orgasm on a white mare. He claims it, he hunts it, he snatches it. Because, you’re right, you’ve got all the time in the world — he wants you to come as many times as the night (or, rather, your pussy) will allow.

So it isn’t at all surprising when gets impatient with your slow movements. And when one hand falls to your ass and the other slides up your back and clutches the opposite shoulder, you know what you’re in for.

Even though you’re expecting it, a high-pitched moan spills from your mouth when he starts fucking up into you. He’s doing a whole lot more than just hitting the right spot. The rubbing of the fabric is unrelenting against your clit.

You’re always done for when he takes you like this. Both of you know it.

“You already close, aren’t you?” he manages through heavy pants over the lewd slapping of his thighs against your own. “This is all it takes, huh?”

“’S because of you,” you slur into the sticky skin of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He can feel himself getting closer and he groans through gritted teeth. The hand on your shoulder ascends to the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair and pull you from the refuge you’d found in the book of his shoulder. It allows him to see you for the first time since you’d mounted his cock.

Your cheeks are blotchy and glowing cherry. Your eyes are glassy and glazed over with pleasure. Your lips swollen from where you’d been biting at them.

Perfect, he thinks to himself.

He drags that hand to your chest, wrenching at the plunging neck and pushing it down to reveal your tits. They bound out of the fabric with ease, a small red and raw line at the tops of them from where the dress had kept them so tightly contained.

He palms at your left breast, digs his fingers into the fat of it and lets your hard and pebbled nipple rub against his palm.

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whines. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes open to look at them. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why I wore this— wanted your attention—” you confess through each of his thrusts.

“Yeah, you got my fucking attention, sweetheart,” he manages a breathy laugh.

His heart swells at the thought of you picking this dress because you thought he might like it. That you’d think of him doing something as mundane as picking what you wore out to the bar you went to every Friday night.

It gets too easy to want to slip into that softness. But he knows that you’re already close. So, so fucking close.

“Now come all over my cock for me, yeah?” he demands softly. “Cream on this dick and show me how good you are.”

And, like the good girl you are, don’t need to be told twice.

You shudder against him and then go rigid. He watches with a proud, lazy grin as you tip your head back, squeeze your eyes shut, and let your mouth fall agape. The feeling in your stomach builds and builds and builds, the pleasure disappearing for a moment, before coming back in an explosion that makes you gush.

As though your moans weren’t enough of a confirmation of your orgasm, you go so unmistakably tight around him that it makes his legs twitch beneath you. He angles his hips so he can peek between the two of you to watch the sheen of your cum glisten on his hard cock.

“God, you’re so fucking sensitive like this— holy shit.”

“Steve!” you whine when your high starts to fade and his thrusts only quicken.

He's chasing his own pleasure now, you know that, but the feeling against your abused pussy is growing into a nearly unbearable one.

You bite your lip so hard it’s a wonder you don’t draw any blood. You grip his shoulders and ball his sweatshirt in your fist, tethering yourself to him and to reality.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he asks with his chin jutted out to look up at you. “Who else can fuck you like this?”

You can tell by his glassy eyes and erratic thrusts that he’s close to his own orgasm. He always wants you to talk him through it, to praise him and to tell him how good he makes you feel. For obvious reason, the whole thing comes terribly natural to you.

“Only you,” you promise tiredly. “’S just you, Stevie—”

“Fuck,” he spits and tilts his head to the back of the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and brings his bottom lip between his teeth, never easing his impossibly swift thrusts.

“Want you to come in me,” you whisper to him. You rest your arms on his shoulders and drag your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and pulling every time he lets a moan slip. “Want you to come so deep inside me— I’m dripping for days—”

“Shit, baby.”

“And then, when I’m all round and full with your baby— everyone’s gonna know who I belong to, right?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Gonna come so— fuck— so nice and deep in this pussy. My pussy.”

“Please,” you beg, like you aren’t half-delirious with your own pleasure. “Come in your pussy, Stevie.”

“Holy shit—” His cock pulses and twitches and then spits inside you. He grabs onto your hips more roughly than he intended and keeps you tightly pressed against him while he comes, giving you several long and warm ropes against your velvet walls. He whimpers when your pussy flutters around him.

You collapse against him when his orgasm comes and goes, rocking against his lap to get him through his high until he stops you with a firm squeeze to your thigh. You both sink further into the couch, swimming in the peaceful void that pleasure always pushes you into.

He rubs his hands beneath the skirt of your dress, petting your warm and sticky skin as the after-sex bliss rest heavily upon the both of you.

“Here,” he breaks the satin silence and taps at your hip. “Get off, baby. Let me get you some water or something—”

He feels you shake your head from where you’ve tucked it in his shoulder again. “Don’t wanna move. Want you to stay inside me.”

“Yeah?”

You’ve never done this before — cockwarming. He’s not sure if you have before, but he definitely hasn’t, and certainly not with you.

Before you, he was the kind of asshole that went to sleep right after sex. The thought of staying inside his partner never crossed his mind. But to his defense, none of his partners thought to do it either. Being King Steve and all meant there wasn’t a lot of cuddling going on after sex. It was usually one-and-done affairs, but he never did this with any of his girlfriends before either.

And now that he’s matured into a somewhat respectable adult, he takes great pride in taking care of you after, in cleaning you up and making sure you’re alright. And when you’re either falling asleep or wanting to shower, there’s no room to be kept inside you. Not until now.

“Wanna fall asleep like this,” you confess. The way you’re halfway slurring and settling more heavily against him tells him you’re not too far off.

“That’s not gonna be comfortable for you, baby,” he scolds softly. Because him — he’s perfect like this. He’s slouched in the plush cushion of the couch and you’re wrapped so tightly around him (in every possible way) you've become his own personal blanket.

But your back is hunched from where your neck is snug and pressed into his shoulder. You’ll likely wake up aching tomorrow, in more ways than one.

“Don’t care,” you mumble and sprinkle kisses to his neck, just because you can. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

“Forever?” he laughs tiredly.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You shift on his lap to look at him, exhaling a moan through your nose when you feel him twitch inside of you, even though he’s going steadily soft. Your gaze is innocent and yearning and knowing — hungry again. “Think you can take that, Harrington?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he promises with a sincere twinkle in his cinnamon colored eyes. “I can take it.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #published by bug #st oneshots

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leohamatoblog · 21 days

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You Randomly Sit on His Lap: As Your Boyfriend

note: y'all, college is kicking my ASS. anyone else in college? how are we doin? it's finals month. we also had a total eclipse yesterday in the US. who got to see it? my town was one that you could see the whole thing perfectly.

Leo:

He just looked so calm reading his book. You invited him over for a quiet afternoon as you'd had a hectic week and just wanted some peace with your boyfriend. Leo was sitting in the recliner with a mug sitting next to him on the coffee table. You couldn't help but watch him read.

It was rare to have everything be so quiet and see him be so calm. In these rare moments, he looked especially cozy. So much so that your brain was screaming at you to curl up with him. You tried not to disturb him because you knew he needed space, but you found yourself walking over to him anyway. You just had to hug him.

You lifted his arms and manuvered under them, straddling his lap. Leo didn't say a word until you were settled. Your head was in the crook of his neck and your arms were laid over his shoulders as best they could. You gave a content sigh and closed your eyes. You felt him press a kiss to your forehead and heard a page flip in his book.

"Now this is what I consider a relaxing afternoon."

Raph:

He was in one of his moods today and asked you to come over. Raph always found himself feeling better with you around and talking to him. He just felt less stressed with you. You suggested he try and take a nap to cool off and that you'd just play on your phone until he woke up. Now you found yourself trying not to wake him.

Raph was a heavy sleeper, especially when tired. You knew he needed the rest, it was so obvious when you saw him and he was pale. Now that he was fully asleep sitting against the wall, you had the urge to curl up on his lap. He just looked so warm and so peaceful. You found yourself growing sleepy looking at him.

Your body moved before your mind could tell it to stop and you climbed on top of him. You laid over his plastron and laid your head between his chin and collarbone. You yawned and laid your arm over his bicep. You felt an arm wrap around you and rub your back gently as you closed your eyes.

"If ya wanted ta nap with me, ya coulda just said so."

Donnie:

The sound of keyboard clicking and metal clacking filled the room. You were doing homework/work and invited Donnie over to keep you company. While he was there, he found himself fixing your sink once again. Not what you had planned, but you were grateful he took it upon himself to fix it without you asking.

You heard the cabinet shut and his footsteps wonder over to where you sat on the couch. He looked proud of himself, which told you he fixed the sink. He sat down and peered over your shoulder, reading what you had typed. He always looked adorable when he was in his teacher mode. You were feeling a little mischevious.

You closed your laptop and climbed into his lap, hugging his neck. Donnie made a surprised noise and chuckled. His arms went around you slowly as you got comfortable in his arms. Physical affection isn't his strong suite, but he said you could hug him when you wanted. You were simply taking him up on his past offer.

"You said company, not a distraction, but I'll let this one slide cause you're warm."

Mikey:

There's never a time where his arm isn't around you or he isn't holding your hand. Mikey loved to be touching you in some way, if you were okay with it, of course. It wasn't unheard of to see the two of you curled up together, seeing you two showing some sort of physical affection towards each other, or just being together.

He was playing video games. You came over to hang out and he was playing video games. You felt a little annoyed by the lack of attention as you watched him play. His elbows were on his knees, his eyes concentrated on the screen. His tongue was sticking out in concentration. His lap was free and you were itching for some sort of affection.

You stood up from your spot and walked over to him. Mikey didn't even look at you. You rolled your eyes and lifted one of his arms, climbing under and on to his lap. He moved his head around so he could see the screen but once you settled, he kissed the side of your head. He cheered, wrapping his arms around you, gently squeezing you.

"Just what I needed, my good luck charm, I beat the level!"

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt ask blog #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #ask blog #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons #tmnt imagine

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dilfs-bitch · 1 year

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Oeyä | Tonowari (NSFW)

Pairing : Tonowari x Fem Omatikaya reader

Word count : 3k

Summary : Ever since your family is allowed to stay in Awa'atlu, you're drawn to the clan's Olo'eyktan. It all starts with just innocent glances until he catches you.

Warnings : Finger-fuck, hand job, sexual tension, inexperienced reader, age gap ( reader is nineteen and Tonowari in late thirties) exhibitionism, dirty talk, nsfw, oral sex (fem receiving), size difference, voyeurism.

Sorry if there are spelling mistakes, english is not my mother tongue

The first time was accidental.

It happened after the eclipse, right after you wait for your family to fall asleep to sneak out of the shared marui pod.

Just to take a dive in the warm bioluminescent waters of Awa'atlu, nothing else, or so you think, because every step you took away from the village, your amber eyes catch sight of that figure, almost like a blur diving into the sea.

It would only be a peek, the annoying little voice in your head said, perhaps incited by curiosity that guided your slightly silent feet closer. However, your heart stops beating for a few seconds, and your mind goes blank until your cerebellum sends commands to the rest of your body that hurriedly runs towards the village when you recognize that the blur was nobody but Tonowari.

The thought itself of the Olo'eyktan catching you was disturbing, yet it wasn't enough to you stop smiling as you returned to your marui pod.

Just because in your eyes he was the most handsome man you had ever seen, much more than the Omatikaya one, with his presence that exuded power and authority, the tattoos that adorned his body muscular. The fact was that you enjoyed seeing him swimming in all his glory, totally naked, the vision was even better than in your dreams, dreams that were inappropriate ever since your family is allowed to stay in the Metkayina clan, dreams that were so vivid ones that left the heat between your legs sticky in the next morning.

It seemed wrong to think and feel that way for a man of such position within a clan, old enough to be your father yet not enough to control your body, your heartbeat racing every time you saw him or the flush of your cheeks every time he greeted you as he had many times before, but now his face looked much prettier with that gentle smile that made your legs go weak.

You were being obvious, more than other times, although he seems oblivious to the effect he has on you.

A kind of effect as bad as a drug, that makes every part of your body beg to do exactly as you did that night. It was like taking an arrow in the dark with eyes shut that hits exactly on target.

Your knees were rested against the soft sand, your body hidden behind the dense stub of one the palm trees, your amber eyes were fixed, deliberately gazing at his large, muscular body so close to the shore. Unlike that night, your ears perked in excitement, it's even needed to hold your tail that are happily swinging from side to side between your blue fingers when upon watching he's naked. Maybe a silent warning to return to the village however your body is still, your eyes widen as you see his four-fingered hand wrap around his own erection, ready to relieve himself.

Something you could never understand, someone like him yet not claiming another mate after his first died giving birth to their daughter, despite the bond being lifelong, that didn't stop him from having another mate to help him with the burden of being clan chief, having a complete family again even helping him with the heat, which seemed unbearable according to your mated friends.

It was bearable for you, though it took a rather long time to get to know your own body, on days when you were in the heat or as a human said to each other at the outpost back on the omatycaia horny, just your fingers circling the bundle of nerve between your legs was more than enough for that feeling of ecstasy to take over your body totally stunned from the orgasm, even though at times, almost every time in fact, your body begged for something more, something that could go inside you filling you up completely. Once you even tried to use your own fingers as your friend Ya'nut had instructed you, but it felt weird…

Definitely different from now, an almost unbearable heat that spread like a fire through your belly when you heard the hoarse needy moan from the man who had his long, thin fingers enveloping his thick greenish length with the tip almost washed, the veins in his arm were prominence accentuated with the grip he keep on his own length, running his hands up and down slowly, his eyes are closed, his head tilted back slightly as his own hips gently pushed against his hand.

He groaned as his thumb moved against the bulbous tip that was leaking pre-cum, his sharp teeth grabbing his lower lip in anticipation of the heat building in his abdomen, about to overflow, almost like your own self-control desperately fighting that desire totally new that makes your mouth water when you hear the loud moans filling your ears that twitch with every sound coming from him, it's overwhelming the desire that runs through your body to be the only one holding his length giving him that relief he desperately craved, like the heat that grows between your legs, sticky, throbbing for release, throbbing uncontrollably to feel him inside you, covering you with his own musky scent.

It's disgusting be watching Tonowari in his most intimate moment like a pervert, it's disgusting your own thighs to tighten in search of some kind of relief, relief that perhaps would only be possible with your own fingers that push your own loincloth to the side to try to satisfy yourself with the sight so erotic before you, your fangs biting down on your own lips so hard to keep from escaping the moan that gets stuck in your throat as your fingers circle your neglected clit, your eyes roll back lost in the pleasure that leaves your body soaked, which makes your cunt clench around nothingness with a groan that rumbles from Tonowari's chest.

The name that repeated like an echo in your mind as your fingers stimulated your clit in similar movements to his, your back arched as you felt the tightness in your stomach, getting strong caused by the way he lightly pumps his own throbbing cock, desperate as he comes, guttural moans thundering from his parted lips becomes your own climax that catches your breath as shocks of pleasure course through your body.

Shame.

The only thing you feel, was stupid to keep going back to that place after the second time, you just knew, the rational part of your body begged you to stop because it knew something was coming.

And it came, worse than you imagined because now you've been caught.

“ Please don't tell my father Olo'eyktan” Your voice is pleading, but your eyes are fixed on the marui pod mat.

He wouldn't, telling JakeSully that he'd caught his oldest daughter spying on him didn't feel right, not when he'd done it on purpose.

A behavior that was not befitting for a man like him, for an Olo'eyktan to give in to his darkest desires, desires he tried Eywa knows he tried from the first day he laid eyes on you and your body with blood demon that made you stand out from others in everything, just like Ronal.

Maybe that's why he was so attracted.

It was wrong, he knew it was. However, that night he just needed a break, a dive in the sea to relieve the stress of his position within the clan, that's how it all started, a dark blue blur running back to the village. He knew it was one of Sully's children, perhaps even his mate. The thought even disgusted him, but deep down he knew it was you.

Your scent gave you away.

Heady scent, sweet mingled with the musk, sea breeze scent and that thing he didn't know what it was exactly but that made your scent unique, that attraction, your shy smile every time he greeted that become unbearable for him to contain his own erection, so he was seeking that kind of relief at that time of night alone stroking his own cock, the pleasure that becomes overwhelming because he could swear he could smell you as he palmed himself in those hot waters with only a thought in his mind what it would feel like to be so buried inside of you.

It's with that thought that for the next few days he does it on purpose, watching the way you smile every time you see him, your cheeks almost flushed as your eyes are fixed on his body as if you know every part of it, and you do. He felt foolish for not having realized earlier that it was you, the heady scent that flooded his nose was real.

It's wrong, he knows, and yet Tonowari does it anyway, like those nights. He goes to that furthest part of the village to swim naked to give himself that kind of relief, in just hope you're there watching him behind those palm trees.

And once becomes two, two becomes fours, four becomes ten until he loses count.

Until your body gives you away, and he has no option but to feign surprise at catching you.

“ Sit down “ He starts points to the mat waiting for you do as he said “ How many times? ”

He knew exactly how many, but he wanted to know if you would be able to lie to him, lie to your Olo'eyktan who desperately wanted to know why you kept watching him behind the palm trees in such an intimate moment, Tonowari intensely wanted to hear from your mouth that it was because you liked it, liked to see him at your mercy even if you didn't know it yet, touching himself like a teenager in heat.

