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tripleyeeet · 8 months

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WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)

SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,912

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day.

By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too.

Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready.

Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care.

As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.

“Whiskey, please.”

“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.”

You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth.

If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another.

“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.”

Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?”

It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head.

At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—

He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”

Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.”

“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.”

“Yeah, like what?”

When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side.

When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation.

It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely.

Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye.

Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought.

It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of.

Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears.

“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.

It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?”

As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“

“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”

For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break.

Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want.

After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow.

But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right.

As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations.

It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.

Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with.

“Can we talk now? Maybe?”

His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”

Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed.

“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.

“The deity?”

You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”

As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.

“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.

Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”

You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so.

“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”

“Willingly?”

You shrug your shoulders. “At first.”

You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty.

Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan.

“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”

There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together.

Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment.

A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.

The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.

As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else.

“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?”

You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears.

“Good. Then our destinations align.”

His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?”

At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over.

“The person who sent the hunter—“

He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation.

After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.

To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years.

However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.

“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.

You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head.

Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need.

Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.

“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”

“This?” You look at him confused.

“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”

There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”

“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”

It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him.

“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.”

You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s.

But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.

“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”

“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”

“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”

“Fair point.”

He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin.

Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine.

You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes.

“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind.

As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed.

If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership.

“Do you know what it is?”

He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.”

Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal.

The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him.

Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head.

It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.

“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.

“She did this?”

After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you remember how it felt?”

You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in.

Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want.

When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is.

You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible.

It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin.

Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him.

In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.

“Do you want this?”

His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”

“So it’s okay if I—“

There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away.

Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.

While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward.

Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor.

“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh.

“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.

“Cheeky pup.”

“The cheekiest.”

After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries.

The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step.

You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.

At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.

After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.

It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him.

It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan.

“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay.

When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs.

You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.

“You seem nervous, darling.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this.

You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh.

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.”

As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”

When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves.

This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.

For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it.

Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.

Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke.

“You think you’re clever, do you?”

You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”

Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh.

“Oh really?”

Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.

Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away.

Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss.

Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit.

It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him.

“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?”

Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance.

It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind.

Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay.

As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.

“Feel alright?”

Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”

Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again.

As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut.

“Remember patience?”

You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it.

“I recall you saying—"

“Astarion, please.”

You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you.

It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter.

You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.

Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—

When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips.

Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi

(If you'd like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form. Also, if your name isn't on here and it should be I couldn't tag you so message me and I'll try again next time!)

#where's your patience?#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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jellitchi · 1 month

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varigo lovely night animatic

i made this in a sickly haze.... i uploaded her to youtube as well feel free to check it out. under the cut is a Huge Ramble abt sum context / what happens In My Mind... also their Fancy ballroom fits n whatever

yk how theres a ball/fancy party or smth? yeah i needed stupid designs so i cranked these out might return and color them but i basically based varian n hugos design off of these just dressed down...

Anyways.

uhm i might write a Whole fic abt this with Oomf but uhm.

this takes place during the events of vat7k about a year after varian initially left, he returns to corona w his friends to find the library and rapunzel and eugene throw him a surprise birthday party. and in true disney character fashion, something horrible happens on his birthday. the gang gets caught witnessing / overhearing plans to assassinate the princess tonight. or maybe its gonna b a murder mystery party gone awry- havent decided. the group splits into two groups, the detectives and the protectors. yong and nuru are the detectives, theyre looking for evidence they can use to prove this has been planned for a long time. hugo n varian r tasked w making sure rapz n eugene done die sum horrible death as they hang out at the party. did i mention the party is The royal ball. so everyone is in stuffy/fancypants fits.

the whole running gag was gonna b rapunzel and eugene having like fifty near death experiences n its always like, Unknowingly. and hugo and varian r stressed out of their mind.

the reason varian n hugo r on Protector duty is coz theyre like Uhm. we're better at Improvising stuff. We can curve this and try n get the Killer to mess up and leave a trail for nuru n yong to go after.

anyways this animatic takes place a bit after like fifty attempts (cartoon ass flower pot almost crashes on their head, they watch someone spike their drinks and hugo runs over and drinks them both followed by an antidote varian just made, they walk through an archway and just barely miss the guillotine positioned above their head okay you get it just Silly cartoonish methods of assassination)

A Lovely Night takes place after Most of that so theyre very tired, the two get locked onto a balcony and r forced to kinda js Watch rapz n eugene hang out. varian takes a seat n is trying to sleuth out whos tryna kill his sister, he has an imaginary cork board w strings. hugo is kinda like "mann theyre kinda cute tgt. see two ppl locked on a balcony alone under the night sky would consider this romantic, goggles." n then Lovely Night!

uhm and the afterwards i think theres a figure approaching eugene and rapunzel so the two literally make a makeshift rope and throw themselves down the balcony to save them but boom they played into the assassinators plan! they were tired of varian and hugo getting in the way so they were js gonna kill em too. n then this is when rapunzel n eugene step in, n save them yeah and then they tell them everything and all is well and good and the assassins r behind bars...! Segment end....

#varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k #varigo #varian vat7k #varian tts #hugo vat7k #tangled the series #varian tangled #fanart #lizzysart

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not-magdi · 4 months

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"Us, Forever"

Summary: Pablo can't believe how lucky he got with you, he really can't believe it

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N

I managed to get Corona! The one time I would have had time to write something I got Corona and a Fever that cooked my brain. But, now my test is negative again and my brain is producing ideas like crazy!

Hope you like this one though,

Love you guys Magdi <3

You didn't know what to think when you saw his pain-filled expression on TV. You sat there, completely frozen, worry the only thing on your mind.

When you heard his sobs over the phone as he told you how bad it was, your heart shattered into a million pieces. That day made you realise that from that moment on, you had to be the strong one in this relationship.

It made you realise that he needed you to be the one he could lean on, the one Pablo could let his guard down, somebody that could be strong for him too. So he didn't have to be all the time.

You made it to your mission to do everything in your power to help him in any way possible. You rebuilt your living room into a bedroom, so he didn't have to go up any stairs. You held him day and night when the pain got too strong, and the only thing he could do was cry.

"Baby, I'm here ... I'm here for you. Let it all out I got you."

His grip on your hoddie was so hard that his knuckles turned white. You wrapped your arms around him like you wanted to protect him from everything terrible that this world threw at him.

Pablo felt safe in your arms. Your sent calmed him down. The warmth of your body engulfed him in a comforting manner.

He buried his face deeper into your neck as he felt his breath starting to slow down again.

"T-Thank you, I-I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

You grabbed his head to make him look at you. You assured him, "Hey, it's completely ok to feel like shit sometimes. What you are going through is nothing easy. Sometimes you just have to let it all out."

Kissing his head, you stand up to grab something to eat for the two of you. Seeing that it was already 6 in the morning, you decided to start the day, knowing you two wouldn't fall asleep anymore.

Pablo kept lying on the couch. The pain in his knee was now only a dull ache. He sat up a bit to be able to see you rummaging through his kitchen drawers, trying to find something to eat.

