#yellow one piece bathing suit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 4 months

Text

Crawl Home To Her

Ship: Astarion x fem!Tav/reader

Summary: As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Word Count: 5,461 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+) blood, gore, nudity, sexual & non-sexual touching, bathing each other, soft Astarion, established relationship, brief mention of past sexual encounter, dealing with past trauma, teasing from Karlach, mention of dismemberment, fluff & smut mix

18+ Warnings: brief fingering (f receiving), tiny bit of a hair kink, sensual touching, semi-public sex/nudity

Note: Part 2 of Burns Like Rum is coming soon! But here's a little something to tithe you over until the sequel (Sweet Like Rum) is ready!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Shafts of pale sunlight fell on your face as you walked through the forest, your arms swinging at your sides, small critters running amok in the bushes around you. Birdsong filled your ears, pleasantly light and summery, reminding you distantly of a childhood memory you couldn't quite reach. The weather was warm enough that you were thinking you might have to change into something lighter. The few weapons you had on you were already starting to make you break out into a sweat.

For a day that had started with murder, the weather was surprisingly nice.

You hummed as you walked—the song pulled from your childhood, the words long forgotten but pieces of the melody clunking around in your head. You strung them together the best you could, tapping out a rhythm against your leg.

You were on your way to the waterfall you'd spotted several days ago while hunting. It was small and nothing too violent. The pool it fell into wasn't deep enough to drown you, nor was the flow of water all that fast. You trusted it—and the rock ledge behind it—would suit your purposes quite nicely.

Coming upon the pool was like stepping into one of the fairytales you had heard in your youth, sitting upon your father's knee in a tavern, listening to a traveller tell a story you weren't sure was entirely true.

It was guarded by willow trees with branches that swayed in a breeze you hadn't felt until you came upon them. Pushing the curtain of branches away revealed an almost perfectly circular clearing, the ground covered in vibrant green moss that squished delightfully beneath your feet and sprung back up when you stepped off of it. Patches of flowers sprouted all around, pink and yellow and purple blooms that grew up to the sun. The pool was as blue as the sky above, clear and shallow, surrounded by a few feet of soft white sand. The water shimmered in the sunlight, rippling over the pebbles that covered its floor. From the pool, the water flowed into a thin river that could hardly be called a river and out into the woods.

You sat by the pool's edge and pulled off your boots. They were just as bloody as the rest of you, the sticky and quickly drying substance staining the black leather. You splashed water over them and scrubbed with a cloth you had designated for this purpose that had once been grey.

Only after your boots were clean did you stand back up and step into the soft sand. You wiggled your toes, smiling at the feeling. You breathed in the crisp, sweet air. It smelled faintly of flowers and citrus, a scent that was familiar, though you couldn't place it.

You stripped slowly, hissing and wincing as you tugged at the places where blood had stuck the fabric to your skin. It acted like glue when dry, staining your skin and leaving a mottled pattern across your flesh. The fabric of your shirt had grown stiff with semi-dried blood.

One by one, you pulled off belts and straps holding weapons, the gloves you protected your hands with, your shirt, your trousers—until you were standing naked at the pool's edge. You gave yourself a cursory inspection, searching for any wounds you had acquired in the fighting this morning that you hadn't noticed; it wouldn't be the first time you'd walked away from a fight and realized you were injured only hours later. But, this time, there was nothing.

Usually it was Astarion who noticed you were injured, catching your smell in the air when it shouldn't have been. But you were drenched in so much blood already that you imagined it would have been very hard to pick out your distinct scent.

You waded into the pool, taking your clothes with you, and sat at it's deepest point. Standing, it reached your knees; sitting, it almost came to your shoulders. You scrubbed the blood from your clothes, using the soap you had brought with you.

You watched the blood and soap swirl together in the water and flow toward the river, a thin stream of red and bubbles slipping away from the crimson cloud surrounding you. You almost felt bad to ruin the clarity of the water, but the others—back at camp—were taking far too long to wash the blood from themselves with your limited store of water. This was better, in the long run.

Astarion would have a field day with this if this wasn't goblin blood, you thought to yourself, staring at the blood drifting just below the surface. He would drink it, from time to time, but never happily.

You scrubbed at your clothes until your fingers were stiff and sore and the blood was no longer coming out of the fabric. You inspected them and deemed them clean enough to put back on the moss, spread out so they would dry faster.

To clean yourself, you headed toward the waterfall. You climbed up onto the stone ledge behind it, reveling in the surprisingly gentle spray of water that reached you and the stillness of the water that it fell into, high enough to reach your knees.

You stepped under the water. It cascaded over you, dousing you in its coolness that reminded you of the first time Astarion had ever touched you—

—gentle hands, cascading down your sides—fingers lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze—a kiss to your forehead—a hand on the small of your back—his lips on your own, warmer than you had anticipated—his fingers in your hair, keeping your head off the ground—his hand slipping between your legs—his little giggle when you shuddered beneath him—the pleasured sigh from his lips as he slid inside of you—

Stepping out from underneath the water, you shook your head, banishing the memory. You had spoken recently about all of this. He'd told you, "I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex." He'd said, "I don't want to be just a body for you, darling." And though he'd teased you that you were more than welcome to "sustain yourself" (his words) with your memories of him while he took time away from intimacy, some part of you still felt like you violating his wishes any time it was his body that you thought of, rather than of, well, just him.

You wiped the water from your eyes and knew your tears had mixed in with it; Astarion had been very vulnerable with you, so you knew his reasons for it all. You had two responses: either unbearable sorrow that he had been forced to endure it all (which the current cause of the crushing weight in your chest), or blinding rage that birthed the desire to see Cazador's head on a spear.

You carded your hands through your wet hair, trying to work out the tangles. Your fingers came away covered in watery blood.

"Mind if I join you?"

You jumped, eyes flying open, and looked up. Leaning against the stone wall was the vampire himself, a gentle smile on his face. Gods, how you loved that smile. In this light, you couldn't tell his eyes were red and his fangs were hidden. If you didn't pay attention to how pale he was, you could imagine he was just an elf again—the life he deserved.

Astarion still wore his clothes, which were slowly darkening as they soaked up the spray of water and splattered with as much blood as his handsome face, but his boots were placed neatly next to yours on the moss. He'd cleaned them already; how had you not heard him before?

While he waited for your answer, aware of your admiring gaze on him, he pulled his shirt off over his head, mussing the curls you loved so much. He stripped quickly, nearly falling over when his trouser leg caught on his foot, and left his clothes in a pile on the rock ledge. Perhaps you were imagining things, but his skin looked paler than it had this morning, when you'd been rudely awoken by a horde of goblins invading your camp.

You held your arms open to him. "I'd like that very much."

He stepped into your arms, wrapped his own around your waist, and buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. "My love," he whispered, his lips against your skin. He kissed your neck softly and pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "I'm okay."

"No injuries this time?" Astarion's eyes slid down your naked body, examining, his gaze concerned when it had once been sensual. You felt yourself relax in his arms, at ease with his concern. It felt real, honest in a way you hadn't had a chance to be yet. It was natural, somehow, to be checking each other for injuries in the time you finally caught together, away from the others.

"Not this time," you said, leaning into him. More watery blood dripped from your hair and across his chest, leaving streaks that made it look like he'd just returned from a rather messy feeding.

He kissed the top of your wet head. "Good." He leaned away to smile at you. "I was worried you'd run off to take care of your injuries by yourself, if only to keep me from smelling the blood."

You shook your head. "If only we'd been attacked by something you could drink from, satisfy your hunger for a few days." He smiled weakly and you knew the thought had been on his mind, too. "What about you? Are you okay?"

He spread his arms and did a little twirl for you. You giggled at his antics, glancing over his skin, pleased he was comfortable enough to even be naked with you. "Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me."

The two of you looked at each other, your hair already damp and clinging to your head, and his curls slowly being matted down by the thick mist of the waterfall. His ears poked out, more noticeable than normal.

Astarion bent and picked up your bar of soap. "May I help you wash off all this grime?"

"Please," you said, your voice soft but as loving as you could make it, your eyes fixed firmly on his.

He lathered his hands with soap and scrubbed gently at your skin. His nails, kept trimmed and neat, were hardly more than a light sensation as he worked at the dried blood until it crumbled away from your skin and ran down your body in red rivulets. His touch was soft, caring where it had once been lustful and groping. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his fingers digging into your tired muscles, and held him. You adjusted your hold on him as he moved across your body—an arm draped across his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, your fingers against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, blinking quickly to keep the water out of your eyes. His gaze remained fixated on your hips as he gently washed off the blood, but he smiled, aware of your stare.

"See something you like?" he asked, tone playful.

"Someone I love," you corrected. He looked up at you, a tender smile growing on his lips. "Someone I love dearly." You leaned close, cupped one side of his face, and kissed the other. "I love you, Astarion."

He kissed your cheek, too. "And I love you." His lips found yours. He kissed you with a sweetness that simultaneously broke your heart and mended it. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hummed happily into your mouth and cradled the back of your neck.

The pair of you fell into a tight embrace. You felt the adrenaline drain from you and leave you limp in his arms, your hot skin going cold under the water. Despite how suddenly you must have slumped against him, Astarion held you with ease. He gave the crown of your head a quick kiss, then made an unpleasant sound of surprise from the back of his throat.

"Darling, do you mind if I wash your hair? There's an awful lot of goblin blood in it."

You forced yourself to stand up straight on your own, still holding his sides for support. "Oh, yes—that would be from Karlach throwing one she'd just chopped into over my head." Even as you said the words, you felt the blood splattering into your hair again and shuddered.

Astarion grimaced. "Let me help you with it, then." He lathered his hands and put them in your hair. As he fell into a rhythm, you closed your eyes and let him doing the work, your thoughts drifting...

At first, you weren't sure why you had even woken in the first place. The light coming in through a crack in the tent's opening was still the watery and grey color of pre-dawn, much earlier than you usually woke. You frowned and pushed back into Astarion, his arm squeezing you tighter, sleep once again tugging at your eyelids.

And then you heard a shout, vicious and loud. It was close to camp, maybe even in camp. The shout came again and you realized it was Lae'zel's war cry.

All at once, the sounds of a battle filled your ears. You jerked awake in an instant, clambering onto your knees and shaking Astarion awake next to you. Of course the one day Astarion decided to indulge in the very human activity of sleep was the day you and your friends were attacked.

"What's going on?" he mumbled as his eyes flickered open, his words slurred together.

"Come on, grab your knives," you said, pulling your lightest set of armor on over your clothes. You were suddenly very relieved Astarion had decided skin to skin contact was a bit too much for him last night. "I think we're under attack."

He woke just as quickly as you had. He swore, dragged a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his knives. He waited until you had your own weapon in hand before he opened the curtain flap of his tent.

The camp was a sight to behold. Already it was trashed and overflowing with goblins. Some were already on the ground, their blood oozing everywhere in the dirt and grass. Gashes from Lae'zel's sword seeped blood and gristle, if she hadn't horribly disfigured the corpses and turned them into little more than lumps of flesh. Many of them bore scorch marks that ranged from minor burns to melting flesh. It smelled horrendous and nearly acidic; you bit back the bile in your throat.

A dismembered arm fell at your foot. You kicked it away on instinct, looking up to see Karlach ripping a second goblin limb from limb.

"Now that's just vile," Astarion said, still looking at the arm, a fang poking out over his curled lip.

"Complain about it later," you said, grabbing his chin and giving him a quick and customary 'good morning' kiss. "We've got to help the others."

"If you insist."

Astarion ran to Karlach's side; you headed for Shadowheart and Gale. Wyll was approaching, too, cutting a path through the goblins.

"Morning, you two!" you said cheerily. "How'd this happen?"

"We're not sure," Shadowheart said, kicking a goblin in the face as it ran at her with a scream. "Lae'zel said they came from the north, just over those hills."

"Odd. I wonder if we camped too close to them for their liking, and now they're trying to do something about it. Are goblins territorial creatures?"

Gale grunted, casting another fireball. "Enough chatting. Let's just kill these things and figure out where they came from and why later. Got it?"

"Fair enough," you decided. "Whoever kills the most chooses dinner for a week."

"I'll take you up on that," Wyll said from behind you. "I'm dreaming of a good meal for once."

Astarion's hands sliding out of your hair abruptly brought you back to reality, to his body pressed against yours and the waterfall at your back, shielding the two of you from the world.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, voice soft. You could feel his fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling it on his fingers.

"Back to the fight," you admitted. "I just keep wondering how they snuck up on us."

"No matter now," he said. "We'll let Lae'zel criticize us all for not anticipating every possible disaster when we get back, but not yet. Not here."

He went back to massaging your scalp, despite the blood being long gone, and your sighed happily. He smiled and kissed your forehead, adding pressure. A content whimper slipped from your lips and you blushed instantly as his eyes lit up; he'd heard far more obscene from you, yet still the slightest sounds you made embarrassed you and delighted him.

"My, my, the noises you make for me, lover," he teased, giggling. He wrapped his hand in your hair and tugged, hard enough to draw a loud moan out of your chest.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes playfully wide. "Shhh, unless you want the others to come looking. We're not that far away from camp."

Heat rushed through your body. "Oh, gods, Astarion, I'm— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— And I certainly didn't expect it to be that...that loud—! I..."

He swallowed your frantic apologies with a kiss. Against your lips, he whispered, "If you can keep quiet, though...I can grant you all the pleasure you want. You need only ask, darling."

Your heart skipped several beats in your chest. You put your hand up to his face. "Oh, I don't... Star, I don't need you to, I wouldn't want you to...feel obligated." He pulled his forehead away from yours to see your face. "We agreed not to do anything until you're ready. And that wasn't that long ago, so... I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

Astarion cupped your chin with his hand, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. The words died in your throat. He met your gaze, his crimson eyes open and honest, and said, "Your pleasure is a gift. Even if I don't want to be touched yet, that's not stopping me from touching you. Only you can stop me from touching you."

"Star..."

He pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, suddenly too aware of the raised scar you felt against your arms. "I trust you. Wholeheartedly. I trust you to...to respect my boundaries. To check in with me. To see when I'm uncomfortable. You've already done it, again and again, and proved that you're worthy of that trust. And do I look uncomfortable now?"

You studied him. His pupils were blown. His eyes told a story of contentment. The tenseness you had once noticed laying deep and dormant in his muscles was gone. He looked at you with a fondness you realized now was a profound trust and he stood utterly relaxed in your arms.

So you answered him honestly. "No."

"Exactly, darling. I'm not uncomfortable. I want to do this for you, if that's what you also want. I feel...safe with you. I've never felt like this around anyone before," he admitted, a bit of sadness creeping onto his face, "and I don't want to ruin it. I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try to do right by you. So if you want me..." He placed his hand low on your abdomen. Your stomach did flips. He put his lips against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, darling, because I certainly want you. All I ask is that you not touch me, not just yet."

You whimpered. "Please, Star. I promise not to touch you, I promise. But please touch me."

"That's my girl," he whispered. "Spread your legs for me, no need to be so nervous."

You readjusted your stance, widening the space between your previously clenched thighs. His hand filled the gap, cupping you gently. You sighed, leaning your head against his chest again, looking down to watch his ministrations.

Astarion pressed his palm to your clit. You watched his wrist move as he slid his fingers along your slit, teasing you and never quite touching you where you needed him. You whimpered as his fingertip lightly ghosted your entrance, just barely dipping inside before he moved his hand back up, his fingers toying with your clit.

"That's it," he whispered in your ear. "Make those quiet, pretty sounds for me. Show me how you feel."

You rocked your hips against his hand. "Astarion, please..."

He kissed your temple. "Feeling good?"

Your broken moan was your answer. He chuckled, sliding his hand up your side, taking your breast in the palm of his hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and buck your hips against him. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently.

"More," you whispered. "Please. I need...I need you."

"Alright, darling, alright," he said against your skin. He rubbed your entrance for another moment, then slid his finger inside you. You clenched down on him as you sighed your pleasure. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing away at your walls, and you gasped loudly.

Astarion grinned. "Make those noises. Moan for me. I want you to show me how good this feels, show me you want me." You gripped tightly onto him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip. Your breaths grew heavy and your whimpers louder. "Yes, that's it! Be loud for me, my sweet, the loudest you've ever—"

A branch cracked in the forest. A voice called out your name, then Astarion's. You jumped a mile and Astarion's finger slipped out of you. You stared at each other with wide eyes.

"D...did you hear that?" you asked. "Or am I hearing things?"

As if an answer, the voice—Gale's—shouted again, "I know you're over here, I can see your boots!"

"Shit," Astarion sighed. He craned his head to peer around the curtain of water. "What the hells do you want?"

"Is she with you?" Gale asked. "Shadowheart sent me to find you both, the rest of us have all finished washing up! There's water left for you."

"That's what we're trying to do, Gale!" you called, reaching an arm through the waterfall and waving at him. "Use the water for something else, we'll make do here."

He harrumphed. "If I had known this was just a few minutes away from camp, I would have come to wash up here ages ago."

You and Astarion exchanged a look. So much for a secret getaway spot.

"Be back soon, or Karlach will start worrying," Gale said, in the tone of a chiding parent. "And no funny business!"

"Oh, shut up!" Astarion shouted, the tips of his ears turning a deep pink. He ducked behind the water again and holding you close. You barely held back your giggles while the two of you listened for Gale to walk away. One slipped out and Astarion hurriedly covered your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm and he pulled it away quickly. "You weirdo!"

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his chest. "Yes, but I'm your weirdo. You love me anyway."

Astarion pushed a strand of your wet hair behind your ear. "I love you anyway," he admitted, with a fondness that turned you into mush in his arms. He held you close for several moments, then asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

You thought about it, then shook your head. "Not just now. I suspect Karlach will be on her way to investigate the waterfall I didn't have the decency tell anyone about very soon."

"Very well," he said. "I'll finish you off later in my tent, then. As long as you can keep quiet for me, darling." He gave you that charming smile that made your stomach do flips.

"I thought you liked me loud," you teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, playful and flirtation in such a comfortable way that it warmed your heart more than any of his touches ever could, delightful as they were. "Only when I have you all to myself, lover." He nipped at your neck, his fangs scratching but not breaking your skin. "Your moans are mine."

You stood together like that for several more moments, his hands on your hips and your arms looped around his neck, your foreheads pressed together. You exchanged dainty kisses, basking in each other in the few minutes left you had alone.

At last, you planted one firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Let me clean you off," you said. "Though you're going to have to crouch for me to get your hair." Most of the blood and grime had been washed away by the waterfall's spray, but his silver hair was still speckled with it all, and you could taste it on his lips—sour and gritty. No wonder he only drank from goblins as a last resort.

Astarion bent his head down, pressing his forehead into your shoulder and holding you by the waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and smiling (but saying nothing) every time your touch managed to pull a soft whimper or moan from him without him realizing it.

You washed his body anyway, wiping away the remaining grime and massaging his muscles. You enjoyed the way he relaxed in your arms, quietly asking for more or less pressure.

"My back," he said, voice quiet and almost timid. "Can you...?"

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

He nodded and turned in your arms, exposing his back to you. You started slowly, massaging his upper back and shoulders before working your way down, giving him plenty of time to tell you to stop if he needed to. But he leaned into your touch and responded with more of those gentle and timid—but happy—sounds.

You kissed the nape of his neck when you were finished, rested your head against his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

"Thank you, my love," he said. "I've never... No one has ever done that for me before."