“ Once, I swear sir ” You lie through your teeth.

" Why ? ”

A simple question that hides an obscene answer to say to a man old enough to be your father, a man who had already been mated, that gazing at you with those blue eyes persuading you to say the truth even if you would regret it later.

The heat envelops your face, you feel hot, bothered by his gaze that makes your voice come out almost as a whisper. ” I liked to see “

His ears twitch, his tail beats steadily against the mat, oh you like it. Maybe he could offer to do it in front of you, but it wouldn't be right, he shouldn't even think about it, yet he does it anyway, blinded by lust it tears at the nearly tattered thread of self-control he still had, but he wanted it for months and now that he's given the chance, Tonowari's not going to let it fade against his fingers like the seawater.

“ I could show you ” He says, his hand circling just above the base of his tail, ready to undo the knot of his loincloth.

Your ears quivered at what he has just said, your gaze finally meeting his for any hesitation, yet there isn't, is only Tonowari with his face almost close to your when he kneels in front of you, your figure towering about you who even sitting on the mat in his marui is still so small, looking so fragile just waiting to be taken care of, something he would gladly do if you would just let him.

“ But only if you let me between your thighs ”

Wait, he's waiting for an answer, but there's only your big amber eyes staring back at him with furrowed brows and slightly open mouth that makes him insanely hard, it's like you're doing it on purpose because you know the effect it has on him, or maybe you're oblivious to that fact and that's why it's taking so long to say yes, because the answer will be that, he knows just by the scent that comes from you.

He just needs you to say that, and he is more than happy to coax it out of you, Tonowari just needs his hand to finally undo the knot of his loincloth, his throbbing cock hitting his abdomen. He chuckles at how your eyes widen, that just serves to boost his own ego, he's spent months craving just a little of your attention and even though he's been getting it the last few days, the feeling was so much better now, it made you perfect in his eyes as he lifts his hand over the bare skin of yours thighs so silky that he's purring softly especially when his fingers tighten over the flesh and a moan escapes your lips, his cock twitches the bulbous tip leaking pre-cum.

Butterflies appeared in your belly at the sight and the sudden contact of his hand still wet on the skin of your thigh, maybe it was because you were still inexperienced, but being that first time feeling the touch of a man, it sets your body on fire, the tip of your nipple is erect against your coral top that barely covers your full breasts, the fabric of your loincloth is wet with the arousal of your sex that clench around nothing begging for pleasure, for something that can fill it and that's why there is no more time to think or feel ashamed.

It would be silly to say no, and if there was something you were never was silly.

“ Please Wari, let me see ”

“ Okay sevin, but first take off your tewng " He says, pleased with how quickly you do as he says.

It only takes a few seconds for your loincloth to fall beside you the same amount of time that his large, callused hand holds your thighs apart revealing your shiny pussy, it's the unbearable excitement that takes over his body, and he gives in, his other hand holding his length the thumb spreading his pre-cum over his cock like a type of lubricant that helps his hand glide up and down with ease, it was pleasurable but not enough.

He wanted you to give in to your desires too, so visibly that your own hole begging for pleasure tightens around nothing every time his hand pumps his cock, and yet he doesn't have to say anything, his breath hitches as you slowly drag a finger over your cunt, rubbing your clit. His ears were pulled back when an almost inaudible moan comes out of your lips, and he swears he feels his near gasp and that urgency dominate his own body when he realizes how inexperienced you seemed to be, is only confirmed with your movements matching his that watching your fingers just circle your clit not even paying attention to the rest of your body that seems on fire under the heat of his hand now under your top against your firm breasts, a unison moan caused by the grip on his cock and by his fingers that twists slightly between your nipples.

He's succumbing to the urge to mark every part of your body as his own, at which point he doesn't even care about his hand pleasuring himself, Tonowari just tries, almost giving up fighting the intense desire to bury his face between your legs, he desperately wanted to taste you on his tongue or know what it would feel like to have your pussy muscles clenching around his fingers, he had already forgotten how it felt, it had been so long since he had been mated with a woman, so long that only his hands pumping his cock no longer satisfied his pleasure he wanted so much more, he wanted to know what it would be like to fuck a woman again, what it would be like to fuck you even if it was just with his tongue.

And it's all so fast that even you can't quite figure out exactly what's happening, because the next instant Tonowari is lying face down on the marui mat, both his hands firmly gripping the sides of your thick thigh and his face is so close to your pussy that his warm breath blowing against it makes your body shiver in anticipation to finally knowing what that feeling you friends always talked about.

“ Your Olo'eyktan will take care of you sevin ” He kisses your inner thigh, his teeth grazing the skin. “ I'll fuck you like no man has the nerve to do ”

You sigh, the shiver running from the base of your tail up your spine at the immoral promise, it's so dirty but so lustful to hear it from a man like him who blatantly makes it obvious how much he wants you that leaves your mind blank, the thought mingled with the feeling of his real promise because his tongue licking a long swath from your wet entrance to your clit, resulting in your five-fingered hand fiercely gripping his braids take a muffled moan from the man between your legs. The vibrations go straight to your clit overwhelm you almost quickly, because it feels good, so good, better than you ever thought it would be. Your mind is clouded with that sensation of his rough tongue invading your insides, ravaging your soft walls as they contracted around his wet muscle.

Like the marui's rug, that's wet with the pre-cum leaking from its tip that rubs against it in search of pleasure, the kind of pleasure that burns through your body when suddenly his tongue is licking precisely your swollen clit and his fingers poking your entrance.

He smiles pleased, watching your beautiful golden eyes close in pleasure and your head tilt back as he finally inserts two of his fingers, it's slow, torturous, pleasurable unlike your own fingers that felt so dull inside you, different from Tonowari's fingers who pump in and out of you as if he were pulling a knot in your belly that unravels little by little each time his fingers go in and out, each time his tongue licks your sensitive clit like your ears that twitching at his breathing breathless that makes your eyes open to watch his hips moving against the rug, he wanted more too.

Looking desperate as he rubs himself like he's in heat, which feels contagious because it makes your hips stutter against his face, enjoying every caress on your clit that makes the inside of your belly tingle and your pussy clench uncontrollably around his soggy fingers, your arousal as he curls his fingers hitting that sweet spot that makes your fingers repeat his movements twirling your nipples under your fingers that make your legs tighten against his head, your heart pounding frantically, black dots fill your vision, the buzzing against your ears becomes mingled with the pumping of your blood that makes your legs tremble when you reach the limit as your voice that desperately screams his name like a prayer to Ewya Wari, Wari, Wari.

Desperate between your legs, hot, panting nearly suffocating with how long his face is pressed against your cunt eating you through your orgasm like his, coming closer so fast like an Akula after his prey. A loud growl resonating from his chest, and a muttering almost Inaudible that your ears manage to pick up making you open your eyes just in time to see his hips move against the mat one last time, and he comes, comes muttering your name like a curse.

Satisfied, finally he pulls away from your hypersensitive pussy that makes your body shiver when he kisses your clit that leaves a brief aftertaste of you in his nearly purple mouth, swollen, wet as the strands of hair released from his braid against his forehead caused by the strong grip of your hands that now feel weak as the rest of your body that almost falls against the mat but instead your face rests against his sweaty muscular torso when the palm of his hand rests on your back.

" Was it too much for you, sevin ? " He smiles, kissing the top of your head.

The answer is sure yes, it was too much, it was too good better than any sensation you could ever feel, but now your voice is stuck in your throat. Even if your mouth opens, nothing comes out, because now that all the excitement is starting to wear off place the shame that becomes too much, and you hide your face in his pectoral.

" You got all shy now, why sevin? Wasn't that good ? " His hand lingering hold with a soft, grip on the joint of the back of your neck pulled you away from his pectoral to face him.

So close that his warm breath blows against your face, their lips almost touching as his blue eyes wait impatiently for an answer, an answer he already knows.

" It was good Olo'eyktan" You say, closing your eyes, leaning in for a kiss.

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uwabbittuwabbit · 17 days

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some like it hot rosquez :) based on this picture this is my first time writing smut lol so apologies for the length :( also i am SHIT at writing dialogue i am so sorry

It's an ugly feeling. There's no air conditioning in the room they're staying in and Vale has Marc pressed into the mattress with his hand in his hair, the window thrown open as an only respite to the feverish weather. A rectangle of pure heat frames Marc's head, the sunlight separating it from the rest of his body that lies beneath the shadow of Valentino. They're both rank with sweat and as Vale mouths the column of Marc's neck he also tastes: sunscreen, the saliva in his mouth, the metal links of a necklace. Valentino grins, taking the chain between his teeth, and he pulls. He was always one to take the reins that were handed to him, to bite the bit when the time was right. And Marc is easy, so easy; a loud, choked off gasp leaving him as he follows Vale's lead, his head rearing back. Vale can feel Marc's throat working against the chain, the movement pressing the links into his tongue. Another sound escapes Marc, a little hiccuping whine, and Vale chooses this moment to let go of the necklace; rewarding him with a particularly nasty downstroke of the hips, his dick somehow feeling hotter than the searing entirety of Marc all around him. God, it was hot, his palm damp in Marc's hair, sweat dripping into his eyes and making them sting. He can feel Marc, how he bucks with impatience, that he's close, and he can see it in his minds eye, the finish, tunnel vision like in the straight before a checkered flag. So, Vale does what he would with the bike: chest pressed against the burnished skin of Marc's back, he brings it home.

"You should wear my things more", he tells Marc after, when they are no longer so sticky with sweat. He's rewarded with a breathy little laugh, and as Vale feels Marc's hand stroke through his hair he thinks he can still see the little indentations left behind by the necklace on Marc's neck, the number 46 still vaguely etched into the side of his collarbone. The feeling that overwhelms him, then, can only be described as terrifying. Never has he felt something so total and absolute for someone that it eclipses all reason, that he has to close his eyes to let it pass. When he has gathered enough sense back into himself, Marc's gaze is upon him, sweet and amber in the fading daylight. Maybe he fell asleep, the heat dragging him under, making everything slow, slow. Vale has always counted himself as one of the luckiest men in the world but he never thought he would be so lucky to have this, to walk off from the table having gambled all of his life's savings away but for one coin, one more bet left in the cards. That, he supposes, is love, and the sweltering confines of the cheap motel room suddenly become altogether too much again. The soft smile on Marc's face ticks into something sharper, bladed with mischief. "Well, obviously, since you're such a narcissist", he replies, oh the little bastard! Vale cannot help the incredulous sound that tumbles out of him. Inspired, he reaches towards the little charm of his number around Marc's neck, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. Now it's Marc's turn to laugh his odd laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth, eyes crinkled with it. "I am entirely full of myself but so are you," Vale declares, wiggling his eyebrows for maximum effect. He's an old dog with old tricks, but who is anyone except for Marc to judge? And Vale knows, sees Marc fall for it every time, his giggles intensifying as Vale sets upon him with kisses all along his neck and face. He was thinking of something more permanent, maybe. He was thinking about a ring on Marc's finger. But that can wait, because if anything, they have time. They have all the time in the world.

#rosquez #eternalectics #must emphasize that they fuck nasty #bruh it isnt a motogp fic if there isnt at least one bike metaphor :p #YAHOOOOO #THEY ARE IN A CHEAP HOTEL ROOM BECAUSE THEY DONT WANT ANYONE RECOGNIZING THEM. JPG.

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dreamsoflightvalley · 4 months

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Two of Skates (James P Sullivan X Reader)

Summary: You’re an introvert who isn’t too keen on attending one of Roar Omega Roar’s famous ragers, if anything you’d rather attend one of Oozma Kappa’s small gatherings. You prefer good times and pizza over goo pong and crazy stunts… Oh, and of course your crush on Sullivan plays a part in the decision too.

Content: Completely SFW, romance, introverted reader, gender neutral reader, copious amounts of pizza, overall wholesomeness and good times! Also, skating.

A/N: Was thinking of Total Eclipse of the Heart while writing this (specifically the Nicki French cover). Enjoy!

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Monsters University, one of the most prestigious scaring schools out there, was not immune to the party culture that prevailed in just about every college.

Every other week like clockwork RΩR would throw a rager that was open to the entire campus, and it’d keep going well into the night. Exams had just ended, so naturally all of the top scarers in that house were partying. Every house was to attend the party, but standout group Oozma Kappa was definitely uninvited.

You watched as your dorm buddy did her makeup in front of her vanity while rubbing your arm. “You’re coming with us, right Y/N?” Your friend turned to you, tilting her head.

“I dunno… Isn’t there any other house throwing their own party?” You asked, looking out the window to see students in droves flooding into the RΩR house. You couldn’t stand half the members in that group, they were so full of themselves and didn’t hesitate to pick on you for not having a pedigree like them. So what if your parents weren’t top scarers? So what if you didn’t make all A’s? That kind of stuff shouldn’t matter, but to them it did. It also didn’t help that Johnny Worthington had a penchant for singling you out specifically.

“Well, OK or whatever their house name is, is having their own party. They’re going to a roller rink or something,” She scoffed with a smile, turning back to the mirror. “The short squishy one handed me an invitation earlier, it was kinda cute… And also kinda sad,” She chuckled, clearly having no intentions to abandon a big RΩR party to go hang out with a bunch of dweebs at a roller rink.

Oddly enough, that sounded right up your alley.

“Where’d you put it?” You asked.

“Oh, it’s in my backpack. I was gonna throw it away, but I’d feel bad doing it right in front of the little guy,” She admitted sheepishly.

You went over to her backpack and scrounged through it, finding the hand drawn pamphlet rather quickly. It had a little drawing of all the members inside alongside a date, time, and address for the party. Free rides are being offered to anyone who needs them, yadda yadda… Oh, and pizza too?

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss out on a Roar Omega Roar party for that!” She folded her arms, giving you a stern look.

“Oh, come on! It sounds like fun! Besides, you know I can’t stand Johnny. He picks on me even with you around,” You grabbed your thoroughly worn jacket off the back of your desk chair, shrugging it on.

“You’re just saying that because you wanna hang out with your lover James.~”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

You grabbed the scooter by the door and stuck your tongue out playfully at your friend, and she returned the gesture.

“You know I hate going to parties without you,” She watched as you grabbed your ita bag, pulling the strap over your shoulder. “But I guess I can manage,” She sighed dramatically, leaning back and closing her eyes. It only took her a few seconds to open one to see if her attempts to stop you were working.

“I know you will,” You reassured her, twirling your keys in hand. “But at least you won’t have to stand with me by the snack table the whole time anymore, you can go and play goo pong with the girls… Maybe make a move of your own on that Crystal chick you’ve been diggin’,” You scooted out of the door before your friend could scold you for teasing, popping your headphones on so that you could drown out the nearby music.

You managed to weave through the gaps in the crowd with relative ease, the noise canceling allowed you to follow the beat of your own music and ignore the bass that rumbled through the ground as you passed the noisy fraternity. The OK house wasn’t too far from campus, not on scooter at least. Right as you arrived you could already see the members boarding into an old van, you were just barely on time.

Of course Sulley was the one to notice you scooting towards them, a heavy hand resting atop the car. He was about to duck into the back seat but he saw you and perked up immediately— so fast that he bumped his head on the roof of the car. He shook it off as he stood up straight, raising a curious brow at your arrival.

“Y/N?”

You took your headphones off and paused your music, breathing a little heavily as you fished into your back to pull out a slightly crumpled up invitation. “I heard you guys were throwing your own party…” You held it out to them shyly, still scared of rejection despite the fact that they were the definition of the rejects.

Squishy approached you and took the invite from your hands, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. “You… Actually showed up?” He looked up at you for confirmation, eyes bigger than usual. “Well of course they showed up, they’re right in front of you!” Mike gestured towards you, happier than he’d like to admit. He was in disbelief too, since literally no one would turn down a Roar Omega Rager the way you just did. “Niiiice, stickin’ it to the man!” Art wasn’t one to look a gift pig in the mouth, so he was quick to accept you aboard. “N-No one’s ever come to an Oozma Kappa party before, no one outside of us at least! This is gonna be awesome!” Terri jumped excitedly, forcing Terry’s half of the body to also move with him. “Not to be that guy, but we’d better hurry up before the pizza gets cold. No one wants to eat cold pizza,” Terry put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. Just then, Squishy’s mom piped up from the front seat.

“Come on now, kiddos! That rink isn’t gonna skate itself.”

You waited for everyone else to enter the van, unsure of where you were gonna squeeze in. Squishy climbed into the front seat, Art, Terri, and Terry were in the far back, leaving the middle row to you, Mike, and Sullivan.

Mike got the window seat on the left side, and since you didn’t want to get between the two Sulley sat in the middle without complaint, only because it meant he got to sit next to you.

You closed the door on your side and quickly realized how cramped of a ride this was going to be, the moment the door shut you were walled into the corner by a dense wall of warm, teal fur. In a weird way it was cozy, and you did get to get a nice whiff of him from here…

Sheri turned on the radio as she started to drive, and there was some quiet idle chatter among the others…

“So…” You began, trying to get over your shyness. “You remembered my name..?”

