Tumgik
#5k...holy god
cheesit-notes · 8 months
Text
"s'fucking small"
lieutenant ghost who has a major size kink.
tags: MDNI!, size kink obvi, manhandling teehee, fem reader, fingering, you're put in a mating press, lowkey praise?
a/n: sorry for the late post, i went to hoyofest '23 and then tumblr went down for a bit but teehee take ghost and size kink (i want him to manhandle me)
Tumblr media
ghost likes to hold things after you hold them just to see how big his hands look on it compared to yours. does the thing where he makes you hold his phone and later compares it to his cock. (when hard, he is most definitely over 7 inches and at least 5 inches in girth, you can't tell me he can act like this if his cock was any less)
loves manhandling you 'cause god, look at you! so small next to him. he absolutely adores your hand in his, just shows him how big he is compared to you.
when he has you pinned to the bed, legs spread out showing off your pretty little cunt to him, just him. god, and you're so wet, letting him slip in a finger in so easily. one hand holding yours down, your knees pressing against your chest as he pushes himself onto you. revels in the fact he can just engulf your entire body with his larger one.
slips a few fingers in and out, seeing you squirm around trying to rub on him trying to get any form of friction. teases you by rubbing your clit, just a little. then when he's had enough, he'll stand up and let you watch as he slowly takes off his belt and let his cock spring free.
an arm to support him, your knees now next to your head because of the position, and his cock lined up with your cunt. he'll ram it in with no time for you to adjust (he's so mean). gets him all riled up seeing a bulge in your stomach. he'll grunt out your name and little comments about how you're "s'fucking small" and how you're taking him in sooo good. he'll put you in a mating press. eventually, he's just panting and moaning your name as you squeeze around him with a death grip on your hips and thighs.
god you look so cute as he fucks your brains out.
10K notes · View notes
missingexaltation · 2 years
Text
Wayne coming home to find the boys viciously and LOUDLY arguing and immediately getting ready to a) throw that Harrington boy out on his ear and b) be a shoulder for Eddie to cry on.
As soon as he walks through the door the Harrington boy gestures at him and screeches "TELL HIM WHAT YOU TOLD ME", and Eddie just crumples in on himself in shame, refusing to look at anyone.
Wayne standing there listening to Steve rant about how 'he doesn't care about kids or marriage or any of that shit' and how he's going to throttle Eddie for trying to break up with him because he thinks he's trailer trash and therefore has nothing to offer Steve in the long run.
Wayne excusing himself to get ready for bed, chuckling to himself as he realises that 'that Harrington boy' is gonna be around for a long time, and he's actually good with that.
13K notes · View notes
multifandomfanficrec · 7 months
Link
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, James Bond (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Q Additional Tags: Workplace Relationship, Misunderstandings Summary:
The one where Bond really, really isn't used to sleeping with people who don't tragically die soon afterward.
3 notes · View notes
moldwood · 1 year
Text
ohhhhh my god wait im so smart i dont have to turn off reblogs i can just delete the posts i dont want to see notes for anymore
2 notes · View notes
lokislytherin · 2 years
Link
chapters: 1/1 fandom: tower of god relationships: yeon ehwa & hwaryun, yeon ehwa / hwaryun, yeon ehwa & ja wangnan characters: yeon ehwa, hwaryun, ja wangnan, other minor characters, two surprise characters at the end! additional tags: joseon dynasty korea, internalized homophobia, learning to love yourself, ehwa goes from i am stupid and gay (derogatory) to i am stupid and gay (affectionate), she’s getting there
summary: when lady ehwa of the yeon court messes up her own wedding by setting her betrothed crown prince wangnan on fire, she doesn't expect things to get better. much to her surprise, the strange, red-haired fortune teller she meets is willing to help her.
a/n: for seru!! go wish her a late happy birthday and check out her commissions coz they’re open right now!! i appreciate seru and love ehwaryun and y’all should too
2 notes · View notes
daforged · 2 years
Text
im gonna fuckin bawl i’ve been fighting with my uni since september over a $5,000 scholarship i earned & they literally sent to my student awards account but that they didn’t want to give me because i apparently didn’t meet the credit hours requirement . and so i gave up on it last fall because they just Would Not Budge but a couple weeks ago the status on it updated to actually apply the amount to my tuition account & i went through the process of asking them to refund it to my bank account since im graduating & it cant get used for future tuition fees & i just now FINALLY got an email on the details of how to receive that money into my chequing account. im going to fucking cry im actually going to be able to afford stuff now im literally. oh my god.
#i didnt meet the credit hours requirement because u have to take the equivalent of 8 courses across fall-winter semesters#& im only doing 6 because like. thats what i need to graduate. why would i take more.#so for MONTHS last year im trying to explain this to them and it just kept getting escalated and run around to different depts#over and over and back and forth transferred from student aid & awards to the registrar’s office to my home faculty to the accounting dept#back to student aid etc etc#& it was so frustrating to be given this FIVE THOUSAND DOLLAR BOON FOR LIKE. MY GOOD PERFORMANCE.#and then have it snatched away immediately ??? like why didnt u check my credit hours BEFORE giving it to me if its such a big deal#& then i was fiddling w my student records account the other day and saw that huuuge credit sitting in my like. tuition fees.#and i was like holy shit holy shit holy shit and i checked the student awards tab and it had updated to say released on march 22nd or w/e#so rhen im like. hhhhhhhh Please refund it to my bank please please i will not celebrate until its actually Mine#and just now. the email with instructions on how to deposit it. ough.#anyway. rollercoaster emotions today lmao blessed be 420#but like seriously $5k is life changing a bit for me. especially since im abt to graduate#man oh my god guys i could go to a restaurant. i could get take out. i could go to a movie#I COULD BUY NEW CLOTHESSSS AAAAAAA#also the boring stuff like i guess i could put it towards fixing our a/c since thats broken as hell and summer’s gonna be hot as balls#but like. ofnvjdkvjsjcjsjckxj ok ok ok ok o io i o oookokokokok#oh my god i could have the luxury of eating food i didn’t have to make myself. bro do u know how long it’s been since i had takeout.#freewheeling bitextual#‘Cs get degrees’ ok well As get A FIVE THOUSAND DOLLAR SCHOLARSHIP BITCHESSSSS ITS ALL PAYING OFF NOW BAYBEEEEE WOOOOO SCREAMING CRYING THR#OWING UP /POS YEEEAHAHAHSHAHAHHHHHH#im running on 2 hrs of sleep and soul crushing levels of stress caffeine and anticipation for the Finish Line
3 notes · View notes
Text
Safe Keeping | 1
Part 2
"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."
Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut (wedding night, loss of virginity, mild dub con, PIV, biting, praise kink), emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, baby fever, typos, etc.
A/N: what do we say to big scary murderers? all together now: i can fix him. the smut is at the end so just keep scrolling to the bottom if you wanna pass (: originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here
Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx
Tumblr media
A collective gasp resonates in the hall upon the utterance of the proclamation. The blonde boy basks in the reaction. I release a breath, hand on my churning belly, as I stand there in front of the Iron Throne. The agitation that filled me threatened to spill from my lips when I curtsied to the king. But by the gods, I manage to mutter, "you have honored me with such a decision, your grace."
King Joffrey smirks, "yes," he shifts in his seat, "I have." He stands from the throne and raises a beckoning hand, "dog!"
All eyes turn to one corner.
The rustle of fabric and the clink of steel fill the hall. I watch as he walks towards me. I watch the large man, clad in darkness from head to toe, hand on his hilt, face adorned with a large burn, come to my side but pay me no mind. He turns to his king, "your grace."
"My king," queen Cersei mutters to her son, "he is a member of the Kingsguard, he cannot--"
"My word is law, is it not?" the boy says.
His mother looks at him then us, and says no word.
Joffrey grins, "I present your new ward," he raises his arms, "orphaned at war, parents and brothers dead, house left with no heirs. She turned to me for counsel," he points to his chest, "for she would die on her own. And now I give her you," he clasps his hands, "to have and to hold in holy matrimony."
The room is dead silent.
"Consider it a gift for your loyal service," he turns to me, "a rather generous one, given your infliction," he turns back to him.
The man on my side nods once.
"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes."
I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine father."
A loud and shrill laugh echoes in the chamber, demanding everyone's attention. Joffrey wheezes until he's red and tumbles back into his metal chair. He catches his breath and nods, "he- mmm, he would," he chuckles.
The king settles himself and waves us off, "go forth and make arrangements then, my lady. Your protector awaits."
Tumblr media
I flinch at the way the wooden door is opened. Sandor stands before me, in a dress shirt and a scowl, leaning against the opening of his chamber door. I look away and curtsy, "good morrow, Lord Sandor," I steal a quick glance at Lucy by my left, "I've had my handmaiden prepare f-"
"Hound." 
I lift my eyes to his face. The sour expression he held is amplified by the scar on his side. His eyes burn into me. "They call me the Hound," he grunts, "y'know that?"
I clasp my hands in front of me and open my mouth before muttering, "yes. Yes, I do."
"Then save me of this lord business," he straightens up and walks off inside his chambers. I watch him as much as I can from where I stood outside his room. I pipe up when he is no longer in eye's view, "may I come in?"
"Door's open, isn't it?"
I look at Lucy hesitantly, motioning she stay outside. I push the door wider and walk in, seeing Sandor was now getting dressed.
I stare at him for a moment, pressing my hands closer together, "would you like for me to he-"
"I'm not the king who has a bitch for every task."
I clench my jaw at his icy words.
Sandor begins to do his clasps, "why are you here, girl?"
He does not look at me after asking. I purse my lips before replying, "I am heading to the tailor to pick fabrics and-"
"Why isn't the tailor coming here?" he asks, still focused on dressing himself.
Sandor finally turns to me after fixing his top. I look up at him, feeling a dread build in my belly, "I wanted to go outside."
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He takes steps closer.
My lips part. I blurt, "the palace is too stuffy."
"Stuffy?" he retorts, "I wonder how large your house is if you find it stuffy here."
I shake my head, "I did not mean it like that."
"Then how did you mean it?" Sandor says, tilting down to look upon me once he is close enough. I am unable to withhold myself from stepping back. I mutter, "there are many... looming presences. It's overwhelming."
"Looming, she says," he grumbles. "Well, little lady, you're going to be shackled to me, and I'm shackled here. You'll have to get used to these looming presences."
I turn away from him and take a breath. Must he speak to me like I'm a child?  "I understand that."
"No, I don't think you do," he says.
I look back at him. His gaze is as hard as ever.
"The moment a thing like you is outside the castle walls, thieves and rapists will fight to getcha," he walks off, "get your footman to escort you right in front of the shop and back."
I furrow my brows as he heads to the door, "wait, what about you?"
He stops right in front of Lucy and turns back, "what about me?"
"I'm going to the tailor to be fitted a dress for our wedding," I explain, "I came here to bring you along with me," I point to the woman at his side, "Lucy has made food for you to-"
"Why would I go with you to a tailor?"
Will he ever let me finish speaking? I hold back my annoyed expression, "you need to be fitted for your wedding at-"
"I'm not your dress up dolly," he grumbles, face pinched in disgust, "I'll be wearing my armor and that's that."
We stare at each other for a moment. I watch as Lucy glares at Sandor from behind. I clench my jaw tightly before curtsying, "as you wish, my lord-"
"Hound," he barks.
I look at him in shock, "you wish me to call you hound?"
He narrows his eyes and scoffs, "it's what I am-- what you're marrying, isn't it?"
I debate his words, unsure if he meant it or if it was a trick, a reason for him to be angry at me, "may I call you by name?"
He feels disdain burn up from his belly to his throat, "what? Too good to admit that-"
"That is not what I said!" I quip hotly.
The hulking man is rendered silent. He did not expect that. Still, he decides not to respond and walks away.
I scoff when he does so.
Lucy makes a face at him before coming up to me, offering a remorseful look, "he's a brute, milady! Rugged and ugly and mean!"
"Lucy," I warn as she takes my arm and escorts me out. She closes the door on our way and makes a face, "he's a thickheaded oaf!" she glares behind her to no one, "he's lucky-- blessed by all gods to be promised to a lady like you, and he treats you as though you were the degene-"
"Lucy!" I quip, yanking her by the arm.
She is finally silenced because of this. We both halt in our spot.
I hiss, "if someone were to hear you, if he were to hear you..." I shake my head, "he is my lord now. He is your lord."
Lucy grumbles.
"If it could be, I would not marry anyone," I tell her under a hushed voice, "but you know that cannot be."
We begin to walk down the hall. I continue, "I had thought I'd end with an old lord, eager to inherit my estate and esteem," I shake my head, "shocking as it was to be thrown like a bone to him..." I look out the open windows, "at least... the Hound... can protect me," I look back to Lucy, "protect us."
Lucy's face falls solemn. We hold each other's gaze for a moment. She then offers, "you're right. Them forest monsters will cower in fear at the mere sight of the 'ound."
We head to the castle gates, "do you think the guards will let us-"
"We'll walk, Lucy," I reply.
"What?! But the Hound said-"
"He expected me to have footmen and you know well that I don't. I do not think it would be appropriate to instruct the servants here to go out of their way for us. Besides, the shop is not far, you know this."
"But, Lady, I- I can drive the carriage again!"
I shake my head, "don't be ridiculous, Lucy. Do you know how silly we'd look galloping in a carriage for just a few streets down the city?"
Lucy is unable to talk me into any of her ideas. We ask the guards let us through the gate then walk to the tailor.
Once there, I am greeted by the tailor and immediately attended to.
Lucy and I go through the fabrics together. I laugh at her sentiment that all the fabrics would look good on me.
"Here," the tailor says, placing a strip of fabric on my shoulder, "I think this would suit you well, lady."
I look at myself in the mirror just as Lucy says, "that's it! That's the one!"
"Lucy," I chuckle, "you've said that about all the fabrics thus far."
"And I meant it every time!" she retorts, "but this one, this one is truly better than all the rest."
I look at myself in the mirror, "this one is actually quite pretty," I agree, "it's a very pale shade of red, but I quite enjoy it."
"It is all the rage with the ladies at court," the tailor says.
I smile, "very well. I should like to have this for my wedding dress."
Lucy squeals and applauds.
"A fine choice, my lady," the tailor nods and finishes measuring me.
The moment Lucy and I exit the tailor shop, we are scared by a loud holler. We turn to our side and see the mighty Hound, leaned against the wall. He straightens up and marches towards me.
"My Lord Sand-"
"What did I tell you about going outside the castle?" he barks, glaring down at me. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. My stomach rolls.
I give him a look and push Lucy behind me, "there was no dange-
"That's what you think. But tell me, what do little girls know but to play dress up?"
I whimper when he grabs my arm and drags me like an unruly child all the way back to the palace. I do not try to fight him. I know I will only hurt and tire myself if I do.
"Maybe I should let the peasants have at you," he mutters, side-eyeing me hotly, "teach you a lesson."
"Let her go!" Lucy shrieks.
He threatens to strike her when she tires to pull me away. I shout in protest. Sandor huffs and decides to simply continue dragging me.
The moment we are past the gates, he releases me roughly, making me yelp. Lucy grabs my arm and checks if I am injured.
Sandor eyes every one of the men present, "I'll make a jump rope out of the entrails of whoever fucking lets her out again."
The Hound storms off, leaving me and my handmaiden reeling and everyone else uneasy.
Tumblr media
Sandor walks down the halls across the keep. He notices a guard looking down from the window. He wonders if he should push him for no other reason than the fact that he can.
He doesn't. He goes downstairs. He furrows his brows at the sight of men huddled together, looking at something in the gardens. He realizes it's most likely the same thing the man upstairs was looking at.
He walks their way, because he has to anyway, but is, frankly, uninterested in whatever the fuck has these men gawking.
On his way to his insufferable master, he passes Baelish, who is seemingly chipper to see him. The man smiles, "greetings, Hound."
The Hound ignores him.
"Pretty little thing in the garden. A darling flower, ready to be plucked," Baelish smirks as he watches the large man pass, "our king truly blessed you with such a match."
His expression does not change but his ears do ring at that as he walks down the hall.
He wills himself not to think of it, Littlefinger is a leech, but by the end of the day, his words are still ringing in mind. How irritating it was, suddenly, that he did not look at whatever the fuck it was those men were gawking at.
He's fuming at the sight of more men flocked by the garden when he reaches that hall again.
"OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!" he growls, thrashing past anyone who was slow and stupid enough not to get out of his path in time.
Sandor's eye twitches as when he sees what the commotion is all about.
"So, the princess said to him, 'away with you. I would rather never feel your kiss than yearn for something I will never feel again.' " I read the last section of the page. I flip to the next part and offer a smile to the children leaned on my lap listening to my story.
"Why would she tell him to go away?" Benji asked me from my right.
Lucy, beside him, chuckles and brushes his hair back,
I offer, "well, the prince had to go away. I suppose the princess just wanted it to be done with."
To my left, Ophelia, the boy's younger sister, pushes the book in my hand down so that she can see the picture. I show it to her just as Benji says, "she should have kissed him."
I chuckle, "well, maybe she will. There are a few more pages le-"
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
I gasp and look up. A protective form of ire burns through me at the sound of Sandor's words. The two siblings in my arm squeal at the sight of him and cower into my breast. I glare at him, "there are children here!"
"I can bloody see that," he looks down with contempt, "what? Are they your bastards?"
Lucy takes hold of the children.
"They are not bastards!" I rebut, "they are my childhood friend, Lady Deena's children, who, mind you, travelled far to King's Landing for our wedding!"
"I don't give a fuck about Lady Deenas or Lady Danas. Couldn't you have read to the rats in your damn chambers, girl?"
I give my handmaiden one look and, immediately, Lucy takes Benji and Ophelia along with their fairytale book. They scurry away to their chambers as the children clamor.
I stand from the stone fence we had been sat on, "we wanted fresh air."
"You wanted attention," the Hound quips.
I am wholly offended by his accusation. Now that I was standing alone in front of him, my confidence from having something to protect dwindles. I don't get to ask from whom he thought I wanted attention because he's soon berating me all over again. He quips, "does it please you to know all the guards in King's Landing want to fuck a baby into you?"
I am appalled by his venom.
He grabs me by the arm and begins hauling me off. A squeak spills from my lips at his brute force. Part of me wishes to fight back this time; I do not want him to humiliate me by dragging me around again. And yet I find myself unable to do anything more than latch my fingers into his iron grip, trying to at least loosen it.
Sandor, of course, does not budge.
"Is it a crime to read to children?!" I whine out in frustration, finding it immensely difficult to keep up to with his wide strides.
He does not make a sound, save the sound of his boots on the stone floors. I pant as we hike up the steps, yet still, I find myself explaining, "I would have done the same to our children!"
I do not see that Sandor reacts to this because I am too busy trying to match his pace.
I thank the gods when he finally releases me. When I catch my breath, I realize I am in front of the door to my chambers.
"Do not stroll around as if you actually live here," Sandor quips, raising a finger at me.
"But I do-"
"Last time I checked, you're not marrying into royalty," he cuts me off.
I watch the large man walk off right after speaking this. I rub my arm as I feel my eyes water. More than his heavy grip, I was once again hurt by his jagged treatment. My voice breaks as I shout out, "wou-ld you at least tell me what exactly I've done to have angered you so?!"
He does not slow, nor does he look over his shoulder when he barks back, "I don't want to see you fucking reading to those children again."
Needless to say, I crumble into a fit of tears the moment I get into my chambers.
When Lucy comes to my side on my bed, he curses the Hound and does her best to console me. She rubs my back as I weep my woes out into my pillow, "oh, Lucy, he doesn't just despise me, he despises children!"
Lucy scoffs, "why am I not surprised."
