#a merchant of mirrors you say...

[iorveth1040]

Speaking of my kits, could I place the Caravan near one of your camps? I might need to leave them for a while, I trust you'd keep them safe. They'd return the favour for the aen seidhe, or course.

Keep this quiet.

And be careful about a certain merchant of mirrors and spoons. Warn your dh'oine, too.

Noted. Your caravan can remain with us.

Gar'ean, en'ca coram. Va fáill.

[narnian-neverlander]

For You, Always [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.” He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Word Count: 4,7k

Warnings: slight angst, self-worth issues (both of them need a freaking hug), internalized ableism, talk about a non-consensual relationship (nothing explicit/graphic or sexual, but reader’s ex is clearly an abusive, ableist pos)

A/N: Jayce is playing matchmaker, because both Viktor and the Reader have such bad self-worth issues, they’re not gonna get anywhere unless he whacks them over the head with his hammer

Edit: There is a sequel to this now, ‘One of the Fools’ for anyone interested 👀

“According to Mel, he is an absolute ass, but unfortunately one of the most influential people in Piltover, so—“

“Unfortunately, he’s also kinda, sorta my ex…” you mumble into the rim of your glass, interrupting Jayce and it is comical, cartoonish almost, how his head turns to look at you so fast you’re afraid his neck might snap. Not to mention Viktor accompanying his reaction perfectly by choking on his own drink. You watch Jayce open and close his mouth several times until he finally settles on: “That guy? Seriously? Didn’t think that was your type…”

He casts an incredibly unsubtle, overly obvious glance over at Viktor as he says this and you would’ve loved to strangle him for it; thankfully the man in question is too busy coughing up fancy champagne to notice, he does however manage to get out a “Oh please tell me you lost a bet.”

Downing the rest of your drink in one go, you shake your head. “Gods, I wish. Just… young and stupid and naive and always too eager to please and — and he’s coming this way. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” You all but flee the scene about to unfold, grabbing another glass off a passing waiter’s tray as you make a break for the nearest balcony. Your friends watch you disappear into the crowd with worried frowns; Jayce’s statement of “Probably a pretty bad breakup…” getting answered with an eye roll and a heavily sarcastic “You think so? I never would have guessed.”

The next hours are spent hopping from hiding spot to hiding spot, snatching drinks and snacks off trays whenever you manage while keeping an eye out for your personified worst nightmare. By some godly miracle you manage to utterly avoid the man and the next familiar face you spot when you dare venture back into the crowds is the Man of Progress himself, surrounded by nobles and merchants alike, polite smile on his face as he makes conversation. A polite, fake smile in danger of slipping that you spot from a mile away. Catching a glimpse of the band getting ready to strike up another song, you decide to be merciful and rescue him. It’s not entirely selfless though, as you figure if the asshole does end up spotting you, watching you dance with Piltover’s very own golden boy might be a good enough repellant.

“Excuse me, Mr. Talis?” Relief floods his features as he turns around to find you right behind him, having shoved your way through the circle of admirers. “I hate to interrupt, but you did promise me a dance. You’re not the kind of man to go back on his word are you?” Voice all sweet and coy and honeyed, batting your lashes at him; the picture perfect flirt making starry eyes at the man leading the city of progress into a brighter future. And it takes all he has not to burst out laughing, because he’s seen this from you before, except it’s usually not him on the receiving end of it, but his partner. It is charming, endearing even, he will admit. No wonder Viktor can never say no to you when you look at him like that. And right now he’s beyond elated you’ve decided to play his saving grace for some reason, so he wouldn’t even dream of turning you down.

“Of course not. If you’ll excuse me.” he states, ignoring any protests from bystanders and guides you to the dance floor with a hand on the small of your back. He leads you into a waltz and waits until you’re swallowed by dancing couples until he lets his face drop into an exhausted grimace. “Oh sweet Gods, thank you. Anymore of that and I would’ve driven the cocktail sticks into my ears.”

“You’re welcome. How did you even end up like that, though? Where’s your better half? He’s usually pretty capable of getting you both out of situations like that.” He sends you a knowing grin as he spins you. “Oh so you think he’s the better half? Ouch.” It earns him an eye roll, but you’re smiling nonetheless. “Like you don’t know I have a favorite. Now answer the question, golden boy.” There’s hesitation before he answers with, “He went home for the evening.” and you almost fumble your next steps. “Excuse me? The bastard begged me to come along for weeks and now he just ditches? The only reason I agreed to come was because he actually promised me a dance.”

Jayce hems and haws and you’re ridiculously close to intentionally stomping on his foot to get him to cough up an explanation; luckily for him he manages in time. “No, no, it’s more like… I sent him home cause if he would’ve had to be in the same room as your ex any longer, I was genuinely afraid he’d take the guy’s head off with his cane.�� The laugh that bubbles up from your throat is joyful and real; Jayce has always been good at defusing your irritation with humor. It takes another few seconds and another look at his face to realize that he’s dead serious and your laughter dies on your tongue, leaving behind the taste of ashes. “You can’t be— He— What?! I left you guys for two hours max!”

“Yeah, well…” he starts as he dips you, “your ex has a way of getting under people’s skin.” No shit. But you’d honestly thought Viktor was above it. “What did the asshole do? Dismiss Hextech as an obsolete fantasy?” Shaking his head, he leads you into another turn. “No, quite the opposite, actually. He was incredibly interested, but his demands for becoming a sponsor were ludicrous, to put it mildly. Final say in the direction of Hextech, majority of the shares, unrestricted access to all stages of development and… you.” This time, you do stumble over your own feet in shock, falling straight into his chest. “Pardon?!”

The poor man looks as uncomfortable as you feel as he explains. “Apparently he saw the three of us talking earlier and one thing led to another and— fuck, I don’t know what happened between you, but that man is absolutely not over you. For some reason that is entirely beyond me, he was under the impression that because we’re friends we’d somehow be able to coerce you into being with him again. And the way he was talking about you? Gods, it made me wanna punch him in the face; it was so utterly vile I can’t even repeat it. Scratch that, I just really don’t want to.” All things considered, you’re glad for his hands steadying you, cause the room’s spinning even without the dance you’re still enagaged in and you feel like you’re gonna loose all the fancy hors-d’oeuvres from earlier on the polished marble floor any second now. “Great. Lovely. Perfect. And how exactly does Viktor fit into this now?”

He sighs. “Honestly, I can’t repeat what he said either.” This seems to ground your spiraling for a moment and you cock a brow at him. “Are you kidding? He’s usually pretty eloquent.” To say you’re surprised when he snorts in amusement would be an understatement. “I mean I literally can’t repeat it, because he was so utterly livid, he slipped into his mother tongue and while I can’t be sure, it didn’t exactly sound like he was complimenting the guy.”

Finally all the pieces click into place and when they do, you slow your steps to a stop and blink up at your friend owlishly. “He… Viktor got upset on my behalf?” The way he so openly laughs at you makes your ears burn and your fist connects with his chest in a halfhearted punch. “I don’t see what’s so funny about that!” Catching your hand as you ready yourself for another swing, this time aimed at his stupid, handsome face, he reigns in his laughter and simply smiles at you; not mean spirited or teasing, but shockingly gentle and sweet. “You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?”

The anger and embarrassment in your veins all but evaporates, replaced by something soft and warm; heat gathering at the back of your neck and the balls of your cheeks for an entirely different reason now. Your mouth drops open as you try to formulate some sort of response, only to fail miserably; incoherent stuttering and beginnings of words the only thing you manage to produce. The music finally fades out and is replaced by applause for the band as your friend chuckles and inclines his head towards the door. “You should go talk to him.” A glance over his shoulder shows you the gaggle of potential investors you’d saved him from earlier already making their way towards you again. “And you’ll survive if I leave you alone with these people?” An overly dramatic sigh is your answer. “I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for your happiness.” The ‘my hero’ he gets in return is dripping with sarcasm as he winks at you and makes a shooing motion towards the exit, then turns around to head back into the fray, giving you a clean escape.

Freezing winter air hits you as you exit the venue; bitingly cold but a welcome change from the sweltering warmth of the gala nonetheless. Starting left, you catch yourself after only a few steps to reconsider. Left would be Viktor’s apartment. Right would be the lab. You know him better than that, don’t you? So you change directions, readjusting your scarf over your nose. It’s a relatively short distance to the academy, even so your fingers are starting to go numb when you reach one of the big, heavy doors leading inside. The hallowed halls are quiet and dark, making the high ceilings and ornate walls seem even more imposing than usual as you make your way towards the lab with hurried steps. It all feels like you’re doing something illegal - or maybe it would, if all the security guards hadn’t seen you hang around the two Hextech pioneers often enough for you to know all their names by heart at this point. Arriving at the lab, first glance tells you it’s as empty as the rest of the building. Except for the tiny sliver of light peeking out from under the door. Bingo.

You gingerly, quietly press down on the handle, not wanting to involuntarily startle the man you know to be inside, just in case he’s handling something explosive. One experience like that had been enough to last you a lifetime. You’re in luck, as you instead find him hunched over one of the desks, furiously scribbling notes onto various scattered pieces of paper, muttering under his breath. The small lamp at his side casts deep shadows across his face, but you’re still able to make out the frown; thick eyebrows drawn together in irritation and lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t possibly still be upset about what happened at the gala, could he? No, impossible. Preposterous. Idiotic. He’s hit a roadblock in his equations, that had to be it. But seeing as you’re not in any danger of accidentally causing him to blow you both to pieces you make your presence known to him.

“I do believe Jayce told you to go home, didn’t he?” Viktor almost drops his pen in alarm, swiveling around on his stool to find you have sidled up to him, leaning against the desk, in the process of ridding yourself of your coat and scarf, an amused grin on your lips. He puts a hand over his racing heart, as he says “And a heart attack is a fitting reprimand for my crime in your eyes, yes?” You only raise your brows in return, smile slipping from your face, disapproval obvious in your eyes as they flit towards the clock in the corner of the room for just a second; it’s the same look he always gets from you when he’s working when he clearly shouldn’t be. Running a hand through his already messy, chestnut hair, he shrugs. “I simply didn’t feel particularly tired when I left.”

“So I’ve heard.” you muse and pick up a random cogwheel from the table to fiddle with. “Apparently you had some… disagreements with a potential investor?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance and all but chucks the pen still in his hand across the desk. “Potential investor, don’t make me laugh. That appalling, pathetic excuse of a man shouldn’t be allowed in a five mile radius of anything Hextech. Or a five mile radius of you, for that matter.” Humming in both agreement and intrigue, you continue with what’s really been eating you up. “Jayce said you hit him with some choice words. Mind repeating those for me?” A sideways glance your way to confirm you’re certain and then he launches into a repeat of his rant from earlier that evening. He gets about three or four words into it before you throw the cogwheel at him; it bounces off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a ping. “Oh someone thinks he’s particularly funny tonight. In a language I understand, maybe?” Try as he might to hide it, you catch the corners of his mouth tugging upward slightly. “That’s not what you asked of me, though.” Know-it-all bastard.

“Oh how dare you?” Hopping up on the table for additional theatrics, you grip your chest in mock offense and throw your head back dramatically. “Here I am, having braved a journey of freezing winds and complete darkness, to bestow my thanks upon you and you don’t even have the courtesy to thrill me with a retelling of your courageous deeds. Disappointing, truly.” A pointed cough into his fist does little to hide the laugh at your antics. “Please, the venue is a ten minute walk from here and all the streets are lined with lanterns. You’ll need to try a little harder, miláčku.”

Huffing, you run a hand over your face, desperately trying to hide how much the nickname affects you and give you a second to think. Your salvation stares at you from the other end of the lab, the golden horn of the phonograph glinting in the light of the moon that filters through the windows. And he immediately knows he won’t like what comes out of your mouth next, with the way your eyes flash and your lips curl in an absolutely wicked smile. “Well you see, I still haven’t been paid for tonight.” Confusion is clear as day in both his face and his voice. “I do not recall discussing payment for your participation in the gala…?”

“Oh but we did!” you giggle as you hook your foot around the center of his roller stool to drag him closer, very much enjoying the look of utter shock on his face and the slight graze of his hands on the sides of your things as they land on the desk next to you to try and regain his balance. “A certain someone promised to dance with me if I showed up. Guess who ditched before he made good on that?” At least he has the courtesy to look sheepish, a little knowing ‘Ah…’ sound escaping him as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and drops his gaze to his lap. With how the night had gone, he’d genuinely forgotten all about it. And before the night had even started he’d hoped you’d forget. He really should’ve known better. A finger enters his field of vision to poke him in the chest. “You’re in luck; I am nothing if not merciful, so I’ll leave it up to you: a dance or an explanation. So what’ll it be, darling?”

He’s beyond grateful you can’t get a proper look at his face at the moment, with how pink he knows his cheeks to be, lest you realize how much the nickname actually affects him. And this shouldn’t be such a hard choice, really; the way his heart stutters at just the thought of either, he should be doing both. Besides, you deserve to know. Deserve to know that he’d told that pompous swine to go choke on his wine the moment he’d as much as uttered your name. Told him that he shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe the same air as you, much less be allowed close enough to touch you. That he could amass as much money and power as he liked, he’d never be worth even a fraction of you.

You deserve to know all of that. And yet he doesn’t tell you. Because while he did what he did for your sake, it had still been selfishly motivated. Because if he tells someone interested in you off, then at least it feels like you’re his, even for just a second. Because the irony of the situation is that while your ex might be undeserving of you, so is he. For different reasons, yes, but he feels it’s true nonetheless.

So he doesn’t tell you any of it, his personal demons are not your burden to bear after all, simply grabs his cane in silence and walks over to the phonograph. Slow notes of a gentle melody fill the air a few moments later, as he turns and offers you his hand.

And you’re absolutely shell shocked, to say the least. This is… not the choice you’d been expecting. Words are his forte; he’d always choose them over physicality if given the opportunity. Or so you’d thought. This doesn’t make sense to you; why was he so desperately trying to keep what he’d said about you a secret? Or had Jayce completely misunderstood the situation he’d recounted to you and Viktor had never said anything about you at all? Why would he bother to anyways? You and your past demons aren’t his burden to bear, after all. The uncertainty must be written all over your face, as you’re met with a concerned, “Are you alright?”

It’s a simple enough question, with a simple enough answer, yes or no, but all of a sudden, you’re a child again. Sitting bruised, bleeding, soaked to the bone and crying your little heart out in the shallows of one of the offshoots of the river, an altercation between you and some other kids having turned out to be another case of you biting off more than you could chew. And then a little pale hand holding out a dirty handkerchief had appeared in your peripheral, belonging to a small, lanky boy with a cane and big, worried golden eyes.

Are you alright?

You hadn’t known him then. But you’d taken his hand anyways. Had decided to trust him. He’d never once let you down since and you have no reason to doubt him now. So you do the same thing in this exact moment as you did all those years ago: just take his hand and trust him.

He pulls you flush against him, hands linked behind your lower back, your own coming up to rest on his shoulders. It’s nowhere near as elaborate and elegant as your waltz earlier this evening, more of a simple swaying from side to side, but it doesn’t have to be. Not for you. Not as long as it’s him.

Smiling softly, you say, “A dance with each one of the Hextech geniuses in one night. I must be the luckiest person in Piltover.” He hums in acknowledgment. “And do you have a preference?”

“Oh come now, that is an utterly unfair comparison.” And your heart aches at the way his face falls just the tiniest bit. “I’ve had my preference for years, regardless of dancing abilities; poor Jayce never even stood a chance.” It’s quiet and subtle, barely more than a deep breath in and out, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “Don’t tell him that, it’ll break his heart.” In direct comparison to him, the bark of laughter that escapes you is loud and boisterous, only amplified by the muted, soft atmosphere surrounding you both. “Please, he knows. He’s been yanking my chain about that for a bit.” Not that you particularly mind; it’s a chain you wear proudly and for all to see after all. You’d shout your love for this man from the highest towers of Piltover if only he asked. “Besides…” you start while tucking your head into the crook of his neck, “I’m here dancing with you because I want to be. I really only danced with Jayce because I thought if… if you-know-who saw it, it might keep him off my back a little longer.”

A slight turn of his head has him nuzzling your hair; the hushed whisper of your name almost sounds pained as his arms tighten around you protectively. He isn’t sure what exactly happened between you and your ex, but he’d be willing to bet that the nature of your relationship hadn’t been… consensual. It’s plain to see that the man scares you and it makes him sick. Angry. Desperate. But most of all, he’s disappointed - in himself. The conversation him and Jayce had had with him had been one thing; the bastard knew how to behave at least somewhat diplomatically while there were people of importance present. Of course, Jayce, and by extension, you, couldn’t know that he’d had the misfortune of running into him yet again while he was leaving. He’d had to listen to that waste of oxygen in expensive clothing talk about you like you were nothing more than a filthy piece of his property yet again and this time around he hadn’t managed to remain even remotely civil. Had thrown every curse and threat under the sun in two different languages his way. Had hissed at him that he’d turn him inside out if he ever even looked at you again - only for the pig to laugh in his face, pat his cheek condescendingly and give a disgusted, embarrassed look at his cane, telling him that he was ’welcome to try’ before vanishing back into the crowd. Viktor had wanted to scream at the top his lungs; it had been a while since he’d felt so utterly livid, yet so humiliated and useless at the same time.

