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fangswbenefits · 4 months

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Trance

Summary: Astarion is having a hard time trancing, and you offer to help him out in more ways than one.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Cockwarming. Body worship. Sub Astarion (if you squint). Breast play. Precum.

Word count: 2.1k

Astarion was restless.

You could see it clearly from the way he was pacing near his tent, not once stepping inside.

It was odd and unusual even though elves were known to only need a few hours of trancing to replenish their vigour.

Still, you figured maybe you should intervene.

“Astarion?”

You made sure your voice was loud enough for him to hear you from across the camp without sounding too alarm to wake the others.

It was enough to stir his attention, and he stopped in his tracks for a brief moment, before rounding the campfire, as he made his way towards you.

He looked positively drained when you crawled out through the opening of your tent, sitting on the carpeted floor.

“You look awful.”

He scoffed. “I'm quite sure I look far better than you, darling.”

You smiled warmly, knowing fully well it was just his automatic response to being teased.

“Well, what is it? Did you call me here to gawk?”

Astarion had this terrible habit of behaving like a temperamental cat that would make it everyone's problem if any minor inconvenience was thrown at them.

“You can't trace, can you?”

He crossed his arms. “I'm fine.”

Your smile parted your lips. “No need to get defensive, you big cat.”

That disarmed him only slightly.

He dropped his arms, but now held a deep scowl on his handsome face. “I fail to see how you can help out.”

The nature of your relationship with Astarion had longed moved from being merely a forced partnership between two strangers.

He had bedded you more than once and had poured his heart out even against his better judgement.

If there was someone who could help him out, it was you.

Lovers helped each other in various ways.

And he knew it, but his pride and reluctance to show vulnerability often got in the way.

Luckily for him, you had an idea of what could be useful in this case.

You stared down at your shirt and began to undo the top buttons in a very nonchalant way.

Astarion immediately rushed to you, crouching. “What are you doing?”

“This has helped before, right?”

His eyes widened at your silent proposal, but he didn't deny it. How could he? He adored your breasts way too much to turn away such an invitation.

“Are you offering to do it here, though?” he asked with an amused click of his tongue. “I didn't peg you for the exhibitionist type, darling.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks from his cheeky taunt, and you stopped halfway, realising it was enough to offer him a decent view of your chest.

And just like clockwork, Astarion's smugness began to slip as his lips parted in defeat.

It was rather easy to fully disarm him this way.

As such, you rose to your feet and walked back inside with him hurriedly following you, as you untied the strings that held the flaps apart.

You were covered when it came to visual privacy, but the two of you were known to get quite loud at times.

As you sat down on your bedroll, you tilted your head, gaze landing on his lower half.

“Maybe you should undo them.”

He glanced down. “Right.”

Honestly, he didn't have much of a choice. He always got too hard from this, and you wanted to pre-emptively ensure he was as comfortable as possible.

You watched as he tugged at the lacing of his trousers, making room for his cock to grow and thicken freely.

The entire act could be regarded as you merely taking care of him in time of need.

Its foundation wasn't inherently sexual.

However…

… it was rather difficult to ignore the rising throb in between your legs.

As much as he adored suckling on your nipples, your yearning for him nearly matched his adoration.

You moved to lay on your side, allowing your breasts to spill out from the shirt, nipples already hardening from the shift in temperature and state of arousal.

In the dark, you were able to spot his crimson eyes glinting briefly as he took the place next to you.

For a few seconds, you simply gaze into each other's eyes in silence.

He was visibly tired.

He needed to trance.

He needed to find comfort.

He needed you.

“Is there something troubling you?” you asked softly.

He snickered. “Besides the worm swimming about in my head?”

You nodded as he shifted closer to you, his cool hand at your hip.

You shivered.

But it was the good kind of shivers.

The type to swell your clit and quicken your heartbeat.

“Darling, we'd be up all night, and I really need the rest.”

Fair enough.

Some forms of distress were better handled this way.

You almost gasped as his hand moved to one breast, caressing the hardened nipple.

“Do you want me pressed up against you?”

Your heart skipped a beat and you pressed your thighs together in reflex.

Gods.

“Do you want to?” you retorted before your voice could crack under the weight of impeding lust.

He shifted even closer, as he squeezed your breast softly im a silent warning.

“I asked you a question.”

It wouldn't take long for you to soak through your undergarments and trousers.

Even though he was clearly exhausted, Astarion adored having you use your words to fuel his own arousal.

“Yes… I think I prefer it.”

This time, you did gasp when he began tracing circles around your nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“And why is that, my sweet?”

He was relentless and you were too transfixed to fight back.

“I enjoy how it feels…” you whispered.

His crotch was now too close to your own and you could feel your clit pulsing evenly from his taunting words.

“And what is it that you enjoy?”

You swallowed, pushing your hips into him. “I enjoy feeling you getting harder and harder…”

And Astarion groaned.

“You're too much of a tease,” he said before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You'd have me unravel with just words.”

You chuckled through the heavy haze of lust that pooled in your throat. “Likewise.”

He was already hardening against you. You could feel his cock twitch and you could tell he was fighting back the primal urge to roll his hips.

But now wasn't the time.

He needed something else.

His agile fingers kept teasing your nipple, drawing soft whimpers from you.

“I wonder how swollen your clit is for me,” he teased.

But before he could continue, you clicked your tongue. “You talk too much.”

And you moved until you were able to line your breast with his mouth.

His hand immediately dropped and you seized the moment to shove your nipple against his lips, which he promptly parted, welcoming it inside his mouth.

And then he latched beautifully around it..

The most effective way to silence Astarion was to keep his mouth busy.

Your back arched reflexively, as he began to suckle eagerly, hips still flushed against you.

It was hard to keep your thoughts straight from the sight of him hollowing his cheeks with each tug.

You raked your fingers along his soft curls, silently praising him.

His eyes fluttered shut and with an instinctive roll of his hips, you realised just how hard he already was.

It was almost embarrassing how soaked your were for him and how much your body yearned for his cock to be buried deep inside you.

“You're such a good boy…” you found yourself saying before you could think twice.

Astarion was addicted to praise, especially when it came from you.

So, naturally, he moaned in approval.

He looked positively ethereal from this position, completely drunk in you as comfort took over.

But he suddenly pulled away, half-hooded eyes meeting yours. “Call me that again. Please.”

He sounded… desperate.

Oh? This was new.

“And why is that?” you feigned ignorance, caressing his scalp.

He didn't enjoy having his own method of seduction being turned on him, but he was the needy one in this situation.

And so he begged.

“Please… it felt good.”

His twitching cock was proof enough of it.

You glanced at your nipple that was now swollen from his suckling.

“Come here,” you cooed, guiding it into his mouth once again, “and be a good boy.”

“Gods above…” he growled before latching, his hand snaking behing your back and pulling you harder against him.

At this point, you were beginning to wonder if his need to rest hadn't been shoved to the back of his mind.

He seemed way too alert for someone who intended on trancing.

But the answer came soon enough when he let go of your nipple once more.

“Turn around.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

There was hunger in his eyes. “I need to be inside you.”

It seemed that his submission had been short-lived, and he was once again taking control.

“Are you sure? You ought to rest,” you said, biting your lip and trying your best to ignore the gush of wetness that spilled from you as you clenched.

“I will rest once I'm inside you.”

He seemed determined enough with a sliver of despair dripping from his voice.

You weren't sure this would have the desired effect he sought, but you longed to be filled with him.

Dexterity was what he excelled at, and he swiftly helped you out of your trousers, baring you fully to his gaze.

You could feel your wetness coating your folds as your clit peeked between them, throbbing rhythmically.

A whimper escaped your throat.

A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers parted your folds, so he could stare in awe at how swollen your clit was.

He licked his lips.

“Turn around, darling. Allow me to feel just how warm and wet you are.”

You clenched before doing what you were told, rolling on your other side.

The cool tip of his cock nudged against your backside, smearing precum as he adjusted his position.

You arched into him, parting your legs just enough and bracing yourself for how you'd be struggling at first, even though you were drenched.

His hand you leg high enough for him to be able to angle himself at your entrance.

You bit your lip and fisted the blanket under you.

His lips were at your ear. “I'll go slow.”

Well, he had to.

There was no other–

He rolled his hips and the tip began to stretch you, causing any coherent thoughts to be put on hold.

Gods… why does he have to be so thick…

“Clenching won't help… you know this by now,” he groaned in your ear, struggling to push along your tightening walls.

You couldn't help but to clench.

It was your own body's way of setting the pace.

“Let me sink fully into you.”

You moaned as he went on, and you placed your hand in between your legs, fingers finding his cock just so you could feel how much it was left for him to slide inside.

He chuckled. “You adore doing that, don't you? Feeling how hard I am for you as you take me.”

You mewled a reply, keeping yourself from clenching as he sank until you felt his heavy balls against the tips of your fingers.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as stilled.

“Such a good girl.” he praised, planting a kiss below your ear.

You caressed his balls, the motion causing the heel of your hand to rub against your clit.

You shuddered as he growled.

The difference in temperature would soon be forgotten as your heat enveloped his cock.

But Astarion had seemingly stilled for good.

He let go of your leg, allowing you to press your thighs together, as he wrapped his arm around you, hand settling in between your heaving breasts.

“Are you sure you can trance like this?” you asked, removing your own hand from between your legs.

His lips moved to the side of your neck. “I've been meaning to try this for too long. You're so warm… so tight…”

You clenched involuntarily around him.

“I know you crave my seed, but we should rest,” he said, sounding quite drowsy.

You wanted nothing more than to be filled to the brim with his cum, but that would have to wait.

The clenches were now sparse and far in between as you got used to the prospect of falling asleep with his cock stuffed inside you.

He was probably leaking insane amounts of precum, and that did put a smile on your face.

His cock twitched a few times more, before fully stilling, but as hard as ever.

“Astarion?” you whispered.

His head had slumped behind yours, and he seemed to have drifted off into the early beginnings of his trance.

Your clit was still swollen and begging for attention, but you were willing to sacrifice that if it meant falling asleep this way.

Masterlist

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

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eldritch-spouse · 10 months

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Hear me out ok? In the middle of the night u just get rlly needy and horny but u dont have the guts to wake vesper up so u use his belly mouth instead to get off. Idk if im mistaken but i think u mentioned about vesper's belly mouth is awake even in the night?

[Yep, correct! Fem reader.]

TW: Somnophilia; Dubious consent then enthusiastic consent.

It's its own special type of Hell, living with Vesper.

Not because he treats you badly. Quite the contrary, as soon as you started making efforts to accept your new reality, he was the first one to volunteer any sort of help, hoping to make you feel as comfortable here as you did in your home, back on the surface. And, putting aside the volumes of mixed feelings you have regarding all this, it's... Sweet of him to at least care about your comfort.

That's not the problem.

The problem is your ceaseless libido.

Ever since you woke up in this ring, in his mansion, you've been burning up with arousal. You're always some degree of wet, sensitive, mind heading to the gutter far too frequently. You want everything and everyone, you want Vesper's touch on your body at every. Possible. Moment. You want him to slip his fingers and tongue anywhere he can and you want him to pick you up like a fucktoy whenever he pleases- Because it feels like nothing will ever sate you these days.

When you brought these concerns to the King, he was more than thrilled by the knowledge, though also a tad empathetic. It must be jarring, yes, he cooed, but you'll soon come to embrace your own desires. They're your true nature, after all.

It was... A strange conversation. To say the least.

Thankfully, Lust is the last place in the universe where you can be judged for excessive sexual cravings. It isn't the possible judgment of others that stops you from going all in, your own thoughts are what makes you hesitate.

Because, even if Vesper has made it very clear that you're to deliberately seek him out when you're bothered -No matter what he's up to- He can't possibly mean all the time, right?

It's common sense that you're not supposed to wake the Icon of Lust from a dead sleep just so you can have sex. How selfish of you! He's a King, he needs his rest.

But Gods... You're so fucking horny.

You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt. Maybe it's from sleeping in the same bed as him, where his loose fluff spreads sometimes, getting into the sheets, contaminating them. That must be the cause of your misery, in retrospect.

Well... You could get up. Look around, have a drink, return to bed after cooling off and enjoying the view from his lavish home. But you're comfortable.

And his smell... Oh, you inhale the pillow between you two faintly, it's addictive.

You don't want to get up. At all. Leaving this room sounds awful.

The tiniest bit of light creeps in through a gap in the massive curtains of your resting chambers, allowing some of the faint reddish glow of night to slink its way in, highlighting the form of your massive, recently proclaimed husband. Vesper sleeps soundlessly, a hand over his chest, the other, once holding you to his side, now dormant on the sheets, fingers periodically twitching. He sleeps bare, to absolutely no one's surprise. Legs faintly parted, offering a view you admire shamelessly in the dark. You've no doubt he has watched you like this before, so it's more than fair you get to ogle as well.

He's gorgeous. He's hot. So hot. You're married to the hottest thing that ever lived. Gods, he's such a whore.

Another flare of heat travels its way up from your loins. It would be exceptionally easy. All you'd have to do is palm at his exposed slit for a moment or two and he'd pop those treats out for you. All for you. He wouldn't even care, it's probably normal for Vesper-

With a shake of the head, you push said thoughts away as hard as possible. See? Not a moment of rest, all these gross ideas swimming around like they belong, like it's right. You're above something so rude!

But you're not above touching yourself in the same bed.