She regrets saying this when I turn to her with wet cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She gives a guilty expression, "milady, I-"
"That's all I ever wanted," I sniffle, "all I ever dreamed of-" my lips quiver, "being a mother. Having children. You know this."
Lucy bites her lips tightly as I continue to sob. She mutters, "pardon my foolish words, lady."
"Oh, what does it matter-" I rub my philtrum, "you're right. This is not a surprising development."
"You can still get him to give you his babes! Men like making babies, not really taking care of them. And of course, I would never leave your side. I would help you raise your darlings, protect them from him," she speaks sincerely. I knew her words meant to comfort me but in truth, I don't think they do.
It seems she can tell that, which is why she's apologizing all over again.
I shake my head and place my hand on her cheek, "it's alright, Lucy... you needn't worry... it's all... going to be alright.
Tumblr media
Sandor and I look starkly contrasting at the altar. He is dark and brooding, clad in hard armor and a perpetual frown. I am bright and jittery, wrapped in pale reds and nervous smiles.
The septon binds our hands together in fabric. We turn to each other as we speak our vows.
My heart races when we are told to kiss. I suck in a breath and get on my tiptoes to reach his lips. I crane my neck up; he makes no effort to lean down in return. Still, our lips meet and in that moment, I am his.
The audience applauds us, the sound of King Joffrey's laugh is apparent even through it. Our wedding was not a grand event; the king wanted it to happen in haste, and I could not afford to make it a grand anyway. There were also not so many people in attendance, and yet it felt like the whole world was watching me in this moment.
The celebration feast that came after was terribly tedious and severely unenjoyable for me, and for Sandor. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the merrymaking though, namely the king, and I suppose that was enough.
I did nothing but smile and thank my guest from my seat next to Sandor. He did not speak to me, let alone anyone who came up to us with congratulations on their lips. All he did was eat. I suppose it could be worse. At least one of us could stomach eating at this moment.
The only life I felt was when I was introduced to a babe of one of the ladies. The sweetling had only seen 4 moons and she was as sweet as can be. She was so precious. I just had to hold her. I was inspired to even stand and frolic a bit with her in my arms.
Her mother and I conversed much about babies and child rearing. My stomach rolled in a mix of excitement, dread, anticipation, and worry all at once, knowing this was to be the next part of my life now.
I enjoyed all the stories she told me. I was flattered when she said I would be a great mother, for her child in my arms did not fuss one bit and she was known to be quite fussy. I giggled at all the wonderful memories she had with her other children who, she said, were even fussier than her daughter. I nodded solemnly at her advice in child birth and breastfeeding, making sure not to let a single word go unheard.
Unbeknownst to anyone, Sandor was watching this all from his spot with the cup of wine before him. He did not avert his eyes once; he watched each and every move.
Well, it was unbeknownst to everyone excluding Lord Baelish, who was rather amused by it all, which was why he decided to act.
"Lady Clegane," Lord Baelish comes up to me and raises a hand, "might you spare me a dance?"
I turn form the babe in my arms to him. I smile a small one, "I'm afraid my darling friend here makes me unwilling to do anything but coddle her."
The child's mother on my left laughs, as does Baelish. He links his hands together, "well, judging from your darling friend's temperament, I'd say you would be a fine mother."
"I agree," the lady says.
I grin from ear to ear, heart soaring at the sentiment, "I would like to be nothing more."
Baelish presses his lips into a smirk, "may the gods bless you with many children then," he raises his hands "and may they all take after your sweetness, grace, and beauty."
The way Baelish speaks those words were intentional, as was everything was with him. The comment leaves an air of tension between us. The man basks in it and decides his work is done here.
Tumblr media
"I-It is kind of the king to assign a larger room," I muster up as I walk into my new chambers-- our new chambers.
Sandor follows after me, locking the door behind him. He hums, "I doubt it was the king that thought of it. It was probably the queen."
I stand by the end of the bed. I brush the sheets with my hand. I mutter a correction, "kind of her to think of us."
When I turn, my breath hitches at the sight of Sandor standing right behind me. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in his expression. His face is barely visible in the dark. I can only see as much as the moon allowed. Still, I can tell he is stoic, hard, and predatory. This was it.
My hands tremble. I fiddle with my fingers, "shall I-" I bring my palms to his chest plate, "help you out of your armor?"
Sandor does not respond to me.
"H-husband?"
He takes my hand, taking a shaky breath from my lips along with him. He leads me to his claps and shows me how to undo them before releasing my hand to do it myself. I continue to undo all the claps until his armor is off him. When he is left in his shirt and trousers, he snatches my wrists before I can undress him any further. I freeze in my spot.
My belly churns at his touch. It is reminiscent of the times he has dragged me by the arm, and yet the firm grip is a notch gentler. The way is brows furrow is barely visible because of his burns, but I see it. He leans down and his dark hair spills over his scar, "do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"
My breath hitches. I take a moment to even my breathing before responding, "yes."
He hums and lifts his nose, "what's going to happen?"
"You're going to fuck me."
Sandor laughs lowly. I am shocked when he swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."
I look up at him with wide eyes as his own rake me up and down. I feel incredibly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I want to push him away and hide under the sheets. Yet still, I am rendered frozen in my spot.
"Tell me honest, have you ever done this before?" he speaks rather softly.
I feel my body burn. I shake my head, unable to speak.
Sandor allows me a second. He believes it yet finds it hard to believe. "I would not judge you if you did," he adds.
I shake my head faster.
He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't--" he grabs my ribs and spins me around. The action makes my heart hammer. He pushes my hair to the side, over my shoulder. I squeak softly when he begins to undo the back of my dress. He completes his thought, "-- you're a good girl."
Though he was loosening my ties, I was finding it harder to breathe. He very soon slips my dress off my shoulders, leaving me in my shift. After doing so, he begins to remove the pins in my hair. It takes a while for him to accomplish it. I count the clinks that come from him dropping the clips onto the floor.
When he is done, he gently combs through my locks and lets my hair run loose. It was then he nudges me, "on the bed. On your back."
I shudder and crawl on the bed. I watch him take his shirt off the moment I lie on my back. I immediately turn away and close my eyes when I notice his bulge. His hands undo the string of his trousers.
I press my thighs together. I feel my heart pound. It pounds intensely between my legs.
"Aren't you curious to see what it looks like?"
I curl my legs up at his words.
I gasp and flinch when he grabs my ankles, my eyes ripping open to see what he was doing. He straightens my legs out and pulls me down; I gasp once more when he does so.
I catch sight of his opened trousers. I see the way the hair on his wide, battle-scarred chest trails down to the thick, dark hair beneath his navel. I see the imprint on his pants clearer. I shut my eyes again.
I hear him pull his trousers down. I feel the bed dip as he crawls over.
My hands dig into the sheets as he knocks my legs apart. I am passive and obedient; I make room for him. I can hear my pulse from my screwed eyes.
Goosebumps form on my skin when Sandor's hot, calloused fingers brush up my thighs. He lightly kneads my flesh. The action almost makes me moan. He stops and pushes my skirt up when he feels something by my hips, "where did you get this?"
I feel him ghost over the deep scar on my left hip. I cover my face in the crook of my elbows, "I was attacked."
He does not respond.
"That was the day my family died."
Sandor feels bad for asking. He feels a bit more when the thought does not prevent his cock from hardening. He adjusts his grip, hiking my shift up higher. His hands claw on my hips but only one remains. His mouth waters.
I gasp and slap my thighs close, or at least try to, when I feel him brush something firm and damp against my pulsing core. He uses the sheer size of him to prevent me from actually pressing my thighs together.
"Shh, shh, shh, shh-" he tuts, "this is for your own good. Believe me."
My toes curl and my hands dig into my pillow as he fondles with me. The sensation makes my body twitch and the wet squelching sound that pierces my ears fill me up with an unnamable sensation. Soon enough though, I feel myself become undeniably aroused.
My hips begin to roll and my back begins to arch.
Sandor grunts and licks his lips, loving every moment of his private show, "good girl."
His words strike up my belly like lightning.
Lewd sounds begin to dribble past my lips. I feel my body begin to tingle. The sopping sounds intensify.
"Feel good?" he asks, "you like it?"
I find no room to deny it. I instantly respond, "yes."
"Good," he trails off.
My grip on the pillows loosen when he begins to slow. I bring my hands to the side when he falls to a stop. Just as I am about to look down to see what was wrong, my heart races all over again when he hooks his fingers behind my knees and nestles between my thighs. He positions against me. I feel him guide his hardened length into my folds.
I let out a loud groan when he slips into my wetness. He grunts and cusses as he sinks down, balls deep. My nails claw at his shoulders. He pushes my knees back to the mattress. Surprisingly, the weight of him is not suffocating, in fact, it was welcomed... it was delicious.
I whine viscerally when he begins to buck his hips slowly.
"Mmm, fuck," he pants, "so fucking tight. So pretty and wet and warm, my sweet virgin."
My jaw drops at his words.
"My sweet lady wife," he growls, "all," he drags out, "mine."
My breath strains and escapes my throat hotly. My sounds match each of his thrusts; they are deep and lewd. Sandor's male ego is through the roof because it if. He slowly picks up the pace.
I am a mess of whines at the feel his manhood stretching and prodding into me. My body shivers every time he collides with the tender spot in me. It feels so good; it's nothing I've felt before.
Sandor grunts and shifts on his knees. He adjusts me beneath him like I weighed nothing, and maybe I didn't to him. I slip out a scream when he batters into me with such delicious force.
"Shhhhh," he hushes shakily, hands forcing my hips down in place so I didn't shoot off as he snapped his hips into me. With every hit of flesh, his stones knocking into me, his wet skin, slapping into my dripping folds, I feel my body burn and tighten more.
"Don't be too loud," he scolds emptily, for in truth, he would love it if he got something even louder. He leans lower, "wouldn't want you to wake all of King's Landing." But please do.
His words momentarily push sense into my mind. It doesn't last. I can barely mask my loud cries and he fucks into me. My nails dig into his scalp. He lets out a sound because of it.
Sandor shifts again. This time, his buries his face next to mine. He presses against me, chest to chest, grabs the bed frame with one hand, my knee with the other, and rams into me so hard, the bed creaks and knocks into the wall.
My eyes roll back and my open mouth latches onto his shoulder. I naturally then sink my teeth in is taut flesh. It does wonders to muffle my sounds but it pulls out some from Sandor.
"Gods, girl. Yeah," he heaves, "sink your," he gives two particularly rough thrusts, "fucking teeth into me."
My breathing grows erratic after this. An intense pressure begins to build in my belly.
"S-Sandor- Sandor-"
He hums and maintains his intense pace, "come girl. Just a bit more. Come around my cock like a good, dirty girl."
His words push me on the edge. I crumble and convulse beneath him exactly like it, a good, dirty girl. My voice is just as shaky as my thighs are. My body bursts into an intense, burning pleasure. 
My body drips in sweat and slick and spit and tears, all purely out of bliss. All the air is pulled out of my lungs as I fall into this feeling.
Sandor curses. His thrusts grow erratic. I would scream if I wasn't so winded and exhausted. He stabs so roughly into me, I flinch because it feels like he's hitting the very depths of my mind. Then, he breaks into a growl and I feel him throb so strongly until his movements come to a halt.
Once he is still, I am obliterated. I cannot move. I can only feel heat and pulsing. I feel terribly sticky and so full. I love every inch of it.
I sigh and lean into him. I can imagine now why many paid for this pleasure, why people had so many children. My fingers scratch into his nape. I rub my face against his cheek; I feel the texture of his burn. Sandor stiffens.
The next moment, he pulls away, and it was then I realized doing that, nuzzling into him, was obviously a mistake. I gasp at the sudden lost of contact, the emptiness. I watch him jump out of the bed, as if I was fire and I had burned him. I press my thighs together and push my skirt down, feeling shame wash over me as I watched him tuck himself into his trousers like he was eager to leave me.
And he looked exactly like he meant to leave me at this moment.
"Where are you going?" I ask him, but my voice is so small and unsure that he doesn't hear it.
He grabs his shirt and puts it on. He heads to the door, unlocks it quickly, and insults me by saying, "good night."
998 notes · View notes
sanarkeo · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
your body’s speaking my language
chaeyoung has a bit of a god complex and lights up some candles for valentine’s day.
alternatively: she grants you freedom in the form of a restraint. dom!chaeyoung x f!10th member of twice!reader - wax play - praise & degradation - bondage - exhibitionism (again, yes! 😇) - edging -  branding sorta kinda - chae with the strap in a tokyo love hotel - religious themes - this reaching 5k words ouuu...
happy belated valentines day to @nr1chaedickrider and every other chaeyoung lover out there <3
chaeyoung doesn’t know this, but you have frequent dreams of the same exact scene. the most recent, hazy permutation had you looking through stained glass cut to no holy figure, and onto yourself kowtowing to a woman in the church you haven’t visited in ages. your perspective shifts midway, and your breath is stolen from your lungs the moment you lay eyes on her.
and it is corporeal, the sting of scraped knees against herringbone floor, flowing white rayon restricting skin meant to be bare. it is divine, to look up upon her, sitting cross-legged on a pew, a smile that reaches her eyes and the baring of canines, multicolor light reflecting off them like jewels.
this is beauty reserved for sightings and yet here she is. her touch is salvation and her lips pressed against your forehead is resurrection. at last, she is encircled by blinding sunlight, the deep brown of her eyes being the last to fade to white.
what chaeyoung does know is that once in a while, in the middle of the night, you’re heaving, hands anxious for something to hold onto, eyelids screwed shut. and she brings you into her embrace, more often than not subconsciously, and mutters sounds, her hot breath tickling the tips of your ears.
when you are awake enough to grasp what’s happening, and grieve the dream that’s slipped away, sometimes you weep. that someone like her is real and has her arm draped over your hip. it breaks you.
it half-explains why you squat down as you hand the girl - now tucking sunglasses into her seat-back pocket - your underwear in an airsickness bag. chaeyoung receives it in her expectant hands and leisurely opens her purse to slot the folded bag in. she’s still for a second, looking at you like she has something to say, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly.
instead, she slides forward in her seat and tilts her head to give you a kiss. as she pulls away, you can see the reflection of the plane window in her irises. you take in how the oranges and blues courtesy of the altitude shade her tattoos.
“sit down, babe,” she says with a knowing glance, before taking her phone out and swiping through notifications.
even if everyone else can’t see, you feel your nudity under loose cream trousers. shuffling back to your seat, you have half a mind to cover yourself with a blanket and satisfy yourself. you recline and jerk in your seat, if anything to get some friction going. chaeyoung notices this in her periphery and holds your wrist, her pointer tapping on the back of your hand with a calculated rhythm.
“okay,” you squeak, and it sounds like an apology.
“I got a surprise for you when we reach shinjuku. you can wait a bit longer, right?" chaeyoung asks, raising an eyebrow. you nod and she hums. “thank you. you’re being so good for me today.”
you smile, giddy at the praise, and scratch your reddening cheek. it’s like she’s put you in a trance ever since she knocked twice and slid open the privacy screen to regard you with a shaded expression and a singular request. it’d all been automatic; from when you unbuckled your seatbelt to leave for the lavatory to when you stumbled just trying to get your panties off as quickly as possible, not a single hesitation kept you from flowing from one action to the next. 
“is this… for valentine’s day?” 
chaeyoung taps her nose but pulls her headphones out to shut you up. you’d known something was up when the girl became dismissive every time you brought up valentine’s day, and more so when she messaged about tickets to haneda for you two to arrive in japan a few days before the group was even scheduled to be there. 
as soon as the seatbelt sign lights up, chaeyoung grips your forearm and lets out a light whimper. after the plane lands safely on the runway, and as the people around you two rush to get their carry-ons, chaeyoung slides her fingers down your arm to intertwine them in yours. she brings your hand up and leaves lipstick on your knuckles.
she’s a bit of a scaredy cat on airplanes but when she takes your hand and leads you to the cab, a swarm of fans and flashing lights trailing behind you, you follow without a word. 
-
the music is so loud you sense the bassline thump through your chest, and as the saxophone screams you feel your fingertips buzz against the condensation of your highball glass. you’ve always wanted to come here - a charming little bar in a basement rumored to have been a brothel decades ago. a post-industrial but amber-lit haven for live music. the kind of crowd who won’t care who either of you are, with their swaying silhouettes and muffled conversations drowning under free jazz. chaeyoung and you are caught in the middle of their current with a perfect sliver of privacy.  
“how’d you know about this place?” you swirl your glass around before taking one last gulp of the cocktail. ice pressed up on teeth sends a shock through your gums.
“i’d be a terrible girlfriend if i forgot about you mentioning this.”
you shake your head: “no that was ages ago, like, even before-“
“so? you know i’ve been fucking obsessed with you ever since our debut.”
you dig up a blurry memory of legs crossed on a cramped dorm bedroom floor, the scent of nail polish and a commotion of giggles and joke-threats, and remember how hard your heart pounded opening up to girls older than you about something so niche and uninteresting. it isn’t the sound of her that you can recall - it’s a vignette of a set of plump lips with a mole set under it, a little to the side, mouthing: “i’d like to go there too.” 
the pianist’s solo is sprightly and with every note that blooms, a sense of anticipation grows in you. you look across the checkerboard table, past wine red pillar candles, and find chaeyoung’s unwavering focus on you. with each tap of her thumb on a cheek bathed in plum-colored light, the ivies snaking her silver ring twinkle. the music shifts with the reintroduction of smoky cymbals and a staccato rhythm. 
it’s not that chaeyoung looks incredibly different now, nearly a decade on. her unbleached, jet black hair and doe eyes let you easily picture the girl you sometimes saw as a trainee, walking past you in the corridor or being aspirationally whispered about with friends. but when your eyes flitter down to her lips, you decide the shape of them has changed together with the entire idea of the woman, somewhere along the way. 
for so many years you’ve only observed them. they were full and pinkish and a dimple forms right by them whenever she smiles. at one point, you used to envy her, innocently thinking about how unfair it was that fans could fall in love through a single laugh. one night many years back, as you watched the reflections of the night in the han river, you played with the idea that your heart could be hers too, if only in another universe. any bitterness leaves your palate when she leans over and closes her eyes. 
you love her new lipgloss. it’s slippery and tastes like summer berries. 
your shoulders heave now, and all these new associations now cross your mind. how warm her lips felt pressed onto the side of your head while you bawled in her arms, fearing the unknown and yet fearing knowing. how orange they looked under the sunset that summer she brought you to her relative’s farmhouse, so telling of their experience after she’d convinced you that maybe kissing wasn’t all that bad if you didn’t kiss men (and kissed her instead). 
you’re distracted by how they form an ‘o’ as chaeyoung lifts a candle off the table and blows it out. a trail of smoke is sucked into the air and dissipates above her head. you remember the heat radiating from her mouth when she licked the tears that streamed down your face after the first time she made you cum. you recall how aggressively red and swollen they can get, with the image of her biting down on a leather whip after she’d marked your skin for an achingly long period of time. 
she swirls the hot wax in the indent for a while then seizes your wrist, her thumb heavy on your pulse point. she flips your arm and drips molten red along the back of your hand. her teeth look severe in this bluish light. there’s a fire behind her eyes. you yelp and jerk to snatch your hand back, but she doesn’t relent, shushing you and immediately dropping the candle, letting it rock to a halt. a couple pairs of eyes shift to look in your direction.
“chae…” you let out, and wonder if it sounds more like a cry or a moan.
“oops.”
chaeyoung gingerly picks off each matte bead and flicks them over at her neglected bottle. there’s the lightest dotted line of discoloration that she slides her lips across when she holds your hand up. it stings even more now, and your tongue gets lodged in your throat. closing your eyes, you silently mourn the loss of all that sensitivity you had on the ride to the hotel. you regret being so sensible when she led you to the restroom of the hotel lobby, and let you know you had her permission to put your underwear back on. 
