#at least as good as the circumstances allowed anyway

[crowties]

kianas departure is more of a またね than a さようなら

[cowboygenesis]

18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

pairing: astarion ancunin x afab!bard!reader tags: 18+, smut, fluff, switch dynamics, m/f, fingering, unprotected sex, resolved tension, playfighting, sex after training session. word count: 7.8k notes: this fic was SO fun to write even if im a gale girlie myself. this is my first attempt at writing ANY bg3 character, so i really hope i did okay. if not, let me know! comments help me improve my writing (and warm my heart, seriously, thanks to anyone taking the time out of their day to comment). anyways gang, no beta as ALWAYS, you know how we roll. ENJOY! masterlist.

It still made little sense to you.

You had honed your skills at the most prestigious music schools in Faerûn for years, pouring your heart into every note, every chord, only to find yourself shamelessly ridiculed for an entirely different kind of performance. And by a man you’d grown to like, no less.

"Get up, darling," Astarion’s voice drips with amusement, the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips with infuriating smugness. His crimson eyes watch you with a predatory glint, locking onto your vulnerable form sprawled in the dirt—a definitive result of his frustratingly agile moves.

You groan lowly, propping yourself up on bruised elbows, wincing as a dull ache pulses through your body. A stray lock of hair falls in front of your face, and you blow it away in frustration.

"I’m starting to think this isn’t educational at all." You glare at him with all the venom you can muster, eyebrows furrowed as his arms cross.

Your eyes absentmindedly scan down his body, taking note of his slightly disheveled shirt and tousled hair. He looks… good. Beautiful, even. Basking in the soft moonlight seeping through the vast greenery above, he stands there like he’s in his element.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by your vapid tone. "Oh, but it is, my dear. Think of it as a new, humbling experience. Valuable in its own right."

You bite back a retort as he offers you a hand, his expression making your eye twitch. You never thought you’d fall for arrogance, yet ironically it’s your own conceit that might have brewed your upcoming downfall.

After a particularly boisterous night of drinking in camp—brought on by the recent victory over a pack of gnolls—you foolishly accepted Astarion’s challenge to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Your alcohol-addled brain had been more confident than your body, and now, after a series of harsh jabs and sidesteps, you were being taught the harsh reality of “real” combat.

Defeated, you eventually obliged a quick lesson from the master himself, which he had (admittedly suspiciously) made you take after losing your bet.

At the very least, the bruising would rid you of your lingering hangover once you were done taking the thrashing. Plus, you hoped it would bring you two closer. Figuratively and physically.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your hesitation. "Come now, my dear, don’t be so stubborn. You seemed so eager at first,"

"You told me you’d teach me to fight, not fall on my damn face," you lament, but begrudgingly accept his help, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

His grip is firm, and the coolness of his skin sends a small jolt of electricity down your spine. You had often imagined what holding his hand would feel like during the colder nights alone in your tent, and while the circumstances ended up being less than ideal, it was good enough for you. For now.

You rub at your sore arm with a frown and catch that Astarion, unmistakably, stands completely unscathed, his pale complexion almost glowing in the ambient light.

"I’m thinking…” he muses, glancing at the weathered lyre resting peacefully by the roots of a tree. His lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the teasing jab sting your pride. “Perhaps you’re better suited to the more... delicate aspects of life,"

Your jaw clenches. While bards famously went underestimated— a fact you were reminded of frequently— it hurt more coming from someone you so badly wanted to fuck.

"Oh, I don’t know," you say with a saccharine tone, brushing the residual dirt from your pants; your favorite pair, yet you’d probably end up having to toss them out after your poor performance today. "I think a harp string could make a fine garrote in the right hands."

Astarion’s laughter rings out clearly, and your heart skips a beat unbeknownst to you. "Dully noted. Fortunately for the both of us, we’re stripped of any weaponry in our current pinnacle."

Your eyes roll, running a hand through your disheveled, sweat-slick hair and adjusting your posture to the one he had taught you: one foot forward, back straight.

"Again," you demand, squaring your shoulders. If he wanted to mock you, fine— but you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight.

Astarion’s eyes widen, but his smirk never falters. He sighs in faux exasperation but quickly matches your posture. "So eager to be tossed into the dirt again, darling."

Your face flashes with heat at his painfully languid remark, your mind going places it probably shouldn’t. You knew the pet names were simply an inherent part of his vocabulary and that he used them generously, with everyone, yet a part of you liked to imagine they were reserved for you, and you only.

“Try me again,” you reply curtly, lowering your gaze as you feel the tension sprawling through your aching body.

He shoots you an arrogant smirk, his gaze penetrating your soul with an intensity you didn’t think possible. He bares his fangs, licking over his bottom lip lazily. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion approaches, but this time, you’re ready. As he moves to close the distance, you anticipate the first jab, ducking low before he can catch you off-guard. You dart to the side, aiming a swift thrust toward his midsection. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but it seems to work.

Your fist connects with his toned stomach. He topples off-balance, but only for a fleeting second. His reflexes are too sharp, too honed through his century-long life for you to overcome with your pitiful attempt.

He catches himself with a graceful pivot, turning the stumble into a curt spin that has him facing you once more.

"Fast learner, are we?" he muses, watching you closely through his fists. "I might actually have to try now."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shoot back, heart racing. At that moment, you recognize you can’t win. Not this time, probably not the next. But you don’t want to forfeit, even if it means enduring a day or two of terrible muscle soreness.

Every sidestep, every deflected blow, brings you closer, the air between you growing heavy with static. You aren’t sure if it’s the heat of the fight or the dangerous proximity, but you can feel it—an irresistible, undeniable pull.

"Careful now," Astarion purrs as you barely miss his face with a rugged swing. He catches your wrist, holding it tight as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear. "You wouldn’t want to harm me, would you?"

You swallow hard, your body tensing under his tight grip. The closeness is intoxicating, but you force yourself to stay focused, pushing back against the growing heat in your chest.

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

For a moment, neither of you move. The world seems to narrow, the charged atmosphere thick with tacit suspense. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, senses sharp, attuned to every breath he takes as they intermingle with yours.

"Darling," a dramatic pout creeps onto his lips, only to be replaced by a sly grin seconds later. You feel his grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to slip free. It’s a calculated move, once he grants you himself. "You wound me with your words."

You take a step back, breathless. This isn’t over, not by a long shot, yet your muscles fight against that thought. They scream at you with pain, worn and stretched by what feels like hours of sparring.

“Sounds like you’re the one trying to wound me,” you taunt, shooting him a lowered gaze. “Why’d you take me out here? Trying to make your next kill less obvious?”

The vampire had insisted you two train away from the bustle of camp, even if it meant missing out on tonight’s feast. While the rest of your companions enjoyed the finest ale Baldur’s Gate could offer, you were stuck trying to prove something to your crush.

Astarion's grin widens, his eyes flashing with amusement as he takes a slow, calculated step forward. “Now, now,” he purrs, voice dripping with mock innocence. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming— no need for childish theatrics.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight tremble in your legs from the strain of the sparring—or maybe it’s from something else entirely, you can’t be sure. You know he’s dangerous, that this game you’ve been playing with him has always had its sharp edges. But there’s something about that edge, about the way he dances so easily between teasing and threatening, that weakens your knees and makes you breathless every damn time.

"Then why are we here?" you challenge, taking a step back to match his forward one. Your voice is steady, but your pulse is hammering in your throat. The woods feel like a world apart from camp, the sounds of chatter distant as you sit in your isolated little bubble of the world. “It’s a little… intimate, don’t you think?”

Astarion tilts his head, studying you with a curious twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That sharp tongue again,” he says quietly, “Do you truly believe I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you out here just to end you? If I wanted your death, I’d make it enjoyable for both of us.”

Your breath catches at his words. His words drip with venom, but somewhere deep down, in the depths of his blackened heart, you swear you feel an instance of temptation.

“What’s the game then?” you ask, holding his gaze despite the anxiety twisting in your chest. “Because by the Gods, I know you love those.”

Astarion’s smirk softens, but the intensity in his eyes never falters. He steps closer again, until there’s barely any space between you, his presence intoxicating. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re capable of,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d let me push you before you push back.”

His hand hovers near yours, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, but he doesn’t make full contact.

“And maybe,” he continues, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your cheek, “I’m curious what could happen once we both stop playing.”

Your heart is racing now, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the sparring or the charged air between you that’s making your head spin a hundred miles an hour.

“You’ll never know,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Because I’m not backing down from this.”

His grin widens at your rebellion, and with a swift, fluid motion, the man’s playful smirk turns into a vicious one. Before you can react, he spins you around, movements smooth and practiced, making you lose your balance.

Your back hits his chest, and within seconds he wraps one arm around your neck in a tight headlock— his grip is firm, but not painful. Your mind strays to his other arm, feeling it press against your waist to keep you securely against him.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he purrs into your ear, his breath warm against your sweat-slick skin.

You struggle against his hold, trying to twist free, but his grip is relentless. “Fuck you,” you manage to scowl, though the words are strained by the pressure on your throat.

Astarion chuckles softly, and you feel it reverberate through your body. “Oh, she bites back,” he teases, his voice a dark, seductive buzz. “Are you taunting me, darling?”

You try to shift your weight, to find a way out of the headlock, but his grip doesn’t waver. “You’re projecting,” you growl breathlessly.

“And you’re persistent,” he replies, “Suits you well.”

You feel a warmth spread through your belly, tickling your nerve endings and making your thighs squeeze. You thank the Gods he can’t see your flustered face right now.

And suddenly, he releases. Not fully, but his grip weakens enough to allow you a moment to slip out again, stumbling over your own feet as you face him.

“Here’s your second freebie,” he chuckles, getting into position again. “Careful, next one might come at a price.”

“Like I need a third one,”

You recalibrate, then in the spur of the moment, pounce. Your arms extend as they barrel toward him. His eyes widen, but he manages to catch them mid-air; his hands clasping into yours and pushing against you.

“Fair strategy,” he commends, and you sense it might at least be partially earnest. “Desperate, but fair.”

You strain against him, breath hitching when he periodically pushes back. Whenever he does, you feel his gaze boring into you with a crazed intensity.

Then, you try not to think about the fact your digits fit together really damn well— and fail. Take what you can get, right?

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he sneers, slender fingers tightening around your palm. He leans in, your chests threatening to collide. “Getting distracted?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in with your full body weight, but he barely budges. “You wish,” you shoot back breathlessly.

“I feel it,” he corrects in a whisper, leaning in just enough that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. “It’s in your eyes. You’re not even thinking about our little lesson anymore, are you?”

Your breath hitches at his words, the undoubted truth in them cutting through the haze in your mind. He’s right. The bet, your lesson —somewhere along the lines, your sparring posture went lax. All that matters to you now is the palpable closeness, your hands in his, and his hot, idle breath on your neck. Your throat threatens to cast a strained groan, but you withhold.

“I—” you start to protest, but your voice falters. His chest is now pressed flush against yours, pushing you forward.

“Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive. “And I’ll let you win.”

Your hands tremble in the small space they lock with his, the smoldering red of his gaze telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing—how his actions leave you a mess in body and soul.

“I won’t, I— I can’t,” you manage to stutter, but the words sound weak and unconvincing even to your own weary ears.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through you like a slow current. “Liar,” he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly fangs in your hazed peripherals. “Not a good one, either. Another thing I should school you on.”

Your eyes roll, but the implication accelerates the growing tension within your guts. “Just how generous you are.”

His head tilts gradually, and you go pale as you catch his tongue running along the length of his bottom lip.

“No, darling,” he purrs, “I haven’t shown you generous just yet.”

And then, you catch his eyes darkening. There’s a certain mania to them when they widen, pupils blown out like a cat’s when he suddenly pushes firmly against you. Your feet stumble backward, staring into him as a wild grin plasters on his face.

You yelp when you lose balance, lips ajar and eyes closed shut as you feel your back crash into something soft, or at least, soft enough to leave you un-bruised.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s on top of you. You study his broad shoulders, the pale neck between them, and finally let your half-lidded gazes connect in a silent, tension-filled juncture.

The ambiance of dusk quiets down to a soft murmur, crickets chirping in the distance as his strong body hovers inches above you, hands placed firmly around your wrists to successfully lock you in place.

“Seems to me you’ve lost our little bet,” he purrs out, and your breath hitches as one of his legs slides between yours, slowly inching to put a distance between your knees.

All you can do is stare up at him hungrily, desperately, drinking in his weathered features and pray he’d let you run your fingers through his flaxen locks at some point in the night.

“No clever retort? That’s not the little bard I know and love,” he teases, and your hips almost buck into him at that one word. You know he doesn’t mean it, yet your teeth still clench when your body jolts in response to his familiar lilt.

“You’re playing dirty,” you finally breathe out, cringing at how strained your voice sounds as you lie under his weight.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” he retorts, his crimson gaze boring into you before gradually disappearing into your neck.

His lips hover over your skin, hot breath tickling the soft spot near your pulse point as you gasp quietly. You feel him hesitate, arms tensing and releasing over your own as if soaked in apprehension. You strain your muscles, eyes shutting in preparation for the inevitable, sharp bite coming onto your poor vein. Gods, was this his plan all along?

But then, you feel the grip on your wrists loosen.

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly catch the tousled white locks in your neck as the vampire looms over you.

“Here’s your chance to run,” he hitches, and somehow he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You lie on the blanket of moss, chest heaving and gaze tracing languidly over the treeline as you feel your body go limp. He’s giving you one last opt-out before… before something happens, be it a bloody massacre or... Or?

Your mind shrieks at you: take advantage, prove yourself on top in this stupid bet— but the little voice in your heart urges you to stay under his firm body; find out if your instincts rang true after all.

You stay. Not only that, but you let your hands slip out of his, one of them snaking down his shoulder while the other runs through his waves. They’re silky, and soft, and when you catch a whiff of rosemary in the air, your grip tightens.

“Astarion,” you whisper, voice surprisingly steady as your heart beats a constant rhythm into the space between you.

His body jerks abruptly, albeit subtly, and you feel him smirking— smiling— into the soft flesh of your neck. “So I was right, after all.”

His face withdraws from you slightly, the residual condensation of his warm breath leaving you shivering. You catch his gaze, half-lidded and scanning your expression with apt concentration.

“Feisty, spirited little thing,” he continues, inching towards you again.

Your stiff body jerks, grazing against him as your shaky hand snakes to his cheek. You cradle it gently but with urgency, and there’s a beat of silence before you finally understand what to do.

You inhale softly, catch his questioning gaze, and crash your lips onto his.

He groans softly when you meet in the middle, lowering himself with his arms. Your chest thrums with the beat of your heart, shooting waves of dopamine down your worn spine.

When you feel his nimble hand on your jaw, your lips part with a sigh. He matches your buzz with his own self-satisfied murmur, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You smile. He’s sweet and bitter, and you whine gently into the kiss when you recognize brandy on his tongue.

This is what you’ve been waiting for all these lonesome months.

The culmination dawns on you like a powerful current, making your eyes squeeze and your hands tremble in his waves.

He seems to notice your tremor, but instead of slowing down or (Gods forbid) stopping, he dives deeper. You moan into his mouth as he wriggles a hand around your waist, holding you close to his hips and suddenly, you feel a steady pressure grinding into your crotch.

The movement is slow, precise, practiced. His hips buff into yours in a controlled rhythm, making you sense his already taut erection through the thick material of his linen pants.

“Do you get it now, darling?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to stare lazily into your glassy eyes. “Look what you do to me.”

His hand snakes to your blouse, and before you can register what’s happening, you hear three ivory buttons pop off followed by the cool, evening breeze tickling your heated skin. You don’t need to open your eyes to know your nipples are standing taut in the chilly air, yet the image makes you redden.

“How— how unceremonious,” you croak out, moaning softly when his large hand begins palming at your right breast.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze at your erect nipple, toying with it in smooth, tactile movements and relishing the way his name sounds coming out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Mm, forgive me,” he chuckles darkly, planting a quick, ardent kiss on your lips before lowering his face to your chest. His tongue licks a slow, tender strip up your sternum before he looks up to smile at you; it’s a genuine look of satisfaction, untouched by the plague that is his faux arrogance. “I’ll make sure to be good next time.”

’Next time?’

You look at him lazily, gaze puzzled and lips ajar to ask but he doesn’t even offer you the chance. His hand dips from your tits to the band of your pants, sliding underneath it with his finger, the coolness of his skin making you gasp.

