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rafesslxt · 1 month

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Hi! Would you write a smut fic about getting high with Mattheo?

R U High Mine⎥Mattheo Riddle

summary: you come back from the holiday's with some weed for you and the boys. When you and Mattheo smoke while showing him some songs, it get's a little heated between the two of you.

warnings: Filthy smut yasss, getting high, so drugs/weed, smoking, best friends to lovers, making out, vocal mattheo (ugh), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, aftercare, mattheo calling reader slut and whore

note: I saw this in the car and had an immediate idea how to write this, had much fun. Thank you for the request I hope you like it. 💚

song: I recommend listening to the song "R U Mine" or "Why'd you only call me when you're high" by Arctic Monkeys, trust me babes. Or hear the playlist "Are you high mine" from my Spotify.

The boys and Pansy already waited for me in the common room as I arrived at Hogwarts again. It was like Christmas for them, knowing I would always bring them their favorite treat after the holiday's.

I smiled at them, knowing they were thinking the same as me as they smiled back at me. "Y/n!" Pansy was the first to stand up and hug me. From all the people I called my friends, I was closest to her. " Hey Pansy, how are you?" I asked, letting my bags fall to hug her back.

"I'm great! We're waiting for you girl. Everyone's here already." she giggled as she let go of me so I could great the rest.

I gave everyone a hug, at last Mattheo, who kissed my cheek. " How are you princess?" he asked, scanning my face. " I'm good Matt, thanks." I smile at him and sit beside him on the armrest. " What about you?" " Fine now that you're here." I rolled my eyes playfully at his answer.

"You know we're all happy to see you y/n, but do you have it?" Draco asked, shifting impatient in his seat. I think from all of us, he was the one with the most need for it. He was constantly on the edge, maybe even worse If it wasn't for Pansy who comforted him the best she could. He had all the pressure of his father on his shoulders and It was clear to see what it did to him. So a little smoke from now and then did good for him.

"Of course I have it, how could I forget when all of you reminded me the whole 2 weeks of it in each letter you wrote?" I say sarcastic, with a little smirk on the edge of my lips.

I grabbed my purse and pulled out a big black bag with already little packed baggy's, also black so you couldn't see what's in it, for each of them.

"Oh my god it's more than usually, right?" Enzo said, gawking at the little bags in my hand. I chuckled as I gave each one of them their own little bag so they could divide it up for the next few weeks.

"Yeah it is indeed more than usual. Got a good prize for it." " Wait let me pay what we didn't give you." Draco said, grabbing into his pockets but I shook my head. " No it's good. I'm friends with him since we were kids." He nodded and opened his bag to smell it, saying "You know I never thought I would say that but I wouldn‘t have thought I would ever be this happy to have a friend who is part of the muggle world."

I laughed at his comment, before giving the last bag to Mattheo. "I've got something else for you." I grinned at him, knowing he'll love it.

Obviously things like wifi don't exist here so I buyed him an MP3 player with lots and lots of battery's so he could listen to music. This time I brought an CD player and made a few Playlists for him.

His smile got bigger as he saw me pulling it out of my bag. "What's that?" Blaise asked, watching us. " It's an CD Player so you can hear Music a little louder than with headset."

"You wanna hear it?" I ask, Mattheo nodding. " Yeah princess, let's go." He grabbed my bags and gave me my purse. "See you later guy's." I waved at the rest of them.

It became a ritual for us to listen to music every time I came back from holiday's, so the group already knew what's going on.

We walked towards mine and Pansy's dorm we shared which was no issue to her as Mattheo and Draco shared a dorm so she would always go over to Draco's.

"You roll the weed and I'm gonna put on the music mkay? Grinder is in the top drawer." I say while walking towards my desk and putting the CD player on it, putting the battery in it and the first CD I wanted to show him. In the meantime he sat down on my bed and grinned the weed smaller before rolling it into a J.

"Ready." He smiled at me and tapped the place beside him on the bed. "Okay, so this is a band I want to show you, they're called "Arctic Monkeys" and I think you'll love them." Confident I sat down next to him after starting the Music. He lit the J and handed it over to me. "Here, you go first." "Thanks." I took the first drag and inhaled it deeply into my lungs before grinning and exhaling the smoke. " Oh it's good. Marc didn't disappoint." "Marc huh?" he asked as he took his first drag. " So you two are close or anything?"

I shrugged with my shoulders before laying down on my back. " Kind of, but not as close as I'm with you guys. I know him since I'm a kid, he's also the only one who knows about Hogwarts beside my parents."

He scanned my face as I was talking, slowly dragging his gaze from my eyes to my lips. I saw it but didn't think about it as I slowly but surely felt the weed have an effect.

"Damn, you were right. The music is great. It's a bit..edgy." " Yeah I know but it's great for smoking." I giggle and turn my head back towards the ceiling as the song "Why'd you only call me when you're high" started to play. " That's my second favorite." I tell him, feeling the weed calming me down but also making my senses and nerves more sensitive and reactive.

"What's your favorite?" "It comes after a few songs, just wait, I will tell you."

We layed down a little longer, smoking the J until it was ready and we were high as fuck. "Shit, it feels so good to be like this again." he groans, sending shivers down my spine. I turned my head towards him, seeing him looking at the ceiling.

I always had a crush on Mattheo. I loved when he was all flirty with me, while with nobody other. We both had partners before but I always felt some kind of pull towards him. My eyes scanned him, looking at his sharp jawline at first. I also loved looking at it, made me feel some type of way. Especially when it moved while he smoked.

Suddenly his eyes hit mine and maybe it's the weed but I had a feeling as If there was more in his gaze. Again, he looks at my eyes and then at my lips, licking his own.

Then my favorite song started playing. " That's my favorite." I said, watching him looking to the CD player. I wait a litte before he reacts to it. He breathed out heavily before looking at me. "You know where I would love to hear it?" "No tell me." "When we fuck." he says bluntly.

My eyes widened in shock, not knowing If I imagined things now. Before I could say anything he rolled over on top of me, grabbed my neck and kissed me with passion I've never felt before in my life. I opened my mouth as his tongue licked over my bottom lip. He groaned against my lips and pressed his body even more against mine, letting one hand beside my head to support himself and the other which was at my neck, now wandering over my stomach.

My breathing got faster and heavier due the haze and the arousal I suddenly felt. "Fuck, you don't even know how long I've been wanting to do this." He lowers his head down to my throat in a rush, leaving my lips trembling.

Goosebumps erupted over my skin as I felt his tongue licking my skin and his teeth carefully biting it. " Mattheo.." I moaned and let my hands go trough his hair, pulling on some strands. "What princess? What do you need hm?" he mumbles against my neck.

I arched my back and pressed my hips against his, feeling he's already hard. I gasped at the friction and bit my lip right after. " Need to feel you." "Where, tell me where. I wanna hear you say it." he groans, pressing against my hips.

"Everywhere. Fuck me." I would have never said that so bluntly without the weed, but I'm so grateful that we did smoke.

He growled against my skin, leaving wet kisses all over it before sitting up between my legs and letting both his hands roam over my skin under the hoodie I wore. It didn't take him long before pulling it over my head together with my shirt under it, seeing I was wearing no bra.

His lips parted and a smile formed on them. " You're so beautiful y/n, shit why didn't we do this sooner." His hand wandered up to my chest, massaging them and playing with my nipples teasing them. I mewled at the feeling and arched my back again. " Mattheo please. I need more."

"Don't have to ask me twice, princess." He opened the button of my jeans and pulled them down. He got rid of his clothes too until we were both only in our underwear.

I looked down and saw how big he was, just trough his boxershorts, making me gulp a little. "Don't worry, I'll go slow. Or do you want it rough?" I nodded quickly. " Rough. Fuck me like - " " Like what?" I gulped again before answering in a whisper. " Like a slut." " Oh you mean like my slut? Because after this you'll go nowhere but to me If you need to be fucked. Understood?" Ahh imagine him saying this ugh

I nodded. "Good girl." he said smiling, his voice and words making me even wetter. His fingers slowly stroked over my slip, making him biting his lip and almost moan. "Feel how wet you are you fucking slut? Wet for your best friend?"

I moaned and closed my eyes as he slipped a finger under the fabric and right inside of me. "Fuck, you're so tight. Nobody fucked you good the last few months huh?" I shook my head as I couldn't form any words. " Yeah that's gonna change from now on." He pumped his fingers a few more times inside of me, putting pressure to my clit with his thumb before pulling down his boxer shorts and my slip.

He pressed his tip against my entrance, looking at me. " Ready?" "Yeah.." I breathed out. He slowly pushed inside me, scanning my face, his eyes a little hooded.

My hands grabbed his hair again as he completely bottomed me out. "Oh yes.." I moaned, closing my eyes and parting my lips.

"You feel so good princess." he groaned and started to thrust inside me fast and rough, not thinking twice If someone outside in the common room could hear the bed hitting the wall. I wanted to say something but every word got stuck in my throat at his merciless fucking.

"What huh? Am I fucking you stupid you little whore? Fuck I love this, how fucked out you already look, not even able to speak." he growls into the air.

The only thing I felt was him inside me, thrusting faster and faster every minute that passed. I couldn't concentrate on anything else beside him. "M-mattheo I'm close.." " You wanna cum baby? Beg me like the little slut you wanted to be."

His thrusts became erratic and sloppy and I heard his breathing getting harder. "Fuck, please let me cum Mattheo. Please, I'm begging you." I moan loudly as my walls clench around his cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck.." he groaned, thrusting hard one last time before spilling inside me and circling his fingers on my sensitive clit. "Come around my cock baby." And I did. I did so hard that my vision went black for a moment and his name left my lips over and over again.

"Yeah, love how you almost look possessed. Possessed by my cock." he grins down at me, slowly pulling out of me.

I swallowed and looked at him, mind dizzy." "That was so good Mattheo." I said, trying to catch my breath.

"Oh believe me princess, that won't be the last time. You're mine now."

I hope you had fun reading, I had so much fun writing this. 😍

Let me know what ya'll think about this hehe. 👀

My Masterlist

xoxo Sarah <3

#mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys #slytherin imagine #slytherin smut #theodore nott oneshot #theodore nott smut #theodore nott x reader #harry potter masterlist #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #mattheo riddle masterlist #sub mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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neil-gaiman · 11 months

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Hi Neil,

ever since you stated that where Aziraphale lives is inspired by Berwick Street, I go there regularly (I don't live far away). It's awesome! It does, indeed, have plenty of record shops, there is a coffee shop, a bookshop, and actually around the corner there are shops that would have been "bookshops" but can be obvious about it now.

There's a comic book store (the picture!), a unisex tailor shop, so many costume shops (pride, here I come!). Anyway, I guess that's my recommendation for people if you post this.

Do you still go there sometimes? Can you recommend a secret gem in Soho?

Thanks in advance if you ever answer this ✨

I love all of Soho, and it comes with extra layers of memory for me.

I remember when Dark They Were and Golden Eyed, a science fiction bookshop long before Forbidden Planet, was in Berwick Street. I was 15 the first time I went there. Then it moved to Queen Anne's Court (between Dean Street and Wardour Street) and became bigger and I bought my books and comics there until I was about 19 or 20 and it went out of business...

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 14 days

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Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 1

(The Firefighter/Cop AU)

-----

Kara knows her local fire station. How could she not? Being a field sergeant for NCPD, not a week goes by that she’s not at a scene with a ladder, engine or ambulance. Even so, when Engine 13 pulls up on the scene of an apartment fire, a new face comes to get a sit-rep. She’s sure the woman asks some very good questions, but only one word fires across Kara’s mind and out of her mouth.

“M-march?”

The firefighter’s brow furrows. “Sorry?”

God her voice is as beautiful as she is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kara stammers.

“I asked how many were still inside?” The woman is clearly still befuddled by Kara’s blurt, but she stays on topic.

Kara clears her throat. “We think three. One is a three year old on the third floor with her mother.”

The firefighter nods. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says with that same throaty voice. She turns to her crew and begins issuing orders. Kara notes that the men– and all of them are indeed men– launch into motion without question. Huh. Kara files that information away for later.

Kara’s job is done. She steps back to help with crowd control, leaving the rescue team to do their job. She trusts they know what they’re doing, she knows they do. But she can’t help the way her jaw clenches when they file through the smoking door, Firefighter March in the lead.

She can’t believe she did that. March?! Absolutely no one needs to know her familiarity with the NCFD annual calendar. She’d purchased one for the charity of it all, but the moment she’d seen the portrait for March she’d been done for. Let’s just say it’s been March for the past four months.

She must be a transfer from another station, Kara figures. Her image in the calendar confirms that much, let alone the authority she carries within her station's crew. Kara can only hope March doesn’t make the connection between the calendar and Kara’s word vomit.

That hope is dashed after March re-emerges with a middle-aged woman slung over her shoulders (with her comrade carrying the three year old steps behind her) and the fire is reduced to little more than heat and smoke. After passing the mother over to the paramedics, March catches her gaze and approaches, lifting her helmet free of her head to reveal mussed dark hair.

March grins, tucking her helmet under her left arm. “Sergeant,” she greets. “I missed your name earlier.”

“Danvers,” Kara returns, accepting March’s extended hand in a handshake. “Kara Danvers. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“I appreciate that,” comes the easy response. “I’m Lieutenant Reilly.”

Kara arches her brow. “Lieutenant?”

“Lena,” she gets with a burst of laughter. “A pleasure.”

For a moment there’s a beat of silence as Kara finds herself tongue-tied. Lieutenant Reilly– Lena– is somehow even more gorgeous sweating with a smudged face and fuzzy hair. Luckily, Lena isn’t nearly so daunted.

“You know,” she says, “being new to the area, I could use a recommendation for a good bar.”

Ohhhhhh, jeezus. Kara recognizes the flirt for what it is, and it fills her belly with butterflies. But she wasn’t made sergeant yesterday. She knows how to give it back.

“I’m sure your guys could point you in a few directions.” She folds her arms over her chest with a teasing smile.

“Ah, but they’re not nearly so cute.”

Lena’s head tilts invitingly, and Kara has no intention of drawing this out.

“Well, then, when can I pick you up?”

Lena beams. “I’m on shift until Sunday. Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow so we can compare calendars?”

Kara freezes. Oh no, oh no, oh–

“I might even sign yours if you ask nicely.”

Lena shoots her a parting wink before sauntering off. Kara’s cheeks flush as she watches her go. Only when she’s sure Lena is engrossed with packing up her team does Kara finally radio her status back to the dispatcher. Almost instantaneously, she gets back the report of a robbery nearby.

“This is Danvers, Unit 1P4 responding.”

#supercorp #firefighter cop au #meet cute #Kara has a-- um... appreciation #yes #Lena is in the calendar

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jujubabesblog · 4 days

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🩰🌸My first manifestation success story🌸🩰

I really want to thank @pinkchrissysposts , I took her advice of affirming and her tips for affirming is really amazing too it's been about a week we last texted I send her ask but she left😔.

Also her tip for affirming is pretty amazing I'm gonna copy paste what she recommended me.

"OK here when we get random negative thought we start believing in which cause us to get in the negative state,we are not looking for the proof in the 3D,it's just a random thought we unconsciously start to dwell on by re affirming it,you might notice that when we are ina negative state,we also get positive thought like "no it's not true I'm just overthinking" but again you start negatively thinking despite the fact that everything is OK because you choose to believe in that random thought that's trying to scare you.

So when you are affirming for your desire example 'good skin' even if the 3d is showing you something else ignore it and rather embrace the positive thought/affirmation,believe in the affirmation. When we focus on believing the affirmation rather then looking proof you will realize what wish fulfilled really mean,you can try out a small or even big desire but remember manifestation should be fun,take it as a fun challenge and affirm for whatever you want and remember what I said not for 3d but to just believe it as a fact."

I'm so thankful for her advice,she recommended me to take a break and calmly decide what I truly want,and I finally decided to affirm just as she recommended and I notice so much changes after a day of robotically affirming.

Basically what happens is when you are more focus on trying to believe the affirmation rather then making it 3D,the 3d does start to feel useless or powerless,even when I was sweating,I wasn't worried about it,the affirmation "I never sweat" start to feel more powerful then the 3D. I just affirmed it for fun robotically not to see it in 3D but to believe in it AS A FACT and that lead me in the state of wish fulfilled.

From my very own experience what I think happens is that when we affirm and put our whole attention on just believing the affirmation instead of paying attention to the 3D and looking for results,we detach from our desires or you can say outcome all we want is indeed just the feeling of having the desires. When I did what she suggested I stopped getting doubt because all I had to do was believe that I have my desires,even if I don't have it in the 3D,my subconscious got fooled because it doesn't have any eyes and I got my desire in 4 days I haven't sweat in a week and everyone keep asking what perfume i use:).

As someone who have aphantasia this was such a 360° for me,when I was in was practicing states it was really hard when bloggers would tell me even with aphantasia people can manifest,I would get frustrated and cuss at their text,and my faith and trust on loa was starting to fade but i decided to give affirmation a chance and i read many a +p posts but no one ever recommended and motivated me to affirm like how chrissy did. I'm gonna be starting my void/shifting journey since I now know exactly what to do.