In your humble defense, you need this. You really need this, or you're going to scream and drag yourself on the ground like a bitch in heat. Panties are swiped aside with great haste, both hands quickly darting for the crux of your fire. It takes literally no effort for you to be able to slide two fingers into yourself, then three, trying to roll your clit in the best angle at the same time. It's clumsy, hurried, and unfortunately, fruitless. Instead of relieving you of this insurmountable heat, all it does is incense you further- Wishing it was more, better, bigger.

Wishing it was Vesper that's fucking your little body the way he pleases.

A whimper almost makes it past your clenched teeth.

Beside you, there's sudden movement. A large tail swatting back and forth -Wagging?- While Vesper's brows furrow and his breathing hastens rhythmically, like he's sniffing. When you halt, mortified, so does his stirring.

Idiot.

What a bright idea. As if the King of Lust wouldn't feel your desire right next to him.

Childish irritation settles in you as you sit on your own stewing arousal, sulking. Until a loud rumble jolts you, that is. After a pause of stunted blinking, you put two and two together.

While the demonlord may be fast asleep, a part of him is clearly active. Gaze falling to Vesper's abdomen, his sizeable second mouth can be seen parted, greedily flicking a fat tongue over sharp chops. It pants, a dopey sort of smile, muscle lolling as it very easily detects some poor horny sap nearby.

Or, maybe it recognizes you already. This certainly isn't your first meeting with Vesper's second mouth.

Amused, getting a couple of nasty ideas, you smile at the organ. " Hello there... " You whisper to it.

It doesn't react too much to the sound of your voice, although gleefully wets its lips and chuffs, waiting. You're sure it'll settle back down given enough time.

It's just a matter of ignoring it.

...

......

Fuck it.

Guilty eyes glance from Vesper's peacefully resting complexion to the shifting mouth beneath, and you gulp, self-control falling victim to rabid want. Again.

Slowly, silently, you wriggle out of your undergarments, keeping your breath in check as you move to straddle Vesper's abdomen. Given the size difference, and he seems to plump in a couple areas, you have a difficult time stretching your legs enough to encompass his waist.

Little does it matter, as you don't even get to sit before that muscle has already slapped itself onto your soaked cunt with a decidedly loud PLAP. Cosmic luck alone prevented you from moaning immediately. Vesper turns his face, then settles once more.

This might have been a bad idea.

The mouth is merciless on you, drool slathered on your tights, ass and belly as it gluttonously slurps at you, making lurid sounds you hope to whatever's out there won't wake the King. Terrible idea or not, it's well worth the trouble, because it's exactly the type of pressure you need to get off.

A sweet sigh makes it past your lips when shaky legs lower, having to brace your palms firmly on each side of the bed when the mouth starts smooching tenderly at your lips. How... Sweet. Cute.

Then, suddenly, it latches on. Literally. Its size allows the organ to wrap around your groin easily, applying an all-encompassing suction delicious enough to have you rolling your eyes and jerking your hips forward, nerve endings frying on a pan. God fuck yes, you didn't know it could do that!

An orgasm approaches fast, likely due to how long you've been waiting for it, building up tension. As sensation makes your lower body jerk and tense, shaky legs press you harder against that hungry maw, almost nicking yourself with bold teeth. It feels wonderful. Delightful.

Even asleep, only Vesper can make you feel this good. It's almost too funny a concept to be true.

Nothing halts the flow of keens and gasps you offer when it pauses its slurping to shove that roving muscle into your pussy, flirting with your entrance a little before feeding you more and more and more of itself, until you're groaning at the fullness. The first experimental undulation it makes is so strong that you legitimately moan out, loud and clear, dropping squarely onto Vesper and holding on for dear life as your jostled with each thrust.

You're sure you're drooling on his belly, though it hardly matters, eyelids fluttering, nonsensical pleas chanted in the dark.

" Oh fuck- Yes- Please please please, I need to come. Fffuck, I need to come... "

You're so close! It's right there, you can't wait to get licked and sucked as you ride it out, it'll be so-

" Mm, why didn't you say so? "

You don't even get to have a moment of shame when realization dawns. Large hands grab onto your hips and screw you onto the demonlord's tongue hard enough to make you see stars, the movement in your walls so frantic that you have no choice but to howl in bliss before a single excuse could flow past your parted lips.

And all you can do is flail and cry in overstimulation when Vesper continues sucking at all the arousal you can offer him.

" My Queen should want for nothing. "

His sickly magenta eyes leer at you from the darkness.

" You will come. "

It's a promise.

#Vesper oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #terato #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend #terat0philliac #minors dni #not sfw

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cupids-scream-queen · 6 months

Text

ღ -> Prompt: Choking

ღ -> Jason Dean x f!reader

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Warnings: Choking, sex, biting, mild blood kink, power dynamics, dom!JD x sub!reader, lmk if anything else should be warned.

Summary: Every year for Christmas, you and your boyfriend, J.D, go to your parent's house for dinner. This year, it's held two weeks before the actual holiday, and J.D decides he's going to do whatever it takes to not go.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

"Jason, c'mon, we're gonna be late!" You held your car keys in your hand, watching for any sign of your boyfriend to appear on the staircase.

"What is your problem?" J.D came, finally, wearing a suit--kind of. He was missing a tie, instead going for a bad-boy look that you had to admit was cute.

"The problem is, we're gonna be late for Christmas dinner with my parents!" You tapped your foot impatiently, waiting as J.D continued to wonder around aimlessly, increasing the time you were late.

"It'll be fine, they'll just think we're in traffic, right?" J.D was a smooth talker, that was just how he was. You considered agreeing, but then decided to stand your ground.

"No, they won't think we 'just got stuck in traffic', and you know this," You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. "J.D, you know you can't always do this whenever we go there."

"Why? You enjoy the delay just as much as I do," He pointed out, and though he was right, you couldn't show it. Not now, not when you know he'd convince you to go upstairs in the bedroom like a good girl and strip for him.

"That's--ugh, you're impossible sometimes!" You were almost ready to storm out the door and sulk in the car--so close, your fingers were on the cusp of the doorknob, when J.D's arms wrapped around your waist, his strength pulling you away from the door.

"I don't think you're going to want to walk out that door there, sweetheart," He said, his voice seductively cool. He was a loser, you knew this--yet you stayed with him regardless.

"And why not?" You asked, your eyebrow raising as you stared at him with as much fury as you could muster. He knew you weren't really upset at him--no, he knew you were aroused, that you needed him, and that if he really wanted to, he could have his way with you.

And he really wanted to.

"Because, I just have a feeling you'll really regret it, and we wouldn't really want that, right sweetheart?" You nodded, your brain wrapping around the words he so eloquently spun. He kept you pinned against the door, his gaze steady as you realized that your boyfriend was going to do something that would add more time to your arrival at your parent's.

"Is it an early Christmas present?" You questioned, hopeful that he'd agree and give you a car battery or something.

"I guess you could call it something like that," J.D admitted, and without warning, he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You didn't try to kick, much to his surprise, you simply accepted your fate as J.D made his way upstairs, the inevitable coming closer and closer. "I want you to behave, got it? No fucking around."

"I wouldn't dream of it," You quipped, and a slap across the face let you know that J.D meant business tonight--he wouldn't stand any of your quips or witty comebacks. He reached your shared bedroom, and kicked the door open, throwing you on the mattress.

He climbed on top of you, quickly undoing your Christmas top and ripping your expensive red bra, throwing it over his shoulder with little regard for the lost funds. His hands flew up and down your body, stripping you of all clothing he could get his hands on. It was clear what he was in the mood for, and you were more than happy to supply it.

Your pussy was wet, the slick gathering at the bottom of your panties, and J.D soon found his way to them. He grinned as he felt the moisture of your slick seeping into your panties, your cunt getting ready for all of him.

"A little eager, aren't ya, doll?" He smirked, and all you could do was let out a soft, whiny moan as he slipped a hand past the elastic waistband of your panties, gathering slick into his fingers. "You're all nice and wet for me, such a good girl."

"Please...." You trailed off when you felt one of J.D's fingers slip inside of you and curl up into your spongy walls, fucking you.

"What, sweetheart?" He teased, adding another finger. "C'mon, you can handle more than this, can't you?"

"Y-Yes," You whined when his other hand went straight to your throat, squeezing just tight enough to constrict your breathing to short, shallow breaths.

"Good, good. Ain't you the sweetest thing in Ohio?" He praised, and you smiled through the pain. J.D's fingers were moving in and out of you at a rapid pace, setting the speed for what was to come when his cock was inside of you.

"Please..." You whispered, and he held your neck tighter. A warning, you assumed, to shut up. You obliged, and J.D smirked at his victory, his control over you evident. He removed his hand, deciding to bite you on the neck instead. You moaned loudly, and fought back tears as his teeth broke flesh, tiny spurts of blood lapped up by him.

"You taste divine," He growled into your ear, his fingers moving to circle your clit. You whined as he did this, your teeth digging into your lower lip, threatening to break skin. "God, our love is God. And you are my savior."

With a sharp inhale, J.D took his fingers off of your pussy and sucked on them, eager to taste every last drop of you. He then grabbed your thighs, holding them wide open for him. Lining himself up with your cunt, he pushed in, roughly. He was breaking you open, his thick cock stretching you as far as you'd go.

"God, sweetheart, you feel so good," He was breathless, one hand cupping your thigh and another moved up to your neck, where he returned to his pattern of squeezing. The control he had over you drove you wild, the amount of power he held with his hand right at your throat was enthralling.

"P-Please, more," You asked. J.D said nothing, instead preferring to fuck you harder until you saw stars, his hand leaving your thigh and slapping you across the face.

"You're just such a whore for me, aren't you? Can't control yourself?" He teased, his slaps stinging. It only turned you on more, your body aching to reach the point of pure pleasure. J.D would soon give it to you, you knew this.

He pushed his cock in farther, his hips meeting yours and you gasped at the size of him. He was fully inside of you, and he started to thrust in and out, teasingly, before going rougher and rougher. His hand around your neck, reminding you who was in charge of this situation.

Squeezing, more. He was closer to his climax, and you were, too. His thrust got deeper, more sloppy and animalistic grunts and groans left his mouth as he chased after the pleasure that he needed.

He came, his hand nearly choking you, your vision black as he thrust into you faster, then leaving his cock inside of you, thick, hot spurts of cum covering your walls. He left it there for a while, enjoying the feeling of your pussy squeeze as you came after him, your cunt greedily painting J.D's cock with your cum.

"Oh, you're so pretty, aren't you?" J.D chuckled, removing his hand from your throat. You felt sore, your body used and spent, your neck in no condition to visit your parents for Christmas dinner. "I guess you're too tired to go to your parent's, right? I'll call them and let them know you're feeling under the weather."

#jason dean x reader #jason dean x you #jason dean x y/n #heathers #slasher fucker #slasher x reader #slasher smut #cupids smutmas advent calendar #slashers x reader #slasher movies #horror #heathers the musical

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hopefulatrocity · 5 months

Text

Snow And Embers- Part 2

Note: I was not going to do a part 2 for this story but then my brain was like "Part 2? Lucy Gray's POV? Yes." and it wouldn't leave my head. This is my first full smut I've written in years so I hope it's good. Possible OOC dialogue for Coriolanus? Edited by @loganlostitall. Thank you!

Part 1

CW/TW: SMUT!! 18+ only. Unsafe P in v, creampie, breeding kink, oral sex(male receiving), fingering, use of cum as lube, light choking

Please let me know if I forgot anything.

Lucy Gray Baird was many things. Kind, resilient, stubborn, loving. But one thing she wasn't was stupid.

After her first time with Coriolanus, she thought it was passion, an innate need to claim each other and become one. Coriolanus couldn't keep his hands off of her. Any second they were alone, he was working his hands under her dress and bringing lightning strikes to her nerve endings with every pass of his calloused fingers. To be fair, she couldn't get enough of him either. She had lovers before. But none like this. The boys before, they could hardly be called men, were only focused on themselves. They'd say all the right things but the second they got her under them, it was like she ceased to exist and all they cared for was their own pleasure. He was different. Despite his inexperience, Coryo relished in the pleasure he gave her. Every moan from her lips or arch from her back was just another piece of wood that stoked the flames of his passion for her.

It was small things that made her realize his intentions were…. More than just being in the moment together. Her experience with men wasn't incredibly extensive but she did know that each man had their own personal desires, things that made them aroused more than others. Her first, Toby Kormin, was extremely aroused by tying Lucy Gray up. And Billy Taupe had an interesting fascination with her feet. Coriolanus…. Well she was fairly certain that Coriolanus liked the idea of getting her pregnant.

In truth, the first time he came in her, had been a mistake. She was usually very careful in that regard. She made sure her partners knew, in no uncertain terms, they always had to pull out. Lucy Gray had the know-how to deal with any accidents if they did occur. The day she started her monthly, at the tender age of 13, her Momma sat her down and showed her all the herbs to make a preventative tea. But it wasn't fool proof. And having kids was not something she wanted anytime soon. If at all. But that first time with Coriolanus, Lucy Gray lost all common thought when it came to safe sex. All she saw were those deep blue eyes of his staring down at her with a primal need that she had never experienced before. Before she could stop herself, she was wrapping her legs tight around his hips, practically locking him in as he came deep inside her. And that happened twice more that night.

Lucy Gray came to her senses the next morning. She drank her tea and told Coriolanus that that couldn't happen again. He needed to pull out or they would have to stick to oral or hand play. Along with a bright blush that peppered his pale skin, there was almost a look of disappointment in his eyes. He briefly glanced down at her stomach before he nodded in agreement.

