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maiaska · 2 months ago

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“i can’t stop looking at her t-t-t..face”

NASTY DOG!ELLIE x MEAN!POPULAR!READER

Synopsis: you were a popular girl in school, pretty and mean, the whole package of course and ellie? yeah she was head over heels for you.

Authors note: hey guyssss lol, this is my first fic ever but i hope it was okay, feel free to give me critic, (my first language isn’t english so there might be mistakes)

OCTOBER

yeah okay, ellie was nasty…there was no denying it and she knew that very well.

she wasn’t nasty in the form of hygiene and basic human decency but it was more in the desire department. she wanted nothing more than to get her face shoved into a pussy and do everything and anything to please you.

Even her friends took notice, it wasn’t unusual for her best friend dina to call her out numerous times a day, “jesus ellie, quit ogling over her” to which ellie would throw her hands in the air and look at her best friend with an annoyed and pouty look, “im not ogling, she’s just in my eyesight…s’not my fault”. Ellie knew she was totally drooling at the sight of you, her eyes never leaving your beautiful face, and your tempting body…you were just so perfect, so blissfully perfect it even annoyed her a little because the chance of you ever looking in her way, it was laughable, no way in hell could you like her.

Ellie wasn’t unpopular, in fact she had many friends and a great social life, that didn’t exclude the fact that she was hardcore loser but people didn’t really notice that…except you and your friends of course.

It was like you were cut out from a 2000s lame repeating teenage movie, so pretty, so poetic yet so fucking mean.

you were considered one of the prettiest girl in the school, nobody admitted it out loud but everyone knew the power you held along with that. you had many admires, many “suitors”…literally. you were a part of the ever lasting “popular clique”. you and your friends were a higher power in the school, you were of status, of value, of position, or at least that’s what your friendgroup had convinced themselves of.. it didn’t matter though, you and your friends made sure people knew you were better than them.

oh and your favorite thing? making people feel useless, making them squirm under the gaze of your piercing and almost stinging eyes.

ellie hated that.

just like any other kid who hadn’t been brainwashed yet, of course she hated it, getting made fun of or treated like a dog is never pleasant, but the weird thing? she never really did despise you for that. there was something about you that made you so intriguing no matter how much of a bitch you were to others.

in your eyes, you weren’t mean. at least not like your friends who buillied kids for merely looking in their way, and shit talked people while they were present, to make them feel weak. no, you weren’t like that, in fact you could be really sweet and kind, but sometimes the sass and attitude just over-shined that unfortunately..but to ellie’s sake? it made you even more fucking hot, even though you constantly stepped on her. Like a snake with venom, you and your friends would walk past ellie and her friends in the hallway, you would look at her with this nasty look on your face, a complete grimace of utter disbelief and disgust and then you’d scoff, in ellies eyes? you had looked at her, acknowledged her, given her a bit of your attention…and it only made her want to be your lap dog, but unfortunately that’s all the attention ellie had ever gotten from you…mean stares.

dina and her boyfriend jesse would notice the way ellie’s eyes lighted up slightly when you grimaced at her, they both scoffed to them selves, knowing what a complete fool their friend was.

at night after a boring school day, ellie would lie in her bed with her phone dangling from her cold and calloused hand, her eyes focused on the sight of you- from a picture she found on your instagram, your graciously perfect curves and thighs, your eyes that looked like the universe, your glistening skin…oh, ellie was in a dangerous trance. Her other hand working on her puffy pink pussy that so desperately needed to get touched. pumping in and out with her slender fingers, ellie let out soft whimpers and noises, imagining that you were the one who made her feel like this, your rough but gentle fingers making her squirm and moan while you had that powerful smirk on your face, the one you always have when talking to someone below you, a stark contrast to the innocenct smiles you’d offer the teachers and those stupid boys who shamelessly flirted with you, their eyes only focusing on your round curvy tits…that made her furious, she knew she wasn’t exceptionally better than them but she was far more discreet and the difference between her and those men? she wanted to do everything you told her to…meanwhile they just wanted to use her body- in ellie’s eyes you were a goddess, in theirs? another fuckable girl to boost their ego.

She’d imagine you riding her dick and screaming out her name, bouncing up and down on the silicone as you bit your lip, making you feel so fucking good and carefree, while still knowing she’d never be in the position to fuck you, to dominate you, no no no…she’d be too pathetic for that, instead she’d be grinding on your ass, humping her skin on yours as you degrade her with your venomous words, pathetic dog, you wanna fuck me? then earn it..

you would make a fool out of her, make her feel useless just like you did to poor students on a normal school day.…but with ellie? your cruel taunting words wouldnt work on her, she’d only want more of you.

this was all in her imagination anyway but it wouldn’t stop her from cumming into her black boxers for the third time this night, now filled with her juices, only because of you and the irritating grip you had on her mind.

she’d lay back on her bed after her high, tired and touch deprived as her own fingers were never enough, she should feel ashamed, and she sometimes did but truth be told…ellie did not regret it at all, she knew she was nasty, nasty for imagining you, nasty for making you her sex fantasy, nasty for not giving a fuck. but she couldn’t stop herself.

₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊🍁 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

OCTOBER 28TH

i’m the highlights of october, everyone’s favorite month, a party had been planned like usual from one of the notorious party hosts, everyone was invited, which could only mean one thing...chaos.

After having brainstormed with dina and jesse for about a week, ellie had finally managed to figure out what her costume would be, it would be as simple as a wolf...a quick memory of her and old best friend trying on halloween masks, giggles and shitty puns running through her mind with a smile on her face, yeah- this was perfect.

ironically enough you had choosen to dress up as a cat, with ears, a painted nose and long nails that could snatch any guy or girl you had your eye on whether they wanted you or not, you’d have the power to get them anyways. a fierce kitty cat fitted you perfectly, it was a costume made for you.

Inside the enormous house, music was blasting and pounding, lights flickering all the colors, the smell of alcohol and sweat evidently stuck out. A glance around at all the people in costumes, it was almost the same atmosphere like there would be in a masquerade ball, it was the thrilling idea of putting on a mask for the night, and letting yourself let lose,

this wasn’t a normal party no, this was a chance to be/do/act any way you’d like, and many people had realized that, including ellie. The auburn haired girl had been wanting to talk with you for such a long time but she never had the guts to actually do it, in classes she would always imagine you dropping your pen, then she’d reach out and pick it up for you to take, hands brushing, fate happening, but of course something like that never actually did make it out of her mind.

Her mind had been running wild the day before the party, hell even the week before, the possibility of her longing desires becoming real?…she couldn’t contain herself, the thought of having a chance to talk to you, without the social structures and thick line between popular and not, it was exciting.

Ellie and her friends were sipping beers and passing around a fat joint, Ellie was sitting on the couch, her fair skin filled with freckles like stars, that nobody had ever seen, as she rarely shows her body. her fur glove paws wrapped around the joint and brought it to her lips, she took a long and well deserved hit, weed filling her lungs and system. the familiar feeling was ever so soothing, ellie made a content sigh and leaned back on the couch, her eyes traveling up to the crowd of people standing around and her eyes land on you, she immediately takes notice to your outfit, heat creeping up on her cheeks, a red tint covering her face and one single thought

holy fuck.

the way your dress hugged your body was enough to send ellie into a complete spiral, or the way your face was slightly painted, with your eyes covered in black eyeshadow, making you look like you could manipulate someones mind just by a quick glance.

ellie couldnt tear her eyes away from you, it was impossible when you looked so damn good, she wanted nothing more than for you to look at her, give her attention, give her validation. she wanted nothing else but to be at your feet. Ellie was ready to bite you, like a dog running after a cat, she’d be on your tail…leaping next to you at every step you took. Her gaze secretly lands on your chest, plump tits looking like a snack for her to devour, she wanted her tongue all over you, to lick you up, to feel your honey colored, shiny ski-

“hello?? earth to ellie?” the girl was pulled out of her trance, which might have been good because ellie was suddenly feeling way too hot and lustful, yeah it was the definitely the weed's fault, or so she convinced herself as if she pinning over you yesterday. “fuck- sorry yeah, what were you saying dee?” dina punched her arm and rolled her eyes. “oh my god ellie, were you staring at her again?! you know you can’t get her- just back off already”, dina was a good friend, she and ellie had been best friends since forever, which meant dina had no shame in being blunt and direct, telling ellie the truth that she didnt want to realize. Ellie grumbles and runs a hand over her face, feeling caught, but nevertheless her gaze once again falling back on you and more so- your chest that sat so beautiful in your black dress. “ow?! wha- i know that, you don’t have to point it out..”

dina scoffed at this, as she immediately noticed her dumb friend returning her gaze to you, “jeez ellie, stop looking at her ti-“

“face!” she interrupted quickly and looked at her friend with a slight smirk, the alcohol mixed with the weed running through her veins made her feel slightly more confident. “eugh you're like a nasty dog, and not in a good way” dina rolls her eyes and takes the joint from ellies hand, ellie lets out a cackle at her choice of words, but not denying them..she was definitely a nasty dog when it came to you.

ellie's pinning hadn't flown past your head, nothing did, of course you had noticed, you notice everything..if only ellie knew that, when she was shamelessly staring at you. but enough about that, were you going to do anything about it? absolutely not, many people’s eyes landed in you, if you gave one of them attention, others would just want your attention even more.

you had the upper hand in this and you werent going to do anything…but then why did it annoy you so much that her eyes were on you? usually you didn’t care…but something about ellie made you intrigued, and you fucking hated it.

ellie didn’t know how it happened, her feet had leaped up and were suddenly moving towards you, she couldn’t stop her feet they had a mind of their own right now and it was freaking ellie out

don’t act stupid ellie, fuck you’re dressed as a wolf?! and you except her to wanna talk to you

she stopped behind you, god you were even prettier up close, no ellie stop- act normal- before she could continue her nervous rambling inside her head, you had turned around and looked at her, your eyebrows scrunched with an annoyed look on your face, shit, ellie couldn’t tell if she regretted everything in that moment or if this was worth it as she got the chance to see you up close for once.

“um hi..?, what was your name again?” you glare at her like she was just an annoying bug in your face that you desperately wanted to get rid of. but ellie didn’t care she was too focused on your face. your kitty ears fitted you so well in your smooth messy hair and your painted nose made her want to crumble on the spot. ellie couldn’t tell if she was drooling or not, she might as well have been because of your outstanding beauty, you were like nothing she had seen before. “oh-..uh..i-im ellie”

you laugh in her face, the sound sending a lightning bolt through her body. “well.. ellie, you should’ve dressed up as a stalker to make up for your behavior” you cross your arms and look at her, taking in every inch of her skin, the poor girl felt so nervous and intimidated yet turned on under your hard gaze, “my behavior? what um what do you mean?-i- wasn’t-“

ellies words get caught off as you interrupted her, not having time or energy for her boring lies “i-i-i”..don’t play dumb with me,” you mock her stuttering with a cold tone of voice, clearly trying to use one of your classic mean girl techniques, ellie convinced herself she wasn’t bothered but truth be told she felt a little irritated, she felt herself become a little hurt by your bluntness and mean words, maybe her fondness of you was exactly what it was, just a facade she could see from the distance, ellie’s thoughts stopped as you spoke your next words with a smirk on your face and an innocent voice, “shouldn’t a good puppy like you learn some manners…”

she sucked in her breath, a blush creeping up her pale cheeks. your words were evil, and so not meant in any way but evil, you were trying to make her feel intimidated and it was working…but she couldn’t help but notice the touch of lust in your eyes, or maybe she was just drunk. her body was hot, her gaze finding your face, your evil grin paired with the most innocent, precious eyes she had ever seen, her previous irritation hadn’t faded completely but her temptations were definitely ruling over it. nasty thoughts springing in her mind, too unholy to be present right now, and you knew that.

