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lokissweater · 3 months ago

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“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

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toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

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oncillabrigade · 6 months ago

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Consider:

The Bats all have personalized ring tones for one another, but everyone has both a civilian and a Bat ring tone. The civilian ones are chaos, with everyone choosing whatever they want for their various family members and friends. BUT! Everyone has a single Bat tone that all other team members use for them.

The catch? Bruce forbid them from choosing their own Bat ring tones because he proposed this plan back in Dick's Robin days and he IMMEDIATELY picked "Toxic." The choice was not well received.

Bruce: Dick, I will not be alerted to the fact that you're in danger by some Britney Spears song.

Dick: First of all, it is not some Britney song, it is the Britney song. That song finally won her a Grammy.

Bruce: *sighs*

Dick: Second of all, it won't tell you when I'm in danger... it'll tell you when Robin is.

Bruce:

Bruce: I'm taking the Walkman out of the Robin kit.

Dick: *offended gasp*

(Yes, Dick is old enough for a Walkman. No, you will not change my mind. Yes, the Tim-and-on siblings all find that hilarious. Yes, Jason has to be VERY careful not to mention that he borrowed that Walkman for years because he was uncomfortable taking expensive electronics out and about with him.)

Anyway!

Dick then proposes a slew of other songs for the whole team to use, all of which are pop culture references, e.g. the Scrubs theme because they're not Superman and also they're a dysfunctional family of coworkers; the theme from the Godfather because "let's be honest, B, we are basically our own mafia"; "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies because lol identity shenanigans, etc. The list is endless. Bruce spends weeks groaning every time his son texts him.

Eventually, they compromise on the version of "The Entertainer" from The Sting because they're hiding in plain sight to enact a mission defending good people in a hard world. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all so pleased with this that they each take a different section of the song as their ring tone.

Then Barbara becomes Batgirl, so she gets a section... and then Jason becomes Robin and gets one, too... and then Tim, then Steph, and then Cass is taken in, and... uh oh. That's a lot of people for one song.

But it's family tradition! They can't stop now. That would be so unfair to the new kids, B!

So they start using alternate arrangements of the song. Bruce has mellowed slightly on the "no choosing your own" thing. As long as it's a version of "The Entertainer" (within reason) he'll allow it.

Tim retroactively changes his ring tone to a weird groove-ska arrangement Bart randomly sent him on YouTube because have you met Tim Drake? Of course he went for hilarious obscurity. (Bruce grits his teeth and approves it after lots of prompting from Dick and Alfred). Steph makes it her mission to find a weirder one (Bruce agrees because he's too tired to deal with accusations of favoritism).

Cass creates her own arrangement on theremin because apparently she knows how to play the theremin. No one is sure why. Upon inquiry, she just says, "spooky noises are fun," but does not elaborate further even when she's asked to do so. A Batgirl's gotta have her secrets—Babs taught her that.

When Jason starts working with his family again, he pays an aspiring music producer within Red Hood's ranks to create a minor key remix of the original Robin II ring tone. His siblings (minus Cass) are VERY jealous he has his own personalized arrangement. Dick, Tim, and Steph end up paying this goon who owns Garage Band to do ones for them, too. Duke does the same when he joins the team.

Meanwhile, in a fit of little brotherly pique, Damian steals Tim's original ring tone. He hopes to rub salt in the Robin replacement wounds. He fails! Tim finds it beyond funny that Damian's ring tone is groove-ska. So Damian quietly pays the amateur producer to make him one that's cooler than Tim's. He pays a ludicrous amount, though, because Steph paid for one cooler than Jason's and Tim paid for one cooler than Steph's.

(Dick wanted one cooler than Jason's too, but he had $63.02 in his bank account at the time and Bruce flat out refused to use the Batbudget on "a super cool ring tone that's better than Jay's." Eventually, Dick just paid himself for an averagely cool one. In installments.)

At this point, the Bats have single-handedly given this fledgling producer enough money to quit being a goon and start an indie music studio. His first customers are mostly superheroes from out of town who like what the Bats have going on and want their own team ring tones. Harley and Ivy get in on that action, too.

Then, as word spreads, every local crook/henchperson with a side band (there are many) flocks to the studio to have their stuff produced by one of their own. Gotham rogues suddenly have an unemployment problem, while the city finds itself with a flourishing indie music scene that puts Metropolis' to shame. The entire state of New Jersey is celebrating the dual victory.

Dick has never been so glad someone doesn't like Britney Spears' magnum opus.

#batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #harley quinn #poison ivy #the bats are all secret goofs and I love them #actually some of them are openly goofs #cough dick grayson cough #he's living his best life #jacey writes

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goldenstring6123 · 4 months ago

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Lnds: Fighting with them

Warning: ANGST NO COMFORT! Arguing, fighting & toxic responses to a fight. Self insert. Reader may or may not be the MC

Author's note: Here's my take on getting into fights with your LNDS boyfriend— realistic responses edition! some of you may not like this, be warned.

Fighting with Zayne:

He is a professional, and his method is simply de-escalation. Dealing with so many types of patients, he knows how to handle things from children fighting to burly men wanting to pack a punch. He talks out of conflict or stalls them long enough until security gets to where he is; this happens inside and outside the hospital. During this incident, though he appears cool-headed, he is also aggravated. A keen observer would notice the ghostly frown on his face and his mildly defensive stance.

With you, he's more lenient. More gentle and more understanding. Utilizing a more empathic approach to your conflict. He never raises his voice or shows an ounce of hostility. Zayne would most definitely be more comforting. He is quick to apologize by verbal words or sweet actions.

When push comes to shove and you somehow manage to get on his nerves, which happens once in a blue moon, he'll either:

Scenario 1: He'll stop talking or looking at you for hours. He'll try to calm himself down and stare off into the distance, recalling whatever got him on his nerves. He'll try to find a solution or workaround and meet you halfway. Of course, he'll demand an apology from you if he rightfully deserves it, and if not, he's more than willing to give you an apology instead.

Scenario 2: He'll ask you to leave his house to cool off both of your heads. He'll bury himself in his workload, turning off his phone. When you confront him, he won't speak first, asking if you need something from him. He won't apologize or meet you halfway with his words; in fact, he won't be gentle with them; he'll convey his feelings and messages to you more frankly to the point that it is harsh. His words are somewhat calculated, as if he had already planned what to say, but that would mean he won't let you slip a word in.

By then, the anger within you has already been extinguished. At the end of any scenario, Zayne is the last to apologize for being angry. Still, he states his anger has a reason and that he cares for you and his well-being.

Fighting with Xavier:

When you manage to annoy him, he pouts, still acting cutesy on purpose. He does this more often than anyone could imagine because, in this way, he can demand consolation in the form of baking pastries/desserts or kisses.

When things get hot between the two of you, he'll ignore you for a short amount of time, refraining from entering the same room as you because you know neither of you would give in to the argument, So it was better for you to both calm your minds down, even just for 5 minutes.

When all things go in the wrong direction, Xavier's the type to fuss, complain, and just generally become verbal. He never swears and raises his voice per se but heavily pushes the side of the argument onto you, whether you were wrong or right. Sometimes, he fails to understand your side of the conflict, and sometimes, he flat-out ignores it and acts all childish, turning a deaf ear.

He's capable of not talking to you for days, and he makes it more apparent that he's avoiding you by requesting to switch partners. And when this happens, most of the time, it's you who makes the move to apologize. But on bad topics, it doesn't end there. He still insists on his side of the fight. All while speaking and arguing, he tries to get close to you in an attempt to hold your hand, but you always push him away. You

One time, he got too close to you to make you understand, pressing you against the wall and holding your hand a bit too tightly, and out of sheer anger and fear, you resorted to brute force, slapping him across the face. This took him back to reality and, with it, took his anger as well, exchanging it for grief. Only then did he realize that he messed up in more ways than he could think.

Fighting with Rafayel:

Rafael is the hardest to deal with when angered. He's sensitive and quick to be influenced by emotions. Though people call him a "drama queen," Rafayel becomes a real pain in the neck when people get on his nerves. If he doesn't get what he wants, he'll make sure that the other party loses more than him, and he does that thanks to his network and his money. This seldom happens as He doesn't work with anyone in broad daylight. He locks himself in the studio; only Thomas usually talks to him.

At most, he gets into conflicts with cats.

It's a different thing when he makes shady transactions, though. When he's made into a fool, those people are dealt with by his hired men. Assassinations, theft, blackmail, whatever makes the other party beg on their knees.

With you, though, it's a whole other story.

Conflicts with Rafael are, unfortunately, toxic; He's easy to provoke and quick to retort. It's a gamble when you're with him. On some better days, you can get away with a conflict through an apology and dinner, or better yet, he concedes, and you can have your way.

It doesn't take a genius to know that this will escalate into a shouting match on bad days. Banters, insults, and harsh words are thrown at each other without pause, and it only stops when either of you walks out. It was a mindless conflict led by sheer anger, plus his pettiness and your annoyance. He makes himself look like the victim and points out your flaws more and how you failed to be understanding; conflicts with him end up with tears and devoid of an apology. Neither of you ever even remembered what you were fighting back.

When he has no strength to fight with you, he goes silent. He locks his home and only contacts you for a short period. He vents his anger on his paintings, to which Thomas immediately tells him to take a break and apologize to you. He doesn't, and it's not until a week later that he contacts you again.

Fighting with Sylus:

He's patient but, at the same time, impatient.

When something is amiss, or someone fails to do their task, rather than bother to be angry or inconvenienced, he'd eliminate the cause of that problem. It saves him from emotional exhaustion.