The next two times they were together, he obliged without problems. He pulled out and came on her stomach like she asked. But it almost felt…. Wrong.

So the next time, just as Coriolanus was about to pull out, she dug her nails into his tight cheeks and pushed him back inside her. There weren't any words said, but it seemed like they both came to an understanding that night.

Lucy Gray made sure she carried a bag of her morning-after tea, anytime she saw him. She told him that they should try to be safe if they could, but she knew how they both could get lost in the moment. It was a delusional platitude for herself though. Deep down she knew that he wasn't going to cum anywhere else but inside of her from then on.

He didn't pull out after that, even if he promised to try. In fact, his need for her became even more evident.

It started with innocent touches. Often, she found Coriolanus's hands hovering over her stomach. He'd rub the area slowly sometimes, almost reverently. A fight had broken out in the Hob one night, and he had placed himself in front of her. His body a barrier between her and the brawling men, that Sejanus and another peacekeeper were trying to separate. But the only thing she could think of was how his hand was slightly behind his back, pressing into her abdomen. Almost like he was protecting more than just her from the violence in front of them.

Some nights she woke to him whispering to the area. He claimed it was to help him sleep, reciting old stories to tire his mind. But she always knew when Coriolanus was lying. The intensity of his gaze would magnify and he would press himself closer to her.

More than once, after their coupling, she woke up to a pillow under her hips. Coriolanus's eyes would be dark as he watched her wake. The plush object had her cunt angled so not a drop of their mixed fluids could escape her. Before she could even ask why he had done it, he would be on her again, using his fingers or his cock to claim her thoroughly.

It wasn't long before he openly admitted to his desire.

Lucy Gray could feel the orgasm building in him. Her hands pressed to his stomach and she felt the muscles clenching and his hips jerked periodically against her lips. The tightening muscles of his thighs had him bucking into her mouth. His fingers were tight in her dark curls, and she felt his nails prick her skin as he clenched them thoughtlessly. Coriolanus was a man who loved control. She loved sucking that control straight from his cock and turning him into mud in her hands.

“Don't you dare swallow, Lucy Gray. Keep my cum in your pretty mouth.”, he growled. His voice was radiating dominance but she knew she had him in the palm of her hands. The vibrations of his deep voice flowed through her and she clenched her thighs together. Her nipples were peaked and bare and she wished desperately that he was touching them. She could feel the sound in her clit, throbbing in time with her pulse. Nodding slightly around his cock, she took him as deep in her mouth as possible, swallowing around the tip to create a myriad of warmth and suction.

“I’m about to cum.”, he grunted, his hips stuttering from the familiar feeling. Coriolanus gripped her hair tightly and bucked one last time into her mouth, the tip of himself hitting the back of her throat and making her gag a small bit. Salty seed flooded her mouth and Lucy Gray had to fight not to swallow it on instinct.

Coriolanus pulled out of her mouth, a string of their fluids leading from the tip of his cock to her pretty pink lips. Her cheeks were puffed out, holding in as much of his cum as possible, just like he told her.

One large hand gripped under chin, his fingers cupping either side of her cheeks. He used a light pressure on the underside of her chin to wordlessly command her up onto her shaking legs.

Blue eyes bore into her own, that dark swirl of shadow filling his irises, and he lowered his voice to a deep growl.

“Spit.”, Coriolanus ordered, holding his other hand up to her lips, cupped to catch all the seed that dripped out. Shock and lust radiated through her body, wondering what he planned to do. The order sending heat to her pussy, and making it clench around thin air. In public, Coriolanus was sweet and needy, a typical boy in love. But behind closed doors, he became more dominate. Lucy Gray wasn't scared though. There was darkness in his eyes, but the brightness of hers tempered it out.

Taking her lack of response for disobedience, Coriolanus tightened his fingers on both of her cheeks, pinching the skin and forcing her lips open slightly. A small amount of his white fluid slid from the pink flesh and he groaned. He'd love to show the whole Hob how she looked right now. Eyes glazed over, thighs rubbing together seeking any kind of friction, begging him to take her and he hadn't even gotten his hands on her pussy yet.

“Spit now, Lucy Gray. Or I'll leave you here, dripping wet, and you won't get to cum. ”, they were practically nose to nose at that point. Whimpering at the thought of being left without his touch, Lucy Gray opened her lips and let his cum flow into his offered hand. The seed was warm and mixed with her own spit, a contrast of their two bodies.

Keeping the cooling liquid in his hand, Coryo pressed a small kiss to her lips, moaning lightly at the salty taste of his cum and her smoky flavor mixed together.

“On the bed, Songbird.”, the order rumbled from his chest. “Spread your legs. Show me how much you liked the taste of me.”

Another sound of desperation left Lucy Gray's lips and she did exactly as he asked. She quickly stripped her skirt off and tossed her panties to the side with it, landing right next to her torn shirt. The air was chilly against her heated lower lips and the mix of sensations made her thighs shake with wanton need. Part of Lucy Gray was ashamed of how she was acting. She always considered herself to be an independent woman, one who despised the idea of taking orders from a man. But Coryo was different. He was her beautiful Capitol man. The one who saved her life and made her feel things she had never felt before.

She crawled onto the bed and rolled onto her back, rising her upper half up onto her elbows so she could see her lover's reaction. The predatory gaze from Coryo's ice blue eyes only made her wetter and she slowly parted her legs, exposing her soaking core to the cold air.

“Fuck.”, the expletive slipped from his red lips, swollen from their heated kisses. Lucy Gray smiled sweetly at him. She loved when she was able to entice such reactions from the normally proper man.

“Please, Coryo”, she whispered, voice barely audible.

Coriolanus’ long legs covered the distance between them in two easy steps. His cock was already hardening again against his thigh and Lucy Gray could feel the ache inside her, begging for him.

“You're so beautiful, Lucy Gray”, his Capitol accent was thick with desire and the sound made her hips instinctively arch up to try to get closer to him.

With his seed still in his hand, he maneuvered himself between her legs with his knees and leaned over her, his other hand holding him up. The bed gave a loud squeak from their combined weight, but neither of them were in the head space to hear it.

“Hold your legs apart, love. As wide as you can”, Coryo said using his eyes to look from her hands to her parted legs.

Submissively, Lucy Gray did as he asked, spreading her legs wider for him, hands grasping her thighs tightly.

“You're so wet you're sparkling like a diamond, Lucy Gray. Is that all for me? Just from tasting me?”, his deep voice rolled through her body like an early morning breeze, making goosebumps appear on her tanned skin.

Another whine escaped her lips and she nodded at him. “Only you, Coryo.”

She knew how much he loved hearing how she belonged to him. The narrowing of his eyes and deep intake of breath was a byproduct of that. She felt his length jump against her leg and she resisted the urge to drop her thigh and touch him. But she knew Coryo didn't like it when she didn't listen to him. He would keep his promise and not let her cum if she disobeyed.

“I don't think we should waste this. Should we, Lucy Gray?”, he pressed his nose against hers, rubbing them together softly. He lifted his hand to indicate the white cum still cupped in his hand. She shook her head vehemently. Although she didn't have an idea as to what he had planned, her body desperately wanted to know.

Eyes locked together, Coriolanus brought his cupped hand to his mouth and dipped his tongue into his seed, letting the white liquid coat his tongue. Moaning at the visual, Lucy Gray lifted her head and sought his lips out with her own. The salty cum had cooled and was a stark contrast to his burning mouth. And she loved it. The taste was nearly indescribable. Her tongue tangled with his and she searched for every last bit of the flavor. She was so lost in their frantic kiss that she didn't even see him moving his hand between her legs. The jolting sensation of the cold liquid meeting her overheated flesh had her gasping into his mouth. Arching her hips up to meet his hand, she tangled her fingers into his cropped hair, needing him to be closer. But his hair was too short and he easily pulled himself back, smirking at the look of frustration on her face.

“Watch me, Lucy Gray.”, he guided her eyes down with his own to look between her legs.

Lucy Gray panted as she watched him angle his hand up and use his fingers to guide his cum into her cunt. There was enough to cover her fluttering pussy and flow back up onto her clit. Her hips jolted at the feeling of her heated flesh being coated with him.

“This is the only place my cum belongs. Do you hear me, Songbird?”, Coriolanus asked her, his intense blue eyes searing into her soul. He pressed the tips of his index and middle fingers inside of her tight entrance, funneling seed into it's rightful place. Her heated walls clamped down on his fingers and milked the spend off the long digits. He began a slow rhythm, pushing them in and out of her, trying to force his cum as deep as he could. He had pinned her thighs wide open with his hips and she used the reprieve to grasp onto him, needing something to anchor her floating mind. Lucy Gray's nails dug into Coriolanus’ muscled shoulders and he basked in the pain. His Lucy Gray was gentle, and the fact that he pushed her to the point of inflicting damage to him appealed to his pride. She was so lost in the feeling of taking him that she didn't care that her blunt nails were drawing blood, staining the air with a copper scent.

“Yes, Coryo.”, she breathed out shakily.

Lucy Gray writhed underneath him. Each press of his fingers deep inside her sent shivers down her spine. He watched her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed her hips up against his hands.

He slowed the movements of his fingers and she whimpered in protest. “Look at me, Lucy Gray. You don't get to cum unless you're looking at me.”

His order made her clit throb even more, and she quickly opened her eyes, not wanting to lose the feeling he was invoking inside her.

“Good girl. Always so good for me.”, Coriolanus whispered against her ear, his tongue flicking out to trace the shell of her ear. He increased the thrusts of his fingers, making sure to curl the tips so it brushed that small spongy spot inside of her. That was all it took for the pressure in her stomach to expand, shockwaves of pleasure rolled through her body as she called out his name.

Coryo didn't even wait for her inner muscles to stop clenching before he was retracting his fingers from her and replacing them with the tip of his cock. He slammed in, her wetness and grasping muscles sucking him in like he was already part of her body. All pretense of softness was gone and his primal desire for her overtook all senses. The seed he had pushed into her with his fingers, bubbled around his cock and formed a white ring around the base of him. It glistened with every thrust and Lucy Gray watched reverently as he pushed in and out of her.

“Feels so good, Coryo.”, she tightened her grips on his shoulders and used them for leverage to press her hips up into his. She met every thrust with a clench of her inner muscles and the reaction from him was nearly feral.

The sound that left his mouth was almost a snarl, the hands grasping her hips dug in deep enough to bruise.

“Fuck you're so beautiful. You're mine, Lucy Gray. Do you understand?”, each word was punctuated with a hard thrust and she swore she could feel him all the way in the back of her throat. Coriolanus was well endowed and the angle he was holding her hips had him slamming as deep inside her as possible. Each movement had his cock squelching in the mess of his previous release and her wetness.

Her mind was so occluded with pleasure that all she could manage was a nod and a gasp.

That wasn't enough for him though. Coriolanus growled and moved one of his hands from her hip to her throat. His long fingers, still sticky with their combined fluids, applied pressure to both sides of her neck, slowing the blood flow to her brain. The fogginess of her thoughts only increased her pleasure and she clamped down on his cock, tighter than before.

“Your pussy is mine, Lucy Gray. Every part of you is mine,” he punctuated with a deep thrust, the tip of himself hitting the entrance to her uterus. He released a little bit of pressure on her neck, Allowing for a rush of blood to fill her head. She gasped but tried to push her throat into his fingers again. If he wasn't so lost in the pleasure of fucking her, he might have smirked.

Coriolanus released her throat, despite her noises of protest, and brought the fingers down to where they were joined. He could feel the orgasm building inside of him. His balls were tight to his body and he knew he didn't have long. But he refused to come without her. He circled her clit, the mix of their fluids providing enough lube that he was practically slipping off the bundle of nerves with each roll of his fingers.

“Gonna cum soon, Songbird. Fuck. I'm gonna put a baby in you. Don't care how long it takes. Want everyone to know you're mine. Stomach all full of me.”, His hips began to stutter, his thrusts frantic. His normal, proper speech pattern was husky and shortened. His only thoughts on the pleasure her pussy was causing him, and the need to breed her.

His words sent a spike of heat right to her clit. It was something she had suspected for awhile. But to hear him say the words in the heat of the moment, it brushed a primal part of her brain that she didn't know existed. The sounds he was making in her ear, vocalizations of his ecstasy, were what sent her over the edge. Knowing that she was the one causing his pleasure–that he was using her body to get off–made her feel powerful and in control despite being pinned under him. Lucy Gray felt her pussy clamp down on him, her muscles contracting and inviting him to cum deep inside her.

Coriolanus came with a guttural moan–the noise muffled by his face pressing into her neck. His final thrust pushed him deep inside, ropes of his seed coating her inner walls and pooling against her cervix.

They stayed like that for awhile. Chests expanding in sync, and their breathing labored. Coriolanus still buried deep inside her, pressing soft kisses to the curve of her neck. She ran her fingers over the soft fuzz of his hair rhythmically and nuzzled her nose against his ear every minute or so.

When he finally softened, Coriolanus pulled out of her. The wet sucking noise made her already flushed face turn a deeper shade of red. Looking down, Lucy Gray noticed that his length was coated in the remnants of his seed and her own cum.

He pressed a deep kiss to her lips and reached over the side of the bed to grab one of the pillows he had brought. Lips still attached to hers, he lifted her hips gently, mindful of the bruises that were already beginning to form on her tanned skin, and pushed the plush cushion under her hips. He pulled back and nuzzled his nose against hers.

“Keep your hips up, Lucy Gray. I don't want to see a drop of my seed leaving that pretty pussy of yours,” his voice was deep and laden with animal instinct. “You're mine.”