“i’m a wolf…” she mumbled quietly under her breath, in reality she wanted to respond with a drop to her knees, but that wasn’t realistic yet. “is that barking, i hear coming from you??” you mockingly put up a hand to your ear pretending to listen for barks, looking at her as if she was nothing but a unpropper dog. Your gaze stays steady, challenging her to talk back, but a glint in her eyes shows she's up for the game, and you’re ready, not backing down an inch. ellie couldn’t help her spark of confidence in her next words. “funny, coming from someone dressed like a kitten” ellie licks her lips and speaks with a small smirk, tilting her head slightly, the alcohol for sure made ellie do it, in the real world she’d never have the guts to be playful with you.

You narrowed your eyes at her, not expecting her to say that, a cackle leaves your lips and you cross your arms and study her face. “oh now look who’s getting bold, did the little dog finally learn to bite back? hm?” your expression taunting, your irritation still present but an intriguing look in your eyes had appeared, waiting to see if ellie had the guts to really challenge you or if it was just a quick moment. she couldn’t figure you out, the tension was thick between the two girls

ellie didn’t want to respond, she didnt know what to say that could satisfy your question, she’d do anything for this moment to never end.

“m...maybe i did” the auburn haired girl reponds a little unsure of herself but she hides it with a steady face, she wanted to prove herself to you, prove that she wasnt just nervous rack. “maybe? oh ellen...i’d love to see that happening from someone like you” you smile innocently, knowing full well her name wasn’t ellen but she didn’t have to know that.

“its ellie...and, i can bark” she said, raising her chin higher to prove her point, her green eyes holding your gaze. She’s on edge, unsure if she’s just woken up something she can’t handle.

“..and i can scratch” you lean closer, the distance suddenly becoming much smaller, ellie could see the tiny spots on your nose and the way your lips were neatly formed and pressed towards, your piercing eyes finding ellie’s green orbits, staring daggers into her skull, ellie could’ve sworn she saw you looking at her lips for a split second, but she wasn’t sure…

does she want me the same way i want her?- no ellie, remember what dina said.

“but you already know that, don’t you?…ellie” oh the brown haired girl knew it very well, everyone did…you scratched like a kitten, you had your claws on everyone. She was speechless for a moment before nodding compliantly and before she could let out a real response you beat her to it, with the same smirk you had on your face the entire time. “that’s what i figured, enjoy the party ellen.” you reach your hand out and pat her head, your long nails making contact with her chestnut colored hair, in the most taunting annoying way ever and then you just disappear into the crowd of people, leaving ellie standing like a flustered mess, a hopeless, pathetic, blushing mess. she had never expected her first conversation with you to be like this.

god she was down bad~

part two??

#ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x reader #tlou2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fanfic #tlou fic

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justporo · 1 year ago

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Headcanons about living with Astarion

I thought about some of this lately and since yesterday's warmup got out of hand... (Behold him lounging:)

First things first, if you think living with Astarion will be neat and organised just because he himself always looks put well together: you are in for a surprise

This man - as much as he cares for aesthetics - tends to be messy

Especially since it's been forever that he could actually have and keep stuff, so expect books everywhere, cups left on surfaces, stuff laying around on the floor (and let's be honest, growing up as a noble before didn't teach him anything about being domestic...)

He'll learn though, especially when you reach a point where you could almost throw stuff at him (but he still struggles with it and him buying so many books surely doesn't help)

Astarion is basically cat: lounging everywhere - no surface is safe! Although a comfy sofa or chaiselongue are preferred spots!

Especially when you've sat somewhere and it's still nice and warm and smells of you; "Was that your seat, darling? Well, not anymore!"

But then he would pull you in with a chuckle and have you cuddle up on his lap and also refuse to let you go ("Love, I've only just gotten comfortable, you can't leave now!")

What he lacks in order he makes up with style - to a point it might make your blood boil: "Astarion, please, I couldn't care less if the red of the drapes matches the pillow cases!" "Yes, well, darling - don't take it personally - but I wouldn't have expected you to care anyway." Then he has to dodge several pillows being flung at his head)

Astarion leaves little notes for you to find, like for example if he's gone to run some errands or maybe just because - to tell you he loves you; at some point it kind of becomes a game of him hiding notes somewhere in the house and waiting how long you take to find them - scolding you if you take too long! ("My sweet, a trained donkey would have found it by now! Open your eyes, love, you can't possibly be that distracted by my beautiful face!")

Astarion learns about companionable silence with you - obviously he's very chatty and you love nights just wasted away with talking and joking - about everything and anything; but he also learns how pleasant it can be to just sit there, all cozied up with you and feeling the deep peace of easy silence with you

That or spending some quality time together: him spending time with reading or doing embroidery, you with drawing, also reading or anything else - as long as you're together

At least for a while Astarion really enjoys having a place where he can just... be; obviously this eager little vampire can't sit still forever but he revels in the knowledge of having a place he can always return to, somewhere to be safe and comfy, somewhere he can always be with you

Alright - at least that's how I could very well imagine living with Astarion might be, hihi. This man keeps living in my head - by now I'm sure he's changed my brain chemistry forever, for good...

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #bg3 #headcanons #astarion headcanons #imagine #poro headcanons #astarion x you #astarion fluff

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

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Astarion teaching Tav embroidery/sewing. Preferably with him dragging them onto his lap for a close-up demonstration.

Why do I make everything so long? Do I have a problem? There is always so much introspective nonsense idk man. Anyway adorable idea actualized below!

Also mentions of sex but this is totally sfw. I went with the timeline of when your sleeping together but he hasn't quite admitted his feelings to himself, as a side!

Astarion had no idea how he became your camp's designated seamstress. How was it possible that a team of eight adults were all incapable of knowing the basics of such a fundamental skill?

Then again, Karlach seemed to be perfectly fine with wearing her clothes to tatters. Wyll was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Lae'zel, for some gods forsaken reason, was only capable of fixing up heavy armor. Gale seemed to prefer eating magical clothing items versus being able to salvage them and the rest were mediocre at best.

The look of confusion on Shadowheart's, who was the second most skilled by far, face when Astarion tried to explain a ladder stitch was enough for him to give up entirely. It was quicker to fix the tears then to explain simple concepts to simpletons.

Brats. All of you. With one who was significantly more brazen than the rest when it came to using Astarion as their personal tailor.

Tav, the lovely thorn in his side. Who could handle wielding a glaive with startingly accuracy, but somehow managed to consistently stab themselves every time they picked up a sewing needle. It was impressive, how useless someone who was otherwise extremely competent could be.

Impressive as it was frustrating. Because somehow you managed to destroy your clothes more often than anyone else. Always bashfully handing him over torn trousers and ripped shirts every other night. Anyone else he would have told to fuck off by now. Even the rest of the camp knew better than to test their luck with anything more than once a fortnight. But you lacked the very basic level of self-control.

It was his own fault for giving you special treatment in the first place. But sleeping together did warrant a few extra benefits. He got your protection and you got to experience the pleasure of being with him. Simple. Or it would have been if you didn't insist on making things complicated.

Because Astarion was starting to feel things. Things that he hadn't anticipated. Because your company was... oddly pleasant. You were an interesting little thing, he had to give you that. Well-read and talkative, but not boringly so. No, Astarion sometimes found himself losing track of time when he was with you. A simple question could easily turn into a two-hour conversation about the silliest things. It was... nice. New. And oh so different from what he was used to.

Cazador didn't even allow him or his brethren to speak in his home, let alone speak to each other unless it was strictly necessary. But here he was free to do whatever he pleased. And he was finding that included being near you, despite how differently you both saw the world.

He couldn't quite blame you for your delusional optimistic views. As a Tymora worshipper you were basically doomed from the start to believe inane concepts like good fortune, luck, and gods, the good that could be found in "anyone".

You were as sweet as you were aggravating and Astarion truly, honestly, had no idea how your insane trusting nature hadn't managed to get you killed yet. But then again he... kind of liked that about you. He liked that you trusted him. It made his life more convienet and... it was nice to be seen as a person worth confiding in. Instead of the blood-sucking monster he really was.

He... liked that. He liked you. A fact that he didn't enjoy thinking about. He didn't really know what to do with it, and the implications of where his feelings could lead were starting to become unsettling. So he pushed it out of his mind. It was an easy thing to do when doom was always looming in the background. He had plenty of things to think about that didn't include his fondness for you.

Like the inner-rage you caused when you managed to somehow rip the same shirt twice in one day.

"That's it," Astarion announced when you bashfully asked for his help yet again, "Come here. I'm teaching you how to sew."

"But you always get mad when you try," You whined. But despite the hesitancy you still obediently sat next to him as he got out the sewing kit, "Do you promise not to snap this time?"

"That depends," Astarion said with a roll of the eyes, "Do you intend on not maiming yourself with a sewing needle?"

Astarion smirked at the way that made a blush crawl up your neck, "That was one time!"

"Actually darling it was closer to seven," Astarion corrected as he snatched the shirt from your hands, "Now pay attention. Look at where the tear starts. Notice how it's on the seam?"

You nodded along as Astarion explained the basics to you. He could tell that you were trying your damndest to pay attention, but when it was your turn to hold the needle your hands couldn't stop shaking. Astarion frowned as he tried to watch you work, his view obfuscated by the angle and the flow of your hair.

Well that wouldn't do.

Before he could think better of it he was hauling you into his lap, ignoring your surprised squeak as he situated you just right.

That was better. At least now he could see what you were doing. It was a sloppy stich, sloppy enough for him to undo it before putting the needle back in your hand.

"Now do it again," Astarion ordered, "Let me see what your doing wrong."

Astarion watched as you tried again, frowning when he realized your shaking was even worse than before. In fact, you seemed more nervous than ever, your face red as you kept your eyes down.

It made Astarion torn between watching your hands and looking at your face. You really were adorable, getting all worked up from simply being in his lap, all while trying to stay dutifully undistracted. He could almost hear your heart racing, obvious through the tension coursing through you.

Silly little thing, acting all shy like he hadn't already literally been inside of you. But at least you were doing better, your stitching straighter than Astarion had ever seen it. Maybe he'd have to make the lap-sitting mandatory from now on, for the good of your learning.

"See," Astarion said softly, his breath tickling your ear as he leaned in closer, "You're perfectly capable of learning this."

"So it looks good?" You asked, taking a chance to glance at him. Astarion hadn't realized just how close the two of you really were. He had never... seen you like this before. So closely. Even when you slept together, he had been a bit distracted by other parts of your body. He never noticed just how many light freckles were hiding across the bridge of your nose, how your eyes looked almost golden in candlelight. You smelled nice too, sweet. Like you had been rolling around in a field of lilies. Considering your personality, Astarion had to wonder if that's exactly what you did.

It would take almost nothing to press your lips together. Barely a turn on the head.

"Astarion, are you listening?"

The sound of his voice snapped him out of his revelry. He straightened, clearing his throat as he looked over your work again, embarrassed in a way that he couldn't quite describe.

Maybe you weren't the only one being affected after all.

"It looks better," Astarion said honestly, "But still needs work. You'll almost certainly be needing more lessons."

Preferably like this. Astarion wasn't quite ready to let you go yet, not when you felt so pleasantly warm in his lap. But luckily enough for him, you didn't seem quite so keen to leave.