When in conflict with other people, you best place your bet on him being the aggrevator. He's more of the person to start conflicts than be on the receiving end. If there is one thing to know about him when he starts one, he finishes it, leading the other party on their knees, running away or six feet under.

Sylus is a big man who holds himself to his ego, so people tend to be weary when approaching him. Burly, prideful men are eager to fight him, and they somehow get a taste of their own medicine, praying they end up alive after this fight.

With you, however, it's a different story. Conflicts between you and Sylus are primarily caused by too much bickering and you taking his words to heart. Sometimes, he lets his tongue slip too much in amusement. A quick cold shoulder treatment and you blocking his chat is the way for him to show a gram of remorse. Despite being terrifying, he's pretty good at consoling and apologizing.

But when you start to get on his nerves, you're in a tight situation. He doesn't treat you like a partner; he treats you like some sort of business partner, spewing harsh facts with a tinge of insult. He doesn't let you slip a word in; if you manage to, he'll always have something to say again. He raises his voice slightly, asks rhetorical questions, and makes you look foolish. All the while, he looks like he still has his composure. He acts as if he's not your lover, creating a clear boundary between your relationship, and more often than you'd like to admit, this, too, got on your nerves. He never makes a move on you, neither does he curse or do anything terrible. He just sits there all arrogant, as if he always has the upper hand with your emotions.

But there was one particular fight where you're the one who's fuming red with pure, dry anger. You scream at Sylus, reprimanding and scornful, sometimes lunging a few soft items his way, which he catches, yet he never does anything. He stays in his place, but he is undeniably infuriated as well, only this time, he's silent. He lets you go off, not responding to your rhetorical questions and all the words you hurl his way, and when you are finally done speaking, he tells you to leave, grabbing you by your arm and throwing you out of his house.

He hasn't contacted you for a month, and you have been forbidden from going anywhere near the N109 zone. You thought it was the end of whatever you guys had. You sent your break-up message, and to your surprise, he's seen it yet— there was never a response.

That night, you wake up in his bed and in his grasp.

Author footnotes: I know this isn't the romantic type of lnds post but once in a while I want to make their relationships realistic, like, try to apply how people in real life would act.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by cafekitsune MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

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sakuravalelp · 4 months ago

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A dream land - DP X DC Prompt

Okay, so I was thinking about that episode "Perchance to dream" where Bruce is trapped in a dream world and this, even thought really different, came to my mind.

Danny is king or prince of the infinite realms. He's been working on personalizing/decorating his castle in the infinite realms. When he feels someone walking just outside the castles walls. The thing is, that someone isn't a denizen, they aren't in a corporeal body, but he can feel that they are very much alive and feel distinctly human. He approaches the person to ask why and how they are in the infinite realms, but they fade away before he gets the opportunity.

Clockwork, who was with him at the moment, tells him that the visitor from the living, was just the soul projection of someone that was sleeping, and then refuses to elaborate further. Since it's something that was to do with sleeping, Danny decides to go and ask Nocturn, it seemed like a reasonable assumption that he was the one at fault for the soul projection.

Contrary to what he thought, Nocturn informed Danny that Sleeping soul projection was a natural phenomenon that he didn't control. The land of dreams, ("My domain" - Nocturn reminds him), was in the infinite realm after all, and those who have been close to death sometimes slipped they're whole soul instead of just their mind, and ended up all over the infinite realms.

It isn't too different from a lucid dream for them, the body gets all the benefit of the sleep, the mind feels rested if they had a good time in the realms. Except, if they hurt their soul too bad during their little trip, it would have real consequences. Loosing memories, abilities regression, migraine, pain that reflects the soul damage, all either temporary until the soul healed, or permanent and deteriorating, and in some occasions finishing in the persons death. In the latter, the soul is usually too damaged and cease it's existence, or have enough ectoplasm and emotion to form into ghosts with crack cores whose existence is instantly in danger.

Danny clearly didn't like the image that was painted to him, so he asked Nocturn if there was really nothing that he could do. It took a lot of talking and convincing, but eventually Nocturn admitted he could be able to direct the soul projecting to appear on a certain place, but he refused to babysit anyone. Which was enough for Danny, all he needed to do was make another expansion in his castle.

He decided to make a garden to receive their soul projecting guests. The garden was enormous, with all kinds of spaced within it. Playgrounds, picnic spaces, soft benches, tables with ghost and space teamed board games, fountains, and of course, the beautiful flowers that surrounded and decorated the place. Once he got ghosts with gardening, protection and caring obsessions on the place to look out for the souls, he was ready to receive them. It took him by surprise the amount of people that came, the garden was never crowded, but was never empty either, and souls of all ages and places were visiting at all times.

He kept expanding the garden as he heard of new things their guests wished for. He enjoyed spending time in the middle of the garden where souls passed by but rarely appeared, it was calm, but not completly quite with the background noice of the soul enjoying their dreams, and he could do the more mundane king/prince work. Until, he starts getting a regular visitor on his little space of the garden.

Choose the DC character you prefer, my idea is for people who hasn't died in the past but has been in the doors of death (so died and came back would be disqualified but you do as you prefer), but I'm going with Tim.

The soul of a boy around his age appears just in front of him, as usual when he greets new arriving soul, he welcomes him with a gentle smile and tells him he is free to explore the garden. A ghost taker is assign to him. The soul, as usual, seems confused and like he wished to asks questions, but seems content to ask them to his tour guide, and Danny continues with his own duties.

But then, the same soul continues to appear in the same place every two or three days, they exchange greetings and every time talk for a bit longer before the boy leaves to explore once more. It's rear to have multiple visits from one soul, even more so for said soul to appear in the same place every time. By the four time, Danny decides to take a break on his royal duties and accompany his new friend.

~ They get close, and have cute scenes, Tim asks a lot of questions and Danny answers and not-answers a lot of questions ~

One day, Tim shows up as usual, but he is in full Red Robin costume, and well, Danny wasn't expecting an identity reveal.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On the Bats side:

There's an attack of some villain that's able to put Red Robin (or character of your choice) on a sleeping beauty type of sleep while carrying a serious injury, were he stays sleep until teammates or backup gets him out of it. The event affects his soul, making him disconnect partially from the land of dreams and making his soul sleep project almost every time he sleeps.

Tim starts sleeping more often. It's worrying at first, Bruce being paranoid does every test in the book, despite Tim saying he's just finding sleep easier now. But, he was just affected by sleeping magic and suddenly his sleeping easier? Seems like a side effect, and that makes it worrying.

Tim's health in general improve, just like he's concentration and productivity. Who would have thought that working rested actually was more productive than working on less than three hours of sleep and missing obvious details and clues due to how tired you are.

With everything not only being okay, but better than before, paranoia about Tim's new sleeping schedule soon dies, and instead is replaced with teasing about how he used to refuse to rest kicking and screaming, and now he may sleep more than any of them.

On Tim's side, he's loving being able to soul project so often. He knew from the start he was in a different dimension, and he just wanted to know the hows, whys, and everything else. So far, he seems to do it at least once every three days, and he's even gone two times in a row a couple of times.

The garden had a lot of things to do, but Tim doesn't care about that, he's more interested in all the information he's getting. The first 3 times he was given different ghost nanny's, who were more focus on entertaining him and didn't really answer direct question. But then king/prince Phantom decided to accompany him personally, and everything went smoother. He was going back to get to know more about this new world, and maybe to know more about the cute prince/king too. He might also have gotten some better looking pajamas.

Now, he has a mission that takes more than a couple days with some people in his team that hasn't yet sen his face. He didn't realize how difficult it would be to do all nighters after getting used to a sleep schedule. He would usually try to go as long as possible without sleeping, but he decides that he should take advantage of the safety of where they're staying and sleep a bit too. He ended up soul projecting in full Red Robin costume. He tried to play it cool, maybe Phantom wouldn't know it was him.

"Red Robin, even if you didn't appear on the same spot as always, I can feel your soul. I know who you are."

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dilvei · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( y! emperor x m! assassin reader )

yandere! emperor x male! assassin reader

warnings:

attempted murder

attempted poisoning

mentions of torture

some dubcon tumble & kissing in the sheets ey

directory: part one, part two [ coming soon ]

this definitely could've gone to a much, much darker route but instead it turned out kind of cute(?). i once had a similar idea to this one but as like a longer fic but i don't have the time for that so eat this instead y'all 🌈🌈

requested by @n4muqr

✾ | much is unknown of the current reigning emperor, dimitri, and what little is known about him is all rather rudimentary, really—merely the common knowledge shared and repeated by most already.

✾ | for instance, it is often said by the masses that dimitri is akin to a sleeping lion. a calm and quiet presence... until a single misstep is made in his presence, prompting his unbridled fury. the emperor does not merely desire perfection, he demands it with an almost relentless, crazed fervor. the emperor will not— cannot simply stand by when something in his vicinity does not reach that impeccable state.

✾ | another topic, oftenly brought up, is his cruelty. the amount of enemies dimitri has amassed on his path to the throne is not few, and those who remain are, well, tortured and tormented inside the cold dungeons for as long as they draw breath.

✾ | but none of those rumors are the ones that pique your interest in the emperor. no. what fascinates you about dimitri is the fact that he has yet to marry, and has remained so for several years of his reign, much to the utter bewilderment of his own people and his own court.

✾ | and the reason for it is so ridiculous that, the first time you heard it, you nearly topple over from laughter. the emperor is unmarried not because he is unattractive or ugly—the opposite really, if the rumors are to be believed—but because he deems that there is no one perfect enough yet to stand by his side. ridiculous, really. but what is an emperor if he is not arrogant?