His mouth assaults your other nipple with sucks, nibbles, and gentle bites, making you mewl under him as his hand continues to travel down the soft flesh of your thigh. He rubs it gently, lovingly, starting under your hip and slowly stroking his way toward the inner region, where you’re most sensitive.

“Divine,” he mumbles against your chest, pressing a kiss to your rib. “So divine.”

His free palm moves to your exposed belly, massaging it gently. You sigh at the slow, consistent pressure, moving your trembling hand to the back of his neck.

When your one eye pops open in curiosity, you see him snug against your body, face contorted with empathic fixation as he labors down your body. It’s intimate, yes, but also… loving. His tongue is warm against your breast, and his palms caress your skin with slow, delicate strokes; the same hands you’ve seen wield blood-soaked daggers and longbows.

He runs two digits along the stretchy fabric of your bottoms, lip caught between his teeth. He catches you staring and smirks up at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he husks out, and you’re desperate enough to nod wordlessly.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, hand smoothing down the waistband of your panties that peers from behind your bottoms. Not even your cutest pair, but oh well. He doesn’t even seem to notice, as his digits play with the elastic.

You’re already so exposed, but nothing can prepare you for what he does next.

With a few more kisses to your breasts, he tugs at the two waistbands, pulling down your pants and panties in one go.

The material slides off your legs and you hiss out, feeling the coolness caress your slick core. Your hands instinctively reach to cover up, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a strong grasp around your wrist.

“Oh no, no,” He looks up at you with an arched eyebrow, and somehow, despite his collected mien, you catch a soft dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare deny me this view. Not after I’ve waited for so long.”

Your face heats up at the brazen comment, but that only seems to draw him closer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and he takes the hint immediately.

You connect in a heated kiss, and this time, Astarion is the one groaning against you. You work in tandem, like a gentle, effortless dance, heavy breaths intermingling in a sweet symphony of hums and sighs when…

You feel a touch against your heat. The contact is almost impalpable, yet your eyes flutter open in shock as the man’s fingers trace over your slit.

He withdraws from your kiss, hovering inches from your lips with a soft smile.

“S’unfair,” you slur, gazing up at him with a pleasure-drunken gaze. He exhales loudly, and you gasp. His fingers dip in, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “You— Gods—”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he taunts lowly, continuing his torturously languid movements with a devious smirk plastered on his perfect face. “What’s got you so bothered, my sweet?”

He dips down, teasing your entrance with his index. You pant softly at the prolonged stimulation, trying your damn best to stay focused on furrowing your eyebrows in mock anger.

“Got me so exposed and—” you trail tensely as his finger probes your entrance. “—And you’re still in your damn clothes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but you doubt he’s even listening to you by how he surveys your body, bottom lip caught between his fangs. “I’m about to show you ‘generous’, like I promised.”

And then, he bottoms out. You moan, feeling two of his digits sliding into you, the slickness of your opening making it an easy feat.

You squeeze around him, and he pumps into you once, then twice for good measure. The sound of his movements is unbelievably and utterly obscene, making your stomach knot in delight.

“So wet already,” he purrs through a smirk, watching you writhe under him, “Don’t tell me our little sparring session got you this bothered.”

You roll your eyes, thighs squeezed tight around his wrist as you move your hips in tandem with his rhythm.

“Come on, talk to me,” he taunts again, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and letting his fingers fuck you in a steady, purposeful rhythm. “Now’s not the time to get coy.”

He switches gears, stopping his movement so he can curl his fingers inside you. He presses against the sweet spot, his thumb reaching to simultaneously rub slow circles against your swollen clit.

You cry out at the newfound pressure, the warmth in your belly twisting into a vortex of fiery delight.

“I—” you mewl against him, wrapping your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna— c-cum—”

His movements quicken at your desperate words, digits working hard against your favorite spot.

“Cum then, my darling,” he taunts firmly, his free hand roaming under your jaw and holding it in place. “Cum for me. Let me— let me look at you, sweet thing.”

Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but once they do, he hits something white-hot inside you.

His lips crash desperately onto yours, but you struggle to kiss him back through the blinding pleasure of your climax. It thunders down your legs, up your belly, making you cry out against his mouth as everything melts away into a wonderful oblivion.

The last thing you see before your muscles go lax is red.

He rubs your clit methodically through your high, letting you ride it out peacefully as he burrows into your neck again.

When your breath steadies, you feel his fingers slowly withdraw. The emptiness that follows makes you cry out softly, helplessly watching as the man runs his palms up and down your sides.

He presses a soft, soothing kiss against your swollen lips, and you can’t help but glare when you see that he’s still fully dressed, even after your heated orgasm.

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?” he purrs, pulling away to take you all in. You’re caught speechless when his hungry gaze scans down your nude body; starting at your smitten face and ending with a lingering glimpse at your spent pussy.

“Please,” you mewl out, raking your hands down his clothed abs. “Gods— Please take these off, I can’t—”

He does.

His hands momentarily withdraw from around you, and with a swift, deft move, he tosses his shirt off.

The silken cloth comes flying into the night like a phantasmal figure, and you watch it catch onto a stray branch to your right.

Your gaze skims hungrily down his sculpted body, watching his muscles tense and release with every little movement. Yes, you’ve seen him shirtless before, yet the context of your current predicament somehow makes it feel like it’s the first time all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, his hands work at his bottoms, swiftly unbuttoning the waistband and letting it sit loose against his hips. You catch a soft, white trail against the edge of his undergarments, leading down to a straining, tented mess below.

Your hand reaches out absent-mindedly, still drunk off the high of your climax and so, so desperate to finally feel him for yourself.

“Not so fast, darling,” he scolds, gently slapping your hand away and letting it wither at your side.

“Let me touch you,” you retort desperately, but he only chuckles as his fingers begin working at his waistband.

“You lost our bet,” he explains, sliding a thumb under the elastic and letting it lower. You catch the very base of his straining erection, and that taunting alone makes you gasp. “Gives me the upper hand.”

“Says who?” you hiss under your breath, failing to give him the glare he deserves as your eyes bore into his.

He gives you a once over, gaze drawing languidly over your exposed body, and only then does the extent of your nudity finally dawn on you.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You shift under him, shimmying within the small space he allows, and he takes your brief distraction as a moment to unravel his pants completely. They drop to the ground behind you, leaving him in his undergarments, and you bite your lip at how dangerously lax they sit around his hips.

“I think I’ve left you waiting long enough,” he mutters, and your lips go ajar.

The thumb hooked into his briefs starts sliding down his waist, lower and lower until you’re finally even in terms of undress— and you’re ever so starstruck by the sight of his bulging cock hovering over your belly. It stands thick and taut within arm’s reach and you find the fact makes your mouth water.

Then, before you can think of touching him, you feel him place either hand below your knees. He looks up at you with a sly smirk, and you gasp softly when he pushes your thighs flat against your torso, feet in the air and scandalously exposed in front of him.

“You’re playing with me,” you mutter breathlessly, hissing as you feel his length stroking against your inner thigh.

His arms compress you tighter as you feel him lowering, the underside of his cock slapping against your tummy. The gasp that leaves your throat at the sudden contact widens your eyes, and he catches your gaze with his self-satisfied one.

“Do you like that I’m playing with you?” he follows up without a beat, his hips rutting forward. The movement is gentle, yet the pressure is enough to make you whine out in desperation— it’s also the only answer you manage to choke up for him before his cock slides between your wet folds.

“A-Ah— you fucking— fucking prick,” you hiss at the vampire, and so he bears his fangs at you through a wide grin. You find that it makes your breath hitch even amidst your despair.

“Now, now,” he reprimands, words syrupy, “bold words coming from someone so vulnerable.”

His nails dig into the soft flesh of your legs as he slides back and forth, taking meticulous care so that the head of his cock butts against your clit with every dip. The stimulation feels electric, and soon enough, you feel your still-sensitive body ramp up with heated energy for a second time this night.

A minute passes, yet it feels like an eternity. The air between you is thick with tension and the soft, repetitive harmony of your strained moans and his little gasps. You watch his eyes close in concentration, and despite his otherwise relaxed facade, you can tell he’s struggling to resist you by the way his eyebrows knit in the middle.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out, one of your hands extending to claw at his withholding forearm.

When your gazes meet, he looks surprisingly spent; eyes glassed-over, mouth ajar, and the slightest hint of sweat glazing his pale forehead. You realize that his domineering act seemed to come at the expense of his stamina: a resource you had slowly replenished in your comfortable position.

“Not— not yet, darling,” he hitches out, but the words appear tender and helpless to your trained ears. “I— I want to enjoy this— enjoy you—”

Your grip on his forearm tightens, making the bucking of his hips stutter. His eyebrow raises at your touch, but before he can shoot you a witty comment, you’re pushing him forward.

It happens within seconds.

Your knees straighten, feet slamming into his abdomen. He coughs at the sudden, unexpected impact, and you take the opportunity to grab tight onto his forearms. He falls backward, and just before his spine hits the soil beneath, you use the momentum to push yourself onto him.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re straddling his waist.

He blinks in brief confusion, surveying his surroundings before the crimson gaze finally turns to you.

He surveys your face, and you let him. The moment is like a silent meditation, heavy breaths intermingling as he takes your raw beauty in; the longing in your eyes, the soft dusting of pink across your nose, and ultimately, the plush of your lips he had ravaged mere moments ago.

Next, he moves to your body. His eyes scan down your taut nipples, down your tummy, and to the softness of your thighs squeezing his midriff to the ground. When he reaches the junction between your bodies, your hips buck as if on instinct.

“My, just how courageous we are,” he purrs under you, hands reaching to rub down the outside of your thighs. “I wouldn’t be so nice about your dirty tricks if I didn’t find this view thoroughly delectable.”

You shiver at his honeyed words, yet your gaze stays determined on him. Your palms go to rest atop his, marveling at the eccentric softness of his knuckles and the polarizing edge of the nails.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” you grin playfully, rocking your hips back to feel his hard length against the curve of your ass. When a soft hiss escapes his lips, you feel your ego inflate. “Sound familiar?”

His eyes roll, but the grin creeping onto his lips deceives him immediately.

His head tilts at you, fangs bearing in the soft moonlight. “You’re trouble.”

The mischief of your smile spins into a warm fondness. Your cheeks warm, and your heart swells, but you don’t quite understand why. “Oh how rich that is coming from you.”

And then you’re rising on your knees, hips hovering over his throbbing erection. Your palms connect, digits intertwining with his as you lower yourself onto him.

You test the waters first, letting his tip brush over your slit with feather-like touches. You hum gently at the teasing pleasure, and so does Astarion.

When you feel your tummy tightening with anticipation, you dive in. With a light shimmy, you line your hips with his, and with more desperation than you planned, you slide down.

You both hiss as the head of his cock penetrates you, the stretch making your palm tighten against his. You bend at the knees, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim after such a long, lonesome time.

Finally, you let your hips slam against his. The sudden, harsh movement makes you gasp out into the tantric air as his tip pokes against your womb. The dull pain quickly shifts into a flat, resonant pleasure, and you waste no time.

Your hips begin to buck against his, building a slow, steady rhythm until you’re confidently riding your vampire lover with a self-satisfied smirk on your lips.

Each thrust makes you mewl, moan, and cry out into the night, that pleasant angle of his cock hitting that same spot his fingers did just minutes ago.

His head rolls back into the ground, and with the remnants of his energy, he issues an occasional, quick rut into you. As it’s rare, you decide to savor it. You squeeze around him with the thrusts, and soon, you feel yourself running out of breath.

“I— I could let you do this for—hells— forever,” he hisses out, and suddenly, you feel his hands unclasp from yours and snake around your waist. “Where have you been all these centuries?”

Your upper body is dragged forward, your tits colliding with his toned chest when he pulls you into a tight, possessive embrace.

You gasp at the warmth between you, and your eyebrows soon furrow when you realize the position limits your hip movement. As you’re forced into a pause from your delirious riding, his lips crash onto yours.

Your tongues share a private, slack dance, heads tilting to adjust as you both hum and groan into the fiery kiss. You attempt to rut into him, and soon enough he gets the hint.

Keeping you immobilized against his chest, his hips pound up into you. The first few smacks are scandalously loud, and you revel in the newfound angle.

You’re lost in him, completely and utterly. When he moans, you respond with a hum— when his embrace tightens around you, you kiss him harder.

The familiar, fiery heat in your tummy bubbles up again. You feel it amp up, grow, and send jolts up your spine when suddenly, you’re being pushed up. When your eyes flutter open, you catch his still closed.

His chest stays firm against yours as he positions you upright, letting you straddle his hips as you’re both left sitting in the soft patch of grass and wildflowers.

With your body regaining its mobility, you start grinding against him again. The position allows for a deliciously intimate closeness, his cock burrowing deep into you as you resume riding him.

The pressure within you grows, emerging as a knot— threatening to unravel with every other thrust. Your clit rubs against the base of his groin, amplifying the pleasure into a sensation you’ve long forgotten about.

“A-Astarion—” you mewl out between kisses, and his hot breath tickles your face when he chuckles.

“Cum for me,” he sighs out, and the assertion comes off soft and pleading as it settles into the groves of your heart.

“O-Okay— I… I—”

He tightens his hold on your waist with one hand, as the other moves to cradle your cheek. His touch is unbelievably delicate and affectionate, and out of all the stimulation he had so graciously provided you this night, it’s that soft touch that sends you over the edge.

Your lips connect in one last kiss, and you moan throatily into his mouth. Your hips still, thighs squeezing as your pussy tightens around his cock in a moment of pure bliss. The steadily rising pressure in your belly finally tips over, sending a wave of bliss down your entire being.

Still, he keeps moving. You almost want to scream against him as his hips begin pounding into you again, the soft slaps quickening as he slowly peaks with you.

Withdrawing from the kiss to lean against your neck, he cums. Hard.

Your slowly declining climax seems to slam the gas pedal as you feel him release deep into you, the warmth spreading through your body like a genial embrace, a fact that makes him groan loudly against your mouth. Your breath stills in your throat, before finally releasing into a long, guttural moan— it echoes into the night, and your vision blurs.

White-hot bliss envelops your body, and you melt into Astarion’s for solace. You feel him grip you, caress your face, kiss away your adrenaline-fueled tears, and pant softly against your lips as your pussy spasms again.

Your orgasm envelops you in slow, pulsating waves as it withdraws, and you’re soon left huffing into the vampire’s flaxen locks. You think you hear him speak, but the ringing in your ears is too potent to know for certain.

Then, as the ringing finally retires, you hear him whisper your name. It’s a soft, patient call against the burning skin of your neck, one you commit to memory as you’re finally awarded your senses back— if only partially.

The forest feels exceptionally silent as you fall into his arms. You recognize the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, perhaps a distant hoot of owls, but it all seems to blend into an indecipherable blur as exhaustion floods your system.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck, and your mind sinks into the soft, languid thumps of his heart. His hand caresses your back, and you sigh deeply.

You sit there for what feels like hours, drinking each other in. You’ve waited so long, and finally, you’re at ease— it’s a feeling you wish to cherish, and if it wasn’t for the pesky passage of time, you’d choose to stay in this damned forest for eons; with him.

You feel him shift against you. His hands withdraw from your waist, and he whispers softly against you. “Come, my love.”

You hum in disagreement, face burrowing deeper into him. Yes, rosemary and brandy— now it’s clear to you.

He exhales sharply, and you smile into his neck. He waits for a beat, before placing a soft kiss to your temple. “Wait here.”

You nod gently and finally allow him to withdraw. The separation makes you sigh, your body shivering in the newfound cold of the night, but you persevere. In the longing to hold on to the moment for a little longer, you keep your eyes closed and hope he’ll return before you open them again.

You hear him shuffle around, walking from left to right, before finally returning to face you. “Hands up,” he mutters softly, and you do as you’re told in your pleasure-drunken stupor.

You feel him drape something silken over your sweat-slick body, the soft material draping your hips before coming to a stop at your thighs. When you breathe in, you immediately realize it’s not your shirt, so you grin.

When you’re comfortably wrapped up, he leans in. Once you finally sense the familiar warmth of his chest, you lean against his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

You’re surprised he does this for you. Tenderness is not exactly something you’d connect with a man of his past, of his skill. Yet, when his hands move to rest under your knees and back, you don’t resist.