Astarion tightened his hold on you laughing at the way it made you gasp, "But that's enough for today. I think you've earned a reward. Don't you?"

"I-yes?" You said back, your eyes flitting from Astarion's mouth and back, "Please?"

You really were too precious. How could he possibly say no to that?

Astarion grinned as he tilted your chin up, finally pressing your lips together. It was an odd feeling, kissing someone when he couldn't stop smiling, but he supposed you just had that effect on him.

Maybe being the camp seamstress wasn't so bad after all.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #cutsey #this was a very cute idea

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starkasaaa · 3 days ago

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omg I liked your last capitano fic so much🥹🥹 maybe you can do nsfw alphabet with him? thank you:3

Capitano smut alphabet:

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

At first, Capitano leans back against the pillow with a soft groan, trying to catch his ragged breath. His arms are tightly clasped around you, holding you close as he kisses the top of your head. He prefers to just lie quietly with you for a while, and then he’ll carry you to the shower. His favorite thing to do is sit with you in the warm water and gently lather your back with some sweet-smelling gel. He also loves it when you help him wash his hair, the feeling of your soft fingers sliding through his strands is so comfortable that he practically falls asleep every time you do it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

The Captain is the type of man who loves absolutely everything about his woman, but if he had to choose one thing, it would be your tummy. He loves to put his head on your lap and bury his nose in your tummy after long missions. He also likes to run his big and cold fingers over your tummy, teasing you on purpose and not going lower, where you crave his touch the most. He loves when you impatiently grab his hand and put it between your legs, squeezing him tightly there.

In himself, Capitano loves his hands. They are big, strong, and can easily make your legs tremble in 2 minutes, and oh, there is nothing more pleasant for him than to first make you weak from his hands, and then carry you to the bathroom on those same hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Capitano is a very responsible man, he will not cum anywhere without your consent. If you want him to be in protection, he will definitely be, but to be honest, doing it inside satisfies him more, but don't worry, Captain is a man who will not run away from responsibility, so if you get pregnant from him, he will only be happy to become a father.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

He is not the type of man who will use girls for one night. He didn't have time to think about relationships before, so I dare to assume that he has no experience. Of course he had little intrigues with women, but it never came to sex.

He does not really know what he is doing, he just does what he thinks is right, closely watching your reaction to know whether things are going well or badly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Capitano is a pretty simple man, he prefers traditional positions like missionary. He likes to be in control, so being on top suits his nature. He likes to throw your leg over his shoulder to make the angle of penetration even deeper, or to gently hold your hands above your head so that you can't cover your embarrassed face or your mouth.

G = Goofy (are they more serious at the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

At first, he will be very serious. His main goal is to satisfy you. The first few times, he will be serious because of his own inexperience and fear of hurting you, but even as his experience increases, he will not become more relaxed. He is simply not used to showing much emotion, and you will have to talk to him about it, and then he will try to be less serious during this.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Capitano doesn’t see much need for daily shaving, and he doesn’t bother much about it. The hair on his partner's body is also not a problem for him, and if one day you suddenly tell him how tiring it is to shave every day, he will simply raise an eyebrow and look at you blankly.

"-…Then why are you doing it? I mean... Doesn't everyone have hair there..."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is not the most gentle person, but he tries very hard. Long years of training and battles made him a very closed person who is not used to taking off his tight facade in front of everyone, but he will try to learn to be more romantic. His care and love is more likely to be shown in actions than in words. For example, changing dirty bed linen after you make love, or helping you wash up+ changing you into clean clothes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He didn’t really do this before, since then any physical intimacy even with himself seemed to him to be something not particularly necessary. But then, as the relationship with you progressed, he realized that this is a pretty good way to relieve tension and it is generally pleasant. So, like any other man, he does it. He just never devotes you to the details of this. It happens that the longing for you during long missions becomes so aching that he has to touch himself, imagining that you are here with him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As I said. Capitano is a simple man, and he prefers to do it traditionally on the bed. He doesn’t really want to risk his status, and just the possibility of being caught in such a position doesn’t really pleasant to him, so doing it at home for him is the best solution.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You don't really have to do anything to get you going. Capitano is always hungry, but he won't admit it. He likes it better when you pull him into bed, because sometimes he finds himself getting turned on too often. It's not that it embarrasses him, it's more that it makes him think he's forcing you, but when you drag him into the bedroom yourself, it turns him on even more.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Something that involves pain. The Captain knows he's big and strong, and the thought of accidentally overdoing it and hurting you while doing it drives him crazy.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

There's nothing more beautiful in the world than the nervous nibbling of your lip and the trembling of your thighs as his tongue deftly circles your sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your thighs squeeze his head between them makes his cock press hard against the fabric of his pants. He throws your leg over his shoulder as his fingers slide from your entrance between your labia, feeling like he could cum just from the look of you needing him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He'll go slow at first, giving you time to get used to the pace. Once you've more or less spread out around him, he'll go harder, but not faster. Capitano prefers sensual sex, trying to enjoy every moment with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers more full-on sex, with foreplay, a relaxed atmosphere, and the likelihood that he won't be disturbed. But if you're really needy, he won't mind doing it. If he wants it, the Captain will rather wait until you get home.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The Captain can go as long as he wants. He just never wants to burden you with it too much, so don't try to find out where his limit is. He'll be hungry for you forever.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He's not really into this, but if you bring a toy into the house, he might be willing to try it. He'll probably like handcuffs to finally prevent you from covering your face and mouth during this.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on the situation. Normally, he might be willing to stretch out your pleasure a bit, not letting you cum until he thinks you've asked him nicely enough. But if he's coming home from a long mission, there's no teasing. He's been waiting too long and he needs you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The Captain is quite reserved during this, and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is quiet groans. This is rather because he is not used to being emotional, so he needs time to stop holding it in.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It is quite big and thick. With a bright pink tip. (sorry, I don’t know what else to write here😭)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before, he didn’t feel any desire for sex at all, and probably the amount of excitement and desire that he feels now is all accumulated over those years when he didn’t experience it, well, or rather didn’t notice it. But now… He feels like a wild animal, especially after a long separation from you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

For Capitano, the most important thing is to make sure that you fall asleep first. He tries to make up for his taciturnity with actions. He will put a glass of water on your nightstand, fluff your pillow so that it is softer, and wrap you in a blanket. He will stroke your back and kiss your forehead until you fall asleep, and only then will he fall asleep himself.

#capitano x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #capitano smut #capitano

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rae-writes · 2 years ago

Text

om boys cumcanons

nsfw

Lucifer

off white, has the thickest consistency of his brothers; it actually can be a bit hard to swallow all at once sometimes because of that, so he practically keens whenever your cheeks are puffed, visibly full of his cum, as you take your time swallowing it all. Tastes a bit bitter from all the coffee he drinks, but it’s not unbearable, and you start to actually like it after a while

Mammon

pearl colored with a golden tint, creamy consistency; you would think it tastes like sugar with the way it looks, but it’s just a distinct Mammon taste (with a tang of sourness from all the hell-sauce), and the texture is perfect for making you greedy to come back for more, which he is all too happy to give

Levi

paper white, but has some transparency to it, with an iridescent shine— it’s thinner than his brothers and a bit runny; he cums a lot so the consistency is good for quickly swallowing it down (and for easy clean up). Tastes like candy— literally. Sometimes leftover beads of it will roll off your tongue when you open to show him and the sight drives him crazy

Satan

milky with a rather normal consistency, though sometimes it’s thicker depending on how pent up he was; it genuinely looks like milk and is very easy to swallow. Tastes rich and almost sweet, like a loaded coffee that gives you the energy to keep going and going until you’ve both had your fill (gives a whole new meaning to the nickname ‘kitten’)

Asmo

pearly with a rose gold tint to it, a bit on the thinner side; he actually likes painting your face/body with it, so it’s pretty to take photos of and not too messy to where it’ll be hard to clean off (and he tastes amazing- like a fruity mixture but not too sweet and not too sour)

Beel

off white and has the second thickest consistency, though his is more of a creamy texture like Mammon’s; he cums the most out of all his brothers so it’ll definitely overflow out of your mouth (not that he minds the sight). Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste that bad, but you can’t really pinpoint the taste- it’s kind of bland, but given what he eats all the time, you’re okay with it

Belphie

milky, normal consistency, and glints under direct light (like stars); loves having you open your mouth with your tongue out and let his cum drip off- very aesthetic, tbh. He’s a mixture between sweet and bland yet it tastes so good, especially in the morning (where you can be caught giving him a wake up call with head on many occasions)

Diavolo

off white and is the third thickest consistency, but he comes so much (more than Beel) that it’s basically impossible to swallow it all down without either taking your time or having it dribble down your chin. Has a hint of sweetness, but it’s mostly bitter in taste, and even more so because of how much is in your mouth at once. Not the most pleasant, but you manage

Barbatos

paper white, bit of a thin consistency, but thick enough to where it’s pleasant as it pools in your mouth when he doesn’t allow you to swallow until he’s finished working; he’s a curious mix of bitter and shockingly sweet, it’s almost confusing on whether you love it or hate it (you love it, come on)

Simeon

pearly white with a pearlescent glimmer, and the consistency is perfect, just the right amount of thick and thin; and- and his taste??? Delicious— a delicacy, if you will. You could sit and swallow his cum down all day if you could (and when you tell him this during one of your cock-drunk spells while licking said cum up? he ascends. absolutely lets you overstimulate him till he’s passing out right then and there)

Solomon

off white, on the thicker consistency side; and I know what you’re thinking- but he actually tastes good- it’s kind of irritating, really (and makes you just want to get on your knees instead when he offers to cook for you. He can’t complain though, not when you’re shoving your cum coated tongue in his mouth and making him agree, though that might just be because your taste was mixed in too)

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nottswitch · 1 month ago

Note

Just recently came across your blog and omgg you’re so good at writing 😭🙏 and you write for Lorenzo 🤭🤭 also congrats on 1k!

But looking through the prompts, prompt 32) and 30) with Lorenzo seems cute, fluff or smut ^^

thank you so much, love, i’m so very glad you enjoy my stuff 💘 yes, i just started writing for him and i find myself enjoying it a lot!! so does everyone, apparently, because i immediately got several requests. not complaining tho :) decided to make this fluffy with a bit of soft smut.

prompt list

30. "oh, fuck me."

32. "it’s pouring out!"

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; enzo m-list ; how to request

18+ soft smut

the dim light of the early morning barely shone through the deep dark waters of the black lake behind the windows of the slytherin dorms. your eyes fluttered open, blinking away the sleep, but your vision was still blurry. you stirred in bed, letting out a pleased hum when you felt a warm body behind you.

lorenzo was waking up as well, albeit even more lazily than you. it was a weekend, after all, and you had no classes to attend. you felt his lips on the back of your neck and smiled, pressing yourself a bit more against his chest.

"morning, sweets," he mumbled against your skin, his hand slowly moving up and down your waist. you felt your skin prickle with goosebumps at his soft but insistent touch, your lower abdomen already starting to heat up. you felt something, which was undoubtedly enzo’s morning wood, pressing into your ass, and teasingly wiggled your hips against it, biting away a smirk when you felt him twitch.

a firm squeeze of your asscheek elicited a gasp out of you, and now it was lorenzo’s turn to smirk as he went back to your neck, leaving a small but tangible bite mark right above the top of your shoulder. you snuggled closer into him, tilting your head a bit to give him more access to your neck.

