John tucks his hand over your nape, pulling you into the warm bracket of his neck where his pulse beats steady under your forehead. Firm. Strong. All heat.
"I'll protect you," he rasps, chest rumbling under the swell of your belly. The growl—brassbound, ferric: a promise and a threat—glues to his words. Sinking deep. "Both of you, Coyote. Always."
And despite everything that tries to convince you otherwise, you believe him.
[OR: in an attempt to run from your abusive ex, you find yourself crashing into the arms of John Price, a man determined to keep you, and your unborn baby, safe. at all costs. but you're not the only one with secrets or scars.]
18+. past abuse (emotional, physical, mental). sexual trauma. unplanned pregnancy. childhood abuse. healing. eventual smut. protective John Price. gruff lumberjack Price and the stray he picks up. eventual Dom!Price (more in essence than act). divorced!John Price. implied child death (not reader's baby). age gap. grief. cultural differences. set in the early 90s. nonlinear narrative. Reader has an unconventional nickname (plot-important). Reader has a backstory. tags will be added as the series progresses.
AO3. MOODBOARD.
prologue
part one | hinterland
part two | moose meat
part three | mîscacâkanis
part four | salt cure
part five | teeth and claws
part six | pack
epilogue
There’s always a sexy little literature element in your books. I’d salivatteee over price as a grumpy librarian in some small town. Ughh with some small glasses and flannel. He’s so obsessed with the nerdy little frequenter who hides away in some section in the back to read. Imagine him peeking thru the books to catch a glimpse and sees her putting on a private little show in the some hidden away section. Little does he know she wants her grumpy librarian to watch 🦭. I know you’d make this so sexy and delicious, you deviant woman 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️
i love you so much @ofdivinity01 <3 i hope this quick fic hits those points for you <3 <3
The Archives
John Price has retired, and he has tried out a number of different jobs to keep his mind occupied. One of his favorite jobs so far has been working in the archives of a library, especially since there's a pretty little regular that has been haunting his thoughts.
TW: female genitalia, overt sex, pwp, seriously its plotless, 3rd person POV
AO3 Link
Working as a library archivist was not how John Price had pictured his retirement beginning. To be fair, he didn’t need the money. Retiring before the age of forty with a comfortable (substantial) bank account to reflect a job well done was already an achievement. So, tackling another high-stress, high-profile career seemed doable yet unnecessary. He’d stuck around the house for a while, pottering about with some renovations or garden projects, but it wasn’t enough. He was antsy. It was only when his old friend, Steve Kosser, the director of a top-level historical documents archive, called him and asked for some extra security coverage that he’d realized having a gun on his belt felt familiar in a way that he wasn’t sure he liked. But, he loved the library.
John had always loved books. His house was full of them. He had stacks on each and every surface. The classics, some Shakespeare, a bit of poetry, some nonfiction… he would read anything. There was even a bodice-ripper or two tucked away unseen, but he wasn’t ashamed. Reading kept him sharp. It taught him about people, about their nature, about possibilities, about hope in places where there was none.
His work had quickly transitioned from security to desk work, and from desk work to archival data entry. Now, he was a procurement specialist, reaching out across the world to find texts and documents that his clients needed. Being close to the university meant that he had some repeat customers, but there were few who caught his eye like her.
She was his shadow-cloaked phantom, haunting him from the back corner. Her wardrobe was black on black on black, never daring to show him more than a hand or a wrist, or a bit of her neck other than her face. But, he lived for that face. Round, full cheeks, and a downturned smile when he greeted her each evening that she decided to come in to work. He dreamt of that smile almost as much as her plump, thick ass, and heavy, ample breasts; all hidden beneath her modest clothing. Part of him warred against his lust, chastising him for ogling her when she was just here to work on her graduate research, but the other part of him was… harder to convince.
But, tonight, in his almost empty archive section, he was given a true gift. She came in from the downpour outside, and he almost didn’t recognize her. He saw her tumble into the door, shaking her umbrella, frustrated and wet, but he’d needed to do a double-take. This was not his modest little raven, hiding behind her feathers. No, she was a bird of paradise tonight.
Her feet were lined with strappy black heels, high and platformed, shining in patent leather, wet from the puddles outside. Her legs were bare, and as he raked his eye upwards, he lingered on her round calves, her muscular thighs, wide and smooth, all leading him up under a high, pleated skirt, dark green plaid, sitting high on her waist, doing little to hide that juicy rump. She had on a button-down shirt, starched and white, but he could see her black bra underneath, the rain making the fabric of her top transparent. Her hair was up in some sort of style, pulled away from her face and her neck, curling and gleaming from the droplets.
She was panting from the cold, and from rushing inside, and that didn’t help his cause. He’d been battling a succession of throbbing hard-ons ever since he’d first spotted her, and that was weeks ago. At home, he’d retreat to his bedroom, rod in hand, working himself into an orgasmic froth, trying his best to picture literally anyone but her. But, she would flash into his mind, her smile, those eyes, that skin… and he’d be lost.
When he saw a request come in from her library account, it was just as bad if not worse. His primal body would celebrate, happy that she needed his help, and that he could provide for her, and he’d be in a tumultuous, heart-pumping, cock-stretching predicament yet again. He’d cloistered himself away, deep in the darkness of the stacks, fisting himself in rushed, punishing strokes, coming in his open palm, stopping himself from ruining the historical treasures he was meant to be protecting, hanging his head in love-drunk shame.
But now, in some sort of twisted, scholarly fantasy, here she was. His curvy little grad student, dripping wet and coming straight up to his desk.
“Hiya, John,” she whispered, her voice somehow cutting through the blood that pounded through his ears.
“Hey there, love. It’s cats and dogs out there, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she looked down at herself, trying to squeeze the water from her top, stretching it even thinner across her visible bra line, the black lace now fully visible to him, its floral pattern burning itself into his mind like fire on a page, licking black soot and tormenting him deep in his belly.
“Do you think you could help me?” She looked up at him with those doe eyes, pleading.
His body responded before he did, plumping himself back to life, feeling how the body of his prick pressed itself down the leg of his jeans. Yes, sweetheart, we’ll fuckin’ help you, won’t we, mate?
John shook it off, nodding his head,
“Sure, what’s the problem?”
She pulled some copies out of her bag,
“A friend sent these over, but I don’t think they match the microfiche film that you have here. I hate to ask you this, but could you help me do a cross-check? I really just need someone to listen while I read from the fiche film.”
“You bet.”
John followed her like a loyal mutt over to the dark microfiche machine, his tail surely wagging if he had one, stealing glance after fiery glance at that delectable body as she walked, those heels clacking against the terrazzo floors.
She found the machine she wanted and perched herself on the tiny stool. He sat beside her, eyes glued to the page, afraid of himself if he dared look anywhere else. The way the machines were set up meant that she would have her eyes stuck in the viewfinders, like she was scoping out the horizon on a submarine, while the soft golden glow from the machine would light up her unbuttoned cleavage, making her body that much more visible as he stared at her from his periphery.
“Okay,” she positioned her eyes in the machine’s goggle-like viewer, unable to see anything around her but the film she was flipping through, “We’re on page seventy-four, right?”
John looked down at his packet,
“Yep, seventy-four.”
“Okay, oh—!” She twisted herself on the stool, trying to get more comfortable, but her ass was too much for the tiny seat to handle. He reached out on instinct, catching her on her flank, gripping her none too lightly, saving her from falling.
“Gotcha,” he laughed.
She peeked out of the viewfinder for a moment, smiling,
“Shit, I’m sorry. Mmm,” she cooed, “Your hand is so warm. Didn’t realize how cold I was.”
“Tha’s alright, love. We’ll getcha warmed back up.”
She gave him an encouraging look as she turned back to the viewfinder, and John felt like he had earned her approval to keep his hand planted right where it was.
As she read from the film, he followed along, not really needing to report any corrections, but his palm was itching to travel. He had a hold on her hip, part of his hand riding the hem of her skirt, feeling the chill of her flesh, pebbling from the damp cold. Then, he began to pet the spot, rubbing it to create some warmth, generate some heat with his friction, and every brush from his palm meant that the wool of her skirt would scrunch up, revealing more and more of her plump butt as he did so. Eventually, he was under her skirt, realizing that the skirt was all there was. No panties, no hose, no nothing.
“Ah, uh…” He made his excuses, “Sorry, love. Got a little carried away keepin’ you from freezin’ in here.”
He removed his hand for a moment, and then, the impossible: she grabbed it and placed it back where it was, peeking at him from the fiche machine,
“Top of page seventy-nine, according to Marchante, the lost letters from Smith to Callant, prior to the war of 1617…”
Game on.
Price followed along dutifully, confirming each page with her, but now, spurred on by her teasing consent, his hand wandered unbridled. His fingers squeezed her body like the flesh of a ripe peach, soft and supple, giving way under his ferocious strength. Deeper and deeper, he snaked his way down the curve of her cheek, hunting for the parts of her that wouldn’t be taken by the cold. Her little, dripping furnace; that’s what he wanted.