He lifts you off the ground, letting your fatigued frame rest against him. He takes it upon himself to get you back to camp, safe and sound, and only slightly perturbed.

You drink in everything you can, letting yourself be greedy for once. The steadiness of his breath, his warm chest, the crinkling of leaves under his feet— it’s an image you swear to place, no matter what difficulties might threaten to befall you in the future.

And he’s silent up until you reach the campgrounds. The chatter of dinnertime has long died down, and when you open your eyes, you spot the crackling embers of firelight flickering away among a circle of stones. The flames cast a soft, warm light onto the closed tents, and you revel in the intimacy of the moment.

“Everyone met their bedtime while we’ve been naughty sneaking out,” he murmurs with a chuckle, and you close your eyes hurriedly in hopes of feigning slumber. Still, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face at his brazen comment.

You reach the outskirts and finally spot his tent just below an old, sturdy oak tree. You recall the talks you had out front so many times before, back when your feelings were just sparks of something much stronger and much, much warmer.

He crouches down and with an unsurprising agility climbs into the little shelter with you still in his arms. You lie slack against him, letting his arms lay you gently onto his woolen mat. You melt into the warmth almost immediately, sighing out dreamily when you feel his presence beside you.

It’s silent for a moment, and when your eyes finally flutter open, you catch him staring at you. His gaze is thoughtful but warm, lingering over your form with a certain glimmer.

“I guess it’s official, then,” you sigh out, closing your eyes again and letting a lazy smile drift over your features.

He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “What… what is?”

You chuckle softly at his awkward tone, shifting to the side and letting one of your eyes pop open to glance at him.

“My victory,” you state matter-of-factly before quickly shifting to your other side, facing away from him just to let a satisfied grin creep onto your face.

You don’t witness it, but his expression goes from tense, to disconcerted, to irritated in a matter of seconds. His eyes roll, and you suddenly feel a flat slap against your ass.

“Woah there, hey!” you gasp, followed by a cheeky giggle. Your head turns to face him from your comfortable position, and you catch him mirroring your grin.

“Quiet, now,” he commands softly, pivoting to lie beside you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Bet’s over, darling. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve not proven yourself capable. Shame, really.”

You blow a raspberry through your smile and shimmy closer to him, your body melting perfectly into his— a fact that has you near to falling asleep.

“Shame indeed. The look on your face was priceless when you ate dirt,” you shrug nonchalantly, “At least that’s the version I’ll be telling everyone come morning.”

He scoffs, the low rumble of it vibrating against your back, but his arm only tightens around you. You feel his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“If you do that, I might just have to kill you,” he mutters, but despite the intensity of the words, his voice is soft and loving against your head. His hand drifts to your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there.

“You would never.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your lips open to build on your clever retort before you feel his sharp exhale on your neck.

“Sleep, darling,” he reprimands, squeezing your midriff gently.

You sigh contentedly, your lips brushing against the pillow as you settle deeper into his embrace. The tent is cocooned in warmth, but you feel the cool kiss of the evening breeze filtering in through the small opening at the entrance. Outside, the campfire crackles faintly, the last embers glowing like distant stars before fading into fine ash.

As you drift closer to sleep, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the world around you blurs into the peaceful haze of near-dreams.

Just as the veil of slumber begins to pull you under, you feel his lips press against your hair, a soft whisper brushing against your skin.

“As long as I'll live, I never could.”

[brekker-by-brekkerr]

There's no way you can convince me the writing for Eloise in part 2 of season 3 was good.

We're expected to believe that Eloise Bridgerton, who gets so upset about injustices to women, who cares deeply for her friends, would hear about Cressida's issues and be like "hmm yeah sucks to suck."

And people can't say it's because Eloise is only concerned with herself because we've seen her get so upset about the plight of other people, we've seen her going and engaging with conversations outside her circle, we've seen her empathizing with Theo and his circumstances, we've seen her trying to hunt down LW to help Pen back before she knew the truth.

JUST THIS SEASON we saw Eloise go to Cressida's house to check on her because she noticed that she was acting off. So you can't even tell me Eloise doesn't care about her. I feel like the writers are trying to gaslight the viewers in part 2 to thinking Eloise didn't ever care that much about Cressida when WE LITERALLY SAW THAT SHE DID. Cressida even says Eloise was a great friend to her.

Yeah, I understand that Eloise has a lot going on right now, and so to some extent, I could see her not being as present for Cressida as she needs. That happens. But the level to which they made Eloise act like she doesn't care is so insane and is clearly just to prop Pen up.

Eloise heard Cressida tell her about her circumstances so she should understand why she's doing what she's doing.

It just felt like such an insane 180 for Eloise to turn around and suddenly be like "Cressida is a viper" and "our friendship was falling apart anyway" and "I should never have trusted her," when the last thing we saw before part 2 was them BEING GOOD FRIENDS!! And when Cressida hadn't done anything bad, she just claimed to be LW RIGHT AFTER she had explained to Eloise how messed up her circumstances were and that she needed help getting out of them.

I get that the show was going to put Eloise and Pen back together because they have such a clear bias towards her character, but did they have to decimate Creloise in the process? Is Eloise not allowed to have multiple friendships?

Like, Pen can do all these terrible things and cry and be like "sorry about that" and it's fine El and her can be besties everyone will love her and forgive her. But Cressida was sometimes mean (and the show goes to lengths to show us how she became that way, even explicitly spelling it out with her mother's comments about how she raised her to believe in "every woman for herself" AND shows Cressida acknowledging her mistakes and showing true change and growth) and lies about being LW and she's dragged through the dirt, she's "the absolute worst," every single character says awful things about her while we see snippets of her in this dark awful house with her life falling apart and this is supposed to be something we root for?? Literally why. Why even make Cressida sympathetic if this is what you're going to do with her.

It feels so out of pocket for Eloise to be saying Cressida is soo horrible and etc. etc. when we SAW their friendship before. We saw Cressida taking in what Eloise was saying and making changes, we saw Cressida challenging Eloise's beliefs and making Eloise self-reflect. Eloise got a peek into how awful Cressida's home life was and into the kind of good person Cressida could be and that's just suddenly thrown out the window with such little support to back it up.

Even if Creloise just HAD to stop being friends, weren't there better ways of going about it? Couldn't they at least have waited till after the fake LW paper came out bashing the Bridgertons for Eloise to break off the friendship? Yes, that was Cressida's mom writing that, but Eloise wouldn't know that and that would more logically line up with Eloise's random coldness towards her.

Still, why exactly do they have to stop being friends? Why can't Eloise have different kinds of friendships, especially one like hers with Cressida that challenged her, one where they mutually helped each other become better people? I love that Eloise is going to go off on this adventure to Scotland and meet other people but could she not also have retained her friendship with Cressida??

I would have loved to see the Eloise I know and love in part 2 teaming up with Cressida to help her, scheming together, doing everything in her power to help her bestie because that's who she is. That's what we should have seen. Maybe it would take her a second to get there, since she was already wrapped up in the drama with her brother and Pen, but she wouldn't just completely brush off her friend. She would do something.

And I could go on about how messed up it was for the writers to make it pretty clear how bad things have become for Cressida and then make her face the most consequences ever, while Pen gets to ride off into the sunset all happily ever after despite doing things 1000x worse than anything Cressida ever did. I'm actually disgusted.

[genshin-obsessed]

Breaking Up hcs | Genshin & HSR

Have I done this before? I know I made that "what if we broke up?" post but I don't think I've done break up hcs before? I hope not anyway cuz i'm doing them now! Also, maybe I went overboard a little cuz even I felt bad lol and I usually don't feel sad when I write angst.

Characters: Aether, Diluc, Wanderer, Caelus, Jing Yuan, and Aventurine (lol I'ma try)

☽ Aether

That break up took a toll on him, more so than even he thought at first. Sleeping became his least favorite activity because he was constantly seeing your faces in his dreams. Constantly.

The entirety of Teyvat fell apart for the short time their favorite errand boy refused to do anything for them. Honestly, Aether didn't do anything for the first week or so. He was barely eating, barely sleeping, barely alive.

It was hard adventuring too, Paimon no longer wanted him to go because sometimes he'd just get distracted and take unnecessary hits. It was kinda bad. Eventually, she got Katheryne to no longer give him any combat requests because he just wasn't doing good enough.

All he wanted to do was talk to you, but you didn't want to talk to him, so that led him to just remaining in his teapot alone. He didn't even allow visitors for a short while. Paimon did her best to try and comfort him, but there were so few words that could actually get through that sorrow he was dealing with.

It took maybe a month before he allowed people to come visit him and under no circumstances were they allowed to bring you up. Mainly because he'd cry. Everyone did try in their own way to help him, even people like Wanderer or Arlecchino tried to give him some "words of wisdom". It... didn't work mainly because Aether wasn't receptive to it anymore.

☽ Diluc

He really did busy himself with work like he said he would. It's almost all hours of the day. He's rarely even seen at home anymore.

Ironically, Diluc is still very careful about getting hurt because if he did, then he'd need to remain at home and be on bed rest and he genuinely couldn't handle that.

He no longer sleeps in his bed either. Usually, he comes home later, collapses on the couch for a few hours until some dream about you wakes him up and he's back to work. He can't stand sleeping in that bed because you used to lay right beside him.

No one, I mean no one, is allowed to even say your name. Truth be told, Diluc is barely hanging on by a thread, someone saying your name and bringing your image to his mind's eye would ruin him.

Even Kaeya doesn't tease him. Actually, Kaeya keeps away because Diluc is quite irritable and not many people wanted to deal with that. While they understood the break up upset him... it was just too much.

☽ Wanderer

Oh boy. Breaking up with him was hard because he was angry and yelling (at the situation apparently), and just saying no. Eventually though, he relented and agreed. You didn't want to be with him and... well, it wasn't right to force you.

The aftermath was pretty bad. He was angry, didn't want to talk to anyone, and just up and vanished for a while. It wasn't until Aether and Paimon accidentally stumbled upon him while adventuring that they learned a little about what happened.

(W/n) explained that he never thought he'd lose you. Out of all the people he was "friendly" with, he never thought you would up and leave the way you did. It broke his heart- a heart he didn't even know started beating again.

Aether offered for (w/n) to join him on some adventures to just take his mind off of things and he, surprisingly, agreed. But it wasn't the same. Both Paimon and Aether noticed the lack of energy.

He was also constantly in his own mind. Most conversations happened between Aether and Paimon because (w/n) would just mentally check out and not even be paying attention. He didn't break down and cry physically but emotionally, he was a wreck. But it was so bad, he didn't know what to do. Cry, scream, try and take over the world, he didn't know.

What he did know was that the world didn't feel right without you.

☆ Caelus

You lived on the Astral Express with him and the others. Everyone thought you were the cutest couple and everywhere you went, you two received the same compliments. So, he definitely fell apart a little when you just up and ended the relationship.

The worst part was that he couldn't have time away from you. Not in the mean sense, but if you two were breaking up, he needed (for his own mental health) not to see you every single day. But... that wasn't possible.

It was extremely awkward for everyone on board. Welt and Himeko tried their best to keep things normal, the conductor did their best to keep conversations going, and Dan Heng just didn't bother coming out of his room. Caelus took a page from Dan Heng's books and just locked himself away for like two weeks.

When it was finally time for him to come out, he took time off of the express, choosing to go visit some old friends to regain some of that normalcy. Jarilo VI was where he spent most of his time as he hadn't been there in a while. He stayed there without the others for maybe two or so weeks, finding ample time to spend with Natasha, Seele, Bronya, Serval, and Gepard.

While he didn't openly state you two broke up, everyone knew. He did go and visit the Xianzhou which Dan Heng did join him in doing which was a good bonding experience for the two. It was when he finally opened up about losing you. According to Caelus, everything felt so wrong. Like a part of him was missing and that part was so close to his reach. But every single day, he had to pretend like it wasn't.

☆ Jing Yuan

He really didn't know what to do at the moment. He kinda stopped paying attention after you said you wanted to end the relationship. He tried to convince you otherwise, saying that breaking up wouldn't give him the chance to fix it but you were pretty adamant. He couldn't just say no... so he said ok and you were gone.

He tried to act normal. He did his job normally for the first day and that's when it all started to fall apart. The second he had time alone, it just hit him so painfully. You thought him losing his old friends was painful? This was a whole new level.

The second day, he couldn't really perform his duties as well and just handed them off to the first person he saw. Yanqing was most worried and desperately tried to get anyone's help because he didn't know what to do. It led him straight to the Astral Express and unsurprisingly, no one knew what to do.

Jing Yuan didn't even want help, honestly. He'd been hurting for years carrying the memories he did, so what was one more painful one? Maybe it was some sort of divine justice? Jing Yuan wasn't the most upstanding man, right? So he probably deserved this. What right did he have to just go and fix it?

Caelus did end up finding him out and about once, having the chance to share tea with Jing Yuan. The general explained he didn't know how to fix anything anymore. While it wasn't healthy to live life this way, it was his punishment probably. Caelus' concern led him to ask that burning question: why?

"I should've done better. Treated them better... maybe then... I'd still have them."

☆ Aventurine

He almost didn't register the words that came out of your mouth. You... break up with him? You were talking, explaining why, but he couldn't really follow. It's like his brain just stopped working and all he could think was 'this wasn't supposed to happen'.

At the end of it, you were gone and he was alone. Aventurine expected betrayal in his line of work, but he never expected it from you. Your "deal" with him was special. It wasn't like his normal deals. It was one that you two emerged equally victorious and no one lost anything. Right?

Even Ratio had pity for him. Aventurine waltzed around as if nothing happened but there was such a dramatic shift in his personality. He said the same things he always did, he acted as if he always did, but there was a distinct bitterness when he spoke of being let down.

When he told people to make use of him, there was a hint of resentment laced in his words. While he claimed he expected to be exploited at some point, there was still a twinge of fear. It never hurt before but for some reason, it scared him now.

He did briefly open up to Ratio, who was just berating him as usual, and it even took him by surprise. Aventurine didn't say much, but he did say how he figured everyone in the world to want to set him on fire for one reason or another. He just didn't expect it would be you to light the flame. Veritas called him an idiot and said you had every right to leave, which Aventurine wholeheartedly agreed with.

You did have every right to leave. You just didn't have the right to take whatever made him feel normal.

[maximotts]

firm hand, gentle touch ⁘ w. maximoff

based off of an ask from @leolionsblog that was supposed to be a short response, but turned into a full fic.. Also, I know it's been a little bit since I've written for Wanda and Doll, but quick reminder that it's a dark AU so pls heed warnings and expect the morally gray 🩶 warnings are clearly labeled, please don't add community filters

Doll House! AU. masterlist || main masterlist :: Thinking is a dangerous game; thinking you know better than Wanda... that's asking for pure trouble wc. 2.2k . cw: 18+ only, minors DNI. mommy!Wanda and doll!reader. imposed routines. piss play (coerced bedwetting). dumbification. general teasing. subtle manipulation. series typical pet names and squishy times. Wanda who is trying her best to be gentle and patient and not use her powers to control you as much as she had.

Imagine it's early on in Wanda's little hex; Doll's so rarely allowed to go anywhere without Wanda and most often, she doesn't have the desire to anyways. Still new to the privilege of talking, you don’t find it much of a problem -Wanda always knows what you need- until you want something Wanda doesn't want to acknowledge.

Wanda loves holding you at all times, whether it's your hand while on an afternoon walk or pulling you close as you fall asleep, once she lets that boundary down there’s hardly a moment you have to reach out too far to her. And bedtime is a new exception.

In the beginning, the brunette was firm with putting to your bed on your own, staying long enough to tuck you in before retiring to her separate room for the night. She’d reasoned to herself it was good to have time apart, to prove to herself both that she could trust you to stay put and her to establish a routine. Night after night of dragging you back up the hall to your room and dealing with your sleepy cries had worn her down— now you slept in either of your bedrooms, together.

Your shared days now ended with an abundance of gentle intimacy, a new routine created to account for the unexpected closeness. Despite the gray circumstances bringing you together, a secret, less confident piece of Wanda expected you to resent her and keep distance whenever you could the more free will she gave, but you continued to surprise her.

Unbeknown to you, he genuine devotion only seemed stoked her need to control.