And here you are, wanting to thank him for some courageous, chivalrous deed he didn’t actually commit. Looking at him with the biggest eyes, like he’d hung the stars in the sky just for you, when in reality, he couldn’t even properly defend you against someone who’d clearly hurt you. He has to tell you. He’s not the hero you think him to be.

“About what I said to him—“ is as far as he gets, as you promptly cut him off with, “Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.” Not even ten minutes ago, you were essentially blackmailing him into spilling this secret and now you don’t care anymore? “I would argue that it does.” He feels more than sees you shake your head, your hair tickling his cheek. “You stood up for me, right? That’s all I have to know. It’s enough.”

Anger and disgust come back full force, choking him like bile rising in the back of his throat, not aimed at you, never at you, but at himself.

“It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh and bitter and cold.

“It’s plenty.”

Soft and sweet and warm, the exact opposite of his own words in every way; the reassurance and comfort he’s supposed to be offering you dripping from every word. When did your roles get reversed? You’re the one in distress and you’re comforting him? He’s not just useless, he’s absolutely pathetic. And even though you might be none the wiser to his self destructive thoughts, some part of you seems to know; it always seems to know as your fingers dance across his shoulders to busy themselves with the hair at the nape of his neck, calming his nerves.

“I haven’t had— I mean, no one’s ever— Most people—“ A sigh, a clear sign of frustration as you try to get your thoughts in order, warm breath fanning over his neck, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. “I can count the people who ever stood up for me over the course of my life on one hand; I mean, my birth parents never even bothered to. So knowing there’s someone who has my back, even when I’m not present? It’s…” Pulling back to look at him, his breath catches at the way the silvery light from outside empathizes the affection in your eyes and the tenderness of your smile. “It’s a nice feeling. Thank you.”

His hand is moving before his brain has time to play catch up, cupping your cheek and all but melting when you nuzzle into his warmth, eyes fluttering closed.

“For you? Always.”

He’s not sure he’s ever seen you look quite so peaceful and at ease and it feels like his heart is gonna jump right out of his chest; his gaze is drawn to your lips before he can fully think about what that could entail.

He watches your lips part slightly and when he manages to wrench his golden eyes back up, he finds yours already on him, wide in astonishment and he knows he’s been caught red handed.

And you consider yourself most fortunate, cause if he’d looked up even a second earlier, he would’ve caught you staring. The air is heavy and promising and whoever makes the next move decides wether or not things between you both are gonna change irrevocably.

Tonight, you’re the one that makes that decision. The decision that you’re not ready for things to change. You like what you have and are too scared of losing it. Instead, you settle for something different, yet just as poignant and important; a clear and explicit expression of love for people from Zaun. Softly tugging on his neck, he goes oh so willingly, happily even. You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.”

He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Neither one of you notices the music coming to an end, replaced by the scratchy static of needle against vinyl, too wrapped up in the moment, in each other. A bell tolls outside, signaling the coming of midnight and just like in a fairytale, the spell you seem to be under comes to an abrupt end. With a deep breath, you step back, putting some much needed distance between you, if you want your brain to function properly again, that is, and clear your throat awkwardly. “I uh… I should be getting home. Some people still have a regular day and night schedule, unlike you.”

With a small smile, you go to gather your coat as he switches off the phonograph. When he turns back to you, his heart falls in disappointment; you’re already dressed and halfway to the door. He would’ve liked to walk you home, at least, but you honestly look like you’re fleeing from something; he apparently has imposed on you enough for tonight. Pausing with your hand on the handle, you call his name again, delicately, quietly. When your gaze finds him, you’re pleased to find his full attention already on you.

“Next time you’re pulling an all-nighter… save me another dance?”

And with the way his golden eyes start to shine like the stars and his beautiful lips quirk up into that crooked half smile you adore, you can almost believe Jayce’s words - almost.

You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?

“For you? Always.”

[ivystoryweaver]

Experimental Freedom [1?] - Victor Frankenstein

Victor Frankenstein + master/servant + oral + overstimulation

Kinktober Masterlist | Misc. Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Victor Frankenstein x Female servant!Reader

Summary: How you went from chambermaid to free use laboratory assistant. (Free use would be in part 2 if anyone is interested. We haven’t officially met this Victor yet, so I’m not sure)

Note: Frankenstein experts and apologists probably won't like this not-novel-accurate/pre-film-release nonsense. It's just for fun

Word Count: 4.8k

Content: explicit, p in v, unprotected sex, water sex, overstim, multiple orgasms, oral - f. rec., nipple play, brief/mild impact play, animal experimentation, not beta'd, Victor calls reader "Petal"

You started as a chambermaid. It was an honor to serve the master of the house, no matter how…peculiar. Of course, men had valets, not chambermaids, but Master Frankenstein hired you to tend to him, so that’s what you did.

This put you in constant contact with the doctor, who wasn't actually a real medical doctor, but simply a scientist, and a member of the aristocracy.

You thought you must have imagined it when he caught your gaze in his bedchamber mirror. When his touch lingered on your wrist after you’d handed him an item he needed. How he devoured the sight of your cleavage as you scrubbed up his messes and served him breakfasts in bed.

Your mother, God rest her, used to say it was a tragedy that someone as lovely in countenance as you was so low born. The best you could hope for in a marriage was to perhaps find a wealthy merchant.

But your parents perished crossing the sea and you finished your childhood in an orphanage, with no patronage and no prospects. So a servant’s life it would be.

That’s not to say you had not enjoyed certain…intimacies. Since you had no reputation to speak of, you gave your body to the first handsome man to flatter you at age eighteen. He was a clumsy oaf in bed but he brought you flowers and gazed at you like you were an important thing.

He did the same with the next girl.

Next, the butler at the house at the end of the street bedded you. He wasn’t much to look at but he was an attentive lover, showing you how a female could be pleasured by a man.

Then you came to be in the service of Victor Frankenstein.

The man was twice your age but you were stunned by his lack of pretension in dealing with his household staff. And he was astonishingly handsome, with wild, untamed, dark curls and haunting brown eyes.

Of course, you could never wish for a dalliance with such a man - he was nobility and therefore incapable of seeing you as anything worth…pursuing.

Which is why, one October night, he truly and utterly shocked you.

Master Frankenstein had been spending more time in his laboratory of late. This scientific chamber was more of a dungeon, down a winding, stone staircase, a long passageway and behind a heavy, bolted door.

He had begun taking his meals in the lab, which made you the unfortunate soul who had to clamber down the eerie path with a tray full of a meal worthy of your master.

Your instructions were to leave the tray outside the door, knock three times and leave. You were to wait an hour - then go back to retrieve it. And you were the only one allowed down the stairwell at all.

Tonight, he was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairwell. He greeted you by name, startling you.

"Forgive me, Master Frankenstein," you hastily apologized, struggling to balance the tray of delectable foods without spilling everything, upsetting your master, and making a fool of yourself.

"Allow me." He rushed forward, graciously taking the tray from your hands.

"Oh. Thank you." Granting him a brief, respectful bow, your skin warmed as his fingertips brush your hand. Eyes flickered over his loosened linen shirt, which revealed his surprisingly smooth chest.

"Would you like to see my laboratory?" He called back over his shoulder, entering the door where no one had stepped foot except for him.

Automatically and wordlessly following, you heard him continue.

"You do not easily swoon, do you? I do not have the patience to train another chambermaid to serve me as perfectly as you do."

As he set the tray down on a table, you rushed to tidy it and begin serving him, but he brushed your hand away with the flick of his wrist.

Backing away obediently, you bowed, unsure of what to do now.

"You must be curious about my work," he stated plainly, nodding around him with a grand gesture. "Please look around. I shall eat."

"Yes, master," you agreed, feeling freer now to indulge your curiosity without appearing nosy or rude.

Shelf after shelf of glass bottles, beakers and potions lined the walls. Organized chaos, it seemed. Dust coated the shelves, while the vials, beakers and instruments appeared pristine.

"You have questions," he declared, after taking a long swig of wine. Wiping his mouth clean, he folded his arms over his chest. "Ask me anything and I will answer you truly."

The tiniest smile tugged at your lips. His attention and patience with you pleased you.

"What do you do here?"

Smiling knowingly, he rose and began pacing, explaining to you his attempts to better human life by replacing defective body parts. For example, if an internal organ were to fail, a different one could, perhaps, be harvested from another human, just deceased. Or perhaps, a limb could be replaced when someone lost one to injury or illness or a defect from birth.

"Come," he instructed, offering his hand.

Your eyes widened as you tentatively stretched out your fingers to accept his touch. His warm hand closed over yours and he guided you to a table where you beheld a frog. Several, actually, most of them dead, and a few, with legs removed.

As you shuddered and recoiled, he grasped your shoulders and steadied you, hushing you like a parent would a child and ordering you to be still.

"I have attached a new leg, and the frog survived," he explained. "I do not know yet if he can hop, however."

Although you were not expecting to examine chopped-up frogs, you found yourself more surprised that the master of the house held you so close to his body and breathed on your ear.

"Do you think me a monster?"

His nose brushed the spot behind your ear, strong fingers gripping your arms as he if were asking something more of you.

"N-no, of course not, master," you uttered, certain he meant not to imply any interest in you.

"Do you understand what it does to me to hear you call me 'master'?" He groaned, lips trailing down to the skin of your neck, exposed where your hair was neatly tucked into a bun. A quick bite made you yelp. Chills erupted all over your body as you felt his tongue soothe the offended skin.

"Yes...master," you breathlessly panted, wildly confused but unwilling to pry yourself away from the handsome and powerful scientist.

Releasing his grip on your arms, he let you go, taking a full step back to compose himself.

Slightly trembling, you turned around to face him, your cheeks flaming hot as you found him adjusting his prominent length in his trousers before scrubbing a hand over the stubble on his angled jaw.

"I have behaved poorly," he declared, eyes raking over your body, pausing where the swell of your breasts rose and fell dramatically at the low-cut collar of your dress. "Forgive me."

"Of course, master," you breathlessly replied, eyes downcast as you smoothed your clothes and collected yourself.

Easing closer, he caught your gaze, nodding behind you. "You do not think it wicked to torture a poor frog just to see what I can do with a limb?"

"I do not know of such things. I am only a maid."

His throat bobbed as dark eyes locked onto yours. "Very well. You may go."

With a hasty bow, you grabbed the tray of dishes and made your exit.

Thoughts of his heated breath on your neck, his tongue on your skin, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your arms haunted and bewitched you the rest of the day. Of course, it wasn't unheard of for a master of the house to satiate his desires in the members of his staff from time to time, but Victor had never come some close to you as he had today. Nothing more than indulgent glances at your breasts.

Even if he bedded you, it would go nowhere. At worst, he would use you like an object and at best, he would bring you pleasure in return. But it would ultimately mean nothing.

As your thoughts lingered on the unknowable depths of his earthen eyes, the square cut of his jaw, the plush fullness of his lips, you felt yourself dampen between your legs, and you knew then, that you would allow any advances he made.

You didn't have to wait long.

Master Frankenstein worked late into the night, ignoring the evening meal tray you left outside the laboratory, and stumbling back into his room as you were turning down his bed.

He called you by name and you gasped at the sight of his clothes, hands and cheeks soiled with blood and other fluids.

"Master, allow me to draw you a bath."

He nodded, grumbling out a 'thank you' as he pulled his linen shirt over his head.

"I'll have food brought as well," you added, collecting his soiled shirt, but he reached for your elbow, grasping gently. "No food. I am quite tired."

"Of course," you bowed respectfully, trying not to stare as he kicked off his boots and dropped his trousers. Quickly setting aside his clothes, you scurried to prepare his bath, while he decided to shave, standing completely naked right beside you.

"Forgive my impropriety. My work has exhausted me," he attempted to explain several minutes later. "Will you wash me?"

Without realizing it, you wet your lips hungrily, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on his handsome face and not the beautifully sculpted lines and planes of his body.

Moments later, he sank into the warm water, head resting against the tub's edge as his eyes drifted closed. You had assisted the scientist with certain somewhat intimate tasks before, but he had never outright showed you his cock and asked that you bathe him.

Shallow breaths huffed through your lips as you reached for a cloth and dipped it into the water's warmth. With trembling fingers, you dragged the rag over his muscled chest, freezing as his eyes popped open to meet yours. He stared at you openly, fully, for a full minute before his eyes inevitably traveled down the smooth column of your neck to your heaving breasts. In this position, leaned forward and kneeling, he could see the fullness of them.

"You are very beautiful," he whispered, sitting up in the bath, which brought his lips dangerously close to the tempting line of your cleavage. "I worked all day and night trying to banish my wicked thoughts of you. I can see now that I have failed."

Wet fingers reached up to tug the laces holding your dress closed at your bosom. "I think if I do not taste you, I shall die."

He tugged and pulled until your breasts sprang free, full and ripe, nipples hard and straining, begging for his touch and attention. Breath and plush lips ghosting the swell of one breast, he cupped the other one gently, groaning in satisfaction as he massaged the soft flesh.

"I am your master," he choked out, restraining himself one moment longer. “But will you stay of your own free will?”

"I am yours to command, master," you gasped even as he sucked your nipple between his lips.

Your back arched, so sensitive and responsive to his touch, thrusting your breast further into his mouth, which he devoured hungrily. Dropping the cloth in your hand, your fingers found his wet curls, twisting through them and drawing him closer still to your bosom.

Hungry lips sucked at your soft skin, marking you for him, leaving a path from your nipples to your chest, along your collarbone, over the smooth column of your throat and finally, his mouth sought yours out - wet and demanding as he cupped your face in his hands and slid his tongue inside your mouth.

He didn't kiss you like any lover before him. Not like the bumbling eagerness of your first lover, nor like a self-assured man who treated you like the next whore in line. There was a dizzying experience to his kissing - he was no stranger to it, but he had nothing to prove. He was a wealthy, aristocratic scientist, who already had your obedience and all the time in the world to take with you.

You surprised yourself by how boldly you kissed him back, raking your hands through his curls and pulling him closer until your naked breasts pressed to his bare, solid chest, and closer still, until you lost your balance and began to tumble into the tub with him.

A chuckle rumbled in Victor's chest as he gathered you to his naked body, dress and all, even as you stammered out an apology.

With one firm shake of his head, he tutted, dismissing your fears. "Take this off," he instructed, tugging at your dress, "and bathe with me. Your master commands it."

Eyes locked onto his, you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, holding his gaze even while you obeyed him. "Yes, master. I will do everything you wish."

He smirked knowingly, helping you shed the heavy fabric weighing you down, before reverently tracing the shape of your bare shoulder. "You may come to regret such a declaration, my soft, sweet petal."

Finally free of the obstruction, your soaked dress plopped to the floor, leaving you wet, naked and draped over your master, whose hands roved all over your curves, pulling you against him as his mouth sought yours again.

His cock pressed against your abdomen, hands grasping the globes of your ass, squeezing demandingly. Gripping your hips, he shifted your body until the hot core of you rubbed up and down the length of his shaft.

Tearing his mouth from yours, he reached between your bodies to drag his fingers between your folds. "Are you a virgin, Petal?"

Seeing you hesitate, his fingers slipped between your folds and found your clit, rubbing tempting circles over it. "Whatever your answer, it will not displease me. Do I need to open you up to take this cock?"

Almost involuntarily, your hips shifted, grinding against his hand as he fingered you open, teasing your clit with his thumb as one digit slipped inside, tauntingly inching toward the spongy softness.

"I am no virgin," you panted, "but not extremely...experienced either." Your eyes dipped demurely even as he boldly slid a second finger into your eager hole. "But I confess, you are...well endowed. Thicker and longer...and it has been some time."

Hearing your sweet lips utter things about the size of his cock had it twitching against your thigh, aching to bury it in your sweet cunt.

His eyes darkened with desire as you rocked against his hand, lips falling open as he stretched you with a third finger, shoving them deep inside you.

Hardly able to contain yourself, you fucked yourself faster on his fingers, tits bouncing in the water as you chased your pleasure. He didn't mind a woman with a little experience, especially for what he had planned for you.

He sucked your nipple into his mouth, rubbing you faster and faster until your body seized in ecstasy, pleasure surging through every part of you. Gripping his shoulders for support, you gave yourself over to it wholly. It had been so long since anything other than your own fingers gave you any pleasure, and never anyone so handsome or stately as Victor.

Before you could come back to yourself, he positioned your hips, notching his tip at your drenched folds, so wet and hot, even more so than the cooling bath.

You felt him enter you, thick and heavy, pushing in slowly, filling your fluttering cunt deliciously. Just when you thought he'd sheathed himself inside you fully, you rocked your hips, hissing suddenly as more and more of his length plunged inside.

"Too much?" He taunted, pushing in further still. "Be obedient and take all your master's cock."

"Yes, master," you panted, finally feeling the end of him stretch you wide open. With difficulty, you began to undulate beneath the water's surface, riding your master even as the sting of it made you want to lie down and give up - to simply let him use you, fuck you open, spill his seed and then let you recover.

Bracing your hands on his chest, you lifted up to better control your movements, shifting into a slightly more comfortable position. A soft sigh of relief left your lips as you started to ride him faster.

"You are certainly no virgin," he murmured against your throat, arms winding around your back, pressing and pulling you into him intimately. "You know how to fuck a man."

His bold words gave you pause. Perhaps he wanted a woman more innocent.

"Do not stop," he ordered you, easing back to look into your eyes. "I've not bedded such a beautiful woman in too long."

