#and is forced to genuinely take these things into consideration

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

opinions on ellabs?

— ⟢ why i hate ellabs!

(and an analysis on why they don’t work)

i honestly have debated talking about this for a long time because i think my opinion on this is less popular! i understand why people may like ellabs because of the enemies to lovers trope— and if it’s just a silly crack ship i couldn’t really care less. on a serious level though, they’re an incredibly toxic and abusive pairing. i don’t like ellabs because they make zero sense. ellie and abby have narrative parallels, but they are fundamentally such different people. revenge aside, their personalities clash and they would never work as an actual functioning couple.

TLDR; both Abby and Ellie are complex characters, but their personalities and emotional needs are quite different. These differences, combined with their past conflict, would make it challenging for them to form a romantic relationship based on understanding, trust, and emotional compatibility. And quite honestly Abby deserves better, just like Dina deserves better.

Their relationship would be built on grief, death and betrayal. Why would you want that?

Abby is direct, practical, and thrives in structure and challenge. Ellie is passive aggressive, emotionally erratic, and often unpredictable. Abby would likely find Ellie annoying, her defensiveness immature, and self-indulgent. On a daily basis, Abby would constantly feel like she’s parenting someone instead of building an equal partnership.

Ellie is incredibly emotionally impulsive—she acts before thinking, escalates conflict quickly, and often says things she doesn’t mean in the heat of the moment. Abby, on the other hand, tends to bottle things up, internalize pain, and power through. Abby’s emotional walls are built as a defense mechanism to protect herself from the pain of her past. She has a tendency to shut down emotionally in difficult situations. Ellie has a tendency to lash out when hurt or vulnerable. It would create a constant push-pull: Ellie would provoke arguments for emotional release, while Abby would shut down or walk away to avoid escalation. Abby would find her exhausting and extremely immature.

Ellie has a strong need to assert control—constantly putting her own emotions and goals above others’ well-being (as we see on the farm and in Santa Barbara). Abby consistently shows she can put others first—whether it’s protecting Lev or even choosing to let Ellie live. Abby would grow resentful of Ellie’s tunnel vision (cough, selfishness) and her tendency to prioritize her own pain over the collective while being unable to take accountability. Ellie’s behavior often crosses emotional or physical boundaries without consideration—especially when she’s in pain. Abby, despite being blunt and intense, actually respects personal space and emotional limits. She’s careful with Lev, for example, and doesn’t force intimacy. Ellie, however, pushes and provokes—even when others ask her not to. This would be a huge red flag for Abby, who values agency and mutual respect.

Abby, for all her flaws, takes real steps toward self-awareness and growth. She faces the consequences of her actions, cares for Lev, and genuinely tries to become a better person. Ellie, in contrast, spends most of Part II spiraling deeper into revenge and guilt, resisting growth until the very end—and even then, it’s very ambiguous. Abby would have little patience for someone who refuses to take ownership of their choices or refuses to heal. Ellie’s sense of morality is messy and reactive. She shifts between extremes—justice, vengeance, guilt—without consistency. Abby, while not innocent, has a more pragmatic moral compass. She draws clearer lines around what’s worth fighting for. Abby would probably see Ellie’s emotional decision-making and black-and-white thinking as juvenile and dangerous.

Abby operates from a deeply rooted sense of responsibility. Once she cares about someone, she’ll do anything to protect them. She’s physically and emotionally present. She stays calm under pressure, leads in a crisis, and has a grounded sense of realism. Ellie, on the other hand, is fiercely stubborn—often to the point of self destruction. Her moral compass becomes self righteous, especially when she’s in pain. She clings to her sense of being right even when it hurts others or herself. Abby would find this infuriating—because for Abby, loyalty and action matter more than being right. That core disconnect would lead to constant friction.

Abby’s strength is physical, grounded, and centered in action. She survives by being capable, focused, and in control. Ellie, meanwhile, leans into emotional turmoil and inner conflict—but often in destructive ways. Abby would find this brand of suffering frustrating and unnecessary. She’s someone who faces problems head-on, while Ellie tends to ruminate, withdraw, or explode. Abby tends to be direct, realistic and sometimes blunt, while Ellie is more mouthy and often uses humor as a defense mechanism. That might lead to frequent misunderstandings, especially when emotions are high or tensions arise. Abby’s straightforwardness could clash with Ellie’s more nuanced/emotional way of communicating.

Both Abby and Ellie are strong willed and independent individuals, but they value their independence in different ways. Abby is used to relying on herself and often prefers to handle things on her own. Ellie, while capable, has a deep desire for connection and intimacy, often seeking out relationships to fill the emotional void left by her losses. Abby might struggle with Ellie’s need for emotional closeness, while Ellie might feel abandoned by Abby’s need for space. Abby tends to internalize her emotions and struggles to express vulnerability, often keeping her feelings to herself, whereas Ellie is very emotionally driven and reactive. Abby might not know how to handle or reciprocate such intensity. Abby’s more reserved and realistic nature would clash with Ellie’s emotional depth and tendency to act on her feelings. Abby and Ellie have very different worldviews, shaped by their experiences. Abby is driven by a sense of responsibility and duty, shaped by her military background and the loss of her father. She tends to focus on survival and practicality. Ellie, on the other hand, is more idealistic and often driven by her own self-serving interests in any given moment. Their differing values and motivations would lead to misunderstandings and conflict when it comes to decision making and how they approach the world.

In crisis, Ellie unravels. She gets caught in loops of guilt, fear, and rage, often becoming emotionally chaotic and reactive. She needs emotional mirroring, verbal reassurance, and vulnerability to feel safe. She craves understanding and expression. Abby, in contrast, goes into survival mode. She compartmentalizes pain to stay functional. She’s someone who triages—what needs to be done right now? Her emotional processing happens after the crisis, if at all. She often doesn’t have the words or the inclination to emotionally unpack something in the moment. She shuts down or quietly fixes things instead of talking about them. So when Ellie spirals and looks to Abby for emotional grounding, Abby would likely respond by doing—fixing, protecting, solving. But Ellie would need words, softness, emotional connection, and when she doesn’t get that, she’d likely interpret Abby’s restraint as coldness or emotional neglect. That disconnect would create a cycle of Ellie feeling invalidated and Abby feeling exhausted, and around and around it would go.

Abby moves forward toward forgiveness, peace, and purpose. Ellie is stuck in guilt, grief, and rumination for most of her arc. Abby actively tries to stop the cycle multiple times by sparing Ellie. Ellie nearly dies trying to continue it. That’s not just a philosophical difference—it’s a fundamental misalignment. Even at their most healed states, they would always be walking in opposite emotional directions. Abby, after everything, is someone seeking stillness, quiet, and a sense of control. She’s tough, but at her core she wants emotional safety. A steady rhythm. A clean break from chaos. Ellie, even if unintentional, often brings emotional turbulence. She stirs things up. Her trauma makes her volatile, restless, and often difficult to anchor. She doesn’t just bring baggage—she lives in it. In this dynamic, Abby would constantly feel like she’s trying to plug a dam that keeps bursting. She’d carry the weight, but slowly crumble under it. And she’d just hold it all inside until she’s emotionally burned out.

They’ve both experienced deep trauma, leading to trust issues. Abby’s trust is hard to earn, and she tends to keep others at arm’s length. Ellie, while initially more open, becomes increasingly distrustful and volatile. Their inability to trust each other would create a barrier to forming a healthy relationship, especially if they continued to view each other through the lens of their past conflicts. Even trying to be with Ellie would drain Abby emotionally and psychologically. Ellie would ask for more emotional connection than Abby has the tools or energy to provide, and Abby would ask for calm, steadiness, and respect for boundaries—things Ellie wouldn’t even realize she was violating. The emotional misalignment is so foundational, it’s not even about forgiveness or reconciliation. It’s about nervous system incompatibility. They’re wired for completely different kinds of love—and survival.

Emotional safety is crucial in a romantic relationship—and neither of them could offer it to the other. Even if they tried to be soft, their history would keep tension just under the surface. Neither would ever be able to relax enough to be truly seen, because they’d always be preparing for the other to snap, leave, judge, or re-open old wounds. Abby would always be bracing for moral judgment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ellie would always be scanning for signs of betrayal or abandonment—emotional or physical. The dynamic would be one of hypervigilance, not intimacy.

Their mere existence reminds each other of unbearable loss. Abby is the face of Joel’s death, which shattered Ellie’s foundation of safety and love. No matter how much Ellie forgives her, her body would still flinch at Abby’s voice, her silhouette, the way she carries herself. Her trauma is too deeply tied to Abby’s presence. Ellie is the echo of Abby’s guilt and violence. She is the living symbol of the moral cost of Abby’s revenge, and of her failure to fully heal even after “completing” her mission. Ellie nearly killed her and Lev, forcing Abby into a position of absolute powerlessness—which, for someone like Abby, is one of the deepest triggers possible. Those subconscious reactions don’t just go away. Their bodies would stay in fight or flight mode around each other. The nervous system never forgets. There would always be a residual imbalance between them—Abby as the woman who killed Ellie’s father figure, and Ellie as the one who took everything from Abby and Lev and nearly killed them. There’s no truly equal footing possible between them. Even if they tried to move past it, it would hang in the air, distorting every interaction. Their personalities, traumas, nervous systems, and values are wired against each other. Abby needs a calm, grounded partnership. Ellie needs emotional intimacy and deep, personal understanding. They can’t give that to each other. Not without retraumatizing themselves in the process.

[circeyoru]

Hi! I wanna try this Solo Leveling request which could potentially become a story! If you don’t like it, could you at least tell me why deny it?

Anyway, Jinwoo x Fem Alternate-Universe Shadow Monarch Reader Platonic! Jinwoo accidentally stumbles onto an alternate reality where instead of him being favored by the System and gaining shadow-like powers, a young girl around Jinah’s age does so. Although kind, far too polite and shy outside of battle, when in battle, she’s all serious, merciless, and her brain goes overdrive thinking up strategies, weaknesses, etc. She’s still strong physically but far more weaker physically and in terms of experience compared to Jinwoo. In exchange, her greatest strength is more for her intelligence and as a tactician, spotting minor things that could be weaknesses, taking the environment in consideration to her advantage, finding loopholes, and fighting alongside her Shadows for combo attacks, so she could be intellectually smarter than Jinwoo.

If possible, I would find it interesting if like if Igris is Jinwoo’s knight, Fem S/O’s knight could be Baruka, that ice elf Jinwoo failed to resurrect as one of his Shadows. She probably won by outsmarting him and his clan with her own army. Fem S/O could be like Jinwoo, considered an E-Rank when she is at least an A-Rank or close to being S-Rank herself but she prefers nobody find that out and will try making that her secret like using a magic item to hide her stats in case someone tries to analyze her with some skill. Plus this way, she can be sneaky and everyone will underestimate her until it’s too late.

What’s sad is that Fem S/O had been mistreated by others her whole life, by her abusive family who believe she’s pathetic and ugly when she’s at least average pretty, bullied by students at school with the teachers looking the other way, nobody helping her at all thus S/O never receiving any love. She’s even kicked out and forced to live in a tent in a forest (like Tohru from Fruit Basket) when she had first awakened and wanted to save her money from adventuring instead of handing it all to her parents. The only thing going on for her is her trying to find happiness and genuine kindness in the future and saving up money for anything important like a house.

She’s still so sweet and kind that even her own Shadows worry for her and is protective towards their cinnamon roll master. She and Jinwoo might have some mentor/student or sibling-like relationship. If possible, Jinwoo might actually be able to take her back with him and adopt her into the family.

Okie doki. Yup, I got an essay-type request. Shocked the heck out of me when I first saw it in my inbox. Anyways. So I admit this one was hard to plan cause it's basically set up as a long series type of deal but not sure if I'm up for it (and if anyone's interested.)

For now, the prologue or teaser is up for you guys to see if you like the idea and want to see more from this. Just click the title below and you'll be sent there.

Inhumans Among Humans _ Prologue: The Plead and The Awakening

[Sung Jinwoo x Alter AU Shadow Monarch Female!Reader - Platonic | Monarch Change AU]

Well, planning stories are hard but fun. I love a good challenge. Though any ideas, you guys can shoot me an anonymous inbox or comment in the post is fine. Can't promise I'll cater to everything, especially if it's stuff I already have planned.