Standard practice meant Wanda always asked if you had to use the bathroom after your evening bath, but tonight you'd refused, impatient to get into bed and snuggle with your mommy. There was gentle suggestion that you at least try, but when you looked seconds from stomping your foot, Wanda relented, not wanting to fight over something so simple.

Now though, you paid the price, squirming as as you struggled to find the most comfortable position, something that typically wasn’t so hard when Wanda was stroking your skin and telling you a story. Typically perfectly intuitive, you assumed she’d stop speaking and lead you to the bathroom, having expecting some gentle admonishment while she sat you tired form on the toilet, but Wanda ignored all your hints at discomfort.

Eventually the pressure was too much and guessed your punishment must be the confusion of being left to your own devices. Alas you guessed wrong and the moment you twisted to sit up, Wanda held you back.

"Lay still and close your eyes, dolly. It's time for bed." Playing dumb was cruel when Wanda so clearly knew what was wrong, skirting a hand under your sleep shirt before pressing lightly on your sensitive belly. Wanda liked to call them your wigglies, called them so whenever they cropped up, quickly inquiring which problem possessed you; a telltale sign she needed to check in. Tonight, she remained willfully ignorant.

You whined into her neck, hips rolling into her thigh as you shuffled clumsily atop her, hoping if you burrowed deeper she wouldn't be able to make it worse. It proved to be a false hope once that same devious thigh bent between yours. "Wanna get up.."

“Why’s that? Does your tummy hurt?” The shy nod was as far as you were willing to confirm, lifting your hips to keep away from her teasing. You were still sparing with your words, much more used to actions or motions to communicate, but as soon as Wanda started letting you speak she expected proper response when disciplining you. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

Resting on your knees gave Wanda just enough space to splay her hand over your stomach as she did when it ached, but for your current plight the warmth of her palm atop your bladder felt too taunting. “Can I go pee, mommy? I’ll be quick!”

A speedy return was far from Wanda’s concerns; watching your struggle set off a new lightbulb within and exhausted as she was, she deferred to her curiosity.

Wanda’s subsequent too tight squeeze left you clamping your legs about her waist, focusing on holding that heavy, full feeling inside. If she’d stopped there you’d surely run as fast as your legs would let you, would surely think twice before stubbornly rejecting Wanda’s suggestions, but the basic behavior of minding her in the future wasn’t sating her interest. "You told me twice you didn't need to go; either you lied or you didn't know any better.”

You so rarely second guessed her, a quick scan of your thoughts earlier confirmed you only did so tonight in the name of skipping to another nightly cuddle… Poor thing, you really did always mean well, but sadistically, she longed to impose more memorable consequences. “From now on you're going to listen to me, aren't you?"

The resulting agreement was expected, your deference was almost always automatic particularly in quest to get what you wanted faster. Wanda would give it just, not how you imagined. "Go ahead then, sweetheart, you don’t have to get up. Let go and we can go to sleep."

Almost.

"But that's messy…" Surely she was joking; the messes you left on the floor or at the dinner table were the primary reasons you found yourself in trouble. Brain already stretched dozens of ways, you could only imagine she was waiting for you to slip up. There was the occasional time where your mommy would give you the opportunity to prove yourself, one choice she’d guided you towards once or twice and one obvious misstep you still sometimes mindlessly fell for.

Worriedly pouting lips betrayed your conflict, trapped body twisting more sloppily as the seconds ticked on. Admittedly, she acted a bit out of character in accessing how much progress she’d made with her new toy. Slowly the witch had been relinquishing her hold on your will, hoping it’d been long enough you’d bend to hers without struggle. At the very least, tonight was now an exercise in how far you’d come.

New freedoms aside, she didn’t want you to think, certainly not hard enough to debate her commands. “Did I ask you about the mess?”

Silence wasn’t enough, Wanda’s free hand tugging the ponytail she’d lovingly tied in your hair just over an hour ago. The swirling red tendrils forming in her irises signaled she meant business; whether Wanda’s eyes changed on purpose or not was a question you had yet to ask aloud, but you knew well enough she’d reached the end of her patience. “Speak up when I ask you a question.”

Combined physical and mental pressure was too intense to bear, pitiful whimpers catching in your throat. “N-no, you didn’t…”

“Then don’t worry your silly head.” Her fingers were so soft on your cheek, petting your rapidly heating cheeks and saying nothing of the tiny spot of wet that spilled atop her thigh as you faded into her— before you caught yourself. Either the missteps weren’t obvious enough or Wanda hadn’t done proper work on your hesitation. Wanda laughed at your panic, holding your jaw until you finally understood you needed to stop fighting her.

“I don’t have to go anymore,” The whisper was such a blatant lie, one Wanda nearly slapped you across the face for… but she’d resolved early on to never scare you so terribly again. Gentle things often did best with equally gentle punishments.

Your mommy took in the pathetic sight of her doll, stuck swimming in her struggling thoughts, and oh she felt bad. It’d be nothing to whisk thoughts thoughts away, to leave you again as nothing but a dumb thing without a care for any perceived standards. She feared you’d never learn if you didn’t do so for yourself and so, agitated as you were, Wanda decided to let you drown if you insisted on it.

“No? Such a fuss for only having to go a tiny bit,” she chided, loosening her grip despite your continued clinging. Guiding your lower half down alongside her leg, Wanda’s demeanor turned around, once brutal and probing now lighter than a feather and you felt as though you were suffering from severe whiplash.

It was obvious she didn’t believe you -you didn’t even convince yourself, legs still clenched desperately about Wanda- but she played pretend, shutting off the lone bedside lamp and shifting so you both laid down. “If you’re really all done then it’s past your bedtime. Shut your eyes and rest.”

And that was all she said. No goodnights or further affection, just lights out and quiet. You’d be a fool to think Wanda would let you slip away to the bathroom now, her only given solution hanging pendulous above your too fuzzy head. The longer you lay there, the more confusing refusing it seemed.

You didn’t know what tiny voice in your brain convinced you to suffer and think, but as the minutes ticked by in the dark, you grew to hate that sound. Whatever it was wasn’t your mommy, the only person you ever wanted to please. Listening to it only got you an awful tummy ache and distance between you and her, having spoiled your cozy moments with Wanda.

Letting Wanda decide was easier, much less work than the headaches resulting from making any right choice. Mind made up, your abdomen was the only thing nagging you now, but you were still bashful. “Mama?”

“What is it, little one?”

Her voice was the calm to your inner storm, tone sweet and oh so loving. “…maybe I have to pee more…”

“Be a good girl and do as mommy said.” A simple kiss sealed your fate, relinquishing the last bits of hesitancy in favor of your mommy’s soft lips on your forehead.

Gratefully she allows you to burrow into the crook of her neck, still a little too embarrassed to face Wanda as you relaxed, freeing your pent-up belly with a slow stream, spreading warmth growing on her hip. She praises you through it, comforting hands stroking the small of your back, distracting your overexerted brain from your damp underwear.

“There you go, now doesn’t that feel better?”

A subtle excitement lingered between your thighs, one you’d ask to explore another time when you had the energy. “It feels icky..”

Wanda cooed at your exhausted observation, patting your backside in an effort to keep you calm and quiet. “I meant for your poor tummy, but I’ll fix that too.”

Her favorite parts were always the consequence and the aftermath, savoring what an honor it was to take care of you long after you’d be able to care for yourself. That was her job, after all, tending to your needs and protecting you, even if sometimes it was from yourself. “I’ll clean you up in a bit, I promise.”

Your hazy gaze searched the brunette’s face with unfiltered confusion, desperate to be back under Wanda’s tender care. It was true; she always left every aspect seamless, never asked you to think about anything— so why were you? No more questioning her, you promised yourself for a final time, right then and there. “Are you mad at me, mommy? Did I mess up badly?”

“Oh, no no,” she soothed, rubbing your bare shoulders before tightening the plush comforter around them. “You did such a good job, sweet pea! I’m so proud of you.”

“Even though I lied?” Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Wanda unbuttoning her silk shirt and you wiggled down on instinct, ready to round out your bedtime routine. Preening under her affections was second nature, obedient and kept a state you were more than willing to accept.

“Yes, even then, but don’t do it again.” Wanda rewarded your eventual good behavior by guiding you down until wet lips captured her pert nipple. She knew her smart girl would come around sooner rather than later and as she studied your now fully unwound form, not a singular worry pecking at your cute head, the older woman basked in the genuine pride she held for her work. “I only want the best for you, my love. You’ve got the big job of telling me the truth so I can look after you properly, I know you can do that for me, can’t you?”

There was a muffled mhm from somewhere, much more preoccupied with the overwhelming comfort you basked in. You didn’t struggle to ignore anything now, head feeling lighter each second you melted further into your mommy, heavy lids fluttering closed under the gentle brush of stray hairs tucked behind your ear, her oh so soft hum of a melody that’s quickly become your favorite song…

Some time in the night you stirred, still heavily draped over Wanda’s sleeping form, and where you expected to feel sticky and uncomfortable, a shift of your thighs confirmed you were back to normal. You wore the same pajamas, woken in the exact position you’d dozed off in, and yet… it was as if nothing happened. Wanda’s lax cuddle wound around your midsection tighter, nurturing squeeze prompting your head to lay back onto her chest. “I told you mama will always take care of you, dolly. Now go back to sleep.”

[kikyoupdates]

Love Bite ⭑˚🩸⭑ 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡

yandere!vampires x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, original characters, vampire!ocs x fem!reader

Desperate for money to pay off your debts, you sign up for a program that allows you to sell your blood to vampires. At first, everything is fine, and you’re finally able to make ends meet. But they soon begin craving more than just your blood.

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The moment Xavier’s fangs pierce your skin, all you can think is that it fucking hurts.  

Honestly, the sensation can’t even be fully described in words. It’s sharp, and it stings, and even once you get past the initial pain of his fangs sinking into your flesh, they stay there, buried under the surface, making your neck throb and ache like never before.

Your eyes are shut. You don’t dare to open them and catch a glimpse of what’s happening. The pain is already more than enough

Still, you don’t even think of pulling away. You chose this, and you need this. God, you need the money so fucking bad.

Xavier holds you close, and you can’t help the whimper you let out as you hear him swallowing mouthfuls of your blood. It’s not just the pain that’s hard to stomach, but the sensation of being slowly drained of the precious liquid that’s meant to be keeping you alive.

This is unnatural. Under ordinary circumstances, this would never be happening.  

Then again, nothing about your life has ever been ordinary.  

You can feel your body swaying a bit, and you’re thankful that Xavier is holding onto you so tightly, otherwise you might have already collapsed from light-headedness. Come to think of it, you didn’t even ask how much blood you’re expected to give. Surely, he’ll stop eventually, right? Otherwise... 

Otherwise, you might actually die.  

Mercifully, Xavier pulls away just as that harrowing thought fills your mind, and you are immediately flooded with relief. 

At least, until you take a good look at his face.  

There’s blood all over his lips. Your blood. It’s a deep shade of crimson, and you realize, with a gulp, that you’ve never actually lost this much blood before, yet now, it’s staining the better portion of a stranger’s face.  

Xavier must have picked up on your frightened expression, because he quickly digs into his pocket and pulls out a napkin, then uses it to wipe his mouth.  

“There,” he says. “Is that better?”  

You nod hastily. You really don’t mean to offend him, but seeing something like that for the first time... it’s a bit difficult to brush aside.

Xavier stares at you for a few moments. You wonder if he still hasn’t had his fill yet, if he wants to go back in for more. The tender spot on your neck throbs painfully at the thought. 

But instead, he stands up, adjusts his tie, and nods.  

“That’ll be all,” he says. “Thank you for your cooperation. Please speak to the doctor if you happen to be feeling unwell.”  

He walks out without another word, and it kind of feels like a slap to the face. What you just did together can’t exactly be considered intimate, you suppose, but he still drank your goddamn blood, which as far as you're concerned, is a pretty big deal. To watch him carry on with such nonchalance is a harsh reminder that the two of you are completely different.  

Anyways, it’s finally over. You actually pulled it off, and even though it hurt like a bitch, you have every intention of doing it again.  

So long as you’re getting paid, of course.  

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asks. He steps in the room shortly after Xavier leaves, then walks over to you and examines the bite mark on your neck. “Just wait a moment. I’ll disinfect the area and give you a bandage.”  

He wipes your neck down, making sure to be as gentle as possible, applies a thin layer of some kind of ointment, then sticks on a cute little flower-shaped bandage.  

Once he’s done, there’s virtually no sign that a vampire was drinking your blood just a few minutes ago.  

“Blood pressure seems fine,” he remarks, removing the cuff from your arm. “Unless you’re concerned about something, I’d say you’re good to go.”  

Besides the dull pain coming from your neck every so often, and the fact that you’re perhaps a bit dizzy, you think you’ll be okay.  

“I’m good,” you nod. “It wasn’t so bad.”  

That part is a bit of a lie. It did hurt, after all. But you’re used to dealing with hardship, and if there’s anything your shitty life has taught you, it’s how to suck it up and endure.  

The doctor nods, then pulls out an envelope from the inner pocket of his coat. “Here. Your payment for today. As we explained in the contract, all payments will be delivered on-site, immediately after you’ve met with a client. However, it’s up to the client if they wish to see you again, which is why there is no fixed schedule for these appointments.”  

“There’s a chance he might not want to see me again?” you frown, taking the envelope into your hands. 

“It’s a possibility. All vampires have their own preferences, just like how humans prefer different kinds of food. But even if this particular client chooses not to proceed with your meetings, we can try to match you with a different client. Make sure to check your phone regularly so that we can update you on the situation.”  

Right. That makes sense. If the client isn’t satisfied with the quality of their blood, it goes without saying that they wouldn’t want to keep paying for it. It’s kind of like going to a restaurant and ending up with a gross, undercooked meal. Although the analogy is perhaps a bit crude.  

“Take it easy for the next little while,” the doctor suggests. “You seem perfectly fine, but you’ve still lost quite a bit of blood, so make sure to put your health first.”  

How cute. If only you had the luxury of doing that.  

Unfortunately, it’s time to go to work.  

You did it. Against all odds, you actually pulled it off.  

A few days have passed, and thanks to the payment from selling your blood, a few extra shifts you picked up, and cutting back on meals so that you wouldn’t have to buy groceries again, somehow, you managed to scrounge up all the money Johnny asked for.  

You watch, nervously, as he counts the cash you handed him, making sure to be as thorough as possible. It looks like he’s wary of counterfeit bills, or perhaps he just can’t believe that you actually found a way to pay him back.  

Whatever the case, this time, you’ve been spared.  

“Alright,” he says. “It’s all here. See? I knew you could do it. From now on, I expect this same amount every two weeks, like we agreed on.” 

He flashes you a shit-eating grin, then breezes past you, making sure to slap your ass right as he leaves. 

You grit your teeth, mortified. Of course, you don’t dare oppose him. You know all too well how things will end if you do.  

At least it worked. But meeting his demands every two weeks is going to be ridiculously difficult, and the only way you’ll pull it off is if Xavier calls on you again, or at the very least, another vampire decides to solicit your services.  

I never thought it would come to this. To think that I’m actually hoping someone will drink my blood. Life really is a constant fucking struggle.  

Nothing’s ever been easy for you. But perhaps things are finally about to change for the better.  

The screen of your phone lights up, and as you read the message that just appeared, your eyes widen. 

Xavier wants to meet with you again.  

“...disgusting,” Felix shudders. He shoves the other person away, much to their bewilderment. “You’re no good. I’ve tried so many of the humans that have signed up for this program, but all of them taste fucking nasty. This is a waste of my time. And don’t expect to be paid.”  

He sighs and leaves the room before the foul-tasting human can even protest. Yet another disappointment. To think that he was so excited to move to the big city and see what it had to offer, only to be let down like this.  

If this is how things are going to be, then he’s probably better off just obtaining blood pack rations directly from the government. They’re stale and disgusting, but clearly flesh blood is no different here, and he’ll save a lot of money.  

Right. That’s what he’ll do. As much as all vampires crave drinking blood directly from the source, what choice does he have, when everyone tastes like absolute shit?  

He’s just about to speak to one of the staff and let them know he’s done paying for this program, when suddenly, a sweet scent wafts by him.  

Felix immediately knows it’s you. Even for a vampire, his senses have always been unnaturally sharp. Perhaps that’s why he’s so picky when it comes to drinking blood. His taste buds are more sophisticated, more developed, so when something isn’t quite right, he can tell right away.  