✾ | still, the fact that there is no direct heir to the throne due to this is utterly hilarious to you. even more comical is the moment when, one day, you are given the task to assassinate said emperor.

✾ | you hold no loyalty for powerful men like dimitri, especially when they are reputed to be arrogant fools. and yet, curiosity stirs within you as to who issued such an order, for you are certain that you are not the only one sent to assassinate dimitri. his little brother perhaps? he is, after all, next in line to the throne.

✾ | a day after you receive the task, you simply... wait, and you remain waiting even as news of failed assassination attempts after another reaches your ears. not one assassin has succeeded, and it baffles you, really; it is either due to the emperor's extreme luck or, perhaps, his perfectionism has extended to other aspects of his life—namely, the protection that surrounds him.

✾ | so, you plan. disguising one's self to infiltrate the palace would take too long, and the likelihood of success is slim, especially given dimitri’s vigilant eye monitoring everyone’s movements. in the end, only one course of action comes to mind.

✾ | in the dead of night, you silently scale the towering walls of the palace—walls too high for most, surely, but easily surmountable for someone like you. with a mask covering the lower half of your face and more daggers than one should be permitted to carry, you ascend with ease.

✾ | landing on the balcony with barely a sound, you smile as you successfully arrive at the chambers of the arrogant emperor dimitri.

✾ | lock picking the door inside is awfully easy, and as you step into the bedroom that is almost suffocating with its golden splendor, you finally see him. you see the emperor.

✾ | dimitri is in bed, unguarded, with eyes closed and lips parted, so breathtaking to behold that, for a moment, you forget you are here to kill him, to murder him.

✾ | as you edge closer to his still body, you observe the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each soft breath. how his golden eyelashes flutter as the cold night air sweeps in from the open balcony window. it seems almost a waste to kill such beauty.

✾ | and just as you brandish your cold dagger to his neck, your other hand ready to silence his dying cries, dimitri's eyes shoot wide open, an icy gaze staring directly into you.

✾ | despite only just waking, the emperor is fast, sharp and alert, and in a blink, dimitri has already swiftly caught both your wrists with his hands in a vice-like grip, rendering you motionless as you both stare into each other’s eyes in tense silence.

"You shouldn’t be up at such an hour, Your Majesty,” you slowly quip with narrowed eyes, breaking the silence between you as you struggle to free your hands from Dimitri’s grip. Your efforts are futile; his hold on you tightens further.

No doubt, that bruises will soon bloom like dark flowers on your skin, assuming, that is, Dimitri ever lets go of his grip.

With an almost empty sharpness in his gaze, Dimitri inches his face closer to yours, his expression thin as he responds, “And you, should not wander as you wish in your emperor’s chambers. Wherever did you learn your manners, stranger?”

"Well, certainly not around here, Your Majesty.” You let out a sharp laugh before kneeing him in the stomach. But, to your surprise, you flinch instead of the emperor. It feels as though... you just kneed a solid rock.

At your failed attempt, Dimitri merely raises a brow and sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “I must admit, this is a first. No assassin thus far has attempted to climb my palace walls only to knee me in the stomach. I must say, you do make a memorable first impression.”

"I'm flattered, Your Majesty," you say with a faux smile as you continue to struggle against his grip. Another sigh escapes the Emperor's lips.

Suddenly, perhaps finally finding himself tired of your antics, Dimitri pulls you towards him with a firm grip, effortlessly throwing you onto his bed, pinning you under him with only a hand as though you weigh nothing.

Well now, this is bad.

Dimitri hovers above you, his warm breath caressing your neck, his gaze piercing you with a cold, steely silence. Then— he rips off your mask, revealing your complete face, twisted with frustration; Dimitri's eyes seem to gleam as he notices it.

"Must you really rip it off?"

"It obscured my view of your face, oh assassin. Your mask was a hindrance to us both," he answers, voice as smooth as velvet. With his free hand, and an empty gaze that all but screams danger, Dimitri’s fingertips softly caress your face before slowly, but surely, descending to your neck. You gulp.

Before he can act in a way you do not desire—specifically, choking you lifeless beneath him—you lean forward, rising to press your lips against his in desperation.

Not for his mercy, no—heavens, no. Your lips are coated in poison, a venom strong enough to probably lull a lion into instant slumber, and soon, will render Dimitri paralyzed as well.

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly—because you’ve seen it, seen the hint of desire brimming inside his eyes, a flicker that escapes the mask the Emperor puts on—Dimitri kisses you back. And if your swift brush of lips could ever be labeled as a kiss, then what Dimitri unleashed upon you could only be deemed a ravage.

He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, savoring and exploring your mouth as one might indulge in a delectable, forbidden fruit. Despite your efforts, you find yourself drawn into his passion, grappling beneath him as he intensifies the kiss with each passing moment, as though melding your bodies together.

There is no room to breathe, and your head reels from the lack of air.

A bruising grip is placed on your waist as Dimitri somehow deepens the kiss further, his tongue exploring every inch of you, and as you attempt to pull away, he presses forward, biting your lip almost as a form of punishment.

A low whine escapes your throat, seemingly satisfying Dimitri as he hums softly into your mouth. Then, finally, ever so finally, he ends the kiss, leaving you gasping for air.

Tears well in your eyes as you gaze up at him, a half-smirk playing on his lips while he hovers above you, still gripping both your wrists firmly in his single hand, still unaffected by the poison after how much time has passed. How... is this be possible? Is Dimitri perhaps immune to such poison?

As realization washes over you, the half-smirk on Dimitri’s face transforms into a full one. "The poison on your lips is sweet, oh assassin," he whispers, "but in my opinion, the kiss is far, far sweeter."

"You...!"

As you prepare to kick the Emperor in his groin out of extreme frustration, he releases his grip on you, rising from the bed before straightening his attire. "You have passed, my assassin. And henceforth, you will serve me, and me alone," he announces, voice ringing clear inside your head.

You blink, letting his words sink in before narrowing your eyes at Dimitri, who is now sitting languidly on one of his many comfortable chairs in the room. “Just what are you talking about?” His words make little sense, and you feel an undying urge to hurl the nearest object right at his face.

"Who do you think orchestrated the countless assassinations on my dear self, oh assassin of mine? I seek only the finest, and while I knew no one could truly ever succeed in killing me, thus far, your attempt has been the closest."

You push yourself off the bed, striding towards him with your fists clenched. "This is all beyond ridiculous. Do you have any idea how many of us were tasked to end your life?"

"I do."

You cross your arms with a sigh. "So, what now? Is my task over?" The room is far too cold now after you have tasted the warmth that is your Emperor, and your job is clearly over, now that you have, somehow, been forcefully given a new one instead.

Dimitri responds, "You are to be my assassin. I will point the way, and you will obediently follow, with no questions asked. To kill whomever I send you to kill, to dispose of their bodies with no witnesses in sight, and to return to me when I have need of you. Is that clear?"

You roll your eyes at his arrogant tone but then nod obligingly upon seeing the slightest hint of anger in his expression. "Yes, yes. Is there anything else you require of me, Your Majesty? If not, I will be taking my leave now."

"Remain still,” he commands, and a distant part of you screams in frustration as your body effortlessly complies. He approaches you slowly, offering a small smile before placing your mask back over your face.

"When we are alone, just the two of us, I expect you to address me by my given name, my assassin.” He pauses then, lifting your chin with a finger. You tense.

"And...?" you ask back, your voice shaky.

The Emperor’s gaze flickers towards your lips, concealed beneath the mask, as he issues his last command. “That last method of yours. I forbid you from employing it on anyone else,” he muses, tightening his grip on your chin, almost painfully so.

“Your lips are reserved solely for mine.”

#👑 | ✦ ∘° DIMITRI !!!#dilvei.writes #yandere emperor #yandere x male reader #yandere male x male reader #x male reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere core #banner by cafekitsune

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slytherinslut0 · 17 days ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

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kisakis-boyfriend · 2 months ago

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Dazai, Chuuya, & Kunikida x werewolf reader

Author's Note: Requested by the same anon who asked for this with Fyodor, Nikolai, & Sigma. I just had to break up the posts thanks to tumblr's tag limits 🙄 + bonus Kunikida because I can ✨

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, & Kunikida x male reader (separately)

Warnings: Male werewolf!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!characters, implied dom Chuuya as well, mentions of breeding, knotting, rough sex (Chuuya), heat cycle, Dazai calls you 'belladonna'

Dazai

The Shameless Slut

“Ooh please fill me up, my love! I'll gladly take all of your dick uwu”

Yeah, Dazai can get a little too excited about your werewolf form sometimes…

He can be such a pillow princess too. He just likes to lay there and show off his beautiful body while you're carving your place in his insides

Scarily possessive when you pop your knot into him

As soon as Dazai feels that sudden stretch, he's locking his legs around you and pressing it further in

His fingers tangle in your coarse fur, and a groan slips out–

“Yes! Tell me I'm yours, belladonna!” he'll rasp, staring you down with enough intensity to make your heart skip a beat

If you're comfortable with it, Dazai will brag about his insanely hot werewolf boyfriend

Rip ADA members who have to hear about you every single day… and rip PM members who also hear about Dazai's horny bf every time they meet 😅

Chuuya

The Greedy Slut

That's not your massive dick, it's Chuuya's. And you'd do well to remember that

Your werewolf form does something to Chuuya's brain. The man already enjoys rough sex, but this large, canine form stirs something up in his belly

Demands to be bred. There better be no cum spillage, it has to be in his hole(s)

Definitely uses his special ability to make you hit deeper and pound harder — so much so that it's caused Chuuya to pass out before

After that first time, Chuuya asked if you kept going. And when you said of course not, he looked rather disappointed 😟