I will be post my void progress on my main account @jujubaaevoid

Xoxo <3

#manifestation #loa #affirm and persist #void state #law of assumption #manifesting #desire life #shift #states #wish fulfilled #embody states #shiftblr #loablr #loa blog #affirm and saturate #saturate subconscious #subconscious reprogramming

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channelinglament · 1 year

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I LOVED your SAHSR thoughts so please hear me out.

I actually doubt that HSR will understand what God means, like, they're in space and modern tech and with all the things they have encountered, I just feel that they have never understood "God" like in SAGAU. The only being that closer to a "divine being" being is aeon.

So my brainrot is, the player as aeon, who's just mindlessly flying across the Herta's Space Station that currently being invaded and taken interested in MC (who's literally stellaron) and favored them.

HSR characters are aware, that something powerful is actively watching and taking care of them. They are wary because aeons are areas they know very little about and have no control over.

But, who could resist the constant warmth and kindness of this peculiar aeon, plus, this aeon seems having no bad intention. Just some harmless mischief (scaring a cleaning service; those trash bing thingy; destroying property for some cash; etc)

Sorry if there any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language.

THIS ^

THIS IS AMAZING

TW:some religious themes, yandere

I agree, they indeed would think you're an aeon.

Some sort of highest of aeons.

AND THE MISCHIEF PART IS SO TRUE

They wouldn't understand why are you so different from all the aeons, but you don't cause trouble, and seem to actually care for them, make then stronger.. You really aren't that bad. And just like that, after their observation on you, their obsession began!

Considering what destruction everything else causes, you're the safest one, so some of them might even worship you. Admire you while being obssesses with divine aeon. Y-You even saved Belobog! And Herta's station.. They really should thank you, but how? Maybe offerings will do...?

Oh, some would be obsessive about you! Everything you do is absolute perfection! How could they not love you? Would keep a journal and take pictures/draw/paint you.

Some would be protective, you always look after them and their backs, so they are doing the same for you. "Just like in some romance book!" They say.

Others would be possessive (obv). They don't wanna share you with anyone. You're too special. They're the only ones who deserve you/ They may not deserve you but no one else is, so they'll try to isolate you. They want to keep you to themselves, you're to good for everyone and anyone else anyways.

Some are Manipulative and Cunning. This being paired with what I stated above is not a great idea. Thankfully, not everyone is like that.

Others are Clingy and Delusional. Would not recommend, as, if their delusion would shatter...the result would be..messy. you'll be alright tho. But everyone else won't.

Some would definitely share with each other and work together. Use their strong traits and cover the weak ones of others (and vice versa).

Running away? Kinda impossible, you're in space..

BUT

Hear me out, if in sagau we are sometimes ACTUALLY a God with gold blood

What if we are actually an aeon?

(We can talk and speculate about it more, I'm really interested about you're thoughts hehe. Everyone is so cool ><. Imagine being in both, SAHSR and SAGAU universe, both sides loving you, worshiping you and pursuing you. Oh it won't end well, and if it will, it won't be for you-)

#sahsr x reader #sahsr #SAHSR #self aware hsr #self aware honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr #hsr x reader #hsr #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail #sagau #sahsr brainrot #kami rambles

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 24 days

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jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 2: Need

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You crave.

I am sorry for how long this took - to be fair, it's been months since I wrote actual smut and I was nervous to re-pop my smut cherry, ahahahaha. Yes, this chapter features actual smut, hallelujah for Reader! This doesn't technically mark the end for the troubles, however deceptive the ending is. Depression is a process, and sometimes we go through ups and downs with it. We're facing an up here! Ish.

Thanks be to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta-ing and offering much-needed pointers to make this chapter coherent and well-rounded. I cannot post without you holding my hand ever, and I love you for putting up with it.

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of PPD, penetrative s*x, lactation and lactation kink.

Wading through the waters of this curious state of mind is no easy process.

Melancholy. Mother’s malady. Madness. Whatever it is called among differing circles, you now know it is not uncommon. This knowledge does not ease the despondency that comes in waves, threatening to shatter any semblance of the control you are tenuously rebuilding. There are days when you feel as though you cannot even bear to lay eyes on your boy and girl, that the merest act of sighting them will somehow cause their unhappiness, that you will ruin them by being near them. There are times when you believe yourself to be the only woman in the world who cannot simply love her children as mothers ought to, free of the complication of treacherous notions slithering through the mind like draughts of poison, silent in their destruction. There are moments when you think that perhaps you should never have allowed them to spring to fruition, that you should have found a way to tear out the blooms that had sprouted within your belly before they had the chance to become living, breathing creatures.

That last thought is particularly repellent.

It is not your fault for thinking these things, though. They are ideas sprung from this affliction, designed to cause uncertainty and create chaos. It does not stop you from thinking that you may well be the most despicable monster to disgrace the earth. If you were left to your own devices, it is indeed likely that you would remain abed for days on end, resigned to misery.

But it is not a fate that you are allowed to succumb to. On the mornings when you find yourself unable to depart the cocoon of your sheets, your ladies coax you up with surprising and uncharacteristic purposefulness. Gone is their cloying timidity, replaced by creatures of determination as they all but drag you bodily upright to clothe and feed you, to immerse you in cheerful chatter while they work.

Gerardys comes to visit you, followed swiftly by Ūlla, newly returned from her journeys. The two rather predictably bicker over how best to approach any potential treatment.

“My colleagues at the Citadel recommend bloodletting,” the maester says with a frown, glancing nervously at your healer, “to restore imbalanced humours.”

Ūlla levels him with a foul look. “Are you stupid? Princess making milk. Losing blood is bad for her, and the babes!”

“If she remains hydrated, any complications will be minimal.”

“Tell Prince,” she shoots back challengingly. “See if he agree.”

“Forgive me, but Prince Daemon does not have the final word here, my lady. As Maester of Dragonstone, it is my responsibility to ensure residents are—”

“Losing blood hurt Princess, and babes, too! Stupid man!”

She storms out of the room with nary a word further, and you find yourself resigned to the possibility of enduring fattening leeches hanging off your skin. Gerardys begins to talk you through the process, though in truth you are not minding him as closely as you ought, but it does not seem to be long before Ūlla re-enters.

“Here,” she says, pressing a nondescript pouch into your hands. All the while, she is glaring at the maester. You inspect the contents, your nose tickling at the mild citrus scent that emanates from within. “Lemon balm,” she explains. “Make into a tea.”

Alas, you think ruefully. More tea. At this rate, it is a small wonder that your urine has not taken on the various aromas and hues of the remedies you are made to consume.

The tea does help, though, or perhaps it is simply in your mind. Perhaps the tea is not the cure, but time. Perhaps it is the magic that lives in your blood, that unites you to your dragon and ties you to the fate of a long-dead dynasty, that best eases your path forward. You still have hours and days where you fare poorly. But gradually, these moments come with less and less severity, feelings that do not fade but are ones you can muse upon, chew about like toffee sticking to the crowns of your teeth. Uncomfortable, difficult to cleanse yourself of, yes, but possible where you perhaps had not even been aware of their existence before. You learn to appreciate them for what they are, no more or less than calls for a defeat that is not yet yours to claim…

Because, despite the war in your head, your babes are happy. They are settled. They thrive. If you truly had been failing, this would not be so.

And thus, you persist with the teas and tonics and tepid baths recommended to you, with the dogged joviality of Jeyne and Bethany, with long walks at Ser Lysan’s side marked by the whip of salty sea air and the faint pulsing warmth of the sun. With visits to your boy, your Athfiezar, his smoke-breath and scaled mass and the thrum of a secret kinship clearing the muck of unhappiness from your view and restoring, in parts, a clarity well-missed. Through it all, you realise—bit by bit, hour by hour—that there is more beyond the sorrow. That something is blossoming, weak and spindly and scarcely living, but there, right there below your ribs and growing, a sickly weed straining toward the light. Something like hope.

It unfreezes the most poisonous of your tender ambitions, slackening the bonds of your inflexible drive to nurse Rhaenar and Aelys alone. ‘Tis a hard-won concession, but one necessary to your wellbeing and theirs. Still, you cannot help but feel your bond closest when they are swaddled against you, tiny hands pressed against your breasts and greedy suckles drawing from the wellspring of nourishment your body has created for them.

“Have they latched well, Princess? Ought I assist in any way?”

You glance up with great effort, nearly incapable of tearing your eyes away from them both. Freda feigns nonchalance, but it is easy enough to tell that she is anxious. Your rather spectacular histrionics are not easily forgotten by all.

Shaking your head, you smile. “They are fine, thank you. They are perfect.”

Never have you spoken truer words. You are constantly marvelling at how dissimilar they are to the shrivelled little beings that you had laboured to bring into the world scarcely two moons ago. Their hair, pale at birth, has only grown brighter, solid where it had been opaque. Much of Aelys’s has fallen out, which you have been assured is quite usual. It certainly makes it easier to differentiate between the two on sight, though this is becoming more and more simple as their differing features have begun to assert themselves. In Rhaenar, you see the promise of Daemon’s strong nose; in Aelys, the shape of the eyes. They share your mouth, even if Aelys’s pout reminds you more of Rhaenyra. These little things make them individuals with each passing day, untangle the singularity they are oft referred to as and begin to show those around them that they are becoming their own person.

You know now that your wish to gather them close and tuck them out of sight of all others is not simple maternal instinct, and instead a symptom of this malady. Through Freda’s tales, you learn that many are involved in the rearing of common-born children; through Ūlla’s considerable experience and your sister’s anecdotes, you begin to understand that your original undertaking was never feasible. It grates you so, but you try to take heed of their womanly advice more than you truly desire to, obliging their recommendations to allow the twins to sleep in the nursery during the night. But in the daytime—in the now—they are all yours.

“That they are,” Freda says, snapping you from your hypnotic reverie. “A bonnier lad and lass I’ve never met, you can be assured of that!”

Even though you know she likely feels duty-bound to say so, you cannot help the flush of pleasure. Their nursing has slowed, eyes heavy-lidded and noses huffing warmth against your skin. It is gratifying to see them so satisfied.

As soon as Rhaenar’s lips pull away, smacking wetly as he gurgles and smiles, Freda is ready to lift him into her arms. His head rests upon the cloth tossed over her shoulder, fists waving with each pat she makes against his back.

“Another meal for the little Prince and Princess,” she says, grinning. “Well done, Your Highness!”

“It would seem so.” Aelys is done, you think, but working her mouth still for comfort. It seems to please her to continue the act long after your milk has emptied. You cup her head, running your fingers through the wispy locks in a manner you hope is soothing. “It is relieving to have finally managed it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Rhaenar belches, kicking his legs when Freda makes a startled noise as she always does. “But what an impressive feat, milady—nursing one babe to a full belly can be difficult enough, never mind two! That thistle tea must be something special, indeed.”

It is not only the tea, you think.

The memories of Daemon’s lips at your nipples, his body hard against yours, the low lusty grunts of more than just gustatory delight—and there are many, as many memories as nights in which his faithful service so oft takes place—elicit a soft, secretive smile even as heat rushes to your face. This heat travels further, down, down, reminding you uncomfortably of another dilemma you are facing.

Desire. It is something which you ponder greatly upon over the next days.

When you had just given birth, you did not think you would ever be capable of it again. Of course, this sentiment had followed a rather gruelling several hours of agony, much of which you cannot recall, and the overwhelming fear that you may perish as your mother had done. With your lower half all but mangled and shedding the remains of what processes your body had devised to best facilitate your children’s growth, the notion of letting your uncle couple with you had seemed positively dreadful. ‘Twas akin to the thought of him rutting into the gaping maw of a fresh wound. But the blood of that night had passed, and the pain had faded, and in your mind, it is almost like it had never happened at all. You do not remember the sensation.

You have not resumed your courses save for some light spotting in your smallclothes, though that is apparently to be expected. Your breasts are ever noticeable, large and leaking or shrunken and soft depending on the time of day, always sensitive regardless of state. Your belly is quite nearly back to the state it had been before carrying the twins, save for an additional laxness and the crawling lines of dark delineating the places where your flesh had most stretched. These are all changes, differences that you have come to anticipate, understand.

It is likely why the return of carnal longings is so utterly strange, so abnormal in its normality. How can a form so changed experience something so… banal?

Even so, you find yourself drawn to the minutest of details when in Daemon’s presence: the corded strength of his arms; the elegant line of his ringed fingers; the set of his jaw and the shadow of his brow. His voice singing lullabies of old to the twins brings a sort of frantic exhilaration, a dampness pooling between the legs instead of drowsed comfort. His easy grin makes your heart pound as though from great toil. When his attention is elsewhere, you admire the span of his shoulders and the planes of his chest, knotting scars of savagery setting you to swooning.

You feel like one of his fawning admirers, breathless and fluttering and giggling at his innate charm. You feel desperate.

And, worst of all, he does not notice. He fails to recognise the reciprocation of your sighs and moans as he feasts from you for the invitation that they are. His touch is gentle, like he is afraid you will break, even when you press yourself into him so eagerly that it seems no small wonder that he cannot read it for the provocation you intend it to be. He is careful not to make his acts of self-pleasure too obvious, pushing your hands away with a kind murmur of, “Rest now, sweetling, I’ll take care of this,” as though you are incapable of doling out the satisfaction he had taught you so well to perform, as though it is an inconvenience to you rather than he that his member rises so readily at the sight of you.

This state of affairs cannot last. It ought to be an easy thing for you to entice him to act on your shameless thoughts, the way you had so often before the babes had entered the world. You feel frozen, trapped in your abstemious existence as you have been for sennights. How to make him see? How to make him comprehend?

When Rhaenyra hears of your plight, disguised in the politest terms you can muster, she laughs.

“Go on and tend to your brother,” she says to Luke, nodding towards Joff. Based on the quiver of little Corwyn’s lower lip, Joff has thrown one of his toys at him again. He appears poised to do so a second time, wooden dragon carving clutched tightly in an upraised fist. “Have him build a tower with you, perhaps.”

Luke sighs, ever wearied at presiding over the play of the younger two. Still, he abandons the book before him, revolves on his heel and trudges over to the pair of tots, prying the dragon from little fingers and leading them both to the far safer pile of blocks.

Satisfied, Rhaenyra turns back to you. “Have you tried speaking to him?”

The abrupt shift takes you aback. You must cast your mind past the immediate happenings—away from the sound of delighted giggling, the thwock of blocks placed by clumsy hands—to recall your previous conversation.

Oh, yes. Daemon.

“Not… not exactly,” you say, hesitant. “I did not think I would need to ask my husband to… well…”

“There are occasions where you think too highly of him.” Rhaenyra shakes her head wryly, a fond curl to the corner of her lip. “This is one of them. Just because he knows you best of all doesn’t mean he’s not still a man.”

“But he is a man who… enjoys certain acts! Perhaps even more so than other men.” Your thoughts supply you with ample evidence of such a claim, unbidden. How frustrating it is that your thoughts are your only source of carnal satisfaction at present. You swallow nervously, praying that such lewdness or its resulting vexation does not reveal itself in your expression. “Why is he being so obtuse?”

She tilts her head sympathetically. “You forget he was there during your labours. They’re pains easy enough to forget when you’re the one experiencing them, but not soon disregarded as the spectator. He remembers your suffering—he does not wish to revisit any further upon you.”

A flattering observation of him, though you note the lack of supposition in her tone. Intrigue washes through you.

“How do you know? Has he been speaking to you?”

“Oh, darling. He’s frightfully easy to read.”

For a moment, you envy her. She is so alike to Daemon that it is hardly any wonder that she knows his thoughts so well. You, on the other hand, do not share their temperament. It is a fact you often appreciate, for the gods know how calamitous such a warring pair would be in matrimony. It had once been said, you recall not by who, that you were the ice to their fire—but now, you feel the comparison is lacking.

If Rhaenyra and Daemon are a blazing conflagration, then you are the steady warmth of the candle flickering in the evening. Soft, controlled, but carrying the same propensity to burn and maim. A dragon, same as all the rest, but with one rather unique quality: mastery of will. The calamities inflicted by your family might have been averted had past generations indulged their wild spirits a little less.

An odd, haunting echo whispers along the back of your neck, a voice you feel you ought to recognise yet lies beyond the precipice of knowledge, just out of reach. “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. A dragon is not a slave.”

No. But Targaryens have ever been beholden to their tempers. Mayhaps there is freedom yet to be won.

Rhaenyra clears her throat, brow raised pointedly at your obvious distraction. “Use your words. If you want him to fuck you, you’ll have to make it clear beyond implication.”

You flush, and not only for your inattention. You may be far more accustomed to vulgarity now than you were before marriage, but it does not mean that it is entirely comfortable to hear your sister speak it. Never mind the fact that she is discussing the affairs of your marital bed in so cavalier a manner! You remind yourself that it had been you who had approached her.

“Thank you.”

“I hope I helped. And to be frank, I hope I never need to help again. It’s difficult enough to contend with unspoken.”

A clear enough dismissal: you rise from your seat beside her, squeezing her arm in silent farewell. She catches you just before you turn toward the door, a wicked glint in her eyes.

“And remember,” she says. “If all else fails, just drop your shift and grab his cock. That ought to be enough to encourage him.”

“Rhaenyra!”

It takes a great deal of strength not to follow through on your sister’s recommendation when next you meet with Daemon.