You hugged him tighter. "Any time you need me—I'm here. I will always be here." You stepped away and guided him out of the water with a hand. "Come on, we should head back."

The pair of you helped each other dress, though neither of you were wearing anything that required the help. You suspected Astarion just wanted to keep you close; when he got into his cuddly moods, it lasted for hours at a time. You would sleep wrapped up in your vampire's arms, safe and comfortable, tonight.

You were both pulling on your boots when Karlach found you.

"There you are!" she said. "Why didn't you tell us where you'd run off to?"

You shrugged. "I wanted the peace and quiet," you said honestly. "Besides, you all take forever to clean off."

Astarion snickered. "She's right about that."

Karlach sat on the moss, staring at the waterfall. "Well, you're right about one thing, soldier—this place is peaceful."

You hummed your agreement. "Yes. I'm glad we camped near it, or I never would have found it."

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Hunting," you said.

"Really? I assumed it must have been when you and Astarion sneak out so the rest of us can't hear you having sex." You choked on air and she laughed. "What? He found it easily!"

Astarion spluttered. "Because I could smell her!"

You sighed. "Karlach, we stopped sneaking off ages ago. We don't need to, we sleep in the same tent now. Rest assured, if anything is happening, it's happening silently and the rest of you are none the wiser to it."

"That doesn't make me rest assured."

You laughed. Astarion smiled at you, the kind of smile that made his eyes seem a little less dark and made you really remember that he was an elf.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to camp," he said. "I'm sure there's much to discuss about these...impertinent creatures who keep attacking us." He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, "I'll see you tonight, darling. What we do is up to you."

Before he could leave, you reached over and held his cheek, kissing him firmly on the lips. He smiled into it.

"Lovebirds," Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes, "will you please get a room?"

"The next time we stop at an inn—yes," Astarion said, winked at you, then disappeared into the woods.

You gulped. "I pity whoever is in the room next to us."

Karlach snorted. "I pity you and your poor cervix!"

"Karlach!" You splashed her with water and she roared with laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Only slightly."

You huffed, scooped up your weapons, and started back to camp. Karlach followed.

"I mean, in all honesty, you two were so loud that first time we all heard you at camp, even though you snuck away. Kept us all awake, but you sounded like you were having a good time. So clearly he's doing something right, but can you take all of that every time? You were walking with a limp the next morning—"

"Okay, let's change the subject," you said loudly, heat racing through your body. Remembrance pulsed through you again, ghostly touches and reminders of just how easily Astarion made you scream.

She giggled. Gods, she was spending too much time with you and Astarion; he was rubbing off on her. "Oh, yes, because what would poor Gale say if he heard?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's not Gale I'm worried about, it's Astarion. If he hears you, he's going to become insufferable."

"Isn't he already?"

You whacked her with the flat end of your sheathed dagger. She laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

The others were cleaning up camp when you arrived, scrubbing blood from tents and carpets and hauling away corpses and severed limbs.

Gale waved when he saw you, then jerked his thumb toward Astarion. "Didn't he just wash?"

You looked over at your vampire, only to find him feeding on a goblin. He looked up at you and grinned sheepishly, a trickle of blood sliding out of his mouth and down his neck.

"I just washed him, actually," you said dryly. "Astarion, you aren't that messy of an eater. What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, so now you deign to eat the goblins," Karlach scoffed.

He shrugged. "What? I'm hungry!"

You spluttered. "You could have just asked me!"

Astarion wiped his mouth with a feral grin. "Well, I'll keep that in mind later, darling." He winked at you and then blew you a quick kiss. He shoved the carcass into the woods and went into his tent, closing the flap behind him.

Gale sighed heavily before looking back at you. "That one. Are you sure you want to choose that one?"

"Yes, Gale, I want that one."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

~❊~

Night fell. One by one, the others retired to their tents. Only Karlach and Gale remained awake when you left the fire and slipped into Astarion's tent.

He was laying on his side, reading and drinking blood, the picture of leisure. He closed his book immediately when you laid beside him and pulled you flush against his body.

"There you are," he said, snuggling into your shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

You reached up and dragged your fingers through his perfect curls. "You don't have to wonder about that ever, Star. As long as I live, I'll be coming home to you. Even if I have to crawl."

"Gods, I love you," he said, wrapping himself around you. You kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too," you whispered. He sighed happily and cuddled into you, sliding one of his legs between your own and settling there. A few minutes later, you felt the pressure of his knee against your clothed crotch. "What are you doing, mister?"

He grinned at you, showing both fangs. "Finishing what I started," he said cheekily. He began undoing the lacing at the front of your pants. "Now, just lay still for me, dear. And please do your best to keep quiet—I'd hate to have to cover that pretty mouth with my hand. Again."

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou

1K notes · View notes

lostgirlmuseum · 8 months

Text

Stuck (2)gether

(image from Pinterest ^) Summary: A continuation of Stuck Together, Bucky deals with the aftermath of now knowing what it’s like to be so close to you. He misses it. He’s scared of it. He needs it.

Words: 2.7k

Warning: None I don’t think, just some fluff and an awkward Bucky. Oh and implied wet socks (DON'T WORRY, NOT EXPLICIT)

A/N: Yes I think im very funny with the title lol

Previously…

You wonder what you did to make him so revolted by you.

Little do you know, at that very moment, Bucky is resisting every urge to run back to you.

Bucky woke up the next morning feeling lost. Like there was something missing. Before his groggy brain could put it together, he saw his phone light up with a reminder that he was meeting Sam to go on a jog. He quickly got up and got dressed, trying to ignore that weird nagging feeling that a piece of him was gone.

Seeing as he lives on the fourth floor of the tower, he could’ve very easily taken the stairs to level one. It’s not like he got winded often. But something compelled him to take the elevator.

Right as the odd feeling had started to dissipate, the elevator doors opened. And there you were.

It all came crashing back to him.

Fu-

“Oh, hey Buck.” You smiled.

“Hi.” He briefly considered not getting on. He could take the stairs. But there you stood, and he felt the urge to stand right next to you.

“What floor?” You asked.

He looked at the buttons. He saw “12” glow a faint yellow.

“Twelve.”

“Oh, me too.”

“Yes.”

Yes? What does that even mean? Just be cool Barnes. Be cool—

Your sweet voice interrupted his internal panic.

“Nice. With how hot it’s been lately, I figured I should take advantage of the pool.”

He finally noticed the towel you were carrying.

“Yeah, same.” He crossed his arms.

“You’re heading to the pool too?”

“Yeah.”

“What are the chances?” You politely laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go swimming.”

“I swim.”

Despite his horrible conversational skills, he doesn’t want this elevator ride to end.

“I don’t doubt it.”

There came an awkward lull in the conversation. He felt guilty for not only lying about where he was headed, but even more so for his lack of interesting responses. The least he could do was be engaging.

Either you gave up on him, or you lost interest, because neither of you said another word as you exited the elevator, and walked down the hall into the pool room.

He stood and watched as you grabbed a chair and draped your towel over it. You two were the only ones there. He continued to watch as you took off your t-shirt and stepped out of your shorts, revealing a navy bathing suit underneath. You stacked your clothes neatly on the chair, and pulled your hair back. You ambled up to the edge of the pool and dipped your toe in. Then you turned around and saw him staring right back at you, unmoving.

“Where’s your swimsuit?” You tilted your head.

“Um.” He looked at you blankly for a solid three seconds. He realized there was a significant hitch in his plan. Could he make an excuse and just leave? Yes. Was he going to? No. Because all logic went out the window the minute the elevator doors opened and he saw you. He’s acting on the instinct to be near you, and not leave your side, no matter what. “I didn’t bring it.”

“Oh, I know what you’re doing.” You laughed.

Oh jeez. You’ve caught him. He’s mortified. He can’t even explain the feelings coursing through his veins, and yet you’ve already figured him out.

“Swimming fully clothed, yeah? I’ve heard it’s a good skill to learn, never know when you might be in a situation where you unexpectedly find yourself in a body of water, especially in our line of work.”

He nodded.

You turned back to the water and took a step up on the diving block. You got in position and dove into the water, leaving Bucky with his jaw dropped at how you just found his excuse for him.

“You coming in, or what?” You called, wading in the pool.

“I’m here, sorry,” Bucky started his apologies to Sam the minute he found him waiting on a bench in the lobby.

“Man, where were you? I thought we were meeting for a run. And why the hell are you dripping?”

“Sorry, I got held up.”

“Doing what? Did you forget to take your clothes off in the shower?”

“No.”

“Okay…” Sam looked Bucky up and down, taking in the way his shirt clung to his chest, the messy damp hair, and the literal puddle he stood in. “Buck, I’m waiting for an explanation on why you’re drenched.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Weird dude. You’re being weird. I mean, you’re always weird, but especially right now.”

“Are we running, or not?” He groaned.

“With those squeaky ass shoes? I’m thinking not.”

Around lunch time, Bucky had found you alone in the kitchen, making a sandwich. Your hair was still a bit damp from the pool earlier, but so was his.

“Oh!” You jumped, “You snuck up on me!”

“Sorry,” he blushed.

Next thing he knew, he was standing right beside you, behind the kitchen island.

You seemed just as surprised at his proximity, he usually stayed a fair distance away from everyone. Minus Steve, maybe.

He mumbled something, searching your face.

“What?” You asked.

“Um, what are you making?”

“Just a sandwich.”

“What kind of sandwich?”

“I don’t know, I kinda grabbed whatever I could find from the fridge.”

He felt himself smile.

“What?” You laughed, noticing his weird reaction.

“You’ve got—” he paused, hesitating to bring his hand up, “here, I got it.”

He brought his thumb to your left cheekbone, carefully wiping away a smudge of mustard you had managed.

“Oh,” you giggled. But he didn’t take his hand away. He just let it lightly hover, looking wistfully from his hand by your cheek to your glittering eyes.

“Is that sandwich for me?” Tony’s voice penetrated the bubble Bucky had found himself in.

Immediately, Bucky brought his arms to his sides and stepped away from you, backing up a ridiculous five feet.

He saw a glimpse of hurt and confusion on your face, but it quickly dissipated into a teasing smile.

“Sorry Iron Man, but this sandwich is mine.” You crossed your arms.

“Well, this kitchen is mine. My kitchen, my rules, yeah?”

“Alright, just take the sandwich.”

“Is that yellow or Dijon mustard I see on it?”

“Yellow.”

“Damn. I prefer Dijon.” Tony quipped back.

Bucky did what he did best, standing and watching from afar.

Tony glanced over at him and back at you. The man leaned over the counter.

“Come here.” He gestured for you to lean in.

You gave him a suspicious look but stepped closer, leaning over the island.

Tony brought his hand up to where Bucky had just had his, and swiped.

“Weird, I thought I saw a smudge of something.” Tony teased, looking back over at Bucky.

Bucky felt his cheeks flush. Damn Stark, and having to ruin everything. Bucky didn’t care how you responded, he suddenly felt the urge to get the hell out.

“Buck–” he heard you start to call, but he was already half-way out the door.

Bucky was laying face down on his bed when he heard the knock at his door.

“Who is it?” He grumbled.

There was no response.

“Hello?”

Begrudgingly, he rolled out of bed and opened the door. No one was there. He looked down and finally noticed the note at his feet. He glanced down the empty hallway before picking up the small paper and going back into his room.

“Meet me in my room in 5 minutes. Go ahead in, I’ll be there soon.

From, Y/N”

His heart started to race.

You were inviting him into your room? Your space. God, this has got to be a dream. Finally, he can be close to you and not worry about anyone interrupting. His head was so clouded with the anticipation of you that he didn’t even think to wonder what you wanted to meet him for. Or why you felt the need to put it in a note.

You said to meet in five minutes, but he couldn’t help himself. He left immediately for your room and was three minutes early. He tugged at his hair for a minute, and rocked on his heels. He couldn’t take it. What’s two minutes?

He knocked on your door and it creaked open.

He let himself in, like you asked, and nearly sat on the edge of your bed, but thought it too intimate, opting for your cozy chair in the corner. It smelled like you.

Soon after, he heard steps coming down the hall and closer to your door.

He tried to keep his body still, but he wanted to meet you halfway. He’d never felt so impatient.

The door slowly started to open…

Bucky blanched.

“Peter?”

“I’m really sorry about this Sergeant Barnes.” The kid gave him apologetic eyes.

“Sorry about w—” Bucky didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, Peter shot two webs, both landing perfectly in place where Bucky’s arms rested on the chair.

“Mr. Starks orders.” Peter burst out, right before making his quick exit out the door.

Before Bucky could even start to badger the kid, two faces appeared in the doorway.

“Stark! What the fuck is going on?!” Bucky yelled, and turned his attention to the other body. “Wilson, I swear to fucking god—”

“Cool it Tin Man, this is for your own good,” Tony started, “this way you have to confront your feelings for Y/N.”

“I don’t have feelings for—” Bucky started to bark back, but Sam interrupted from the doorway.

“Don’t lie, Buck, I talked to Y/N earlier. You were late because you went swimming, fully clothed, just to be near her. That’s crazy!”

“Psychotic, really,” Tony added.

“Desperate, is what it is.” Sam pointed. “Sorry to do this to you, really, but it’s for your own good. And hers too.”

The men started to close the door, and Bucky seethed, “Don’t you dare, I will kill you both!”

He was seeing red.

Stark's muffled remark came behind the door.

“Good luck, we’re rooting for you!”

“STARRRRKK—”

He tried thrashing, but it was useless. He was feeling murderous. The chair bumped onto the ground as he repeatedly attempted to stand up and free his wrists from their confines.

But his anger swiftly turned to panic the second he sensed footsteps and heard your light humming nearing the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered, willing the web to dissolve.

But it was too late. You opened the door, and spotted him immediately.

“Wha—Bucky?”

“Hey, hi, yeah,”

“Are you alright?” You asked, looking around the room for any other unusual signs. “What are you doing here? Is that Peter’s web?”

“You see, I can explain,” he started, already breathless.

“Okay…”

“Um, I got a note from you saying to meet you in your room, and so that’s why I’m here. Obviously, you didn’t write it, but I didn’t know that at the time so I let myself in, but then Parker popped out of nowhere, webbed me to the chair, and then Stark and Sam appeared and said stuff and essentially this is all an elaborate prank on behalf of them.”

You just looked at him.

“You’re looking at me like I’m crazy, I get it, it sounds unbelievable, but I swear to god that is what happened.”

“Relax, Bucky, I believe you. I just don’t get the joke.” You crossed your arms, lost in thought.

“They’re twisted, who knows what they are ever thinking.”

“I just don’t understand why they’d do this.”

“I don’t know, they wanted us to talk, it’s stupid.” He rolled his eyes.

“Talk? About what?”

Bucky didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. A look of realization and a twinge of shame crossed your face.

“Oh, is this about the other day? Bucky, I’m really sorry. I was just trying to help you get the web off, I didn’t know I’d get stuck to you. I’m really, really, sorry, I never would have done it if I’d known. I know you value your space, and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I apologize.”

Bucky started to sputter, not even sure how to correct how wrong you were.

“Oh my gosh! And now you’re trapped in my room, it’s happening again. I’m sorry, you probably want to be as far away as possible from me right now. I’ll go find the web dissolver, I’ll give you space,”

“No, I don’t want space.” He blurted. Well, no going back now. “I want to be…close to you.” He whispered, ducking his head in humiliation.

You simply shook your head, not understanding.

“I’m sorry, it’s embarrassing. Ever since we got stuck together, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about being close to you. I don’t know what’s happened to me, maybe it’s just that I haven’t been so close to another person in so long, or something else is wrong with me. I see you and I’m itching to be closer. It’s like when the web dissolved a magnet took its place. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why do you assume I don’t feel the same way?”

“You—” Bucky blinked, “you what?”

“Maybe I like being close to you too? Maybe I’m embarrassed because you started to run away from me?”

“Fuck, I know, I’m sorry, it’s just a new feeling for me and I don’t completely understand it, and I don’t want Stark making me feel like a fool.” He hung his head. “Which he’s doing a really good job of right now.”

“Forget Stark, he can be a raging asshole.” You spotted the way he was struggling against the restraints. “Let me make a quick call, and then we can continue this conversation.”

You quickly picked up your phone, tapped around, and held the phone to your ear. It rung three times before someone answered.

“Peter?… No, I’m not angry…Yes, I am disappointed...Just bring the web solution…No, he won’t kill you…Yes, I promise…Okay, hurry.”

You hung up and turned your attention back to Bucky.

“So, you like me?”

He felt his cheeks warm.

“I mean… yeah. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, Bucky.” You smiled.

A minute or two later Peter knocked on the door, and peeked his head in with the formula.

“Please don’t be disappointed in me. I was just listening to Mr. Stark.” He begged you, his eyes wide looking into yours.

“Fine, I’m not disappointed.” You relented, always merciful. “But let this be a lesson in establishing boundaries. And I think I need to have a chat with Tony about taking advantage of you.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He sighed, handing you the bottle and rag.

“But, I think you owe someone else an apology.”

Peter looked Bucky in the eyes for the first time since the door opened.

“I’m really sorry Sergeant Barnes. That wasn’t cool of me. It won’t happen again.”

“Whatever, just get outta here, kid.” He gave a small wave of his hand, which looked a bit awkward considering his forearms were still glued down.

That was pretty much as close as Bucky could get to accepting an apology.

Peter scurried off and you got to work on freeing Bucky.

Bucky was snuggled against you on the couch. He squeezed you tight, his big arms wrapped around your body. He had his head resting on your chest, and you were rubbing small circles on his back.

You had both been there for nearly an hour, unmoving from your spot.

Bucky heard you mumble a stern, “Behave,” to Tony when he walked in. Knowing he was defeated, he put his arms up in protest and walked on by without a single quip. Truly a feat for Iron Man.

He couldn’t be happier, being so close to your warmth.

Bucky didn’t know a lot of things. Like why he wasn’t dead yet, how Tony Stark could be such a pain, and what the hell is flan? But he did know one thing. That being close to you was the most perfect thing. It just feels right. You feel right. And he’s elated to know that there are a million more cuddles to come.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope this lived up to the first part, or at least was somewhat close? I hope you have a wonderful day, and let me know what you think!

#bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky fluff

529 notes · View notes

rileysluvr · 10 months

Text

simon riley loves to spoil his girl because i say so. nsfw!!

He made up for his absence by spoiling every bone in your body with what he could best offer: sex and money. It sounds conceited, he knows, but he just loves to spoil you.

You, in your pretty, sunflower-yellow mini dress, practically leading him everywhere you go like a little kid at the fairgrounds. His hand tightly laced with yours as if he’d lose you if he let go, your various shopping bags in his other hand. He’s not far off from being perceived as your bodyguard whenever you go out together, and if it’s sunny and he’s opted for the cap and sunglasses combo, you’d better expect to get a few stares.

Him, in his usual blue jeans and black t-shirt that hugged his muscles tightly and made him stick out like a sore thumb in the high-end stores he’d urge you to go in when he would catch you eyeing a mannequin’s piece in the window. He almost turns into the little kid in that sense, stopping in his tracks and refusing to budge until you give in and see if it suits you. And he knows it will. He’s got an eye for those things, and he knows nothing could look bad on you, anyways.

All of his focus on you as you take your time, watching your every move as he’s seated on the dressing room bench, fighting to keep his hands to himself rather than cupping one over your mouth and fucking you right there. How you’d do a spin for him in every dress you tried on and he’d give his opinion, knowing he’d be the one stripping it from you in time to come, very soon.