"Master, I - "

"Obey me," he lowly growled, gripping your hips and moving you back and forth, faster and rougher, until water overflowed out of the side of the tub, drenching the floor. "You said you are mine to command."

"Yes, master," you gasped, wrapping your arms behind his neck and sinking down on his length, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. The wet heat surrounding your bodies, sloshing loudly, making a mess of everything as you ravaged one another urged you to ride him faster, drawing a desperate moan from your throat.

Embarrassed that someone might hear you, you clamped your palm over your lips but he roughly jerked it away.

"Give your sounds to me," he panted as your slick, naked body bounced deliciously. "I want to hear what this cock does to you."

His filthy words went straight to your core, which clamped down hard around his length. Back arching, your walls fluttered around him, drawing his own orgasm out of him with a strangled cry. He gripped your shoulders and held you against him, making sure you took every drop of his spend until you slowed your rocking and melted against his chest.

He stroked your back soothingly, allowing you to come back to yourself, pressing gentle kisses to your temple and cheeks, and finally, as you turned your face up to his, he kissed your mouth, slow and deep as he softened inside you.

He tasted you and held you until the cool air kissing your skin alerted you to the fact that his bath and grown cold, and you still had not washed him. Sitting up abruptly, you pushed wet hair out of your eyes, hastily apologizing.

"You have given yourself to me. No apology is needed," he assured you, standing to help you out of the tub. "Let us quickly wash and I will find us something suitable to wear."

"Yes master," you whispered, scurrying to move quicker than him, and feeling awkward at the thought that Master Frankenstein would need to serve himself in any way.

The sight of your concerned flurry, while stark naked stirred something domestic inside him, and, at the sight of your bare ass bent over to scoop up your drenched dress, his hands reached for the swell of your hips from behind.

You flinched in surprise, quickly turning to face him, but he mistook it for you briefly for withdrawing from his attention.

"Forgive me," you both uttered simultaneously, sharing a soft laugh.

Easing toward you, he reached for your hand. "Will you be able to relax in my company, especially now that I've been inside you?"

Wetting your lips, you found yourself mesmerized by his water-slicked hair, and droplets dancing on his long eyelashes.

"You speak boldly, Master Frankenstein, as is your right," you diplomatically responded. "I do not know if I have earned the right to speak as plainly as you."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Say anything you wish. I will not hold it against you."

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, you glanced around you. "I have only this dress to wear. I-I should dress myself and draw you a new, hot bath before cleaning up this mess. I know you are very tired after your day."

With a small, knowing smile, he lifted the sopping dress from the floor. "Are you not also tired? Is your work day not also long?"

You weren't sure how to respond, so he took charge, as usual.

"I wish for us to quickly wash, ring out this dress and lie down in my bed."

"Yes, master." You quickly got to work, both of you doing as Victor instructed.

What you did not expect was to be laid nude across the softest, warmest bed your skin had ever touched. Victor slid into bed beside you, clean and naked. He pulled you close to his chest and covered your mouth with his own, kissing you deeply.

Your cold skin warmed quickly and you moaned into his mouth as he slid one muscular thigh between your legs, pushing the meat of his thigh between your wet folds.

He held you and kissed you for so long, a tiny sliver of your mind began to feel like his lover, safe in his bed, cherished and adored. Even more so when he kissed a trail down your throat to your breasts, where he kissed and sucked your nipples until your slick desire pooled and dripped onto the sheets.

Down further he went, kissing and littering your stomach with sucks and marks until his nose nudged between your legs. He paused, glancing up at you with hazy eyes through long lashes. “I want to experiment with your cunt."

The strange request confused you, but a breathy 'yes' fell from your lips. Once again, his bold words made you crave him even more.

You didn't realize then what you were agreeing to.

Victor dragged his hot tongue through your folds, collecting your juices before settling in, pulling your thighs over his shoulders, and placing a pillow underneath your hips. He spent the next half hour tracing every fold and exploring each crevice with nothing more than the tip of his tongue, from your clit all the way to your puckered hole. You were panting from the slightest stimulation, but there wasn't enough friction yet for you to come.

Next, he sampled you with his lips, sucking and kissing and hotly breathing over your folds, over and over until a whine from your mouth prompted his lips finally up to your clit. He massaged the swollen bud with his lips, but so feather-light, it felt like only a tease.

Your hands twisted in the sheets as he taunted you, ghosting your most sensitive spot with breath and brushes of his lips but never really lavishing you with the strokes and sucks and licks you craved.

Hearing you whimper again, he raised his head. "Tell me," he ordered. "As your master for what you need."

"Please," you cried, your hips bucking upward.

"Ask me," he repeated. "Beg your master."

"Your mouth, please," you gasped. "Put your lips on me. Suck me."

He swatted your cunt with his hand. The sharp sting granted you a moment of delicious friction and you moaned loudly.

"You presume to command me?"

"Please master," you begged.

He seemed pleased enough to lower his mouth back to your clit and gently suck it between his lips. Even that slight bit of friction and contact after so much temptation and teasing caused your back to arch wildly off the bed.

Smiling against your pussy, he worked his lips over and over your clit, sucking and and kissing and rolling his tongue over it until, only moments later, you gushed all over his mouth, gasping in pleasure.

After such a build up and delicious release, your body collapsed, craving sleep, but his experiment had only just begun. Without warning, he sucked at your sensitive bud again, for a full minute, pulling whining moans from your throat at the overstimulation.

He kept going, sinking the meat of his tongue into your core, gripping your thighs to pull you down, moving your limp body to fuck you on his tongue. It felt so good, but it was too much - you were too sensitive and he was relentless, plunging his tongue in and out of your hole as his nose nudged at your tender clit over and over again.

This time, he didn't wait for begging, he simply took, dragging you closer to another, harder climax which shook your body from head to toe, and brought guttural, filthy sounds and curses from your lips. You'd never come so hard in your life. It sent fiery pleasure surging through your body down to your fingertips and toes, contracting every muscle before it completely wiped you out and left you boneless.

But he would not relent. This time, his tongue collected your copious juices, laving a trail downward. Your body tensed as he toyed with parts of you no one had dared touch before, but it wasn't long before his lips kissed a trail back up to your clit. He sucked hard and the overstimulation you felt made you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Victor, please," you begged, without realizing your error. You were half out of your mind, after all, with pleasure and now, the slightest big of nerve-searing pain.

He lifted up from between your legs, chin and lips glistening with your slick. "The sound of my name on your lips pleases me." And he dove back in.

Your mind went blank as he coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your exhausted body. Nothing in your life had ever felt so simultaneously painful yet so wonderfully delicious.

The next morning you awoke, groggy, naked, but clean. Quickly climbing out of bed, you tried to get your bearings. Victor finished dressing himself as you scrambled to your feet, apologizing profusely.

A luxurious robe lay across the end of the bed and Victor nodded toward it. "Put that on. Your dress is being cleaned and new dress will be delivered this afternoon."

"Y-yes, master," you stammered, quickly tying the elegant garment around your body, realizing you'd never felt such expensive fabric against your skin.

"Thank you, for your kindness, but...how should I go about my work day in a robe?"

"Take the day off," Victor shrugged. "When was the last day you took some time for yourself?"

You had no idea how to answer that. You typically received two days a month off, which was one more than most servants.

"But I had last Tuesday off, and who will serve your meals? Who will - "

"I require your services in the laboratory today," he interrupted. He then explained that he would have food brought to the top of the stairs for you to retrieve and bring the rest of the way to the lab.

The two of you took your morning meal together around an hour later, and Victor noticed how clearly uncomfortable you felt parading around his laboratory in a robe while shirking your duties.

"I apologize for what happened to your dress," he said softly as you gathered up the dirty dishes. Laying his hand on your arm, he halted your bustling. "Forgive me, Petal."

"Master Frankenstein, there is nothing to forgive. You've been more than generous. Indulgent, even. I do not even know what to say."

"Say you will quit worrying yourself."

"I cannot."

"You'll disobey my order?"

Your eyes dipped once more. "Of course not. I will obey anything you wish."

Victor motioned for you to empty your hands. Reaching for your hips, he guided you close to him, taking a seat on a stool as you stood before him.

"There is something I wish of you. I want you to give your body over completely to my control."

You fidgeted in his embrace, your skin heating at his proposition. "You mean...the way it was last night, in your bed?"

Pulling at the tie of your robe, he slowly nodded. "That and more." The robe fell open, revealing your naked body. "So very much more." Brushing the back of his fingers across your abdomen, he pressed his lips to your flesh, nuzzling between your breasts as chills erupted all over your skin.

"Say yes," he coaxed, mouthing at the swell of your breast. "Say your body and soul belong to me - utterly."

"Yes," you panted as his breath fell in heated puffs over your nipple.

This was how you came to be in a new kind of service to your Master Frankenstein, and how you found your wrists and ankles fastened to a laboratory table by metal cuffs, unsure of whether you would experience pleasure or pain. Or both.

Kinktober Masterlist | Misc. Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[uplatterme]

Sit Still, Look Pretty.

a/n: i don’t think the doll fetish is a joke anymore *cries*

cw: sub!albedo, dom!reader, amab!reader (gender-neutral terms and pronouns | dollification, mirror sex, slight feminization, orgasm delay/denial

The alchemist stands there, observing his surroundings as he waits for you to get your things. Your room is like any other, quite simplistic besides the few paintings that decorated the walls, paintings that he’d given you as presents.

He’s been here multiple times and usually, everything remains the same. The stack of books on your desk, the mint flower you keep by the window, your sword which always rested laying on your chair.

Usually, is the keyword here.

Now, he finds himself gazing up on one of the shelves, where a doll sits elegantly on a tiny chair.

It’s oddly…human-like.

“I found last week’s reports that you were looking for.” You return to the room, the notebook in your hands.

He takes it from you and checks, it’s just what he needs.

And while he doesn’t really require anything else, his thoughts are captivated by the expensive-looking doll. So, he asks.

Your face turns into worry, although it soon is replaced by a gleeful smile. He wonders what the reason for this is.

“That, right.” He hears you chuckle.

“I happened to get it from a traveling merchant. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?”

He feels as if there is something else you aren’t telling him.

“How much was it?” Albedo questions.

“Including the clothes? Well, it’s about…”

Once Albedo hears of the amount, he can’t help but furrow his eyebrows from your purchase.

He hears you laugh again, your eyes looking as bright as they can.

“Don’t you find them appealing, Albedo? Lifeless forms whose purpose is nothing but to sit pretty.”

“I suppose.” The alchemist answers.

He really doesn’t.

“I just think it’s neat. Having no other choice but to obey their owners, wear dresses whether they like it or not, pose in whichever way they’re directed to…” You describe freely, grabbing the doll and placing it in his hands.

“And you know what the best part of it is?” Albedo sees your face lighten up.

He maintains his expressionless face, even if he’s taken aback by how close your face is to him, gazing into your spellbinding eyes.

“What?”

“They do it all with a smile.”

Needless to say, Albedo’s thoughts had become occupied since then.

He tells himself that he shouldn’t bother with it this much. 

Your liking of dolls is just like any other hobby, isn’t it? It’s like how Lisa is with her books, obsessive when they aren’t handled properly or returned within the given time.

Still, he sighs. He does receive your tender touch from time to time, but there’s something else that Albedo wants…or needs.

“Which do you think suits her better?”

Albedo snaps out of his thinking to see you holding two dresses right in front of his face.

He absent-mindedly chose the one on the left, and you smile at his choice. 

“Cute.” You say.

He feels flustered despite knowing that the compliment wasn’t for him. It was for that doll.

The only thing he can do is watch you pamper it, brushing its hair and using those fingers of yours to undress it and change it into a new outfit. 

He sits there, an uncomfortable emotion in his chest as he hears you utter praises for something that doesn’t even move.

“I’m sorry, I must excuse myself.” Albedo stands up from his seat to leave, unable to bear your fondness for the doll.

He needs to do something.

The door to your house creaks in as you unlock it. You hum a tune, stretching your arms, a bit tired from today’s schedule.

You take off your coat, hanging it on the wall. You rethink if there’s something else you have to do before going to bed.

“Ah, my mint flower. I haven’t watered it yet.” You say out loud.

With the glass of water in your hand, you step into your bedroom.

“Archons, you scared me!” You sigh, seeing the alchemist sitting on your bed.

While he’s the only other person who has a key to your house, he’s never been the one to visit of his own accord.

You await his response.

The alchemist stays still and unresponsive, staring past you as if there’s something that you’re not seeing.

“Albedo? Are you alright?” You question the man again, only to receive nothing.

Worried, you come up closer to him.

His eyes looked empty and his breathing was…quiet. There’s nothing wrong with him physically. No signs of any injuries that may hinder his talking nor any sign of trauma to his head.

He looks perfect, actually. And now that you take a look closer, you can see pink powder dusting his cheeks.

Albedo has always been that way. Beauty and brains, truly a perfect mix

You direct his face to yours, wanting him to look at you as you speak.

Albedo hasn’t blinked throughout this whole ordeal.

You get a hold of his chin and bring his lips to yours, wondering if that’ll execute a reaction.

Unfortunately, no results are to be seen.

He doesn’t open his mouth when you kiss him, confusing you since he usually does.

It’s as if Albedo has no sentience. A lifeless being, somewhat similar to that of a statue that served no other use but to be stared at.

…

No. 

You deny your thoughts.

Surely, Albedo isn’t doing what you think he’s doing, right?

You trace your fingers on his thighs, its smoothness surprising you. Almost as if it were made from porcelain, you observe.

“Albedo, you cannot do this to me.” You scold him, each second passing by with him in this state is not good for your heart.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” You stare at him, wanting to see if he’ll say anything.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself if things get too far.” You admit, caressing his emotionless face.

Extraordinary.

“To think you would be that jealous of a doll. It’s adorable, my love.” It’s too good to be true, you think. Albedo presents himself as if he is one too, just so he can garner your attention.

He’s always been smart and reckless like this. He knows this will work. Now, to see how far this ambitiousness will push him…

“Well, a new doll needs a new outfit.” You say to him.

Albedo tenses up at your words.

This is proving to be much more difficult than he expected. Your lingering touch makes him want to buckle to his knees. The kiss on his lips, that led to the core in his chest tightening up.

Has he always been that soft? 

Only having a limited field of vision, he cannot see what you’re doing. But from what it sounded, you were likely looking for something to put him in.

“Ah! Here it is!” You bring the dress to his eyes and he immediately regrets playing this role. This is a bit…embarrassing.

“This was supposed to be a gift for Sucrose’s birthday, but I’m sure you’d do a better job modeling this than her.” You explain.

It was getting difficult to maintain his quiet breathing, especially when you ogled his body as you took off the clothes that he has now. He wants to tell you that you should look away, that he can do it in your stead.

However, he ignores it. He ignores the embarrassment and the warmth rushing up to his cheeks. 

“Your white underwear suits you, Albedo. Although, don’t dolls have no need for undergarments?”

Your voice sends a chill to his spine. He sits there helpless under your fingers, awaiting what you’ll do next to him.

“You’re so perfect, my doll.” Albedo bites back the need to whine.

“Should I set up a mirror so you can see?”

He stares at himself through the mirror, the fluffy dress reaching just above his knee. It’s not of Monstadt creation, that’s for sure. Perhaps it’s a dress from Fontaine?

“Do you like it?” He watches you brush his hair.

“You know, I’ve always been amazed at how gorgeous you are. To think I’m this lucky to own you…I’ll make sure to take good care of you, dear.”

Albedo wants to bury himself underground. He’s enjoying this more than he should be.

It’s strange. He doesn’t get why he’s enjoying this at all. Isn’t his sole purpose to be that of living as a human? Why would he succumb to regressing himself like this?

Your arms envelop his body, your hands traveling on top of the fabric. 

They’re warm.

Albedo seethes when he feels you tug his nipple. No talking, he has to remind himself, even if you fondle his body like this without warning.

His throat is itching for something, a word, or any kind of sound. He hasn’t said a single thing since he stepped into your abode. 

He can do it, he reassures himself.

“My doll isn’t giving up this early, no?” You whisper directly to his ears.

Your fingers slip under the dress and he’s forced to be reminded that you’d taken off his underwear earlier. No! If you touch there, he’ll surely—

“Hmm…” 

Panic settles on his face when the noise unconsciously slips out of him.

“Is my doll malfunctioning? That’s a shame. I thought you were perfect. Do I have to throw you out already?” 

No, no… He stresses.

Give him one more chance! He pleads in his head.

Your thumb rubs the slit of his tip, playing with the already oozing precum. His thighs slightly tremble and he’s begging you to not notice it. He can’t —It’s physically impossible for him to stay still!

Your fingers now move to his shaft, stroking his cock slowly and giving him the right pace that he needs.

Albedo’s mind is getting hazy. It feels so damn good, he’s this close to moaning loudly if not for the fear that he’ll disappoint you.

He bites the inside of his cheek, his eyelids shutting close every now and then.

Your pace hastens, each stroke getting rougher and faster. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold in his scream when he cums. 

“Mmgh–”

His breaths are getting heavier and deeper, his cock ready to burst at any second. 

And then he feels your grip tighten. 

You stop your movement, letting his worry go to waste. It’s painful, being stopped when you’re so close to reaching your high. Still, this is better. He can’t imagine what he would do if he actually did crumble beneath your hands.