An unconscious smile makes its way onto his face. He can't get his head around how you are willing to do all of this for him. Like he really doesn't know what he would do without you. You'd do everything for him, he doesn't even have to ask for it.

But it scared him that you wanted to help him so much. It frightened him that one day, you could wake up and realise how much work it was to be in a relationship with him. And that you would leave him because of that.

Realistically, something like that would never happen, but he was a chronicle overthinker, so let him be.

When you came back from the kitchen with two plates in your hand, you sensed something was bothering him, but you wanted him to tell you on his own.

You two ate your breakfast in silence, it was a weird kind of silence. You felt that Pablo wanted to tell you something the whole time, but nothing came. He just sat there and played around with his food.

"You not hungry?"

Looking like a child who got caught doing something stupid, he shakes his head and lowers his gaze again, not able to hold eye contact with you for so long.

Thinking he wouldn't say anything at all. You were about to say something when you heard him say. "How do you do it?"

Confused, you look at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like ... like how do you keep up with me?"

Your confusion didn't get any better. You looked up from your plate and saw Pablo already staring at you, a curious yet slightly sad expression on his face.

Pablo noticed your confused expression and continued to talk.

" I mean, how can you keep up with literally having to be my server? You are cancelling your plans to stay home with me and do everything to keep me comfortable. You put my life before yours. Why do you do that? I-I don't understand. "

You loved him deeply and didn't see your efforts as a burden. It was natural for you to do what you could to help him. You couldn't enjoy yourself while he was suffering because it felt wrong to you.

Your silence made Pablo panic a bit, maybe he made you realise that you didn't want to live like that. What if you were actually sick of him needing care 24/7 now?

Your voice interrupted his inner monologue, " I have no clue, to be honest. It's just - the second I heard you were injured, I felt like I had to take care of you, to help you somehow."

You took a second to think of your following words. "When I heard you crying on the phone that day, I just felt the need to protect you, to take care of you. I know that you are a capable individual who can handle things on your own, but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. When you care about someone deeply, it's natural to want to do everything in your power to ensure their well-being. So, even though I trust your abilities, I just want to remind you that I'm here for you if you ever need help or support. Your happiness and safety mean everything to me, and I'll always do my best to make sure you're feeling okay."

Hearing Pablo sniff made you stop your rambling and look at him.

"Dios mio, these medications make me emotional."

Pablo let out a wet chuckle as he wiped his tearing eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

You smiled at the boy before you and leaned down to place a kiss on his red nose. "I don't care, I love you one tear more or less isn't gonna change that."

"I love you too, so so much."

#pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi oneshot #gavi x reader #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi #gavi x you #fc barcelona #fc barça

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feistyfreaks · 6 months

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REQUEST IF UR OK WITH THEM!! dbf!miguel is so hot… hairy dad bod. knos what he’s doing. smells hella expensive (downside is that his breath smells like corona LOL)…

inspired by one of ur works - i can just imagine reader sitting in miguel’s lap nd getting fingered in her bedroom while everyone is downstairs drunk out of their minds, perhaps a family get together nd miguel got invited bc duh he’s basically second family

as much as miguel wants to breed reader nd fck her to oblivion he’s a smart man nd doenst want to risk getting caught nd losing his fav doll :( .. (even tho that scene turns him on) so fingering it is. but i can just IMAGINEEEEE the words he’ll be saying to her.. commenting on how tight she is.. how loud, creamy nd wet her coochie is.. how he wish he can just stick his dick in it.. lord the thoughts

i’m not good at describing the scene so sorry if i’m just saying a lot of nothing 😔 BUT INCLUDE SQUIRTING AND DEGRADATION LOL THX I LOVE UR WORK

( ! porn with a taboo subject ! ) don’t like it? don’t read it.

lo prohibido ⋆·˚ ༘ *. 🤍

pairings ❀⋮ dbf!miguel x afab!reader

₊❏❜ content⋮ huge age gap (reader is 18-19 n miguel’s in his early 40’s again 😭.) fingering, degrading, humiliation, squirting, dirty talk, sex with a taboo subject, sorta sneaking out, and underage drinking.

note⋮ i’m sorry if i took a while love, i legit had to write this like three times because tumblr wasn’t saving my drafts 😪🙏🏼. but ughh yess i agree dbf!miguel is 😩!! I LOVE THIS SCENARIO. ur good don’t worry, n tysm anon 🫶🏼💋

you finished laying the plates and setting the utensils out on the large rectangular table that you were helping your mom with. you were excited for the family gathering. not just because you were going to see your family — but because you’ll see him again.

you wore the dress he had given you a few months ago; light grey and short that hugged your curves tightly, giving you that snatched waist effect. telling you to wear it on occasions like this because.. he likes easy access.

you paired the pretty dress with white soft - round at the toe - wedged heels. the door bell rung as you walked towards the door eagerly, flattening your dress like the good girl you were before opening it and welcoming in the guests; aka your family.

“hola como estan?” you ask, wrapping your arms around your aunt, kissing her cheek as the others step inside. (hey aunt, how are you guys?) “bueno mi amor, gracias por preguntar. y como esta mi princesa?” your aunt asked, pecking a kiss on your cheek. (good my love, thank you for asking. and how is my princess?)

“estoy bien gracias tia.” you smile. (i’m doing great, thank you aunt.)

“vaya, ese vestido realmente te queda bien, hija.” your aunt compliments. (wow, this dress really looks good on you.) “guau chica!” (wow girl!)

you laughed, clasping your hands together. “gracias tia, me alegra que te haya gustado tanto como a mí.” (thank you aunt, i'm glad you like it as much as i do.)

“ay, ¿dónde está tu papá?” your uncle asks, voice gruff. “èl está afuera preparando la carne asada.” you answer. (he’s outside preparing the grill/barbecue.) your uncle nods, grabbing the box of coronas and slides the back door open. “let’s drink!” you hear your uncle yell out with an accent as you giggle. your aunt rolls her eyes in disappointment. “que tonto.“ she grumbled. (how stupid.)

you kept the door open, greeting in your older cousins and traditionally kissing their cheeks. “oh my gosh y/n, i haven’t seen you in like three billion years!” your cousin exaggerates as she hauls you into a big hug. “oh, i know right!” you squeal as you greet your fathers other drinking buddies, preparing yourself for one hell of a night.

“perdón, tuve que hacer algunos mandados.” miguel apologized, entering the house. (sorry, i had to do some errands.) “miguel!” you grin widely. “ay mija is that you? guau, you’ve grown so much. mírate, te ves hermosa.” he says, patting your head as you kiss his cheek. (wow, look at you, you look gorgeous.)

you could legitimately say the same for him except he looked hot with that white button up that was buttoned half way; sleeves rolled up to his thick forearms, black slacks paired with black leather chairman’s and a heavy watch wrapped around his wrist as you ogled his veiny hands. oh gosh. and that smile. you could stare at it all day.

“ay miguel, te ves sexy.” you whisper in his ear quietly, placing your hand on his chest as you hugged him. he smiles, leaning in to return the kiss on your forehead as he pulls back.