He returns to your chambers following another of his training sessions, sweat-soaked and streaked with grime, grunting as he slips the belt from his waist and sets Dark Sister against the wall. Your ladies avert their stares as he unbuckles the clasps of his leather jerkin and discards the thing across the table. At the sight of his disrobing, Jeyne and Bethany stand, genuflecting hastily before all but rushing from the room. Try as you might, the pair are still somewhat uneasy around him. Characteristically, he appears not to notice their departure—indeed, it is unlikely he truly even noticed their presence.

“I do hope you plan to wipe that table clean,” you call out to him, doing your best to affect a tone of light-hearted teasing. In truth, you feel more than a little faint. It is positively sinful, the way he looks.

Daemon rolls his eyes, bundling up his tunic. He tugs it over his head, exposing the undershirt made translucent from the vigour of his activities. Through it, you can see the scars of old, the firm planes of his chest and belly.

“We have people for that, or did you forget?” he asks. The tunic falls atop the jerkin. A chair screeches across the stone, and your husband seats himself with a wearied sigh to work at the buckles on his boots. “Fucking miserable, this lot. I’m half tempted to drag them to the Stepstones. Perhaps the threat of war might make them more inclined to follow orders. Best way to turn the green ones into true men.”

You know it is mere complaint, but the thought of his flying off to battle is still enough to make your chest pang with worry.

“Not funny,” you say, thumbing the needle in your hand. “Aelys would never stop screaming with you gone. Rhaenar would keep himself awake until your return.”

He grins. “Never fear. I’ll not leave you to manage our little beasts alone.” He pauses; glances toward the cradle. “How are they?”

“See for yourself.”

Hardly needing encouragement, he pads sure-footed toward the sounds of soft gurgling and cooing, the sturdy frame keeping the pair of infants out of your immediate sight. Bending low and extending both arms down, you can hear him murmur, “Rytsas, ñuhys zaldrītsossas.”

Hello, my little dragons.

A high-pitched squeal is his response, no doubt Aelys’s welcome. You try to focus once again on the seam you are patching, though it is hard not to be drawn into the conversation that appears to be taking place to your far left.

Rustling, and a plaintive whine. Daemon sighs. “Daor, ñuhus jorrāeliarzis—jemī ōregon koston daor. Yne aōhi muña asēnilus lo jemī vaogēdan.” No, my loves—I cannot hold you. Your mother would kill me for dirtying you.

“Kony drēje issa.” That is correct, you say archly. You nod toward the screen. “Kōdrion aō syt ilza. Īlvon parklondo go, aōlot rāenābā, kostilus.” There is a bath for you. Wash up before our supper, please.

When he pulls away, the pair squawk their dismay. Luckily, he knows best how to resolve the ensuing fit before it can reach fruition—he jerks his final layer off over his head, depositing the threadbare shirt into the cradle. Their cries fall abruptly silent. You wrinkle your nose at the prospect of their bedding wicking the odour of perspiration, though you are forced to acknowledge the efficacy of such an action. Babes find comfort in the scent of their parents.

Daemon drops a strip of leather on the desk, shaking his head of now-loose hair. On his path to the tub, he stops before you.

“Ynot tolī syz iksā,” he says, rough-hewn palm dragging your chin upward. You are too good to me.

It is all you can do not to moan like an eager slattern as his lips slot against yours and the musk of him rattles your bones like tinder to firewood, bursting and sparking with banked heat. Acerbic, mingled with smoke and the particular fragrance of ashy mud found nowhere else but here upon the isle, it is strong enough to taste upon his mouth, feel upon your skin. Before you have the mind to deepen it, to drag him down and haul your skirts up, he is gone, naught more than a tender dirt-smudged stroke to the cheek to mark his departure.

You collapse back against the chaise, bewildered and hot, the heavy glide of his favourite coat finally breaking free from your lap and to the floor, needle and thread and all. Meanwhile, you hear him whistling to himself as he removes his breeches, his groan of relief as he steps into the water.

You have half a mind to disturb his bathing, for how dare he leave you so bereft? But it is not his fault. Well, to be fair, there is no fault at play here, for there has been no fault committed. Unless being far too handsome is a fault, you think.

Alas, there is no recourse but to wait for the opportune time to strike. It cannot be now—supper is still to come, and the babes must be put to the nursery.

‘Tis this thought you must repeat over and over again. Not now: Daemon is dressing for the evening meal, even if you truly only want to have him remain without clothing, to prowl about with his considerable endowments on display for your avid gaze, and something alarmingly like grief twists in your stomach with each item of clothing that further conceals him from you. Not now: you take your girl and he takes your boy and the four of you make your way through the halls, and you must ruthlessly quell the driving lust from your core with each step, for there can be no notions of lechery with a babe curled in your grasp just so, an innocence you will not dare risk tainting with the impurity of your designs. Not now: the Keepers are explaining that the twins’ dragons “are becoming unruly, my Prince”, and “they will need far more outdoor enrichment than we had previously discussed”, and you must nod your head in sage agreement even as you press a kiss to Rhaenar’s forehead, then Aelys’s, all too aware of the low thrum of Daemon’s voice while you say goodnight to Freda and the children.

Supper comes and goes in a burning haze, marked by the knowing looks you receive from your sister across the table and the pervasive awareness that he is right there next to you, so close and yet untouchable, not now, not in the way you want. When you are done eating—and honestly, you do not even remember putting food into your mouth, but your plate is empty and your belly pleasantly full so you must have—you are forced to just sit, all too conscious of the arm Daemon has carelessly draped across the back of your chair, the rumble of his laugh as his cups flow amply with the free and easy conversation between he and Harwin and Laenor. And then, and then, you are returned to your chambers after minutes or hours or days, so wound up on the inside that you feel close to madness of a different kind, near to bursting, blood bubbling effervescently like the sharpest of Northern wines.

All night, you had been anticipating this moment. Why now does your nerve fail you?

“Come here,” he says, disturbing the panicked wheelabout in your mind.

For a moment, you wonder whom it is he is speaking to—but then he glances up at you, frowning quizzically. You realise you are the only other being in the room. Wringing your hands and cursing your foolish transparency, you trail toward him, stopping expectantly when you are within reach.

Silence.

“Well?” he asks, raising his eyebrow. You look about, trying to determine what it is he wants. He sighs, and adds, “Do you plan on sleeping in that dress, or would you like a hand with the laces?”

“Oh!”

Like a poorly performing puppet, you whirl around spasmodically, breath stuck somewhere between its starting and finishing point, suspended in your chest as he shifts your hair to one side and begins the methodical task of unthreading you from your fabric prison. Each wrench of cord is as keenly felt as a thrust between your legs, or the memory of it, hushing your careening passions to the metronome of the tug tug shwip at your back. Daemon’s breath is sweetly fragrant, hot upon your neck, near enough that you can hear his every exhale before the pressure of air caresses your skin. It is an eternity before the gown slithers to the floor, followed by the soft-boned corset you have favoured in recent moons.

“Shift, too?” is his next whispered query, fingers already at the ties and tugging, palms dragging it clear from your collarbone and down, down, down. It bunches at your waist, but it is far enough for his liking, and he turns you in his grasp to back you unerringly to the bed. A kiss, then, “Make yourself comfortable, talītsos,” and he moves away to remove his own clothing.

Your heart sinks at the familiarity. The routine. Make yourself comfortable, followed by abortive sensual touches and the hard suckle of man at teat before your breasts are dried up for the night, then squirming alone in the dark to the furious beat of his fist over his length across the room and the barely groaned “Fuck!” as he spurts his release on something, anything that is not you.

Even so, you crawl onto the mattress, nipples tingling with the gentle sway of movement and shift pooling over the convergence of your thighs. Kneeling, you wait, torn between hiding and fully baring yourself to the cooling chamber.

He joins you thereafter, body rising over yours as his mouth sinks to touch your own, tongue chasing the give of your lips to feed you the heady prickle of inebriation in a plush glide. Too soon does he break from you, the ridge of his nose pressing a warm line through the wet of his kisses along your jaw, your throat. He bears you slowly down, back against the pillows, grip sliding up your thighs and bypassing where you need him entirely, up your hips, up, away—

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, fumbling at his wrist to make him pause in his pursuit.

He leans back, concern carving lines in his face. Before he speaks—before you lose all semblance of courage—you try to make it plain without words.

You part your thighs flat to the bed. Slowly, without thinking too hard, you draw the rumpled hem of your shift up over your belly, rasping against your flesh, and you show him the dewy softness that awaits, begging for his favour. You imagine it glistens in the low light of candle flame there, dappling gold on tender flesh starved for touch.

Daemon stares unblinking, surprise transforming liquid, dark. “What’s this?”

“I need—” You drag his fingers to your mound, resisting the urge to shudder. “Please?”

He huffs, not a sound of amusement but one of seeming triumph. Idly, as though indifferent, his thumb coasts a path along your folds, taking care not to part them. The nail catches just so upon the hood of your half-hidden bud, sparking and fizzling straight to all the pleasure centres of your body. “Look at you. I’ve left you wanting, have I?”

“Ye—yeah.” You tip your hips up invitingly, breaths like little pants coming quicker, too loud in the quiet. “It’s been so… so long since…”

You bite off a gasp as he crawls forward, lowers, deliberately splaying you open with the blunted, veiny drive of his shaft. He hisses at the pressure, the sleekness, the heat. You feel it too, the scorch of iron striking molten, and you tip your head up in search of some relief from the ache of it.

He stirs himself there, making no attempt to push in where he catches.

“Since what, sweetling?” His arms lock you in place, hand falling warningly to your throat as his teeth make divots in the lobe of your ear. “Since I touched you? Fucked you? Put my seed in your belly?”

“Yes!”

You nod furiously, clutching his fist around your windpipe tighter, squeezing so that you can feel the threat of it through layers of muscle. Grinding your hips up at him, your entrance tightens painfully as he once again slides above where you want him, knocking where you are most sensitive. Need drips slickly to the bedsheets beneath your core.

The enthusiasm of your agreement lures a noise of satisfaction from his chest. “Thought I was doing the right thing. Thought I was being a good husband, keeping my cock away from my poor little wife, scarcely free of the birthing bed.”

He reaches between your bodies with his other hand and grasps the root of himself to slap his cockhead against your petaled opening, the collision of skin producing an audible sucking sound. Your nipples strain to the ceiling, your reason tethered like wire to the churning of your belly.

Daemon grunts, grip shifting to wind against your nape, tugging sharply at the hairs there. “But I forgot, didn’t I? That you’re a whore.”

“I am,” you say, pitchy and breathless. “I’ve been waiting for you, kepus.”

He tugs again, grimacing as finally—finally—his girth aims true. The broad head of him slips inside, filling the empty spaces in you with weight and heat and heft until your cunny is as wide open as your lips are, a silent scream of sensation. Time slows and all the ages of the earth roll into the seconds that he piles himself inside you, forcing through the stubborn clench straight to the root. You wince, the fit tight like you remember, struggling to breathe at the deep-seated throb from somewhere below your ribs where he has engraved a path.

“Fuck.” He moans quietly against your shoulder, more to himself than to you. His cock digs deeper, harder, and you cry out, neatly unable to bear it. “Fuck, how are you still so tight?”

You squeeze around him at the words, revelling in the choked growl even as your body tries to curl in on itself from sheer stimulation, legs hitching up around his waist to drive him to your will. Embracing him, you bury your nose in his hair as he tilts you to his liking and withdraws, returning with a jolt that sparks uncomfortably in your gut. His mouth drags and leaves bruises along your neck as his thrusts start tentative, grow bold.

It is a testament to his own longing that he does not continue rattling off the filthiest declarations imaginable, fists clenched over your thighs and at the base of your skull with a strength that will mar you come morning. You smile at each throbbing plunge, bask in the squelch and judder of your forms moving in tandem, sweat smoothing the way. He pants, overcome, and you echo his sounds in a rhythm like ancient music.

Daemon’s lips venture lower, spine hunching atop you. He crows, jubilant, and you realise that your arousal is not the only fluid your body has released. Rising up, he takes you by both hipbones and settles you atop his thighs, tugging you over his lap and admiring the sight you make below him. He does not stop moving, length sluicing in minuscule revolutions, a constant bevy of sensation.

“Look at you,” he says again, palm smoothing flat over your stomach and gliding up over your breastbone, diverting to tweak one of your leaking nipples.

You squeal, feeling the rush of milk dribble down your breast. His nostrils flare, thumb stoppering the fall and chasing to its source before withdrawing and licking it from his skin with a lewd pop. You think he means to incite the other, only his digits venture lower and twist cruelly at your straining pearl. Tears spring to your eyes as something like the memory of peaking kindles in your stomach.

“Ah, there—all of you cries for me now, little girl. Isn’t that nice?” Callous satisfaction harshens the curve of his grin. “Eyes, tits, cunt… weeping for Uncle. And I’ll drink everything down.”

He presses the backs of your knees to the bed and descends, latching onto your nipple as his onslaught renews, pleasure in duality crystallizing at your chest and below and melding into one. You lose track of where you end and he begins, where the relief is greatest. He drags you to that elusive end in a swirl of writhing limbs and salt-musk sticking to the roof of your mouth as you call for him.

His thrusts come faster, shallower, making direct contact with the locus of feeling with each forward movement. The entirety of you gears toward the crest of the mountain, that moment of great and glorious bliss. When you finally reach it, you keen, bones and muscle coiling inward as a great wave surges outward.

You twist uncontrollably, fingernails scoring through his flesh as you come.

“Kepus,” you hear yourself babbling, clinging to his head at your other breast as you lurch discordantly across the mattress. “Harder, harder, more—”

You turn into a glutton desirous of this particular form of punishment, ravenous for the ache and the sting and the burn of it, and he responds in kind.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

Each plea for more meets with a plunge of girth that sets you to shrieking, pushing yourself into them though your body urges you to flee. More, more, more. You are drunk on it, greedy for the assault. He is ever obliging to fuck harder, harder, faster.

And then—

Daemon withdraws, climbing over you with frantic disregard, hand a blur between his legs. He pushes you down, wrenches your jaw up, apart, digging into the hinge.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he snarls, mean and monstrous with his cock aimed straight for your face, panting and slavering as he works himself over.

You stick your tongue out for good measure, straining against his hold for just one taste, but he does not let you. His fingers curl into the meat between your skull and spine, pain making you cross-eyed, and he shifts urgently on his knees.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Seed spurts hot on the corner of your mouth, along your cheek, across your closed eyelids before he brings his length to your lips. You pull eagerly at him, rising to bring him further into your mouth even as his fist knocks unkindly against your teeth. His caustic flavour, familiar and missed, spreads across your palate, and you drink of him like a penitent come to worship at the altar of the gods.

Mindlessly, he grinds down at you, softening girth making you gag ever so slightly. Spend clings to your lashes and stings in your eyes as you look up at him, but you cannot care.

He stills, winded, chest expanding and collapsing with a thirst for air. Then, with a gentleness lacking in these last moments, he works himself free of you, flopping to your side with a sigh and a weak noise of contentment. He looks relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in weeks. Moons, even.

You brush stray strands from his forehead, smoothing starlight from his weathered temples. He turns into the touch, mouth meeting the inside of your wrist.

“You really are too good to me, sweetling,” he murmurs.

His lips press to the tip of your nose, palm warm and comforting on your back. Fingers trace patterns into your flesh, at first seeming meaningless until you recognise the strokes, deliberate and sure, for what they are.

‘Avy jorrāelan.’ I love you.

“I know,” you say, answering both spoken and unspoken sentiment, your heart utterly full. In turn, you trace the same glyphs on the skin of his chest. From the smile that fills his eyes with light incandescent, he knows, too.

You lay in the quiet, basking in the surety of each other.

But it cannot last. You are loath to break the serenity, though you speak nonetheless, making a weak gesture to the pearly gleam that clumps your lashes, streaks your face.

“Do you mind… perhaps getting me a washcloth? I… cannot see.”

It is only now that he appears to notice the state he has left you in. With another kiss and an amused bark of laughter, he moves to do your bidding.

You settle back, content, watching your uncle stride fully nude to the wash basin to wet the cloth he has scrounged from its resting place. While you wait, you count all your many blessings: your babes, happy and settled and thriving. Your sister, skilful and kind in her confidence. Athfiezar, fierce and devoted and liberating when the walls feel as though they are caving in. Your tutor, your healer, your maester, your attendants, your life here on this isle, in this time and place and season. Your husband, your lover, the very benefactor of all you have come to hold dear.

Daemon kneels beside you, sponging away the worst of his deeds with a sure hand and steady smirk. “I’ll be sure to mind my aim next time, hm?”

Next time. An implicit vow.

You feel it again—a glow like the pinprick of daylight at a tunnel’s end, warming the chill from your bones and the frost from your heart, slow and sure and stubborn in the face of the complications that are yet to come. Something thawing, soothing, deadening the weight of grief and hardships past.

“Yes,” you murmur, eyes closed at the sensation of his frame moulded against yours, real and true and necessary. “Next time.”

Something like hope.

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glitteryinknotes · 7 months

Text

Like with many things, it's been said before, but I just need to get this off my chest.

I despise the way the game's ending treats Astarion and the way he has to flee from the sun in utter panic.