Albedo shivers when he feels you touch his tip again, replicating the same movements you had done earlier. His thighs are sticky, the insides of the dress damp and warm. 

The alchemist breathes. Coming to a conclusion that he’ll make less of a noise this way. He hears the way it squelches with each stroke, the noise leaving him greatly humiliated.

His cock aches for a release, the emotionless facade that he wears slowly shattering as he gets closer to an orgasm.

He bit down on his lip, ready to contain the noise, when you immediately stopped. His cock twitching from being suddenly released from the friction.

This happens five more times.

Albedo can feel his sanity going away. He needs to cum. Let him, please. He’s been doing so well, hasn’t he?

His legs have stopped shaking, already used to the same torture that you keep putting him under.

He wants it already, impatient at how long he thinks you’ll keep doing this. Albedo wants it to be all over, he’ll do anything. He’ll suck you off with his mouth if you want, no matter if it ends up with him choking at the end.

How long will he have to bear this?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You ask the worn-out alchemist.

“You’re already perfect, Albedo. But isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”

What?

“I’ve given you so many chances to guess, and yet you still won’t remember?”

Your fingers cup his chin, and his mind relishes at the fact that he could forget about the one thing you told him that you enjoyed the most.

“Smile for me, doll.”

Albedo’s a wreck as he gets his insides wrecked with your length. His body every now and then writhes as he lets you handle his body even if you push inside him so far that he can feel it inside his guts.

He’s not allowed to move. He’s a doll, he keeps repeating to himself.

The smile on his face looks whorish instead of being elegant. 

He doesn’t know whether it’s because of the mirror but seeing you penetrate him, his hole opening up graciously for you has the poor alchemist wanting to scream. But since he can’t, his emotions overwhelm him and tears start flowing down his cheeks.

Being used like this, as if he’s just some object to be thrown around sends a thrill in his head. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that he would have been, if things didn’t go his way. 

Albedo ejaculates on the bed, the dress sticky with his cum. 

You don’t stop, his walls being mercilessly pounded through, wanting to see how far his limit is until he finally begs of you to stop.

Well, you did warn him before, didn’t you?

His body is weightless in your arms, using his body as if it’s your personal sex doll, you grab him by the sides of his waist, thrusting and hitting his sensitive spot each time.

He loves it.

He’s yours and you have every right to decide what he can and cannot do.

He won’t mind.

Not at all.

[takenbypeter]

Not A Date, Date

Steven Grant x reader

Words: 883

Author’s note: this is an old fic I’ve had in my notes since last summer

You don’t know why you said yes.

Well actually you do. You said yes because, well, it’s Steven Grant the cute man who was the whole reason you kept going back to the museum. Steven Grant, the cute gift shop merchant who kept giving you information about Egypt despite him being glued to that counter. He was cute, adorably charming with his accent and he was quite the looker.

But you?

You didn’t think of yourself in that exact light. Actually in this moment you were staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror.

You were wearing an outfit which you’ve worn a few times before but this time something about it wasn’t sitting right.

As you turned to look at your back you couldn’t help but point out every bump that showed.

And while you stood there you couldn’t stop your arms from grabbing at your upper back beginning to feel slightly grossed out.

Before your thoughts could get worse, you quietly shook your head and headed straight for the closet. First changing your top into something a little baggier then of course that meant you had to change the bottom to match.

You went back to the mirror and turned around feeling slightly better at the view but something still felt…off.

As you stood across from the mirror your hands came in front cupping each other. One hand on top and one hand on bottom and like that you squeezed your fingers tight only for a few moments as you stared at yourself your brows beginning to crease in the mirror.

And after thirty seconds of that you realized you couldn’t do this. Maybe not tonight, maybe not ever.

Reaching for your phone you sat on the toilet lid and typed out a message to Steven.

“Can’t make it tonight,” you spoke as you typed and you set the phone down. Upset at yourself for the possibility of disappointing him, you felt this would actually be better for both of you. Expecting a text notification you were surprised when your phone rang instead.

Picking it up once more you noticed it was Steven calling.

You thought about ignoring it. Just forgetting everything happened but instead you hit the answer button and put the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked.

“Hi, this is Steven. Well you probably knew that,” you couldn’t help but smile a little at his clumsy mannerism, “but am I reading your message right? You want to cancel. Five minutes before our date?”

You looked up at your ceiling staring at the blank color taking in some air, “yeah sorry about that.”

“Did something come up? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No. Absolutely not,” great now you hated yourself for making him feel this way. “I just…” you closed your eyes head finally swaying down. “I know this may be hard to believe, or it might be easy to believe, I don’t know. But this is my first date.”

“…It’s your first date?”

“Please don’t make fun of me—“

“No of course not, I would never—“

“I already know I’m gonna mess up somehow. I’ll say something wrong or do something really weird,” your eyes roamed the room trying not to break down.

“And we’re going to a classy restaurant. Steven I still order from the kids menu. I barely know how to use a fork for a salad,” you shook your head just picturing how horrible the night is going to go.

The phone was silent and for a moment you were worried you’d lost him.

“I’m in front of your door, can you open it so we can talk face to face, please?”

You pressed your lips together in thought before you went to your front door. And once you opened it you saw those curls and big brown eyes staring at you as his phone was still pressed to his ear.

Bringing the phone down you hung up and he did too, shoving his own back into his jacket pocket. Your eyes drifted down to the small box he had in his hand, no doubt a gift for you.

“Steven thank you for everything but I don’t think—“

“I’m canceling our date.”

“Huh?” That statement got you.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. It’s done it’s cancelled.”

Honestly you did not expect that to happen so easily you expected more of a fight.

“Oh, well thank you and I’m sorry, I was actually really looking forward to it.”

Steven rocked on his feet as you talked. “It’s alright,” he looked to the side, blowing air out of his mouth, “so…got any plans tonight?”

You peered at him curiously.

“Because we could walk around town, just the two of us, no pressure.”

You knew what he was doing and frankly you were sort of grateful for it.

“And by the end of the night we’ll see what we can call it,” he added and you grinned at his proposal.

Nodding you said, “let’s do it,” and Steven grinned back at you. “Oh wait let me grab my things,” you disappear back into your house only to reemerge soon after. And with your bag on your shoulder and the door shut you finally were ready, “let’s go.”

[cruivanei]

-> BZZT... SUNDAY HAS A GIFT FOR YOU.

Not proofread(again, ik) just here for @chartreuxhue(also again). Established relationship. Reader's hair is mentioned as being able to be tucked behind their ear, he buys you a necklace, lmk if anything else catches ur eye.

DISCLAIMER: I have met this guy ONCE (1) in game. idk crap abt him but I did my best.

SUNDAY x GENDER NEUTRAL! READER

SFW! BELOW THE CUT ->

With a gentle curve on his lips, Sunday extended you his gloved hand. His other arm remained folded behind his back as if he were a storybook prince, tenderly approaching his princess for a dance. The tall intricate windows typical of the Dewlight Pavillion and the kaleidoscope of colors the stained glass filtered in only substantiated the gentle grace of the Halovian man before you fostered as simply as breathing. You did not think before placing your fingers over his longer, cotton-clad ones. 

“I think you are going to quite like what I have for you.” Sunday offered his only hint, guiding your hand forward with a delicacy you have found impossible to dissuade him from. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” You feigned incredulity with an offended gasp and what could hardly be considered a smack to his shoulder. “It better not be anything expensive.” You remarked, seriously but already defeated.

Sunday was the picture-perfect gentleman. He did not date you, he courted you. Even when your face flushed with embarrassment when his lips grazed the back of your hand the first time, he never stopped his nearing excessive genteel acts of affection. No matter how many times you sputtered and stumbled over his expressions of endearment, he kept pulling you back in for more–often accompanied with what Sunday had caught your gaze drifting to on your previous dates in the display cases.

“You are worth every penny and so much more, my dear.” Sunday promised.

He pressed your hand to his lips as he had done so many times before, then reluctantly let go and stepped behind you. His back remained opposite of you as he did so, leaving you without even a glimpse. 

“Though, of course, if you find it doesn’t suit your taste, I saw a few other gifts worthy of you.” Sunday started, carefully brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Perhaps I should plan a little excursion soon for the two of us. I believe a colleague of mine mentioned a merchant with some particularly precious items…” He trailed off, then let the thought go with a gentle shake of his head. 

Placing his empty hand softly on your shoulder and turning you towards the mirror he apologized, “Forgive my ramblings, let me show you what I have for you here and now.” Your eyes darted from his hand to his face reflected in the mirror. The stormy sea of navy in his momentarily downcast eyes seemed to swallow the gleaming shine of the lighter hues. The conflict was gone as quickly as it came, his smile returning as the arm holding your gift shifted slightly.

Brows knit in a sweet concern, you grasped the fingers on your shoulder gingerly and turned your head to kiss his hand as he had done in kind. “You know you don’t need to apologize, I like hearing what you have to say.”

He laughed softly, but genuinely. A chaste kiss was pressed to your jaw, his feathers tickling your neck and his halo hovering behind both your heads.

As Sunday pulled away with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, he lifted his gift from behind his back. The necklace he produced glinted beautifully, even in the faintly lit corner of the room. The hand on your shoulder slid forward to pinch the dangling end of the chain and bring the string of shining bezel-set stones around your neck. “You are far kinder than I deserve.” He nearly whispered. 

Looking into the mirror to find his expression, you found his golden eyes already tracing your face with apparent awe. 

“It’s beautiful, Sunday.” You admired, a smile splitting your lips. Standing still while Sunday clasped the chain around your neck took a small eternity–though Sunday would argue any time spent touching you was never long enough. 

The moment his hands lifted and the weight of the jewelry settled on your neck, you spun around and embraced the Halovian in your arms. He laughed, louder this time and without an ounce of force behind it, as he enveloped you in his arms.

“I suppose I can safely assume you like it?” Sunday chuckled, his strong hands pressing your upper back closer as his wings fluttered, brushing their silky feathers over the tops of your arms. 

“I love it,” You gushed, pulling back from his clutches just enough to bring one of your hands from his neck to hold the necklace up to the light. The stones looked brilliant against your skin and you could not help but sigh dreamily, “I love you.” 

Sunday’s smile deepened and his hands sank to your waist.

“I love you too,” he replied happily. “May I kiss you?”

“You better.” You said, kissing him hastily. “To both, I mean.” You kissed his smiling mouth again.

[makimacult]

im so interested in jade because from the aventurine backstory flashbacks, i think its pretty clear that the persona he uses in penacony: smooth, charming merchant with an agenda, willing to cut any deals if there's a benefit in it for him—is based on jade.

specifically im thinking of how jade opens up with, "what pretty eyes you have" and aventurine's first line to sunday is "if it isn't the most handsome man in penacony." sexuality/seduction to unnerve/soothe, to start the conversation askew.

jade also says "pick the clothes you like" and aventurine now dresses completely differently from who he used to be as kakavasha, his alt self even points out that he wouldn't even deign to get his outfit wet now... who else dresses extravagantly, with lots of trinkets and a fancy hat? yeah. i like the thought of the young aventurine latching onto jade as his aspiration, he even says that he will become richer and more powerful than her, and she indulges him by accepting him into the ipc. a very fun mentor/mentee mirror image thing is happening here.

[unluckywisher]

Here we go. My "favorite" (note the quotation marks) parts of Beyond Cloudfall - Sylus' Dragon Myth, voice lines at the end.

Oh boy okay. I have a lot of scenes to go through so strap in.

Spoilers for Sylus' myth under the cut!!!!

Normally I would do the whole 'posting screenshots and commenting on them' thing, but since Tumblr is annoying with how many images you can put on a post, I'll just transcribe them. I've grouped them in categories, so just know that they're not necessarily in chronological order <3

Fun moments - I have to start with this or I will have a break down.

[They're both looking at a mural depicting a man slaying Sylus] MC: ...Of course, that's just the artist's take. You're much more handsome and imposing in real life.

MC, narrating: That night, the dragon places me with all the treasures he gathered. It's as if I'm one of them.

- MC PLEASE YOU JUST MET HIM AND YOU BOTH WANT TO KILL EACH OTHER WHY ARE YOU FLIRTING?????

Sylus: I'm also curious to see where a "sorceress" who consorts with a fiend thinks she can go.

- Let's be real here. Sleeping on top of a bunch of coins is not exactly comfy bro. LMAO

MC: Hey, do you have a name? Sylus (at this point, the story had been simply referring to him with the name 'Dragon'): Does it matter? MC: [...] What should I call you? Demon? Dragon? Or maybe... Drago? The Fiend gives me a cold stare. Sensing his boredom, I shut my mouth, but then I hear two faint syllables rumble from his throat. MC: "...Stayrus?" Or are you telling me to stay clear? Sylus: It's an ancient Philosian word [...]. MC: How about I call you by a name that sounds similar? Is Sylus alright with you? Sylus: Call me whatever you want. But don't expect me to respond.

- 'CONSORTS' LMAOOOOO they use this word a lot in the myth and every time it makes me laugh

I hold up a mirror from a stall. It reflects the face of the dragon. MC: Can you guess what I see when I look at you? He lowers the mirror as if he heard a childish joke. He leans closer. Sylus: At the very least, I'm a lot more handsome than I was depicted in that Fiend-Slaying God mural.

- ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? HIS ACTUAL NAME IS SOMETHING LIKE 'STAYRUS'??????? MC WHY DID YOU BOTCH IT LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO toysrus

Sylus: You wouldn't use them if I gave them to you. Why are you interested in cheap things? MC: You actually measure worth based on monetary value? Sylus: There's another way?

- hfkdgfdhfjd MC I'm still in awe that you said that first with so much ease

Merchant: One piece of information or thirty gold coins for the bracelet. MC: For this bone bracelet? At best, it's worth- I'm about to start haggling, but when I look up, the dragon is already opening his pouch. A cascade of gold coins spills from his hand onto the counter.

- FHDUYSFGHJDFSJKHDASJKBDHSJD

MC: These, these, and these... Don't they all suit you perfectly? I quickly pick up a few, intricately designed accessories and shove them into the dragon's arms. Then, I stand on my tiptoes to hang a bone wind chime on his horn. Sylus: You-

- Old habits die hard, I see

MC: I fell asleep while waiting for you these past few nights. Why didn't you wake me up? [...] A gentle smile graces his lips. Sylus: Someone was dreaming and continued to say my name- MC: Hey...!

- HELP???????? MC LMAO ON HIS HORN, TOO???? XD

[MC is being judged] Sacred Judicator: First crime: worshipping evil and desire, showing no repentance, letting your heart fall to corruption... Second crime: Consorting with a Fiend and bearing its mark, tainting your very body with corruption... Third crime: Plundering wealth and embracing insatiable greed, actions steeped in corruption...

- HAHAHAHA EMBARRASSINGGGGG GIRL

Cute moments...

- god forbid women do anything smh

MC: (Besides... If he's going to treat me like a pet cat, he shouldn't be surprised if he gets scratched.) [Later, in another scene...] The dragon knows about my escape plan. Sometimes he even sits on the pile of gold, resting his head in his hands as he watches - He neither helps nor stops me. It takes me a while to realize he isn't just watching - he's studying me out of sheer boredom. Just like I used to watch a cat in the Sanctuary that kept trying to jump over a wall it could never clear. [And later, again...] When he's caught off-guard, I arch my back like a cat and pounce.

I sit in the dragon's lair and receive shiny trinkets every day. One night, a small mountain cat came in to play with me. It wasn't until later that I realized - there's no way a mountain cat could just wander into a dragon's lair on its own. ...Could the dragon be comforting me?

- So... Origin of MC being treated like a kitten, I see.

MC: [...] How did it feel when you grew your horns? Sylus: It was nothing special. The dragon sits back down, avoiding my gaze. Sylus: It hurt just a bit.

- Awwww???????

I cup his face in my hands and make him meet my gaze. MC: I just realized something these days. You don't understand a song's melody, can't see the beauty in patterns, and can't even taste the flavors of food. Is that right? Sylus: Dragons don't need those things to survive. He escapes from my hands, yet I detect a hint of awkwardness in his words. MC: You act mature, but you were sealed away for so long... Sylus, you're still a young dragon, aren't you? Sylus: ? MC: You only just learned how to hide your wings... I gently stroke the top of his head. Then, my hand glides down his prominent spine and reaches his tail. MC: But you can't hide your horns and tail. Are you an adult? Don't tell me you're just acting mature because you're worried about ruining your "fiendish" image. The dragon stays silent and flicks his tail away from me. He loops it around us, and it touches the small of my back. Sylus: Are you trying to say you've uncovered my secret? A defiant force gently pulls me toward the dragon's chest. Sylus: All right, let's assume there is a young dragon before you. What will you do? Eat it? MC: ... I'd tell it that we're doing something humans call "hugging". Sylus: Then do humans still hug each other even when they want to kill each other? Like us?

- I'm gonna be honest this scene should be with the rest of the angsty ones further down but by itself it's really cute

MC: Sylus, those gems and weapons are boring. If you want to cultivate my desire, you need to give me something rarer. This time, I want... I can't stand being the only one who's troubled by this thought. So, I demand something from him he can never own and will never offer. [Here, the game lets you pick between saying 'Your soul' or 'Your love'] MC: Your love. As expected, he looks surprised and then laughs. Sylus: A fiend's love? What are you going to do with something that doesn't exist? MC: If it doesn't exist, then it's even more precious. Sylus: Speak. What does it mean to truly love a person? Have you ever loved anyone before? MC: ...No, but I know exactly what to do. [MC kisses his forehead]

- THAT'S? SO CUTE? HE'S A SMOL DRAGON? HUG???