“Hmm?” Sulley looked over at you, though you were hard to see compared to his shoulder. “Oh, your name. Yeah, of course I do. I have a great memory.”

You found it odd since the two of you never really interacted much. You were sure that you introduced yourself, during class but you didn’t expect him to actually… Remember. The encounter was so brief after all. Since then you’d occasionally run into each other (mostly due to you looking for him), but he always seemed too busy for you.

“That’s a bunch of malarky! You have terrible memory. You know how many study sessions we’ve had and you still can’t remember the name of New Eekland’s first prime minister?”

Mike butt in the first chance he got, he had a right to after how viciously Sulley used to tease him when they were freshman.

“When am I ever gonna need that information, history is boring! I don’t choose what I get to remember, I just trust that whatever my noggin thinks is important and retain that.”

Oh, so you were important enough to remember? Interesting.

“Keep thinkin’ like that and you’ll only remember sandwich ingredients, and maybe a few scarers if you’re lucky.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter, their friendship never ceasing to amuse you. It was clear that they chided each other out of compassion, if they didn’t like each other they definitely wouldn’t be here right now.

The conversation started to liven up as the drive went on, and for the most part you were simply enjoying the friendly environment and listening to the others talk. Only when the group settled down at their own booth did you get the chance to talk about yourself.

“My friend wanted to go, but honestly? This is so much better than whatever they could possibly be doing right now,” You nearly salivated at the sight of the stringy cheese still clinging onto the pizza for dear life. “I’m not really crazy about big parties like that. They’re so…”

“Loud?” Terri asked.

“Disorienting?” Art chimed in.

“Jock centric?” Mike rolled his eyes.

“Annoying?” Terry groaned.

“Chaotic?” Squishy was the last to finish the chain, since Sulley had nothing against parties. If anything he liked that kind of environment, so when everyone looked at him all he had to say was “What?”

“Uh, yeah, that!” You licked the grease off your fingers after you finished your first slice, already going in for another. “I’d rather be in a small group with nice people I kinda know than be in a den of strangers with only a friend or two, y’know… Quality over quantity.”

Just then, Sheri and Don came back with arms full of skates, each to your respective sizes and foot shapes. Don did a lot of the carrying thanks to his suckers. “We got yer skates, now let’s hit the floor!” Don’s energy was refreshing, but you wanted to stay at the table a little longer. “I think I’ll eat a little more first, after all it uh… Seems like you guys ordered quite a bit,” You glanced at the boxes upon boxes of uneaten pizza, stomach growling loudly.

“Yeah, I’ll hang back too. Y’know, to help,” Sulley shrugged, looking back and forth as he rubbed the back of his head. Sheri caught on immediately, but didn’t say anything. “Alright, we’ll leave you to it,” She guided Don and the others away before he could say anything, giving the two of you a wink and thumbs up as they walked away.

You and James locked eyes for a moment before you shyly looked away.

“Dunno what that was about,” He played dumb, a purple tint washing over the fur on his face.

“Y-Yeah, me neither,” You aired out your collar slightly, trying not to make things awkward.

A silence had settled between you as you ate for a little while. Truthfully, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in the rink since you had no idea how to skate whatsoever, but you acted like you were staying behind for the food. Why Sulley stayed behind is beyond you.

“Honestly… I’m no good at skating,” You admitted as you filled your plate once more.

“Oh yeah?” He smiled crookedly, filling his own plate at the same time as you.

“Yeah…”

He looked around as he scooped a slice into his mouth, making sure no one could hear but you. “Me neither.”

You smiled up at him, surprised that a mighty Sullivan would acknowledge something he couldn’t do. It was rare that James would admit to a fault of his, so even something this small was special. He had to like you at least a little bit.

The noise from the rink caught your attention, and from where you sat you could see Art spinning around in the middle while he held Terri and Terry up in the air. Sheri and Don held Squishy’s hands between them, helping him skate while Mike slipped and slid clumsily.

“You know, maybe if we skate together we’d be alright,” He folded his arms and leaned back, looking at you from the side of his eyes as he tried to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.

“What? You mean like… Two bad skaters come together to form one halfway decent skater? Our talent will balance itself out?”

“Something like that,” He shrugged.

You looked down at your loaded plate and then back at the rink, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to finish all that pizza.

“You know what… Why the heck not,” You stood up and grabbed your skates, offering your hand to him.

“Heck?” He echoed as he took your hand, finding it funny that you didn’t say the other word.

“Yeah, heck! Hay is for horses.”

As the two of you made your way to the rink after putting your skates on, you held onto each other’s hand tightly. When one of you lost balance the other would make up for it, which was surprising given how large Sulley is.

You slowly stretched a leg into the rink, a love song playing over the speakers almost as soon as Sulley joined you. The colored lights shifted from blue and green to red and pink, the DJ sensing the spark between you two. It didn’t seem to matter to either of you though, since you were too busy trying not to fall onto your butts the whole time.

“H-Hey, this isn’t so bad!” You had to admit you didn’t think the idea would work, but as the two of you skated in circles you realized that struggling together made the process a lot easier than struggling alone. “I told you it’d work,” He smirked as he used his tail to grab Mike by the hand, steadying his balance. “How you doin’ back there little buddy?”

“Just peachy!” Mike’s knees were shaking like a leaf, but he wasn’t falling like earlier.

“Good, cause Y/N has an idea and you’re gonna help us!”

Before you put your skates on earlier, you mentioned the idea of giving out the pizza to everyone else who was there. Even if it was taken home for leftovers it would surely go bad, and if Mrs. Squishy got mad you’d be willing to pay her back… And James was nothing if not a risk taker.

Before Mike could even question it, Sulley dragged him screaming from the rink and back to the booth. You had a stack of pizza boxes on your free hand, as did Sulley… Mike, unfortunately, had them balancing on his head.

“Alright, who wants free pizza?” Sulley shouted, holding up the boxes with you as the crowd cheered.

All three of you skated around the building giving free boxes to anyone who wanted some, feeding the entire place better than the cooks did… And yes, even the cooks and cashiers got pizza breaks too.

As the mid-90s Europop song faded, you and Sullivan returned to the booth with some pizza to spare, reclining into the stiff seats as though they were the highest quality massage chairs the world had to offer. James had to pick and limp Mike up by the wrist and sit him down too.

All of you caught your breath together, but even after burning off all that energy you still kept your hands clasped together. You looked over at his palm, his grip softening ever so slightly. He was worried for a second that you’d want to let go, but when you squeezed his giant hand in yours he felt relief wash over him.

“You know… We should do this again sometime…” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah..?”

“Yeah…”

You shuffled a little closer to him, resting your head on his arm. In response he rested his head on top of yours, his bushy brows lowering over his eyes.

To Johnny’s surprise the next day, the school papers replaced the usual column going over the events of his parties with a new blurb on the “Cutest Couple on Campus,” the sight m causing him to spit his coffee out of shock.

“Wh-What the—?!”

#disney #james p sullivan #monsters inc #monsters inc x reader #monsters university #monsters university x reader #sulley x reader #sully x reader #james p sullivan x reader #pixar #pixar x reader #oneshot #one shot #disney x reader #monsters #x reader

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pajarinwrites · 8 months

Text

you could ask

➳ fem!reader x Dino

➳ wc: 2.7k

➳ TAGS: pwp; fluffy smut, smutty fluff MDNI, my dudes; it's so sweet tho kjsdiasejnasd

➳ WARNINGS: fucking(?) it's super fluffy though; fingering (f receiving), kissing, marking, petnames (babe, baby for her)

➳ AN: i continue to surprise in that dino is my least biased member except now that i wrote this, he might not be anymore; he's such a cutie ugh; also this RAN! AWAY! FROM! ME! it started as a drabble but 2.7k can under no circumstances be classified as a drabble. also there initially was supposed to be piv sex but then it got too long. i'll definitely write a continuation one-shot for this ugh. anyway, ENJOY!

also that's my fave photo of channie

You look up from your phone as your friend enters the lobby. He has his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, wearing the usual cap, mask, sunglasses combo in public, in an effort to remain unrecognised.

“Hey,” you greet with a soft wave. He pulls off his sunglasses to reveal eyes crinkling with smiles. “Hey!” He replies back, pulling you into a short hug before calling the elevator.

“How was practice?”

“The usual. Except Hoshi-hyung was hungover.”

“Huh?” You ask, sure you must’ve misheard him. Chan laughs in reply.

“Yeah, he filmed that program with Youngji yesterday that you like watching.”

“And he didn’t tell me?” You ask in mock affront, one hand resting on your chest dramatically. Chan shrugs. “I guess he assumed I’d tell you. But I forgot.” He sticks his tongue out to you as you follow him to his apartment.

You pass Vernon and Dokyeom in the kitchen; they wave to you in greeting before you follow Chan into his room.

“Leave the door open, children!” Dokyeom screams after you, prompting your friend to scream a dry hahaha back and slam his door all the harder. “They’re not even funny,” he pouts, dropping onto his bed where you’ve already gotten comfortable.

“Ugh,” he groans as the climbs up to the headboard next to you. “What’s wrong?” You ask, looking at his tense expression.

“It’s fine, practice just kicked a little harder than I thought.”

“Are you still up for movie night? We can just move it if you’re too exhausted.”

“Of course not! I always have energy for you.” He smiles softly, scooting closer, resting one arm on his headboard behind you as if it did nothing to him. You cleared your throat, trying your hardest not to shuffle so he wouldn’t feel obligated to move his arm away again.

“What’ve you got saved on your laptop?” He asks as you pull it up and open Netflix.

“I mean, I’ve been dying to watch the Scream remake for a while…” You know his stance on horror movies. As expected, “ugh! Can’t we watch something cute and cozy that won’t make me pull a muscle from jump scares!”

“Unfair argument! First you say you’re up for movie night and when it comes to picking a movie you bring up the issue of your sore muscles!”

“Well I can’t just make ‘em magically disappear.”

“But you got to pick the movie the last, like, three times!”

“I’m not saying you can’t pick. I’m just saying pick a different one!”

“Nuh uh, I want this one.” He groans again, rolling his head.

“Okay, then what will you do about my sore muscles?”

“Me? Do you want me to massage your sore muscles for you? Since when are your sore muscles my fault or problem?”

He grins, and with how close his face is to yours, it’s doing all kinds of things to your heart. “If you want to watch Scream so bad, it is your problem…”

Oh, so that’s how it is, you think, realising he never expected you to make good on any muscle relief. Lee Chan knows damn well you hate massages unless you’re on the receiving end. The amount of times he’s given you one eclipses the times you have returned the favour, a grand total of zero times.

“Sure,” you smile sweetly, setting your laptop back down on the floor next to Chan’s bed. He stares at you, eyes wide as saucers. “Huh?”

You remove his arm from your shoulders and get up, motioning for him to lie down. If your best friend wanted to play a game of chicken with you, he absolutely could.

“Also, you obviously gotta take your shirt off.”

Instead of moving, Chan is sitting still as a statue, still staring at you as if your hair had spontaneously changed colour. You wondered if this was really all it was going to take but eventually he shuffles down on the bed. He shrugs off his tee and you pretend like you aren’t surreptitiously looking him up and down.

“Okay, but you gotta do it properly, “ he states as he rests his head on his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire as you get into position, positioning your left knee beside Chan’s body and swinging the other over so that you are straddling his butt.

“Just that you can’t quit after five minutes, and you can’t do it all softly.”

“Hmm,” you hum in agreement, “elbow grease.” Chan giggles in response, but it turns into a groan as soon as you dig your thumbs into the tops of his shoulders.

“You really aren’t holding back, huh?”

“I’ve been ordered to give it my all,” you reply, bearing down on one especially tight trapezius. Chan’s breath stutters under your ministrations and you’re glad he can’t see your face heat up. As your hands wander lower you feel like he’s tensing up more instead of less.

“Hey, relax,” you instruct, “this was your idea.”

Chan grumbles something into his pillow in reply but it only takes him a few more minutes and a few sounds that veer suspiciously into moan territory before he shrugs you off forcefully.

You let out a yelp of surprise as you flop down on the mattress next to him. “What was that for?”

“You did enough, we can watch your silly movie now.” He avoids your eyes and you can see that his face has turned red, but you try to blame it on the heat of the room and the fact that you just treated him like bread dough for fifteen minutes. As he sits back up against the headboard, he pulls the blanket over himself, his hands in his lap awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Preparing to be scared to death,” he replies with a chuckle you believe was supposed to be light-hearted.

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you. You can hide behind me if you get scared,” you offer graciously. Chan rolls his eyes. “Just start the movie.”

You pull up your laptop and snuggle into your friend’s side. Chan fluffs up his pillows, one behind your back, one in his lap, and welcomes you into his arms again. You’ve watched movies in this position before, but today you’re restless. Chan seems to exude extra body heat today, and maybe it’s your wild imagination but his workouts have really started to pay off, and the feeling of his biceps pressing into your side distracts you more than you’d like to admit.

You stopped watching whatever is going on on screen several dozen minutes ago when you finally clear your throat. You’d been sneaking glances over at Chan for a while, his uncomfortable shifting, the suspiciously placed pillow. You had a hunch when he shrugged you off him earlier but the longer you sat next to him, having to endure his endless shuffling, the more convinced you were. Of course, you weren’t entirely unbothered by his presence either. The glimpse of his naked chest and back hadn’t left your mind, although you were hard-pressed to admit, that that sight had been the reason for your inability to focus.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning his frightful eyes from the screen. You hit pause.

“The movie, Chan.”

“Boring isn’t the adjective I’d use, but sure. We can definitely watch something else.”

“We could do something else.” You smirk, shifting so you can face him fully. Bless him, his expression betrays nothing but confusion. He opens his mouth to ask what you’re on about but you beat him to it.

“Chan,” you sigh, “is this going to be a repeat of Seungkwan’s birthday party?”

“Huh?” He asked. But the fact that he had turned a shade redder let you know that he was very aware of what you were talking about.

“You know, when we were in the kitchen alone and you leaned in and I was waiting for you to finally kiss me? But then you chickened out the last second and pretended you had just wanted to grab the vodka from behind me?”

Chan blinks at your, your words evidently not quite processed yet. “You wanted me to kiss you?” You rolled your eyes.

“For someone with such a big head, you can be pretty stupid, you know that?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? I can’t read your mind.” You lean in closer - resting your hand on his thigh - and take delight in the way his breath hitches.

“You can always ask.” You whisper. He moves in even closer, the pillow sliding off his lap and letting you see that you were right about your prior assumption. You bite your lip at the sight of the obvious tent in his sweatpants.

“Can I kiss you?” Chan asks, bringing your attention back to his face. He’s gorgeous, you think, in the half-light of his bedroom, his hair unstyled, his eyes shining. But he really isn’t going to budge if you don’t answer, it seems. “Yes, please,” you breathe.

His lips are on yours, softly, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. His right hand is cradling your cheek. It makes you smile, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him down with you. Chan let’s out another groan, catching himself with his left hand next to your head instead of letting his full weight crash into you, which coincidentally happens to be exactly what you wanted. You nudge his hand away, hoping for him to get the hint. Much to your chagrin, he pulls back, panting against your lips.

“What—“ you mean to ask but don’t get around to it when you see the dark, almost desperate shadow in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re real.” His gaze drops to your lips, he’s nipping at your lower lip, making his way down your jawline. You manage to hold out on him until he reaches your pulse point, attaching his lips to the sensitive skin and nibbling at it in a way that’ll definitely leave a mark makes you whimper. Right now you couldn’t care less.

“Chan,” you moan, “please…” You can feel him smirk but he complies with your unspoken wish, continuing his way downward.

“Can I take this off you?” He asks, tugging at you shirt. You look down at his eyes, blown out and looking at you like you created the universe.

“Only if yours comes off too,” you say, meaning to tease him. His shirt’s over his head and at the other end of his room before you can blink. “Better?” He smirks, usually you’d be careful not to stroke his ego too much, but right now all you can think about it tracing every ridge on the expanse of his body with your tongue. It’s so much more fun when you can look freely. It must show on your face because Chan leans forward, whispering, “You can eat me up later, baby. Right now it’s my turn.” You have half a mind to hold back your whimpers at the tone of his voice but at the end you’re just a human, not some saint, so you stand no chance against the carnal vices of the flesh.

Chan takes off your shirt so skilfully that a very unwelcome thought of possessiveness flashes through your mind but with how he looks at you (very much not like you threw on your oldest, most comfy sport bra) the evil little voice in your head stands no chance. There can’t be any lingering doubt over his feelings with the way he undresses you slowly, deliberately, with all the care in the world, makes you think he mistook you for a fragile piece of art. His eyes say the same, casting glances at your face again and again, questioning; like he’s ready to drop everything if you so much as breathe a word. You have to commend him, especially with how evident the tent in his sweats has been for the better part of this evening.

“Chan,” you whine, ripping him out of the worship of the skin on your tummy. He looks dazed already. “Please stop teasing.”

He smiles, “Am I teasing you? Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to. You’re just so beautiful.”

You want to tell him off for being a sap but he starts kissing a straight line downwards from your navel and your words are caught in your throat.

His hands skitter up your thighs, making you shiver as he finally presses a digit to your core. He groans, “So wet for me already, love, you’ve soaked through your panties.”