“i hope you’re not already dripping wet from that,” she says, cleaning her fingertips with a napkin and turning to grab her coat. 
you wonder if she gets off on making you feel so insanely aware of your arousal. you don’t think you’re wet, but you’re pressing your thighs together and gripping at the fabric of your pants. 
“i’m not.”
chaeyoung gets up off the stool and slips into her navy blue trench coat that’s a size or two too big. she raises her eyebrows at you and knees the chair back in. 
“whatever you say, babe,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky. 
she shrugs and burns you with a stare before turning on her heels to leave. you scramble to get your jacket on, nearly forgetting your clutch as you rush to follow her up the stairs. the music diminishes behind you and you strain your neck to find familiarity in her, but you’re greeted by a kaleidoscope of colors and lovesick couples letting loose in the streets. her small frame and stature make it all too easy for her to be lost in a crowd. the air hangs thick as you journey down the maze of bars and restaurants and you curse yourself for not paying enough attention in those japanese lessons. 
then, you spot her, twirls of hair softening the sharp, piercing lines of her face. as soon as you pause to take a breath, chaeyoung’s fingers close around your wrist and she wrenches you into movement. she navigates and guides you through alleys with her hallmark assuredness. once you reach a dead end, she slows and turns to you. between shuttered shops, standing on the prismatic sheen of damp asphalt, she lets you go. her skin is porcelain under the light from a distant streetlamp and the depth of her eyes, now cinnamon brown, remind you of the first time you confessed to her. 
it’s like she senses your wonder, because she takes you by the waist and pushes you against the concrete brick wall. your heels scrape along the road and droplets of water hit your ankles. chaeyoung’s angling her chin up, her eyes gazing down upon you like you’re nothing to her light. she unzips your jacket and pushes up your top and your bra. your hardened nipples hit the cold air and the breeze that settles on your skin causes the hair on your back to stand on end. she scans your body, choosing to pay no mind to your tits, nor to your wanting mouth.
you look to her, eyelids trembling, and state the obvious: “chaeng, someone’s gonna see us.” 
“who cares? i’m having you wherever i want you,” she snaps and rolls her eyes.
she slides her hand into your pants, her touch slightly clumsy, her fingertips cold against the dip of your hip. then, she parts your legs and presses onto a particularly sensitive spot on your inner thigh. the pad of chaeyoung’s thumb grazes against the slightest series of bumps in your skin and you swear you can picture it from candid photos and images framed in mirrors. it’s visceral, the memory of the searing pain of needles punching into your skin, injecting ink into you for good. 
chaeyoung is softer, gentler now than she was then. for one, her nails aren’t sinking into your other thigh like claws into prey. you remember the crazed expression locked in her eyes when she grit her teeth and drove the tattoo machine to trace the outline of a strawberry you’d drawn on a transfer sheet. you were glad the alcohol worked as a mild anesthetic when it happened but it made you bend over a toilet bowl that night when the post-adrenaline fear and pain hit and you puked your guts out. 
“you’re mine, remember? anywhere, everywhere-”
you can’t stand the distance between her hand and your cunt, so when fingers reach your clit, a raspy sigh leaves your lips. she massages it with perfect pressure before sliding a finger along your folds, lowering it momentarily into your slit. 
“you’re right. you’re not wet enough,” she tugs her hand out of your pants and brings it up to spit on her fingers. you’re not capable of coherent thought right now, any witty response will come out as a series of stammers. her hand disappears again and two slick fingers plunge into your hole. 
“f-fuck, oh my god,” you whine.
her tongue slips out between her teeth the same way it does when she’s focused on writing lyrics. she’s said that every song she’d written had been about you and you believe her by the way she hits and presses against every sob-inducing stretch of your walls. even with her slow thrusts, your moans get so loud you’re worried someone might hear. 
“you feel so good, so, so good in me a-ah fuck!”
“you’re so fucking cute.” she squeals at the little whimpers that escape your mouth. you start panting and she tips her head, licking and sucking on your tongue. “yeah? is my perfect girl drooling for me?” 
she quickens her pace and absolutely buries her digits in you and you groan, throwing your head back at how she fills you. but in the midst of this impatient intimacy, footsteps, a group of them, echo in the background, coming closer to both of you. removing her hand from your cheek, chaeyoung grabs the lapel of her coat and conceals your body. with a sharp turn of her head, a narrowed gaze dissects the scene behind her. 
“salarymen,” she huffed, pivoting to lock eyes with you again. “they’re all drunk as shit, they won’t remember this.”
you don’t know if it’s the cold or how magical it feels to have chaeyoung’s fingers fill your pussy once more, but you’re delirious and the thought of strangers seeing chaeyoung fuck you senseless in a grimy alleyway drives you wild. you buck into her fingers and her cold ring stings against your clit.
“i’m gonna- i’m-”
“oh you’re cumming soon?” she nods and moves closer, her nose pressed on your cheek, her breath hot on your neck. “my sweetness is cumming soon?” 
“chae!” you go off on a succession of curses, each word laced with disbelief as she pulls her fingers out of you. you dig your nails into her shoulders and try to shake her, but she pushes her shoulders hard up against you. she licks your juices off her fingers, savors the taste of it, and you watch her swallow, the eye contact constant and unnerving. your lip quivers and you shield your face with your hands, head still reeling over your denied orgasm. 
“still not wet?” she chuckles and pulls out her phone to snap a picture of you, reddened cheeks and messy hair, your tits still exposed. the flash blinds you more than it should. 
“public whore.”
-
“tmi? i had udon tonight~”
being an idol necessitates acting. you hadn’t expected this part of the gig when you’d first auditioned as this naive, bumbling thing, but found repressing emotions and shelling out little white lies as second nature to you. news sites and forums brand you as polite, nearly to a fault, not knowing how much practice you’ve gotten suppressing any negativity. but keeping quiet at family dinners and forcing high-pitched laughter on tv shows chips away at you. feigning obedience in a sea of believers, arms constricted in periwinkle sleeves, ground you down to a paste. 
“no, no, i can’t give any spoilers for the next comeback,” you huff, pouting for the camera. 
this - nonchalantly responding to comments and recounting a day that never happened as a bullet vibe hums in your hole - feels nothing like that. it’s a show you’re putting on with your favorite audience and favorite performer. and she stares you down from the other side of the hotel room as she adjusts the straps of her bra. the blood red floral lace of her two-piece complements the expanse of watercolors and scribbles etched into her body. you swapped imagining sheep for counting tattoos in the dim of the night when she’s passed out right beside you. 
chaeyoung is delicate and rough and terrene. but you’re looking at her too intently and she clicks her tongue, picking up her phone to drag a slider button a little to the right. the vibrations ramp up and you start to sway back and forth. you feel yourself leaking even more now into the blanket that’s covering your bare legs. 
“a-ah- it’s getting quite late now…” you’re fumbling with your phone, tapping the back of it to mask the muffled but noticeably louder buzzing. “maybe i should go to bed?” your eyes dart to chaeyoung and she blinks at you, unfazed. the golden glow emanating from floor lamps and tapered candles light her hauntingly. her apparition is breathtaking and distracting and your finger hovers over the x on your screen because the need to kneel before her now is painful. 
“what? don’t go, we’ll miss you?” you giggle at the message but you feel this tension build inside. and your walls clench around this tiny little thing buried shallow in you, the slightest movement away from coming out covered in your juices. you wonder if anyone can tell how hot and bothered you are, or if they knew you only had a shirt on. 
you purse your lips and feel your heart swell just seeing her folding her clothes and dropping the pile into a suitcase on the floor. you didn’t even know how that got there. she whips her head up to look at you, her countenance still inscrutable. 
“i’m sorry, i h-have to,” you apologize, half to your fans, half to chaeyoung. you adjust your position, the vibrations now reaching your clit.  “i have to go.”
there’s always an element of suspense that builds in you whenever chaeyoung controls you like this. it makes you want to keel over when there’s too much of anything going on around you. you felt understood as soon as you stepped into this unassuming building and saw how plain and normal the room looked, sans a pale yellow carry-on and a st. andrews cross. 
“don’t worry baby, we’ll get to that later,” she had said just after walking in, looking over her shoulder as she plopped onto the pristine bed. thinking about that now, you squirm.
they can’t understand. you suppose no one can get your relationship til they’re changed by her the way you have been. her words are apocalypse and you’d waited your whole life to bear witness to someone who can make you sober. how she slapped sense into you the same day you turned twenty, and how for the first time in a long time, in that same pitch black room, you let yourself be attracted to another girl. 
they can’t speak to the rush you got when you first gave her a peck on the cheek in public, can’t describe how you felt when she brought you to a park just before it closed to kiss you under towering oaks. won’t know the cramps you got from laughing too hard after they’d chased you out. they don’t know this isn’t your first time in a love hotel, can’t guess the number of times you’ve had to hide marks and bruises from everyone else. 
it’s paradoxical, how you find freedom and safety in her, but son chaeyoung’s a kind of contradiction. she’s frustrating yet patient, got a line of carrots tattooed when she was high but planned all year to get this amphibious monster cradled in a bed of spikes on her back. all you can ever be certain of is her care for you. she adores you to no end and it’s suffocating, the way she looks at you like you’re her love of the century. 
a notification pops up at the top of your screen - a message from your manager: “you don’t look well - are you okay? you should end the call before anyone gets worried.” 
“i’ve been lacking a bit of sleep recently so i’ll rest well now,” you reassure your viewers. “please don’t miss me too much? you can see all of us at the yokohama stadium in a few days.” a flurry of hearts and well wishes come in from the bottom of your screen and you wave at the camera before blowing a kiss.  
“bye everyone!”
after ending the live broadcast, you hurry to text your manager back, reminding her that next time you’ll give her more notice in advance of the lives, and yes, chaeyoung will take care of you because you’re definitely catching something. you look warm. your cheeks are flushed. of course you’re running a temperature, what else could it be? chaeyoung saunters to you, taking your phone and setting it down on the dresser. 
“you weren’t supposed to end it so soon. i barely even got started,” she rests a heavy hand on your shoulder and exhales. she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. the air that enters your lungs doesn’t have enough time to stay in there before it’s expelled. you hear the buzzing as loud as you hear her. you’re so close. 
“take off your shirt, go to the bed and spread your legs.” 
“yes, chae.” 
as you shuffle there, you feel your wetness between your thighs. you dispose of your top near the foot of the bed, get on and present yourself to her. she’s just standing there, back straight, arms to her sides, but it’s eerie and intimidating. there’s something animalistic in her eyes whenever she asks to observe you like this. her sight shifts between watching as the vibrator slowly slides out of you, and searing eye contact. your legs tense and you arch your back, the thought of chaeyoung making you cum without even touching you driving you so close to the edge. 
“it’s too early,” she grumbles, and takes a step to pull the vibrator out of you. the slightest, plainly intentional brush of her fingertips against your clit makes the loss more unbearable. “i think my favorite girl deserves a present first.” 
while chaeyoung switches it off, you bring your knees up to your chest and shudder. whimpering, you peek over at your girlfriend and find her gaze following the glistening trail of your fluids as they traverse sluggishly down her forearm. you shut your eyes for a bit, letting your heart rate slow but soon feel her weight dip into the side of the bed. chaeyoung combs through your hair and massages your temples while she pushes something matte against your arm. when you finally open your eyes again, you find a pastel pink box sitting beside you. 
“open it, princess. it’s for you.” 
the heat in your lap settles and you sniffle, tossing the crushed velvet ribbon aside to reveal a leather restraint. it is supple yet sturdy in your hands. just seeing your name embossed in gold on burgundy hide makes you light-headed. chaeyoung takes the restraint from your trembling hands and cocks her head up, wordlessly ordering you to stand. you rise to your feet with a practiced efficiency, turning around to face the only mirror in the room head-on. 
“my baby. you belong to me.” with the restraint in one hand, she fondles your breasts and buries her face into your neck. the leather scrapes your nipples and you let out a prolonged moan. “look at how much of a slut you are. you just want to be fucked, don’t you? controlled, like a doll.” 
“i do.” 
chaeyoung slips the collar around your neck and fastens it, the buckle resting a bit too snug. she tugs at the strip of leather connected to it, just to get a yelp out of you. your arms slide through pliable loops, followed by your wrists. and at last, she has you with your hands secured behind your back in an impossible grip, any struggle to set yourself free choking you at the same time. 
“my prettiest pet.” hooking a finger into the d-ring of your collar, chaeyoung drags you down to the ground then holds your head up. “you’re gonna be a good cum slut for me now, okay?”
a nervous giggle escapes your mouth and your mind races, eyes searching for some clue in the room. your lips naturally fall to a pout and raise your hand to settle it on her arm, your thumb rubbing into the constellation on her wrist. 
“kneel.” 
you nod, shoulders slumped, and adjust your weight to settle onto your knees. chaeyoung beams and rips her arm from you to collect a lit candle from the dresser. her rouge pink eyeshadow shimmers when she’s towering over you like this, the flickering light casting dancing shadows along her jawline. 
“open your mouth.”
she cups your chin in her hand and you can hear her getting choked up. the flame grows longer, burns more brightly, and you can just about peer over to see a pool of translucent white wax surrounding it. 
“stick your tongue out.” 
you extend your tongue and start to pant. your eyes flutter close when you see chaeyoung dip the candle down and cry out as you feel the first bead of wax land on your chest. she pours the wax indiscriminately over your torso, pinpricks of fire sparking goosebumps all over you, leaving uneven streaks and blobs of cream-white coating your tits and abs. you have this itch to get the wax off your nipples, but your hands are useless. it isn’t as hot as it’d been at the bar, but it singes and the heat spreads to your shoulders and down to your stomach. 
“i’ve always wished i could cum all over you like this,” she coos. through half-lidded eyes, the lamp light forms a halo around her. “wish i could make you walk the streets and let everyone know you’re taken.” 
“i’m all yours, chaeng.”
chaeyoung tilts her head and smirks as her fingers crawl into your mouth to pry it open. you feel her knuckles and joints against your teeth and gums, her nails digging into your cheek. your tongue wraps around her pointer and laps at it. 
“you want that so fucking bad don’t you? want to look so filthy for me?” her lips slowly curling into a smile, chaeyoung drizzles the hot wax over your cheeks, scorching your neck and your collarbones as they drip down. 
“fuck.”
to her, you look holy, defenseless, ruined. a waterfall of soy wax cooling and cracking on your skin. her favorite canvas in the world biting her lip at the stinging and tightness that constricts her chest. chaeyoung snaps out of her daze and blows the flame out. 
“get back on the bed. face down, ass up.” 
you hang your head low and fall onto the bed, no arms to brace your landing. with your chin digging into the pillow, you ram your knees into the mattress, forcing yourself up into chaeyoung’s favorite position. deep inhales and the lengthening of your spine keeps you sane waiting for her to get it over with and just fuck you. with your other lovers, this was your time to mentally prepare yourself and dissociate. with your exes, you’d lay still and draw imaginary circles on the ceiling as they entered you. with chaeyoung, every beat that her hands are off you is downright misery. 
“you just love taking time, don't you?” you snicker and score the material of your restraints with a nail. 
and suddenly your field of view is replaced by the darkness under a silky cloth, and a knot is tightened at the back of your head. you feel chaeyoung running her fingers through your hair before taking a fistful of it and jerking your head back. 
“trust me you’re gonna need time to prepare yourself” she jokes, slamming your head back down into the pillow.
the sound of straps being tightened and the clearing of a throat makes the blindfold more of a punishment. in your head, you’re going through all the toys chaeyoung keeps in that box under her bed. the bed creaks as she climbs on and you feel the bones of her knees hitting your calves. a hand wet from lube lands on your ass with a smack, the other guides the head of the toy to the entrance of your puffy, wet pussy. 
“did you get this wet from all the cum i gave you?” 
chaeyoung licks her upper lip as she holds the base of the toy, stroking your clit to your hole with its tip then slapping it against your cunt. you want to fold just from the sheer weight of it. she grabs hold of your waist and slides the entire length of it into you. you know you’ve never been stretched like this and you let a yell out in satisfaction. chaeyoung stills in you, letting you get used to its girth, how full it makes you feel, not knowing that you probably never will. she leans forward and presses her forehead onto your back. 
“take my strap, you fucking whore.” 
it’s carnal, ferocious, how she begins to thrust into you, all eight inches pumping in and out of your pussy. you suck air in through clenched teeth and sink your cheek deeper as your mind grows foggy. without fingers to grasp onto the bed sheets, you grip them between your molars and bite down hard. 
“rghhh- fuck!” 
whenever chaeyoung bottoms out in you, her fingers inch closer to youri stomach. she pushes down on your belly to feel the shape of the toy form then vanish, her grip getting even more possessive. 
“taking me so well.” she whines looking down at the base of the toy coated in your white slick. “so tight and creamy around me-”
it pains you to not see her as her toned abs flex with each thrust, not watch her intense gaze fizzle out and be replaced with something much more tender. 
“i need you,” you plead, but it’s muffled by the fabric.
chaeyoung pounds into you harder and deeper, and she abandons your waist to cling onto your restraint. as the friction builds and your yelps grow louder, she reins you in and pulls out to spit on the toy. then she slams it back into you and you cry out in pleasure. 
“oh my god, i f-fucking need you!” 
as you near your climax, every part of your body is pushed to hypersensitivity. the wax that peeled off your nipples rub against the sore buds every time she penetrates you. chaeyoung pins you down with her weight, the lace and heat of her chest melting into you, making your shoulder blades ache. your clit throbs and the walls of your cunt clamp around her strap. you swear it’s getting bigger, like it’s growing within you. 
“cum now,” she growls. 
chaeyoung drives down into you, fucking you into oblivion, when you feel a gush of ecastasy take over you. you spasm around her strap, milking it with your pussy, until she pulls out, making you fall back onto the bed. your thighs quiver and your toes curl while you flood the blindfold with tears. the aftershocks of it make your head spin and you whimper when you feel your girlfriend get off the bed. 
she pulls the cloth off your head and laughs at your bloodshot eyes. your eyes fall to the dildo right in front of you, and the sticky mess you made on it dripping down to the floor. seeing you take deep breaths and your drooping eyelids, chaeyoung holds you by your collar and awakens you with a slap. 
“not even close to being done with you, babe.” 
a fire reignites in chaeyoung’s eyes. she leads you to the cross and rushes to free your wrists from the restraint, letting the bulk of the leather hang from your neck. your wrists, now an angry red from the senseless fight you put up, taste freedom for not a second before they’re hoisted above you head and locked onto each corner of the cross. 
“i can’t do this…” your muscles scream with the memory of strain and you cry out as chaeyoung backs away from you to rest her legs on an armchair. “chaeng!” 
slowly, her hands reach behind her back and she unclasps her bra, revealing her tits to you. arching her back, she slides her panties down and discards both articles to the side with mild annoyance. 
“look pretty for me.” she spreads her legs, letting each one dangle over the sides of the armchair. as one hand reaches out for your phone on the nearby dresser, the other snakes down her abs to arrive at her clit. chaeyoung swipes to the camera and positions it to snap another picture of you, hung on a cross. the flash blinds you less than it did before. 
“like you always do.”
-
so i realized i got 600 notes on my first fic which is kinda crazy... thank yall so much 😭😭
221 notes · View notes
janaispunk · 5 months
Text
carve your name into my bedpost
Tumblr media
series masterlist • this is part II
pairing: Dave York x f!reader
a/n: I have nothing to say for myself. The murder daddy brain rot is very real, and I was ovulating while writing most of this.
word count: ~5k
summary: Your vacation with Dave is going great. So great that you decide to rile him up, just a little bit. What’s the worst that could happen, right?
warnings: explicit 18+ content, mdni! bits of angst, bits of fluff, dubious morals (Dave is cheating on his wife), age-gap implied, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, rough sex, semi-public touching, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control in my head, but it’s not mentioned in the fic), brat taming, dirty talk, Dave is a menace, face & pussy slapping, handcuffs, knife play, spit kink, a hint of somnophilia, idiots in love, let me know if I missed any!