"already so needy for me, this early in the morning?" enzo murmured, smugness dripping out of his teasing words. you rolled your eyes and reached behind your back to feel him up, your palm flattening out against his hardness over the sheets.

"i’m the needy one?" you asked, feeling his cock eagerly throb underneath your touch.

"mhm," he hummed, his lips sucking on a patch of your skin to leave a pleasant tingling sensation there. "can’t say i’m not, sweets. but it’s a two-way street," he added as his hand moved to your lower stomach, his fingers dipping under your sleeping short just up to the first knuckle. he was the master of the teasing game, for sure.

just as you were about to retort, you saw the waters of the lake ripple outside the window and noticed its surface getting sprinkled with raindrops, harder and harder by the second.

"oh, fuck me," you groaned, immediately feeling dejected when you realized that the usual autumn shower was now going to completely ruin the date you had been planning with your boyfriend for a week now.

"gladly, baby," enzo answered, seemingly still occupied with leaving kisses down your neck, oblivious to the worsening of the weather and simultaneously, your mood.

you huffed at his words, but a small smile appeared on your lips nevertheless. "i don’t mean that," you replied, still leaning into his touch, but growing a bit stiffer at the realization that the day was basically ruined. "it’s pouring out!"

lorenzo lifted up his head slightly, peeking out from behind you to glance at the window. he raised his eyebrow, noticing the state of the weather, and sighed, understanding the reason behind your irritation. he didn’t seem that bothered himself, though, as he quickly went back to kissing your skin. "well, babe, you know what that means."

"what?" you asked with another annoyed huff, somewhat miffed by his nonchalant reaction.

"means we’re gonna have to spend the whole day inside." his fingers were now ghosting over your body, even lower down your shorts. "us, inside my dorm, and me, inside of you."

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atlabeth · 5 months ago

Note

can i request a bridgerton au fic with nikolai? (i was reading not so simple earlier and was thinking about nikolai and now i can’t get the idea out of my head lol) maybe the reader isn’t the diamond of the season, so she has no idea why nikolai (A PRINCE!!) wants to court her

sweet relief

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader (bridgerton au!!!)

summary: you meet a striking stranger at your first ball, only to discover he is not a stranger at all.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this man it was so much fun to write i got carried away!!! i hate nikolai and his charming self so much

wc: 3k

warning(s): none that i can think of ??

Nikolai is bored.

In truth, he does not fully know why he is here. Vasily has already been declared as the catch of the season, and the heir to the throne is much more valuable than the second son. But he is back in London after years spent traveling—not in search of a wife, he might add, to the chagrin of his mother—and he supposes that is cause for some interest.

In the most basic sense of the word, Nikolai is also a prince, though he hardly has claim to the title. Not with the rumors of his true parentage floating about.

If he was lucky, he figured he’d find some fun around Mayfair. If he was unlucky, he will be forced to deal with swarms of eager debutantes and even more eager mamas.

And at this ball, Nikolai has realized that he is unlucky.

He’s already had to fight off a horde of eligible ladies and their mothers, and explain ten times over that he is not here to participate in the season, he is just here to visit family. He doesn’t think they’ve heard a single word he’s said. They only see the lack of a ring on his finger.

It is why he has found himself in some corner of the ball, a glass of champagne—that he wished was brandy—held loosely in his hand as he tuned out the idle musings of the men he’d somehow ended up around. His eyes dart around the ballroom, looking for anything even remotely interesting to get him through this night.

He catches a glimpse of a pair walking through the doors, a mother and a daughter that he recognizes as a debutante from earlier in the day, but before he is granted the chance for further inquisition, his thoughts are interrupted.

“Your Highness,” someone says, and his attention is drawn from his glass to not just one, but three pairs of mothers and mares, surely trying to vye for his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“I was unaware of my popularity,” Nikolai says wryly, looking at each of the women in turn. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The pleasure is all ours,” another mother says brightly, and he sees her nudge her daughter. “If I may introduce my daughter, Miss Eleanor Woodbridge?”

Nikolai bows his head in greeting, and she curtsies. When Miss Woodbridge speaks, her head is still bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

“So I’ve already heard,” he remarks.

Her cheeks flush bright red as she stands back up, and the next mother begins to introduce her daughter, and then the next—a Miss Evelyn Frances and a Miss Anna Huntsbury.

Nikolai ends up in a dance with Miss Huntsbury at the nudging of her mother, and though it is perfectly pleasant, he can’t fully enjoy it with all of the eyes on him.

It is not as if he doesn’t enjoy attention. He is perfectly fine with being the center of attention, with being adored by women, with dancing and balls and all sorts of revelry.

But this— especially after his travels to other countries, away from good society and the expectations of nobles— is so unbelievably predictable. All of these mothers attempting to find their daughter a husband, only interested in Nikolai because of a title he likely won’t earn. He doubts a single one cares of the man behind the Lantsov brand.

But a second prince is better than no prince at all, and thus the moment he is off the dance floor, he is once again swarmed by women.

He allows an inward sigh as he plasters on a smile.

It is going to be a very long night.

You are inexplicably nervous.

You’ve just debuted and you are already in attendance of a ball. God, why must they hold the season’s first ball the night of all the debuts? You haven’t even had the afternoon to soak everything in—to truly absorb the fact that you must search for a husband—as your mother and lady’s maid spent every moment ensuring you were the image of perfection for tonight.

In your mother’s opinion, they succeeded. But you already feel as if you are suffocating in your gown.

You are not the diamond, but in truth, you are thankful for it. There is already a huge weight on your shoulders to make a match—you could not imagine having the queen’s eye on you the entire time. You wished luck to Miss Jasmine, both that she could avoid horrendous suitors and the queen’s ire.

Your mother says your name softly as you cross the threshold into the ballroom, immediately overtaken by the dancing and the musicians and glittering jewels. “Are you alright?”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, Mother, I do not think I am alright. I am at my first ball of the season and I believe I may pass out.”

She breathes a loose laugh as she shakes her head as well. “You’ve nothing to be nervous about. You will shine just as you always have, my love. I’ve no doubt that a suitor will see that.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” you huff. “I’ve equal fear both of finding a husband and not finding one. How is one meant to dread both of their options?”

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, and nothing to be afraid of,” she repeats, “and certainly nothing to dread. I’m sure by the end of the night, you will have suitors lining up for a chance at your affections.”

You truly doubt that, but you do not voice anymore of your concerns. Your mother has already done you a favor working through so many of them with you—the least you can do is smile prettily and dance a time or two.

And you do. More than you imagined—your mother sends you away to fetch glasses of lemonade after a few minutes of idle chatter, and after you’ve poured the first glass you are approached by your first suitor.

Lord Kenneth Barham, son of the Earl Pritchard. You’ve no idea what a man of title is doing around you, but he is agreeable and kind throughout your first dance. Had you the ability, you would have stayed by his side for the rest of the night only so you could avoid the rest of your expected debutante duties.

But you do not, and so after a respectful if not slightly boring conversation between the two of you and your mother, he parts ways with the promise to call on you. You are not granted reprieve, to your mother’s delight, and it is not until a near full hour of dancing that you are able to get away.

You slip away while your mother is busy discussing things with the Baron Ashford and his son, and you have never been so thankful for the outdoors when the cool air hits your skin.

You let out a long, deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself. Things are going well, much better than you expected—you are already expecting five gentlemen to call on you by the morrow, three of which are titled.

But you are not even halfway through the ball, and you are already exhausted. Your feet ache and you’ve grown weary of the weight of jewelry on your head and wrists and neck. You’ve truly no idea how you are meant to make it through the entirety of the season, if it is like this.

“I apologize, my lady. I was unaware there was another out here.”

You turn around and hold back a sigh. Even in your attempts to be alone, men still find you.

“I do not have a claim to these gardens,” you say wryly. “You are free to roam.”

He chuckles as he nods, and he takes another few steps towards you. “I wish not to roam—just to take after you and wrestle out a moment for myself in this schedule.”

“Then you have picked a wonderful spot,” you say with a nod. “I will give you time to enjoy it on your own.”

You start on your way, but he steps in your way. “There is no need, my lady. I already rather enjoy your company.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You have been in it for but a moment.”

“And what a lovely moment it has been,” he says.

Normally, irritation would have won over by now. You should not be out here with a man unchaperoned, and you truly just want to be alone for a moment—you’ve a myriad of reasons to stick to your bearings and leave.

But you have to admit, he is agreeable. His blonde hair is artfully styled, he’s dressed rather finely, and his hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at you with a smile.

“...Alright,” you say, and you decide to stay in place for now. “Have you a name, good sir?”

“You can call me Lord Sturmhond,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “I apologize, my lord. I’ve not yet heard of you.”

“That just means I am all the more able to make a good impression,” he says, his smile only growing. “Which is rather imperative with a lady such as yourself.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm, and you bite back a smile of your own. “You are quite the charmer. It could be quite scandalous for us to be found alone.”

“You needn’t worry,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I doubt anyone will leave the ballroom. They are all too focused on the visiting princes.”

Your eyes widen. “There are princes here?”

“The Lantsovs,” he nods, and this time his eyebrows rise. “Had you not heard?”

“...My mother may have told me, but it would not come as a shock if I neglected to listen,” you say sheepishly. You let out a deep sigh as you wring your gloved hands together. “I should be all the more thankful to be out here with you, then. The only thing to come of my meeting a prince would be disaster.”

“Oh, I surely doubt it,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I enjoy your presence, and I enjoy your conversation. I believe the princes would feel the same.”

“You flatter me, my lord, but I am in doubt.” Your gaze drifts off to the sky as you take a moment to appreciate the stars. “Truthfully, I am out here because I am overwhelmed. I’ve spent the hour dancing and in conversation with various men, and already I have had to venture out here for reprieve.”

“All of this takes practice,” he says. “It is an unreasonable expectation for debutantes to be thrust into the season and perform perfectly. None of this is a light matter, and yet it is treated as one.”

You sigh. “I just cannot imagine doing this for so many more months. It is going to be a very long season.”

Lord Sturmhond chuckles. “I have thought the exact same thing tonight, my lady.”

You find yourself smiling, freer and more genuine than anything you’d mustered earlier in the night. The other men you’d met were fortunately kind, but you just felt… different out here, with him.

There were no eyes on you, meaning you did not need to act the pinnacle of propriety. That must have been the difference—not the man himself.

In the distance, you can hear the changing melody of the strings, signaling the start of a new dance. Your eyes fall to your dance card, and as you read the last few names, you remember you still owe three more dances. You bite back a very unladylike curse.

“I apologize, my lord,” you say, hurrying through a curtsy as you begin to back your way towards the ball. “I really must be going. My mother will have my head should I stay out here any longer.”

“I understand.” Lord Sturmhond catches up to you in a few quick strides and he takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your breath catches as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart hammers in your chest even with the barrier of your glove.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His hazel eyes are nothing less than enchanting as they focus entirely on you, and had you any less sense, you could easily find yourself talking away the hours of the night with him. “Have confidence. I am sure this night will go your way should you wish it.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” you say. “I hope it is not too forward of me to wish on our meeting again.”

“Do not worry,” he says. “We will.”

You open your mouth to ask him how he can be so sure, but the strings grow louder and you huff a sigh. In lieu of another goodbye, you nod and grin at the lord before you rush back indoors.

Your mother doesn’t berate you when you appear by her side again, so you were not gone for too long. You get through your next three dances, and your last suitor is just leaving when your mother jabs you in the side.

“Darling, the queen is coming our way,” she whispers. “And she has the Lantsov princes with her.”