“Looks like you have to take them off, then.” You smile and he obliges easily. It seems he’s really had enough of the teasing because he presses his thumb to you clit immediately, circling it. You moan his name as he slides one finger through your slick, “wanna touch you too.”

“Later, baby. Let me focus on you for now. Can I keep going?”

You mumble a pathetic Ohmygod yes please, that earns you a soft chuckle from him. He wastes no time in sliding a finger into you. Chan moans at the feeling of you wrapped around his fingers.

“Shit, babe,” is all you get out of him before his mouth is back on your skin, kissing up the insides of your thighs as he stretches you out on another finger. “Wanna come on my fingers, love?” You don’t trust your voice right now, so instead you nod vigorously. He stops testing the waters as his fingers and thumb speed up, spreading a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach. He shifts his weight upwards and is hovering over you, never ceasing the motion of his fingers.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

“If you don’t, I’m leaving right now,” you barely manage to breathe out between pants. From the way Chan smiles at you, you can tell you must look at least as fucked-out as you feel. He chooses not to tease you and you silently thank him for it. Instead he just leans in, meeting your lips in a manner that is nothing like the soft, innocent kisses from before. He pushes his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as if he wanted to taste all of you. Just at that moment his fingers find that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You moan into the kiss, prompting him to mirror your sounds. Chan doesn’t let up on that spot, speeding up and hitting it again and again and again until the pressure becomes to much and the knot in your stomach snaps. He fucks you through your orgasm, leaving soft pecks all over your face until you’ve calmed down.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You’re forced to watch as he retrieves his fingers from your pussy, putting them in his mouth instead and licking them clean. He hums comfortably, “you taste so good, babe.”

You’re still staring at him, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of why the sight of your best friend licking his fingers clean of your essence is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He notices your state and his brows furrow.

“Hey, are you okay?” There’s real worry in his voice, so you nod in reassurance.

“I was just thinking that if this what I get for massaging your sore muscles a little, I’m definitely gonna start doing it more often.”

His eyes widen. “You wanna do this more often?” The disbelief in his voice makes you laugh in earnest. “Of course, in case you couldn’t tell, I had a lot of fun.” You’re unsure of your next sentence, but if you don’t say it now, you fear you’ll say it never, “and I like you. A lot.”

He has the dopiest grin on his face as he leans back down, giving you another sweet kiss. “In that case, let me take you out on a proper date before we do this the next time.” You cock an eyebrow.

“Chan, do you wanna be my boyfriend?” The man in question blushes, avoiding your eyes. “If that’s something you also want…”

You look at his expression, hopeful gaze lifting to catch yours. There’s a blush lingering on his cheeks, his hair all mussed up. You’ve never felt more comfortable with another person.

“Of course,” you reply, snaking one arm around his middle and pulling him close, “I’d love that, actually.”

#lee chan #dino #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #chan seventeen #dino seventeen #svt dino x reader #dino smut #dino fluff #lee chan smut #lee chan fluff

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skyeslittlecorner · 1 month

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Can I request a Raphael x angel MC please 🥺

The Gabriel x Michelle and Lucifer x Michael were so good 😭😭

I'm stuck with you and your scenarios now 😠

You're welcome, dear~! I see my total eclipse of the brain bring some good after all. I hope I will be able to fulfill this request. Rafael is on the verge of being a character I dare write for, but let's try.

It was all your fault, that you make Raphael feel so special, then forget about it, and after all, you died. Lowly, pathetic human being. How dare you? Do you think he will forgive you for this? Tsk. Not only stupid, but naive, too. You are lucky that you chose to be reincarnated in heaven. Maybe there's still a chance for your pitiful soul.

And *maybe* you will repent if stop teasing him and start to suck.

Even though you were below him, licking his piercing and letting him tug at your hair, you knew who was boss. Poor, unaware angel. Blessing? Being the chosen one? Good joke. Only few strokes and his tip was already covered with whitish ooze. You raised an eyebrow and snickered.

“And who is the pathetic one?”

He grabbed your hair harder.

“Shut... up. Do your work.”

“Truly pathetic…” Your tongue stroked his trembling manhood. “Swayed so easily.”

“Enough!”

As you opened your lips once more, he thrusted deep inside your mouth. Smiled vindictively as you chocked. He wanted you to lose your breath, to finally be quiet, and obediently end the act of his ascension. As cruelly, as holy. New madness hitted his insides as you murmured with a trickle of saliva ran down your chin.

“Better…” Those full cheeks, clenched throat and murderous intent in your eyes make you both dirty and perfect. Perfect to be used. Clouded with pleasure, he thought that he found his new favorite toy.

All Raphael stans! Let me redirect you to @livelaughlovesubs and her wonderful fics - here you got first and second part. I assume you've already seen it, if not, check it out~ She can write and catch his personality way better than me

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb raphael #skye's little talk #IGNORE MY RAMBLING IN TAGS #i know it may be not as good as previous ones #especially since Raphael is the seraph I have the hardest time empathizing with #I hope I didn't make it sound too ooc well oops lmao #i feel i'm wayy better when i can write in third person with actual characters #because mc must be more ambiguous and I can't go all in with them like with two characters that have established story and personality #ok established is a big word for characters we don't know yet #but i can make headcanons based on common ground #and for mc we may have the default ra-on but lets be honest most of us makes mc totally different from what we know in-game #especially when it comes to personality and that's crucial in writing #or maybe it's because i'm way more used for style i use in a book than for fanwriting cuz i got way more expirience in the first one #ahemmm i got a little carried away

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loakismine · 1 year

Text

𝑫𝐫𝒆𝕒𝚖 𝒢𝓲ᖇ꒒

Pairings: (18) Lo’ak x (17)Human!Fem!Reader

Summary: Lo’ak can’t seem to control himself even in the wrong time moments when your around.

Warnings: Wounds, Blood, Minor language, Dirty Lo’ak!! Innocent Reader!! Tension, Some spicy stuff at the end!!!

Word count: 1,128

Since you could remember you’ve been able to do the average things a Na’vi could. You could run, jump, hunt, fly, breath. Yes, Breath the very same air they did. Which is why the RDA wanted you day to day at the lab to be studied, that’s all your days were spent on. All you wanted to do was go out and hunt with the Sully’s. Much of that was taken up at the lab though. So whenever you had the chance you’d make a run towards the forest and who would catch you there?

Today was one of those days where you’d get a break and be able to run off but you’d have to be back before the eclipse to the lab in order to run more tests. You were met with Kiri near a huge plain of tall grass and fern like plants. The grass had some patches that were so tall they tickled at your knees when the wind blew through them. You watched as Kiri took the magnifying glass you gifted to her and observed the tiny tiny insects that crawled on the thicker parts of the grass, which was one of many things you’ve taken from the lab. Yet they still don’t know it’s you who takes things for your friends.

“This little guy reminds me of a ladybug, you know the ones in the books from the lab.” Kiri whispered as she lifted her finger up to your eyes in order to see the tiny insect that crawled on her index finger. “But this guy has tough wings and a stronger wing cover.” Humming at her facts she placed the little bug down back onto the thick grass blades. Both heads turned at the distant loud noise of branches snapping and a loud shout. “The boys.” You just knew it had to be them and by familiar yelp you knew it was Lo’ak. The two of you ran as fast as you could towards the fallen branches, Kiri was much taller and faster than you because of her fast legs and you on the other hand you were fast but not that fast compared to them.

Kiri stopped in her tracks when she saw Lo’aks ikran laying on its side and Lo’ak a couple feet from him on his back. Neteyam was helping his brother up as Kiri tented the whining ikran. “Yea real nice of ya Kiri, your brother is totally not hurt.” Lo’ak yelled angrily all while hissing when Neteyam grabbed at his scratched up side. “You idiot don’t touch there!” Lo’ak hissed again when he reached to punch at his brothers left shoulder. Neteyam dodged his younger brothers punch and waved over at you to come. Walking towards the two feuding boys you took lo’ak by his pinky tugging at him to follow you. He walked of with you and turned back giving his brother a long stare.

“Is he okay Kiri?” You asked as you walked passed her turning her head she shook it up and down. “He will be fine he only needs about a day or so before he can fly again.” Lo’ak sighed as he held his side knowing he’d get hell for this from his parents. You and him walked towards you tent where you kept most of the things you took from the lab for your safety and to give. Sitting him down you walked up over and reached for the first aid kit. “What’s in the lunch box?” Giggling you looked up at him, “Not a lunch box it’s a first aid kit with things to try and clean this up.” You explained as you pointed to his scratched up side.

Grabbing a wet cloth you dabbed around the wound cleaning out the dirt and tiny pebbles that stuck to his sticky skin. He flinched a bit when the cloth touched at some deep cut areas. Taking a bit of healing ointment you gently took your small fingers and smeared it onto the deep areas that would take longer to heal. Even through the pain he couldn’t help but look at your focused face, the way the tip of your tongue stuck out through your pillowy lips. The way your eyebrows knitted together when you worked your way around the large wound, all that made you healing him a lot better.

Lo’ak was always careful with you, always being a gentle giant with you. He was always there if you needed him the same way you would be. He loved the fact that he knew you were so innocent and you’d do anything just to see him happy. He loved that he had so much control over a girl, his girl, his dream girl. But what made him feel the best was the fact that he knew he had this power over you and your too innocent and naive to realize it.

And here you were doing just what he loved, sure it was evil and wrong what was going through his mind but he couldn’t help it. These dirty thoughts flooded his mind everytime you were around and right now wasn’t the best time to be having these thoughts. He had his bottom lip in a trap with his teeth biting on it. His fangs pierced into the corner of his lip drawing blood from the soft tissue. The taste of metal filled his mouth when your voice finally broke the silence. “You okay Lo?” The sweet hum of your voice made his heart race and it’s like you knew what was running through his mind when you squeezed at his upper arm.

A low grunt was let out as the tent in his loincloth began to grow when you finally put a bandage on him. Throwing him head back as you held his hand for him to stand again. Refusing he took having your smaller hand to his advantage. He placed you on his lap and looked down from your thighs to your large doe eyes. Two of his fingers lifted your chin to face him when you tried to avoid his eye contact. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for healing me sweetgirl.” His hand slowly went down to your waist without you knowing because your mind was currently shifting all its gears at the mear thought that he had you in his lap.

He kissed at your palm and sat you up closer to his front. “Your mine, your my girl hmm.” His thick thumb ran over your pillowy lips and tugged at your plushy bottom one while you got lost in his lust filled eyes. Nodding at his words a breathy laugh left his throat, he had you now and he wasn’t letting you go.

Hey guysss ik it has been a while since i’ve posted but i’ve got school soo yeah it’s a little hard. But i hope you guys like this also the ending is a little change and a little more heated! Also let me know if you guys want heated stuff or smut i’m any story! Love you guys lots!!🫶

#avatar #avatar 2 #lo’ak x reader #loak sully #atwow loak #kiri sully #neteyam #heated #innocentgirl #ikran #atwow imagines

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Total Eclipse of the Heart

prompt: tension mounts, and siblings feud.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: author is avoiding responsibilities, there's cursing!! small tension, so, small angst!! small comfort!! some smut!! and tension!! this one's kinda just filler 'cause wonky brain goes wonky!!

previous: part three: Darkening Hour

next: part five: Bright Light

"Eat," Jamie muttered, nudging the full platter towards you.

"Mhm," you hummed with a gentle sigh, forking a cube of fruit to your mouth and forcing it down your throat - which only wanted to expel the citrus.

He sighed from beside you, used to the long weeks of this uninterrupted discomfort. You had fallen silent since that second night of celebrations and you discovered your father's intentions of marrying your sister to Daemon; leaving eating to become a chore, that your step-sons took seriously. You appeased them so that they could focus on the pretty Ladies of court, and not you.

They were doing well and had caught many eyes, making your job of sponsor much easier.

Which meant you were left to silently watch Daemon flirt with every Lady that passed him by; be they wanting of it or not. You barely left your chair at any gathering, and you had stopped attending any mingling events. Viserys loved court and was happy to entertain couples, Alicent was more reserved in her watch; while Daemon was reveling in the attention he received as everyone wanted a chance to bind themselves to the Royal Family.

Your heart shattered in your chest each night you watched his antics.

"You need your strength," Kase sighed gently, but watched as you shut your eyes and slowly exhaled when your sister's giggle met your ears. Your father had forced her into the seat beside Daemon, and now you knew that he was relishing in her attention; him teasing her lowly, and her brightly shining under his gaze.

"Excuse me," you whispered, standing from your seat; dress shifting from the loss of weight resulting from the lack of appetite you felt.

Jamie and Kase both watched with worry as you took your leave before the dessert could be announced; dress' skirts fluttering around you in haste as you exited the Hall. Your lungs stuttered with confusion the entire trip to your (new) room, slamming the door shut and instantly pawing off your court costume.

Jewels, heels, dress, pins in your hair. All of it was dropped from your body and a comfortable singlet tugged on; tears swelling your eyes, clumping your long lashes.

"Dove?"

You shook your head, knowing Daemon's voice anywhere but refusing to turn towards him. Your chest heaved as you sobbed, hands shaking when his own smoothed around your hips - but you jerked away from him, "Don't!"

"Sweetheart - "

"Don't, Daemon," you snapped again. "You don't get to just show up, barge in, sweet talk me - get out. Just get out, please, leave me be. I am exhausted, and you do not help."

Daemon held his hands up slowly, "What's the matter with you?"

"With me?" You repeated. "What's the matter... With me? For the love of the Gods, Daemon, are you truly that blind or just stupid? Perhaps naïve?"

"Stay your tongue, my Lady, I am still your Prince."

Your throat constricted and you nodded, "My Prince... And not my intended?"

"Dove," his head shook gently, stepping towards you. "You are thinking far too heavy - "

"I have seen you," your voice shook. "And I am no fool. I know what my father offers you - "

"Stop thinking of yourself as a mule to be bought and sold," Daemon interrupted, stepping into your space to caress both of your cheeks. "My love, you are worth more than you know or want to give yourself credit for. Listen to my words, please..." You took a slow breath, nodding at him, "I am going to marry you. I know you've been upset, and when I came to find you that night and found you moved from our quarters... Dove, I promise you I have never felt fear like that before."

"Why didn't you come to me then?" You whispered.

"For show, my dove," he frowned. "But now I know it was not the right move as it did not assure you, but drove you further from me."

"I'm sorry - "

"No," he rushed, thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. "No, my sweet dove, you are not the one who should apologize. I am the one who was wrong, I took it too far. Forgive me, pet, for causing you harm and festering the idea that I would not choose you. I want you everyday, my girl, please, do not doubt that because your father is throwing money and land at me."

"Land, too?" You squeaked, tensing up.

"Sweetheart," he sighed, kissing your forehead. "I want nothing from him, because you are all I need - and he does not control you any longer."

"What're we doing?" You asked, dropping your forehead to his collarbone and letting his arms coil around you. "Daemon, please, I have never felt so confused before."

"Fear not," he whispered, "for tomorrow, my brother will announce our engagement. We'll be married by the end of the season, my dove."

"Must we wait?" You begged gently.

He chuckled, "Don't you want a wedding, my sweet? To be covered in jewels," he whispered, letting his lips drag over your neck, "draped in silks," his hands squeezed your hips to bunch the fabric of your dress' skirts, "fawned over, and watched by the whole city?"

"Daemon," you begged through your tears. "I would marry you tonight if you wanted, but for weeks you've avoided me. Now you come, saying we will wed - "

"I've said this for months, pet," he sighed. "But I have neglected you for weeks, and for that I am so sorry."

You nodded meekly, "Tis expected, I suppose."

"Hmm?"

"With court," you shrugged, sniffling hotly; his thumbs sweeping your cheekbones clear of tears. "Daemon, please, I do not - I cannot do this. I cannot watch you court other ladies - "

"It's done," he assured swiftly, nodding with determination. "In fact... I'll do you one better, hmm?"

"What?" You asked gently, shifting your feet to balance your weight.

"Come with me," he spoke, lacing your hands together, and pulling you after him. You barely had time to snatch your dressing robe after you.

"Daemon!" You scolded, slipper clad feet jogging to keep up with his long strides.

He paused and turned to you, taking your silk robe and pulling it up your arms, "Sorry, pet..."

"What're we doing?" You asked with a sigh, tying the sash before dropping your hands to slap your thighs. "I'm tired, Daemon, today's been long for me - "

"Please, just... Trust me?" He asked, nodding at you with meaning.

You sighed and took his hand in yours, petting your other over his, "All right, love. But go at a normal pace, please. My feet hurt."

He nodded and let your hands readjust to let your hands caress his, strolling together down the hall and towards the banquet hall again. When you entered the room, most of everyone was still present, and both your step-sons looked mildly alarmed to see you reenter with Prince Daemon in your night clothes. Yet, the Prince of the City paid little mind to anyone else to make a direct bee-line for his brother - who remained at his seat.

In fact, King Viserys saw his brother pulling you towards him, and sat back in his chair with a knowing smirk; sipping his wine while silently watching. When Daemon was close enough, the King greeted, "Brother... And my Lady. I believed you retired for the evening?"