Tumblr media
You wake up to the feeling of fingers drawing shapes over your naked stomach, occasionally dipping down between your legs, then travelling back up. Your back is pressed against Dave’s bare chest, your hips flush with his. One of his fingers slides up to your breasts and slowly traces around a nipple, just teasing, never touching the tip, only circling around it.
You give a little whine and hear Dave chuckle into your hair. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he whispers and switches to your other breast, continuing his teasing. You squirm against him, rolling your hips into his and you feel his cock swelling against your backside. “Good morning,” you sigh happily and twist your neck to let your lips brush against Dave’s.
He takes hold of your chin and kisses you deeply as his other hand slips between your legs again, lazily toying with your clit, your moans being swallowed by his mouth. His fingers dip deeper, prodding at your entrance, swirling through the slick that has already gathered there.
“Always so wet for me,” he murmurs and you can feel him smiling against your mouth, “so eager for everything I give you.” He thrusts two fingers into you and you whine, angling your hips to take them deeper. “Been such a good girl for me last night, took me so well.”
You already feel breathless, your sleep-addled brain still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening right now and you clench around his fingers at the praise, causing him to chuckle.
“Gonna give you a little reward.”
He feels sweeter like this, softer than usual, not as demanding. He trails kisses across your neck and you moan more freely, getting lost in the sensations all over your body. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you almost start to protest, but he presses another kiss against your opened mouth and flips you onto your back, seating himself between your legs.
He dives in before you can even fully register what’s happening, licking a long stripe up your pussy and then sucking your clit into his mouth. You cry out, your hands flying to his head and threading your fingers through his messy morning hair.
“Holy fuck Dave, oh my god-“
You barely get the words out, your mind already lost in a haze of pleasure. He hums against your clit, the vibration causing your hips to buck and he places his forearm over your stomach, holding you down as he slips two fingers back inside of you and curls them slightly. Your thighs start quivering and you’re already embarrassingly close to an orgasm. “Please don’t stop, I’m gonna-“ you pant and he groans against you, adding a third finger and pressing down on your lower abdomen.
“Show me how pretty you come for me, wanna taste you doll, come on.”
He sucks on your clit again and your eyes roll back into your head as you pulse around his fingers and soak him, your orgasm washing over you.
You’re still trembling with the aftershocks as he pulls his fingers out of you and presses them against your lips. You open your mouth obediently, almost an instinct at this point, and suck on them, your tongue swirling around and tasting yourself until his fingers are cleaned of your juices.
“Good girl,” he praises before his lips find yours again, licking into your mouth, so you can taste yourself on his tongue as well.
His erection is prodding against your entrance and even though you just came, you feel desperate to have him inside of you. “Please,” you whisper, grinding against him. He doesn’t mock you, doesn’t make you beg, just keeps devouring your mouth as he lines himself up and slides into you in one hard thrust, making your walls flutter around him. You swallow each other’s moans and he starts pounding into you, his hand traveling down to tease your nipples and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in deeper.
It feels like your first orgasm has barely subsided when the tension is already building up again and you’re clenching around him. He starts rubbing your still overstimulated clit and you cry out, another orgasm tearing through your body. Dave groans loudly, sounding almost surprised as his hips come to a stuttering halt and he spills himself inside of you.
“Good morning, indeed,” you giggle as he slides out of you, collapses beside you and pulls you into his warm body. The soft laugh that rumbles up in his chest has butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He holds you pressed against him and you revel in breathing him in, hints of expensive perfume clinging to him, but mostly it’s just his own deliciously masculine scent, more intense after just waking up. You burrow your face in his neck and breathe in deeply, his arms tightening around you.
“You sleep well?” he asks softly and you hum against his skin.
“Got woken up pretty well, too,” you allow yourself to tease and he pinches your side, causing you to giggle again. Your hear his responding chuckle and smile to yourself.
You’re not used to him being in such a good mood, how he’s so much less tense than usual and how the air around him somehow feels lighter. It feels good to experience him like this, it feels… right. Even more butterflies take flight inside of you and you try your best to swallow the feeling down. No matter how good it feels, you can’t allow yourself to get used to this.
Tumblr media
While you take a shower, Dave orders breakfast via room service and you decide to eat on the balcony and enjoy the view from there. Sitting in the early morning light with the sound of the waves in your ears and your face turned towards the sun, you can’t stop smiling.
You sip on your coffee and catch Dave staring at you with an expression in his eyes that you can’t place. Almost a little… reverent? His gaze feels heavy on your skin.
“So, what is the plan for today?” you ask, desperate to break the sudden tension, and start nibbling on a croissant that might be one of the best that you’ve ever tasted. Dave shrugs, tearing his eyes from you and looking out at the sea that’s stretching out in front of you.
“I was thinking we could spend the day on the beach, if you want to?” Your face lights up and you nod eagerly - you have been dreaming about swimming in that turquoise water since you first saw it yesterday.
You put on an extremely skimpy white bikini and Dave eyes you hungrily, making a remark about how the color suggests that you’re a lot more innocent than you actually are.
“But we both know that’s not true, now don’t we, doll?” he murmurs into your ear, toying with the straps and causing goosebumps to rise on your neck, as he’s very thoroughly mapping out every inch of your skin with his hands. He’s kneading your breasts until you’re a mess in front of him, already soaking through your bikini bottoms, before he moves on to your legs.
“I could’ve gone a lot harder on you last night. Think you should thank me,” he tells you as his hands massage your ass cheeks, still bruised from his rough touch yesterday, and dip between your legs briefly, causing you to whimper a “Thank you, sir” that makes him laugh.
“Such a needy little thing. So easily distracted.”
Tumblr media
When you finally make it down to the beach, you’re instantly mesmerised by the sheer beauty of it all. The sand under your bare feet is pleasantly warm from the sunlight and the waves are louder down here.
There are only a few other hotel guests, already lounging on sun beds and not paying the both of you any mind. Dave leads you to two sun beds somewhere close to the far end and you happily sit down, letting the sun sink into your skin. Your eyes repeatedly flick to Dave, the sight of the golden skin on his bare torso and sheer broadness of him leaving you a little breathless.
You barely manage to sit still for five minutes before you jump up again. “Come swim with me?” you ask hopefully, stretching your hand out towards him. He just looks at you for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body and a small smile playing on his lips. Then he grabs your hand and lets you pull him up and towards the water. You squeal in delight as the waves touch your feet and you turn back to beam at him. That smile is still on his face, but he isn’t paying attention to the waves lapping at his feet or the beautiful scenery around him. His eyes are firmly trained on you.
It draws you in, the intensity of his gaze, and you take a few steps back, towards him, loop your hands around his neck and pull him into a kiss. “Thank you for this,” you whisper again, because you really can’t say it often enough and he shakes his head, still smiling.
“Already told you that you deserve it.”
You still can’t believe that he really thinks that and you could very easily spiral about how it’s all too much and what it all means, but you push those thoughts away, at least for now. You’re in the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to, with the -let’s face it- most attractive man you’ve ever seen, and you should let yourself enjoy it.
You can worry about this later, when you’re both back home, you alone in your small apartment and him in his suburban house with this family. God damn it, you think to yourself and bite your lip. Just be thankful for what it is.
“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning in closer to you, his thumb gently prying your bottom lip out from beneath your teeth. “Where’d you go there, sweetheart?”
You shake your head, looking around and taking your surroundings back in. It’s so beautiful. He is so beautiful. You want to be happy, so you should be happy. Your lips pull upwards again. “Nowhere,” you smile and turn back around, pulling him into the water with you.
The sea feels amazing, the temperature refreshing but not so cold as to be uncomfortable and the turquoise water is flowing around you in gentle waves. You let go of his hand and dive in, taking a long stroke, diving under the surface and coming back up again, shaking the water out of your eyes. You can’t help the laugh bubbling up inside of you when you turn back around to Dave.
He’s still standing where you left him, watching you, that same look in his eyes that you saw earlier. The tension between you is back, a sort of crackling energy, and you don’t like how it makes you long for him. Not just his body, but everything. Him.
Desperate to break that tension, you paddle back to him, looking for a way to wipe that look from his face. “You gonna get in, or what?” you ask, and when he doesn’t answer fast enough, you splash a healthy amount of water in his direction. It catches him by surprise, drenching his face and hair and he blinks at you incredulously, shaking his head like a dog and droplets of water hit you. You cackle at his expression and for a moment he looks like he’s about to laugh, too. Then he growls and lunges for you.
You squeal, giggling madly as you’re trying to get away in time, but one strong arm wraps around your middle, pressing your back against his chest. “You think you’re being funny, huh?” His voice is low in your ear, tense, but you’re still shaking with laughter.
“K-kinda, yeah,” you manage to get out, wiggling against his grip, and his hold on you tightens.
“You’re on thin ice here, sweetheart.”
You turn your head around as best as you can to look at his face. “Think it’s too warm for ice,” you whisper before you break down again and he snorts, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“That was terrible,” he tells you and you nod happily, turning around in his arms until you’re facing him.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’re outside where people can see you, maybe it’s this foreign situation that you’ve found yourself in, or maybe you just want to rile him up. Whatever it is, you’re feeling bold. Your arms loop around his neck and you wrap one leg around his hips, basically hanging off of him in the weightlessness of the water. You grind your hips against him and his cock twitches.
“Are you gonna punish me, sir?” you ask, pouting at him and widening your eyes, feigning innocence, “for splashing water at you and making lame jokes?” You give another roll of your hips. His jaw twitches and his large fingers dig into your waist. You briefly feel like you’ve got the upper hand. You’re well aware that he’s not gonna let that last.
“Little brat,” he mutters against your mouth. One of his hands slides from your waist to your breast, kneading it harshly beneath the water’s surface, pinching at your skin. “Won’t be so mouthy once I’ve got you alone, will you? Gonna fuck the attitude right out of you, until it’s all ‘yes, sir’ and ‘sorry, sir’, how’s that sound, doll?”
He twists your nipple, hard, and you gasp. His rough treatment and the dirty words from his mouth are enough to bring your arousal to a burn inside of you, your thighs clenching around his hips. His eyes glint dangerously and his lips pull into a grin. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
You give him your sweetest smile. “I can’t wait. Sir.”
He groans exasperatedly but you can tell that he’s fighting with himself not to smile back. “I know you can’t. Greedy little thing.” He pulls you in for a kiss and you willingly follow his lead, let his tongue invade your mouth until you’re both breathless and clinging to each other.
You look back to the shore. It’s not exactly crowded and it doesn’t look like anyone is paying you much attention, but still. You duck out from under his arms and bring a little bit of distance between the two of you. You’re still feeling too bold for your own good. “Keep it in your pants, York. Don’t wanna get arrested for public indecency.”
Dave shakes his head again, an incredulous expression on his face, but you can tell that he’s amused. “York, huh? That’s how it is?” He catches up to you easily but doesn’t grab you roughly like you had expected him to. Even wanted him to, maybe. His hand finds yours in the water and he gets close enough to press a kiss into your wet hair. “If you’d rather call me Mr. York than Sir, you could’ve just said,” he murmurs and you giggle, but you also can’t help the heat that’s creeping up your cheeks at the thought. The satisfied smirk that gracing his features lets you know that he’s noticed how flustered he’s got you as well.
You stay in the water for a while longer, talking a little but mostly just taking in the scenery around you. The way the sunlight’s reflection glitters on top of the waves, the spotless blue sky, the lush green of the trees lining the mountains around you. You let yourself float on top of the water, closing your eyes and relaxing your limbs, feeling completely weightless. You give a content little sigh, when a splash of water hits you straight in the face.
You gasp, losing your bearings in the sudden surprise and drop under the surface for a second before coming back up, spluttering and coughing up a mouthful of saltwater. You rub the water out of your eyes and narrow them at Dave, who gives you an unimpressed look and arches an eyebrow.
“You dick!” you exclaim and lunge after him, laughter bubbling up in your throat at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. He’s a lot better at escaping than you were, moving through the water quickly, but you can tell that he’s laughing too. When he eventually lets you catch up to him, you cling onto him and let him pull you through the water.
He still looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, the ever-present tension in his body barely noticeable and the expression on his face more open, happier. You pull yourself up and kiss his cheek, just because you can, and he flashes you a warm smile.
It blooms in your chest, filling you with warmth, the knowledge that he’s here with you, because you’re the person that he wanted here with him and that he’s happy. Here. With you. A small voice in your head wants to tell you that this is dangerous, that it has the potential to hurt you later on, but you shove it down. For now, you’re happy too. Here. With him.
Tumblr media
Evening rolls around, with another dinner that leaves you completely out of your depth, so you let Dave lead you through it, content with letting him make all the decisions, letting him take care of you.
You continue to let him make all the decisions when you’re back in the suite, which results in your naked form being laid out on the bed. Dave’s standing in front of it, still completely dressed, looking down at you, his eyes flashing darkly. You know that you’ve teased him too much today and that you’re about to pay the price for that. A pleasant shudder runs through you at the thought.
“Arms up. Don’t move,” he commands before turning away from you and rummaging through his suitcase for a few moments before returning to you. He places something on the nightstand with a faint metallic clatter and your gaze flicks towards the sound, but Dave clicks his tongue impatiently.
“Eyes on me, doll.” You obey instantly, watching as he towers over you, catching your wrists in one hand and pulling your arms further towards the headboard. Cold steel closes around your wrists, as he handcuffs you to a bedpost, your arms now permanently trapped above your head.
He adjusts the handcuffs until they’re closed tightly, the metal digging into the skin on your wrists uncomfortably and you bite your lip. It already hurts, but it hurts so so good. Dave’s eyes catch the movement and a smirk curls across his face.
“Yeah, you like that. Been begging for it all day, being a little brat, desperate to be put in your place, ain’t that right?”
“Yes, sir,” you answer quickly, and he lands a harsh slap on your face, your head flying to the side. Pain spreads out from across your cheek and a small moan escapes you.
“Change of pace. You’re calling me Mr. York tonight.” His voice is ice cold as he fists your hair, pulling until your roots are stinging and your neck is straining so that you’re looking up at him again. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, M-Mr. York,” you whisper, your voice already thick with unshed tears, but your pussy is gushing at the new honorific and the controlled coldness that he’s exuding right now. He slaps you again, still holding your head up by your hair.
“You filthy little thing. Mouthing off at me all day and now look at you, being slapped around and liking it. I bet that slutty cunt of yours is already drooling for it, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” you whimper, hastily adding another “Mr. York” when he arches an eyebrow at you.
“Let’s see…” he mutters and slides a hand between your legs, finding you soaking wet from his rough treatment.
“Fucking drenched already, when I’ve barely touched you. Fucking slut.” His hand comes down for a slap straight across your pussy and you cry out at the sharp pain, your hips twitching, chasing the sensation and pulling away from it at the same time.
Dave laughs cruelly and rains more slaps down on you, your cries getting louder with each time and your eyes brimming with tears, but you’re also pretty sure that you’re dripping on the sheets by now. He finally stops and cups your aching center with his large hand. You can feel your hot and swollen flesh pulsing underneath his touch.
“What do you say?” he demands coldly.
“T-thank you, Mr. York,” you manage to stutter out weakly.
“And…?” he prods.
You’re not entirely sure what he wants to hear and shrink under his hard gaze as you whisper, “I-I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For- for being a brat earlier and disrespecting you, I- please, I’m sorry.” Tears are running down your cheeks now as you let yourself fall deeper into the submission, enjoying the sweet bliss of giving up all control, pleasing Dave being the only active thought in your head.
“I know you are, sweetheart,” he coos in mock-sympathy, his eyes still cold and piercing through you. “Just needed to be taught a lesson, huh?” Another slap hits your folds, hurting even more than the previous ones. You nod, your chin wobbling. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire, from the pain but also from the raw need for him that’s coursing through your veins.
“It’s alright,” he nods back at you, “you’re gonna be the most obedient little slut when I’m through with you.”
He doesn’t wait for a response but leans towards the nightstand again, grabbing hold of another object and returning to his place above you. The silvery blade of a knife is shining in the dull light of the room, right in front of your face, where Dave is holding it up for you to see.
You gasp softly and your eyes widen - the both of you had discussed this before, you’d known that it was an option. Sometime. You hadn’t expected sometime to occur on this trip. A fearful, but also excited nervousness is settling in your stomach. You can tell that Dave is eyeing you closely, monitoring your reaction. When he seems pleased with the expression on your face, he moves the knife closer.
“Give it a kiss, slut. And look at me while you’re doing it.”
You obey, lifting your head up as much as you can and softly pressing a kiss to the blade, trying your hardest to avoid sudden movements. Your gaze is trained on his face, just like he told you to.
“Good girl,” he mutters, his eyes burning with dark desire in them. He moves the knife across your body, the cold sensation leaving goosebumps in its wake, until he reaches your wet folds.
“Spread your legs. Wider. Hold still, sweetheart.” His eyes flash up to you. “Wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
You do as you’re told, your body freezing, forcing yourself not to tremble. You feel cold steel touching the swollen and hot flesh between your legs, moving over your center slowly, and you almost jump, but grind your teeth and stay still. The thought of a sharp blade stroking against your most sensitive area has your mind reeling.
Dave’s icy voice sounds from between your legs. “Look at you. Nowhere to go, completely at my mercy. How’s that feel, huh?”
A strangled sob breaks free from your throat and you can see Dave pause, his eyes flying up to your face and the blade’s steely hardness disappearing from your skin.
“Color, sweetheart,” he commands, his tone still firm but much gentler than moments ago. You harshly suck in a breath. You’re scared, yes, but you can also feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, the danger and the complete lack of control turning you on beyond belief. You trust Dave, more than you have ever trusted any man, not to hurt you. Not against your will, at least.
“G-green, sir,” you force out between trembling lips. You remember too late that you’re not supposed to be calling him ‘sir’ right now, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Are you sure?” he inquires carefully, “it’s fine, you know I won’t be mad, if-“, but you shake your head resolutely.
“I’m sure, I promise. It’s scary, but I- I like it,” you admit, your face turning hot at the admission.
A wolfish grin stretches across his face, making it hard to believe that he was concerned about you being afraid mere seconds ago. “Shit. You’re even more depraved than I thought,” he mutters, moving the blade back to your center, causing you to freeze again. “Bet you’d let me do anything to you, so fucking desperate for it, ain’t that right?” You whine your agreement and he chuckles.
He moves over you, the knife ghosting across your skin, circling around your nipples and causing you to shudder, until he holds it up in front of your face again. The metal is shining with your juices and he tuts at you.
“Messy little slut, your needy pussy just can’t help herself, can she?” He studies your face, contemplating for a moment, before his eyes turn even darker. “Open up,” he orders, and you obey without a conscious thought. “Tongue out.”
You think you know where this is going and suppress a shudder as you slowly stretch your tongue out of your mouth. “Good girl,” Dave coos and pats your cheek condescendingly, “let’s clean up your mess, yeah?”
A whimper rises up in your throat as he, very carefully, wipes the blade on your tongue. You’re stock still, feeling your wetness transferring from the knife to your tongue. Your pussy is clenching wildly around nothing. When Dave is satisfied, he withdraws his hand and places the knife back on the nightstand.
Having received no other command, you’re still waiting with your mouth open when he’s back in front of you. He chuckles. “Well, if you’re asking for it.” His spit lands on your tongue and a moan climbs up in your throat. Dave watches for several seconds as you’re looking up at him, obediently waiting, before he tells you to swallow.
He stands up from the bed and finally starts to undress. You’re watching eagerly, your hands twitching to touch him, causing the handcuffs to bite into your wrists, which already feel raw.