The same is true for his sense of smell, although it’s rare for a human to smell so appealing, especially since you’re rather far away.  

In fact, it might be the very first time anyone has ever smelled this good to him.  

Felix watches you walk down the hall, escorted by one of the doctors. You must be here to sell your blood, and the longer he stares at you, the more he finds himself rethinking his earlier decision.  

A smile creeps onto his lips.  

“Well,” he chuckles softly, “maybe I should give it one last chance.” 

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More chapters are available on Quotev and Wattpad!

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🩸 main masterlist! ♡ character appearances

[justauthoring]

Remind You of Why [3]

a series of snapshots of your life with geto and gojo -> this part: sometimes geto and gojo need to remind you

a/n: I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THEM

pairing: satosugu x f!reader, platonic!megumi/tsumiki/nanako/mimiko x f!reader

read the other parts here; one - two - three - four

Moments like this reminded you of why.

It felt like you were watching from a front row seat, eyes mesmerized by the sight before you, a small grin on your face, unable to look away. Your whole world; every small bit of it that made getting up worth it, that made the fight to survive just a bit more tolerable, that made all the bad seem like nothing compared to all the good .

Your whole world; no matter how chaotic it is. 

Others would look in and find it strange, but you didn’t care. It was strange. All of you, together, like this; it was weird and it was strange and nothing about it was normal but you wouldn’t trade it for a single thing in this whole world. What was the point of normal if you lost all that you loved so dearly?

Because even as Gojo and Megumi are fighting, like they always are, Megumi’s face pinched up into an expression of frustration as Gojo purposefully eggs him on. And  Tsumiki stands on the sidelines trying to calm her brother down, a nervous smile on her face. But still, on each of their faces, you can see the twinkle of warmth, of love in their eyes. They’re fighting, sure, and Tsumiki looks like she might pass out from the stress of it all, but there’s no mirth in any of their actions

Geto stands on the sides with the twins, kneeled down to their height, ruffling their hair as they excitedly tell him about their day at school yesterday. Geto was better with the kids in the way he listened, in the way he was patient and never rushed them, but Gojo was better at bringing their energy up, about getting them to still try even when they’d given up. These two men had given these kids the life they never would’ve had otherwise, and in turn, had invited you to be a part of it.

You could sit and watch them forever. 

Watch with that big grin that’s curling onto your lips as Tsumiki eventually turns to Geto for help, and the man obliges with ease as he kicks Gojo in the shin, scolding him for riling up Megumi as the young boy nods up at him in agreement. The twins flank around Megumi, even as he shies from their excitement, you know he tries as he nods as them, and Tsumiki ruffles his hair in the way only she’s ever allowed to. 

Gojo’s pouting at Geto but he’s laughing as he does, and the two are speaking to each other with such warmth and love that it fills you with a comfort that only they can achieve in you.

So, yeah, they were your whole world. This misfit group of people that had all been brought together through unfortunate circumstances, but that in turn had only made all of you closer; bonded in a way no one else would ever understand.

Because Gojo was your sun, and Geto was your moon, and the kids were the stars in your life, and even if sometimes you felt you maybe didn’t fit in, you were content with at least watching. With at least being able to be a part of it, anyway you could. From the sides, watching in, stepping in when they needed, even if that felt rare. 

After all, they were your whole world.

“Whatcha thinking about, pretty?”

You blink and there’s a shadow leaning over you, your head pulling back to meet Gojo’s gaze through the black of his blindfold. There’s a soft grin on his face as he glances down at you, hands shoved into his pockets, and Geto is standing just slightly behind him, smiling at you as well, but with a hint of concern, as if the both of you could sense your thoughts. They'd always been good at that, sensing when things were wrong or even just a little off–sometimes it felt like they were able to tell before you even knew yourself. Always so consciously aware of you and what's going on inside your head, their eyes on you when you weren't aware. Watching, caring, being there for when you needed them to be.

In ways it felt like you could never quite measure up to.

But your smile doesn’t fade, and as you let your eyes quickly flicker to the kids, smile brightening as you watch the four of them chat amongst themselves, before turning back to Geto and Gojo, you just shrug. “Mmm,” you hum lightly, swinging your feet from the bench you’d been sitting on, “nothing much.”

“Uh huh,” Gojo nods in the way that tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit. He’s taking the empty seat next to you in the next second, pressing himself against your side as Geto steps closer, reaching to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ears. “You’ve got your thinking face on, babe.”

“Tell us,” Geto offers softly, following Gojo's stride with ease, meeting your eyes with care. “You can trust us.”

You shake your head; “I know.” And at their unconvinced looks, you roll your eyes, chuckling softly. “I do. Of course I do. I... I was just thinking about the kids and you two.”

“Oh?” Gojo quirks a brow, resting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him with a smirk. 

Geto shuffles on his feet. “What about?” He asks.

You brush them off; “it’s silly.”

Geto shakes his head, kneeling so he’s at your eye level, arms stretched out on his knees as his fingers reach for the hem of your skirt, touching you in such a mindless, simply way but it brings about a flood of reassurance through you still. He shares a look with Gojo, before focusing on you once again; “no, it isn’t,” he denies with ease. “Not when it comes to you.”

“Nothing is silly when it comes to you,” Gojo adds, smirk faltering, and the way he says it leaves no room for argument.

Biting your lip, you glance to your lap, moving your hands there to clasp them as you inhale sharply. “I love you all so much,” you find yourself whispering, trying to express the emotions swirling through your mind in a way that makes sense. You were often overwhelmed with the way you felt towards Geto, Gojo and the kids, even through the bad moments, there was such love for them in your heart. It just wasn’t always easy to express that. It was easy to express this weight that came with that love, a weight that weighed down on you with such heavy worry that you weren't doing as much for them as they were for you.

“And you both are so good with the kids,” you express, turning to meet each of their gazes. “Even when Satoru teases Megumi, or Suguru’s too easy on the girls… you saved them in ways no one else could’ve and I know all of them adore you so much.” Reaching forward, you take each of their hands in your own, squeezing tightly, ignoring the shocked look on their faces as you pour your heart out.

“You’re all my whole world.”

There’s a pause. Geto and Gojo look at each other, trying to find the words to say. They don't fail to notice the lack of you in your words, how you seem to specifically single yourself out as if you're not as much of an integral part of these family... and of course it’s Geto who speaks first because he’s always been better at saying the right thing in the ways that Gojo means but can't always express well. But Gojo doesn't mind letting Geto do the talking for him if it'll mean you'll understand just how much you truly are loved.

Shifting, Geto moves, grasping your chin gently to pull your gaze on him as he smiles at you. “We love you too.” Then, the smile falters slightly as he frowns; “you know that, right?”

Your lips part, but no words leave your mouth. You want to say yes, because realistically, you know they do–but the words hesitate, get choked in the back of your throat and you find yourself wondering. Geto and Gojo have done nothing to ever convince you otherwise, and you feel guilty that you can't express that; because there's this sinking feeling in your chest that purely stems from your own anxiety.

Geto frowns, and then Gojo is suddenly in front of you, face so oddly serious in a way you rarely see from him. Geto's better with words, but Gojo can express them when he wants, and when it comes to you, he wants to make absolutely sure you understand. “We do,” he assures, not an ounce of doubt as the two surround you, not allowing you to pull away or focus on anything but them. “ You’re our whole world. The kids too.”

“We never would’ve managed any of this without you,” Geto tells you, flipping his hand so he’s now grasping yours. Holding tightly, he threads his fingers through yours, squeezing. “Who knows what would’ve happened if Satoru and I didn’t have you.”

Lips parting, you stare at him, then Gojo, thoroughly shocked by the sincerity of their words. It wasn’t like you doubted their feelings for you–you knew they loved you. You just questioned how much, sometimes… or rather, if anything would be different if you weren’t there. Without Geto, those girls never would’ve been saved, and without Gojo, Megumi would’ve been sold off to the Zen’in clan and who knows what would’ve happened to Tsumiki. Without each other, Geto and Gojo might've gone down very different paths then the one they were on now... but without you, would anything have changed?

“Who knows what I would’ve done if you hadn’t answered my call that night.”

Gasping, you turn to Geto, wide eyes falling on you as he frowns at you. 

That night–the night he found the girls and nearly lost it all. He'd been in a dark place for so long before that you'd constantly been worried about him. When he'd called you that night, you'd feared the worst; but the relief that had flooded you when you realized he thought to call you first... it had been unpalatable. 

You… you never knew he thought that the same when it came to that night–

“And God knows I’m not responsible enough to raise two kids by myself.”

It’s such a stark difference from Geto’s profession that it pulls a startled laugh from you, eyes falling on Gojo who’s staring blankly back at you, before the startled laughter turns into a giggle and you can’t control yourself anymore. The tears that had been welling in your eyes start to fall, but because of joy as your stomach starts to hurt from laughter, shaking your head at Gojo. Your face lights up with his words, a hand falling to your stomach as you bite your lip to try and stifle your own laughter.

Both boys smile adoringly at you.

“There’s our girl,” Gojo grins down at you, hand brushing across your waist as he bumps into your side lightly.

“Missed your smile,” Geto hums lightly, nodding along with Gojo. “I don't like seeing you sad.”

Flushing, you bite your lip, feeling flutters flood through your stomach as your laughter fades and you hide your blush. Gojo just pulls you into his side in response and Geto is clasping your chin in his hands once more, pulling your face up and not allowing you to hide.

“We meant it, okay?” He reminds.

Gojo squeezes you for emphasis; “every word.”

You smile, bright, genuine, happiness flooding through your entire being as your lips part to say something before you’re suddenly flanked by a body.

“Why does Y/N/N look sad!”

It’s Nanako who asks the question, throwing her arms around your waist as Mimiko follows suit, both girls stunning you as Gojo is forced to pull back in response. Your hands hover by your sides as you glance down at them, before your gaze falls on Tsumiki who stands next to Geto with a worried expression and Megumi in front of you with a concerned expression of his own, brows pinched together as he silently asks you what’s wrong.

“Are you alright, Y/N-san?” Tsumiki asks, head tilting.

The girls arms around your waist squeeze tighter and they’re glancing up at you through their lashes, waiting for your response.

“Was Gojo mean to you?” Megumi asks flatly, sending the white-haired man a nasty glare.

“Wha–?” Gojo gasps, thoroughly offended as he turns to face the boy. Geto cackles loudly in response.

“I’ll beat him up if he was,” Megumi adds, and you turn to him with a barely concealed smile as you see that despite his words, he genuinely is troubled for you.

Just as Gojo looks ready to strangle the boy (though, we know he’d never actually ), you speak up; “no, Satoru wasn’t mean to me.” Then, leaning back, you set your hands on the girls' backs, soothing them. “And I’m sorry for worrying you kids. I was just feeling… sad for a moment. But I feel better now.”

“And that's because of us,” Gojo cuts in, sticking his tongue out at Megumi as he gestures to Geto and him.

“Satoru,” Geto sighs, “do try and act your age.”

“ Suguru !”

You just roll your eyes, focusing on the kids; “how about we get some ice cream, huh? A little treat.”

The girls practically squeal in excitement, the twins pulling away from you to grasp onto Tsumiki tightly as they all nod eagerly. You laugh at their excitement, turning to Megumi who, in turn, offers a small nod and smile of his eyes, eyes flickering to yours once more, a little more perceptive than the rest–just like he’s always been–and then when he’s sure you really are okay, he eases, stepping back with his sister and step-sisters.

“Perfect,” you clap your hands together, moving to stand. “It’ll be Satoru’s treat!”

“Hey!” Gojo calls, standing up next to you as Geto moves to a stand as well on the other side of you. “It’s always my treat.”

“That’s because you’re rich,” you remind, and he really doesn’t have an argument against that.

The kids run off ahead, and you move to follow, before you’re pulled back by a set of arms, spinning you as Geto and Gojo each place a respective kiss against your cheeks. Your face turns tomato red in response, thrown off by the innocent affection, but as they pull back, they’re grinning widely with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen on them and you can’t deny, in that moment, just how loved you feel.

Because you were their world just as much as they were yours.

[drac-kool-aid]

I like the reading that the Romani did actually try to post Jonathan's letters, that they were caught by Dracula, and he then lied about their duplicity to Jonathan. It's clearly not the read that Bram intended, but he's dead, and I'm not. (Yes, that was a Death of the Author joke)

Anyway, let's take this a logical step further! In a mirroring of what he did with the three roommates, what if this was another "test" both for Jonathan and the Romani.

He knows he's going to have to start having people around again soon to help with the arrangements for the trip, but (if you ascribe to the idea that he hadn't initially planned to let Jonathan live after his initial use was done) he hadn't accounted for his captive to still be running about the castle.

He's already seen proof that Gothic Heroine Jonathan Harker has the power to turn even the most cowed peasants to his side, as seen by the townsfolk and the carriage folk already, so now he's got to nip this in the bud because Jonathan needs to think he is isolated, needs to view him as his only form of safety.

So, Dracula carefully keeps watch, and lo and behold, the Romani DO attempt to help Jonathan. Well, it's a good thing he anticipated this.

So, he interrupts the delivery of the letters, maybe pushes the idea that he's omniscient of all that goes on in Castle Dracula cause who's going to call him out and people are less likely to attempt anything if they are under constant surveillance, maybe maims or kills a few people to really push the consequences of helping again.

Okay, that's one part done. Now, for Jonathan, he can once more enforce the idea that Jonathan can only turn to him for protection, increase his feelings of isolation, and destroy his trust. He can happily torment him as he sees fit, and everyone is too shaken by their disastrous first attempt to try again.

Anyway, long story short, interpreting the text as "maybe the Romani people are good and aren't a racist caricature" actually gives a more interesting reading. Also, it allows them to parralel Jonathan's plight as people who are forced due to circumstances to obey Dracula, as he is the least likely to kill them right this second.

[firegirl888101]

If I was reader in the insatiable madness series I’d have a “let’s try it!” Day once a week with the harbingers, when it comes to games tho

“Let’s try Mario cart!”

“Let’s try Fortnite”

“Let’s try Dress to Impress!”

I’d only do this once a week bc I know it would take me a week to recover from their bs😭 on a serious note, I can see Childe and Scara getting sooo competitive with Dress to Impress, like they are ready to rip each other’s throats out bc “YOU COPIED ME”. Reader has to sit near them tho bc they have to explain the categories and show them examples😭😭😭 the other harbingers kinda love it bc it forces reader to explain stuff to them

Hahah I love this idea!

Y/N most likely wouldn't suggest the idea of a weekly game night because of the amount of stress it would bring for them. Maybe after introducing them to Among Us they'd slip up and reveal that there are hundreds of different games leading to one of the Harbingers suggesting the idea.

'One of the Harbingers'? What am I talking about, of course it's Childe who would suggest such a thing. He'd probably be feeling homesick and ask further to try and create a small routine between you and the group. With Pulcinella's help, they'd eventually convince you to hold the game night once every week.

Mario Kart is waaaay too competitive for the Harbingers to try. I really don't recommend playing it or even suggesting it when they're nearby. Just trust me. If you think streamers punching their tables and screaming in anger at a loss is bad, you haven't seen the Harbinger's rage. It doesn't matter which one you look at, they're all sore losers. The ones who are better at hiding it are Pierro, Pulcinella and surprisingly Childe. <- Columbina and Capitano are also better at hiding it, however, they're not good at preventing snappy replies if another Harbinger talks to them.

Dealing with a passive aggressive and possibly aggro Harbinger (ahem, Scaramouche) is not something you should voluntarily do. That's why I suggest not bringing up the game at all. If you decide to introduce the game, I recommend only doing easy levels such as Moo Moo Meadow. Never, under any circumstance, allow them to play Rainbow Road. Also Sandrone and Scaramouche are really good at the game, Sandrone because she's good at making the perfect cart for her character and Scaramouche because he's good at racing no matter what cart combo he picks.

I personally don't like Fortnite, and Y/N wouldn't either because of uhh... y'know. But, I can see Capitano and Childe genuinely bonding whilst playing the game together. I don't know if it's against the rules to cross team in Fortnite, but whether that rule exists or not they'd do it anyway since they don't care. Capitano always wins if it's only them two left in the game, if it's not only them two, Childe either dies by not paying attention to his surroundings enough or Capitano falls from fall damage because he forgets that it's a thing.