The body next to me is warm. I wrap the dragon's tail around myself and move closer. Resting my head on his shoulder, I drift in and out of sleep.

- MC is insanely proactive in this myth. She does NOT hesitate dude.

- I just thought this was a cute moment <3

AGAIN, CASE IN POINT, LOOK. SHE JUST GOES FOR IT. AND THEY MAKE YOU CLICK SO YOU FEEL EMBARRASSED:

Yooo!! The test to take the brooch might have been to try and jog MC's memory???

[After leaving a bitemark on MC's neck] Sylus: This will be the mark for the first time. Until this mark disappears, you will have two more chances to take my life. Prove to me that you can be stronger.

THE SONG!!!!!!!!!!

- Like...????? And the fact that in Midnight Stealth he pins her down, too............

Sylus: What's that sound? [...] As I sing the final note, I close my mouth and continue gazing at the distant lights in Tarus City. MC: A requiem for the departed. Sylus: Sing it again. MC: Haven't you heard someone sing before? Sylus: I've never heard you sing.

Sylus: Sing that song again. MC: It's boring without music. It sounds better with an organ accompaniment. Can you get one for me? Sylus: It's a simple matter. Consider it done.

- so originally it was sung, not just played...

[They found an organ and MC began to play the song] My performance ends, and the Sanctuary falls silent. Sylus: Why did you stop? MC: A requiem is meant to soothe the dead, but the souls in this place don't deserve it. They were sanctimonious enough when they were alive - I have no intention of praising their ugly souls.

- aaaand then that's that...

INTENSE moments (oof)

- And that's why Sylus never got to hear it in full.

One by one, red flames ignite as far as the eye can see. My surroundings are illuminated by their shimmering light. Before me is... An endless array of treasures and luxurious garments. MC: ... Sylus: You are not interested? MC: ...You'd give these to me? Sylus: Why not? You're also mine now.

Sylus: If you want something, just reach out and take it. In the flickering firelight, our shadows intertwine on the dimly lit wall. Sylus: Just. Like. This. Let your greed and desire burn a little brighter... His tail glides up my calf. Smiling, the Fiend leans in to whisper into my ear. Sylus: This is how you'll become worthy enough to be my meal.

- STOPPPPP YOU JUST METTTT I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH WHAT IS THISSSSSSSSS

I hook my arm around the dragon's neck, stand on my tiptoes, and whisper in his ear. MC: Isn't that the place where you tried to eat me for the first time? Sylus: Do you wish to return for the sake of nostalgia?

- I think I'm beyond saving guys...

I press a silver knife against his neck. MC: Be honest with me. What do you gain from indulging my desires like this? I pin him down against a cushion. The knife and bleeding wound dissipate into crimson light particles as he chuckles. Sylus looks up at me. We can feel each other's breaths. As he raises his head, his nose gently brushes against mine. Sylus: What about you? What's in it for you to attempt an assassination with such a weak hand? Before the curtains, our eyes meet. The afterglow is reflected in his eyes which emit a surreal warmth. A strange flutter brushes against my heart, and a soft laugh escapes my lips. I return to my original spot before peeling a savoring a pomegranate. MC: You don't need to tell me. The greedier the soul, the more delicious it is. Am I mistaken? In any case let's hope it doesn't backfire on you. Sylus laughs. As I take out another pomegranate seed, he leans in and snatches it with his teeth. Sylus: Likewise.

- WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT IT LIKE THAT WHISPERING AND STUFF HELLO????

MC: What I desire is... My fingers brush over the renowned painting adorning the wall. I turn, lift the hem of my dress, and sit on the sacred throne positioned at the top of the stairs. I point my toes, and in silence, I hook my leg around the dragon's as he reaches the last step. Just as he leans forward, I tug him closer. MC: To live freely and die without regrets. Our breath's mingle, and our heartbeats sync. Light ripples in his eyes, and his lips slowly curl into a smile. With a flick of his tail, he catches me off guard, wrapping it around my waist and pulling me in. Sylus: Are you aware of your soul's scent? He meets my gaze, leaning in provocatively. His breath teasingly caresses the pulse in my neck. Sylus: It's akin to a strong liquor topped off with salt... Forever boiling and never satisfied.

- THIS WHOLE SCENE HAD ME SCREAMINGG??

An inexplicable raging inferno surges within me. Indignant, I laugh. I open my mouth and sink my teeth into his hand. Sylus: Ugh...! MC: I don't believe in this destined archnemesis nonsense! Moonlight boils in his eyes. Sylus cackles. He lowers his head and bites my shoulder like a predator. MC: You! Pain spreads like fire. Then, Sylus extends his tongue, slowly licking the wound on my shoulder. It's as if he's claiming and soothing me. Sylus: If you want to push me away, now's the time. His tongue alternates between licking and biting, sending a strange, tingling sensation through my body despite the lingering pain. He slowly licks over my throbbing wound.

- I don't even know what to say anymore....

- THEY'RE BOTH? SO KINKY? HELLO? YEAH NO, FORGET WE WERE AT DEATH'S DOOR JUST THEN- TIME TO GET FREAKY

And now... Yeah... It had to happen... Angst...

Sylus: People are far more interesting alive than dead. If you truly want revenge, the best way is to keep them alive. Or would you say this world is the closest thing to hell itself? You can only feel pain when you're alive.

Figures surround them. He could fly her back to the dragon's lair. But tonight, he wants to walk a bit longer with her. Sylus: In the beginning, the dragon lived in a valley with other dragons. Amongst his kin, he was the only one with a human appearance. He mistakenly believed he was a normal person. But as he grew older, horns sprouted from his head and a tail from his back. He had never seen anything like this on someone before. He was scared, so he picked up a blade because he wanted to remove them. But the horns and scales would grow back, dripping with blood. It didn't matter how many times he cut them. After a long time, he finally came to terms with being a monster with horns... But then, the love of his life appeared. She showed him human love and companionship, making him think he could live like a human too. And slowly, without realizing it, he began to forget he was a dragon.

- When I first read this scene I was like 'YEAHHHH REVENGEEEE' but after finishing the myth.......... bro....

Sylus: Save me? Are you aware of the cost? Once we hold hands now, our lives will be bound together, along with our deaths. We must offer half of our soul to the other. They'll be merged... To forge an unbreakable bond. To share your life with a fiend - it might be a punishment worse than having your soul devoured. Will you truly not regret it? MC: I said I'll live, didn't I? No matter the cost. If following our hearts is a sin, then you and I must be the last of our kind in this world.

- Can you hear my heart shattering?

MC: Let's make a pinky promise. Sylus: Hmm? MC: To never betray each other. Sylus: Our souls are bound. We will never betray each other even if Doomsday arrives outside this Sanctuary. Even if the world crumbles. MC: This promise can't be broken. Sylus: This promise will never be broken.

- SYLUSSSS WAAAAAAA DON'T BE LIKE THAT T_T

His body lies quietly among the flowers. In his garnet-like eyes is my reflection. MC: Look at me... You're not allowed to close your eyes! My tears fall onto him as I lower my head. I allow him to place a kiss on my forehead. The dark-red glow in his eyes dims. Obsidian-like crystals crawl over the dragon's scales, slowly covering his entire body. My dragon is gone.

- ...let it sink in

- Listen... At least we can take some comfort in knowing... MC didn't kill him on purpose. He drove the sword to his chest himself, grabbing MC's hands. She didn't want to. That's a relief. Still fucked, but...

My beloved was born into apocalyptic terror. People cursed his existence, fabricated his sins, and celebrated his death. Only one person ever gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul, and sang to him in the night wind. He had already etched the traces of his existence deep into my life... Yet his retaliation against fate pierces my chest like a sword. MC: Sylus... I curse your soul... He says the best way to punish someone is to let them live forever. MC: I curse your soul... To never fade away... You'll always be tied to me. Forever. This is my curse... Only I can... Grant you true death. [...] I feel something sprouting from my head like tender branches. Sharp pain pierces my spine as a dragon's tails replaces my tailbone.

- So... That's how he is alive in the present, and it's also the explanation for the Evol Linkage, I believe? It's really cool that she actually turned into a dragon, as sad as the scene is.

And of course, as always, my favorite voicelines:

[hispg]

Between royalty and vows

Pairings: Prince! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: A forced marriage, a fate set in stone, nothing could change that.

In the world of royalty, there were no choices, only obligations to fulfill. What you didn't expect was to become engaged to a renowned prince, ready to succeed the lineage.

Until that moment, you still had some hope that everything would work out, maybe it wasn't so bad. But it would be a shame if your future husband had a mistress.

Wouldn't it?

Wc:2.9k

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt/ comfort, cheating, arranged marriage, eventual smut, one-sided love, affairs, (I'll put more once things start to progress).

Prologue | 1 | 2 |

Chapter 2: Presence

"I suppose it's important, Prince." You say softly, straightening his epaulette, while Leon looked at himself in the mirror.

Today he was preparing for another of those tiresome meetings between royalty and merchants. One more of the king's deals had gone through.

He nods, giving you his attention, "Yes, indeed. My father wants me to learn about these businesses before I become king."

You didn't know if you'd heard too much or something, but he seemed genuinely overwhelmed and fatigued by it all.

"If it's any consolation, I'm cheering you on." You say in a sweet smile, giving it one last adjust on his epaulette, leaving it suitably refined.

The sun lit up the room, the gentle light brightening every corner of the room. Just as it illuminated your gentle, sweet features, the way you smiled at him. Or even the way you made a point of checking if he needed help with anything else.

So he looked at you with those sparkling blue eyes, giving you the attention you'd been waiting for for a few minutes.

"Thank you for your words, princess." Despite the cordiality, you felt that there was still a distance, which was a shame.

Even though you had already been in the castle for a few days, the formalities still continued: 'Prince', 'Princess', or even 'Your Highness'. Never by your first names, or by any other name. It might sound silly, but it was a reminder that this treatment would continue for a long time.

He was still so formal and serious with you, even though you had already been living together for a few days. And there was no sign of him changing, but maybe it was too soon, maybe you had to wait.

Or maybe you were just daydreaming.

Taking a final look at himself, and then taking the opportunity to look you up and down. He couldn't deny the way you were always well dressed. You were always so kind to him, always treated him well even when he was distant from you.

He'd be lying if he didn't say that was an admirable quality in you.

So elegant, charming even. As much as he tried not to care, he loved the smell of your cologne. Something soft that reminded him of wild roses.

He was so captivated by looking at the ornaments that adorned your neck that he couldn't help but inhale your fragrance once more, letting the soft scent that surrounded you enter his nostrils, making him feel the sweetness once more.

"You look elegant, prince." You encouraged him, wrapping your arm around his as he began to take small steps towards the door.

He gives you a simple smile, leading you through the bustling corridors with the various workers. Everyone was looking at the two of you, and whispers could be heard here and there.

You knew that in this meeting your presence was only decorative, just like all the other spouses of the other seniors who would be there. Not that it bothered you, since it could be considered a relief if you spent more time around Leon. Even if it was an obligation.

The walk was as silent as ever, only polite smiles were exchanged between you and Leon, nothing too intimate. Leon was completely uncompromising with you, if you were being sincere he barely noticed you when you were that close.

He would only do so if he was in a good mood, which wasn't very often since he was always grumpy. And being close to you often made his mood worse.

However, you could see that he was trying, but the eyes don't lie. It wasn't hard to disguise the fact that he wasn't so much fond of you. Maybe it was just an annoyance and that would change with time, at least that's what you hoped.

It only took a few minutes for the two of you to reach the main hall, where you were greeted by all kinds of important guests. Even some you hadn't even seen in person.

Nothing more than the usual courtesies, pleasantries about the upcoming wedding and the union of the kingdoms, which was in fact the most important thing. In other words, what had made the whole situation happen.

After the proper introductions, you and Leon, along with the other guests, went to the room where the meeting was to take place, a spacious place that had been properly prepared for the occasion.

Soon the meeting began, with nothing but the usual fallacies and promises of the Kingdom's future prosperity.

Nothing you and Leon hadn't heard before, but you both knew that this was nothing more than a reinforcement of the future marriage.

That's because Leon's father always looked at him as he spoke, always made a point of leaving the word to his son every chance he got. He wanted to show his son's honor and pride

He needed to show all this to everyone present.

And even though Leon didn't like being the center of attention, he couldn't say no to his father, because unfortunately he was still following his father's orders.

After a few incessant hours, the meeting ended, with a certain exhaustion on the part of those present. After the farewells, which also seemed never-ending, you two headed down the corridors, approaching the stairs to go to your chambers.

As you walked slowly, you noticed the tired look on Leon's face, as he appeared to be completely drained.

"You did well, prince." You said in a sweet whisper, giving him an approving smile.

And then that was enough for him to look at you, giving you a brief smile, but one that never failed to make your heart flutter.

"Your presence was important, Your Highness." These could have been simple words, but you felt your knees weaken with them.

You chuckled, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.

Just as you were about to go upstairs, Leon's father called out to him from a distance, apparently wanting to talk to him about something personal.

You only heard a sigh come from Leon's lips, who then left you on the stairs to go on your way.

"I'll see you at dinner time." He says calmly, as he takes your covered hand and kisses the back of it. This time letting his lips linger there a little longer.

You get giddy every time he does that, your mind gets all messed up just feeling his lips like that.

With a charming smile, he bids you a courteous farewell and heads off in the direction of his father.

As soon as you walked the long stairs, you went straight to your bedroom, ready for a warm, comfortable bath before dinner.

But before you entered your room, something caught your eye. One of the maids was carrying a bouquet of flowers to Leon's room, and if you were being honest, the maid was in quite a hurry to carry the flowers.

From the way she was trying to sneak into Leon's room to put the flowers there, you could tell it was suspicious at best.

So you decided to go after the girl, to ask what she was doing. Slowly you approached, taking care not to alarm the woman or even make a fuss about it.

But even so, the young woman seemed to notice you, and unconsciously hid the bouquet behind her back in a clumsy way, as if to prevent you from seeing anything.

"Your Highness…" She stammered, trying to keep her composure and not get so nervous. Which failed if you were being honest.

You could see the apprehension in her wide eyes, just as her hands were shaking. What was so special about those flowers?

You nod, looking at her gently, "I imagine you're quite busy. You're in such a hurry."

You speak softly, just to level the waters, and even to appear unpretentious. She stuttered, only affirming with her head that she was in a hurry, not even trying to get into Leon's room.

"I… I was just passing by. I need to take these." She says, holding the flowers tightly, still in the same failed attempt to hide them from you.

You were about to ask one more question, but your eyes focused on a small piece of paper that had fallen to the floor, and looking at it you could tell it was a letter.

It wasn't long before you bent down and picked it up, holding it between your fingers. You didn't dare read it yet, because you already knew what it was about.

"Your Highness, this,—" You interrupt her discreetly, straightening your posture.

"I'm your highness, I don't suppose you have to hide anything from me," you then whispered, moving closer and standing in a spot where only you and she could hear each other, "Unless you're doing something wrong."

You didn't want to sound authoritative, but you just wanted to show a little sovereignty. You weren't going to let it go, under your nose was already too much.

"No, no princess." She says dimly, starting to get even more freaked out.

You didn't say much longer, your anxiety to read what was written on that letter was slowly eating away at you, and you had an overwhelming desire to find out what was there.

"Allow me." You whisper, gently taking the flowers from her hand. Carrying the bouquet in your arms.

Fresh lilies, just picked. They were kind of purplish in color, and smelled amazing. They were definitely beautiful.

The maid even tried to protest, but you dismissed her with a wave of your hand, heading for Leon's chambers. You soon entered the room, which was honestly not new to you, and you quickly closed the door behind you.

Once the silence hung in the air, you took a deep breath, looking at the flowers and the letter in your hand. And so you decided to look for a vase to put the delicate lilies in, and it wasn't hard to find, given the variety of things in Leon's room.

As soon as you placed the vase with the flowers next to Leon's bed, you decided it was time to read the letter in your hands.

The paper was all decorated, with beautiful calligraphy, as well as a few little hearts here and there. Certainly the kind of letter that lovers would exchange.

'Your favorites, handpicked. To the sweet prince, Leon. -A

You knew that this was supposed to be something intimate and that you shouldn't even be reading it, but even though it was such a subtle message, it still showed how close these two were.

Your lips trembled as you felt your vision blur. How complicated were things getting?

You even tried to push these thoughts away, thinking that maybe you were just thinking too much. But how could you do that?

How were you supposed to act as his second choice, even though you were the woman he was going to marry?

You froze once all your thoughts stopped and focused on the voice that called out to you from across the room.

"Your Highness? What are you doing here?" Leon's tone was low, as if he was completely serious and sharp with you.

You turned around, taking a deep breath and controlling your emotions, giving the sweetest, most polite smile you could manage at that moment.

"They're for you, prince." You say with a smile, as if you weren't aware of anything. The flowers weren't the first thing he focused on.

At the same moment you saw the color fade from his face, it became pale, almost the color of paper. For a split second you saw an expression of fear and surprise come over him.

His eyes widened and he took a small step towards you, but stopped at the same moment. You could even see his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed dryly, his body stiffening.