I'm not annoyed by it, I'm not angered, I just... Deeply detest it. I can't understand it in the slightest. What the fuck?

Who thought of that? Who thought that would be funny? ESPECIALLY if you're not romancing him, but you still care about him as a friend. That miserable scene of him having to run for his life as the sun mercilessly burns him is supposed to be the last you see of him? After everything?

Honestly, the first instinct anyone caring about him (i'm not even talking his lover) should have is to run after him instantly to make sure he's safely reached nearest shadows and hasn't been burned to a crisp in the meantime. Everything else can wait; the world is saved, tadpoles dealt with, but your companion / beloved is now in mortal danger. This is priority.

And the right ending to his romance should be to frantically run after him, find him curling down on the ground in the first shadow from a random barrel stack he could find, and to have a heart to heart talk with him there, comfort him, plan your future, as you both await the dusk. No way in hell you're leaving him alone.

I just can't get over it, to be honest. We all know BG3 is a once - in - a - century masterpiece of a game, and it just pains me even more so because with everything, everything in the game being so wonderfully thought through, it genuinely feels that to that one part - but such an important one - no one really paid enough attention.

[edit: my original post did indeed include mention of AI, but I ended up removing it because honestly, I should have realised it while writing it's simply wrong to spread or recommend any content with AI use. Thank you @sometimesraven for pointing that out to me in the comments]

#baldur's gate astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3

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hotguycomiczine · 22 days

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[ START OF TRANSCRIPT ]

INTERVIEWER: So, Mr. Goodtimes... what exactly would you say is your greatest strength, in this wonderful world of vigilantes?

HOTGUY: Why, thank you for the question, [REDACTED]! Y'know, I'm just soaring through it all, just flying high above the clouds, breezing through foes, out-foxing the TCG— not that that's hard; they've got pretty bad equipment for an organization that's supposed to be government funded. Well, I guess that goes to show what happens when you try to interrupt the incredible Hotguy while he saves the citizens of sweet, sweet Hermitopia, right?

INTERVIEWER: Hm... that's a pretty surprising answer, Hotguy. And here I thought flyin' around was more your sidekick's job, not yours.

HOTGUY: What? Oh, oh! Well, you know Cuteguy, he's got— well, sure, he's the one that actually flies us around... sort of, at least. But me, though— well, [REDACTED], I guess you could say I'm more of a looker.

INTERVIEWER: ... I see. So are your dazzling good looks stunning the villains then?

HOTGUY: Well of course, we all know I'm the handsomest man around! Just look at this face! Cutting edge cheeks, I tell you, cutting edge. But no, actually, what I mean is— well, I'm an archer, so you've gotta see well, right? And me? I see loads. Just about everything there is to see, I'd imagine. Nothing can escape these ol' sharp eyes for long!

INTERVIEWER: I guess you could call it 20/20 vision then, ay?

HOTGUY: I'd call it more than that; 20/50, or— 50/20— oh, no, wait that's not— look, I don't do math, [REDACTED], numbers are just— ooh, they're tricky little things, aren't they? But ever since that water supply got contaminated, I've been seeing more and more, further and further, in way more detail. You ever seen a pigeon poop from three miles away?

INTERVIEWER: Can't say I have.

HOTGUY: I wouldn't recommend it.

INTERVIEWER: Ha! Okay, okay, I can see why that is— pun intended, of course. Well, I'll have to thank you for the interview good sir, it has been most enlightening.

HOTGUY: Not a problem at all! Always happy to answer some questions for the fans.

INTERVIEWER: Indeed, indeed.

[ END OF TRANSCRIPT ]

#hotguy comics zine #hermitcraft zine #gtws #hcsmp zine #hermitcraft fanzine #goodtimeswithscar #zine updates

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lokisgoodgirl · 5 months

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Harvest: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (7) Fresh off Loki's revelation, its time to save Colin Robertson. Oh...and some other things too, I guess. Warnings: Minors DNI. Ex-Loki (?) Language. Mild angst. Plans and smug rehashing of plans. Soft smut. Domestic fluff. Sassy Satchel. (w/c 6.2k) Recommended Folklore Track: Invisible String

Despite protestations, Steve had set up a perimeter and concocted a list of bird-themed call-signs. He walked thirty meters ahead of you and Loki.

Every ten paces, the captain spun in a shifty circle and beckoned you on. “Oh, for goodness sake,” Loki grumbled as he re-hoisted a limp Colin Robertson across his shoulders. The man was drooling on him.

Thor brought up the rear of the rudimentary formation, ambling at the back with his hands in his pockets. The hat was still drawn low over his brow. “He feels awful,” you muttered. “As he should,” Loki said stiffly. “Thanks to him, this mortal finds himself at the mercy of another of his cunning plans. A perilous state indeed.” “You care,” you mumbled with a gentle smile. Loki narrowed his eyes playfully. “I shall have to dial it back a little, lest I become soft.” “Not much chance of that,” you whispered to yourself. Out the corner of your eye, you saw Loki smile.

From ahead, Steve released a strangled caw.

“What one’s that?” Loki drawled. The tap of Colin’s dead-weight hand sounded against his back with every step.

You frowned, looking around. “People? Aircraft? I can’t remember.” “The car.” Loki said flatly, pointing to a bright blue blob in the distance. From behind them, a crunch of running footsteps approached. “Almost time for the commencement of the plan, brother.” “It’s a terrible plan.” Loki snipped. Thor rolled his eyes. “Ye of little faith,” he rumbled confidently. Ten minutes later, the five of you hung in various stages inside and outside the Fiat 500. Rogers had pushed the front seat as far forward as it would go, climbing in to the back. Loki was positioned already behind the passenger side, crammed against the wall. “Just put him in the trunk,” Loki chided for the fourth time. “Oh pish, Laufeyson” Steve snapped. “The man could have a spinal injury.” Loki threw up his hands in resignation.

You leant against the bonnet, one of Colin’s arms draped over your shoulder. The other hung around Thor. The man drooped between you like a scarecrow. “Places,” Steve announced confidently before his face lowered and he sidestepped into the Fiat backseat. All you heard were huffs from Loki as Rogers shuffled into the middle. It was going to be tight. You and Thor moved forwards, ignoring the sad drag of Colin’s walking boots on the dirt track. With a little manoeuvring, the hiker was deposited in the back seat. His face smooshed against the window, faint clouds of condensation forming on the glass.

“God, I wish I had my phone.” you murmured to Thor as you drank in the absurd sight. Loki was staring pointedly out the window, shoulders scrunched to take up as little space as possible. Rogers face had flushed, hoiking the unconscious man further on his side.

Thor chuckled, gripping the open door. He leant towards you conspiratorially. “Gird thy loins, sister” he hummed. You grimaced. The passenger seat was as far forward as it could go, with Thor’s knees drawn up to his chest.

You sighed as you slid into the drivers side. The muscled pressure of Loki’s legs protruded through the back of your seat. You cleared your throat, fiddling with the radio. “You do realise, that if the police stop us then we’re up shit-” “-crud,” Steve cut. “-crud creek without a paddle?” Loki snorted with genuine laughter. You bit your lip, realising that just maybe everything was going to be alright. And not just for Colin. “Onward!” Thor boomed. Everyone groaned, covering their ears.

You drove cautiously through winding one track lanes. The hedgerows were in full autumnal blossom now. Gold and burnt orange foliage simmered in speckled sunlight. In the back seat, Colin was stirring. “We don’t have much time,” Steve’s worried voice chimed. He stroked Colin’s cheek. “It’s alright, pal. We’ll get ya where you’re going.” In the rear-view mirror, you saw Loki throw him an incredulous scowl.

“Ye Olde Fighting Cocks,” Thor read as the swinging pub sign grew closer. He laughed to himself, slapping his knee and almost hitting his face on the rebound. “Just like us, brother.” In the back seat, Loki scoffed. “Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered. You pulled into the carpark. It was busier than you would like. “Okay, just like we talked about,” Steve started. “Thor – you commandeer a table outside. Away from any hubbub. Agent, you’re on drinks duty. Loki and I will position Mr Robertson and get the heck outta there.” Everyone mumbled agreement. It wasn’t perfect, but it was visible. And it beat leaving him on a hillside. Thor pulled his hat down, stuffing errant strands of sandy hair inside. He produced a pair of chunky sunglasses from the glovebox.

“Avengers…” he began with gravitas.

“Don’t.” Steve snapped.

As it transpired, the only hubbub in the beer-garden was an old man stubbing out a cigarette by the entrance. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Thor’s bobble hat poked over the hedge. You quickly made yourself scarce, walking inside the tavern and collecting as many glasses as you could covertly carry.

Sidling between tables of chattering locals, you squinted out a passing window. Thor was leaning awkwardly against a picnic bench. You saw a flash of movement in the bushes behind him as Steve and Loki emerged, shuffling forward in a squat position. Colin dragged between them. They hoisted him to sit at the table, flipping his legs over the bench. He slumped forwards. The last thing you saw was Thor attempting to prop a fist under his chin. He failed Sliding out the front door, you made your way quickly over to the scene and plopped seven glasses on the surface. “Let’s go,” you said. “Where is the ale?” Thor said, face falling. “We’re not staying, buffoon” Loki scathed as the four of you made your way quickly back to the car. “That defeats the entire purpose.” Thor pouted all the way home.

You had walked ahead from the driveway to the cottage door with your heart in your mouth. It had been a tense ride.

All you could hear behind you was Loki’s hushed overtones requesting privacy from the others.

Noting the tremble in your hands, you unlocked and walked inside. Keep it together, you chided as you slipped into the kitchen and sat at the table, fidgeting. The front door opened. It closed with a creak and a thunk. You tried to steady your breaths as Loki hung up his jacket before rounding the corner, smoothing his hair while he looked at the floor. Suddenly your fingernails became very interesting.

His towering figure occupied your periphery, hovering before he sat in the opposite chair. Looking up, your eyes met his. You offered a weak smile. Loki cleared his throat.

The chair leg squeaked. "I want to be myself. My core self. The one that swells in my roots, I suppose you would say." he said abruptly. The words were quick and cold. "That's what I was attempting to convey... back on the hill."

He seemed nervous. You didn't think you'd ever seen Loki nervous. It made you nervous. He cleared his throat again, features softening. “What I have come to realise” he continued carefully, brushing crumbs from the tablecloth, “is that being with you...I often felt like that boy at the cabin.” He looked at you, tilting his head. His mind was a million miles away, but somehow – it was the closest you had ever been to him. “Except I didn’t know what it was,” he continued wistfully.

“I felt safe. Free. It felt...strange. I fought against it, with my arrogance and my selfishness. Like a dog in a trap, I fought against it with the only tools I had.” You looked down at your hands again, heart sinking. “A trap?”

Loki sighed. “I cannot pertain to the logic. Only my feelings. It was self-preservation. Or so I thought.” “It sounds like self-sabotage to me,” you murmured gently, pressing your thumb into your palm. “Yes.” was all Loki said.

After a few moments he stood.

You braced as he took a step forwards, sinking slowly to sit on his haunches. Your gaze swung to his thighs, thick and straining against the creases of his trousers. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect,” he murmured. There was a pause while the weight of his considerations hung in the air. “But for you, I would do anything in my power. You know that, don’t you?” Tears began to prick your eyes. You swallowed, words coming out as a tremble. “I never wanted you to be perfect, Loki. I only wanted to feel like we were equals.” Loki slipped his fingers into your open palm. “I know that feeling,” he crooned sadly, drawing your hand down. He stroked the skin, looking at it like it might evaporate in his hold.

A gentle press of his lips warmed your wrist. “Am I being presumptuous that you might consider a fresh start between us?�� he said tentatively, raising his gaze to meet yours through a dark fan of lashes. “As your ‘girlfriend’?” you questioned. A smile twitched. Was this really happening? Your heart was thundering. “No, Madam” Loki scoffed playfully. “My consort of course.” Your smile grew wider. Loki pursed his lips, brows rising in expectation as he ran his nervous stare over your features. You bit your lip, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity. But there was none. And somehow, you knew there wouldn’t be.

The hand not being held by his slid up the curve of his jaw. You lowered, pausing by his parted lips. The god’s breath hitched.

“Loki,” you pleaded, no more than a whisper.

His name held weight when you said it like that.

In an instant, Loki closed the space between you, his mouth fastening to yours with a gasp.

Without breaking the kiss he rose, pulling you with him.

His hands cupped your face, fingertips pressing into your hair while his tongue cautiously caressed against your own. It was pure fire, twisting and scorching the path of troubles behind you.

Your knees caught against the chair as he tried to walk you backwards, making you both stumble.

He broke, panting. “Apologies,” he muttered, catching his breath as his large hand centred on your back.

You looped your arms around his neck, memorising the look of abject relief in his eyes. Kissing him softly, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth. Loki’s eyes narrowed, a subconscious thrust of his hips against your stomach making your vision blur. “We should probably let them in now,” you said ruefully, glancing sideways to the closed door. “I was hoping you couldn’t hear them,” Loki sighed. ‘Damn you and your heavy breathing, Rogers’ Thor chided behind the peeling wood. Loki reached for the handle, a quick turn and release causing Steve and his brother to sprawl forwards face-first to the linoleum.

Rogers sat up quickly, brushing himself down as his guilty eyes swung between you. “It was his idea,” he said as he nodded to Thor. “How very dare you,” Thor boomed. “The God of Thunder does not sneak.” “Ain’t that the truth,” Steve snapped.

The two of them stood, awkwardly picking at their clothes. Around the same time, their eyes fell on the space between you and Loki. Thor’s arm shot out, the back of his hand slapping against Steve’s chest.

Their gazes widened in sync. “Holding...hands?” Thor gasped. He and Steve gaped at one another. Suddenly the entire kitchen became a hive of screeches as the two men grasped on to the others biceps, jumping in a circle.

You started to laugh, hearing Loki’s embarrassed chuckle beside you. “Why are they so happy?” you murmured to him. Loki shook his head. “My brother had a cunning plan, you see” he said as he raised your interlinked fingers with a knowing smile. “Hold up,” Steve interjected. His serious face was back. “I gotta take some credit considering it was my idea, Odinson.”

Thor laughed mirthlessly, throwing his head back with a shake of his hair. “I think not, Rogers. If anything your contributions were the seasoning.” “Seasoning?”” Steve balked. “It was my idea to get them up here in the first place.” Thor released a grimacing smile. He patted Steve on the back. “Perhaps now is not the time,” he muttered as covertly as a fart in an elevator.

You yelped as Loki sat at the dining table, pulling you onto his lap. “No, I think now is most definitely the time” he purred as he linked his fingers around your stomach. You’d forgotten how solid his thighs were. Almost. Steve’s cheeks flushed. “Well, uh…you see, it started way back when uh-” “-Well,” Thor interrupted. “Apologies, Rogers – but the tale requires gravitas.” Steve rolled his eyes, as the god continued. “Around two months ago when your incessant moods had reached peak insufferability, I invoked Rogers aid in a minor detail of the piece-”

“-I bought this place,” Steve butted sharply. “Well, Stark did.” You and Loki looked at each other, frowning. “We figured you guys needed to get away somewhere neutral. Something official to force your hand. Back to basics, somewhere Laufeyson could be pushed out of his comfort zone with a range of activities he felt were-” “-Beneath you, brother” Thor quipped smugly. “And in tandem with my cunning plan, it was fool-proof.”

The two of them folded their arms, their facial expressions hinting that they had explained everything. “Yes? And?” Loki probed lazily. The breath from his words flooded your ear, lips ghosting the shell. You wondered if he was listening. He placed an absent-minded kiss at the tip of your cheekbone, nuzzling gently. “From there it was quite simple, really- for a fellow like myself” Thor postured, looping his thumbs through his belt.

Loki rolled his eyes as his brother’s smug voice boomed around the kitchen. “One of the many times you fell asleep on my sofa after a night of ale and moaning about blowing it with this one” Thor thumbed to you; “you were mumbling about the cabin.” “I was?” Loki asked. Thor nodded. “And it made me ponder what you were like back then. The same, but different. Not as much of a little shit. I thought it was time you needed a more targeted reminder – for all our sakes. In a place like this, a place like the cabin. Kind of.”

You felt Loki inhale sharply, priming a barb. But he let it go. You felt the tension melt against your back as his hands clasped tighter in your lap. “Oh brother, I thought you’d really arsed it up with that stunt on our second evening” Thor chuckled, nudging Steve in the ribs.

