#but if you look at it from an outside view it has hints of mercy. just the littlest glimmers of mercy.

[keikoayano]

Thinking about how all the remaining men are suffering. Thinking about how Eurylochus trying to elevate just a bit of that suffering (hunger) is the final nail in the coffin of their journey. Thinking about Penelope’s voice singing “Let me take the suffering from…” and her voice doesn’t finish, but then Odysseus is pointing towards his crew. A tragic, heartwrenching decision that in some ways could be seen as him “taking” their suffering by choosing to end their lives

[phramboise]

— risqué mistress of morbidity:: captainjohnpricexfemale!reader

In my tavern, my muse, leaves me longing, as he quiets my insanity's wild ruse.

tags and warnings: 18+, price and bartender!reader, reader is also smoking and drinking; he denies eye connection, both are madly alone, kissing, choking(?), vague smut, no aftercare, depictions of breakdown and depression, touch starved reader, touch starved price, implied cheating, death. one time thing with a stranger that visits for a drink.

read the dry salvages after to give this post another perspective, to see a happier closure (!), or his view.

wordcount: 4.1k

;;

A little city, or not quite, not even a town. Some place between other little places. The kind that keeps you in front of the radio, listening through channels to find one that works, or the kind that makes you wonder how people who live here spend their days with. Rarely a vehicle glides down the road, throwing pebbles around the one-line asphalt, and even rarer does one stop in front of this pub to walk in. Still, roads smell of dust, soot and grease; ground dry and deserted, feels like the sun stays right in the middle of the unsure sky the entire day. Not moving, not a cloud over it for it to blink­­ ─always hazy, even indoors, even when it’s dark outside. A hit stench that sticks behind your neck, one that hogs your vision, one that feels like the breath you take needs to be a lot deeper for it to feel enough.

Slow, banal, monotonous; makes one think of one simple thing for days for there’s nothing else this place offers you to do, to think about. A stale life, one with no surprises. Where days feel long, years feel short. Hours are slow, and weeks are even slower, without one noticing, -but maybe with one noticing, noticing but not having the will in oneself for putting it to a stop- how the life, however fast or slow it might be, is still yours, and you are watching it away, for here leaves no wish, nor will.

Not to say that the man who now walks in the pub is simple -maybe his clothes, indigo rinse jeans, a fleece are- but even in such attire, he looks.. jarring, debonair, taking the air off the small tavern, suffocating -makes her take a big sigh before catching her breath. The place feels as it gets smaller as he makes his presence known, with a terrific aura oozing out of his frame, even glancing from the door his eyes are clear when looking inside. Dark blue landmines, the sea she always wished to see one day but never will, but she knows, if she were to see it, it would be of the colour of his eyes. The sweltering sun hits the sideline of his face for a sliver of a second as he steps in, the sun kisses his hair, bathes his brunette in golden rays, skin turning tan. She lifts her head off the counter, leaving the dry towel to her side to see who would step into this pub that has only her inside. And sees him. And meets his unavoidable mercy.

After that -after she looks away- there’s this haze in her head, an unease that dreads her, a cloud between thought and morals, and a ringing in her ears, vertigo, a pressure when having a long trip. She turns back to the counter, trying to avoid the impossible.

─that is, before he finds himself a seat next to the counter, slanting over it before asking for a whiskey, adding neat right after.

Glencairn winces in her hand as she places the glass in front of him, before giving the drink a firm twirl.

The goldenest burnished copper, a soothing sherry, a hint of warming smoke. Oloroso & oak. She even eyes the quaich on the glass shelves.

Lee Hazlewood in the background, the whiskey works his inhibitions away, it seems. His eyes linger longer on her with each sip, but each looks away after a moment on her body and never meets her eyes, as if such capable-looking man is afraid of simple connection, never suggestive. Maybe he’s looking at her only because nothing ever moves in this dead bar, but she prefers to think otherwise, and is free to dream. One hand dives in his hair, fingers graze on his forehead while the other holds a thick cigar, turning his head down as he takes drags of it between his thick fingers. He looks as if he finds comfort in smoke, and for his comfort in a smoke, she wants to take it to herself.

The cigar between his lips seems like a mockery of her own desire, knowing it can lovingly touch and feel between his lips and her lips just aren’t able.

Not one to fall into compulsions on his intuitions, he is. He shifts in his seat, stretching his leg out to take out his wallet. Windows open, so he tucks the paper under the tulip glass.

Five minutes, if not more. No talk, not a glance.

“I can have you another? On me?

This is ridiculous, needy, she thinks. A bartender asking to give a free drink, and the customer not attentive. He looks like he has nothing better to do anyway, he looks like he’s going to go somewhere unwanted after. Unwilled, to an infinite wrath, or an infinite despair. A silent man, he looks like he finds comfort in silence too. No defeat in silence, no rejection. A man who looks like he knows that it’s only the time that heals, and not the memory. Just a man, it’s what she sees, who looks like any other man, but not quite.

The quiet man does not object, and she fixes a drink with the sleight of her hand. “Forgive me, but you look rather… tense. Can I help you in a way?”

The fingers tapping on the wooden countertop miss their next beat, stop their steady pattern for a second. He doesn’t need to lift his head, look up to her to see that she’s speaking to her, he doesn’t bother anyway.

When there are two people who are strangers alone, only the one who wishes for a talk feels awkward. The other doesn’t notice, doesn’t want to talk. He looks down at his drink, the narrow-mouthed tulip, at the linted lifelines in the palm of his hand. Turning his palm against the counter, he looks at the cuts on his tanned skin. At some point he even reaches for his pocket, shifts in his barstool to take something out his pocket, and looking askance, she sees the split corner of the glossy paper, no wonder a polaroid. Only a second, before he secures it back in his pocket. Worn and irritated, it’s clear he had it with him for long enough. She can’t get a glimpse of the picture but has guesses on who that might be. The owner of the ring on his finger, perhaps? She curses the woman whom she never met, as if she’s to blame. She knows this man didn’t come here for the reason she has in mind, but she tries to deceive herself, reassure herself, make a consensus, a false one at that. It’s easy to justify, to blame her impurity on her id. Because who would come to a bar in the middle of nowhere at this time of the day? Only for a drink? Not likely if you ask her.

“This is enough.” He says, swirling the glass he lazily holds with a twirl of his wrist. It was on you, remember?

Rarely one comes here, but never once someone gives this answer to her question. Any other man, what she sees, and each time that other man looks like every other man, with trivial thoughts of every other man on their minds. Same minds dressed in different skins. This is another man.

Any other man thinks, she’s given me a drink, a sly smirk on his indifferent, indiscreet face. A young woman offering me of all men -as if there’s someone else around to compare- a drink? And she has plenty else to offer, no? This man, the another, looks like a man who is not in need of a proposal, looks satiated, even with the remorse of his sulken face. He looks like a man who has everything with nothing to lose. Like a man who seizes how transient she is, who wouldn’t be interested in her if she was a ghost of his wildest dreams.

Maybe that’s why, she doesn’t remember asking a question twice, she remembers when she hadn’t, when other men already had the proposal themselves, many of them she remembers rejecting. But never she remembers being rejected, never remembers simple defeat.

