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little-diable · 4 months ago

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Commands - Draco Malfoy (smut)

A small Drabble I wrote at work lol. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Draco is reader’s step-brother, something he doesn’t seem to care about while asking her to put her mouth to work. Pwp

Warnings: 18+, oral (m), degrading, stepcest, dumbification, slight slapping

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (1.1k words)

“Draco?” Her voice dripped with sleep, eyes burning in exhaustion as she looked at the dark frame. She had been woken by the sound of his feet stepping onto the one spot of the old wooden flooring creaking too loudly. “What are you doing?”

“Quiet!” Her breath instantly hitched in her chest, eyes zoning in on her step brother who stepped closer to her bed. She didn’t dare speak another word, too focused on the man who had always treated her with spite and anger, at least for most parts of the day. At night he behaved differently, as if his demons finally managed to get the upper hand, guiding his lust and longing for his step sister.

“I’m tired, Draco.” (Y/n) sighed her words before plopping back down on the mattress. She was about to cover her barely clothed body with her blanket, but Draco was faster. He ripped the fabric from her fingers, exposing the shirt of his she wore, managing to cover the lacy pair of panties she knew Draco loved.

Perhaps she had hoped for another visit, perhaps she had prayed that he’d find her again. Longings she didn’t dare put into words, at least not out loud.

“Don’t lie to me, we both know you’re a greedy fucking whore for your step brother, aren’t you?” He kneeled on the mattress, forcing her legs apart to settle between them. His cold fingers danced over her arms, moving up to her shoulders before one hand came down on her throat, letting his fingers grasp her. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” She only managed to press a whisper past her clenched teeth, trying not to give in all that easily. Draco had always managed to gain the upper hand, to guide her while she got lost in the waves of pleasure like a raft losing its path in the icy river it was sailing on.

“Good. I need those pretty lips wrapped around me.” He hadn’t been able to find any rest, unable to give in to sleep's quiet call. Draco’s mind had been too active, thinking of the woman sleeping only a few rooms down from his, wondering what she was dreaming of. (Y/n) was haunting his thoughts, had been ever since their parents had gotten married years ago. He had tried to stay away, all until her twenty-first birthday they had celebrated together, a night where he had claimed her for the first of many times.

(Y/n) rose to a sitting position before she put her weight onto her knees. Draco’s hand on her throat pulled her in for a kiss, momentarily distracting her while her hands rested on his chest. Her body was covered in goosebumps as if he was winter itself, embracing the biting cold that left marks on her body, burning straight through her system.

He was the darkness, the bleak midwinter she had eventually found enjoyment in.

Draco leaned back against the headrest of her bed after pulling off his shirt, exposing his abs to her wandering eyes. He watched her free his cock, watched her spit down on the red tip just like he had taught her to months ago. By now she was a natural, knowing what he was aching for, how he needed to feel her to get that push to clear his racing mind.

His ringed fingers found her head almost instantly, forcing her down on his cock with a satisfied groan clawing through him. With his eyes pressed shut, Draco sank into her touch, allowing (y/n) to bob her head fast enough to leave him moaning. Her sounds were almost as loud as his, clawing through her while she worked her mouth on him, a sinful, forbidden mixture both had fallen in love with.

“Atta girl, your mouth’s so perfect for me.” Heat flushed through her, set on gaining as much praise as possible. Draco wasn’t one for complimenting her, wasn’t one for showering her with attention, only in those secret moments where she touched him like that would he give in and tell her how much he adored her – her body at least.

With her eyes set on his features, on his closed eyes, on the teeth nibbling on his lower lip, she kept sucking him off. The corners of her mouth were still hurting from yesterday night, a strange deja-vu she couldn’t shake as she took as much of him as possible. She didn’t care much about her own pleasure, didn’t worry much about her own highs he’d give her either way. All (y/n) was focused on was Draco, his pleasure, his sounds, the praise his body would wordlessly share with her.

He twitched in her mouth, resting heavily on her tongue. (Y/n) knew that he’d cum soon, painting her tongue white with his release – a fulfilling taste she was already aching for. Seeing a man like Draco cum was an experience itself, a moment so raw, so intimate, she sometimes found herself wondering if she was only dreaming it.

“Tell me what you’ll do, tell me the rule.” Draco pulled her off his cock, watching her saliva drip from her chin while her hand kept pumping him. (Y/n) needed a second to collect herself, pondering over his command while her throat begged for a break. She heavily swallowed as his hand came down on her cheek, not hard enough to hurt her, just with enough pressure to refocus her. “Such a dumb slut, all because you have the privilege to suck me off.”

“I’ll swallow, swallow it all!” It seemed to be good enough for Draco. He nodded his head with a smirk tugging on his lips, head tilted back down to his cock to wordlessly guide her. Almost instantly, (y/n) got back to work, lips finding their way back to his tip to suck on the head. Another moan broke through Draco, a moan that slightly trembled as his orgasm started to build.

With excitement laced in her gaze, (y/n) watched him come undone. Sweat was pearling on his forehead, making a few bright strands of his hair stick to his skin, lips parted, cheeks rosy. A moan left him as he came, filling her cheeks with his cum as she kept pumping his cock with her aching fingers.

Draco pulled her off his cock once again, staring down at her as she exposed her empty tongue to him. His thumb wiped along her lower lip, collecting some saliva before bringing his digit up to his mouth. They held eye contact as he sucked his finger clean, gazes wandering over one another’s features.

“I want you on your hands and knees when I return. Don’t you dare move.”

#Draco Malfoy smut #draco malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy x Reader #Harry Potter smut #Harry Potter

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 1 year ago

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Imagine, Shibusawa accidentally activated his ability in real world.

The whole house is covered in fog. And all abilities are on a loose.

Even Crime and Punishment are gone.

But, they don't attack their respective ability users.

They are nowhere to be found.

You are also nowhere to be seen.

Worst of all, Dazai is also missing.

BSD Cast are panicking.

What, if abilities hurt you?!

BSD Cast is searching through the house.

They found you, surrounded by abilities, on the attic.

And all abilities are trying to get your attention.

🐯 Beast Beneath The Moonlight is chuffing, rubbing its head against your chest.

📒 The Matchless Poet creating knick-knacks for you.

👘🗡️ All Men Are Equal is guarding the window, taking short breaks to pet you.

🩺 Thou Shalt Not Die is applying cute bandages on smallest, almost healed cuts.

🌨️ Light Snow is recreating movie scenes with its power.

🐄 Undefeated by the Rain create stone figures with its bare hands.

🐰 Demon Show holding a plate with snacks.

Futon is manipulating electronics, changing channels, so you can watch some interesting show.

🍰💉 Vita Sexualis is making accessories for you.

🍷 Upon the Tainted Sorrow making things float for your entertainment.

🌂 Golden Demon is bringing you nice clothes.

🇫🇷 Demonic Beast Guivre is curled around you.

🎧 Illuminations is creating a hyperspace over you.

🗣️ Lippman's ability is sitting near you, guarding you.

🧥 Rashomon is glaring at everyone, who is trying to get close to you.

🚬 Falling Camelia entertain you by pushing around different things.

🩹🧲 Midwinter Memento is controlling metal pieces to create some cool figurines.

⭕⭐ Dogra Magra, as a little doll, sitting on your lap.

🍋 Lemonade is creating fireworks for you.

🍛 Flawless is playing cards with you.

⛩️ Hail in the Begging Bowl preparing non-alcoholic drinks for you.

💻 Discourse on Decadence is writing down interesting memories, it read from anything he could find.

🥷 Yesterday's Shadow Tag is sitting near Rashomon, protecting you.

🕶️ Another is bringing you dolls from Ayatsuji's collection.

💰 The Great Fitzgerald is bringing you cases, full of money (don't worry, it simply took them from Fitzgerald).

🦝 Black Cat in the Rue Morgue is ready to send you in any book you want.

🐋 Mody Dick is floating outside the window, ready to fly with you anywhere you want.

🍇 The Grapes of Wreath is growing grapes for you. Don't worry, they are edible.

☕ Annie of Abyss Red is playing ball with you.

🪶 Little Women is planning your weekends, while sitting in the next room

👒 Gone With the Wing is using wings to make paper butterflies fly around.

♊ Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer are floating above you, telling jokes.

✝️ The Scarlet Letter is writing your name in the air with its power.

😷 A Feast in a Time of Plague simply observing you from the corner.

🫖 The Precipice is outside, rumbling happily.

👻 The Perfect Crime is bringing you mystery novels.

⚔️ Mirror Lion is entertaining you with its sword skills.

🦇🧛 Bram's ability is handing from the sealing upside down. Protecting you.

🃏 Sigma's ability is laying near you, with its head on your lap.

🤡 The Overcoat is doing a circus performance for you.

🐀 Crime and Punishment is playing with your hair.

👧👩👵 Gasp of the Soul is cuddling your left hand.

💧 Priceless Tears is floating through the vents all over the house and bring you whatever you ask for.

🌸 Plum Blossoms in Snow is using its power to cut fruits.

⌚ Strait is the Gate is observing surroundings.