From then on, Coriolanus wasn't quiet about his intentions during their coupling, and even outside of it. His hand was constantly on her stomach, and he was consistently whispering words of his desires in her ear. Sejanus found it particularly funny watching Lucy Gray blush and fan herself during those moments.

Despite his words and actions of his intentions to get her pregnant, Coriolanus didn't interfere with Lucy Gray drinking her morning after tea. Although the looks of disdain he shot the mug each time made a primal warmth pool in her belly. And the tea worked.

Until it didn't.

#coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird #snowbaird #coriolanus snow #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray baird #coryo x lucy gray baird #thg smut #tbosas smut

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inner-viper · 5 months

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How to read tarot cards- Inner Viper

Hello, I have been getting a lot of messages regarding how I read tarot. I have not been ignoring those messages but I wanted to answer this in a post rather than explaining it through DMs/Ask. Reading tarot is more simple than you think it is! Whatever you think “reading” the cards is, throw it out the window.

Remember to knock on the deck, blow it away, and begin shuffling. There are different methods to cleanse the deck. You should cleanse with incense if you can but you can also use a bell to cleanse it. This will provide a clean energy state of the deck, therefore the deck won’t be influenced by “negative” energy. Technically, you are just refreshing the deck's energy and pouring your energy into it. Once you call on the spirits, they will also pour their own energy into you and then that energy reaches the deck.

Now, when you ask a generic question, for example, say “What traits does my FS like about me?”. This question will give me the answer that I am looking for. Sometimes you need to specify the question better in order to get more accurate and in-depth responses. There are times when you could simply be asking the wrong questions and you will get the “wrong” answer, thus the answer is not what you are looking for. It is about defining the problem and understanding what it is you are truly asking.

Let’s begin with a basic three-card layout. Example: “What does my FS like about me?”

The cards: Knight of Cups, The Lovers, and The Tower

When I see these cards I usually get intuitive messages because of mediumship, the more you practice tarot the more “psychic” you become. It is like working out a muscle, you need to continue lifting weights and increasing the amounts steadily in order to get better at it. Every little thing matters when it comes to being intuitive.

If I start to feel aroused, and my body becomes warmer. Then, I start to get random images of sex positions in my head. Then, I could conclude that this is what my FS likes about me. What do you feel the general energy during your reading? You should evaluate what you are picking up on. I would say the general energy would be fun, romantic, emotional, and a bit chaotic. This is also reflected on the cards itself.

Now, for the cards itself. You can read them by looking at the images and interpreting them as well. The knight of cups is charging into the lovers and then it is met by the tower. This could indicate how they like how I offer emotional support with love, only to then turn my advice and nurture to myself. Causing a revelation, a deconstruction of myself. This only happens after I meet with them, whence the tower. In the tower, there are two people falling off the tower. This could be interpreted as me and my FS having revelations of where we need to destroy preconceived notions from poor foundational buildings.

Then, you will read what the cards mean. We did technically read the cards by interpreting the images. This sometimes doesn’t work when we are reading certain decks. The meaning behind each card can be read but remember your intuition is key here alongside discernment.

I will be using Wikipedia as a source but typically you should have a handbook that comes with your deck.

Knight of Cups- Divination usage If the card is upright, it represents change and new excitements, particularly of a romantic nature. It can mean invitations, opportunities, and offers. The knight of cups is a person who is a bringer of ideas, opportunities and offers. He is constantly bored, and in constant need of stimulation, but also artistic and refined. He represents a person who is amiable, intelligent, and full of high principles, but a dreamer who can be easily persuaded or discouraged.

Reversed, the card represents unreliability and recklessness. It indicates fraud, false promises and trickery. It represents a person who has trouble discerning when and where the truth ends and lies begin. Interpretation According to A.E. Waite's 1910 book Pictorial Key to the Tarot, the Lovers card carries several divinatory associations:[1]

THE LOVERS—Attraction, love, beauty, trials overcome. Reversed: Failure, foolish designs. Another account speaks of marriage frustrated and contrarieties of all kinds.

The Tower-Symbolism The Tower is widely associated to danger, crisis, sudden change, destruction, higher learning, and liberation.[6] In the Rider–Waite deck, the top of The Tower is a crown, which symbolizes materialistic thought being bought cheap, downcast We can read through the meanings of the card and interpret exactly what it means with the use of intuition. If it resonates then it is for you, if it doesn’t then it is not for you. This does not mean that you can ignore the “negative” interpretations of the deck. It just means that you will need to use your intuition to see how this applies to your reading. In this case, the tower was not “negative” but it did indicate chaos. Referring back to Wikipedia, there are keywords such as “sudden change”, “higher learning”, and “liberation”. These keywords are not “negative” but rather “positive” in this reading.

Now, notice how we connected all of this. There is no disconnection with the tarot cards. Sometimes we can struggle with connecting the cards in the spread but that’s why you can always do different spreads to help you.

If you don’t understand the answer then reshuffle the deck and ask again.

Reversed cards do not always indicate "opposite meanings" it can represent a blockage. An excess amount of energy, a lack of energy, and etc. Use your intuition to guide you and only implement reversals when you feel comfortable doing so. For example, If I get the king of wands in reverse, the meaning could be I am overcontrolling, a masculine figure in my life is overcontrolling. There is a situation where I am keeping my creative energy locked. Sometimes it could mean, bottling emotions until you explode. These are all different meanings and I would use my intuition to pick up on what is correct.

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inuhalfdemon · 1 month

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No One Can Know... (5/?)

Word Count: 2,526 Words

Rating: Mature (SMUT)

Chapter 5

"I want your love, and I want your revenge

You and me could write a bad romance

I want your love and all your lover's revenge

You and me could write a bad romance"

- Lady Gaga

_________________________________________________

“Better to come here now then.”

Lucifer was right. Alastor had already put things off longer than was prudent for them and it might be best that tonight was not a night that they spent at the hotel.

Maybe this was a mistake... He thought.

Not that Lucifer hadn’t proven that he was fully capable of handling Alastor; but would he be prepared for Alastor at his absolute worst?

Alastor had not been entirely honest with Lucifer; refraining from offering up the fact that he had chosen avoidance - had forcibly made himself celibate - for the past 7 years. This, of course, was creating a large problem to him now. He had hoped to pay the consequence of denying his body a natural need it required under...different circumstances; perhaps at some time when the stakes weren't set quite so high with very few options to consider.

He had withheld this information knowing that Lucifer would inevitably want to know the reason why; and Alastor – quite simply – had no interest in discussing it.

Alastor was feeling uncomfortable.

Two days had passed since his visit to Lucifer’s and he was very nearly fully into his rut now. He had stubbornly pushed off contacting the angel for as long as was possible but it was getting harder and harder to maintain his composure.

During the daytime, he threw himself into tasks throughout the hotel; performing maintenance and small renovations where he could; helping Charlie in formulating a strong argument for redemption by researching terminology and definitions that would best accommodate her proposals; exchanging preliminary ideas with Vaggie on possible preparations for fortifying the hotel should the need require it; helping the other residents with small and meaningless chores or errands. He no longer slept and he spent the nights drinking and making efforts in dulling the edge to his urges.

Despite the distraction and despite him trying to deal with the arousals himself...he wasn't accomplishing much in assuaging his symptoms. Alastor's body was betraying him and he did not care for it. He felt overheated; a cold sweat constantly at his back. He had to take measures in concealing spontaneous erections and felt like every nerve on his body was a live wire just ready to ignite. His antlers were even weighing heavier on his head and he knew he couldn't ignore the implications of this much longer.

When he got to Lucifer's, he felt a frazzled mess. Lucifer took one look at him and knew - despite all of the arrogant antics, despite all of the careful planning - Alastor was not handling his rut well. He was too...maniac and too on-edge. His ears too straight and twitchy, his eyes and smile too wide...

"Have you eaten?" Lucifer asked him, inviting him inside. "You look like you could maybe use some food..." and maybe some sleep...

"No, I have not...I -" He was trying to remember when he last ate...not today. "I suppose I should."

"Shrimp and grits sound okay?" Lucifer asked him, walking toward the kitchen.

Alastor paused; tilting his head.

"I asked Charlie, alright." Lucifer told him. "I explained to her that you and I had important matters to discuss regarding information from Carmilla's extermination meetings she conducts with the Overlords tonight and I asked her what you might like to eat. She said you liked Cajun, so Cajun I made."

Alastor just stared at him; giving him a hard look.

“Won’t your daughter be wondering at the strangeness of our…nightly meeting?” He asked.

“Hardly.” Lucifer told him turning and continuing down the corridor. “She knows that you’re nocturnal and that I’m an insomniac. Honestly; she’s just thrilled that we don’t have any foreseeable plans in murdering each other.”

“I’d rather you didn’t go out of your way to make special accommodations for me.”

"I have an interest in knowing people, Alastor. I'm sure you've seen that trait in Charlie, as well. Don't be so surprised and don’t be so skeptical."

Flicking one ear; Alastor followed him to the kitchen.

"Also, you might hate the dinner. Who knows. I never said I was a good cook."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Following their meal, Lucifer noted that Alastor still seemed...out of sorts. They had engaged in quiet conversation that was pleasant enough but the man just seemed too...nervous and distant. Whatever expectations Lucifer had with tonight; this wasn't it.

Maybe this isn't the best solution...

With the food gone and dishes put away; there was nothing left for it...

"I don't know about you, but I could use a shower." Lucifer said; standing up to stretch. "Care to join me?"

"A shower sounds....nice, actually."

The bathroom was unlike anything Alastor had seen; dead or alive. It was incredibly spacious and immaculately kept...

The shower was a large walk-in with multiple waterflow heads. Lucifer unabashedly stripped himself naked; setting his clothes aside. Walking across the tiles; he flipped on the knobs of two of the heads before stepping underneath the streaming water of one.

Alastor paused; watching him. He expected Lucifer to start in on some form of leud comments...make an attempt at some or dirty talk; or hungrily – curiously even - watch him as he undressed; but the angel was paying him absolutely no mind.

Sighing; Alastor slipped out of his suit jacket.

Fully naked, he stepped into the shower with Lucifer; going to the second shower head that was beside him. Alastor stood underneath the jet; feeling the heated water soothe the static nervous energy he had stored in his body. He waited for Lucifer to turn toward him; to approach; to look at him and begin touching him but...he never did. Lucifer stood under his own steaming jet of water, eyes closed and head tilted as he showered; almost seemingly having forgotten that Alastor was even there. Alastor tweaked an ear, then closing his eyes he turned his face into the spray of water; feeling it thrum against his antlers, cascading across his lowered ears and through his hair.

Lucifer watched Alastor from the corner of his eye. He had noted a hint of some sort of cologne when Alastor stepped into the shower with him but now...now that Alastor was under the water the smell was pungent. It was a heavy but earthy odor; something akin to the smell of pine trees and rain or the soft tones of a woodfire smoke. Lucifer breathed the scent in deeply; his pupils gently dilated, his heart rate jumped, and his mouth began to water...all at once he was suddenly very much aroused and he immediately realized that he was smelling and breathing in the concentrated pheromones of Alastor's musk. Lucifer couldn't help but stare at him now, feeling a powerful urge now to approach the red deer demon; to feel and to touch...to give and to take.

He saw the water washing across Alastor’s upturned face; ringlets, splashes and streams of it curling and twisting all down across his body. He briefly noted that Alastor was covered in scars; a sharp flickering of red and then he saw that Alastor also possessed a rather soft-and-delicate-looking deer tail. Lucifer wondered at the amount of secrets Alastor must be willing to sacrifice to see these deals he had made done…

Lucifer’s erection was openly jutting upwards but…he held back. Watching Alastor closely; he somehow knew that he wasn't ready to be touched yet.

What hell it must be…he thought…to be someone who cared so little for physical intimacy - to have it forced upon them by their own biological need. Lucifer couldn't fathom it but he saw the discomfort; the detachment that Alastor was experiencing from it. It reminded Lucifer of one of his episodes that he had sometimes when he-

Wait.

Hold on.

Lucifer shook his head; blinking water from his eyes as he concentrated, looking much more closely at Alastor now.

Was Alastor...experiencing some episode of post-traumatic distress?

Lucifer focused; assessing all of the signs and he saw it, realizing…

“I’d rather not discuss it…”

Suddenly; all of it made sense.

Lucifer had wondered how Alastor – a sinner Cervidae demon that had been in Hell for as long as he had – had not yet come to terms with the matter of his occurring and re-occurring mating cycles.

Something had to have happened…

Fuck…

Lucifer rubbed his face; of course, this had to be even more complicated.

He thought briefly again about what both Lilith and Alastor had said…about how Alastor had actually killed demons before when he –

Then, Lucifer remembered what he himself had told Alastor:

“…it wasn’t for the intentions that they had thought…”

Alastor was still standing under the shower head next to his; eyes closed, face tilted up, smile fixed to his face. His body was rigid; tension never leaving his body.

Lucifer sighed.

“Hey, Al…”

Alastor’s eyes opened; he turned his head, ears lifting, looking at Lucifer now – somehow expressionless despite the ever-present grin.

“Come here; I-I’d like you to touch me.”

Alastor’s ears straightened; processing for a moment…

Then, reaching out – Alastor turned the knob to his shower head; turning off the spray of water. He went to Lucifer; stepping into the falling water and looking down at the angel. Reaching out again; he found the knob – turning it. Heat flared across Lucifer’s skin; turning his pale skin a rosy pink.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Lucifer hissed.