“i bought you your favorite chocolates, pequeña.” miguel grins, grabbing your hand and hooking the bag onto your fingers. “gracias.” you smiled, staring up at him. “y tu papá?” (your dad?) “afuera.” you hummed, walking him outside where your dad was barbecuing. (outside.)

“miguel mi buen amigo! la carne casi está lista para comer.” your dad fists bump miguel. you and your cousin give each other a look. (miguel my good friend, the meat is almost ready to eat.) “aquí hermano, bebe.” your uncle greets miguel by hitting his back and offering him beer. (here brother, drink.) your uncle turns on the radio, blasting rancheras on the speakers. your cousin walks towards you handing you her drink; opening the cap as you take a couple of glances at miguel from the corner of your eye before chugging some of the beer down. the alcohol tingling into your system as you both head back inside to help your mom finish cooking.

✧.*

“la comida está lista.” you hear your dad call out, “ven a comer, lleva tu comida adentro.” (the foods ready, come and eat, take your food outside.)

your family gets busy entering in and out of the house taking their seats with their big plates of food; and miguel just so happened to take the empty seat right next to you. the strong smell of alcohol fills your nostril as soon as your uncle follows behind you dad, already drunk. as expected. “¿qué carajo van a comer si su comida fue la cerveza que bebieron?” your tia scolds the men at the table. you take a quick glimpse at miguel who’s noticeably a little tipsy. (what the hell are they going to eat if their food was the beer they drank?)

your uncle bursts into laughter as your tia hits him in the back of his head angrily, and the room fills with noisy laughs from your family. the table gets loud and busy with people eating, chattering and drinking. miguel can’t help but stare at you with hunger, not for the food. but for you.

you ignore his stare, facing your cousin who’s gulping down her beer. you get busy with finishing your own plate, picking up a conversation with your cousin; gossiping about university drama and what not. you reach for your drink taking a sip before you felt a large hand squeeze your thigh.

you practically choked on your drink, giving miguel a hard side eye. he gave you a sly smile; giving you that look and you knew what he was up to. “you good?” your cousin asks, almost tipping over her own drink. “i-*cough* am f—*cough* ine.” you choke out, putting on your best act.

“si me d-disculpan, necesito usar el baño.” you forced an excuse to a mob of scolding and drunk people. (if you’ll excuse me, i need to use the restroom.) your soft voice didn’t compete with the loud crowd, so you just got up. walking towards the dark hallway and waiting for miguel to excuse himself as you sigh.

you walk upstairs, miguel following behind as his shoulder slides against the wall. you finally get to the second level, pushing him into your room and closing the door. locking it secure.

“what the hell was that about? we could’ve gotten caught.” you lectured miguel. “you know we can’t do this..” you whisper, but he lifts your chin and wraps his arm around your waist, completely ignoring your warning as he kisses you.

you inhaled the smell of beer. “estas borracho no?” you murmur, but were shushed when he pushed you onto your bed. continuing to make out with you and taking things further as his hand creeps up your dress. (you’re drunk aren’t you?)

“just a little.” miguel’s voice is husky yet soft when he pulls away from you, his hard on rests against your thigh and his smirk is devious. you reach to unbutton more of on his shirt and catch a glimpse of his hairy chest.

things escalate as you attempt to straddle his lap, but before you could even get your own way and dryly hump him — he turns you around, your back coming in contact with his front. his hand travels down your stomach and tugs your dress up. “miguel.” you groan, exhaling a heated breath. his lips brush against the shell of your ear slowly sliding his hand down further into your panties. he grins; kissing your earlobe and licking the flesh hotly. his forefinger rubs small digit eights on your clit as you try your best to not make too much noise.

your pleas dissolve into soft moans and whimpers as they bounce off the walls within your bedroom, “you get wet so easily.” you hear miguel groan.

“you get turned on so easily with my teasings, don’t you pequeña?” he hums, his fingers messily rubbing against your slit; collecting your moisture. “it’s all your fault.” you whine, desperate for more. “can you just fuck me already?”

“baby, if i could i would.. but it’s too risky.” he coos, sliding his thick digit into your pussy. “so tight my other finger doesn’t fit.” he growls, feeling up your ridgey walls. “how do you expect to take this big of a dick hm?” he chuckles, “so wet n warm, wanna stuff my cock in this tight pussy n fuck you all day.”

you moan as his fingers slide in and out of your hole; you spread your legs farther for better access. the excitement sent a wave of euphoria to wash over you.

yet the desperation, the need miguel had to fuck you right there was undeniable. the way you clamped and tightened around his fingers drove him insane.

“you love getting your pussy played with don’t you baby? you’re just a whorish cumslut f’me.” he degrades, “have you creamin’ all over her daddy’s best friend, such a fucking whore aren’t you y/n?” he mutters. “what would everyone think if they knew that their precious little girl was all a facade and in reality a freak show?”

before you could say anything he cut you off again; “n why is a big girl like you still doing with stuffed animals on her bed?” he teases.

“b-because they’re cute — oh!” you tried to snap back, but midway your back arched, hips rolling forward into his palm. you felt embarrassed, and humbled.

“well why don’t we entertain them for the moment, think they’ll enjoy watching you writhe pathetically for me?” he laughs, forcing another finger inside you as the pace he set increases.

“so cute yet so slutty.”

“oh fuck!”

miguel’s hot breath fans your ear as he spits out vulgar profanities, and with each shove of his fingers your eyesight flashes with a blur. his fingertips hit that sweet gummy spot inside you that sent you over the edge - your clit palpitates as you spurt out your orgasm. “there she goes, go ahead baby, cum.” he coaxes you into your orgasm. you make a wet mess on your bed as your moans were muffled into miguel’s palm. your breaths were heavily unsteady, back curved into a perfect arch and thighs enclosed around his hand.

your back slumped into his chest, tired n out of breath. “mira el puto lío que hiciste.” he chuckles. (look at the fucking mess you made.)

#ff⋆reqs 🧁#ff⋆inbox 📬#hornyhour #feistyfreaks #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #no nut november #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #kinktober

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marymunchkiin · 6 months

Text

It's that time of the night again and I've been up to some whore shit 😭 @techs-goggles9902 thank you for this thirsty idea 🤣 <33

Based on this other fanwork I made of King Rex, except you've tempted his eye from the ball and now he's ordered his guards to take you to his chambers at the strike of midnight.

This is a WIP I'm planning to color in the future UwU

EDIT: This WIP is finished!

-----

Taglist: @riinoaheartilly @mamuzzy @freesia-writes @amorfista @cloneloverrrrr @wolffegirlsunite @askwenjing @moonlightwarriorqueen @sunshinesdaydream @advisorsnips @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @corona-one @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @flyiingsly @insertmeaningfulusername @jgvfhl @n0vqni @naganna418 @techs-goggles9902 @starrylothcat @and-loth-cat@doctordoombignaturals @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @stardusthuntress @n0vqni @fakegingerrights @stormyblue90 @greatshieldmaiden14 @echo-lover @yukikun336

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liesmyth · 24 days

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Do you think the Nine Houses follow a Marxist, Keynsian, or Austrians economic model

this ask made me SO happy you have no idea! some vague thoughts

The Houses obviously have to do careful resource allocation. I doubt they have a free market economy, at least not on a system-wide scale. I could see some of the Houses — like the Third or Fifth Houses, which are by all accounts wealthy and with a very large population — develop some kind of internal capitalist economy within the House itself. Namely, private actors who control and own properties, wealth accumulation, competitive markets etc. But ultimately I think even those are subject to strong (local) governmental oversight because, again, they live on space installations in a situation of constant resource constraint. I bet there are quotas for everything.