You nearly collapse just at that combination of words, but you hold fast—quite literally, as your hold tightens on your mother’s arm. You are thankful to the Lord Sturmhond for alerting you to the presence of princes tonight, for your shock would be exponential without it.

“Why are they coming our way?” you ask.

“They have been making the rounds together,” she says. “Straighten your back.”

You do, and then you nearly collapse yet again when your eyes meet those of one prince.

Those gorgeous hazel eyes stare back at yours—you know yours are as wide as dinner plates, despite your attempts to hold back—and he gives you that same damned smile, bowing his head ever so slightly as if to acknowledge your meeting.

You met the prince.

You told the prince of all your worries.

You were kissed on the hand by the prince.

You only hear your mother saying your name when she nudges your shoulder, snapping you out of your reverie. You blink and look at her, then to the queen.

“Your Majesty,” you rush out, ducking into your best bow, “Your Highnesses. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

The queen greets you and your mother with your surname, and though all your attention is on her, you can still feel the prince looking at you.

“Have you met my sons, Vasily and Nikolai?” she asks.

Vasily bows politely, respectful but reserved. “A pleasure, my lady.”

You curtsy in return, and your Lord Sturmhond steps forward. You are thankful, at least, to put a name to the lying face.

“It is a pleasure to meet such a beauty,” Nikolai says. He takes your hand and bows down to press a kiss to it, and your skin burns from his touch just as it did out in the gardens. He does not let go when he straightens, instead looking to your mother. “I do not wish to end our meeting prematurely, but I would love to have this dance.”

“Of course!” your mother exclaims. “It would be her honor, Your Highness.”

Nikolai nods and smiles, looking back to you for your permission. You nod as well through your haze, and he leads you out to the dance floor. It takes a moment for you to fully come back into yourself, and it only occurs once he has laid his hands in the correct position. His feather light touch is like lightning.

“I did tell you we would meet again,” Prince Nikolai says, that sure smile on his lips yet again. Had it not been for your years of dance lessons, your weakened knees would not be enough to carry you through this waltz. “Did I not?”

“...You did,” you say. “But you did not tell me you were a prince.”

“I find it invites unnecessary pressure,” he says. “Did you not enjoy our time together?”

“...I did,” you say again, unsure of your words.

“And I am proven right in your manner,” the prince says. “You spoke so easily in the gardens, and now you seem to be putting thought into each syllable.”

“You— you are a prince,” you repeat, your still-lingering shock making you speak plainer than you intend. “Of course I am putting thought into my words.”

“You needn’t worry around me,” Nikolai says. “I am just another man in London.”

“You are a prince.”

“As we have established,” he nods, and when you let out a light huff he grins. “You have a lovely smile.”

“As do you,” you say, and you shake your head. “I cannot believe you allowed me to make a fool of myself out there.”

Nikolai frowns. “However did you make yourself a fool?”

“You allowed me to ramble!” you exclaim. “I told you of my worries, of being overwhelmed, of all my thoughts—”

“And what is the problem with that?” he asks.

“It is unseemly to complain to a prince,” you insist.

“We see our meeting quite differently, then,” he says. “For I left it with a most favorable image of you, and a wish to see you again.” He cocks his head. “Did you not leave with the same?”

“...I did,” you say after a moment.

Your conversation stalls for a moment as you part from each other, following the steps of the dance, before joining back again. His hand is sure in yours, startling but welcome warmth.

“Then I do not see the issue,” the prince says.

“You have made this night all the longer,” you intone. “Your attention makes me something of a target among the ladies of the ton.”

“Do not worry,” he says, that irritatingly pretty smile aimed at you yet again. “I believe we can get through it together.”

“Together?” you ask.

“You wished to meet again,” Nikolai says. “I plan to grant that wish several times over.”

“...I would like that,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“And just to think,” he says, amused, “you said your meeting with a prince would be a disaster.”

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fluff #bridgerton au #grishaverse x reader #shadow and bone x reader #sadie’s 3k celebration #sadie writes

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thedreamlessnights · 1 year ago

Text

Fixation

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: When a mistranslated ancient spell goes wrong, you're forced to suffer the consequences. Astarion takes a keen interest in your... predicament.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac spell, Spawn!Tav, established relationship, possessiveness. Brief referrals to the Rite of Profane Ascension and Cazador. Fingering, oral sex (receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms, slightly rough sex. Brief overstimulation, praise, mild degradation, uses of the terms 'pet' and 'consort.'

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: And here's the second of my parallel aphrodisiac fics for Non-Ascended vs. Ascended Astarion! It was honestly very interesting to write the differences between them. The Non-Ascended one is much softer than this - please mind the tags!

The book must be hundreds of years old, but it feels warm in your hands. You’ve perused it inside and out, practically memorizing the faded runes. Fixation. It’s a weakness of yours.

Still, how often is it that you find an ancient book of spells? Who knows if you might discover some long-lost secret buried within the pages. And, yes: you’re bored.

Your messy translations are not ideal for this sort of thing, which is exactly why you’ve chosen a basic spell to start with. It’s mid-afternoon, quiet and still, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the room.

The long-forgotten words flow from your mouth like honey - as if they’ve been waiting for centuries just to be said. Light and sweet, they settle into the room and linger for just a moment. Some spells can be felt in the very air, manifesting as an electric haze that tickles the lungs, but not this one. When the sound of your voice fades away, the only sign that the spell has worked is a gentle heat that settles in your skin.

For a long moment, you kneel, studying the small scrape on your finger and waiting for something to happen. If you’d translated correctly, this should have been a basic healing spell with enough capacity to mend small cuts and burns. An increasingly pleasant heat builds in your veins, but the scrape remains untouched.

It should have worked by now. But if it wasn’t a healing spell, then…

Your eyes turn back to the pages, flickering between the references you’d found and the runes. Something connects. A line you hadn’t seen. A word you hadn’t added. The runes on the page - they’re not for healing, like you’d thought. But if they don’t mean health, then…

You stare at it a moment longer.

Lust.

“Oh. Oh, gods.”

You rise to your feet like you’ve been slapped. The heat is bearable for now but growing incessantly, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. No counterspell. No healing potion. Anything you try could just as well make it worse. Which poses the question: what the hells are you going to do?

You suck in a deep breath.

First things first: you need to get out of this room. The air is feeling like it might strangle you.

The chill of the hall greets you sweetly as you pace up and down the walkway, weighing your options. A spell this simple shouldn’t last long. It’ll most likely linger for only a few hours, then dissipate. It doesn’t seem dangerous. It’s not painful. Not yet, at least.

You could lock yourself in the cellar for the night, but that isn’t exactly appealing. The bedroom wouldn’t work, either. It’s Astarion’s room too, after all.

Astarion. Just the thought of him sends sparks flaring through you. It ladles heat into a very pleasant spot in your abdomen, and something flutters deep in your gut. Gods, what you wouldn’t give for him to be touching you.

But he cannot find out about this. By the hells, he can’t ever find out, because if he does, you will never live this down. Which leaves two options: you can either go to dinner and attempt to act like you’re fine, or you can try to hide away in one of the rooms and wait it out.

Neither one is ideal. Being physically near him, he’ll be able to read you like a book - which makes dinner a very dangerous concept. But if you neglect to show up at all? He’ll be even more suspect. He’ll certainly seek you out and find out the truth in the end.

So. Dinner it is.

You’ll just have to keep yourself composed, somehow. If only doing was as easy as thinking. But do you really have a choice?

No, you think.

You don’t.

As soon as he’s through the door, Astarion’s eyes are on you. They always seem to be, these days. Ever since the Ascension. His dark consort, his right hand. His, for whatever he wants. He never seems to see you like he used to, but the sting of that faded long ago. Another thing lost to the ritual.

“Hello, my treasure,” he greets.

You offer him a smile as he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the skin. You can only hope he doesn’t notice the fear in your eyes or the way you’re trembling.

The gods must be on your side, because he’s distracted. The moment he releases you, he’s talking with a servant about something or other. You can barely keep up with the politics of the city on a normal day, much less on one with flaming lust in your stomach.

So you follow him to the table like a puppet, moving to your usual seat opposite his. It seems much closer together than usual. Everything does. He could be across the room, and you’d still feel like he was at your side, his breath at your neck. You’re almost grateful that the near-only things you can consume are blood and wine, because your trembling fingers are not fit to handle a knife.

After you’ve taken your seat, you have to put all of your attention into holding your glass. You’d try to act natural, but you can’t even remember what that feels like anymore. Does your skin look cold enough? Is your smile convincing? Is the picture you’re painting compelling, or will your imperfections give you away?

For a moment, Astarion’s attentions are focused on his papers. Then, with a sigh, he sets them aside and looks at you. He seems bored, more than anything. Not suspicious yet. “And how was your day, pet?” he asks.

Your grip tightens around your glass. “Good,” you manage to say. “I found a new book in the library.”

He raises a brow. “Did you?”

You nod, attempting to bury yourself in a sip of wine, but it doesn’t work. The more he looks at you, the more the feeling grows. Your hands are slick. Your mind feels clouded over.

“A - ah, book of poetry.” Your voice shakes as you speak, and the betrayal of it is like a dagger in your chest.

He sets down his knife and fork.

Already? you think, lightheaded and humiliated. Gods - you’d known he’d likely catch on sooner or later, but, really? Not even two minutes in? It’s pathetic.

But you aren’t going to give in yet. Astarion may have the winning card in his hand, but you’re determined to play this game for all it’s worth. So you set down the wine, fold your hands in your lap as if you aren’t struggling with keeping still, and give him your prettiest smile.

The glint in his eye grows. “Really?” he purrs, tilting his head. “I didn’t know you liked poetry.”

And as soon as he’s spoken, his voice is in your mind - words you’d thought you’d forgotten, pressing to the front of your thoughts.

It’s a poem. A gift from Cazador.

The first time you’d seen his scars.

“I…” Your voice chokes, and you swallow hard. “I don’t read it often. But I enjoy it, sometimes.”

He hums in response. His eyes are fixed on yours like a predator - watching your every move. Every blink. Every swallow. Every tremble. He’s waiting for you to break.

You don’t. Not yet.

“And you?” you ask. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” he muses, his hand gesturing indifferently. “The usual.”

But you don’t know how it is. He hasn’t told you a word about his work, and you’ve never invited yourself into it. He leans back in his seat, and his expression molds into something complacent as you struggle to find the right thing to say.

You decide that wine on your tongue will be much better than words. It’s rich and dark, mildly bitter, and heady. It lingers for a long moment after you’ve drunk, sloshing around your glass as you swirl it.

The end is coming. Your body is fighting you tooth and nail. Your hands are shaking, your mouth is dry, and your head is foggy. Setting the wine down shouldn’t be a difficult thing, but it feels like trying to thread a rose stem through the eye of a needle - painful and futile.

Your wrist twitches. A tiny, incomprehensible mistake. The goblet nicks the edge of the table, your grip loosens, and the next thing you know, there’s wine everywhere. Bleeding over the top of the table. Dripping into your lap. Splashed over your chest. The taste of it is still in your mouth, bitter on your tongue.

“You’ve gotten clumsy, pet,” Astarion says. He places his hands on the table, pushes to his feet, and approaches with a languid stride, amused and possessive in his gaze. You meet his eyes, determined not to break.

He grabs a clean napkin and half-heartedly dabs the wine off of you, stopping to swipe a droplet off your chest with his finger. Then he lifts it into his mouth, never looking away. “You’re trembling,” he says.

“Am I?” Your voice is breathless. “That’s strange.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you feeling alright, dearest?”