🐈‍⬛ I am a Cat is purring and doing tricks for you.

🪢🦀 Dazai, somehow, got captured, and how is in a cage, far away from anyone, he can touch to nullify.

The moment, BSD Cast stepped to the attic, abilities turned towards them, glaring at their 'hosts'.

So, you, either, will be stuck here, until Abilities decide to let you go.

Or, until BSD Cast manage to free Dazai.

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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dottores · 2 years ago

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HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui, no other warnings

notes: i enjoyed writing this one ajfdhuaisdfuhs it was a bit of a character study for dottore, i love being able to get into his head like this

MIDWINTER

He was born without a mark. It’s not abnormal--statistically, half of the population would be born without a mark because you don’t receive your mark until your soulmate is born. Most receive theirs within the first five years of their life, if they weren’t born with one. Others are unlucky, and they have to wait up to ten.

Dottore never received his.

He waited years. When he was five years old, and other kids his age were starting to see the red thread that connected them with their soulmate, he was still waiting on his mark. When he was ten years old, and other kids his age were starting to feel their soulmate's emotions, he was still waiting on his mark. When he was fifteen years old, and other kids his age were finally seeing random words scrawled on their forearms reflecting their soulmate’s thoughts, he was still waiting on his mark.

When he was younger, he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter--that one day, his mark would show up, just like how it did for everyone else. But it was hard to convince himself of that when everyday he was reminded that he didn’t have one. He was reminded by nasty kids who would push him to the ground and laugh at him, he was reminded by equally nasty adults who whispered that only the soulless and the damned didn’t receive their soulmarks, and he was reminded by his parents who stripped him down to search him for his mark everyday so they could prove their son wasn’t cursed.

Dottore accepted that he did not have a soulmate. He would even go so far as to say he embraced it. It took him a long time to reach that mentality, years of coming to terms with it, but he firmly believed that he was better off. Having a soulmate was a mortal weakness that he was freed of--he had seen it be the downfall of many men before and he refused to meet the same fate.

Without a soulmate, he could focus on more important things. He could devote his time and energy to his research, further the Fatui in their rebellion against Celestia, and he could do it all without the weakness that all of humanity had.

He was stronger without a soulmate. It proved he was above mankind, beyond the limits that humans were confined to. He was better without a soulmate.

A harsh gust of wind battered the window of his room, ice webbing at the bottom of the glass, creeping up the sides. Dottore sighed as he lifted his hand to his face, pulling off the mask that hid him from the rest of the world.

He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about this again. His gaze drew to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the rough, jagged skin across the top of his face--a product of the demonization cast over him by the people of his old village. Dottore’s lips twisted into a deep frown as he forced himself to look away, it had been a long time since he had even had a passing thought of it, much less dwelling on it as he was now.

He turned away from the mirror over to the candle resting at his nightstand--dimly lighting up the dark, spacious room. Shadows reflected eerily across the room from the trees swaying in the wind outside to the small flame dancing at his bedside. A blizzard rattled the palace around him, he wondered if it was the doing of the Tsaritsa or if it was just a natural storm.

Dottore hated the winter.

He always had. It had nothing to do with the bone-chilling weather and frequent storms. He barely could even feel the cold anymore, and he thought storms might be better for him because he could coop himself up in his lab without having to worry about the Jester disturbing his research and telling him to go on some mission. He had hated the winter even before he had left Sumeru for Snezhnaya, where the temperatures were five times as warm and the earth of the forest started to dry from a lack of rain.

Winter had always been the unluckiest time of year for him--it was when he was originally chased from the village, it was when he was cast out from the Akademiya. Winter was when he had faced some of the biggest failures of his life regarding his research into Archon residue. Winter was when the first segment he had created was destroyed. Winter was when he was dealt a fatal blow that had made him abandon his body for an artificial one.

Dottore despised the winter.

He sat on his bed, rubbing his eyes. He was tired, that was the only explanation for why his mind was wandering to such a topic. He had been able to free himself of the shackles that many mortals were restricted by--aging, natural death, even unnatural death could be avoided, for the most part, but he still found himself chained by fatigue and hunger. He could suppress it longer than the average person but it never failed to limit him.

He supposed that he should rest. Tomorrow there was to be a meeting with all of the Harbingers--discussion on what was to be done about the spots of the late 9th and 11th, who had met their end on a failed mission in Natlan earlier in the month. With the Captain finally returning with their bodies, it would be time to put them to rest and figure out how to move forward. He could already hear the bickering of Sandrone and Scaramouche, Arlecchino’s snide comments that just set the other two off even more.

Dottore thought that the whole situation was ridiculous. There had been no need to send two of the newest Harbingers down to Natlan when they all knew very well that Natlan was getting more and more aggressive to the Fatui within their borders. They had been sent on a diplomatic mission, to observe, but the Pyro Archon claimed that they had made an attempt on her life. A blatant lie, but the only ones left alive to corroborate the story were the Pyro Archon’s sycophants.

It was meant to be a challenge. The Pyro Archon was challenging the Tsaritsa to do something about her butchering two of her most loyal followers, she was hoping for a war… but Snezhnaya could not afford a war right now. Their economy was failing and the dead of winter was nigh, when all crops would start dying and animals would freeze mid-trot. Famine would begin to wrap its chilly fingers around the throats of the citizens of Snezhnaya, the bitter cold would seep into the warmest homes and it was not the time for the Fatui to war with Teyvat’s strongest military. They were already struggling politically with the old-blood aristocracy breathing down their necks and with the support of the masses, there wasn’t much that the Fatui could do to press back until they were in a better position, even with the support of the Tsaritsa herself.

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose, the meeting was hours from beginning and he could already feel the incoming headache. He had no interest in Snezhnayan politics, he had no interest in what was to be done about the empty seats amongst the Harbingers. All he wanted to do was continue his research--the Delta segment would be returning from Sumeru at some point tomorrow to give him an update on the Irminsul project and his input was needed before Delta or any of the other older segments took any further steps.

He let out a heavy breath as he rose back to his feet, intent on changing out of his clothes and into something more comfortable before he finally laid down to rest for the night. As he rose, he felt something soft, feather-light even, brushing against his thumb. Without thinking, he reached for a handkerchief folded tidily on the edge of his bedside dresser.

He wiped off his hands without even bothering to look, figuring that it was just the remnants of the material he was working with down in his lab but as he crossed the room to his wardrobe, that strange, weightless feeling against his thumb remained.

Dottore’s eyes finally drew down to his right hand, curiosity getting the best of him, as always. And he stared, for a second and then two before a laugh bubbled in his chest, begging to be released.

Not for the first time, he thought that the gods had a sick and twisted sense of humor because wrapped neatly around his thumb was that thin, red thread that supposedly tied him to his soulmate, over four hundred and fifty years late.

He thought it was strange how everything around him moved on as normal as if his whole world hadn’t been shattered in a matter of five seconds the night before. He wasn’t able to sleep after noticing the thread and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look for the soulmark that was undoubtedly branded somewhere on his body.

He felt weak. Mortal, again. He hated it.

“Then we wait,” Sandrone said dryly, her sharp voice drawing Dottore back into the conversation. His eyes left the red thread for the first time since he arrived at the meeting, flickering up to where the woman was resting in a chair, a large automaton standing behind her. “Why give a seat to someone unworthy? We’ll wait until two have proven their strength and they can-”

“And how long will that take?” Scaramouche’s voice was cold and grating as he interrupted Sandrone and Dottore’s lips thinned, realizing the inevitable argument between the Sixth and the Seventh was about to begin.

“However long it takes,” Sandrone responded, voice little over a hiss, blue eyes flinty.

“Ah, yes, yet another a bright idea from the Seventh. Let’s just leave the spots empty when enemies are on our doorstep, show even more weakness,” Scaramouche scoffed, not even bothering to hide the way he rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

“If you have a better idea, Balladeer, please, speak up with it,” Sandrone replied. “I’d love to…”

The thread was vibrating.

Dottore’s gaze flickered down beneath his mask to where his hands were resting on the ebony table, tuning out the conversation around him as he focused on the red string. He could barely feel it, much less see the little vibrations, but he was hyper-focused on it now. It was uneven thrums, as if someone was flicking the thread over and over again--they were getting faster, more impatient, and Dottore couldn’t help but think back to his childhood, when he was five years old and would watch other kids his age laying in the grass snapping their string incessantly, waiting for a responding snap from their soulmate.

His eyes flickered to the wide windows on the far side of the room, the blizzard still raged outside but he could see the sun rising in the distance.

So, you’re finally awake, he thought to himself, gaze drawing back to his thumb as the thrums got more and more insistent. A child. His soulmate was a child right now--excited at waking up to the appearance of the thread, hoping that their soulmate was just as excited as they were. Dottore had, for a long time, believed that his heart had gone cold and dead and he did not like the ache he felt in his empty chest.

A weakness. Just like that, he was brought down to the level of man.

Soulmates were blinding, they caused people to act with their heart and not their head. Dottore prided himself on being a man that removed his heart from decision making. He put nothing above furthering his research--no morals, no virtues, no principles came before his success and he could not allow this to change anything.