PS: (if you read this far) I have a few major scene set, like up to part 3 I think, it's all a BIGGG part cause I'm doing it by arc (according to the manhwa and stuff). So if you're interested, don't be shy~

[mollypaup]

I do not think Sisko would have killed Tuvix but I also do not think Janeway would have dirty bombed that colony.

[normalbrothers]

i know fandom "discourse" always had the tendency to become vitriolic very quickly, because everyone is emotionally involved and of the mindset their their little boy/girl is more special than yours, etc. but the Twitter Mindset of replying with the wittiest clapback really has eroded the last shreds of a general capacity to apply nuance when nuance is required or whatever, it's very annoying

[arsenicflame]

i do think being unconditionally loved is an experience that can be so so healing actually. it cant ever fix anything alone but to feel loved and valued and considered is something that makes carrying burdens just that little bit easier. to trust that youre someone they think about when youre not around, because they tell you. to feel like youre someone important to them because they tell you. to feel safe in knowing youre not being too intense, too annoying, too much, because everything you offer is offered right back without a seconds hesitation. this isnt something i ever thought id get to have, but i found it when i wasnt even looking. and no, it still isnt easy. it doesn't change most things. but it gives you a reason to try.

[tired-biscuit]

so we’ve established that yuuji mounts you, all right.

but i think the main thing that separates him from the rest is that instead of pushing your face into the pillow with the help of his hand on the back of your neck, he rather wraps it around your throat, fingers digging into your chin and cheek, and brings you closer to his chest so that he can kiss you and messily shove his tongue inside your mouth the second your head turns to the side.

you’d think that being mean and overpowering is what makes a person take control while pinning you down and keeping you in a submissive position like the one you’ve ended up in, but instead he does it with love and consideration as he pounds into you.

he looks you in the eyes and lets out a soft, almost breathless huff of a laugh when he feels you squeeze around him, and he keeps on mumbling these sugary little praises that are just a jumble of words that hardly make any sense together but that make your heart want to dance nevertheless. he keeps on kissing you as a means to keep you quiet instead of just cupping his palm over your mouth and telling you to shut the fuck up, and he caresses you instead of groping you even if the level of greed never changes during it.

he fucks you nasty, sure, but he never makes you feel filthy because of it. you both sweat and grind against each other and he uses his weight to press you down, but he also lets you move your hips all on your own every so often so that you can fuck yourself on his cock however you want, and he listens to you beg and whine for him to fill you up in the end not because he forces you to do it, but because you genuinely want it that bad.

he’s just effortlessly sweet like that.

[bunjywunjy]

Is spider silk being as strong as steel another lie from childhood? Bc you're able to break it pretty easily on accident. Genuinely asking.

spider silk IS actually significantly stronger pound-for-pound than the same amount of steel, but only in one direction! and coincidentally, it's the same exact direction that got a bunch of people killed in a submersible last month.

see, when people talk about the "strength" of spider silk versus steel, they're specifically talking about tensile strength:

which is specifically the measure of the strength of a material when two forces are pulling at it from the ends, like when a steel cable is holding up a bridge support, or crane cargo:

or like when a strand of silk is supporting the entire spider.

that's tensile strength, baby!

but there's another type of strength that's very important to take into consideration when you're actually building things like bridges and submersibles, and spider silk and similar materials like carbon fiber are absolutely garbage at it! and that's compressive strength.

this is basically the inverse of tensile strength, where instead of being yanked at from both ends, the forces are crushing inwards at the material from both directions instead.

you can expect to see these kinds of forces involved in road surfaces, vehicle engines, and again, submersibles.

now steel and its more competent cousin titanium are fucking GREAT at compressive strength! the harder the outside forces are compressing them, the stronger the metals get.

NOT TODAY, FUCKERS

but strand-based materials like spider silk and, again, carbon fiber, are fucking garbage at this. they can take a certain amount of pressure, but each round with compressive forces snaps some of the strands that makes up the material! and those don't grow back, so basically you're just gradually reducing your poor overstressed carbon-fiber hull into a completely useless shell of shattered thread fragments over time as the strands of fiber that actually give it strength die off one by one.

and eventually, something's gotta give! and then people die about it.

this is why, even though spider silk IS stronger than steel in one specific way, we're never going to stop using steel in industrial applications and switch over to spider silk or carbon fiber full time. these materials all have their areas of use, and steel just covers a wider base of applications.

and don't even get me started on shear strength. we'll be here all damn day.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

All in your head || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/n: love this request!

Warnings: r is implied to be young, manipulative, controlling Coryo, if there’s anything else lmk

Wc: 564

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The grand hall was adorned with opulent decorations, an extravagant celebration befitting the fifth wedding anniversary of you and Coriolanus Snow. The air was filled with the scent of delicate flowers, and the soft murmur of the Capitol's elite mingled with the distant hum of the city beyond.

It was a spectacle of extravagance, but behind the façade of smiles and enchanting music, your marriage to Coriolanus was nothing more than a carefully constructed arrangement.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, hands toying with your necklace as you hear a deep sigh beside you.

"Yeah well, you have no choice," he mumbled, adjusting his cuffs, preparing to step out onto the balcony for an interview broadcasted to all of Panem.

"Let's get this over and done with then," you huffed, smoothing down your dress with practiced grace before the doors opened, and you summoned a well-trained fake smile. Coriolanus, in keeping with the façade of a blissful marriage, rested his hand on your waist, his smile equally forced.

As the camera lights focused on the two of you, the citizens of the Capitol eagerly tuned in to the live interview. Caesar Flickerman, the charismatic host, beamed as he addressed the couple. “Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, we are honored to have Mr. and Mrs. Snow with us tonight!”

Applause erupted as you and Coriolanus exchanged a glance, a look perceived by others as one of love, though the reality was starkly different.

"Y/n, it felt like only yesterday we saw you graduating from the Academy, and now here you are, as gorgeous and powerful as ever as First Lady," Caesar complimented, leaving you slightly off-kilter-a reminder of the day you learned of your impending marriage to Coriolanus.

"Time flies, doesn't it?" You gracefully replied with a polite smile as Caesar chuckled. "Five years of marital bliss, how does it feel?" He directed his question to both of you this time.

You and Coriolanus exchanged a fleeting glance, a practiced smile plastered on both of your faces. "It's been an incredible journey," you replied, your voice measured.

"We've grown together and learned a lot about each other."

Caesar leaned in with a glint in his eye. "Speaking of growth, the citizens of Panem are curious— are there any plans for a little Snow on the horizon? Perhaps an heir to the Snow legacy?"

The questions about children were not new, but the pressure had been mounting over the years. Your father, a powerful figure in Panem, had orchestrated this union to solidify his influence, disregarding any consideration for your personal desires or compatibility.

The marriage had left you with an ache in your heart, and the absence of genuine connection with Coriolanus was palpable. Behind closed doors, conversations between the two of you were few and far between.

tense silence filled the spacious chambers, with occasional glances that spoke volumes but went unaddressed. The thought of children had become a looming cloud, casting shadows over your fragile union.

A polite chuckle escaped Coriolanus's lips, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of discomfort. "Ah, well, we're enjoying our time together for now. The future is unpredictable, but we're taking things one step at a time."

As the interviews continued, the speculation about Coriolanus's fertility surfaced. The whispers in the Capitol's high-society gatherings grew louder, comparing the size of your family to the apparent lack of progeny from the Snow lineage. It became a matter of public curiosity, and the pressure to produce an heir was now a heavy burden on Coriolanus.

Lounging out on one of the day beds, sunglasses perched on your nose, and a book in hand, you felt a figure towering over you. Your eyes move from the words on your page to the figure.

"We need to talk," he declared, his voice firm, as he offers you your robe to which your gratefully take and slip it on your body. The air hung heavy with anticipation as you reluctantly nodded. "Alright." You follow Coriolanus to his study where he closes, and locks the door behind you.

Raising an eyebrow at his odd behaviour he sits down with a loud sigh. You silently sit at one of the seats in front of his desk. Coriolanus took a deep breath, his gaze intense.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, waiting for him to clarify. “How do you propose we do that?” His eyes bore into yours as he spoke, his words carrying an unusual urgency. “Let’s have a child.”

The weight of his statement hung in the air, and you couldn’t hide the surprise etched across your face. “What?” you stammered.

Coriolanus’s jaw tensed, his resolve unyielding. “I said, let’s have a—” “I heard you,” you interrupted with a snap, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you can’t just decide that on a whim. It’s not that simple.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I understand that, but the longer we wait, the more the rumors will grow. I can’t bear the scrutiny any longer. We need to put an end to this speculation, for both our sakes.”

The cold reality of the situation hit you—the marriage, the façade, and now the pressure to bear a child for the sake of appearances. You couldn’t deny the logic in his words, but the emotional chasm between you and Coriolanus seemed insurmountable.

“I can’t just bring a child into this world for the sake of quelling rumors,” you protested, your voice trembling with emotion. Coriolanus scoffed, “You can, and you will.” His harsh comment made you gulp, your mother’s words ringing in the back of your mind. “Obey your husband,” “Do what pleases him,” and so you did.

It didn’t take long for you to get pregnant. On your sixth wedding anniversary, this time, you held your nearly one-year-old son in your lap, about to announce that you were expecting again.

[reiderwriter]

Okay but, flirty reader majority pointed at Reid, and the scene where he has to get hosed down and says "I'mma bout to get naked, I don't think you wanna see that" and reader's just like raising her hand and says "don't worry I'll stay". And after she walks out to go to the hospital and sees everyone and with an open mouth and wide eyes just goes " woah" cause big dick energy

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for your request! I've been a bit sick lately, so I haven't had a chance to write much, but this was fun and quick to write! I might do a part 2 with the actual smut in the future, so if that's something people would want let me know in the comments!!

Warnings: suggestive content, public dirty talk?

“I really want to see that.” 

You heard the words but weren't sure where they'd come from for the longest time. It had been a confusing morning, with a high alert for anthrax and your coworker trapping himself inside a contaminated lab to save you from dying a presumably very painful death, you couldn't be blamed for not realizing that you'd said the words in question. 

He'd meant the words sarcastically, of course, and they'd warned Morgan off immediately with a chuckle and a “You better survive this, kid,” but you'd stood rooted to the earth until he'd repeated them again. 

“Y/N, they're going to strip me down. You don't want to see that.” 

“I really do, though.” Your eyes unabashedly trailed down the contours of his body, soaked from the hoses currently decontaminating him. You could've sworn that he was moving in slow motion as his hand pushed back his hair and cleared his face of water. 

If there weren't this many CDC agents around, you'd have likely joined him in his impromptu shower to feel your way along the lines of his clothing, checking to see what was outline and what was the thick layers of shirt and pants that unfortunately still obstructed your view. 

Another minute of you ogling him went by before your eyes finally returned to anywhere near his, and you realized that your desire for the man could no longer pass for camaraderie. 

“You better not die, Spencer. Not before I can enjoy the meal I'm about to sample.” 

His doctors were either ignoring the conversation completely or were busy focusing on other things, and luckily, they didn't react to your words. Other than to take Spencer's temperature one more time when he flushed bright red, and stared at you slack-jawed. 

“We're going to have to speed this along, Doctor Reid. Please start unbuttoning your shirt,” one of the hazmatted men said to him, but his eyes were fixed on you. 

“Yes, please do, Spencer. It's for your own good. And mine.” 

You expected him to blush and fawn again, but his day had been as long and confusing as your own, so you were unsurprised when he looked you directly in the eye and began unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his descent, and your breath faltered, seeing the water drip down his bare skin now. 

“I'm not sure which of us is wetter right now,” you tried to joke in earnest, but you felt a sharp jolt of lust in your gut as soon as his hands reached his belt. 

“Y/N, you need to leave now. Before you make this any harder for everyone here.” The innuendo in his words were clear, but you were thankful again for the considerate and/or oblivious doctors either side of him bagging up his discarded shirt and jacket. 