From then on, you agreed to breed him whether he was still conscious or not (within reason, though)

Calls you 'good puppy' and similar affectionate terms

You two have had conversations about buying a collar and leash — and, if you choose to incorporate that into your sex life, you won't regret it. Chuuya will make very good use of them 😏

Kunikida

The Slut in Denial

Also a total denial slut

He would never admit to this even on his deathbed; but Kunikida loves edging

If you lick the underside of his cock with your rough canine tongue, growling at your beloved to hold it all in? The only thing Kunikida will have in his vision are stars swirling around

I don't think he would admit to loving your primal sex sessions either. Not unless he was already deep in sub space

On all fours, your larger form hunched over his body while your balls slap against Kunikida's ass, your fur tickling his back — this is when he'd slur out how much he loves taking your cock 💛

Also one to keep track of the moon's cycle. It's important to know when his partner will transform or go into heat

Dating a werewolf was never a part of his ideals, but he doesn't regret a thing

Becoming your mate has improved Kuni's life in all sorts of ways — whether we're talking about the amount of love he receives, or the benefits of nasty werewolf sex 😌

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eightmakesonebraincell · 2 months ago

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our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom (teaser)

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 1.0k (teaser) + approx. 38k (full fic)

c/w: sweaty ateez (warning well deserved), lots of hurt/comfort, one of the slowest slow burns to slow burn, remaining tags to be revealed with full fic

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: when i started writing this i really thought it wouldn't exceed 25k but here we are :D full fic will be released in about a week and i am so ready

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

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xxsabitoxx · 9 months ago

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Tutoring Session

College Math Tutor Sanemi x Female College Student Reader

Warnings: raw sex, edging, praising, hair pulling, creampies

A/N: hit me like a freight train, I’ve been dying to write this idea for literal months and I just couldn’t figure out who to write it about… obviously Sanemi was the clear choice. I blame @peachdues tbh

WORD COUNT: 2.5k | NOT MY ART!! Credit to the artist!! if anyone knows them please let me know so I can properly credit them!

"There you go, that's right." Sanemi smiled as you solved the equation correctly, watching your hands tremble as you wrote the numbers. "Took you long enough, sweetheart." He added as you whined, the grip he had on your hair was the only thing really keeping your head from falling forward in frustration. "Let's try the next one."

All the while, the dull head of cock was gliding between slick folds. This was his idea of tutoring you, tormenting you with the promise of shoving his cock inside of you, but only after you finished your work. Sanemi had you stuck, literally and figuratively at this point.

Your knees were aching from where they were digging into the hardwood flooring of his apartment, and your body bent over his coffee table with all your math equations spread out before you. Nothing was on either of you from the waist down, Sanemi's knees keeping your legs from squeezing shut in protest."How would you solve this equation, sweetheart. Show me."

You let out a shrill whine as he caught on your entrance for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. You were soaking wet and he hadn't so much as pressed into you. Your hands trembled as you lifted your pencil again, reading over the numbers and letters with blurry vision as you tried to recall the first step.

One squeeze from his hand on your waist and you were focusing again, pushing the pencil to the paper as you wrote out your first line. Sanemi hummed in approval, pumping his cock slowly before sliding his leaking tip between your drenched folds.

If you got this one right, he'd get inside of you, you'd have to work through the rest as his hips slowly rocked in and out of you. It was his favorite part of tutoring you, he could edge you for hours on end but it didn’t compare to the warmth your cunt enveloped him in once he pushed inside. It was addicting, he’d never stop tutoring you just for this reason.

“You have to carry that one over, remember?” he hummed as he looked over your shoulder, watching your handwriting get increasingly sloppier as you erased your first mistake. Sanemi’s eyes glanced over the other sheets of paper, you had started off so strong, then you could see exactly when he got you into this position, the shakiness of your hand was present.

“You better hurry, it's getting harder to not push right in.” He grinned, tugging your hair just a little harder as you whimpered. The head of his cock had caught on your entrance again, but this time he kept it in place. He could feel you constricting, clenching around nothing at all and begging to suck him into the wet warmth of your sex. “S-Sanemi… sir please…”

Your voice came out in a broken hiccup, making his cock twitch in interest as you moved down the line of your equation. “You know the rules, sweetheart. You don’t get my cock until I’m satisfied with the amount of work you successfully completed.” His knees were aching too, but he could withstand it just to see you struggle. Your hair was soft in his grasp, but the mewls you made were even softer when he tugged on the strands.

You felt tears burning your eyes, frustration towards math mixing with the frustration of not being able to alleviate the ache between your sticky thighs. Within an hour of his tutoring, Sanemi had rendered you to an embarrassing, sticky mess. Your slick was covering his thighs as well as his pubic bone, and of course his cock. “Carry that one.”

Shakily, you erased, whining as you corrected your mistake. “Don’t move your hips or I’ll return to grinding my cock against you.” You stilled, you hadn’t even realized you were trying to force your hips back on his length. “I’m…mmm I’m s-sorry sir.” You hiccupped, you could feel your heartbeat in your clit at this point, and it was driving you insane. “Don’t apologize, solve the problem.”

You focused to the best of your abilities again, tears leaking down your cheeks and spotting the paper below you as the pressure built. Between the ache between your legs and the pressure of his dull cock head pressing into your awaiting entrance, you were certain you would crack under his gaze. You could feel it burning just over your shoulder, certain it was accompanied by rosy cheeks and fucked out eyes, making even swollen lips from where he chewed them.

Your entire body jerked forward, head nearly falling forward along with it before Sanemi tugged again. “Keep your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart.” Your face was burning, he was one to talk considering the position he had you in right now.

“You are two lines away from getting my cock shoved in you, I’d smarten up and focus.” Your heart lurched, the promise in his tone was undeniable. Solve this equation and you’d get what you wanted.

You scribbled the next line, earning a hum of approval from Sanemi as you moved to piece everything together and solve the equation. You waited with bated breath, looking everything over to confirm you were correct before shakily writing your answer.

After a beat of silence, Sanemi thrusted his hips forward, plunging his cock deep into your cunt. A loud cry of his name left your lips followed by a string of curses. The sting of being stretched so suddenly had you shivering, your pencil dropping from your hand as you tried to ground yourself.

“Atta girl, you take me so–ha–so good.” Your cunt was fluttering around him, your hips trying to pull away just enough to ease the pressure on your cervix. The room was filled with your breathing before Sanemi finally panted “next”. You wanted to cry, frustrated and in need of relief and yet you were being forced to start your next round equations. “S-sanemi please…”

“You heard me, sweetheart. Start the next problem.” He had regained a little bit of composure, pressing his hips flush against your own as he maneuvered his body lower. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as his front met your back, and yet again you were trying to run away from the one thing you had been begging for. “Turn the page over, we have four more to do.” His breath was hot against your ear, causing your body to involuntary shudder in response.

You did as you were told, inhaling deeply as he returned to his original position. Once the paper was flipped and your pencil was back in your hand, Sanemi let go of the grip he had on your hair so both hands could hold your waist. He didn’t care if you struggled now, if anything he wanted to see you visibly falling apart.

You started slowly, moaning softly as Sanemi pulled out half way before slamming into you again. This paper would be a damn mess by the time you were done. That was Sanemi’s intention, after all, he liked to keep your ruined sheets of math as a reward once he was done. Your body shook with the force of his hips slamming into your own, the pencil dragging across the paper in sloppy mess as you began solving the next equation.

“Oh fuck… fuck… fuck fuck…” You cried, pencil nearly ripping the paper as Sanemi’s hips rolled perfectly into you. The bulbous head of his cock grazed that one particular spot perfectly, making your back arch in response to the sensation. “Focus.” But his tone was hoarse, weak even as your slick arousal began to collect around the base of his cock. It's not like he could even focus on the math, eyes zeroing in on where your cunt sucked him in.

“Solve this one right and I’ll fill you up, you’d love that wouldn’t ya?” You nodded, blabbering out a yes as your hand shakily wrote two more numbers in the first line of the problem. You weren’t going to get that far, but you’d damn near try your hardest. Sanemi’s hips were picking up their pace, falling into a brutal rhythm that was making it hard for you to properly see the numbers on your paper. The coffee table was creaking in protest with each snap of his hips.

It was dizzying, feeling him split you open over and over as your velvety walls tried to clamp down and slow his speed. You were soaking wet, a warm gush of your arousal causing slick squelching noises to fill the small living room. “Finish the first line, sweetheart.” He could feel the sweat beading down his temple, as much as he loved to tease you, your cunt was almost too overwhelming for him.

He could fight off his inevitable release for a little while, but at the pace in which you were writing the problem out, he was certain he’d lose the battle. You were shaking as you finished the first line, eyes blurry as you tried to move the equation through your mind. You were too far gone already, cheeks burning hot as drool slipped past your parted lips. You could feel the embarrassment pushing you down, head falling forward now that Sanemi didn’t have a fistful of your hair to keep you upright.

“C’mon, Sweet–ha–heart fucking finish the problem.'' The last half came out in a low and desperate tone, you could feel Sanemi’s cock twitching violently as it embedded itself in your velvety heat. “I-I’m trying…” you pleaded softly, tears flowing freely as you lifted your head. “I.. you’re too rough… oh fuck sir, don't stop.” you mewled, back arching as your hips shot back to meet his thrusts. Sanemi couldn’t say no to that, not when you were suffocating him.

“Finish.” he restated, nails digging into the plush skin of your hips as his brows creased. He would have to pound some fucking sense into you… or maybe himself. Your pencil was scraping against the paper again as you worked through the equation, at this point Sanemi didn’t even care if you fucked it up and got the answer wrong, he just wanted to see a final result.