However! No way ALL the Houses have a market economy. I'm thinking especially those Houses that are very small and/or have a "mission" which means that societal development is carefully planned, and probably the economy is also centrally planned. (Ninth, Eight, Sixth, maybe Second and/or Fourth).

On an overreaching scale (within the Home System) I don't think "the Empire" (as in, John) is overly concerned with the yearly economic development of the Houses, partly because he's been historically absent for decades or even centuries at a time. Verging sharply into headcanon territory, I think the closest thing the Houses have to a real centralised government is military leadership (High Command or the Fleet Admiral, who's the head of the Second House) and when it comes to issues that concern multiple Houses but are more "civilian" in nature, is kind of a free-for-all. I'm thinking about how Harrow thought that writing to ask for help would result in the Fifth or maybe the Third cannibalising the Ninth House — it looks like there's an informal council of House leaders, but no properly organised central government.

Trade: travel and commerce between the Houses is regulated. You can't just take a spaceship and move from the Eight to the Second, for example — movement of people as well as goods depends on a ship schedule that runs on "routes" and I'd bet there's an immigration/emigration quota that's maybe decided between specific House leaders, or maybe a third party. My best bet is that one of the Houses (possibly the Third or Fifth) OR an ad-hoc organisation (which includes multiple higher-ups from said well-off Houses) are the ones who regulate shipping and travel, and either have an ownership stake in the shipping system or administrate it in the name of the Emperor.

The shepherded planets: putting the "imperialism" in "Empire". The Houses definitely exploit their colony planet for resources, as per AYU (talking about the "contracts" that the Empire signs with the occupied planets). However, it's also worth noting that 1) for at least 5000 years, the House system was self-sustaining and hadn't made contact with any other population; and 2) stele travel is kind of a hassle, and only seems to be limited to Cohort ships that we know of.

What I'm getting at is that I think the economy of the Houses is not dependent on their war of conquest — imo it's more of a mission of conquest for conquest's sake, see Corona thinking that the economy of the Houses doesn't quite add up, and Augustine talking like the ongoing expansion of the Houses is a whim of John's and little else. Basically, it seems to be a way to oppress the occupied planet for occupation's sake, and I wouldn't be surprised if the resources the Houses extract from the conquered planets go straight into financing yet more war and occupation and very little (if any) of any wealth they may accumulate makes it back to the Houses.

It COULD be that there's a necromantic equivalent of the East India Company, and my bet would be on the Second administrating it — Harrow doesn't seem to rate them at all, which tracks because Harrow's primary concern is Houses that could be a threat to the Ninth, and the Second being focused on exploitation that's external to the Home System could be an explanation for that. I've also seen speculation that making money from colonialism is the Fifth House's purview (*) but EYE think it makes more sense if the House that are more strongly associated with running the war effort are also the ones making money from it. Or it could be a joint operation.

(*) never forget the iconic tag #we regret to inform you that spreadsheets dad is maybe running the necromantic East India Company @katakaluptastrophy here)

Anyway. Sorry I haven't answered your actual question! GUN TO MY HEAD, if I had to pick ONE economic model to map the Houses onto, I wanna say soviet type economy (think: centralised planning, no inflation, little to no unemployment, tendency towards black market, little to no innovation). I have thoughts about what the consumer needs market looks like in the Houses but nobody needs to hear that. Also, it's def very limited

If anyone has thoughts PLEASE feel free to jump in, I'm always thinking about the logistical side of space imperialism in the necro empire!

#Anonymous #ask #tlt thoughts #tlt meta #tlt worldbuilding #this is 80% headcanon and fried air #tlt

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xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

Text

Fade Me

Older!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: your night is ruined when your date is a no show. maybe the handsome stranger at the end of the bar can fix it.

warnings: slight angst. reader is 30, Eddie is early 40s. Modern au! Reader's date sucks. Eddie is a sweetheart. Fluff. Swearing. Shitty writing and grammar mistakes!!! Not proofread!!!! Also Minors go away, I'm an 18+ blog.

*if I missed anything lmk

a/n: WELCOME TO MY BIRTHDAY BASH EVERYONE!!!!!!! I'm so excited to be celebrating with all of you guys!! This isn't my best work but I think its cute and that's all that matters. Love you all and hope you guys like this <3

Oh, maybe, you could devastate me.

Little lady, come and fade me.

Everything at the moment was pissing you off, setting spark to the last small fuse that sat within you. The pain from sitting on the hard bar stool was shooting pain right to your tailbone, not going away no matter how many times you switch your position. The unforgiving squeeze of the uncomfortable heels radiated pain all over your feet and you knew they would be swollen in the morning. The group of rowdy girls at the back of the bar were shrieking with joy over something you have no idea about, but you did know that you wanted to drag all of them by their scalp and remove them from the bar.

This was stupid, so fucking stupid, and you knew from the very start that it wasn’t going to work. It never does and the next time you see your friends, they aren't going to hear the end of it. Dating sites and dating in general were things you didn’t like to partake in and for good reason.

Out of all your friends, you happened to be the only single one and you were fine with that, but they weren’t. They begged you, since the moment you broke up with your college sweetheart, to get back out into the dating world. It was actually irritating that they cared so much about your relationship status so much, if you were hooking up with anyone, all under the guise of wanting you to be happy. Truthfully they did want you to be happy and they knew you craved having a relationship, but you were pissed and wanted to stew in your own anger.

Well, right now you were everything but happy. In fact you were furious. Furious with yourself, with them, and most importantly your stupid ass date, Luke. After your thirtieth birthday, your friends all but tackled your phone out of your grasp, making you a stupid tinder profile.

“Thirty is the new twenty one, babe,” Dahlia said as she and the two other girls scrolled through pictures to post.

Twenty one your ass, you think, especially with the way you’re fighting a yawn at only nine thirty on a Friday night.

So you gave in, swiped on a few different people who snatched your attention, one of them being Luke. He was handsome, smiling brightly with a bottle of Corona in his hand and a pair of Raybans perched on the bridge of his nose. His bio was simple, straight to the point, and it was the least douchey thing you’ve read while on the app.

After making short conversation, you learned that he was an investment banker, working in the Citibank building downtown. His interests were the same as yours, very shy yet loved to have a good time with friends. The best selling point was his dog, Cali, that could be seen in a few of the other pictures he had.

You were sold, with his witty banter and the fact that he had his life together at thirty two didn’t make the decision hard, especially when all the other people you know that are your age don’t have a solid plan. Which in argument's sake is fine, however you weren’t getting any younger and the want to get married and start a life with someone was getting strong, even though you’d never admit it to your friends.