“Only if you promise I can make your life as hard as I want to when you're in the clear.” You smiled again, hoping the full force of your lust would reach him. Spencer was always oblivious to genuine flirtation, you'd observed enough women throwing themselves on him (had discouraged a few too many with a hand on his arm and a finger playing with the abandoned curls at the back of his neck, too) to know that for sure. 

You needed to make your need for him explicit. 

“I mean it, Spencer. I really mean it.” 

His eyes locked with yours for the last time ad you made to turn around, doing your best to convince him without becoming distractedly horny. 

“I know. I'll see you at the hospital.” 

“At the hospital? Risky, I like it.” You winked and turned away, leaving him calling back after you as you walked over to the car Derek had pulled around the front of the property. 

“Wait, not the hospital! Those beds aren’t comfortable. Y/N! Y/N, really!” 

You giggled as you sat down in the car, but you bubbled with anticipation still. 

[making-you-in-spore]

hey man what the fuck is happening

i made my fursona wax, the deinonychus, in spore [2008]

i also peeled him

what's up everyone, didn't expect to hit this absolutely unfathomable milestone so soon. i don't have anything prepared and i still have hundreds of requests left to do, so don't expect that. perhaps i will use this post to talk to you all a little bit with my asks off. more info under the cut.

i've received a lot of requests over time for me to try and do spore creature commissions. while this isn't on the visible horizon, it is something i might consider for the future if there is genuine interest for such a thing.

i'm by nature mostly opposed to the idea of making money from spore creations, not due to their quality but due to their origin. spore is something i do for fun because i love this game, not because i want to make a living from it.

if, in the end, i do decide to go through and allow spore creature commissions, i'd like you all to say in the comments what you think they'd be worth. i'd take all suggestions into consideration. maybe add-ons [forcing it to be vanilla friendly, using specific mods, etc] or price suggestions, donations to charities, etc.

i likely will not do spore commissions, but i felt like addressing it firsthand. glaxusplaxus has brought up the important notion that it is a legal grey area.

if you do want to support me regardless, i do have a ko-fi where you can make donations. i do not expect anyone to donate, but am throwing it out there for those who may extend their kind hands.

aside from that, feel free to use this post as an ask box with my asks currently being closed. if you have any questions or anything you want to say, i will do my best to answer.

have a good timezone, fellow sporians

[atlabeth]

I desperately need you to give me some jealous nikolai lanstov I'm not even jokinh

my love mine all mine

lowkey continuation of bad luck and im with you; can be read standalone though!

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem reader

summary: after your return to ravka, nikolai's resolve is tested at a ball.

a/n: i have saved this ask since september because i knew one day i would get around to it. i love nikolai lantsov and i dont write jealous fics often so here we go!! this is technically a continuation of bad luck and im with you but you can read it separately. i keep going back to these two for some reason lmao?? idk. theyre childhood friends to lovers with so much strife in between and that's so special to me lmao. but yah enjoy i MISSED WRITING FOR HIM<3

wc: 2.8k

warning(s): nikolai is a lil jealous obviously! small bit of angst, mostly fluff, lil steamy at the end.

Nikolai feels his lip curling, feels his hand tighten on his glass. 

This is a party. A ball, more specifically, but a celebration nonetheless. He should be smiling, mingling, talking up some baron or duke in the name of Ravka’s economy. He is a prince, after all—a bastard, second son of a prince that plans to take the throne at that—and he’s just returned from years at sea. It is in his best interest to do what he does best and talk as much as possible. If anything, he should be arm in arm with the Sun Summoner to boost both their positions. 

But all he can do is stare at you. 

You’re the embodiment of grace. Your practiced smile looks wholly genuine no matter how long you have to keep it up. Your laugh seems to make others smile without even realizing, ringing out clear like church bells. It’s a sound Nikolai knows he would worship to the end of his days, at least. 

You stand in the midst of noblemen and Nikolai only recognizes one—Artem Aslanov, a son of nobles that the two of you spent much of your youth with. He wonders if you remember each other as well. He certainly seems to, the way he stands just a bit too close to you, the way he’s absolutely eager for your attention. Nikolai holds back a scoff. 

The others are likely from various other Ravkan settlements, though one has to be Kaelish, with his almost offensively ginger hair. 

Not that any of it matters, though. Not one of them can tear their eyes away from you as you talk, magnetic with both your words and inherent charm, and they drink up every bit of your presence. 

Something stirs inside Nikolai at the sight. Logically, he knows he has little to worry about—he knows this is your duty as much as it is his, and you care little for any man’s affections but his. 

But Saints, his heart does not want to listen to silly things such as logic. In this moment, Nikolai is reminded of the truth at its barest—you’re a noblewoman of good breeding, quite extravagant wealth, and considerable beauty. Your years at sea have caused you to develop a quick wit and sharp tongue, and it only serves to make you more appealing.

Your flashy return to Ravka has made you perhaps the most desirable lady at court, and Nikolai is forced to realize he no longer has you all to himself anymore. 

Nikolai has planned to come back and take the Lantsov throne for years now, but he can’t help but long for those days again. Teaching you all the ins and outs of the Volkvolny, how to do every sailor’s knot he knows, showing you the misty mountains of the Wandering Isle and the rolling fields of Novyi Zem and the wonderful world outside of Ravka’s courtly constraints. 

Taking over the ships of slavers and clashing blades with drüskelle and watching a thousand sunrises and sunsets together, unbound by anything but tangled up in every part of each other. 

It was almost laughable. You were worried of Nikolai charming others upon your return, and yet here he was, unable to look away from you for even the slightest second because he was jealous of some noble son.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” 

Nikolai turns back to the conversation he is meant to be paying attention to, already offering a smile that he hopes will make up for his utter lack of focus. Of course, he doesn’t really care what this Kerch merchant thinks of him, and Nikolai’s word will probably mean little to his parents at the moment. They’re still quite angry at him for all his Sturmhondish escapades. This man, whose name he has already forgotten, doesn’t seem to know he’s wasting his time. 

“Of course I am,” he says, and he pats him on the shoulder. He means to say more, but then he catches a glance of Artem pulling you to the side, his hand lingering on your waist much too close for comfort. He’s surprised he doesn’t break his glass with how his fingers clench around it even tighter.  

“Then I would be honored for you to consider my—” 

“I apologize, Jansen.” Nikolai ignores the look on his face at both his interruption and being called the wrong name as he drops his hand. “It’s been wonderful chatting with you, but I’m afraid I must take my leave.” 

Nikolai departs before he can get another word out. He’s sure he’ll get an earful later for his ‘disrespect’ but again, he really could not care less. 

He expects to have to weave his way through the crowd, but a path parts for him wherever he moves. Benefits to being a Lantsov prince rather than another privateer on the sea, he supposes. He feels a number of eyes on him as he walks, but he’s focused on one thing and one thing only. 

Artem seems to be as well, seeing as he doesn’t even look up while he continues talking to you. Nikolai doesn’t blame him for being enraptured, but he does wonder what he thinks that boorish smile will do to you. 

Nikolai exclaims your name as he comes up next to you, sliding his arm around your waist like he’s done a thousand times before and claiming his place at your side. “I’ve been looking for you, milaya. You’ve been awfully popular tonight.”

Your gleaming gaze turns to him and Nikolai feels like he can melt. It doesn’t matter how many times you look at him—not even Alina can muster up something to rival your brightness. 

“Nikolai!” 

Again, the way you say his name makes him weak at the knees. The poshness of your Ravkan faded while you were at sea around common sailors and vagrants, and though he can tell you’re trying your best to hide it in the name of courtly etiquette, it still bleeds through. He adores your accent, how it shows the woman you’ve become rather than the girl you ran away from. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” you counter as you lean into him. You’ve applied some fanciful perfume, and it’s intoxicating. He has to stop himself from inhaling deeply—he has little shame when it comes to you, but he’s got to have some poise. “You’re the belle of the ball, Mister Prince.” 

“And you’re the apple of everyone’s eye, lapushka,” he says. “Especially mine.” 

Your heartbeat has been steadily increasing ever since he slotted himself at your side, and he can feel it speed even more with his words. It makes Nikolai smile without even fully realizing it. 

He feels Artem’s gaze on him all the while, and Nikolai chooses to ignore it until now. He looks up, making sure his eyes widen cartoonishly and his smile deepens with the same caliber. “Aslanov! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even notice you!” 

“Your Highness,” he says, polite but terse as he bows his head. “It’s good to see you—it has truly been too long.” 

“Oh, no need for titles,” Nikolai admonishes. “We’re all friends here, are we not?”

He puts particular emphasis on that word, and Artem shifts ever so slightly under Nikolai’s gaze. So he makes him nervous—good. 

“We are,” he agrees, and he looks back at you. “We were merely catching up—it has been years since I last had the good fortune to be in your presence.” Artem smiles at you once again, far more genuine than anything he’s given Nikolai. “Of course, I look forward to hearing about everything you learned at university.” 

“I’ve certainly learned a lot,” you say. Very tongue-in-cheek—you don’t even try to hide it. 

Of course. The cover story for Nikolai’s being away from court was his apprenticeships, culminating in his studies at the University of Ketterdam—it would be a shame of the highest order for your parents to admit you ran away to avoid the marriage they’d planned for you, and even more so to admit it had gotten their daughter kidnapped by slavers, so they simply said you joined him there. 

Advancing your studies for a better view, they’d spouted. We want our heir to be well-educated on all matters of the world. Nikolai knows you learned more on the seas by his side than you would have in a classroom staring at endless amounts of books. He only regrets he can’t shout how amazing you’ve been for the past few years from the rooftops. 

“Perhaps we could discuss it privately some time.” Nikolai will give it to him; his smile is a bit more charming this time. He still wants to punch it off him. “You know, my family has only refined our winemaking over the years—we’d have a wonderful time with a bottle of our finest red—”

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait,” Nikolai cuts in before you can respond. He can’t help it—he’s raring to have you to himself, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take of Artem’s flirting. “My parents are eager to speak to you, darling. We’ll see you around, Aslanov.” 

He pulls you away, once again feeling Artem’s eyes on the two of you. He purposefully pulls you closer against him—your warmth against him does wonders to quell the spike of jealousy in his chest.

“You really are impossible,” you say wryly, but you make no move to part from his side as he leads you through the crowd. 

“I’m just making sure he understands the situation,” Nikolai says innocently. 

“We were just talking,” you say. “You know, it has been years.”

“You were,” he agrees. “But our friend here was very interested in trying to be more. Couldn’t you tell?”

You laugh and you place your hand on his chest. “Nikolai Lantsov, are you jealous?”

“He was talking about his family’s vineyard.” He smiles back at you in turn. He can’t help the bit of bravado that trickles in. “For me to be jealous, I’d have to think he had a chance.”

“Saints, you are!” you exclaim. You stop, halting him in turn, and you grin at him with a twinkle in your eye. Again, he smiles subconsciously just at the sight of it. “Nikolai, I cannot believe you!” 

“How?” he asks, cocking his head boyishly. “Have you caught a glimpse of yourself tonight?”

“I’ve looked at myself in the reflection of every glass,” you say dryly. “After all the time spent in sea-faring clothes, it’s very strange to be back in gowns.”

“Then you should know how absolutely stunning you are,” he says. “Breathtaking, showstopping, the very image of perfection…” Nikolai runs his finger over the embroidery on one of your off-the-shoulder sleeves. The rest of his hand lingers on your bare skin, and he longs to remove the barrier his gloves have created. 

“And yet it still doesn’t beat how you look in a privateer’s garb,” Nikolai says. 

He places his hand over yours and brings it up from his chest. He entangles your fingers and uses the grasp to pull you even closer to him, your chests nearly touching. The warmth of your body tempts him to go even further, but he holds back. 

“Really?” you ask. “This gown cost more vlachkas than anyone deserves, took the labor of a small army to create, and weighs as much as you do, and you like me more in that dingy jacket with pants that smell like gunpowder?” 

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai nods. “They don’t just smell like gunpowder—they make your rear look very appealing.” 

You laugh louder than you should and it draws eyes in your direction. You don’t pay them any mind, gaze still locked on Nikolai, as you hit him on the chest. 

“You still have the mind of a sailor, I see,” you drawl. “But I must admit I also miss it. The simplicity, if anything.” 