Though, that suddenly wasn’t enough for him anymore.

A spike of arousal had one hand leaving your hips just to sneak around your front and find your clit. A sharp gasp tore from your mouth as white hot pleasure blurred your vision once more. Your neglected clit was far too sensitive for the immediate fast and rough circles Sanemi’s fingers were giving you. That and the fact that his hands were calloused, rougher than your own and creating more friction than you ever could.

“Oh fuck… I’m gonna…” you choked on your own words, the pencil led snapping as the heat in your abdomen grew hotter. Your release was sneaking up on you thanks to the addition of his fingers. “You’re already gonna cum?” Sanemi’s tone was mocking, as if his own cock wasn’t swelling with his own impending release. You let out a garbled response that sounded somewhat similar to a “yes”, no longer able to write now that your pencil had broken.

Sanemi noticed, of course, his ego inflating like a balloon as he looked at the ruined paper and the ruined pencil. “You’re lucky that didn’t…” he inhaled, jaw clenching as he tried to stave off his release for a little longer. “You’re lucky you didn’t snap the whole pencil.” You just shook your head, cheek turning to press against the paper covered table. Your hands twitched as they found the edge, grabbing on tightly to try and ground yourself once more.

“Don’t hold out on me, sweetheart… you’ll still get my cum for trying.” A loud whimper followed his promise, no longer able to control the noises you made as Sanemi’s hips continued to piston into your sopping cunt. It hit you then, your orgasm just barely teetering over the edge as you babbled out a jumble of curses and pleas to stop. Not that you actually wanted him too, Sanemi had learned that your cries only meant you were getting overwhelmed in the best way possible.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Ruin me.”

You could feel the cord snap, your orgasm washing over you as his hips and fingers never faltered. You were positive you moaned his name a little louder than you wanted to, unable to help it as your ears rang from the intensity. Sanemi’s teeth sunk into his lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. Your cunt was quivering around him, suffocatingly tight as a warm gush of your arousal dripped down your thighs. The sight was unbearably hot, and just enough to push him over the edge with you.

You shivered as he came, spraying your walls with his sticky release. “Oh fuck.” It was just barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Sanemi was tense, too tense to acknowledge the marks he was leaving on your hips as his nails dug into your skin. It wasn’t until his hips came to a stuttering halt, burying deep inside your cunt that he was able to suck air into his lungs again and loosen his grip. “Y-you okay?”

You hummed, too tired to lift yourself off of the table. “Words, sweetheart.” Sanemi was never content with your little noises after the fact. He needed the verbal affirmation that you were okay and he wasn’t too rough. “...’m good.” You heard him exhale through his nose, something similar to a humorless laugh. “C’mon, let me clean you up.” the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of you made you both shiver, his sticky release following.

He watched your hips squirm, you were never fond of the feeling. “Sorry, sweetheart.” but again, you mumbled out an “...’s okay”. He had worn you out, there was no way he would be able to finish your lesson tonight. “How about a shower instead of a rag?” His fingers were running along your slick thighs as he spoke, carefully dragging your mixing arousal back up to your entrance and using two fingers to shove it back inside.

“You’ll have tah carry me.” you mumbled, pushing yourself up halfheartedly, your cheeks stained with drying tears. “Fine by me, it’s the least I can do.” Sanemi smiled, carefully moving to pull you into a sitting position and get your weight off of your bruising knees. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed the night, would ya?” You nearly collapsed into him, turning weakly into his embrace so he could get you both off the ground.

“You’re always welcome, Sanemi. I still have some of your clothes in my dresser.” He chuckled at that, hauling you up bridal style as he made his way towards your bathroom “I might as well move in at this point, hmm?” this time you were the one starting to laugh. “You practically live here already, Sanemi. Why don’t we make it official?” If he knew it would have been that easy, he would have made the comment weeks ago. “I’d like that.”

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persicipen · 1 month ago

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to measure love ノ dr. ratio

ৎ୭ — · · 0.8k ノ gn reader — back scratching . dumbification . overstimulation ノ just indulging in some spice with subtly dom mr. ratio ノ well… uhm… i would not write it if not for a friend on here throwing at me the *concept* ahaha…

The first time you scratched his back during sex, Veritas grumbled with annoyance and took your wrists into his hand for the remainder of your close encounter. It was all an accident, of course! It’s not like you would do that on purpose — knowing too well he would not be pleased.

There wasn’t much you could do against the pleasure you had not expected to receive, rendering you helpless and a little stupid, to say it the easiest way. Being fucked so good was simply too overwhelming for you to control your body.

What you didn’t know yet is that Veritas was not yet familiar with this sensation, either. A bit wary. Questioning the reason (or lack thereof) behind it. The second time it happened, the curiosity took over, and he let you continue.

Whatever you two learnt back then caused you two to indulge from time to time to be just a tad rougher. Or, should you specify, him being rougher with you. It’s nothing going outside the set boundaries, none of that sort. His thrusts just staying within you for a moment longer, pressing there harder. Focusing way too much on foreplay, where you’re almost spent before he’s out of his pants, and excusing himself with the need to research your reactions until he has them memorised.

Turns out he finds it interesting to see your body contradict whatever your lips are saying.

You whimper between shallow breaths that it’s too much and that you cannot take it anymore, yet he notes how you do not stop your hips from meeting him halfway.

Veritas thinks of you quite highly, actually, given your everyday approach to problems. Otherwise you two would not end up in the same bed — too many times to count, although you believe he is keeping track of that number, too. You’re not one to lose your composure easily. So it’s endearing to him how you can’t even get a hold of your own limbs when he’s long inches deep inside of you, as if his weight on top of you and his cock snugly fitting between your legs were a switch to your behaviour.

All that attractive intelligence turned into a frown between your eyebrows when you try so hard not to come before you get to reciprocate at least a portion of the satisfaction he’s already granted you.

He presses into you with just the right amount of force and precision, pushing out sounds from your throat. Those little squeals excite him immensely, mellowing down the usual sharp edge of his demeanour. Enough for him to kiss the sweat off your temple and bury his face in the crook of your neck, hips never stopping the motion.

With blistering hot breath on your clavicle, he chants the biological academic nonsense that you would listen to otherwise if you weren't past the point of recognising nothing but the deep hue of his voice. Veritas chuckles when you don't respond — when all you do is keep raking your fingers up and down his back, sorry that you cannot uphold the conversation. His intellectual companionship is always appreciated, even if at this particular moment in time you're unable to make anything out of it.

Amongst the debauched blabbering whispered into kisses and intermittent praises how much you enjoy being with him, you’re clawing at his shoulder blades.

To keep him close, the entire mass of sinew and soft flesh pressing you to the bed, but also because you’re a mush, again, and this is the only way to let your emotions out of your spasming body.

There is a fine line between enjoying the feeling of his spine being scratched in a frenzy and disliking it too much to experience pleasure. The line is sometimes blurry, many factors at play, but that’s never an issue for him. This man revels in challenges.

It stings when you pick on his skin with your nails. Veritas is aware of that. Except that he thinks of that as a testimony to what he can do to you. With you.

Assigning him a visible ornament of the knowledge is easy, although symbolic — this is precisely why he wears the golden laurel band with exactly eight of its leaves, each for his doctorates. To measure how good he is with love, the physical one at least, with how strong you grab onto him, gives him a boost of pride.

You’re his pride, the state you’re currently in, at the brink of release and dew gathering under your lashes. Because he loves giving you what’s best. He loves you.

Some time later, after you two are done and resting, you catch him looking at his scratched back in the mirror. He’s eyeing the reddened lines with a pensive face. Perhaps thinking if he would like to have some more adorning his skin or if it’s enough.

You do not wish to know that. Not right now.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . AUTHOR’S NOTE — little win that i managed to write it all for gender netural readers despite making it very very self-indulgent, yippee! now, please excuse me, i need to scream into the void because it was NOT on my bingo card today <3

#—writing.#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #dr ratio smut

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finelinevogue · 1 month ago

Note

Hi!! I would love a blurb for Azriel (ACOTAR) with 3 & 17 please ❤️ thank you!!!

hi!! of course🌟💖 az has such a soft place in my heart so i’m super excited to write more for him<3

am i allowed to miss you?

summary - azriel comes back from a mission and you’re not sure whether you’re allowed to miss him or not

pairing - azriel x new-mate!reader

✨🪻🪐✨🪻🪐✨🪻🪐✨🪻🪐✨🪻🪐✨🪻🪐

Elain bursts through the library doors, looking for you.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, sitting up and closing your book to show attention to her.

“Azriel’s back.” She breathed out, pausing a moment to watch you digest the news before leaving you alone again.

Elain left the door open, allowing you to hear the commotion in the hallway of all your friends greeting Azriel a warm welcome home.

It took you just a moment, but you started to feel his presence beside you. You allowed that warm feeling within-side you to fester and grow, feeling an overwhelming amount of love and safety all at once.

It was the bond.

The new bond.

You and Azriel were only a few weeks mated, after only having courted for a few weeks before that. You couldn’t help but mate each other because of how strong your feelings were to one another. It just made sense.

However, a few days ago Azriel had to leave to go on a mission even though both of you were still reeling in the honeymoon phase of your newly mated lives.

Standing up, you brushed some crumbs off your dress skirt and breathed out shakily.

You were so nervous.

The pace at which you’d been with Az had been so fast that you were still a little unsure how you were supposed to feel. It wasn’t a conventional relationship, per say, but that didn’t mean what you felt for each other was any less real. You knew that. However, you worried.

Walking out of the library you rounded the corner to see everyone crowding Azriel.