You think that you might go insane if he doesn’t fuck you right now. Dave has lifted your arousal to new heights tonight, all while barely touching you, and now you’re hungrily drinking the sight of him in.
Your eyes are almost glued to his cock when he returns to you and he laughs, grabbing your chin roughly and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he asks, almost gently, if it weren’t for the cold edge in his voice.
“W-want you to fuck me, please,” you whisper, your voice almost breaking. He’s so close, you can feel his cock against your core.
Dave clicks his tongue. “I think you can ask prettier than that. Beg me, like the cock-hungry little slut that we both know you are.” He slides his length through your slick folds, nudging at your clit, and your hips buck helplessly at the sensation. Fresh tears of desperation spring into your eyes.
“Please, I-“ he prods at your entrance teasingly and you interrupt yourself with a gasp, “I need it so bad, need you to fill me up. Please, Mr. York, I’ll do anything, just please.”
Another slap hits your cheek, causing you to sob out a moan. “You’ll do anything regardless, because I tell you to, you dumb slut. But, since you asked so nicely-“
He sheathes himself in your heat in one harsh thrust, sliding all the way in and splitting you open. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, immediately starting to pound into you in deep thrusts, punching the air out of your lungs repeatedly. You’re crying, gasping his name as he grabs hold of your hair, using it to hold your body steady as his thrusts grow deeper, nudging at your cervix.
You’re twitching under him, pain and pleasure swirling around and mixing in your body until it’s all just one overwhelming sensation. “Please, I’m gonna, I-“ You can barely talk, but Dave nods, reaching down between your bodies and rubbing a finger over your clit in quick circles.
“Look at me when you come, been such a good girl, fuck-“ He’s panting too, his pupils blown wide.
When your orgasm hits you, it’s like a dam breaks, all the tension inside of you exploding into tiny particles. Your whole body seizes up, trembling and spasming as you grow impossibly tight around him, basically holding him as your walls clench wildly around him and he stills, spilling his cum deep inside of you. You’re crying out his name, your vision swimming as you try to keep your eyes on him. Waves of pleasure keep washing over you until you finally come down, a shuddering mess, tears still streaming down your face.
Dave cups your face between his hands, kissing you wildly, before he reaches up and quickly undoes the handcuffs, gathering your wrists in his hands and gently bringing your arms down to your sides.
“Are you alright?” he asks between kisses, his voice low and raspy against your lips. You nod, giving him an exhausted smile.
“…Yeah. ‘m great,” you mumble, barely able to string two sentences together. “It was- was fun,” you add, your arms wrapping around his neck.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, staring down at you, before he kisses your forehead.
“My perfect girl.”
Tumblr media
Dividers by @/saradika <3
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, it would really make me incredibly happy 🫶🏻
Series masterlist
198 notes · View notes
fellshish · 5 months
Note
i saw your post about lesser-known fic recs, so i went through my bookmarks and gathered up a handful of favorites that are all under 1k hits
"Uncontrollable" by mizmak (2.6k, oneshot, G); pre-s2, drunken confessions
"before this dance is through (I think I'll love you, too)" by morganagreanleaf (<1k, oneshot, G); pre-s2, aziraphale and crowley dance together at a ball, fem presenting crowley
"The Edwardian Scandal" by commandersmoothdog (5.6k, 5/5, T+); hell forces crowley to marry & tempt a lord as a punishment and aziraphale gets jealous, fem presenting crowley
"New York City, 1969" by theparanoidandroid (3.3k, oneshot, G); ineffable wives run into each other at a bar and talk, light angst about holy water
"Rebels" by multiple authors (5k, oneshot, T+); pre-s2, ineffable wives, crowley has a punk rock band and a gig booked at aziraphale's club
"be with you all along" by 5ftjewishcactus (1.1k, oneshot, T+); pre-s2, takes place during the flood, aziraphale and crowley saving children
OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! What a beautiful ask to receive
127 notes · View notes
Text
Peña’s Anatomy, Chapter Seventeen:
Tumblr media
pairing: surgeon au!javier peña x f!resident!reader (Lucky)
rating: E (18+ ONLY, this one is just fluff and smut yall, food play?, body worship??, oral (m&f rec), fingering, unprotected piv, Javi has a mouth on him)
wc: 5k
series masterlist | Javi P masterlist
Tumblr media
Two Months Later
“Jav!” you called from the kitchen, your eyes locked on the veggies you were chopping for tonight’s Thanksgiving dinner you and Javier were hosting. Tonight was a big deal not only because of the holiday, but because this marked Mickey’s first outing since recovering from her surgery and you and Javi’s first ever big holiday together. You had your shifts for the week covered by a coworker and Javi had taken the week off solely because the thought of you at home—in bed—without him sounded like torture.
Rounding the corner from the living room, Javi walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Yea, bebita?”
“Can you baste the turkey?” You set your knife down and turned your head and pecked his cheek. “Pretty please?”
“One condition,” he said, resting his hands on your hips so that he could turn you to face him, pinning you between his body and the counter. He brought his lips close to yours, smiling at the way you leaned forward to seek them out. “Gotta give me a real kiss.”
You grinned and crossed your arms over his shoulders, pulling him even closer as your lips molded together.
“Gotta get my fill before everyone gets here,” he mumbled as he pecked your lips. “Matter of fact—“ He pulled away to look down at his watch, finding that the two of you had at least another hour before anyone dared to show up. “Why don’t we go kill some time in the bedroom?”
“I have a feast to prepare,” you chuckled, lifting your hand to cover his mouth as he leaned in for another persuasive kiss.
“Can I at least have a little appetizer while you work?” he asked, flickering his eyes down to your lower half.
“Javi,” you laughed, playfully pushing him away. “We both know I can’t multitask while you’re doing that.”
“Because I’m so good at it?” he smiled, walking over to the oven to baste the turkey like you asked.
“And so humble,” you snarked.
“So what’s on the menu for tonight besides my beautiful turkey?” he said, his eyes focused on the slowly goldening skin of the turkey he’d insisted on being in charge of preparing.
“Mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, some roasted veggies, sweet potato casserole—“
“Oh,” he moaned at the mention of your world famous sweet potato casserole that you made for him for the first time last month. “Can you make extra of that? I want leftovers of the leftovers of the leftovers, bebita.”
You smiled at his enthusiasm, and nudged your head towards the fridge.
“Look in there and tell me if that’s enough,” you said.
Javi finished basting the turkey and tucked it back into the oven before heading over to the fridge and opening it to find two large rectangular pans of the casserole that you’d prepped the night before.
“God, I’ve never loved you more.”
Tumblr media
After two hours of working on the feast, 2 p.m. rolled around and the first of your guests arrived at your door.
“Hey!” You greeted Mickey with a tight hug as though you hadn’t seen her in months when in reality you’d just been over to visit her last week. “How’re you feeling?”
“Really good, actually. The incisions have finally healed, the baby is doing good, I’ve got full range of motion in my neck again, and…” she said, smiling widely as she slowly lifted her left hand to show off the diamond on her ring finger, effectively causing your jaw to drop to the ground.
“Holy shit—“ Javi said, finally meeting you at the door. “That’s, uh…congrats, Mick.”
You turned to him with a suspicious look, unsure of why he looked pale as a ghost but chose to drop it in favor of getting the full engagement story from Mickey.
“Come inside and tell me everything, I’m stunned,” you said, pulling Mickey into the house with your arm looped around hers.
“It was pretty low key. Rich took me out to dinner a few nights ago to celebrate my recovery, or so I thought, and long story short, he proposed and I wanted to wait to tell you in person—“
“Congratu-fucking-lations, Mick,” you gushed, squeezing her arm. “He’s got great taste.”
“I doubt he actually picked it out,” Javi said, inserting himself into the conversation, earning a glare from you.
“Well, he’s the one who paid for it, all that matters to me,” Mickey quipped.
“Is Richard coming tonight?” you asked, leading her into the kitchen.
“No, he’s stuck at the hospital,” she frowned. “It’s his first shift back since my surgery, and honestly I didn’t understand you and Javi wanting to be around each other all the time until now. Now, it feels so weird to be somewhere without him.”
“Aw, she has a heart,” you teased.
Mickey glanced over her shoulder to check for Javi’s presence, finding him out in the backyard smoking a cigarette while McCartney ran around in the leaves.
“Speaking of Javi…is he in a bad mood or something?” she asked. “What was all that about?”
“I don’t know!” you whispered enthusiastically. “He’s been totally normal, maybe even a little extra-lovey dovey. I don’t know why he’s suddenly so…weird.”
“Well, you did say he wanted to propose.”
“You don’t think—“
“I think me and Richard accidentally stole his thunder,” she said, wincing.
“He wouldn’t propose to me in front of people,” you countered. “I’ve made myself clear on that point.”
“Well, I can’t think of anything else. Unless he’s secretly been in love with me this whole time and just got his heart broken,” she joked.
“That’s a good point. Does Richard eat ass? Javi eats ass. You might want to reconsider your decision,” you played along as you stirred the stuffing in a big pot.
“You know, Richard doesn’t go…down,” she blurted, earning a gasp.
“You don’t mean—“
“Yep,” she nodded. “But surprisingly, he gets the job done without it.”
You winced, shaking your head. “Everytime I learn something new about Dick Mann, I regret it.”
The sliding glass patio door opening signaled Javi’s entrance to the house, his scowl on unabashedly as he walked into the kitchen, smelling like smoke, to grab a rare beer for himself.
“Jav?” you called carefully, earning his eyes on yours. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged, though the dryness in his tone did little to persuade you.
“You sure? You look a little—“
“I’m fine, bebita,” he assured, walking over to press a kiss on your cheek. “Sorry I smell like smoke.”
“You wear it well,” you said, reaching to pinch his chin. “When’s your dad getting here?”
“I get to meet Peña Sr.?” Mickey interjected with a playful smile.
“He’s supposed be here any second—“
The doorbell rang as if on cue.
“I’ll get it,” Javi said, giving you one more peck before walking off to the front door.
“Is he like…is he like Javi? Brooding and grumpy?” Mickey asked in a whisper, making you smile.
“Javi’s not like that,” you argued playfully. “But yeah, Chucho and Javi are pretty similar. Chucho’s a little more friendly, I’d say.”
“Mija,” Chucho walked in with a hobble, resting on his cane as he made his way to you to give you a quick hug. “Smells good in here.”
“Thank you,” you smiled before gesturing at Mickey. “This is my friend Mickey.”
“Ah, the walking miracle,” he said, hobbling over to give her a handshake. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling much better, thank you,” she smiled. “Which one of these two broke HIPAA to tell you?”
“Javi,” he replied, selling out his sim instantly.
“You weren’t my client anymore,” Javi defended himself as he walked in. “Makes it a little better.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to sue you, Dr. Peña,” she said. “Although, judging by your house, I think you could survive it.”
“Oh! Speaking of fancy things, guess who finally got a car,” you said, smiling proudly.
“Is it here?” Mickey sprung up from her seat at the island.
“No, it’s still at the dealership because Javi insisted I needed to upgrade the tires and stereo—“
“You did,” he said. “Better to get it done now by the dealership than to have a mechanic upcharge you later.”
“What did you get, Mija?” Chucho asked, accepting a beer from Javi.
“I got a Honda,” you replied. “Nothing too fancy, but fancy by my standards.”
“I tried to convince her to get a Volvo or something like that, but—“
“But I’m not an attending yet and can’t afford car payment,” you reasoned.
“And she refuses to let me help,” he lovingly scolded, making eyes at you from across the room.
“I offered to by his truck—“
“That old thing?” Chucho asked, chuckling at the mere thought. “
“That’s what I said,” Javi agreed.
The doorbell ringing again signaled the arrival of your next set of guests: Connie, Steve, and their daughter Olivia.
“Y’all ain’t got the game on?” Steve asked as he got settled in the living room with Olivia and her toys, Javi and Chucho joining them while you stayed in the kitchen with Connie and Mickey to finish off dinner.
“Oh my god!” Connie squealed at the sight of Mickey’s ring before pulling her into the living room with her. “Steve, look at this rock on Mickey’s finger.”
Now all alone, your guests busy with conversation on the football game blaring on your living room TV, Javi snuck his way into the kitchen to join you for a moment of privacy.
“Hey,” he said, sticking his hands in his front pockets. “I wanted to talk about why I got so…weird about Mickey’s ring—“
“Oh no, are you actually in love with her?” you joked.
“What? God, no. No, I just…” He sighed, shaking his head with an embarrassed smile on his face. “I went ring shopping.”
“Oh?” you tried to veil your inner glee at the news.
“And I landed on one. Then, like an idiot, I showed Steve and Mann a picture of it, and—“
“Oh,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Javi, was that—“
“He stole my fucking ring,” he sighed and then chuckled. “I know it’s stupid, but I put a lot of thought and research into the perfect fucking ring for you, only to see it on Mickey’s finger at the door, and I just—“
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, walking over to him to slide your arms around his waist, your head resting on his chest.
“I had to smoke a cigarette to chill the fuck out about it,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around you.
“Jav, you could give me a ring-pop and I’d think it’s the most beautiful thing in the entire fucking world,” you said, lifting your head to look up at him. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”
“I know, I just want it to be perfect,” he mumbled shyly, bringing an adoring smile to your face. You lifted your hand up to rest on his cheek, your thumb swiping over the coarse hair at the corner of his lips.
“Javi, I already have the most perfect thing in the world right here.” Javi leaned in for a slow kiss, each swipe of his lips and tongue against yours lighting sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, forcing you to pull away from him with a chuckle. “You’re going to distract me.”
“You’re always distracting me,” he said, brushing his thumbs over your hips. “Meet me in the bathroom for a quickie?”
“Can’t,” you smirked. “Dinner’s done.”
Tumblr media
With everyone's stomachs stuffed full of turkey and stuffing and everything deliciously bad for the human heart, you sent them all off with a plate of leftovers aside from Chucho who was staying the night.
Your feet were sore from standing on them all day, and since Javi had already put away all the leftovers and stuffed the dishwasher full of every dirty dish in the house, you found yourself laying across the sectional with your feet in Javi’s lap, his hands working away every ache while he and Chucho poked fun at the fact that you were already forcing them into watching Elf.
“The holiday isn’t over yet, mija,” Chucho said, tipping his beer back for a sip.
“Shh, just pretend it’s midnight,” you replied, your voice thick with exhaustion.
“Yeah, pops. Best if we just go along with it, otherwise it’ll just get worse,” he teased, shooting you a playful look.
You were too busy admiring him to come up with any sort of clever response, his tousled hair, unbuttoned jeans, navy blue sweater and strong hands making it hard to pay attention to anything but him.
“You sleepy?” he asked, running his hand along your shin soothingly, as if he had no clue of the dirty thoughts starting to whirl around in your mind.
“Yeah, I should probably go to bed,” you said, hoping that he could pick up on things without you needed to tell him.
“Well, if she’s going to bed, you and I can watch that Western I was telling you about,” Chucho said. Javi’s eyes softly closed shut, as if he was gathering his patience.
“How about we watch it tomorrow, pops? I’m exhausted—“
“Yeah right,” Chucho chuckled, looking at the two of you suspiciously before standing up. “Thank god the guest room’s on the other side of the house.”
“Good night, Chucho!” you called, wincing in embarrassment at the way he saw right through you and Javi.
“Good night, mija. Good night, Javi.”
“Night,” Javi called back before turning to you with a chuckle. “I didn’t even realize you were trying to fool around. I really thought we were gonna go to bed.”
“Your dad picked up on it easily enough.” Javi laughed again and nodded before shifting on the couch to crawl on top of you, your thighs parting to welcome him. You admired him for a minute as he hovered above you, your fingers carding through his hair. “I love you like this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “You just look very cozy and at home.”
“I am cozy and at home,” he said. “And stuffed full of your sweet potato casserole.”
“Was it good?”
“Not nearly as good as what I’m craving right now,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. You giggled, pushing him away so that you could speak.
“Maybe we should take this into the bedroom seeing as we have a guest,” you said, trailing your hands up underneath his sweater to feel the smooth, warm expanse of his stomach. Javi rested his forehead against yours and sighed contently at your touch, his hips pressing into yours.
“Yeah, let’s go while I can still think straight,” Javi rasped, lifting himself off of you and tugging you onto your feet, walking you around the corner and down the hallway to the bedroom with his hand clasped with yours. The minute he opened the door, he had you pressed against it, his mouth on yours while one hand pinned both of yours to the cool wood. “I wanna try something tonight.”
“W-what?” you managed, still breathless from his kiss.
“Nothing too crazy,” he smiled. “Go lay down, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” you replied with a hesitant chuckle, watching him from over your shoulder as he walked out of the room and down the hall towards the kitchen. Stripping out of your clothes, you rested yourself in the middle of the bed on your side, playfully replicating Burt Reynold’s iconic centerfold.
When Javi returned, he carried a can of the whipped cream you used for the pumpkin pie earlier, a grin on his face as he took you in.
“Waiting for your cover shot?” he asked, setting the whipped cream on the nightstand so that he could strip out of his own clothes. “Actually—“
“What?” you giggled, watching his bare ass as he walked over to his closet to grab his polaroid camera. “No, I’m bloated and—“
“Shut your pretty mouth,” he ordered with a smile, holding the camera up to his eye. “Smile, baby.”
You begrudgingly obliged, resting your hand over your stomach to try and hide the swell of it, but Javi sucked his teeth in response.
“Move that out of the way,” he commanded, waving his hand at you. “It’s ruining the shot.”
“Javi,” you laughed. “My stomach is ruining the shot.”
“Do I have to put something in your mouth to stop ridiculous shit like that from coming out?” he asked. “You’re beautiful. I love you like this.”
Suddenly, it all clicked for you. You loved Javi the most when he was undone and comfortable and satisfied, why wouldn’t he feel the same towards you?
“I love you,” you said, moving your arm to give him the shot he wanted now that your insecurities seemed to vanish. Clicking the camera, he lowered it from his eye and set it down on the nightstand to let the polaroid develop while he climbed onto the bed and rolled you over onto your back.
“I love you,” he replied, sitting back on his ankles between your open thighs, his hands smoothing over the inside of them. “And I can’t wait to fucking suffocate between your thighs. That’s my ideal way to go, I think.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you chuckled, reaching to grab his neck to tug him down to your lips, his hands holding him up as his tongue swiped across yours, his cock slowly sliding over your folds pulling a moan from his chest.
“Fuck,” he hissed as the head of it caught your entrance. “You’re distracting me from my plans.”
“Then hurry up and get on with them,” you purred, lightly scratching the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.
Javi let out a puff of amusement and kissed your lips one more time before making his way down your jaw and neck, giving ample attention to that sensitive spot you love for him to nip at. You felt him reaching over for the whipped cream before he pulled away completely, popping the lid off the can and shaking it in his hand.
“You’re already sweet, but I figure since it’s a holiday and you made me wait so long for dessert, I should treat myself,” he said, smirking as he pressed the nozzle over the stiffened peaks of your nipples, creating two messy dollops of whipped cream over them. “Look at you…”
You batted your eyes at him as you used a finger to scoop up some of the cream, wrapping your lips around it and sucking it clean with an exaggerated pop just to feel his cock twitch between your thighs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, lowering his tongue to the half-cleaned mountain of whipped cream to get a taste for himself. Your breath hitched as you watched him greedily clean up the mess he created, sucking your peak into his mouth while his eyes locked with yours.
“Fuck, Jav,” you moaned, the softness of his tongue against your sensitive skin giving your brain a rush of dopamine.