“But your denial was rather a boon, Agent. A catalyst which timed well with Rogers and myself's light exploration of his foils earlier that night. Commendations, sister, for resisting my brother’s seductions. His cock is a wily adversary, I am sure.” You smirked as Loki’s inaudible laughter pulsed against your back. You’d missed this. “Tell them about the fire,” Steve whispered shyly. Thor’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, well...Rogers here had the rather genius idea of luring you both to the fireside. Nothing fans the flames like...well, flames. My brother has always been a lush for elemental theatrics.” Steve beamed with pride while your eyebrows rose. “And destroying my room and all my stuff was…?” The question lingered as Thor shuffled awkwardly. “Collateral damage, sister. We needed you out of that bedroom. I may have slightly overdone it.” “We thought you were ready,” Steve added. “I signalled with the flashlight when I thought the ol’ heart-to-heart had done the business and then…”

He and Thor nodded sagely to each other. “So were the two of you like...monitoring us?” you asked, glancing at Loki who was blushing faintly. “Of course!” Thor boomed. “The two of you were the true field operation. Well, in a roundabout sort of way.” Loki burrowed his face in the curve of your neck, a smile spreading against the skin. “What about the two of you?” Loki purred, resting his chin on your shoulder. “All smoke and mirrors like the rest?” Thor flapped his hand in the air as Steve bristled. “You need not know the details, brother.” he blustered. “What matters in that you stayed in that room. With her.” Steve’s face was a deep shade of crimson. “It had to be realistic,” he muttered, scuffing his shoe on the floor. “We got ya!” he added weakly. “So is what he’s saying...true?” you asked Loki. “Did it work?” Loki chuckled, bouncing one leg as he considered his answer. You jiggled, gripping his bicep for balance. He shot the men standing shoulder-to-shoulder above him a sharp glare.

“From the wreckage of my brother’s tenuous plot I did scavenge a solitary golden thread of wisdom, yes.” Thor released one of his arms from the fold, pointing a fist to the captain. Steve shook it. “I owe you ten bucks, Odinson” he said ruefully. “You owe me more than that, Rogers.” Thor winked. Steve cast an anxious glance to you and Loki, acknowledging your bemused smiles with a curt nod. He cleared his throat. “Time for us to make tracks,” he said.

You frowned. “But Steve, we have like... two more days here.” Thor laughed, doubling over. Rogers shook his head. “You have two more days here. We are going to the spa.” “The spa?” Loki spat incredulously. “Without me?!”

Thor shrugged. “If you wish to join Rogers and I for an ‘erbal wrap and sauna privileges you are most welcome to brother.” He tracked his gaze to you, sitting on Loki’s lap. “But something tells me you’d rather stay here,” he added softly.

Loki’s face burrowed into your neck again, nose grazing your collarbone. “Quite,” he murmured. It was meant only for you. In the following twenty minutes the blondes made quick work of packing their belongings. You helped Thor locate his various nick-knacks, strewn clothes and hair mousses; passing each of them in turn as he leant his bodyweight on a second suitcase.

The captain’s bags were stacked neatly in the corner. He was frowning at the tower. “I feel like I’m forgetting something,” he murmured, stroking his chin.

“The crisper,” you said, trying not to laugh. Steve’s cheeks flushed as your eyes fell involuntarily to his butt. “Been enjoying the freedom, Cap?” you giggled, tossing another bottle to Thor.

When the last suitcase had been stuffed into the beleaguered Fiat, the blondes returned inside. You and Loki had stood at the doorway of the cottage, watching them. It was meditative. Winding curls of burnt orange ivy rustled in the air. There was no rush.

You turned your face, brushing your cheek against the wool of Loki’s jumper. He rested his chin on your head.

As they approached, you pulled away from the god and let your fingers trail longingly over his stomach as you sank back to the hallway. Loki winked, a small smile flirting at his lip. The warmth flooding your skin could be magic, you were sure. But something told you it wasn’t.

Thor tugged the sides of his jacket. “I take it this highly successful endeavour means that you will be of more pleasant humour to everyone then,” he chuckled.

“Regrettably, for the foreseeable future I shall be targeting my efforts of self-improvement to our darling Agent, here.” Loki purred, zipping his brother’s jacket up over his mouth. “I’m sure you understand it’s a process.” “Just consider me your spiritual Sherpa, brother-” Thor continued un-phased against the muffler. “And Rogers too, to a lesser extent.” “The day I consider that, is the day I may be claimed by the sanatorium, brother” Loki smiled dryly.

“So you’re still gonna be a boob to the rest of us? That wasn't part of the deal,” Steve whined, releasing a low whistle of discontent. Loki shrugged. “Apologies, gentleman.” he smarmed, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. He tipped forward earnestly. “Although when it comes to mocking you both; I will do my utmost not to pick up the gauntlets of temptation you throw so effortlessly down.” The three of them looked between each other.

“Excellent!” Steve chirped, shuffling sideways between you and Loki. You followed as he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Making immediately for the fridge, the captain un-balled a Tesco carrier bag from his pocket. Leaning against the door-frame, you watched as Captain America gingerly slid open the crisper. His lips pursed, pressing inward. It was all you could do not to fall to the floor. He reached in, carefully picking out each pair of underwear and slipping them into the plastic bag.

“I can see you,” he grit, throwing a knowing look over his shoulder. “And I would appreciate if the events of this trip stayed between the four of us.”

“Come, Rogers!” Thor boomed as he snuck up behind you, drawing you into a bear hug. You thrashed against his chest, before sinking with a relenting sigh into his hold. “Sister,” he whispered gruffly through a smile as Steve bustled past to the car. “I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

Loki gave a final wave as his brother and Rogers drove away down the rickety path. Thor’s hair whipped around his temples, the window fully rolled down and his head sticking out. Loki smiled, chortling softly as he closed the door.

In the kitchen, he could hear mugs clinking.

He straightened the front of his jumper, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Right…” he breathed quietly. Loki paced cautiously into the kitchen, memorising the way the low amber sunlight bathed your skin.

A goddess, he thought. “My goddess,” he said.

You turned, surprise peaking your brows before you smiled. “Hey,” you murmured shyly. It made his stomach flip. Wiping your hands on the dishcloth, you turned. Without stopping to think, Loki strode forward and kissed you.

He didn’t want to think anymore. Not today. His tongue slipped easily between your lips, the only sound the careful wax and wane of delicate skin and the melody of gentle moans. His fingers curled around the counter-lip, caging your body as your hands slid up his sweater, tugging. There was a quiet groan as you pulled away, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said. There was a look in your eye Loki thought he would never see again. His stomach did another turn. “Oh. Of course,” he muttered politely, standing back. Fingers slid down the chunky knit of his arm, grazing over his hand. They toyed with his own as you began to walk to the door, throwing a seductive glance back over your shoulder. “Come with me?” Loki’s breath hitched. “I’ll be right behind you,” he murmured. He was sure the tremor of his racing heart could be heard in his voice. “I’d prefer face-to-face,” you winked before disappearing into the hall. Loki’s mouth gaped. The god heard the creak of the bathroom door, the thick splash as water hit the tub from on high. It’s happening, he thought; amazed.

In this unfamiliar landscape stripped of all ornament. In the wreckage of his brother’s clumsy attempts at mischief, he had found what his heart had been search for; slipping against walls of his cluttered mind. A second chance. Loki did some quick calculations, finding his feet drawing him already up the stairs. He was certain that you weren’t on birth control, he remembered hushed whispers overheard between you and Wanda months prior. At the time, it had made him very happy indeed. He was even more certain he didn’t wish to enchant you – that was a conversation for a later time.

Nerves fizzed in his stomach as he pushed open the doorway to his brother and Rogers room. Where are they? Loki cursed every creaking footstep as he picked his way around the room, but what he sought was nowhere to be seen. Steve had stripped the bedsheets, leaving them folded in military position at the foot of the bed. The god peered beneath pillows, under the mattresses. He frowned. A minute later, he pushed the door of his own room ajar. And there, on the pillow, was a box.

A yellow post-it note was stuck jauntily to the centre. Loki whipped it up with a flourishing snap, holding it at arms length as he peered down. A gift, it read. Love you Little Brother, Thor :) xx x “I bought them,” Loki grumbled, picking up the box.

It was open.

He pulled out a set, splitting them in two as he released a quaking sigh. Tossing the chosen one on the bed, he slipped the extra back in its home. Nine remained.

We might need to go to that shop again, Loki mused as he picked up the solitary condom on the bed. He held it up to eye-level, thumb pressed against the foil centre as he steadied himself. “Loki?” you cooed from downstairs. Your voice was an angelic echo, misting through tile and steam. He shuddered, cock pulsing against his trousers. He made his way carefully down the steps, memorising the way the wooden banister glided and caught against his skin. If I could live in a memory, Loki pondered as his fingers pressed against the ajar bathroom door, it would be this one.

Rich golden sunlight flooded the room from the tiny window. The ageing white tiles and fittings were perfected in its amber glow, porcelain glinting with an asgardian sheen under nature’s filter. Behind the shower curtain, you were humming; a splatter of water from your wet hair hitting the base. Loki cleared his throat.

Your face appeared, clutching the thin shower curtain by your chest. You were smiling, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Is the beige a permanent feature of your wardrobe now? Because if it is then I may need to rethink this whole thing.”

Loki’s arms crossed immediately, tugging the cable-knit over his head. It caught beneath his ears, the tinkle of your laugh singing against falling water. After a few seconds, the jumper was discarded by his ankles.

The god’s fingers flew to his belt, making quick work of the fastenings and pushing them to his feet. He hopped out of them, standing with a sudden flourish; shoulders rolled back. You looked from the pile on the floor to his eyes, one brow raised. “The old-fashioned way huh? That’s a first.” Loki cocked his chin. He bit his lip, enjoying the track of your gaze rolling hungrily down his naked body. One finger appeared from behind the shower-curtain, beckoning. With a heavy exhale, he stepped over the bath wall.

His cock slapped against his stomach, smacking the taut skin. You stood beneath the shower head, low pressure making it pour thickly to your skull before splitting to rivers down your back and chest. Loki swallowed. Water dripped in languid streams down your arms, trickling lazily through the part of your breasts. A droplet clung to your nipple, dangling as he would his tongue on the curve.

There was a quiet rip as he peeled the top of the foil square he held. Your eyes fell to the work of his hands, smiling as you savoured the journey back to meet his smoulder.

Loki gripped his cock, one slow slick of his fist all that was needed before he rolled the condom from the tip. He moaned, eyes fluttering closed as his grip tightened at the base.

Like a dream Loki found himself looming above you, the flat of his stomach pressed against the slick of your own. In seconds, his wetted body plastered to yours; his mouth swallowing against your open lips, his hands sinking into the glossed plump of your skin. Sighs mingled with steam as he moved you with ease against the tiles, the keening thrusts of your hips matching his own eagerness. Loki groaned as your digits curled around his throbbing cock. You released a dirty moan into his mouth as one finger slid between your folds. A growl bubbled in his throat at the feeling of your silken arousal hot against his fingers. Loki felt everything. The clench of your thighs around his wrist, the tug of his foreskin against your mound through latex, the depth of the longing in your kiss. Everything.

She is everything.

“-Wait,” he choked as he pulled away from the kiss.

Water hit the nape of his neck as he watched fear blossom in your eyes. Sodden tendrils of his hair curled against your collarbone. “Are you sure?” he swallowed. “About me-,” he finished, choking on the words. Your face softened. “It never ended for me, Loki” you whispered, barely audible against the water’s slap. He melted into the fingers sliding up the base of his skull. “It was always you,” he heard you say before pulling his mouth to yours. “It was always you,” he echoed between desperate kisses. Loki sank into old habits he could live with. With one hand steadying your waist, he drew your thigh to sit on his hip. A tremble ran up his spine as you manoeuvred his cock against your heat, the skim of your breath caressing his cheek.

And with a gasp, he pushed inside.

Loki’s hips nudged upwards, savouring the drag of your delicate walls wrapped around his length. It was more than he remembered. Or maybe that was new. But every clench of your sweetness around him, every slow tighten of his ass which rocked him deeper. Every moment burned with glittering with clarity, auburn leaves falling in slow motion. Your arms rested on his shoulders. Wet skin slurped as air pockets burst and kissed together. Water ran down, pooling against hands and lips and foreheads as it looked for any way between your bodies.

His name wisped in the steamed air; chanted from breathy moans and pitched sobs of pleasure. Loki could not recall when he had been happier. Perhaps, he thought, I never have.

But the only utterance he had strength for were broken syllables of your name.

Slowly he took you. Moulded to you. Melted into you. So slowly.

Your hands tangled in his soaking hair as Loki hoisted you higher. His hands slid beneath your ass, taking all the work as you slid back and forth along his length. He would never take the supple give of your skin as his tips sank deeper for granted again.

“Darling,” he sighed wantonly. It was punctuated with a slow roll of his hips.

Your eyes flew open, rolling back as your head tapped back against the tile. He kissed down the exposed length of your neck, slurping against rivulets that paved his path.

Waves of desire undulated in his belly, burning blood-red coals that radiated jolts of pleasure from the root of his cock. It pulsed with each measured clench of his ass.

They timed him perfectly, the stammering, gasping prayers of delight heralding your climax growing louder. Loki buried his face in your neck, softly biting up your throat.

“Darling,” he moaned repeatedly as his own orgasm reared. As if the loving word would disappear down the drain between his searching fingers. The invisible string that tied his heart to yours. It always had. You came with an anguished sob, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder-blades. One of Loki’s hands flew to the side, grasping slippery palms against tile before grabbing the curtain.

With the lightest of his tugs, the shower rail cracked. The palm flew above your head, smacking and squeaking down the grubby tiles as Loki felt his who body clench, trembling muscles tightening.

His foot slipped against the tub, the correction thrusting his manhood one final squeeze as he came with a crushing cry of your name. He juddered, the force of his cum filling the condom wrapped snug around his pulsing cock.

Your back began to slip down the wall, legs loosening their grip around his waist; spent. But Loki held you close. There was a dreamy smile on your face as your lashes fluttered, refocusing on him.

“I missed you,” you slurred while your fingers knotted through his hair. Water hit Loki’s back as he pushed you further against the wall with a rapturous kiss, wandering hands massaging the spill of your breasts. “I missed me too,” he breathed bitterly against your cheek. A finger trailed along his jaw, tipping Loki’s chin to face you.

“But I missed you more,” he whispered. And what’s more, Loki found, it was true.

The sun set, and then rose. Hours upon hours had passed, low afternoon sun spilling through the open curtains of Loki’s room. It was too cold to be anywhere else. But not in here.

You had lain tangled in each others arms, fingers grazing on skin between giggles and dozing and long conversations. And sex. Lots of sex.

His inhumanly long legs sprawled open. One lay bent, hanging triangularly over the side of the bed. You lay on your stomach, one hand propped beneath your chin while the other trailed lazily up and down your lover’s torso. His pale skin looked tan in golden sunlight. Loki watched you.

His eyes followed the path of your fingertips, pads dipping into every dent of muscle in their way which tightened and relaxed with each breath. Circling, dancing.

Loki shivered. A jolt of one knee rusted the bedsheet draped across his middle. You smiled, lowering to place a winding path of kisses as you edged the sheet lower. “We really should eat,” Loki murmured, stroking your hair as your lips kissed down his cock. You lingered on a taut vein, teasing your tongue along the pulse. What he meant is that you really should eat, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. It was the little things. Loki’s sharp inhale as you swallowed the tip made your stomach flip with pride.

His chin was pointed to the ceiling, muscles in his neck straining. Onyx hair flooded the pillow, his gentle cup of the back of your head vibrating with restraint. There was a rustle as the fingers of his free hand gathered the bedsheets in a fist, clenching and unclenching as you began to suck. “After…” he groaned with an attempt at authority.

With his cock stuffed in your mouth, you sidled over his leg, pushing his knees wider as you settled in. Your arms slid under his thighs, wrapping around him.

“After,” he gasped, before Loki Laufeyson turned to writhing slut-drunk pleasure beneath your touch.

On further investigation, it seemed you and Loki were shit outta luck.

The cupboards were bare, and it transpired that the Thor-decimated snacks you had grabbed last night between rabid lovemaking was the last of it. Loki spun, gripping the lip of the counter top. His neck was marred with purple bruises from your enthusiastic affections. They wouldn't last, but they looked so pretty while they did. “Let’s go for dinner somewhere,” he purred. You couldn’t help your snort of laugher. “What?” Loki coyed, pushing himself from the ledge. His hands slipped around your waist, grabbing your ass through the sweatshirt hanging down.

“It’s just...risky” you said, tilting your head. The two of you looked at each other.

You’d meant exposure. But sudden memories of every time you and Loki had gone out to eat flashed through your mind.

Selfies, a baying crowd desperate to touch him, autographs- on paper and skin. His endless adoration, drinking in the attention which fed his superiority complex like an assembly line while you faded from his mind. The Real World reared with the force of a slap.

“It won’t be like that again,” he murmured knowingly, tilting your chin up to face him. He gazed down through half-lidded eyes, frowning with sincerity. But he didn’t believe it. Not fully. And with trepidation, you realised, neither did you.

“Afternoon,” the waitress chirped as she handed you and Loki a menu. You thanked her nervously and pulled your cap down.

All around you was the polite buzz of conversation, local radio playing from a speaker behind the bar. Glass windows looked out onto the lake, endless sprawling water lapping at the shore beneath the window. The sun was beginning to set. Loki glanced upwards with a brief, dazzling smile. The woman’s eyes lingered on him as he ran a finger down the menu. They roamed up his arms, the chunk of cable-knit doing nothing to disguise the muscle beneath. On her gaze went, up the exposed curve of his lovebitten neck to the messy bun of dark hair knotted at base of his cap. Her stare widened.

Shit. You could tell the exact moment she clocked the infamous carve of his cheekbones as he sucked them in thoughtfully.

With a gasp, the waitress rocked back on her heels. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she whispered nervously, glancing between the two of you and then over her shoulder. “But are you…” she leant closer, using a menu to shield her face from view. “Loki...from the Avengers?” Loki’s eyes met yours.