Rhys ruffled his hair and Cassian was finishing squeezing him tight as if he’d been gone for 30 years not 30 hours.

You watched with a smile on your face.

Azriel hates being fussed over like he currently is being, so it’s a little funny to watch. He’s too polite to tell them to leave, or maybe a secret part of him actually likes it. Either way, you stand back and allow him to be fussed over.

“Anything to report back?” Rhys asked.

“Rhys, you sent me on a scouting mission to count how many cattle Beron has. Except from the number ‘73’, no. Nothing to report.” Azriel said in the most sarcastic way.

Feyre laughed at this, teasing Rhys over something so silly.

“Counting cattle? Whatever for?” Amren asked.

“I have my reasons.” Rhys blushed, seemingly embarrassed but everyone knew there must be a good reason behind it all. Rhys was respected enough by everyone not for anyone to question anything.

“Was one of those reasons keeping me from my mate?” Azriel asked.

It was then that you’d realised that you’d clearly missed something and Azriel appeared behind you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His kissed the top of your head and held you close for a moment.

“More like to give us a break from you being with your mate.” Cassian grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Azriel questioned for you both.

“Umm…” Cassian blushed.

“What Cassian is trying to insinuate is that the walls are old and so the walls are thin. We can hear… everything.” Nesta suggested for her mate.

You muttered a curse to the Gods under your breath, turning beet red at Nesta’s comment.

Everyone else chuckled.

Azriel must have known that you were feeling embarrassed because the next thing you knew you were being swept up in his arms, being carried like a bride.

“Right. Y/N and I are leaving. You can count your own cattle from now on Rhysand. And as for you, Lord od Bloodshed, would you like me to tell everyone about the time I caught you in Nesta’s lingerie and not for a devious reason?”

“You little…” Cassian started to move forward but Azriel had disappeared, along with you, before he could get anywhere close.

You both appeared in his room, out of the shadows.

Azriel put you down on the bed, following you down so he was leaning over you.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Azriel said, kissing you deeply.

You followed his kisses, taking his lead and kissing as much as Azriel was giving. It was soft but at the same time urgent. Your fingers cupped his cheeks, attempting to keep him placed against you forever.

“Welcome home.” You said softly, kissing him once more.

Next thing you know he’s kissing your forehead, nose, chin and cheek. He kept going, moving down across your jaw and onto your neck.

“Did you miss me?” He asked, finding the spot on your neck that you loved him kissing and keeping there.

You didn’t respond to his question, pushing it off as distraction and not listening.

“Y/N?” He left the spot on your neck, moving his eyes until they caught your distanced ones. “Hey. Don’t get shy on me.”

“I’m not.”

“You seem… distracted.”

You watched his eyes assess your face for a long moment. His eyes swirled with a flurry of emotions and you could feel his concern within your own chest. You imagined that he could feel your anxiety in his.

“Am I…” You started then stopped.

Azriel didn’t push you or try and finish the question for you, instead he pushed himself off you and sat on the bed. He carefully took your hand and pulled you up too, not satisfied until he swung you across his lap and held you close.

One of Az’s hands intertwined with yours and you sat like this for a moment more. Enjoying being next to each other. Enjoying the overwhelming emotions settle down as your bond recognised your closeness.

“Am I allowed to miss you?” You asked, remaining looking at his hand rather than him.

“You… Why… Of course you can miss me, my love.” He kissed your forehead. “Why would you think not? Was it Cassian? I swear to….”

“No!” You exclaimed, looking at him then, “It wasn’t Cassian, no.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s just. Everything between us has happened so fast. I went from liking you, to loving you, to mating you all into the space of a month. I don’t feel like time exists and yet… I also feel like I don’t have the right to miss you so much that my heart physically aches after so little time.”

Azriel brings your tied hands up to his chest, leaving your hand to feel his heart beating.

“My heart physically ached too.” He gives you a soft smile.

“I did. I really did miss you.”

“I know. I know, because I felt the same way.” He gave you one loving kiss, “I don’t think it’s silly to worry over how quickly everything has shifted between us, and I do think that we feel right. I think we’re good. And we love each other enough to miss each other. So never worry about how you’re feeling, or if you’re feeling too much too soon - chances are I’m feeling it too.”

“Okay.”

“Welcome home, Az.” You give him another kiss.

“Now let’s give Cassian something to groan about.” Azriel says before flipping you back on the bed.

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel blurbs #acotar blurbs #acotar #azriel fic rec #azriel acotar

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deadly-diminuendo · 3 months ago

Text

You Were My First

a spawn astarion x fem!tav reader oneshot / nsfw / ~3.9k words

Summary: The night he bit you, Astarion awakened something unexpected within you: desire. You offer to let him bite you again, only to receive a more scandalous offer in return. And though you have never before had a lover, you have never felt more tempted.

CW/Tags: virginity loss, vampire bites/blood drinking, tadpole mind sharing, fingering, oral sex, piv sex, act 1

Read on AO3

Or read below...

You toss, you turn, any hope of drifting back to sleep lost to you as memories of last night echo through your mind.

You let Astarion bite you.

And you liked it.

A little thrill runs through you as you reach your hand to your neck. You trace the marks where his fangs had pierced you, remembering the rush of exhilaration you experienced, the strange sense of intimacy you felt as he drank his fill. To lie beneath him, heart racing, losing yourself… Not so different from a lovers’ tryst, you imagine.

Not that you would know. You were quite the romantic in your youth, dreaming of waiting for the one. As the years passed by, you adopted a more practical view, seeking out not an unattainable ideal, but a genuine connection, simple and achievable—still, you never found it, and your first time has yet to happen.

Whether it is because of the unfathomable pull you feel towards your pale companion, or the threat of death lurking around every corner, you are beginning to believe attraction alone is enough.

Gods, you’ve given so much of yourself to Astarion already. And you would give him so much more.

You want him to be your first. Badly.

Really, you should know better. The man is a liar, a flirt, a vampire. He held a knife to your throat the very moment you met, questioned so many of your decisions in his exasperated, exaggerated tones, revealed himself to lack the morals you hold dear to your heart. You two are worlds apart, clearly.

But no amount of reason can dull the growing ache between your legs.

Tired as you are, you prop yourself up, your eyes scanning the surrounding campsite. Most of the others are fast asleep, or at least tucked away in their tents. Only Astarion is nowhere to be found, his tent open and empty, an extra unoccupied bedroll near the fire. Not yet back from his hunt, so it seems.

Temptation urges you to relieve yourself of this tension as you did last night following your exchange with your unexpected visitor. You were careful, shielding yourself with your blanket, limiting your movements, suppressing the sounds that nearly spilled out of you. You got away with it then, you think, but with Astarion still gone, you decide the risk tonight is too high. The embarrassment of him returning and catching you would be more than you could possibly handle.

You sigh. Standing up, you quietly make your way to the riverside. Something about gazing across the moonlit water brings you peace, and right now, peace is what you desperately need.

But you are not alone for long.

“Couldn’t sleep, my dear?”

You gasp as you whip around to see him standing before you—as useful as Astarion’s talent for stealth has proven to be, his penchant for sneaking up on you makes you nervous.

“No,” you answer, though you do not elaborate. “Did you have any luck on the hunt?”

“Not so much as a squirrel, I’m afraid, though they are hardly any better than the rats. There is nothing out there so tasty as you anyway.”

Your heart pounds, your cheeks flush, your mouth runs dry. The satisfied smirk he then gives you tells you he noticed.

You search for something sensible to say. “Will you be all right…?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he says, a touch aloof as he picks over his sleeves. “If our little adventure continues as it has, I’m sure it won’t be long before more foes will have the misfortune of crossing our path. Blood will be much easier to come by now.”

Your shoulders slump a little, and you realize just how much you want him to sink his teeth into you—and maybe not just his teeth. You must be losing your mind.

“Maybe…” you squeak out, and then you freeze. No, this is a ridiculous idea, the worst idea—you cannot do it.

That wolfish look of his returns as he concentrates his full attention on you. “Yes?”

Ugh. You are going to do it.

“You can feed on me tonight, if you would like.”

“My, my. What a sweet, generous little thing you are,” he purrs as he inches closer, eyes ever locked on yours. “I could never refuse such an irresistible invitation. Shall we find somewhere more comfortable? Perhaps you’d care to join me in my tent?”

“Your tent…?!” You expected a little flirtation, but not this sort of proposition so soon.

“Come now, don’t act so surprised. The thought of last night has driven me to distraction, you know. And I know you feel it too.”

Oh, you do. You have wondered about it, cannot stop wondering about it—what it would be like to feel his skin, to hold him tight, to kiss his lips.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you tilt your lovely neck, even now.” Instinctively you straighten it as your cheeks burn hotter.

You cannot actually go through with this… Can you? There is something… off, about it all. Something wicked in his intense gaze and devious smile. Like a tiger eager to devour its prey.

Or a vampire eager to devour your blood, plain and simple. Perhaps that’s all this is, an attempt to guarantee his meals.

“I think it’s my blood you want, not me.”

“Not only your blood, I assure you. I rather liked having you under me. Indulging in you. Making you squirm. I’d like to explore that further.”

You know what the right choice is, the one that is sensible and safe: no.

But you’ve been sensible and safe for far too long.

“I… I would too,” you confess. You feel painfully shy now. Not even a tenday you’ve known him, and here you are, agreeing to share a bed with him.

He grins at you as he smooths away a strand of hair from your neck. You shiver at the sensation of cool fingertips touching your skin, your pulse quickening, anticipation rising as he lifts your chin, as your eyes again meet his.

“I thought so.”

And then his lips touch yours.