─So, she persists, dainty steps walk over, towards the customer side of the counter. Nervous, but slow enough to make it obscure, slow enough to notice her own breath, light as air as she walks next to him. I only want you to relax, no other reason.

She’s skeptic that he’d pull away, but alas, she’s also insistent, and he does not squirm nor he moves. Doesn’t tell her to stop, doesn’t tell her off. He doesn’t even grunt in efforts to mean something, to dismiss her. That’s her answer, she feels the tense muscles under her almost sweaty palms -nervous as she does -, gives a squeeze before daringly trying to snake her hands along his neck. Then gives another.

Then once more, and one more, until he slants back, until she hears a groan of relief out his hoarse throat, does she rubs his shoulders. Can I keep going?, mutters her, earning no yes, no no, but a little hum, it comes out as a withering moan out his lips, fainter than he planned to make it sound. Each rub inches her closer, until her breath kisses his nape, her front pressing right behind his back.

He looks capable, enough so, she wonders what kind of woman would leave him unsatisfied back home, she even wishes to be such lady, leaning over his shoulder slightly to not startle him away from compulsion, but enough to remind herself of the silver band on his finger, lambent in the midday sun. No reason to stop. Soon she leans her head down, down and her hair embraces his, as he tilts his head equally back, eyes closed. She clicks her tongue, rubbing it inside along her teeth as she looks down at him, and his short hair meets her skin through her v-neck.

A plea rolls out of his mouth, a growl, a promise of a whine, he tries to protest but is in the last sips of conviction. He puts his hand on her shoulder, he does, but he does not stop her. Only one way this goes, and now they both know it. One proposes quite openly, and the other subliminally accepts.

“I only want you to relax…”

With his head resting on her breasts and her supporting him, he only relaxes a little more on the stool, his breathing slowing and slowing. Heavier, bated. His eyes closed; his cheek feels against her breastbone.

This girl, undeniably smells like his lover. Talks like her too. Hearing the suggestive delivery of her voice, an immediate animal presence with incredible luring power, she whispers something simple, something she probably already said to many others who came here before his turn, but her voice, her fluid, languorous movement, just moves him in. Erotic and subliminal, but she’s not to blame. Him? He’s practically starving for some affection, and she’s warm. She feels like the warmth in a haze that holds you in bed early in the morning, an unhurried mist of comfort, all with terrifying seduction. Thus, he closes his eyes, to feel her but to see someone other.

He curses himself.

A little tug on his arm, and a brush of her lips along his jaw, is an overt invitation, for him to follow. And with a shaky breath, he does.

…

Through the water-stained mirror of the open lid of the locker, she watches his face as his hand wraps around her throat, rough fingers dragging along her supple skin, thumb searching for her life under its warm pad. Thumping harder and even palpitating with each beat, it’s ridiculous, she feels his warm breath as his lips inch closer right under her ear. His eyes trail along her hair, over the features of her face, every spot but her eyes as if she doesn’t have any, what she notices also is he doesn’t look at himself over the mirror too -as if he hates the sight, this charade that he plays. Then again, would a cherished person be in a staff room of a dusty bar? Only she sees the mirror, and only she feels what’s felt now. Him?.. Face indifferent, only his breath speaks.

She ignores it, just like she does with the fact that they don’t even know their names.

Palm leaves her throat, and she whines as his knuckles brush down her nape, taking her necklace off. It would be such romantic sight if he were to meet her eyes, she thinks. A kiss to her cheek, and a smile as he unclasps the chain. Some sweet whisper along her name. She even contemplates, would he let her if she were to snake her fingers towards his chin, lift it up to see his eyes that never see hers?

She does not risk it, for she feels like he’d pull away and leave her here. Behind.

Distant eyes are no matter, for the hands are what she cherishes. Even when obligatory, even when it’s mandatory. Hands are hands, and they are warm, warm but not burning on her skin, not sickening and twisting in her head -easing some vertigo. Oh, how she wished to get sick so that someone would take care of her, even when out of pity, even fake, even without looking in her eyes. The envy when she sees a damsel in distress, with her company along her, a crave for a wound for someone to heal. They don’t see her when looking at her, they see someone else. Still… She can close hers, and pretend. How she wished for a brush, of a touch, a graze, a squeeze, a straddle even intended to hurt her... For so, she wouldn’t stop. This is another man, and this is not only touch.

Don't mind my desperation.

—Let me hold you, not just for vacation.

Until he notices, she’s under his mercy, one hand enough the grasp her supple neck, holding tight, a little too tight to enjoy -him the executioner, and she would lovingly be the sacrificial lamb- for she’d be something then. And she’d feel warm hands on her. Isn’t this the reason for every other man anyway?

Instinct and desire, his rough hands scrape towards her chest, thumb presses on the notch between her clavicles, forehead resting on her shoulder as she leans back, hand on his wrist as she leads his hesitant touch further, through the loose buttons of her linen shirt.

It’s torment to be this slow, a hiss leaves her as she turns back, pulling the collar of his jacket in a fist, her bare back meets the cold of the metal door of the locker, goosebumps on her skin as her lips find his jaw, pressing against him, unzipping as he leans against her with his forearm resting next to her head, trapping her between his broad physique and the door behind her. She’d usually hear whispers by now, promises to never keep, on how good it will feel for her, never teaching her things she doesn’t know- along with some praises and sometimes with fool words. Out filthy mouths, with a sharp tone, turning her off in how unnatural and forced they sound. Now she imagines how his voice she only heard when he was ordering his whiskey would be a perfect candidate, etching prayers into her skin, voice husky and deeper than usual, in desire, and the thought burns an image between her thighs. Between little groans, she tries to matchmake words.

His large hold gropes the back of her head as she kisses his chest through the black t-shirt he has on, sliding his arms off the jacket, leaving it on the floor as she walks him back, the zipper makes a sound on the tiles off the personnel room. Her nails graze his jaw, he turns his head away as she moves to his lips, pressing her head to his neck further. What’s sex without a taste? Can fulfilment ever feel as deep as a kiss? Vexed for attention, she begs his lips, rising on her feet, rubbing hers all over his face, nibbling his skin just under his ear, tongue tracing right after, a cool blow of her breath as he looks up at the ceiling, holding onto some sort of sanity, holding onto her. He only threads his arm along her nape, pulling her to his chest, his teeth graze the strap of her bra, tugging it down, his lips light on her shoulder, it’s a kiss —only if she accepts.

Forget about her already, you’ve been too far to compensate. Seal us with a kiss and forget about her, or don’t.

Don’t forget about her, just kiss me. Kiss me as you’d kiss her.

It’s raw and as clean as an almost abandoned pub could be, the back of his legs touch the couch as she pushes him onto it, and not him pulling her back with her, he watches her body as she undresses, putting on a needy show, spreads his legs as he shifts comfortable on his seat. She doesn’t ask for another kiss after, only moves towards him as he fiddles with his belt, unbuckling as she moves her lips, kissing him through his underwear, lips on his happy trail, moving upwards as her hand moves his t-shirt upwards, he helps her take it off, before pulling her on his lap with arms holding her to himself, close to him. Sweet girl. Hands on her knees move up, up to her thighs, hooking her underwear with his thumb on his way to her spine, palm open on her back as he buries his forehead on the side of her face, pressing his nose into her skin, his stubble burning on her core.