What d'ya think? you smiled, hands clasped together behind you as you rolled forward on your toes.

I think it looks perfect, he stated, reaching his hand out. You stepped forward and took it, and his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer. You want it?

You bit down on your bottom lip and nodded coyly, leaning into his touch before bending down to kiss him with joy. Then it’s settled.

His job paid well, and being a man of little needs and a taste for simplicity, he never knew what to do with all of it; if it wasn’t going towards his diet, or the 1969 Mach Fastback sitting in his garage, it was being saved, stored, waiting to be used for something good. That something, finally being you, no matter how many times you’d insist you could pay for your own. It felt good for him to put his money towards something worthwhile, and the eye-candy that comes along with it is certainly indisputable. He’s got a horrible sweet tooth; he has to satiate it somehow, even if it means bending over backwards and running his wallet dry to keep you all dolled up.

Money had never looked so good on a person. In the form of flowy little dresses and glossy pink nails that reflected you so well, new necklaces and hair appointments that always brought a bright smile to your lips. The flowers he’d buy you just so they could go in the vase on the coffee table by the couch, right alongside the book you both are working on as you’re sat on his lap, back against his chest. But his giant frame is just so damn comfortable, and his voice is so fucking soothing in that eased tone he’d use on the occasion you ask him to read aloud to you. Most times you end up falling asleep before you’re even a chapter in, and he notices immediately, setting the book down and settling into the couch with you in his arms because he always decides that being with you heavily outweighs any back or neck pain that will surely come. He is older, don’t you forget it, and he doesn’t think you’re ever going to get through the novel at this rate.

He would never lie and say he didn’t get equal amounts of pleasure from it all. He promised himself to have you bathing in it for as long as you’ll let him, and even if that ran out, you’d quickly learn that his doting would still be quite difficult to get rid of.

Then, after a long day of splurging and satisfying your every want, he takes you home, handles you like you’re nothing of weight as he strips you of your dress, and fucks you silly. Fucks you how only a princess deserves, or like you were his first and final true love, the only one to ever matter on this green and corrupt planet because every day he spends with you he’s getting closer to believing both of those to be more than true.

Your fingers pulling tight at the short hair on his head as he buries his face in your cunt. Heavy, big arms, one inked and the other blank for the time being, holding you down by your plush thighs because he knows how sensitive you can get after just your first round. And there’s no way in hell he’s stopping after one. It’d take either a million men or merely your sweet begging to pry him from you once he’s delved his tongue in. You can’t possibly blame him; you just taste so heavenly, he can’t help it nor his insatiable appetite. His groans grow to be louder than your own when he feels and hears you finish, and he’ll come up with a dumb and cocky smile, your cum coating his lips and the stubble around it when he pulls you in to devour your mouth next. Allow you to get a taste of exactly how good he treats you, as if you reminding him of it every day wasn’t enough.

Head hanging off the corner of the bed, the necklace he bought you tickling your jaw and behind your ear in the particular position. Your hips meeting his lap as he fucks himself into you so gently, calloused palms refusing to leave your tired body. He eventually pulls you up with a laugh, not wanting to go another second without looking into those pretty, drunken eyes of yours, or for you to wake with a sore neck the next morning. He doesn’t want you to ever hurt, or long for anything different. He wants you shaking, trembling in his arms with a blissful look on your face and asking, writhing for more so he can grant it. He’ll hug you as tight as possible to his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck to support yourself with the sudden change in position, giggling into his shoulder due to the titillating sensation his panting into yours causes.

However you want to be fucked, he’d do it for you with unending honor, and then some more, until you’d forget your own name, and his real one. How rapidly his next deployment was approaching.

He wrings you both dry and exhausted, still he takes the time to bathe you, fully on display for him as his soapy hands repair whatever damage he may have dealt you. Swaddle and coo you to sleep for a much needed afternoon nap, in his arms and the comfort of your shared bed. Watch you fall asleep, listen to your breathing slow into pure bliss before allowing his own to follow, and all that. He was in deep, and if Simon from a mere year ago saw him like this, he wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Laugh at the sheer absurdity of his behavior, or would it be the idea of having something, someone, so perfect?

Cry because he must’ve fully lost it, entirely unable to recognize himself, or because the image was so beautiful?

Whatever it was—despite its utter unbelievability and domesticated feeling he thought he was allergic to—he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

448 notes · View notes

reidscanehand · 9 months

Text

I Remember Halloween

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Category: Fluff/Comfort

Warnings: mentions of burnout and anxieties

Based on a single tiktok and this song

~ More and more I’ll catalogue my doubts ~

You could see the signs. Hell, you’d always been able to see the signs. Even when you and Spencer weren’t dating and were just co-workers, you’d been able to see the signs. You don’t see how anyone could miss any of Spencer’s tells, honestly, though he was terribly good at masking them when he wanted to. However, since semi-retiring from the BAU and focusing more on teaching, Spencer had been less careful, less guarded. It would annoy him if you said so, but you delighted in it - the openness, the guard finally down fully. Suffice it to say that when your adorable husband came home two weeks in a row, exhausted even after only teaching one class, you recognized it as burnout, even if he didn’t. Or wouldn’t - self care had never been Spencer’s strong suit. Which is why the element of surprise is entirely necessary, no matter how drastic it may feel. It was incredibly helpful that, despite living through a pandemic working in education and being a genius, your husband still is an abysmally precious mess when it comes to technology.

You’d originally thought to do a Friday, but with various friend and family celebrations almost every weekend until the end of the year, it made more sense - and frankly made it more fun - to cancel Spencer’s classes for a day and play hooky a little.

It’s a bright and slightly rainy Thursday morning - random, but purposefully so - in September. Your husband’s alarm goes off and he leans over, pressing a kiss to your temple, before getting up and taking a shower. Every so often, you’d join him in the shower, but not today. Today you get up and head to the kitchen.

You’d loved Spencer’s old apartment, but when the two of you moved in together, especially after the events of his last few somewhat traumatizing years with the BAU, a change felt necessary. The two bedroom, two bath bungalow you two found just outside of Stafford, Virginia was just as charming as Spencer’s old place. Antique, but modern enough to have better security than his old building (he is understandably a stickler for safety). The kitchen features windows looking out into your small backyard, Spencer planted a tree last year and you’re sure it was in order to watch the leaves change as fall arrives. The tips of the leaves are just beginning to yellow, the light rain a perfect background for the day you have planned. You turn on the stove and oven and open the fridge, pulling out a can of pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls and the package of turkey bacon. You begin cooking and you can hear your husband start getting ready and, just as you thought it would, the smell of the food draws him away from his typical morning routine (get dressed, make coffee, grab a granola bar if he remembers to) and brings him to the kitchen.

“Is there a reason,” he asks from the doorway, “that it smells…like, um-“

“Like fall?” you ask, smiling over your shoulder at him as you flip the turkey bacon in the pan. Spencer grins and you turn back to the food.

“Well, yeah,” Spencer says. “You planning a fun day alone?”

You wince a little at the small hint of jealousy you hear in his voice, thrilled that your response is, “No, not alone.”

“Oh,” he replies, a little shocked. “Is someone coming ov-“

“Nope,” you reply cheerfully, grabbing a mitt and pulling the cinnamon rolls out of the oven.

“Wait…wait, what?” Spencer questions, totally not distracted by you bending over like that.

“Come on, lovey,” you tease, turning to face him fully. “Put the pieces together.”

He stares at you for a moment and then looks almost overwhelmingly sad, “Honey, I have three classes today, I can’t-“

“About that,” you cut him off quietly. He arches a brow at you, but you cross to the end of the kitchen island, pulling out Spencer’s university laptop and opening it, clicking to his classes’ dashboard page on the school’s site and turning it around slowly, chewing on your lip just a little nervously.

“Dear Students,” Spencer reads after popping on his glasses. “Classes are cancelled until Monday due to slight illness on my part. Have a great long weekend - be sure to read ahead for Monday!”

There’s a slightly too long silence that makes you just a bit nervous.

“I know it might be a bit of an overstep, but you’ve just seemed so…so burned out lately and-“ you’re cut off as Spencer moves to stand right in front of you.

“You cancelled my classes for me?” he asks, a small smile poking at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you reply.

“So that we could…do what, exactly?” He attempts to keep his smile at bay, but is nearly beaming.

“Well,” you smile, “I thought we could eat some pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls and bacon and, I don’t know, maybe get really cozy on our super comfortable couch and watch Hocus Pocus, Corpse Bride, and Practical Magic? Maybe throw in Crimson Peak if we’re still going strong?”

“Just to clarify, you realized I was burned out and decided to plan a cozy fall movie day to make me feel better?” Spencer asks, almost incredulous, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“That would be it, yes,” you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Damn,” he mutters quietly, looking down at you.

“What?” you giggle.

“Nothing,” Spencer beams, turning his head and eyeing your lips, “I just definitely married the perfect woman.”

Your laugh is quickly quashed by his lips on yours.

~ I remember Halloween. ~

Tag List: @shadyladyperfection @cielo1984 @rainsong01 @pessimystic-fangirl @saspencereid @andreasworlsboring101 @avidreider @aizawaxkun @babyspencersslut @no-honey-no @subhuman-queer @uhuhuh @whatamidoinghp @spongeshxt @itsametaphorbriansblog @vgirl-10123 @stand-tall-pineapple @padsfirewhisky @ceeellewrites @dahliasbouqet @drayshadow @cal-ifornication-blog @theetherealbloom @eevee0722 @questionmymentality @wintermuteway @ellesmythe @ssa-githae @cherrystay @calm-and-doctor @devilswaldorf @half-blood-dork @blameitonthenight21 @happyreid187 @goldeng1rl8 @meangirlsx @honestlystop @avengers-ass-emble17 @bauhousewife @averyhotchner @underscorecourt @fan-girl-97 @coolbeans3 @boxofsparklingmuses @allaboutsml @percabethfangirl @buckyluvbot @v-is-obsessive @tanyaherondale @usuck @mitchiri-nek0 @kaitlynpcallmebeepme @miraclesoflove @meganskane @babymetaldoll @ivebeenthinkingboutu @rockin2thebeats @infinite-tides @onlyhereforthefanfics @g-l-pierce @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @art-and-thoughts @exhaleli @allthecolorsneverseen @measure-in-pain @acidicbloody @hotchnerxo @her-storybooks @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @bilesxbilinskixlahey @wilbur-rabbit @twilightlover2007 @ssamorganhotchner @h0tch-r0cket @wheelsupkels @jhiddles03 @lovesammikinzz @m-mhotchner @chaoticconnoisseurgiver @baueoud @mischiefmanaged71 @gspenc @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @her-storybooks @kajjaka @chickensrule @marvel-mars @wanniiieeee @gublur @aivilovio @rousethemouse @unionjackpillow

#spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #criminal minds blurb #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #i know it’s august #but it’s basically halloween

299 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 5 months

Text

Whoever designed this 1975, (reno'd in 1984 and stuck there), Morrison, Colorado estate was heavily into stairs, steps and levels. However, their forté was definitely bathrooms. Their creativity is unparalleled. 5bds, 5ba, $2.85M.

Off the main entrance is a living room with built-in shelving. I would be leery of that platform above, though. That piece of driftwood or whatever it is, won't stop a child from falling off.

There's a nice 2 story fireplace and a free-form artistic railing with a lovely mezzanine in the family room. Note the picket fences blocking off 2 of the stairs.

4 steps lead up to the kitchen.

Sunny kitchen with interesting cabinetry and blue glass upper doors to match the style of the home. Love the stove.

The sink is blue, too. The dining room is right off the kitchen.

This is nice. It's such an interesting home with those high open ceilings. I wonder if the plants would convey. A door in the dining room opens to a deck.

The view is stunning. Part of the deck is covered for dining and the larger part is open.

This bath has a black toilet with a compliment of yellow. Interesting carpet or toweling.

Up on the mezzanine is another fireplace and an area used as an office.

Here we have a powder room with a high Victorian style water tank, peachy sink, and floral tile.

This bedroom has a round platform with a square mattress. Not sure it's actually a bed. There's a stepdown office area and doors to the yard.

Double brown sinks with coordinating tile.

And, this. What is the area above? Windows all around, and, levels in the tub. You can see a bit of the stairs at the bottom of the picture.

This is a cute bedroom. There's a little music area and doors to a terrace.

Next is a sauna with a ridiculously steep double shower.

This stair tower leads to the primary suite. This looks like a new addition or reno.

The primary suite is huge with nice rounded built-ins and many steps and levels.

It has 2 high steps to the tub.

And, I don't even see a way to get into this raised shower, except for just climbing.

Large dressing room/closet.

And, finally a romantic rooftop terrace.

There's also a log cabin on the property.

It has a living room, kitchen and one bedroom. Someone definitely lives here.

The property is huge- measures 79.3 acres.

#estates #unusual architecture #houses #house tours #home tour

161 notes · View notes

thevesuvianchronicles · 28 days

Text

Burnt Amber

I was reading something the other night about the fact that in the dark the cones in our eyes legit can't respond to light like, at all. considering my recent bg3 binge that obviously got me thinking abt a certain sassy vampire and thus... this piece. (I've also been told there's a scene that could go along with this but I legit just got to act 3) enjoy!

spoilers for vague bg3 things

If he had to explain it - which he never would- the world lost its color. Many people looked back upon childhood so happily, everything had been brighter, the world bigger, love was so easy and quickly fleeting. A babe’s eyes opened to blurry yet vivid shades, pastels, and tints. Yet the first thing Astarion’s crimson eyes had seen was only the darkness of his own coffin. Color meant nothing to a vampire who’s first vivid memories consisted of clawing his way through six feet of funerary dirt.

Though his vampiric vision allowed him to make out the different threads on a rich man’s lapel, he only ever saw it in moonlight. Only a reflection, a fraction of the beauty the sun would give the fabric. Where there had been pastels there was now muted tones, tinted colors became gray, and shades became nothing but more inky darkness.

Centuries of this and he slowly began to forget the true colors the world had to offer. Was purple always so deep that one couldn’t discern where a sleeve ended and the night air began? Had yellow always seemed so dull? And red… had red always been so greedy? Soaking up and glaring back the same sick color he saw in Cazador’s eyes.

That’s all his vampiric life had been, that was all it ever would be.

Yet there he stood, watching the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon

Despite his suave demeanor and sweetened words, he knew how to woo someone, lure them into his bed with his body and honeyed words, and later back to his master. Yet no words could describe the sun now. It burned his irises, his eyes ached for him to blink, turn away, and do anything but stare into the sun. He simply couldn’t stop; it would take away his breath if he needed to breathe.

His first realization that color was far better within the sun was, rather unfortunately, Gale. Upon falling on his ass, Gale had done the wizardly thing and began rambling. However, Astarion wasn’t paying attention at all. His eyes were on Gale’s robe. He couldn’t remember a purple ever being so vibrant, so cocky almost, as if requiring you to look at it. It fit Gale as Astarion would come to learn. Then he saw purple everywhere. Balsam blooms carried but seemed a warmer tint of Gale’s robe. Shadowheart’s armor was even darker, matching that which Astarion saw late at night in the alleys of Bauldur’s Gate. He hadn’t really thought about it but he rather thought purple and red clashed. Leave it to that wizard from Waterdeep to be a walking fashion faux pas.

Yet despite the fashion error, Astarion couldn’t stop thinking about purple, the many different shades he had seen in a matter of days. The sun making the slightest variations more obvious to his crimson eyes.

He first realized that light is what made the colors so polluted, as if the colors were waiting to leach into his eyes when he couldn’t help but stare at the color yellow. It was, by far, not his favorite color, drawing too much attention of a rouge like himself.

Yet the golden glow of the divine seemed to suit Shadowheart. The brilliance of a guiding bolt whizzing past his ear, bathing a goblin in light, setting it ablaze. The disgusting color had saved his skin to many times to count by now. All thanks to the devotee’s hands.

The vampire couldn’t say he understood Shadowheart’s devotion. But the sheer power her belief brought the color yellow, made him quirk a brow. Such polluting brillance made him wonder if light was able to redeem every color.

The color followed him after that battle. Yellow licked at Karlach’s flames, light reflected off the golden threads of Halsin’s armor, it even sparked every time Lae’zel sharpened her sword.

Yet there was nothing that could redeem the color red. No amount of light or dark could make crimson look any better. In darkness it looked like a cesspool of all things evil, an open maw waiting to swallow whatever it could. In the light of day, it reminded him of nothing but lost souls, glowing red eyes, and a sickly grin.

It was the color Cazador liked most on him, both his clothes and his skin. It was the color his life had been reduced to. Living off such crimson ichor, so much so that it stained him, stained even his eyes from what he had gathered about vampiric looks. It was the only color that he would be happy to forget, but never could.

“You know if you stare at the sun long enough… you could go blind.” The voice came from behind him, his pointed ears finally picking up on the crunch of gravel beneath feet. His eyes did feel a bit dry as he blinked, black and swirling colors hindering his vision as he looked back over his shoulder.

The leader of their little group was… interesting to say the least. So focused on the tadpole and their companion's journeys that Astarion hadn’t learned much about their own personal goals, if any. He should work on that.

“I always love to look at beautiful things, not unlike yourself darling.” Astarion let the words lilt off his tongue, but didn’t turn away from the setting sun.

He heard a small hum from you as you settled beside him, standing close enough for him to tell that you had refreshed yourself from today’s adventuring.

Neither said anything for a while, the gentle rustle of trees and soft calls of animals in the underbrush the only noise. He had been so lost in his musings that he hadn’t realized how far the sun had set, a barely visible sliver of yellow still visible surrounded by orange and red.

“Well… now that the lovely colors are gone I do believe I’ll turn in for the night. A book and a glass of red do seem to be calling my name.” Astarion sighs, as if it would be a hassle to get up and walk the few steps to his tent. It is a hassle, to leave the presence of their leader has become more and more of a hassle on his heart than he’s willing to accept.

“Don’t go now, it’s just started to change.” Your voice was soft, softer than he has ever heard it and a glance tells him that your eyes are still on the setting sun.

“No thank you darling, I do think I’ve seen enough shades of red for a thousand lifetimes.” There is a twist of pain in his voice, one that makes him wrinkle his nose. He was getting too easy, a slip like that with Cazador and he would have been reminded how much he hates red.

“But the sky is beautiful-“

He cuts you off with a flippant wave of his hand and a scoff. A change of subject was all they needed, easier territory. “It’s just red. You know they say a red sky at night means-“

“It’s not just red Astarion.” You cut him short this time, tone sharp. He didn’t understand why you would defend such a color. Of all things to fight for, a color. They saw red spilled every day, every day their leader fought, for teiflings, for druids, for their companions. Each day that color ruined everything it touched.

“Oh? Do tell darling, what is oh so special about that distasteful mix of colors. A muddled mess of all things awful-“

“I rather think red is beautiful.” Astarion snaps his eyes up, disgust curling his lips, a flaunting jab just ready on the tip of his tongue when your eyes stop him.

At some point, he wasn’t sure when, you had turned to look at him. Eyes just as soft as your voice had been. There is a sweet tilt to your lips as he turns, as if finally seeing what they had been after.

He sees the minute shift of you eyes, as if darting back and forth. He can hear the uptick in your heartbeat, the tension releasing from your shoulders. As if the sight of him was what you were after, as if waiting to catch his eye.

Then he remembered. Remembered exactly what color his eyes now were.