I can't help but think about that fanmade Fatui trailer where they're fighting eachother and Pantalone has the double guns. Just for the beautiful existence of this anime short, I'm going to say Pantalone is also good at the game because he has god tier aim. Imagine what else he could do with that aim... Now's not the time, NEXT GAME:

Dress to Impress or Fashion Frenzy (my childhood) would be so funny. Since Y/N probably wouldn't trust the Harbingers in a public Roblox server, they'd have to buy a private server for all the Harbingers to use. Signora is dominating the rest of the Harbingers in this game, I think she'd have the most wins and often has to help the others find things in the game. Somehow she's memorised the entire map and knows where everything is after only a few rounds...

Anyway, the women of the Harbingers would slay this game so hard. The men however... they're questionable to say the least. At first, they likely struggle and create abhorrent outfits that land them the lowest on the scoreboard but gradually they begin to make outfits that the average person would wear. Pantalone would be an exception to this group, he'd most likely grasp the concept the quickest. This is because of how many clothes he's seen as a rich businessman. He's shopped for clothes for the Tsaritsa before, so he's probably seen some elegant items of clothing and doesn't need to rely on his imagination much. As long as he remembers what they look like, he'll score reasonably high, when the other men learn, he'll gradually go lower on the leaderboard due to him not being too passionate about the game. He's a one-trick pony, if you will.

Y/N would get so tired of having to Google the categories and show reference images to the Harbingers every single time they play the game. If Dress to Impress is a popular game and the Harbingers want to play it every game night, Y/N would start to make moodboards of each category and shove them in the Harbingers face so they can leave them alone. It's not like they want to help the Harbingers, but there is literally nothing else they can do, and they don't feel like dying from boredom yet.

-

Pierro doesn't want to engage in these game nights because he finds them a waste of time and stays in Y/N's office to do work. Meanwhile, Dottore likes the television a lot more so he rarely takes part. If he does take part, he enjoys it but would rather do something else. Arlecchino also wouldn't be the biggest fan of the game nights, but it would remind her of taking care of the children in the House of Hearth so she'd gradually open up to like it more than she should in her opinion.

[widowmaxff]

Hiii WandaNat x daughter reader where R was severely harmed in a mission or got involved.

For example, they Nat or Wands were assigned on a mission to investigate and just so it happens, R was there so when chaos started, R was severely injured and like got a pretty bad brain damage which she will fight through. How will the mother's copee??

Thankss!

safe & sound

pairings: parents!wandanat × daughter!reader (platonic)

warnings: angst, bad writing :P, crying, physical violence, hospital, natasha blames herself ;((, lots of love from moms <3

a/n: im really sorry it took me SO long to write this request, ive been having awful weeks and im really trying to write. anyway, i hope you like it and thank you very much for the request luv <333

When you decided you wanted to follow in the same footsteps as your mothers, they didn't react so well. You always trained with the Avengers, closely watching their next steps for any unforeseen circumstances and how good they were at what they did. And you especially loved seeing Wanda and Natasha fighting, they have been your inspiration since you were little and understand each other. 

You remember when you asked your mother Natasha to start going on missions, even if it was the easier ones that would only take a few hours, and you could swear you saw her eyes light up with regret. Not that she didn't trust you, but both Natasha and Wanda knew that any mission would be dangerous and the last thing they wanted was to leave you hurt or for anything bad to happen to you. So, you started to train even more and show how much you dedicated yourself to going on one of these missions and, as your mothers knew you so well, they knew that you wouldn't give up until you went on one of them.

"Fury allowed you to go on this mission with one of us," Natasha was sitting in front of him next to Wanda in the meeting room. You couldn’t hide the smile on your face, your legs shaking because you were so excited for your first mission. "It's an easy mission where you just have to investigate and collect some important information in an old Hydra base." You nod listening to every detail of what you needed to do.

"Fury assured us that there will be no one and no agent, but for your safety you will carry a weapon, okay?" Wanda, your other mother, spoke this time. She also seemed to be a little worried about your first mission since she remembers very well what it's like to be in the hospital bed after one or see anyone else in it. Just imagining you in that position makes her body shiver.

Your mothers start to tell you some information about what you should know and what would happen. Even though the mission was so easy and simple, Wanda decided that it would be better if Natasha accompanied you, since if she went along she might end up getting so nervous that she would faint. And even though you assured that you would be careful, she made you hug her for at least five minutes, stroking your hair and giving you all the comfort you would need for that mission. "I love you so much my love."

"I love you very much too, Mama." You felt Wanda leave a long kiss on your hair as you laid your head on her shoulder. "I promise everything will be fine."

She laughs and takes a deep breath. "I'm the one who should be saying this. But you're right, my love." You separate from her and see that her eyes were full of tears.

Even though it seemed a little dramatic, you knew that Wanda was very close to you. Whenever your mother missed you because you were only away from home for a few hours, you remember when Natasha told you that when it was your first day of school when you were a toddler, Wanda didn't want to let you go at all. And now several years later, she still reacted the same way.

"Alright, we better go before Wanda makes us give up." Natasha says, making her other mother roll her eyes before walking towards her, leaving a long kiss on her lips.

"Ew, not in front of me." You make a disgusted expression at them, even if it was just a joke. You've always admired how much your mothers are in love with each other and how much they show it on a daily basis. Wanda always preferred physical affection to love Natasha, and Romanoff always preferred acts of service to love Maximoff. And even though they were different things, the two never disliked these acts.

"One day it's going to be you, sweetheart." They giggle before hugging each other as they say 'I love you'. 

[...]

Your hands sounded as you entered the Hydra base. A gun in hand as you looked in every corner of that place. You felt like something was out of position, but you tried not to worry. Maybe it was just your anxious conscious or maybe you were just too nervous. The noise of your heart was too loud and the only thing you heard was the faint footsteps of your boot on the ground. And even though you tried to focus on what was happening there at the moment, it seemed like now all of your mother Wanda's nervous genes were in you.

"I think I found it, Mom." You speak into the device in your ear, Natasha listening on the other side. She praises you, sending a wave of comfort to your mind that seemed to be trying to sabotage you at that moment.

You quickly place the pen drive in the computer and see the percentage of how much was transferred appear on the screen. You hold the gun tightly in your hands as you scan the place, looking at every possible corner. You walk to your right calmly, trying not to make too much noise in your tall black boots. And when you were about to take the next step, a big tud behind you made you turn around quickly, still with the gun pointed forward. "Mom, I just heard a noise-" And before you could finish speaking, the lights in the place went out completely, the energy going out.

"Y/n- need- leave-!" The device in your ear was getting stuck a lot, loud noises disturbing what little you could hear. Natasha tried to say something, but you almost couldn't hear, leaving you alone with your own thoughts.

With all the training you had you tried to stay as calm as possible. Even if you couldn't see if someone or something was with you, your ears tried to capture any sound coming from that space, but with the device in your ears it was almost impossible. You knew that if you took it off it would be a big risk if your mother ever managed to talk to you again. But it would also be a risk not to hear what was around you.

You debated with what you should do or not do, but it was too late when two large arms grabbed your body from the ground. You let out a startled scream when you realize what is happening. Your reflexes are quick as you forcefully push your elbow into the stomach of the stranger behind you. He staggers back, making you fall to the ground, but before you can do anything, a kick lands in your belly. You hit your head on the ground, making your vision even blurrier. Your gun was still stuck in your hands, so the first thing you do is aim forward and shoot, when you hear a male scream of pain you know you hit him somewhere. "You bitch!"

You don't realize what's happening when he takes a gun out of his pants and also shoots. You scream in pain when the bullet pierces your arm that was holding the gun, it wasn't very deep, but the pain was too horrible. And even if you tried, you couldn't raise your arm to shoot the guy again. You start to crawl backwards trying to get away from the figure that you still couldn't see in the dark and prayed that he couldn't see you too.

But when you started to hear his heavy footsteps towards you, you knew there was nothing left to do.

[...]

Wanda felt her heart stop when she heard the doctors moving around in the Compound. Someone had been hurt on some mission a few hours after you and Natasha left. Maximoff was shaking as she waited for the injured person's Quinjet to pull up, and even though she asked any of the doctors who the unlucky one was, it seemed like she was invisible to them. It seemed like they didn't want to respond to watch her heart break into a million pieces.

Wanda felt so nervous that she thought maybe she was going to faint. Thinking that the extremely injured person, since the doctors were going almost crazy to get everything they needed, could be you or Natasha, made her want to throw up her entire lunch right there. And when the car appeared in their vision, Wanda moved even closer, continuing to give the doctors space to do their work.

When the big door opened, the first thing your mother saw was Natasha with some bruises on her face along with tears that still fell on her pale face. Romanoff held you in her arms. One of them put pressure on your arm to stop the bleeding, but even so, you seemed to be bleeding from other places as a pool of blood was being spilled by Natasha's suit. Your body was unconscious and heavy in your mother's hands, your face completely scarred with cuts and bruises all over it. And even if your mother tried to look at your fragile and small body, she couldn't.

Maximoff lets out a grunt when she sees that you were the current patient. Seeing how Natasha staggered with you in her arms was one of the worst sights she could have had. You being placed on the stretcher while the doctors took you to surgery as quickly as possible was in her nightmares, and now, she could feel firsthand how horrible that was. Natasha follows the crowd of people, finally coming across her wife there. Romanoff didn't wait a second to throw herself into Wanda's arms as the two allowed the tears to fall. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Shh- it's not your fault, Natasha." Wanda tried to calm her down, even though it was almost impossible since she also needed comfort. "Y/n is going to be fine, it's okay."

"I- I couldn't get there in time. She was in- in a huge pool of blood and this guy was-" Natasha couldn't finish speaking before her eyes started bursting with tears again as she recalled the scene of you barely conscious on the ground while the Hydra agent kicked you mercilessly. Blood smeared everywhere and your face full of tears was what she saw every time she closed her eyes, it was horrible.

It took Wanda a few minutes to get Natasha to calm down. Despite many other occasions being the opposite, Romanoff has always shown how concerned she is about you. But seeing you and having to carry you almost dead in her arms was another thing entirely, and one that will probably haunt her forever. Natasha had the beginning of a panic attack there, with her blood on her suit and on her hands, but Wanda, knowing her wife, managed to make her feel like she was on the floor again.

A few hours had passed since you entered that operating room, and knowing that it would take a long time for the doctors to stabilize you, Wanda took care of Natasha, cleaning her body and putting her in more comfortable clothes to wait for you sitting in the waiting room. Your mother was able to breathe normally now, even though the tears hadn't stopped falling from both of their faces. Natasha felt her body want to sleep, but her mind wouldn't let her, not when you were fighting for your life in the next room.

Wanda runs her hand affectionately through Natasha's red hair that reminded her of your own. Her head on her shoulder as she felt her wife's body relax but then become rigid again, but even if Maximoff tried, she wouldn't be able to make Natasha relax. "Remember that time Y/n fell down the slide and broke her arm? She didn't even cry." Wanda spoke so softly that any outsider who saw it would think she wasn't as nervous as her wife.

"Yeah... she even asked you to break her arm with your magic so she could put a cast on it again so she could draw on it." Natasha laughs remembering when you were seven years old, you were probably the happiest child in the world.

"She's so strong," Wanda murmurs as she presses a kiss to Natasha's red hair and she closes her eyes taking a deep breath. "I know she'll make it out of this."

And when Maximoff stopped talking, one of the doctors who was participating in your surgery enters the room. Natasha was now more than awake, her body jumping up towards the man in the white coat. Wanda doesn't take long to join her either, rambling questions to the doctor over and over again. "Everything went well in the surgery to remove the bullet from Y/n's body, despite the heavy blood loss." Romanoff holds her wife's hand while listening to him talk about your conditions, squeezing it every time she feels like her heart is going to come out of her mouth. "Unfortunately, due to the severe injuries to her head, she was caused a brain injury called a concussion."

"Oh, God. She's going to be okay, isn't she?"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Maximoff. Concussion is a very common thing for people to experience and usually with a few weeks of medical treatment and rest she will feel well again." The two women were finally able to take a deep breath without feeling that nervousness in their chests. "You just need to pay attention to some symptoms she may have, such as headache, mental confusion, sometimes memory loss, nausea, vomiting, excessive fatigue and some other things that you will probably notice. With the treatment I am sure that Y/n will recover much better.”

Despite all these things you might feel, they were relieved that you were okay. And they knew you would recover quickly, your genes coming from Natasha and Wanda weren't just anyone, you were strong and everyone knew it. And even if they thought that way, nothing would prepare them for seeing you lying on the stretcher. Your body was so fragile and small there, your eyes looked so tired despite being closed and the cuts on your face didn't help. The tubes coming out of your body weren't the prettiest, but it was what was helping you survive at that moment.

"My baby girl..." Wanda stroked your hair as she looked at you now slightly pale face. Her comforting touch would make you lean against her even more if you were awake, but that wouldn't be possible at the moment. 

Natasha remained a little distant compared to Maximoff. She was scared, scared that if she made any move you would get hurt again, because in the redhead's mind everything that had happened was her fault. If she had checked to see if the area really was clean, if she had warned you as quickly as possible so you could get out of there, if she had arrived on time. "Nat?" Wanda knew what she was thinking, what she felt was written on the ex-assassin's face, and her wife had been with her for enough years to know what that mind was thinking.

In a few moments, Romanoff's body was enveloped in Wanda's affectionate and comforting embrace, who gently moved from side to side, holding her head against her shoulder while leaving a chaste kiss on her hair. Natasha knew that hug from anywhere, the hug that said everything was okay, that everything would fall into place again. Sometimes it took more than a hug for her to feel that, but sometimes she knew Wanda was right. "I w-want a hug too." Your hoarse voice was present at the scene, making your mothers quickly separate from each other.

"Y/n, my god! You scared me so much, don't ever do that again-"

"Wands, calm down, don't give her any more headaches." You chuckle along with your mother Natasha who was now holding your wife's hand. They walk towards your stretcher seeing that you still seemed to be a little disoriented with everything that happened, but even so you still had a smile on your face for them.

"How are you feeling, my love?" Wanda again made the same affectionate gestures to you as she sat next to you, feeling your body relax at her touch, but this time, you are awake enough to feel it.

"Headache and feeling like I might throw up at any moment."

"Ew." Natasha complains in a funny tone making you want to laugh at that moment, but having a headache would make things even worse. Romanoff still had an apprehensive tone on her face, maybe it was the guilt she felt she had or maybe it was seeing you in that place, with bruises everywhere. 

"You aren't hurt, are you, Mom?" Even though you almost died with a gunshot wound to your body and a brain injury, it was obvious that you would care about others, especially if it was one of your mothers.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me, sweetheart." Natasha moved a little closer to you, leaving a kiss on your forehead that was welcomed with a smile on your face. "I was so worried about you." She murmurs as Wanda places one of her hands on her wife's thigh, making small circles on it.

"I'm fine now, Mom. Thanks for going to save me." You put a small smile on your face in a funny way, trying to ease the tension of the hospital room.

"You know I'll always be here for whatever you need." Natasha wasn't just referring to helping you save yourself from physical violence, but she was also referring to helping you when you have any problems. Do you need a shoulder to cry on? She will be there. Do you need help completing a task? Don't worry, you know she won't take a minute to come to you. Problems with girls or guys? She will love telling you how she really knew the love of her life. 

In those times when something difficult happened, your mothers knew how to comfort and help you. You had an unbreakable bond and that always warmed your heart. Realizing that you had people who more than cared about you by your side was incredible. Maybe for some other people it was strange to have two mothers, but you didn't care, because for you, it was an indescribable magic.

[jinxificada]

EEKK i cant stop thinking about jinx and her tattoos……. like

jinx has been begging silco to let her do some tattoos for awhile now. but his answer was always the same, “when you’re old enough.”

she was allowed to build bombs and throw them at people but not have permanent body drawings? nonsense.

but sometimes she’s a good girl, so she waits.

imagine how happy she is in her 18th birthday!! finally!!

and you were a tattoo artist. c’mon, it’s the undercity, it didn’t really matter if you were the best or not, it made pretty good money for you. but anyways, let’s say you were good at it.

at least good enough for jinx to choose you!

not an accident. actually, numerous of your clients worked for silco. they talked a lot, about everything and anything. but one recurring topic was her, jinx.

they spoke with terror, almost traumatized by the girl’s antics. how the girl got away with everything, just because of who her father was. adoptive* father, they told you that too.

so naturally, you didn’t want to encounter her in any circumstances. but what could you do when she pops in your workplace demanding you to recreate in her skin the clouds she drew in a piece of paper.