“Me?” you ask, your hands clenching into fists. “Of course I am.”

He stares at you. You stare at him. He raises a brow. You paste on your sweetest smile, just for him.

“You know,” he sighs, circling behind you, “I do hate it when you lie to me.”

The feeling in your gut is ravenous now. You’re nothing short of feverish, buried in a haze of sheer need. You need him more than you have ever needed before. You will not let yourself have him.

You play this game with him because, no matter what he says, you know he wants you to. You slot yourself in as his pawn, settling into your place, competing with him even though the game is rigged from the start; all because he wants it. He wants you to lose, and to beg for him to touch you. And, gods help you, despite this cruel, vicious thing he’s become, you still want him.

He reaches out to a loose strand of your hair, tucking it away behind your ear. “I want the truth,” he says, leaning in close. You’re shivering with desire. Every part of you wants him near. You fight the impulse to make a sound, and he steps away.

“I really am feeling fine,” you insist.

His eyes pass over you. You can feel the way they trail along your features, both analytical and skeptical. His head tilts and he smirks, and you know you’ve lost. Just like he wanted you to.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Little love,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb along your jaw. His touch is warm, skimming against your skin. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven't you?” The corner of his lips flick into a smile, but his eyes stay cold as ice. “I know lust when I see it.”

Then, he lets you go.

You want to beg him to come back.

“What a shame,” he muses. “I have so much work to do tonight. You’ll wait for me, won’t you, my sweet?”

You will. You don’t have any choice.

A small sound involuntarily chokes from your throat, and his eyes narrow. “Now, now,” he chides. “Be patient.”

He returns to the doorway, studying your appearance with a smug sort of satisfaction. “Oh, and darling?” he says. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.”

He pulls the door shut after him, and you stare blankly ahead.

Gods. He’s going to drag this out. You know he will - he loves to see you squirm. But to tell you that you can’t touch yourself? It’s particularly cruel.

But this is where he wants you. You’d lost the game, and this is how you’re paying for it.

The time ticks by. The feeling in your gut grows. You have to squeeze the armrests of your chair to keep them from straying. Heat flushes through every part of your body.

It’s a strange thing, being warm. It’s been months since you’ve had warm blood in your veins. You’d almost forgotten how it felt. It only makes this sensation so much more overwhelming.

It’s like the sun kissing your skin. It’s like fire, searing through your chest. It’s both pain and pleasure, mingling in your senses. More pleasure, perhaps, if you were allowed to touch yourself. You don’t dare to, not even once. Not even a little. No matter how much you want to.

When the door finally opens again, you let out a rush of air. Relief. Sheer relief. But Astarion doesn’t move toward you. He goes to the papers he’d left on the table, rummaging through them. He finds the one he wants, pauses, then glances at you.

“My, my. Look at you,” he remarks. “Gods below. You’re a mess, darling.”

It’s only then that you realize he’s not coming back yet. He’s not here to touch you.

“Astarion-”

The look he gives you silences your words. Your mouth snaps closed, and you try to resist the urge to sob.

“Patience,” he says. His tone is a warning, low and dark. “Or you’ll get nothing at all.”

The door shuts once more, and this time, a noise breaks free from your throat.

You should have just told him. You’d have lost the game all the same, but he might have taken pity on you. But you’d lied to him. You’d kept it hidden. You hadn’t begged.

His message is as clear as day. This is what you get. This is your punishment.

You’d just had to try out that spell book, hadn’t you? You couldn’t have left it alone? Now look at you. Shaking, clinging onto the chair so tightly that your fingers are beginning to go numb. You feel rabid. Whatever self-control is leashing you is beginning to slip.

Just hold on, you tell yourself. Just until he comes back.

So you wait. Your body feels like it’s on fire, but you wait.

You’ve just begun to consider touching yourself, consequences be damned, when you finally hear the blissfully familiar sound of Astarion’s voice.

“I’m here now, my dear,” he announces. “You can stop terrorizing the poor chair.”

He’s standing in front of you, looking down at you with a mix of desire and possessiveness. You have to stare at him for a good ten seconds before you realize that he’s actually there, not just a vision. That your torment will soon be over.

His words finally connect with your mind and register somewhere within the mess of need. Your hands loosen from their grip, and a soft noise escapes from your lips. From pain or want, you don’t know.

“Kneel,” he says.

Your legs tremble when they stand, as if they might finally give out. You sink to your knees, barely feeling the hard stone beneath you.

Astarion takes two fingers and places them under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “My pet, do you want me?”

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“Tell me.”

You swallow hard. “I - I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

His head tilts. “Good.”

He drops his fingers. You want to scream at the loss of his touch.

“Get up,” he instructs.

You can barely move, but you do it. Your knees shake. You want to grab onto him for support, but you know you shouldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, his hand wraps around your waist. “Just look at you,” he murmurs, echoing his statement from earlier. His other hand comes up to your mouth, his thumb brushing against your lips.

Then his hand on your waist trails up your back, up your neck, fisting into your hair. “And all for me.”

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. Bruising. His hand cups your cheek, his grip tightens in your hair. His lips are warm and soft and demanding, coaxing your mouth open as he walks you into the table. The back of your legs meet the edge and you pull away to sit, panting as he sets himself over you, straddling your hips.

His eyes are dark and hazy, trailing over you in a way that makes you shiver.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing a finger along your cheek. His lips move to your jaw, trailing feather light kisses along the bone, and you tilt your head to give him full access to your neck. He hums an approval into your skin.

You barely feel it when his teeth sink in and draw blood. There’s only a faint flash of pain, a muddled sensation beneath your want. You feel his hand rest on your hip. His gentle, wet tongue, darting out to clean the wound.

If he doesn’t touch you soon, you’re sure you’ll combust.

“Astarion,” you breathe, gripping onto the back of his shirt. You know he heard you, but he keeps kissing down your throat, stopping at your collar bones to brush his lips over them. A sharp nip. An apologetic kiss to soothe the sting.

“Astarion, please,” you repeat.

“Hm?” He doesn’t bother to pull away. He simply undoes the lacing of your clothing without looking and tosses the outfit across the room.

“Touch me,” you beg.

At that, he finally stops kissing you and looks up at you, something dark and hungry simmering in his gaze. “Dearest, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he drawls, “but I am touching you.”

You’re in no mood to deal with this - not with the scorching flame inside that will not let up even for an instant. “You know what I mean,” you snap. “Please, gods. Touch me.”

But the more desperate you are, the more he pulls back from you. He gives you a look - half amused, half bored. “But I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “I can’t read your mind anymore, my sweet. Don’t you remember?”

Anger and frustration cloud your vision in a veil of red. A sharp noise chokes through your chest, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails into the skin. “Fuck me, Astarion. Please.”

The corners of his mouth flick into a self-satisfied smile. “You’re lucky I like you, little love,” he murmurs, easing your legs apart with his thigh, and you sigh in relief, relaxing into his touch as he returns to kissing your neck. “But you wouldn’t deny me a taste, surely?” he asks. “I want everyone in the city to hear you screaming my name.”

And then he drops to his knees.

You’re left shivering with need, so desperate that your vision seems to be clouding over. The top layer of your clothing has been removed, but you’re still in your smallclothes, and he of course takes his sweet time with you. The feel of his tongue through the fabric of your smalls, so desperately close to where you need him to be - but not there, not yet there - is all but maddening. You fix your hand into his hair and try to relax, but you’re so tightly-wound that you feel like a rope about to snap.

How the hells are you supposed to relax when the sweet friction of his mouth is pressing against your clit - when he’s on his knees for you, his grip on your thighs bruising and almost, almost perfect? You could come like this, riled up to the point of climax, but that would be too easy. He’d never let it be that easy.

Instead, he brings you to the verge of orgasm, bites at the tender flesh of your thigh, then pulls away.

“Gods,” you mutter, caught between feeling like the tiniest action will send you into waves of pleasure and simultaneously feeling like you’re going to black out. “Astarion-”

“Shh,” he says, still on his knees. “Relax, pet.”

Out of the two of you, he’s in the more vulnerable position, but you’d never know it from the way he’s practically holding you down on the top of the table - from the way his eyes are devouring you, practically daring you to protest.

You know him. The more you rebel, the less he’ll give you. So you don’t. You force yourself silent and suck in a breath or two, trying to remember the way oxygen tastes, trying to keep the dam inside you from bursting open.

A small sob breaks free, but aside from that, you’re a statue. A lustful, slightly relaxed statue. It’s all you can give, and it must be enough, because he finally pulls your smalls off of you.

They’re so wet from his tongue and from your arousal that they stick to you, and you can see the way his gaze darkens. The way he swallows, taking in a deep breath and setting them aside. He could keep you here all night, but he’d be torturing himself, too.

He starts slowly again, and with every graze of his warm fingers, with every brush of his skin against yours, your body bucks into his touch. It doesn’t matter where or how brief; it’s just the silky trailing of his fingertips over your abdomen, your body is still chasing the minimal pleasure his presence gives you. If it’s his thumb against your clit, your body still shudders the way you know he wants you to.

When his tongue finally, finally meets your clit, you let out a sharp gasp and have to physically stop yourself from following that feeling, from grinding against his mouth the way you so desperately want to. Your nails dig into the tablecloth, but you let him keep his own pace. His own agonizing, teasing pace.

One finger, slipping inside of you, finding the electrifying spot inside of you that has you moaning his name, your hand tightening in his hair and your hips bucking of their own accord. Then one becomes two. A slow, even rhythm of thrusting that slowly grows harder, faster, deeper.

He brings you right back to the edge, and this time, he lets you come.

Your body tenses. Your grip tightens even more. He groans against you, and the vibrations of it course out through your skin. The rope of tension pulls and pulls and pulls until it finally snaps, leaving you shuddering and mindlessly crying out, his name leaving your mouth like a mantra.

Just like he’d said it would.

Your consciousness seems to float away from your body - a blinding, sharp pleasure that comes to you in a pulsing, ambrosial wave. When you come down, you’re still burning. The fire wanes a little, but won’t be sated. Not that easily. In many ways, it’s just like Astarion. Running you through, filling you with need, and not letting you go until it’s done with you.

When you come down, you find yourself with wet thighs and covered in sweat, your breath pulling unnaturally from your lungs until you’ve recovered. You’re still shaking, and Astarion is still between your legs - licking at sensitive skin.

You whimper, and he finally pulls away, his pupils blown wide and an impatience to his expression. Possessiveness. Need. He rises to his feet and winds a hand in your hair, pulling your head back with a grip that borders on painful.

He doesn’t say a thing, but his gaze speaks volumes - the glittering, dark ruby of his eyes, the almost removed way he observes you, eyes trailing over your face. Studying how he’s ruined you, no doubt.

He releases his hold on you, and though you can see his erection through his trousers, his movements are slow - methodical, almost. When he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

“Come here, my sweet, little consort.”

And you do. With your still-shaking legs, you slide off the table and take a step closer, unsure how near he wants you.

“Turn around,” he instructs.

And you do.

You only register his hand on the nape of your neck when your cheek connects with something hard. The table. He’s bent you over it and is standing behind you, and the impact barely smarts in comparison to the heat that floods between your legs.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Astarion muses, dragging a finger along your spine. “You want everyone to know who you belong to. You want me to fuck you into this table and let everyone hear how much you need me.”

And you can’t even argue with him. You can’t argue, because you know he’s right - and he knows it, too.

You swallow hard, back arching toward his hand. “Yes.”