“I happen to like that color.” You grinned, eyes steady on his. His mind was blank, no haughty taunt or seductive words. He could do nothing but blink as a grin spread wide on your lips and you turned back towards the sun.

“When the sun hits just right… it’s beautiful, a burst of burnt amber. I think it’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.” Astarion knew they were definitely not talking about the sunset anymore. He couldn’t help but stare at you. The curve of your nose, the way your smile seemed so giddy, the way the sun reflected in your own eyes.

Red was the color of the flowers Karlach had tried to pick for all of them. It was the color the jewels in Lae’zel’s armor, the color the hem of Gale’s awful robe. And it was the color of the blood you so willingly gave him. Had offered as soon as he had explained himself that night, without asking for anything in return. You were so different than what he expected.

He tutted, realizing he had been staring and turns back towards the sunset, listening closely as you go to sit on the ground. The bright yellow of the sun diffused into a russet orange that slowly eased into a vibrant, dazzled red. He sighed, slowly settling himself beside you, far closer than before.

“Yes darling, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I could grow to love it.”

#bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion

48 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 10 months

Note

How is sugar baby h? I miss my bf(love your writing btw !!)

Hi my lovely, thank you so much! I can write a little bit about them now :) I am working on a full one shot but here is a little piece of their day.

Check out our Patreon!

-------

Harry enjoyed the days that Y/N stayed home from work.

Especially the days where she would be coerced into relaxing by him.

"Babe- s'your day off." Harry gave her a look as he saw her laptop sitting under the yellow umbrella shading one of their tables. The pool was a crisp blue and the heat was just starting to get slightly uncomfortable so the man had no idea why she would prefer to sit on the computer. "It'll overheat, and you need to take some time for yourself."

Y/N sighed, still typing away at the keyboard as she listening to the pretty man standing next to her with his arms crossed. She knew that she should be- but the woman had a very hard time relaxing. Working was what she liked to do, it was her habit. As a diagnosed workaholic, she had brought Harry into her life to go to events with her and to provide him with what she needed. Somehow, he had turned into a bit of her keeper. Being a fairly dominant woman, she didn't take kindly to most people telling her what to do- but her and Harry had a 50/50 split most of the time. He was now there to help her relax.

"I know, darling. I'm finishing up some emails so I can be ahead and then relax." She replied, not taking her eyes off of the screen.

"Are you caught up with what you're supposed to be?" Harry got closer to her side, peeping over her shoulder to the mass of emails in her inbox. He was very happy that his job was to make music, keep the house, pleasure this fucking stunning woman, and be a pretty face. He would rather choke than deal with that.

"Yes, but just being caught up isn't good enough. I need to be ahead." She always said this. It made him sigh, shaking his head as he leant down and wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she sat. It was time for him to do his job.

"S'bullshit, baby." He nuzzled against her neck, feeling the gold chain of her necklace against his lips. "I know you need to relax. You need a break. It's what m'here for, isn't it?" Pillowy lips pressed against her warm skin, his hair tickling the side of her face as her hands stuttered on the keyboard. He knew her weaknesses by heart. Maybe that’s why he was so good at getting what he wanted- besides his pretty face. "Wanted me to make sure you didn't overwork yourself to exhaustion, right? Can be whatever you want." his kisses were wet against the sensitive skin, teeth taking the chain into his mouth and tugging it slightly before running his fingers down her chest. "D'you want me to be your good boy? Or do you need Daddy t'fuck you stupid?" He nudged his nose against her jaw, slipping his fingers underneath her bathing suit top and cupping the soft breasts in his palms. "Here to make you happy, to make you feel good. Just tell me what you need."

#jarofstyles #sugar babyrry #sugar baby harry styles #sugar baby h #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry writing #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #Harry fluff #Harry smut #Harry blurb

372 notes · View notes

swimsuitmanaic · 1 month

Text

#swimsuit #one piece swimsuit #bathing suit #1 piece swimsuit #1 piece bathing suit #one piece bathing suit #badeanzug #maillot de bain #boutinela #yellow 1 piece bathing suit #yellow one piece swimsuit #yellow swimsuit #yellow bathing suit #yellow one piece bathing suit #yellow 1 piece swimsuit

24 notes · View notes

lovebugism · 9 months

Note

I would love to request a drabble for punchy x Steve where maybe they're hanging out together with the group for the first time and punchys a little nervous to see how they'll react to see seeing as her whole vibe is so different from every other of Steves exes basically lol

i had so much fun with this request!! hope you like it, anon! from the punchy x steve universe — the one where steve comforts you when you're too scared to tell his friends about your relationship (1.2k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Steve’s been waiting all night to kiss you.

He knew inviting the whole gang over for a swim would put a wrench in his plans to love on you all night, but he didn’t think it would be this hard. Not holding you feels a little like a knife in his side. It hurts worse than every beating he’s ever taken, combined.

So he doesn’t waste a second to sneak out behind you when you leave for a smoke break. He waits exactly five minutes before following you out through the front gate. He finds you sitting on the hood of your car — a pretty little thing in all black sat upon a rusted tin can.

You’re wearing a knit coverup over a one-piece bathing suit. It's about three sizes too big for you. The puffy sleeve falls to your elbow when you take a drag of your cigarette, then crawls back up to your wrist when you flick the end of it. The staunch smell of nicotine contrasts with the warmer scent of a dewy summer night.

“Think I can bum a smoke from you… buddy?” Steve asks when he climbs the hood to sit next to you.

The nickname is so obviously pointed. You laugh, high and airy. Smoke billows from your lips as you giggle.

Dustin asked if you were dating earlier that night — deep blue eyes twinkling with hopeful embers you hated to snuff out. “Sorry, kid, but we’re not dating,” you fibbed in response, patting Steve on his shoulder. “We’re just a couple of best buds, aren’t we, bab— I mean, Steve?”

It wasn’t your best work by any means, but it got everyone off your back. That was all you really wanted to do, anyway.

“Always, Stevie,” you singsong as you pass him the lit cigarette between your fingers.

“Think it would be too much to ask for a kiss, too?” the boy wonders with raised brows and sparkling honey eyes.

You melt.

“Never,” you hum with a shake of your head, already gravitating towards him. You had a tendency to do that a lot — to drift his way like he was a magnet compared to the metal of you. He welcomes you just the same, pressing his mouth to yours like his lips were made to do it.

The kiss is chaste and innocuous, gentle with the makings of a man who’s wanted to kiss you for several agonizing hours.

Your lips click in protest when they part. He smiles as he watches your heavy eyes flutter slowly open. You’re met with his pretty pink lopsided smile. “Think we should tell ‘em tonight?”

You lean away from him, pursing your lips to the side of your mouth as you ponder his question.

You’d love to tell everyone about Steve, more than just your core group of friends. You want to shout your adoration for him from the rooftops, let it sing across the universe and back. But love was more complex than simple words, and the implication of that terrified you.

After a few moments, you shake your head — lazily and with your nose scrunched.

“What do you mean?” Steve laughs. The sound is bright enough to illuminate the starry evening. It’s bright yellow compared to the velvet blue sky. The boy rests his weight on one of his arms and gestures with the other. “We’ve gotta tell ‘em sometime, babe. ‘Cause if they find out on their own, I’m gonna be the one dealing with the bitching.”

“I just like not having to talk about it,” you confess with a quiet shrug. Your chin turns to your shoulder when you look over at him, meeting his glittering gaze with a meeker one. “I like just being with you and not having to talk about the… gross, icky, lovey stuff.”

“The gross icky lovey stuff?” Steve echoes with jettisoned brows.

“Yeah.”

“Like what?” he deadpans, bringing the lit cigarette to his mouth. “How in love with you I am?”

“Exactly,” you joke back with a feigned disgust.

Steve scoffs out a laugh as he hands the stick back to you. Smoke leaves his mouth in a wispy grey cloud.

You hold the thing between your thumb and forefinger, but don’t move to take a hit of it. He knows it’s something deeper, then — something more you want to say. You keep it inside and get all in your head about it, though. Your eyes glaze over as you look off into the distance. Steve can read you like a damn book.

“What else?” the boy blurts.

Your eyes go wide as they flit back to his. “Huh?”

“You look like you wanna say something else.”

You blink at him for a moment, then shake your head innocently.

Steve reaches out a hand to nudge your shoulder. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his pink lips. “Come on. Just say it,” he urges gently. “Lay it on me, babe. I can take it.”

You laugh in response. It’s halfhearted, though, and your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you sigh with the same barely-there grin. Your eyes turn away from his, gaze going glassy as your stare turns to the darkening sky. “It’s just… The last person your friends saw you with was Nancy. And I know Robin is well up to date with all your other flings, ‘cause she said, and I quote, ‘he certainly has a type.’”

“Well, that’s just Robin,” the boy shrugs with pinched brows. “She’s an idiot. Sometimes she just kinda says stuff.”

“I’m just saying that… I’m not your type, you know?” you confess sheepishly, like it’s some deeply hidden secret. You have no idea it’s why Steve loves you so much — not despite how different you are, but because of it.

“I know,” the boy nods, meeting your timid glance with a bright grin.

“And I’m just scared that… that they’ll think it’s weird. You know, that we’re… together.”

“It is weird,” Steve affirms with a chuckle. “That’s why it’s so cool!”

Your brows pinch. “…Really?”

“Yeah! I fucking love being your boyfriend, babe! And they’re gonna love you being my girlfriend!”

He says it all with wide eyes and pink smiles, so confident like it’s all obvious to him. He makes it sound so simple, smoothing out all your buzzing, complex insecurities with ease.

You scrunch your nose in response. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” he scoffs with a firm nod, then tilts his head to his shoulder. “Well... Robin will be a little jealous, probably. Dustin, too. And Eddie’s already got a whole complex about it, so…”

“So they’ll hate it,” you summarize with a smile.

“They'll hate all the gooey, icky, lovey stuff, sure. But they’ll love you— I mean, they already do. Way more than they love me.”

“You sound very sure about all this, Harrington.”

“It’s impossible not to love you, Punchy,” Steve confesses, growing suddenly very tender. “Everything you do— it’s like you’re made of, fucking— flowers or something.”

“Flowers?” you giggle.

The boy huffs. “I’m just saying that you’re too perfect not to fall in love with, okay? They’re gonna love you because it’s against human nature not to, you know?”

You don’t believe him.

You know he’s not lying, but you don’t believe him.

But rather than arguing, you reach out a hand for the one propping up his weight. You rest your palm along his knuckles and smile. Your skin buzzes when you touch him — Love? Euphoria? A schoolgirl giddiness? You’re not sure.

You just know happiness when you see him, touch him.

Steve Harrington is a happily ever after.

Yours, hopefully.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #punchy x steve #bug's summer fic fest!

453 notes · View notes

jreads · 1 year

Text

Unexpected Constellations (Part 13)

Rating: M (18+, Minors DNI)

Word Count: 6.8K

Warnings: The usuals: Angst (obviously), Foul language, I'm not saying anything else but EVERY WARNING IN THE MASTERLIST APPLIES. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

A/N: Finally. A chapter I actually like. As per usual, comment on this post or the masterlist to get added to the taglist. I'll put another note at the bottom but for now, get on out there and have fun. xoxo

You spent a full day in Fett’s bacta tank. A full day. Fennec had suggested it, citing that they really had no idea exactly what had been done to you on that starship.

No one knew what they had done to you.

He didn’t know what they had done to you.

What had they done to you?

From the outside you looked alright, apart from a few darker bruises on your knees and legs. But he remembered the way you had thrown yourself at him, the way you had screamed. It was burned so vividly into his mind that—the one time he had tried to rest—the memory of it had sent him gasping into consciousness.

Day had melded into night again, and you still had not woken. Boba had insisted you stay in the guest suite, a spacious and lavish room atop the Daimyo’s palace. The bed was soft, and the sheets were silk, and it was quiet… peaceful. He sat in a chair by the window, looking out over the sand, trying to pretend that he was simply enjoying the view. Not scanning the dunes for possible threats.

Fennec was bringing his meals up into the room so he could eat. Since you were asleep, it wasn’t a breach of the creed if he took his helmet off, right? Truly, it was the very last thing he was worried about.

He wanted to go pick up Grogu, but he couldn’t leave you alone. Wouldn’t. Shand offered to make the run down to Mos Eisley, but he refused. She had done more than enough already. Still, she had sent word to Peli Motto, that everyone was on-planet, and that he would be back as soon as possible. He would be back. Not you. Because there was no guarantee.

Din turned from the window to check on you, even knowing you wouldn’t have moved an inch. You looked serene in sleep, angelic, bathed in the light of three moons.

You left me! YOU LEFT ME!

It seemed to echo around the edges of his mind. His heart palpitated at the memory. Your eyes had been yellow when he found you. The Imps had convinced you that he had gone willingly, sold you off like chattel. What was worse was that you had believed them. The possibility that, in the back of your mind, you still might. It made him nauseous.

He should have made sure you were safe. He should have been honest about how he felt. He should have ensured that you would never question his loyalties. He should have, he should have, he should have. Din fell asleep running through all of the things he should have done but didn’t.

Everything was unfamiliar.

You woke in a large room, the shape of a semicircle, a curved wall of high, arching windows in front of you. They were flung open to let in a breeze, and the linen curtains that flanked them floated like ghosts.

Three moons sat low on the horizon… Tatooine then. You began to piece the past and present back together. Ornate patterned rugs littered the stone floor, a platter of fruit—half-eaten—sat atop a low table at the foot of the bed.

The bed. It was huge, sprawling over at least a third of the back wall. And silky, like a rain cloud. It almost unnerved you, having become so accustomed to the rough padding of the Crest cot.

Luxury. In a place like Tatooine, it could only mean one thing. You were at Fett’s palace.

Safe? You weren’t sure. Was it true, what Shand had said aboard the frigate? What reason would she have had to lie? Credits?

You were still too weak and tired to try another escape plan. Instead, you inventoried the room looking for something, a bread knife perhaps, anything to use if you needed to defend yourself—

He was so still that you hadn’t even noticed him. Slumped in a leather armchair by the window, his helmet had partially lolled to the side. Asleep. You went cold, the breeze suddenly making you shiver.

You inhaled too loudly.

The helmet straightened and he swept the room, a move you knew was a scan for enemies. You felt an electric jolt when he landed on you, frozen in place, unsure whether you should bolt… whether you would even make it to the door before he caught you.

He stood from the chair abruptly, taking one step forward as if in a daze, your name a whisper through the vocoder.

You scrambled away into the headboard.

He reared back as if you had slapped him. The silence in the room was so deafening that it hurt. Din raised both hands and relinquished another step. He stumbled.

“Tell me the truth.” Your voice shook.

“Why do I feel like you won’t believe me.”

“Just tell me.” You were trembling… from the cold and the uncertainty. “Tell me you didn’t—”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I… I couldn’t.” He sounded raw.

You couldn’t trust yourself to be objective. Not with this. Because you believed him. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, you believed him. You cried silent tears.

“Okay.”

He swallowed audibly and you could see the shadow of his Adam’s apple bobbing under the edge of the helmet. But he was still so tense.

He turned and made for the door, taking a wide berth around you as if you were an easily startled creature. “I’ll go. Leave you to rest.”

No.

You found your voice just as he crossed the threshold. “Din, wait.” And he did.

“Please, don’t go. If I wake up again and you’re not here, I’ll think…” You couldn’t say it. “Just stay.”

He stared, unmoving, until it felt as if he had stripped you bare.

“You’re shaking.” You were.

“Just cold.”

“Do you want me to close the windows?” He moved towards the glass panes.

“No!” He jumped slightly at the intensity in your voice. “Sorry. I just… I need to feel the breeze.” But your teeth were starting to chatter.

You could feel sorrow from him. A horrible and tired kind, which twisted at your insides.

He took a few hesitant steps in your direction. “May I?”

You nodded, wiping tears from your eyes. “Please.” The bed dipped as he sat on the side furthest from you.

Warmth. Comfort. It radiated from him like it always had. Your Mandalorian.

Maybe it was silly. Stupid. Maybe you were a fool. But when you breached that distance and wound your arm around his waist, flatting your body against his legs, the tremors eased.

He sighed, fingers finding your hair. Stroking tenderly. And for a moment, everything was fine.

You drifted off once more just as the moons traded skies with the suns.

It was almost midday. Still, you slept.

Fennec had come in at some point to bring breakfast and widened her eyes at the sight: your body wound into Din’s like a stalk of ivy. She had smiled softly at him, and he had nodded once, in acknowledgement and thanks.

Hours passed.

By the time you stirred, stretching like a cat against him, he had figured out his plan.

“What time is it?” Your voice was rough with sleep, eyes still fluttering heavily.

“Not sure, just after sun’s peak.” You hummed in response, taking a deep breath. “You should eat something,” he pressed.

That got your attention. “Have you been eating?” The concern made him smile.

“Yes. I have.”

The stare you fixed him with was one of doubt. He had eaten, just not that much. He hadn’t really been hungry. And he knew you could see right through him.

“Eat with me?” It was more of a statement posed as a question. “I’ll turn around,” you amended.

You didn’t wait for his answer before detangling yourself from the sheets and crawling across the bedspread, reaching for the tray that Shand had left.

Stars, you were gorgeous. He instantly missed the feel of you against him. Oblivious, you turned back, placing the tray, laden with cured meats, cheese, and fruit, on the covers between you.

He reached for the edge of the helmet, sliding it upward.

Your eyes squeezed shut as if you had been burned. “Sorry!” His mouth ticked upward. He’d let you interpret it however you wanted.

You had turned from him, sitting cross-legged on the bed, reaching blindly behind you with one arm to pick things up from the platter.

He laughed lightly, sliding it further toward you. “I can see just fine.” The breeze was pleasant on his face. The view was unbeatable.

“But you have to eat too.” Kriff, you were bossy.

“I will, cyare.”

There was a lapse of silence as you both fed. You were going fast, as if you were starved.

Maybe you were.

He stiffened at the thought. “Take it slow.”

You laughed between mouthfuls. “It’s just really good. Was I in bacta? It always makes me hungrier.”

He didn’t want to know why you knew that. How many times had you been suspended in a tank? Anxiety gripped at him, hard. For more reasons than one. He called your name, trying to sound more assertive than he felt.

“Yeah?”

“I have something I need to show you today.” He shifted uncomfortably, all of a sudden too warm. “To prove myself. And what I said.”

“It’s okay.” Your shoulders had curled in on themselves. “I do believe you, Din.”

“No, but… But I have to show you this. You’ll understand, then. I promise.” Quiet. “I need to know that you don’t doubt me… not even a little.”

You huffed. “I don’t doubt you. If you had half as many credits as they said you did, you’d be on the other side of the galaxy by now. Some swanky penthouse on Coruscant.”

No, he wouldn’t.

He slid the helmet back on, grasping at your hand. It couldn’t wait. “Come with me.”

I felt nice to be back in the Crest, back home, even under such strange conditions. Din was so on edge that even you were getting anxious.

He was bent over a storage compartment in the hull, rifling around in whatever lay below, while you stood there somewhat awkwardly. Finally, he pulled out a wrapped bundle. Placed it on a crate. Cracked his knuckles.

It was about the size of Grogu, covered in an old, faded felt cloth that was pilling in places. It smelled like fire, like smoke.

“What is it?” He almost looked like he was shaking his head. “Din? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry… okay.” Why was he so nervous?

“When I said I couldn’t leave you behind, I meant it. I couldn’t. By creed, I couldn’t.”