"I did, too, Your Grace, but your brother was adamant we come see you...?" You glanced at Daemon when you both came to a halt, your free hand caressing over his clutching yours again.

"Brother," Daemon nodded, his eyes wild, "I have come to inform you that there is to be a wedding."

"Oh?" Viserys smirked. "Is that so, brother? What wedding might this be?"

"A Royal one," Daemon assured, his voice firm and determined. It was quiet for several long moments as brother stared brother down, your fingers tracing dainty figures over his hand out of nerves. He understood and tightened his grip, thumb rubbing out of assurance - like he was saying 'no matter what, I'm marrying you'.

But you had nothing to worry about, because...

"Finally," Viserys beamed, standing to his feet as he laughed boisterously. "Ah! Ha-ha! Yes! Yes! How splendid!" His hands clapped together, moving around the corner of the table to approach you two. "Yes, this is a match most pleasing," he beamed, glancing to the rest of the hall - who was staring in interest. "My people! Joyous news has fallen to my ears, and I am pleased to announce the Lady Y/N L/N has finally agreed to marry my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen!"

There was scattered applause as most Ladies fumed in jealousy, most Lords were confused and wondered when this match happened. However, over them all, two young Lords rose to their feet in an uproar of applause and cheer - both your step-sons hollering in pure, unfiltered joy. You giggled lightly, hand to your mouth as your embarrassment flared while Daemon's pride really outshined every other reaction.

His lips descended to your temple and sighed with relief, then dropped to your cheek, his grin evident as his arm coiled around your waist. "See?" He whispered in your ear as Viserys was laughing happily, moving to embrace his brother while Kase and Jamie were rushing to your side with cheers still emitting from their throats and chest.

They embraced you happily, Kase looking like he was going to explode from excitement; nearly vibrating, and holding your hands tightly before embracing you tightly. Queen Alicent even stood to offer her congratulations, embracing you warmly before patting your upper arms and departing the hall as if your newly-announced engagement was the perfect escape.

Viserys shoved goblets into both yours and Daemon's hands, Kase and Jamie taking up new ones as the King offered a toast. "To my brother and his soon-to-be Lady-wife," he rose his goblet, beaming, "a match most agreeable, sure to be prosperous. I look forward to the wedding we are to plan - and my gift to you both will be to host a Royal Feast for this momentous occasion. My brother! Is getting married!" He laughed, as if the Lady Rhea had never been bound in matrimony to Daemon, and as if your husband hadn't existed either. "To you both, I wish good health," he turned to you both, your goblets raising in return, "and a fortunate marriage! To you!"

With matching grins, you toasted with the rest of the hall before taking a mouthful of wine, Viserys almost instantly wrapping his arm happily around Daemon's shoulder. "Well done, brother!" He nodded. "My Lady," he nodded to you directly, "how excited I am that you will be joining our House finally. Perhaps you would be interested in taking tea with me later this week - we might discuss your future in the capital?"

"Maybe she'd discuss that with her husband first, Viserys," Daemon tried to input, but the King all but waved him off.

"Come now, surely the Lady is as smart as her father, Daemon. I could use a brain like that on the Small Counsel."

"With incredible gratitude, Your Grace, might I consider your offer with Daemon? After we discuss terms, of course, so I might relay all options," you smiled, handing off your goblet. One arm was wrapped around Daemon's waist, the other then free to press against his chest. His hand was heavy on your hip, keeping you close; the other hand occupied by his drink.

"See?" Viserys smirked to Daemon. "Of course, Lady, that is most agreeable. We will have tea later this week, and perhaps, the Queen would..." He trailed off, looking for his wife but sighing in annoyance, "Would like to discuss terms of the wedding."

"Leave that to us, brother," Daemon shook his head.

"Truly?" Viserys' voice sounded genuinely shocked.

"I would like to discuss other terms beside the wedding with you, yes, brother," Daemon nodded.

"Such as?" You wondered gently.

"Such as your official title, dove," he nodded down at you, petting your waist.

"I don't understand?" You questioned.

He smiled gently before looking up to his brother, "I'd like her to take the official title of Princess. She'd not be in line for succession, brother, but as my lawful wife, I'd like for her to have the title to match."

Viserys smirked, "Much will be discussed later, brother."

"Of course," Daemon agreed easily. "But for now, might we take leave? I fear to admit I interrupted my Lady's rest."

"It shows," he teased gently. "You always did take action before thought, brother. Don't exhaust her too greatly."

You chuckled lightly, "Though it was a welcomed surprise, Your Grace."

"He'll keep you on your toes."

"I hope for it."

Viserys chuckled, "Good. Yes, yes, of course, you might retire for the evening. Congratulations, again, the both of you. I am joyful to celebrate in your love."

"An honor, Your Grace," you spoke softly.

"Thank you, Viserys," Daemon smirked, tightening his grip. "Dove? Do you need to... Deal with that?"

"Hmm?" You hummed as Viserys snickered lightly, your head swiveling to see your step-sons celebrating your engagement by engaging in a drinking game. "Oh, Seven Hells - lads! Come off it!"

Daemon and Viserys were left laughing as you tried to rein the young Lords in - but the moment you were close, they had you in their arms, and insisted you share a drink with them... Leading into a long celebration in your night robe.

"We should get up," you whispered against your fiancé's lips, petting over his cheek as his palm flattened to your bare breast - giving a firm squeeze, earning a breathy moan.

"In a bit," he compromised, licking over your lips. "I'm far too comfortable here, hmm?"

Your hand fell over his to then thread your fingers together against your flesh, "We've been in bed all day, my love. If we do not surface, someone might come looking."

"Let them," he whispered with a smirk, pressing another searing kiss to your lips. You felt his cock swell inside you - left from your previous session - and gently bit his bottom lip to encourage him. It worked as his hand gripped your tit with a renewed confidence, your hand returning to his cheek as the other held his waist over yours.

Your nails raked over his flesh, warranting a hiss from his lips.

"We should get up," you repeated with a knowing smirk.

"Devil of a woman," he teased, letting his weight sink into you again; making your breathing catch.

"I'm hungry, love."

"Yeah? Good, good," he pressed another kiss to your lips. "Your step-sons told me you were having trouble eating..."

You sighed. "Those boys."

"Don't be angry," he spoke softly. "They love you, and it really shows. I should gift them something glorious for helping you... Protecting you... Caring for you during times I wasn't."

You sighed lightly, "We will think of something adequate for them. But for now, my Dragon, might we rise?"

He nodded, "Think you'd be up for a flying lesson?"

"You're serious?"

"How can I not be? Caraxes loves you," he assured. "And if we are to marry, you will have to get used to it, hmm?"

"Perhaps..."

"Please?"

You smiled, "I cannot resist you when you beg - "

"Exactly, so, please?"

"Fine, all right," you sighed again, but with a growing smile. "What might I wear?"

"In a moment," he rushed, reaching for your thigh; gripping the meat as he dropped his head to your neck and raked his teeth to make you arch into him. "By the Gods, I cannot get enough..."

"You're insatiable," you whispered, letting your legs widen as his hips shifted. "Save something for when we marry, yes?"

He chuckled some, holding you tightly as he pulled his hips back before shoving forward; swallowing your moan. "I've plenty to give you," he assured, grunting as his brows furrowed. "I've waited a lifetime to have you, I will fill you with my seed. Yes," he hissed, humping into you faster as your hips swirled to accommodate his ministrations, "fuck, 's like you're made for me, pet. Fuck!"

"Daemon?" You moaned, nails digging into his hips to keep him going.

"Yes, love?"

You smirked, his sweaty forehead to yours as your noses bumped around and lips danced around one another, "Please cum in me."

He chuckled, "No where else I'd rather finish myself."

"Do not call for the tea," you whispered, licking across his bottom lip, "I want you to breed me."

"Fuck," he grunted, balls slapping against your dripping hole. "Not yet - not yet."

You whined.

"When I can call you wife, yes, pet," his teeth were clenched, bared. "I'll breed you, fuck, I'll never leave this cunt. We'll go to Dragonstone," he swore into your mouth, moaning wantonly, "so we won't be disturbed."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, dragging your hand down your bodies so your middle finger could circle around your clit. "Fuck, Daemon - "

"Gonna look so fucking good full of my seed," he grunted, each word punctuated with a thrust. "Fuck - prettier than you are now."

You cried out when you came, clinging to him to the point he fucked you nearly through the mattress - arms holding onto him for dear life as he met his end finally. He moaned into your neck as he spilled into you, licking at your sweaty, salty skin.

"I love you," you promised, kissing his cheek.

He nuzzled into your chest, "I love you, too."

"Now get off," you whined with a laugh, his body flopped into yours when he met his climax. "You're heavy."

"You love it," he teased, pecking your chest before rolling off you. You hissed when his softening cock was finally pulled free of your cunt, grinning at your lover before letting loose a broken moan when his hand curled around your cunt and then pushed into your wet hole. "Keep it in there, pretty girl."

You pouted, "I want you in me everyday."

He shuddered lightly, "Soon, pet."

You pulled his hand from your cunt to suck his fingers clean. "Can I ask something?"

"Anything," he promised, deflating into his spot but keeping his head turned to look at you.

"When you think of children... What do you think of?"

He smirked, "In truth?"

"Mhm."

"I've had dreams of daughters with white hair," he admitted softly. "And a few sons, yes, but the girls are older. Wiser. Much smarter, just like their mummy, hmm?"

"You think it will come true?"

"For us? Of course," he assured, "because the Gods favor us enough to bring us back together, pet. See?"

You nodded softly, "You've names in mind?"

"Perhaps," he teased. "But we've to be married first."

"Two weeks is too long," you whined, making him laugh.

"The castle needs time to prepare," he smirked. "I am giving you a full fucking wedding, my dove. No arguments."

You nodded, "I think I fall deeper in love with you day after day. Can you believe it's been two weeks since our engagement already?"

"Barely," he breathed. "But this way, court closes with our wedding. It'll be the event of the century, poppet, you'll see."

The rest of the (late) morning passed peacefully, your betrothed selecting your outfit for dragon riding; leaving the room for you to change into the leather jerkin chaps, a free-flowing tunic, boots, and other 'necessities'. He ventured to fetch you a new pair of dragon-hide gloves, and when you were ready, you were to meet him in the Dragon Pit.

Yet, just as you left your shared bedroom quarters, you were surprised to hear your sister, the 'Lady' Jasline L/N, call your name. You turned, letting your unbound hair fan around you as you turned your attention just in time to watch her jaw clench.

"Sister," you greeted gently. "What brings you to this part of the castle? It's for residents only."

"Oh, I did not realize I was unwelcome," her head cocked. "I've come to demand answers, actually."

"To what questions, Jasline?" You sighed with mild patience.

"Why you feel entitled to my betrothal!"

"My apologies, I was unaware you had a love match," you mimicked her stance and cocked your head, too. "Mind enlightening me so Prince Daemon and I might pass along our congratulations?"

With a smirk, you turned from her and moved down the hall - a moment passing before her feet were rapidly slapping the stone floors to catch up. "You know what I speak of!" She snapped, rounding around you to force another halt. "You stole him from me, and you've stolen my engagement!"

"'Stolen'?" You repeated dumbly. "My dear, sweet, baby sister, you are mistaken, because the Prince is a person and nobody owns him. He's not property, you know - but little can be said for women like us, hmm?"

"You had your chance with him!" Her voice rose in octave. "Why could you not let this go!? This entire season, he has lead me to believe a match was made, and then you! What did you do!?"

"Sister, I assure you that I did nothing," you shrugged. "The Prince and I have a history you can never understand and while I am sorry you are hurt, I am not sorry for being happy. I should've married him a decade ago - but alas, politics does not always work in our favor. The very idea that you felt entitled to the Prince speaks volumes, sister, and let me assure you that this is simply how court works. Tis no other fault but your own for shutting down all other prospects so you could peck seed from the Prince's palm. Now, if you don't mind, I'm due to meet the same man now."

"You're diabolical, you know that?" She sneered, following after you and never once caring for any prying ears.

You tried to ignore her, but it was becoming difficult.

"You couldn't let anyone else be happy, huh? You've already married - you already had your chance! You're a widow, and it's not an attractive look that I do not understand what you could've done or said to Daemon to make him leave me for you!"

Your feet skidded some when you came to a halt, turning on her swiftly, and forcing her back a step, "I'd mind my tongue if I were you, sister, for the Keep is full of enemies looking to take any outsiders down for their own gain. If you'd like to throw a tantrum, go throw it to Father - I am not the one to deal with them anymore. And I'd take caution in addressing him as Prince Daemon, you're far too familiar."

"Bitch!" She raged, glaring heavily after you.

You only waved, "So good to see you, Jasline, we'll catch up another time, sister dearest!"

When you arrived at the Dragon Pit, your heart was ready to thump out of your chest out of sheer rage - your mind occupied with the audacity your sister felt in approaching you that way. When you walked to the mouth of the Pit, you faltered in confidence as the size of it all made you uneasy, and the idea of it housing more than ONE dragon enough to make you slow down.

"My Lady," one of the Targaryen guards nodded. "The Prince has only just arrived, he's inside - "

"Thank you," you breathed, nodding at him. "Um, would you tell me something, Ser?"

"Yes, My Lady?"

"Am I foolish for walking blindly into the Dragon's Den?"

He sighed gently, "No, Lady, you are most safe - and only a fool goes blindly without question. You paused, you wondered, you even voiced that curiosity. Means you're no fool."

You smiled lightly, "Oh, that was very well put. Thank you, I... I do believe I needed to hear that. Your name, Ser?"

"Oh, I'm no Knight, my Lady," he shrugged some. "Names Bowen, and I took this post from the City Watch. Truthfully, I'd do whatever the Prince asked, he's been a fearless leader to us in the past."

You smiled softly, "Bowen... What a name. Thank you, Bowen."

"My Lady," he nodded, sensing your hesitation still. "Uh, i-if I may?"

"Please," you granted, shifting on your feet as the cold darkness loomed high over you.

"I could escort you," he nodded. "I'm sure the Prince will not want you wondering in without direction."

"Oh, very smart, yes," you nodded in relief. "Would you mind? Are you allowed to leave?"

"Calswold!" He barked at another guard, who straightened up. "Man my post, I will escort the Lady in and return."

"Yes, sir," Calswold nodded, giving a small salute as Bowen turned back to you with a smirk.

"Lad does anything I says," he whispered with a wink, offering his arm. "And trust me, Lady, the first time here is the most intimidatin'. You do not truly get used to it, but you will not always feel so... Well, in truth, my mother used to call it fawn-legs, but you will not always feel so weak or powerless coming here."

"Fawn-legs?" You repeated, nodding, "Like your legs shake? Feels weak?"

"Mhm," he nodded. "Like your stomach’s in a knot?"

"Oh yeah," you whispered, gazing up and around you. "By Gods, this is enormous... How many can it house?"

"Maybe some 10?" He offered. "I don't think there's been more than six here before at once, but I might be wrong."

"Hmm," you considered, gasping lightly when a flame shot out above your heads.

"Easy, easy," Bowen covered you when you ducked in panic. "'S just Caraxes showing off..."

With shaking hands held in his, you slowly stood to your height and let your eyes search the darkness behind him - just in time for the long, red head of Caraxes to slither outward.

Daemon was at his legs, walking backwards as he seemingly tightened a strap of the dragon's saddle. "Fuck," you muttered, the dragon revealing more of himself, "they don't get smaller, do they?"

"I think they just get bigger, my Lady," Bowen nodded, patting your hands. "You're all right."

"Thank you... Um, f-for escorting me and calming me," you muttered, eyes unable to leave the dragon out of worry that his jaws would open again and you'd be too late to protect yourself.

"Of course," Bowen soothed, turning to look behind himself. "You're safe with the Prince, my Lady," he assured you gently, giving your hands a squeeze. "He's done nothing but talk of you, you know?"

"What?" You asked.

"There is a mighty echo at certain points of the cave," he explained, "and the echo carries. The Prince likes to talk to his dragon..."

"Telling my secrets, are you, Bowen?" Daemon's voice sounded, the two of you looking back to see him approaching - with Caraxes' head hovering just behind him.

"No, never, Prince," Bowen smirked.

"C'mere, love," Daemon chuckled, waving you forward. "Thank you, Bowen."

"Yes, thank you," you repeated, smiling at the guard and releasing him nervously.

"You're all right," he whispered in encouragement. "Go on..."

He took his leave and left you to face Daemon, who was smirking with a hand held out for you to take. Slowly, eyeing the dragon behind him, you approached your beloved and accepted his hand to instantly step up into his chest and press your lips to his.

He hummed lightly, one hand tangled with yours as the other caressed your cheek while his tongue swept against yours. When you pulled back to rest your foreheads together, he chuckled dryly, "I missed you, too, dove."

Your sigh was sad, "Just needed to see you."

"It's not been half an hour..." But there was a gleam in your eyes that made him ask, "What happened?"

"My sister had choice words for me," you sighed, shaking your head. "Suppose I just needed to see you... Reaffirm you're mine, that you're really here... That maybe we're really doing this."

"Pet," he smirked, "course we're really doing this. C'mon, first step is getting your confidence up around Caraxes. He'd never bring you harm, love, and in fact, he'd protect you... Like I always will."