His kiss is perfection, equal parts sensual and sweet, the way you like it. It is not your first kiss—but this is better than anything you’ve known before. He pulls you in tight as you wrap your arms around him, longing to savour him, melt into him, become one with him. You never want to stop kissing him—but you crave more. Your hips rock gently, surrendering to instinct as he grasps at your blouse, looses it from your waistband.

This is really happening, you think—and then the reality of it all comes crashing into you, and though you have never wanted a man more, you find yourself pulling away.

You know you need to tell him.

“Second thoughts?”

“No,” you assure him, building up your nerve. “I want to, but… Well, I’ve never done this before.”

His eyes widen and you begin to shrink under his incredulous stare. “You’ve never had sex?”

You nod.

“Really, darling? I mean, there is a certain… innocence about you, but… Never?!”

“Innocence?” you repeat, feigning greater offense than you feel. He is teasing you, sure, but you don’t feel he is outright mocking you. You tease him back. “Make fun if you must, but if you really find me too sweet for your taste, I’ll gladly go to bed alone.”

“Oh, darling, there is no need for that. I’ll admit I have a bit of a sweet tooth from time to time. And I’m more than happy to help you right this terrible tragedy of yours.” He pauses, momentarily dropping his theatrics. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you affirm, both to him and to yourself. “This is what I want.”

“Hm, I suppose it’s fitting, then. You were my first, after all.”

You chuckle at this, equally charmed and perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“The blood of thinking creatures was forbidden fruit to us lowly spawn. Not anymore thanks to the tadpole—and thanks to you. You are the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Why exactly the idea of this man literally consuming you enthuses you so, you do not know—but you decide you do not care either. You might as well embrace it.

“To your tent, then…?”

“Perhaps… but there is one other place that might suit us better.”

+++

Astarion leads you into the woods with the promise of a more private setting.

You recall all the romantic tales you read over and over again as a child, the sort starring a noble hero and a kind-hearted princess who fall hopelessly in love, find happily ever after.

This is a far more lurid tale, you think. One of a maiden swept into a dark forest, carried away to the lair of a charming scoundrel, finding sinful delight in his arms.

Not what you ever pictured yourself doing. No, this is much more thrilling.

You imagine passion, primal and raw, surrendering to the predator within him as he takes your blood and your body. But as you approach a sweet little hideaway made up of blankets and pillows, you know you are in for a more tender experience.

“Funny that this cozy spot is already here,” you comment, knowing he must have set this up long before you agreed to come here with him.

He shrugs, playing innocent, though he is anything but. “I thought we might have use for it eventually.”

The first thing he does once you reach your destination is strip off his shirt, and you can’t help but steal a glance at his flawless form, your hands longing to run across his lean muscle and smooth skin. A touch nervous still, you opt for a more modest start for yourself, bracing against a nearby tree as you unlace your boots.

Just as you kick them off, he is on you, kissing you, tugging at your clothes, eager to pick up from where you left things earlier—and you are too. You work together to undress yourselves and each other, until not a single barrier is left between you.

He takes a step back, drinking in the sight of you, and you survey him with equal scrutiny. You have never before been naked in front of a man, and as much as your instinct tells you to shield yourself, you don’t.

And gods, he is gorgeous like this. You could feel him twitch against you as you locked lips, and now to see with your own eyes the undeniable effect of your touch… You want to drop to your knees and worship him, lavish him with your adoration—but your inexperience holds you back, makes you anxious.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, a welcome boost to your confidence.

“So are you,” you say, laughing softly.

“Obviously.” You laugh again, more heartily this time, your amusement lessening the apprehension you feel.

He closes the gap between you with another kiss, soft and tender and all too brief.

“Tonight will be all about you,” he tells you. You inhale sharply as you open your mouth to protest, but he speaks first. “If you’re still sure about this, of course.”

“I am, but… What about what you want?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, darling. I know I’ll have my fun with you.”

Astarion guides you down to your makeshift bed. His approach is slow, surprising you a little, but you appreciate it. He pulls you onto his lap and treats your back to a soothing massage, your muscles relaxing under his touch.

“That’s it, love. Let all that tension go.”

He draws you closer, peppering your neck with kisses as he holds you tight, the occasional graze of his fangs stirring your senses. Though you are acutely aware of his vampiric nature—how he could bite down hard and drain you dry at any moment—you marvel at how safe you feel cradled in his arms. His hands begin to roam, your need for him growing as he discovers every curve, every line, every detail—everywhere except where you want him most.

You already know how talented he is with his hands, and you wonder what else he can do with those dexterous fingers.

As one hand glides down your abdomen, you smile, knowing you will not have to wonder much longer.

A whimper escapes you as a single index finger gently runs along your entrance, curling into you with each enthralling stroke.

“Last night, when you went back to bed… You touched yourself, didn’t you?”

Oh. You were less covert than you thought. “Yes,” you admit, struggling to maintain your composure as he begins to trace slow, soft circles around your clit.

“And you were thinking of me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, a little more sheepish about this confession than the first.

“Good girl. I want you to show me what you did. Show me how to please you.”

You feel a tingle in your mind as he seeks to open the connection between you.

So you let him in.

You concentrate hard on the memory of your own touch, the rhythmic pressure of rubbing fingers into your sex, bringing yourself to elation. An art you have perfected in the absence of a lover to share yourself with.

And then the thought of him slips in, how you ache to be one with him, to share in his pleasure, and he in yours. A want that transcends the physical realm, you realize now, a want to not only know his body, but his mind, his heart, his soul, through and through.

Panic hits—you have exposed far too much, left yourself far too vulnerable. You hastily sever your telepathic link.

“You sweetheart,” he purrs, amused. Embarrassed though you are, his touch quickly makes you forget all else.

Tucking a second finger behind the other, he gravitates to the spot you prefer, the one you showed him in your mind, each stroke skilled, precise, perfect.

All you can do is give in.

You allow yourself to moan, to let him know just how well he’s working you, how easily your climax will likely come. The sensation is familiar, executed with an expertise that matches your own, but this time enhanced by the excitement of being with a partner. Of being with him.

You ascend towards your peak, your mind cycling through everything you have ever dreamed of doing, everything you hope you will have the chance to try with him: to ride him, to stroke him, to suck him, but most of all, to let him do anything he wants to do to you.

“And what was it that pushed you over the edge?” he asks, his voice now a whisper in your ear, making the whole encounter feel deliciously illicit. You could listen to him like this for hours. “Picture it. Show me.”

Oh, gods.

You follow his command, your minds melding together once more as you bring forth the memory: your favourite new fantasy.

The moment he bit you.

To succumb to him, to feel your blood coursing through you both, to let him conquer you so completely… You want him to taste you again. You want to feel his cock moving inside you when he does.

His fingers still stroke you flawlessly, the apex within reach—and you both know how you can get there.

So he bites your neck.

Release finally washes over you, waves of intense pleasure pulsing throughout your entire body as you writhe about—a result of both your orgasm and his indulgence in you.

“Gods,” he growls as he lets go, as the feeling begins to fade, as your minds disconnect once more. You delight in the possibility your bliss was a shared experience, flowing from your consciousness into his, flooding his mind with your pleasure. You let your body collapse against him.

“Oh, we’re far from done yet, my darling.” He pulls your face to his, your lips parting eagerly, welcoming the brush of his tongue against yours. You can feel him grin against you before he stops to speak.

“So eager to be tasted, you sweet thing. Perhaps I might… taste you elsewhere?”

You think you know what he means, but you are truly entering the unknown now. Unease still lingers in your mind, yet anticipation propels you forward, eager to know what carnal delights you have yet to discover.

You give him a nod and a smile.

He maneuvers around you, and with a firm tug at your hips, he has you flat on your back. His lips explore you, trailing kisses along your skin until, finally, he is between your legs.

And then he licks you.

The sensation is entirely foreign to you—overwhelming, overstimulating at first. He seems to recognize this, focusing on gentle, broad strokes to ease you into it, to build you up until you are ready to be devoured.

And when you reach that point, you instantly understand what you have been missing.

“Astarion!” His name escapes your mouth as a bewildered cry, the pleasure you feel unlike anything you have ever experienced—every lick, every stroke, every swirl has you moaning, nearing your peak already. You glance at him, and he fixes his eyes on yours, the sight of him lapping away at you driving you deeper into this mesmerizing madness. You run a hand through his hair, fingers entangling in his silvery curls, and with the other, you reach for his.

“Yes…” you hear yourself chant, high-pitched and urgent, as he tongues your sensitive nub with quick, deliberate flicks.

Orgasm overwhelms your whole being—your body tenses and spasms, your wails ringing out so loud you fear they might reach the campsite—but you are long past caring now.

You thought it might end there, but instead his tongue feathers against you, a light touch to let you recover—and then he goes in for the kill again. You buck against him in a frenzied search for release as he continues working you, desperate to let this newfound rapture engulf you entirely.

Euphoria fills you once more as you shake violently against him. Countless times you have used your own fingers, thought you had found the limits of your body, but this pleasure is beyond belief, beyond what you ever thought was possible.

He stops, but only briefly—just long enough to make a single request.

“One more for me, darling?”

You watch him as he continues to pamper you, your next climax coming so easily you can barely comprehend it, your keening shattering the quiet of the night.

And now there is only one thing you long to experience more.

Astarion crawls over you, splaying your legs apart with his knees, your anticipation for him burning so hot now it agonizes you. You whine as he guides his length along your folds, coating himself in your slick, driving you wild with need.

“Astarion, please…” you find yourself begging, unwilling, unable to wait any longer for him to claim you.

Mischief pulls his mouth into a grin. “Please what, dear?”