You didn’t know that much about creed rules. Just the basics. He was barely making sense. “I don’t understand—”

“I know. I know because I never told you. Because I was scared.” He paced in a small circle. Stopped. Started again. “That day you went to Canto Bight, I was late.”

Canto Bight? That was days before any of this had happened.

“I was late because I went to Glavis. To the covert.”

“But I thought—”

“I was cast out, I know.” He was being oddly expressive with his hands. “But I spoke to the Armorer. I told her…” He trailed off.

“What?”

Din pushed the package towards you. “It’s probably easier to explain if you just open it.”

His emotions were bordering on panic. You were worried about him. “Din—”

“Please.” It felt like he was begging. He was begging.

Okay. You reached for the edge of the fabric, unwrapping it slowly, listening to its contents clank together. Heavy. Cold. Silver metal with dark swirls.

Beskar. It was beskar. Your jaw just about hit the floor.

“They’re beautiful.” And they were… breathtakingly so. Vambraces, twin to each other, delicate but still imposing. The Armorer’s work had always been exquisite.

He must have been able to read the confusion in your eyes because he grasped one, twisting it in your hold. “Here.” He pointed to a symbol on the inner wrist with shaky hands.

You looked at the horned creature, easily identifiable, and then back at him. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“The Mudhorn... My signet…” Was he meaning to say you were part of his family? That you had been since Canto Bight? It would make sense given the context but—

“It’s the closest my people get to proposal.”

Oh.

It was like there had been a stopper on his words and—now that it was out—he could no longer control them.

“To share that symbol… it demonstrates a bond. One that our people don’t take lightly. It’s a promise to protect, to defend. To never leave behind.”

You were in shock. Real, honest shock. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, instead staring down the gauntlets with blurring vision.

“To love.”

You broke down.

He had you by the shoulders. “Please, tell me you understand. I couldn’t leave you behind. It wasn’t possible.”

You were crying, hysterically. It was too much. To feel this all at once was lethal. You could die from it.

“I love you.” I sounded like he might be crying as well. “Do you understand now?”

You clutched him so tightly, in hopes that there would no longer be any telling where one of you ended and the other began. “Yes. Din, I do.”

You had embraced him with such force that he had stumbled backwards into the hull wall and slid down to the floor, taking you with him. And so you had cried into his armour as he held you, curled together like rose petals.

Your body was shaking with big sobs, but he could tell you were trying to calm down. To keep it together. You kept taking large breaths, as if trying to steel yourself, preparing to say something.

He ran a gloved hand over your back. “What is it?”

You sniffled and pulled away from him. “I have, um…” Tears had wet your cheeks and you wiped at them, eyes swollen and puffy. “I have something to show you too.”

Standing up was hard; he supported your elbow to help you up. You swayed a little, looking at him with a gaze that was a mix of something so deep, it felt as if he was being gutted. Taking unsteady steps to the cot, you reached into it, grabbing your pillow, opening the case, and pulling out a small slip of folded-up paper. ‘Mando’ was written on the front.

“When we landed in Mos Eisley, when I…” When you had almost left. “I wrote you this.” He took it from your outstretched fingers as if it were the most fragile thing in the galaxy.

“But when I decided to stay, I wasn’t… brave enough. So, I hid it.” He was already unfolding the parchment, though his eyes stayed on you.

“Wait,” you gasped. He stilled.

“I can’t… be here when you read it.” You had gone timid, fiddling with your fingers, staring at the floor. “Just…” You backed away, to the ramp. “…come find me when you’re done?”

Din nodded. You practically fled.

Curiosity only allowed him to make it to the cockpit before starting to read, devouring the words with hungry eyes.

Din,

I’m sorry. For all of it. I know that this apology is not nearly enough to cover the damage I’ve caused you, but I hope you will accept it nonetheless. These years with you and Grogu have been the happiest of my life, but they have also made me selfish. I can see that now. I wanted to protect him and I wanted to help you, but the truth is I am just as much of a threat as whatever is out there. Your safety is the most important to me, so please understand why I’m doing this. Please be wary of the crystal, anything the dark side touches is dangerous and should be avoided.

Please don’t come looking for me. I’m sorry. I love you.

He read it once, and then again, and then a third time. And then over again, as many times as it took for each word to be imbedded into his mind forever.

‘…anything the dark side touches is dangerous and should be avoided.’ He knew you weren’t just talking about the crystal. But it was the last line that he dwelled upon the most, as if trying to find some hidden answer in the scrawls of your handwriting.

‘Please don’t come looking for me. I’m sorry. I love you.’ A thousand times he read that line. Insane. It was insane. The whole thing was insane.

He stood so abruptly that the chair swiveled. Boots on durasteel, one in front of the other. Out the cockpit, down the ramp, into the palace. He knew where to find you.

You had taken a shower, trying to calm the nerves, trying to ease the coil in your belly. He had been gone a while. What it meant was a mystery to you.

Fennec had left you clothes, a loose pair of shorts and a soft shirt, and you had put them on with shaky hands. What were you even supposed to do with yourself now? The responsible answer was rest, but there was no way you could go to sleep.

You stared out the window, across the Dune Sea, focused on nothing in particular. The heat of the day was passing, but the room had stayed relatively cool. Small blessings. Some animal tracks stretched across a crest of the sand. Bantha, maybe. You watched aimlessly, willing your mind to go blank.

What had you even said in that letter? You remembered the important parts of course, but what about everything else? Was it the right choice to let him read it? It was the honest truth, all of it, but what if—

Din’s footfalls were so fast and heavy that you whirled on him the moment he crossed the doorframe into the room. Closed the door firmly. Locked it.

And then he was ripping the helmet off, so fast that you saw a sharp jaw, a shadow of stubble before your mind caught up.

“Oh shit.” You squeezed your eyes shut, spun, clapped hands over your face. “Sorry.”

He barely let you finish. “Look at me.”

“No, it’s—”

“Look. At me.” He almost sounded angry. You had no idea what to say. He reached around you, gently grabbed your hands from where they pressed over your eyes. “I want you to look at me.”

Oh kriff, oh fuck, oh shit.

“Are you sure?”

Impatiently, he turned you to face him. “Open your eyes.”

Finally, slowly, you obeyed. Blinked once. Twice.

What the fuck.

Maybe you had said it aloud, because in front of you stood the most beautiful man you had ever seen. The features you had traced before all started to make sense: the hooded eyes, angular nose, chiseled jawline, lowered brows. A divot between them, a smattering of facial hair. But it was his eyes. The irises. The deep warmth of them. Your mouth had parted in awe. You reached out to touch him. He leaned into it.

“Say it.”

Oh, stars.

“I love you,” you exhaled.

He groaned, and then kissed you with such a ferocity that it turned your bones to water.

Fire ignited in your stomach as you kissed him back; his lips were soft, of course, but now you also knew that they were full, and impossibly carnation pink.

He crowded you against the stone wall, hitching your leg up to his waist and pressing you backward. His other hand was at the nape of your neck, cradling, angling so he could deepen the kiss. By the time you broke for air, you were both gasping.

“The letter…” he panted. “…it wouldn’t have mattered. I would have read it and tracked you to the ends of the galaxy.” He dipped his head to the curve of your neck. Placed one kiss there… two. “You wouldn’t have been able to stay hidden from me.”

It was like hyperspace. Like you were hurtling through stars and all you could do was hold on. So you held on to him. Threaded your fingers through his brown curls as he sucked at that sensitive spot just above your shoulder, and as he soothed it with his tongue. Your answering moan was downright lewd.

You couldn’t take it. Couldn’t handle one more moment not feeling his skin on your own. You started pulling at the buckles on his bandolier.

“Do you want—”

You cut him off. “Yes.” It sounded desperate in your own ears. You had freed the belt with clumsy fingers, and it clanked to the stone floor. You wasted no time moving to his armour, the breastplate, the pauldrons. When you freed the cape and the cowl you threw them unceremoniously to the side, lost somewhere amongst the rugs, and pulled him back in for another searing kiss. He was laughing against your lips.

It was hard work, stripping him down to the flight suit, and you had gotten frustrated in the process, pushing him backwards until his calves hit the edge of the bed. He sat back, pulling you with him, into his lap, thighs straddling his own.

“Slow down.” It was tender, teasing.

“No,” you answered, spurring him along with a kiss, catching his lower lip between your teeth and griding down on him at the same time. He gasped into your mouth.

“You don’t play fair.” You swallowed his words, but he leaned backwards, just out of reach. Din cradled your face, tucking a lock back behind your ear. “I want to savour this.”

“What about what I want?” you challenged.

“What do you want? How far do you want to—”

“All of it. Everything.”

“You’re sure?”

You frowned at him. “Din. Please don’t make me ask again.” And then, before you could overthink, you pulled your top over your head.

Whatever he was going to say died on his lips as he looked at you. No, gaped at you. Ran his hands up your sides, then down again. Grasped at your hips. Whispered something sensual in Mando’a that sent heat rushing to your core. Nothing about the scars that littered your chest, abdomen and back. He just leaned in and kissed one atop your breast, a knife wound, and dragged his palms up your back to cradle your shoulder blades.

“I’m dreaming.” It wasn’t a question that he whispered into your chest. “I must be.” Another scar, another kiss. “I dream about this often… about you.” His mouth moved to the valley between your breasts. “This is better though. This one is really good.”

You had to trap his face between your hands and guide it, so his eyes met your own. They had darkened, but still held that warmth of a fresh cup of brewed caf. “You’re not dreaming. Let me prove it to you.”

You moved to the zipper on his flight suit, dragging it down at a leisurely pace that was almost torturous. He wanted slow? You’d give him slow.

Each inch revealed gloriously tanned skin, and the zipper stopped only as a trail of dark hair under his belly button started. You clenched around nothing. He was watching you watch him. Cocky, almost.

Yes, definitely cocky. Because as you were reorganizing your thoughts, Din had tightened his grasp on your waist, and had started to drag you against him, the friction sending fireworks through you. Under any other circumstances, you might have been embarrassed by the sounds you were making. But it was him.

“I could watch you come like this. I like watching you come.” The words were so filthy, yet delivered so innocently. You gasped through parted lips. “Later… one day, I will.” It was a promise.

But instead, he lifted and flipped you expertly. Climbed over you, sliding you up the silk until your head met the pillows. Trailed a hand up your inner thigh, to cup you over your shorts.

Holy shit. How could you find a way to touch all of him at once?

Somewhere in the haze, he had toed his boots off. The only thing that remained was half of the suit, the top of it hanging around his waist. You wanted to scratch lines into his back. You did. And felt his muscles flex under your nails.

Din was kissing down your chest again. Wet, messy kisses, on your clavicle, breasts, stomach, hipbones. Those fucking eyes met yours, crinkling at the outer edges, as he toyed with your waistband.

“Don’t tease me.” You lifted your hips for him.

“Whatever you say, my Alor.” Oh, you knew that one.

“I thought you were the Mand’alor?” It was meant to sound humorous, but it came out strangled instead.

In one fluid movement, he had pulled your shorts and underwear down, off your ankles, tossed them to the side. “I bow to you, don’t I?”

And he did bow, right there on the bed. It was different, being able to see him. How he watched you as his nose disappeared between your thighs. Absolute bliss. You arched into him.

“Stay still.”

“I ca—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He licked a stripe up your center and you almost cried out. “Remember when you first joined me? You were still all the time. Like a statue.” He paused to flick at your clit with his tongue. “Even then, I used to think about you like this. Wondered if I could make you relax like this. I’d think about it when you were sleeping metres away from me.”

You were so wet it was mortifying.

“I used to curse myself for thinking about it.” He eased two fingers into you, holding your stomach down with the other hand. “But then you’d moan in your sleep. Were you dreaming about me? Hmm?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Good. Good girl.” The praise made you feel divine, like his words had washed away the years of darkness, of bloodshed. You could be good. You could.

But he curled his fingers inside you, and you lost the battle, canting your hips upwards. He was grinning.

“I need you. I need you. I need you.” You said it like a prayer, tugging at him with greedy hands. But he was lost in it, watching his own fingers pump in and out of you. So you did the only thing you could. You pulled him up, flipped him over. You must have used the Force because his dark eyes were now slightly startled.

But it only took him a moment to recover. To bring his hand up and place those two fingers, still coated in you, against your lips. He watched as you licked them clean, then asked: “Don’t you taste good?”

Flustered. You had no answer, mind going fuzzy. So you busied yourself working at his pants, easing them down, over his knees. Oh kriff.

You had wanted to toy with him, tease him the way he had you. But you weren’t so sure anymore. Now, you wanted to feel him inside you. You didn’t speak, didn’t dare even look at him as you lined yourself up, slid down, just the tip.

He had you beneath him again in a split second, pushing in, practically to hilt, the stretch euphoric. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back.

He stilled and you gasped. “What happened to going slow?”

Din whimpered. Actually whimpered.

“I know, Din… I know.” His head had dropped into the crook of your neck and he started moving, slowly but heavily, languid thrusts of his hips into your own. Each push was so deep, so visceral, that you could feel your body, your mind, rearrange to accommodate him.

The suns must have been dipping lower in the sky because the room filled with a heavenly light, bathing him in golden hues. Stars, the drag of him was almost too much to bear. Din’s earlier assertiveness was long gone, replaced with this raw, vulnerable energy. He was inside you, but you were inside of him. And it was beautiful.

Like a still lake, calm, a sunset skies’ warmth reflected in the smooth surface. Sex, desire, a ripple, making way to a tidal wave rolling towards shore. It grew and grew, instinct, fear, loss, insecurity.

His breath was a rasp against your pulse point, movements getting faster, more purposeful. “You…You’re so good.”

Good. He knew what the word meant to you.

‘You’re not evil.’ ‘You’re not a bad person.’ ‘I know you’re not, because you taught me that I wasn’t.’ ‘You don’t ever have to justify that part of yourself. Not to me.’ ‘We’re the same. You and me, remember?’ ‘I love you. Do you understand now?’

You crashed and burned as you came, the feeling so powerful that it brought tears to your eyes. You clutched him so close that he would probably have bruises later, maybe crescent-shaped indents where your nails had dug in.

He shuddered against you, tightening. Stars, you could feel everything, thoughts, feelings, the way he twitched every time you fluttered around him.

“Go on.” You urged him. “Come for me.” That was all it took.

Din lifted up and looked into your eyes. Kissed a tear away and then kissed you, burying himself so deep you swore you could feel him in your chest. He shattered.

There were no words for it, what you felt from him, what you felt for him. Everything else was inconsequential, the galaxy, the wars, light versus dark. This was it.

The two of you had collapsed together for minutes, speechless, just trying to catch breath. When he finally slid from you, you whined pathetically at the emptiness.

Din kissed you again before he rose from the bed. “I know, just let me clean you up.” A reply never came because you were too busy admiring his retreating figure. Wide shoulders, golden skin, narrow waist. You were still gawking at him when he made his way back.

“What?” He knelt beside you.

The lines in his forehead were pronounced. You traced them. “You’re beautiful.” He laughed as if he didn’t believe you, focusing on the task at hand.

You hissed lightly as he dragged a wet cloth over your sensitive skin.

“You okay?” There was real concern in his eyes, and it made you melt.

“Just sore,” you assured him, though that didn’t seem to lessen his worry. “It’s a good kind of sore.” He had the audacity to look bashful.

He was so gentle, wiping you down, discarding the cloth, lifting the sheets, and tucking you into his side. You were still looking at him. His cheeks had gone pink.

“So did you… re-break the creed?” It was your one concern.

“No.” Din smiled. “Well, not really. I guess I never properly asked.”

You propped your elbows under you. “Asked what?”

“About the gauntlets…” He surveyed you with a tender gaze. “Will you accept them?”

Gesturing to the rumpled silk, you asked: “Was this not clear enough for you?”

His head shook slightly, and again you saw that disbelieving stare. You wanted to kiss it away.

“What does that mean for us? By creed, I mean.”

Din’s answer was simple. “That you’re mine. And I’m yours. Riduur, we call it. Perhaps it’s the equivalent of husband or wife, but to Mandalorians, it means more. It’s closer to something more like… like a soulmate.”

Soulmate. “So, you’re my riduur, then?”

There was a stupid smile on his face then. One that made him look younger. “Careful. If you keep calling me that, we won’t make it to dinner.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, riduur.”

You did make it to dinner, barely.

Watching him don the helmet again was like a punch to the gut, made tolerable only by the fact that you knew you could take it off as soon as the door closed again. Any time you wanted. You would never get tired of looking at him.

Since you had left the sanctity of your room, he had intertwined your fingers. A simple gesture, but one that felt magical, nonetheless.

Fennec had met the two of you just outside the kitchens, with a look that was knowing enough to make you shy. “You don’t mind if I borrow her, do you?”

Beside you, Din felt as if he might decline, stiffening slightly and tightening his grip on your hand, but a smile from you had him reluctantly handing you off to Shand.

“We’ll meet you in the dining hall.” It was a sweet dismissal. She beckoned you to follow her into the kitchen, handed you a small bottle.

“It’s a tonic,” she explained. “We have a few bottles brewed, so you can take some when you leave. It’s a monthly thing.”

Oh god. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” She only nodded in acknowledgement. It was very thoughtful of her. But it left you wondering just how obvious it was, whether even the serving droids knew what had happened upstairs. Oh, maker. But a tonic… it was a good idea.

You hadn’t even given it much thought, which was silly. But because of the stress and exertion and malnourishment of your past, your period had always come infrequently. It had evened out a bit on Sorgan, but it was far from regular. Regardless, if you and Din were going to be having sex, and you hoped you would be—a lot—then you should be taking something just to be safe. The two of you already had a child.

Boba and Din were already sat when you entered, engaging in conversation that seemed to abruptly end as soon as you and Fennec walked in. Interesting. You took a seat next to him, which may have been a mistake, because you could somehow feel the heat radiating off of him. You crossed your legs.

But, it was so nice. To be able to sit around a table with good company and have a meal. Din couldn’t eat, obviously, but had loaded a plate anyway, and would have it upstairs, later. With you.

Multiple times throughout the night you caught him staring, in that way that was identifiable only by a slight shifting of the helmet. But you knew him well enough to catch it. Riduur. Soulmate. The words clung to your psyche, even more as the wine started to go to your head.

You had zoned out from the conversation, replaying the events of the day in your mind. Certain events in particular. Stars, the way he had sounded. The things he had said. He wanted to watch you come? You wanted that too.

Din’s low voice broke your trance.

“Will you excuse us? I’m getting hungry.” The way he said it… the insinuation was clear. Fennec was biting her lip to keep from grinning as Din all but pulled you out of your seat, tray in the other hand. Shell-shocked, you could only trip after him. Boba’s laugh followed you up the stairs.

You were testing him. You were put in this damn galaxy to test him.

He had been watching you, practically all evening, and it was beginning to border on torture. You had kept crossing and uncrossing your legs, squeezing your thighs together, nibbling at your lower lip. You weren’t even paying attention.

He was already hard and it was kriffing insane. Even the minute it took to get back up to the suite felt like forever.

“Din!” you were practically hissing at him. He dumped the platter of food on the low table and collapsed into the armchair, pulling you into his lap.

“Couldn’t even keep it together for one dinner?” He wished he could paint the mortified look on your face. “What was it, hmm? What were you thinking about?”

He dipped a hand into your pants, finding exactly what he expected. “Farrik, you’re fucking soaking.” With one finger, he pressed down on your clit. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

That wouldn’t do. “What was it?” He began to circle, slowly. “Tell me.”

Silence. You were trying, he could tell. “Words, cyare.”

