okay uhh so this is my first ever time writing fanfiction so PLLSSS give me any advice if you have it! And it would just be nice to know if anybody likes it lol. Iām more used to Ao3ās tags too so please forgive me if I tag it wrong or anything!
tw: blood, blood tasting, sexual themes but no actual sex
summary: you wake up and find Sebastian picking at his lips. He says heās into the pain and you guys promptly make out >_<
I woke up, yawning and rubbing at my eyes as they adjusted to the dark room. I had been having a pretty decent dream, and It annoyed me a little that I seemed to have woken up spontaneously until I looked over and saw my husband, Sebastian sitting up, silent as he picked at his lips.
āHeyā¦Seb. Whatās wrong?ā
I reached my arm out and placed my hand on his spine, rubbing his back a little. He didnāt answer for a second, just continuing to chew and pick at his lips. I used the time to gaze at him, scooting closer and sitting up my own self, laying my chin against his shoulder.Ā
āHmmm? You gonna answer me?ā
I continued to nuzzle at him until he looked back at me sheepishly, his mouth all swollen and red; cracked sores visible on his bloodied lips. I could tell he felt slightly embarrassed, especially because I always scolded him gently about his bad habits. I knew he had the choice of whether to go through with them or not, but I still wanted the best for himā especially when he often complained about how dry his lips were.Ā
āAw honey why do you keep doing that to yourself..? Ā
He paused for a moment, pondering if he should let me into his thoughts, but eventually sighed and confessed.
āI like it.ā
Wait what? āYou like it? You like making your lips bleed and get all chapped? Sebastian I donāt see howā¦ā
I cut myself off when I saw the strange vulnerable look in his eyes.
āNo.. I like the way it feels on my lips. It feels good.. to me.āĀ
This made me flash a teasing grin. āOhh so you were making yourself feel good while I was asleep huh?ā I teased, poking at his sides. āYou couldāve told me a while ago. And as long as you donāt mind buying yourself some Aquaphor for after then I wouldnāt mindāāĀ
He cut me off by kissing me, pressing the rough skin of his mouth against mine. It felt nice, our breath mingling as his nose brushed gently against my own. Angling his head into the kiss, he opened his mouth a little to mold our lips together with more precision, capturing my lower lip between his. Thatās when I noticed something a little off. Lying under the general warm taste of his spit I could discern a rather sharp, metallic tang that crept over my tongue. Right. His lips were still bleeding. I minded way less than I thought I would, and in fact I found myself warming up to the idea of tasting his bloodā which sounded a little strange now that Iām thinking about it too hard, but it just seemed so intimate.Ā
I pulled back briefly to take a breath, a string of spit still connecting our mouths as he shifted his lower body closer towards me so we would be more comfortable. His eyes flicked down to my lips, before his violet gaze settled back into my own.Ā
Closing my eyes I leaned forward into the embrace of his chapped lips. It felt satisfying to moisten them over my own, and it didnāt take him long before he was pushing his tongue further than he had before. A subtle push for moreā and I allowed it without resistance. He curiously moved his tongue with mine, barely getting into it before he pulled back, looking at me through his thick eyelashes.
āWould you⦠bite my lips? Please?ā
I nodded, laying back, pulling him closer to me. āHow hard is too hard?ā I whispered, kissing at his jaw.
āNothings too hard. Really. And if I decide against it Iāll just pull back, okay?ā
āAlrightā I silenced him with another kiss, testing the waters by dragging my teeth lightly against his lower lip. I felt him nip at my upper lip lightly, leaning harder into me. The second time I bit at his lip I slid my tongue down the split in the middle of his lip, before raking my teeth against the raw skin.Ā
Sebastian groaned, and pulled his head up, pulling his lip through my teeth. His brows furrowed slightly as he moved to lay against the backboard of the bed, tugging at my hand as he signaled his desire to me.
I picked up on his cue pretty fast and rolled my legs over his lap, pulling myself up to lazily straddle him with my face hovering inches away from his.
āIs that okay Seb? Tell me what you wantā I whispered to him quietly, reaching my hand up to brush against his cheek.
āWith the biting? It feels nice yeah. Can you do more? Like⦠draw blood if possible. Iāll tell you if itās too much.ā
I smiled and nodded again, cupping and pulling his face closer to mine as I tenderly kissed him again. This time I didnāt hold back, biting down hard on his lips. I could tell he was getting more into it from the way he squirmed. I used my canines to split the fissure on his lip even further. A dot of red swelled up and dripped down that pretty pout he was making.Ā
āLike that?ā I kissed him to soothe the pain, smearing the dark red drop with my tongue, biting down again and scraping him my teeth.Ā
This time he let out an actual sound
āMmphā yeah like that.ā
The press of our mouths was constant; lips on lips as I savored the smell of his musk through my nose. He always smelled like cigarettes, mixed with whatever cologne he had on that day, and now the warm and rich metallic smell of his blood laid neatly as a top note. It served as the sweetest aphrodisiac, stirring up a hot, wanting ache below my stomach. I knew Sebastian felt the same too, because I could feel the throb of his erection through my pajamas and the way he would so softly roll his hips underneath me, pleading for some friction to soothe the gnawing persistency of his anatomy. The more I bit, the more he bled, and the harder he moaned. I found myself craving the beautifully opaque, slightly salty liquid as it seeped from his wounds. The texture felt good against my tongue, and the fissure down the middle of his bottom lip served as my favorite part to split even more.Ā
His lips were pretty badly torn up.
I had been gnawing them to pieces for the past hour. He just got needier every time his lips spilled more blood, kissing me desperately with the wounds of his mouth. Some of it had streaked down his chin and I used my tongue to deliberately lick it up before kissing him tenderly this timeā without teeth.Ā
āYou happy? Youāre gonna have to take good care of your lips after this. Theyāre split pretty bad.āĀ
He laid his forehead against mine, panting. āYeah. Once they heal can we do this again? I really liked it..ā
āMhm.ā I pulled him into a soft embrace, squeezing him tightly before pulling back and getting up, walking across the room to lean down and rummage through my dresser drawer.Ā
āHere. Put this on for now. Weāll get you something better later.ā I held up a tiny red container, before walking back and getting in bed. āCāmereā
I beckoned him to sit up, to which he did, leaning in towards me as I unscrewed the container, dipping my finger in and then lightly dabbing it on his mouth.Ā
āItās just a moisturizing lip mask I use when my lips get real dry. Maybe itāll help a little bit⦠yāknow so when you wake up theyāre not as chapped? Peppermint flavor. Hope you like it.ā
I continued to dab the lip mask on his lips until they were totally covered. Then I screwed on the lid and put it on the bedside table.Ā
Finally I laid down with him, cuddling up to his side as he sighed softly.