He’s silent for a moment, tracing his hand along your back. Then he presses his thumb to your clit and you mindlessly grind into him, barely resisting the urge to beg him to just fuck you already.

Then you hear fabric shifting, and your whole body tenses in anticipation of him.

He’s not gentle, and he’s not tender. He sheathes himself into you in a single, harsh thrust that has you crying out, your hands scrabbling for something to grasp for support but finding nothing.

“Gods,” he growls, his grip settling on your hips and pressing into the skin as he sets a rough, punishing pace. His voice is breathless when he speaks. “You look so pretty for me, pet. Bent over like this. Say my name for me, won’t you?”

You can barely choke out the sound between his thrusts, but it comes out of you nonetheless. “A… A-star-ion-”

“Good,” he says, and then his pace turns brutal, every thrust sending your cheek scraping against the table. There’s pain, but you barely feel it - not against the burning pleasure of him inside you, filling you up, and not against the fire in your skin that’s building to a boiling point again.

Over and over.

His breathing is getting faster. His grip on you is ever tightening, sure to leave a number of tender bruises for the morning. He’ll kiss them, then, draw his fingers over them in admiration, but for now: he groans and grips at your hair again, and you sit there and take every inch he’s giving to you until you can barely stand it - the sweet, delectable friction of him inside you, the vulgar, wet noises that echo around the room. Evidence of how much you want him. How close you are.

“Tell - tell me you’re mine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m yours.”

He thrusts even harder, and it vaguely occurs to you that you might not be able to walk tomorrow. You can feel the tell-tale signs of him getting closer - the tensing of his thighs, the panting as he approaches climax, the moans he’s letting out. He pauses mid-thrust and trembles for a moment before he slams back into you once, twice - three times.

That’s all it takes to send you over the edge with him, clenching around him, barely conscious of the table under you, barely conscious of the fact that both of you are in the dining room and almost certainly the servants are able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You can feel him seeping out of you, trickling down your thighs, and you go slack against the table, gasping and trying to remember how to breathe.

He finally releases your hair and pulls out of you, paying no mind to the way you wince.

You definitely won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

“What a good little pet you are,” he remarks, smoothing your hair away from your neck and placing a kiss to the nape. When he speaks again, his voice has gone to that pouty, condescending tone that he sometimes uses. “You wouldn’t dream of doing that to me again, would you, my treasure? Lying to me? Hiding your own pleasure from me? And at my table, nonetheless.”

You attempt an answer, but it comes out as nothing but a helpless whimper.

“What was that?” he asks.

“No,” you breathe.

“Good.”

He straightens, running a finger between your legs - no doubt studying the mess he’s made of you.

“Get up,” he says. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

You unstick yourself from the table, legs trembling, and as his gaze travels over you once more, you have a deep, sudden feeling in your gut. It’s too easy. Too easy for you. Even after all the torment you’d faced earlier, stranded and desperate in your chair, it’s not enough. He’s not done with you yet.

And if you know him at all…

It’ll be surprising if he’s finished with you before morning.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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moonsaver · 7 months ago

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thoughts on sunday after 2.2? i remember playing through the quest and being FLABBERGASTED the whole time like my GOD he is not beating the yan! allegations after this one. literally so much about his philosophy and perspective on life, and everything seemed to align with that sort of mindset imo and it was just like LSKJDGLSKJDGLJSFJKD

I wanted to answer both asks because i really want an opportunity to just go full blown in on sunday right now!!

Also, YESS i know right? I want to put him in a little glass jar enclosure and shake him around a bit. He's my creature dont touch him!!

Tw: yandere, manipulation, lovebombing(?)

Okay so one thing that I majorly believe in is Sunday was actually deeply lonely, and was much more prone to loneliness than Robin ever was, especially considering the fork in the road regarding their "paths" with Harmony vs Order. I feel that Robin was generally able to get along well with the adults like an amiable kid, but Sunday only ever got along with adults being looked at like "an old soul" and was let in on far more complicated and morally messed up stuff earlier than Robin, which could explain his tendency to never share about his own troubles (as Robin mentions).

And I feel like having been bottling up these feelings for so damn long, it's honestly messed with his head. And the slightest bit of resistance from anyone supposed to be under his control is met with overwhelming "disciplinary actions".

If yan!sunday ever manages to sit down and have a quiet, long talk with his darling, it's going to be quite possibly the most frustrating talk ever. He's not wrong, but he's not completely right either. Trying to disprove him is futile – he'll bolt down each and every argument against his ideals, and honestly starts trying to embed his own ideals into you bit by bit. Like water droplets on a weathered rock. He wears down his darling over time, and it's quite possibly over for you if he decides he wants to throw in the whole "triple faced soul" hypnotising debacle. You can't hide a single thing from this man.

Of course, I don't think he'll go that far unless it's absolutely necessary. Or he has, and you just don't realise it until you're stuck deep inside of a sweet little dream. However, I feel like even if you have the complete opposite views, he's still going to let you be for the most part. He doesn't want to transform his darling – frankly speaking, that's practically changing the very person who he loved in the first place. He holds a bit of sincerety in his heart, which he constantly condemns, but still keeps; a part of him does hope his darling comes around to his views, and at least learns to adjust to them instead of vehemently resisting. He still wants to be able to maintain some level of equity/equality in your "relationship" (as long as he still has more control, of course).

In the other route as mentioned in the second ask, if darling does have similar, but not same views, Sunday is a bit disappointed, although he does suppose it's not the worst..

He's most likely going to ask you about your views, and earnestly listen and make sense of it. Sits down and quietly, patiently listens to you as you try and explain your own views, why you think he's wrong, etc.. and for a moment, you think he's actually being.. kind of sweet. Which is promptly shaken off in the next phase –

He becomes the biggest ASSHOLE.

At first he's pleasant about it; gently persuading you to consider other ideas (his, basically). Sooner that persuading turns to thinly restrained coercion, until he's in a full-blown argument with you.

He starts out with each and every point of yours, whittles it down, breaks and crumbles it apart and hands it back to you with his own, perfectly polished views. He denies, manipulates or twists every little thing you said to his own benefit, speaking in that calm, factual voice of his with pityingly warm, golden eyes that frustrate you; this is the man that's bending every word of yours to his benefit, but at the same time he has so much loneliness and earnest in his eyes you don't know what to say, whether it'll be too harsh, or not. It's a weird game of manipulation and wordplay that eventually breaks you down into hot tears, which he so gently and lovingly wipes away after taking off his gloves. Burying your head into his neck and softly whispering comforting words into your ear; I know, darling, it's hard. I'm sure it's not easy to accept, I know, dear.

It's frustrating, but it's so.. comforting and loving that you almost don't want it to stop. His hand is lovingly petting your head or rubbing your back, his voice coos at you in comfort. If you didn't know any better – you'd think he was more akin to a siren than an angel.

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cinnamonest · 4 months ago

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Okay imagine Diluc with his darling being a captain of the knights. Like after he was away after what happened to Crepus she gets the role of captain. Better yet if they were like childhood friends or their parents arranged their marriage when they were young. So when Crepus died and Diluc ran off to archons knows where, she decided to pursue what she wants in life. So just imagine the shock Diluc would have when he expected to come home and take her into his household and she would one day have his children, only to find their arrangement is called off. He firmly believes that his darling should have no involvement with the knights, she should be back at the winery as his housewife.

The next time she tries to go to the Angel’s Share to get a drink with Kaeya and Eula after a hard day’s work, she is banned from the bar. When she asks why, she gets no other answer than it is what Diluc said. Diluc hoped she would have come and talked to him after that but instead Kaeya and Eula decided to take her out to the Cat’s Tail instead if they can’t all drink together at the Angel’s Share. She has completely moved on with Diluc and instead have met knew friends within the knights.

Then imagine if Diluc confronts his brother about her and Kaeya basically tells him to leave her alone and tells him if he tries to do anything he’ll have the entirety of the knights on his ass.

Protective best friend Kaeya thoughts™️

Diluc is plagued by that typical Man Thing™ where he just sort of views you as this sort of… thing. Things are static. If you leave them sitting on a shelf, leave and come back, they’ll be right where you left them. They don’t change and grow, they don’t have an existence of their own. He has a habit of thinking of you this way — his mind doesn’t process the fact that while he’s gone, you’ll continue to live your life, that you’ll talk to people and do things and make choices. Or rather, it feels like he’s the center of your life, that it revolves around him, so nothing important can happen to you if he’s not there. He imagines you’ll just be all sad and wistfully waiting for him like a housewife waiting on her husband to return from the war or whatever.

But ohhhh the falling out between those two makes things so much worse. You're hanging out with him? After he explicitly told you not to, before he left? You... deliberately went out of your way to go against his very clear orders?

This is made even more bizarre by the fact that you were raised to obey him. Even when you were young, you were made aware that he was your future husband and that whenever you saw each other, you were supposed to do everything he says and bow your head and be pleasant and sweet and never raise your voice and be respectful and speak softly and so on and so on, all the proper manners and such that were instilled in you. He was used to that. You were obedient, loyal. What happened to you? Did you forget what he said before leaving?

No, it has to be his influence. There's no way his perfect wife-to-be would ever make a conscious decision on her own to disobey.

He's not exactly wrong, you've spent the last few years with Kaeya more or less every day, who’s always telling you how you shouldn't let yourself be tied down by something as archaic as arranged marriage, you should be out here drinking and living life to the fullest and spending time with him instead and all that. He's just looking out for your best interests. How cruel of society to lock you into some arrangement where you’re expected to obey some man's every word, when you should be choosing to listen to him instead (on you own volition, of course, he'd never say you have to listen to him, but you know, you still should, because he gives good advice and all).

But you do feel guilty. Terrible, really, thinking you've hurt your ex-betrothed. You do like him, he was just so… controlling, stern and all. Maybe if you talk things out, you can still be together, but you know, in an equal, mutually respectful relationship, without any expectations of submission and obedience on either end and all that. Sure he was raised a certain way, but that doesn't mean he can't change, right?

So against the advice, you do decide to go talk to him. You haven't seen him in so long, the memories — and your awareness of his ways and nature — feel very distant. Less real. You're used to reasonable people, and you've changed a lot, you're sure he's changed too. It's a maturity thing, right?

He'll be happy to see you, since he's been practically begging you to come back, writing letters asking — well, more like demanding, but still — for you to talk to him. You're sure he's matured a lot over the years of absence. He'll surely be willing to adapt to a different mindset once he just listens to you and lets you talk — he'd let you talk, right? It's true that when you were younger, on the few times you insisted on defiance, he'd eventually grab your jaw and tell you to be quiet, but that was then. This is now.

And if you can't come to a mutual understanding, you'll just walk out the door and leave. Sure, likewise, when you got into mild disagreements when you were younger he would grab you by the arm and physically block the door until you submitted and conceded and apologized for such unbefitting behavior, but… he's outgrown that, surely… you think.

#.dl

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dark-night-hero · 11 months ago

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Imagine being the twin traveller older siblings featuring honkai characters.

Imagine being in one of the planets that the trio, Dan Heng, March 7th and the trailblazer just happened to dropped by upon having some errands to un when they happened to come across you, You who was going planet to planet hopin to find your younger siblings, a twin that have been gone missing for some time now.

Imagine upon interaction, they find you quite intimidating. Your first meeting was after all, not very pleasant but thanks to you managing to put them out of troubles they would have been facing just like their other ventures. This might be the first time they manage to get out of trouble so quickly because of you. That might also be the reason why they somehow come to pursue you into tagging along with them, hoping to help you find the world your younger siblings where.