Nothing to know about one another, no explanation, no justification, but it keeps on. A mutual tension, a strange exhilaration, they’re both dancing around something with no name, something that gets her heart racing, stirring and swelling inside her. For a moment, she dares to dream, to think beyond the moment as she grinds her hips against his. Of something more, of this once more, somewhere else, a future of endless moments of this. An abyss of something… she wants more of. Strange, unsure, unknown. Not really recalling what she does, she just tries to feel more of his skin against hers.

She feels him move, his hand coming to her chin, thumb caressing her bottom lip, tugging it down with enough force as he tilts his head, finally about to seam the inches. The pulse on her throat quickens, she looks at him, but his eyes are already closed, so she mirrors, leans into his touch, parts her lips as she feels his, with a hum blooming on her chest to kiss his lips, he just lets it happen, leads it. The rush in her veins dulls the chill of the wedding band that brushes her back as he slides to a more comfortable position, pressing her chest to his. It’s a gentle kiss, patient, yet she feels the unshakeable core of stoicism behind too. He’s always in control, emotions controlled and calculated. Not the greediest, but he kisses like he knows when to let them take over, both of her and himself. And her, she holds him like she begged something above for him to kiss her, and the way she kisses him back, it’s clear she did.

In the moment, she fails to read the engravings of his initials on the dog tag around his neck as the chain goosebumps its way on her chest. Each kiss of his leaves an indentation of his lips in intensity on her body. Each kiss that travels her thighs, so does his tongue. Each kiss gets her ensnared, trapped, she feels as if he’s holding his voices back, but when he does not, when little muffled curses with letters moaned out —telling her to keep doing what she does, they fall into her ears, takes root in her soul, sprouts inside her stomach, she lets them grow. Voracious, alive, relentless in lustful abandon. He tastes her in an unbridled display of passion. Never met her, but he fucks her like he missed her.

…

Her figure follows his as he pulls back, a heavy warmth now leaving itself to the sun’s. The difference is the latter is sickening, and unwelcomed, yet he still is on his feet, hastily looking around for his clothes as she lays, reclined, pulling the sheet over her, watching his back, muscles moving in rhythmic fashion, before he covers it with his t-shirt. Not holding her anymore. But when he sits at the edge of the worn couch to tie his boots, she at least feels his weight through the sunken cushion. She could savour it.

“Would you visit again?”

I’d wait.

She blinks once, licking the taste of his skin on her lips. Hopeful, alas, she knows the answer already.

He moves onto the other boot, type that men in field work would wear. Not even sighs, as if she hadn’t asked him something, as if he’s alone at this personnel room with nothing to consider. As if she’s gone in the wind, used and thrown away. As if he’s leaving no one behind. A fantasy unwind in summer breeze. Gets on his feet, on his way to leave.

And as if not having his answer loud and clear, and having the audacity, she pleads. As if she just didn’t fuck with a married man. A married man whom she knows not the name of.

But she knows he belongs to someone else.

“Right, your wife!?” She wipes the passion off her lips on the back of her hand then. “You should’ve thought about her before you decided to fuck me!”

He stands a second, petrified, judging in his mind if she’s worth turning back to answer, and when he decides, he turns halfway before her, looking at her with a mocking squint of his eyes, which trail up and down on her, belittling her. Brows furrow, meeting his lashes before he speaks. Voice low, lower than a whisper, but still is assertive, only the tone of it enough to put her back in her place. Almost a threat, and as sure as the sun outside.

She sees his thumb playing with the band on his ring finger, mad in rage she spoke about his wife; she wishes she never asked, afraid he would just walk up to her and do something that wouldn’t give her a choice to object. She wonders of the times where she needed to speak up but didn’t, and when she needs to shut up she never is able.

It’s the only time, for a sliver of a second before he meets her eyes.

He mercies her an answer, nonetheless. Maybe for she'd eased some of his own distress, silenced some insanity.

“She’s dead.”

…

The vertigo he brought stays after his leave.

She bites and scrapes the polish off her bitten nails, until the skin around is red and throbbing and her teeth are frail, when there’s this familiar chemical taste down the pit of her stomach. She hates it.

She’s not sure how many minutes passed, but getting off the couch to speak back, to shout and break stuff, she finds the things back in their usual order, and even the seat she pulled him off from stands neatly tucked under the counter, the parking lot empty once more, the scent he brought with him gone. The only remnants are a stub and an empty glencairn, which keeps a banknote under its diligent tulip to keep it secure. Not a number, not a thing she gets to keep, no memoir. As if he’d never been in here, as if no one visited today either, and it was only a fragment of her tainted imagination. Only the ghost of his lips imprinted on the glass keeps his now gone presence real as she lifts it to her lips, before feeling the inside of the bar to grab her slim cigarettes to try what she saw him do.

Can I ever not think about you?

;

the dry salvages

[nine-of-words]

Out in the Cold (Part Three)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3709

Content Warnings: None

A hint of bonding, as a little treat.

You take a few deep, calming breaths. 

As bad as the stew incident was… No one was seriously hurt.

You got through it. Just like you always do. 

And you’ll get through this, as well.

Because you are suave and smart and good at what you do, regardless of your bad luck. 

…And you don’t need anybody’s help.

You hype yourself up, and soon you’re back on your feet, ready to take on this obstacle, and any other obstacle that may come after it.

Now… just to figure out a plan of action.

You look around the snowy woods around you, waiting for inspiration to strike. And as your eyes come to rest on a tall, sturdy pine tree in the distance, it quickly does.

Perfect.

You swiftly bound towards the tree, getting a running start. Then you spring up, managing to catch a low branch between your hands. You scramble up the tree, branch by branch with feline grace, the motions coming naturally to you.

From the confident perch you’ve managed to reach, you have a decent view over most of the tree tops nearby. You’re flooded with relief as soon as you spot the river that flows back towards town in the distance.

Great. That would be the way, then.

You know you should be in a hurry to leave, but… the view is really nice, and the tree branch is surprisingly comfortable… And you had to wake up in the middle of the night to sneak off without being noticed, so you’re so, so tired… 

It wouldn’t hurt to shut your eyes for a second…

LAST SPRING

The tankard is massive in your hands as you look down into the surface of the murky beverage. It's still mostly full - you learned pretty quickly at the Turn of the Wheel celebration a few weeks ago that you can't finish a whole serving without blacking out. That was a truly embarrassing experience, with you once again having to be carried like an overcooked noodle to the safety of a warm bed.

Honestly you would prefer something lighter, but they have no wine, and having a drink in your hands prevents weird looks from the other patrons of the tavern, even if you nurse it the whole time.

You’re seated at a table with Urguk and Lurog, who so far are the only other orcs that seem to treat you as an equal, rather than a lost soul to be pitied. You often end up having a beverage and playing a game of cards or darts, at least on the days you manage to finish your tasks at a reasonable hour.

"I think you two are the only ones here that actually like me." You say with a dry laugh and a smirk to your companions.