[sophswritingthings]

How would you think mizu would react to a single mother, I Dunno, something like smReader took in injured mizu wnd took care of her after that. Was just caring and trying to help mizu

It's random idk

pairing: mizu x single mother!fem!reader

warning(s): swearing, mentions of injury + blood

a/n: I feel like she would react rather well. because her mother was technically a single mother, though not a good one - so she’d be like “oh. so they can be good”

summary: after waking up in a strange cabin, mizu meets you. a young woman her age, a baby cradled in her arms.

word count: 497 words / 2,673 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

mizu groaned, sitting up on the mat she was laid on.

“you’re awake.”

she’s met with a voice. a soft, sweet caring voice. she glanced behind her, seeming skeptical.

but all she’s met with was a sweet and caring face of a woman. the woman had a baby cradled in her arms, her head cocked a little as mizu stared at her.

“do you not remember..? oh, who am I kidding, of course you don’t,” you chuckle, settling down beside her. she gazed at you with a confused expression, glancing at your child for a moment. “(y/n) (l/n). I found you, bleeding and passed out in the snow. I took you in.”

she nodded a little.

“.. thank you,” she rasped.

“I didn’t want to leave you for dead. It’s the least I could do, sir,” you bow your head, feeling your child shift a little. “oh, little one, it’s okay..”

she watches as you tend to your child. your touch was so gentle, it was so..

.. kind.

it never occurred to her a mother could treat her child this way. at least, not from what she experienced with her mother. but that had different circumstances, didn’t it?

“I’m sorry—I’ll bring you food in a moment, I have to put him down.”

she nods as you gather to your feet. you leave the room for a moment, coming back with food and no child. he must be with your husband, then.

“here you go,” you set the food down in front of her.

she thanks you quietly, grabbing the bowl and beginning to eat.

“your eyes, sir.. may I assume you are half-white?”

the words make her twitch.

“yes,” she whispers. “my father was a white man.”

you nod, not seeming unsettled by the fact, “I see,” you reply. “and you are a traveling samurai, yes?”

“I am,” she says in between mouthfuls.

“headed to kyoto, hmm?” you hum, “based on where you are, I could only assume so.”

“yes. kyoto.” she replies again, “do you live here with your husband? where is he?”

“ah..” you sigh, “I don’t have a husband.”

she gazed at you, confused out of her mind. a child, but no husband.

“I raise my child alone—he wasn’t.. planned. I worked at a brothel and.. well..” you chuckle, “but I don’t regret him. I love him with all my heart.”

“.. hmph,” she adverted eye-contact. “that’s.. interesting.”

“yes—I suppose it is,” you laugh. “In this world, anyway.”

“it’s respectable, though. raising your child alone, with no help,” she muttered. “you are someone to respect.”

you blush a little, “thank you, sir.”

“sure,” she murmured.

“so.. when you are healed fully, will you continue on your way?” you cock your head.

she adverts her gaze again, “I could stay, a little,” she replies, suddenly making eye-contact. “repay you for your help.”

“oh, you don’t—“

“allow me,” she kisses your hand softly. “please.”

“o-okay,” you clear your throat. “you can stay for a little.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: she’s like. “oh. moms can be good people? who woulda thunk it!”

[seabirdtxt]

.Irminsul --amend -m 'Scaramouche'

Nahida has called in the book club to try and start discussions about the Creator's situation. Cyno actually kinda knows what he's talking about and Alhaitham is... mostly there for moral support... [< prev] [Blog Tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. Separate warning for my writing being all over the place on this one. all relationships are currently platonic!

WC. 2.6k

----- ⚘ -----

There’s not much to do except wait for Alhaitham and Cyno to show up, unfortunately, so you have taken to chatting with Nahida and Aranyani about some of the games and toys that exist back on Earth. Aranyani seems to be interested in the mechanics of each, comparing them to existing games in Teyvat, while Nahida is more interested in trying them out for herself, someday.

Scaramouche doesn’t seem interested in the conversation, but he sits with the three of you anyway and watches the shadows of birds moving beyond the stained glass windows. 

You’d just been explaining the concept of the rubix cube and algorithms to the two gods when a sure knock is heard on the sanctuary doors. Scaramouche takes the opportunity to make his escape from the conversation, shuffling to the door and opening it for the newcomers. 

Cyno steps in, followed by Alhaitham, and the two of them hold each other at a polite distance as they walk down toward the dais, where the rest of you stand to greet them. 

“Hello, my friends!” Nahida exclaims, smiling brightly and clasping her hands together even as she and Aranyani take a gracious step back to allow you and the newcomers space. “Thank you so much for being here! We have a lot to discuss!” 

“We came as soon as we heard,” Cyno replies, nodding. He then turns to you with a little salute. “Your Grace, it is an honor to be in your presence.”

You put your hands up placatingly. “Please, there’s no need for formality…” you say, shuffling awkwardly on the spot as everyone looks at you. You clear your throat and gesture for the newcomers to continue. 

“We heard about the circumstances after your arrival in Teyvat,” Alhaitham states, stepping around Cyno, stopping at his side and crossing his arms. Straight to the point. “Do you remember the circumstances that led up to your descent? It might help point toward the root cause, and shed light on the ‘how’s and ‘why’s.” 

“Uh, good question,” you mutter, scratching your head about it for a second. “I was probably hanging out in my room or something, really. Playing, uh, games on my phone.”

You wonder if it’s too early to mention that said game was Genshin, AKA. controlling their world. You know they’re marginally self-aware, but the extent of which still escapes you. 

“Alright, and did you do anything different while you were playing on this ‘phone’? See anything strange?” Cyno picks up, pulling out a small notepad and quill. “Anything out of the ordinary, things that you don’t normally do or notice.”

“Well, my phone has been glitching a lot when I play games, lately,” you muse. “And I kept getting these buggy screens while I was in-game, but I figured that was just because my device was overheating or something. You know, they build them faulty on purpose so they can sell you a new one every few years? Apparently in France or something they made companies give people the right to repair their own phones, but we don’t have that where I live…” 

Cyno writes down most of the first half of what you say, but you seem to lose the crowd as you ramble. He looks up from his notepad to fix you with a level stare, though you can tell there's just a hint of confusion behind his expression.

“Can you say something that makes sense to people who live in this world?” Scaramouche interjects somewhere in the middle of your rambling, the first time he spoke since you guys first teleported to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “Or at least stay on topic, or something.” 

“Oh,” you reply, blinking. “Right.” 

Cyno nods to you again, though he keeps glancing at Scaramouche out of the corner of his eye. Alhaitham doesn’t bother with subtlety, fixing the Balladeer with a level, analytical stare. Cyno clears his throat after a few seconds of awkward silence, preparing his notepad once more. “So, you were saying you played on this ‘phone’ device, aside from the problem you noticed, was there anything else you did differently?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “I was playing the game like I normally would, doing commissions and stuff. No, wait, actually I did do something a bit weird.” 

This causes Cyno to perk up, and he leans forward onto the balls of his feet as he listens attentively. 

“Because the game was overheating my phone, my ping was super slow,” you explain. “So I was lagging pretty badly. I was doing one of the leylines in the jungle and I was spamming the interact button on the flower because I was getting impatient…”

“And then?”

“... And then I think another dialogue box popped up, but I didn’t notice what it said.” You finish, sighing. “After that, I just remember waking up beside a leyline thingy right here in Teyvat.” 

“Do you remember the exact location of the leyline?” Alhaitham asks, to which you shake your head.

“The Traveler and Wanderer found me not too long after that, and took me straight to the city. They probably have a better idea than I do, honestly. I didn’t really have a chance to figure out where I was, at the time…” 

“Do you recall any distinctive landmarks? Anything that stood out in an otherwise unremarkable location?” 

You shake your head again, trying to remember what you saw. “No, uh, I was a little bit distracted by discovering I was suddenly in- uh, in Teyvat, and-”

“So you were not already aware of your location when you descended?” Cyno clarifies. You nod quickly.

“I only figured out it was Sumeru when the Traveler started bringing me closer to the city,” you agree, wringing your hands nervously under the general’s gaze. “The few little houses and tents that started popping up, the architecture kinda gave it away…” 

“Were there any inconsistencies you noticed between your knowledge of Teyvat and the actual Teyvat when you arrived?” Cyno asks, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Just to make sure you’re in the correct version.” 

“Well, funny you should mention that,” you figure it wouldn’t hurt to share this, given the result of it sitting right next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, Nahida is giving you a thumbs up. “I got hurt touching a leyline, not the same one as when I first got here, though! I got a little cut on my hand, because the leaves are a bit sharper than I was expecting…”

Alhaitham’s attention shifts from the Balladeer back to you. “What happened when you were injured?”

“I, uh, I accidentally made Irminsul recover some deleted information.” You simplify as best as you can. “And now there’s several things that were added back to the world that aren’t technically supposed to be here...”

“I’ve never heard of leylines doing that, before,” Cyno remarks. “Then again, it’s not every day the Creator descends to Teyvat.” 

“Have you tried going back to the same location to see if it yields reverse results?” Alhaitham wonders aloud, seeming amused by the strange predicament. 

“And what is that supposed to achieve?” Scaramouche interrupts again, snorting as he crosses his arms. “Besides going for a leisurely stroll through the jungle, I mean. Irminsul already recovered the missing data, and the location itself doesn’t matter, if you haven’t noticed already, since you can find a leyline just about anywhere.”

“It’s certainly an unprecedented behavior for leylines,” Cyno agrees. “But again, the Creator has never descended before-”

“We heard you the first time,” Scaramouche deadpans, earning him a smack upside the head courtesy of you. “Ow! Do you want to figure this stuff out or not?”

“Be nice,” you grumble, though you do feel slightly annoyed at the repetitive line of questioning. “He’s just ruling things out, right?” You turn to Cyno, nodding encouragingly for him to continue. 

“Ley lines are a complicated but fascinating subject to study,” Cyno states, crossing his arms and tucking his notebook under one elbow. “However, I’m afraid interdimensional travel is a little bit outside Spantamad’s realm of expertise.”

“Honestly, that’s fair,” you give a resigned sigh, but Scaramouche cuts you off.

“But how’s that supposed to help you?” He sneers and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s like you want to be stuck here forever with no explanation for how you got here in the first place.”

“Can we just chalk it up to magic or something?” You ask sheepishly, a little embarrassed at having taken the time out of two of Sumeru’s most important figures’ days.

“I was looking forward to hearing about how you got into this predicament with your own two idiot hands, honestly.”

“What I want to know,” Alhaitham suddenly interjects, surprising everyone else with his initiative. “Is how the Creator and the Dendro archon are here, cozying up to a Fatui harbinger?” 

Four pairs of eyes blink at him in surprise, while Cyno nods in agreement.

“I think that’s the more pressing matter, here,” he agrees, and you can sense the tingle of static in the air as his previously-relaxed grip on his notebook starts to tighten. 

“Okay, see, that’s one of the things I was talking about!” You say quickly, the words leaving you in a rush in hopes of stemming the building tension in the sanctuary. “He was a harbinger before, but he’s all better now!”

“You say that like it was an illness,” Scaramouche snorts, to which you can only laugh.

“Yeah? As if you didn’t act a little bit sick in the hea-”

Nahida, who up until now has been doing an excellent job of pretending to mind her own business, decides to chime in before the general can come to his own conclusion.

“I apologize for not warning you two earlier, but I do have it on good authority—that authority being myself,” she hides her giggle with the palm of her hand, “that the Balladeer poses no harm to either of you, or the Creator!” 

“It’s also kinda my fault that he’s here, so I mean…” You trail off and give an apologetic shrug.

“How did you know I was a harbinger?” Scaramouche’s eyes narrow at Alhaitham and he crosses his arms as well, mirroring both the scribe and Cyno. “As far as I've been told, the memory of ‘me’ was erased from Irminsul.”

Cyno shakes his head. “No, there is recorded evidence of the Balladeer’s involvement with the sages’ god-creation plan,” he corrects, relaxing very slightly after Nahida’s reassurance but not dropping his guard completely. 

“I was present at the time of the Traveler’s investigation of the Joruri workshop, where they confronted the mechanical false god,” Alhaitham adds. “The person who fell from the machine indeed bears striking resemblance to you, but was confirmed to not be the Balladeer himself. However, Lord Kusanali’s own interjection confirms that you are indeed the Balladeer.” 

“He’s been reformed,” you say cheerfully, but your mind is running a mile a minute. Evidently Nahida and Aranyani are on the same page, because the two goddesses drift closer with curious looks on their faces. 

“So Irminsul has already started patching the holes in Teyvat’s history,” Nahida muses, hands on her hips. “It’s much faster than I anticipated, given the circumstances.”

“Not as surprising as you would think, little sprout,” Aranyani pats her head. “Irminsul is capable of very rapid computation, but the problem lies in resolving as many conflicting histories as possible. Two is faster, but three will cause some things to be shuffled around for a few days, still. The justification of the existence of multiple incarnations of the Balladeer may yet be subject to change.”

“So you’re saying that what we currently perceive as fact, is instead false?” Cyno asks, having retrieved his notebook once more. As the goddesses continue to muse on the subject, he writes down their theories and makes some notes of his own. 

“I’d say sorry for that workshop fight,” Scaramouche says, addressing Alhaitham with a smug grin. “But I honestly didn’t even remember you being there. I guess you just weren’t that noteworthy to me at the time. No hard feelings, right?” 

Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to grace him with a look, much to Scaramouche’s annoyance. Instead, the scribe quietly listens in on the Irminsul discussion.

Meanwhile, you try to remember what team you had when you took on the Archon quest fight. It’s been a while since then, and you’re not sure if you’re thinking of the right fight. Maybe you used Alhaitham in one of your weeklies? Speaking of which, do those boss fights exist in the world of Teyvat, or is that just for you as a player of the game? If they exist, how do the characters feel having to go beat up the same people on a weekly basis? What about the characters who are weekly bosses, like Wanderer, Childe, and Ei?

Thinking about it is starting to give you a headache. 

You decide to tune back in as Nahida and Aranyani finish bouncing ideas between themselves, with Cyno furiously scribbling annotations in the margins of his notepad. What was it they were talking about again? You get the sense that maybe you should've paid a bit more attention. 

“- that’s the case, then we should contact Inazuma and see if there is a new history that came up.” Cyno offers, to which Nahida shakes her head.

“If we ask directly, the answer we will get is the same.” She explains, wringing her tiny hands. “To them, this knowledge will have always existed. They will perceive it as an unchanged fact, in the same way you and the Scribe believe the circumstances of the Balladeer to be a fact. The better people to ask would be the ones involved in the anomaly.” 

“Alright, and how do we find them?”

“See, that’s the funny part…” You begin, only to be interrupted by a sudden swirling pressure in the chamber.

It’s strange to see the teleportation from an outside perspective. You watch as Wanderer shimmers into existence, adjusting his hat. The metal charms on the ends of it chime as they settle. He looks up, catching sight of you first and raises a hand to wave, only to stop short when he sees the other guests.

“... Looks like I’m late to the party,” he remarks, drifting over to Nahida’s side. “Wanna catch me up to speed? Not that I care, but I might as well get the full picture so I can correct you where you're wrong.”

“I asked for the General and the Scribe to come visit so that we could get a better grasp on the Creator’s situation!” Nahida explains, smiling brightly at him. 

“Great, and how did that go?”

Everybody chooses to look in different directions, unable to look Wanderer in the eye. You hear him heave an annoyed, but resigned, sigh. 

“We might’ve gotten somewhere if Buer hadn’t sidetracked,” Scaramouche adds helpfully. 

“And you might’ve gotten the groceries like you guys said you would, too, but here we are,” Wanderer crosses his arms, pinning you and Scaramouche with a pointed look. 

You wince and turn around, subtly leaning over to Scara, whispering: “I actually forgot about that…”

“Me too…” he replies, not quite as quietly as you. You both startle as hands come down on both of your shoulders, Wanderer’s grinning face appearing between the two of you. 

“Isn’t this just a splendid opportunity for you two to go find the traveler and restock our pantry, while Buer and I go over the details of what you clowns didn’t explain right?” 