"You know, I'm starting to keep like I only came here to be the babysitter of this group. I should have taken upon Welt's offer to stay with him back in the express." "Hey! We're not kids!" "Yes, yes. Just a bunch of troublemaking idiots." You laugh as if the four of you aren't basically surrounded and accused of some shit. Then a figure on the corner of your eyes caught your attention but before you could even say a thing, a ball was thrown and a cloud of smoke soon appeared. Oh here goes another fucking trouble.

Imagine being put in a troublesome situation was nothing knew to you. With your younger siblings constantly causing troubles here and there whenever they were to venture another world, you were used to cleaning up their mess, just like who you decided to watch out for these dumbass trio. Looking at near distance as the trio converse happily with each other, talkig about the missions and experiences they have experienced in the other planet you've been through. You cannot help but to stare longingly.

"I hope they aren't too much to handle." It was Welt. "Oh them? Not really." You chuckle, looking to your side to find the man in there. "My siblings were far more troublesome than they are." "Sounds like they messed up alot." "They do... In fact there was this one time were they..."

"Oh fuck." You quickly look down and took a quick step behind Dan Heng. "???" "What's wrong?" The trio looked back worried at you when you urge them to look forward. "I just remember I've been here before." "Is there something that matter about that?" "Yes!" You shouted but quick cover your mouth. You shouldn't have accompanied them in this place. "You see that man in there? That's one of my ex." "Ex???" "Your ex is the Dozing General?!" "Yes! Now hush before he remember me!"

"The kids are rather worried." "Were they? Sweet." You reply with a chuckle. "Are you okay?" "I... I am okay." You sigh before looking away from the endless stars outside the express. "Are you sure?" Welt asked, eyes meeting yours that seems to bring comfort into you. "I... I'm just worried about my siblings. I had this feeling... I kept feeling off nowadays... I'm worried that something bad happened to them..." You said with a rather defeated sigh before once again looking back to the stars. "It makes me wonder if things would have been different if I came with them when they asked me too. They're not kids anymore, but still, having me with them might bring some difference, you know? If only I wasn't stubborn maybe I would know where they have gone to. If only..." "Hey, I'm sure they're alright. Okay? They're safe. We'll find them soom enough, okay?"

Imagine it was finally the time to say goodbye. With the trio and Welt sending you off, you smile at them before chuckling. "It was nice meeting you all." "Do you really have to go?" "Really March? Of course they have to go." "But do they really need to go?" Trailblazer pout causing you to laugh. "Yes kiddo, unfortunately I need to go, alone this time." Turning away from the trio. "I'll get going now. Please do send her my regards and apologies for parting without her on sight." "Alright. May you have a great journey ahead of you."

Imagine feeling your siblings closed by, although there was no visible planet on sight. You knew where they are. You've been there before after all, so who would have ever thought that that is where they have gone by. Why Teyvat of all world to choose from? That world is quite, complicated. Bounded by some unwanted rules and principles. And by the looks of it, given their scattered energy, your gut feeling was right to feel like something was off from the moment you lost contact with them.

Imagine with a little bit of regret but endless of good memories you have. You smile at them and bid your goodbye for the last time saying, "If chances permits I'd be happy to come aboard again." And then you disappeared. Only to appear as another falling star on the land of teyvat.

: Now I want to make a whole ass ff story about this. A genuine cross over but I barely played honkai and barely know about it's lore sjhfjsjshksjdhdjsk so yeah, did I fucked up or nah?

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jar-of-ectoplasm · 2 years ago

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sleeping w/ the mercs [NOT LIKE THAT]

sorry the formatting is shit i made this on mobile 🫤

shitty headcanons abt the mercs rooms and ur guys’ sleeping arrangements hope u enjoy like and subscribe it’s rly long so it’s under the cut

scout:

-very very messy room

-but like he knows where all his shit is so whatever works for him

-his mattress is on the floor bro 💔 just kidding but his bed frame is pretty low to the ground so it might as well be

-he’s got a smaller bed and a single blanket so you both are gonna be cuddling whether you wanted to or not

-surprisingly soft sheets, he stole some of spy’s fancy silk ones so it’s pleasant

-always has a fan/AC unit going for the noise but his blanket is pretty thin so it’s colder than you’d probably prefer

-kicks a lot in his sleep so just be prepared 🤕

-doesn’t snore very loud but does drool a lot and he usually ends up laying his face on your chest/your head so you are gonna wake up a little soggy sorry 💔💔

-usually falls asleep around 11pm or midnight but does wake up at random hours of the early morning almost nightly before passing back out

-pretty much always wakes up before you, he goes on morning jogs everyday so if you’re up for it he’ll take you with him

-does like to surprise you with “breakfast” in bed (it’s dry cereal and a tiny carton of orange juice but he tried)

soldier:

-really REALLY plain room

-it’s a little eerie, everything is very clean and the walls are bare concrete bc the rooms at RED headquarters are basically prison cells

-the only decoration in his room is an american flag, his bedside table with a lamp and alarm clock and a little bald eagle stuffed animal the guys got him for christmas one year

-sleeps stiff as a board on his back so he isn’t the greatest cuddle buddy but will do so if you ask (he prefers spooning over anything else)

-he’s got a decently sized bed cause he’s a pretty big guy, so you’ve got room to move around

-his mattress is pretty hard though so it isn’t super comfortable but it’s better than the floor or some old military cot

-goes to bed at 10pm sharp every single night and wakes up at 5am for morning training and will try to get you to get up with him regardless of when you fell asleep

-if you don’t opt to get out of bed he does wake you up again with a plate of food (courtesy of engineer, soldier’s just the delivery guy)

pyro:

-probably the weirdest room out of everybody’s

-their bed is really nice, they’ve got a pillow top mattress and fuzzy blankets so it’s very soft but it’s overcrowded with some burnt looking stuffed animals and an insane amount of throw pillows

-the other decoration is really weird though don’t pay too much attention to it, it’s kinda creepy but it’s also pyro so 🤷🏻‍♀️

-doesn’t sleep in the flame-proof suit but they do sleep in onesie-esque pajamas

-doesn’t sleep in the mask either but they do use a sleeping mask and are usually face down in the pillows

-not the biggest cuddle person either but they aren’t above putting an arm around you or something similar

-always goes to sleep after you do and wakes up before you too

-they usually already have a cereal bar or some other sweet breakfast food on the nightside for you when you do wake up though

demo:

-THE MOST WELCOMING COZIEST ROOM THE IDEAL ROOMIE

-very warm, comforting room, he’s got a fuzzy rug put down and only uses lamps because the overhead light usually hurts his eye

-very large, very soft bed with warm blankets and soft pillows

-the pillows all have a faint smell of whiskey but whatever

-very much a cuddler, sober or not. he doesn’t move around much in his sleep and is a very heavy sleeper so once he’s out he’s out and you are stuck in that bed until he wakes up

-does snore but it isn’t obnoxious

-takes the eyepatch off and wears a bonnet to bed to protect his hair (he has multiple but his favorite one has his family’s tartan as the pattern)

-a night owl, he doesn’t get to sleep until 2-3am and usually wakes up the latest out of everybody (around 9-10am) and he will get pouty if you aren’t there when he wakes up

engineer:

-his room is basically an extension of his workshop, he’s got a desk crammed full of random bullshit and blueprints he hasn’t gotten around to testing yet

-doesn’t spend much time in his actual room, so aside from extra tools, spare parts and papers there isn’t much in there

-his bed is actually pretty comfortable but he hardly ever makes it out of his workshop before passing out for the night so he wouldn’t know 😒

-when he DOES go to bed in his room, he is a HUGE cuddler, he will not let you go under any circumstances

-does snore pretty loud but if you wake him up he’ll readjust himself so he snores less

-usually sleeps on his left side so you don’t accidentally roll onto his prosthetic hand and hurt yourself

-no matter what time he fell asleep the previous night, he always gets up at 6am and makes the team breakfast. he’ll let you sleep more while he’s cooking and surprise you with breakfast in bed (even though he does it everyday so it isn’t much of a surprise)

heavy:

-HUGE ASS BED

-like california king

-he’s obviously a big guy but he does move around a lot so he needs a bigger bed so he won’t fall off every night

-very very warm bedding, he brought most of his stuff from russia so it’s built to keep you warm

-has a little teddy bear his mother handmade for him when he was first born; it’s pretty worn and tattered but he brings it with him anywhere he lives

-does have a little padded box for sasha at the foot of his bed

-isn’t the biggest sleep cuddler but he does like to hold you beforehand. he doesn’t mind when you cuddle him in your sleep, though, so by all means pass out on his chest if you feel like it

-does some reading before he goes to sleep and is usually in bed by 9 or 10pm; wakes up at 5 every morning so soldier doesn’t have to do his morning routine alone

-likes waking you up around 7am so the two of you can have some light conversation with engie during breakfast

medic:

-sleeps on the operating table

-just kidding, but he usually ends up passing out on his desk rather than his room

-his room is very sterile; it kinda feels like a doctor’s office, it smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and is a little drafty so it’s usually pretty chilly

-has birdcages hanging from the ceiling, archimedes has a fancier one compared to the rest of his doves but he swears he isn’t playing favorites

-if you do manage to get him to leave the medbay he’s usually pretty delirious. he’s very affectionate when he’s tired so he’s definitely down for cuddling

-is kinda blind without his glasses so he keeps them on until the very last minute before he falls asleep

-likes to tell you stories of when he did have his medical license and when he lived in germany

-usually falls asleep with his back to you but when he wakes up he’s holding you to his chest

-usually wakes up at 5am as well and goes straight into taking care of his birds, he likes to whistle littles tunes to them so that may end up waking you as well

-almost never eats breakfast but he will be pestering you about it because he’s a hypocrite

sniper:

-well

-it’s a camper van

-it’s very cramped but he’s used to it just being him in there so he never really realized

-his bed folds up into the wall when he isn’t using it and he keeps his bedding folded next to it

-very used to living in much hotter climates, and even though it is new mexico it gets pretty cold at night so he’s usually shivering his ass off under a thin sheet

-is surprisingly clingy for someone so introverted and quiet, he claims it’s because you keep him warm but he’s also just a mushy guy in secret

-usually falls asleep watching some shitty DVD on his little portable dvd player he keeps on a counter next to his bed

-keeps his kukri hidden next to the mattress just in case

-very light sleeper and once he’s awake, he’s awake. poor guy barely ever gets any sleep because soldier is usually screaming outside the van 3 hours after he’s gotten to bed

-doesn’t eat breakfast, but he will make you a cup of coffee in the morning

spy:

-ugh

-bought all of his bedding and the mattress purely based on looks so it’s pretty surprising that it ended up being comfortable

-will not let anybody have their shoes on in his bedroom, you have to leave them in his smoking room if you wanna come in

-kinda like medic in the fact that he goes to bed not even looking at you but wakes up all over you. he is kind of an asshole about it being like “aw babe you literally think i’m irresistible even in your sleep” when HE’S the one that cuddled up to you

-keeps his butterfly knife under his pillow and a pistol in his bedside drawer

-always falls asleep after you and is always awake and out of bed by the time you get up

-he doesn’t eat engineer’s breakfast because he claims it’s “too filling and unhealthy to be eating that much as soon as you wake up” so he always makes a little french breakfast for himself

-he pretends like he doesn’t do anything for other people but he always makes a plate for you of whatever he makes himself and leaves it on his side of the bed with a cute little note for you

-will pretend like he has no idea what you’re talking about if you bring it up though

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