āI love youā¦ā He muttered into my neck as he tangled our limbs together.
āI love you too Seb.ā
We nestled in each otherās arms, not worrying too much about the morning to come where he was definitely gonna complain about his lips again. Yet it didnāt matter, and Iām glad he told me what he wanted.Ā
It didnāt take him long to fall asleep shortly after getting in bed, a little tuckered out but overwhelmingly satisfied. Sebastians breath grew deeper into my neck as he drifted from his consciousness. I glanced over sleepily at his lips, still looking overwhelmingly puffy and cracked even under the lip mask. I just bundled up and closed my eyes. Well, I guess I really would have to go get that Aquaphor tomorrowā¦.
Edit: sooo Iām also on Ao3 under the same username if you guys wanna see more of my stuffā¦
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Still working on that one shot draft from last week! I've finally gotten to the prompted arm restraint smut ā¤ļøāš„
Once finished, I'll post this as part of my other Kinktober one shots š„°
[Act I, post-Grove. This one is arm restraint smut based on Plato's "The Cave", but BG3. Astarion has just fixed the embroidery on some forearm armor Vistri found]
18+, Explicit!!!
[tw/cw: self-loathing, ptsd, arm restraint kink, bdsm, vampire blood drinking]
"The Cave" (continued)
"You made them even better!"
"You knew I would," he smirked, "It's why you asked."
Vistri returned his smirk with an even more mischievous one, "How do you know it wasn't just to see if you'd do it?"
Astarion clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "You little minx."
Just like that, they were back to their usual games. It was safer in the shallows.
"Admit it," she said, "You were eager to show off."
"That's hardly an observation, darling. I'm always eager to show off."
It wasn't the truth, but they accepted it.
"Here," Vistri said, "Come help me with these. I've a sudden need to get comfortable."
"My, my! You've so many demands tonight," Astarion said, stepping closer. He rested her forearms against his chest to undo the lacing.
Such closeness was disarming to Vistri, who had been planning to make some clever quip regarding his talents at undressing her. It felt like being held. Being loved. And because it wasn't a real embrace, she could savor it. Afraid to disturb him, and lose this, Vistri kept silent as one trying not to frighten a bird.
It wasn't until he stepped away that she noticed her arms were bound, elbow to wrist. Once he untied the armbands, he'd laced them back up together.
There was more heat than mirth in his eyes when she met them.
"Do you trust me?"
No. But it was more complicated than that. And from Astarion's tone, Vistri could tell he wasn't literally asking. He was seeking consent to move forward with whatever nasty little thought was on his mind.
Vistri knew she was going to say yes to whatever it was.
Astarion smirked at the display of his power written all over her face.
āWhy donāt we take this little party for two into the woods?ā
They snuck off together like it was a secret even though everybody already knew.
It was only a stroll through the trees, but Vistriās heart pounded on her tongue, making her head dizzy. Astarion guided her, gentleman-like by the tips of her fingers; her only tether to the planet. Her trembling pulse revealed such an ugly truth.
āAre you planning to walk until I beg?ā she teased.
Astarion sighed. Everywhere felt too exposed, and although it wasnāt likely, Cazador could be creeping behind any tree. Vistri's frantic heartbeat wasnāt helping the matter; sensing it possessed all the hunger in Astarion's mind, body, and soul. He was desperate to devour her in every way possible.
"Next time I tie you up and take you into the woods, remind me to bring a gag."
"Next time?" she flirted, "I like the idea of a next time."
"What? Can't get enough?"
She really couldn't. It was a need, to lose herself in all his appetites. To get away without going away. He was a miraculous refuge. Untrustworthy, charlatan that he was, Astarion could take away the control she never let slip. With his guiding, blessed hands, Vistri could come undone just like the lacing binding her wrists.
"Clearly, I am at your mercy," she answered, gesturing upwards with her bound forearms.
"No, my darling," he purred in his best purr, "I am at yours."
Astarion suddenly pulled her into him by the waist, cradling the side of her face in his other hand like it was something precious. Vistri sighed, and he caught the end of it with his lips.
Curious how the feeling was like heaven's gate. Their worries and realities burned away and led them to a baser truth. Towards ache. And reward.
"My heart is yours for the night," Vistri said as his mouth left hers.
"Just your heart?"
"All of me."
This was all fine to say because it came after a kiss. Signifying the start of their new favorite pastime. A duel of pretty lies.
Damn it all to hell! They were still too exposed where they stood, and surrounded by ground that wouldn't be comfortable to sit on let alone⦠wellā¦
But it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that existed now was the beginning of their game. Their kiss opened the floodgates, and everything they held back from in the day spilled out into the night.
Astarion gently planted a series of slow kisses along her jawline, a tease of a touch. His hand slipped away from her cheek and met the base of her throat.
"All of you?" he asked, seeking permission to drink.
"Yes," Vistri surrendered through another sigh.
Nipping her neck would be the most obvious way, but Astarion didn't want to come off as boring. Vistri had a quite⦠varied and interesting roster of past lovers, and he couldn't stand to be placed anywhere less than at the very top of that list.
The thing is, he already was. Not because of any technique or creativity on his part, although that didn't hurt, but because he was the one who did it. Although, Vistri would rather die than tell him so. At least not without pretending it was a lie.
He pushed her against the nearest tree and pinned her wrists above her head. Vistri smiled at him, her heart singing a different anticipatory song than the one before. It made Astarion wish he were more than just a bloodsucking fiend.