"We like you?" Lurog asks just as dryly as she draws a card from the pile, then takes a long swig from her own tankard. 

"W-We do!" Urguk barks out and jostles her on the side with his elbow, causing her to gurgle slightly on her drink. "What makes you think everyone else d-doesn’t?"

"Everyone laughs at me?" You point out, trying not to sound too hurt about it. And you're not - you're used to being the butt of the joke. "Constantly. And they don’t even try to hide it."

"Trust me, it's better that they're laughing."

"Could be scowling or yelling when you fuck up instead. Urguk would know."

“Heh.” Urguk looks sheepish and changes the subject, promptly throwing you under the bus. “Even the stew incident was pretty funny- ah, after the fact-”

“Please have mercy, not again.” You groan and cover your soft ears with your hands, squashing them flat against your head. “I never want to hear the word stew again!”

“I wouldn’t worry about nobody liking you- most everyone seems to have a soft spot for you so far. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a new outsider join the tribe!”

“A lot of the old farts think it’s auspicious that we have one again. Good omen or whatever.” Lurog adds. Urguk winces as they draw a card, seemingly lacking the ability to mask their reaction for the game whatsoever.

“That's a relief, and it’s true that everyone has been kind even through my various blunders but… I don’t feel like I’ve really gotten to know anyone that well besides the two of you. Everyone else is handling me like I am fragile.” 

And not getting to know anyone is making it very hard to find where what I’m looking for is kept…

“Of course they are, it’s because- well-”

“Any of the adults could snap you like a twig with no effort.” Lurog punctuates Urguk’s sentiment flatly. “And most of the grannies could, too. And any of the kids.”

"Likely true, if a touch insulting.” You pout. You can’t ignore the fact that compared to all of these orcs, you must seem literally small and breakable. “It's simply a bit discouraging to be treated like a child."

“Have you considered not acting like a child, then?”

You scoff in mock offense, trying to make a point of your displeasure by taking a sip - then making a face of actual displeasure at the skunky, overly fermented taste of the rotgut.

“No- W-Wait, I think Lurog has a point!” Urguk rubs his chin in thought, thumb tapping his lip. 

“Oh no, not you too…”

“What I mean is- You haven’t done your first hunt yet, right? S-So, to everyone else, you might as well be a child...”

"Ah, I see! Some sort of rite of passage, then? How would I go about going on one of these hunts?"

"Usually a parent hands their kid over for the hunt during their 11th year… this year’s will be coming up soon, now that the heavy snow is over."

"Probably could ask Boss about it when he shows up."

"Ugh… I'm already going to have to sit here and listen to him lecture me about how bad I am at everything." You've been sitting here killing time until he is due to appear for whatever hellish performance review you’re about to receive, after all.

"Ah, that's right. You're graduating from gruntwork to a trade soon, right?"

"If he decides to let me… I'm lucky he's even speaking to me again." You sigh. "He's been watching me like a hawk. Breathing down my neck if he's not avoiding me completely, after… You know."

“Mmh. Boss is a hardass. But he’s good at what he does. Dedicated.”

“Y-Yeah, I’ve got to wonder if he’s taking enough time for himself.”

"Exactly the problem. He's far too uptight. It’s not good to be that tense all the time! Maybe he needs to find a nice lady orc to let off some steam with sometimes." You chortle loudly. "He'd probably be a lot easier to deal with if he got laid once in a while!"

However, your companions don't have the chance to laugh in return, they only stare past you; the color completely draining from Urguk's face in horror while Lurog tries desperately to hold in a cackling fit behind tightly set lips.

"I'll take it into consideration."

The hair on the back of your neck stands up in response to Torg’s gruff voice behind you, and you struggle to keep the brushy fur on your tail from visibly bristling.

“You two - make yourselves scarce.” He says in a surprisingly calm tone as he comes around the table and into your view. 

They hastily comply, leaving the game mid-play and the small assortment of coins on the table.

Torg waits for them to disperse with quick goodbyes (and looks of pity) before taking a seat in their place across from you. He looks surprisingly neutral despite the comments that you just made, his lips stretched into a thin, taut line the only sign of annoyance.

“Um, heheh, sorry-” You say sheepishly, and consider blaming your loose tongue on the contents of your tankard before he stops you.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Torg waves his hand, completely putting it aside. “Let’s get this chat about your standing out of the way.”

You nod, unable to shake the feeling that you’re being led to the gallows.

“So… Where to start…” He stalls out and scratches where his thick, slightly unkempt beard meets his neck, seeming to be encountering uncharacteristic trouble on how to proceed with what he needs to say.

“You’re going to tell me I’m doing a fantastic job and to keep up the great work…?” You smirk and bat your lashes at him.

“Look-” He huffs out your name. “I’m just going to be direct with you. Things have not been going well. You must realize that, right?”

“What? But I make sure I take on enough work tasks every day …”

“The amount isn’t the issue, so much as the quality.”

"Oh… What am I doing wrong?"

“You are constantly mixing things up, making mistakes, being a general safety hazard. The simplest of tasks become drawn out disasters when they involve you.” He gives you a stern look in response to your disbelieving pout, turning his hands palm up on the table for emphasis. “...Do I even need to mention what happened with the stew?”

“No…”  Your ears flatten, dejected.

“So, you understand why things can’t keep going on this way.”

Your sadness and shame is instantly cut with panic. You can’t go crawling back empty handed - who knows what the guildmaster will do to you if you did. 

"You're not going to kick me out, are you? Please don’t." You grab his hands on the table in yours and beg, only half-lying. "I don’t have anywhere to go back to- Please."

Torg pauses for a moment, looking at your hands gripping his.

"...No. I would not kick you out over something out of your control." He finally seems to come to his senses and slowly detaches his hands from yours and laces his own together on the table in front of him. "The only time it was a possibility so far was when I thought you had intentionally poisoned us."

"I really am trying my hardest…" You say in your most pitiful voice. The sad part is that you don't even have to make a show of it- you're genuinely ashamed at your failure, especially considering how much effort you're putting in.

"I think that's the problem. You are trying too hard, at too many things."

"Oh. Well, I wasn't lying when I first told you I wasn't good at anything in particular..."

What am I going to say? I'm great at burglary or pickpocketing or forgery? Right. 

"Everyone has a talent. We just need to figure out what yours is. It’s my duty to help you find it if you are lost.” He strokes his beard in thought. “...You don't even have to be particularly skilled at it yet, it just has to be something you can focus on and build skill in. Is there anything you enjoyed doing as a child that could translate to a trade, maybe?"

"Well, my father used to take me on hunting trips when I was younger." You lie, finding a seam to pick to get what you need, before adding a bit of truth. "But he died when I was still young, so my skills are surely rusty."

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Torg says, clearly not the most comfortable.

“Eh, don’t be. It was a long time ago.” You shake your head. “I only bring it up, because maybe hunting is something that I could do?”

"Hmgh… No. Can’t do that." Torg grunts in vexation. "At least not yet. You haven't been acknowledged as a hunter. You'd have to go on your first trip."

"Well there's one coming up, isn't there? I want to go."