"Promise?"

He nodded, pecking your lips again, "Promise, dove."

You sighed and kissed him once more. "All right," you decided, lowering yourself off your tip toes to turn towards the dragon. "All right, this is... This is good. This is okay..."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you nodded, blinking rapidly.

"Dove?"

"Hmm?"

"You just gonna stand there?" He wondered gently, a smirk pulling over his lips.

"I'm not moving?"

"No, ma'am."

"Huh... And how about now?"

"Same spot, my love," he chuckled, pecking your temple. "Come on, with me - always with me..."

"And how was it? On dragon's back?" Kase smirked, leaning over his brother some to peer at you and Daemon. "You looked terrified."

"It wasn't as bad," you shrugged some, fingering your skirts sheepishly - knowing damn well you did not handle it well. "It's a learning experience, yes?"

"She didn't stop shaking," Dameon casually mentioned, taking a sip of his wine as Jamie, Kase, Viserys, Lord Laenor, and Princess Rhaenyra all snickered to one another. "And I think you might've blown my ear drum, love."

"I was not that bad," you tried to defend. The tourney bustled around you; something akin to a fair passing through the city from Pentos and rousing the Royals to celebrate together with the citizens.

"Think I see a bit uh blood from here," Jamie teased, straining to 'peer' into Daemon's ear, who snickered lightly and tucked the hair behind said ear to give a 'clear' view. "Yeah - yeah - look at that! Clear through, hey? Like nothing's there!"

"Come off it, lad. Easy," Daemon chuckled, making you glance between the two of them. "What?" He asked gently, petting a lock of hair behind your ear gently, caressing the back of your head.

"When did you two become friends?"

"When you're with your Ladies," Daemon smirked some. "Only lad to give me a real run for my money with the sword."

The clash of iron swords, laughter of men, and strums of instruments filled the air around you. "You spar together?" You asked.

"Why do you sound so shocked?" Kase asked, curiosity brimming in his eyes.

"No reason," you assured and accepted the goblet of wine a servant presented to you on a golden platter. "Just, I don't know... That's nice of you, love," you smiled at Daemon.

The conversation shifted in another direction, and you leaned back on your elbow, laying your hand through Daemon's arm, whose hand laid comfortably on your knee while you all listened. You laughed when polite, spoke when spoken to, but mostly, you were content to watch Daemon interact with his family. You couldn't wait until you married him - only a few days left to go.

Yet nothing ever goes according to plan, and while the King was enjoying a sweetened berry platter, your father was storming up to the banquet table under the canvas tent. "My King," he sneered, "I demand an audience with you at once."

The Kings Guard sprung into action to keep him at bay, but Viserys looked mildly curious. "Might I inquire what about, My Lord? It's too beautiful a day for such grievances, isn't it? Might this wait for court?"

"No! This is about how you have given your brother's hand to someone not my daughter!"

Your hands rose in confusion, pinning Jamie with an 'are you serious?' look because weren't you technically his daughter...? In fact, Kase was the one who laughed lightly, telling your father, "The King has betrothed his brother to your daughter, Lord."

"No, he's betrothed his brother to a widowed whore!"

Your eyes rolled some.

"No need for name calling, Lord, tread lightly," Jamie warned with clenched teeth.

"What might the Lady Jasline say?" Viserys wondered.

"That... The Prince Daemon courted me properly, and yet, agreed to marry my sister without any foregrounds to a relationship," your sister spoke 'sweetly' while fluttering her long lashes at the King, offering him large doe eyes that plead with him to understand.

Alicent and you shared a stale look.

"Hmm," the King considered. "Well, my dear, this is where you're wrong because those two," he pointed at you and Daemon, who remained silent during this exchange, "are absolutely made for each other, and their foregrounds were not made in the public's eye. This is part of the reason I gave my blessing, I can think of no other match for either of them."

"Your Grace," your father seethed, "my family was done a terrible discretion and I must demand we are repaid! Else my family, my homestead, might have to reevaluate its production to the Crown."

Viserys cocked his head as your hand tightened around Daemon's forearm; his own gripping your thigh with a bruising strength while your Father's words sunk in. "My Lord, surely you do not mean to insinuate that your livestock production to the Capital would be affected should I choose to not marry Lady Jasline to Prince Daemon?"

"Surely, I do mean to insinuate that," the older man seethed in pure, white-hot anger. "My daughter - this daughter!" He pointed at Jasline, "Deserves a worthy match, and you were willing to bind your brother to my House once - "

"I still am."

"She is not of my name anymore!" Your father roared, making you flinch involuntarily; eyes diverted to your lap as you focused on the feeling of Daemon's flesh beneath your hands.

"That's enough," Daemon demanded, nodding to the Kings Guard. "See the Lord out of the city, and his daughter, too - "

"You have no right!" Your father raged. "You lead my daughter on - and thought you could get away with it!? Either Jasline takes his hand in marriage," your father pointed at Daemon but spoke to Viserys, "or this city will be without meat - I do swear by it."

"Daemon," you worried when he shot from his chair, sending it toppling backward.

"OUT!" The Prince roared.

"Fine," your Father sneered. "I hope the bitch is worth it."

"I want him out!" Daemon demanded, rounding round the table as your Father pushed Jasline along - and with the Gold Cloaks close behind, was escorted from the tent. "Viserys - "

"Worry not," the King nodded with a sigh. "He will not remain in the city, and I will not let the livestock production be affected."

You felt frozen with fear and the weight of the world suddenly fell on your shoulders. Realizing your father was not making an idle threat, you shifted in your seat to lean towards the King, "Perhaps... We are being hasty."

"What?" Viserys, Alicent, and Daemon all demanded at once; in union. Laenor and Rhaenyra shared a look of confusion.

You winced a bit, nodding, "I only mean that my father does not make this threat lightly, Your Grace. If the price to pay is t-that Daemon must marry someone else, again, then who am I to put my needs above that of the city's?"

"What are you saying?" Daemon demanded. "You do not wish to marry me now?"

"I did not say that, my love," you shook your head at him. "Only that perhaps we are being hasty - "

"We are marrying, dove," Daemon shook his head, "and that is final - your father's threats be damned!"

"Daemon," you sighed.

"No," he snapped. "I have sacrificed much in the name of politics and honor and duty - and now that you and I can finally be together, you want to let your father's words drive us apart? I do not want your sister, pet, only you, and I will have you. No others!"

Viserys nodded, "My brother is right - you need not worry for this engagement stands."

"My King..."

"No, it's final," he decided. "We'll send an envoy to your father's stead and beyond to ensure that production is not interrupted."

You felt your anxiety flare, but something beyond the tent caught most's attention, and you found your feet before taking your leave. You truly did not get far before a hand was securing around your wrist and pulling you into an alcove - your gasp being silenced by Daemon's hand over your mouth.

"Daemon," you growled, pushing his hand off. "What's that for? Hey? You finally gone mad, is it?"

"Have you?"

"What're you on about?"

"Tell me in truth - do you want to marry me?" He demanded, violet eyes staring through your soul as he held your jaw steady.

"Daemon, please understand only this," you spoke softly, yet with a determination; lifting to your toes to hold his cheek, "that I have waited more than long enough to have you, and I will not let you go so easily. I want to be your wife, more than I've known anything else. Do not mistake my words for regret, I do not wish to be the cause of turmoil in the city. That is all."

He sighed lightly, "Do not ever give anyone a way out for us. They will not all be like Viserys, and they will not all want to see us together. But you are mine, and I am yours..."

"My father has more power than we'd like," you breathed in worry. "Do not let people suffer because we want to be together."

"Nothing is stopping us," he shook his head. "And your father's threats are idle, my love... In truth, pet, he knows you are his heir less he can marry Jasline off."

You nodded sadly, "What're we going to do?"

He sighed lightly, "What we can do..."

"Which is?"

"Get through this, together," he whispered, leaning in to capture your lips against his.

part five: Bright Light

Midnight Calls masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon hotd #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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naffeclipse · 1 year

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Hi Naff! A question: so I was talking with @chaotikanvas, and she mentioned that there's an Sleuth Jesters AU in which Sun and Moon stayed with Eclipse after he became a Mob Boss, and in which he spoils them both because they're his family and now he has the power to do so. That's roughly how she explained it to me, so now I am REQUIRED to ask:

Can you tell me more about this AU?

Where can I read more about it, if there have been posts about it? (Like, how do I look for it?)

I love this AU idea because it so wholesome (even if Eclipse uses the wrong methods to show his love for his family). It has already sparked so MUCH inspiration in me!

As always, keep being the awesome person you've always been!

P.S: I believe I once read that you kind of had an AU idea about Sun, Moon, and Eclipse being faes and Y/N accidentally entering their territory. Are you going to make a fanfic about this AU? (No pression, just curious!)

Heya, babe! Ahhh, it's been a hot minute since this AU has popped up and I'm so happy you enjoy it!

Yes, it's called Our Vigilante and this tag is the gist of it (I tried finding my initial post talking about it but searching through my tumblr without a specific tag is like looking for a needle in a haystack so you'll have to bear with me alsdjfas)

More or less, the AU explores the dynamic of the celestial brothers staying close and taking care of each other with the added dilemma of Sun and Moon being conscientious objectors to their older brother's criminal empire but regardless, still benefiting from Eclipse's illegal activities. It's a standoff but the brothers work and live together, though Sun and Moon are very much sheltered from the bloodier side of things.

The vigilante sets their sights on Sun and Moon and intends to use them as stepping stones to finding a way to take out Eclipse's gang from the inside out, but with their seduction of the younger brothers, the vigilante discovers that Sun and Moon are quite charming and sweet and desperately trying to hide the fact that they're technically gangsters (which makes Y/N laugh). It's a bit complicated with the vigilante well aware of Sun's and Moon's relation to the mafia boss but the boys are doing everything they can to convince this seemingly lovely little person that they're just average, totally not mobsters, animatronics.

Lots of shenanigans and hijinks ensue. The vigilante catches feelings while growing worst about 'seducing' these brothers whom they are actually growing to truly care about. Sun and Moon become wild with worry that their beau will figure out that they're not so squeaky clean and turn away from them, but, everyone's got secrets, some not so well kept, and others neatly tucked away.

Meanwhile, Eclipse and the vigilante are still at each other's throats but will drop anything at a dime if Sun or Moon are in trouble and need to be bailed out. The vigilante loathes having to work with the mafia boss, but they'll hold their tongue just until they know for certain that one of their favorite gangsters is safe and sound. Eclipse, of course, is not one to squander opportunities and uses every second he has to convince the vigilante to join him.

Eclipse wants the vigilante, and discovering that they have a fondness for his younger brothers is a pretty tool of leverage he deems fit to use as he wants—and Y/N will agree with him, one way or the other.

As for the Fae AU, I'd love to write a fanfic—I've already got a few different ideas for it now, and how to go about it! I still gotta get the last episode of Cryptid Sightings out and then tackle Deep Dreams 2, but mmm, I'd love to maybe write a first chapter just to get it out there!

So many things to write, so little time

#love a chance to ramble about another sleuth jesters au hehe thanks!#the fae one is going to be so magical and fun #and of course our vigilante is just a bizarre game of we know but they don't but we have to play nice for their sake alsdfjasld #sleuth jesters #our vigilante #fae au

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 11 months

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Begged & Borrowed Time (ixx, ao3)

(Chapter nineteen: Buckle up kids, we’ve got a lot to get through. Cassian arrives in Windhaven, where after setting the record straight with Mor, secrets are revealed. Feyre learns of the mating bond, and back below the wall, plans are in full swing for Elain’s wedding, but there’s something starting to concern the middle Archeron.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

Cassian was certain she’d felt it.

As the wind raked sharp across his skin and an unsettled, disjointed kind of unease ticked through him, it was the only thing he could think of. He was so godsdamned sure of it, and it was the only fucking thing on his mind as resentment curled low in his stomach, a bitter taste coating his tongue as he clenched his fists, feeling the sword strapped to his back. Looking out at the ragged mountain he’d once called home, he was absolutely convinced that Nesta had felt the bond between them, and yet here he was, standing beneath a granite sky in Windhaven, looking not into Nesta’s mercury-blue eyes, but at Devon’s familiar face drawn together in a deep scowl, arms folded tight over his armoured chest.

Rhys stood beside him, ordering the camp lord to clear out his mother’s old house, and at his back stood Feyre and Mor, huddled in the thickest cloaks they’d been able to find. Velaris might have been cradled by spring, but Windhaven clung still to winter, and the bare rock of the mountain loomed above, casting a long, cold shadow. As the wind screamed through the valley below, Cassian’s siphons pulsed, unsteady.

The single siphon on Devlon’s chest flared in kind, a brief spark in the emerald stone. Cassian was barely listening as Devlon protested, and though he noted the soldiers grouped as Devlon’s back, counted their weapons and clocked their positions, there was no pretending he was anything but hopelessly distracted. Foolish, to be so preoccupied in Illyria but—

This was the last place in the world he wanted to be right now.

With less than three hours of sleep behind him, he was feeling the absence of Nesta like a bruise. His patience was stretched thin, fraying like a piece of age-worn thread, and all he could think about was how much of himself felt missing, how much he was missing her, and not even Devlon and his men were enough to pull Cassian’s mind away from Nesta fucking Archeron. They’d been apart for a grand total of eight hours, and already he missed her like he’d been robbed of something vital.

He almost wanted to scream now, to roar, and was it any wonder, when his temper was balanced on a knife edge— and had been, ever since Azriel had showed up that morning to take his mate back below the wall, back to the bed she shared with another man?

As Devlon sent one of his men darting through the snow towards the house that had been Cassian’s first real home, Rhys turned towards Feyre and held out a hand, but Cassian could think only of how Az had arrived at the river just before sunrise. As Feyre’s hand slipped into Rhys’ palm, he watched and thought of how Nesta’s fingers had tightened around him when the first shadow had skirted the edge of the dock. Cassian had sent Az back up to the House to fetch Emerie’s book before taking Nesta home, and it was a desperate, pitiful attempt at stealing another few moments but it had worked. Cassian had held Nesta tighter in those borrowed seconds, afraid of letting go. He’d kissed her— softly at first, but then Nesta had practically moaned against him, and any sense of control he’d had snapped as the kiss turned feral, all hands and nails and teeth as they grasped at one another, sharing breath in the dark as their lips met like they were both of them trying to make up for lost time with that single aching kiss—

But it was like trying to contain an ocean inside of a puddle, and soon it had drowned them both, leaving them gasping, shaking, eclipsing anything Cassian had ever felt in his life and—

“We’re heading out,” Rhys said to Feyre, turning his back on Devlon without bothering to dismiss him, and pulling Cassian, blinking, from his reverie. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus.

The western wind rattled through the camp, vicious and biting and as cold as the ice underfoot, and Rhys’ wings spread behind him, shielding Feyre from the worst of it. Cassian wondered if she noticed. If she’d seen the way Rhys had been drawn to her side, exposing the most sensitive parts of his wings to the cold as he sought to protect her from the weather.

“We’re going to train,” Rhys continued. “Azriel is going to check if Elain has had word from the queens today. Until she does, we’re using the time here to practice.”

Feyre nodded, stepping closer into Rhys’ side as the wind rustled his sable hair. Her hand curled around his, and Cassian turned away, feeling the sharp tug of envy in his chest. It just didn’t seem fair, didn’t seem right, that his mate should be so far away, when only hours ago he’d had her in his arms, falling stars reflected in her eyes as she felt the bond twining his heart and hers.

“Check on the forces,” Rhys instructed, meeting Cassian’s eye above Feyre’s head. “See that the girls are training, and do whatever needs to be done to ensure our forces are in peak condition. We’ll be back by nightfall.”

Grimly, Cassian nodded.

“Stay out of trouble,” Rhys added as he looked to the line of the trees in the distance, their branches tipped with ice. He offered Mor a weary smile as he raised an eyebrow, and as he pulled Feyre into his arms and lifted her off her feet, Mor scoffed.

Then they were gone, leaving only silence in their wake as Mor watched her cousin leave, flying fast towards the dense thicket of trees at the mountain’s base. The smile on her face fell away, replaced by a terse kind of quiet as Cassian looked for something to say and came up empty.

They hadn’t spoken since that night at the Hewn City, and there wasn’t a single word to be found between them now— not one, not as they waited for the soldiers to file out of Rhys’ mother’s house, not when they marched through the snow and made it to the front door Cassian knew so well, not when they crossed the threshold, and not when the door closed behind them.

Just— nothing.

It was a silence that was awkward, heavy and complete as Mor took off her cloak and draped it over the back of the sofa. She didn’t sit— instead she lingered, standing in the centre of the sitting room that Cassian had spent so much of his youth in, and as she cast her eyes over all four walls, Cassian knew without her needing to speak that she was thinking the same thing he was when he, too, looked around.

Nothing had changed.

The same watercolour paintings hung over the same mantelpiece, the same few books lined the shelves in one corner. The floorboards beneath his feet still bore the scuffs of a fight he and Rhys had once gotten into, and for all the world it felt like Rhys’ mother might just step out of the kitchen and offer them both some stew. But like a fine layer of dust, there was a patina of old grief draped across it all, and Cassian’s heart tugged as the silence deepened, echoing in the house that had never felt empty before, not when he was a boy.