She tossed her head to the side, inviting him to bite her neck. He leaned forward, but kissed it instead. The switch-up turned Vistri's exhale into a gasp.
Again and again, Astarion kissed her neck, refusing to bite down until the refusal drove them both mad. He was curious to see who would be most affected by his denial.
That happened to be one thing Vistri was willing to communicate. Clear affirmation of desire was what every lover wanted, but this time she wasn't pretending. The fact it had always been a lie before made it possible for her to express now that it was finally true. Vistri could give Astarion exactly what he wanted, and this time doing so was an indulgence rather than a chore.
She huffed and squirmed more with every kiss. The sounds coming from her throat made Astarion blush even though he was the cause.
Feeling like he won something, Astarion ceased his torture and took her mouth in his. Her tongue was velvet ice, like the silver scales crowning her brow.
"You taste like a dragon."
"I don't care," she said mindlessly; clearly under his spell.
Hands shaking with the need for blood began to gently lift up her robes. Astarion knelt, resolved to finally provide them both with some relief.
"Keep your hands high above your head, darling," he commanded into her thigh.
Vistri could already feel her blood rushing as if it were eager to meet his tongue down above her knees. Yet she would keep her wrists firmly in place, and refuse to pass out, because it was the only way she could prove her devotion.
A pleasant shiver ran through them both when Astarion finally bit into her inner mid-thigh. Vistri cried out as he drank. The lighter her head became, the more she pushed her arms into the tree, determined not to move an inch.
His pupils were so large when he stopped, they looked like wild cat's eyes. With that same feral quality, like they held too much life in them to contain.
He reached up and held onto her waist, resting his forehead for a brief respite against her pelvis.
"I must have you," was all he said.
"You have me."
(I just need to finish/edit the smut and the ending bits! It's almost ready to post!)
Can I get an order of giving Wesker a smooch, I just want to give him lil kissys every where
Mwah mwah mwah
Coming right up! Do be careful though, he's got worms.
Wesker is definitely not one for kisses, especially within close proximity of coworkers or other people. He has an important image to maintain, and is likely to grab you by the face to keep you at bay. Although it does amuse him behind closed doors, your gentle little pecks feel ticklish along his skin, pulling a deep chuckle from his throat as you press your lips against his own. He finds it to be adorable when you pepper him in kisses, but when he's had enough he'll do well to let you know. It's not that he doesn't like them, but he has things to attend to, and one kiss from you is enough to sate him until he has time to return your affections properly.
If it's in the bedroom, when the lights are drawn low and you find yourself in his arms, he will be a little more accommodating but simple foreplay tends to bore him when it goes on for too long. He'll want something deeper, nipping at you even as you close the gap between yourselves.
Rating: M
Words: 6230
Pairing: Amir x MC
Warnings: references to past homophobia, bullying, and emotional abuse, panic attacks, implications of kink, general horny content
Ko-Fi <3
Amir answers the door wearing nothing more than his gauzy dressing gown and a smile, which drops as soon as he sees the look on Judeās face.
In Judeās defense, seeing Amir at all brightens him up a bit, but even offering his own smile doesnāt quite feel right. Heās tense, slouching, and he knows his sour mood is broadcasting loud and clear in more than just his expression and posture.
His face feels brittle, but so does the rest of him. āCan I come in?ā he asks, wincing at the way his voice cracks.
He shouldnāt have come at all. He should have just⦠called Amir and asked for a rain check, but Amir penciled out this time for him, when heās always so busy, he couldnāt just bail. Heās starting to think he should have anyway to save them both the discomfort.
āIām sorry,ā he rasps, swallowing and backing away from the door while Amir stares him down, quietly assessing. āI shouldnāt haveāā
āDid the doorman give you trouble?ā Amir snaps, eyes blazing. Heat prickles along Judeās skin, the temperature in the hall rising abruptly.
āWhā No, heā Wellāā He didnāt give him any trouble, per se, he knows Jude well enough by now as Amirās guest that he didnāt say anythingā just gave him the usual quietly critical once-over he does whenever Jude shows up on his own without Amir to shield him. It usually doesnāt bother him overmuch, but heās⦠a bit more of a raw nerve than he usually is.
Maybe more of an open wound.
āNo,ā Amir says slowly, calming down quickly as he examines the human. āSomething happened.ā
āNothing serious,ā Jude assures him, and he doesnāt resist as Amir tugs him inside. The hand curling around his wrist is soft and too-warm, and something in his body eases at the simple touch. āI just⦠had dinner with my family, is all.ā
The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is tense and weighted.
ā...It didnāt go well, I take it?ā Amir offers, his voice carefully neutral, his fingers tightening briefly around Judeās wrist and then relaxing.
Jude canāt help but laugh, a single sharp bark that he stifles as quickly as he can. āāBout as well as could be expected,ā he mumbles. Heās not sure what else to say beyond that, thereās so much tangled up in his head, in his chest, his whole body is tense and heavy with it.
He wishes heād thought to change before he showed up. The crisp button-down and pressed slacks are uncomfortably formal, fitting too closely around his shoulders, at his waist. He feels stiff and stifled and⦠not like himself.
Heās sure Amir notices. Amir notices everything.
He leads Jude to the sofa and urges him to sit. He sinks into it with a grateful sigh, releasing as much of the tension in his body he's able to without medical or chemical assistance. Amir settles in next to him, curling close, and immediately starts plucking at the buttons of his shirt.
Jude huffs out another weak little laugh, lolling his head back against the cushions and watching those long, graceful fingers work.
āTalk to me, darling,ā Amir says, slipping his hand under the fabric to rest against Jude's chest. The heat of his hand is comforting in its familiarity, lighting up his skin and settling his nerves. Thereās a silky weight pressing at the edge of his thoughts, a presence that heās grown used to at this point, warm like a physical touch. Heās not sure Amirās even doing it on purpose, but it doesn't really matter.
"Mom asked if I was seeing anyone." It hangs between them for a long moment, before he manages to eke out, "She⦠didn't mean to."
She's never asked. Not him, at least. She's asked his brothers, his cousins, the kids of friends of hers or Dad's, but never Jude. She knows better than to ask questions she doesn't want the answer to.