The air tingled with her excitement, vibrating unspoken words and exclamations. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment, or sudden lust. Or both. Maybe she writes fanfiction about him, you thought.

And as you looked at him, the realisation of this moment’s importance seemed to blossom in Loki’s eyes. An ache grew in your stomach.

Please, you screamed silently. Begging him. A vein in his temple twitched as he nervously adjusted his feet beneath the table. Despite her attempt at covertness, people were staring. A weak smile fluttered at your lips as the seemingly inevitable turn of events teetered on the precipice. First the pomp, then the ceremony of his public adoration.

It would break the dam. This week was different. But it wasn’t real life. You would sidle off to the shadows, wait and wilt as each and every person took their piece of him that he willingly gave.

As it always was, so it shall be.

Unless- Loki cleared his throat.

“Howay, man!” he balked in a bamboozingly accurate Georgie accent, incredulity feigned to perfection. “But I get it wi' that gadgie aw' the time.” The waitress laughed, fanning herself with a menu. “Oh,” she gasped through an awkward smile. “Well, -” she looked at you with a wink. “You’re a lucky one, miss.” Her footsteps retreated as you stared at the list of dinner options, not seeing a single one. Stunned, you felt Loki’s fingers curl around your hand. It was moist with anxious sweat against the menu.

He dipped his chin down, catching your eyes under the rim of your cap. His were wide and beautiful, the deepest, clearest blue you had ever seen. You felt breaths begin to quicken in your chest, tears of happiness threatening to spill over as his grip tightened. “No,” Loki murmured quietly across the table, the velvet tones of his own voice back in fully laden force. “I’m the lucky one.” Your breath hitched as he brought your knuckles to his lips. He lowered his gaze, pausing before raising it to slowly meet your own.

Sunset warmth cast golden hues against his skin, green speckles in his irises bursting in glittering sparks. He let your curled fingers rest against his mouth.

“I always was,” he whispered lovingly against the skin. And you believed him.

A/N: This series has given me SO much joy and I just want to say thank you to the people who've commented and reblogged your hearts out and just all-in-all love these fools as much as I do. I honestly truly wasn't expecting it. This won't be the last we see of this AU, I have something planned. But for now, I hope the story warmed you like some pumpkin-spice cocoa.

Tags @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @megschaef98

#the lakes #loki x reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki fluff #loki x female reader #loki imagine #loki series #loki marvel #loki odinson #theve #loki laufeyson smut

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animasola86 · 5 months

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NSFW Hogwarts in the 1890s Headcanons

Convenient Plot Devices (to make my smut more believable)

(aka Nurse Blainey is a very supportive and progressive witch doctor!)

Every girl over the age of 15 (sometimes earlier) is required to take contraceptive potions as per request by Nurse Blainey who had to deal with horny teenagers and their lack of mind for consequences for too long.

Boys don't have to take them, but can if they are so inclined.

Very reluctantly, the recipe for that potion is taught by Professor Sharp in the Sixth-years' Potions class.

There are potions for every ailment (usually provided by Nurse Blainey), including aftermath soreness or the "potion after" if a witch/wizard forgot to take their contraceptive potion.

There were indeed condoms*, but not every wizard carried them, so the potions and/or a quick disappearing spell had to be used to prevent pregnancies.

*Condoms were usually distributed in barbershops in the late 19th/early 20th century (according to Wikipedia) so I imagine Madam Snelling selling them under the counter in her hair salon.

There is no sex-ed class in Hogwarts, but again, Nurse Blainey is the first to hand out informative literature* or reading recommendations.

The Restricted Section of the library has an entire room filled with erotic fiction, anatomical books and various guides to help out the eager witch or wizard.

*Informative literature included tips and guides for the uterus-bearing population on how to deal with bleeding. As early as 1890, probably even earlier, there was the "invention" of pad-belts/sanitary belts in Victorian England, those were re-usable and I can imagine even easier to use for witches because instead of cleaning them the old-fashioned way, they could just clean them with a swish of their wand. (Read more on the history of menstrual pads here if you're interested.)

Ignatia Wildsmith has seen more horny teenagers making out in front of her Floo flames than people actually using that way of travel.

Ghosts see a lot of things and mostly they don't care about it, unless they are Richard Jackdaw* who likes to stalk those horny teenagers more often than is appropriate.

*Shameless plug: I wrote a smut piece about our favorite horny ghost called The Horny Ghost (how creative).

"Silencio" is the most used spell in the dormitories, boys' and girls' alike.

Hufflepuffs are the only ones who don't have curtains around their beds! But I bet they can think of other devices to get some privacy. Maybe they're masters of the Disillusionment charm!

On that note: only Ravenclaws have their own in-house bathrooms - with actual bathtubs! Slytherins have to leave their common room, and Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs have to walk quite a while to find the nearest bathroom. [Correction: there are bathrooms, one with stalls, one with stalls and bathtubs, in the Gryffindor common room, but only on the girls' side! (Thanks to @mianeryh for pointing that out!)]

But this is a post about HCs, not actual fact/pointing out lazy game design, so I'd like to imagine that all houses have at least one communal bath/bathroom area very close to their dormitories.

*By the way: In the Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff common rooms, the girls' dormitories are upstairs, so they have the stairs turning into slides whenever a boy tries to access them, whereas in the Ravenclaw common room, the girls have to go down the stairs and are "only" protected by two suits of armor guarding the way, which in turn makes it easier to sneak past!

Popular make-out places are: the boat-house, the underground harbor, the loft above the Great Hall, the kitchens (poor house-elves), the Prefects' bathroom, the Restricted Section of the library, any dark empty hallway, any empty classroom/storage room, the Undercroft and the Room of Requirement (if they know of them), ...

*Honestly: anywhere is possible in the large castle that is Hogwarts!

Let's talk fashion: we've all seen the HL undergarments of girls and boys, right? Here is an amazing guide by @tamayula-hl about period accurate clothing and their uses in smut writing, very informative!

So based on that I also believe that horny teenagers got tired of all those buttons and layers very quickly and learned spells to make the undressing easier, and/or used "Evanesco" to get rid of clothes entirely (and conjured them back afterwards) - though tbh, I, as a smut writer, don't care too much about how they get naked. They're wizards/witches, they have their ways!

My most used clothing device apart from simple spells: the convenient flap at the front of boys' breeches.

FANFICTION MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER - AO3

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy headcanons #hogwarts legacy smut #smut headcanons #headcanons #historical facts #hogwarts in the 1890s

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adascore · 28 days

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OUT OF THE BLUE | J. FLEMING

pairings: jessie fleming x chelsea!reader

warnings: angst. swearing. crying. jessie’s transfer.

author’s note: inspired by @pixiesfz (fic: moving on) and @jflemings (fic: inevitable), I definitely recommend checking out their versions of the transfer!

masterlist

•••••••

January, 2024

''Yeah, that does sound great. I'll, uh, think about it and call you tomorrow… Okay, thanks… Bye bye.'' Jessie hung up the phone, her mind swirling with conflicting emotions. She sighed as she glanced back into the living room, her girlfriend sitting on their couch, blissfully unaware of anything.

Y/N wasn't entirely oblivious to Jessie's agent researching new clubs. It had been an ongoing discussion for a while now, fueled by Jessie's frustration with her dwindling game time at Chelsea.

Jessie quietly sat back down on the couch, not wanting to disturb her partner's tv-show.

''Everything okay?'' The Canadian turned her head, finding Y/N's eyes on her.

She nodded, biting her lips. ''Yeah, good… just my agent.'' She replied, trying to mask the turmoil in her voice.

''Any news?'' Y/N asked.

Bless her heart, Jessie thought. Despite not being the biggest fan of no longer getting to be teammates, Y/N had been very supportive of her girlfriend's search, believing her talent was indeed being wasted at Chelsea.

''Uh, nothing new,'' the midfielder lied, ''she's still in talks with a few clubs.''

''Oh, okay.'' The forward smiled, redirecting her focus back to the series she was watching.

Jessie didn't want to lie, she really didn't. However, telling the love of your life that you received a great offer from an American club and that you're really considering it, isn't an easy thing to do. The Canadian tried telling herself she should only tell Y/N when it's official, but Jessie knew from the moment her agent informed her of the option, that this was the right direction for her to go.

Her game time would improve compared to Chelsea's, and Janine and Christine would become her club teammates- she'd be stupid not to accept. But Portland was far from London, and Portland was far away from Y/N, her true home.

She promised herself she would tell her when the time was right, when the offer from the Thorns was official and her future was certain.

''I think she might stay until the end of the season, and then see what her options are.'' Y/N responded to Erin, after the Scot asked about Jessie's future.

Erin nodded. ''Nice, we can give her a proper sendoff then.''

''I'd say a party, but I don't think she would want to be the center of attention.'' Millie chimed in, thinking about how they could celebrate the younger woman's time at Chelsea.

''She'd look more like a tomato than she already does.'' Erin laughed, imagining her fellow midfielder's reaction.

''But it's good that we'll have at least this last season with her. The last match is gonna be emotional, Emma leaving, Jessie leaving…'' Millie said once the laughter had died down.

Y/N nodded her head. ''Yeah, but I just want to see her happy, you know? She loves the team, but, you know, with the game time and everything.''

Both women nodded, understanding Jessie's reasons for wanting to play somewhere else.

''Do you know where she's maybe going?'' Millie asked, curiously.

The younger woman shrugged her shoulders. ''She has plenty of options,'' Y/N grinned proudly, ''I think she's staying in Europe, though- Champions League and all.''

''She's gonna become a rival.'' Erin teased, rubbing her hands together in feigned mischief.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the thought, but the underlying sadness of Jessie's departure lingered in the back of her mind.

''I also see her staying close by, at least near you.'' Millie lightly nudged her teammate's shoulder, sending a wink.

Y/N grinned back, but there was a hint of dejection in her eyes as she glanced at her friends "She's gotta do what's best for her," she said softly, her gaze drifting to the floor, "that's the most important thing.” She murmured.

As Y/N's thoughts lingered on Jessie's impending departure, she was abruptly pulled back to the present by the sound of someone's voice.

''Hey, you're ready to go?'' Jessie asked, her arrival at their table breaking the somber silence that had settled over them.

Amazing timing, Fleming, Y/N thought as her girlfriend approached their table.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Jessie, her dejected mood momentarily forgotten as she met her girlfriend's gaze. "Yeah." She replied, her eyes lighting up and a smile gracing her lips.

Her friends exchanged knowing glances, their amusement evident as they observed the subtle shift in Y/N's demeanor in the presence of her girlfriend.

Y/N got up from her chair. ''See you tomorrow, beautiful ladies.'' She bid her friends goodbye.

''Tomorrow, love birds.'' ''See ya!''

Jessie silently grabbed her partner's bag from the floor, and the pair walked together to the parking lot.

''They're so adorable it makes me sick.'' Erin muttered.

Millie laughed at her teammate. ''I think you might be allergic.''

As they drove out of the Chelsea training complex, a heavy silence enveloped the couple, weighing down the air in the car. Silences weren't necessarily unusual for them, but there was something about this one that had Y/N feeling confused and worried at the same time.

Glancing sideways at Jessie, Y/N noticed the furrow in her brow, the tension etched into the lines of her face. It was clear that something was bothering her, something she was struggling to articulate.

"Hey, Jess," the striker began hesitantly, breaking the uneasy silence that hung between them, "is everything okay?”

Jessie's grip tightened on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the road ahead as she wrestled with her thoughts. ''Yeah, just a bit tired.'' She responded, her voice strained.

Her answer did nothing to soothe her. There was a distance in the Canadian's eyes, a hesitancy in her voice that spoke volumes. "You can talk to me, you know." Y/N said, and she reached out to Jessie's hand.

For a moment, Jessie tensed up at the display of affection. Her breath was caught in her throat as she struggled with what to tell her partner. ''Can we talk about this when we're home? I don't want to have this conversation while I'm driving.'' She asked, momentarily making eye contact with her.

Y/N nodded, though the unease still gnawed at her. "Of course," she replied gently, withdrawing her hand but keeping her gaze fixed on Jessie, "we can talk about it when we get home."

The remainder of the drive passed in an uncomfortable conversation about their thoughts on the training that day.

As they finally pulled into their driveway, Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the anticipation of the impending conversation sending a wave of anxiety crashing over her. She followed Jessie inside, the heavy silence hanging between them like a dense fog.

Once inside, Y/N took a seat on the couch. Her eyes fixed on the midfielder like a hawk as Jessie paced through the room.

Taking a a few deep breaths to ease herself, Jessie finally broke the silence that had enveloped them. "I... I received an offer." She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N perked up at the revelation. ''An offer?'' She repeated. ''That's great, no?'' Her voice tinged with uncertainty.

But as she watched her girlfriend unconsciously shake her head, she knew there was more to the story than Jessie was letting on.

The Canadian hesitated, her gaze shifting to the floor as she struggled to find the right words. "From the Portland Thorns," she finally admitted, her voice barely audible, "they want me to play for them.”

Y/N's heart sank at the news, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. ''Portland?'' She muttered. ''In the U.S.?''

Jessie silently nodded. ''Yeah, the NWSL.'' She confirmed.

Her heart sank even further at the confirmation, the reality of the situation settling in like a heavy weight on her chest. ''Wow… that's, uh, that's amazing- with Janine and Christine, that's really nice, babe.'' She tried to muster a smile, but it felt hollow on her lips.

Despite her attempt to be supportive, the weight of Jessie's decision bore down on Y/N like a heavy burden. The thought of being separated by thousands of miles was something out of a nightmare.

But as she looked at Jessie, her heart ached at the thought of holding her back from pursuing her dreams. She knew that she had to be strong, to support her partner no matter what path she chose.

''Thank you.'' Jessie was unsure of how to proceed, it was clear that her girlfriend wasn't expecting a transfer to the other side of the world. "I... I know this isn't easy," she continued, her voice wavering slightly. "But I have to do what's best for my career.”

Y/N reached out, gently squeezing Jessie's hand. "I know," she replied softly, ''and this is gonna be really good for you.''

''So… you're not upset?''

She shook her head, a forced smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ''Of course not. I know you're going to do amazing there, and I'm happy that they are seeing your talent. It's a great club, Jess. And if it means you'll be happier... then I'm all for it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Jessie's eyes as she pulled Y/N into a tight embrace. "I love you." She whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

"I love you too," Y/N replied, returning the embrace, ''I think you forgot for a moment that I'm, like, your biggest fan.'' She chuckled, tears forming in her own eyes.

Jessie laughed now as well. "How could I forget?" She echoed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she looked at Y/N. "You're the best.”

As the evening wore on, the weight of Jessie's decision lingered in the air, casting a somber mood over the apartment. Despite the reassurances they had exchanged, the reality of the situation still hung heavy on their hearts.

A few days later, the time came for Jessie to face her teammates and share the news of her new club. The staff had gathered the team into the meeting room with the excuse they needed to go over some past matches.

''Before we get into some of the matches, there is someone here who has some news for us,'' Emma began, ''Jessie?'' The coach signaled for the Canadian to take her spot at the front of the room.

The midfielder quietly walked towards Emma. ''Hey, everyone,” she awkwardly greeted the room, "I, uh... I have something I need to tell you.” A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Jessie.

Y/N's eyes became fixed on the floor, not feeling ready to hear this for a second time.

''I've received an offer from the Portland Thorns,” she said, still a bit on edge, ''and… I've decided to accept it. So this is actually my, uh, last day as a Blue.''

"I... I know this might come as a surprise," Jessie continued, her voice faltering. "you guys are an amazing group, and I'm so lucky to have shared the pitch with such incredible players. All of you will always have a special place in my heart, and, yeah, just thank you for everything.'' She finished her small speech, becoming emotional.

She received applause from the squad and staff in the room. Emma was the first to give her a hug. A flicker of irritation flashed through Y/N at the thought of their coach's role in Jessie's decision to leave, but she pushed it aside, knowing that now was not the time.

All the players got up from their seats to say their own ‘thank you's' or give their own hugs to Jessie. However, the young striker remained seated, finding herself unable to follow her teammates.

With a heavy heart, Y/N quietly rose from her seat, her footsteps barely audible as she made her way towards the door.

She felt a hand on her shoulder as she almost went for the door handle. ''You okay?''

Y/N was met with Sam as she turned around, the Australian's face expressing concern over her teammate's exit without having said anything to her girlfriend.

''Yeah, just need the bathroom.'' She replied, quickly.

Sam nodded and let her go, but she was not convinced. The No. 20 shared a look with her captain who had also watched the young woman's escape.

Millie swiftly ruffled the Canadian's hair, before walking over to Sam. ''What was that?''

''I don't know, said she needed the bathroom, but she went before the meeting.'' The experienced striker explained, a furrow in her eyebrows.

''I'll talk to her.'' Turning back to Sam, she offered a reassuring smile before making her way towards the door.

She caught up with Y/N in the hallway, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to startle slightly. "Hey," the Brit said delicately, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "Mind if we chat for a moment?”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze fixed on the floor as she struggled to meet her older teammate's eyes. "Sure." she replied quietly.

She led the younger one to a more secluded area, not wanting anyone to eavesdrop on their more personal moment. Millie's face was full of concern as she turned to her. ''Are you okay? What happened there? Didn't Jessie tell you already?''