He hadn’t been back since Rhys became High Lord, and as Cassian cut through the sitting room and made for the doorway leading to the kitchen - Mor drifting behind him and rubbing her hands together for warmth - suddenly he felt the past raise its head, old ghosts stirring as the anguish he felt over Nesta was compounded, redoubled. Suddenly, he remembered the very first time he and Mor had met, standing in that same kitchen.

Rhys’ mother had been there too, and his sister, with that laugh of hers that had always seemed to echo. There had been five places set at the table then, the scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate hanging in the air. Gone, now. All of it gone, and how did Cassian even begin to measure all the things that had changed since that day, when Mor had first stepped beneath that door? Where did he even start?

She’s a damned viper, Cassian.

He recalled Mor’s words from the Hewn City, and as he filled the kettle and slammed it on the stove, he felt his resolve harden. Mor was complicated— he knew that. His past was woven tight with hers, and he knew, too, that her dislike of Nesta wasn’t something entirely personal, rather a desperate attempt at keeping the status quo. But Nesta was Cassian’s mate, and he wasn’t about to let anything slide when it came to her.

Never when it came to her.

So— he refused to be the one to break the silence, and as Mor looked flatly at the single cup Cassian set out on the counter, she let out a bitter huff and turned away. Only when Cassian heard a door close loudly upstairs did he let his head drop towards his chest.

Ruefully, he sighed and prepared himself for a long, agonising stint in Illyria.

***

The next morning, Rhys and Feyre left early.

In the room he’d once shared with both of his brothers, Cassian woke with the dawn to inspect the camps, and looking over to the bed by the window, he found Rhys slowly waking. The High Lord dragged a hand through his hair, shaking off the sleep that still clung to him, and when Cassian clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d gone soft if he couldn’t handle a dawn wake up call anymore, Rhys had snarled and told him to fuck off— just the way he had when they were boys. Rhys hadn’t been a morning person back then, either.

But that was hours ago, and now Cassian stood at the side of the training ring at the cliff’s edge, looking out over the mountains as before him boys - not men - sparred with wooden practice blades. The snow was drifting, dusting the ground as the morning wore on, refusing to melt.

This place was always fucking cold.

Casting an eye over the ring, Cassian picked out the bastards in the bunch easily. Four of them, who looked like the cold hadn’t just touched them, it had crawled inside their bones and made itself at home. Their cheeks were tinged with pink, noses red, and there were more than a few fingers far too close to frostbite. He knew what that was like, and being in Windhaven, staying in Rhys’ old house… it had all kinds of old feelings stirring in his gut, twisting inside as he looked at the worn leathers and ill-fitting boots, watching the four bastard boys hit harder than the rest - fight harder than the rest - for no recognition or reward.

He knew what that was like, too.

His stomach soured, and yet he didn’t move on. Though he was supposed to be inspecting the rest of the camp, Cassian stayed until their training was done, and as the other boys began to leave the ring, Cassian lingered. Something kept him there, stationary in the snow, and as the first of the bastards hurried past, Cassian brought him to a halt with a palm on an entirely too-thin shoulder. The boy’s hands looked so painfully cold that Cassian almost winced.

“Find Emerie,” he said lowly. “Tell her to give you a pair of her thickest gloves and take extra for your friends.” He nodded to the three other boys slowly putting away their practice swords. “I’ll call on her later to settle the bill.”

The boy whispered a stunned thank you, General before racing towards Emerie’s shop, and Cassian’s heart tugged. Rhys wanted the armies in peak condition, but good soldiers were being left to starve and freeze as a consequence of their birth, and though getting the girls to train had been a start, Windhaven was just as cruel as ever and coastlines changed faster than the camp lords.

Cassian had had enough.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, he sighed heavily, pushing away from the wooden posts that surrounded the training ring. He’d see Emerie tomorrow, he decided. Place an order for gloves and leathers and have them distributed to the poorest of the soldiers— the bastards and the orphans. While he was there, he decided too, he’d pick up another book for Nesta, for when he saw her next— whenever that might be.

Resigned, he let loose another grumbling sigh before glowering at the sky and heading back towards the house. The mountain cast a long shadow, plunging Windhaven into deeper darkness as the sun dropped behind the summit, and when Cassian pushed open the front door and found Mor wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, fluffy socks on her feet and a book in her lap, he stilled. With the snow melting on his boots he paused in the hallway, wanting nothing more than to avoid her. But it was difficult, he’d learned, to avoid someone when you were sharing a house roughly the size of a postage stamp.

Looking through the living room and into the kitchen, searching for his brother even though he could tell by the silence that the house was empty, Cassian frowned.

“Rhys and Feyre back yet?” he asked tersely, his voice clipped and tight. When Mor shook her head, he looked to the window.

It was the first exchange since the Hewn City, and when Cassian nodded curtly and made for the stairs, Mor closed her book and set it down beside her. They had argued before, but in all the centuries they had known one another, the fallout had never lasted longer than an hour. Never had it been like this, never so strained.

“Cass,” Mor said, sliding her fluffy-socked feet to the floor. “Can we just… stop whatever this is?”

“I didn’t start whatever this is,” Cassian answered flatly. He turned and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “So I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to stop it.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Why are you being so damned defensive? Why does what I said at the Hewn City even matter—”

“Why does it matter?” Cassian repeated, indignant. His voice was thick with scorn, practically incredulous as Mor shook her golden head, waving a hand in frustration.

“Look, from what Feyre has told us about her sister—”

“You don’t know her,” Cassian cut in. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“And you do? After a handful of weeks, you think you know her better than her own sister?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. Boldly, he shrugged. “Yes.”

Mor’s eyes shuttered, grew dark. “I just want you to be happy,” she said lowly. “And I don’t see how—”

She cut herself off with an irate sigh, tipping her head back to the ceiling. Her golden earrings danced, her hair cascading in waves down her back.

“Take it from me, Cass. From someone else who once got too involved with a human.”

She dropped her gaze, finding his as the hardness in her expression was slowly replaced by something older, something more sombre. Ancient grief shone in her eyes as an old wound was torn open— and it was one Cassian hadn’t even known she’d been dealt. Her face was limned with old agony, her bottom lip beginning to tremble as she drew it between her teeth. Confusion drew his eyebrows together, his lips parting as he opened his mouth to speak - to ask - but Mor shook her head in a single sharp movement.

“Trust me. The only way this ends is in heartbreak,” she finished, and something about the pain lining her face had Cassian’s anger drawing back, receding a little as he let his folded arms drop.

“It’s my heart to break,” he said quietly— but not softly. His voice was as firm as ever, resolute, because he’d made his decision, hadn’t he? Weeks ago, the day after the bond had snapped. He’d decided then that the centuries of sorrow he’d endure without her would be worth it for even one day by her side. “So stay out of it.”

“She’s human, Cass—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he countered roughly, feeling the bond strain in his chest, constricting his lungs and squeezing his heart until it felt like it would burst. With a hand, he gestured to the window. To the camp outside. “Not when I could be dead in a week. Or had you forgotten why we were here?”

“How could I forget?” she answered, incredulous. “It’s all the more reason you can’t afford a distraction—”

“A distraction?” Cassian hissed, but Mor only lifted her chin, steadfast.

“Is that not what she is? Tell me honestly, Cass. Out there yesterday morning— were you thinking of all that needs to be done to win this war, or were you thinking of her?”

Cassian snarled, but he couldn’t answer. No, he hadn’t been worried about Devlon out there yesterday. He’d been too busy thinking of the way Nesta had felt in his arms. He hadn’t been thinking of soldiers to train, supplies to organise, camps to inspect. He’d been thinking of silver-blue eyes and a bracelet he’d tied around a slender wrist, so much more meaningful than the wedding ring on her finger. He thought of her in every waking moment… but she wasn’t a distraction.

She was the opposite.

“I’ll win this war because of her,” he said darkly. “Because if losing means harm coming to her, than losing isn’t an option. So don’t doubt me when I say, Mor, that I don’t want your advice. I’m as focused as I need to be.”

Mor sniffed, and as his words hung in the air between them, the silence stretched, morphed. The tension shifted as anger devolved into something like anguish, red hot fury melting into something just a little less fraught than before— still jagged, but a little less sharp, and for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel awkward. Still though, Cassian didn’t move from his spot by the door, and Mor didn’t rise from the sofa. They remained, frozen, until Mor shifted, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she said at last, drawing one knee up to her chest. Her eyes closed, and Cassian wondered what she’d kept hidden all these years, what human had stolen her heart. Still, he lifted his chin, not a shred of uncertainty in his veins.

“I do,” he answered, taking his first step into the sitting room. Mor looked up at him, resting her chin on her knee as he let out a heavy sigh and lowered himself down at the other end of the sofa. Tentatively, he tilted his head.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “about the human you loved.”

Mor smiled sadly, her eyes distant as, mute, she shook her head. He noted the sorrow on her face, all that heartache she’d endured alone and in secret, and as a single, solitary tear tracked down her cheek…

Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at a version of his own future, a preview of his own pain.

A glimpse of the grief that awaited him.

***

His heart was still heavy when he awoke the next day, and as dawn broke and Cassian found the bed on the other side of the room still empty, Cassian knew with absolute, unwavering certainty that something was wrong. The siphon on his hand pulsed uneasily, ice spreading along his limbs as he slid from beneath the covers and pulled on his leathers, his hands stumbling over the ties as he swore softly and looked out at the window, at the untouched snow leading to the front door.

Rhys and Feyre hadn’t come home.

Cassian refused to think of the last time Rhys hadn’t returned. Refused to entertain the idea, or to remember all those decades he’d spent waiting in vain for his brother to come back, but nevertheless apprehension was thick in his stomach as, barefoot, he went in search of Mor across the hall. But she hadn’t heard anything from Rhys either, and just as Cassian had pulled on his boots to go out there and search the mountainside himself—

Through the window, he saw his High Lord materialise in the snow.

Rhys sank to his knees, as if all his strength had departed, and with Mor quick on his heels, Cassian rushed for the door, heart hammering as he wrenched it open just in time to see Feyre tear her arm from Rhys’ grip. The High Lord let out a small sound, something between agony and grief as Feyre walked away.

Cassian’s concern spiked as he lurched out into the snow.

“What happened?” he demanded, but Rhys was too busy trying to steady his breathing to speak, a hand pressed to his side as if he were wounded, and Feyre had already stormed past him and headed right for Mor instead. Cassian frowned, about to ask his brother what the fuck was happening, and then— he noticed Rhys’ torn leathers. The mud on his knees, the shadows beneath his eyes, the hair messier than Cassian had ever seen it.

The blood on his fingers.

Fucking hell— Rhys looked like he was at death’s door, his skin drawn and ashen as he fought to keep his eyes open. Cassian reached for him, bringing him to his feet and helping him to stand, his entire frame weak and unsteady. Cassian turned and looked to Mor, but she was standing torn, her gaze flitting between Rhys - hardly strong enough to carry his own weight - and Feyre, standing with indignation on her face, her hands outstretched as she grabbed Mor’s forearm.

“Take me somewhere far away,” she said. Her voice was leaden, anger etched onto her features as she stood firm, not sparing the weakened lord at her back a second glance. “Right now.”

Mor hesitated, drawing a lip between her teeth as she looked from the Cursebreaker to her cousin.

“Please,” Feyre said, her voice breaking as that single word had Rhys trying to lurch forward, slipping from Cassian’s grip even as his legs gave out once more. Rhys kneeled in the snow, panting as he struggled to rise, the hair hanging limply over his face as he tried to lift his neck. All over again, Cassian wondered what in the ever-loving fuck had happened, but Feyre’s anguish was palpable, and Mor’s eyes were fraught with indecision.

Rhys moaned Feyre’s name, a broken plea as Mor swallowed and extended a hand. She nodded, and Feyre’s tattooed fingers closed around her own in the heartbeat before Mor winnowed them away, leaving nothing behind but footprints in the snow and the High Lord of the Night Court, broken on the floor.

Cassian hauled him to his feet, Rhys’ arm slung around his shoulders as he gripped his brother around the middle, feeling the tears in his leather with his fingertips, tears that seemed to have been made by arrowheads.

“What happened?” Cassian asked again.

Rhys shook his head, but it was an effort as Cassian guided him towards the house.

“I fucked up Cass,” he answered, his voice hoarse, words slipping from between cracked lips as every breath seemed to tax him. He lifted his head just enough to meet Cassian’s eye, and there was something akin to horror in the widened violet. Mournfully, Rhys let his head drop once more.

“Feyre knows about the bond,” he rasped. “And I… I think I might have just lost her for good.”

***

The air was thick with the scent of flowers.

Hyacinths, peonies, roses.

All of them laid out on the table as Elain picked out her wedding bouquet, humming lightly as she dragged a finger over the different stems, plucking up each bloom and holding it against the other to find the most perfect arrangement. Beside her, Greysen held a sheaf of papers in his hands, his light brown hair falling easily over his forehead as he rifled through guest lists and seating arrangements and plans of his father’s estate— all the small, excruciating details that would come together to form the society event of the season. When he handed Elain a list of vineyards supplying the wine for the wedding, an iron band gleamed dark on his wrist.

Nesta watched as it slipped back beneath his sleeve, silent in her spot by the window.

Elain’s voice rang through the airy space of the Archeron morning room, and as the conversation drifted away from flowers to focus on where exactly the ceremony would be held on Lord Nolan’s estate, Nesta let her eyes fall back to the book in her lap. Turning the pages of Emerie’s latest, she settled into the role of chaperone more than anything else, only barely listening as her sister and future brother-in-law combed through the plans for their wedding.

“Beneath the ironwood trees perhaps,” Greysen suggested, pointing at a spot on the map. “The foliage is quite lovely this time of year, especially in the grove—”

“No,” Elain shook her head. “No I think I’d rather somewhere…”

Somewhere other than beneath the trees used to make weapons that can kill my sister, Nesta thought wryly, not lifting her gaze from the pages before her. Elain sighed.

“Somewhere brighter,” she finished, and if Greysen thought it strange, he said nothing. He only shrugged, turning his blue eyes back to the map.

Nesta had been listening to them for an hour.

She’d arrived at her father’s estate early that morning after a letter was delivered at the Mandray house, just as she’d sat down to breakfast. She’d cracked the seal immediately, finding a letter from Elain that had her pushing away her plate and preparing to leave before the messenger that had delivered the note had even left the courtyard.

Nesta, Elain had written. I know it’s short notice, but please— come for tea this morning? I could use the company, what with father gone, and I had such terrible dreams last night that I’d rather not be alone. Greysen is coming later to talk about the wedding, but I’d like to see you before then. Perhaps you can help me look over the designs for my dress? All my love, Elain.

Tomas hadn’t liked it.

He’d sneered and scowled and said that unless Nesta was going to bring back a purse full of gold, she was wasting her time. He’d caught her by the door, hand closing about her wrist, lip curling as his eyes fell on the bracelet tied there. Like Cassian had suggested, she’d told him it was a gift from Elain, but Tomas hadn’t seemed to buy it. His grip had tightened, almost painful, and Nesta had hissed before wrenching herself away, so hard her wrist barked beneath the pressure. Without a word, she’d slammed the door behind her and now she was here— listening to her sister plan her wedding like she had no cares in the world, when Elain had been so troubled that morning that she’d sent for her older sister, so shaken that her hands had trembled on her teacup.

She’d been dreaming of Clare Beddor lately.

It’s silly, Elain had said over their first pot of tea, looking down at the cup balanced in her hand. I just keep thinking about her. About her whole family. Gone—killed. And poor Clare, taken in the dead of night.

Her voice had grown quiet, her eyes haunted, as Elain looked up. In my dreams they come for us, too, she’d whispered.

Nesta had felt a chill run through her entire body. It was just a dream, and yet a shudder had racked her, thundering through her as Elain had taken a quivering breath.

They come for us too, she’d repeated, and a slick, foreboding kind of dread had coated the inside of Nesta’s veins, her heartbeat rising, uneven, as she searched in vain for the words to comfort her sister.

Greysen had interrupted them then, and Elain had shaken it off, plastering a wide smile on her face that betrayed little. It was dulled only at the edges by the concern in her eyes, but Greysen hadn’t seemed to notice as he kissed Elain on the cheek and Nesta rose, moving to the armchair by the window to let him sit on the sofa with his betrothed. She had pulled Emerie’s book out of the canvas bag she’d brought with her when she left the Mandray house, grateful for the distraction.

She didn’t trust Tomas not to find it, so she kept the book with her, along with the dagger Cassian had given her. Both were a comfort now— the latter, especially. It was tucked in the pockets of her skirts, a steady weight at her thigh, and even though some sensible part of her knew that Elain’s dreams were nothing to fear…

She shook her head, dropping her gaze to her wrist, to the bracelet there that somehow soothed the sharpest edges of her worry. She thought of Starfall, the way they had danced and kissed and clung to one another, and suddenly she had to blink to focus on the words on the page, her mind scattered and only one word cutting through the tangled mess of her thoughts.

Cassian.

Gods— he had ruined her.