When he found it, her breath hitched. His ring and pinky fingers dropped far enough down to find her hanging right off of the stool, her holes uncovered, open to the air, unguarded and vulnerable to his searching hands. The slick, lava-hot heat that he discovered there as he sank between her folds warmed him from the inside, turning his erection into a huge fucking problem, painful and hungry for her sticky, sweet treat. When her words stuttered, he pumped his fingers deeper inside of her, steady in and steady out, up and down, the quiet milking noises muffled by her skirt.
“Tch. C’mon, love, don’t stop readin’,” he purred in her ear, daring to plant a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck, pulling back to watch the goosebumps pebble across her skin not from the chill, but from him.
“...in the, uh…” she was breathing heavy.
“In the coming months…” he prompted, teasing her with his hand, curling his fingertips as he delved deeper, pulling out some of her wetness to paint her lips, feeling her muscles loosen up for him, readying her for something more than his thick digits.
“...in the coming months, the two armies… they… um, they…”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Tha’s a good girl. Keep going.”
She tried her best, and he almost felt bad for her, but not that bad. Because when he added another finger, sinking his middle alongside his ring, letting his pointer finger lazily tease its way up the slick surface of her folds, reaching for her clit, her reading stopped entirely.
“Mm, fuck!” She hissed under her breath, “John… I can’t…”
“I know, baby. I know. But, this is your bloody fault, innit?” John whispered, his voice gravelly and rolling beneath his breath, “You came in here, you wanted this, didn’t you?”
“No…” She whined, her mouth hanging open, her lips shining with a little bit of her own drool.
“Don’t lie to me,” he warned darkly, “You wanted to see if I would take your fuckin’ bait.”
Another finger, three of them, twisting and curling, bending and rubbing against her tight walls, and that was enough for her confession.
“Yes. Yes, I… yes, fuck…”
“And you wore this just for me, didn’t you?”
“...yes.”
“My good girl,” John praised her, tossing the packet down on the desk and using his free hand to widen the neckline of her shirt.
He pulled at the fabric until he broke a button, forcing her breasts through the opening, shoving his hand into her bra to fondle her nipples and squeeze her full tits. Then, he made a true effort to tuck her clothes under them, letting her breasts sit on top of her bra cups, hanging freely in the soft glow of the reading machine. Now, with her nipples on full display, he could bend down to kiss them, to nip at them softly, suckling at her skin as he fingered her, eliciting nothing but desperate, quiet mewls from her open mouth.
“John, please…”
She was barely perched on the stool anymore, her ass shifting and trembling, trying to present itself to him, her body wordlessly begging for more and more of his touch.
“Please, what? Want me to pull a different document?” He chuckled, removing himself entirely, making as if to stand and leave her there a half-naked, dripping mess.
“No!” She gasped, grabbing him by his shirt, yanking him back, shying away from his cruel laughter.
He returned to her, using his fingers to explore her swollen pussy and, now, to lightly rim his way around the tight ring of her asshole. His once-gentle suckles against her puffy nipples turned into rough, bruising kisses, making her squirm from pleasure and pain, crying out for him.
“Greedy thing,” he panted, feeling her flutter around his hand, “You wanna come on me? Right here? In the middle of my fuckin’ library?”
She nodded, her eyes now fixated on the way he was playing with her tits, stealing sweet kisses from her mouth when she would cry out too loudly.
“Teasin’ me for weeks,” he admitted, pulling his hand from beneath her skirt, suckling on his fingers to taste her, sticking them in her mouth so she could join him, watching her pupils dilate as her own heady fluids touched her tongue.
“So pretty…” John kissed her, and then it was his turn to gasp.
She had let her hands wander to his lap, rubbing the outline of his cock through his jeans, teasing the head when she finally found it, encouraging him to buck against her touch.
He started to fuck her with his hand; long, deep strokes, no longer caring about the lewd noises he was making as his knuckles churned within her, soaked and pumping in an unravelling rhythm.
To hide her screams, he pressed his mouth against hers, stuffing her pretty cheeks full of his tongue, feeling her suck against it for comfort as she fell apart.
Then, she was wet beyond belief, dripping all over his palm, creamy and hot, giving him a reward for every cruel thrust of his hand. She was gripping onto his cock’s shaft for dear life, holding it like a lifeline, and her tight grip was enough to drag him right along the edge with her.
By the time he pulled away from her, she was a shuddering, trembling mess. Her legs were shaking, barely able to keep her balance on the tiny stool, her tits red and purple from his assault.
“C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s go back to my office, yeah? Get you all cleaned up.”
She nodded, not even bothering to cover herself as he helped her stand, walking in front of him as he led her through the back door to the restricted area, her eyes hooded and exhausted from her ordeal, so sweet and trusting.
“Thanks for your help, John,” she sighed, smiling up at him with that same grin that had haunted his dreams, “I wish there was some way that I could repay you. Is there anything I can do?”
Now that they were in his office, he sat her on his desk, unbuttoning the last remaining buttons of her blouse, peeling her bra away from her shoulders, unzipping the side of her skirt, grinning down at her wet sex, licking his lips like the wolf that he was,
“Oh, baby, there are so many things you could do for me. But, let’s start with you spreading your legs, hm?”
“Like this?” She did as he asked, watching him slide her skirt off of her body, letting it ruffle to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her heels. Slowly, she pulled her knees apart, showing off for him, knowing that as much as he was the wolf, she was more than just prey.
“Holy shite,” John murmured under his breath, watching as she bloomed for him, a pink petal in the darkness of his own shadow.
He knelt before her, eager to put his mouth against her softness, lapping his tongue against her like he was starving. Her thick thighs felt good in his hands, and he pried her open with them, pulling her legs even wider than she had dared.
He dragged his tongue along every fold and dripping line of delicate skin, finding the swollen body of her clit nestled beneath its hood, shining for him like a pretty pink gem. He pressed his fingers back inside of her, not granting her any mercy, starting with three, stretching his way back in.
John’s hand fucked her as he drank from her, reaping what he sowed, over and over, in and out, rubbing her to her peak and dragging her over the edge.
She was gleaming down his beard by the time he’d had his fill. His tongue coated in her slick, swallowing her down his throat, enjoying the lingering taste of her in his mouth.
His poor darling was hoarse from her keening, sweating, trembling below him, a drenched mess on his desktop. He chuckled, petting her skin with his callused hands,
“Had enough?”
Her eyes were full of worry and anticipation as she looked up at him, wanting to say yes, but shaking her head no.
He teased her, unzipping his fly, letting his cock roll out onto her belly, thrusting it forward until he was flush with her hips, showing her just how deep he would reach. Her eyes widened with shock as she reached down to touch him, feeling him dripping with precome far above her navel.
John tapped himself against her, heavy and stiff,
“Change your mind?”
“Um…” Her voice was small, but she still looked up at him expectantly, so he rubbed his head through her folds as a final warning.
“Ungh! Mmf– John…” She moaned his name, rocking her hips against his long shaft, her knees shaking every time his head buried itself in her folds.
He slapped his cockhead against her clit as if knocking for entry, making her gasp,
“I’m not hearing a no, love.”
She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stop herself from screaming as she felt him notch his head into the cradle of her pussy, pressing forward just enough to stretch her with the body of his cock, watching as her eyes began to fill up with tears, overwhelmed by his size.
By the time he was halfway into her warm core, her eyes had rolled behind her fluttering lashes, her breath stuck in her throat, her lips parted, showing him her lolling tongue.
“Tha’s it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?” John grunted, shoving himself the rest of the way through her clenched muscles, listening to the sounds of her wetness as her body tried to make room for his immense girth.
As John began to thrust into her, she squeezed herself against him, fighting off another orgasm, each of them coming closer and closer together as she became almost overstimulated by him. He held his fist over her lower belly, leaning forward to put his weight down into his knuckles, making her feel every inch of him.
The pressure from his hand turned her into a gooey mess, her body throwing everything it could to accommodate him, her cries dragging out into deep moans, fully under his spell.
He couldn’t help himself. All of those nights where his cock had only been comforted by his own hand were running him down, crackling at the edges of his mind, eating away at his humanity, ravenous and desperate. Finally feeling her, hearing her cry for him, watching the way her pussy sucked him in; it was making him wild.
His desk was rocking off of its feet, scooting across the floor of his office, John’s strength too much for it to hold him back. He pulled her knees together, using them to push her thick thighs against her belly, holding her down at a new angle. For a few moments, he let himself get lost in the delightful jiggle of her body as he railed against her, admiring how her fat ass rippled with each of his thrusts.
“John… J–John. Oh, my God,” she gripped the edge of the table, her elbows framing her head on either side, the new position making her breasts hang and sway like heavy teardrops.