Alastor huffed; a small smirk touching his face. Turning, he put his back to the streaming jet of hot water; facing Lucifer. Steam began to rapidly fill the shower; heat radiating around them.

Alastor waited; still anticipating Lucifer to reach out – touch him; grab him; grip him; smother him…

Lucifer lifted his hands; palms open and held to the side.

“Per our agreement…” He said, softly.

Alastor’s eyes widened; understanding.

“I won’t touch you.” Lucifer told him. “Not until you want me to.”

Alastor’s breathing changed; the base to his antlers were becoming more full, more points erupting and curling upward.

“Don’t hold back.” Lucifer told him.

Layers of tension left Alastor as he moved himself closer to Lucifer; his upper body leaning down and over the angel.

He took Lucifer’s face between clawed hands; tilting his head and pressing his mouth to his. Alastor kissed him and Lucifer kept his hands raised and away. Alastor pressed himself closer; completely blocking the spray of water coming from the shower head and Lucifer was grateful for the added heat that was filling the room in a foggy humid blanket.

Still kissing him; Alastor’s hands left the angel’s face and began exploring his body. Clawed fingers traced stimulating patterns all along Lucifer’s wet neck, chest, shoulders and stomach. Lucifer shuddered; groaning softly into Alastor’s mouth. Unlike Alastor; Lucifer craved to touch and craved being touched…now finding himself coming out of a rather lengthy dry spell – maybe not years worth, but still – his body was terribly touch deprived and every contact Alastor made with him was bracing to him. Keeping his hands away – he clenched his fists at the urge to reach out and touch Alastor.

Alastor pulled his head back; breaking the kiss. His fingers curled around Lucifer’s chin; his eyes wide and dilating.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.” He breathed.

Unclenching his fists; Lucifer did as he was instructed. Alastor waited for him to rest his hands on either side; pausing as if assessing himself - deciding whether he would find the contact acceptable.

Nodding; he leant back in – pressing his lips back again to Lucifer’s – his own clawed hands finding and gripping the smaller man’s waist; palms resting on each hip.

Lucifer let his hands rest – still - at Alastor’s shoulders; neither moving them to touch and explore Alastor like he ached to do nor to grip and pull him closer. Alastor gave a soft growl and Lucifer took it as an approving sound as the demon coaxed their mouths open; sliding his tongue between parted lips – he twisted and flicked it with and against Lucifer’s forked one.

More and more of the unease was leaving Alastor’s body…making room for a new kind of tension. Lucifer felt Alastor grip his hips tighter; his developing erection pressing into the King’s belly. Disengaging himself from Lucifer’s mouth; Alastor pressed his forehead to Lucifer’s; his breathing heavy.

“You may touch me now.” Alastor told him.

Slowly; Lucifer leaned in – touching his lips to Alastor’s collar bone and sliding his hands down across Alastor’s arms and his chest. Alastor groaned; sinking into the touch and Lucifer knew that he would no longer have to take such pangs to be so cautious. He nipped and licked at Alastor’s skin; his tongue tracing across the raised and jagged scars that crisscrossed his chest. Clawed fingers dragging soft red marks; everywhere they went.

Lifting a hand from a hip; Alastor found Lucifer’s length. He palmed and stroked the King; feeling the firming of muscle in his hand. Lucifer sucked in a breath; hands involuntarily gripping tightly at Alastor’s arms. Lucifer quickly released his sudden grip; but Alastor only chuckled lowly at the response he had elicited in him.

“Turn around, my King.” Alastor told him lowly.

Turning; Lucifer felt Alastor’s hands grip his shoulders – pulling him against him so that Lucifer could feel the sinner’s erection pressing sharply into his back. Alastor adjusted himself; then possessively wrapped an arm around Lucifer’s torso; holding him firmly to him as he leant himself over – reaching down to take the swollen and aching member into his grip again. He pressed himself tightly against the angel; his own fully erect penis sliding up and down Lucifer’s wet back as he moved his hips – pumping the King in his hand.

Lucifer bent himself back against Alastor; his hips quivering into jutting as he felt himself quickly approaching a climax. His clawed fingers dug into the wet and slick skin of Alastor’s forearm; wrapped tightly across his chest. Alastor’s face was pressed tightly into the side of Lucifer’s neck; growling and gasping as both their movements stimulated him into an ever-deepening arousal.

Alastor’s grip tightened and Lucifer knew he was lost. His hips jutted sharply; and he felt himself release into Alastor’s hand; cum slipping between fingers and washing away in the cascade of water around them. Alastor let him go; and Lucifer shakily stood – his back still to Alastor.

A soft flickering of the lights and a soft buzzing of something static made Lucifer turn. Alastor was standing behind him; his penis curved tightly upward, a hand covering his face – his eyes were wide, red and flaring crazily behind spread fingers. His smile maniac and stretched too wide. His ears were erratically twitching in sharp movements; the fur on them standing sharply on end. The lights began to strobe; going out briefly before flickering back in again. Shadows were creeping into corners; crawling across walls – slowly consuming the room. Alastor’s antlers where branching and stretching dramatically overhead; the points lengthening and twisting around themselves in a beautifully chilling way. Alastor’s musk pervaded the room; hanging heavy in the thickening steam that surrounded them.

“Somewhere else…” Alastor was saying; his widening eyes seeing nothing. “I’m…”

And the room went dark.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 6

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hotchs-big-hands · 8 months

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🫐 If you wanted to, could you write a drabble/blurb where the Aaron and the reader are trying out a new kink/scene for the first time. Up to you on what it is, but maybe it’s something Aaron would have needed some time to learn or build to. Something about him researching for you to keep you happy and safe 🥹😍

Yassssssss Aaron enjoys doing a lot of research on things you two can get up to in the bedroom 🥰🥰🥰 let's say he's intrigued by wanting to handcuff you and be a lilllll rough with you 🫣🫣🫣🫣 when you first got together he never ever would have given it thought but sometimes he overhears you talking to the girlies (he doesn't intend on listening in but he won't lie about not being curious) and well, you admitted to the ladies that you want Aaron to handcuff and "interrogate" you so to speak...

And now ever since then he's not been able to stop thinking about this 😵‍💫😵‍💫 every time he puts his cuffs in his back pocket he's thinking about what you want him to do to you. It's becoming a bit of a problem now. So he caves in and does a bit of research on the subject and oh MY he was certainly excited abt it 🫣🫣🫣🫣 and so the next step was to sit you down and tell you abt it so he can gauge your reaction. You're very pleased, he can see the arousal clouding your eyes and your discussion takes a turn 😵‍💫😵‍💫🫣🫣🫣

It's a little bit of time before anything happens regarding the kink, there was a case afterall. But when you're both home he claims he needs to go and get smth from the store. You're fine with that, busy organising setting the table for dinner, that is until he comes home and sneaks through the house to ambush you 🫣🫣🫣

"(Y/n), hands where I can see them!" He barks at you, startling you to whip around to face him. His stare is dark and dangerous, his body tense. Oh... you slowly move your arms to hold them above your head, trembling.

"S-sir? What are-"

He rushes forward and pins you against the dining table and leaning right down until his face is inches from yours.

"You have the right to remain silent. Now turn the fuck around."

He manhandles you, turning you to press your front onto the table and you hear the clink of his handcuffs. He leans over you again, his chest to your back and you feel his breath against your ear.

"Is this okay?" He whispers. You smile to yourself.

"Mhm, more than okay..."

With a hum, he clicks the handcuffs into place and he grabs you to stand straight.

"I need to ask you a few questions. So you're coming with me, understand?" He hisses. You nod meekly.

"Y-yes, sir..."

Let's just say you're unable to answer any of his questions... 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

#🫐 anon #aaron hotchner x reader #💌 ah asks #hotch x reader smut #nsfw.

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anniflamma · 3 months

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Man, I'm going a bit crazy with the idea of Mephiboseth and Absalom a bit here like, for starters Mephisboseth has to deal with the whole drama that if it wasn't because he had already been injured that the people who took care of him would have never loved him or let him live long enough as he is now. Cuz he is the heir of Jonathan after all, but also its the exact reason that he is the son of Jonathan that David cares about the boy so much, maybe just as much as Solomon, even though it isn't so noticeable when there's a lot of the problems in the family that arouse due to David's many wives and children.

One of which is of course Absalom. And to an extent I feel like he would become jealous but, I also like to think about he would grow out of that when he sees that 1)Mephisboseth poses no threat to him, heck less threat than his brothers currently do, 2) He seems a bit more lonely in the regard that he is the only heir of a lost family whose only person he could call a familiar being the maid that saved and keeps caring for him like a mother. And 3) Maybe the idea of Tamar being close to Mephisboseth would be nice to write about (but will also add a sadder tone when Mephisboseth can't do anything about what's going to happen to Tamar. 😔) especially considering how her other bothers might be.

Like maybe Mephisboseth is also quite the contrast compared to Absalom who is pompous and extroverted in his own regard. Like even when the deals of the court get to be too much Absalom can go back to Mephisboseth because with him there's no need to put on a show so that he can look better than his two (one really, the second son seems to be as invisible as middle child gets) brothers. After some years he might not care much about his father's favoritism because well, he knows he is great enough by himself. Not as wise as Solomon but enough, probably because Mephisboseth and Tamar hype him up a lot. (And that care that Tamar shows to them probably is what makes Amnon so bitter to the point of committing horrible things in the first place. Because not only is he hurting Tamar, he also hurts Absalom who wasn't present at the one time Tamar needed her, and Mephisboseth who even if he was, wouldn't have been strong enough to help her— or maybe would have tried and ended up getting more hurt because of his disability.)

Either way of how you put the story, the tragedy will so deep throat that I can't stop thinking about it.

And sidenote, the fact that Siba was kept in charge of Mephiboseth during the rebellion of Absalom was just a little note honestly but my mind went to the idea that maybe, because Mephiboseth cares about Absalom so much he would have tried to help him in any way he can, and David— who had met in secret with Jonathan before, who knows the lengths he would have gone for to be with the one he loves– tries to impose him from meeting Absalom in the case that another son of his, the son of *Jonathan*, dies. (Not to mention he would also have broken his covenant with Jonathan if Mephiboseth were to die.)

Sorry mate. I'm so sorry but you are suffering with me after giving me this idea 😔

Hey, I have no problem suffering with you! Where are all my papers on Mephi/Absolom stuff!? 😫

I couldn't agree with you more on this! There are so many themes you could explore with a story about Mephiboseth. The conflicts... The emotional turmoil... aahh! I believe the dynamic between Absolom and Mephi would be such a fascinating aspect.

Mephiboseth suffered greatly from the trauma of his accident and the sudden loss of his father in one single day. Following this, Siba, Saul's servant, tended to him and relocated him to a place literary called “Nothing,” reinforcing Mephi’s belief that he is insignificant. Even in the Bible, his insecurity is evident as he refers to himself as “nothing more than a dead dog.” Therefore, when he gets an summon to David’s palace and meet the king and his family for the first time, I always wonder about what is his perspective? Does Mephi harbor resentment? Is there jealousy towards Absalom and David’s other sons who grew up in a luxurious palace— a life that was meant to be his? And imagine if Jonathan had survived, then Absalom and Mephiboseth would have grown up together as brothers….

And yhea, It is pretty much canon that Absolom and Mephiboseth are the opposite from each other. Like you said, one is beautiful, popular, pompous, extroverted and a prince. And the other is lame, introverted and a "nobody". Which is something I can eat everyday! I just love the opposite attracts trope!

For Absalom, he had grown up in a grand palace that strictly forbade the presence of anyone with disabilities. David, for a really stupid reason, held a strong dislike towards those who were blind or deaf. However, everything took a different turn when David brought a new child into the court, publicly declaring him as his own son and warning sternly that any harm towards the boy would be met with severe consequences. I think this sudden change could leave Absalom confused and somewhat resentful of his father's abrupt favoritism towards this random boy. He probably would feel jealous at first, but probably quickly shifts and not lingering on these emotions for long.

I also see that the relationship between David and Mephiboseth is not entirely healthy. David's protectiveness towards Mephiboseth could even borders to an obsession, stemming from his fear of losing "Jonathan” again. I thinks that Mephi would looks and resembling his father in every way, When Mephiboseth stands before him, David is overcome with emotion.

Picture him trembling on the floor before the king, uncertain of his fate, why he is here. In a surprising turn, David pulls him into a tight embrace, tears streaming down his face, perhaps softly uttering Jonathan's name. Confused and hesitant, Mephiboseth eventually returns the hug. 😭

David has good intentions and cares deeply for Mephiboseth, but his love for him seems to come with conditions. It raises the question of whether David's affection for Mephiboseth would remain unchanged if he were not Jonathan's son. The likely answer is no, something that Mephiboseth probably already knows about. The only reason David lifts the ban on disabled individuals entering the palace is because he desires to have Mephiboseth live with him and his family.

Then we have David's overprotectiveness during the rebellion. Despite being torn between loyalty to Absalom and David, Mephiboseth is forced to remain at the palace due to Siba's influence. Siba, believing that a lame person should not stand beside the King, prevents Mephiboseth from joining David but as well not allowed to follow Absalom. It could be that David might actually be alright with leaving Mephiboseth behind at the palace. A recurring theme in "The Prince’s Psalm" is how others underestimate David and try to forces him to stay low and at home. His family unknowingly hurts him when they are doing it. This mirrors how David unknowingly makes the same the mistreatment he endured from his brothers onto Mephiboseth.