He tries to elaborate, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, like the words are stuck behind a barrier, like thereās a big blinking roadblock between his brain and his mouth. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.
Heās so tired of talking, and even if he doesn't really need to say much of anything out loud with Amir, he's just so frustrated, like he wasted all his words on people who didnāt even care to listen. He groans and covers his face with his hands.
Amir's slide over them, tugging them away so Jude can't hide from him. "Thatās fine. You donāt need to talk." He smiles a sly little smile that always makes Jude's pulse race, kisses his knuckles, and slips off the couch, taking his warmth with him. "I'll make tea, you get comfortable."
It takes a few seconds for Jude to catch on, his head is such a mess, but he feels the familiar whisper of Amir's power twining through his thoughts. Oh.
They've done this before, more than once, when Amir's asked about fantasies of his and he was too embarrassed to say them aloud. It took some practice, but Amir has always been careful, never probed too deeply, and never without Jude's express permission.
He focuses on the pleasant background noise of Amir moving around his kitchen, the gentle thrum of his presence at the edge of his thoughts, and tries to put them in order.
Dinner was⦠awkward, to say the least, from the start. Jude isn't a talker, never really has been, so it was mostly him listening to his brothers ramble. Seth's youngest is starting middle school. Gabe got a promotion.
Seth asked what heād been up to, not that he cared. Gabe snorted when he asked, which only proved the point. Jude just mumbled something about work and avoided eye contact. Played with his food. Wondered if his hometown had anything like the things heād found out living in the city miles away. The conversation moved on without him, like it always did.
His brothers stopped picking on him about the same time he hit a growth spurt and outstripped both of them in height and not just weight. Well, they hadnāt stopped, exactly, just⦠didnāt push their luck like they used to. Like they did when they caught him sitting happily while their cousin, Lacey, put makeup on him as "practice" for cosmetology school. Like they did whenever his hair got long enough for them to to pull, before Dad got sick of him ālooking like a girlā and shaved it off.
"I've got three boys, not two boys and whatever the hell you're tryin' to be."
And then Jude got bigger than him too, and he left him mostly to his own devices. Not without those snide comments here and there, but he was well used to it at that point.
His family is good at ignoring things that upset themāonce they've stifled the offending party into silence, of course.
Jude came out when he was a teenager. His mother wept like someone had died. His father looked furious, but bit his tongueāthough he spent the next few years making little digs about how lucky Jude was he didn't just kick him out to fend for himself. His brothers werenāt there, but they found out ;ater, and though they couldn't do anything to him physically at that point (head and shoulders taller and nearly twice as broadāand the Marlowe boys all took after their father in stature, Jude just took it further than that) they made sure he knew he was still their punching bag one way or another.
So when his mother asked him innocently, not thinking, hardly looking at him so much as smiling glibly at her family, and they both froze⦠well, it said more than if Jude had just out and told them he was getting railed by a demon on the regular.
At least he's not like those fairy boys. At least it's not in our faces. At least, at least, at leastā
He hates that he still feels guilty. Guilty for ruining his mother's picture-perfect family. Guilty for being a consummate disappointment to his red-blooded American father. For taking his brothers' "friendly teasing" too personally. For missing the way he felt when Lacey put makeup on him and styled his hair and just let him want the things he could never admit to out loud.
For feeling bitter that she left him behind to pursue her own dreams while he was stuck cowering in the shadow cast by everything he was supposed to be.
He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating until Amir's hands, almost scalding hot against his clammy skin, are pressing against his cheeks, tipping his face upwards. He canāt figure out why the demon is so blurry, swimming before his eyes, when heās too busy trying to remember how to get air into his lungs.
āBreathe, darling,ā Amir urges him, firm but so gentle. Jude tries, and at first he only manages a few pathetic wheezes, but a low hum picks up at the base of his skull, a prickle like static skittering down his spine. For a split second, heās paralyzed by a foreign surge of guilt, but it doesnāt feel heavy the way his own guilt does.
He sucks in a breath, one that makes his lungs burn, and grabs for Amirās wrist with trembling fingers. āNot you,ā he manages to strangle out, listing forward until he can bury his face in the crook of Amirās neck. āHappens sometimes,ā he mumbles in an effort to explain.
Amirās relief settles over him like a blanket, and he clings to it, to him, desperately, until heās breathing again mostly normally.
He opens his mouth to apologize, but Amir cuts him off before he can even form the words.āNone of that." Firm, brooking no argument, but still kindly tempered.
Obediently, Jude stays quiet, and Amir strokes his hair until the kettle chimes.
Rather than parting from him for even the short time it takes to prepare two cups of tea, Jude follows Amir to the kitchen, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheek pressed to his silky hair. His thoughts are staticky and nonlinear, feel like they're coming from somewhere beyond the boundaries of his skull. It's strangely peaceful, feeling like he's floating outside his body, like he's barely tethered to himself by just a few fragile threads.
Amir always smells so niceā¦
He's not sure when they wind up back on the sofa but he's holding a warm, delicate little cup in both hands. They share tea in easy silence, and if Jude's fingers are still trembling against his cup Amir doesn't mention it. Muzzily, he notes how fancy the cup is, and now that he's adjusted a bit to the staggering opulence of Amir's world, he finds the little things like that so endearing.
Jude is sluggish and heavy when Amir guides him to bed, and it doesn't take long at all for him to doze off, their positions from earlier reversed, with Amir curled around his back.
He's just awake enough to feel a little bit of that fire humming along his spine, the banked coals of Amir's temper pulsing between them, and he mumbles a half-hearted, "Please don't fight my family," into the luxuriously soft pillow smushed against his cheek.
There's a bit of a huff against his hair, something close to a laugh, but sleep finally pulls him under and blessedly quiets his overworked mind.
His dreams are washed over with a filter of wispy pink, but he doesnāt really remember much of them beyond that. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief. He wakes in Amirās huge, soft bed, buried in plush pillows and blankets feeling surprisingly well-rested. Of course Amir is gone already, but Jude doesnāt take it personally. Thereās a hurried little note on the nightstand on a scrap of sketchbook paper apologizing for his absence and assuring Jude theyāll meet again in the evening once heās free of his responsibilities.