Your upper body gave up, falling into him as you tried to reason through the pleasure. “I was thinking about what you said,” you admitted quietly into his shoulder.

“What did I say?” Faster.

You choked. “That you… that you liked to watch me.”

Din was grinning like an asshole under the helmet.

“While everyone was talking and eating their food… you were thinking about riding me in this chair until you came?”

You couldn’t answer, loosing whiny gasps into his shoulder. He felt drunk. This would never get old.

“You going to let me help you?” Incoherent, you just nodded against him. Good. He stood you up and tugged your pants down. You stepped out of them, all too eager. And you were fucking stunning.

Seeing you earlier in the late afternoon light, completely bare for him, was a religious experience. The scars—he had expected—but they had still struck such a deep chord in him that, for a moment, he had remembered who was tied up in the Rancor pit. And what Din planned to do to him.

You went to straddle him again but he stopped you, instead turning you around and pulling you back, so your spine was flush against his breastplate. The inside light was enough of a contrast that he could see your reflection in the glass of the open windowpane. Perfect. You arched against him impatiently.

He wound one arm around you, just beneath your breasts. “I know. I got you.” I took only the lightest of touches for you to let your head fall back onto his shoulder. From then on, you were absolute putty in his arms, squirming and whining as he toyed and teased. You watched his fingers as they finally plunged into you, but he watched your face.

The way your lips parted in a little ‘o’, eyebrows drawing together. Unbelievable. You were grasping at his vambrace absentmindedly, loosing a never-ending string of moans and ‘ahs.’ He had started to become acquainted with that spot inside you, the one that—if he hit it just right—would make you tighten like… that.

“Yes, right there.” You were undulating against him, grinding down onto his crotch so hard that he had to focus to keep control. Stars, he could hear it, how wet you were, and his ego seemed to swell with each audible movement of his fingers. He wished he had a free hand to dial up the volume on his helmet.

Din could see you losing it, hips stuttering, eyes going lidded. He wanted to bring you back.

“Look at yourself,” he commanded. You did, meeting his gaze in the reflective glass. “Look how pretty you are.” Your shirt had bunched up under his arm; your skin was glistening with sweat. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” You were chanting, practically riding his hand, dripping. He could feel you getting close.

“Any time you get worked up like this, you tell me, understand?” You were nodding, over and over and over. “I don’t care if I’ve fucked you five times already. You want me? You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. I’ll—” He had put his thumb back over your clit, effectively silencing you. He wanted to make you work for it.

“Promise me.” You were squeezing his fingers so hard he knew you were only seconds away.

“I promise, Din. I promise I promise I promise I…” Your body went rigid, face frozen in a silent scream. It was intense; he could tell just by looking at you. And he looked, at your face, at your lips, at his arm around your chest, at his fingers still inside you.

All mine.

As you relaxed, he held you. You took off his helmet and kissed him and he died. You said you had to shower, so he let you go, but you pulled him behind you—into the bathroom, out of the armour, under the spray. He fucked you against the wall, then licked you clean, then washed and dried you, as you shook a little from the overstimulation.

You then chided him for forgetting to eat, so he did, and then finally, exhausted and sated, the two of you curled into each other under the sheets.

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @aavengingbucky @prismaticpizza @blub-senpai @a-phan-of-youtube @jaguarthecat @lizajane3 @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @graciexmarvel @soobinsrose @simply-maggie @alwaysdjarin @minky77 @tinytinturtle @tae27 @groguspicklejar @slightlyuglierbeyonce-blog @willow-t @abbyhaslongshorts @andrewshotspot @racetrackheart @leithatnight @messageinadaisy @lostinsideourminds @wren-2-d @goth-cowgir1 @aphterthoughtt @sleeplessskeleton @teawrites01 @dashlilymark @imherefordeanandbones @sunshine96 @kalea-bane @http-onie

A/N2: okayyy now that we're all on the same page... first proper smut scene ever how did i do. i literally wrote this so fast that i astounded myself, but it was like four days of my brain just being an extremely horny place. anyways i hope this felt warm and nice while still being a bit spicy. i hope everyone is as happy with it as i am. digital footprint in the toilet, there's no bringing her back now. anyway, if grogu or din dies next week i might never come back.

207 notes · View notes

acciojaeyun · 2 years

Text

eyes locked | fred weasley smut

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader, (royal!au) warnings: 18+ (nsfw), edging, a bit of voyeurism, royal walking piece of sex appeal fred weasley, son of the earl of idk. just pure filth fuck idk again (pls tell me if i forgot anything) prompts: "sit there, and stay pretty for me, yeah?"

summary: to grow up with the weasley royal family had its pros and cons; and while serving them food with constant burns on hands when the food was to be served too hotly, y/n couldn't find herself to complain - especially when she could see fred weasley every time she does so, the man of her fantasies. consequently enough, she was fred weasley's favourite maiden.

It had been years ever since she had been serving the Weasley family, and it has been years since she had been feeling all sorts of intimacy with the family's older twin, the one being the honourable Fred Weasley.

All stealing glances she throws at him whenever he struts down to the dining hall during breakfast in his loose, cotton, frilled shirt with his hair laying down his forehead haphazardly, she couldn't help but find herself be enthralled. It also didn't help that whenever she helps farmworkers harvest every Saturday of the week with all of the siblings seemingly done with their school work, she gets to see them bond with each other through Quidditch – it didn't help when Fred looked like that. She finds herself in a trance most of the time, and Madame Pince, the family's governess that comes along with the Housekeeper, Madame Pomfrey, had always had to keep an extra eye on her whenever deems so.

Alas, like every other damsel in distress over the fact that they're in love with that of the lords or ladies of the country, whether small or big the kingdom they govern be – the possibility of anything happening is zero to none. So, she stays behind. Eyes flickering every now and then whenever Fred walks by, her senses immediately filled with the scent of orange and burnt wood – much like a cigar with an undertone of cinnamon; a scent she often tried to recreate crumpets whenever she finds herself longing for the lad.

It was an unspoken rule, however, but as she ventured towards the age of exploration and piquing curiosity, she finds herself basking in Fred's aura and appeal; something she didn't expect to kick in earlier in his maturity, foreseen, nonetheless. And while she stares a tad longer than usual, she can't help but realise that Fred is too. However, most times than usual, she dismisses the thought.

And this is the reason why she was biting on her lower lip as she walked the carpeted rugs after Madame Pomfrey descended to the Kitchens as Y/N was helping the house elves in preparing tonight's dinner with Lady Ginny's fiancé, to tell her that the Hon. Fred Weasley had asked for her presence.

"I don't know, Miss Y/N," Madame Pomfrey replies, ushering her up the stairs with such force that only meant urgency. "Just go up to Lord Fred and make it quick!" she calls when Y/N had successfully ascended the stairs. She looked behind her and sighed audibly, nerves conjuring up her system as she tried to rack her reasons as to why Fred specifically asked for her.

"Took you long enough," Fred says after the doors of the Master Bath had opened, revealing to him the only maiden that had captured his eyes even before he knew how to describe the feelings he felt. His eyes glossed over her figure, a bit messy considering she had just come from the kitchens, albeit still very breathtaking.

"I'm sorry, your hi -" Y/N curtsied.

"You're way past that," Fred chuckles, standing with his torso exposed as he stood before three mannequins which wore three breathtaking, intricate pieces. One royal blue, one brown, and one signature Fred Weasley golden yellow.

It took a while, with Y/N just standing there as she waited for Fred's orders as he stood there as well, with his hands holding his chin as he - as Y/N assumed - decided which of the suits was he to wear for the dinner tonight.

"What colours will the linens be tonight?" Fred suddenly asked, whipping his head towards the maiden as he slightly smirked to himself as he had caught her checking him out.

"Oh, uh -" she shook her head, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as her mind tried to remember what linens Madame Pomfrey had set out on the table. "Blue, sire."

Fred hummed, "Come here,"

Y/N's eyes widened, though subtly. She walked towards Fred with such caution that Fred rolled his eyes and had to hold her wrist and pull her towards him. Y/N gasped with the action, as Fred still held the smug expression he had before.

"Choose for me," he ordered, softly, though still expressed with such command. And while Y/N tried to not give mind to Fred's eyes seemingly stuck on her, she gulped, before replying, "Yellow."

The earl's son's eyebrow rose up, pleased with her choice. Their eyes met, and Y/N's breath hitched when she realised the proximity between them. It was - dare she says, too little.

"Ah," Fred beamed, eyes flickering down to her lips, almost leaning in but as their lips almost touched, he took a step back before clapping his hands for the unchosen clothing to go back to his closet.

Paying no mind to the dumbfounded lady standing in the middle of the marble bathroom, he made his way to the tub, opening the faucet and his hands dipping in to gauge the temperature of the water. He removed his trousers, shaking his head slightly to spare his face from the hair that sprawled his forehead, before taking a step in the tub.

Y/N watched him from the corner of her eyes, too flustered yet still too scared to watch him. Every fibre of her body was begging her to turn around, but she was glad she still had the will to not do so.

But Fred has a different idea in mind.

"Sir," Y/N cleared her throat, her back still facing Fred, her skin balming with sweat as she finds the hairs on her body rising as her throat started to dry up as tension filled the atmosphere.

Fred hummed in acknowledgement.

"Sir, I -"

"I'm afraid it is against courtesy to have your back to me when speaking." Fred cuts her off, index finger coming to play between his lips as his elbow leaned against the curb of the tub.

Y/N gulped before gasping at the sight before her. Hair darker than its usual vibrant orange, chest littered with freckles, and a goddamn tease of the lad's v-line trailed off quite teasingly towards the water as Fred held himself up from the depths of the tub.

"Sir," she repeated after a moment of blankness, "what do you need me for?"

Fred smirked, for the nth time of today. Whipping his wand that sat on the opposite curb of the tub, a chair was summoned miles away, though still directly in his line of vision.

"Sit there," Fred points towards the chair that he had just recently summoned, "and stay pretty for me, yeah?"

And Y/N nodded, though still warily stood there as if she was waiting for clearer instruction. "Well?" Fred asks until realisation dawns on him, "if there were anything else, I would have told you, wouldn't I?"

The maiden's cheeks reddened once more, nodding at the directive before sitting right in front of him. So close, yet so far away, she thought. And she couldn't help but squirm as Fred keeps his eyes locked on her, her underwear dampening at the sight.

Soon enough, her eyes widen as Fred reveals he had taken off his pants. Not too long after, she was squirming as she sees a familiar jolt of his biceps.

Fred Weasley was touching himself.

Fred smirked as he saw her fidget, his hands slipping to his cock starting to harden at the sight before him. His hands wrapped around his shaft, his palm engulfing the skin of his dick in such slow strokes, almost as if he was teasing himself right in front of the lady that had been the star of his naughty dreams recently.

"Eyes on me," he says, teeth coming down to bite on his lower lip, when your eyes met his, he chuckled, "Hi, princess," he winked as Y/N became impossibly redder.

His hands came to squeeze lightly on the base of his shaft, and his thumb running across his slit now oozing with pre-cum, making him jolt every now and then, trying so desperately hard to keep his eyes on Y/N.

"God, what a sight you are, angel," Fred groans, hips bucking up to meet every time his hands descend, his free hand holding on to the flat marble surface of the tub's curb as he tried to chase his release that was far from coming. His eyes glossed over to Y/N, who was obviously rubbing her thighs.

"Princess," he says breathlessly, catching Y/N's attention, "enough of that."

Almost immediately, Y/N halts the movement with her thighs. Instead, she holds on to the edges of her seat as she was certain her lips are almost stripped off flesh by the way she was biting on them so hard.

"Sir," she whispered, and even so quiet, Fred has heard her, and when he sees her struggle against the orders he had given her, he groans, eyes rolling back almost to the back of her spine.

"Fuck, shi - yes, Y/N - fuck - what?" he tries to form a coherent sentence as he feels his body forming his much-needed release, "Shit, princess, looking so bloody beautiful like that - fuck, look what you do to me."

Y/N moaned, her hips discreetly rocking against the chair as she tried to give herself relief from tension, all thoughts of dignity came flying out the window as the desire to touch herself became not a want but a dire need. However, she knew, Fred was against disobedience whenever he gave orders until deemed reasonable.

"Princess - take your clothes off - ah - now, and no touching," he demands, leaning against the marble walls of the tub as the hand that he used for him to lean on the tub came down to squeeze on his balls as he simultaneously jacked off.

Y/N was quick to oblige, hands immediately coming to the dress that she wore atop her brown sleeves, she slipped it down her body, before pulling the brown turtleneck upwards to reveal to Fred the body that he has been imagining each night.

"You're a fucking goddess," Fred groaned, biting down on his lip as he chased his orgasm, eyes flickering towards her as he tried to keep his eyes open. Y/N, now fully nude, blushed at the comment, before sitting back on the chair.

And while she was frustrated up to no extent that she couldn't touch herself, she felt pride surging in as she realises that Fred was doing it in front of her, because of her.

"Sir," she says seductively, "you're so hot."

Fred chuckled amidst his desire to release, "Thank you," he tried to reply as pleasure took over him. And when he finds himself so desperate to release, the buck of hips became much more erratic and aggressive, "Oh, fucking shit - Y/N - gods -" he drawled out a long moan, cutting himself off.

He took one spare glance again at Y/N, before coming on his hand, both of his hands still touching him as he caught his breath. He sighed, "God, fuck," he moaned as he felt his force to keep still on the bathtub deflate as strength almost seemed to be sucked out of him.

Y/N sat there, breath heavy and chest heaving as she was - so bloody turned on.

"Com -"

"Lord Weasley, sire?" a maid knocks on the door, "Lord George Weasley has been asking about you whether you'll be down anytime sooner,"

Fred rolled his eyes, making Y/N laugh. His eyes travelled to Y/N, winking at her as she laughed, making her duck her head as she tried to hide her shyness.

"What time is it?" he mouths over Y/N, eyes widening when he realises it was five minutes before dinner. "I'll be down in three! Tell George to calm the hell out."

As soon as the maiden leaves, he turns to Y/N and makes a face, "Fucking cockblock,"

He steps out of the tub after cleaning himself, putting on his robes before walking towards Y/N to help her wear her clothing back. He made her turn around as he adjusted the fabric of her turtleneck at the back, lips coming down to kiss behind her left ear, "The chambers, after dinner," he whispers, nibbling on her earlobe, "we're not yet finished."

Y/N turns around, meeting his mischievous glare with her interested stare, making Fred smile and kiss her forehead before becoming her to the door.

"You're dismissed," Fred calls out. And as she was about to close the door, she heard Fred say, "for now."

1K notes · View notes

nerdieforpedro · 3 months

Text

Wrong Beach and a Speedo

Part One of Two Hearts by the Ocean

This part is for general audiences - rating will depend on individual parts. Overall will be 18+ MDNI

Javier Gutierrez x Abigail (plus size OFC)

Main Masterlist / Two Hearts by the Ocean Masterlist / Javier Gutierrez Masterlist

Word Count: about 2.3k

Summary: Frustrated by her friends, Abigail is going to see one of the beaches on Mallorca. Her sense of direction fails her and she meets a man in a speedo. Javier needed a break from his current worries. The beach is picturesque and so is the beginning of their story.

Warnings: mildly annoying friends, rich guy horrible cousin problems, meet-cute, that speedo, FLUFF, they're sweet okay?!

Notes: I've actually had this in my WIP folder since October of last year. I really have wanted to write for sweet Javi G and finally the right idea came along. Since it's winter I really want to be on a beach somewhere. Soaking in some sun and finding Javi in a speedo. A lovely summer romance. 🥰 I have a lovely mansion in delulu land.

Cobblestone streets, rolling waves on beaches, beautiful vistas from atop hills; this was Majorca, Spain. There was so much to see and do on a girls’ trip there. But Abigail’s friend group was more preoccupied with the nightlife and wineries. Wine didn’t taste like sweet grape juice and she wasn’t too keen on being in a club, she didn’t even go clubbing at home. Why do that when there’s so much to explore?! These heifers hadn’t even been to the beach. She did not come all the way to a beautiful island off of Spain to be inside partying all the time, some of the time sure but not all the time.

Abigail was a round girl, larger belly than butt that hung a little, wide thighs, arms that waved after she stopped doing so and a round face. She believed she was cute, she wouldn’t say sexy, but cute and she felt even more so in her red one-piece bathing suit with white polka dots. It also had a short skirt that accentuated what little butt she did have. She had a large yellow sun hat and put on her white cat eye sunglasses following the resort map to the beach. She brought her tote bag which had her phone, wallet, sunscreen, books, beach towel and towel to dry off and a water bottle. She also carried a beach chair that had an umbrella attached to it. Abigail always liked to be well prepared even if it looked and was cumbersome. She trotted down to the beach and set herself up, sitting in her chair that she placed on her beach blanket and stretched her legs out. She was watching and water and sky meet each other on the horizon as waves crashed lightly before her. It was stunning and looked like a postcard.

“This is perfect. I’m so glad I finally made it here.” A serene smile came over her face, she cracked the spine on her erotic thriller that she brought with her, ‘The PI that Fucked around and found out.’

Javier was fed up with Lucas sticking around so long this time, they had argued again about Javi’s scripts and his Nic Cage shrine. Lucas wanted him to spend the money and make like a party boy so he did, what was the problem? He didn’t like guns and very violent things like his cousin, he didn’t need to feed into any machismo by being any sort of tough guy. Thanks to Lucas, Gabriella had really quit this time and left the country, who was gonna help manage the estate now? Lucas and his friends had made one too many passes at her, she shot the man in the balls and now she was in the wind. Did Javi know where she was? No and even if she did, he wouldn’t tell his cousin a damn thing.

The Majorcan party boy needed to relax and the ocean did that for him, despite all the chaos his cousin caused, the ocean and Nic cage movies were constants in his life. Javier donned his white and navy speedo and asked the chef to help him put sunscreen on his back, he slipped him a few hundred for it because it was not in his job description. Javier just had his towel, shades and a longing to be in the water.

He happened to spy something new at his beach though. A blue umbrella chair, and thick caramel legs extending from under it. Javi knew he hadn’t been at the beach but a few minutes so he shouldn’t be hallucinating right now, right? He figured he should just let the person know that this was a private beach and you can’t just come in here, but he looked past the stone wall that surrounded his estate and noted that the fence labeled private property had been removed, when did that happen and why didn’t he not know about it? Is Lucas messing with him? Would he go that far? Even the beach? The aspiring screenwriter expected to see one of his cousin’s goons and not…an attractive pair of legs, likely belonging to a woman he assumed.

Javier walked over to the umbrella repeating, “Hola! Perdón, señorita? Hola! (Hello! Excuse me, Miss! Hello!)” several times with no response. He walked around to the front of the umbrella and roughly waved after being frustrated but it melted away when he saw her. “Oh! Ah…perdón una diosa (a goddess).” Javi simply stared at the woman before him. She had a large hat on and sunglasses but she had a round adorable face to match her soft body and those dense thighs. Her delicate hands set the book down and removed her AirPods. She looked up and removed her sunglasses exposing honey eyes that appeared to be confused.

“Buenas tardes señor (Good afternoon sir). Pasa algo (Is there anything going on?) Estaba sentado leyendo (I was sitting and reading).” She responded; she said the words correctly but seemed to have an issue rolling her tongue. Spanish was not likely her first language which meant she may be a tourist. Javier knew of a resort that had a beach on its property, but why was she here?