"You want me to let you- knowing what we know about your past record- Go on a hunting trip." He leans his elbow on the table, his temple propped on his fist. He looks at you with the most hard eyed, no-nonsense look he's ever given you. "A barely chaperoned hunting trip. With real weapons. Full of children."

"Yes." You smirk with conviction, your confidence swiftly returning. Regardless of your general tendency to mess up, at least you can always talk your way out of, or into, anything. "You just said you'd help me find my talent, did you not?"

"I did. But usually first hunting trips don't involve learning to deal with friendly fire."

"I'll be on my best behavior."

“It’s not just that. You need to craft your own weapon to make your first kill with. Typically a young orc’s parents help them to make it. And they’re trained on how to use it first.”

“Well- I’m fresh out of parents.” You shrug and let out a short giggle, leaning back on the bar stool. “Maybe you’d be kind enough to adopt me?”

To your surprise, Torg’s hardened expression cracks and he lets out what looks and sounds like a genuine laugh.

“Are you implying I’m old enough to be your father? That’s harsh. I’m not even grey yet.”

“Oh no, I meant in more of a… figurative sense, I suppose.” You subtly tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Seeing as I don’t have anyone to teach me.”  

“...Fine. I will help you practice." Torg sighs. “But you will need to craft said weapon yourself. Your hunter friends can help with that.”

“Great! I’m so excited.” You beam at him.

“Any other concerns?” Torg shifts restlessly. “If not, I have a few other things to see to before nightfall.”

You’re speaking before you can second guess the wisdom of what you’re saying.

“You know, about what I said earlier - you probably wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone if you actually wanted to. You would clean up very well with some attention to detail - trim your beard back a bit, take better care of your cuticles- You’re already quite handsome.”

He simply shakes his head.

“Hmm. Something’s wrong with your eyes, then. Maybe take it easy on the booze.” He smirks, his eyes lingering on you longer than they typically do before he abruptly gets up from the table. “First practice: tomorrow, sunrise. Don’t be late.”

You watch Torg leave the tavern, a strange mix of dread and hope settling like a weight in your stomach.

You scoop up the few pieces of gold you ‘won’ from your interrupted card game, and hurry back to your dormitory.

When you arrive, you get out pen and paper to scribble an update for your Guildmaster. You’ve been diligent enough to remember at least each week so far, and you don’t plan on stopping now. 

If this job is a success- if you perform well- you might just get a rank increase. Better accommodation, better food that you don’t have to steal, ability to choose what jobs to take…

You scribble the coded message in your surprisingly neat handwriting;

Fritz-

No sign of it yet. I’ll have access to the armory soon. I think it must be in there.

Then you sign off the letter with your byname, before folding it three times and placing it in an envelope you got from the archives. You drip a bit of your wax stick on the nearby candle flame, before smooshing the dot of wax with your simple seal to secure the missive closed. Then, you crack your window, placing the envelope underneath the sill and jutting out into the open air as you shut it.

When most of the lights in the settlement have gone dim, you see the form of a crow land on the sill where the letter is lodged. The sealed envelope disappears on the other side, and you hear the muted sound of wingbeats.

You let out a sigh, extinguish your candle, and crawl into your bed, not wanting to sleep deprived while handling weapons in the morning.

The next morning, practice does not go as well as you would like.

You spend hours trying out different weapons at the targets, with Torg demonstrating the proper form for each one first.

You managed to snap a throwing spear, after missing every throw beforehand. You hit yourself with the sling multiple times before you could even launch a projectile with it, giving yourself a few good welts on your forearms in the process. You even gave the throwing axes a try, but you just can't get a good spin on them, each one that hit the board bouncing off when the head of the axe contacted the wood.

This would be much easier if you could just use your dagger. It's what you have the most experience with, but unfortunately it's not the most effective weapon for hunting at range.

“This is probably going to be more your speed. It’s more suited to your build- Bit surprised you haven’t used one before.” Torg nocks an arrow onto the bow in his hands. He draws it back, then lets it loose, the arrow hitting cleanly in the line between first and second ring of the target with a deep thunk. “See? Easy.”

He hands the bow to you, and moves out of the way so you can stand in line with the target. He adjusts your form a little - you're not used to him being so close, feeling not just that overbearing presence, but the physical weight of those heavy hands touching you, even this briefly.

The bow is heavier in your hand than it looked, the wood hefty and dense. Even keeping it aloft is somewhat difficult for you, but you manage to get into proper posture and nock an arrow. The real trouble comes when you start to draw back, the tension of the string making your arm noticeably shudder in exertion before you even get it halfway pulled.

“Mm. Draw weight’s way too heavy.” Torg observes, clicking his tongue ruefully. “That’s the lightest one in the armory, too.”

You know he doesn't mean it as criticism, but it lights a fire under your ass all the same. You stubbornly keep pulling, despite the shake in your limbs and the ominous popping noises in your shoulder. 

Despite the grueling effort, you manage to pull it back all the way, releasing the arrow the very instant you can. It soars through the air at high speed then sinks into the wooden target, only a few inches below Torg’s on the lower third ring - but it's actually on the board!

"Hahah, there. I did it!"

"You did. Good job." Torg says, a sense of relief to his voice as much as there is commendation. "How about you try a few more shots?"

You somehow force yourself to draw the bow and fire several more times, despite the shake in your arm making it difficult to aim. You work through half the quiver until Torg stops you.

"I think that's enough for today." He takes the bow off your hands and lets out a soft chuckle. "You're going to be sore up top tomorrow…"

"Fine…" You sigh, disappointed with how little you managed to actually train before your body failed you. The burning in your shoulders and back is hard to ignore.

You go to retrieve your last round of training arrows - some on the ground, but most of them on the target, even if they're on the outer rings.

"Great work today." Torg says as you return with the full quiver. 

He's unstringing the bow to store it. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at how easily his toned, thick arm muscles handle releasing the stored tension in the curve of the wood.

You don't have to say that just to make me feel better…

"Thanks. And thank you for training me today, as well."

"It's no problem."

"Isn't it, though?" You say, half jokingly, half grimly.

Torg raises an eyebrow at you in a silent question. He's watching your expression closely,  now that he's finished preparing the training weapons to be stored.

"I guess I'm wondering- What do you gain from it?" A twinge of your bitterness seeps through the facade - not bitterness at Torg specifically, but at the fact that you're very well familiar with the abandonment that typically comes next. "We both already know I'm a nuisance, and you're clearly very busy."

"I said that I would help you with this." He says simply.

"Well, yeah, but why not shove the problem off onto someone else, if not just get rid of the problem completely? When you have the power to do that, I mean. It seems to be what people normally do with the power to make the decisions."

"...Do I need a reason to help you?" If you didn't know any better, you could swear you hear a note of offense in his voice. 

"In my experience, yes. Nine times out of ten, you do."

"I don't know how things work where you're from- But that isn't how it works here." He lifts his hand, then hesitates, before following through and laying his wide, calloused palm on your shoulder and squeezing lightly to emphasize his next point. "The tribe is only strong if everyone is thriving, not just the strong ones. And it's my job to make sure everyone here thrives. If you are struggling, it is my problem as much as it is yours. It would be my failure to not help you."

You nod, but you can't bring yourself to look at him or speak. You just chew your lower lip, vexed.