There could be also a theme with David not viewing Mephibosheth as his own person. When Siba lies that Mephibosheth has betrayed David and that he has left the palace, David becomes enraged and gives all the inheritance that he would give to Mephibosheth to Siba instead, not taking time to think or ask for evidence. It also shows that he doesn’t really know Mephibosheth, that he immediately believes someone else's words. It gives the feeling of "putting him on a pedestal." What I'm trying to say here is that David loves Mephibosheth for Jonathan’s sake. It's a beautiful thing between David and Jonathan but not as much for Mephibosheth, if you know what I mean.

And there are so many parallels between David and Jonathan’s story with Absalom and Mephibosheth. It has the same story beats but the roles are reversed. The "shepherd" stays in the castle while the prince is on the run from the king.

Regarding Tamar, it's a very sensitive topic. The assault of Tamar in the Bible is only used as motivation for Absalom to start the rebellion. After that, Tamar isn't important narratively anymore. She is only mentioned once more after the assault, when Absalom names his firstborn after his sister. This act struck me as such sweet thing, cuz it's probably the only time in the Bible where a male character celebrates having a daughter. Personally, I've always been uncomfortable with female characters experiencing trauma solely to drive the motivations of male characters. As well as that a character would sexually abuse another character just to hurt someone else. Amnon comes across as nothing more than a creepy stalker in the bible, and I don't think he doesn't need any additional motivation for assaulting Tamar. Like you said, I really like the idea of having Mephibosheth and Tamar become good friends, leading Amnon to feel jealousy. But it wouldn’t be the main factor why he was harming Tamar in the first place. He was obsessed with her already and resorted to trickery to manipulate David into sending her alone to his bedchamber—a situation that would never have occurred if she hadn't been ordered or coerced into it. I do think that both Absalom and Mephi would blame themselves that they couldn't protect her but then Absalom redirects that resentment towards David. This would happened to Mephi as well but he becomes conflicted. That he don't want to blame David for forcing Tamar to be alone with Amnon at first but then realize it later. I'm not sure about what I could add to Tamar's story…. Perhaps keeping her involved in the story could enhance her character arc? For instance, instead of Siba aiding Mephibosheth in meeting Absalom secretly, maybe Tamar could fulfill this role instead? I dunno, I'm not sure.

Though if Mephibosheth and Absalom's relationship were romantic, then David would probably immediately spot it. 😅 I don’t think that he would mind in the beginning, and even it would make him reminisce his memories with Jonathan. But when Absalom starts the rebellion, he obviously sees him as a threat to Mephibosheth. And after Absalom’s death… Yeah, there we have the sad juice. David mourns for his son's death and we have Mephibosheth mourning too by David's side. It's like a reflection of Saul and Jonathan, but this time, it’s “David” who died. And it's the King and the “prince“ still living.

I WANT THIS TO BE A BOOK SO MUCH! 😫

#asks #long post #tw sa mention #bible #the prince's psalm #david/jonathan #Absalom #Tamar #Mephibosheth

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c0rpseductor · 10 months

Text

i complained briefly about this on twitter (“briefly,” he says. Actually i complained about it for quite some time and with vigor) but i hate that godawful website because i am a verbose autist and a tweet is only about a sentence or two long. for me. so i will try to pursue a thought about it here from beginning to end, outside of the constraints of twitter’s character limit (which is targeting me personally)

i have tried on and off for hours to get my mind off this, but i was really upset and disappointed to find out that richard siken not only did write wincest himself but seems to approve of approaching incest from the angle of sexual fantasy in general — these tweets about it are really sticking in my craw, and apparently they are from an interview he did in 2015, but the whole thing just came up again and it’s not my favorite take!

the question about consequences — and “question” is generous, i know he’s already years ago come to the conclusion that whatever consequences exist as a result of such narratives do not matter — gets me bc it’s like, dude, i KNOW what the consequences are. from experience. i have lived with them all my life.

the cycle is as such: writers portray incest as mutual sexual deviance as opposed to the reality of it being violence. literature portrays it as such, pop culture portrays it as such, fanfiction portrays it as such, it is widely discussed as such — as an example, try really thinking about how often perceived promiscuity is blamed on “daddy issues,” and what that may imply. many people never have any personal experience with incest or with survivors and come to regard it as a distant sort of kink activity, or an imaginary, almost fun and racy sort of violence that happens to a distinct class of subhuman other totally segregated from human society. survivors are blamed because the dominant cultural narrative believes they are willing participants and not victims of rape, survivors internalize shame and do not come forward. survivors often come forward to partners who find their childhood trauma (incestuous abuse is most often CSA) arousing. the online support group i frequent has a recurring problem of lurkers who use DMs to sexually harass psychologically vulnerable victims of abuse while they are in crisis. society does not take us seriously because the violence we face is seen not as violence, but as a category of pornography.

furthermore, trying to say this makes me the bad guy. to frankly and clearly state the harm perpetuated against me and others by these cultural narratives & their continuation in every aspect of life is regarded as puritanical and Orwellian. nevermind that the proliferation of such ideas & narratives and my exposure to them left me terrified that my closest friends would think i was a pervert for disclosing sexual abuse from my parents, nevermind that I spent years being told by my abusers and society at large that i’d brought it on myself, nevermind that i’m continually surrounded by that rhetoric every day and continue to have salt rubbed in the already unbelievably painful wounds — some people are criticized for publishing wincest fic in ao3, and this is the truest sort of victim; surely someone who was merely raped by his father for years could not understand the pain and martyrdom of being called an asshole online. THIS is the real concern. upholding the secret and mystique around intrafamilial sexual violence for the sake of shippers’ enjoyment of a middling CW show from 2004 is how we will fix society, no matter how many incest survivors’ dignity we must sacrifice to make it happen

anyway. i think this guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but trying to convince anyone that this stuff is even tangentially related to the experiences of real human beings who may see it and be hurt is a good deal like trying to tell people unicorns are real, in that they will laugh in your face.

#csa ment #incest ment #if you say any dumb shit to me on this post i will drive a semi through your living room and turn you into a fine gory mist

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calamitycontrolled · 7 months

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The Story So Far...

hey there,

I want to write down everything that's contributed to my journey so far in the interest of memory and sharing. So here's my story from the start until now!

I was assigned male at birth, and currently identify as non-binary. I am 22 years old and have been questioning my gender for a long time. Thoughts about gender have been becoming more frequent and painful in the past 2-3 years.

(TW: Sexuality) This post will describe my very personal feelings and detail some parts of my journey that may be uncomfortable to read. I will discuss sexuality, masturbation, and dysphoria.

My earliest memory regarding gender dysphoria or feeling like something wasn't quite right was when I was very young, maybe 5-6? I remember feeling excitement or euphoria when I put on one of my sister's princess dresses. I tried a few on and felt amazing. I didn't understand it at the time, but I guess that was euphoria. It felt almost like I was aroused. That's a can of worms for the TERF/ autogynephilia crowd, but understand that there's no way I was sexually aroused at the age of five from wearing feminine clothing. I would try on my mom's and sister's heels and take their clothing also. I forgot about that stuff for the most part, but still felt like something was off. For as long as I can remember, I've been disinterested in traditional masculine activities and gender norms. I have always hated playing/watching sports, fishing, and stuff like that. I thought I was just a stick in the mud or anti-social, but I never really wanted to do any of those things. When I was younger, I showed a bit of interest in basketball and baseball but that was extremely short lived. I spent most of my time playing video games, playing star wars, and skating. One could argue that these are masculine activities, though. I really hate anything to do with physical strength and competition. I've always been sorta delicate I guess.

Although I desired to crossdress since an early age, I suppressed those feelings to the point where I didn't act on them anymore, but I still felt them. When I turned 12-13 and reached middle school, things took a big turn. I feel like I've been depressed ever since I hit puberty and I can't explain why. Self-esteem and insecurity issues hit me like a truck. I don't feel like a man, but what else is there? I didn't know I had a choice. I desired to be friends with girls. More so I desired to be one of the girls- but I didn't really understand it at the time. I've always been attracted to women, but I don't know if I want them or want to be them. Probably both. I am pansexual, and have always felt strange around the other boys. I never felt like I fit in with the majority of the masculine crowd. I went to a Catholic elementary and middle school, and my two best friends in middle school both turned out to be gay. I wonder if people perceived me as gay sometimes because I recently found a note in my yearbook from a friend calling me his first love? I've always fantasized about being with girls and boys, but didn't figure that out until high school. At that time, I remember desiring to be more feminine, but being extremely scared. It wasn't a choice I could make. I felt so ashamed and out of place. My confusion only made me more depressed and angry at myself. Why would I even think that I was trans? I guess deep down I always sorta knew, but again I suppressed that part of me out of guilt, sadness, and shame. I felt like I would be disappointing my family and causing problems. I still feel like that honestly. Internalized transphobia is real. It's just rage towards my identity that manifests and destroys my confidence and self esteem. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to be an ugly woman, which is often the only thing holding me back.

I've largely only dated lesbian or bisexual women. A few of them have turned out to be lesbians exclusively after we dated. Almost all of my partners have identified as part of the LGBT community. That's just one thing I find interesting.

I've been buying my own feminine clothes since I was 17, and recently have been buying a lot more. I love to wear skirts, crop tops, and high socks. Now I feel so dysphoric when I'm wearing men's clothing. I am in such a battle with my body right now. I am constantly fighting body hair, my penis, and my broad shoulders. I absolutely hate to see that I have male genitals in my pants, especially when other people can see it. I really only want to buy women's clothing now. My egg cracked on Christmas Eve 2021, when I was drunk texting my then-girlfriend and told her that I think I'm trans. I lurked on r/egg_irl for a while, and did a lot of research on being trans. I remember lying on the couch after everyone had gone to sleep crying. Again, I suppressed it. I keep trying to "go straight" and embrace masculinity, but I fail every time. I cannot for the life of me be the traditional man.

So, if you expect me to boymode because that's my AGAB then fuck you! I realized that I'm living MY LIFE, and other people need to mind their business or support me. Everything else doesn't matter. They're not me, and I'm not them. At the end of the day I have to live with myself, and I'm going to make sure I love who I am.

Let's talk about my friends and family. I am out to my friends and have made steps in dropping people who are homophobic, transphobic, or otherwise won't accept me for who I am. My friends are a tremendous source of love and support, and I am so grateful for them. My family, on the other hand, is a different story. I've only talked to my mom about gender dysphoria, and while she's supportive, she is definitely confused and almost taken aback by it. She says that I didn't show any signs in childhood, and that crossdressing is something all little kids do. I think she expected me to be gay. She told me she expected one of her kids to be gay because my Uncle is gay, but not one being transgender. She keeps asking me if I like boys. I want to tell my sister but she seems disinterested in the fact that we're even related. I just want the support of my family. I'm tired of being doubted, because I do enough of that to myself. My mom is willing to accept me as a woman, but she said it will take some time. She wants to mourn her son. I want to tell her that she has two daughters now, but it's too early for all that. I even have my new name picked out, but I'm scared to take that next step. It's Siobhan by the way (Shi-vawn). I wanted to choose another Irish name that starts with S.

Sexual Dysphoria: It feels odd to share this information but I think it's important to acknowledge. Ever since puberty, I've primarily tried to penetrate myself and feel pleasure that way. I don't know why I did it, it felt instinctual. But I've never really had romantic feelings for men (not until recently), so I can't be gay, right? I was, and still am, so confused. When I first had sex, I really didn't enjoy it. This feeling that something was wrong persisted, but I didn't know why. I love women, but why can't I enjoy the sex we have? I dread having to be the "man" or top. So I started thinking I was gay. When I had sex with men, I didn't really feel attracted to them, but enjoyed being the bottom much more. It felt better. But I can't see myself dating or being intimate with most men. So I would leave those encounters feeling like shit, confused, and degraded. Now I am in a great relationship with a beautiful woman and she understands how I'm feeling. Sex is an important part of a relationship, but I feel like I can't uphold my end. My libido has been destroyed from anti-depressants in addition to the distress that I feel when "on top." Sex is still pleasurable, but I can't reach an orgasm and sometimes have to almost dissociate to cope with the fact that I have a penis. When I wear feminine clothing, research transitioning, do my makeup, or shop for feminine things, I get the same arousal feeling that I described when I crossdressed for the first time. It's not sexual, but I feel excited. My research shows that this is normal and it will calm down once this part of me is no longer repressed. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a pervert that gets a thrill from dressing as a woman.

I desire to start HRT and begin my social transition, but there's a lack of doctors/endocrinologists in my area and I'm waiting to keep talking with my mom about it. She seems worried that I'm going to transition. I know that there's never going to be a more convenient or better time, so part of me wants to say fuck it and just do it. It's obvious to me that these feelings aren't going away, I'm not getting any younger, and every step I take I love. If you are reading this, I hope you can understand me a bit better now.

Lots of love,

Siobhan.

#mtf trans #transgender #transisbeautiful #transitioning #trans experience #coming out #queer #transition #trans positivity #lgtbtq #lgbtq community

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slutforstabbings-archive · 1 year

Text

Clean Again

Chatper 9: SOMETHING FUCKED UP read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure to check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras! (see a mini-playlist for this chapter on tumblr here)

A fun night in ends up kinda heavy.

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter - stalking, passing ref to hard drugs, marijuana consumption, arson, assault (non-sexual), passing mentions of sex/arousal

5,152 words

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Thank fuck it’s Thursday.