''She did, she did… a few days ago.'' She answered, her voice still quiet and full of emotion.

''Then, what's wrong? Why'd you leave?''

Y/N pulled her attention from the ground to Millie's eyes. ''It's just… that, like, it seemed to have only hit me now that she's actually going, you know? She's gonna go to Portland, while I'm staying here in fucking London.''

Millie's expression softened with understanding as she listened to Y/N's words, her heart aching for her younger teammate. ''I get it,'' she put her arm around her, ''it's tough knowing that she'll be so far away, especially when you're used to having her here with you every day.''

The striker nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek as she struggled to contain her emotions. "Yeah," she murmured, ''I'm…'' she trailed off.

''You're what, sweetheart?''

''I'm scared.'' Her voice was small, if her teammate wasn't standing so close to her, she probably would have missed it.

''Of what?'' The captain frowned.

''The distance, I don't think I can handle it, Millie.''

Millie's heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/N's voice, her own eyes brimming with tears as she wrapped her younger friend in a warm embrace. "I understand," she murmured, offering her a comforting squeeze, "it's okay to be scared. It's a big change. For the both of you.''

Y/N nodded, her tears flowing freely now as she struggled to articulate the depth of her fears. "I... I'm scared of losing her," she admitted softly, ''that she'll forget me while she's there.''

"You won't lose her," she reassured her, her voice filled with sincerity. "Jessie loves you, Y/N. And distance won't change that.”

Y/N sniffled, a small hiccup escaping her as she leaned into Millie's embrace, finding solace in her comforting words. "But what if... what if she meets someone else?" She whispered, her voice tinged with fear.

Millie's grip tightened, her heart breaking at the thought of her friend's pain. "Jessie loves you," she repeated firmly. "And nothing, and I really mean that, nothing will bloody change that.''

''Thanks, Mills.'' Y/N said, her head resting on her shoulder.

''You're welcome, darling. I'm always here for you. And Erin, and Sam, and Guro, Niamh, Z, all of us.'' She reassured her, wanting her to know that they'll stand by her while she goes through this difficult time.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over her at Millie's words. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I... I really needed to hear that.”

''Anytime, bubs,'' the defender pecked the top of her head, ''I do think you need to tell Jessie this. It's important for her to know how you feel about all this.''

The younger one nodded, taking a moment to compose herself before pulling away from Millie. "You're right," she agreed, her voice a bit steadier now, ''I'll talk to her about it.''

Millie gave her a reassuring smile, her eyes filled with encouragement. ''Great, she'll understand. It's Jessie, remember?'' She chuckled, trying to get a grin out of her friend.

She was successful as Y/N managed to crack a smile. ''Yeah, it's Jessie,'' she straightened her posture as if ready for battle, ''thanks again, Mills. I really appreciate it.''

The defender nodded, the smile on her own face widening. ''You're very welcome, sweetheart.'' She gave Y/N a small pat on the back.

The next evening, they sat together in their dimly lit living room, trying to watch a movie. Y/N glanced over at Jessie, whose eyes were focused on the television.

"Jessie," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, ''can I, uh, talk to you about something?''

The Canadian's brows furrowed in concern as she turned towards her partner. ''Of course.''

Y/N took a deep breath. ''First, I am so happy for you that you're going somewhere where they are appreciating your talent, and that you'll be closer to your family and your siblings...'' she began, her words slow and measured. She paused, struggling to meet Jessie's gaze. ''I just don't think that I, uh, am gonna be able to handle the distance.''

Jessie's stomach twisted with unease as she absorbed her words. In the days since it had become official that she would be moving to Portland, they hadn't really discussed how their relationship would proceed. Each of them had spoken about it with their friends, but they both seemed hesitant to broach the topic with each other, perhaps afraid of the uncertainty it might bring.

''I want to, Jessie, I really want to try- I just want you to know how I feel, it's been bothering me.''

The midfielder found it hard to respond as she observed her girlfriend who looked like she was about to burst out in tears. Tears welled up in Jessie's eyes as she reached out to gently cup Y/N's face in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze. "I understand," she whispered, her voice strained, "and I appreciate you being honest with me.”

Y/N's own eyes started to water. She leaned into Jessie's touch, her heart breaking at the thought of losing her. ''I love you, J Flem.''

''I love you.'' Jessie reciprocated as she took her partner into her arms, wanting her as close as possible.

''I don't know if I can handle being so far apart, not seeing you or speaking to you every day. International break is already a killer for me, and it's difficult to just go back-and-forth between Portland and London.'' The striker whispered into Jessie's neck, not able to say it any louder.

The Canadian nodded, completely understanding her perspective. ''I know,'' she whispered back, 'I never wanted to put you in this position."

For a moment, they simply held each other in silence, the weight of their unspoken fears hanging heavy in the air. But as the minutes ticked by, the reality of their situation became increasingly clear.

''I don't want to hold you back.'' Y/N said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Jessie's shirt.

''You're not holding me back at all.'' Jessie immediately retorted, ruffling her hair.

Y/N weakly chuckled. ''It feels like I am.''

''Please don't think that, babe.''

They were both aware of what was coming, they were simply wasting time as if that would somehow work and they wouldn't have to leave each other.

''I remember when I first joined Chelsea, and I was watching some of you guys' matches, and thinking you were so intimidating,'' Jessie broke the silence.

''but then you were actually one of the first people to say hi to me, and you just looked so different than on the pitch. You were smiling, and trying your best to make me feel welcome.'' She laughed, an affectionate smile playing on her lips.

Y/N grinned as well, while wiping some loose tears away. ''I just remember thinking you looking super awkward.'' She dryly responded.

Jessie gave her a light push. ''Hey!''

''I also thought you were very cute… with your flushed cheeks.'' She quickly added.

The midfielder ironically blushed at the admission.

It became quiet between the two of them again, reminiscing their early days as teammates at Chelsea.

''We'll find our way back to one another, I'm sure of it.'' Jessie nodded.

Y/n felt a lump in her throat at Jessie's words. ''We're still so young, you never know what can happen.''

''And I know what's going to happen. You and I, together- whenever, wherever that may be.'' She reassured her, her voice filled with sincerity.

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening with the weight of their impending separation. "I love you, Jessie." She told her, the pair locking eyes.

"I love you too," Jessie replied, her voice catching in her throat, "more than anything."

jessie fleming requests are always welcome!

#jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso fic #chelsea women x reader

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queenimmadolla · 2 years

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐊

(young parents!Eddie Munson x fem!reader, SMUT)

more adventures from the pennyverse can be found on my masterlist.

summary: . . . eddie helps you out when you’re struggling to feed your baby. It quickly leads to fucking.

warnings: lactation kink, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, breastfeeding, little bit of angst, whole lot of comforting.

a/n: based on this request, pls appreciate this, i learned too much about my older sister’s experiences to be as accurate as possible for you horndogs. and a HUGE thank you to @kitmon for beta-ing this monster! everyone say ‘thank you, junie!’

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You hadn’t been able to do it for very long, but you definitely had a bone to pick with all of the distorted media; all of the stupid magazines, books, tv shows and movies that made breastfeeding seem like a walk in the park

Because it wasn’t.

Over the course of your pregnancy you had mainly been worried about whether your baby would accept your offered boob or not considering you’d been a bottle-fed baby, fussy and always refusing your mom anytime she tried. Penny wasn’t like you, though. She had no problem with your breasts or latching, she was essentially a pro at it and almost entirely chose to nurse by tit, meaning, she was almost constantly attached to your nipple.

That was now proving to be a problem. See, your chest was out of control. You were fine with your bra size before but, Jesus Christ, they nearly tripled in size to produce the amount of milk she needed! And that was when you were least engorged! You were shaped like Dolly Parton if Penny was away from you for too long.

It had also begun to hurt, badly. It was painful. They made it look all cutesy and sweet in the movies, a mother cooing gingerly and coddling her child close to her chest as they suckled, but milk— and enough to feed a seemingly always hungry baby— coming out of recently tender nipples not used to it was anything but a fun experience. For a good couple of weeks after having her, you cried during her feedings while she stared up at you with those thoughtless, doe-like eyes, oblivious to it all.

You could tell Eddie felt bad, but there wasn’t much he could do and, if you were being honest, it was definitely a stubborn pride thing on your end, not really wanting his help in the first place.

You could do it on your own. And, for a while, you did, until, suddenly, you couldn’t.

Your right breast had been hurting more than the usual dull ache and Penny seemed to be unsatisfied with what her clouded baby-brain perceived to be meager portions, demanding more which she was given through a bottle. It didn’t take you long to figure out something was wrong and a quick visit to your doctor confirmed that something was, indeed, amiss.

Mastitis; which was the fancy word for your milk duct (the terminology grossed you out) being clogged.

Your doctor gave you some medication, told you to keep pumping and to keep Penny on the swollen side for a longer amount of time during her feedings to encourage her to unclog it. She’d also recommended a third solution, but it was much too embarrassing for you to even consider. You could barely look her in the eyes as she described it and held your head down, avoiding her gaze on your way out of the exam room.

Eddie was playing with Penny when you stepped into your home, laying on the couch as he held her high above his face, lowering her to press a loud smacking kiss to her soft, chubby cheek before giving the other the same treatment.

She was delighted, letting out happy little squeaks and hiccups every time he brought her down to meet him. Despite the discomfort you were experiencing, it was impossible not to smile at the pair as the trill of her laughter flooded the living room along with Eddie’s contrasting chuckles, raspy in comparison to her’s.

Eddie’s head tilted to the side to get a good look at you as the front door clicked shut behind you, mouth breaking out into a grin. “Hi, babydoll. How’d it go? You okay?”

You had shared some of what you were going through, but you hadn’t been completely transparent with him. It wasn’t out of fear of him judging you— you knew he’d never do that— it was just… embarrassing, and you didn’t even have a reason! It just was.

You set the paper bag containing your new prescription onto what little kitchen counter space you had before you walked over. Eddie shifted until he was sitting, cradling Penny in the crook of one of his arms. It looked like she was in position to fly, her tummy pressed against the palm of his hand. She seemed to be amused with it herself, toothless mouth wide open in a huge smile that showed off her gums and made way for drool to slip from the corner of her mouth. Her arms and legs kicked and waved, Eddie having to adjust his hold every few seconds as she fidgeted and wiggled like she was actually trying to flap them and take off.

“She gave me some stuff to take, told me to keep feeding Penny like normal and it should go away.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

You didn’t dare mention the third solution she’d given you; one that she recommended more than the others as it usually produced an immediate result. But at what cost?

Despite your embarrassment, it was still pretty difficult for you to keep anything from Eddie, so you reached for Penny and he let her slip from his arm easily as you brought her into yours, eager to distract yourself. When she turned her head to stare up at you, her gummy smile somehow managed to widen at your presence and you leaned forward to nuzzle your nose against her tiny button-like one. She giggled again before her mouth opened and she attempted to latch onto your nose, lips parting and smearing drool along the tip of your nose as she searched for a nipple that was most definitely not there.

Eddie laughed as he slipped a hand behind the back of your neck, massaging the tense muscles there, “I was gonna feed her just before you got here, want me to get a bottle ready or do you want to try?”

You knew he didn’t mean any harm by it, but a part of you still kicked yourself for your current inability to satisfy your daughter’s hunger.

“I’ll try.” You stood up, keeping a good hold on Penny as you disappeared into the bedroom, trying your hardest to ignore the hurt look on Eddie’s face as you did so.

Ever since your milk duct had gotten clogged, you’d taken to feeding Penny in private. It wasn’t like Eddie stared at you when you fed her but he didn’t mind watching. You knew he liked seeing you and Penny bond that way. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot of bonding going on anymore. You spent the majority of her feeding time trying to encourage her to suckle a little harder and getting frustrated when she wouldn’t. You didn’t want Eddie to see that, it’d break the illusion of you being the perfect mother.

And you didn’t want to disappoint Eddie. You felt like you were already disappointing Penny.

“Okay, we can do this, Penny,” You sighed and smiled down at her as you kicked the door shut behind you, moving to climb onto the bed, mindful of Penny’s precious body in your arms. You sat with your back pressed against the headboard, legs criss-crossed as you unbuttoned your blouse as best as you could with only one free hand and fumbled to undo the latch holding the right cup of your nursing bra in place. “Just do your thing, baby. No pressure.” But pressure.

She latched onto you with no problem, the suction providing you with just a little bit of relief. It didn’t last long as the slow suckling begun producing a sharp pain that hurt more than not having her suckle at all. You huffed, breathing through the burn of it as you hitched her up a little, hoping the slight change in position would get her to try a little harder for her food. “C’mon, Penny. You gotta get it.”

Penny didn’t understand a word you were saying, pretty brown doe (perhaps cow like with the lack of attention behind them) eyes staring up at you as she continued suckling at her own pace, unaware of your suffering.

When that didn’t work, you tried re-positioning her again but, regardless of how you held her, she refused to try sucking any harder, and soon, you were blinking away tears of pain and frustration. After about thirty minutes of the fruitless attempt, you gave up, and pulled her off your chest.

Immediately, Penny began whimpering, face crumpling as you switched her onto your other side to hush her, tears openly trailing down your cheeks and chest rising and falling with your erratic hiccups. You couldn’t look down at her as she nursed, choosing instead to blink up towards the ceiling in an effort to keep the waterworks at bay and ignore the pain of your other breast as well as the sting of your own failure as a mother. You knew the moment she was done with your left breast, she’d still be hungry and would bawl with disappointment as she’d barely gotten anything from the right.

Sure enough, when Penny’s suckling became too much for your left breast and you knew she wouldn’t be getting much more out of it, you pulled her away and her whimpers started up again, tiny fists clenching in anger as she inhaled sharply with a wrinkled face.

You felt defeated when she began to wail, mouth wide open, not to give you one of her precious smiles but to cry from her hunger.

You cried with her, bringing a hand up to cover your face as the tears started to fall in thick droves. How could your own body fail you? How could you fail your own daughter? She wasn’t even a year old and you were already letting her down. Fuck, maybe you really weren’t ready to be a mother.

You heard the bedroom door creak open but you didn’t bother looking up as you heard Eddie’s footsteps draw closer to you. You felt Penny’s weight being lifted away from her place in your lap and as soon as you heard her cries carry out into the living room, you curled up into a ball and wept as quietly as you could; from the still-throbbing pain and from the failure of it all.

The throbbing of your right breast became easy to ignore as your brain went numb, finally accepting defeat.

There was nothing you could do. Maybe your fucking tit would fall off or explode or something but you didn’t care anymore. You sucked anyway and Penny would be happier nursing from a stupid plastic bottle.

You laid there for what felt like hours but was, likely, no more than one. Penny’s cries had stopped by then and you were sure Eddie had sedated her with a warmed bottle and an unclogged stupid rubber nipple. Your tears had slowed, dry tracks and the redness staining the whites of your eyes as the only evidence that they had ever flowed, save for the stray droplets that trailed along the contour of your nose and stained the pillow case. When Eddie appeared, leaning in the doorway, he stared at you with concern etched into his features.

You didn’t meet his gaze, staring determinedly at the dresser across the room before asking, “Where’s Penny?”

“She’s asleep in her playpen.” He sighed, pushing off of the doorway to crouch near the edge of the bed, fingers lifting to stroke over your hair. “Talk to me, babydoll. What’s wrong?”

Your first instinct was to lie but what was the point? Penny would wake up in a couple of hours, hungry again and, like all the times before, you wouldn’t be able to satisfy her. Your days of feeding her were probably over and that made your eyes sting with the prospect of oncoming tears.

“I can’t feed her enough,” you finally admitted, your lower lip beginning to quake. “Barely anything is coming out of my right boob, it hurts like some kind of hell! She’s mad at me, I’m mad at me and I’m probably only gonna have one boob after this because I have a clogged milk duct and there’s nothing I can do about it! Penny can’t unclog it and this all sounds kind of gross as shit to me!” You turned your face into the pillow and sobbed into it, your body trembling with the force of it and you were sure you must have been a pitiful sight to your husband.

Eddie frowned, eyebrows cinched together with worry as he watched you cry. It had been obvious to him that something was off with you these last few weeks. Anytime he tried to bring it up, you withdrew into yourself. It was only after he’d been trying to get you in the mood, when he’d been kissing his way down your chest, nipping and lavishing you with lovemarks that you halted his descent and shyly admitted your breast was feeling a little too tender for any action. He had encouraged you to see your doctor about it, thinking maybe Penny had somehow hurt you while she was nursing despite her lack of teeth but, clearly, it went far beyond that.

“Have you tried pumping?” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss into the side of your head left available to him. You sniffled, turning to the side just in time for him to catch your cheek with his lips.

Maybe you were in the mood to be coddled because you shifted around a little so you were facing him completely, allowing him to plant kisses all over your face as he brushed your hair out of your eyes.

“It doesn’t help all that much. Plus, if I pump then I can’t feed Penny on that side and my left side is already not enough for her. I don’t like sharing her too much with a bottle, Eddie,” you explained, feeling just a little better at having gotten the chance to vent it all out. Sure, your husband knew you failed at breastfeeding your daughter but clearly he didn’t care about that or he wouldn’t be comforting you.