Javier’s hand spread wide over your stomach and ribs, warming your skin up as he licked a trail over to your other breast to give it the same slow, teasing treatment. Bringing the can back, he drew a straight line from your sternum down to your belly button and used wet, messy kisses to clean off the cream before licking a broad stripe back up to your neck. You caught him while he was still close enough to kiss and pulled him in, licking over the excess sweetness on his lips and tongue before using all your strength to roll him over onto his back so that you could have your turn at worshiping him.
“What are you doing?” Javi laughed, resting his hands on the top of your thighs as you drew a heart with the whipped cream over his broad chest.
“You got to have dessert, why can’t I?” you purred, lowering your tongue slowly to the cream while he watched you with a slack jaw. You traced the heart with your tongue and kissed away any remainders before scooting lower on the mattress until your lips were pressing teasingly chaste kiss to the underside of his cock that rested against his stomach.
“Baby, fuck,” Javi moaned, using one hand to cradle your face. Drawing a line of whipped cream from the head to his balls, Javi waited with bated breath for you to clean it all up, your lust-drunk eyes locked on his as you started at his balls. He hissed in pleasure as you sucked each of them into your mouth at a time before letting them go with a pop to focus on his shaft. Spreading your tongue flat and wide, you slowly licked his shaft clean of any of the sweet, airy cream before gripping him at his base and taking the head into your mouth. “Oh, fuck.”
“You taste so good,” you purred as you let him go to stroke him in your palm.
“Baby, I want to taste you,” he begged, giving you those round eyes of his that always got him his way.
“Then come get it,” you taunted, prompting him to practically throw you onto your back, the mattress bouncing from the force as you giggled at his display of strength until you felt his tongue flatten over your folds. “Oh, shit, Javi.”
“Not laughing now, are you?” he smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before going back to your cunt, his tongue working you up slowly and gently until he decided your clit was ready for some attention. Your fingers gripped his cropped hair to hold him against you, giving him little room to breathe, not that he minded in the slightest.
“Right fucking there, baby,” you purred, locking eyes with him from across the expanse of your body. “Don’t stop.”
“Sweeter than the whipped cream,” he mumbled, kissing your clit before sucking it into his mouth until your thighs were shaking.
“Fuck, Javi…you’re perfect,” you moaned, letting your head fall back against the mattress. “Want your fingers.”
“Yeah?” he rasped, his tone teasing. “How many, baby? One?” Your breath hitched as he slipped his pointer finger inside of you, slowly working you open until he was hooking it up towards your favorite spot. “Two?” He added another and earned a wanton mewl that you quickly silenced with your hand over your mouth, your brows scrunched in pleasure at the thick width of his skillful fingers. “Can you take three?”
“Yes, fuck, please,” you managed, spreading your legs even wider out of sheer need to let him take all of you, whatever he wanted.
Javier’s thick fingers curved into you, the room filling with vulgar wet sounds as he targeted that spot inside while swirling his tongue over you until your entire body was shaking with your impending release. He wore a grin the entire time as you whispered chants of praise and used his name like he was your lord and savior.
“Come on, baby,” he purred, sucking your clit into his mouth just right. Your hands clawed at the comforter for purchase as your brain went fuzzy with euphoria, every nerve in your body singing his name. “There you go. Such a good fucking girl—“
“Javi, fuck me,” you begged, still lost in your climax. Your hands reached for his strong arms to pull him on top of you, not that he needed any persuading. Javi was quick to mold his lips to yours as he gripped his weeping length at the base, lining it up with your still pulsing heat before sinking in all the way in one slick thrust.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he hissed, his face falling into the crook of your neck as his hips worked on their own accord, snapping into yours like he needed to in order to survive. “Baby, shit,” he whispered into your ear before nipping at your earlobe. “You’re so fucking wet. Do you hear that?”
Both of you silenced your moans and pants for a moment to hear the sinful squelch of his cock moving in and out of you, the sound alone making you whine and rest your hands on his ass to pull him impossibly closer. Javier managed to compose himself enough to sit up on his knees, rolling you onto your side while he was still inside of you. You gasped at the new position, the way he hugged your leg to his chest as he straddled the other, his cock pressing in so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he grunted, bringing one hand down to slap your ass just hard enough for it to sting pleasurably. “Look at you. All fucking mine, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Javi, fuck,” you cried, your face ruined with pleasure as he inched you closer and closer to your second release with his voice.
“You like the way I fit inside you? The way I make you cum, baby?” he asked, a proud smile on his face as he watched your face scrunch even more.
“Javi, I’m so close,” you whined, reaching to grip his forearm. “Please don’t stop.”
“Not gonna stop, baby,” he assured, kissing your ankle as it rested on his shoulder. “Not gonna stop until we cum together, alright? You feel so fucking good. Always feel so fucking good.”
“Javi!” you cried, unable to control your volume even with the looming knowledge that Javi’s father was just on the other side of the quiet home.
“That’s it,” he purred, slowing his thrusts as your cunt squeezed him so tight that he had no choice but to join you in your ecstasy. “Fuck.”
You hardly had a minute to catch your breath before McCartney’s paw began scratching at your door, a chuckle slipping from Javi’s lips as he let your leg drop from his hold, his chest heaving from exertion.
“Forgot about our son,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as you remained spent and curled up on your side. “Gotta pull out,” he warned, a hiss slipping from both of your lips as he carefully slid out of you, Javi’s eyes glued to the spend that dripped out of you in turn. “Fuck. I’m glad we took the week off.”
You laughed, rolling over onto your back with a satisfied smile, your head turning to follow him as he slipped on a pair of briefs and flannel pajama pants before opening the bedroom door up for McCartney.
“Hi, Macca,” you rasped, welcoming the dog onto the bed with a scratch behind his ears.
“Sorry kid, Mommy and daddy were wrestling,” Javi said, slipping under the covers on his side of the bed. Willing yourself up, you winced at the feeling of Javi’s spend leaking down your thighs as you walked to the bathroom to relieve yourself and clean up a bit before putting on your usual sleep clothes and tucking in beside your two favorite boys.
“That new position,” you started, rolling onto your side to watch as Javi pet McCartney as he laid in between the two of you.
“Good?”
“Really good,” you said, smiling at the way your cunt still pulsed with aftershocks. “And your dirty talk.”
“Yeah? You like my voice, bebita? Like it when I’m cocky?” he teased, shooing McCartney down to the foot of the bed so that he could fill the gap between your bodies, his lips pressing against yours in something slow and sensual.
“I like when you’re cocky in the bedroom,” you corrected with a smirk, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertip. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
“I had the best Thanksgiving,” he said, pecking your forehead. “How about you?”
“I had a really, really good day,” you smiled. “And I’m glad you didn’t propose to me in front of everyone on a holiday.”
“Was that really on the table?” he chuckled.
“Mickey thought that’s why you were so sour about her engagement,” you replied.
“No, I know you too well by now to think that you’d be into something like that,” he said. “I’m not into a huge public proposal either. Too many people watching me be happy, doesn’t sit right.”
You laughed and nodded, understanding him completely.
“I don’t really even want a huge wedding,” he continued. “Just the people who really matter.”
“That’s exactly what I want. Something tiny, here in our backyard or at your dad’s ranch,” you said. “Just me and you and like ten other people.”
“I love you,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again. “And I’m gonna get the ring right, and then I’m going to propose right, and then I’m going to marry you right. If that’s the only thing I do right in this lifetime, that’s fucking plenty.”
“Dr. Peña, I am so glad I fucked you in that on call room half a year ago,” you beamed, curling into his warmth and resting your head on his chest. “That’ll forever be the best irresponsible decision I’ve ever made.”
“We were just kids back then,” he chuckled. “Or at least I was.”
“I think if we were to go back and time and tell them everything that we’ve been through, they’d call us fucking idiots.”
“Younger Javi wouldn’t buy it solely because I still don’t know how I ended up with you,” he said, his voice raspy as he dozed off. “But I’m fucking glad I did.”
“That makes two of us,” you said, kissing his chest where his heart beat. “Love you.”
“Love you, bebita.”
Tumblr media
197 notes · View notes
epiphyllous · 2 months
Text
when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [2]
For what could you be to him, if not a victim, not a target, not a night it's better to forget-- if he holds these feelings for you?
Word Count: ~5k Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", following Astarion romance route in his POV + my hc/additional scenes, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, mutual pining, contains NSFW [Part 1] - [Part 3]
[Act II: Underdark/Shadowfell]
How long has it been, Astarion wonders, since the last time he truly cared for someone other than himself? All he remembers is that it didn't go well the last time; sympathy has no place in Cazador's castle, and mercy for his victims does not go unpunished. 
It was kill or be killed. Just as he was afforded no quarters, he never allowed himself to feel for another one of his victims again. It is why when he finds himself in the rare position of being cared for (you and Karlach are particularly eager at showing him as much together), caring for others still does not come easy to him. 
Or so he thought.
Worrying for your livelihood comes almost instinctively, a panic wrought midst an adrenaline-filled battle when he sees your motionless body on the floor. “No!” He hardly recognizes his own voice like that, a scream full of horror. “You can't die. Get up, goddamn you!” He flits across the battlefield, avoiding enemies with the help of Karlach to reach you. He lets go of a breath he was holding when he sees your face grimace in pain, eyes flickering open dazedly. 
“Astarion?” You mumble when you see him, and a volley of emotion rushes him. Anger: the damn Spectator doesn't like to play fair, does it, attacking them on sight. With an eye as big as a target as it is, Astarion cannot wait for payback. Frustration: why must you always plow your way forward with abandon, refusing to bow down from danger? 
Then– 
Worry: your breathing is shallow, eyes unfocused; does he have a healing potion on him? And relief: you are hurt but you are alive– thank god you are alive. (Irritation: he swears if he must strap you to Karlach to stop you from running ahead, he is certain the tiefling would be on board with his plan.)
Astarion cannot help the scowl on his face even as he quickly untops a healing potion and helps you drink it, a hand behind your head. “Stand back up and start killing something,” he tells you bitingly, and you smile at him gratefully, which he can only look at for so long. 
“Got it,” you say, taking a moment before laying healing hands onto your chest. You breathe out in relief and Astarion finds himself quietly doing the same. “Thank you, Astarion. Let's hit ‘em hard this time.” You raise your crossbow and imbue it with holy light before taking aim and firing.
His arrows join yours right after, and the Spectator wails in pain, interrupting its thrall over the petrified drow. “Say less, dear,” Astarion says. “Just make sure to die on your own time, hm?”
Your laugh is a strange thing to hear amidst battle but not an unwelcome one. 
.
.
.
Ever since they started traveling in the land of spores and shadows, you have given him blood every night, noticing fairly quickly the lack of vermin or animals to feed on. You are always woozy in the morning, lightheaded at best and exhausted at worst. It is particularly bad whenever he feeds on nights you have suffered injuries, but still, you offer.
Astarion had suggested to only feed every other night if only to spare you from tripping up in battle. He tells you he has little desire to resuscitate you in the midst of it. (And even less of one to see you fallen in battle in the first place. One time was plenty enough.) 
He's been eyeing the small population of duergar that so conveniently became their enemies anyways, so feeding would not be quite so dire. He would also feed on the dark gnomes, dislikable creatures that they are, but he has a strong inkling you would greatly disapprove. (You were strangely friendly with that dark gnome you saved on the windmill, but you have done stranger things that still boggle him. He's learned to live with it. Begrudgingly, of course.)
Even then, you insisted on letting him have your blood despite Shadowheart's exasperation. It shows the cleric's affections for you and (a surprising show of) trust for him that she almost offers her own blood, if only to temporarily sate his appetite. You wave away the discomfort though, thankful for the members who are able to restore you from bloodlessness but otherwise willful in your decision to let him feed on only you.
Astarion is thankful– of course he is. He would never say no to a truly good meal; and you are right for the most part about not having much to eat. But as good as he is with words, Astarion is beginning to feel his debt to you accumulate.
There is not much he can do for you in return, really. It's not as if you need protecting, though he does ever so often help keep you hidden among the shadows when you're hiding or snipe an enemy before they even think of aiming at you. But you have always done that for him. It's something you've relayed to him early on: you have his back as long as he has yours. 
The protection is mutually beneficial, but giving him blood is a gift. He owes you– among other things. He has always found blood appealing due to his... affliction, but he is finding that your expression during battle, the blood that you bathe in as a result of it leaves him feeling hungry for a completely different reason.
(Astarion finds that he hungers for you similarly when you are otherwise at peace. When you gaze into the campfire with a look of innocent awe at the flickering flames or when you wave him over eagerly for him to sit near it with you, happy to have him close as though it were a rare occurrence and not a near nightly thing. It is a quiet type of hunger-- a yearning-- that often goes ignored. For what could you be to him, if not a victim, not a target, not a night it's better to forget-- if he holds these feelings for you?)
It is easy to come to the conclusion that he can offer his body to you as compensation. Astarion is quite certain you enjoyed his performance before, and he admits he feels... closer to you as a result of the first time. There is nothing wrong with building an even closer bond with you- to ensure his safety, of course. And most importantly, sex is enjoyable with you; he imagines himself less and less being able to propose the same to the others in camp, no matter how strong or reliable they are as allies.
He does suspect none of them would be willing. They seem to view him and you as something exclusive. Astarion doesn't remember establishing anything of the sort, but something about the two of you must allude to it. 
Astarion doesn't mind; it makes it easier to seduce you thoroughly. And, if his plan has worked, breaking your heart by straying to others sounds like a terrible idea considering the fact the camp would rather break their own legs than betray you. 
(Lae'zel would break his legs for any discretion despite how blasé she is with romantic relationships. (You had gained her stalwart friendship through hard-earned battles against an entire créche– this is not to be taken lightly.) Wyll would be more than happy to have been proven right all along, with how convinced he is that Astarion's heart be as cold as ice. Gale would lecture his ear off, which is a threat on its own, and he is convinced Shadowheart has learned how to torture given her Sharran background. Karlach would probably just give him an equally upset and disappointed look, and that would discomfit Astarion more than anything. 
In summary– the odds would not be in his favor. Which works out for him; best be in your debt than anyone else's if there's to be a debt at all.)
After helping the myconids get rid of their enemies, they camp in the safe spore refuge after reaping their rewards from the fungi's makeshift prison. Astarion waits for you to come find him, doing another futile attempt to read the Book of Thay as you make your rounds and check in with everyone. It seems that you have gotten into the habit of saving him for last, knowing how long the conversations might last into the night. It works out perfectly for him, because when you come over to him, eyes bright, he sets out to proposition you again. 
"Here's my little treat with their cheeks all flushed." Astarion lowers his eyes and looks up through his lashes coyly. "You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?"
You blink at him. "Are you hungry?" You ask, which is an odd way to start flirting back. "Do you not like coming into my tent for a bite?"
Ah. Right. 
Astarion can't stop the unbidened sigh. "No, dear, I was suggesting something a little... more. Though, I am always open to being fed."
"Oh," you say. "Oh!" And like magic, your cheeks darken with color. "Sorry, I- well, you called me your 'treat' so I automatically assumed, you know, food."
"You want something better? It'd be my pleasure," he teases, clearing his throat lightly before continuing. "How about this one: when I'm with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again with you."
You let out a little laugh and he is quick to continue. "Why, your laugh is nearly just as sweet as when I tasted you."
Your smile wobbles in half embarrassment and flattery. "Astarion," you say, halfheartedly chiding. 
"Let me give it another go, hm?" He makes a show of putting his hand on his chest. "Every part of your body whispers temptation," he tells you, "as if the Gods made you just to ruin me."
Astarion earns himself what he believes to be an endeared shake of the head, a permanent smile on your face. "You're ridiculous," you say warmly. 
"I can go all night with the flattery, but is that really all you want?" He says, putting a finger on his lips, pretending to think. "What if I said these three little words, everyone's favorite." He looks into your eyes and delivers his lines. "I love you."
He hears you laugh again, but it is short and loud, as though you forced it out. It is unlike your usual, genuine laughter, and when Astarion searches for the truth, he feels as though your smile does not reach your eyes… or not. He cannot be sure. For someone who can never find it in yourself to lie to your companions, you make for an impeccable poker face when you need it. 
"Looks like you're having fun," you tease, and Astarion starts to think he was simply imagining it. 
"Of course," he says, surprisingly honest, "it's hard not to with you." He falters when your countenance brightens at his words, and he clears his throat to collect himself. "Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I'd much rather we got to experience each other's full portfolio of talents once again."
"I'll come find you?" You ask as a response, and Astarion smiles.
"I hoped you would say yes. I have missed you," Astarion finds himself admitting. He recovers quickly though, seduction in his voice. "And now you'll be all mine, and I'm all yours. Until morning at least."
There is that little tug of your lips again, gone as quickly as it appeared. Astarion may not fully know what the tic means, but he does know that in some capacity, you are lying to him. It disturbs him more than he can place. 
"Until morning," you repeat, giving him an equally quiet smile before turning.
Astarion watches you walk away, heavy with the feeling that he has missed something important.
When he meets you later tonight, you are as playful as ever in bed, eager to touch him and please him as you have been before. You roll your hips into his lap as you hold him from the front, neck tilted up and eyes closed as you loam in the pleasure. A trickle of blood runs down your body, proof of an appetite satiated. He tongues at your skin, following the trail up as you let out a pleased hum.
Astarion has always thought this in one way or another, but you are a vision. Breathtaking in your battlelust, stunning in your resilience, and beautiful in the throes of passion. 
It is always a plus, he thinks, to be attracted to you. It makes it a less unpleasant experience, if nothing else. With you, it makes a long night of love almost a cinematic experience; there is so much to watch unfold, so much of you to see.
"Any ideas how we'll know when it's morning in the underdark?" You ask him breathlessly, hands carding through his hair.
"After I have you seeing stars, naturally," he says easily, and you let out a huff of laughter at his words. 
"You're so silly," you tell him in the fondest way you can. His heart involuntarily skips a beat as you brush your hand over his cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. "Maybe it'll never be morning here," you say, "and I could have you forever." 
A thought violently comes to him, holding his heart with a vice grip: you genuinely sound like you're in love with him. Astarion should be elated; his plan is working. Instead he feels dread's cold fingers curling around his neck for a completely new reason. 
Before he can process, you grind your hips down in a move he knows you learned the last time around, and he groans, hands on the small of your back to hold you back. "Why, darling," he breathes out, "you're beginning to get as good as me."
He feels your smile on his lips, warm and real, and the dread is soothed-- if only just for a little bit. "I could never," you whisper into him, and he falls onto his back, another time for him to remember.
When he wakes up, your warmth in his arms, his nose buried in your hair, he finds that morning does not come in the underdark like he expects. And his simple plan to seduce you is quickly falling apart in ways he never thought imaginable.
.
.
.
Astarion does what he has always done when things go awry: he disengages. Or he tries to, anyways, but you have a knack about wiggling your way into interacting with him, not at all deterred by his attempted nonchalance. He gives up on that plan quickly one night when he tries to refuse your help to read his scars. 
For one, he actually does need someone else's help to visualize the markings on his back. And all things considered, you are the one he is most comfortable to help him, having seen his back once already. Secondly, trying to push you away does him no good in terms of his original plan; spurning you can only build resentment, which works against him in terms of your protection. (Or not, he thinks. You have always defended him even if you were irritated with him that day because of a fight. Your trifles with him never affected how you felt for him in the long-run.)
Thirdly, and most unfortunately, he actually does… like interacting with you, for all the annoying times you are overly good to others. He trusts you, and perhaps that is all the reason he's ever needed to turn his back to you as you scrawl the markings into the dirt floor. About two hundred years he has lived with this on his skin and never seen it until now. Not that he can read it, but it is definitely a step forward.
He looks up at you to see you staring intently at him. “What?” He says, “what is it?”
“I was just thinking,” you tell him. “Slightly unrelated, but maybe when we reach the city or something, we could have the artist we saved from the Zhentarim paint your portrait so you can see yourself again.” You shrug when he merely blinks at you in confusion. “Just a thought, since you didn't like how I described you last time and writing your markings down reminded me.”