You and Corey have gone three days or more apart since you started seeing each other. It’s not the length of time so much as it being intentional. It was easier to spend any number of days apart when any second you might text him or call him to ask him to come over. Knowing that text wasn’t coming made Corey fidgety. Last week he was beside himself, riding his bike for hours, on routes that just happened to pass by all the places you regularly go. I was just in the neighborhood. His route always ended at the library, loitering until they closed, checking out old cowboy movies he watched when he was little. He hoped they could distract him, keep him company when he was awake for 37 hours straight.

This week, to keep himself from sitting outside your apartment just hoping to get a glimpse of you, he called the elderly couple to see if they needed any help. Monday evening after work he rode his bike to the edge of town, following the familiar path as the paved roads gave way to dirt, scattering dogs and chickens as he roared into the yard. In the amber light of late afternoon, he deposited seeds in rows in their vegetable patch, tomatoes and sweet corn and summer squash. Tuesday evening Phil led Corey across several acres, deep into the center of the property, where he’d had to abandon his riding mower after it gave up on him that morning. As a man of a certain age and economic station, Phil knows a thing or two about a thing or two, and he ran Corey through the list of of valves and fluids he already checked before leaving him in the field to figure it out. Corey found the problem but didn’t have the part to fix it, so Wednesday evening on the way out to the farm he stopped to pick it up. Part in hand, the repair was a cinch, and he spent the rest of the evening on the porch with old lady Joanna, smoking cigarettes and listening to stories about her life.

But he finally gets to see you today. He makes record time from the garage to his apartment, then to yours. He bangs on the door with one hand, holding gifts for you in the other, a fresh bouquet and 18 eggs from Phil and Joanna’s chickens.

“Eggs?” You ask when he hands them to you.

“Fresh eggs. Free range. Laid just in the last couple days. I uh.. I know the chickens that laid them.”

You giggle at the expression. “You know the chickens? Are they close personal friends of yours?”

“No,” he says, laughing too. “I just help out on the farm where they live sometimes.”

“Well, thank you. That's really cool. I can’t wait to eat these. Send my regards to the girls,” you joke, placing them in the fridge.

The task he’s assigned himself tonight is oiling all the hinges and tightening all the knobs on your cabinet doors. Something you could easily do yourself, but he’s come to the point where he's scraping for projects, and he's more than happy to take care of it for you. He gets started while you fill an old peanut butter container with water for your flowers. They spill lazily over the wide mouth of the jar as you place it in the center of your kitchen island, a posture you mimic as you lean against the edge and watch him work.

“You do have a vase,” Corey says when he gets to the cabinet under the sink. He sets down his screwdriver and pulls something out. A glittery object that caught his eye deep in the shadows.

“I do?” You ask, confused.

He holds up a glass vessel, 10 inches tall, with a big belly bottom that tapers into a narrow tube towards the top.

“Corey!” You snort. He can tell you think he’s joking, but he doesn’t understand why. He looks at you blankly, trying to get it, and watches your face change as the realization dawns on you. “Oh! You really don’t know?”

“It’s not a vase?” He asks, turning it around in his hands. “It is weird that it has a hole in it, I guess.” He puts the tip of his pinky in the opening in the vessel’s belly.

“It’s a bong, Corey. A water pipe. For smoking. It’s just missing a couple pieces.”

“Don’t you only smoke cigarettes sometimes at bars?” Corey asks, still not fully grasping the concept.

“I don’t smoke tobacco out of it,” you say slowly.

“Oh…” he breathes, eyes widening in recognition. Corey had some inkling that there were different kinds of pipes people use for smoking weed, but he’d never seen one before now. At the parties he snuck out to in high school everyone had just smoked joints.

He’s always been curious, but when Momma was still alive he had been too worried about how she would react if she found out, her bloodhound nose easily defeating paltry pieces of gum and spritzes of cologne. Since he’s been on the run it hasn’t seemed like a good idea to seek out drugs. He's thought about it often, especially on cold nights with a stiff neck, sleeping on the floor of an abandoned house and wishing he hadn’t survived. He thought about things far more destructive than marijuana. But he’d never bought drugs before and an interaction with an undercover cop seemed like way too big of a risk.

“Do you smoke a lot?” He asks

“Not so much lately.” You shrug. “I think I still have some though.”

“Could we…? Do you have the missing pieces?”

“Yeah, if you’re sure you want to,” you say, face shifting from surprised to amused. Corey nods. “Okay. That needs to be washed because it’s been under the sink for a while.”

He turns to the sink and runs the water while you go into your bedroom. He hears you opening drawers and clinking glass objects while he washes the bong, using a sponge on the outside and a bottle brush on the inside, unsure of how thorough he should be.

“Put like, two inches of cool water in the bottom and meet me in here,” you instruct, standing in the archway with your hands full.

In the living room you’re lighting candles. On the coffee table he sees an ashtray, a little canister full of weed, two glass objects he assumes are the missing pieces, and another container.

“I didn’t realize it was so involved,” he says.

“It’s what you make it. I want you to have a good first time,” you say.

You move to your sound system. You start to put a record on the turntable but change your mind, pulling something up on your phone instead. Gentle indie music fills the room. Corey sets the bong on the coffee table and sits down on the couch while you draw the curtains and turn on a lamp. He’s excited and a little nervous.

He likes drinking well enough. His only experience being out at a bar is the Halloween party at Velkovsky’s, which ended badly, but he’d had a good time before he bumped into Mrs. Allen. Other than that he’d had a beer here and there, getting buzzed extremely quickly thanks to his practically non-existent tolerance. And there have been a couple nights with you since he started sleeping over, the two of you sitting at your dining table with a bottle of sweet white wine, getting progressively worse at Scrabble. He likes the numb feeling, everything happening without really happening. Pot can’t be that different, right?

You pop the top off the mystery container and Corey sees it’s filled with metal teeth. He watches as you break apart a little ball from the canister, a “nug” you call it, and lay it over the teeth. Your fingers work delicately but deliberately. You put the lid back on and hand it to him.

“Twist,” you say. He does as he’s told. You put one of the glass pieces in the hole in the side of the pipe, then reach out to take the grinder back. As you open it he realizes it has multiple chambers that unscrew independently, a nice design thing he appreciates. You pinch a little pile of shreds out of the chamber, dropping them into the other glass piece, which looks like a tiny goblet with a handle.

“This is the bowl,” you tell him. “To hit the bong, you gotta start with the bowl in the downstem.” You drop the bowl into the hole in the side of the bong, then pick the whole thing up with your left hand. You explain the process of lighting the bowl, inhaling, and clearing the bong.

“That sounds easy enough,” Corey says.

“It’s deceptive. It’s not like cigarettes,” you say. Then you take a hit to demonstrate. “Breathe deep, with the bottom of your lungs.” Your voice sounds dark and warped around the smoke. Then you release a huge plume toward the ceiling.

You hold the bong out to Corey and he accepts it.

“I should probably light it for you, your first time,” you say, holding up the lighter.

Corey nods his head. He closes his eyes and tries to empty his lungs completely. Then he leans down to put his lips on the bong, looking up at you through his eyelashes as you flick the lighter. Everything goes well until he pulls the bowl to clear the pipe. He panics immediately, coughing and putting the bong on the table still filled with swirling smoke. He coughs so hard tears come to his eyes. You look at him with a combination of pity and mirth.

“What the fuck!?” He chokes, wiping his eyes.

“It’s deceptive!” You say, suppressing a laugh. “Are you okay?”

He looks at you with a dark expression, embarrassed and slightly betrayed.

“Poor baby,” you pout.

Poor Baby. His breath hitches. Even hearing it sarcastically, the pet name strikes him hard. Twice as hard as the other week when you called him sir. Since he’s been in the south the occasional old lady has called him some term of endearment in a grandmotherly way. It always flusters him, the way these women so casually dole out maternal affection, something his own mother wielded like a weapon. But no one has ever, ever called him baby like that. He’s grateful that the coughing fit gives him an excuse for being so red.

“There is a way that might be easier,” you coo. “You can get it second hand.”

Corey clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know what you mean, but you seem to want him to guess. You sit there patiently.

“Show me,” he finally says.

Grabbing the pipe from the coffee table, you take a much bigger hit than before. He’s astounded at the apparent capacity of your lungs. You hold it in as you lean closer to him. When the tips of your noses almost touch you say one word in your growly smoke-filtered voice.

“Inhale.”

Then you blow the smoke into his face in a long, even stream.

Corey inhales and fills his lungs, breathing to the bottom like you told him to. He closes his eyes and hears you taking another massive hit as he exhales. You lean back into him, so close that your lips brush his on the second syllable.

“Inhale.”

Corey parts his lips and you breathe into his mouth. You keep your face close to his as he exhales. Then you kiss him, once, twice before pulling away.

“How do you feel?”

“Uh…” He feels very flustered but he doesn’t think it has much to do with the weed. “Normal?”

“Give it a couple minutes,” you say, nodding. Then, sort of suddenly, “There’s so much you haven’t done, isn’t there?”

Ostensibly it’s a question, but you know Corey well enough to know it’s a statement of fact. Of course there’s a lot he has done, things that most people never will. Most people will never look evil in the eye. Most people will never commit a murder, on accident or on purpose, much less 10 of them. Most people will never meet a beautiful girl while they live in hiding, waiting every day for the other shoe to drop. But none of it’s the kind of thing you can put on your resume. He's painfully aware of how sheltered he was for most of his life.

“You’re a strange man, Corey Carpenter,” you say. The sound of his fake name from your lips stings, but your tone soothes him. The way you say you’re strange, it might as well mean I love you.

Corey swallows hard. His mouth is dry and his tongue feels huge. Why is his mouth so dry? His lips stick together. “Can I have something to drink?” He asks hoarsely.

“Cotton mouth huh?” You say, patting his knee. “It’s working.”

You go into the kitchen and Corey hears you making two glasses of water. It seems like you’re gone forever, like each second lasts a year, like the world is in slo-mo. His heart rages against his ribcage. His head feels like a helium balloon, floating up and bumping against the tall historic ceilings, so far away even the string is out of reach. He thinks about calling your name, and feels like it takes several business days for his mouth to actually follow through.

You pad in from the kitchen with the waters. You’ve been gone for 90 seconds. He calls your name just as you come into view, and he feels like he’s done a magic trick.

“How do you feel?” You ask again, handing him his glass.

“Weird,” he says.

“Good weird, or bad weird?”

“I can’t tell.” He looks at you for guidance. “I think I can feel my skin more than usual.”

“Congratulations!” You exclaim. “You’re stoned!”

You sit down behind him on the couch. He tries to turn to face you, but you grab him by the shoulders and turn him back around. You gently scratch his back with both hands.

“How does that feel?”

He doesn’t respond verbally, he’s too absorbed in the sensations. He writhes around, trying to get whatever park of his back is currently under your nails closer to you. When you move one hand up his neck to his scalp, he leans so far into your touch that he falls backwards against you. You bring your face down to his, keeping your hand in his hair. You look into his half lidded eyes.

“This is cool,” he says, and giggles. His nerves are electrified, your nails on his scalp sending tingles radiating through his whole body. He looks down to check because he could swear he’s hovering six inches above the couch. He feels so immaterial that he’s surprised he doesn’t phase right through you. “I’m a ghost,” he whispers.

You cackle. “You’re a ghost, Corey?”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing too. He tries to fight off a full blown laughing fit. What’s even so funny? He’s not sure. His thoughts feel like they have to swim to get to him. If he doesn’t focus hard enough, they drift away. He sits up and turns to face you.

“What do you feel like you want to do? Is the music okay? Do you need anything?” You ask.

He considers. He had forgotten all about the music until you mentioned it, but now he’s falling into it, absorbed in waves by the guitar riffs. He picks up his glass and only means to take a sip, but finds himself chugging. He looks around the apartment, glowing warm from the lamp and the candles, and he looks at your face, soft and dreamlike in the light. He can feel himself grinning stupidly, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face. Your questions swim hard to get to him.

“The music… feels nice. Like I’m inside it,” he says.

“I love that feeling! But if you really wanna feel inside it, you need something fuzzier than this,” you say, scrolling through your playlists.

“Fuzzy?” He asks. You put a finger up. Hold on a second.

A new song starts playing. It is instantly cacophonous. It sounds like it was made by bees. It is fuzzy, that’s the perfect word for it. It feels like it’s massaging his brain. Even the singer’s voice is raspy and more like an instrument. He can’t understand the lyrics at all, but the vocals evoke a strong feeling anyway. The sound wraps around him like a warm blanket.

You grab the remote and turn the music up a little bit, swaying along serenely. Corey feels hypnotized watching you, your movements like a pendulum swinging in front of his eyes. You are so gorgeous, and you look so happy. He impulsively reaches out to touch your face. You nuzzle into his hand, and he feels like his heart stops beating.

He wishes the moment could last forever, but a new song comes on and it’s much faster than the last one. You spring off the couch and throw yourself around the living room, dancing with abandon.

Corey hasn’t danced in over a year, not since the Halloween party. He has not so much as tapped his foot, even with all the new music he’s enjoyed at your suggestion. Every time he wants to do something with you he did with Allyson he feels hesitant. He’s still avoided giving you a ride on his bike, and he hasn’t met anyone else in your life, although he suspects he can’t hold off on meeting Veronica much longer. But he feels so warm and tingly right now, and you’re having so much fun. He jumps up and joins you.