So that’s why you’re sitting in a swanky bar in downtown Indy, waiting patiently for your date, who happens to be an hour late, in a dress you spent sixty dollars on. It was a pathetic feeling really, putting this much faith into a stranger in the hopes of finding the one. It’s actually why you didn’t want to do it in the first place and why your friends would have to face your wrath when you get home.

The buzzing of your phone on the wooden bar jolts you awake, the wave of adrenaline coursing through your veins making your heart pump erratically.

IMessage

Luke: Sorry for the last minute text but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Had to stay late at the office today, I hope you understand.

With a defeated sigh you turn your phone face down, not having the energy to cuss the asshole out for making you wait so long. Pulling your focus on the bartender, you flag him over and order a martini. Dry martini. Very dry.

When the man places the glass in front of you, he gives you a weak smile as if he knows what’s happening. He probably does know what’s happening, he’s probably seen this happen more times than he’d like to admit and it only adds to your frustration.

Muttering a small thanks, you take a big swig from the crystal glass, letting the liquor burn down your esophagus. It hits your stomach causing an instant burn, more fuel to the fire that’s been shimmering below the surface. The pity you started to feel has now turned into a new found rage.

Quickly picking up your phone, you ignore the burn from the sting of the bright light, and tap on Luke’s text.

Staring at it, you can feel the fire ripping through your body, all the anger and embarrassment you’ve let build up while sitting here coming out as you read his last message.

Luke: Sorry for the last minute text but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Had to stay late at the office today, I hope you understand.

You: That would’ve been awesome to know about an hour ago. Thank you for wasting my Friday night asshole.

Before you can text more insults, a gruff voice interrupts the quick tapping of your acrylic nails on the screen.

“Trust me sweetheart, he’s not worth it.” Pulling your gaze from your phone, you try to find the owner of the voice.

Turning to your right you see him, two seats away from you, tucked away into the corner at the end of the bar. You’re not sure when he got there or if he’s been there the whole time but his presence alone is pissing you off. You’re ready to aim your dagger like tongue at him and tell him to go fuck himself when you take in his appearance.

A plain black tee shirt pulled taunt across his broad chest, tattooed arms squeezed by the material just right. On his hands sits more black ink and nice silver rings, gleaming in the low light of the bar. His hair is brown with a streak or two of salt and pepper mixed in, wisps of hair framing his face from where it fell out of the low bun it’s been pulled into. The crows feet by his eyes are fitting, especially when his dimpled smile is peaking through from where it sits behind his glass of whiskey.

He seems older, at least from the discolored hair and stubble on his chin, but he’s very handsome. Actually he’s hot and if you weren’t so mad right now, you’d be flirting with him. That’s not the case though, not when he has a smug ass smile on his face like he’s all knowing.

“What d’you know?” You bite back, waiting for the handsome stranger to answer. When he takes more than a second to answer, you cock an eyebrow at him like it’s taking him too long.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” He replies cooly, putting his glass down on the coaster, “Don’t text her, it’s not worth it.” When his eyes meet yours, you can’t help but stop breathing.

Big brown eyes looking right at you, so soft and gentle. You sink into the warmth of his eyes on you, almost letting yourself drift away. But you’re mad and this stranger is the perfect person to let it all out on.

“No they’re not a she, and even if it was you don’t know anything.” You look back down at your phone, tapping away at your keyboard finishing what you had started. When you hear him huff out a laugh, the frown that was on your face before quickly deepens.

“You’re right, sweetheart, I don’t know anything. What I do know is when a pretty girl like yourself has been sitting alone at a bar for longer than an hour and suddenly starts tapping away on that thing, like you are right now, I know she’s been stood up.”

His statement brings you right back out of your phone, willing yourself not to wipe that ‘know it all’ look right off of his pretty face. Your scowl is piercing right through him, hating the way that he could see right through you and yet not having a clue who you were.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” He throws his hands up in surrender, “But I promise, whatever douche made someone as stunning as you, wait in a bar this long for ‘em, doesn’t deserve you. Plus, you’re too pretty to be lookin’ that angry.” He picks his glass up, finishing off the rest before nodding to the bartender for another.

In any other situation you’d be telling them off, yelling at them to get lost, but something about this stranger feels different. You could write it off and say it’s because he’s attractive but in all actuality, it’s because he’s gentle when he says it. His eyes aren’t roaming your body like some pig, hoping to get into your panties by sweet talking to you. It’s like he actually cares about you, the stranger in her pretty dress who has been stood up by her date, like he’s known you his whole life.

Slowly you set your phone down, relaxing the sour look on your face, and you take a deep breath. The last thing you want to do is cry, especially in a bar, and especially in front of the caring hot stranger.

“Is it that obvious?” You ask shyly, picking up your martini glass for another sip. The man shakes his head, moving his posture so that he’s leaning towards you.

“Don’t do that,” he says, “Don’t start thinking down on yourself. Yes it was a little obvious but my suspicion grew more when you didn’t order a drink after sitting at a bar for five minutes.”

The statement makes you laugh wetly when he says it, a single tear escaping your eye causing you to wipe it hoping it’s not noticeable. If he sees it, he doesn’t say anything, instead moving over to the seat next to you.

“Listen, don’t let whatever dickhead person ruin your night. From what I’ve witnessed you’re a pretty badass chick, so whatever frat bro did this to you should be scared.” An inked hand places a white napkin in front of you, a peace offering that you’re quick to take.

“That’s the worst part, he’s not even a frat bro. He’s a finance bro.” When you chance a look up at him, he’s looking right back at you, pearly white teeth staring at you.

In a split second he’s laughing, a deep belly kind of laugh with his head thrown back. As much as you want to defend yourself, tell him that Luke wasn’t your first choice, you can’t. Following suit, you start giggling as well, placing the white napkin to the corner of your eye to collect any unushered tears.

“I gotta tell you sugar, that’s even worse.” The pet name doesn’t get lost on you, heart stuttering the minute it falls from his lips. Trying to pull yourself together, hoping he didn’t see the way you stiffened at the name, you clear your throat.

“Tell me about it,” You playfully roll your eyes, taking a sip of what’s left of your drink.

When you move your sight back over to him, he’s leaning back, dimples showing off, almost like he knows something you don’t. He does know something however, he knows that he has some sort of effect on you, watching you with pink flushing your cheeks and it’s not from the alcohol.

“So,” You break the silence, “Sugar, huh?” You furrow your brows questioningly and it only makes him smile bigger than before.

When he leans forward you catch a whiff of his scent, pine and cedar, musky and smoky. He’s even prettier up close and your eyes are trying to map out every detail of him so that you can remember it when you go to sleep tonight, dreaming of the good looking stranger who made your night better.

“Well, between the softness of your laugh and your scowl that could kill,” his voice is low and husky, saying a secret for only you to hear, “You have a little bit of sugar and spice. Kind of like that cartoon with the badass power wielding girls.”