Jude tucks the note into his pocket as he dresses and leaves, feeling much lighter than he did when he arrived the night before.
~*~
He tried to get as much of the grime off his hands as he could before he left work, but Jude knows he looks like even more of a greasy schlub than he usually does when he comes ambling into Amirās building. He brought his car this time, so he doesnāt have to go through the main entrance and deal with anybody grimacing at the state of his clothes, but heās got a bag of fresh ones over his shoulder and heās looking forward to a long, hot soak in Amirās shower.
āI know, I reek,ā he says sheepishly when he makes it to the door to Amirās apartment.
Amir smiles indulgently at him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek regardless (even if he has to rise onto his toes a bit to do it, dressed down like he is) and only scrunches his nose a little. āJust a bit. I wouldnāt mind the sweat so much, butā¦ā
āEngine oil and cheap cigarettes,ā Jude laughs sheepishly. āSorry, my boss likes menthols.ā He gestures to the bathroom with his bag. āMind if Iā¦?ā
Amir doesnāt hesitate to usher him down the hall as soon as heās tugged off his boots at the door, and Jude plods along after him.
āIād offer to wash your back,ā Amir teases, watching Jude intently as he undresses, making a show of biting at his knuckle just to see him blush from his ears to his chest, ābut Iāve got a few more things to take care of. Shouldn't take long, I'll be right outside.ā
"Y-yeah, of course," Jude stutters, hands fumbling at his belt. Amir leaves him with another peck on the cheek and a sly parting smile, and while he was hoping for a nice hot shower after work, he's debating whether or not a cold one might be a better idea.
In the end, hot wins out. Amir's shower is like everything else in his orbitāspacious and ridiculously opulent to a degree that Jude's almost nervous interacting with itābut he's starting to enjoy the perks that come with drifting into that irresistible orbit himself. The water is just the right temperature, the pressure pounds down on his tight shoulders and back until he can finally feel them starting to un-knot themselves, and while he makes sure to get himself clean, he also spends a long while just standing under the spray with his head down and his hair hanging around his face like a wet curtain.
At some point, he hears the door click, some quiet rustling, but he doesn't pay it much attention. It's Amir's home, after all, he can come and go as he pleases.
Besides, it's not as if he hasn't seen Jude naked before, even if the thought still has heat crawling up his neck.
The door shuts again, and his mind goes blessedly quiet. The water doesn't go cold at any point (another thing that makes showering in his own too-small bathroom even more of a downgrade) but he knows he can't spend the whole night in here, however much he'd like to. He came for Amir, not his shower, though a little part of his brain does offer the helpful suggestion of trying to entice the succubus into joining him.
He snorts to himself as he slides open the frosted glass door, wringing out his hair. As if any attempt of his to be enticing towards someone like Amir, who drips easy sensuality in every breath he takes, would result in anything more than Jude falling all over himself like an idiot.
At least Amir finds it cute.
He reaches for a towel and steps out onto the plush bath mat, and stops short when he looks around the bathroom and doesn't see his bag.
Instead, sitting on the vanity in place of his ratty canvas backpack, is a shopping bag. What he can only assume is the name of the store is embossed on the sturdy, matte black paper in looping gold that matches the designs etched along the trim, but it's not a name he recognizes. Definitely someplace far outside the realm of a scruffy mechanic, that's for sure.
But there's something niggling at him, tickling at the edges of his thoughts, that suggests it'sā
No, don't be stupid. Of course it isn't.
"Amir?" he calls out, eyes still glued on the bag as he awkwardly towels himself dry. Of course, Amir has the perfect timing to come swanning in when Jude's scrubbing at his hair, leaving the rest of him bare.
Amir does not hesitate to ogle, because he never does, and his smirk as his eyes take a luxurious stroll over every damp, hairy inch of human is nothing short of salacious. Jude's hair is still wet, but he can't resist the urge to drop the towel to cover himself a bit, which only makes Amir smirk wider.
"Yes, pet?"
It takes a moment for Jude to remember what he was even going to ask, because the casual little endearment never ceases to scramble his brain a bit.
(He's heard more than one person refer to him as Amir's pet, and he knows it's supposed to be an insult, but⦠he doesn't exactly hate it.)
He shakes his head to get it back on the right track, and winds the towel around his waist, eyes lowered. "Um, did you move my bag?"
Amir's heaves a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "I am begging you to let me replace that thing.ā He is pointedly not looking at the bag on the counter.
"It still works just fine," Jude protests, smiling to himself. Itās something theyāve argued about before, if it can even be called an argument. Itās sweet, how Amir likes to spoil him. He shrugs a bit, ducking his head and letting his damp hair hide his face. āItās sturdy. Dependable.ā He's had it so long, it's almost like an old friend.
āUgly as sin," Amir adds helpfully, rolling his eyes. But there's a smile playing around the edges of his lips. "You're lucky I think that sentimentality of yours is cute."
Jude's ears burn and he stays hidden behind his hair, but he's smiling too. Cute. Nobody but Amir's ever called him that (not since he was a chubby kid, at least) and he does it so freely and so often, Jude's starting to believe he honestly means it, even if he doesn't see it himself.
He feels Amir slinking closer more than he sees or hears him, bare feet nearly silent on the glossy tile compared to those staggering heels of his, and his breath hitches. He peeks from underneath his hair and is met with those stunning golden eyes and that playful, slightly predatory smile.
āI⦠My clothes were in there, Amir,ā he protests weakly, shuddering when soft, warm hands slip around his hips, fingers wiggling under the edge of his loosely wrapped towel, sharp nails pricking at his skin.
āMmhm,ā Amir hums. āDonāt worry, I havenāt thrown them out. I just figured you wouldnāt need them for a while yet.ā
A quick, shuddery breath rattles out of him, at the end of it, a tremulous, "O-oh? Oh."