“Just because I didn’t keep a king’s mantle on deck doesn’t mean I wasn’t outfitted in the same gaudy way,” Nikolai says. “A Lantsov must always be prepared, you know.” 

“Well, I used to hate that blue frock of yours, especially when we first reunited,” you muse. You extract your hand and trail your fingers down his current coat—he shivers at your touch even through the material. “Now I think I prefer it over anything else in your wardrobe.”

He frowns. “You hated my coat?” 

“I hated a lot of things at the time,” you say wryly. Your hand finds its way back to his and you intertwine them together again. “Besides, it’s grown on me.” 

Nikolai chuckles, and the two of you fall silent when you shift and rest your head on his shoulder. You’ve managed to find your way to the edge of the ballroom, and it gives you a little more privacy. You stand together, watching as everyone mingles, half bearing a fake smile and the other half lying through their teeth. He didn’t think the Ravkan court would like to think they had more in common with his lying, cheating, stealing crew than they thought.  

“So,” Nikolai says, finally breaking the silence, “is being back everything you’ve imagined?”

You huff. “Hardly. Everything is so… restrained.” 

He hums in acknowledgement. “Speaking of restrained, have your parents gotten over their fit yet?” 

Your laugh is sharper this time. “Once again, hardly. You’d think I murdered the queen the way they’re treating me.” 

Nikolai expected that, to be honest. He insisted on being by your side in the initial reunion and they didn’t dare act out of turn in front of royalty, but you said the moment you returned to your palace apartment with them, they yelled at you loud enough to be heard in Novyi Zem. 

“They should be thankful,” Nikolai scoffs. “It’s like they don’t even care what nearly happened to you because of their haste to marry you off.” 

“I don’t even like to think about it,” you murmur. He feels you shiver and he pulls you even closer to him. “But I was right—they want me to be who I was before I left. They’re even convinced that they can get me to agree to the marriage they’ve got planned.” 

His frown deepens. “Saints, must I sweep you off your feet in front of all of Ravka to get everyone to realize you’re a taken woman? I am a very good shot, but I’ve only got so many bullets—”

“Nikolai,” you interrupt with a laugh, raising your head to look him in the eye. He’s glad to see the lightness has returned. Your near fate isn’t a subject either of you like to talk about. “You don’t need to worry, and you certainly don’t need to worry about that.” You cup his cheek with your hand and he leans into your touch. “If one thing has stayed the same through all of this, it’s that you’re the only one out there for me. After all the pomp and circumstance you have to perform with Alina is over, you can tell them yourself.” 

“Good,” Nikolai says with a slight smile. “Because I don’t think I can stand to hear Aslanov talk about the grapes his family’s been growing for another second.” 

You laugh again, and you lean in to press a kiss to his lips. Nikolai beats you to it as he covers your hand with his own, using his other to draw you even closer. Practically every part of you is touching as he kisses you like a starving man, with your lips against his and your perfume invading his senses and your soft moan that’s muffled against his mouth. After a night spent away from your side and having to watch other men compete fruitlessly for your affections, he might as well be. 

When you finally pull away, lipstick a mess and pupils dilated and expression nothing less than adoration, it takes everything Nikolai has in him not to take your face in his hands and do it all over again. He wants to mess up your hair, your makeup, kiss your lips until they’re swollen and ravish, worship your body until you can think of nothing but him, say nothing but his name. 

“Nikolai,” you gasp, interrupting his sinful thoughts, “do you want to get out of here for a bit?” 

Whatever restraint he previously had dissolves with your words as he kisses you again, harder this time. You’re water when he’s dying, a lifeboat when he’s drowning, the very air he needs to breathe. Everything has come to a head after such a boring, strength-testing night, and all Nikolai wants is you. 

He brings you even closer with the arm he has around your waist, already starting to pull you along as he heads towards the doorways. He’s sure to stick to the walls, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary when even the flushed warmth of your heated skin through his jacket is enough to drive him crazy. 

Nikolai doesn’t know how he ever spent seven years away from you. He could barely handle half a ball. 

“More than anything,” he breathes. 

[songbirdseung]

new year, same love / lee heeseung

going into 2025 with the man you have pined over for years now. hoping this year you won't have to admire him from afar no more.

there he goes again, strolling through the college hallways with his friends, laughing and talking about who knows what. all you know is that he looks effortlessly good while doing it. lee heeseung was gorgeous, so much so that you often wondered how someone could look better than most people you’ve seen in movies, let alone in real life. the way he carried himself—confident, assured, like he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted—made him impossible to ignore.

heeseung wasn’t just a pretty face; he was ambitious and determined, a man who knew how to chase after his goals without hesitation. but somehow, even with that drive, he managed to maintain a charm that made everyone gravitate toward him.

and you? you fell for him the moment you saw him during freshman year. back then, you thought it was just a harmless crush—something fleeting that you could brush off. but that illusion shattered the second he walked into your first class, sat beside you, and offered you the warmest smile.

"hi, i'm heeseung."

his voice was smooth, almost too comforting. you never thought you’d find someone’s voice so attractive, yet here you were, completely entranced by it.

over the next three years, you silently admired him from afar, never daring to cross the boundary of casual greetings or academic discussions. you convinced yourself there was no point. someone like heeseung, so confident and accomplished, wouldn’t look twice at someone like you—or so your insecurities told you.

but that didn’t stop you from stealing glances whenever he was in the same room or secretly melting every time he casually greeted you in passing. your friends, however, weren’t as content with your one-sided pining.

yeji and winter, your two best friends and self-proclaimed "love-life saviors," had been listening to your endless praises about heeseung for years. they were your biggest cheerleaders, hyping you up to approach him. but lately, they’d grown tired of your hesitation and decided to take matters into their own hands.

with senior year coming to an end, they knew time was running out. their plan? a harmless little scheme to push fate along—a small prank that would get you and heeseung stuck in the same room together.

the day of their so-called intervention began innocently enough. you were in the library, buried in research for your final project when yeji plopped into the chair across from you, her grin a little too wide to be genuine.

"hey, yn," she said, voice sweet but suspiciously scheming. "did you hear about the study rooms on the third floor? they just added soundproofing. perfect for concentration."

"uh, no," you replied absentmindedly, still typing away. "why?"

"oh, nothing. i just booked one for you. figured you'd need some peace and quiet."

you glanced up, suspicious. "since when are you so considerate?"

winter appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to yeji. "stop questioning and just go, yn. you'll thank us later."

reluctantly, you gathered your things and headed upstairs. the moment you entered the room, you froze.

there, sitting at the table, was lee heeseung.

"oh," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

he looked up from his laptop, surprise flickering across his features before he smiled. "hey, yn. didn’t expect to see you here."

your brain scrambled for a coherent response. "uh, yeah... same. must be a mix-up."

you turned to leave, but the door clicked shut behind you. you tried the handle. locked.

your heart sank as realization hit: yeji and winter had set you up.

"everything okay?" heeseung asked, standing up and walking toward you.

"uh, yeah, just... locked in," you said, forcing a laugh. "probably some glitch."

he chuckled, his voice warm. "guess we’re stuck then. might as well make the most of it."

he gestured to the chairs, and you hesitantly sat down, your pulse racing.

"so," he said, leaning forward with that signature confidence, "tell me about you. we’ve had so many classes together, but i feel like i barely know anything about you."

the casual question caught you off guard, but his genuine interest disarmed you. slowly, you began to talk, sharing snippets of your life, your interests, and even your favorite coffee spot on campus.

to your surprise, heeseung listened intently, asking questions and laughing at your stories. the initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by an unexpected ease.

an hour passed before you even realized it, and when the door finally unlocked (thanks to yeji's "mysterious" intervention), you almost felt disappointed.

"guess we're free now," he said, standing up and grabbing his bag.

"yeah," you murmured, feeling a strange mix of relief and longing.

he paused by the door, glancing back at you with a small smile. "you know, this was actually fun. we should do it again sometime—minus the locking part."

your eyes widened. "oh, uh, yeah. sure."

and just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind spinning.

yeji and winter were definitely going to pay for this—but maybe, just maybe, you’d thank them later.

[hwnglx]

dating bts pro's & con's

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

jin

pro's

quite considerate and mindful with his actions, especially in the beginning stages of the relationship while you're still getting to know each other

the type to figure your own boundaries out as much as he can before taking action, to make sure he doesn't cross any of your lines or doesn't step on your toes

very enthusiastic and passionate about the ways in which he can serve you -> e.g. there's a gift you really want, he'll get very excited about buying it for you, or you want to go this course but are too shy to go there alone, he'll love to go there and accompany you

will looove to impress you and get a strong and happy reaction out of you like he literally lives to get you all joyous over something he did

also loves the thought of exploring and sharing new and interesting experiences together with his lovers, like going on fun and exciting trips

respects and understands your need for individuality and isn't the type to force his opinions or beliefs onto you

like he doesn't see the relationship as you two merging but moreso two different and unique people coming together enriching each other's lives

open to compromise for the sake of harmony and peace in the relationship -> will want to hear you out and find a middle ground during potential times of conflict

also loves to learn from his lovers, whether that's through the difference in their opinions, views, beliefs or even their unique hobbies

con's

this man despises arguing

he feels like his worst side comes out once he gets too overwhelmed by his negative emotions so he actively prefers avoiding confrontation and conflict

can act and talk out of emotion and impulsively once you rub him the wrong way and potentially say things he doesn't really mean

can feel offended, take things personally and get defensive pretty quickly

feels hurt very quickly, not only does he have a sensitive heart but especially in his pride, which as a result can get him in a very vengeful and resentful state

will impulsively want to hurt you back as a defence mechanism

can be kinda wishy-washy in his opinions, say one thing but end up changing his opinion soon after and contradict himself

honestly just.. try not to fight with him lmao, he just gets so lost and confused and overwhelmed (i almost feel bad for him idk?) but can tend to instinctively disguise a lot of that behind a rude attitude

might get passive-aggressive and let out snarky comments sometimes, even if the conflict already appears to be solved

he just holds on to grudges for longer than he appears to

yoongi

pro's

very mentally stimulating lover who puts importance in intellectual compatibility and bonds in that way -> you're likely to have the most interesting conversations together

also a lot of playful bickering

i just feel like dating him would make you look back at yourself a lot and have you thinking about things you didn't even consider before

empowers, inspires and encourages his lovers in quite a profound and impactful way

isn't afraid of challenges, struggles, arguments or fights, moreso sees it as a necessity to reach a better and deeper understanding of each other

like he's just not the type to go into a corner and curl up in a ball to cry over your criticism or potentially offensive words -> quite strong and able to take a blow

he genuinely wants to comprehend and understand your unique point of view

doesn't get overly attached and obsessed over his partners -> very independent lover who will give you your space and freedom to embrace yourself in your individuality

also keeps your connection quite intimate and private between the two of you -> e.g. he wouldn't go on chatting about your relationship with all his friends

you can tell him all your deepest, darkest secrets and he wouldn't mutter a word to anyone

con's

doesn't like the weight and responsibility that can come with serious and close relationships, so he'll likely prefer keeping things lighter

especially emotionally, he doesn't want to and also doesn't understand the need to bear the burden of other people's problems therefore prefers detaching himself from them, even if you're his significant other

like if you want an obsessed and extremely dedicated lover who spends his entire day just thinking about you and taking care of you, yoongi won't be the one for you

will want you to have your own independence and be able to look after yourself

honestly if you have the tendency to turn into a needy and whiny baby in relationships, he will feel immensely turned off like he just won't play babysitter

isn't afraid to just suddenly put an end to the relationship if he feels like you're not the one for him

you won't catch him sticking around to try to make things work if he doesn't feel like it's worth it in the first place

he can just get a little “meh whatever guess you're not the one”

like he can be quite cold and direct in his expressions and doesn't bother to sugarcoat or make his words more digestible for anyone

hobi

pro's

quite patient and understanding -> wouldn't rush or push you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, allows the connection to blossom slowly

not the type to date for a one-time thing and moreso interested in putting effort into developing a slowly but steadily growing relationship

would foster this nice balance between a deep and emotionally intimate connection, while also being your best friend you can have fun with at the same time