It takes everything in you to say it, but you do. “Please fuck me.”

He rewards you immediately, easing his way inside. You adjust to this intoxicating new sensation, feeling only a hint of resistance as he stretches you, until at last he is wholly inside.

“You’re taking me so well,” he tells you, his seductive tone making you melt.

Gods, you have never felt more full—he fits so perfectly in you, as if your bodies were made to match each other. You bask in the delicious friction he creates as he pulls away only to plunge back into you again and again, your moaning, soft, intermittent at first, becoming bold, steady.

You love every sensuous detail—the feeling of skin against skin; the look of pleasure that graces his handsome face; all the noises you make together, from his little groans to the wet, salacious sounds of your joining. You arch against him, every thrust hitting you just right—he knows he has you hurtling towards your release, knows the moaning, writhing mess he will make out of you.

And then it comes. The sweetest surrender.

You tighten around his cock, revel in in every tremor of your release, sing out in pure ecstasy.

You lavish kisses upon him, his neck, his collarbone, his lips, anywhere you can reach, eager for him to feel as cherished as you do, to take his pleasure in your body, to give in to his deepest desires. And he does, you think, his restraint beginning to falter as you surrender to the powerful, relentless motion of his hips meeting yours.

His want is clear as you feel the tips of his fangs against your neck, and you are more than willing to comply.

You open the link between you, pushing a message from your mind to his: “I’m all yours.”

You barely notice the twinge of pain, too lost in bliss to care, too stimulated by the sensations that flow from his consciousness to yours—how your blood fulfills him, thrills him, sates him; how deliciously pliant your flesh is as he sinks into you endlessly; how he’s, oh, so close to his climax.

So close that you once more find yourself rapidly approaching your own—you sense his want, his need to feel the elation of emptying himself inside of you, your own core equally aching for his spend.

When you register the tell-tale twitch of his orgasm, you slip into your own. His pleasure crashes into your mind, and yours into his, becoming indistinguishable—an intimate and intense intertwining of your bodies and minds.

As you lie together, silent and satiated, your minds both your own again as you attempt to readjust to reality. You relish in the lingering thrill of sex, recall every moment of pleasure you experienced, from your first kiss to the moment he finally spilled into you. You just had the best night of your life—but doubt creeps in, gnaws away at you.

You are sure he truly wanted you when your minds merged—yet you could sense something else, something dark underlying his consciousness. You look at Astarion—the smoulder he gives you is as calculated and collected as it always has been, betraying nothing. A perfectly crafted mask.

You realize just how much you wish that he will drop that mask for you one day, that you might truly bond and connect. You knew this risk was there, that you might end up feeling more attached to him than you perhaps should—but you have a little hope, and you will hold on to it. You reach for his hand, enclosing it in yours.

“I’m glad you were my first,” you tell him.

He gives your hand a squeeze, repeats his little joke from earlier as he smiles back at you. “And I’m glad you were mine.”

Maybe you are playing the fool, but something in his eyes, in his voice, something about the way his own words seem to surprise him… It feels genuine this time.

And for now, that is enough.

Thank you for reading!

My AO3 | My Masterlist

This was the first fic I finished on AO3, and now here it is on Tumblr! I'm currently working on two more short x reader fics, one for Spawn Astarion and one for Ascended Astarion, but I haven't ruled out also writing a follow-up for this one where our reader shares another first with him. 👀

Work is particularly annoying right now, but I hope to have more smut to share soon!

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fic #bg3 smut

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ariesangelxo · 6 months ago

Text

mornings

rafe cameron x fem!reader

cw: angst, breakup, hurt/no comfort (yet), mean rafe, indications of cheating and lying, like one suggestive line

mdni

an: this is my first time writing a fic in almost a decade so pls be kind <3

part two part three

waking up had once been your favorite part of the day. your eyes would flutter open to see rafe sleeping, his features being softly illuminated by the morning sun, the scent of him being tangled within his egyptian cotton sheets, his gentle hold on you, keeping you close as if he feared you’d disappear during the night. it all made starting the day in a bad mood impossible.

that was before your break up. now, you dreaded being taken away from the embrace of sleep. waking up from the dreams of your now ex-boyfriend’s touch, his smile, his voice, was a cruel reminder from the universe of your current situation. you were no longer spending your mornings next to the man that held your heart in his hands and protected it like it was his most prized possession. you no longer got to listen to his raspy voice as he awoke from his slumber. you no longer could feel his lips press gently against your forehead or how your heart fluttered when he gave you a lazy smirk, knowing how needy you would get when he did so.

your break up came as a surprise to all of outerbanks. you and rafe had been the power couple, the kind of relationship that most girls dream of being a part of. to you though, it was not a surprise. you loved rafe with every fiber of your being, he is was your entire world. but in the months leading up to your split, things changed.

rafe became more busy with ‘work’. you began spending more nights falling asleep alone in his bed, your cheeks tear-stained as you silently wondered what went wrong. he started to hide his phone, almost always keeping it on ‘do not disturb’ when he was with you so you wouldn’t see his notifications. he had become more distant towards you and short-tempered, a side of him you knew existed but had never been directed towards you. he would snap at you for very minor reasons, like your phone volume being too loud while watching videos or your makeup not being completely put away. when you’d become upset afterwards, he’d hold you and apologize, claiming he was just stressed out with ward and the business.

you believed him for a while. you didn’t want to think there was anything wrong with your relationship. when sarah asked you if everything was alright between you and her brother, you would lie and tell her everything was great. you knew she didn’t fully believe it, your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you talked about your relationship and you no longer took every chance to gush about rafe.

you reached your breaking point exactly three weeks ago. you had gone to the country club to surprise rafe for lunch. you spent that morning dolling yourself up for him. you took an everything shower, spent a significant amount of time styling your hair and doing your makeup the way rafe had told you he loved, and wore a new sundress that hugged your body perfectly, white with small baby blue flowers and a slit up to your mid-thigh on the right side. you spritzed on his favorite perfume of yours and glanced down at your manicured hands, the promise ring rafe had bought you for your six month anniversary adorned your ring finger on your left hand. it was a bittersweet reminder of how things had once been, yet filled you with hope and determination that they’d be like that soon.

the short drive to the country club was a blur for you, the mixture of your nerves and excitement fueled your racing heartbeat as you became closer and closer. as you arrived you stepped out of your car, slinging your purse over your shoulder and checking your mirror to ensure your makeup was still perfect. you couldn’t hold back the bright smile on your face as you walked up to the country club, expecting that rafe was somewhere out on the course with topper and kelce, so you’d wait for him inside until he finished and then surprise him.

when one of the employees who, of course, knew exactly who you were, failed to hide her concerned look when she saw you approach, you felt your stomach do flips. your gut told you something wasn’t right, but she gave you a smile as she held open the door for you. you stepped into the clubhouse and began approaching the front desk to chitchat with the receptionist, but something caught your eye. it was the unmistakable figure of your boyfriend, leaning over the bar as he gave the bartender with short brunette hair his signature smirk.

you could have sworn you heard your heart shatter. the smirk he gave her was the one he had only given you since you started dating, or so you thought. she laughed as he told her something, reaching over to grab his now empty glass and letting her fingers linger a bit too long on his. your bottom lip began trembling and your vision blurred as he didn’t move his hand, or his gaze, away from her. everything suddenly made sense in that moment, his distance, the late nights away from tannyhill that left you alone, his newfound protectiveness around his phone.

without saying a word to anyone, including rafe, you slipped out of the country club. you desperately bit your bottom lip to try and combat the tears as you saw topper and kelce approaching the entrance. they both looked at you with confusion and concern, “hey, are you okay?” topper asked, his lips turning into a frown at you being obviously upset.

you attempted to give them both a smile, knowing how unconvincing it must have looked as your eyes were glossed over with tears that threatened to spill at any moment and your chin wobbled. “i’m sorry, i have to go.” you dismissed yourself, trying to be as polite as possible while avoiding a full on breakdown in front of the two boys.

you stepped aside them and raced to your car, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. your head was filled with questions. who was she? why did rafe let her touch him like that? why would he give her the smirk that was reserved for you, and you only? they sped through your mind almost as fast as you sped down the streets of kildaire, wanting to get back to tannyhill as fast as you could so you could grab your stuff and leave.

you did exactly that. ward attempted to question you when he saw you storm into his home upset, but when you wouldn’t respond and pushed your way around him, he knew his son had fucked up. you grabbed what you could remember in a haze, the overwhelming emotions making it difficult to remember what all you needed to get. once you had your bag packed, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. your cheeks were stained with mascara, your lips swollen and your eyes bloodshot red from crying. you couldn’t prevent the new wave of tears as the gemstone on your promise ring gleamed in the sunlight. you pulled it off quickly as if the metal was iron hot and burning your skin, throwing it onto rafe’s bed as you walked out of tannyhill and to your car. you drove off, heading to your home and not allowing yourself to spare another glance at the house that had been your safe haven just hours ago.

in the weeks that had passed since then, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d left the confines of your mom’s house. rafe had blown up your phone with unanswered calls and text messages for the first week following you leaving. he attempted to come see you, but your mom stopped him at the door, shouting a string of curse words at him before slamming it shut in his face. the texts and calls slowly dwindled, as did your emotions surrounding everything.

you forced yourself to numb your feelings for most of the day, not wanting to face the reality of what your life had turned into. the only time you found it impossible to do so was mornings. the mornings you had grown to hate with everything in you because they forced you to mourn your once loving relationship that had dissipated into nothingness. the mornings that filled you with anger and sadness. the mornings that had once been your favorite part of the day. god, you hated mornings.

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