“Come for me, love. C’mon. Let me feel it,” he growled breathlessly, leaning against her leg, letting his lips and tongue graze along her ankle, tracing the skin between the straps of her gleaming heels.
“I’m… so close…”
John kept his pace, even though everything within him wanted to breakdown and follow her over the edge. His cock was throbbing, sending him every signal that it was ready to burst, his aching balls full and tight, the nerves in his groin burning with hot pleasure.
Then, he was rewarded for his patience. She began to unfurl beneath him, unraveling like a tangled ball of yarn, chaotic and spinning out of control. Her muscles within her core clamped down on his cock, milking him like a hungry mouth, yanking him deeper inside of her as she came. With all of the strength he had left, he pulled himself out of her at the last moment, spraying rope after rope of his come across her pulsating hole, painting her pussy with his own orgasm, grunting like a rabid animal.
He let her legs fall open, weak as she was, watching as she melted on his desk, laying beside her. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest, still fully clothed in stark contrast to her nakedness. Both of them were breathing in ragged, exhausted bursts, clinging to each other for any kind of strength they could find left.
“Thanks for… helping me, John,” she smiled up at him, kissing his neck.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he kissed her forehead, “Research is my second favorite thing.”
“What’s your first?” She looked lost, still reeling from what he had just put her through.
“Oh, love,” he let out a low rumbling laugh, “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll show you again.”
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description.
Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)
first chapter >> last chapter
-
Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe.
Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps.
You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is.
You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss.
Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual.
After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath.
Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat.
Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.
“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing.
“Sick of my company already?” she laughs.
“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.”
She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed.
Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust.
You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow.
She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week.
You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side.
After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile.
The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you.
“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass.
“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”
She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”
And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water.
You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off.
The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time.
Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well.
The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you.
Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house.
For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change.
You, simply, have a coffee.
After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face.
It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full.
“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob.
She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”
You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.
“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb.
“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”
“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?”
Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.
He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop.
You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek.
The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew.
The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.
The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.
A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress.
Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances.
And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house.
Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in.
You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.
There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them.
When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered.
“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear.
“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek.
And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart.
The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep.
He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”
His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more.
You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”
“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”
“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”
“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.
He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck.
John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed.
In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.
He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine.
It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time.
The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.
Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth.
It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.
“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado.
Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress.
A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue.
You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire.
The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh.
The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit.
You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over.
“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed.
When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you.
He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock.
“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”
You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his.
“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.
“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.”
A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”
His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”
You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."
His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust.
If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat.
In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine.
“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words.
His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”
“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours.
You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in.
This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you.
You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire.
Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.
“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”
“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead.
“…And if it doesn’t happen?”
He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”
It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs.
Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go.
But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes.
You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please.
Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud.
God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?
John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.
“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means.
Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn.
The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind.
You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day.
The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head.
A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back.
“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”
Lumberjack John Price, retired British Army captain, owns and operates 5,000 acres of selective harvesting land for his logging company. Unfortunately, you work for an environmental firm as a consultant, and it’s your job to tell him he has to stop logging at once since his harvest is encroaching on rare bear habitats. But, something’s not quite right about the bears, or about these lumberjacks, and you’re determined to get to the bottom of it.
Bear Price is here! Hope y'all enjoy it. Make sure to subscribe on AO3 or check back here for (hopefully) weekly updates.
Huge thanks to my alpha reader, @vampirekilmerfic for sticking with me through the planning stages, and to my faithful betas, @gemmahale and @eclecticgrimlin 🩷 Love y'all so much.
summary: alex is your friends-with-benefits, and it’s your cousin's wedding, and you need a date.. (this whole plot was made just so he could eat box)
pairing: alex keller x f!reader
a/n: alex keller is a certified munch and i stand by that. also this wasn’t even supposed to be a whole fleshed out fic, just a little thought buttttt unfortunately i can’t summarize… also the jason todd fic is coming but it is also unfortunate that i’m lazy:) IT WILL COME THOUGH (also i am trying to get through my asks so don’t worry bbs IM GETTING TO WORK) enjoy alex being nasty;) ALSO NEED MORE ALEX APPRECIATION HE'S SO HOT
word count: 2.7k+
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Backyard Barbecue
"Please.." You beg Alex as you sit up in his bed, naked, with his fluffy comforter covering you. He sits on the edge, carefully putting his boot on, with his abdomen bare.
"You know I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't desperate." You enunciate the last word. He turns to face you. "Desperate. Huh?" He raises a brow and turns back down to lace up his boot.
"Yes." You sigh. "My cousin is younger than me, and she's already getting married." You bring your knees up, so you can rest your head on them. "My aunts are always nagging me about when I'm gonna finally get a boyfriend." You huff out.
"Look, I feel for you—I really do—but they're going to know I'm not your boyfriend," he said, bending up and turning towards you.
"Don't make that face at me." He says, noticing your big puppy-dog eyes and deep frown. "What face?" You murmur, obviously lying.
"You know the face." He leans down to pick up a white shirt and slips it on. You silently curse and crawl your way across the bed to him with the whole comforter wrapped around you.
You rest your chin on his shoulder. "Please.." You purr as you press a kiss to his clothed shoulder.
"Uh-uh." He tuts. "What?" You question as you kiss your way up his neck and gently nibble at his ear. "I'm not-fuck-I'm not falling for that." He protests but makes no real effort to move away.
"Please.." You say again, this time whispering it directly in his ear. He could feel your hot breath, full of need. "Go with me." You leaned more on him, slowly dropping the blanket encasing your naked body so he could feel your nipples graze his shoulder as you leaned to look him in the eye.
He turned to look down at you, now at his eye level. "I'll make it worth your while." You grin, threading your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on the roots.
"Are you trying to barter sex?" He groaned out, a smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe." You play with the hem of the joggers he had on, slipping a finger beneath the waistband.
"God, you're gonna be the death of me." He huffed, roughly gripping your waist and pulling you onto him so you were straddling his lap. You could feel the fabric from his shirt rub against your bare nipples and the fabric from his joggers rub against your cunt.
He gripped you tighter, dragging his hand from your waist to grip your ass. "Uh-uh." You say, gripping his hand on your ass and moving it away. "You don't get to touch if you don't go." You use your hand to tug at his hair again.
"Fuck, fine." He gritts, bringing both hands to grip your ass.
"Yay! Thank you." You exclaim, sliding off of him.
"Seriously." He huffs as you wonder to pick up your dress and bra off the floor, as you laugh at him. He doesn't stay sour for long as he notices the way your bare ass swings as you pick up your clothes.
"Jesus Christ, sweetheart." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. You pop back up and look at him. "Bad boy." You laugh out. "Quit looking at my ass, and get yours dressed."
"Why?" He sighed as he laid back on the bed. "Because we have to leave in thirty minutes." You casually said as you slipped your dress back on.
"It's today?" He twisted his head to face you, his voice carrying a lethal tone. "Surprise. Get dressed." You harp as you swipe some lipstick over your swollen lips. "God damn it." He grumbled as he begrudgingly got off the bed to head into the bathroom.
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The ride to your cousins felt exhausting and long because Alex kept whining the whole time. Though, you didn't take his complaints too seriously because his hand rested on your thigh the entire drive.
You looked out the window to see the white, bricked, picked-fenced house—the house you had spent so many summers at.
"We're here!" You chimed as you scooted closer to him to pull up the neck of the tie he pulled down as soon as you put it on him.
"Was the tie really necessary?" He tilted his head, raising his hand to push a strand of hair away from your face. "I want you to make a good first impression." You gently pat him on the chest.
"Let's go." You beamed.
You both made your way to the front door, which swung open without you even knocking on it.
"You made it!" Your cousin chimed, bringing you in for a tight hug. She made quick notice of the hunk of a man behind you. "You must be the boyfriend?" She asked, shamelessly looking him up and down.
"Yes, ma'am." He politely said, sticking his hand out.
"Oh, please. We're family!" She quickly brought him in for a hug, and he gave you a "help save me look" and you let out a quiet laugh. She let go. "Well, come on in! Your dad's inside." She stepped aside so you could both come in, but she gently grabbed your wrist and gave you a wink and a thumbs up.
"Nice catch." She whispered, referring to Alex. You let out a little laugh, covering your mouth. She led you both to the kitchen, where the rest of your family was. Alex noticed a familiar man leaning against the counter. He made his way over to him.
"Keller, what the hell are you doing here?" Captain Price questioned as he took a sip of his whiskey.
"I could ask you the same, Captain." He laughed out.
"Well, I'm-" Price begins.
"Dad!" You chimed, making your way over to Price and hugging him tightly. Alex's eyes widened. "Wha- Dad?" You pull away and tug on Alex's arm, so you're side-by-side. "Dad, this is my boyfriend, Alex." You beam as you thread your fingers through his.