“Do you mean the PowerPuff Girls?” Cocking your head to the side you laugh, his true age showing in the way that he described the Cartoon Network show.

“I’m showing my true age, huh? Well, in my defense I was fifteen and you probably weren’t born yet.” His crows feet become more defined. Shaking your head, you wave to the bartender for another martini.

“Actually, I was five but you were close enough.” His eyes go wide in shock with your admission. When another glass is placed in front of you, you send a smile to the bartender and he gives you one back.

Looking back at the man next to you, you raise an eyebrow, questioning why he’s so surprised at your age. Blowing out a big breath it seems he’s been holding the whole time, he takes a swig of his own drink.

“Sorry, I just,” he sighs, looking back up at you quizzingly, “wow, you’re really thirty?” Although there’s no malice behind his question, you can’t help but frown at him. He notices and immediately back tracks.

“Fuck, no not like that I just meant,” You wait for him to dig himself a deeper hole. When he finally gets his thoughts together, he looks at you, really looks at you and it makes you want to melt. “Listen, I really didn’t mean it like that, I promise. Honestly, I felt like a perv when I first started talkin’ to you, thinkin’ you were like twenty one. When you said you were thirty, I was just surprised, that’s all. Maybe a little excited knowing I might have a chance.”

You take in what he says to you, how sincere his voice is, and you know he isn’t lying. You don’t want to give in so fast though, you want him to sweat it out a bit. So you take a sip of your drink, your eyebrow still arched in fake annoyance. With an extra shot of courage, you look over at him, fake pout on your red stained lip.

“How can you have a chance when I don’t even know your name?” Your voice is like silk, smooth and soft. The older man clearly likes it, the way a smirk is formed on his pink kissable lips is a clear indicator.

“M’Eddie, Eddie Munson,” He offers you his ringed hand for a handshake, “And you are?” You give him your name and he hums with delight. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You snort loudly at his comment, covering your mouth to stop from any further laughter from falling from your lips. Eddie arches an eyebrow at you, questioning what you found so funny.

“I’m sorry, that was just so corny.” Another giggle slips from you and the cool facade he had crumples, laughing along with you.

“S’pretty bad, huh?’ He scrunches his nose and you think it might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah it was bad, who told you that would work?” You take a sip of your martini and look at him from over the rim of your glass.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Eddie rubs his forehead as if he’s stressed. Now he’s the one fumbling and nervous, you got him in the palm of your hand.

“Goodness, it was going so well too.” You continue to tease, the playfulness dripping from your voice. Looking over at you Eddie can’t help but smile, those damn dimples back on display.

“You’re trouble, sugar.” It’s said with the utmost confidence and it has you blushing.

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet, babe.” It’s an invitation for him to find out and you hope he catches it.

“How about I find out on Sunday over dinner and some drinks? What do you say?” Eddie leans into you when he says it, getting the closest he’s been to you, letting his husky voice fill your ears.

Trying to hide the chill that runs up your back and the excitement that settles in your belly, you lean in just as close. “I’d say you have a date, pretty boy.”

The two of you stay like that for a minute, smiling like giddy teens. Breaking away from the small moment, he pulls his phone out from his pocket, unlocking it and opening up the phone app to type in a new contact.

Handing you the phone, his face seems boyish and giddy, you’re sure if he wasn’t sitting he’d be bouncing on the ball of his feet. Typing in your number, you shyly smile up at him handing back his phone.

“I better hear from you Eddie Munson or finance bro won’t be the only one gettin’ his ass kicked.” Pointing a finger at him, you try your best to look as mean as possible but your plan quickly fails when you see his eyes shining at you.

“Yes ma’am.” Throwing a wink at you, he reaches into his wallet and pulls a crisp hundred out and places it on the bar top. “I’ll be seein’ you soon, sugar.” Wrapping his fingers around yours, he places a kiss to the back of your hand.

The feeling of his lips on your skin makes you ache for more, and the moment it’s gone you wish you can make him do it again. Pulling your lip in between your teeth, you look up at him like he’s hung the stars.

The moment is cut short when the bartender asks Eddie if he wants change. Surprisingly he doesn’t look at the older man with anger for ruining it, instead he gives him a nice smile.

“No Paul, the change is all yours. Also, this beautiful young lady’s drinks are on my tab.” Nodding his head, the bartender thanks Eddie for the generous tip.

Pulling his attention back to you, he cuts you off before you can chastise him for paying. “Let me pay for the pretty girl who made my whole night, it’s the least I can do.”

Rolling your eyes, you try hard to not let him see how flustered you are. When he bids you a goodnight, you can’t help but feel the ache of his absence. The whole time you’re in the Lyft home you think of him, staring out the window and replaying everything in your head.

Once you get home, you sit in silence on the end of your bed, not worrying about the shower you need to take. You can’t believe the luck you had in meeting Eddie and a part of you wants to thank Luke for not showing up.

The ding of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, your heartbeat picking up when you read your screen.

Maybe Eddie: Hey it’s Eddie, just wanted to make sure you got home safe. I wanted to ask if you could thank that loser for not showin up, he really did both of us a favor tonight.

When you read it, you can’t help but giggle a little. Although corny and maybe a little dorky, Eddie had thought the same thing as you and for some reason it sent the butterflies in your tummy on a rampage.

Maybe Eddie: You’re totally laughing at me right now, aren’t you?

Bursting into laughter, your tummy flips in excitement, imagining him blushing on the other side of the phone. Tapping away on your screen, you send him a reply.

You: Oh you know it 😉

You: Thank you for making sure I got home by the way, I appreciate it.

Eddie: I should’ve known. Glad you got home in one piece.

Eddie: Night, sugar. See you Sunday 🖤

Fuck a text, you were going to send Luke a thank you card and maybe some chocolate.

I hope you guys liked this! I can't wait to continue this week with all of you! See you all tomorrow with the next fic :)

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader #honey's birthday bash #honey's holiday celebrations

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marleyybluu · 8 months

Text

Boy, Bye

Spooky x black!fem!reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: 18+, smut central (with plot), flirting, mentions of drinking and drug use (relax it's just weed), smoking and driving (but don't be this stupid), Spooky being a nervous boy at the end, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap that bitch up we don't need any more crotch goblins jk), creampie because I'm a sick bitch, Spanish nicknames as usual, probably misspelling bcus I was high as shit writing this. lmk if i missed anything

A/N: This was inspired by Boy, Bye by Ari Lennox, her album age/sex/location is a banger I have rediscovered it and the idea hit me like a brick. I do wanna say I don't mention the readers skin tone or anything but she is a black woman bcus i mentioned a fresh set of braids. and black women should be the only ones wearing box braids, wigs, etc... in case yall forgot :)

Not my gif.

The distinct chatter of club patrons droned out of your ears as a persistent ringing replaced it. You sat at the bar, your back turned to counter and your elbows planted firmly on the surface. Just minding your business. Drinking your rum and coke.

"You look sweet like mangoes." A very hot and unwarranted breath invaded your space and it was a reminder as to why you didn't want to come out in the first place. Men were gross, they ruined everything with catcalls and what they think are sweet pickup lines. You turned your head to look at him, he flashed a drunken smile— his teeth crooked and filled with whatever he'd eaten before he got here. You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to the crowd.