very in tune with your feelings and emotional needs and good at naturally adjusting his behaviour or demeanour according to that

he'd be your loudest most excited hype-man when you have something to celebrate, or a quiet and soothing source of comfort in times of struggles

can be a very dreamy, romantic and appreciative lover who easily sees beauty in everything you two do, even the small things

even the trivial and simple dates like going on a short walk together would be one of the most beautiful and special days in his eyes

would take charge of the relationship and feel a lot of responsibility to make sure you feel loved, admired and cared for at all times

like there's just no way you're dating hobi and feeling insecure or bad about yourself, he will make sure you always remember how special you are

con's

very very, almost overly generous, naturally puts the entirety of the relationship on his own back but can therefore quickly feel inadequate

so immensely sensitive to your emotions or reactions within the relationship that he can easily misunderstand or misread your signals and as a result feel insecure

can feel dispirited if the initial honeymoon spark in the relationship diminishes

he's kinda back and forth between being very sweet and sensitive, almost childlike in a way, but also being extremely stubborn and strict

might put an end to the relationship if he feels like it stands in the way of his career

like even if he cultivated an emotional connection to you, he'd be willing to let go of it, if he feels like you don't respect his individual objectives and values in life

also not the best boyfriend to break up with

don't expect him to remain friends with you after you go your separate ways, it's likely he'll hold a lot of resentment and unexpressed frustration within him

a lot of that he didn't express within your relationship because he was being considerate, but it might come out later on once he detaches himself from you emotionally

namjoon

pro's

very charming and incredibly romantic, especially when it comes to the dates and gifts

i keep seeing this scene of travis scott's gifts to kylie jenner in my mind's eye

will be hugely generous and giving if he feels like you deserve it and know how to appreciate it

willing to invest a lot of himself into the connection once he feels like it's worth it

like even amidst his fully packed and busy schedules, joon is the type to somehow find time during the day to dedicate it to the special person in his life only

knows what it takes to foster a relationship based on a strong and stable ground

will make you feel as secure as ever, like you do not have to worry about him having eyes for anyone else and have no second thoughts about trusting him to remain fully committed to you

like this man just won't cheat, he'd betray himself and his own morals first and foremost if he did

amazing at creating an intimate atmosphere where it feels like it's just the two of you -> values alone-time a lot and thinks it's a vital part of the connection

scorpio venus' and their ability to just zone in on you and forget about everyone else is insane, also incredible listeners who will make you feel like no one else's voice on this world matters as much as yours

con's

this man has standards like you'd never believe

like he just won't be bothered to do all that if he doesn't think you're the perfect partner for him, and it definitely takes a sublime person to achieve that

is immensely clear, thorough and exact on what he wants and expects from his lover in a romantic relationship and won't be changing his stance for anyone -> if he feels like you're not fulfilling your own role within the connection, don't expect him to wait or stick around for long

expects a sense of levelheadedness, emotional maturity and straightforwardness from his partners, similarly to yoongi this man will absolutely not bother to deal with partners who have their head high up in the clouds and require sugarcoating or babying

tbh, joon at his worst to me is giving someone who's very judgemental and “my way” like his opinion is the only right one and you can not tell him otherwise

can have patterns of controlling and rigorous behaviour

can be quite hesitant and unsure about completely committing to people at first because he can often deal with trust issues

taehyung

pro's

will be your most interesting and intriguing conversation partner, like he'll just love talking to you for hours about every topic in the world ranging from silly, random and fun subjects to heartfelt, deep and intimate topics

values upright and honest communication -> quite straightfoward and truthful, isn't the type to say one thing to your face and do another behind your back

keeps his promises and stands behind his words

takes relationships seriously and dates people with clear intention behind it -> not the type to just be dating someone for fun and games

wants to keep his relationships intimate and between the two of you only

puts a lot of thought into your connection

you'll always feel taken care of, smothered and spoiled without fail, whether that's in the form of expensive gifts or emotionally, not only whenever you're in his presence but even when you two are apart

like he's so attentive, you'll be on his mind constantly, a lot of worry and concern over your wellbeing

he'd constantly check up on you to make sure you're okay

many sweet and heartwarming “good morning” and “good night” texts

would gift you the most meaningful and special things that are unique to you only

definitely the type to love the concept of e.g. couple rings

i just saw this beautiful rose-gold ring in my mind's eye that has his name carved on the inside (very cute i won't lie.. ╥﹏╥)

con's

a lot of inner restlessness which he can subconsciously project onto his lovers

this man's mind does not give him a break, there's a lot of anxiety and worry about his romantic relationships in him which can result in him overcompensating

i don't see him as necessarily possessive, but moreso overly invested and very concerned about taking responsibility over the relationship

so basically whatever course the connection takes is a reflection of his own doing in his eyes, he can get incredibly self-conscious and insecure once he feels like things aren't going the way he planned

might use his partner as someone he can let out his stress with -> let's say he had a bad day at work, it's likely his lover will have to deal with all his pent up negativity

once taehyung gets caught up in the intensity of his emotions, he can get surprisingly immature

like if you two ever get into a fight, it can easily feel like you're arguing with a child

a lot of pulling out the victim card and refusing to see your side of the story

he can get very very stubborn, you will not change his mind even if your life depended on it and best believe he will stand by his initial point till the very end

jimin

pro's

very understanding and accepting lover

especially towards beliefs and views that are different to his own, not the type to judge anyone ranging out of the conservative and more traditional mindset

up to more unconventional relationships, e.g. okay with not necessarily striving for marriage or just in general, the traditional type of role-distribution within a romantic connection

interested in hearing you out and understanding your perspective -> good at putting himself into your shoes and comprehending your point of view

truly empathetic and very compassionate

this man will also be the light of your life, like he has the natural ability to just brighten up your world and make the most boring situations very interesting

has this very positive, inspiring and uplifting effect on the people he loves

like even the most trivial date will feel very special for you and linger in your mind, just because he's so good at making every situation memorable

the type of person to make you see the cup half full rather than half empty

and make you believe you're special for the things you might dislike or reject about yourself

i just see his significant others being incredibly drawn to his presence and his love being lowkey addicting because you just feel so good in his presence

con's

can be hesistant to take the next step in a romantic relationship -> rarely allows things to get to a deeper level

most of the time he's just undecided and unsure of what exactly his soul truly wants and needs, not just from his lovers but from life in general

can get very scatterbrained and imprecise in his stance

there's some fear of bearing his soul to people and letting himself be vulnerable because he can easily feel lacking

doesn't want you to see him at a state that he himself perceives as unlovable and inadequate

likely to often be so overly accommodating to your needs that sometimes you wonder if he even has his own desires, like “everything you wanna do, i'm fine with”

at the same time, he can be pretty manipulative and sly by disguising much of his more selfish and greedy sides behind a peace-loving and charitable mask

like, jimin is the type of person to stick a needle in your back while hugging you with a smile on his face

amazing at using his charm to talk himself out of trouble and avoid taking accountability

moreso prone to cleverly twist the narrative so that he ends up looking like the good guy in the scenario -> e.g saying he was just trying not to stir up drama or cause conflict and was being considerate of you

both of these sides are him, he is a sweetheart in many ways but also excellent at only showing his best and hiding his worst from a lot of people

spirit is showing me this image of an iceberg where only the tip is visible to everyone, while the rest is very much deep inside the sea, not accessible to most and covered

jungkook

pro's

true romantic at heart; loves and breathes everything in terms of romance and will be incredibly passionate, charming, loving and seductive, whether that's by the way he looks at you or the things he says

immensely smooth talker -> amazing at flattering, making you believe you're the most beautiful and special human being he's ever met

especially in the beginning stages, you'll feel like you're floating on cloud nine with the way he makes you feel

a lot of 🥰 type of butterflies and excitement

very touchy like he's definitely into physical affection, and just loves everything that involves the sensation of touch -> e.g. holding your hand tightly in his grip, protectively keeping his hand on your waist while you're walking, etc.

willing to relentlessly fight for the person he loves, if he finds interest in someone he is not the type to back down from a challenge or obstacles

the type of boyfriend to immediately place himself in front of you if anyone ever started a debate or argument with you and shield you from any sort of attack

i thought of the song and the mv of next to you by chris brown & justin bieber “one day when the sky is falling, i'll be standing right next to you” (no pun intended, damn..)

also grenade by bruno mars, especially the chorus “i'd catch a grenade for you, throw my hand on a blade for you, i'd jump in front of a train for you, you know i'd do anything for you, i would go through all this pain”

wants to display a source of strength and security for his lovers -> will make you feel incredibly comfortable and like you're in safe hands whenever you're with him

con's

has jealousy issues and can get petty, so much so that he'd openly talk about other women in front of you just to revenge himself and pay you back

in that moment he just loses himself in his possessiveness and desperately wants to feel like he's the one in control who has power over you

holds grudges like there's no tomorrow and has problems letting go of regrets or things that disappointed him

which can happen quite easily, like this man can feel dissatisfied very quickly and will naturally feel like it's all his fault for not being good enough for you

once he feels like the relationship isn't going well anymore, he's likely to get very lethargic and pessimistic

can tend to project his own insecurities onto his lovers because he internalizes and struggles dealing with them

might portray you as the bad guy and put the blame on you even if he's the one who messed up, just because he's scared of openly confronting his own wrongdoings

it's giving “deep down i know that i'm mainly the one who messed up our relationship, but i can't handle the pain that comes with that, so i'll just delude myself and you into believing you did me wrong as well..”

basically, jk has a heart that is selfless at its core, hidden behind an at times offensive, selfish and controlling shell, mostly because he can get scared to get wounded even further than the inner hurt he already causes himself

honestly it's just.. giving manchild a little bit, he's someone who still needs a lot of emotional attuning and nurturing in relationships because he himself isn't very good at it, he doesn't really know how to because most of the time he's disconnected from his emotions himself

[freaky-deaky-cookies]

Can I request headcanons for Dark Urge, Geraldus, Wyll, Halsin, Gale, and Astarion reacting to shy GN s/o who always asks for permission even just to hold hands or a kiss on the cheek please?

Dark Urge, Geraldus, Wyll, Halsin, Gale, and Astarion (Sep) reacting to shy Tav who always asks for permission even just to hold hands or a kiss on the cheek

Dark Urge (redeeming)

Towards the beginning of the relationship they do not really understand why Tav asks for permission

Would initially think that Tav is afraid they would hurt them

For the Dark Urge their whole life was to take anything and everything they wanted

As time goes on and Dark Urge starts to learn from / heal from their past trauma they find Tav asking for permission to be extremely sweet and understanding

Dark Urge has never truly got to experience someone who truly loves them for who they are 

Tav’s requests for permission and their shyness would be a constant reminder that love and affection don’t have to come from a place of control or dominance

“Thank you Tav, you have shown me more love and understanding than any other soul that exists.”

Geraldus

Not sure how Tav and Geraldus even got themselves in a relationship

Geraldus, himself is on the shy side

However, when he is not blushing and mumbling out his own request for affection, his mind is fired listening to Tav ask for it

Geraldus would never say no to Tav

To him Tav is higher than the Gods, they are perfection

“Why would you ask me such a thing dear… I cannot get enough of you”

“Do you think I would ever turn down a kiss from you?”

Wyll

Total sweetheart about it

Wyll finds this to be among the most endearing things about his Tav

At heart Wyll is a true, traditional romantic, and what is more than romantic than the love of their life looking at you and asking for your love and affection

Wyll is another one to hardly ever deny Tav’s request

“You never have to ask, my dear. But I understand that you want to feel comfortable—let me know how I can make this easier for you.”

Halsin (!Halsin Backstory Spoilers!)