You remembered, he thinks, about what he said about not having seen his appearance in eons. He can't help it--he's a little endeared despite himself. “Darling, last time you described me like I was some decrepit old man,” Astarion replies facetiously.
“No, I didn't!” You fume, and he's amused to see the way your lips form a pout, one of the few things that betray your youth. Though he supposed anyone would be young compared to him. “I happen to like the way you look, laugh lines and crow's feet and all.” You huff as if mortally wounded. “I described you with ‘piercing eyes’ too didn't I?”
“Yes, I recall you called me beautiful as well,” Astarion simpers, and you huff in laughter this time around.
“You really are,” you say, smile on your lips. “Beautiful, I mean.”
Something flutters in his chest. It could not have been his heart, surely, for it hasn't beat since the moment he was turned. And yet… The back of his neck feels oddly warm, the heat traveling up to his ears: was he really embarrassed from something like that? Him, the connoisseur of seduction, master of one-liners, brought down by a- a compliment? 
Astarion is quick to turn his nose into the air, letting out a noise of approval at your words as though it were a given. And it is– he must be beautiful, for how else would people fall for him so easily? But coming from you, sincere, without expectations for something more, Astarion is left unequipped to deal with as smoothly as he would have liked. 
It's becoming more frequent by the day.
“Thank you, dear. Not enough people say so,” he says. “Feel free to lavish me in flattery at any given time.”
“Okay.” Your eyes twinkle looking at him as though there are all the stars in the world in your eyes. He recognizes that twinkle, though it could range from anywhere from mischief to affection– perhaps both when it comes to him. He discreetly presses a hand into his chest, wondering if his heart had suddenly decided to start beating again. “Whatever you say, beautiful,” you sing. 
And how is Astarion supposed to resist being charmed by you when you are like this? If that was all there was though, he thinks as you go set up camp, then there wouldn't be much of a problem. Being fawned over by you should be the easiest thing he has done, but it isn't. He feels… Astarion isn't sure what he feels, and he loathes the fact that it can never be simple with you.
You're supposed to be an end to a means. Why does it matter that you seem to care for him beyond his body? That when you tell him he's beautiful, he knows you mean more than surface-level? And that he feels for you when you tell him as much? 
It is a dangerous game he is playing, being so close to you while he comes to terms with what you may mean to him. But Astarion admits he lives for the danger of it all, especially when he finds that seduction is not always a one-way road.
.
.
Astarion almost forgives you for helping dark gnomes in droves for how ruthless you are to their slavers. You are a paladin, a protector of the weak, but you are also a punisher of evil. You cleanly decapitate Nere with an impassive expression, and Astarion has never felt so thoroughly turned on.
(He remembers a conversation shared with you in the beginning of your relationship with him– even before you had even begun to see him as a true companion. How would you like to die, he had asked. 
It was an odd choice of topic. Vaguely threatening and definitely morbid, but you had answered in earnest. And when you asked, how about you?
He said, Decapitation. One good swing and then- nothing. 
Astarion watches as you carefully clean your sword of Nere's blue blood and thinks his answer still has not changed.)
He doesn't hide it well, his eyes trailing after you almost predatorily. Shadowheart notices almost immediately, giving him a side look that would have chafed if he weren't who he is. Lae'zel, for once, gives no comment to his lustful behavior. She of all people would understand the irresistibility of power and bloodlust. It is you who does not notice, too focused on inviting– ugh, Barcus Wroot to the camp so he doesn't inevitably find himself in need of saving again and promising to rescue Wulbren, among other dark gnomes, at Moonrise.
At this rate, you'll have an entire laundry list of people to save at the same location, and you'll probably still think that you ‘might as well since they're all in the same place anyways.’ He can already imagine you saying those words, and it would have stopped him from being so hot and bothered had you not turned to notice him then and look at him like a cat who caught the canary.
“Was it killing the duegar? Nere?” You ask him, amusement dancing in your eyes, “Or is it the fact I still have blood literally everywhere?”
His fangs peek from behind his smile. “Why, darling, don't be so surprised!” He tells you seductively, "Blood is an attractive look on you, you know.”
You laugh at this, hand wiping away at your forehead, smearing the flecks of blood that stubbornly stay. Astarion watches you intently as you thumb across your cheek and then your lips, blood painting them like luxury rouge. It's only then Astarion realizes you're doing this on purpose, and the thought of you- you!- teasing him on purpose is unexpectedly charming. 
“You cheeky little pup,” Astarion calls you nearly breathlessly, and you can only smile at him, caught in the act.
(Both Shadowheart and Lae'zel give each other long side looks this time.)
.
.
.
The shadowlands are wrought with a darkness unlike Astarion has ever seen. It must be the silence of such a foul curse because he begins to come to terms about what he can do for the scars on his back. Dealing with the devil is never the greatest of plans, but it is a plan he knows for certain will work. 
He must have the luck of the realms to find Raphael in the only place where the dark cannot reach: Last Light's Inn. Like the other times they have made contact with him, the devil is as elusive and lackadaisical as ever, much to Astarion's annoyance. In the corner of his eyes, he sees you fume, stepping closer to Astarion as you pin down Raphael with an unfaltering stare.
"Get to the point, Raphael," you say with a tone of impatience. “Will you help him or not?” Brave but reckless coming from you; you are more often like him than not, preferring to fawn and please your way through, but it seems even the devil tests you.
Raphael disappears in a snap of flames with no answers yet, and the lingering smell of ashes puts a foul taste in everyone's mouth. Especially yours, it seems, as you haven't moved away from him yet, stance tense and ready for battle still. Astarion's gaze flickers back and forth between your body language, and he would call it possessive if he didn't know what type of person you were. It doesn't even look like you're aware that you're being protective of him, subtle and unobtrusive as it is. 
Astarion recalls his childhood dreams of marrying heroic princes when he was thirteen. He has somewhat grown out of it now, jaded as he is. The thought of being a damsel in distress is no longer as appealing as it was back then now that he understands what it truly means to be helpless. But seeing you as you are, watching over him carefully while trusting him to be able to fight for himself, coaxes the dream back to life just a little bit.
It helps that you are not the perfect knightley archetype of fairytale storybooks. Your imperfections and playful mannerisms help contextualize his childhood's unrealistic expectations into something more real– more suitable for his current tastes. He watches as you get onto your knees and meow at the hairless cat for its attention and thinks he would get rather bored if you were just a princely character.
“At least you purr for me,” he remarks when the cat hisses at you and watches as you throw him one of his favorite looks, a dour expression mixed with amusement.
“Maybe I should start hissing, huh?” You reply with a grin, bumping his shoulders as you walk by to speak to Jaheira. 
And there is one other thing he has noticed: you are a physically affectionate person. While he is a master of words, you prefer to communicate through touch--once you have become more comfortable with the people you are with. You brush shoulders with Gale when the two of you stargaze, you hook arms with Shadowheart when the two of you go for walks, and, when you feel that Lae'zel is in the mood for it, you clasp her shoulder for a battle well fought. You are almost reckless in the way you provide touch, hugging Karlach the moment Dammon fixes her infernal engine without fear of getting burned, not afraid to get close to Wyll's new devilish horns, if only to make him more comfortable with the change.
You have never been shy with touch, whether you mean to or not. He gets the sense that you simply want to be closer to him– to everyone– and when words fail you (he has seen you flub a conversation with a rat once), your touch can do the talking. 
It's almost awe-inspiring the range in which your actions can convey. Astarion knows well how your brandished sword can intimidate, how your stance communicates confidence, how your gentleness conveys compassion. Knowing you is a strength of its own considering the surprise you gave Marcus when you seemingly go from peaceful conversation to deadly assault. Though Astarion wonders if it is a weakness too when he feels your pinky touch his after the frightful battle, and he understands you almost too well. 
“We fight so many demons I'm beginning to get bored of them,” he tells you, and he lets you continue to curl your pinky with his, a small but secure connection between the two of you.
[You are brave but not unafraid, and you are frightened by the idea of betrayal so close to home. You are scared of sudden bloodshed and of repercussions of failure. You are fearful of Astarion getting hurt, and that will always be true, but it is true especially now when you are so close to where this journey all began. You seek him out to make sure he is alright, if only for your own comfort. And if he is fine, then maybe everything will be fine as well.]
“Good to hear,” you say simply. It is all you can find yourself saying in the aftermath, and you stay close to Astarion. It isn't until Jaheira talks about infiltrating Moonrise that you let go of him to speak to her. 
Astarion finds himself rooted in his spot, wondering for a brief moment how his heart can be set alight from an innocent touch like that from you.
*
*
*
The night before they infiltrate the heart of the Absolute, Astarion dreams. It is not a nightmare for once, but it feels very little like a dream. 
You were in it: crescent moon rising above, sitting on the shore, letting the waves lap at your bare feet. You invite him over to sit with you like you always do in the waking world, and he does– not caring about how the salty waters will ruin the leather of his pants or the fact he has never seen you in the white robe you are wearing now. 
The two of you sit in silence for the most part, watching the water stretch out into the distance where the eye can no longer see it. He looks over at you, and as though feeling his gaze, you turn to him and give him a smile he feels himself returning. 
“I got you this,” you tell him, holding out a single flower for him. “‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”
He takes the flower in hand. It is not a rose, but a gardenia, cheerful in its yellow color. Astarion brings it close to his nose, but the flower itself has no scent. “The other flower doesn't smell as sweet, darling,” he says. “Or are you saying I'm the rose in this case?” He lets out a laugh and you only smile wider. 
“Beautiful as you are dangerous,” you say, and Astarion is about to comment on how suave you seem to be tonight, but then you stand up and start walking into the water, uncaring of how wet your clothes become. He watches as you submerge yourself halfway before turning to him, unfazed. 
Astarion stands too, his feet on the dry sand, unable to follow. The water will be cold, he thinks, and who knows how deep it goes? His thoughts are interrupted by your peals of laughter, and his head shoots up to look at you, robe floating in the waves almost ethereally. 
“Join me whenever,” you tell him, eyes bright even in the dark. “I can teach you how to swim.”
And Astarion wakes up, remembering only the thought that it has almost been two hundred years since he last swam. He wonders if he's forgotten how.
.
.
.
.
.
*dream sequence symbolism crescent moon - dynamic shift, beginning or end, wisdom, openness to sexuality white robes - protection, purity, clarity, knowledge yellow gardenia - secret love, dreams, thinking of sweetness in the subconscious receiving flowers as a gift - communicating deep feelings, often positive; who is receiving and who is giving? sand - stop in time and lack of growth, waiting; beach sand in particular acts as the border between the unconscious part of you (depths of the water), and the conscious (being on the shore); the cross worlds between your field of perception and the unknown.
82 notes · View notes
catboybiologist · 3 months
Text
Holy fuck 5k followers
God damn I uh
Well I was gonna make a slightly updated pinned post when I hit that but this happened quicker than I expected so uh. Thank you for being here!
64 notes · View notes
c0pkiller · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media
Pandora's Box
Chapter 5: Adam and Eve
━━━━━ . ゚。 ₍ 𓆩 𖤐 𓆪 ₎ 。゚. ━━━━━
SUMMARY: Satoru let's you take your time adjusting to life after sin, using the separation to educate himself. When you're both ready to accept what you've done, you decide to keep trying until you get it right.
CONTENT WARNINGS: blasphemy, author has never actually read The Joy of Sex, Gojo is trying T_T, semi-public sex, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sex outside, multiple rounds, love-making, cum swallowing, squiring, shameless smut, sacrilege, fuck Mary, we hate Mary, but we love pussy-drunk Gojo
TAGS: @ekaterinatepes @dellalyra @sunaishotsstuff @bloompompom @ravereina @tojishugetiddies @i-literally-cant-with-this @hehehehesthings @thecookiebratz @chocoyanchan @niko-ash @hinata7346 @r0ckst4rjk @d4ddies-wh0re @ploylulla @131patpat @etlftl @doestalker @misscathands @chariottethecat @jottositto @getousrep
INFO: wc: ~ 5k — taglist application — series masterlist — main masterlist — series playlist — minor do not interact! This post contains mature content! This is available on ao3.
<<< previous chapter
His fingers work diligently, letting the scissors glide across the paper bag delicately as he cuts scraps of it into delicate squares. The liquid glue spreads onto the thin paper and he takes his time to fit it over the cover, hiding the words The Joy of Sex from anyone that could happen upon him studying this self-proclaimed love-making bible. It’s a mediocre job, not the only average job he’s done in the last few days but before long, Satoru has glued the paper squares onto the book to hide the cover and title. This method successfully hides the content he’s been reading.  
He found the book in a forgotten stack of the monastery library, and he couldn’t even begin to comprehend why a piece of literature like this would be in a Holy place anyway. He’s not interested in asking any questions; perfectly content with consuming the entirety of the book and destroying it right after – the unforgivingly sinful material. Maybe, once again, he’s getting his hopes too high. What if this book doesn’t teach him everything that he’s supposed to do for you, and everything that he did wrong that day?  
And the way that the two of you are so hopelessly cloned after one another, he knows that you’re going about your days and feeling the same crushing defeat that’s plaguing him. The overwhelming sensation that you’ve both damned your souls to the depths of hell, forever to burn, is monumental. A monumental mistake that neither of you can take back. Were you both just being depraved? Were you both born sinners? This isn’t love. You let lust take over your bodies and corrupt your souls and now you’ll have to pay the price for it. An ordinary fuck for an eternity of damnation. Not an even trade at all.  
Satoru wonders if you’ve been praying just as much as he has been. He wonders if you cry yourself to sleep too. He even wonders if rejecting the faith, you’ve believed in for so long has crossed your mind too. He can’t help but wonder if you’ve considered fucking again until you managed to get it right – just as he has. You’re more alike than you think.  
At the very base of this development, he can’t help but feel his heart swell up with pride with the knowledge that he knows you intimately now. You’re a lover of his now. Every word from The Joy of Sex is irrefutable proof that Satoru did do everything wrong, from leaving out as much foreplay as he did to repeatedly asking you if he was doing an adequate job. The guilt that he wasted your first time weighs heavy on his heart. A tear runs down his cheek and lands on the worn page of the book as he searches for a way to find the real joy in sex.  
It hasn’t rained again, not since that day, and you can’t help but fear that the thunderstorm that damaged various small shops and homes really was a result of the wrath of God. Maybe it rained in the middle of summer like that because God himself knew that you and Satoru were going to commit such a grave sin and he was warning you. Did you fail his test? Sweat drips from your hairline until it beads between the valley of your breasts and dampens your skin. You watch the priest mingle with your fellow students, spending more time on the female side of the campus than usual as if he’s too afraid to let you out of his sight. You catch him staring at you more than once as you stand alone, waiting for class to start.  
Satoru speaks casually to one of the tens of Mary’s in your town, laughing at whatever jokes she tells him – a wholly hollow interaction. An excuse to be around you even when you’ve gone back to giving each other the silent treatment but for even worse reasons this time. The girl flips her hair over her shoulder and leans into him to keep his attention on her, showing the result of a purposefully undone top button on her school uniform. You stand in the shade of the tree, pretending to study as an excuse to look at anything but him.  
Your skin crawls every time he has the chance to break his eyesight away from the interaction with Mary and gaze at you, as if trying to read your thoughts. The crushing feeling that there isn’t anything that can be done to fix what you’ve both gone and done is constantly present. The bell rings, signaling that it’s time to drag your way through another day. You rush inside of the building, air conditioning hitting you in the face directly upon entry.  
The day passes like a fever dream. Class after class, it doesn’t matter that you’re not paying attention to your lectures and failing them all. You couldn’t focus on a single topic if your life depended on it. Your mind will forever be elsewhere. For the rest of your sorry existence, your mind will be on the fact that – no matter what good you do in this lifetime – you’re already going to Hell. Nothing really feels real anymore. Sitting at your desk and listening to a calculus lesson when you’ve now got much bigger things to worry about besides graduation is pointless. It takes an ungodly amount of strength to not get up and walk out. You’re pretty much doing whatever you want these days anyway. 
The final bell sounds off before you know it and you make quick work of gathering your belongings to leave the building, avoiding going to the meadow once again. It feels like ages since you’ve been and the fact that you’re rushing home after long days like this only to do chores around the house isn’t like you at all. When you step back into the sun, the wind blows a bit, and you sigh at the relief, but your friend is in the corridor today – seemingly waiting for you. He steps as close to you as he can without raising any alarm bells with the Catholic school staff and gives you a pointed look. Satoru communicates to you wordlessly, eyes practically begging you to journey with him to the meadow to have a conversation so that you can clear up this mess between the two of you.  
You hear him out, expressive eyes and all, and can’t deny that now that you’ve deflowered each other; you feel a closeness like never before. You feel a sense of loyalty, almost sticky like glue, that leaves you unwilling to deny him. Your legs move without your permission, and you follow him around the building, through the back parking lot and into the thickets and whistles of uncut grass, avoiding tripping over roots together. He’s carrying a book with him, title-less and covered in what looks like a makeshift book cover. It’s not the usual bible that you see him carrying around.  
People in your lives have noticed that you two have gone from the best of friends to practical strangers and it won’t be long before the whispers start. In a microscopic town like this, there isn’t much to do but talk. There isn’t anything to do but gossip and that’s all religious people seem to do anyway, you’ve noticed over the years in the church. “Mother will be wondering why I’m late.” You lie, once again standing underneath the shade of a tree – the one you usually find comfort under. Your back hits the hard wood and you avert your eyes away from him to hide your shame.  
Gojo coughs. “I’ll give you an excuse if she does.” You ignore him and still don’t dare give him your eyes. It’s too hard. This was a mistake. How could you ever just go back to normal after what you’ve done? The idea of living in a world where you’re not friends is too difficult, too painful, to conceive. Another awkward cough, Satoru stands before you and shoves his hands in his pockets when he speaks up again. “I read in a book that, you know, the first time is never that good.” Logically, you know this. The idea of having to do it again to get it right scares you to no end though. You never really thought that you would have sex again. Fuck, it’s not as if there’s a roadmap for this. There isn’t an instruction book you can just read. There isn’t anything that’s going to tell you what to do next.  
You watch as Satoru shifts from foot to foot once again and swallow dryly, a small lump travelling along the barrel of his throat. You think back to earlier this morning and feel a little anger bubble up in your chest, the image of him being friendly with some other girl the way that he’d usually be with you. You mentally cross envy off the list of The Seven Deadly now that you committed this sin. Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Do you really like Mary?” He’s an attractive male administrator at an all-girl’s Catholic school and he spends all of his time with you. It stands to reason that you’re not very popular with your peers. You can’t help but feel like she enjoyed herself rubbing it in your face that Satoru Gojo, as beautiful as he is, wasn’t paying attention to his friend and seemed to favor her instead.  
That thought creates a build up of rage inside of you. So pathetic, she could never know him the way that you know him. She could never be on the same level as you are with him. You know Satoru in the most intimate way possible now. He’s yours. “You know you don’t have to ask me that.” He steps closer to you, making you press your back further into the trunk of the tree you’re standing against.  
The sun shines on you in generous rays, coating your beautiful skin in a glow and giving you a halo of light. Of course, he knows that you’re going to burn in hell (he caused that) but you’re always going to be his angel. His eyes catch the way your breasts move in the white sundress you’re wearing, and he wonders if it was hard for you to put on white this morning after what the two of you did. He wishes he could have another taste of your sweet skin, wishes that he could have the opportunity to fuck you right – the way that you deserve, and he curses himself for leaving you unsatisfied last time.  