Amir chuckles and pokes Judeās nose playfully. āMind out of the gutter, darling. Since youāre playing coy, Iāll just come out and say itāIāve gotten you a little gift, and the suspense of waiting for you to try it on is killing me.āĀ
āIām not⦠playing coy,ā Jude protests weakly, but his eyes flick away from Amir for a split second, over his shoulder to the bag on the vanity, and like an eagle spotting a blissfully unaware rabbit, Amir zeroes in on the shift and leers at him, teeth bared like he wants to sink them into Jude's skin to taste the blood rushing to its surface, like the sweetest of threats.
"You're a terrible liar, but it's so precious that you tried," he purrs, smooth and dangerous. With a flick of his nimble fingers, the towel still clinging desperately to Jude's waist drops to the floor, and sharp nails dig into the meat of his hips just hard enough to make him whimper. "I think you've kept me waiting long enough, pet. Don't you?"
Amir doesnāt wait for him to respond (not that heād be capable of it in the first place, mouth suddenly dry and tongue like lead) and simply herds him towards the vanity, and the gift on top of it. He swallows hard as he reaches out, glancing back as if to ask for permission before he even touches it. Itās given in the form of a silky chuckle and a not-quite-gentle pat to his bare backside.
Ā The bag feels just as unspeakably high-end as it looks, the paper heavy and textured, and he didnāt notice before that the handles are gold silk ribbons to match the embossed letters. The name on the bag still isnāt ringing any bells, and he can't even imagine what might be inside, but with the way Amir is watching him, those gold eyes so sharp and intense he can feel the heat of their stare pricking at his skin, he's clearly eager for Jude to find out.
He parts the shimmery metallic tissue paper as delicately as he can with his heavy, callused hands, and finds a long flat box lying underneath. His heart is in his throat as he lifts it out of the bag, turning it over carefully in an effort to guess what it might be without damaging its contents.
Amir sighs behind him, and if Judeās entire body werenāt thrumming with nerves, heād look back to see if heās checking a watch he isnāt actually wearing to drive home the point that his patience is wearing thin.
He opens the box. He almost can't parse what's inside at first.
Lace. Lots of lace. Pale, dusky pink lace edged along sheer fabric and adorned with delicate ribbons and thin gold chains.Ā
Jude's no stranger to fancy lingerieāAmir wears it often enough, and he likes to model it for Jude, even if he's just as clueless about luxury fashion as he is about fine art. Jude's never once complainedāin fact, he's found he really likes it, the textures and colors and cuts, the way the airy fabrics cling to the striking angles of Amir's body, the way he always chooses colors that compliment him so wellā¦
Jude's mouth is suddenly very dry, the weight of Amir's expectant gaze pressing down on him, because he's seen the succubus in enough lacy underthings, and removed them enough, to have a rough understanding of the sizes he wears.
The pretty pink garments in the box are much too big to be meant for Amir.
He looks up, and Amir meets his eyes with a sly curl to his mouth. "Well?" he asks, stepping closer, watching Judeās face, picking apart his reactions with an almost surgical precision. "What do you think?"
Heās not sure he can think anything right now, all of his thoughts a messy jumble of confusion and curiosity and (a bit shamefully) desire. He knows he shouldnāt be ashamed for what he feels, what he wants, but thereās a lifetimeās worth of it built around everything heās wanted that wasnāt in line with what he was supposed to be, and heās still digging his way through that.
He wets his lips with his tongue and stares into the velvet-lined box, still trying to make sense of everything heās feeling. "Is it⦠are they⦠for me?"Ā
Itās a stupid question, but thereās a part of him that still canāt believe it, is still scared this is either a dream or some sort of joke.
Amir laughs, low and sultry, reaching out to curl his ring-laden fingers around Jude's bicep. The touch is so simple, so soft, but it still spreads warmth through Jude's body. "Of course. Not really my color, is it?"
It isn't, Jude knows. Amir prefers bolder colors, stark contrasts, shimmer and shine to draw the eye. He tries to say as much, but what comes out of his mouth is a fumbling, "Y-you look good in everything."
That laugh again, a smoky, rich thing that sinks beneath his skin, curls in his gut and leaves him aching to hear it again and again and again. "You're so sweet," Amir says, scratching affectionately at his scruffy chin with his free hand. He squeezes the other around Judeās arm, the tips of his nails a tantalizing pressure that makes his chest feel tight, makes his breath quicken. āWhy donāt you go try them on, make sure I got the sizing right.ā
He did. Of course he did, Jude couldnāt doubt for a second he would. Thereās no way the set isnāt entirely bespoke, too, considering thereās no tags in sight to indicate sizing. Thereās a bit of embroidery on the inside of each piece (panties, garters, belt, a frilly top that he struggles to identify) that he assumes is a brand signature or something like it.
Amir ushers him back into the bathroom, smiling playfully as he closes the door, and Jude is left to stare at the box in his hands and try to sort through his thoughts.
Itās easier, with Amir there to distract him, when he canāt focus so much on his nerves, or what his family would think of him, or what he thinks of himself.
He keeps his eyes down, away from the mirror, as he carefully takes each piece of the set out of the box. Thereās enough room on the vanity for him to lay them out one by one, and he tries to think of it the same way he thinks of disassembling an engine. You have to go into it with a plan, you have to know how the parts fit together, and in what order. He arranges them in the way he thinks (hopes) theyāll need to go on his body, and takes a slow, deep breath.
The most daunting piece, it seems, will have to be the one that goes first. He picks up the panties, wincing when the calluses on his palms snag at the lace. He frantically checks for damage, his heart pounding, and sighs with relief when nothing seems to be out of place.
He looks over his shoulder, towards the door. Amir is quietly waiting on the other side, probably keeping himself busy with organizing his ever-crowded schedule while Jude has a quiet panic spiral about underwear in his bathroom. But heās been waiting long enough, and though he teased, heās been endlessly patient with Jude, and kind enough to get him not just a gift, but an expensive, custom gift he literally plucked from the humanās deepest, most secret desires.
Jude takes another grounding breath, and meticulously, cautiously, pulls the underwear on.