Halsin’s eyes are so full of love anytime he hears Tavs sweet voice ask for him

While is was long ago, Halsin appreciate Tav asking permission before they jump him with kisses and cuddles

From time to time Halsin gets in his head about that time he was used as a pleasure servant

As wild as Halsin is, he is still a mortal with a mortal mind

If Tav hesitated, he’d hold out his hand gently or give Tav a soft kiss on the forehead

“My heart, you are true perfection”

Gale

EATS THIS UP

Gale wants to be wanted, especially by Tav

Gale, who is intelligent and often a bit formal in his mannerisms, would understand Tav’s need for permission but wants nothing more than to hold Tav

He believes in the power of trust and would reassure Tav that there’s nothing to fear from him

“Ah, my dear, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but there’s no need for permission in matters of the heart.” (Sush Gale we all know you want them to keep asking because you love it so much)

Astarion

Astarion would be the most conflicted in terms of his reaction. On one hand, he would deeply appreciate that Tav’s respect boundaries and asks for permission, as he is someone who has a very sensitive relationship with consent. 

However, because of his own traumatic past, his reaction might come across as more self-deprecating or sarcastic at first.

He’d try to tease Tav about it, making light of the situation with his usual charm and wit, but underneath his sarcasm, there’s a genuine desire to make you feel comfortable. 

He would be keen to show you that he’d never force anything on you and might even go out of his way to be overly considerate, so you know that you are always in control of the situation.

“You don’t need to ask, darling... but I suppose I do enjoy the thought of you wanting to be sure.”

[yangcherie]

play chase

pairing: ascended!astarion / spawn!tav (reader.)

content warnings: female reader, dubcon, briefest references to age gap (c’mon, he’s 200 years old), power imbalance, forced dependency, abuse. cunnilingus. mentions of death. references to cannibalism. abuse. ascended astarion things, except he’s a bit nicer.

sypnosis: astarion has been having an immensely difficult time taming you; his newly-turned bride-to-be. he believes a lesson about obedience is well overdue. so he fucks you before the honeymoon.

author’s note: ugh. this was messy. like immensely messy im so sorry i just lost interest in this fandom but thought id still finish this up. hope you guys enjoy btw tav is feral here like Kinda i guess? ignore the plotholes or i rob ur house angry face emoji here

“Little one.” Astarion carolled, hoping he sounded just genuine enough to coax you out of wherever you’ve tucked yourself into like a feral animal. You’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Sweet thing. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s time to put an end to it.”

He hopes the restlessness doesn’t bleed through his voice; having walked and stalked through what felt like the very entirety of his former master’s palace – now claimed by none other than himself. It only felt right to do so after his ascension, in the same vein he claimed you as his own. The manor is a wretched thing – but so were you. He would come to love it in time; as he had with you.

He felt like a fool right now with the way he was practically just going to rot away waiting for you to either crawl out or hiding spot (which was never) or to hear you slip up, shuffle around or screech just loud enough that he could catch the sound in his fingers and hunt you down.

You’ve fallen into much troublesome, teasing habits, including hiding away from him or viciously teething and ripping at whatever caught your eye — and Astarion doesn’t have the slightest idea on why or how — but he could excuse it. Decades of cruelty have also taught him mercy, despite having lacked it.

All the furniture you would violently break apart into splinters? You must’ve been teething, and this hideous manor desperately needs a renovation, anyway. The troublesome amount of tear and rip and fray of fabric in curtains, clotheswear and sheets alike? You’re simply due for a trimming on your claws, and again, the manor needs a renovation. Your incessant disturbances of racket and noise during the occasions he’d bring nobles over? His poor, needy wife must’ve been feeling neglected – and that alone is a perfect reason for him to usher away any unwanted guests.

(It honestly did him more good than you knew.)

Astarion could not only excuse and enjoy it, all your petty, feral little acts of disobedience – but he’s also dedicated nearly half his time to provide you gratification. You needed teething? Fine, expect to be fed with ambrosian blood; be it by kegs of it at your bedside, or drunkards thrown at your feet, paralyzed with alcohol and terror, all but open for you to forcefully dig and tear out their throats and drink in their dwindling life. He’d even dab at your face with a handkerchief after.

Couldn’t control your claws? He’s provided you toys to rough up and chew into — himself included, of course; if the never-bite marks beneath his collar were anything to go by. And if you were good enough, willing to paw at and prop your chin on his clothed thigh to prettily stare at him with roseate, cherub eyes; he’d take you hunting with the given main course or prey being deers, goats or nobles who couldn’t be swayed to his upcoming reign.

And if his other efforts to be of no avail, he could always do with his last but favorite method of calming you down; exerting his dominance with his own fangs wounding the muted skin of your throat to keep you still as he gives you a good fucking – just hard enough to keep you content from acting out for the next few days.

Astarion had done his utmost to be considerate. You were a fledgling; still adjusting to the intricacies that came with your newly-gifted vampirism. He was all but destructive during his first years as a spawn, as well. He could excuse it, all this disrespect, this ingratitude to his affections. Really! It just had to be a good day.

And to the fucking Nines, today was not a good day.

Right now, he was nothing short of frustrated. Frustrated with his idiotic thralls, with having to deal with posh aristocrat fools to establish his reign over the Gate, with the fabric of his shirt – all of it! And now he has to be frustrated with you, as well? All he yearnt for was to be soothed by none other than you, but even this you would pettily keep out from his reach?

The manor is stretched far and wide, generous; much unlike the fraying thread that is his patience. He licks his teeth, brows furrowing – legs aching just the slightest. You couldn’t behave for just today, could you? Always needing to test him to keep you in line.

You could’ve simply drained and massacred the enthralled nobles in his dungeons, or lay waste to yet another room in the palace and he wouldn’t have given much of a damn, but no, instead, you’ve decided to play hard to get and hide yourself away from him when he needs you most.

“Dearest.” Astarion grits out, an exasperated groan stuck in his throat. The heel of his boots thudding against the cobble is all he’s heard for hours, in his search of you. He might just raze down the entire manor if it meant you’d come out. “I am in no mood to be entertaining your tantrums.”

A wearisome ache begins to swarm his temples, coaxing a sigh from him. He can just envision it, in whatever hole you’ve tucked yourself in lays the ripped ivory tulle fabric of yet another gown alongside the vast amount you’ve already ravaged. It’s all you’ve been tearing at since he’s arranged your bethrothment with him – and his enthralled tailors aren’t very willing to oblige him and sew another.

He swears on the fucking ragdoll he will make out of you once he finds you that this time, you will not go unpunished. He has been lenient, and he was no fool; he could tell instinct and intent apart. Whatever game you were playing at, Astarion would let you know he didn’t like it in the slightest. First, you deny him of your presence and then you deny him of his right to wed you. What a little demon you are.

But it seems even you were getting restless in your own petty little game, he thought so smugly, as a hiss so unmistakably yours laden with offense and the impact of ceramic against the ground bounced off the opulent hallway making him sharply turn his body around to follow the sound. You never quite had the knack to keep quiet as a rogue like himself could, even before the feral inanity that clouds you now. It’s not long before he’s behind yet another bedroom out of hundreds in the palace and twisting the rusted doorknob.

It creaks open, Astarion pursing his lips as he steps inside – just to be hit with the pungent stench of blood and a mess littered that told him you indeed were in the room. A good hint; the hint being a gutted body of what he could only assume was a servant crumpled on the floor, who with no doubt you hurled actoss the room once you had forcefully drained your fill of.

His nose wrinkled at the sight. He ought to teach you something about manners on not playing with your food, after he catches you.

“Little pup?” He stalks through the room, briefly kicking the body aside and glancing at the two puncture holes on its neck. If you were hungry, you simply could’ve asked.

It’s a dreary scene, the room a relic of neglect worth centuries. Moth-eaten curtains spotted with fresh blood, rusted chandeliers rickety with dust. Dreary as it was, he had no doubt this is one of the rooms he’s used to bed many a victim.

He briefly wonders if you even bedded the servant before draining him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

There’s a subtle shuffle, a little, pathetic bleat of a hiss to his call, just below the old, yellowed canopy bed in the very center of the room. The space between his brows pinch as he approaches the dingy canopy and drops to his knees to peer below, batting at the dust that assaults his senses.

Craning his neck downwards, peering below the bed, he’s fixed with your beady, red stare – and it startles Astarion more than he’d like to admit.

Something weary between a growl and a sigh comes out of him when he wills himself to tear his gaze away from your unnerving eyes and across the entirety of your body; you’re filthy, with flaky remains of gore and scratches, cobwebs stuck to your hair and soot stuck to your skin. He quietly groans, filled with just enough irritation that your beady eyes bat him a blink so innocent and faultless that he’s rather tempted to bend you over his lap and paddle you —

But it was futile to scold you. He knows it, that you wouldn’t understand – had made sure your senses would dwindle, like a honed knife being whittled to dullness. Slowly but surely being to forced to rely on base instincts. He always thought you to be too smart for your own good, and he couldn’t have you thinking you could leave him in the dust, no, no.

(And, well, if you ever did, he doubt the ghouls that follow his word like law would let you through any door out, anyway.)

Futile as it is it to scold you, it’s easier to let his irritation roll over him in waves sear him like boiling water.

“You insolent brat, you.” Astarion hisses, batting his hand in a motion that tells you to get out and up. It’s with an infuriating obedience that you follow, one that casts something bitter to brew in him. Where was that earlier? He roughly wrenches you out by your wrist, dragging you up to your feet to meet his infuriated eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, you fucking–?”

You hiss at the touch, nose scrunched and teeth bared enough to show gums – your free hand flying out to grip his wrist to dig your untrimmed nails into his skin just as he did with you. He raises a brow, unamused. Perhaps he should have felt offended the way you thought you could just behave like an animal and disrespect him like that. Perhaps he really should go and dig the heel in, let you sink in the fall from pride to humiliation of being paddled.

“You think you’re hilarious, hm? Quit acting like an animal.” Astarion huffs indignantly, disregarding a small part of him wanting to croon at you in the same manner one would with a feral thing. You need discipline and gods damn him if he did not provide that. He wrenches his wrist out of your clawed fingers, glaring. If you were some stranger, he’d feel inclined to spit on you. “Or I’ll drain you like one.”

It’s a lie, a petty one at that, and you seem to know it as it only pulls another one of those sounds out you; one more grating and animalistic than the last, one that makes him bare his own teeth at you. The threat is as petty as it is tragic, a reminder of what you’ve given up to him beyond your blood – your soul, your mortality.

He’s had his fill of you since the night you turned, since he sunk his teeth into the very marrow of your being and drained you for all you were worth. He swallowed you with a hunger that could burn out even the sun itself. You could not believe that on that night, the night he had killed you, the soft, benign hands keeping your head from hitting the hard floor were of the same body with the mouth and teeth that snuffed your light straight out.

(You died being held in his arms; whether it was to keep you still, keep you there unable to jerk away from death or to keep you comforted, you never found out. You didn’t want to.)

When you awoke, it was no longer his teeth that speared through you next but loss and hunger, a mind-numbing, mingling pit in your stomach. You woke up with grief knowing you were no longer who you once were.

Astarion has an intimate relationship with hunger, true and daunting hunger. And no nobles’ blood, no sheep, bear, boar nor lamb can fix it.

It will not leave him, and it will not leave you.

“I’ll have you know you look delectable right now.” He hisses through his teeth, something burning all hot, ugly and hungry in his stomach. It’s the way he says it that has you backing down, meeting his eyes with a glare of your own before tentatively softening; allowing him to touch you. In a time before now, he would have said it teasingly, as your lover, your man. Near a warm fire, pinned to the ground with your hair splayed and a summer solstice grin.

But now, he is more hunger than man.

(You suppose you are too.)

He stares you down, the dip of your collarbones, the slope of your hips, the slightest cinch of your waist, your lips, all doused in some servant’s blood. The scent of it with yours wafts out and beckons to him. Spanning his fingers over the stiffened slopes of your bare shoulders, he finds the knots he’ll have to work and ease over with floral oils later on during bedtime.

In your feral head, it feels as if he’s fondling the meat on your shoulder. Prodding at the softest spots, finding which would taste best.

His fingers leave your shoulder in favor of returning to your wrist, pulling taut at it to lead you out the dryrotting room and into those intricate halls, turning left, right, right, left, straight until you’re stumbling into his personal chambers, his soft canopy bed and sinking into his mattress with enough space between your parted legs that he takes the chance to crawl towards and tuck himself in.