Did he really think he was hiding this secret well? How innocent it would be to think so. If the rest of the kingdom knew, why shouldn't you?

He wasn't very good at disguising it, in fact. What was he supposed to say? Wasn't it too obvious? Surely you wouldn't miss it, at least you already knew what it was about.

You moved closer to the flowers that you yourself had put in a vase, bringing your nose closer so that you could smell the lilies.

"They smell good, whoever sent it, they have great taste." You say calmly, arranging the flowers in the vase once again.

You could feel your hands starting to shake slightly, something about what you were doing didn't feel right.

But what else could you do? Maybe it was daring, but you couldn't help yourself.

Nobody liked being cheated on.

He opened his mouth for a few seconds, thinking of anything he could say.

But all that came out was a weak, 'Oh'. Before he approached you and took a look at the flowers that were there.

His fingertip brushed lightly against one of the flowers, looking at them with a certain tenderness. He obviously knew who it was from, or rather, who had sent him these flowers.

It was clearer than day.

"My mother probably sent one of the maids to buy these fresh flowers." He manages to stutter after a while, unable to face you fully.

His mother? What a lame excuse, you think.

You take a few more steps across the room, the sound of your heels echoing through the large room. You didn't even make a point of hiding the suspicious expression forming on your face.

You were quick to grab the small letter before he saw it, before he had even arrived in the room. You already knew, and you also knew that he wouldn't admit it.

However, you had proof in your hands, certainly an affair outside of the marriage relationship would not go down well with royalty, even more so coming from a renowned prince like him.

You simply had the perfect weapon in your hands, ready to be used any time you needed it. Not that you were going to do it now, you didn't even want to have to do it at some point.

However, you did have something useful in case you needed it. You didn't want to take any rash action that you might regret.

"I'll have those flowers put somewhere else,—" You interrupted him, looking at him with a gentle, sweet smile, as if you weren't tearing up inside.

"No need, I think it looks nice here." You murmured, taking the opportunity to smell the sweet scent of the flowers once again

The tension was palpable, the heavy atmosphere that soon formed in that room. Every gesture showed the unease that had formed, your lips trembled and you pressed them tightly together so as not to let anything show

But he noticed, he noticed the way your fists were clenched and that you were trembling slightly, as well as the drop of water forming in the corner of your eyes.

He knew that you might have suspected something, but what could he do? There was nothing he could say or do that would comfort you in any way.

It was as cruel for you as it was for him.

You exchanged silent but strangely meaningful glances, as if you were playing a game of chess.

The flowers and the letter became symbols of a game of appearances, where every gesture hid secrets that could dismantle the façade of a royal marriage.

And you both knew it, after all it was a game that only two could play, and you were both learning and understanding how this game would work.

It was certainly even worse in practice, but there was nothing you could do about it. Even more so, Leon was looking at the flowers in a somewhat puzzled way, but at the same time there was a certain gleam in his eye.

He couldn't hide that body language. Not even if he tried.

"If you wish, the flowers stay." He broke the silence, staring at you with that cold, penetrating gaze that was so mesmerizing.

You nodded, making a point of putting the flowers on the shelf next to his bed, acting as if you weren't interested or uncommitted to the whole thing.

God, you felt yourself breaking every time you looked at the petals, at the smell that wafted through the room.

"If the prince will excuse me, I'll go to my chambers." You said with the same sweet smile, bowing to him and leaving his room.

All you had in your ears was the sound of your heels clacking against the floor as you moved lightly to your own room.

Leon didn't say a word, he didn't even walk you to your usual bedroom door. You didn't know if it was anger or surprise, perhaps because he hadn't imagined that you would act so calmly.

Even though he could sense that you were hurt.

In the end, appearances would be kept up, even if the night had been stormy. One step at a time, day after day.

There was no such thing as a sad day in royalty, so you could already prepare your smile for the next day.

[paillettetkdi]

“MISTER HERO, YOU ARE A RABBIT???” Ravio’s shout was so loud that Link was sure all of Hyrule had heard him.

“No, Rav, I’m not. It’s just a form like any other.”

“Mister Hero, I don’t think you understand the implications of what you just told me,” the merchant said in a strangely calm voice. “You have the ability to transform into the most beautiful creature that can exist in this world… and I request you to show me.” Even without looking, Link could feel Ravio’s green eyes staring at him.

“First of all, I don’t have to show you anything if I don’t want to. Second, it’s not like I can. Unless you can bring enough darkness to my soul to make me transform, you’ll have to settle for my Hylian form.” Ravio continued to stare at him, but at least he stopped talking. Link put away the blade he had been preparing and decided to clean the old mirror that started this all mess of a conversation.

“When you come back from your missions, you smell really bad,” Ravio blurted out.

Link stopped rubbing the mirror to turn around and face the other man. Ravio looked at him, and after a short silence, continued his rambling: “I don’t like that you don’t let me sell items that you don’t use anyway, and your bees are ugly and disgusting and scary. We could just buy honey instead of having them at home all the time. You have really weird tastes in decoration, you look bad in the morning, your breath smells like old underwear when you drink coffee. Also, if I had to choose between you and Sherrow, I would choose Sherrow instead of you and—”

“What is happening right now?” Link asked, looking at Ravio with a confused gaze.

“Well… I was trying to bring darkness to your soul, but it’s not working. Maybe I should continue a little more?” Ravio replied, staring at Link’s ears as if he expected them to transform at any moment.

“NO! No, no thank you.” Link took a moment to collect himself. “You… why would you think that? You know what? I don’t want to know how you came to that conclusion. I was talking about dark magic, not making me feel bad about myself, Rav.”

Two giant emerald eyes looked at him before Ravio jumped on him and pulled him into an embrace. “Oh sweet Lolia, I am so, so, so sorry, Mister Hero! That was very petty of me. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I promise! Will you ever forgive me? If you want, I can sell you the ice rod you want for the small price of 600 rupees to show you how sorry I am.”

Link let Ravio calm himself in his arms, pondering his words. “Why did you say that to me? You know me better than anyone. If you thought making me feel bad was the solution, why talk about my tastes in decoration and not my adventures or something like that?”

“That would have been mean, Mister Hero, it’s not polite to talk about something that someone cannot change.” Ravio said, looking at him as if he were the weird one.

Link just laughed before burying his face in the Lorulian’s hair. He smelled like apples today, which meant he had stolen Link’s shampoo again. Link would take care of that later; for now, he was planning on enjoying a well-deserved nap in his lover arms. Maybe he could ask the rancher to give him his stange crystal for an hour at two so he could show Rav his rabbit form. He wouldn’t be against somme rub on the back of his ears.

———————————

Same as always

English is not my first language if i made any mistake tell me i really want to improve

Ravio is my favorite character of all the TLOZ game so putting him here was really great

Also did you know that in French his name is Lavio ? And it makes a lot more sense dans Ravio but honestly Lavio just feels wrong

Anyway have a great day !

[jragons-fr-hole]

Some ""quick"" colored doodles for @dergtober days 1-4! Dragons and info below the cut.

Day 1 - Flight Dragon: Calthea (she/her) I picked Calthea for the prompt because she's my mirror with the largest wingspan, at 8.42 m! She likes showing off her big wings, though her lack of tail to steer with means she can't do many fancy tricks. Very good at gliding down though!

Day 2 - Merchant Dragon: Murkmire (he/him) Murkmire is one of the many dragons in the main guard force, but he's unique in the fact he also works as a traveling trader!

Day 3 - Runes Dragon: Adistraum (they/them) Adi is my arcane rep, but they also do in fact have runes! They are constantly trailed by arcane magic that sheds off of their body like dust.

Day 4 - Pirate Dragon: Chirp (he/they) Chirp is one of the dragons that staff the ship that ventures through the waters around the Ashfall Wastes. Now, if you asked anyone onboard they'd say that they're just a regular merchant ship. But if you have anything you'd want smuggled or obtained not-so legally, well, you just have to ask...

[cambion-companion]

First of all, hi! Hope you're having a good day/afternoon/night!

Ok, so, since ficlets requests are open, this is something that has been on my mind for a few days now and it's like Tav/Reader doing horn care to Raphael's horns like polishing them or just appreciating this man's horns because i...i love them (don't know if this makes sense but yeah)

FAM! I have been WANTING to write something like this for so long now, thank you for giving me an excuse hehehe you know how much I love his horns!

Horn Balm a balm for horniness

Raphael x gn!reader

Having a cambion between your thighs was certainly an item never on your bucket list. However, you couldn't complain.

The water, soft and warm as liquid silk, surrounded the both of you. The heat from Raphael's cherry skin soaking nicely into the muscles of your legs as he sat below you, his back turned so you were unable to see his bemused expression.

"Just sit still." You pressed your calves either side of his shoulders and scooted close, thrilling at his proximity. "I had to chase down the merchant for this, especially after describing who it was for."

"Did you now?" Raphael relaxed marginally, leaning back again until you had to maneuver your upper body so as to not get brained by one of his horns. "I do not recall requesting such a delightful service. Horn balm is a far cry from a crown after all., little mouse."

"It's a start." You muttered and squeezed your legs a little vindictively, earning yourself a low chuckle from the cambion. "You could just say thanks." You dipped your fingers into the tin and spread the oily substance between them experimentally.

Raphael's hand rose, dripping water along your leg as he traced a finger lazily up your skin causing you to shiver. "I could, but that would be quite unlike me. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Hmm." You were too busy beginning to tentative work of spreading the balm along the rough edges of his horns. "Stop moving."

Raphael had taken a quick inhale through his nose, the frown evident in his voice now. "What potent smell is that?"

"You're one to speak of potent smells, mister musk."

"I am beyond your reproach, my dear." Raphael moved his head again, causing you to curse as a sharp edge of his horn nicked your thumb.

Hearing your little gasp of pain, Raphael took your wrist and pulled the injured hand over his shoulder to inspect. "A rose would have done greater damage." He kissed the drop of blood off your skin and released you, keeping his head held still this time. "Continue."

"I thought the smell wasn't agreeable." You moved your feet languidly in the warm bathwater, enjoying the teasing banter, returning to your work of massaging the oil into Raphael's horns.

"It isn't. However, your presence here is. For the moment."

That softened you. Your fingers traced every curve and ridge until the slick balm soaked in. His horns proved far more porous than you'd initially thought they'd be.

You had often admired the shape of the cambion's horns, thinking in many ways they resembled a crown. A slight dusting of red pigment covered them, like fine powder left too long upon the otherwise dark surface. Quite like the man himself, his horns were beautiful and alluring yet dangerous to handle as had already been demonstrated.

"Enjoying yourself?" Raphael cut into your silent thought, drawing your attention back to the present.

"It's tolerable." You lied, quite unwilling to tell him the truth of your enjoyment. Though the prickle up your spine intuited he already knew.

Raphael chuckled then reached up to remove your hands from his horns, imperiously signaling for you to be done. "I deem that to be quite enough for the present."

You disentangled yourself and slid into the bathing pool next to him, sighing as the water enveloped you. Raphael conjured a mirror and admired your handiwork for a moment. He raised a brow. "I owe you my thanks." He stretched his arms and wings along the side of the bath, sinking a little lower. "You're so eager to please me. I normally do not allow such gestures of...service." His head tilted a little as those familiar hellfire eyes scanned you. "However, you inspire indulgence in unprecedented ways."

[lucygxybaird]

billy noticing his girl wearing a new dress and he makes her feel so pretty :)

You nibble on your lip as you stand in front of the mirror, holding your arms out like you’re preparing to dance as you turn your hips one way and then another. The hem of your skirt swirls out as you move, and you hum softly, tilting your head. You can’t decide if you like it or not, but you can’t stand here for much longer. Billy will be here any minute.

In any case, it isn’t like you to stand in front of the mirror, studying your reflection like a little parakeet. You spend most of your days working in your father’s general store, so you tend to dress simply, stocking the shelves and tending to customers when they come in. But he’s just received a shipment of cloth from a new supplier, and your mother surprised you with a dress made from the nicest print — white with pale blue stripes, with little forget-me-nots blooming in the rows.

You straighten your bodice, smoothing your hands over your hips. The bustle in the back has been artfully sewn into folds and pleats, and you have to admit you like what it does to your shape. Warmth floods over your cheeks as an entirely foreign (but not entirely unpleasant) thought occurs to you: you hope Billy agrees. 

You’re particularly fond of the buttons on the front, sixteen bronze pieces engraved with Celtic love knots. They march down your bodice, starting underneath the hollow of your throat and ending just above your waist. Your flush deepens as you imagine Billy running the rough pad of his thumb over one of them, maybe slipping it free of its loop and— 

There’s a knock on the front door, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Your hands fly up to smooth down your hair as you realize it’s just Billy, punctual as he so often is. You know how much your dates mean to him — as important as they are to you, for Billy, they’re idylls of peace, moments suspended in time like pearls on a string. Moments where he can just be himself: Billy, your Billy, rather than Billy the Kid; a young man in love, rather than an outlaw fighting for his life. 

You hurry to the front door and open it, using your nerves to pin up the corners of your smile, so that it trembles in place ever so slightly. Billy would never say if he hated your new dress, but you’ll know; you can read him so well that you’ll know, just by a twitch of his eyebrow or the softest sigh from his lips if he likes it or not.

“Hi, Billy,” you say, sounding almost shy, although you feel a measure of relief when he smiles at you like he always does. As if he can’t quite imagine how he found you, or how he managed to keep you once he did — but William H. Bonney is not one to question a miracle, so he’ll just marvel, and keep smiling. 

He smiles at you again, leaning a forearm against the doorway. “Hey, baby.” 

Before you can ask what he thinks, Billy reaches out and draws a fingertip along one of the stripes running down your sleeve, his hand finding yours. He lifts it to his mouth, brushing a kiss against your knuckles. “I’m sorry for starin’,” he says, his eyes on yours, your hand still at his lips. “I just can’t help myself. You’re a vision.”

You blush to the roots of your hair, which only makes Billy smile again. “My pretty girl,” he says, reaching for you, wrapping his hands around your waist and drawing you close to him. “Is this new?”

“Yes,” you tell him. Your hands find his chest, and you can feel the steady drum of his heart in your palm. “Daddy is workin’ with a new textiles merchant. Mama made this for me.”

Billy hums, leaning down to nose against a stray curl escaping your chignon, a flyaway against your temple. The warmth of his breath makes your back arch just a little, and you catch his grin from the corner of your eye. “I’ll have to thank all of ’em,” he says into your ear. “Your pa, your mom, and the merchant, too. You’d look like an angel in homespun, but now…”

“Now?” you prompt, your voice a little shakier than it was a moment ago.

“Now I can hardly believe my eyes,” he says. He kisses your cheek, moves to gently nip at your earlobe. “There can’t be a more beautiful girl in the whole world.” 

You laugh a little, though it’s just as tremulous as your voice. Your face is on fire and your knees are weak, but you don’t pull away. “Billy, it’s just a dress.”

“Mmm, it’s not just a dress. Not when you’re wearin’ it,” he says. “You’re pretty like the moonlight is pretty, baby — you make everything around you more beautiful just by bein’ near it.” 

He kisses your scarlet cheek and pulls back, taking you by the hand. “Yours truly, included,” he says, smiling a little. “If there’s anything beautiful about me—”

“There is,” you interrupt. You sandwich his hand between both of yours and hold it against your chest. “You’re beautiful because your heart is full of kindness, and love, and courage. Anyone else who’s been through what you have would just be bitter and ugly, inside and out. But you aren’t.” 

Now Billy’s cheeks have taken on a rosy hue of their own, but he offers you a crooked grin. “Now, what’s this about out?” 

You laugh. “Like you don’t know you’re gorgeous,” you say. “Like I don’t have to beat the women off you with a stick.” 

“I don’t care about them,” he says, giving your hand a little tug to lead you through the door. “Just you.”

Once you’re out in your yard, he takes you by the waist, lifting you onto his horse. He carefully arranges your skirts, making sure nothing is trailing in the dirt and your legs are covered, before swinging up behind you. 

“We’re goin’ into town tonight,” he says. “I gotta show off my girl and her pretty new dress.” 

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ Epistolary Yearning ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.

pairing: duke!lsm x reader (gn afab)

genre: epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut

tags: arranged marriage, mentions of a war, dk and yn accidentally invent the concept of planes, two people very much falling in love | degrading, fingering, guided play, honey play, marking, mirror play, pet names, praise, pussy slapping, riding, spitting, squirting…

wc: 5.13k

message from nu: fueled by my love for historical, fantasy, and isekai manhuas. big thank you to my beta readers (@heartkyeom, @aceofvernons, and @multi-kpop-fanfics) for reading when I was playing with the format of this fic + @junkissed with helping out with the syntax for this one very confusing line I wrote. also summoning @onlyseokmins bc I told her I'd tag her once duke!dk was finished <3

himbocoups's masterlist

Letter One - YN

My Lord, 

How are you? I hope your trip is going as smoothly as planned. 

It has been a while since I last heard from you. As Summer comes to a fading end, Autumn threatens to wash the foliage to hues of brown and auburn. And I sit at the library nook beside the window, taking quill to parchment against the cover of a heavily bound book and scratching against blank pages before I can muster the courage to write to you. I do sincerely apologize if this attempt seems strange. 