He wasn't the first to approach you tonight, especially since you dispersed from your group to sit at the bar, your feet killing you from the stupid but cute heels you wore. "Sweet like mangoes huh?" You reiterated. He nodded leaning in closer as you leaned away. "Yeah. I know."

The man chuckled at your lack of a 'thank you.'

"Now why are you acting like that? Hm? A man can't get to know you?"

You wrapped your lips around your straw and sipped obnoxiously but he wasn't budging. "A man whose leftovers aren't in his teeth can get to know me." You bit. The man leaned back in disbelief, your comment seemingly sobering him up. "Well, fuck you then bitch."

You raised your glass. "You wish you could." That added fuel to the fire and he stormed off like a pissed off toddler. You smiled taking the last sip of your drink, turning around to place it on the bar, you needed a bit of time before you ordered another, might be the last before you go home. You hopped off the stool and grabbed your purse heading to the restroom, surprisingly there was no line but a few girls were hogging the vanity reapplying whatever makeup had come off. You shuffled inside the small stall and propped your purse on the hook of the door.

Once you were done handling business the women had disappeared and you had the sink to yourself, you washed your hands and dried them off with the paper towels provided, and you checked yourself out flipping your fresh braids to the side finding that was cuter than just having a middle part. When you were satisfied you headed back out putting a little pop in your hips. On your way back to your spot you noticed a man, a young man maybe about your age, sitting in on the seat next to yours. You shrugged and headed over anyway hopping back up without saying a word.

You pulled out your phone and noticed a notification from the group chat, one of the girls asking if you were okay and where were you. As you typed you remained oblivious to the stranger next to you, unaware of the little glances that he took at you. He tipped his head back as he drank from his Corona, you sighed putting your phone down. "You're good?" He asked, genuinely, to your surprise. You looked over at him and nodded. Your eyes analyzed whatever you could see in the shitty and low lighting. The first thing you noticed was the shaved head, not really your thing but it was cute on him, his bushy eyebrows raised in interest watching you examine him. He sported a small moustache and a goatee, the sides were clean-shaven, his slim and aquiline nose complimented him as well and with a nose like that, you wondered how the rides were on that face.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asked breaking the silence, you'd accept it, telling him thanks and allowing him to wave over the bartender. You remembered seeing a whiskey sour on the little drink menu and ordering that while he ordered another Corona. He smiled at you, his cheeks so high it made his eyes squint, and you tugged at your bottom lip. "Don't worry I don't have any corny ass pickup lines like the rest of these putos." He reassured. You playfully dismissed him. "Eh, they aren't so bad." Lies.

He turned himself in the stool, his whole body facing you-- one leg on the footrest of the seat and the other on the floor. Your eyes involuntarily dropped down to his lap and quickly back up to his eyes. "Yeah? So, how come you pushed 'em all away?"

He'd been watching you?

"'Cause none of them bought me a drink." You flirted. "Oooh, so that's why I haven't gotten dissed yet?"

You shrugged. "Maybe."

"I can respect that."

Your drinks arrived and you thanked the bartender. He raised his bottle. "Salud."

"Salud." You copied. You took a sip and shook your head, damn that really is sour. He snorted at the way your face contorted. "Don't like it?"

"Didn't expect it to be that sour."

"I could get you a different drink."

You passed. "It's okay, I can handle it. Plus I wouldn't want one of your little girlfriends seeing you buy me more than one drink."

He rolled his eyes bringing his drink to his lip, "No girlfriends over here."

"Surprised."

"Why?"

You set your whiskey sour down and boldly stated, "You're way too fine to be alone." He turned his head away from you, a warm feeling spreading across his face but he couldn't let you see it. "Thanks, mamita." He responded turning back to your direction. "You sure your man won't fight me for buying you one? 'Cause I can put up a good fight cariño."

You tilted your head to the side, smitten. "No boyfriend's over here."

"Good to know."

— — Your once drastic and boring night was starting to look upward. Spooky, you found out to be his name, was good conversation. Yeah, he threw a corny line here and there but you actually liked them coming from him, he wasn't trying too hard he was just being playful.

Your eyes landed on the imprint on his neck, a crucifix tilted on its side with the name Santos etched down the middle. "Los Santos... hm are you?"

"Am I what?"

You leaned into him your hand finding its way to the side of his neck and gently dragging your nails on his inked skin. "A saint."

His eyes focused more on your lips. "More of a sinner." He mumbled. You giggled tipsily. "Boy, bye."

The DJ had announced it was the last song of the night, you looked at your phone reading 3 AM, your plans to leave early had been disrupted in the best way. Spooky noticed your attention detour. "Ready to go home?"

You sighed now not wanting the night to end. "Guess so."

"I could drop you home."

Your eyes sharpened, you didn't know him... but, fuck, you liked him enough to almost agree to it. "I don't know if I want a sinner dropping me home."

He put his hand over yours, the contact sparked a warm feeling in your lower belly. He guided your palm to his chest. "I'll be a saint,cielito, don't worry."

You laughed wholeheartedly. "That was so fucking lame."

"Made you laugh though."

It did.

You agreed to take the ride and while he paid for the drinks you texted the group:

Y/n: got a ride home ;) I'll talk to you bitches tomorrow.

They gassed you up for any potential activity tonight and hoped that you'd get home safely. Spooky got off first and held his hand out to help you down, he didn't let go as he led you through the crowd, he met up with the boys you assumed he came with and dapped them up with his free hand, his other one never letting go of yours.

Soon, you two were out the door, you lowkey stumbled through the parking lot, alcohol and heels were never a good combo. He helped you though. And you two arrived in front a Red Impala, your mouth twitched with fascination. "Nice car." You blurted out. "Thanks ma, worked on it myself."

"Damn, he's cute and a mechanic? You sure no one is crazy over you?"

He opened the door for you. "No, just you."

"I'm not crazy, yet." You pointed before sliding inside. He closed your door and headed over to his side. Your body was full of tingles, the feeling reaching your toes but you didn't know if it was the buzz from your drink or if it was him. Either way, you were enjoying this.

Spooky pulled off. You sighed and smiled lazily throwing your head back, you were floating— your body felt like it was flying through space. "You smoke?" He asked, you heard a lighter flicker and you shook your head. "I do, but I can't take anything else right now."

He shrugged and inhaled the THC, he reached for the dial on his stereo and turned up the volume, the music he was playing earlier resuming its beat. Sierra Leone by Frank Ocean serenaded your ears. "I love this song."

You hummed along to the slow tune. Spooky caught you in the corner of his eye, he smiled. He enjoyed the show and the company until he pulled up to your neighbourhood and into your driveway. You groaned, did he really have to go?

You notice him turn the car off. "You're not coming inside you know."

He smirked. "Don't worry, I'm just taking you to the door at least."