The priest stands so close to you that you can feel his breath fanning against your cheeks. Your heart beats impossibly faster and you want him to lean in and kiss you. God, you want to feel him again. Skin against skin, lips tangling, his cock filling you up perfectly. “You’re the only woman I ever think about.” And your knees nearly buckle at the sentiment. You believe every word. How could you not? Satoru is the most honest man you know. As always, Satoru’s hands find their way to your hips. His large palms squeeze the cellulite on your body, and he uses his strength to pull you flush against him.  
When your lips finally connect once again, a hunger is ignited between you. There’s a heat that you can’t blame on the scorching sun. Your hands make their way to cup his cheeks, gripping the sides of his head with as much force as he uses to grip your hips. His lips are softer than you remember, and his kiss is laced with experience, now that you’ve both had the time to get used to each other. Satoru doesn’t waste any time with you this time, each move careful and calculated. “Been reading a book lately.” He mumbles against your lips, only separating his from yours long enough to choke out those words quickly. You assume that he’s talking about the book that he dropped to the ground so that he could take your body in his palms. “I think I k-know what I’m doing now, Y/N.” He promises and when he asks you for permission to lay his hands on you again, you nod eagerly. Neediness forms between your legs once again and you breathe out loud in desperate bursts.  
The priest presses his chest tightly against yours, moaning as he feels your tits once again – still perky and soft. For a minute, he worries that his brain is short-circuiting. It’s moving faster than his body is. “Fuck me again, Satoru.” You whisper, eyes glistening with tears as you pant desperately against him; needing him just as badly as he needs you. He placates himself by rubbing his erection against your bare thigh, trying in vain to figure out how he’s going to last when he remembers just how tight and wet you were last time. He can’t fuck up twice. The pressure is on this time. Time freezes around the two of you. No one ever comes back to this meadow, creating a safe haven for you two to share and you’re certain you’ll never be seen here. 
“I wish I could swim in an ocean of your thoughts.” Satoru breathes heavier with each second. His hands twitch. He wants to graze his holy fingertips against your skin, knows he shouldn’t and that you’d both be damned to hell for the sheer thought of indiscretion. When he’s around you though, all vows that were taken somehow don’t matter to him anymore and when you try to remember literally any of the values that you’ve been taught, your mind draws a blank. It’s all his fault. He dares to feel your soft skin, warm from the sunshine of the freshly plowed field. “I just know that little head of yours is full of sin.” 
His holy eyes can see it all. You just know it. You’re sure that he can see exactly what you think of him; his hands, the veins in them, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows a particularly sinful string of words; opting to keep them to himself. He’s right, even if he doesn’t know it.” Your thoughts aren’t on the whereabouts of your mortal soul this time around. Your lust overpowers your rationality and fear is not welcome in your body. “We’re gonna get it right this time, baby.” He promises, hands moving to ride your dress up and expose your soaking panties for him.  
Your friend drops to his knees before you, eyes giving you a silent promise, hell-bent on pleasuring you better than last time. His eyes stay locked on yours as he pulls your panties to the side, not having nearly enough patience to remove them. His knees go sore as he rests all his weight on them into the hard ground, but the pain is worth it when he’s face to face with your seeping core, luminescent essence leaking down your thighs in sticky puddles. 
Now amount of preaching could get him to draw his face away from you when he buries his face between your wet folds, following every instruction in the book that he’s replaced his Holy Bible with. He breathes blasphemy between your legs, tongue laving over your clit. Your fingers bury in his hair, and you can’t stop yourself from pushing his face further into your sticky core. He stares up at you, maintaining eye contact as he commits himself to pleasing you with his newly skilled mouth.  
The priest makes out sloppily with your lips and let’s you tug his hair as much as possible. This is not an act that he could’ve possibly considered before he read the book. This isn’t anything he would’ve ever thought of on his own and he’s so glad that he took the time to educate himself properly because the look of real ecstasy on your face has him humping the air, not finding any friction to relieve the hard-on in his tightening slacks but still moaning in pleasure – and sending vibrations along your body.  
He eats you out sloppy. Wet sounds come from his mouth and fill up the air around your sinful bodies, joined at his mouth and your throbbing cunt. You moan out his name, a brand-new feeling creeping along your spine. It builds up and washes over you in raw waves. His eyes roll into the back of his head when you cry out louder at the sensation of him harshly sucking your clit, following the teachings of the book.  
You squeeze your eyes shut and let your head fall against the tree, the very same tree the two of you have grown up together under and now you’re learning how to pleasure each other properly in the very same place. “Yes, Satoru!” You squeal. Your praise goes straight to his dick, and he feels small spurts of cum leak out of himself, sullying his slacks with the clear fluid. When you feel your very first orgasm creeping up on you, you sob. Your heart beats furiously and the feeling washes over you, cum squirting out of your constricting hole and straight onto your best friend’s chin.  
And it’s so good that you really don’t care about religion anymore. This feeling is your new religion. Satoru, pleasure, love and sex – that’s your entire religion. The priest cums in his pants, untouched, when your cum hits his tongue. A delicacy. He can’t help himself. Even on his weak legs, even while he’s still reeling from his untouched orgasm, your lover finds the will and the strength to get to his feet and kiss you deeply – letting you taste the mess you made on his tongue.  
You’re breathless. You can’t believe that something that feels so good is forbidden. You may never allow the teachings of Christianity to deter you from having that feeling again. You’d allow yourself to be excommunicated and disowned. Satoru looks you in the eyes, ocean blue meeting your pupils. You’d endure it all if he stayed by your side. The kiss deepens. It dizzies you as if he’s sucking the last remaining innocence out of your mouth.  
The full weight of his larger body presses against yours and Satoru moves his lips along your jawline, lacing every single kiss with all of his love. “My soul is yours, Y/N.” He promises to you with weak knees. “Everything is yours.” It’s a promise that he’s confident he can keep. Satoru watches you come down from your orgasm, can’t even believe that he was able to make you feel so good, and knows in this moment that he wants every part of himself to be owned by you. A foreign emotion.  
Before he dares to unbutton his slack and pull his heavy dick out, your friend makes sure to ask you more than once that you’re sure if you want to try this again. He hated being the reason that you felt too guilty to even talk to him after last time. He never wants sex to be something that you regret ever again. You assure him every time that he begs the question between kisses that you’re more than ready to try this again. You’ve both already given your souls away. You’ve already given your eternity away. You may as well commit yourself to trying again until you get it right.  
The priest takes a deep breath before snapping open the front two buttons of his slacks and reaching beyond his soiled briefs to pull his leaking dick out of his pants. It’s heavy in his hand and throbbing. He groans as he pumps it a few times, stimulating himself with his own calloused palms. He pushes the pale rod between your thighs, fucking between them a few times before he goes in. The cum from your orgasm lubes your plush thighs up, creating a slick opening for him to fuck slowly and softly. The length of your friend’s cock hooks on your swollen clit and brushes every time he rears his hips back.  
Pride hits his subconscious. Satoru swells with pride when he realizes that he’s fucking himself in between your legs with the direct result of him finally being able to coax an orgasm out of you. He takes the Lord’s name in vain once again when he feels himself getting close but pulls away from you just in time – wanting to fill you up just like before.  
You shiver against him, your bodies sticking together with built up sweat. “I know… I know I’ve asked you already but are you sure you really want to try this again?” He whispers, locking his eyes on yours and searching for a single sign of doubt.  
You knit your eyebrows together and cup his face, making sure that your words reach him this time, assuring him that you’ve never been surer of anything in your life. “I’m sure, Satoru.” You squeeze your arms around his neck, beckoning him to put it inside.  
Satoru dispels any regret he could possibly have for taking your body once again. He positions his dick over your leaking hole again and pushes inside, being met with just as much resistance from the tight opening as the day he took your virginity. You both groan in unison, breath mixing and tears dripping down both of your cheeks. The wind blows past your rutting bodies and carries the scent of your sex with it.  
His eyes glance down at your shiny pussy. There isn’t any blood this time, to his surprise, so he assumes that it only happens during your first time. Your pussy is so unbelievably and deliriously good to him that he can’t believe this isn’t the heaven he’s been promised his entire life. If anyone ever asks him where heaven truly is, he’s got the answer for them locked and loaded. “I love you.” He promises without even thinking about his words. It’s you. It’s inside of you, deep inside of you. It’s all over you. You’re the embodiment of eternal heaven. Bliss, ecstasy, euphoria, paradise. All words synonymous with your name. A name like gospel. He pumps in and out, pace steady and constant.  
The sun beats down on your bodies, possibly a punishment for fornicating so shamelessly and in public like this. But if he can fuck you this well in this unforgiving summer heat, Gojo can fuck you in hell too. So, he dares God to do his worst. 
Satoru hooks his arms under your thighs and hikes your legs up, letting them wrap around his waist; affording him a deeper angle and giving him way for his tip to engage with your untouched g-spot. Them moment his cock meets your g-spot, and you start clawing at his back and moaning even louder, he commits himself to staying at that angle and fucking into that special soft area even harder. 
Satoru’s kisses on your neck are a major contrast to the sharp thrusts he’s feeding you. He fucks you with vigor and infuses every single kiss he leaves on your dewy skin with his love.  
He whispers proclamations of his love over and over again as he fucks you against the tree, harder when you ask for it and deeper when you ask for it, committing himself to pleasing you and putting you first. Satoru winces when your nails rip into the flesh of his back. This meadow that you two have been hanging out at for years loses its innocence with every thrust of Gojo’s hips, every time he pushes his cock further inside of you, a bit of sanctity is lost in the sweetest way possible. It could never be ruined though, not in a million years. This is the place that you truly made love for the first time. From now on, the meadow will always have this entirely different feeling to it.  
His hips stutter and his breathing gets uneven, all details you perceive as signals of him getting closer to his orgasm and it doesn’t help that your cunt keeps seizing around him every time, he hits the back of your hole. You focus, deeply, on bringing him to the edge. When you part your lips again, it’s hard work trying to get anything other than a whorish moan to come out, but you find a way. “L-love you too… love you so much, Toru.” You sob, trying in vain to thrust your own hips forward to meet his movements but he keeps his bruising grip on you secure – keeping your body right where he wants it.  
Sweet words of love pass over your pretty lips and it’s all he needs to be brought right over the edge. Satoru nails you. He nails you harder and faster than he ever has, forcing breathes to be knocked out of your chest and following the instructions from the book by reaching between your sweaty, still clothed bodies, and rubbing quick circles on your clit. Your skirt dirties with cum as he forces you to squirt for him once more, your juices flowing out of you like an oasis.  
Gojo can’t help himself. He grits his teeth and fills you with his load, knowing the dangers of finishing inside of you again, and knowing that you two got lucky the last time, but not giving enough of a shit to pull his cock out of you before he’s coating your insides with his seed. He huffs, groaning. He gets louder than he means to. Again, he doesn’t care. As you both come together, you feel closer than ever. As he holds your spent body close to him, he lets you both rest all of your weight against the tree, trying to catch your breath.  
His cock gets hard again after staying deep inside of your soaked cunt for so long and you can feel it expanding within your walls as the blood flow courses through it. He gives you a look, asking without asking. “I can go again.” A smile creeps on your lips. Carefully, the priest lets you get to your feet, sure to watch you closely until he’s sure you can stand properly on your numb legs.  
He turns you around, spreading your legs with his feet and watching a sticky mixture of cum leak from your abused hole to soak into the grass. Your friend clasps your small hands in his fists and pins you to the trunk. Adrenaline runs through both of your bodies and soaks your veins. He breathes down your neck when the sensitive tip of his cock eases right back into your puckered hole. He eases his cock in and his own cum warms his skin, coating his length and dripping down to glaze his balls.  
Satoru moans heartily against the heated skin of your neck. He watches as your eyes flutter shut and you whine, pussy being invaded by his stiff rod once more. Soreness overcomes you but you want nothing more than to please him at any cost. The skin of his hip’s smacks wetly against your ass as he begins fucking you firmly. An infinite amount of love declarations is repeated between the two lovers. Your bodies both go numb as you fuck the purity right out of each other, as you fuck yourself out of any chance of eternal heaven. “I-I’m gonna leave the church for you.” He promises, fucking you ruthlessly until you’re clawing at the bark of the tree, leaving scratch marks on the wood – an indicator of what’s taken place here.  
You open your mouth, meaning to reply to his promise but only let out moans. Your body is perfectly sandwiched between Satoru’s body, fucking you like a well-oiled piston, and the tree (losing pieces of its bark under your fingernails with every thrust of Satoru’s cock). He repeats himself, hand squeezing yours so tightly and keeping them secure above your head. “I promise, I’ll leave. Fuck the church… and fuck God.” He gasps when the sensation of his balls smacking against your wet skin feels so good, he could positively weep. “I love you so much that it hurts.”  
The feeling of him filling you up, pulling out, and then slamming back in all while declaring his feeling for you is all so much and it takes virtually no time before you’re making another translucent mess on his dick and he’s pumping you with even more of his cum. He stays firmly pressed against you, heaving heavy breaths and fucking you straight through your orgasm. Your mind is numb. The only thing you’re good for is cumming your brains out right now.  
He sighs in contentment before hissing when he pulls his spent cock out of your wet heat. Your lover turns you back to face him and kisses you deeply, hands cupping your pretty face. Your legs wobble even as he pulls your panties back up and uses his fingers to lap up the juices running down your thighs and legs. When he’s sure he’s done an adequate job, at least good enough for no one to notice on your way home, Satoru licks his fingers clean. “I meant it.” The priest assures you that he wasn’t just promising to leave the church because he was balls deep in you. You’re clearly still swimming in a daze but aware enough to comprehend his words. You suppose if Satoru really left the priesthood, then the two of you could become married one day. Is that what he’s thinking? You imagine him on his knees for an entirely different reason, a proposal. It would justify the life of sin you’ve committed yourselves to.  
“I believe you, Toru.” Your eyes flutter shut. Your heart feels so full, and you can’t seem to silence your thoughts, having had time to really relish the feeling of your best friend deep inside of you and wishing you could stay that way forever – his perfect little fuck-hole. You wonder how bad this sin can be if it’s done in love? The love between the two of you is thicker than the lust. It’s real. You fucking love each other and all you’re doing is expressing that physically. All of the Christian teachings can be damned. No matter what anyone says, they’re the ones who are wrong. This isn’t a sin, and it never will be no matter how many times you do it again. And, anyway, love or not; Satoru thinks he would gladly burn for an eternity with you by his side.  
99 notes · View notes
call-sign-shark · 11 months
Text
Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC
Tumblr media
Summary:  This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.
Words: 5k
TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess
Notes:
✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.
✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).
Tumblr media Tumblr media
PREVIOUS CHAPTER || Masterlist || NEXT
The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away. 
"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.
The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.
When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak. 
“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?” 
Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.
“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.
“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.
“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.
“Don’t mind him eh,” 
You did not.
“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”
“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.
“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.” 
“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”
“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”
“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —“
“Yer comfy here?”
“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.
“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?” 
“That’s okay.”
“Mmm’kay” 
You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.
Tumblr media
Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.
“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ”  The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.” 
“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.
“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!” 
Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.
“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.
“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”
You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.
You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy.  You. Smiled. At. Him.
That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile. 
Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.
Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men. 
You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man. 
You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven. 
Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster. 
Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim. 
“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.
“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening. 
Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.
“You really should —“
“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.
Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava,  exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked.  Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps. 
“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.
His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage. 
“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.
“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.
He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.
He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger. 
“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.
He looked at you 
and you saw the Hell in his eyes.
“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”
“P-please—“
Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“  Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh.  “Peaky —“  Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!” 
“ARTHUR NO!!!”  Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.” 
Please.
Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …”  You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.
“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you.  Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him. 
“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.”  You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.
“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above.  The king was here and he hated what he saw.
Tumblr media
“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.” 
This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you.  “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!”  He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.
“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.” 
“No, no, you won’t come back.” 
“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.
When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.
“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.
“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.
Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,
“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ” 
“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence,  Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.
“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.
“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.
“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that.  You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”
“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.
“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.”  You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin.  Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.
“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.
"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.” 
He froze. Confused and infuriated.
You left. Hurt and bitter.
Tumblr media
When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror.  Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.
Mom! Mom, no!!
I’ll fucking kill you all!!
You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.
Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.
As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.
“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.
“Told you I’d come back.”  
He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.
 He took a step toward you.
You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.
Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet. 
“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.
“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”  
Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.
“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.
You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.
As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble. 
You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.
For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway. 
Tumblr media
Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.
Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.
Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08
343 notes · View notes
yoificfinder · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
Hi anon! Sorry I accidentally deleted your ask while I was in the process of making a rec list for your request because of the editing issue I have on tumblr. Fortunately, I was able to take a screenshot before deleting. And hopefully, the issue is now fixed!
Here's my rec list of canon-divergent fics where it was Victor who skated Eros/Agape:
a certain playboy by fan_nerd [G, 4K]
@v-nikiforov - The handsome playboy has returned to town. Please pay special attention to my Free Skate tomorrow. ♥♥♥
There’s no way that Victor, Yuuri’s childhood idol, could be calling Yuuri a handsome playboy, just because they’d met eyes at two skating events. Besides, a total stranger had given Yuuri the tickets. It would be totally absurd.
Yuuri frowns, turning his head on the pillow. Wouldn’t it?
catch me (i'm falling) by @spookyfoot [T, 5K]
Victor skates the saltiest Eros routine of all time and issues a call out on international television.
darling, stay by my side by jenmishe [T, 16K]
“Yuuri!” Phichit cries. “I know you have this weird insomnia thing, but for the love of god, get some sleep. Or at least turn the phone down. I know it’s after midnight there.”
“Holy shit, Phichit,” says Yuuri. “Yakov Feltsman wants to coach me.”
“Holy shit,” Phichit agrees, wide eyed.
(Or: Vicchan lives and fate is a funny thing.)
A Myriad of Possibilities by ztwilightzx [T, 92K]
“I have to go!” Yuuri blurts out. As an assistant coach, he needs to be at Minami’s interviews, even if it is Victor of all people standing right in front of him.
“Wait—” Victor says, but Yuuri has already ducked away. “Yuri!” he hears Victor call from behind him.
Yuuri doesn’t stop. He’s made that mistake before – why would Victor Nikiforov know who Yuuri is this year any more than he did last year? Yuri Plisetsky is debuting as a senior, after all, and might be here at the Cup of China to support his rinkmates.
It may be the sound of Yuuri’s name on Victor’s lips, but there is no way Victor is calling for him.
(Canon-divergence. The Nishigori triplets never upload Yuuri's rendition of Stammi Vicino online. Yuuri buys himself time to decide whether he wants to stay on the ice or retire by joining Minami Kenjirou's team as an assistant coach.
Victor never hears from the beautiful Japanese skater after Sochi. He choreographs On Love: Eros because he can’t quite let go, but it’s getting harder to push himself on the ice and the cracks are starting to show.
Two lost individuals take a different route to find love and life, but they eventually get there all the same.
same song, different dance by @crossroadswrite [T, 88K]
The line is silent for a moment, as Yuuri stands there, fingers getting progressively colder as he hears Minako breathe in his ear, not really willing to hang up first.
“The Grand Prix is just around the corner,” Minako says, her tone almost wistful.
He breathes out slowly to steady himself. “It is.”
“… Are you going to watch it?”
Yuuri shouldn’t. He knows it’ll feel awful to watch everyone he knows trying their best at something he loves when he can’t anymore. But it’s Phichit’s first year in the Grand Prix, and Victor’s competing, so…
“Of course,” he says, and is proud of how steady his voice comes out. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie or not.
(Or: in which Yuuri's Stammi Vicino skate never gets posted and he retires, Victor keeps himself skating for better or for worse, Yuri struggles with his debut, and missed opportunities have a way of righting themselves.)
Other recs are welcome!
---
ETA: Other people's rec:
starting right now I'll be strong by @alexseanchai [T, 1k] *WIP
Enthrall by poppysocle [E, 106K]
60 notes · View notes