He had gone this long without a soulmate, he didn’t need one now.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes off the vibrating thread no matter how hard he tried. He could hear the conversation continuing around him but it sounded like a distant buzz--nothing could break his concentration on the thread, not even himself, and before he knew what he was doing, he was lifting his pointer finger and flicking it down, right on the string.

He inhaled as discreetly as he could once he realized what he had done, straightening in his seat. The vibrations from the opposite end had stopped instantly, and then all at once: one, two, three, four flicks.

Excitement, but all Dottore could feel was dread sinking in his stomach.

He could feel a pair of eyes on him. Dottore forced his gaze up to where the Tenth was sitting across from him, green eyes trained on his hand. Dottore’s lips flattened. Did he know? How would he know? But even with the mask adorning his face, the Tenth must have felt Dottore’s livid glare, looking up with a sheepish smile as he motioned to his own hand, his pointer finger, as if he was trying to show Dottore what he was looking at.

Dottore’s ring.

Of course, Dottore thought to himself dryly. He should have expected nothing less from the avaricious man.

Brighella had been brought in by Arlecchino--the Knave had spoken highly of the man’s intelligence and fighting ability, but so far all Dottore had seen from the Tenth Harbinger was a greed for wealth and alcohol. Dottore thought the man was more deserving of the title Jester than Pierro was, because all he was good for was his unintentional drunken entertainment during events.

Dottore let his gaze drop back to his hands, where the vibrating had finally stopped--seemingly pleased with finally getting a response from him--and Dottore couldn’t push away the emotions clawing at him from every angle.

He hated it.

He was good at compartmentalizing all of his feelings, pushing away all of the unwelcome ones and storing them in little corners until they finally dissipated but he couldn’t this time. They were too intense and Dottore felt overwhelmed. It had barely been half a day and he was already rattled by the new circumstances--rattled enough that he was struggling to keep himself composed internally.

Anxiety and dread were paramount, yes, but there was also pity.

The people of his old village had convinced him that he was cursed but he knew now that he was not the cursed one--it was the one that shared a mark with him instead.

Delta had arrived. Dottore could feel him approaching the palace, battling his way through the blizzard. He was not alone, he could feel another presence at his side--another segment--and he had a feeling he knew exactly which one it was and he was not pleased.

His movements were sharp as he put away the materials that he was using, annoyed at Delta and his inability to say no to the younger segments. For as stubborn and prideful the older segment was, all it took was a few whines from the Iota or Kappa segment and he was rolling over doing whatever they asked.

Dottore did not know how having a soulmate would affect the segments. He just knew it would be a distraction that they could not afford.

Would they have a mark? Dottore didn’t even know if he had a mark. He had yet to step in front of a mirror and look--it would make it too real, as if the damning thread wasn’t real enough.

Would they be able to see the thread? Would they have their own? Dottore hoped not. He did not want them to know--not yet, at least.

Dottore exhaled, safely storing the final vial in a cabinet too high for the Iota segment to reach and knock down just as the door to his lab was flung open harshly, shaking the cabinets closest to the door. He raised his eyebrows, turning on his heel to face the two arrivals.

Both segments were bundled in layers, cloaks drenched with water and furred hoods littered with snowflakes. The Delta segment was frowning, eyeing the room suspiciously, and the Iota segment was bouncing at his side, head whipping back and forth as he looked around the room--his first time in Dottore’s personal lab.

Something that Dottore had tried to keep on purpose. The last segment he wanted in his lab was the Iota segment--he was the clumsiest segment, one of the two segments with absolutely no sense of self-control, letting his curiosity get the best of him even in the worst situations. He was created in the mindset of his ten year old self, right after he had been cast out from his village. Dottore had thought that he could use Iota to see the Aranara of Vanarana but evidently, Iota no longer had that childlike innocence that allowed children to see the Aranara… which Dottore should have expected considering the circumstances after which he was created.

“You’re late,” Dottore said dryly, wiping his hands with a towel as he stepped out from behind the lab table he was working at.

“Yes,” Delta responded, voice just as dry. “There’s a bit of a blizzard outside, if you didn’t notice.”

Dottore raised his eyebrows at the snark and Delta, the most quarrelsome of the segments--except maybe Theta--only raised his eyebrows right back. Dottore’s eyes narrowed, annoyance worming its way onto his expression at the blatant disrespect. He had half a mind to remind him what exactly happened to the last segment that pushed him too far but instead, he was forced to move forward, right hand curling around Iota’s wrist just as the boy reached for some of Dottore’s notes.

“Do not start,” Dottore said sharply--perhaps he should have watched his tone, Iota was always the most sensitive when it came to tone and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a hysterical child.

… but Iota didn’t react to his tone. Instead, his eyes were wide and wondrous as he stared at Dottore’s hand. His right hand. Specifically, his right thumb.

Dottore’s stomach dropped, he released Iota’s wrist in an instant, stepping away, but Iota was persistent, darting forward to grab Dottore’s wrist now, reaching to grab the red string but his hand went right through it.

“What is that?” Delta asked, voice quiet and sharp.

So they could see his thread, but Dottore could safely assume that they did not have their own.

“Is it real?” Iota was still trying to grab the string--undoubtedly to tug at it just to feel the responding tug from their soulmate, just as he had felt from the opposite end this morning.

“It is real,” Dottore wasn’t even sure if he believed the words himself but logically, he had no reason to think otherwise. “It appeared last night.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous--Delta’s eyes shot open and Iota was wailing, clutching at Dottore’s waist, letting out incoherent babbles of how he knew that they had a soulmate, and how he knew that they weren’t damned or soulless, and how Kappa and Gamma would be-

“Do not tell them,” Dottore said sharply and Iota sobered up immediately, bottom lip wobbly and red eyes teary as he peered up at Dottore, questioning. “This is to stay between us for now, do you understand?”

“But Kappa-” Iota sniffled, confused, “and the others, they’ll be-”

“Do you understand?” Dottore asked again, gaze heavy as he waited for a response from both of his segments. “We do not need any new distractions, we’re finally making progress on our projects.”

Iota looked as if he had been physically slapped, brows knit together and biting his bottom lip as he looked between Delta and Dottore, as if expecting Delta to argue with Dottore. Dottore kept his expression steady, challenging, waiting for Delta to say something. Delta was argumentative but unlike Theta, he was not stupid. He knew when to pick fights and when to back off.

Delta was searching Dottore’s face for something, and Dottore made sure to keep his face blank. “You really don’t care?” Delta finally asked.

Dottore didn’t respond, partially because even as Delta asked the question, there was another soft tug at the red thread wrapped around his thumb. He forced himself not to look down at it, ignoring it this time. He did not care, and even if he did, he would force himself not to, just like he did a million times before when he forced himself to not care that he didn’t have a soulmate.

It was better for him, and it was better for the child on the opposite end of the string--who would grow up expecting their perfect match and be met with him.

“You were called back to report on the Irminsul project,” Dottore, a master of deflection, changed the subject rather than responding. Delta scoffed. “So, sit down and report. Enough of this nonsense. This is exactly why the other segments will not know.”

The anxiety, and the dread, and the pity was gone. It was replaced by anger.

Dottore was sick and tired of the gods fucking around with him.

Dottore stood in front of the mirror, lips thin and mask removed as he considered searching for the soulmark that was bound to be branded somewhere on his skin. It had been a long, long time since he had last searched his body for one. He had stopped after he had been cast out from the Akademiya--having given up on acceptance of any kind, be it from strangers or finally receiving his soulmate. He didn’t even want to look now but curiosity had always been his fatal flaw.

What did it look like? Where was it placed? His body was artificial, would there even be a soulmark?

Slowly and meticulously, he removed his shirt, scanning his torso and arms for any sign of the mark. He didn’t know what to look for--as far as he was aware, people’s marks could look like anything. The majority of people had some sort of symbol, be it a flower or animal or even some sort of item that’s a shared interest of the duo.

Dottore had no idea what he might share with his soulmate.

Methodologically, he turned over each arm--just as his parents would do when they were frantically searching him for a mark when he was a child.

Nothing.

Dottore stared at himself in the mirror, the scars that littered his body and face were stark in comparison to the rest of the fair skin. He shook his head as he finally turned around, back facing the mirror. He twisted his neck, looking over his shoulder to scan his back, gaze crawling up from his waistband until it reached his shoulders.

Dottore inhaled sharply, red eyes widening just a bit as he caught sight of the mark branded right between his shoulder blades--a small cluster of purple flowers spread out on his skin.

Heliotropes, he recognized and Dottore didn’t know if he should roll his eyes or laugh at the irony. Symbol of eternal devotion… poisonous to humans.

Of course.

Dottore thought that should be enough of a sign to end this before it weakened him even further--nip the issue in the bud before it could become detrimental. He had never actually seen someone cut their thread before but there were old wives’ tales about it and if anyone could figure out how to do it, it would be him.

For his sake, and for whoever was on the opposite end.

… and then there was a little tug at the string--once, then twice, and then a third time.

The moon was high in the sky now. Night had long fallen. He wondered if this was meant to be a goodnight.