"Boyfriend?" Price questions as his eyes dart to Alex's.
"Maybe boyfriend is a... strong word," Alex says, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "We've been dating for five months." You inform your dad, smiling.
"Is that right?" Price's eyes are still on Alex as he slowly sips his drink.
"Yes," you say as you turn to see your cousin struggling to bring in some fruit trays through the front door. "Sorry, let me go help her. Stay here." You say to Alex. His eyes widen, and he tries to grip your hand, but you are already off to the door.
"Keller." Price starts, as Alex turns back towards him. "What the hell are you doing with my daughter?" He gently places his whiskey glass down.
"Look, I didn't even know you had a daughter. You think I would have started dating her if I knew she was yours?" He counters.
"I would hope not." Price cooly says as he crosses his arms. He notices Alex's pleading expression and decides to cut a little slack—just a little, though.
"Look, I know you're a good guy, and hell, she looks smitten. But that's my baby." Price gestures to her over by the door.
He continues. "If you do anything to hurt her, Keller, I'll-"
"You'll kill me?" Alex interrupts, causing Price to let out a low chuckle.
"Christ, no. She would never speak to me again." Price leans a little closer to Alex. "But, I do know some guys who would if I asked." He's quick to step away from Alex and chuckle as he sees you approaching. He gives Alex a nod, and he puts on a fake laugh.
"Sounds like you two are getting along." You smile, grabbing Alex's hand. "We're going to go grab some food. You want anything, dad?"
"No, no. Your aunt already made me eat three plates." He pats his bloated stomach. You let out a laugh and drag Alex outside the back door to the burger station.
You assemble your burgers, carefully adding an array of veggies and a slice of cheese. As he puts ketchup on his bun, you turn towards him.
"Are you having fun?" You question shyly.
"Why're you actin' all shy, sweetheart?"
"Well, you know." He raises a brow. "Because we aren't really da—" You are interrupted by a hand gently moving you aside. "Excuse me," the voice says. "Oh, sorry—Jack!" You smile, raising your arms to bring him in for a hug.
"I was wondering how long it would take ya," Jack said, encasing your body in a hug. It felt strange seeing him after all these years. You never dated, but your parents always joked that you two would get married.
You pulled away and looked at Alex, whose eyes were narrowed and his body visibly stiff. "This is my boyfriend, Alex." You grabbed his hand.
"Boyfriend?" Jack questioned, his eyes drifting to where your hands were connected.
"That's right. Boyfriend." Alex confirmed, enunciating the last word.
You looked at him and made a confused expression but turned back to Jack. "So, are you having a good time?" You took Alex's cup of iced tea in his hand and sipped some.
"I'm... ya." Jack's gaze slowly fell to the dip in between your breasts.
"Eyes up," Alex commands, bringing his hand to rest on the small of your back. Jack immediately raises his eyes to meet Alex's as his face reddens at getting caught. "Sorry. I should. I... okay." Jack steps away from both of you, forgetting his plate with his burger on it on the table.
You turn to Alex with your hands on your hips. "What was that?" You question. "I don't know. Maybe he was busy?" He picks up his burger and takes a bite, playing dumb.
"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Keller." You continue. "I'm talking about you getting all jealous." He swallows. "Me. Jealous. When?" Widening his mouth at the accusation.
"You so were. Oh my God!" You say, lightly hitting his bicep.
"I wasn't jealous. He was being weird." He explains.
He pauses for a moment, trying to ease out his next words. "Have you two had sex?"
"What?" You laugh out. "No, Alex, we have not had sex." You grab a napkin off the table. "But, we've... done other stuff."
"Other stuff?" He shifts on his feet. "What other stuff?"
"Like you know.." You trail off.
"No, I don't know." He tilts his head, feeling his body tighten. "Go on." He pushes.
"I can't believe you're making me say it." You look down at the ground briefly. "Fine. Like oral or whatever," You continue before he can speak. "Well, he didn't like going down on me. It was mostly me going down on him."
"You're fucking serious?" He put his burger down on his plate. You nodded, taking another sip of his tea.
"I'm glad you like to though." You smile, drinking more tea. You tilt your head a little, a puzzled expression taking over your face. "You like to, right?"
He laughs. "You don't think I like to?"
"I don't know.." You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth.
He takes another bite of the burger, scanning your needy face and puffy lip tucked between your teeth.
"Where's the bathroom?" He roughly asks after swallowing. You weren't picking up what he was putting down. "It's... ah... to the right of the front door, then your turn to the left."
"Care to help me?" He asks, setting his burger down. He then grabs his tea from your hand and sets it next to his plate.
"Oh.. sure." You smile as you grab his hand and direct him inside.
It was nice everyone had moved outside, so now you and Alex didn't have to worry about anyone hearing you two.
You stepped into the bathroom first, and Alex followed suit, locking the door as soon as he stepped in. He was quick to connect his lips to yours. His hand wandered down your body, stopping just above your ass.
You begin to sink to your knees, but Alex quickly pulls you up and places you on the edge of the sink.
"You don't want me to?" You skeptically question, shifting on the cool porcelain of the sink.
"I only want to taste you." He sinks to his knees and pools up the fabric of your dress so it's gathered around your waist. You eye him and bring your hand to thread through his light hair.
He places hot, open kisses on your lower thigh, slightly nipping at your skin, causing you to squirm. He continued moving up your thigh, painfully slow. You could feel his facial hair graze you, sending goosebumps across your skin.
"Can you.. can you just.." You threw your head back as he made contact with your upper thigh, grazing your cunt.
"What was that?" He said, a smirk playing on his lip.
"Can you just.." You tried to gently scoot his head closer to where you ached.
"Talk to me. What do you need?" He gruffly said against your thigh.
"Fuck. I need your tongue." He let out a rough laugh that vibrated throughout your entire body. He leaned in closer and licked a small strip across the outside of your dripping cunt.
"Fuck." You moaned, tightening your grip on his hair.
His tongue was firm but not too firm. It felt just right against you. You craved more. No, you needed more. It was almost as if he read your mind because he slipped his tongue in you so it was grazing your clit.
You buck against his face at the contact. "I swear you're a mind-reader."
"I know what you like." He gently licks your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.
"We gotta' be a little quiet, baby. You know I like to hear you, but I don't think your family would." He gruffed as he took your clit between in lips and sucked it slowly.
"Alex." You moaned out, leaning your head against the bathroom mirror.
"Feel good?" He murmured against you as he licked your clit.
You quickly nodded.
"What was that?" He paused his actions, awaiting a response.
"Yes. So good." You whine out, trying to move him back.
"Good." He dipped his head back down and lightly licked your clit, then dragged his tongue along your inner lips, earning sweet moans from you. He moved back to your clit and drew soft circles on it. Once your legs began to shake, he knew you were close.
"I'm so-" You began, voice gravely.
"I know." He finished as he started to increase his pace. He kept it consistent as your moans became more frequent and your body pulsed.
He reached his arm up to gently caress your inner thigh, squeezing and kneading the fat of it, just how you like him to. You felt your stomach tighten, and the pleasure clouding your mind as your arousal covered his tongue.
He hadn't stopped his pace until he knew you were down from your high, standing up and letting you lean on him.
You pulled back a little to look up at him. "I know you didn't want to come to this. But I'm really glad you did." You smile, gripping his arm.
"You're just saying that because I gave you an orgasm." He laughs, gently rubbing your cheek with his clean hand.
"No. I'm serious." You laugh. "I know you don't want to label this, but-"
"I want you to be my girlfriend." He says, tucking your hair behind your ear.
"Really?" Your eyes widened in surprise. "What changed?"
"Just came to my senses." He confessed. "And the thought of you with any other guy doesn't make me so happy." He smiled.
You smile back at him before your eyes widen again. "You'll have to meet my uncles. Don't worry, they're great." You say as you grip his shoulder to slip off the sink.
"They work with my dad." You confirm as he fixes your dress.
"Oh, maybe I know them. What are their names?" He casually questions.
"Simon, Johnny, and Kyle." Your eyes beam. "They're the best!"
Rafael Barba x reader
Summary: Rafael Barba joins the SVU squad as their new A.D.A and while tensions are a bit tough at the start, he does open up to one of their detectives y/n. The two bond together quickly and end up falling for each other harder than the expected. Their relationship blooms as they work through case after case together, and then the inevitable happens when Rafael's hit with a very hard choice to make pertaining to a case. How will it affect their relationship? Will y/n still support him, and stay with him, or will he hate himself too much to think he's worthy of her love? The bigger question remains, will he ever return to SVU, and what changes are waiting for him if he does?
Heavily follows canon cases/situations/episodes.
All chapters appropriately labelled with warnings.
For anyone worried about missing anything in BG3 or replaying the game and wanting to find something they missed there’s a ton of checklists available online and I’m just gonna post the ones I’ve been using for all the acts in case anybody else wants to reference them!