Scaramouche wastes no time wresting his shoulder out of Wanderer’s grasp with a noise of disgust. “Who do you think you are to order me around, teacher’s pet? I’ll go when I feel like it.” He sneers, stalking off toward the doors of the sanctuary.

You offer a light chuckle and a wry grin of apology to the others, who watch unimpressed at Scaramouche’s display, while Wanderer dismisses you with a shooing motion.

Right. Time to get those supplies. 

[sluttywonwoo]

hear me out... mutual masturbation with wonwoo

“no touching!” your boyfriend scolds, swatting your hand away from his thigh.

you pout but resolve to keep your hands to yourself… for as long as you can bear it.

it had been wonwoo’s idea to get off like this together, after he walked in on you touching yourself the other night. that night, he hadn’t been able to resist fucking you right then and there so he tucked the idea away for a later time. a later time which so happened to be now. apparently.

you’re on your shared bed together, right next to each other, mere inches apart. but you’re not allowed to touch. no, you could only watch each other masturbate. even though it would be so easy to reach over and stroke wonwoo’s cock for him, so easy for him to lean to the side and start kissing you on the neck…

it was hot in theory (according to wonwoo) but the execution was absolutely torturous. you’re not sure how your boyfriend seems so composed in comparison to you. he’d only been letting out the occasional grunt of pleasure here and there while you’d been whining and lamenting the circumstances that you had readily agreed to.

to be fair, you had readily agreed to the circumstances because you thought wonwoo wouldn’t last more than a few minutes before giving in and fucking you like you wanted. boy, how you had been wrong.

you suppose the delayed gratification does have some sort of appeal at the very least. the building tension, the mounting impatience… all leading up to finally getting what you want most. making each other wait this long was supposed to make it all worth it— the ends justifying the means or whatever.

“fuck, i can’t take it,” you cry.

“you can,” wonwoo says, voice firm. “you can do it.”

“i can’t!”

“if you don’t make yourself cum, you’re not getting my cock tonight.”

“you’re so mean,” you whine, trying to push your fingers even deeper inside of yourself. it’s useless, you know it is.

“you’re only saying that because i’m not giving you what you want.”

“obviously.”

“don’t be a brat.”

“why? it’s not like you can punish me more than you already are.”

wonwoo takes his hand off of his cock and inhales deeply. you assume for patience.

“this isn’t punishment.”

“it feels like it,” you mutter.

he bites his lip. another deep breath. then, he’s yanking your hand away from your cunt without warning.

“hey!”

“if you hate this so much then you don’t get to touch anyone, period.”

“wha-”

“you were being a brat so now you don’t get to play with me or yourself. you just have to sit there and watch me jerk off.”

embarrassment in the form of heat creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. you hate that his words are only making you wetter but they are. you whimper pitifully.

“you wanted punishment, didn’t you?” wonwoo asks. it’s a rhetorical question so you don’t bother answering, knowing that if you did you’d probably mouth off and get in more trouble anyway. “don’t pout, baby. you did this to yourself. but if you’re good for me, maybe i’ll cum on your face to reward you.”

[purplegrapevines]

Promise

Pairing: sub!Vi x fem!dom!reader

Content: spanking, belting, slight d/s dynamics, fingering

Word count: 1.6k

Vi knew what was coming for her. It was an agreement you two had settled upon a little while after you had started dating.

Every time she got into an unnecessary dispute on the street, you were allowed to punish her. 

As she walked down the alleyway, nose bloodied and knuckles red, she knew you were going to be pissed when you saw her. The fight being totally provoked by her didn’t help her case, either. The man had tattled on her for stealing, and she responded by starting a little fight with him. 

She didn’t usually like to get spanked during non-sexual circumstances, but she knew it was good for her to learn, and for you to take your worry out, so she agreed on letting you hit her when she puts herself in danger.

She stepped foot in your little house, flinging her shoes off and plopping herself on the couch.

She relaxes for a couple seconds, until she hears your footsteps coming towards her.

She turns to look at you, and she winces as the both worried and angry expression on your face.

“Hey… let me explain-“ Vi started, but you put your hand up to stop her. You leave for a couple seconds and come back with a medical kit. Her injuries were not bad, just a slightly bloody nose and sore knuckles, but you still needed to treat her first.

As you crouch in from of her and gently wipe the blood from her nose, Vi starts again. 

“I’m really sorry…” she says. 

“What happened?” You ask her, taking a seat next to her on the couch and placing ice on her hand. “It’s my fault… I stole. Not much! Just a bottle from the bar. And some dick saw me and decided to tattle, so I got into a little fight. I know, I’m sorry,” Vi says. She seems angry at the guy, but more angry at herself for upsetting you and worrying you.

“Vi… I hate when you put yourself in danger. You know you could get seriously injured.”

“I know,” Vi admits, still looking down, ashamed of herself.

“And this fight was really unnecessary, I mean, you’re the one who stole. If you’re gonna get caught for it, at least don’t start a fight with them!” You say, running your hand through your hair. Vi just listens and nods.

“You don’t know what could have happened!” you continue, “What if he was a really good fighter?” You knew that she already knew this, but she lets you tell her anyways.

“Take it out on me,” Vi says, lifting her head up a bit, but still not looking at you in the eyes.

“Are you sure?” you ask her. You know it was already agreed upon, but you still make sure that she’s still on board with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Vi confirms. With that, you grab her by the back of her hand and tug her over your lap. Her face is pressed against the cushion and her ass is sticking out on your lap. Vi moans. This makes you pause for a second. Is she really enjoying this?

You let your hand down on her clothed ass. Vi doesn’t make a sound or move, driving you to bring your hand down even harder. On this one, Vi squirms just a bit.

You continue a couple more times until you grab the waistband of her pants and tug it down harshly. She’s only in her underwear now.

Your slaps resume, leaving red handprints across her ass and thighs. Vi gets a bit louder, letting out tiny whimpers with each spank.

You suddenly grabs Vi’s hair and tug it back, yelling at her to stand up. Vi immediately complies, getting on her feet and facing you. You stay seated on the couch as you motion for her to take her underwear off as well. Vi does so.

“God… you’re so wet. You’re really enjoying this? Being spanked for getting into a fight?” you tease as Vi hides her face and blushes.

“Yes…” Vi admits.

“Stand over there, hands on the wall,” you demand, pointing towards the corner of your bedroom. Vi thinks for just a second before she walks over to the corner, facing the wall and placing both her hands on it.

To her surprise, you start to undo your belt. But Vi doesn’t argue as she shakes in anticipation and excitement.

“I wasn’t planning on doing this…” you say, laughing, “but you seemed like you were enjoying your spanking a little too much.” But you knew she’d enjoy this, too.

Without any warning, you sharply bring the belt down on her bare ass. Vi moans and her hands ball into fists. You repeat your action a couple more times until her ass is much more red. Her fists claw at the wall as if she can grab onto it like a bedsheet. You can’t help but smile at her cuteness.

You let your belt down on her ass and thighs a few more times until Vi screams in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, won’t get into fights anymore!” she begs.

“Aw, that’s so cute. All you needed was a little belting, hmm?” you tease. Vi nods at your response, thinking that her punishment was over.

“Well, then I gotta make sure the lesson sticks,” you say, surprising her with another snap of your belt on her skin.

Vi scream out again and she tells you that she has learned her lesson already. You ignore her pleas.

A few more whips, and a tear falls out of her eye. 

“‘M sorry!” Vi yells, but again, you ignore her. Her knees start to buckle and she finds it hard to keep her balance.

“Stay in position.” Vi nods and leans against the wall a bit more to stay standing.

You keep going with the belt, just a few more times, until you finally drop it. Vi exhales in relief when she hears the slight clack of the buckle against the floor.

She begins to turn around, and is startled when you grab her shoulder and slam it back against the wall.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay?” you exclaim. 

“Yes, yes! I’m sorry, I thought we were done, I’m sorry!” 

Slowly, you reach down to her welted ass and begin to squeeze it. Vi scream out in pain, and it takes all of her willpower not to squirm away.

“Good girl,” you tell her. You start to twist and pinch at the skin as Vi sobs gently.

“Please… I’m so sorry… I won’t get into fights ever again! Won’t steal or anything! Promise!” she begs.

Finally, you take your hands off her skin. You gently turn her around so her back is facing the wall. Your lips meet hers, and you taste salt from the tears that fell down her face. You wipe them away with your thumbs.

“You did good, my love,” you say to Vi. Vi nuzzles her face into your neck and leans into your body, too tired to stand up anymore. 

You stroke her hair and help her lay face-down on the bed. As your hand cleans a spot slightly close to her core, she subconsciously bucks up into it.

“Vi… aren’t you tired?” you ask. 

“But I want you so bad…” Vi whimpers, pouting at you with those red eyes and wet eyelashes. She was just too cute to resist…

While Vi’s still on her stomach, you push her legs apart and bring your hand down in between them. The slick gathers on your fingers immediately. You circle them around her clit a couple times until you thrust two fingers in her hole.

Vi moans and grips onto the pillow under her head. You starts to curl your fingers, increasing your pace until it felt like your hand was vibrating between her legs.

“So good… fuck…” Vi moans, eyes shut and mouth agape in pleasure. You reach your other hand below her leg and start to rub her clit. Vi squirms and moans in pleasure.

A couple minutes later, Vi lets go with a scream of pure bliss. Her sweaty body lays limp on the bedsheets as her breathing starts to slow down again.

“Good girl…”

Vi turns her head slightly to look at you, and she starts to turn onto her back. She lays tired as she pulls your arm for you to come closer to her. She starts to reach for the buttons of your pants, but you hold her hand and stop her. “What are you doing?” you ask her softly.

“You already made me cum… gotta help you too…” Vi says, sounding like she’s gonna pass out any minute.

You laugh gently, “It’s okay, my love, you can help me next time. Look how tired you are. Go to sleep.”

Vi is about to argue, but her eyelids start to droop and no noise comes out of her mouth. 

You finish cleaning her up, and then you lay next to her, just watching her about to drift off.

“Please don’t get into fights, baby. It scares me,” you whisper softly, not wanting to wake her up, just let it out.

“I won’t put myself in danger,” Vi whispers back, to your surprise.

“Promise?” you ask her.

“Promise.”

[666writingcafe]

The Kingsblood Crucible

MC

I'm not gonna lie, I'm a bit annoyed. I get that Diavolo can't control the exact time of his trial, but did it really have to be mere moments after I woke up from the coma that Nightbringer put me in? It's almost like the universe is playing some sort of sick joke on me.

At least I'm able to eat the food Lucifer brought before Diavolo and I leave.

Once the two of us arrive at the royal tomb, we walk inside and go up to the statue of the Fairy King. According to the research I've done beforehand, the land that makes up the Devildom used to belong to him, but then one day a demon gave him some wine made from his own blood, putting the king into a deep sleep. The demon stole all of his land, thus becoming the first ever king of the Devildom.

Diavolo turns and gives me a ceremonial knife, and I draw a line on the palm of his hand.

"Fairy King, I present you with the blood that courses through my veins. My name is Diavolo, descendant of the rightful King of the Devildom and heir to the royal legacy."

The statue absorbs his blood, and its eyes remain closed. So far, so good.

Suddenly, the statue issues an order: prove thy virtue and thy destiny. The royal tomb is momentarily plunged into darkness before revealing...

Oh no. I've seen this before. Question is, why is the Fairy King showing us this particular memory?

"Oh, Lucifer," Diavolo whispers. "To think I'd have to see you like this again. The way you looked on this day..." He's holding back tears. I gently pat his shoulder as a way of letting him know that it's okay.

"I don't remember being so angry," he quietly observes.

"You weren't," I respond. After a brief moment of confusion, Diavolo nods his head.

"Of course. That makes a lot of sense. Do the others know?" He's referring to Barbatos and Thirteen being aware of my relation to Lilith.

"Yes. Lucifer suspects it, but I've been able to get him off my case for now."

"Good. He can't figure that out. Not yet, anyway."

"I am sure there could be no greater disgrace to one such as yourself, he who was once celebrated as the pride of the Celestial Realm," the memory of Barbatos states before turning to face the two of us. "However, it's far too little given the circumstances. Wouldn't you agree, Young Master?"

A shiver runs up my spine as Diavolo's eyes widen.

"This isn't how I remember it going--" he starts to tell me. Barbatos--or rather, a fake version of Barbatos--interrupts,

"The Celestial Realm has already rendered its judgement. Her punishment has been decided. If you willfully ignore that and choose to help her, it will mean war between the Devildom and Celestial Realm."

"I'm aware, but--"

"--but these dazzling jewels from the heavens have landed on your doorstep, and you must have them." The smile on fake Barbatos' face is rather eerie. If I didn't promise Diavolo to stay by his side through this trial, I'd start running.

"No matter the price, no matter how many demons must be sacrificed in exchange, you want these seven brothers for yourself," he continues. "And I know exactly why."

"Barbatos, stop. Don't do this." I see the fear in Diavolo's eyes, which means the illusion can, too.

And it will do anything in its power to use that fear against him.

I don't recall seeing anything about witnesses being allowed to help candidates pass the Kingsblood Crucible, but there also wasn't a rule prohibiting it, either. Should I take the risk?

"It's all about being a great demon, one who's worthy to call himself the Demon King's son. Isn't that right?"

Screw it. I'm not about to let an illusion lie to Diavolo like that.

"Don't listen to him," I tell the prince.

"They're so rare and beautiful. It's hard not to compare them to gemstones. If you were to command a group of demons like that, your esteemed father would surely be proud. All of this is so you can live up to his name."

"That isn't true!" I exclaim. Unfortunately, Diavolo doesn't seem to hear me. His eyes are glassy, like he's under a trance.

"I have to surpass him," he mumbles. "Otherwise, my life has no point."

Shit.

"Exactly, which is why you're willing to help this 'family in need', even though you know it entails far too great a risk. But ask yourself: is that really the sort of conduct you'd expect from a demon king?" Diavolo slowly shakes his head.

"It's almost as though you don't even want to be king," the illusion adds. "You just want to earn your father's approval--nothing more."

"Diavolo!" I yell. Nothing.

"Lord Diavolo!" Still nothing.

"Goddammit, look at me!" That finally gets his attention.

"I'm not fit to be the demon king," he whispers.

"Are you seriously going to believe a fairy apparition?!" I don't mean to sound quite so angry, but him seemingly giving up like this is rather frustrating. If he fails this trial, I might as well kiss everything resembling my home goodbye, and I won't allow that to happen. Not on my watch.

"Look, maybe you've acted this way before," I add. "It's not like I knew you as you were growing up, so it's perfectly possible that your sole motivation was gaining your father's approval. But I can tell you this: the Diavolo I know cares deeply about others. Not just your people, but everyone you meet and befriend. You try your hardest to do what is right, even if it goes against popular opinion. You strive for a future where the three realms can live harmoniously, because you know your father's way of doing things was selfish and cruel. If anyone is fit to rule over the Devildom, it's you."

"Do you actually think I can be the sort of king everyone hopes for?" Diavolo asks. "Can I be proper and just?"

"Trust me: I'm one of the last people that will blow smoke up your ass. If I felt you weren't capable, I'd let you know in a heartbeat. Besides, you won't be doing this alone. You'll have others helping you."

"Including you?" I find myself smiling, recalling the time he once told me that he'd want me to rule beside him someday.

"Including me." Taking a deep breath, he steps forward and grabs my hand.

"Then maybe there really is hope." The scene around us disappears, and soon we find ourselves back inside the royal tomb. A note awaits us at the base of the Fairy King's statue.

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 ℭ𝔯𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢. 𝔑𝔬 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢.

(Transcription: The House of Lords has determined that you have passed the Kingsblood Crucible. No further action shall be taken at this time.)

Once we're outside the tomb, Diavolo stops and looks at me.

"You know, I'm not sure if I'm ready to return just yet. I need some time away."

"Perfectly understandable," I reply. "You've just been through a rough experience."

"So have you." Wait a minute.

"You're not suggesting I join you, are you?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing." Well, damn. Didn't see that coming.

"Of course, it's fine if you don't want to. I can have Barbatos open a portal for you to return to the castle. I just..." He momentarily trails off. "I feel bad for not allowing you to properly recover, and I want to make it up to you."

"Got somewhere in mind?" He grins at me

"Of course. I think you'll like it. It's nice and quiet, and the view is absolutely breathtaking."

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