Though I pity our brief time together, the only things I familiarized myself with are your scintillant eyes. Maybe instead of feeling as dull as the color of nature, I’ll think about how the color is reminiscent of your eyes. Eyes, these beautiful jewels seem to reflect the light through your smile. I can’t help but imagine myself as the last person to see them every night as I lay beside you as we drift off into slumber. Would it be too forward of me to say that the thought of growing fond of you, not just your eyes, is slowly appealing more and more to me? 

However, I do have hesitations as I am left alone to roam these lonely halls in a place so unfamiliar to me. It would be a pity shall I reach familiarity with my surroundings before I become familiar with you. Or even worse, to have you forget your familiarity with me. 

Please be safe for me. Hurry home soon.

Letter Two - DK

My Jewel,

For someone who longs for familiarity, you need not create even more distance between us through formalities. And my love, you need not refer to me as your Lord. Love is all I ask for, as love is what you will always be to me. Albeit, I do find it disheartening to read that you think of me so lowly. I could never forget someone as precious as you, even if you do not believe in your preciousness. 

Nevertheless, I, too, pity the brevity of our time together. Marriage agreed upon through an exchanging of letters by our guardians, now our marriage follows suit in the epistolary form. Yet no descriptive access through penmanship could ever grant the feeling that blossomed inside me and continues to bloom since I first laid my eyes upon you. And on the eve of the third week of our matrimony, I was whisked away to end the war. I do sincerely apologize for my absence. 

On this rocking ship, all I can do is stare into the swirling sea in search of a passing merchant ship with letters to deliver. The birds that soar above me seem to provoke me with their independence, cawing in hearty guffaw at the fact that this poor man can never take flight at any moment back into his lover’s arms - where he feels most at home.

Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant. How wondrous that would be. 

But I am an equally lonesome Commander among his squadron, a man who keeps the first letter from his lover in the pocket against his breast and his wedding band around his neck. Just thinking about how you were thinking about me while writing that letter, still thinking about me, conciliates any disarray in my mind. And I promise you that I will make you feel loved for the rest of your life, even if our love is only budding. 

I will lead my men well. Then I will lead myself home. To you. 

Letter Three - YN

My Dokyeom (If it is fine to refer to you in this way),

I do have to admit to my shyness, how my face flushed with heat when you referred to me as your beloved. Your “love”…my goodness, our servants nearly called the doctor over when they saw my state of awe. Although, I do apologize if the language in my initial letter seemed blunt or made you feel even a hint of sadness that I accidentally made you for a man with a cold demeanor. 

You wrote: “Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant” in our last exchange. What a preposterous idea! But what a new discovery to find that you are as funny as you are charming. Shall we commission a local alchemist to create potions that magnify tiny sparrows to large ships? Or shall I ditch my archery lessons in exchange for nights in your magnificent library, scouring the archives with the hope to find a recipe to an enlarging potion hidden in a romance novel? 

Oh, how I wish everything could be as easy as depicted in romance novels or that one Opera we went to watch. Days consume me on end. Not in the way in which I consume much of my leisure time by staying in the places we frequented in our time together, but in the way in which time passes by so slowly it feels like the concept of time is consuming me instead. I wish it were you who were consuming me even though I do feel it through your love. Because I, too, keep your letter near me. And I trace over the areas your quill indented the parchment, so much that I sometimes end up smudging the dried ink with my hand. 

I do miss you...even more when everything around me reminds me of you. Because you, who makes silly promises about a budding romance, will also be the receiver of my elementary promise about my slowly collecting love for you. 

P.S. They are close to finishing our portraits. I have yet to decide where they are to be hung. 

Letter Four - DK

My Love,

My Seokmin. Seok. Min. Mine. Beloved. Love. Dearest. Husband. Equal. Anything but Duke, Lord, Commander, or Dokyeom is welcome. How I wish for the day I get to hear my name leave your lips through a soft murmur, laughter, greeting, whisper, and mayhaps even a whine. 

Honeymoon was cut short by my trip across the sea. We are finally on land. In front of me is a crackling campfire whose glow conceals the redness of my cheeks, dappled with jubilance from reading your last letter. 

My dearest shy and humble lover whose metaphoric propositions of love are anything but reticent, I have annotated my favorite portions and circled words that I replay in my mind as a source of comfort. However, like what you did with your quotation of my imaginary bird ship, I must reference a few nuances in your letter that I find interesting. Particularly, I find that you must be careful in formatting your syntax, my beloved — for your way of language is enough to drive a sane man mad. Just think of me: a sane man before I had you and now a man slowly falling madly in love with you. 

Referring back to how time achingly consumes you, your “I wish it were you who were consuming me. Although I do feel it through your love” causes me to quiver in a way that is only shared between two lovers. I am a man whose honeymoon was interrupted by the king’s call, a man who is weeks without his lover, a man who has needs - desires. And your need for me to consume you? I can only pluck it out of context. 

If everything around you reminds you of me, then I must tell you that I hope your reminder does not make you suffer as how I suffer. My love, do you know how painful it was to lay in my bed while the ship continually rocked back and forth? It was reminiscent of our second week together when you decided to mount me in bed, your beautiful opalescent undergarment covering an action so lewd that it could never be named in public. Yet I was a man on a ship with his aching cock in his hand, imagining his newly beloved on top of him who squeezes him tightly as they ride his lap. 

No hand could ever replace the fervor of having you rock me, leaning forward to kiss me down my naked chest while sucking and licking the thin area of skin right above my collarbone. How warmly your walls enveloped my own, squeezing and contrasting with every glide you make. I couldn’t help but twitch in you, trying to hold in my selfishness by grabbing onto your thighs - kneading and feeling the skin fill the areas between my fingers. But you bounced on my lap like a bunny in heat, causing my hands to trail further upwards until they lay on your ass…I wanted to worship you by turning myself into a throne, a marble stand so others could be in awe of you for centuries to come. 

Mouth unable to talk, your kitten drooled onto my lap and coated the surface with liquid lust while you whimpered as I praised you for treating me so well. I scooped the syrup from the maple tap and brought it to my mouth to suck; even now I can still feel your sweet syrup rest on my tongue and swirl in my mouth. Yet there I was on that boat, losing my mind with my hand on my tap. Bed sheets soaked with my sweat, I could only imagine that it was your sweat-glistened skin that stuck against mine. It was but a shame, and still is but a shame, that the image of you collapsed against my chest with exhaustion when your thighs trembled with such a quake only exists as a memory. How long would it take for me to turn the memory of me looping my arms around your back and pushing your upper body against mine, feeling you build and crash through a scream, into our reality? 

The land is no better than the sea. Truly, it must be treason to think such impure thoughts while riding on my finest stallion to head to our base. I am a Commander, a Duke for God’s sake. But the bouncing, the clopping - oh, beloved, my skin pricked with heat so much that I thought bandits were ambushing us. The pain I felt while I waited for my swelling to go down - I am utterly embarrassed to admit I almost released while riding in front of my men. 

How I wish I could come running back home to you. Shall I single-handedly overturn the monarchy so we can be equal partners to the throne? So that we can be rulers who need not leave our estate? Just give me the word, and the empire will be yours. Then I would never need to leave your side. That I guarantee. 

P.S. Hang the portrait wherever you please. Perhaps the ballroom so I would always be with you during the night of the balls. 

Letter Five - YN

My King,

How mad of you to write such vulgarities, to suggest usurping the throne only if it means being able to stay with me. You are a Commander. You are a Duke. You are one of the King’s men. Do you not fear the inevitable consequences that you would face should your letter be opened by anybody other than myself? Do you not fear what would happen to you if your lust-driven joke was wrongly taken for treason? I must say that despite everything, I found myself dipping a finger into your words and listening to my juices sing your letter like lyrics. 

Your words comforted my ache at my core, skillfully fighting fire with fire to extinguish my burning forest. However, if you were to turn into a mere object – a chair, a throne, a stand – I would never be satisfied in your worship. ‘Tis true that I would like to be worshiped by you like the first time your palm cupped my face in private confinement under the shade of the gazebo in the garden. With nobody around us, your face softened to reveal the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Earnest eyes flittered to and fro as you studied me in awe and whispered words of praise. Up until then, I never even knew you could worship a person such as me. Yet, you, a mere stranger I met a few hours ago, placed a kiss upon my lips as soft as the petals on the flowers that surrounded us. 

If worshipping me means an inanimate you, I don’t think there would be anybody who could worship me with such sincerity and reason as you do…and I quite like the animate you even if the animate you screamed at the bug upon your sleeve. I couldn’t stop laughing then. And when you looked back at me with those bashful eyes, I knew this would be a marriage filled with laughter.  

Laughter, as I have recently learned, doesn’t only exist jovially. No. Reading your comment about my syntax, I almost erupted in a peal of sinister laughter. My poor lover with his cock in his hand and his quill in his other and his attempt to warn someone with such an extensive educational background about their syntax…you are too pure for this world. Should it make you feel better in any way, I have also thought about you in ways such a person in my stature should never. 

The other day when I was particularly distracted by the particular “unease” that had been building inside me, I accidentally launched a practice arrow into the wind. Chasing it, I happened upon our agriculture stables where the young workers sit and milk our cows. I swear, I must have been in such a delusional state to feel such a rush just from watching the motion of our cows getting milked that I ran off to the kitchens without picking up my stray arrow. 

Can you believe it, my dear? Have you been thinking of me differently since I admitted to almost leaking when I saw the cows getting milked? Would you think of me even differently if I told you I thought of you while talking to our ice sculptors? If you can quench my thirst on my loneliest days, I can only imagine what taking you in paired with ice would feel like for both you and me. 

Mayhaps, we should convene in the kitchen at night after the bell strikes twelve when all of our kitchen staff have retired. I want to kiss you with cherry-stained lips, watching tint transfer onto yours as I play with the seed of the fruit in my mouth while I wait for our cups of tea to steep. Kissing, I hope, would act as an analgesic for your painfully sleepless nights. Still, I find it abstruse that a kind, gentle, and good man like you would live such a cathartic life as a commander. Enerverated in every way as I am, I can only offer a somnolent kiss in hopes of luring you to sleep before your tea can fully steep. 

“What is a man without his honey,” you would say. Then I would ask you to specify what type of honey you are referring to. 

You would reply with this cheekiness in your voice while your lips pull into a wide smile, “the syrup.” If I’m not wrong, you would peck the top of my head while you reach over me to grab the jar that the cook keeps at the counter for you to easily access. Because the man with a honeyed siren voice that often procures lullabies for me to fall asleep also has a taste for the pollinators’ syrup. 

As you can tell…we are not simple people. We are not a regular couple. We have exchanged letters for longer than we have physically been together. So when I tell you to close your eyes to try to find your honey, would you? If I blindfolded you with a kitchen towel and told you to search for the dab of honey I swatched on my body, could you do it? Would you go to the lengths just to search for the honey to your tea?

Would you use your nose and sniff along my skin, searching for the floral and fruity aroma? Gently picking up my arm and bringing it to your nose, would you gently guide your nose along the surface of my skin in a position so intimate that you feel my arm hairs tickle the tip of your nose? Would you guide your nose upwards along my arm until you arrive at my collarbone, sniffing and docilely licking areas you think to be as sweet as honey? 

Imploring you in your reconnoiter, I must keep quiet as I watch you blindly explore every groove of the topography of my body. I imagine myself tilting my head towards the side to allow you access to the side of my neck, sharply breathing in as you nose the area in which I am the most sensitive. I see you hesitate for a second before planting your supple lips against the skin as if to sample before making a decision. To your surprise, what coats your lips in a sticky and sweet amber gloss is the honey I placed on my neck slowly trailing towards my collarbone. And I watch you intently as you lick it off your lips, leaving a translucent liquid sheen. 

Affected by a magnetic lure, you would somehow find yourself in front of me, your head positioned right above the slowly trailing bead of honey. It starts with a lick, hot tongue against cold skin. I can’t help but feel how the bumpy texture of your tongue cleans and pulls its way up my neck. After the hot saliva hits cold air, you take off the kitchen towel and look at me like a puppy waiting for its owner. 

“Such a good boy,” I murmur as I take the towel from your hand and wrap it around the nape of your neck to pull you in closer. “How does it taste?” 

What is more, is that I hope that in that moment my heart is not the only one that is beating as fast as how a hummingbird flaps its wings. My greedy husband, you back me against the kitchen island until you are pressed firmly against me as I watch and feel you bite and suck a garden of flowers across my neck and chest. Your large hands find themselves around my thighs, kneading and squeezing them so much that the fabric of my night clothes bunch in the palm of your hands. So I maneuver your hands around my waist, and you spin me around and bend me against that counter so I can feel you push yourself against me. 

“Be good for me,” you would command while undressing me. 

Then I would feel it, hands spreading my legs and fingers prying my ass apart, and then your warm and flat tongue against my kitten. One single lick would make my knees buckle. But you eating me out from behind, the way you knead my ass while you take your time swirling your tongue against my lips and lapping up my juices would make me come in an instant. Your tongue presses against my nub while your nose digs itself into my opening almost to the point where you’re fucking me with the tip of your nose, yet it is me who begs for air. And you keep my liquid on your tongue as you rise from your knees to pull my head back until I’m looking at you and your swollen and burgundy lips with my head tilted backward. 

And you pry my mouth open with your hand and watch me catch that sweet honey on the tip of my tongue. 

My dear, I am much too hot to even think about what comes after you let go of my jaw. My tenses in this letter are all mixed up because I’m so caught up in my delusions that I mistake dreams for reality. I feel ashamed to revert to such elementary composition when I am clouded by lust. But in this sensory game of wits, who do you think would win — the explorer or the explored? 

P.S. I’ve had our painting temporarily hung in our dining room as I cannot even bring myself to think about the possibility of hosting a ball without you. The great ballroom has been collecting dust since the first month you left for the war. Besides, invitations to the first ball of the season have long been sent out. I attended and made some acquaintances. Are you proud of me? Are you missing me as much as I am missing you?

Letter Six - DK

My Sweet,

Loneliness is when you are trapped by your stillness while everything around you splits into two and crumbles. And you are stuck in the open space of where everything once was, you in your bubble of muteness as the world crashes and breaks in a cacophonous roar. The feeling that engulfed me during these past few months was beyond my description of loneliness. So with a happy heart, I am telling you that the war is over. I’m coming home soon to hold you in my arms, to show you what this world that surrounds you is truly like — delicate and with the warmth of a glowing morning Sun that promises juvenescent Springs until the end of time. 

Regarding your question about the potential winner of the sensory game you described in your last letter, whether I am the person exploring or explored, I know I would always be the victor as only a true victor can call you “his.” My sweet love, I hope to stick by your side as long as I prefer honey in my tea and you by my side when I sleep. 

However, with a slightly interruptive transition, I have a few requests regarding the contents of your postscript. That is:

One, I am wholly and with every fiber of my mind, soul, and body proud of you. You, my shyest lover who sought friendship in your moments of loneliness, I love you so. Yet I find myself utterly in distress that I cannot co-host our tea parties until later should you hold one in a few days. Our estate is boring, and it must be tiring seeing the same things and people every day for the past few months. I urge you to go out more and explore so I can come home to plentiful stories told in your voice. I want to fall asleep to your descriptions so I can dream of how you see the world around you. 

Two, of course, I am missing you. Even if I were a few yards away from you, I would still miss you. I am currently bothering our treasurer in regards to spending the rest of our budget on a winter wonderland in which we would freeze the entire world so I could easily and quickly sled back home like a seal off an iceberg. However, our treasurer is insistent on saving the budget for lodging, travel, and sustenance. I, for one, think I am right.

Three, I think this might be my last letter in a while as when this stack of parchments finally reaches you, I would almost be home. So I am struggling between keeping this short and straight to the point or long and thoroughly eloquent with everything that I want to write and say to you. Instead of coming to a conclusion by myself, I bid you farewell until we meet again with this set of instructions within my set of requests for you. I’m sorry if the format of my letter makes it very hard for you to read. Like how you described your delusions, I often find myself alone at night imagining you by my side so much that I feel your physical presence next to me. 

Four, as for our portrait in our dining room, I must ask you to perform a favor for me as I have not seen the finished painting myself. It is a test regarding the “likeness” of our portraits that can only be performed by yourself. When you wish to perform the test before I arrive, please excuse all our staff who stay by your side during dinner and ask to eat alone. Should they give you looks, please say that it was requested by me. 

When you are alone, I need you to get into a position in which you can look at yourself through the large mirror that is mounted above the low mantle towards the end of the dining room table. I assume our portrait is hung on the wall at the other side of the dining room table, am I right? If you move the plates and sit on the table, you should be able to look at both your entire body and our portrait through the mirror. Do not worry about making a mess my dear. 

Perhaps this test may be a little lewd for a dinner setting. But after your proposed rendezvous in the kitchen in your last letter, I suppose this test would be nothing to you. 

Look at yourself in the mirror. Can you imagine me behind you, slowly kissing down your neck as I undress you while the candlelights flicker beside us? Our shadows cast against the walls that surround us tell the story of two lovers slowly conjoining into one. And I sit you against the front of my naked body, bending your legs and positioning them so you can see all of you through the mirror.

My love, can you see your lips unfold into a beautiful bloom, leaking with its sweet nectar for your man to taste? The sweet nectar, the glistening substitute to the honey our staff brought alongside our dinner rolls, rolls off the flower and soaks the tablecloth beneath you. Tonight I am not doing anything except revel in your beauty like a man awestruck by something so exquisite that he cannot do anything but stare. 