He pushes his lips to yours, kisses you dizzy, tongue fighting a battle with yours. The bed is downy soft beneath you when you melt into it and dig your nails in, heeded by instinct as he pins you against them with ease. The air feels hotter, when he pulls away with silken strands of spit between you two, splitting when he dips back downwards to lay his head on your stomach, circling his arms around your hips to keep you still as he noses around the softness of your stomach.

“Stay still.” He rasps, throaty enough you feel inclined to begrudingly listen and settle down with a growl stuck behind your teeth. “This is just something to make you relax.”

It’s not entirely a lie, he thinks to himself. Nowadays, he only ever beds you if he sees you need to be put into your place or to be sedated. You’re not exactly as smart as you used to be.

He kisses his way down; trails little licks and bites over your stomach, lowering to the jolting of your hips, to the swell of your thighs. Moves a hand to fondle your calves and returning it to join the arms still locked around your hips, using his head to gently nudge your legs a bit wider and teeth to lift up the chiffon dress pillowing around your legs, lingering on your calf; to settle his lips on your clothed mound.

A protestant, breathy noise comes out of you when his mouth ghosts your clothed clit, and he grumbles at it; tugging at the flimsy fabric until it delicately finds its place on the floor.

The cold, dusty, evening air wraps around your clit, the muscles in your legs tightening with the amount of whatever strength you have to use to avoid clamping around his head when he kisses it briefly but so sweetly that an uneasy expression makes home on your face.

A dreadful shiver shoots an arrow straight through your spine then, when that one intimate kiss at your bundle of nerves turns into two, then three, until all that fight and spark in you has been stomped out and worn out into the dirt. Despite that senseless fog that clouds your head, you remain soft and still, legs open and unclamping around his head with the indomitable fear he’d do something less... gratifying than this.

That kiss turns into stripe licked up your clit, a shaky breath forced out of you once again. He gently pulls you closer, just a breathswidth from your fluttering entrance.

You wonder if he feels the way you stiffen under his hands, if he mistakes the way your hips rock as wanting more instead of trying to run away.

“Be good,” he murmurs, breath hot and voice lazy. “and everything else will follow...”

A spawn’s desire to follow their master is something even the likes of you cannot help but submit to, and so with a rough grunt, you finally let loose your tense muscles just enough to let Astarion pull you gently down, to fully ease you on his mouth — so he can really give you that relaxation.

He runs the tip of his tongue over your clit, laving around it and allowing himself a lazy glance up when you abruptly sit up and thread a hand through his hair, chest stuck in a growling air you struggle to take in. Rough as it is, it also sounds lewd – and it’s music pretty enough that he hums and closes his eyes shut, rewarding you with flicks and sucks on the sensitive little thing that only makes you tighten your grip around his perfect curls and dig into his scalp.

A moan can’t be stopped from slithering its way out your mouth, your shoulders working itself lower and the crease between your eyebrows letting up. He wasn’t lying, it feels good, you begrudingly think and huffing in an effort to hide your moan and keep the current of anger from diminishing under pleasure. You find it easy to keep grappling onto it when you feel him crookededly smile against the flesh of you, as if the idea of you adamantly resisting was theatrical and hilarious.

His tongue leaves your clit, delving into your hole and squirming against your walls in a way that has your ears ringing, hand still in his hair. Your eyes shut tight.

You hate him, you think. Hate how he makes you feel this way, makes you feel so alive despite being anything but. And you especially hate yourself for the sharp heat that tugs at your stomach, a thinly-veiled frenzy arching over you.

Ever since the undeath of you, you’ve lacked control; and it’s no easy feat to defy the oncoming slaught of pleasure about to wash over you. Not when his tongue laves around your slick clit in such a way that it makes you throw your head back and dig your heels into his back. So with a moan caged low behind your throat, you convulse, coming in his mouth when you wished for anything but.

“See what being good gets you?” He pulls away and coos at you with his teeth and lips shining, savoring you as if you were just the sweetest pomegranate out there. Your chest heaves as you come down from the high, so weakly throwing him a glare that attests to your damaged pride.

Your eyes flicker around his face and his hands, expecting him to move back and let up, having had his fill of you. But he doesn’t move back, no, he stays smiling at you, lets himself be busied by the frantic pattern of rise and fall by your chest — by the fact you breathe by habit even when you no longer need to.

Your throat bobs; his eyes are quick to narrow and trace the movement.

“You,” you rasp, you speak, the conciousness you fight to grapple on a rope so quickly fraying. Astarion’s smile stretches into a mean, mean grin that makes your skin crawl. “You’re done.”

Your head tricks you into thinking you lack the breath to make the questioning lilt in your words, so it comes out as a demand. One you’re not very sure he takes to kindly.

“Adorable!” He giggles, tapping the tip of your nose. “Silly. No, we aren’t.”

“And you,” Astarion coos again, meaner, reaching out with slick fingers to dig into your cheeks whilst ignoring your flinch and bared teeth. He squeezes your face and patronizingly moves it around as if afflicted with cuteness aggression, like an owner unable to believe his pet wants him to stop giving it pets. “You don’t get to make the demands around here. I–”

He pulls your face closer, his breath fanning your face.

“I do.” He snarls. You give him one back twice as malicious, sharp fingers flying to grip the hand that holds your face captive. “I make the fucking demands around here and you– you listen, and you do what I tell you to do because I—”

He inhales a sharp intake of breath, the fingers on your face digging in just further enough it starts to hurt.

“Honestly, dear.” He laughs like the idea of you having command over him is the funniest thing in the world, but the sound is so taut and forced. A display of theatrics. “If there’s anyone out here worth listening to, it’s me!”

Astarion doesn’t let go much to your dismay, watching you so keenly, drinking in your pain – and you start to hiss when his fingers don’t cease the tightening grip on your face, forcing you back into that instinctive, protective shell. It’s all a blur when you plant your two feet on his chest and kicking him with all your force, knocking him back just a mere distance away, still on the bed but further. He merely scoffs, moreso annoyed than pained, quick to get back on his knees and crawling towards you yet again. His hands grip the comforter, fingertips digging into the softness as he grits his teeth.

“No– no, no, don’t you dare.” Astarion brattily tugs at you, like you’re his favorite toy, until you’re situated beneath him once more, scratching and squirming about. “You will not not run away from me!”

“Not when I’ve been so kind to you,” he spat. It’s between a grit and tease when he says it, and now that he’s between your legs again, he grinds his clothed hips against your cunt. “And I’ve been busy making dresses for you, you know, when really I should be making leashes.”

He offhandedly mentions with a sneer and as if to help visualize the collar, his strong hand goes to wrap around your throat – squeezing just hard enough your breath leaves you all at once. Your mouth gapes open then, floundering to claw at his wrist.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs, mean, mean, mean. Another hand goes to unbuckle his belt, the leather of his pants sliding off and making brief but chilling contact with your thighs. “Would you prefer it with a chain?”

Black dots around the edges of your vision, with the hand on your throat and the dwindling air in your chest, you cannot muster any disapproving sound to his words – and as if to punish you for your silence, he tightens his grip until you’re sure that the skin would be bruised purple and pretty underneath for days. And he watches you, like you’re some form of entertainment, floundering and wincing about for merciful air, distracted enough you don’t notice the heat of his cockhead pressing against your pulsing opening.

Distracted enough you don’t notice with how you’re squirming about for air, you’re grinding yourself against his cockhead.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Whilst you’re busy thinking if this is it, this is the fucking end of it all; you’ll be found dead on the master’s bed in the morning, indecent, monstrous even without a stake in your heart but with blue and purple around your neck instead, Astarion’s attention was charmed like a moth to flame with how you don’t seem to notice you’re still so alive despite having sunken his teeth into your neck and given you his blood.

How you don’t seem to notice that in being undead, you do not even need to breathe anymore. How still you look for the air even unneeded.

Entertained, Astarion hums and releases your throat, settling his hands on your knees as he watches you sputter and cough as the air hits you like debris. The pain in your chest as you take in the missing air is pure catharsis.

“Yes...” He whispers moreso to himself than you, nudging his cockhead against your opening – slick with his spit. “Perhaps a chain would look better than jewelry.”

And with that, he pushes into you with a low hiss, moving slowly enough that you feel the veins and the pulsing of him even as you focus on gasping for air, the pit in your stomach dreadful and the crawl up your spine pleasured. When it feels like he’s snug inside your guts all buried inside, he leans forward and catches your lips into a terribly one-sided kiss. It makes his cock nudge further inside and you flinch from the dull, familiar ache of it all.

“Fuck,” Astarion gasps hot against your mouth and pulls away with a string of spit, slowly dragging his hips and pulling back to watch his length move out your cunt. He slams it back in and you want to shriek but you bite your tongue instead, hating how he deep he is inside of you and how slow he is – like he’s trying to get your walls to take his shape. “—I wish you were always this good for me, little mouse.”

Pleasure is so cruel to you, bowing heavy against your spine as it forces you to arch, forces your legs to spread and take in his cock deeper. Something groaning guttural crawls its way out your throat as you clench your eyes tight and twist the sheets in your fist as you’re thrown gracelessly into the ever-tightening jaw of ecstasy. Your legs shake with a tremor to it, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

He pulls back again; and slams back inside. Over and over and over again until you feel like you’re turning mad yet again, sweat beading at your forehead and sounds not so easily beckoned now tumbling out your mouth.

You once foolishly thought that with being undead comes the death of sensation in your body – the way your body flinches and burns so alive with every strong nudge of his cockhead into you just proves you so wrong. Sparks fly across your body like rocks trying to make fire when with every collision of his hips against yours, the base of his cock grinds so deliciously against your sensitive, reddened clit.

One particularly rough slam of his hips has you keening; the soft curls on his base bumping your bundle of nerves in a way that has you keening into him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down, closer and closer until you feel so utterly consumed by him in the same way you did that wretched night.

Another sound, one so feral and from the heart is forced out of you when his hips stutter teasingly, a moan so out of place from a voice unused and locked away when your stomach all but tightens when that thrust forces your hole to slacken and his cock to nudge at something so soft and delicate inside your walls. And you shriek like a murdered woman when he laughs so mean and thrusts even meaner.

He continues to thrust, thrust and thrust like some bully to that one little spongy spot, groaning st your little moan-shrieks. Your mouth stretches into a scowl as your teeth mash together in an effort to sweat through the pure pleasure that swarms your head and makes you see dots, only vaguely aware of the slick foam that runs down your thighs. All purely and humilatingly your arousal.

“A-Astarion,” You raspily grit out, locking your bruised knees around his hips and feeling a pleasant soreness bloom amongst yours when he gives you a response by driving in harder, tracing your throat as you throw your head back. “Astarion.”

Smooth fingers trace your neck before running up your cheek, dragging at the chub of it until your lips are apart and no longer are you scowling nor your teeth gnawing. “What?” Astarion murmurs, slurred and drunkenly kissing away the sweat that’s gathered like freshwater rain on your throat.

You open your eyes, blinking away the sting of tears and sweat mingling – and Astarion looks so godsent, romantic with his own teeth gritted and sweat down his arms as he piledrives into you.

You won’t last – you feel it the way your body is twitching with the exhaustion it takes to build up an orgasm, core burning even with the friction of slick inside. Astarion doesn’t need to be told, so very familiar with your body even in its death; so he dutifully lifts a hand from your hip and gently snakes it towards the in-between, towards your warm pussy until he finds your sensitive little button, circling the pulsing bud immediately and fondly laughing when your legs uncoil around his hips, and you shriek, squirming like you’re about to get murdered a second time. Your mind is fucking melting.

“Astarion,” you choke out, again, this time, more desperately, hand flinging out to grip at his wrist between your legs. His thrusting stutters as your voice breaks and your pretty eyes roll behind your head. “Y-you’re gonna fucking kill me, oh—”

“Don’t be a c-coward, darling.” Astarion is breathless, brows furrowing. He’s close too.

You pant.

You’re about to pop at the seams.

Your tongue lolls with every breath that heaves your chest, the ring of your entrance so tight around his cock as your body trembles with every feverish snap of hips and rub of his fingers against your red, abused bundle of nerves. The sound of slick flesh on flesh so obscene, you feel your body trembling as you throw your head back to the undercurrent of an orgasm — so strong it has white flashing hot behind your eyelids and a final, ragged whimper coming from you.