Act 1 of 'Baldur's Gate 3' can take dozens of hours to complete, with a multitude of sidequests and activities. Here's everything you need t
Act 2 in 'Baldur's Gate 3' is a massive undertaking, with a lot of hidden quests and details. Here's everything you'll want to do in the Sha
Act Three is jam-packed with quests for you to complete.
Don't miss any Act 3 side quest and secret available in Baldur's Gate 3 with this guide.
Act 3 of Baldur's Gate 3 is massive, finally taking you the titular city itself. Here's everything you'll want to see and do.
I'd like to see Astarion paired with more "unattractive" Tavs. I'd like to see him calling them beautiful,
And they know they aren't. Not in the ways the world sees beauty.
I'd like it to be a line at first.
Tav was someone Astarion assumed would easy target *because* they aren't much to look at, he figures they'll feel lucky to have a chance at a "10" like him
Only their insecurity is so high they're immediately suspicious. They don't buy any of his lines. They cringe or smile indulgent but with pain when he compliments them.
I want Astarion to fall in love
And by the time he does, he means every word. They become beautiful to him. They are perfect, every time, because they are them. They are delicious, because they taste like the love of his life. Because they are.
I want Astarion to mean it way before Tav starts to believe him.
Pairing: Gaz x f!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: virginity loss, established relationship, praise kink (kind of), discussions of contraceptives, gratuitous use of italics, a metaphor perhaps stretched too thin, really just a lot of gooey sweetness, only one editing pass so be gentle
Author’s Notes: Listen, I am not a Gaz girl, but this thing just came out of me.
Now on AO3!
You’re in the middle of making out on his couch when you tell him.
You’re straddled across his lap, arms hung loosely around his neck as his hands slide soft and soothing up and down your back. Something is burning low in your belly, something you’ve often felt but never shared with anyone else, and his mouth is warm and eager on yours.
“Can’t ever get enough of you, feels like,” he’d said to you, early in your relationship. He’d meant it as a joke, at the time, referring to the near three-solid days you’d spent together between deployment. You hadn’t even done that much—one or two outings to a cafe had only punctuated longer stretches given simply to sharing each other’s company. You’d still been getting familiar then, the both of you, still sharing kisses that were more shy than anything else.
Kyle is not shy now, and neither are you. His entire body is warm, and almost pliant beneath yours, but you can feel a kind of tightness that always seems to be there when the two of you get into these positions. It’s in his shoulders, pulled taut along the muscles of his trapezius, and as you tease his lower lip with your teeth you knead circles into the meat of it with the tips of your fingers.
The massage does the opposite of helping, though—he intakes a sharp breath, and pulls away from you, hands tight on your waist as he breaths hard. His eyes are closed, and the warm brown of his cheeks is made warmer by a tinge of red.
“Maybe we should slow down,” he says, sounding like that’s the opposite of what he wants to do. The grip he has on you seems to agree.
“If you want,” you say, but making the offer feels like pulling your own teeth. That low burn is beginning to spread, but insecurity suddenly threatens to poison it. Does he not want you?
It’s been a little like this throughout the span of your relationship. Even without any admissions, you know it’s pretty obvious that you don’t have much experience. And for the most part, his attention to the slow pace you set has been nothing but a relief—people could get weird about your needs, about what you hadn’t done, but Kyle makes you feel like the rhythm you set isn’t a strange one to dance to at all.
“Do you want to?” Kyle asks, opening his eyes to meet yours.
The insecurity dissolves. You can see it all over his face, in the crease of his brow—he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep you comfortable, even if he ends up unsatisfied. You feel like his expression is mirroring yours perfectly, painted stark and hot with aching want, and settling into that shared feeling is like sinking deep into a warm bath.
“No,” you whisper, hands moving to frame the sides of his neck.
He inhales again, less sharply. “Just say when, yeah?” he whispers back. The words are accompanied with a shift of his hips, a flutter of his hands on your waist.
“There isn’t a when,” you say, and then without thinking, “I want you to be my first, Gaz.”
He goes still. Blinks at you. “Oh.”
And instantly you regret opening your mouth. Your hands fall away, sliding down to his chest, curling into embarrassed fists. You look down. Of course it’s weird. Who was a virgin past eighteen these days? You know Kyle is experienced, unlike you—you’ve felt it every time he’s touched you, every time he’s slung an arm around you with the casual ease of someone who knew how to be with someone else. Shame and disappointment flood you, and that burn in your belly rapidly banks.
But his hands—broad, strong, and gentle—are on your face, bringing you back to him. “I would’ve thought—god, I mean, people must have thrown themselves at you!”
He’s smiling, wide and joyful, and it’s like seeing the sun rise. As quickly as it came, the embarrassment flees.
You smile too, the relief making you laugh, and refrain from correcting his generous assumption. “It just never felt right.”
He kisses you, swift and solid, but suddenly pulls away again, but you know this time it’s because he’s thought to say something. “And it feels right now?”
You nod, hands going back to his neck, lashes lowered a little demurely. “You feel right, Kyle.”
He surges forward again, lips finding the corner of your mouth and working toward your jaw. “Tell me the minute I do something you don’t like. Promise me, yeah? Promise.”
“I promise,” you gasp, as suddenly his teeth find the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You don’t think, in that moment as the burn suddenly roars back to life, that he could do a single thing to make keeping that promise necessary. “Kyle, that feels good.”
His lips part from your skin with a wet smack, move to give the hickey he’s just sucked into your skin a companion. “That’s the idea, love.”
Your hands find the expanse of his back as he presses you closer, fingers spreading over the flex and stretch of taut muscle, and you dig your nails in as a little moan leaves you. The tension you’d always felt is gone, and when you realize that it’s been there because he’s been holding back for you the entire time, your breath leaves your lungs.
“That feels good, too, love,” he says against your neck, smiling up at you when you look at him. “Always feels good when you touch me. Always. Didn’t want to scare you with that.”
You melt a little. “I’m never scared of you, Kyle.”
You don’t have the words to describe his expression. The smile has dropped away, but it’s been replaced with something you think borders on beatific. His eyes, warm and brown and soft, are seeing you against a backdrop of something else, something you know is bloody and ugly and a place of no pride. You don’t know the details—you don’t have the clearance—but you know enough.
You take his face in your hands as he pulls back. “Never,” you repeat.
His arms tighten around you like vices, and he leans forward again, kissing you hard. His tongue finds the edge of your teeth, licks into your mouth as his hands flex across your back and your fingers find the collar of his shirt. It feels illicit to delve beneath the flimsy cotton, to trace the shape of his muscles with your nails, but the purr of satisfaction he gives against your mouth tells you it’s exactly the right thing to do.
“Off,” you say between kisses, and the fabric complains as he yanks it up, pulls his arms and head out, and throws the thing away without a second look. You splay your hands across his chest, digging your nails into the swell of his muscles as he claims your mouth again, and his skin is blazing to touch. You think there’s a fire burning inside him, too, and in the back of your mind you wonder if his flat could burn down just from the two of you being together like this.
His arms sink lower around your body, traveling from waist to hips, and abruptly he’s pulling you forward, hands splayed across both ass cheeks, as he shifts his hips and settles back against the couch. The new position has your mons nestled against an interesting bulge at the front of his pants, but he doesn’t give you much time to blush or fluster about it.
“Ride me, love, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, the deep dark of his eyes alight with the firestorm whipping up between you.
You grasp his shoulders and lean in to seal your mouth over his again. His fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, hot on the already warm skin of your back. Encouraged, you pivot your hips a little, experimentally, and in synch the both of you groan at the sensation. His erection is almost perfectly aligned with the clothed seam of your pussy, the drag of it made simultaneously just perfect and not enough with the fabric’s friction. You grind down again, pressing your mouth harder against his, whimpering when his jaw opens and his tongue finds its way into the space beneath yours. He shifts his hips, pushing up into you a little, grabbing you by the ass again as you bear your clit down hard on what feels like it could be the head of his cock.
“Christ, love, that’s fucking perfect,” Kyle gasps, tendons in his neck pulled completely taut.
“Gaz, it feels so good,” you whine, pressing down harder, dragging against him, the need suddenly feverish.
His hands leave your shirt and wedge themselves into the back of your pants, eliciting a sharp gasp as he kneads the flesh. “This okay? You want these off?”
“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, Kyle, please.”
It’s a clumsy job, and they end up hanging from one ankle because you cannot be bothered to do more than get them out of the way. Somewhere in the back of your head you want to laugh at how slapdash the both of you must look—him shirtless but still in sweatpants, you naked only from the waist down—but the rest of your mind is an inferno. As you settle back onto his lap, there’s only his clothes separating you from him now, and when you press your mons against him again the heat coming from his cock is breathtaking.
“We need a condom?” Kyle asks, spreading his big hands across your thighs.