Dottore sighed as he stepped away from the mirror, sitting down at the edge of his bed, leaving the goodnight unanswered as he contemplated what he should do. His gaze shifted back to the window as a branch rattled the glass.

Dottore hated the winter. Time and time again, it proved to be the worst months of his life… but a part of him--deep, deep down--wondered if this was all too bad because as he watched the ice creep up the frame of the window, this time with the phantom vibrations of his soulmate flicking at the string, it was with a bit more fondness than there was the night before.

—-

reblogs appreciated!

—-

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you

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catsconflictscopicsandchamomile · 1 year ago

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wait. i told u abt Beowulf right

like Dean is Grendel's Mother

Sam is Grendel

and- wait what does YOUR fix-it fic have going on? bc mine has Sam & Dean eventually (in a few hundred/thousand yrs once everything is already well fixed) becoming pagan forest deities, and Dean is a mother goddess (is a goddess but is a dude. he/him male goddess. idk its Dean he's just built that way. Divine Malewife)

@honeyedwhiskey found a whooooole new level of Dean Brainrot wanna talk abt it

the primordial/ultra-powerful being that Dean parallels best isnt Michael OR Lucifer OR Chuck OR Amara

its Eve.

#spn pantheon is like: forest deities + jack o' the lantern + HOO BOI Cas is a whole other subject + misc seasonal guys + the car is a fae #supernatural #or as i call it #“The Usual Harvest & Midwinter Bastards forcefully de-christianize themselves”#Grendel + Mother literally just went “yeah we're not from Christian lore anymore we're pagan again sorry bye”#and then someone drove a length of cold iron through Mother bc he's a pagan forest deity and that is a really effective way to kill those.#“oh you want to be a protector of the wild places again? ok iron nails can kill you now."#btw im imagining this as 16-18 being Demon!Winchesters and actually fixing the finale #and if it keeps going AFTER that then they can do God Stuff #but mannn #they rly said “fuck it” and killed Dean with the oldest known symbol of mankind's dominance over nature & magic huh

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duckduckgoose-exe · 1 year ago

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BSD ROLEPLAY BLOGS MASTERLIST

PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK WITH YOUR CHARACTER I SWEAR TO GOD. I’m trying my best to keep up with this, but if you’re an asshole/not nice when roleplaying/force plots on other roleplayers/etc? Not being added. And if you have a problem with one of the roleplayers on this list, tell me.

(I know I’m missing some im sorry ueueuue)

THSI JS EXTREMELY OUTDATED.

EDIT: hey hey it’s not letting me tag any more people lmao

15!Dazai: @disqualifiedasahuman

15!Chuuya: @doglover556

Ranpo: @ramuneranpo

Poe: @ranpos-rival

Nikolai: @nikolai-gogol-real

Agatha Christie: @agathachristiebsd

Yooko Ota (OC): @yookoota

Kunikida: @notamathmatician

Atsushi: @chazukelover5105

Sigma: @sky-casin0

Fyodor: @fyodorsdostoevsky

Akutagawa: @rashoumonaku

Tecchou: @loveants

PM!Chuuya: @chuuya-nakaharapm

Kyoka: @bunnykyoka

Poe and Karl: @ask-poeandkarl

Yosano: @thou-shaltnot-die

Chiyu Nakahara (OC): @nakachi101

Dazai: @crabbydazai

Kaiji: @creatoroflemons

Kouyou: @golden-demon-pm

Nyx Fleance (oc): @nyx-fleance

Odasaku: @fl4wless23

Ango: @themafiasinformant

Nathanial: @thepastorsblood

Kunikida: @manofhisideals

Jouno: @thesepricelesstears

Sakoto Dazai (OC): @crabisnasty1234

Kyoka: @crepes-is-life

Victor Hugo (OC): @the-wretched-informant

Teruko: @teru-ru-ru-ko

Shibusawa: @eternalboredom

Tanizaki Siblings: @tanizakisiblings

Gin: @thesecondakutagawa

Giacomo Leopardi (oc?): @normal-italian-tourist

Collette Èpine (oc): @collettescorner

Ritsu Satō (oc): @angels-trump3t

Kalma (oc): @rewriting-fate

Bram Stoker: @vampirebram

Beast!Dazai: @yearningfortheend

The Scythe (oc): @thescythe-pm

Beast!Chuuya: @snowydusk

Oni!Chuuya: @onichuuya-yokai

Kitsune!Dazai: @kitsune-dazai

Aya: @worldsbiggesthero

Tachihara: @midwinter-momento

16!Chuuya(?)): @chuuyanakaharalovesdogs

Q: @dogramagra-and-destruction

Elinor Wylie (oc): @elinors-fishing-bureau

Fem!Chuuya: @dazais-biggest-hater

Fem!Dazai: @osamudazaiisawoman

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ariseur · 10 months ago

Note

could i request a slight suggestive makeout session with Nero?

you suppressed the urge to tug at your collar, desperate for even just a puff of air as nero’s body heat travelled between the two of you while he caged you in on the couch. it definitely didn’t help that demons particularly run hot, even if nero was only had quarter of demon coursing through his blood.

your hands found their way to his hair, tangling themselves in short rough strands painted like snowfall as a groan hitched in the back of his throat at the feeling. you felt his sharp exhales on your skin as his hand came to grasp at your waist, desperately pawing at the fabric of your thin shirt and scrunching the material in his hands.

his lips moved on yours in a sloppy rhythm albeit you didn’t mind, for what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. nero’s lips chased yours at any given moment, reveling in the feeling of your hand on the back of his neck to pull him in closer while your legs wrapped around his lower back. your heels pressed down as your hips dangerously bucked up into his, causing him to let out a small groan. the only reason the sound came out was because of the small gap that was left between the corners of your lips due to the utter sloppiness of his assault on your lips, otherwise nero‘s moan would be muted in the periodic strings of noises of both of your lips connecting, barely taking breaks for air.

you pressed the back of your head against the cushion of the couch, experimentally rolling your hips once as you pulled away. hearing nero’s sweet sighs was music to your ears, and you definitely noticed the way his lips tried to chase yours, painted and bruised with a cherry red and coated with saliva.

a small whine emitted from his lips as he opened his eyes, painted a similar color to the midwinter sky. and in that moment, you almost whimpered yourself at the proximity of how close you were to him. his scent engulfed you, a familiar smell of a rich musk that always made you perk up when you smelled something similar in public, your mind instantly reeling back to your lover.

your noses practically brushed together as your breaths mingled, although they were more like quickened pants rather than breaths.

and then, you both smiled. you admired the way nero’s eyebrows furrowed and the outer corners of his eyes crinkled while he grinned at you, obviously satisfied as his eyes raked across from lips to your collarbone, looking over his fine work of love bites and kisses. somehow he looked so ethereal above you, even in such an intimate position with a hard on against your thigh, he still possessed that boyish charm.

“you gonna keep kissing me or what?” was all you needed before you gripped his hair again and slammed your lips back onto his. you two didn’t need anymore words as you felt his lips curl into a smile against yours. you struggled to fight the urge to open and roll your eyes at his antics. boy, did he annoy you sometimes, but boy, did you love it.

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #x reader #nero dmc x reader #dmc nero x reader #nero sparda x reader #nero sparda #dmc5 nero #dmc4 nero #devil may cry nero #dmc nero #devil may cry blurb #nero sparda blurb #ODOTTIE *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.*#kiss kiss

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jessiemeows · 17 days ago

Text

Midwinter's Eve

A/N: Happy holidays! I wanted to write something about what I imagine Astarion & Amaya's future looks like (plus a little bit of smut :)). I hope you enjoy it! I've only written a little of smut so im not great at it but hopefully its good and I'll eventually get better as I write more of Lost and Found. Also this is spoilery for Lost and Found. Other than that hope everyone had some great holidays and happy new year <3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F! Redeened Dark Urge Tiefling, My OC Amaya, Selunite Cleric/Paladin

Word Count: 3500

Warning: 18+!!!!! fingering, PIV, cum inside without protection, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of abuse but does not elaborate in any way, Astarion being a tiny tiny smidge dominant but not really

A/N part 2: It's Midwinter Eve! Midwinter is a holiday that's the DND equivalent of Christmas. In the story it has been three years since the Netherbrain fell, Astarion reflects on the past three years of his life with his partner and how good it's truly been (everyone deserves a happy ending, especially our BOY!) Astarion in this story is also now loved and being loved sometimes makes you soft and squishy.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Story:

Astarion gazed out his study window transfixed by the quickening snowfall outside. A faint smile played across his lips as he reflected on the past three years— the defeat of the Netherbrain, Cazador's death that had freed him from centuries of torment, and Bhaal's influence had finally released its grip on his beloved. It had now been three and a half years since that fateful first meeting—gods, he could still picture it perfectly: himself, pulling a knife on her like the desperate, scared fool he was, throwing every defense and bitter barb her way throughout their entire journey, and yet she somehow saw through it all and stayed.