The two of you circle each other like sharks. You lunge forward and grab his hands, pulling him close to you, then pushing him away. He lets you swing him all around the living room. You spin under his arm and then into it so your back is pressed against him with his arm around your waist. You and Corey bounce and sway as a unit, sensing and anticipating each other’s movements. He feels you give into your impulse to grind on him and it makes his knees weak. The way you wiggle your hips back against him is torturous. A pained little noise escapes despite his efforts to stay quiet as he wills himself not to get hard. It’s a losing battle. Oh my god. He’s not sure if he thinks it or says it, but you press against him one more time, harder and slower, before spinning back out of his arm.

He’s not gonna let you get away that easily, using his hold on your hand to pull you back to him, and wrapping his other arm around your waist. Your giggle comes out like a squeal. You look up at him with wide, starry eyes. Another new song begins. He’s not sure why, but Corey feels like it’s the kind of song that would play at prom. He didn’t go to his prom, he didn’t go to any school dances. Momma never would’ve allowed it, so he just didn’t ask. Slow dancing is pretty intuitive though. He keeps you clasped against him tightly as the two of you rotate slowly in the candle light.

You sigh contentedly into his shoulder and press your hips against him. Every sensation feels amplified, and the softness of your belly against him through his jeans is insane. He puts his face in your hair and grinds against you, reveling in your smell as his breathing gets heavier. Nothing exists except you and the music. He wants to be inside you. With his cock, yes, as deep as he can get it, but also with his soul. He doesn’t have much, but he would give you everything. He wants to say I love you despite knowing it’s too soon. It would be okay if you didn’t say it back, if you just needed time. But he wouldn’t be able to take it if it scared you away, so he keeps quiet.

“Corey,” you say, ending his trance. “Tell me something fucked up about you.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, suddenly nervous.

“I don’t know. Something that follows you from your childhood, or… Something you think about a lot even though you know you shouldn’t. Something you hesitate to tell people, or that you’ve never told anyone.” You pull away slightly and meet his eyes, searching.

“Oh, I…” he starts then trails off. He looks away. What is he supposed to say to that? There’s no shortage of fucked up things about him, no end to the things he hesitates to tell people.

“You’re safe with me, Corey,” you coax him.

He knows you think you mean it, that you would accept him for a petty criminal record, a weird kink, an ugly divorce. Even if he told you his whole life story, he believes that you would hold his hand, right up until… Well, he’s not sure where the boundary is. Jeremy? The homeless man? Luring Doug to Michael, the first time he ended a life completely intentionally?

Not knowing the boundary isn’t as scary as the questions. He might say something well within the safe zone, but anything he says at all could lead you to ask questions. Questions the internet would happily supply the answers to even if Corey didn't. Questions with answers that would bring you well outside your limits, wherever they are. Finding out just who exactly has been sleeping in your bed would certainly mean the end of the relationship, and probably the end of Corey’s life too.

He looks back to you and then, up through the fog, he thinks of something he can tell you. A story that stands on its own, a story that you can’t google.

“When I was twelve,” he starts, “I found a lighter in the seat on the school bus.” The events play like a movie in his head, and he’s transported back to an autumn when he had just a tiny bit of freedom. Momma had burned all the bridges at her old job and her new one wouldn’t give her her preferred schedule yet. She hated when Corey would be home alone for any amount of time after school. But being a single mom trying to keep food on the table meant that for a few months she didn’t have the option of getting off in time to be home when he got there, temporarily granting him the luxury of being a latchkey kid.

“I put it in my backpack and kept it on me all day at school. I just kept thinking about it, like I could feel it in there, waiting. When I got home I knew I had a couple of hours alone. I spent it burning stuff. Pieces of cardboard from the garbage or whatever. I thought it was so cool how the fire could just… completely erase things. I wanted to watch something bigger disappear.

“My neighbors across the street had a car up on blocks. It didn’t have an engine. It had been sitting there for as long as I could remember. One of the windows was rolled down, or maybe just missing, so it was full of trash and leaves. I waited til nobody was looking and I lit a piece of cardboard and dropped it in. Then I ran home and watched it from my bedroom window.

“It was awesome. All the shit inside caught so fast, then the seats, then the frame. You wouldn’t think metal would turn to ash and float away, but it does. Cars are paper thin. I cut through them with a torch at work all the time.

“The fire got really fucking big. A lot bigger than I expected. I thought when the car burnt out, the fire would disappear, like it did with a cereal box. But the grass was super dry. It spread across the yard and caught my neighbor’s garage. I ... I didn’t call 911 because I was scared they would know it was me. Eventually someone else called, but the garage was gone by the time the fire department came.”

Corey basks in the rapt look in your eyes as he tells his story, still holding you close and swaying slightly. It feels so good to just be honest with you about something. Not to have to tiptoe around his secret. He can’t believe the way you eat it up.

“Then what?” You ask, awed.

“I don’t know. They never found out it was me.”

“Holy shit. You could’ve burned down the whole neighborhood, you little arsonist!” You poke him in the chest and laugh. "I should've known you were a firebug, Mr. Lights His Cigs with Matches."

“Guilty,” Corey says. Guiltier than you know. “What about you? Are you gonna tell me something fucked up about you?”

You pull out of his arms slightly, not to get away, but to bring him with you to the couch. He sits down with you, one arm still around your waist. You hit the bong. As you exhale you gesture to offer him more, but he’s still plenty stoned and he wants to focus on whatever you’re about to say.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story,” you say.

Corey is confused until he realizes you’re presenting your arm to him. The Carrie tattoo. He runs his fingers over it. With his sense heightened, he feels like he can read it like braille. He thinks back to the night the two of you watched Carrie. How you had unknowingly validated him. How he hoped you could find a way to feel your feelings about Carrie, about him.

“There was this guy. He used to be hot shit in the music scene here. I think at one point he was in… four different bands? I knew we had all these mutual friends, and I saw him around all the time. I mean, he was almost impossible to avoid. And he was cute, and he was talented. I thought that maybe he and I could really be something. But we just didn’t click like I hoped we would. Not like I click with you.

“I kept going on dates with him, even though I wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to feel it, or … I don’t know. It makes less sense the longer ago it happened. I guess he never picked up on the fact that I was pulling away. He was gone on tour a lot and I kinda hoped he would just get distracted and forget about me. But he didn’t. Even after I spelled it out for him, he still acted like we were together. I had to start avoiding shows his bands played, certain bars I knew he liked. I would still see him everywhere though. He would put his arm around me, try to make plans with me, whatever. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer, for months. It was so bad Veronica would physically get in between us so he would leave me alone.”

Corey clenches his jaw. He remembers the way Doug disrespected Allyson in front of him. Doug had treated Corey like shit too, threatening him when he arrived on the scene after the accident with Jeremy, making Corey’s handcuffs too tight. He deserved what he got just for that. But the thing Corey really couldn’t take was the way Doug pretended to be interested in Allyson, to care for her, while making her visibly uncomfortable. The way Doug acted like he owned her, like she owed him something, like she was too stupid to make her own choices. That was why Doug had to die. And as you talk, Corey silently promises that if he ever sees the guy from this story, he’ll have to die too.

“So on Halloween we did a bar crawl, everybody from work. And we all dressed up like Stephen King characters. I was Carrie and Veronica was Wendy from The Shining. Have you ever seen it?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, Veronica was a character that carries around a baseball bat for part of the film. And she went to the bathroom and she had me hold her bat.” You pause, making a sour face.

“Oh my god… I just realized. He must have seen that I was with people and waited. I thought the timing was a coincidence, but maybe it wasn’t. He was shit-faced, but I guess he wasn’t too far gone to realize he could only get near me when she and Rose left. That fucking asshole!

“Anyway, Veronica went to the bathroom and he came up behind me and put his hand on my stomach and tried to dance with me. And I just got so fucking angry… I broke his nose and three fingers.”

“You beat him with the bat?” Corey asks, trying not to sound too excited. You look at him with narrowed eyes, like you’re trying to figure something out. He looks down, not wanting to give himself away.

“I didn’t beat him, exactly. When he put his hand on me I just kinda…” You grab the three middle fingers on one of Corey’s hands. He looks back up, meeting your eyes, and holds his breath. You bend his fingers sideways, gently but firmly. First it’s a nice stretch, then it hurts. He doesn’t react. He trusts you not to actually break his fingers, but he almost feels like he would let you if you wanted to. You hold his fingers at that unnatural angle for a long moment. Then you let go.

“Like that. But harder, and faster. I didn’t think they would break so easy or that it would fuck up his tendons and stuff, but I was tipsy and full of adrenaline and I just… Did it. And then I hit him in the face with the bat, once. Once was enough.

“I was dressed like Carrie, and it felt kind of supernatural the way my instincts just took over so I could defend myself. I didn’t know I had that in me. I got the tattoo so I would never forget.”

Corey is completely smitten. He takes your hands, pressing his palms into yours, knowing you’ve both felt the vibration of someone else’s bones breaking. His impression of you as a huntress was more correct than he could’ve ever hoped. You’re genuinely dangerous.

His desire to say I love you floods back to him, but he bites his tongue. He has to figure out the perfect way to tell you.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #mine #fan fic

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sailorblossoms · 1 year

Text

I’ve thought about this as if I was planning it to write a fanfic, but I’m not going to, so I might as well share it here.

I’ve been pretty firm on my “no way they did that shit more than once” regarding Simon and Agatha having sex whenever I talk about it (after all, the books mention it like it’s more of a concept: it’s not “it was always just going through the motions” it’s simply “it was just going through the motions”, it doesn’t ever give you quantity) (arguments of them doing it multiple times make me feel a bit insane – how would that even work with two teens with no attraction at all and with barely any time to be alone together? When time alone together would have taken work?) (Ideas of Simon specifically being the one asking for it while Agatha has to bear it and do it like a favor can’t possibly be rooted in anything the actual books say.) But I guess I can be convinced that they could have tried twice, maybe 3 times at most just to see if things going wrong was just “first-time nerves” and if it would improve... I can envision two scenarios:

Simon's reaction to "Does Wellbelove [appreciate a job well done]?" as if this was a sore spot already makes me suspect "performance issues" ... (also, the way Simon's magic worked implies he can't get worked up, ever – had he wanted or "enjoyed" it in any way, we would have heard about this being a problem in some way, and it would have prevented them from going far anyway because his magic actually hurts Agatha)

1. Who’s to say they could actually get to penetration without issue. Maybe Agatha's discomfort and pain were too much, so it stopped at when they were still attempting it. A following attempt* (attempt at "making it work" – we know it never did) would be about trying to “succeed” at penetration.

2. In any scenario, I don’t think it was pleasurable or good for either party (hence "not working"). Agatha’s wording evokes discomfort and responsibility (perhaps even duty). Before Baz, Simon shows he can only understand pleasure by using food, shows he doesn’t understand the point of sex, and part of why he struggles with it is because he has no experience feeling. Supposing they could fully get to penetration in the first attempt, I don’t think it got to any form of release (if it did, negative orgasms that can result from “going through the motions” don’t feel good; they can even feel painful) (this would also apply to scenario 1, supposing they "succeed" at penetration in a second attempt etc). At any rate, I think it’s likely Simon struggled with keeping an erection (arousal non concordance explains how he could even get it in the first place, despite not being into it; the body responds to touch even if the mind would rather be somewhere else) maybe going flaccid even while inside. This is something that could be brushed off as “just nerves” or as something that can just happen during first times (it can) (not being into it can already result in this, added pressure and stress can make this outcome even more likely) (the last two apply even among heterosexual people who are really into the person they’re with). Either way, a following attempt would add more nerves and pressure after a bad precedent (also pretty effective to kill an erection) so it would be harder to get further or to “improve” the previous attempt. Simon mentioning the UTI when Baz is trying to get away could be an association that goes back to Agatha using it to end “the encounter” and avoid cuddling or whatever afterward (i remember someone noting this too, but to say it stayed with Simon because it happened a lot and to that I say… that kind of shit doesn’t need to happen more than once to stay, especially if it’s happening when they’re attempting something new and it doesn't go well).

The thing with them is that they would not be willing to work through this. They would not have the drive, passion, or motivation. Their relationship wasn’t like that anyway; they were all about brushing it aside, about not wanting to talk about the hard parts. You can see that with Simon’s reaction, whenever Agatha tries to talk about what happened with Baz (nothing happened) (one could argue this is not at all about Agatha wanting to “work through” shit, but perhaps wanting to alleviate potential guilt she might have felt… no, she didn’t cheat, but wasn’t part of her contemplating it when she followed Baz, hoping for a kiss when she was trying to find a spark? Herself?).

You can see through lines like “candle in the wind” how pressure would have led to this, because “everyone else is doing it” and maybe even talking about “how great it is” (and how Simon might have been in a position to consider needing “help” but being uninterested in it – he's not interested in making it work with her, not really...). In “we were together for a long time” as an explanation, meaning it only happened after they have already been together for a long time (otherwise how long they have been together wouldn’t be relevant, if it was happening a couple of months into the relationship for instance). In Agatha indicating, in context, something that could be (besides curiosity) a distraction or a way to delay doing more (counting every mole) (she’s describing physical closeness to Simon in a very unappealing way in this scene) while at the same time, Simon’s reaction is to cover the very thing that's making Agatha remember, to adopt a posture where he’s closing himself off, where he’s “protecting himself”, where he’s indicating he doesn’t want her to see him, all in the context of a clinical setting when Simon is in distress. Also: Simon not wanting to be left alone with her then, etc etc. (There’s more on Simon’s part, but all this already paints quite the picture, perfectly explaining why they would behave like they’ve never done shit. Why Simon thinks and behaves like he has never done this before) (In a lot of ways, he hasn't, but that's another conversation)

#simon snow #simon snow trilogy #agatha wellbelove #carry on #awtwb

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