“Muy bien (Very good) señorita. Hablas Ingles (Do you speak English)?” Javier asked with his smile still wide though his praise of her may have extended to what he saw before him as well as her proficiency in Spanish. He heard her chuckle and stood from her chair, she dusted her bottom off and returned his smile.

“Sí (Yes). Ah yes I do. I’m sorry, I did practice some basic phrases but I’m not past the colors, stores and family yet. Um,” Abigail explained. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He seemed nice, definitely handsome and she was drawn to him. She crossed her arms over her stomach and held her forearms, her very obvious anxious tell. “My name is Abigail. Are you here to enjoy the beach too?” Javier’s smile changed to a grin and nodded.

“Yes señorita Abigail. I regret to tell you that you are on a private beach. My private beach.” He stated, not menacingly but the look on Abigail’s face told him that it was received poorly.

“No, this should be the resort beach. I walked from just over there.” She pointed to where the fence was suspiciously gone. Javier sighed as he followed her finger to that area as well. He pondered and considered asking her to leave, though when he turned back to tell her this, she was bent over rummaging through her tote bag looking for her map. Javier stared at her rear and his eyes went wide. He is first and foremost a gentleman so he looked away…after sneaking a lingering peek.

Abigail finally retrieved the map and pointed to her resort and the path she walked to the beach. Javier was thankful that she didn’t seem to notice and looked at the map with her.

“Señorita, the map is the wrong way. The beach that belongs to the resort is to the right and not the left.” Javier pointed out, taking the map and turning it the opposite direction, he set it in her soft hands and exhaled deeply. He chuckled as she stared at it, he could picture smoke coming out of her ears.

“I…this is worse than that time I got lost finding my own car from the airport…” Abigail sighed, her poor sense of direction had prevailed again. She weakly smiled at Javier and then frowned. He was being very nice about some weird lady on his property. This beautiful man in a speedo. She wanted to poke his belly and see if he would giggle. He looked like he would, his face was so expressive. “I-I’m sorry for trespassing. I didn’t even realize I was. It was just really wonderful to have a calm day at the beach.” Her eyes led back to the water, it was quiet here, not full of bumbling tourists and crying children, but it was not hers to enjoy. Noticing the longing look she had toward the seas, Javier had an idea, rather a suggestion.

“Señorita Abigail, you’re more than welcome to stay on the beach for the time being. I’m glad you were able to find peace here.” Javier started, her face snapped back to his with a wide smile. He continued, “Do you have any food allergies or dishes you’re opposed to eating? While we relax out in the sun, I can ask my chef to make us lunch.” His hand extended and took a hold of hers that wasn’t holding the map, she didn’t shy away from the touch but she wasn’t expecting it either nor was she expecting to be offered a meal by the very person who came to tell her that she was on his property.

“No food allergies. Are you sure? Oh, I don’t think you gave me your name.” She recalled, no, he had not, she knew she wasn’t good with names but she felt she wouldn’t forget his. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh of the back of her hand slightly, feeling it bounce.

“My name is Javier Gutiérrez. Please call me Javi mi diosa.” In his excitement upon meeting her, he left his name out, thinking it not at all important when speaking to the crimson and caramel clad beauty before him.

“Javier…Javi. Okay, I got it.” Abigail muttered to herself, though Javi overheard and was delighted. “Lunch sounds delightful. I’m not hungry now, but I will be in a bit.” She explained, Javier released her hand and sped toward his expansive home yelling,

“I’ll be right back señorita Abigail! Do not spirit away anywhere!” Javier yelled kicking up sand as he ran toward his home. He informed his chef to prepare lunch for two along with a little something for dessert, whatever he had around. It dawned on Javier that his guest may not want to eat in her bathing suit. His golf cart could take her back to the hotel and bring her back for lunch. He informed one of the maids to prepare a room for her and to leave for the day. Maybe she would stay, maybe not, but he would be prepared either way. Javier wondered what movies Abigail may want to watch, everyone has at least one favorite move, what was hers? He grabbed a white button up shirt and threw it on quickly, not bothering to close it up. If she wanted to freshen up, she’d likely want to do so where had her clothes. Javier also reasoned that at least having a shirt would be better than showing up to the resort in just a speedo.

Abigail stood looking over the water after folding her beach chair and towel. The cerulean waves crashed along the shore and she had a serene smile on her face. It truly was beautifully breathtaking. She didn’t hear the jovial man’s steps behind her, a strong gust of wind blew her hat and it started to get away. Javier stretched and grabbed the brim of the hat, he pulled it to his toned chest and held it until the wind calmed. A beaming smile was across his face as he stepped in front of Abigail.

“Perdón (excuse me) Señorita Abigail. Tu sombrero está a salvo. (Your hat is safe).” Javi stretched out his arms and raised them, placing the hat on her head and tipping it up at an angle so her face was fully visible.

“Gracias (Thank you) Javier.” Abigail smiled shyly, placing her hand over Javi’s on her hat. They were warm from the sunlight, he brought a hand to her face to cup it, but let it hover.

“Is it alright if I touch your face Señorita Abigail?” Javier questioned softly, she nodded and dropped her hands, letting them rest at her sides.

“Only if you call me Abigail or Abby rather. Señorita is a bit too formal.” A smile graces her face as his sun-kissed hand cupped her face with his thumb outlining her soft cheek. She couldn’t resist reaching for the hand still at his side and holding it. The moment appeared surreal as they stood, the crashing of the waves behind them, with another soft breeze in the air.

“Señ- Abby, did you want to come to lunch as you are now? Or travel back to your hotel to change. I find myself fine with either option you choose.” The chocolate haired man explained, leaving Abigail to decide. It would be best to freshen up before going to his home which looked to be enormous. A squeeze of his hand and a nod confirmed that she heard him.

“I’ll go and freshen up before our meal. I shouldn’t be long Javier.” Her voice was calm as he led her to his golf cart. She was curious why he was leading her to the golf cart, but he quickly explained that he would drive her to her resort, help her unload her beach belongings. Javier joked that he came prepared with his shirt which made her chuckle as he carried her bag and chair despite her instance that she could carry one of them but he refused to let her as he put them in the golf cart.

Together, they made the short drive to her resort where Javier suggested that Abby should have his number to be able to text him and let him know when she was ready for him to pick her up for lunch. Had he not had such a warm smile and gentle touch, Abigail would have said no. Javier, however, had walked her to her room on the fourth floor of the resort and his hand touched the middle of her back as they walked inside and spoke briefly about what she had seen on the island already and still wanted to see. She ended up watching him as he left her room and made his way down the hallway, waving to her as the elevator doors closed.

“Hasta leugo mi diosa (See you later my goddess).”

Part Two

Peeps who got lost and found that speedo 😎: @innerpersonunknown @trulybetty @tinytinymenace @maggiemayhemnj @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @grogusmum @secretelephanttattoo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @lady-bess @readingiskeepingmegoing @missladym1981 @avastrasposts @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @gasolinerainbowpuddles @i-own-loki

#A Nerdie fic #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier gutierrez #javier gutierrez fluff #Javier Gutierrez x plus size ofc #two hearts by the ocean

35 notes · View notes

imvenusasaboy · 28 days

Text

PUPARIA

Chapter 2 - Sea, Swallow Me

chapter 1

A blinding light shone through the un-closed blinds, Hosah's eyes burning as he awoke in a cold sweat.

That dream. Fuck.

So familiar, yet so terrifying. Something about feeling your body become frozen in place over what feels like an eternity really messes with one's brain.

That, however, was not Hosah's main problem. He was, once again, tiny. For some, this would be a nightmare scenario. For Hosah however, this was about half of his life. Deciding he couldn't stand feeling dirty from subconsciously crawling through a field in a thunderstorm, he went on about his morning.

Things weren't actually that bad when he was alone in the, once small- now huge, apartment. After a while, you figure out a system to get around. Which is exactly what Hosah had done.

Luckily for him, the bathroom was an en suite, meaning he just had to make a mad dash across the floor to avoid any dust bunnies out to get him, and he'd be just about able to get a bath. Piece of cake for someone that does this routinely and is the weight of a leaf.

Finally, after scaling the tiled walls of the bathroom like a mountain goat, he'd made it onto the counter. There was already a wooden bowl in the sink prepared for if- or when, this would happen, all that needed to be done was turn the tap on and wait for the water to heat up.

Hosah clung to the faucet, positioning himself perfectly to sit on the spout, before leaning back, balancing on his torso and doing a sort of limbo to pull the lever until the hot water ran on full blast. He lifted himself back up into the sitting position, legs dangling off the edge, leaning over the feel the water. Nice.

It only took a minute for the water to heat up; meaning it was time for Hosah to jump down and start filling the bowl ready to bathe. Careful to avoid the high pressure water coming out of the tap, he made his way to the side of the bowl and pushed it directly under the stream.

Now, he really needed to be quick, this was no large bowl, and he didn't want to overfill the makeshift bath. Hosah scrambled his way back into his original position, except this time he just had to push the lever all the way back.

It would've been perfect if his socks didn't dampen in the sink whilst pushing the bowl toward the water, as just at the last second, Hosah slipped and lost his balance standing on the faucet. Luckily for him, he was a menace on the monkey bars about twenty years ago, as now he dangled off of the lever. Hosah jumped back down onto the counter with ease, just as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Damn. He looked like shit. Like, on-the-verge-of-death shit. Hosah stood leaning against the frame around the mirror, getting a close up of his unshaven stubble and grown own roots. He really needed to bleach his hair again.

It was a look he'd kept up with for almost five years, even though he thought he looked kind of ridiculous, it'd become part of his signature look. The only problem is it was no longer the icy colour he'd intended it to be, more like a yellow honey colour, one that was way too close to his skin's undertones, it washed him out completely.

Although he didn't want to think about his physical appearance anymore, he couldn't help but stare at his reflection in disgust. He didn't think he'd lost that much weight, but his hollowed cheeks and concave stomach said otherwise. Maybe his doctor was right after all.

Deciding this was a problem for the future, Hosah stripped off the already minimal clothing he had on and climbed down into the bath. This was probably his favourite part of being so small. Aside from sleeping anywhere and everywhere, because somehow it's socially acceptable to do so at such size, not that he was complaining.

For anyone else, the water would've been too hot, but for Hosah it was just right. He stretched out , slouching down deeper into the bowl, which was originally bought for side dishes of rice, finally taking a moment to clear his head of everything that had been bouncing around his mind the past day or so.

No matter how hard he tried to think of something else, it always went back to Edward. This was getting frustrating. His newfound assistant had become a plague on his mind, his moles all over his face, his subtly crooked teeth, his big, stupid hands. Eugh. Stop. Hosah dunked his head under the water in hopes that it'd rid his mind of unwanted thoughts.

That was until he remembered, he'd have to face the man at this size. Hosah could've burst into tears right then and there. Just the idea made his heart race. He flung his head back, getting droplets of water all on the mirror. Now was a good time to get out.

The tiny man struggled to get a good grip of the porcelain structure as he was now soaked to the skin, hair still dripping and getting into his eyes no matter how much he pushed it back. After many failed attempts, he finally was able to pull himself up onto the counter, rushing towards the hand towel now that the difference in temperature outside of the hot bath had hit him.

Hosah sat wrapped up in the towel, repeatedly scrubbing his head until his hair was somewhat dry and sticking up in every direction it could. He could fix it later, as now he had a few calls to make if he wanted to get to work on time. Although he knew he'd have to face Edward today, he still decided to give Jeanne a call first as he didn't bother to save his assistant's number into his phone just yet.

Sluggishly repeating all of his previous steps to get to the bathroom, Hosah made his way back to the side of the mattress he called a bed. There, his phone sat, right by his pile of regular sized clothes from last night. Although most people decided to move to smart phones, Hosah refused to upgrade his Blackberry Pearl 8220, it was still running perfectly fine, and he had all of his contacts on speed dial. Why fix what isn't broken?

The clock on the exterior read eight fifteen, meaning he still had about an hour to spare until he absolutely needed to be in the building. Perfect. Using the last of his strength, Hosah pushed the cover up, watching as the screen came to life. Turns out he actually had a missed call from Jeanne. Must've been whilst he was in the bath.

Balancing on the tip of his toes, Hosah stood over the keyboard, jumping from option to option until he heard the ringing sound of the receiving end. Hopping down and sitting by the microphone, he waited for Jeanne to pick up.

"Hello? Hosah? I called you, twenty minutes ago just about."

"Sorry, I wasn't in the room. Look- I've shrunk again, I don't have Edward's number. I'm naked and afraid."

"Ah, right. I'll give him a call. I'm at a scene right now, I'd come help you out myself if I could, really."

Hosah's 'Mmm.' wasn't picked up by the phone's audio. He really needed to upgrade, being barely able to decipher Jeanne's words through the static.

"Get dressed before he gets there, alright? I'll see you later."

And just like that, he hung up. Now that Hosah was left alone in silence again, he could truly soak in the terror of being around an unfamiliar person at his current height.

Begrudgingly, he made his way over to the miniature jewellery box that contained all of his size appropriate clothes. When he was this small, it was more like the size of a dresser as the lid came to about just under his collar bone.

Hosah didn't really have much choice. Nothing professional, at least. He just grabbed whatever was on the top of the pile. A scruffy blue checkered button up and some old dress pants that looked ridiculously big on him. It was a good thing the skater boy style was in at that moment. Still, he kept on a white vest for under his shirt as even when buttoned all the way to the top, it showed way too much of his chest to be comfortable. Hosah pulled his hair back out of his face for the last time. He looked more like a cowboy if anything.

Being a shifter was just one of the many things Hosah really hated about his life. Keeping in check with all the medication, trying not to be murdered by stampedes of feet on the way to the station, avoiding any weirdo that can have their way with him if they so desired to swoop down and scoop him up in public. What he couldn't wrap his head around was what was so hard about understanding that. Understanding that you can't just let any old new hire have the keys to his apartment and he trusted to 'take care of him'. If it wasn't for his immense pride, Hosah would've burst into tears right then and there.

He couldn't even pin point what one thing he was so scared of. It was all of it. Being vulnerable, being looked down upon, metaphorically and literally, the power imbalance, just how fragile he really was, so many different horrifying aspects that just made him feel worse and worse by the second.

Whatever, though. Hosah didn't care, he was better than caring. He couldn't care less, in fact, as he choked back the lump in his throat that may or may not have been his heart.

Hosah couldn't be rude when there was a guest coming to his house. If he could, he'd already be cleaning the mess of paints and easels going on in the living room corner, so the least he could do was prepare a cup of coffee for Edward.

Even this had a system in place, religiously, Hosah leaves water in the kettle. Now that he was thinking about it , it was probably unhygienic, but it worked, and he couldn't think of an alternative. By some stroke of luck, he also forgot to put back the dishes he had washed a few days prior. He'd need to do that once he was back to normal too.

After a long, painful trek across the once small apartment, he'd finally made it to the kitchen, where he'd have to repeat the same process as he'd done earlier to get onto the counter. If he had an ounce of fat on his body to support it, Hosah would be ripped at this point.

The main issue at hand was the kettle itself, there was no way in hell he'd ever be able to actually pour the contents out himself. Hopefully Edward doesn't mind the task. The things he did to be a good host to his house guests. He'd rethink his choice if the water hadn't already began to boil, now he was in a rush to actually prepare the rest of the drink.

Hosah hoisted himself up into the coffee jar, his feet balancing onto the edge of the container by a thread as it took all of his strength to lift the lid up. The pop of the jar opening was always very satisfying. Hastily, he began scooping handfuls of coffee into the freshly washed mug, in-fact it was still a little wet at the bottom as the granules melted and stuck themselves to the ceramic surface.

A knock at the door almost made Hosah loose his balance about three scoops in. Just in time for the kettle to finish boiling, perfect.

He felt his face flush with embarrassment as the keys fumbled on the other side of the door, standing on the edge of a coffee jar shoveling fist fulls of granules wasn't exactly the most common place people found others in.

Unfortunately, there was no time to get down as the door creaked open, the newfound assistant calling out;

"Hello? Hosah? Anybody home?"

He waited until the sound of the door clicking shut behind Edward to call back,

"In the kitchen!" Hosah yelled out, doubting he'd be heard at such size and from such a distance.

Each cautious footstep Edward took only made the nausea even worse. So slow, yet so impactful. He could probably smell the fear, hence why he was taking his sweet, sweet time. In that moment, Hosah figured he should stop watching so many vampire movies.

In the time taken for the newbie to actually get to the kitchen entrance, Hosah was able to quickly dump one more handful of coffee into the mug and hop back down to the marbled surface. A fresh face peeked into the room, almost as scared as the pocket sized man waiting for him on the countertop.

The smaller of the two's breathing shallowed, instinctively backing himself against the ceramic cup in the process. He would never truly get used to this. Despite having spent half of his life at the debilitating size, Hosah would always be scared. The fact Edward's expression only seemed to lighten up upon seeing him just made Hosah worry more about his safety.

Much faster this time, the assistant approached, now on one knee at eye level to the impossibly tiny man. He couldn't help but smile, there's just something so delightful about seeing his once intimidating and unapproachable boss at such an endearing size. Edward had never actually encountered a shrunken shifter so closely, what the human body can do is really amazing.

"Ah, the kettle is boiled, are you making coffee? Is that- safe to drink when you're, you know.." He signalled with his index finger and thumb to show exactly what was meant by the question.

Hosah stumbled on his words as he was confronted by the fact he'd have to communicate that it was Edward's turn in the process to pour the boiled water.

"It's for you actually." Muttering under his breath, Hosah's gaze, as it usually did, was back down to the surface under him.

"Sorry?"

Ah, of course, the only downside to being just about twenty four times smaller than the other person you're in conversation with. Tiny people have tiny voices.

"It's for you, I just.. wasn't sure if you preferred specific water to milk ratios. So I thought I'd let you do it." He wasn't usually the type of guy to repeat himself, but Hosah couldn't risk coming across as rude to a, in comparison to himself, literal giant.

Luckily, Edward seemed to find this amusing as his hands interlocked with a clap at his chin, showing his appreciation toward the gesture.

"Of course. Apologies, It's early, I'm silly. Thank you, you're very sweet." The massive hand coming down straight towards Hosah almost completely took his breath away, only when he'd flinched back, face hidden in his arms, did he notice Edward actually was reaching for the mug he was leant up against.

Fortunately for him, there would be more reason to be afraid. A shadow cast down onto Hosah's miniature frame as his assistant stood to his full height. He already towered above Hosah anyway, but this was just absurd. Turns out he was a no-milk-coffee kind of guy after all.

"Honestly, when I'm drinking hot coffee, I like to mix cinnamon or nutmeg in. A lot less bitter." Edward mindlessly chatted whilst swirling the granules around with a teaspoon he'd helped himself to.

Meanwhile, Hosah's heart raced as the ivory knuckles of the giant's hand just barely missed brushing against him. Without thinking, he replied,

"I carry around a little spice shaker of cinnamon everywhere I go, just to do that. Tastes way better that way. "

This actually wasn't a blatant lie for once. Hosah had a very bad habit of telling meaningless and insignificant lies when it felt necessary to add whatever relatability to a conversation. He doesn't even know why he does it himself, but it works.

"Oh! Really? Aha, we're more similar than you think, it seems." Edward turned, mug in hand, so his back was leant on the countertop. The two stood side by side for a moment, and everything seemed normal... To an extent.