He licked his lips before pursing them as he studied your tear covered face, heart aching at the fact that you’d been hurting this whole time and kept it to yourself. God, there had to be something he could do. “What exactly did your doctor say?”

You scowled at the mention of your visit. “She said to take some antibiotics and to encourage Penny to nurse on that side. She said, eventually, Penny should be trying to suckle enough to unclog it or I could just—’’ You caught yourself and stopped your words short, face growing warm when you recalled the final solution your doctor had provided you, eyes wide in mortification even though you hadn’t actually said it out loud.

“What? You could just what?” Eddie tried to hide the desperation in his voice as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “C’mon, doll, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

You groaned, moving away from him to shove your face back into the pillow. You caught the flash of hurt on his face again and hated yourself a little more. Then, you finally said or, well, mumbled it into the pillow cover.

“What?”

You spoke a little louder, though your answer still remained unintelligible. Eddie frowned at your muffled reply.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart. You’re gonna need to say that again without trying to smother yourself,” he coaxed with a gentle joke, lips curled in a slightly uneased smile.

With a sigh and your eyes clamped shut, you moved your mouth just far enough away from the pillow to be heard, “She said I could just have you do it!” You then, immediately, shoved your face back into the pillow so you wouldn’t have to see Eddie laugh at you.

Only, you didn’t hear him either. When he remained silent but continued petting your hair, you slowly angled your head to peek up at him.

You expected to see some amusement, just a little at your expense, but all you saw on his face was concern.

“What’s so wrong with that?”

And just like that, you wanted to kick yourself for ever thinking Eddie would tease you for needing his help, regardless of how embarrassing the situation felt to you.

“I don’t know, I guess I just felt stupid. I always expected to breastfeed Penny. Didn’t really think I’d have to ask you to tap in for her.” It sounds silly rather than stupid saying it out loud and you can’t help the giggle that filtered out of you.

Eddie grinned, pleased that you were finally coming out of your shell and trusting him. He actually wouldn’t mind helping you with your problem. In fact, he wouldn’t mind, at all.

Had you told him from the start, he would have readily volunteered.

“Baby, I would be more than happy to. It’s not like I haven’t before.” His grin morphed into his trademark mischievous smirk and you felt your face get hot at the memory of the first time you found out your milk had come in. You’d been in the middle of intercourse, bodies slick with sweat and sliding against one another, mindful of your baby bump, when you had started leaking. Ever the curious cat, Eddie had made it his mission to check it out for himself. If you hadn’t already been heavily pregnant, you were positive that particular tryst would have ended up with a baby in you.

“Shut up!” You pushed a hand over his face, sending him away as you both laughed and you moved to sit up.

“Hey! I’m just offering to help!” He stood up only to crash down onto the bed next to you, flat on his back as you crawled over him.

“Mhm, you know, I’m beginning to think it might be a thing for you,” you jested, tucking some hair behind your ear before leaning down, your nose almost grazing his.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow in a suggestive manner.

You straightened as your mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, it totally is!”

The only reason he was admitting it was because he knew it must have embarrassed you to need his help in the first place. “It’s not like I can help it! I just see you and I want to—’’

You shush him, covering his mouth with your hand. “Don’t explain. Just do.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice.

Eddie flipped you over, your back landing on the mattress as he settled himself over you. You wrinkled your nose as he leaned down, the ends of his hair tickling your face and neck before he began trailing kisses along your jaw, nudging your head to the side with his nose so he could gain better access to your neck.

“Eddie,” you moaned out as he began sucking over a previous mark he’d left just over your pulse point, making sure it wouldn’t get the chance to fade.

Eddie liked to do that with most of the bruises his lips had left over your skin, almost from the first time you'd let him to touch you in that way. It always filled him with a sense of pride when he caught a glimpse of them throughout the day, the marks peeking just over the collar of one of your turtlenecks and scarves or smatterings of discoloration littering your thighs when you’d shuck off your pants to go to bed. You hadn’t allowed him to leave them anywhere you wouldn’t be able to hide them with clothing or your hair, but knowing they sat there, pretty and purple, always had him half hard and ready to go the rest of the way the second you made it clear you wanted to fool around.

“Mmm, I’m getting there,” he mumbled against your skin, kisses beginning to trail from your neck to over your collarbone, pulling away only so he could pull your blouse open the rest of the way, his thick clumsy fingers struggling with the tiny iridescent buttons.

You held your breath, watching his face and anticipating the squeamish look of repulsion at your swollen boob, but he never displayed it. Instead, he looked just as intrigued as he always did when undressing you, paying no mind to the irritated redness as he got rid of your blouse and your bra completely, bundling the articles up and flinging them somewhere behind him without a spare glance.

He leaned down to press lushkisses to the area surrounding your nipple, sore and tender even to his fond touch. “My poor baby, you’ve been suffering all this time.”

There was nothing Eddie hated more than feeling helpless. Luckily, that wasn’t the case this time and he’d be damned if he couldn’t ease your pain and maybe soothe you with a little something more.

“Let me help you with that.”

Finally, he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking cautiously and laving his tongue over the inflamed skin as you shut your eyes in discomfort. His attention remained focused on you, his dark gaze locked onto your face, judging the pressure he’d need to apply in order to alleviate your pain. By the twisting of your features and the shaky exhales released after you’d held your breath as long as you could, it was clear you weren’t enjoying it, so he made sure his suction was light, each suck accompanied immediately after with an apologetic wash of his tongue, surveying each tick of your eyebrow or curl of your lips to better understand your dilemma. He was sure he was already trying harder than Penny usually did and he could barely taste the sweet liquid you produced, only mustering a few drops. It must have been some clog, no wonder you were so upset.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he sucked a little harder, well aware it’d cause you more discomfort before it did you any good relief. He watched as you brought a hand to your mouth, biting down on your finger to keep from making any noises for fear of waking Penny.

“Harder,” you gritted out around your finger. Unlike Penny, you knew Eddie could understand you. You’d need more than he was giving to get it out and, like a dutiful husband, he obeyed and you wondered distantly if you’d end up drawing blood from your finger as your teeth dug into the flesh of it.

The sting in your breast worsened and you honestly thought Eddie was going to rip your nipple off with how harshly he was suckling, your skin coated in a light sheen of sweat as the feeling intensified. Then, suddenly, you could feel something shoot out of your nipple in a horrifying way but the relief was almost instant; it was something not entirely liquid.

Eddie pulled away, mouth releasing your nipple with a wet pop as he spat into his hand.

Exhausted and spent, you were left panting before straining to push yourself up onto your elbows to get a look at it.

“What is it?"

He stared down at his palm, thumb reaching to press against something, before he offered his hand out for you to see.

You made a face, nose wrinkling and lips turning up as you caught sight of what was in his hand; it was cream colored and almost rubbery looking, like a smaller version of that gross slime they offered to children as prizes at arcades.

“Oh, god, what the fuck?”

Eddie was silent as he reached over the side of the bed to shake his hand and toss the clog into the trash can. As he leaned back up, he wasted no time in pressing you back into the mattress and slanting his pink mouth over yours with fervor. You caved instantly, melting under his wandering hands as you moaned into his mouth, letting him roll his tongue along yours.

He was panting when he pulled away, lips rosy and glistening with your shared saliva.

“Fuck, baby, I know that must have been a pain in the ass for you, but you tasted so good and you’re so fucking beautiful.”

You yanked his face back down to yours, licking the rest of his words right out of his mouth. You could taste the sweet flavor of your breast milk on his tongue, and it surprised you how much the candied taste of it turned you on.You weren’t even the one with the kink.

You reached a hand down to press against his jean-ladened crotch, relieved when you felt the defined outline of his cock, hard and warm even through the bulky, rough fabric. Eddie rutted into your palm, eager to feel any friction you would provide him. You took pity on him, fumbling with the button on his jeans before lowering the zipper. He raised his hips to help you ease the pants down over his ass, legs kicking to strip them down the rest of the way, his boxers falling away with his jeans.

“Your turn,” he growled, voice laced with unbridled desire as he quickly got you out of your pants, yanking and tugging until they were discarded along the floor Your panties, however, were less fortunate. The sound of the fabric ripping was loud enough to surprise you but Eddie didn’t let it interfere with his mission and just tossed the ruined article of clothing to the side (they were ruined before he tore them, anyways, your arousal made sure of that). His fingers started exploring your center, his middle and ring digits sliding effortlessly through your soaked folds.

“Knew I’d find you nice and wet. All this just from me sucking on your nipple, babydoll? Somthin’ you wanna tell me?”

Eddie didn’t give you the chance to answer, pressing the two fingers into you just as you’d opened your mouth to respond. Instead, all you could do was gasp around a moan when he curled them, the pads of his fingertips pressing against that spot inside you that only he knew how to work. Not even your own fingers could bring you that kind of practiced pleasure.

“You’re so good, sweetheart. Always my good girl. So good to me and such a good mommy to Penny.” He mouthed at the spot behind your ear that sent sharp tingles up your spine, but you pushed through, focusing on your task at hand and yanking on the hem of his shirt. You needed him naked.

He got the message, withdrawing his fingers from the desperate clutch of your aching cunt to yank his shirt over his head. In his wake, your pussy clenched around nothing, already missing the feeling of his calloused fingers massaging your walls.

He didn’t leave your pussy lonely for long though. Once the two of you were both naked, his fingers dipped back into you, eager to stretch you out for his cock. You ground your hips against his hand, head pressing back into the mattress when his thumb rubbed into your clit.

Eddie smirked, watching you arch your back as his thumb circled over your sensitive nub, fingers prodding and searching out that spongy spot inside of you. You let out another airy moan once he found it, this time focusing on that mushy patch inside you as he massaged his rough fingertips into it ruthlessly, pinning your hips down to keep them from moving too much.

“You hear that?” He questions.

Fuck yeah, you could. Your cunt was sucking his fingers in with a sloppy squelch, your arousal smeared all over the insides of your thighs and trailing down the back of Eddie’s hand as it dripped onto the bed sheets. He cursed, staring down at the mess between your thighs, mesmerized by how greedy your pussy was being; so eager to take, take, take.

“Fuck, you’re making such a beautiful mess, honey. All for me, yeah?”

He increased his pace, fingers fucking into you with reckless abandon.

“Yes, Eddie!” You babbled, chest heaving from the pleasure of it all. You could feel your climax approaching, the telltale sensation pulling low in your belly. “All for you! Only you!”

He hummed, the vibrations rumbling against your skin as he licked a long, hot stripe up your exposed neck. You came right then, clenching hard around his fingers as you nearly choked on a moan, your hands gripping the sheets beside your head with trembling fingers as you fumbled to remain attached to reality.

Eddie worked you through it, fingers unforgiving as they stroked that spot inside of you. You whimpered, hips trying to move away, the sensations reaching the point of overwhelming but Eddie wasn’t having that.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not done with you yet, babydoll.”

He pulled his fingers from your sensitive cunt, sucking them into his mouth and savoring the dulled tang of your juices with a moan as he licked them clean, brown eyes fluttering shut as he did so. You’d just cum within an inch of your life, but the sight of him had a rush of slick slipping past your folds, drenching your cunt more than it already was.

When his eyes opened again, they were dark and yet aglow with a predatory gleam. He grabbed the back of your leg and pushed it over his shoulder, leaning over you so that it almost pressed into yours. You tried to readjust yourself to accommodate the stretch of it, but that was forgotten when you felt the mushroom head of his cock rubbing at your folds. You were barely able to let out a small gasp when he notched the head at your entrance before he was pressing inside you, all the way down to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you abandoned your hold on the sheets in favor of digging your nails into his sides, the stretch burned in the best of ways. Your cunt already felt sore, labia stretching around him and he was only getting started.

Despite how often you’d had sex and the fact that you’d literally had his baby, taking Eddie’s cock always proved to be somewhat of a challenge, one that you never failed.

Eddie hissed, both at the sensation of your nails scraping his skin and at the tight, vise-like squeeze of your cunt around his cock as he sank into you. You were always so fucking tight. Under normal circumstances, he liked to make sure you came at least twice before he gave you his cock, but Penny always chose to wake up exactly when she shouldn’t and Eddie needed to cum inside you before that inevitably happened.

He gave you a couple of shallow ruts, pressing your other leg out along the mattress to further open you up; it worked, his cock easily able to glide in and out of your silky heat. It was dramatic, you were being dramatic, but you thought you might die from how good it felt to have Eddie crack your molten center open over him.

“There we go, ‘atta girl,” he panted, leaning down to press his lips to yours in a messy kiss.

He was ruthless with his rhythm, hips thrusting into yours so hard it sent your body up the sheets. The headboard banged against the wall and Eddie cast it a quick glance, lips twitching in amusement as he took notice of the marks there from your previous unions.

“You want it hard, doll?”

You nodded, teeth digging into your lower lip to keep from screaming with how deep he was buried. He always liked to be buried balls deep and that meant it was nearly impossible for you to hold off on cumming.

His heavy sack smacked against your ass with each of his thrusts, the sounds resonating within the room were absolutely wicked, wet and music to your own ears.

“Eddie! Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” You tried to warn, face ruddy and chest heaving as he pounded into you.

“Then do it. Cum for me. Cum on my cock, fucking getting me soaked—c’mon, let me feel it,” he demanded, leaving no room for arguments as his fingers danced down your body to work your clit again.

Your thighs quivered as you came, body tensing before you went lax, doing exactly what he demanded of you. Eddie growled when your pussy convulsed and spilled around him, making it that much easier for him to fuck into you.

“Holy shit,” He hissed, sweat beading along his forehead, making the hairs of his fringe stick messily to his forehead. You stared up at him in adoration as you came down from subspace, admiring the way his mouth was agape so he could pant out harsh breaths, the way his skin glowed under the layer of sweat resting over it, and how tightly his eyes were screwed shut from the pleasure you were providing him.

You could feel the tackiness of your combined fluids, his thighs sticking to yours as he pounded into your core. You knew this was going to end in a good, hot mess and you wanted it sooner rather than later.

“C’mon, baby,” you encouraged, shaky hands reaching up to card through his messy curls, massaging his sweaty scalp and he whimpered when you clenched around him again, eager to bring him to his end. “Cum inside me.”

He slammed a fist down near the side of your head as he came with a sputtered moan of your name, flooding your insides and painting your walls with spurt after spurt of his seed before collapsing over you, spent and satiated.

After catching a few puffs of lost breath, you pressed kisses into the damp skin of his forehead, holding his sweaty body to yours as his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, trailing his own kisses along the area.

“Goddamn, were you trying to kill me?” He lifted himself off of you, rolling onto his side before tugging you to his chest, your slack body giving way easily.

“You started it!” You curled into him without a second thought, trying to ignore how gross your lower halves were.

“Yeah, well, you helped finish it.” He pressed his lips to the top of your head before he threw an arm over his eyes. “Holy hell, I’m gonna need some recovery time.”

Right on cue, Penny’s cooing could be heard through the baby monitor you kept on the nightstand near the bed. While she didn’t sound upset, you both hated to just leave her to keep herself company.

Eddie stared at it in disbelief, “How does she know?”

You laughed as you pulled away from him and threw on one of his shirts before standing to dig around in one of the dresser drawers for a fresh pair of panties you’d no doubt have to change again later after a much needed shower.

“It’s her sixth sense,” you teased as you slipped your legs into your underwear, sliding them up over your messy core. “She knows when you're being lazy.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tonguing his canine as he fought to not smile when you slipped out of the room to retrieve his daughter from solitary confinement. It didn’t work.

He stretched as he stood up, more than happy to peruse the room butt naked in search of his boxers. He settled on a pair of sweats when it became clear he had no idea where he’d thrown his pants and underwear in the heat of things and joined you in the living room, beaming when he caught sight of you holding Penny to your right breast on the couch.

You looked much happier, hand stroking over her curly little head as she nursed. Penny’s tiny fingers curled into loose fists as she slumped into your embrace, humming sounds of satisfaction against your skin.

“Did it work?” He asked as he plopped down next to you, encouraging you to lean into his side which you happily complied with.

“Pretty sure.” It was obvious it had, you could feel the difference. Your nipple was definitely sore and you were positive you’d have to ice it or something later, but Penny was content, suckling a lot easier than she had been before because she was actually able to get more than just a couple of drops at a time.

She reached a small arm up towards you as she stared up at you and Eddie, and you slipped your finger into her hold, heart squeezing when her small fingers curled around it, her lips smiling around your nipple at the contact. You felt silly about your earlier dramatics, it was clear she loved you and you loved her. You were born to be her mom, and absolutely ecstatic about it. You had this. You knew what you were doing. And in the moments where you thought you didn’t, you had Eddie to help and reassure you.

You two were gonna be great parents, you were sure of it.

Eddie kissed the side of your head as you relaxed into him, resting his chin on your shoulder to stare down at his baby girl. Only, she loved to stare right back at Eddie, so much so that she abandoned your boob to crane her head further in his direction. She must have been going ham because you were still leaking when her mouth left your nipple, milk spraying along the side of her face.

Penny didn’t even bat an eye, choosing to continue staring at her dad as you both laughed and you hurried to cover your breast to stop the spillage.

Eddie reached down to caress the side of her face, wiping the liquid away. “Okay, you’re done here. After all I did to get her going again, you’re just gonna waste it? Done.”

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