He knows heās in trouble when a shudder works its way through him at the way the lace feels sliding up his legs, softer than he expected. Heās achingly aware of it whispering up his calves, stretching around his thighs, and nestle over his hips. It takes a bit of⦠adjustment in certain areas, but given that they were made specifically for his body (and thatās still something he can barely wrap his head around) everything, uh, settles in with surprising ease. Itās oddly comfortable and, more than that, it feels right.
He swallows so hard his throat clicks, and keeps his eyes steadfastly away from the mirror as he reaches for the next piecesāthe stockingsā with trembling hands.
Amirās bathroom is practically the size of a studio apartment on its own, and thankfully thereās a seat near the vanity in the form of a plushy padded stool. He sits down and feels the panties shift and stretch around his hips and ass, and gently scrunches the first stocking. He tries to remember how people in movies put them on, and goes from there, bunching it and then pulling it slowly up his leg. It shouldnāt feel so sultry to basically be putting on socks, but the opaque material edged with more of that soft pink lace scraping gently against his skin is thrilling him beyond words. The second stocking doesn't fluster him any less, and he spends a moment or two just staring down at his legs, trying to make sense of what he's seeing, and what it might be awakening in him.
The belt and garters come next, and those at least are fairly simple. The belt is broad and subtly patterned, nipping his waist in a bit without being too restrictive. He spends what feels like an age just running his hands over the smooth, satiny panels before he clips the garters with their tiny bows to it and attaches them to the stockings.
The final piece is the top, with its spidersilk-thin gold chains attached a smooth satin ribbon, and sheer ruffled fabric flowing down from the bust. Thereās a touch of fear that it wonāt fit him, that heāll move wrong and tear it while trying to put it on, but it really was made to fit his body, and the way the hem floats around his (doughy, hairy, and sort of pale) belly does a lot to hide some of his insecurities. It does emphasize his chest in a way heās not sure he likes, clinging and translucent, but when he carefully fastens the ribbon around his neck and makes sure the chains attached to it arenāt tangled, he forgets his stalemate with the mirror and looks up.
For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.
He looks like himself, still big, broad, and heavyset, with dense muscle padded with a layer of fat and dusted with dark hair, but the contrast of the dusky, pale lace against sun-browned skin and muted tattoos is something that leaves him feeling things heās not sure he can name.
As if on cue, thereās a dainty little rap on the door, and he jolts, fingers twisting together. Amir is still waiting, and he has no clue how long heās been in the bathroomāit feels like hours.
He turns and stands at the door, hand hovering over the handle, and feels his stomach beginning to tie itself into knots.
Amir sees something in him that he doesnāt see for himself, and he knows that logically, but his brain isnāt always the most logical place, especially right now. Thereās a sense of impending dread taking root in his chest, leaving itĀ crowded and too-small, like his lungs hardly have the room to expand. He imagines, a bit panicky, Amir taking one look at him and bursting out laughing, or the more likely outcome of feigning interest, telling Jude he looks nice, then hurrying him to change back into his normal clothes and never speaking of this little venture again.
As if Amir senses the direction his thoughts are going, the door swings open, making Jude flinch andāpulse pounding in his ears, heart jumping into his throatāwanting to scramble for cover. But heās frozen, a deer in the headlights, as the succubus drinks him in.
"Oh, look at youā¦" he croons, beckoning him out of the doorway (and, of course, he follows without thinking) so he can circle him like he's sizing him up, like heās taking in every inch of him before he pounces. "So pretty."
Jude couldn't feel more bare if he were actually naked, especially with the way the succubus is pulling him apart with just his molten gold eyes. But he can't get too caught up in that when he's left reeling over one simple word.
Pretty.
Nobody's ever called him pretty before.
Something slots into place in his chest, settles in and unfurls, a shuddering realization of a desire he never knew he held being fulfilled.
He never knew he wanted to be pretty, but it⦠it makes sense. And it feels good.
āIāll admit, I took a bit of a risk,ā Amir says, and thereās no teasing to his tone this time, just quiet consideration, a tenderness that makes Jude feel just as weak and helpless as his bold innuendo and sultry purring. āIt was just a little hint of something I saw afterā¦ā
His expression shifts, brows furrowing, mouth curling. There's the faintest hint of that simmering anger he works so hard to hide. He doesnāt have to say anything, and Jude is grateful that he doesnāt.
His thoughts were all over the place the night he had dinner with his family, heās not surprised Amir managed to find the things he didnāt let himself think about, things heād been struggling to bury for a good two decades, when all his old hurts were bubbling to the surface and he didnāt have the strength to push them down again.
āIt was a guess,ā Amir continues, easing closer, looking up with his head tilted, hair spilling over his shoulder in a glossy fall that Jude wants to hide in, bend himself practically in half so he can tuck away somewhere he actually feels safe, but heās rooted to the spot feeling more exposed than heās ever felt in his life. At least here, out in the open, he gets to see the way a slow smile starts to curl Amirās lips again, softly smug. āBut I think itās safe to say it was a good one.ā
Amir is so close, the heat of his body is almost enough to have Jude sweating, scantily clad as he is.
That could just as easily be nerves, or rather, anticipation.
Without his heels, Amir's a good six inches shorter than Jude, but it doesn't matter much with a presence like his. He effortlessly fills any room he struts into, and Jude's been helplessly drawn to him since the beginning. The demon stares at him with smoldering eyes, a gaze that clings to his skin like honey, thick and molten and saccharine, dripping from the ribbon at his throat, the slender chains connecting it to the top, and lingering at the bust for a long breathless moment before sliding down to the belt, the gartersā
Jude shifts on the spot, shivers at the alien sensation of the stockings rubbing against the carpet, and tries to be subtle when he drops his hands to cover himself a bit. Unfortunately, it's not really possible for a man his size to be subtle in anything.
And then there's a swirl of mild disorientation, the sensation of breath against his ear, and a whisper in his mind that sends a shudder through his body.
No hiding, darling. I want to look at you.
Amir's lips don't move, but his eyes are so intent it feels like a physical touch. He takes his sweet time looking Jude over, admires him from every angle. Jude holds still obediently, doesn't try to hide, and heās rewarded for his good behavior when Amir finally, finally touches him again, fingertips tracing along where the lace clings to his skin, where the softness of his hip spills out over the waistband of the panties, the lines the garters draw down his thick, hairy thighs to connect to the stockings and back up to slip under the floaty hem of the top and prickle his nails along the band thatās doing its best to support his ample chest.