The winter sun dipped below the horizon earlier these days. With a casual flick of his wrist, Astarion cast some fire bolt cantrips, lighting the candles scattered across his desk. Lady Adelia Caldwel's contract lay before him, a mess of legal tangles he'd been asked to untangle. Her husband had sold off their prime Upper City parkland that she loved so dearly, and she desperately hoped for a loophole or a way of breaking the contract—though prospects looked grim. Running fingers through his silver curls, he loosened the gleaming golden cufflinks of his fine black cotton shirt, rolling up the sleeves, and propped his feet up on the desk, balancing the parchment on his lap.

His thoughts drifted treacherously to Cazador, sending an old, familiar chill down his spine. The memories still held power—how small and worthless his former master had made him feel. Though the worst had passed, there had been dark times: panic attacks, violent outbursts, moments when nothing could console him. Amaya, his beloved, understood better than anyone; she still battled her own demons, nightmares of Bhaal haunting her sleep, panic seizing her with fears she might harm him. But they both knew better now. Those fears had no foundation in reality.

After the Netherbrain's fall, they'd ransacked Cazador's palace together, setting it ablaze in a final act of defiance. The old vampire's hoarded wealth had been substantial—enough that, even after Amaya insisted he share it with his six siblings, they'd secured their place in society. Combined with Amaya's status as "The Hero of Baldur's Gate," they'd acquired a small manor just outside the Upper City, complete with a vineyard and garden. It was perfect: Amaya spent her days tending the garden and painting, occasionally dragging him to the Wide to sell their goods or to Lady Jannath's exhibitions to show off her artwork. If not spending most of his time with Amaya, or attending the endless social engagements required to maintain their newfound noble standing - balls, banquets, and the like, Astarion would then spend his days in his study which had become a sanctuary, he managed their estates and helped others navigate legal matters (thanks to his lovely partner's endless bragging of his talent of negotiation to the Baldur’s Gate nobility after he'd helped Wyll escape the now very dead Mizora's contract all those years ago).

They'd risen quickly in these three years to become Lord Ancunín and Lady Othzál—soon to be Lord and Lady Ancunín. Just six months ago, during the bi-annual ‘Heroes' of the Gate’ reunion hosted by the beloved party animal wraith Withers, he had proposed to her in the very spot where they'd first been intimate. Back then, his motives had been purely selfish; this time, he'd wanted to make it special. Her warm embrace, mingled with tears of joy had ruined his brand-new white doublet with black streaks of makeup—something he still teased her about mercilessly.

Though in such little time, life had brought more miracles: first it was the Cloak of Dragomir that they found a little more than two years ago, which let him brave the sunlight again despite some setbacks. Then, just three months ago, they found the Sun-walker's Ring—a simple gold banded ring with a blood-red ruby that allowed him to walk carelessly free in the sun for hours on end. Although, he still keeps his cloak on hand just in case no matter how awful the fabric is. But the greatest miracle had come with the adventure to find the ring: Amaya was with child. His child. They'd discovered it in the Underdark when she kept falling ill, though he should have recognized the signs immediately.

The memory of her first ill-fated pregnancy in the Shadowlands still haunts Astarion’s mind. When Amaya was under Bhaal's influence, she had been frequently sick, but upon entering the cursed lands, her health deteriorated even further, which concerned almost all of their friends. He hadn’t known of the pregnancy until it was lost to an infernal dagger Back then, he'd been conflicted, almost relieved at its loss. He had never actually imagined himself as a father, it was always a foreign, unattainable concept - until now.

The transition back to home life after their recent return from Underdark two months ago has been a little difficult for the couple. Amaya was in her first trimester, she had persistent morning sickness, obscene cravings, and general unease stemming from the pregnancy. Meanwhile, Astarion’s constant stress and worry have made him increasingly overprotective and borderline overbearing.

Things have eased down a bit since the start of the second trimester and Astarion has relaxed more since the constant sickness has stopped. It wasn’t until their latest bi-annual reunion over a ten-day ago, Withers' had given a cryptic hint to the couple when they were alone that still echoed in his mind: their children—plural—were "destined for greatness." Coming from the usually tight-lipped avatar of Jergal, it had been a surprising comfort to both of them, especially given Amaya's fears about bearing a child being both a Bhaalspawn and a dhampir. But Astarion always knew in his heart their child would inherit Amaya's love and gentleness. She was never the person her father made her out to be and since purifying her blood, and the murder whispers had fallen silent he knew from the start their children would not be that way, though the plural "children" in Withers' prophecy still made Astarion's head spin.

Darkness had fallen completely now, the snow and wind picking up outside his window. Sighing, Astarion began tidying his desk—Lady Caldwel's contract would have to wait. Worry gnawed at him; Amaya had gone to the Upper City's Midwinter’s Eve festival with Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel. Last year's memories brought a smile to his face: Lae'zel's newfound obsession with sugar cookies, and his sneak snowball attacks on Shadowheart. Despite Amaya's adorable pouting, he declined today's invitation to finish up some work so he would be free all day tomorrow for Midwinter, though the elf did somewhat wish he had joined the group.

The Midwinter festivities weren't exactly Astarion's cup of tea, Amaya had grown to adore them. This year, the tiefling had truly outdone herself, decking their home with the most beautiful seasonal decorations and carefully selecting thoughtful gifts for all their friends who would be joining them for the celebratory dinner the next evening. Even Minthara will be impressed by Amaya's efforts just like she had the previous Midwinter.

But this year's gathering would be extra special. Not only were Karlach and Wyll back in Baldur's Gate permanently, but Astarion and Amaya also planned to have their pregnancy announcement to everyone. Of course, only a select few already knew— Gale, his fiancée Elysia, Shadowheart, and her partner Kaelum, having accompanied the couple on their journey to find the Sun-walker's ring, and Withers who knew everything. However, the rest of their dinner guests remained blissfully unaware. Astarion was still a bit hesitant to make the announcement, worried that it might be too soon, but Amaya was positively bursting with joy and how could he possibly say no?

Astarion was beginning to get a headache thinking over everything, and his worry began to heighten when heavy winds crashed onto his study’s window. The sound of their heavy front door slamming shut snapped him to attention making his pointed ears twitch. "Oh, thank the gods," he breathed, hurrying toward their drawing room. Shadowheart's and Amaya's soft voices drifted through the halls as he approached silently.

"Are you four months along now?" Shadowheart asked as Amaya shed her heavy winter layers.

"Yes!" Amaya beamed, smoothing her hand over the slight swell of her belly.

"Oh, by the Moonmaiden’s grace, I always knew you'd make the cutest little pregnant lady!" Shadowheart reached out to touch the bump. "Have you been taking those herbs I recommended for nausea? And drinking blood for the little one? It must be strange having to drink blood."

Amaya stifled a laugh. "I'm not too sure it's the strangest thing I've had to drink, Shadowheart."

Before Amaya could continue, Astarion slipped behind the tiefling, wrapping his cold hands around her belly and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Hello, lover," he purred into her ear.

"Can you please do that when I'm not around?" Shadowheart groaned.

"Shush," Astarion smirked. "Don't act like I didn't see you and Kaelum cozying up at the reunion. By the way, do tell them I said hello." His devious smile only widened at Shadowheart's resulting blush. Shadowheart then rolled her eyes at Astarion's teasing, pointedly ignoring him.

Astarion's eyes widened as he surveyed the drawing room floor. "So, are we broke now?" Astarion smirked, eyeing the mountain of shopping bags. "Based on this haul, I can only assume we're destitute."

"Quiet, you," Amaya turned, pressing her lips to his. He chuckled into the kiss, the sound vibrating against her mouth. "And no—everything was on sale!" She swatted his hand away as he reached for one of the mysterious packages.

Their head maid, Dakota, appeared in the doorway, offering to whisk the bags away to "Amaya's special hiding spot"—a location Astarion had long since discovered in the maid's quarters. She offered tea, but Shadowheart declined, casting a worried glance at the darkening sky through the window.

"I should really get going. The storm's picking up, and it's quite a hike to the cottage," Shadowheart said, rising from her seat.

Amaya jumped up to embrace her friend at the doorway. "See you and others tomorrow, then. Don't forget the Midwinter feast starts just before sunset. You and Kaelum are welcome to borrow some of my night clothes, or if Kaelum prefers, they can use Astarion's when you stay the night."

“I did not agree to that!” Astarion protested behind them, but the two ignored him.

"We'll be there and thank you," Shadowheart assured her. "Now rest, please."

"I will. Stay safe—send me a sending spell when you're home."

After Shadowheart's departure, Astarion sprawled across the drawing room couch, arms extended in invitation. Amaya settled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as he asked, "Why does she want you to rest, love?"

"It's nothing, really", Amaya deflected, peppering his cheek with the rapid little kisses she always used when seeking affection. "I just got winded more quickly than usual today. That’s all."

Astarion's brow furrowed and genuine concern colored his voice. "Perhaps we should skip tomorrow's festivities if you're struggling to catch your breath. I don’t want you to over-exert yourself."

Amaya fixed him with her big, brown eyes he never could resist, and a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips."You're just nervous about seeing everyone," she countered, “I know you’re not fond of this holiday but don't try to use me as an excuse."