“I’m on the pill,” you murmur, grinning at his foresight, blessing your lucky stars that you’d thought to take precautions as early as the first time you’d made out with him.
“Fuck yeah,” he enthuses, grinning back. “Option’s always open though. If we need it.”
That has you kissing him again, burrowing your hips into his, swallowing the sharp moan he gives as his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. You can almost imagine him throbbing against you—or is that your own pulse you feel, beating a rhythm between your folds? Heat floods your face at the thought, and a needy ache blooms quickly from your center.
You separate from him. “Kyle—touch me. Please?”
His hand goes to your sex like he’d been waiting for you to ask. Suddenly you’re fighting your own body, because your hips jerk away from him when his fingers slide through folds that you’re only now realizing are dripping wet. The pleasure is not dulled with fabric this time, not under the rhythm of your control, and it’s like flames are licking at your bare skin with the sensation of his touch. Every nerve is alive, alight with awareness.
“Sorry!” you gasp. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”
But he’s got a steady arm around you. His grin reappears, satisfied and almost smug. “That good, is it?” he teases, a lighter touch dragging again through the creases of you, curling his fingers into a sticky squelch that has you blushing furiously. “Shit, that is good.”
“Kyle,” you beg. “Please.”
He forms his mouth around your pulse, the tip of his middle finger circling your clit without actually making contact. “You want my fingers, love?” They brush around the borders of your entrance. “Want me to get you ready?”
“I can take you,” you say, bearing down, trapping his hand between your pussy and his cock. “I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much. I promised, didn’t I?”
He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, and searches your gaze. You don’t know what he sees, but his mouth finds yours again. “Jesus, darling. Fuck. You’re fucking perfect.”
He withdraws his hand, and scoots you back a little by the hips. You can’t help staring as he pulls his waistband down, showing a small dusting of curly pubic hair, and pulls his cock free with one hand. The burn almost peaks then and there, because the sight of it standing like that, rigid, the head of it smeared glossy with precum, is almost too much to take. He’s hard, hard because of you, hard because of what you’d been doing together.
Your trace your fingers along its length, almost lightheaded, before remembering that he’s been so good about staying at your pace. “Is this okay?” you ask, your touch lingering at the base. You want to show him the same consideration he’s shown you—want him to know how precious it has been by giving him the same.
His breath comes out unevenly, and he presses his forehead to yours—you think he understands. “Better than okay. Fuck.”
You stroke him again, lingering at the dip between shaft and corona, and your brows shoot up when his cock twitches in response. Your breath is suddenly shaky in your chest, shallow, and your throat feels dry when you finally speak. You hadn’t known that could happen. The implications have the blood roaring in your ears.
“How—” and you have to lick your lips, “—how do we do this?”
You look up at his face again, and his lips part in a smile that’s so tender it makes your heart hurt. “Come here.”
He helps you lift up on your knees, and you want to whimper at how easy it is for him to hold you steady with one hand while the other takes ahold of his cock. There is barely any space between the head of it and your folds. You swear you can feel the heat of it radiating out toward your skin, as if it’s stretching out to find you.
“Help me in, alright?” Kyle murmurs, hand tightening on your hip, the pressure comforting.
You grip his bare shoulder with one hand and reach down, finding your entrance—you’re familiar enough with that—and spreading your folds. As you lower yourself, trembling less than you might have without his support, you feel the head of his cock pass between the splay of your fingers, spreading them wider, and then your entrance surrounds him.
Lower. You feed him into yourself in centimeters, carefully, but it’s like you were made to take him—your body gives no resistance, the dripping slick you’re coated with welcoming him eagerly, hungrily. You toss your pace to the wind and push down, taking him to the root.
The moan that leaves you is long and loud as he hisses “Fuck!” in your ear. The hand that had been around his cock slaps against your ass, and you feel him go rigid beneath you, feel his shoulders go tight, feel his thighs flex beneath you as his grip on your body turns to iron. He’s hot and thick inside you, and deep, deeper than your fingers have ever been able to reach. You’re sure of it now—you can feel the his pulse in you, thrumming against your walls like the beat of a drum.
You find your breath somehow as the two of you sit motionless for a heartbeat.
Then he’s huffing a laugh. “Warn a guy next time, love! Shit, you feel incredible.”
You laugh too, and it’s followed by a gasp as you can feel yourself laughing around him. “Told you I could take you!” you pant.
He grins at you, showing his teeth, and nips at your jaw. “Fucking minx. Take the rest then, too, aye?”
You pivot your hips, already practiced from before, and give a cry as you finally register the stretch of your walls around him. It’s a good stretch, a burn that you’re sure is going to sear you from the inside. Your thighs are shaking a little, tight with a building pressure that threatens to combust, and Kyle gives a push upward with his hips.
“I got you,” he says, and his voice is low and breathy as he wraps both hands around your waist. “Go ahead. Take what you need. We’ll get you there.”
You pivot again, and pleasure radiates from your core from where your bodies are joined. You don’t need to think about it too much as you roll your hips, back and forth, falling forward to drape yourself across Kyle’s chest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders for leverage. One heavy arm loops around your back, and you’re squealing as his free hand is at your sex again, two fingers pressing into your clit as his hips rock, as ever, to match your rhythm.
Your breath is coming fast. The heat between your bodies is humid, heavy, settling slick across your skin as you move together. You rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering, panting, grinding your hips down as the muscles in your back and thighs pull tighter and tighter, as something in your core winds itself up with so much tension you wonder how far it can actually go. You’ve come before, with a vibrator, with your own hands, but it’s never been like this.
“Kyle,” you say, and it comes out as the neediest whine you have ever heard yourself make. “I’m so close, oh my god…”
“I can feel it,” he says, thrusting up into you with new momentum. “You’re almost there, love, it’s alright—shit, you feel good—come on, darling, come for me—Fuck!”
The tension snaps. Your breath escapes you in one sharp, long gasp, carrying a wordless cry out of your mouth, and then you can’t make any sound at all. Your orgasm floods your whole body, fireworks of ecstasy lighting up across your nerves in a sweeping crescendo, bursting to life behind your closed eyes, dancing for moments before winking out to make room for more. For one, singular moment, you feel every nerve ending beneath your skin blaze with pleasure, and wonder if this was how stars came to life.
You finally cry out, panting hard against Kyle’s skin, when you regain the use of your voice. He’s pistoning into you from below, and you only have a little time to gather yourself to watch his face before his hips shove up into yours, almost lifting the both of you completely off the couch, as he comes with a strained growl.
The expression he’s making is indescribable. Everything you’d felt in that climax, you see playing out in the draw of his brows, in the hang of his jaw. Had he looked like that the whole time? You experience an unexpected moment of disappointment, as the pleasure ebbs. You’d been very focused on you. You’d missed what was happening to him.
You’re both breathing hard. You tighten your arms around him, stricken suddenly with that old shyness, when he starts to pepper your neck with soft little kisses, and that eases the disappointment. You come back to yourself, to the both of you, as his hands are traveling across your back, splayed wide, stroking the sweaty fabric of your shirt. His body is still warm beneath you—still warm inside you—and for now, it’s enough.
“That was incredible,” Kyle says into your skin, “Christ, that was perfect. You were perfect.”
You take a deep, shuddering breath. “So were you,” you say, soft and a little tender. He turns his head to look at you, still resting against his shoulder. You realize you’re smiling, when he smiles back—and you lift your head to press your brow to his. “Thank you,” you whisper.
His lips find yours, soft and sweet. You know he understands.
You’re both sticky, glistening with sweat, and a little dizzy from the climax. This isn’t so unfamiliar a feeling—you and Kyle were known to exercise together—but when the two of you finally break apart, as he slips out of your body, you discover two things.
One, you feel horribly empty without him inside you. Your belly is still thrumming, and you realize that low burn has not gone out.
And two, Kyle is nowhere near flaccid. It isn’t the rigid mast it had been earlier, but like you, Kyle isn’t quite sated.
He sees you studying him, still on the couch after you’ve stood up, and smiles at you. You know what he’s about to say even before he says it.
“Told you I can’t get enough of you.”
You give a breathless laugh. Because now, you’re very interested in going at his pace instead.
captain price always promised himself to not have favorites. but all of that changes when you’re recruited by the task force. it's only then that john realizes he might not be that good at keeping promises after all. he conceals it well but let’s be real, he’s not fooling anyone.
a firm believer of acts of service as the best way of expressing his pent up emotions (he feels like he’s gonna die before ever confessing). so he’ll do such nice things. from letting you sleep in his bed, to taking first watch, to ensuring that you’re always comfortable, well fed and warm. he also offered you his cigar once and had a laughing fit when you choked as he pat your back.
after mission celebrations at a local bar, he has absolutely cute drunk pictures/blurry selfies of the entire crew which he later looks at smiles. he will absolutely escort you home, let you sleep on his shoulder and even carry you. “need help getting up?” prays you don’t remember it in the morning.