He lets his hand slip off your shoulder and effortlessly picks up the load of training supplies, resting it over his shoulder. 

The walk back to the armory is quiet, save for the chirping of birds and the small sounds of the settlement beginning to come to life for the day.

You're unable to really believe him, as much as it'd be nice to. At the end of the day, you don't belong here. You're a foreign body infiltrating, here to get what you need and get out.

Maybe if things were different…

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[wordycheeseblob]

Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown - Gilbert Von Obsidian x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

Part of the event Spring Showers Spring Flowers hosted by @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978

Prompt(s): rainy days, a walk in the park

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Tags: angst

Word Count: 1400~

✦•·····························•✦•································•✦

Some time has passed since you were crowned empress of Obsidian. Initially It was as easy as saying 'yes' or 'no' to certain moral decisions. Easy as it goes, knowing Gilbert. Now you were finally getting a hand on administrative duties, delving deeper into obsidianite politics as a real empress would. "Some things take getting used to" you thought to yourself, reclined on the carriage window sill. Lonely droplets trickled paths across the crystal wall that kept you in and the world out, once so unfamiliar but that now felt like home. Spring in Rhodelite was a joyous time, floral aroma enveloped the streets mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, when winter surrendered to the gentle rays of sun. Still, Obsidian wasn't such a desolate wasteland as one might imagine. As the nights grew shorter, the valleys saw their fair share of green. As you close your eyes, you could almost see it. Not as fragrant or floral as Jade or elegant as Rhodelitian fields in their full glory, but there was something endearing in the unassuming and straightforward nature of the daisies and wild flowers that crowned the country's mountainous range.It reminded you of its people.

The carriage swayed lightly bringing you abruptly back from your floral reverie. The view outside was a clear contrast to the your vivid vision. This year winter refused to recede a step. You sigh, forming a small cloud on the glass, as you pass another rank of austere birch trees your mind wanders to the inspection you were heading from, this time alone. You remember the first time Gilbert took you on a military inspection claiming something along the lines that to manage an empire, one must know every part of it well. Deep down it might have been an excuse to drag you along to brighten another rutinary outing, after all, you doubted this was part of an empress's duties. No matter, no one ever questioned the imperial family anyway. And it definitely was more than that; military was one of Obsidians stronger points, it made perfect sense for you to know it its workings in and out.

You clutch the documents in your hands a little tighter. With the recent commotion across the border, your days too would feel increased unrest. Doing logistics, surprisingly, made you feel in control.

The clatter of the wheels came to a stop.

Adjusting your ink black capelet coat, being more appreciative of its wormth than the intricate gossamer of golden embroidery, you alight the carriage. Instantly being greeted by the gray, hyetal weather outside, in the capital city. As much as you wished a feel of chelidonian winds, those that bring the promise of spring, or the last mercy of apricity on your chilled skin, spring was off to a slow, reluctant start.

–To think you'd know better than to let down your guard around me by now

–To think you'd use that cheesy line on me of all people– you turn towards the familiar voice to find Gilbert, merely seconds before losing all balance to a strong tug, familiar with his mannerisms you recognise being pulled for a hug and reluctantly accept your fate.

–How was the inspection?– his breath tickled your skin lightly. –You must be very sure of yourself to bring this little entourage– Gilbert gave a pointed nod in the direction of the small detachment of soldiers where your carriage was stationed. You weren't sure if what you caught in his pitch was the slightest hint of displeasure or amusement.

You wriggle enough in his arms to be able to look up, your eyes locking with his. Gilbert's usual smile is in place but his gaze is probing, as if searching for something. To Gilbert reading people akin to knowing what they were thinking. Some might call it genius, Gilbert preferred to call the process meticulous observation. People had ticks and tells when they lied, everyone was a product of their habits and what are habits if not patterns; something a so called genius had no problem detecting and exploiting.

–If you knew I was off to an inspection then maybe I wasn't as unprotected as you're implying.

Gilbert's smile only widened in response.

At this point you didn't have to ask how he knew, Gilbert had eyes on all sides, that was a given. And so did you at this point, to rule the vast that is Obsidian.

–Also Im pretty sure you already know how it went– You chuckle breaking free of the embrace to start walking along the dimly illuminated street matching his pace

–No idea  what you might be refering to here, I would be delighted to hear your retelling– Gilbert gave a light-hearted laugh linking his hand with yours.

· · ───────── ·᪥· ────────── · ·

It was Gilbert's idea to take a walk around the palace gardens. High above from where the obsidian palace overlooked the city, the air was so frigid you found yourself instinctively hugging his arm closer for some semblance of wormth.

– And that about sums it up. As usual, nothing unusual. You know we should probably head inside soon, the weather isn't looking any better.– you look around noting the dreary herbage and the unkempt weather-beaten hedge, the smell of petrichor still lingering in the air.

–just a little longer

For Gilbert of all people, to suggest staying out in this cold was very uncharacteristic. Did he like the idea of you clinging to him that much or... perhaps it's not the inspection he was trying to talk about. Had he cought onto your recent unease?

–Has something been troubling you?

You struggled to maintain a neutral face, your hesitation, however, gave you away almost instantly.

– Acroite, Tanzanite and Ruby have been acting rather suspiciously as of late, wouldn't you agree?– despite the gravity of what he said Gilbert sported his usual devil-may-care grin as if he had just hit the nail on the head. And he had.

He nodded his head knowingly.

–I'm sure you have a bad feeling about this.

–I had them on my mind for a while now but how did you know?

–People tend to have a sorrowful look when thinking about the past, like you when you remember Rhodelite– you looked at him but Gilbert only shrugged– and an anxious one when thinking about the future.

–Oh...– you avert your gaze to the dampened tiles on the ground. The 'clank' of the man's cane came to a halt.

–You couldn't have possibly thought I would fail to see the increase in your inspections lately.– He paused, sighing almost theatrically– It would do you no good to worry about things outside of your control, you know? Preparing would be a much better use of your time if anything.

Despite everything, Gilbert appeared to be genuinely worried about you. With the influx of duties on your plate, things became increasingly more challenging and there was no way he wouldn't catch on.

– surely... there must be something I can do

– In due time. We have to make sure to greet our guests properly.

You shot Gilbert a quizzical look.

–If they're really planning to attack as you might have come to suspect, someone is bound to come over to test the waters before the main event. We'll ask the questions then and look into the particulars after.

You felt as if the invisible veil that was weighing on you had suddenly been lifted, making it easier to breathe

–I... yes, you're right. Thank you.

–Ahaha would you say this concludes the interrogation then?– Gilbert chuckled breezily.

Way to ruin the moment. Gilbert always did this thing when after a good deed he'd try to downplay it somehow because, of course, how could he ever admit he was simply worried. You think to indulge him, just this once.

–Unbelievable, you seem a bit too fond of using interrogation techniques to make me open up– you cross your arms in fake disbelief. –this is the one where you use my mental fatigue knowing it uhh... hinders my cognitive information processing so I don't withhold anything from you, yes??

–I prefer your angry face to the sad one, it's full of determination

–you wanna go?

–on a date? Pretty much, Yes

You beam giving him a nudge on the arm.