"No, Amaya, I'm truly worried about the little one." His cool fingers found their way to her gently swollen belly as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Amaya let out a soft sigh, resting her head on his and running her hands soothingly down his back. "Star, I already got Shadowheart’s second opinion on it and she already said I'd be fine. I just need to rest tonight."

Astarion’s fingers lingered around her belly as he began to fiddle with her loose velvet dress. "If you say so, Mayabear." he said as he groaned of defeat vibrating against her skin.

"I do. Now, I’m feeling peckish, and have you had any blood? It should still be fresh; I can fetch you some from the butcher's box while I make some tea and grab a snack ."

"Haven't had the chance," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "I've been wrestling with Lady Caldwel's contract for hours. I don't even want to think about it anymore."

Amaya's brow furrowed in concern. "I thought you said it would be easy?

Astarion grumbled, "It should be, but her husband is an absolute fool." The tiefling then gently kissed his cheek, saying, "I'm sorry, lovie. Maybe getting some rest will help clear your mind."

Amaya then slipped away to prepare their drinks and herself a small plate of gingersnaps that one of their maids must have prepared before heading home. Returning, she found her vampire with his eyes closed, the picture of contentment. Years ago, he'd never have allowed himself such vulnerability. Reclaiming her rightful place in his lap, her tail wrapped instinctively around his leg as she nestled against him. His fingers found their way into her dark curls, twirling the silky strands absently as he breathed in the familiar scent - his own bergamot, rosemary, and brandy faint on her but mingled with her naturally rich vanilla essence, the delicious aroma of the gingersnap crumbs on her lips and the sweet scent of her blood.

He licked his lips, savoring the memory of the rich, chocolate-like flavor of her blood - so different from the wine-like taste of others. Though the temptation remained constant, he'd been restraining himself lately, knowing their child already drew from her strength.

Taking the chalice of fresh boar's blood, he drank deeply. Their arrangement with the local butcher had proven invaluable, especially now that Amaya required blood for the baby. If the butcher ever grew curious about their frequent deliveries, they could simply blame it on Amaya's peculiar cravings for blood sausage. Usually during the winter months, the deliveries would be twice a week, but with everything going on they had made the decision for deliveries once a day, and generous payment had kept any questions at bay so far.

The peaceful silence stretched between them until Astarion's curiosity got the better of him. "So darling, what did you get me?" he asked, then promptly snatched a bite of one of Amaya's gingersnaps just as she was about to take a taste herself.

"Hey!" Amaya protested, pouting at him. "And what makes you think I got you anything?"

"HA! I know you far too well, my love. And I'd rather not have to sneak into your 'super secret hideout' in Dakota's quarters," he said with a mischievous grin.

"How did you—?" Amaya's eyes widened in dismay.

"Sweetheart, you're terrible at keeping secrets from me. I overheard you discussing it with Dakota during yesterday's tea." His grin widened. "Besides, won't Dakota peek at her own gift?"

"Her gift is hidden elsewhere, thank you very much." the tiefling pouted, avoiding his gaze.

Astarion chuckled a bit while using his free hand to cup her cheek, "Come now, darling, we both know I have ways of discovering these things." He coaxed.

"I know, but sometimes I'd like to keep these particular secrets... secret." Her lower lip trembled slightly, pregnancy hormones amplifying her natural sensitivity.

As she began to pull away, Astarion tightened his hold. "Mayabear, don't be cross. I promise I don't know what you bought—only where you've hidden it." His cool fingers wiped away the tears threatening to fall.

Amaya sighed ”It's ridiculous that I feel like crying over this."

"This crying is perfectly normal, pet. You're experiencing new things." Astarion then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then to her cheek.

"I know what would make you feel better,” Astarion purred into her ears, his voice was now low and sultry.

Amaya now amused by him now looked up at him.“Oh, really and what is that” the tiefling mumbled.

Astarion gently cupped her face. “May I kiss you a little more? I can more than guarantee it will help with your little poutiness. I know you’ve missed me, and I’ve certainly missed you."

Amaya's gentle nod of approval was all the invitation Astarion needed. He tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, his fingers traced delicate patterns along her curves as their kisses deepened. Amaya's fingers tangled in his silver curls, drawing a pleased hum from his throat. His hands now roaming down to squeeze her full ample bottom leaving a soft, breathy moan from Amaya’s parted lips. Astarion could already feel his trousers begin to tighten uncomfortably. Every new curve of hers was driving him mad.

"Would going to the bedroom go against your instructions to rest?" he whispered against her lips, barely breaking their kiss.

At an eager shake of her head, the vampire gently swept her into his arms, carrying her swiftly to their chambers. He deposited her gently on their bed before retrieving an arcane lock scroll from their drawer—they'd learned that lesson after an awkward encounter with a new maid. The quick incantation sealed their privacy, and he returned to Amaya who was leaning against the bed’s headboard.

Astarion crawled close to Amaya, purring, "On your side, facing me darling." She obeyed, and his hungry kisses trailed from her lips down to her neck as his dexterous fingers untied the top drawstrings of the soft velvet dress, carefully lifting the fabric to reveal herself to him.

“Such a good, obedient girl.” He whispered. The sight of her stole his breath—her swollen breasts, the subtle curve of her belly, and the flush spreading across her skin.

"What?" she asked, noticing his intense gaze.

"Nothing," he murmured, his voice low and raspy. "I just think you grow more beautiful every day." With practiced grace, he slid off her lacy undergarments, sliding cold nimble fingers toward her already glistening desire.

“Tsk, tsk, you are already so wet”, he purred into her ear. He propped up her leg on his hip, angling her body to lay on her side more comfortably. Slowly, he began slipping one, then two fingers in and out of her slick, glistening folds at a steady pace, drawing soft yet needy moans from her lips.

Astarion trailed tender kisses lower, his tongue lingering and tracing the delicate curves of her body His fanged teeth accidentally grazing around her pert nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from Amaya. Amaya then cupped his hair between her fingers, arching into his touch. "A-Astarion," she gasped. The vampire began to focus his attention, zeroing in on her sweet spot. "I want you to bite me," she pleaded. "You haven't in so long."

Astarion hesitated, "You know I have my reasons, pet." he murmured, his voice vibrating against her skin. But Amaya's pleading, trembling voice of need was impossible to resist. "Please! And I so desperately want to feel all of you."

Astarion paused briefly, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. "Well, well you've persuaded me, you cheeky little pup," he growled. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers, only to reveal his aching cock glistening and beaded with precum. Positioning himself on his side at Amaya's entrance, he let out a soft growl as he slowly began to thrust into her welcoming heat.

Astarion's teeth sank into the delicate skin of Amaya's neck, drinking deeply of her rich, sweet life’s nectar as he pounded into her his fingers gripping tighter around her plump bottom. Amaya's muffled cries spurred him on, his pace quickening. Only when he felt himself nearing the edge did Astarion detach his fangs, letting out a stifled moan.

Desperate, he deliberately slowed his movements, savoring each delicious sensation as he remained deeply immersed in her welcoming warmth.

“Fuck, Maya” Astarion finally growled, Amaya's hands roamed avoiding Astarion's scarred back, her nails digging in just above his shoulder blades as their bodies moved together in a shared, building climax. "Astarion!" Amaya cried out, her walls clenching around him as his hips began to stagger losing control, his seed filling her in warm, pulsing waves..

Spent, they clung to each other, Astarion pulling Amaya close to his chest entangled with one another between the silk sheets. Her fingers played with his sweat-dampened curls brushing them back from his forehead—a tender habit that had brought him comfort since their first night together. As sleep began to claim Amaya, Astarion gazed at her drinking in her beauty.

"I really love you, you know that right?" he whispered.

"Of course, love," she smiled drowsily at him. "I hope you know I love you too."

"I'm more than aware." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“So, what did you get me for Midwinter?” She asked softly but amusement in her voice.

Astarion chuckled to himself, “You’ll see, now close your eyes.”

Her soft laugh and the gentle tug of her fingers in his hair were the last things he registered before she drifted off and he began to trance, safe in each other's arms forever, for good.

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weaveandwood · 8 months ago

Note

Writing prompt - You and Gale are baking a cake - What happens?

Oh no cake batter found its way onto his dick

LMAO. I'm going to write this as Auroria and Gale , post Midwinter In Waterdeep when they're back together. Hiding under the cut because this got WAY more explicit than I thought it would. You're welcome! Thanks for the fun prompt!

NSFW 18+ Word Count: 1331 Warnings: Vaginal Sex

She returned to the cabin two days ago as promised, in advance of Morena's birthday party. Gale said they would typically order a cake from the baker, but Auroria suggested baking one together as a gift for her. Auroria and Gale had been married about a year, but she always felt a tug to try to impress Morena both in penance for the emotional turmoil she put her son through for seven years after their adventure ended and the desire for a mother figure in her life after not having that guiding figure for the last 27 years. Morena had said all was forgiven seeing how happy Gale was, but Auroria couldn't shake the feeling that she should always try harder.