He’d destroyed her entirely, taken her heart and marked it— claimed it. How could she ever again pretend that her marriage to Tomas was what she wanted? How could she look at the ring on her finger and pretend it had been worth it, when she didn’t have the energy to deny it anymore? It was Cassian she wanted, he she craved, and there was no turning from it now.

She was too far gone.

Nesta spent another hour in that chair, her eyes moving idly over the page as she only pretended to read. She took none of it in, too preoccupied with the memory of the warrior above the wall, and the way he’d called her his. She was distracted— so distracted that it was only when the clock chimed noon and Greysen rose to his feet that she realised she’d not been listening at all.

After giving Elain a sweet farewell that Nesta couldn’t help but think rang hollow, he left, leaving her alone with her sister as Elain plucked up the thick pile of papers from the table and pulled out one from the very, very bottom

“Here,” she said as Nesta rose from the chair and took back the seat on the sofa she’d given up when Greysen arrived. Elain held out the paper. A sketch for a dress. “Its from the dressmaker in the village,” she explained, smoothing her skirts as the servants brought in a fresh pot of tea. “What do you think?”

Nesta held it in hand, casting her eyes over her sister’s wedding dress.

It was beautiful.

All flowing skirts and elegant sleeves, there were flowers embroidered at the hem and around the wrists. Delicate material gathered at the waist before sweeping down in a cascade of blush, pale pink skirts. It was staggeringly pretty, exactly the kind of dress that Nesta envisioned Elain in, and with the hyacinths set out on the table… It was lovely. But— a tiara had been added at the top of the faceless figure drawn on the paper, sketched in charcoal. It was a thin band of grey shaped to look somewhat like a wreath, fashioned with leaves that might have looked pretty— but it was iron, and it’s sharpness was a horrible contrast to the soft, pale pink of the gown and the pearls that Elain would wear at her neck and ears.

Nesta fought back a frown. “It’s… beautiful.”

Elain noted the hesitation. “It’s the tiara, isn’t it? You hate it.”

Nesta didn’t bother to deny it, and Elain let out a sigh that soon turned into a groan.

“So do I,” she admitted. “But it was Greysen’s mother’s. His father gave it to her on their wedding day, and it would mean a lot to both of them if I wear it.”

Greysen’s mother had died years ago, and Nesta could understand the sentiment but… did everything have to be made from iron?

“It is pretty,” Elain said, her lilting voice turning somewhat conciliatory. “Aside from the iron, it is pretty.” She sighed again. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice that I’m willing to make.”

Nesta stiffened.

Elain hadn’t called it a compromise. She’d called it a sacrifice, and as Nesta looked at the flowers laid out on the table, the hyacinths in various shades of pink, she frowned in earnest. She didn’t think the word sacrifice was usually associated with weddings, and it was all too reminiscent of her own marriage.

Greysen was fine enough, she supposed. Wealthy and landed, titled— a decent match. Elain could do worse. But perhaps, Nesta thought darkly, she could do better, too. Elain deserved somebody that would give her diamonds, not iron, and silently she wondered whether Elain would wilt like the flowers on the table the moment she was sequestered behind those high stone walls.

Elain waved a hand, shaking her head.

“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “I don’t think the iron tiara is the worst of our problems. Greysen thinks its strange that Feyre won’t be at the wedding.”

Nesta shrugged. “Well, you could always tell him that your sister was turned into one of the fae and see how strange he thinks that is in comparison.”

Elain rolled her eyes, batting Nesta on the arm.

“I wish she could come. I want her there, but…” She trailed off. “Perhaps if she came with Rhysand? He hid behind a glamour once before, that day they first came here. Perhaps he could make them both look… human?”

“And if he can’t?” Nesta asked. “If somebody should see through it?”

Elain huffed, defeated. She pushed the papers away, letting the sketch for her dress lie discarded at the top of the pile.

“Do you think there’s something between them?” she asked curiously, turning away from talk of the wedding altogether. “Feyre and Rhysand.”

Nesta sipped her tea. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Never mind that Feyre and Rhysand were… bonded. Cassian had told her about the mating bond, but it was still so foreign, so inexplicable, that Nesta couldn’t quite wrap her head about it. She wasn’t about to tell Elain— not when she wasn’t sure if Feyre even knew about it herself yet. She could think of nothing worse, if everyone else knew whilst Feyre was left in the dark. It didn’t exactly endear her to Rhysand, but still she kept her mouth shut. In silence, she dropped her gaze and dragged a fingertip lightly around the edge of her saucer.

Elain hummed. “He seems nice enough. I told you, didn’t I? That first day they stayed here. I said he seems nice.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Nesta said nothing. Rhysand was all smiles with Elain, but he tended to look at Nesta like she’d committed some great wrong just by stepping into the same room as him. The arrogance rolled off him in waves, and it didn’t matter if he was devoted to Feyre. Nesta didn’t like him.

But Elain tilted her head innocently, almost idly as a small, curious smile crossed her face that she quickly hid. She tapped a finger against her teacup, making the porcelain sing.

“They’re all nice I suppose, “ she continued lightly, humming as she reached out to straighten the flowers on the table. “And I like Azriel, even though he’s quiet. He’s the charming type, don’t you think?”

Nesta wondered where Elain was going with this— what angle she was striving for. But her sister did nothing but lift the teacup to her pale pink lips, delicate fingers curling around the saucer’s gilded edge. She didn’t look to her elder sister, only kept her eyes forward in a perfectly crafted display of nonchalance. Outside, the trees lining the borders of the estate swayed in a gentle breeze, and Elain looked absently out to the green-tipped branches as she let out a soft little hum.

Nesta had known her sister for twenty-two years. She knew when she was up to something, and as Elain sat there, sipping elegantly from her teacup and avoiding Nesta’s eyes, there was no doubt in Nesta’s mind.

Elain was up to something.

“And, well,” she said casually, almost idly. “Cassian certainly knows how to get under your skin.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “He’s incessant, that’s what he is,” she countered. “He knows exactly how to stir my temper, so perhaps I wouldn’t describe him as nice.”

Elain smirked. “Well, when I said he knows how to get under your skin, I didn’t mean it in quite that sense.”

She looked up suggestively, raising an eyebrow and glancing at her sister from the corner of her eye. A moment passed, a single beat, and in the silence Nesta felt her shock give way to something else, something… lighter. Elain’s eyes glittered, and Nesta was so surprised that she barked a laugh, setting her teacup down on her saucer with a clatter. Her mother would have had her head for it, but…

Well, her mother wasn’t here.

Elain’s lips pressed together as a look of satisfaction bloomed in her eyes, as if she’d gotten all the information she’d wanted, just from the look on Nesta’s face, from the surprised laugh that had burst from her chest. Nesta blinked, and then they were both laughing, the way they hadn’t in years, not since before they lost their money. Elain’s hand fluttered to her chest as her cheeks turned pink with mirth, and as Nesta shook her head, she forced her smile away.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said at last, her tone laden with a kind of faux innocence, a steadiness she didn’t feel.

“Of course you don’t,” Elain countered with a roll of her eyes. Still, her lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a moment there was silence, comfortable and complete. And then Elain let out a huff. “Oh, I wish you’d told me you were so unhappy with Tomas, Nesta.”

She turned to face Nesta on the sofa, the fabric of her dress rustling as she shifted closer, angling herself so she faced her sister fully. She put her own porcelain saucer down on the table, folding her hands in her lap as her expression turned pleading, turned sorrowful.

“What difference would it have made?” Nesta shrugged. “It was already done.”

“It’s not too late, surely—“

Softly, Nesta shook her head. “But it is, Elain.”

Elain’s lips pursed, and a brow formed between her brows. “We could forge a family tree that says Tomas is your cousin,” she suggested brightly. “That would make the marriage void and none could dispute it.”

“And then Tomas and his father would want to claim their share of father’s money if they think we’re related,” Nesta pointed out. Elain cursed under her breath.

“We could fake your death,” she suggested. “Or poison him. I know exactly which plants to use that won’t leave a trace, and—“

Nesta leaned over to pat Elain’s arm, grateful even as her sister started to plot a murder. A smile pulled at her lips, a warmth blooming in her chest. There was no need for any of it, she thought, because as soon as Elain was married, she’d take Cassian up on his offer. The world above the wall might still terrify her, and she might have panicked at Starfall, but she could get used to it slowly— acclimatise. Elain’s voice trailed off, and Nesta’s smile remained.

“I love you, Elain,” she said. “For trying to kill my husband for me.”

Elain gave her a small smile in return. “What are sisters for?”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time #anyway im posting and then heading out sooo if anyone wants to shout at me for the angst feel free #ill be back in a bit ✌🏻

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deathstench · 1 month

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Formed ten years ago, DEATHSTENCH released three albums and many eps.. The "Massed in Black Shadow" album was a great obscure and dangerous one..The crown of their sacrifice was their collaboration with Bon Masters Phurpa. John Paul Whetzel and Darea Plantin spells behind this interview.

“Blood Moon Divination” was your latest release. It was released in a limited amount of copies and only in Tape format. Why this choice?

We have always preferred analog releases. We view physical copies as something that should be appreciated.. Let's face it, it's the 21st century, and people do most of their listening through some sort of streaming service. If they like it, they most likely pirate it. We understand this; Our physical releases are intentionally designed for coveting.

We put a great deal of energy into each release. In our past special editions, we have included ritual accouterments that correspond with each album, such as shards of human bone and incense we made specifically for the intent to conjure with the dead.

You have released three albums. Please tell us the concept behind each one and the process of the recordings…Each release turns out to more noisy and dark forms..

To be precise it's four albums, and numerous collaborations and splits. Our releases are not in any sort of chronological order, from conception to the final product takes its own time dependant upon the haste of that particular record label. We record basically the same for each album, building upon a structured theme. Our music is built on layers of sounds from instruments, traditional and otherwise, that we record with either handheld devices or microphones connected to an audio interface which we use to record our percussion and amps.

Each track on "Blood Moon Divination" is an audial ritual recorded and released during each specific Blood Moon in the tetrad cycle of blood moon eclipses of 2014-2015. Through that span of time, these celestial vibrations were available as they were being released on several streaming platforms, including Black Metal and Brews and Repartiseraren. A tetrad of lunar eclipses is extremely uncommon. This was only the eighth of such cycles in over two thousand years. We compiled them together for a physical album that we chose to release during the first exclusive total solar eclipse the United States had seen in over two hundred years. Eclipses, both solar and lunar, are considered to be very inauspicious events throughout the world. As an omen of war, the Talmud regards "If the face of the moon is as red as blood it is a sign that the sword is coming to the world."

"N.O.X." is a transcendent four track journey that starts out violently with the lo-fi black metal track OXEX DAZIS SIATRIS, Enochian for "Vomiting The Head of Scorpions" and slowly transforms itself into a less chaotic discord that concludes with the meditative piece "Mysterivm Tremendvm". N.O.X. or "The Night of Pan", is a mystical state that represents the stage of ego-death in the process of spiritual attainment. The Greek word Pan also translates as All, as he is a symbol of the Universal, a personification of Nature; both Pangenetor, "all-begetter," and Panphage, "all-devourer". Pan is both the giver and the taker of life, and his Night is that time of symbolic death where the adept experiences unification with the All through the ecstatic destruction of the ego-self. In a more general sense, it is the state where one transcends all limitations and experiences oneness with the universe.

"Nekro Blood Ritual", our second album, was designed specifically for its cassette release and is broken into two sections: Conjuration Rites and Burial Evocation. This album focuses on conjuring the dead and the desecration of human remains. This is by far our most atmospheric album; most of the tracks are rely heavily on field recordings and stygian synthesizers to evoke the abject darkness. These songs are reminiscent to the "Incantations in Dead Tongues" era of our work. There are only two conventional (for use of a better term) songs on this album, "Nekrobloodritual" and "Desecrating The Host" the latter being a harsh black funeral doom dirge for the departed.

In our debut album, "Massed in Black Shadow" we utilize all of our influences through the years. Incorporating elements of death industrial, dark ambient, doom, and black metal, and hideously transforming and conjoining them into a writhing mass of absolute filth, a sound truly all our own. The final track, titled “Bastards of the Black Flame” can be considered a motto to us, as it is exactly who we are. The byproducts of an unholy union between some of the most violent forms of music, in both sound and ideologies.

DEATHSTENCH collaborated with Phurpa. How did this Union take form? Are you interested in the theory of empiricism in Bon Religion?

In 2012 Alexei Tegin had discovered our music from our debut album and contacted us. Both Phurpa and ourselves operate with the same meditative qualities regarding our music. Although our sound derives from different spectrums, they coalesce quite vividly. "Evoking Shadows of Death" fuses our ultrasonic vibrations and harsh atmospheres with the harmonious chants and deep, droning reverberations of their tantric voice. These two tracks are designed to help the chod practitioner tap the power of fear. This transformation does not fall spontaneously, as grace, upon the listener: the practitioner must engage in the process. One must take steps to transmute through the aural plane and, through a process in which they must actively participate, requiring utmost concentration and mental stamina. This mystical experience is achieved, not bestowed.

Empirical reasoning has no place in esoteric practices and the occult. These objects are neither phenomena (empiricism) nor human constructs imposed upon the phenomena (idealism), but real structures which endure and operate independently of our knowledge, our experience and the conditions which allow us access to them. Some things cannot be reduced down to empirical measurements.

Thanatology and satanism are your basic influences. How do you define satanism and how death in your personal path?

Deathlore has always intrigued the both of us. There is absolutely nothing more final than Death. Every single one of us will die, as Death does not discriminate. Dying, death and how human beings respond to the inevitability of their mortality and cope with the reality of loss can be viewed from a wide range of perspectives. Our intent has never been to elaborate on our practices or rituals to any audience. Even the altars we allow you to see are set up specifically for public viewing. While they are still symbolic of what we would normally produce for our own rituals, the intent isn't there. It's merely superficial. Our personal altars and rituals will always remain clandestine, as all witchcraft should be.

“Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.” ― Lao Tzu

I would like to hear your thoughts and if you are into the systems of O.N.A & Temple of the Black Light in theory and praxis as Traditional satanic approach you unveil through your works . Satanism is such an elaborate construct; Atheistic, LaVeyan, theistic, there are so many paths. Satan has always been symbolic with the quest for Knowledge, of opposition to arbitrary authority, forever defending personal sovereignty even in the face of insurmountable odds. Our path cannot be defined by one simple ideology.

We have absolutely no affiliation with these groups.

Does DEATHSTENCH ever perform live?

We are very selective in our live performances. The last show was in Portland, Oregon way back in 2015 when we opened up for MGLA, Weregoat, and Sempiternal Dusk. Alan Dubin (of Gnaw, Khanate) and Billy Anderson, whom we have long collaborated with, did a sort of dueling vocals approach to our fifteen-minute audial assault on an beyond-capacity crowd. This show was recorded by Mateo from Greysun Records who also released it on his label in 2018.

Necromancy is an Old Art Like Time.Ancient Greece had deep roots also in this Subject. Are you familiar with the Ancient Greek Mysteries?

Yes, we are familiar with some of the Chthonic mysteries highlighting mortality and the briefness of life, and the spirits of the blessed dead. Though, like most true paths of esoteric knowledge, not much is truly known about the intricacies of these rituals, having been sworn to secrecy and then lost to the Sands of Time. It has been suggested that communicants would drink Kykeon infused with the psychotropic fungus ergot which helped the initiate to reach a fuller understanding of their purpose in life and to shed their fear of death and this, then, heightened the experience and helped transform the initiate. The same can be said of the Huichol in Mexico, who eat peyote at the completion of long arduous pilgrimages in order that they may experience in the journey of the soul of the dead to the underworld. Death worship and eschatology are celebrated by all cultures throughout time, most with the use of hallucinogens.

I would like to hear your thoughts on these words: “This being true for the ordinary Universe, that all sense-impressions are dependent on changes in the brain we must include illusions, which are after all sense-impressions as much as “realities” are, in the class of “phenomena dependent on brain-changes.” ― S.L. MacGregor Mathers, Goetia the Lesser Key of Solomon the King: Lemegeton, Book 1 Clavicula Salomonis Regis

In contemporary education, the emphasis has been on the psychomotor and the cognitive, namely reading, writing, and arithmetic, at the expense of the affective, namely, the emotions, the sensual, the intuitive, and the imaginative. Priority has been assigned to the verbal-intellectual skills. Anything else tends to be shelved or boxed and put away as ephemeral, esoteric, or mystical, each of these terms being used in a pejorative sense.

Consider for a moment the human sensory system. To the scientific mind, the senses are perceived to act as a kind of data-reduction system. The problem with this concept of the senses is that we do not respond to all that is potential sensory input. Perception is quite a selective process, attending to only a small fraction of so-called reality.

To some extent, scientist or artist, everything we perceive is "illusory," since to perceive anything at all we must use our imaginative capacity for fantasy.

What can we expect from DEATHSTENCH in the near future?

We have a few albums waiting in the shadows including collaborations with Sektor 304 and LINEKRAFT, as well as another full-length album incorporating both Billy Anderson and Alan Dubin. Time is relative, and there are no promises as to when any of these releases will see the light of day.

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