I want you to imagine that the same me in the portrait is the me you imagine to be behind you, the very me who writes this letter and instructs you on how to pleasure yourself for the night. Suck on your own fingers, my darling. Bring your fingers to your lips, and let me see the way you ready yourself before the pleasure comes. Because what I want is for you to fuck yourself well for me so that after you’ve squirted all over the dining table your pussy continues to throb so much that you confuse it for your beating heart. 

Don’t be shy. Bring your soaked fingers to your folds, and trace along the lines of the petals. Look at how they seemingly open and close as your stomach jerks in reaction. Slowly rub yourself up and down, coaxing that beautiful sigh that I know too well out of your mouth. Feel the pads of your finger mix with your juices, slipping easily and making your hand glide smoother. 

Are you looking at me through the mirror? Are you begging me to instruct you in other ways to satisfy your lust? Do you want to rub your pearl and flick it with your finger in a way that makes you clench and collapse? 

What is it, honey? Are you whining for me to make you feel good? But this is your guided session. Don’t you see yourself through the mirror, so pathetic looking that you would do anything that I tell you to do? Then take that same hand you used to tease yourself and slap your pussy for me. Bring the hand back and bring it down on your pussy quickly and with so much might that the sound of palm against tender skin echoes throughout the empty dining room. 

Don’t you feel pathetic? Getting off from you slapping your own pussy? Doesn’t it please you and make feel so dirty at the same time? When you’re striking your palm against your pussy over and over as your other hand unconsciously reaches upwards to knead your sore nipple, are you looking at yourself through the mirror? Are you still imagining me sitting behind you on our dining table, whispering and taunting you as you attempt to come undone? If your head is not completely clouded with lust, when that pussy is throbbing with such pain and pleasure, you will take your finger to your entrance and insert it slowly so you feel your warm and wet insides slowly swallow your finger the further in it goes. 

Let your mouth hang open as you plug yourself with another finger. Fill the lonely dining room with your sweet moans for me. Listen to your kitten squelch and leak the more you pump yourself so that a warm and hot feeling grows in your stomach, making you clench your body tighter and tighter. Scissor your fingers, and fill up that empty space where my cock usually rests. When you release, pull out your fingers as you come on the tablecloth and look at the cream I miss the most. 

You’re so perfect, you know that? You’d look even more perfect when you’re on your knees with your fingers underneath you and inside of you. Bounce for me my sweet, ride your own fingers as if you’re riding me. Massage yourself with your other hand, grabbing and kneading your breasts and your nipples as I do for you. Can you see yourself through the mirror more clearly when you’re in this position? Do you see how messy and needy you look while you’re pathetically riding your own fingers? Do you wish they were mine? Do you wish they were my thighs? 

Open your eyes for me as you reach another wave of ecstasy. Look at me in the eyes, the man painted next to your glowing figure as you reach your last high. I know you can do it. Scream my name if you love me, and squirt as if your pussy was crying for the man you love. 

Turn your head around when you’ve caught your breath. Look at our portrait. Do you see how I’m smiling at you? 

I’m proud of you, my love. Thank you for holding on for so long. I’ll be home soon. 

P.S. I love you.

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[yaekiss]

on this sinful sunday, i’m having very holy thoughts of either branding or carving my name onto childe’s skin— maybe that tummy he’s so insistent on not covering up, maybe a nice little tramp stamp. i know he’s making sure it scars, picking at the scabs and whining for you to redo them if they dare to fade away— he belongs to you!

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Yan! Tartaglia, reader's dick can also be read as strap, gore + eroguro, knifeplay + blood, masochist Tartaglia, spanking (just once, on Tartaglia), terrible wound care by Tartaglia please don't follow his actions, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Happy Whore Wednesday pulpie! Or uhhh, it was Wednesday when I started writing this. Got a lil carried away hehe :3 Happy Thotaglia Thursday! Slut on! (With you, Childe feels like every day is Thotaglia Thursday)

Anyways. Childe thinks of you as pure divinity, the holiest of beings, and he’s eager to worship all of you and bear everything that you’re willing to bless him with. Who is he to say no to the pain you inflict on him too?

This time, he’s cockwarming you, the heat and desire he feels is dizzying. You’re inside him and just the sensation of you filling him up perfectly has left him giddy with lust. His face is smushed into the mattress with his azure eyes already rolled into their sockets. Prior to this, he pressed a lavishly decorated dagger into your palm with a fervent sort of urgency, begging for you to mark him up however you like. You try to think back on what could’ve spurred this on. Was it that merchant trying to chat you up at the market the other day? Or perhaps it’s just a sick kind of longing that hangs around the ginger no matter how much time you spend together? One thing remains clear, at its core, Childe wants to be utterly and irrefutably yours.

Taking up the dagger, you admire the inlaid gemstones glinting in the lighting of the room, their colours matching the exact shade of your eyes and you’re sure that this must have cost an arm and a leg. Tracing the cold metal down the ridge of his spine, you feel him shudder, your ears picking up a soft keening whine. You start off slow, the tip of the blade breaking past skin and revealing glorious liquid crimson. Childe sucks in a breath at the delirious buzz of pain and pleasure that he’s subjected to at your hands. 

“Nghh… please I wanttt-! to be yours!” Greedy as always.

You take your time carving out your name into his flesh, revelling in just how many moans and whines you can wring out from the harbinger. Despite how muddled his senses are, he’s acutely aware of each and every searing twist and pull of the knife. Some of the warm blood trickles and drips down to where the two of you are connected and the sensation has him losing the ability to speak, brain reeling at how disgustingly intimate this whole act is. However, over time, Childe gets squirmy and twitchy with how pent-up he’s getting, the arousal in him pooling and heightening. That simply won’t do. Good boys need to stay in line while their lover is being so so so nice to them after all. With a pointed “tsk”, you land a hard smack on his ass as a warning. He yelps loudly at the impact but he gets the message, obediently staying still as you finish carving the tramp stamp. 

When you’re finally done, you pull out of him, the lack of your cock filling him up has Childe whining again but it snaps him out of his reverie. You reach over to grab a mirror and angle it so that he can see (read: marvel at) your handiwork. His eyes glint as he catches sight of the fresh cuts, the wound spelling out your name and the fact that you’ve claimed him as your devoted believer. However, he doesn’t let you go further than cleaning and disinfecting the wound site. (Secretly, he hopes that it leaves a permanent scar, an eternal pure white etched into his skin to show that he belongs to you without question.)

Throughout the whole healing process, he picks away at the scabs that try to cover the wound, opening it back up again so that your name is written in a carnal raw red. Whenever he stares at it in the bathroom mirror for too long and thinks that a certain part of it is fading away too fast without leaving a mark, he rushes to you, whining and begging for you to redo it with a frenzied tone in his voice. 

He wishes you’ll dig even deeper, maybe even push your fingers into his flesh until he’s screaming and clenching down on your cock, use his blood as lube as you fuck up into him relentlessly. The thoughts keep coming and you can’t go a full week without Childe pleading for you to lay your claim on him.

Maybe next time he’ll convince you to leave your mark on his abdomen so that everyone can see who he belongs to.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[moodymisty]

✦ 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐 𝖄𝖔𝖚 ✦

Author's Note: tehe :3 I'm normal :> I saw that the Merchant wasn't getting much love and I just finished the remake so....

Summary: The mysterious Merchant that's been traveling around has been mighty helpful, why not give him a bit more than just a thank you?

Relationships: The Merchant/Fem!Reader (no she/her pronouns are used, but there's one brief mention of 'cunt' and petnames like 'sweetheart' and 'love' are used)

Warnings: NSFW, Oral (Male receiving), little bit of deepthroating, Is sucking off a man who's name you don't even know deserving of a warning?, Porn without plot, Some praising dirty talk from the Merchant

Word Count: 2224

Ao3 Mirror

"Ahhh, well look who it is,"

You quickly turn your head, seeing a familiar shape bathed in the soft light of the setting sun outside. It's filtering through the cracks in the walls and the windows; Without it, the only light you'd have would be the glow of your torch with it's slowly draining battery. This whole place still unsettles you, but it's nice to finally see someone just a bit less hostile than the usual fare.

"Lookin' for something in particular?"

He tosses one hand outward, his fingers relaxed and curled slightly inward towards his palm. His pack is on the ground for once, surely resting his back. That weight has clearly done some damage to him however, as he still maintains his usual slouch. Though maybe he's just always had that posture. It's not like you've known him long enough to be able to tell.

But all and all, he's the friendliest face you've met by far. So you have not too much worry coming in closer. Part of you wonders if his niceties are only so he can reap a future reward, but for now he hasn't. That part still has you hesitating, even if just a bit.

"I need some ammo. Fresh out." The last villager you had the displeasure of 'meeting' you'd had to fill with almost a whole magazine of bullets, before they finally went down.

That's the thing; You can kill them, but it's more so the matter of if they stay dead.

The Merchant makes an odd little noise sounding somewhat like an affirmative hum, before nodding to you. Slipping a hand inside the main section of his jacket it's moments later that he pulls out a duo of familiar red boxes, and you can hear the bullets clicking against each other inside when he lightly jostles them.

"Here you go; Just for you." You move to give him what little money you've scrambled together as of late, but he waves a hand, your eyes glancing towards the odd, splotchy complexion of his skin exposed by his fingerless gloves.

"Consider it on the house, Love."

He always calls you 'Love'. Or Sweetheart; Lovey. You've told him your name, so it's not as if he has nothing else to call you.

It's not to say you mind, however. It doesn't sound incredibly skeezy like you'd expect, and if anything, it sometimes makes your neck just a bit hot for no good reason.

He's just a bit of a flirt; You'd be a liar if you said you hadn't volleyed something back a few times.

"O-oh, I," You stutter for a moment, before taking the ammo from him and putting it in the pocket of your jacket. "Thanks." When you give him a small smile, he nods back. You can see by the way his eyes squint upwards that he's also grinning quite widely, or at least something similar.

"You've been more of a help than you needed to be." He brushes you off with one motion of his hand. It's nonchalant, before his eyes train right back on you. He rounds his little table to the side, leaning on it just a bit at the hip. It puts him even closer to you, and now you're almost in his personal space.

"Got to keep my regulars happy, right?"

Has he always been this, tall? And wide; He seems to almost shadow you, his shoulders far wider than your own. Maybe it's the thick, bulky material of his coat, though even then that doesn't remove the fact that even slightly slouched, he seems to have a height advantage on you.

Maybe it's because he's even closer now, having taken another step closer. Or maybe you moved closer and just don't remember doing so, hands hanging in the air close to your own chest.

"And I, uh, wanted to thank you."

Your finger hooks the edge of his coat as an absentminded fidgeting motion and the fabric waves, hearing the chimes and rattling of his 'merchandise'. He allows you for a moment, but when it actually moves, he catches your wrist with a gentle grip. His hands are large, and it swallows your wrist easily. He doesn't move your hand away, just simply stops it from moving any further as his eyes stare right into you, even so slightly hooded.

"I hope you aren't thinking of stealin' with those little hands of yours?" He trails off with a chuckle, watching your face morph into surprise at the misreading of your intentions.

"No! No Not at all; I..." He's still chuckling, it fading quieter and deeper, the uncovered tips of his fingers warm on your skin.

"What else would you want in my coat for then, lovey?"

His question seems genuine, but maybe it's his tone of voice, that makes it sound almost perverted.

Or maybe it's just you; Because the first image that comes to your mind is you on your knees. And no matter how hard you try and shake it from your head now, the thought stays. The idea of doing something that completely debauch on a man you literally don't know makes your neck hot, but not as hot as he himself makes you.

He's been quite the flirt, so maybe he wouldn't mind the treat?

You can't help thinking it; That he's, in an odd, partly frightening way, attractive. Maybe it's the lack of appearance; Or the way his voice seems to hit you in your gut with it's deep, gravely tone. When each time he calls you sweetheart or love, looking at you with those eyes.

He's still waiting for your answer; His eyes on your face as you look away.

"Like I said; I just, wanted to thank you." You hope he can't hear the nervousness in your voice, as you hide behind the 'thanking him' excuse. If pressured you'd deny it, but you know deep down you were already looking at him this way before the thought of thanking him ever came into your head.

The edge of his coat you have pinched between the knuckles of your pointer and middle finger, sliding down the thick seam as you slowly but surely fall to your knees. All the while the Merchant watches, silent. He allows his coat to be parted more fully, enough so that you can see inside. He quickly gets the hint, holding his coat back with one hand.

"Ohhh; Well, who am I to stop you if that's what you're lookin' for, sweetheart."

For a moment his sentence boils you enough to consider backing out and re-considering this, but in the end you don't, as your head leans ever so slightly forward. Your lips brush against the seam of his trousers, fabric course and dirty against your skin. Suddenly his hand is a soft weight against the back of your head, looking down at you. You can see the way his eyes flicker over different parts of your face, intently watching.

Any hesitations you had earlier are absolutely out the window now, feeling how fast your heart is racing.

The chuckle he lets out is what someone might call creepy, one that trails off as he watches you fumble with the buttons of his trousers. You might not disagree with calling it that, but there's no denying the deep grumble it trails off into puts a weight in your gut.

It's the way that your fingers stumble and paw at his clothing that makes him chuckle again, though just as he goes to reach a hand down and assist you, you finally manage to get a handle on the confusing clothing.

Slipping a hand inside his trousers you gently wrap a hand around his cock, feeling his heavy heat against your hand as you reveal it. That feeling in and of itself makes him groan, as your hand experimentally drifts up and down his cock for a few motions. That feeling of your lips brushing against his trousers had already started to rile him up, and soon enough, he's almost completely hard in your hand.

Once you're done experimenting, or maybe preparing yourself, you move your head closer, until your mouth his hovering just millimeters away from him. You can feel the stuffy heat against your skin, and the weight of his eyes watching down on you. They're hooded, lazily looking down at you like he's already having a grand time, even if you've barely started.

His cock is hot against your lips when they finally meet, even twitching as you move to wrap your mouth over the tip. Slowly you take him into your mouth, more and more as you attempt to fit as much as you can.

He's big, the tip of his cock bulges your cheek as you groan, mouth almost completely full. And you're not even to the base, your nose just barely brushes against the unbuttoned fabric of his trousers. He lets out a loud moan, echoing against the halls of the dreary, broken down building you're in. You pull your head back before trying again, attempting to familiarize yourself with the feeling while taking as much of him as you can. A tiny bead of spit forms in the corner of your mouth, as you hear him speak through his muffled groans.

"Fuck sweetheart, you got'a tight little mouth..."

More like he's too big for it, you think.

Your head bobs on his length quickly coating him in your own spit, taking deep breaths through your nose. The last thing you want to do is gag on him, but you're playing with fire; If he decides to get a little rough it wouldn't take much to send him right down your throat.

"Shit, shit, that's perfect," One of his hands presses against the back of your head, but not enough to stop you from moving. Tongue pressed against the bottom of his cock you have the odd, salty taste of precum in your mouth, hands gripping the fabric of his trousers. He can feel your soft moans just as much as he can hear them, not noticing when you glance up for just a moment.

"Ohhhh, fuck lovey," His voice almost shakes; That rough, gravely, nearly tipsy sounding tone grinding against his words. His gloved hand slides against your hair, fingers firm but gentle against the back of your head.

"You're real good at this, ain't ya?"

You're not the best judge of your own skill, but at least he seems to be enjoying it, bad posture exasperated even more so as he leans over you. His other hand presses against the top of the table he has laid out- the one he can fold away when he decides to move on to the next location he chooses- It creaking under the sudden increase in weight. It's meant to hold ammo, handguns and the occasional rifle, not support his bodyweight like this. Not that he cares, letting out a soft sigh and mumbling to himself:

"What'a treat..."

His hips thrust forward, meeting your mouth in the middle as he can no longer stay idle. His boot grinds against crumbled stone and dirt as he takes one tiny step closer, groaning through his gritted teeth behind the mask.

"Ohh, I'm real close lovey, you better..." He trails off, but you get the jist of it more than enough. Hand wrapped around the base of his cock that your mouth just can't get to without tickling the back of your throat, your lips wrap tight around the head of his cock as he twitches in your mouth. When his hand tightens on the back of your head not moments later is he finishing in your mouth, him letting out a muffled, deep groan. It's gravely and hits you right in your cunt, but you can deal with that later.

You swallow, the odd taste in your mouth lingering as he groans. You can feel the way that he's slowly softening in your mouth, and when you pull away, his cock falls from your mouth with a wet pop. Your hands fix his trousers; As if none of this had even happened. When you look up at him, he's watching every little move you make.

"Ain't you just a lovely thing,"

His hand drifts from your hair around to your face, thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth and wicking up a droplet of spit mixed with his own cum. His finger slides over your lips and presses, and your mouth opens under his soft pressure. It just barely brushes against your teeth, only for a moment. When he removes his thumb from the wetline of your bottom lip your mouth closes again. His touch is surprisingly gentle, you notice. His hand rests cupping the side of your jaw, head tilting into it.

Your knees hurt; They've been grinding against the hard floor, tiny pieces of rubble and dirt poking upward through your clothes. When you stand back upright, they yell in pain from being in such an uncomfortable pose for so long.

"Not used to gettin' thank yous, let alone ones like that." His thumb brushes over your lips again, his chest almost brushing against your own.

"Now, are you going on your way, or are you gonna stick around for a while longer?"