She walked into their small kitchen from the cozy bedroom, seeing Gale already hard at work preparing the ingredients - eggs, sugar, flour, chocolate, butter. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

"We're supposed to bake this together, dear husband."

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "You know, I never tire of being called that.”

“Good, because I will never tire of calling you that,” she smiled and stood beside him, looking at the neat countertop, everything in its place. “Let’s do this the old fashioned way, no magic.”

“Not even a little?” He looked flabbergasted.

She shook her head. “No, it’ll mean more if it’s completely handmade. Besides, where is the fun if you don’t get a little messy every now and then?”

“Alright, alright, I surrender. You win again.” He laughed and kissed her softly, the spoon that was magically keeping the chocolate stirred, warm, and melted now laying still in the bowl.

The pair got to work, Gale naturally taking the lead and instructing Auroria, who did most of the labor - mixing up the butter and sugar, adding the eggs, the chocolate, and finally the flour. Gale poured the batter into the cake tins and set them into their small oven. She stood with her hands on her hips, proud of the work they did and how well they worked together, even on this small project. Her previous demons were becoming smaller and smaller each time she came home. She loved what she and Gale had become.

“Not bad, we make a good team.”

“That we do, we hardly even made a mess..." He trailed off, surveying his beautiful wife, who had somehow gotten cake batter on both of her cheeks and the small sliver of skin showing at her chest in the opening of her top. He walked up to her, leaning in and used a finger to wipe the batter off her cheek. “I take that back,” he said, “you are covered in chocolate, Ora.” He laughed as he licked the batter off his finger.

She shrugged. “Baking is messy, does the batter taste good at least?”

He leaned in closer, kissing her other cheek, licking off the batter. “Delicious.” He kissed down her neck, hitting that one spot that she liked before kissing down to the opening in her neckline, licking the batter off her chest.

Auroria gasped, her hands moving into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he worked his way back up the other side of her neck to her earlobe. She tilted her head as he whispered, “I should see if you have batter anywhere else, my love.” She felt him tugging up the hem of her shirt, and she gladly lifted her arms up to help him. His hands immediately went to her breasts, kneading them gently, feeling her nipples getting hard under his deft touch. He unlaced her pants, pushing them off her hips to the floor, leaving her naked. She left out a soft moan as he touched her, which only made him want her more. “I need you, Ora. Now.”

“Hmm, first I think I need to make sure you didn’t get any chocolate on you, don’t you think?” She smiled, tugging at his shirt, knowing he didn’t have anything on him, but wanting to tease him just the same. She had never seen him take off his clothes more quickly - well, except maybe that first night in the Shadow Cursed Lands or the first Midwinter they reunited. She looked at him, his body softer with age and comfort though still athletic and absolutely, devastatingly perfect. The orb was now a faint scarring of lighter skin, mostly hidden by his chest hair. As her eyes traveled over his body, she saw exactly how much he desired her.

“Sadly, I’m afraid you are perfectly clean, my love,” she said before closing the distance between them, kissing him deeply, reaching down to wrap her hands around him, already hard, and felt him groan into her mouth as she started to stroke him. He guided her back to the countertop as they kissed, then she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her up onto the countertop, still covered in flour.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers as his hand slid its way down her hips between her legs, rubbing her, feeling her wet for him already. “Gods how did I get so lucky? Look at you, it’s all I can do not to be inside you all day. I want you, please let me have you,” he practically panted, a finger sliding inside her. She loved his fingers for many reasons, but the way they knew exactly how to play her made her wonder if Gale was a musician in a past life. She arched her back, moaning softly.

“Then have me, Gale. Have me.”

Gale wasted no time. His hands went to her hips, pulling her forward on the countertop so she was at the very edge before wrapping a hand around his hard cock, lining it up at her entrance before pushing it in slowly. He would never tire of this - feeling the way she gave around him, taking him in. A perfect fit. As he entered her fully, all thoughts left him, as they usually did. He lightly bit down on her shoulder as he held her legs apart, thrusting slowly at first, then picking up speed. The sound of their bodies hitting together and their soft pants and grunts the only noise in the small cabin.

“I will admit I don’t think I will last long, my dear. You feel too good this morning,” he panted, fucking her harder, feeling the familiar tension in his abdomen as he got closer to release. He could feel her tightening around him, knowing she was close as well. Knowing he could bring her to her own precipice this quickly helped spur him on. He reached between them, his fingers circling her clit, rubbing that precious bundle of nerves he loved to pay special attention to.

She cried out as he rubbed her, holding onto his arms tightly. “Make me come with you,” she panted

He fucked her hard, each stroke punctuated as he almost pulled out of her before slamming back in, keeping a good pace. He knew she liked it when he was steady. He felt her tightening up, her body going still. She was almost there. He leaned in. “Come for me Ora, I want to feel you around me, then I want to come deep inside you.”

His filthy words, his warm breath on her ear sent her over the edge. She gripped on to him, crying out loudly as her body tightened up and let go, orgasm rocking through her, feeling him fuck her through it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his strokes picking up speed as she came, his groans getting louder as he got closer and closer before he found his own release, crashing into her, spilling his seed deep inside her. He finally slowed down, a satisfied exhaustion creeping into his bones as he laid his head on her shoulder, laughing as he looked at her - she was covered in flour handprints, and he assumed he was as well.

“We should bake together more often,” she teased before he kissed her again.

#my writing #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #gale x tav #gale x auroria #woodweave #whew my first published smut!

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the-mortuary-witch · 9 months ago

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PAGAN AND SATANIC HOLIDAYS AND CELEBRATIONS

PAGAN:

IMBOLC (CANDLEMAS): (February 1st-2nd) a festival dedicated to the goddess of the New Year (Brigid).

OSTARA (SPRING EQUINOX): (March 19th-23rd) marks the Spring Equinox, which happens on March 19th-23rd. Ostara is a Pagan celebration of the German goddess Ēostre.

BELTANE (MAY EVE): (April 30th-May 1st) the Gaelic May Day festival, marking the beginning of summer. It is traditionally held between April 30th-May 1st, or about midway between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice.

LITHA (SUMMER SOLSTICE/MIDSUMMER): (June 20th) Litha occurs during the Summer Solstice held on June 20th-21st. More commonly referred to as Midsummer's Night, Litha is believed to be a time when faerie folk pass into the human world at Twilight and offer blessings. Litha is a time to celebrate the abundance and beauty of Mother Earth.

LAMMAS (LUGHNASADH): (August 1st) a Pagan holiday and one of the eight Wiccan sabbats during the year. Each sabbat marks a seasonal turning point. The sabbat occurs on August 1st, which is about halfway between the Summer Solstice (Litha) and the Fall Equinox (Mabon).

MABON (AUTUMN EQUINOX/FALL HARVEST): (September 20th-23rd) represents the height of nature's abundance and usually falls on September 20th-23rd. It is seen as the height of the harvest season and is a time to celebrate nature's bounty. Many also celebrate the balance in nature during Mabon.

SAMHAIN (ALL HALLOWS/FINAL HARVEST): (October 31st-November 1st) a festival dedicated to the dead and a celebration of the New Year.

YULE (WINTER SOLSTICE/MIDWINTER): (December 21st-25th) a Winter Solstice festival. The longest night of the year followed by the sun's "rebirth" and lengthening of days. In most traditions, Yule is celebrated as the rebirth of the Great God, who is viewed as the newborn solstice sun. Some Pagans consider Yule to be the beginning of the New Year

SATANIC:

LUPERCALIA: (February 15th) celebration of bodily autonomy, sexual liberation, and reproduction. Based on the Roman festival of the same name, Lupercalia falls on February 15. In keeping with the ancient tradition, February 13th and 14th are observed as feast days leading up to the actual holiday. What we are translating this to in TST is a "hail yourself" day. This idea offers a parallel to the "others-centered" traditions of Sol Invictus.

HEXENNACHT: (April 30th) occasion honoring those who fell victim to superstition and pseudoscience, whether by. In Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Faust: a Tragedy (1808), Mephisto and Faust attend the Walpurgisnacht revelry atop Mount Brocken. TST's Hexenacht is a solemn holiday to honor those who were victimized by superstition.

UNVEILING DAY: (July 25th) celebration of religious plurality and shedding archaic superstition. A centerpiece of our religious movement and icon of modern Satanism, the Baphomet with Children statue was commissioned by The Satanic Temple in 2014 and created by Mark Porter with "respect for diversity and religious minorities" in mind. On July 25, 2015, The Satanic Temple unveiled Baphomet to a large crowd of devotees in Detroit, signaling the beginning of the new Satanic era. We observe this milestone in Satanic history by celebrating Unveiling Day.

DEVILS NIGHT (MISCHIEF NIGHT): (October 30th-November 4th) an informal holiday on which children, teenagers and adults engage in jokes, pranks, vandalism, or parties. It is known by a variety of names including Devils Night, Gate Night, Goosey Night, Moving Night, Cabbage Night, Mystery Night and Mat Night.

HALLOWEEN: (October 31st) holiday to celebrate indulgence and embrace the darkness and its aesthetic. Halloween is consistently described as evil, demonic, and satanic by those steeped in religious dogma. Costumes, candy, and facing fears are to be embraced.