That's right. The pair really were more alike than they'd both initially thought. Despite the sheer difference in size, in power, even in how they looked and presented themselves, to their core they were probably closer to identical than anything. There was something undeniably comforting about the fact, so much so that Hosah was able to breathe, for the first time in what felt like his entire life. It must've been quite the sigh, as it caught the giant's attention.

Usually being chuckled at would be immensely aggravating, but he felt as if it was deserved this time around. Hosah couldn't help but smile back, his hand now brushing through his choppy bleached locks.

Edward spun around on his heel to face his miniature superior, bringing Hosah down from the high of delusion. The much larger of the two leant forward, not realising his boss would just be getting a face full of chest in doing so. His hand was far, far too close to Hosah. It made him nervous.

Taking a final sip of the hot drink, Edward spoke up,

"Should probably start thinking about leaving. Thank you for the drink." The clunk of the ceramic against the hard marble counter was startling. "I'll wash up first,"

Before the host could protest and insist he can do it later, Edward had already gotten over to the cluttered kitchen sink in two short strides, pulling up his coat sleeves and helping himself to the finite amount of dish soap left in the bottle. Hosah should really invest in a size appropriate notepad to write all these things-he-needs-to-do down.

".. I'll get my coat and shoes, then."

Just as Hosah made his way to the edge of the counter, a slightly wet, flesh wall blocked his pathway. Edward's sudden, panicked movement caught him off guard, almost falling straight down onto his butt in response.

"Wait!- Wait, I'll get them for you. Just don't... Please don't- jump down from so high."

The tiny man, startled and unable to say anything, just nodded.

"I wasn't planning on it." He muttered under his breath.

Edward waited for a second before moving again to turn off the sink and dry his hands, not wanting to take his eyes off of the person he was hired to look out for incase he'd do anything stupid.

The silence of the apartment was painful. Hosah longed for any sort of noise to fill the void, the neighbors baby’s cry, a pin drop, literally anything.

"God, Hosah, you scared me." Edward smirked, still fumbling with the mug and tea towel in his hands. "Don't go hanging around edges like that anymore, for my sake, okay?"

The significantly smaller of the two couldn't hold back his scoff. Who did this guy think he was? Hosah didn't reply, just hummed a stubborn 'Mmm' as he liked to do, and turned to face the other way. No newbie was going to tell him where he could and couldn't 'hang around', that was for sure.

"Right," Edward returned to his position looming over the tiny detective, "Let's go get your stuff." He held out a freshly washed hand, open for Hosah to jump right on.

That was the issue. There was no way in hell he was getting onto that thing. He stood inspecting for a good few seconds, sizing up all the other possible routes he could take.

The hand stretched out some more, now as flat as it could possibly be, "It's okay, you don't have to be nervous, I'll be careful."

Oh. Oh now he's done it. The grimace on Hosah's face said it all.

"Just get on your knees and I'll do the rest."

The assistant did as he was told, but not without a "Geez, buy me dinner first at least" under his breath. Not amusing.

There was no denying it, Hosah was just as agile as any other city stray, hopping down from the counter top and onto the giant's shoulder like it was nothing, keeping perfect balance despite the drastic change in surface. Unfortunately, keeping up this image would prove to be increasingly difficult as said surface slowly stood to his full height and began walking aimlessly around the apartment.

Hosah, now grabbing onto his assistant's shirt collar for dear life, would have to show Edward the way.

"They're in - Woah, woah, slowly!" his legs almost buckled beneath him as the walking pace increased, "... They're in the bedroom. Straight ahead. Little jewellery box on the floor."

Edward made sure to slow his steps this time, "Right. Sorry."

Before actually entering the bedroom, something else caught Edward's attention. The half finished painting. Hosah had to stop himself from physically recoiling once realising what exactly the giant was looking at.

"Wow, I.. Hosah, you never told me you could paint like this!" There was no stopping him now, as he'd already abandoned their quest to retrieve the tiny coat and shoes, making his way over to the artist's station.

The person behind said piece turned his face towards Edward's neck, "It's still a work in progress, nobody was meant to see it yet. You know too much now, I'm gonna have to kill you you know."

"I didn't realise when I walked in, are all the artworks on the walls yours?" it was excruciatingly difficult for Edward to just look and not touch the canvas.

"...Yeah." Nobody was meant to see Hosah's paintings at all, never mind when they're still half complete. "Cmon, we're gonna be late. Let's go." he tapped the rookie detective's shoulder as though he were a horse, with Hosah being the jockey.

The whole experience just added more to the imaginary list of 'Things to do when regular height' , the apartment being criminally unfurnished was increasingly embarrassing, especially when the two entered Hosah's bedroom, which was completely empty aside from the futon on the floor, an old wardrobe, and a tiny jewellery box sitting next to the sheet-less bed.

To be fair, it was an extremely beautiful jewellery box. A vintage, European style container with a gold ridges and 4 little matching legs. Aside from the edges, the box itself had a white marbled pattern with tiny little red roses painted on top, the inside was lined with the same red shade in velvet form. Hosah didn't own many nice things, but this was certainly an exception.

Despite it seeming so spacious earlier, Hosah took that thought back as Edward picked it up in one hand, with the entire thing being barely the size of his palm, and popping the lid open with ease. Luckily his coat lay on the surface, but his little boots were buried deep under all of his other equally tiny clothes.

"Hold on, I'll get them." Hosah grumbled, slipping down to Edward's forearm, now balancing on the space between the wrist and the thumb.

The process was intended to be quick and painless, but as the pocket-sized detective dug around, two eyes about half the size of his entire being bore into him. The more he rushed, the more nervous he became, and with that meant the more messy he got whilst shuffling through the reasonably small pile of fabric. Ah, there they were!

Without thinking it through entirely, Hosah took a seat in the crook of the wrist and slipped the pair on. It wasn't until he got a glance of Edward's stupidly wide smile that he realised the dire mistake he'd made. He bit the bullet, finishing the job whilst making a vow to himself to never do anything that can be perceived as endearing ever again.

"You don't mind my shoes on your coat, right?"

Keeping his arms as still as possible when a miniature man walked along them proved to be extremely difficult for Edward.

"Go right ahead." He'd have nodded if he didn't worry the movement would sweep Hosah off of his newly equipped feet.

As swiftly and as quickly as he'd gotten down, Hosah made his way back up to the shoulder where he'd spend the foreseeable future perched upon. If it didn't kill him to admit out loud, he'd say Jeanne was right. Partially. Edward wasn't so bad after all.

Although he was gonna have to find a name that wasn't shared with the likes of a globally beloved vampire heart-throb.

#g/t #giant tiny #g/t ocs #gianttiny #sfw g/t #g/t writing #oc teddy #oc hosah #Rah #Ok I’m 700 words into chapter 3 #Trust it will be soon #Puparia_tag

20 notes · View notes

mynameis-noe-body · 7 months

Text

Wonderland Chronicles

Tarrant Higtopp (Mad Hatter) × Alice Kingsleigh

Rating: Mature

Status: Complete (one shot)

Summary: Alice and Tarrant get inspired by fruit juices and enjoy smutty time, all alone during a tea party.

Alice has seven, beautiful pieces of cloth — which is a very fine number, for clothes. And he knows about that, surely, he made them with his own magical hands, and his good heart, obviously. Tarrant loves to believe there's a little bit of love in every of his artworks and Alice's dresses are his most fabulous creations. She has two majestic, opulent suits — with long coat and embroidered pants — that she loves to wear during the most elegant nights at Marmoreal Castle, with Queen Mirana and the whole court. Then, there's her night gown, which is made of the finest silk — and Caterpillar knows that better than anyone else in the Underlands — and is of the loveliest shade of avory, as pale as the big moon in their night sky. She wears a lilac jumpsuit when she's about to travel through the lands on the back of the Bandersnatch, who's the most affectionate towards their Champion. And — last but not least — there are those three tea-lenght dresses, cut and sewn from long fabrics of organza, lace and tulle, painted of the most intense shade of cobalt, or vivid cerulean or perhaps light blue sky. Yes — every shade of blue is Alice: among the softest clouds and in the deepest water, everywhere there's a little bit of blue that reminds him of his pretty, pretty Alice.

Tarrant is the happiest as she comes at his door wearing one of those three dresses, because that means they are going to spend some time together, and that would be one of the best days ever (as any day spent with Alice is the most beautiful of them all). And that one is a very fine day. Time has fallen asleep somewhere, and it seems the sun itself has stopped in the middle of the afternoon to leave them happily bathed in his warm light; sitting on a big picnic blanket, the Hatter opens his wicker basket. «Come on — hop hop — time to jump out of the cupboard, little friends. We have a very important guest to entertain!» and suddenly, two small cups of fine porcelain and a puffy teapot pop up and land on the blanket. «Oh, good. Tea's ready.»

«I wish cups and teapots could make tea on their own in the Upland, too. I could not imagine Mother's surprise at this!» Alice says; her little smile is the extremely satisfying.

Tarrant, however, suddenly feels Sadness thighting her hands around his neck. «Why, Alice — are you already planning to leave? I couldn't bear it, honestly. You've just come back» to me, he would add, but he isn't sure how she would take that. Brave she is, yes, but sometimes too unfocused on her Muchness to see what truly happens around her.

She shakes her head. The yellow porcelain cup jump on the open palm of her hand and she sips the green tea. «No, Hatter. This time I've come back for good, I promise.»

And she had promised, many moons ago, that she had wanted to stay this time. Business were finally done and gone in the Upland, that very strange place had no more sense to her; evil people there, and no fun at all. Not for a woman, anyway. While there, they had valiant Queens and brave Warrior lasses. Tarrant had made her tell the story of how she had chased a dream through a painting to fall down there all over again; a big tableau on the wall above the fireplace, she had painted just little details here and there: a white rabbit, big scarlet mushrooms and singing flowers, two funny children in white and red stripes and — obviously — a Mad Hatter. And when she had seen them walking together down the green, grassy road, she knew she only had to reach out. She didn't even bother to say goodbye.

He smiles at the thought, and his eyes sparkles emerald. «Well that's the best news, Alice! Many things I desire to show you.»

«Tell me about that.» Alice lets the cup go, and lays on the blanket; her golden hair are scattered around her just-right-seized head as a mane, her pale, soft skin shines in the lovely light of the day, a sweet breeze blows on her cheeks and goosebumps runs on her chest. Nice breast — round and soft under her garments, plump as ripe fruits and oh-so sweet, he'd die so happy is he could just... if 'is greedy slurvish tongue could tast' ta' bonnie lass — nice 'n' slow, just a lil' bite — «Hatter!» she exclaims, and his eyes, which had become so purple just a few seconds ago, turns back green.

«I beg your pardon.» Oh — good Absolem and all his little caterpillars — those thoughts have been haunting him for quite some time now. He doesn't wants to ruin their friendship, but the Madness is getting stronger. Harder to control when she's around him. She smells like spring and cupcakes, and such lov— no, not again. «Right, where were we? Ah yes, our new adventures, dearest Alice. I plan to bring you to the Merry Lake, maybe fishing, and you'll need a new hat obviously! A nice boater with black 'n' white stripes. Then, I'll bring you to the Fairy Forest, to catch flying seahorses, and you'll wear a cartwheel — pink, yes! Or maybe just coral and blue. Oh, I must not forget, I still need to show you how to pick spurtberries!»

Alice laughs loudly. She sits up again, next to him and Tarrant isn't sure he's breathing again. Her scent is intoxicating, the warmest desire inflames his loins — dear, the gods couldn't compare her fine beauty — such a bonnie gurl, mmmh, yes, I wanna lick ta' lips 'n' bite her neck, luvely creature my Alice. Mine. Mine to tast' fffuck — «...a spurtberry?» her voice breaks into his mad mad head and he smiles back.

«I believe I'm distracted today, Alice, thinking about hats... A fez! Yes! Forgive me, love. What were you saying?»

He doesn't notice, at first, but then her cheeks turns of the prettiest shade of red, like two ripe, sweet peaches, and her eyes grow big and wide, her short breath on his face betrays some new emotion. He's so bewitched by her image — the tip of her tongue wet her lips, and he wants nothing more than to kiss her, and taste her, and let his mouth run down her skin of the neck to bite her there, and on the swell curve of her breasts — he forgets he's just called her love.

Alice's heart is thundering in her chest, but she doesn't know what do with it. Would it be so scandalous to touch him? She let her hand caress his knee, softly, with reverence. «What is a spurtberry, Tarrant?»

Oh, his name. Such a sweet sound on her lips. He closes his eyes — his iris are turning purple and it isn't good, very much not good — and he tries a smile. «Spurtberries! Yes, delicious. Wait, I may have some here» and he opens the basket again; his whole arm search for that plate deep inside the casket, as if it was as the deep as the heart, and finally he finds them. Round, bright red berries, as big strawberries, as round as blueberries and as sweet as currant. He takes one between his fingers and smiles. «Here, try it» he shows her how to bite.

And she bites. Her theet sink into the soft texture of the fruit while she hums her delight. It looks so innocent, his two slim fingers feeding her hungry lips and however, it feels so naughty and erotic — the way is index barely touches her lower lip, the moan in her throat as delicious juices flow down in her belly, that scarlet tint dripping down on the palm of his hand, and now on her chin too, and now — good gods, her white neck now painted in red. That single drop slides down on her skin, and slowly disappear behind the hem of the cobalt neckline. She has worne that dress, that one that shows so much of her fine body, and her think naked ankles; it wraps her like a previous gift. And her chest swells with fresh air, their dreamy gazes meet in mid air.

She barely breathes, and he knows now how their lips are just few inches away. Her sapphire eyes sparkle with want and desire. «Tarrant» she whispers.

«Yes?» — it pains him so much, please, he silently begs her, please I'm so miserable, my dear Alice.

«Don't you want to taste it, too?» and she smiles, teasing.

Tarrant smirks. «Yes.» And he kisses her.

Sure and firm his lips press on hers, and they catch fire. There's everything in that kiss, how they've missed each other, how deep is their need to belong, finally; they move together, the kiss depeens and their tongues make love amog their lips. It's slow and sensual, she's so sweet he thinks he could die right there, on the lovely softness of her mouth, listening to her little voice moaning his name. He growls. Gods — he hasn't felt this wild in a while, she inflames his desires. Hot, it feels so hot suddenly he aruptly takes off his cravat and unbutton his jacket, but that only turns on Alice's Muchness, for her bare hands grab the back of his neck, and his frizzy hair, and she takes him so tight — her mouth is so lovely open, her tongue slides over his upper lip and he snarls. Fuck. Yes. And he bites her, moaning her name, and suck lavishly on her tongue.

«Mmh — oh me' dear Alice, me' bonnie, luvely lass — lemme just, there, lemme taste your sweetness. Gods, lemme giv' ya everthin'» and he sucks on her neck. Her desperate cry of pleasure is the most perfect music. He's drinking on her, licking the purple trace of juice on her body, his tongue gliding down her naked chest. A kiss, another kiss. And he sucks, hard, leaving big red marks on her, if his name written on her skin. Her hands in his hair urge him; she's always been so greedy — his Alice — hungry for more, impatient and eager. There's no way he can open his mouth more or he'd swallow her all. He has to stop — he must. When he breathes into her breasts her scent fills his soul and he can just feel it, how hard he is. No pain has ever been so sweet. «Lemme luv you, lass. I want to tell you, how deep my live for you is, my Alice. Mine.» He presses his lips closed on her skin. «I will show you, luv — how I can give you the greatest pleasure with the tip of my tongue, and how you'll feel with my finger on your pretty, wet quim. Are you, Alice? Wet?»

It is, she is. Alice has no words, there's a hot warm feeling spreading between her legs and she's whimpering, begging him with wide, liquid eyes to touch her more, to kiss her more. Yes — those lips on her breasts feel so good, so soft and hungry. She embraces him, sliding her hand on his back; she just need so much of him against her body — more skin, more everything. «Off, Tarrant. Please, show me!»

They rip their clothes off: he takes off his waistcoat, his white shirt and he opens his breeches — it feels good, his hard clothed cock against her thigh as she fumbles with her gown. Avory long legs are now bare before his thirsty gaze. His fingers are rough, calloused on her skin and she squirms under his touch. Steady, yes — his Alice never wears stockings, or corset. Naughty, naughty girl. He licks his lips as a kitten in front of a delicious bowl of sweet cream. Her cream, yes, between her legs, on the soft flesh of her pink, virgin cunt. What a sight. «Do not be afraid, luv. Trust your mad, mad Hatter — for only good may come from such a sinful folly. Open your legs, open for me — yes, nice and wide my brave Alice.» He gently takes off his hat, and smirks maliciously as he sinks into that arousal.

He presses his lips on her wet flesh, kissing his way down her cunt; she suddenly whimper and whine, like a little cat begging for more. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands as her legs slowly open more, more, and she offers everything and every bit of pleasure she may give. Yes — she's gone for good, Madness has caught her finally, taken her to the warm ocean of lust in which she's drowing now. And it feels more than good. She was made for this. «Oh — Tarrant! More — God, more!»

«No gods here, love — just your faithful Hatter. Delicious, lovely Alice. Lemme ea'tis pretty pussie here.» Tarrant shoves his tongue inside her, there where sweet juices drips out of her sex and onto his lips, he licks and suck, and his skilled fingers caresses her most sensitive part. His thumb presses on that little bundle of nerves, her small clit, the lovely pearl between those pinky lips and she moans his name. Again. Greedy, ravenous, he's feeding on her �� yes.

Alice grabs his hair, and finally starts to ride his face: she rocks her hips up and down, up and down taking everything, bucking into his hot mouth. More — she needs more, there yesyesyesyes. She's so empty, but of what she does not know. There something wrong, a void, and she's crying again for him. «Empty — so empty, Tarrant please! I need... I need —»

«I ken what ya need, luv.»

He lies on the blanket, taking her in his arm, kissing her cheek. His crotch humping against her thigh feels so good... And he can't wait anymore, two wide fingers thrust in, all the way in — inside her, so soft and tight, that virgin cunt takes him so well, it was made to be marked by his touch. And she arches her back so he can press into the perfect spot. «There, Tarrant!» and he knows what he's doing: come — his fingers sing into her soul, into her loins, turning on the burning flame of a sweet orgasm into her cunt. Licking his lips, he watches her losing control; her nails press deep in the flesh of his back, and can't help himself but wish to bring those scratches on his skin forever.

He bucks his hips against her, thrusting his hard cock on her soft hips, more and more, wetting his garments with precum and moaning in her ear. «Nngh — fffuck, Alice my luv, jus' like tha' — feel so good — good gurl.» And as she's rocking against the palm of his hand and his fingers shove deep inside, he's pressing his cock harder on her softness. It feel too perfect to last. There they are, shuddering hard as he sinks his theet on her neck, sucking another red love-bite, moaning her name — AliceAliceAlice — and she screams her pleasure, sobbing against his warm body, tears of happiness sliding down her pinky cheecks. Then, it subsides, slowly like the waves on the shore, and all that's left are their whispers of love. They kiss, barely pecking their lips, smiling happy together.

Tarrant eyes turns of the most intense, deepest green as she breathes against his neck, going limp in his arms. «Are you well, dearest?»

Alice smiles and reaches out to grab a little red Berry. She bites, scarlet juices dripping on her fingers; she let it slides on his chest — and he hisses, smiling knowingly. «Never better, Tarrat» she licks his neck. «But I believe now, it is my turn.»

#mad hatter #tarrant hightopp #alice in wonderland #alice kingsleigh #Mad Hatter x Alice #alice x tarrant #smut

50 notes · View notes