ALWAYS looks to you for approval. he doesn’t care if there are more decorated people present in the room, he’ll always look at you as if it’s just you and him. “you’re with me, yeah?” and he listens to your suggestions more than others. any time he has something mischievous up his sleeve, he looks at you with a smirk, head tilting because he knows you’ll read him.
he feels so protective over you. during missions, always checks where you are, what you’re doing. god forbid if anyone let’s him know that you’re in harm's way, he will claw his way out of hell if he has to, to get to you. “you alright?” you’re the first person he visits after the missions are over. “what’s wrong?” he asks, softly, his head tilting in your direction, eyes full of concern.
he enjoys your presence so much, especially if you and him are working in the same office. he feels at peace having you near him. he occasionally offers you tea and shares a sarcastic quip here and there, ensuring that the atmosphere is comfortable. he also loves it when you just talk. you have all of his attention and he picks on so many details about you that he tucks away to think about later. (cannot stand to see you upset because it makes him upset).
when it comes to you, his memory is so incredibly sharp. can easily remember your likes, dislikes, stories of your childhood, everything. he has you committed to memory and he can absolutely figure it out when something’s out of place. “nice haircut. it suits you.”
when it comes to training, he enjoys gun fights so much!! and he’s so smug about it too. “i know you can do better than this.” to “thought you were skilled enough to take on me?” also coaches you side by side because like hell is he gonna take a risk when it comes to you. “knew you could do it” he remarks, a grin on his face.
he’s your biggest supporter and it’s very evident. from him saying, “good job” on comms to “i’m proud of you” and the one time he accidentally let “that’s my girl” slip. simon snickered because he knew captain had such a soft spot for you.
Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.
The finale. The meeting that has been destined in the stars. Shall you both agree to the mating bond, or go separate ways?
Words seep into your brain and wash it in all this new information. You read and reread the passage on Vampiric Mates as if it could give you anything new. It feels like your brain is processing and then restarting at the last moment. This couldn’t be right, right? If it is, if you two are mates, then Astarion knew. He knew and he didn’t tell you. He didn’t tell you when you met, didn't tell you when you had kissed him. Hells he didn’t even tell you when you fucked in that abandoned temple. You had gone through every step of the mating process without a single inkling of understanding. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to feed this into your earlier rage at Astarion’s dismissal of you. But it honestly just made it make sense. Mates didn’t get to choose whom their mate was destined to be. He didn’t have a choice. He never once had a choice in 200 years and once again the universe did not give him a chance. The moment he tastes freedom, feels the sun on his skin again, he lays eyes on his mate. Not just any average person, a vampire hunter with a thirst for blood. Who damn near kills him in his tent. Were you still upset at being duped? Upset he ran instead of talked to you? Of course, you still wanted to punch him in his stupid perfect elf face. But more so you wanted to talk to him. To know what he felt, if this meant anything to him. If you meant anything to him. At the thought of you not, it made your stomach lurch. You recognize the feeling for what it is. That tightening rope feeling. A bond tie. A tethering to him that sung each time you thought of him or were near him. You had thought yourself just a silly schoolgirl for feeling such a strong emotion with his presence. Now it finally made sense. This whole adventure so far made so much more sense. You stood quickly and took a deep inhale. You needed to make this right. You needed to find him. You needed to find your mate.
-
Astarion tears through his chest once more as he paws his belongings again and again. Everything was here but that damned book. Worse yet, your scent lingered around the chest as if mocking him. He wants to believe it will magically appear under some shirt and silly old Astarion simply missed it. But the back of his mind knew better. He saw the hurt and rage in your eyes last time you saw one another. In that dim tavern stockroom. You had ran from him so fast he had barely a moment to think. By the time he got to camp he could smell you had been there, the one trait he is thankful for with this bond. Your scent trailed from his tent to yours. He hadn’t even thought of why you had been near his tent. Without a second thought he had paced near yours. It wasn’t until he gave up and went to his own tent that he thought more about it. Especially with your scent wrapped inside. That’s how he came to be here, rifling through his own things. Desperately hoping you didn’t see the one thing that carried his secret. Well, both of yours secret. His hand rakes back his perfectly sculpted hair as he tries to catch his breath. He had two options. Find and confront you, which seemed horrible. Or pack a bag and run for the high hills and never look back. As much as that option entices him he realizes he couldn’t even if he wanted to. One being that the tadpole would still be a problem and not one he believes he could fix on his own. Secondly it would mean leaving his mate. A dark gnarled pain twists through his spine at the thought. Even just imagining leaving you, never seeing you again woke some ancient horrible feeling that burrowed deep. Well, that left option one. Astarion stood, he tried and failed to calm his nerves. He was just about to open his tent flap when your hand poked through the opening. You lean into the tent and make eye contact with Astarion. The connection bursts through a feeling of utter euphoria. Both of your bodies flamed with the feeling of the entwined bond. Your skin tingles as if it begs to touch his. He feels the same as his teeth aching to plunge into your delectable neck and claim you as his own. To bite every surface you have exposed. As much as he wants to throw himself at you. To forget words and let his body do the talking, he resists. He was tired of that being his form of communication. Of sex and touch being the way people got to him. Of how they perceived him. He wanted.. more. He had not a single clue what “more” included. But he wanted to try. No matter how much it made his fight or flight trigger deep in his belly. His feet ready to take option two and start running. But instead he clears his throat. You reach behind you and hand the mating book to Astarion.
“I believe this belongs to you.” You start, timidly. Your eyes say it all. Your (e/c) eyes swimming with apprehension. You’re so visibly nervous it reminds Astarion of a tender little lamb. Frightful but curious. Anticipating with anxiety. He, the lion, wanting to gobble the lamb whole.
“I guess that means we need to talk.” He replies, not sure how to start this conversation. You just nod your head, Astarion opens his mouth ready to let whatever words spew from his mouth but you hold a finger up.
“Not here… maybe somewhere private?” You ask. He only nods, ready to follow you anywhere you take him. You hold out a hand to him and await his. He looks down at your open palm. How warm and inviting it is. The thought of even just holding your hand sparking hope in his chest. He knew better than to think this was anything but you letting him down. Of denying wanting to intermingle with someone with as much baggage as him. Someone as damaged as him. He wouldn’t blame you one bit. Really he would think it for the best. For you to break this bond and not go near him; or Cazador for that matter. But then you give him a small smile and usher with your hand once again. He tentatively puts his hand in yours. But maybe he could have just a little hope.
You lead him past your fellow companions' tents holding his hand. A few eyes watch you as you make your way towards the forest. Karlach meets your eyes and gives two big thumbs up which nearly makes you snort if it wasn’t for the anxiety bubbling in your chest. You lead Astarion to a clearing near the flowing river a bit aways from camp. You had grabbed a large plush blanket with throw pillows and laid them out before you had gotten Astarion. For once you wanted something to go right. For a special moment to be curated and simple. Not during a battle or on accident. Not in an abandoned temple or a psychics tent. But an evening of just you and him. Of twinkling stars and the silence of a night-lit blooming forest. However this is to go, whatever his decision may be, it would be between the two of you in a neutral setting. Somewhere you could lay your hearts open to one another. You sit down on the blanket and pat the spot next to him. Astarion sits next to you, craning his neck up to watch the stars alongside you. You both sit in silence for just a few minutes. Enjoying watching the stars in each others company. You wish this is all it could be. But you knew it had to be discussed.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, shifting your gaze from the sky to Astarion. He meets your gaze and you see the flash of anxiety come and go from his eyes. You keep your face neutral as best you can.
“In the spirit of honesty, I don’t really know. I didn’t know what to think or what to do.” He replies with a sigh. He throws his arms behind him and leans back into them. He stares down at the ground as if far away in thought.
“As far as I knew mates were only for true vampires. A rarity for them, not many of them able trust one another to ever find their mate. So naturally being a spawn I thought I couldn’t have one. It simply wasn’t something I ever gave much thought to.”
“And now that you have one?” You prod further. You ache desperately to put a reassuring hand to him. To tell and show how much you support him at this moment. But you didn’t want to persuade him one way or another. Especially not guilt him by any means. He takes a long drag of a breath and continues on.
“I should be asking you this.” You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. He steals a look over to see your confused face.
“Is this, all of this, what you want?” He ushers between the both of you. You can’t help the little grin that reaches your face.
“Am I not obvious enough?” You tease. He grunts in response.
“I don’t just mean the ungodly good sex darling. I understand I come with my…. Complications. Complications that have been quite a thorn in your side.” He dances around the word vampire. Almost fearful to bring up something he knew was his largest flaw. What good does a vampire spawn do as a partner? He was your antithesis. The opposite of your life’s mission. Plus he would go on to live unless someone got fidgety with a stake. You, however, only had so much time. He highly doubted you would join in his immortality. You look lost in thought, tongue stuck out in thought.