As you wander through the forlorn gardens, hands intertwined, the shadow and light drawn by dusk weave a picture resembling silk satin damask, it's reflections slipping through the dampened tiles. You revel in the stillness, not unlike your own mind, knowing that even when adversity flooded your life, there was no tide you couldn't turn together.

[paarthursass]

general 1, 3, 6, 8, 10 / Story 7, 12, 15 / Romance 1, 3, 6, 11 for Aurel :3

You don't have to answer all of them, sorry I'm sending so many xD

companion!tav au asks

asdkfjds oh no pls u do not see the google doc i have rn that is filled to the BRIM with companion!au aurel stuff. this is feeding me.

also this ask made me realize that the numbers on that post reset why tf did they do that. when i hit publish they were at 1-40 i swear 😔 anyways.

Where can your Tav be recruited?  Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region?  Or are they not recruitable until a later act?

Aurel can be recruited in the Nautiloid Crash Region, just outside of the Blighted Village.  He is found conversing with a pair of goblins, who are gleefully telling him details about their camp.  When the Player Character approaches, the tadpole connects them, revealing that Aurel is lying to the goblins for information.  The PC can either choose to play along with Aurel’s charade, or immediately attack the goblins - upon which Aurel will drop the act and aid the PC.  He will share what he’s learned, and will ask to travel with the PC so they can discover the cure to the infection together.

Does your Tav have any comments or advice when you recruit other companions?

"Shadowheart? Is that...really her name? Shadowheart? ...she's got a flair for the dramatic, I'll give her that much."

"Be careful. If holding a knife to your throat was his opening offer, I worry to think what else Astarion will try. At least you don't have to worry about him being too subtle to spot; man's about as charming as a scorpion."

“Lae’zel seems quite knowledgeable about these tadpoles.  Her bedside manner leaves something to be desired, though.”

“Gale seems pleasant, if a little over-eager. Something about him reminds me of a puppy begging for approval.”

“So, ‘the Blade of Frontiers.’ I’d be careful.  In my experience, monster hunters tend to have a limited view of the world.”

“I almost wasn’t sure Wyll would stay his blade.  I’m glad he did, Karlach seems like an absolute darling.”

“Oh, Halsin’s going to be joining us on our excursions now?  And here I thought he’d spend the rest of our little adventure sitting at camp looking pretty.”

“The High Harper herself.  I was just a boy when she faced Sarevok, but tales of her adventures reached me later on, like ripples in a pond. She’ll be a valuable asset.”

“Jaheira’s stronger than me. If my oldest and closest friends were so easily fooled by a charlatan wearing my face, you would never hear the end of it. Still, I'm sure if he's aimed in the right direction, Minsc's...enthusiasm could be useful.”

I wasn't originally going to write comments about Minthara, because Aurel won't stay in the party if the tieflings are killed, BUT since there are mods out there to recruit her anyways, for funsies...

"Are you absolutely insane? She's a drow matron, and one stupid enough to fall for this Absolute nonsense to boot! She was ready to slaughter those tieflings on a whim!"

She knows more than any of us. We need her.

"I've trusted your judgement this far...but I'll be keeping far, far away from her. I know what she sees what she looks at me, and I know what matrons expect of the males they think they command. I won't be her toy. And if she tries anything, I won't be as merciful to her as you were."

Do they have any secrets that can be revealed?  What are the prerequisites for this secret coming to light?

Oh ho ho DOES HE

So, Aurel is a dhampir, which is not something he will be upfront about upon first meeting the PC. There's a few hints regarding it: Aurel is noticeably wary of monster hunters, and approves of the PC or Astarion killing Gandrel. Auntie Ethel also has some personalized vicious mockeries where she calls him "a freak of nature" and says "It'll be easy enough to kill you, dearie, you've got one foot in death's door already!"

Aurel can reveal he is a dhampir to the PC based on varying prerequisites: if they get his approval to 'Good' or if  they have recruited Karlach, whichever comes first.  After the confrontation with Mizora, if the PC did not kill Karlach, Aurel will approach them and say he was moved by their compassion for someone that others were "so quick to write off as a monster." 

It is also possible for Aurel’s dhampirism to be revealed before this.  In a fight, if Aurel is brought to 0 HP, a cutscene will trigger where he bites his opponent and regains HP (this will not trigger if the opponent is undead. Instead, the next instance where Aurel is brought to 0 HP by a living creature will trigger this cutscene).  After the fight, another cutscene will trigger where the PC can confront him about what happened, and Aurel will come clean.

After the reveal, the PC can ask Aurel more specific questions about his vampiric parent.  They can also ask him about feeding - which he assures the PC is done exclusively on animals.  His bite ability will become available in combat.  The PC can also offer to let Aurel feed on them, but Aurel will become uncomfortable and politely decline.  “That’s a bit - ah - intimate, isn’t it?” if the PC points out that Aurel will feed on people they’re fighting, he will retort with “Well, yes, but I don’t have to be careful with them.  The point there is to cause some damage, isn’t it?  There’s a difference between ripping out an enemy’s throat, and a friend baring theirs willingly to you.  It’s just…it’s a bit much.”

What do they say when the Player Character asks them to stay in camp?  How about when the Player Character asks them to come adventuring again?

I need you to stay in camp for a while.

"Are you certain? I know I have quite the delicate features, but I assure you I can more than handle what's out there."

I'm certain. I'll call for you if I need you.

"I suppose I shall languish here until you return for me, then. Safe travels, my dear."

Are there any unique NPCs associated with your Tav that can show up during the course of the game?

So, if Aurel were a companion, I think his primary quest would involve discovering that the monster hunting guild involved in his boyfriend's death were not fully eradicated by him and his father. For juiciness, the leader of the guild is probably still alive and well, and is specifically hunting down Aurel as payback for nearly wiping out his guild a century earlier. Aurel's personal quest would largely involve finding healing and catharsis for Philo's death.

However....I do also really, really want Aurel's father to show up. I think that would be so so fun.

The PC can ask Aurel about his father almost immediately after discovering he's a dhampir, and ask about whether his father can help them. Aurel will reveal that his father is extremely far away, and he's doubtful that he could get word to him in time for him to do anything, but he'll try anyhow if the PC wants.

If Aurel was convinced to contact his father, Dragomir will appear in Act 3. In the Undercity when approaching the Temple of Bhaal, a group of Bhaal Cultists will ambush the group but will swiftly be killed by Dragomir, who appears out of the shadows. If Aurel is in the group, he and Dragomir will joyfully reunite. If Aurel is not in the active party, Dragomir will instead address the PC, recognizing them from Aurel's description. If Aurel was captured by Orin, the PC can tell Dragomir what happened, and he will insist on accompanying the group to free his son.

Dragomir will not become a full-fledged companion, but will wait at camp after the fight with Orin (provided it's the Elfsong Tavern. if the party camps in an outdoor space, Dragomir will only appear at camp at night). If the group has not faced Cazador yet, Dragomir can be convinced to aid in the fight against him, and will also be an ally in the final fight against the Nethebrain.

What can they be found doing at the tiefling/goblin party?