His skin is burning now, between the hearthfire heat Amir radiates and his own blood rushing, and heās starting to feel the shift in the atmosphere from an almost artistic appreciation to something a little more focused.
Heās not sure he can take much more of that focus, but thankfully Amir is very good at distracting him when heās starting to feel overwhelmed. It just so happens that, in the current case, that distraction comes in the form of crowding him back into the nearest wall and pawing at him.
"Wā¦wait," he whines out, helplessly squirming against the wall. Heās been able to restrain himself up to this point, to manage the low thrum of arousal building up in his gut since he starting pulling on all the satin and lace, but he can already feel himself straining against the delicate panties with Amir grabbing two big handfuls of his ass and squeezing. "I don't⦠I don't want to⦠mess these up."
There were no price tags, but he knows this has to be one of Amir's more expensive gifts. He's heard enough women in his life complain that just the mass-produced stuff is pricey, much less bespoke luxury lingerie. He can't even begin to guess how much Amir spent on what he's wearing, and he's honestly afraid to think about it too hard.
Amir laughs, something low and throaty that echoes sweetly in Jude's ribcage, settles heavy in his belly, and he tugs the human down to his level by the slip of ribbon around his throat. "Oh, darling," he coos indulgently, honey-sweet and just a touch condescending in that way Jude has gotten a little addicted to, "do you really think I only got you one set?"
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-likes baths better, she can kinda avoid getting her arm wet and prevent rusting better that way
-loves feeling your bare body against her own
-you're smaller than her so the fact that you fit between her thicccccc thighs perfectly gives her life
-likes when you wash her hair
-will massage your shoulders oftentimes
-has sensitive skin so she has special soaps that often times have oatmeal to soothe
-likes when you're gentle with her
sometimes the world doesn't give her a break so to be able to get that from her baby is better than anything in the world to her
Silco
-the shower is small so expect to be back to back with each other.
-likes to just sit in the hot water with your arms around his waist
-please admire his scars, he gets insecure too
-is the one washing your hair
-he likes the shampoo you use, so he'll use it too
is bougie and has the exfoliant sugar scrub and the softest bath loofa
-will often use up all the hot water because he just likes to stand there with you
-"did you just.."
"squeeze your ass? yes. you have a cute butt."
-shower sex with you presses against the foggy glass and him absolutely plowing you from behind.
Vi
-will get soap in her eye by accident
-is the type to use 3-in-1 bodywash/shampoo
-will slip sometimes in the shower but is quick to catch herself
-she love washing your hair, just being able to run her fingers through it is so relaxing to her.
-not a fan of baths, thinks getting all pruny is gross
-HOWEVER is definetly a fan of them when she c an go under the water simply for the pleasure of eating you out.
Viktor
-Will often shower with you, and loves it when you wash his hair.
-will keep a grip on your hips and just press your bodies together, resting his chin/cheek on your shoulder
-heās unapologetically in love with you and showers with you.
-he prefers baths because he gets to sit between your legs but itās a hassle sometimes to dry his brace and everything to prevent rusting.
-he uses a very specific oatmeal soap and he always shares with you.
Mainly because you love how good he smells
-Please do skin care with him, i mean he wants the oatmeal face masks, blackhead strips, cucumbers, the whole nine yards
-its really the bonding part he loves but nonetheless he still loves it.
Vander
whether is a bath or a shower, either way he's happy to be there with you.
-soapy tits and this man are a match made in heaven
-will wash your back and hair, his hands kinda just fit over your head almost completely considering you're quite a bit smaller than him.
-Please fix this man a soothing bath. He's stressed beyond belief really, and the hot water plus your skin against his is therapy enough.
-doesn't like shower sex mainly because one of you will slip and fall, and the space just isn't big enough for all that movement...
-But he will bend you over the bathroom counter and fuck you senseless.
-He likes seeing the mirror slowly loose fog and reveal the two of you and how well he's fucking you.
-Wash his hair please and thank you, scalp massages are the best to him really.
Caitlyn
-showers, but you guys are 6 feet apart. That big ass bathroom.
-AND NO DOORS????? hell nah
-y'all aren't fuckin around in there. Cait is more of a "i came here to shower and that's it" type of gal in my opinion.
-skin care with her is superior. feels like you're in a spa
-her bathtub is fucking huge dude. I mean...HUGE. And she always had bubble bath on the ledge waiting to be used.
-has a lot ore fruity scented soaps in my opinion.
-she had a lot of strawberry and blueberry scented stuff but i feel liker her personal favorite scent is like more tropical fruits y'know?
-like mango, pineapple, and kiwi scents. Probably some passion fruit in there somewhere.
-material gorl
-uses sugar scrub, soap, and then a shower moisturizer in that order. next she'll lotion up, skin care, moisturizer again, and then spray perfume or something
-we stan an organized, routine ready goddess.
-give it up for caitlyn kiriman y'all
Singed (as per request)
-you think he showers?
-this man is living in the TRENCHESSSSS...THE TRENCHESS Y'ALL
-but yes, he will find a way to get a shower when he can.
-Likes to shower separate from you because hot water isn't as available, so he always lets you go first to get the most warmth.
-he likes cold showers better anyway.
-will sometimes let you shower with him and your bodies aren't as close as you probably would have liked.
-mans is just kinda distant that way.
-he's cautious as to not slip and fall because that causes a whole other set of problems that he simply has no time or patience to deal with.
-shower experiments me thinks.
-again with the soapy tits. He does it himself tho, slender fingers finding a way to cup and squeeze your chest with ease while suds build up.
-before you know it he's got you bent over and giving you the slowest, yet, most calculates strokes in life.
Luz definitely loves the feel of abomination goop on her skin. Amity is happy to help.
Definitely! Luz takes care of her skin, and se was being reliably told that the abomination goop does wonders for it. And as Luz covered herself in it, Emira and Edric were snickering from nearby, seeing Amity's face turns red again.