SOL INVICTUS: (December 25th) a holiday to celebrate indulgence and embracing the darkness and its aesthetic. The cult of Sol existed within Rome since its early days as a republic, and Invictus was an epithet used for Jupiter, Mars, and Apollo (among others). The festival celebrated these Gods and may have also been used to celebrate the winter solstice.

#fyp #fypシ #fypシ゚viral #fypage #fyppage #tumblr fyp #satanism #satanist #satanic #paganism #pagan #holidays #celebration #information

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evilasiangenius · 17 days ago

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It was a hard and cold winter. The roads were blocked and the Tamesis froze over, stopping trade by boat, though Londinium stayed miraculously fed due to some human ingenuity with sure-footed ponies and sleds. When the snow piled up, Aziraphale and Crowley took turns (depending on the time of day) clambering up onto the top of the house and scraping the snow off the terracotta-tiled roof to keep it from collapsing under the weight of the snow. Much of the rest of the ruined structure collapsed further from the heavy snows, and there were a few days of discussion and serious calculation as to whether or not the existing room would hold.

In the bleak midwinter, the two angels, fallen and otherwise, moved big warped beams of frozen fungus-riddled wood from the wreckage and ruins of the rest of the house to prop up what still remained.

When they weren’t trying to keep the house together, they stayed indoors near the hearth. Crowley regularly braved the ice to go hunting or fishing to supplement the cache of supplies that Aziraphale had managed to gather before the freeze and the cat followed the demon on the hunt for scraps from the slaughter. For a few weeks Aziraphale had made noises of concern about Crowley overfeeding the cat until she birthed a litter of six kittens, all black save for one incongruous orange kitten.

Aziraphale made a third patchwork cushion for the cat and her family. He ground grain for bread and kneaded the dough. He made pots and pots of soup. When Crowley brought back fish, Aziraphale roasted fish on the hearth which were so often stolen by the one-eyed black cat that Crowley ended up having to catch an extra one every time just for the growing family.

They ate wrinkled apples slightly shriveled with age. Aziraphale bought sacks of wool from a carder and spun clouds of naturally white, gray, and black fiber into individual sets of thread. The angel knitted naturally black wool stockings that the demon wore to keep his feet warm, and eventually with Crowley’s help, designed and built a loom to weave cloth. While Crowley distracted the kittens to keep the bumbling little bun-shaped beasts from wrecking the wool, Aziraphale made a big monochromatic tartan blanket for the bed that the angel never used.

They spent long winter nights giving the creaking ceiling nervous glances before Crowley went up in the stormy moon-stained dark to scrape off accumulating snow before returning to the heated embrace of the tartan blanket that Aziraphale had ready to wrap him in, and the gentle kiss of a cup of heated water flavored with a few drops of wine and no spices that Aziraphale had ready for him to drink.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #mistakes were made #crowley and aziraphale #in a dark ages/late antiquity cottagecore fic set in the ruins of londinium #crowley has trauma #aziraphale has memory loss

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balioc · 9 days ago

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BALIOC'S READING LIST, 2024 EDITION

This list counts only published books, consumed in published-book format, that I read for the first time and finished. No rereads, nothing abandoned halfway through, no Internet detritus of any kind, etc. Also no children’s picture books.

(There were still so many children's picture books.)

(I've relaxed my standards a bit for this year. I've counted two graphic novels, and one text so short that it's basically just an illustrated short story. This doesn't particularly feel like cheating, and it doesn't seem to be lowering my standards generally. Next year, I may decide to count texts read on the Internet, so long as they're genuinely substantive in some way; we'll see.)

The Pilgrim of Hate, Ellis Peters

Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near East, Amanda H. Podany

An Excellent Mystery, Ellis Peters

Moon Dark Smile, Tessa Gratton

The Raven in the Foregate, Ellis Peters

Demon Daughter, Lois McMaster Bujold

The Rose Rent, Ellis Peters

Bea Wolf, Zach Weinersmith

The Saint of Bright Doors, Vajra Chandasekera

The Hermit of Eyton Forest, Ellis Peters

Warlock, Oakley Hall

The Confession of Brother Haluin, Ellis Peters

The Heretic's Apprentice, Ellis Peters

Of Ghosts and Goblins, Lafcadio Hearn

The Potter's Field, Ellis Peters

Golden Hill, Francis Spufford

The Summer of the Danes, Ellis Peters

The Holy Thief, Ellis Peters

Ducks: Two Years In the Oil Sands, Kate Beaton

The Uncommon Reader, Alan Bennett

Brother Cadfael's Penance, Ellis Peters

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, Brandon Sanderson

Ballet Shoes, Noel Streatfeild

Emma, Jane Austen

Lyorn, Stephen Brust

Magus: The Art of Magic From Faustus to Agrippa, Anthony Grafton

The Tainted Cup, Robert Jackson Bennett

Cannibalism: A Perfectly Natural History, Bill Schutt

The Lion of Boaz-Jachin and Jachin-Boaz, Russell Hoban

The Familiar, Leigh Bardugo

Unraveller, Frances Hardinge

Pilgermann, Russell Hoban

Breaking Hel, Miles Cameron

The Emperor's Sword, Christian Cameron

Ink Blood Sister Scribe, Emma Törzs

Out of Tales: Or, January, Meg Moseman

Chinese Buddhism: A Thematic History, Chün-fang Yü

Tress of the Emerald Sea, Brandon Sanderson

Intelligence: All That Matters, Stuart Ritchie

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Patrick Süskind

Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee

Prince of the Godborn, Geraldine Harris

Children of the Wind, Geraldine Harris

The Dead Kingdom, Geraldine Harris

The Seventh Gate, Geraldine Harris

The Night Parade of 100 Demons, Marie Brennan

The Game of 100 Candles, Marie Brennan

The Market of 100 Fortunes, Marie Brennan

Aztecs: An Interpretation, Inga Clendinnen

Sand, Wolfgang Herrndorf

The Wood at Midwinter, Susanna Clarke

The Chains of the Earth, David Mealing

Plausible works of improving nonfiction consumed in 2024: 7

Balioc's Choice Award, Fiction Division: Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Patrick Süskind

>>>> Honorable Mention: Warlock, Oakley Hall

Balioc's Choice Award, Nonfiction Division: Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near East, Amanda H. Podany

>>>> Honorable Mention: Chinese Buddhism: A Thematic History, Chün-fang Yü

The Celephaïs Award for Mythopoesy With Which I Would Have Been Absolutely Obsessed Had I Read It As a Teenager, and, Let's Be Honest, It's Not Like I'm Not Obsessed Now: the Seven Citadels books by Geraldine Harris [Prince of the Godborn, Children of the Wind, The Dead Kingdom, The Seventh Gate]

The Emerald Champion's Award for "I've Cared About This Setting Since I Was Twelve and This Story Can't Possibly Be Canon, Oh Shit, There Was a Total Reboot and Now You're One of the People In Charge of the Canon?!": Marie Brennan's L5R novels [Night Parade of 100 Demons, Game of 100 Candles, Market of 100 Fortunes]

The Pepsi-Cola Award for "We Have Brandon Sanderson At Home": the Ascension Cycle books by David Mealing [Chains of the Earth, plus two earlier books read in previous years]

The Dumott Schunard Award for Advanced Queerness In the Field of Metaphysics, No Seriously, You Did Not Know That Fantasy Worldbuilding Could Be So Fundamentally Queer: Moon Dark Smile by Tessa Gratton

The Glandeco-Angelinian Award for Real Goddamn Outsider Art Made By a Real Goddamn Outsider Artist Who Is Definitely Thinking Thoughts That Stretch Beyond Your Trifling Mundane World: Out of Tales: Or, January by Meg Moseman

**********

This year was a lot better than it looks. I swear.

...the numbers are real bad, I know. 52 is the absolute bottom edge of "respectable" for a year's total-books-read count, for me, and no fewer than 11 of those were part of the same silly historical-mystery series. 7 is well below the absolute bottom edge of "respectable" for the nonfiction count.

But, given how shamefully little reading there was overall, there was a surprising amount of serious high-quality stuff with lasting value. Chinese Buddhism, Aztecs, and Weavers, Scribes, and Kings are all exactly what I want nonfiction tomes to be: each one left me with a sense that I understood a particular chunk of the world much better than I had before. I think any one of those three probably caused me to feel more educated than some entire years' worth of nonfiction reading. And on the fiction front, there was just a lot of excellence. Books like Pilgermann and The Saint of Bright Doors are flawed but also possessed of genuine literary greatness. Books like Of Ghosts and Goblins and the Seven Citadels novels are light-weight, but light-weight in the way that a faerie-gossamer cloak is light-weight; they possess genuine beauty that moves them into the realm of the transcendent. Even the usual genre-fiction filler stuff had a lot of semiprecious gems.

I'm still alarmingly bad at getting any reading at all done when I'm working on a serious writing project. I should figure out what I can do about that. Possibly it's time to bite the bullet and start listening to audiobooks when I drive.

#yearly reading list

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