“You’re not wrong. I hated all vampires. I didn’t discriminate between them, all of them monsters to me. My father had foolishly thought to gamble with one, to generate more wealth than we would ever need with a debt owed to Cazador. I never found out what he owed him, all I know is that it was grand enough for Cazador to personally come and slaughter my whole family. Besides me. He had said I wasn’t worth his efforts. So when I met you I naturally hated you.” Before Astarion could make a snarky comment you continued.
“But then I got to know you. To see you for more than what you are. That just because you are a vampire doesn’t mean you’re my enemy. If anything you have been quite the opposite.” You finish. You can tell a bit of tension eases from Astarions shoulders.
“So where do we go from here? 200 years and I’ve never known what more was. That there was a “more”. Forgive me if I am a bit out of touch.” Astarion replies. You nudge your shoulder with his.
“That’s fine old man, we can take it slow.” You tease. He frowns at your jest before a soft smile breaks across his pale face. The moonlight illuminates him giving him an ethereal glow.
“We. Us. I like the sound of that.” He replies.
“And no more running away when we need to talk! I might still stake you, you know.” You playfully slap his arm. He fakes being wounded giving you a pout.
“I make no promises, little killer.” He grins. It would be hard for him to break the habit. Preferring running and hiding. But he could try, for you. “Now may I suggest we consummate this mating?” He leans over towards you, hands resting on either side of your hips. His face just a breathe away from you. A slight chuckle falls from your lips.
“I believe we already have.” You tease. He gives you an award winning smile as he leans in closer. His lips brushing ever so slightly against yours.
“Couldn’t hurt to once more, or maybe a few more times.” His eyes dance from yours down to your lips and back up to you. You lick your dry lips as you watch him drink you in.
“Only a few?” You whisper your head barely beginning to turn into his. Half lidded eyes drawn to him.
“Maybe more than that.” His voice is barely there, red eyes blown wide with lust.
“I sincerely hope even more than that.” He grins as you say that.
“Now that, my dear, is something I can promise.” He says as he seals his lips over your own. You greet his lips in earnest. The kiss is sweet. Perfect. Enveloping the longing, the caring that flowed between your bond. Astarion walks his hands forward, pushing your body back onto the blanket. You follow his steps as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He hovers over you, losing himself in the kiss. Astarion had had many lovers but kisses with you were like no other. As if fireworks set off inside of him. Sparks of pure adoration going off within him. He nudged his way between your legs and you gladly let him. His leg swings upwards, pushing your other leg farther away. His groin comes in contact with your clothed center. Chest to chest, you groan into the kiss. One of his hands comes to glide down to your waist and grip your hip. The other holding himself up by the forearm. You trace down his neck before slipping your hands to his front. You trace his body slowly till you meet the hem of his shirt. You glide your hands under and place your hands flat against his abdomen. Though he feels always a bit cool you feel nothing but flames. You trace random patterns along his front. He deepens the kiss, exploring your mouth. His grip on his hip massaging the tender flesh there. Your hands go higher, nudging him to remove his shirt. He grins into your kiss as he leans back. He grabs his shirt and all but rips it off his body.
You stare awe-struck at him. The way his body is so beautifully sculpted as if he was a statue in a museum. Chiseled to perfection by the universe's best artist. His curly white hair disheveled, flowing with the slight breeze. His eyes hungry and trained on you, gauging your constant reaction. His hands find the ends of your shirt and he teasingly strokes it upwards in slow motions. You lean up and watch him take your shirt completely off. His hand reaches to your jaw as he leans in for another kiss. All the while you begin to loosen his trousers.
“So needy.” He teases into your lips between kisses. You smile and break the kiss. You lean up to and press your lips near his pointed ear.
“I can’t help that I want my mate.” You whisper to him. He shudders at your words. Mate. Gods the title sounded so good coming from you. He nibbles down your neck in earnest. Leaving love bites and hickeys in his trail. He ruts his hips into yours. His hands go all over. Touching every inch of exposed skin he can access. Kneading and caressing every part of you. Your hands wander his body as if touching it for the first time. Mapping out as if you could forget it. His kisses travel across your collarbone and to your sternum. One of his hands comes up to softly play with your breast. His hand kneading the soft skin. Occasionally his fingers come up to twist your nipple in a delcious rhythm. You grind against him in desperation for more touch. For more of him. Your fingers undo his pants and begin to tug as much as you can in your position. Astarions lips come up to your perked nipple and begin to suck. His eyes trained on yours to gauge your reaction. You throw your head back in ecstasy as a rough moan escapes your mouth. You make no show of covering any sounds, letting Astarion hear how good he makes you feel. His hand plays with your opposite breast as he sucks and bites at your sensitive bud. You writhe, desperation growing in you. The fire he builds inside you is quickly building to an inferno.
“Please Astarion.” You whine. He comes off of you with a wet pop before he stands. He makes quick work of his pants and immediately kneels and sweeps yours off just as fast. You lay bare to one another. Basking in the moonlit glow of each others naked bodies. Astarions eyes drink you in. A soft look on his face, adoration evident.
“You’re beautiful.” He tells you. You give a wide grin before you open your arms and usher him closer. He immediately follows and finds himself between your legs again. Though he brings himself much lower than before. His face resting just above your heat. You watch his actions and you can feel your breath catch. His eyes stare hard into yours as he brings his tongue out and licks. The flat of his tongue going from the bottom to the top of your slit. Your nails dig into the blanket as you arch your back. Astarion devours you like a man starved. Spreading your folds with his fingers to delve deeper. His tongue caresses your insides sending shivers up your spine. You cry out his name like a prayer.
“Ah- A- astarion!” You cry over and over again. It only spurs him on, chasing your ecstasy to get you to your high. His fingers join in his ministrations as he plunges two fingers into your wet opening. He curls ever so slightly as he motions a come hither inside of you. All the while his tongue laps and sucks at your clit. The stimulation is all too much, your whole body buzzing.
“Astarion- ahh- I’m gonna-“ you can barely moan out, your whole body too consumed in rapture.
“Cum my love, show me how good I make you feel.” He purrs against your skin. You reach your climax, cumming on his fingers. He works you through it, slowing his fingers' pace. He looks up at you to see your lust filled face. He leans upwards to catch you in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips. It sends a thrill through you.
“Astarion please- I need you.” You cry, arms grabbing at him senselessly. It’s as if you forgot all sense, Astarion the only thing that mattered. The only thing that exists.
“Oh with pleasure, my mate.” He gives you a devilish grin. You clench at his words. Mate. God you could listen to him call you that a thousand times and not get sick of it. He lines himself up with your entrance, using your slick to lube himself properly. He enters you slowly as you both moan wantonly in union. You wrap your hands around his neck to hold onto something. His arms hold himself up by the back of his forearms on either side of your head. Your bodies touch as he rocks into you. It’s intimate. Something very foreign for Astarion. Everything he had done was quickies. Hard and fast to reach a climax to be finished with. But you. Oh you he wanted to take his time with. To ruin you, completely and wholeheartedly. To mark you as his in every crevice and nook of your body. That his signature would be branded so deeply into your skin no other man would even think to come near you. You are his entirely. His hips speed up in rhythm. Skin slapping onto skin echoing with your shared moans.
“Say it again.” Astarion grunts out. His eyes find yours, begging. You swallow dryly. The bond is so strong in this position, in this eye contact. As if your body thrums with it. You would give him the world and stars if he asked for it at this moment. But you already knew what he wanted.
“Astarion, my mate.” You reply. He groans, biting his lower lip. His hips speed up, becoming sloppy. Your body is wrecked in pleasure.
“Again.” He growls.
“My mate. Mine.” You say once again. At that Astarions fangs plunge into your soft neck. Stars line your vision. You feel out of body. Lost in a sea of utter pleasure. You reach your finish together, Astarion spilling his seed inside of you. The bond ties tightly between you both. Unbreakable. You hug his body close as you come down from your high. He releases from your neck and moves to lay next to you. Your hands intertwine as you look up at the stars together. Both attempting to catch your breath.
“Well, what now darling?” He asks you between puffs of air. He looks over at you. Those crimson eyes full of adoration.
“Well. I guess we save the world.” You reply with a chuckle. He squeezes your hand.
“I think we are going to have a lot of fun together.”
Part 9 here
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I really hope you guys enjoyed the series! I will be focusing on one shots and requests from here on out! Also if you got the Twilight reference give me a holla!
these are just some words that are often redundant in texts but of course, these synonyms would still depend on the context of what you are writing. i will add more if i can !! you guys can also add more if you want to.
we as a society don't talk enough abt how ghost is canonically like. actually cocky. sure i think he's a lil insecure man at heart but also "are you ugly?" "quite the opposite" let him be a flirt sometimes. angst is fun but also. he can be a lil cocky. he likes his stupid lil dad jokes. he doesn't take himself That Seriously in the grand scheme of things. i love him
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