It only takes a few moments for him to catch up, his hips chasing your clenching as he throbs, pulsing once, twice against your walls until he’s spilling into them with his own warmth, contentedly sighing into the crook of your neck whilst you wince and whine lowly with satisfaction.

You both stay there, unmoving, until the warm semen that runs down your thighs turns cold enough that Astarion feels he should move, slipping out your hole and letting his member hit the cold air as he hisses, sensitive. And apparently, you’re rudely startled awake out of your pliancy with the sound, tensing up like you’re about to run again. He notices before you can and kisses you stupid, lips smacking noisily with yours in a way teasing lovers would do so, before pulling away with a grin and setting you still on the bed with the weight of a blanket on you.

“Oh, no, no, none of that tonight.” You try to wrack a hiss out your scratchy throat – but it comes out as a humiliatingly feeble cough. Astarion, endeared, smiles at it and pecks your forehead, bringing the blanket up to your chin by habit as he once used to when you were sleeping in tents, under nights and by fires. “You’re always running away, you little hellion, you.”

He’s tucking you in.

He’s tucking you in.

He’s an asshole, you think. He must be teasing you. With being undead comes the inability to sleep a wink – only being able to go as far as meditation. And by the gods, you do not want to be stuck thinking of how you just let the man you despise drive his cock and seed into you – and how he’ll do it over and over again if it means you’ll stop acting out for a night or two.

Astarion eyes you, giving you a once-over as if to size up if you’d take your chances and run away. You don’t budge, narrowing your heavy eyes at him and blinking blearily, shifting in the sheets, unwilling to admit to yourself how you like the molten warmth you feel when he looks at you attentively, the warmth that runs down your inner thigh and the warmth of the blankets tucked so nicely around you. He smiles again, smoothing a hand over your hair and lowly murmuring something about cleaning you up later at night where you’re more awake and hopefully, preferably not a bat hanging off the ceiling staring at him with beady eyes.

He hums then – reassured, standing up from the bed with a creak and reaching into the drawer beside his bed for a flimsy pair of thin, reading glasses he wears.

“Be good, and stay here, okay?” He lowly coos, like a husband leaving for war wishing his ill wife goodbye, walking towards the old mahogany door and twisting the knob open. You twist your fingers and clench your eyes shut, enraged and fulfilled all the same. “I’ll see you later, I have work to do, sewing your wedding dress and all.”

The door closes, gently, and you turn to bite the pillow and scream into it.

[yesimwriting]

ELLE IM HERE FOR JEALOUS FELIX IDEA WE WERE DISCUSSINF …

olive i made felix extra unhinged here just for you <3

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“So…” The word is as small as it is hollow. You squeeze your hands together, attention settling on the way your skin strains against the tendons. So implies that the person speaking has somewhere to go, something to say. 

Felix stalls, halfway between his dorm’s entryway and his bed. A beat passes before he finally turns around. “So.” His feels a lot more definite. 

The nail of your left thumb presses into the cuticle of your right. “I uh–” The world is too hazy for this. If you had known the night wouldn’t end in its usual way, with you and Felix giggly and content in that drowsy way, you would have turned down that last shot. “If you’re upset, we can talk about it.” 

He continues forward, steps casual as he reaches the bed. Felix sits down with a soft sigh, the sound tired but not exactly irritated. “Upset?” He repeats gently, body shifting back to rest against a pillow. “Why would I be upset?” 

The genuineness of the question throws you. Felix didn’t seem to need someone to explain why he would be upset when he practically pulled you out of the bar. Felix didn’t seem confused when he barely gave you a second to say goodbye to a girl you met through your roommate. He didn’t stop to think about why he might be upset when he left without saying anything to any of his friends. 

All of this felt so worth mentioning when you were walking next to Felix on an empty sidewalk, eyes focused on making out cracks in the pavement to keep yourself from staring at him. “Because we got separated at the party, and–” 

You blink. You’re sorry–you know you’re sorry that Felix’s feelings were bruised, and you know that you could have been a little more intentional in the way you treated him after you started drinking. Felix always takes you into consideration, it doesn’t matter who he’s with or what state he’s in. You know there are things you feel bad about, and you remember the moment that you realized that Felix wasn’t by your side, but the details, the bulk of the night, are all blurred beyond distinction. 

Early on into the night, you recognized Dina, a girl from your roommate’s friend group. Then, she introduced you to Nick. He bought you and Dina drinks, and then dancing…the three of you, and then eventually just you and Nick. After that, all you have is brief snapshots, each murkier than the last. Asking for a glass of water at the bar, Nick progressively moving closer, a girl complimenting your outfit, more drinks, Nick and the warmth of his breath against your ear. 

You take a step forward. “And I wasn’t the nicest.” You force your arms to relax. Felix veering towards unexplainable tranquility is strange, but it isn’t worse than his anger. At the very least, it’s disorientating enough to feel better than straight forward anger. “We went out together and I didn’t–you’re always so good to me.” You frown, guilt prodding at your chest. “You–you check in on me, and you get me water, and you sit with me…” The words cram in on themselves, wedging themselves in your throat. Great, you’re trying to apologize and now you’re going to start crying, “Even when everyone wants to sit with you.”

“Lovie,” he whispers the nickname so calmly it briefly throws you. For a beat, you’re too confused to be upset. Felix takes advantage of the lapse, lifting a hand to pat the available space next to him.

You take a tentative step forward, and then another, again and again until you’re within reach of his bed. Before you can try to sit, Felix extends an arm, hand moving to rest against your hip. The sudden contact makes you still. His thumb shifts, brushing against the sliver of exposed skin between your skirt and top. 

Your general uncertainty is catching up with your whiplash from all the directions you’ve been pulled in tonight. He’s touching you so carefully. How can this be the same guy that grabbed your shoulder and barely thought to mutter a tense we’re going before walking away.

Without thinking, you lift your hand, pressing your palm against the back of his so that his hand has to lie flat against you. “I’m sorry.” 

Felix tilts his head back slightly, eyes finding yours. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, but he’s far from shy about it, taking in every detail of your expression openly. “I know.” It’s not exactly the proclamation of understanding and forgiveness you wanted, but it’s not a bad start. You take a partial step to the side, ready to sit down. Felix squeezes your hip, forcing you to still. “Sit with me?”

The phrasing is familiar enough for you to understand exactly what he’s asking. You nod once. Taking that as all the conformation he needs, Felix pulls back to give you the space needed to sit on his lap.

As soon as you’re settled, Felix’s hand finds your knee. There’s an affection in the way that his nails drag against your skin that has you easing. You’re still not completely sure on where you stand. Felix’s mood shifted so quickly, and you’ve yet to talk about what happened tonight, but this, his care and affection, is something you can trust. 

“I didn’t…” His voice is quiet, soft. That doesn’t mean they don’t feel startling. You lean into him, turning your head to watch him openly. “I didn’t like feeling away from you.” 

“I know,” the admission is quick, as if accepting the guilt fast enough will warp time and space and erase his hurt from existence. You place a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what happened–I–I was really drunk and then I looked over and you–you weren’t there, and I couldn’t remember how long it had been since you were.” The explanation is awkward and wordy, but it’s the only way you can think to articulate anything, a testament to the alcohol still in your system. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt your feelings on purpose, right?” 

Felix pulls your hand off his shoulder. You frown until you feel his fingers find their place between yours. “Yeah,” he says, “I do know that.”

That’s something. You squeeze his hand, glad for the assurance of the contact. Your thumb brushes against his knuckles. Felix’s hand is now firmly settled against the space right above your knee. You’re on his lap. You’re not far from him. All of it should feel okay, should feel like enough. 

Slowly, you lift your other hand, setting your forearm against his shoulder as your fingers find his scalp. The softness of Felix’s hair is always a pleasant surprise. There’s a silkiness to the strands that feels enhanced. It feels like it should  be a result of expensive product, but Felix is so naturally lovely you wouldn’t be surprised if it was genetic.

He angles his head a fraction of an inch upwards to make it easier to look at you. He’s watching you with slightly parted lips. The little distance that’s left becomes a weight you’re incapable of supporting with no warning. You lean forward without thinking, lips meeting his. 

Felix reacts immediately, hand inching up your thigh. His teeth graze against your bottom lip with more pressure than you’re used to. With no warning, he shifts, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. Felix continues at a pace that’s dizzying, a series of fluttery kisses against your cheek, your jaw, the start of your neck.

“Lex…” The shakiness of your voice makes the heat crawling up your chest burn a little warmer.

He briefly stills, forehead resting against your neck. “Lovie?” The only response you can manage is a distracted hum. Felix releases your hand in order to rest his palm near your shoulder. His thumb smooths circles against the base of your neck. “Have you ever had a hickey?”

The question is so absentminded and breathless you’re almost not sure if you’re meant to respond. Not that you’d know how to answer the question regardless. It’s not like you never went out before meeting Felix. You’ve had experiences, have kissed other guys, but you’re usually the type to push them off before drunken affection goes too far. 

Even though you’re alone with Felix, and you’re completely aware that he’d never actually judge you for the discrepancies between your levels of experience, it’s not an easy thing to admit. Especially when you think of all the times you’ve seen the start of maroon tinted marks peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirts. 

“Can give you one, if you want.” The offer is whispered so innocently, for a moment you think you must have misheard him. He presses another kiss against your skin. “So y’can see what it’s like.” 

When you don’t react fast enough, Felix places a chaste kiss against your collarbone. You force yourself to hold onto reality. “Lex,” you try again, voice doing its best to remain even. There should be a definite answer. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him tonight, and you know what the objectively correct answer is. This might be extremely casual to Felix, but you’re not as used to this kind of thing, and you’d never forgive yourself if you let something ruin your friendship. You’re trying to form the words, but you can’t get the rejection out. 

“If you want,” Felix starts again, leaving another kiss against your skin, “You can give me one after.” Another kiss. “That seems fair, yeah?” 

The offer catches your attention more than it should. You’ve seen marks littered all over his skin…and you’ve thought about them more than you would ever admit. Some concentrated, small, dark patches left there by teeth. Others more like a blend of ink blots, crawling up his skin, the edges a red that could just as easily be lipstick. Other people leaving evidence of their existence, of their closeness to Felix–your Felix.

Would it be such a bad thing to be that person just this once? 

You nod. “Yeah.” You’re still nodding when you feel his teeth graze against his skin. Your eyes shut on instinct. “Okay. That sounds–” You’re forced to cut yourself off with a sigh. “That sounds fair.” 

Felix grins against your skin. He’s more about it now, open mouthed kisses growing more urgent by the second. With each scrape of teeth against the sensitive spot at the base of your neck, there’s a soothing drag of his tongue against the irritated skin. The more time he spends on you, the harder it is to focus on anything that isn’t Felix. 

With a final trail of kisses down to your collarbone, Felix straightens. The loss of contact makes you pout. The reaction makes Felix grin as his fingers move to unbutton the top of his shirt. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. 

He releases his shirt, leaning back to give you more access. You lean forward before you can think, mouth brushing against the edge of his jaw. Felix’s hand finds the back of your head, holding you to him. You work your way down to the start of his neck, embracing everything that is him. His warmth; the smell of cologne, cigarettes, sweat, and something else that’s distinctly Felix; and the taste of skin. 

Your teeth press into his neck testingly. Felix sighs, the sound heavy and needy. His hold on you tightens, encouraging you to use your teeth more steadily. You give in, taking care to smooth your tongue against his skin after. You start the process over, repeating your ministrations over again and again until it’s hard to breathe right. 

You take your time pulling away, lips dragging against his skin before you finally rest your forehead against his shoulder. Felix’s hand drifts away from the back of your head, settling on your shoulder warmly. “That’s my girl.” The praise makes you grin. “You did so good, I’m almost jealous.” 

His good humor seems to constrict around that last part. You don’t fully get it, but you’re too content to question it. You lift your head enough to look him in the eye. “You know I only have eyes for you, darling.”

It’s an attempt at returning the joke, but the way his eyebrows pinch together make it feel like something else. That lingering angst seems to pass him by, because he leans forward, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Me, too, sweetheart.” 

You smile, letting your temple fall against his arm, completely content.

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