You slightly frowned, he left you for a few seconds before your door opened and he offered his hand once again. You successfully landed on your feet, your hand moulded with his and now it was your turn to lead him. Up the steps. You fumbled with your keys until you found the correct one, you felt nervous under his gaze. Those low eyelids undressing you, you just knew it. Your key slid into the slot and turned it unlocking your door. "Thanks... for the ride."

"No problem, ma." You looked up as he towered over you. His energy pulled you in, you were drunk but you weren't that drunk. Maybe he could come in for a little bit.

— — Clothes spread across your bedroom floor, the sheets sliding off the bed like melted cheese. You two were in a tangle of limbs, naked bodies pressed against each other, his nose brushed yours as he planted the softest kiss on your lips. Your hands flew to his flushed cheeks pulling him in with eagerness and at the same time, his slender finger running over your blue panties. You smiled against his lips. His kisses were so warm and passionate.

He used his fingers to tug at your panties, hauling them to the side. You whined feeling him run them between your wet folds, collecting and salivating your juices. He toyed with your clit, slowly and steadily, your hips bucking up to chase his touch. Ending your short misery a finger entered your heat, you gasped in the middle of your kiss and your eyebrows knitted together, your face reading 'finally.' You smiled hazily against his lips once he pulled it out and plunged back in with an additional finger. "Fuuuuck."

He skillfully curled his fingers up hitting that spongey spot, that sweet spot. You squirmed under him with pleasure and anticipation... desperation, for more. You sat up on your elbows looking down and seeing his fingers work their magic on you, your mouth fell open, pushing your hips forward once again. You just wanted more.

You looked back up at him. "You're so pretty when you make that face, cariño." He complimented. The heel of his hand brushed against your pulsing clit, you clenched around his fingers causing a smirk to appear on his face. "S-shit, please."

"Please what mi amor?"

For once, you were in no mood for foreplay, you were very slick and sticky with arousal. "Just fuck me, please."

He smiled shaking his head at your earnest request, he continued his teasing assault on your sweet spot, his lips connecting to your neck, your eyes rolling at the immense pleasure you were receiving. Your hand on the back of his neck holding him in place. "Yes... oh... yes!" He was pulling your orgasm closer and closer, your hips raised off the mattress. "I thought you just said you wanted me to fuck you?"

"I-I do."

"Doesn't seem like it now." He evilly chuckled. The sound of your pussy juice and your frantic whimpers went straight to his dick, his growing erection poking at your leg. "I'm gonna cum." You wept. Spooky slowly pulled out his fingers leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, you groaned glaring at him. He winked wrapping his lips around the fingers that were just inside you, he licked off your essence until his fingers were clean. You giggled dropping your head on the pillow.

Spooky pulled off his boxers and his dick sprung out with a wet thud once the tip hit his lower abdomen, fuck he was so hard, you drooled at the sight spreading your legs further apart. He wrapped his hand around his girth sliding his tip between your soaked folds before carefully pushing his length inside you. Your voice broke at the feeling of him against your gummy walls, enveloping every inch he had to give you. Your bottom lip finds comfort between your teeth, your head tipped back and your toes curled. His sack hits your ass as he bottomed out. Filled you to the brim.

Spooky held his position, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped around him. His warm hands find solace on the back of your thighs, sliding up to the crook of your knee. You felt as he pushed your legs back, your knees touching your chest. He pulled his hips back and pushed them forward flush against your pelvis his coarse curly hair at the base of his shaft brushing against your clit, an additional sensation.

Your hands wrapped around his wrists as he rocked into you, giving you strokes you've never felt in your life. Your mouth fell open, breathless whispers leaving your throat, egging him on about how well he stretched you, how full you felt with him inside you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! That feels so-o good."

Spooky smirked looking down at you, your various love faces so beautiful being contorted with pleasure. He leaned down, your legs now planted on his shoulders, he kissed your nose and then forehead before pressing his against it. There was a mix of sounds-- his grunting, your erotic moans and the sound of skin on skin bounced off the walls, if you lived in an apartment they'd probably knock on the wall to complain.

You could feel yourself leaking, dripping, onto the sheets and coating his dick in your desire. "You're so fucking pretty when you're taking me, princesa. Eres muy guapa." He groaned, your head fell back, your high carefully approaching once again. Your nails left crescent shapes on his skin. "Shit! I like being inside you, you're so fucking wet, bebita."

Your walls constantly fluttered around him. He hissed and you smirked. "I know you feel that, fuck, I'm gonna cum for you."

His hand slipped between sweaty bodies, his fingers finding your clit once again. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, his teeth nibble at your jaw. "Right there! Uh-huh, right fucking there!" Spooky pounded into you, hard yet maintaining rhythm. Your eyes are glossy with incoming tears, the overstimulation of it all. "Fucking squeeze me, mamita. I got you, cum on this dick."

His words tip you over and your body tenses up and your eyes fall into the pit of your skull. He felt every pulsation of your orgasm, his tip constantly hitting your spot. He held up his weight, his hands rested on your lower back fingers gripping your ass cheeks. His thrusts became sloppier as he helped your ride out your orgasm and his quickly approaching. "Oh my god," You hazily giggle. "Fuck! Yeah, use me to get yourself off, please. Cum wherever you want, baby, give it to me."

Spooky pushed in one more time, you faintly smiled at the feeling of his warm spend squirting inside of you. You were both out of breath, Spooky leaned back and sat on his knees with his softening dick still buried inside you. He helped take your legs off his shoulder and you mumbled in pain. "Shit... I mean I didn't expect you to actually fold me."

He laughed. "I said I was gonna do it." He spoke in reference to his warning earlier when you lured him into your house. He leaned down once again to give you an affectionate kiss. "You feeling okay?"

"More than okay." You confessed. "Good," He kissed your nose before pulling out, you almost pouted at the loss. "You're okay if I grab some water?"

You nodded telling him there were bottles in the fridge, he shot you a thumbs up and put on his boxers before he left, once he was out of your sight you let out a big sigh of relief and a very bright smile was sure to follow. You felt so giddy, butterflies were making their home in your nervous system. What the fuck was this feeling?

Spooky grabbed two bottles and made his way back upstairs, offering you one. You thanked him and sat up as carefully as you could. You caught a prideful smirk on his face. "Don't start." You warned him, he put his hands up in defence.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asked out of the blue. "Not much, why?"

"Uh, I'm not one to overstep my boundaries and it's up to you, really, but do you want to get something to eat?"

You nodded. "Of course. Any places in mind?"

"There's a... breakfast bar... downtown." He sounded more nervous with that statement. You blushed. "Breakfast? Oh, so you want to spend the night with me, Spooky?"

He suddenly felt like an idiot, he was very much a one-night stand or a friends-with-benefits person but with you, he kind of wanted to see if this could go somewhere. "If that's cool with you."

You set your bottle down on the nightstand, you smiled propping yourself up on your hands and knees. You crawl over to him and kiss his temple, you go down to nibble his ear and whisper; "If you keep fucking me like that, I just might have to keep you."

He shivered, his dick jumped at the thought alone. Quickly the roles were reversed back his fingers intertwined with yours as he put you on your back.

"I better get to work then."

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