Aurel is in the midst of the revelry, playing a song on his violin. He stops to chat with the PC, and will mention that though he's been to his fair share of balls and soirees, this merry-making with the tieflings outshines all of them. If the PC doesn't try and romance Aurel, he may tease them about the other party members looking at them.

"I can't help but notice that our dear Wyll is off by his lonesome...why don't you try and cheer him up, darling? You seem to be the only thing that can, nowadays."

"I've seen puppies begging for treats that looked less pitiful than Gale does when he looks at you...not that I mean that in a bad way. He does look so pretty when he begs. Why don't you go and put him out of his misery, hm? Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Ugh, Astarion's looking our way again. He thinks he's being so sneaky - I'm not trying to steal his seconds. No offense, darling, you are much more than a meal. To me, anyways. Still, you'd better go and see what he wants. He looks like he's had a bit to drink, and if he comes over here to start an altercation with me I will not be held responsible for what happens."

"I think Karlach might combust if you don't go over and speak to her soon. That woman's been through torment enough; it would be unseemly to keep her waiting much longer."

"I do enjoy a bit of danger, but I think if you waste too much more time talking to me, Lae'zel might just rip my head off. Go and speak to her before she decides to throw you over her shoulder in front of the whole party. Unless you're into that sort of thing. No judgement."

"If I'm not mistaken, Shadowheart seems to be nursing a wine bottle meant for two all by her lonesome...why don't you go and help her out with that."

He will then say:

"Now if you don't mind, I plan on seeing how how many times I can tease Rolan about his staff handling before he gets the hint. Don't wait up for me."

Is it possible for your Tav to be kidnapped and replaced by Orin?  How is Orin's deception revealed?  How do they react to the PC rescuing them in the Temple of Bhaal?

Aurel is a damsel at heart, so yes it is absolutely possible for him to be kidnapped by Orin. I love the #drama.

After Gortash reveals someone in camp has been replaced, Aurel will approach the PC and suggest they kill Gortash and take his Netherstone immediately. Though the argument will begin in Aurel's usual cadence, it will gradually grow more and more manic, culminating in Aurel wanting to "sink [his] fangs into that peacock's throat and drink and drink and drink until he's as empty as his words." Orin will drop the deception immediately afterwards.

Once rescued, Aurel will be shaken but relieved, but will be attempting to cover up his fear with his usual brand of cattiness.

"Thank you so much for the timely rescue, my dear. Can you imagine if I died in a place as horrible as this? In Baldur's Gate's sewers? No offense to Wyll, his city may be lovely, but its bowels are considerably less so. But...thank you. I won't forget this."

If Dragomir is in the party when Aurel is rescued, Aurel will instead immediately hug Dragomir as he reunites with him, and will then thank the PC for the rescue.

How do they react when the Dark Urge first reveals their amnesia and murderous thoughts to them?

(if the PC hasn't discovered Aurel is a dhampir yet)

"Really? I wonder..." he stops and squints at the PC for a moment before shaking his head. "No...perhaps it's the tadpole? We're all a bit on edge, I know. And you've been pushing yourself so hard, you deserve some rest, darling."

(if the PC has discovered Aurel is a dhampir)

"Well, I'm no stranger to the occasional bouts of bloodlust, but it sounds like you mean something else entirely...perhaps it's the tadpole? We're all a bit on edge, I know. And you've been pushing yourself so hard, you deserve some rest, darling."

Is your Tav a romanceable character?  Are there any specific requirements to romancing them?

Aurel is a romanceable character, though he’s only available to male or nonbinary Tavs.  He may teasingly return a female PC’s flirtation, but if she tries to push an actual relationship he will gently turn her down.

Aurel probably has two branching romance paths; a more casual, fling-type relationship, and a more serious, slow-burn one.

Aurel has a great deal of trauma regarding romantic relationships; his first love was killed in front of him, and he's been incapable of holding down a long-term relationship ever since. If the PC attempts a more casual, fling-type relationship, Aurel will inevitably panic as it develops and will try to end it before it gets too serious. It would be possible to salvage the relationship here and reassure Aurel, but it would have to stop being a fling and would have to turn into an actual relationship.

The slow-burn romance arc is, as the title suggests, much slower. It would involve returning Aurel's flirtations, but never taking the relationship past that. The PC would have to tell him that they want more than just a casual fling with him, which would make him very flustered (he's noticeably smoother in the fling-path, as that's what he's most familiar with, but he turns into a flustered, blushing MESS in the slow-burn path). At the end of around Act 2 is when Aurel would tentatively reveal to the PC his trauma regarding Philo, and he would admit that "this is the...slowest I've gone in a relationship, since then. I get into my own head too much, but you...you make me want to be brave."

Are they a polyamorous or a monogamous option?

Aurel is potentially a polyamorous option, though he's a picky one.

Aurel will tease the Player Character if they ask about bringing Halsin into the relationship. “I can hardly blame you for looking - he cuts quite an impressive form. And, well, he’d be a fool to not desire you.” He still is unsure about polyamory, but if the Player Character mentions that Halsin wants him as well, he’ll become flustered and will “need a moment to think on it.” After another long rest, Aurel will approach the Player Character and say that after “giving it some thought” he’s decided that, even though he’s never attempted a polyamorous relationship, he’s willing to try, and he trusts Halsin enough to let the PC try with him. Aurel does add a firm caveat though that he expects the PC to ask him first before bringing in any other additional people. "You know me, I don't do well with surprises."

Which is to say, unless the PC passes a persuasion check, Aurel will disapprove of the PC having sexual encounters with Haarlep and the Emperor. He will also flat-out break up with the PC if they sleep with Mizora. (and if he and the PC do break up, idle banter suggests he and Halsin are still seeing each other)

I also want to say that it's possible to romance both him and Astarion at the same time, because I think that is SUCH a funny concept, but I do not know how it would actually be realized. But the PC holding both Astarion and Aurel's hands while they glare at each other behind the PC's back is suuuuch a funny mental image to me. Boyfriend-in-laws.

How do they react to the player character breaking up with them, or choosing another character over them?

As mentioned before, Aurel has been completely incapable of maintaining a stable relationship before the events of the game. He's had many flings over the years, but any time a relationship starts to get serious he panics and finds a way to end things. He has deep-seeded anxieties about relationships, and part of his romance arc would involve helping him resolve these.

So, with that said, he puts up almost no fight if the PC breaks up with him.

"Oh, but I thought...right. Of course. All things come to an end, after all. Well, we had fun, but I'll not stop you from roaming where you need to."

A successful insight check in this moment reveals that Aurel is putting on a facade, but if the PC tries to pry, Aurel will sharply brush them off and end the conversation.

If the PC has activated a romance with another character while romancing Aurel, he will approach them and offer to step aside for the other person's happiness. Again, a successful insight check will reveal Aurel is not as unbothered as he claims to be.

(I have also written what he says for each romance option...the brainrot is strong)

“Wyll’s a good man, almost too good to be true. To be honest I’m not sure who I’m more envious of. But he deserves something nice, as do you.”

“Karlach’s been through literal Hell and back…and when she’s around you, I see that torment lift from her a little.  Her happiness matters more to me than anything, except perhaps yours.” 

“I tease Gale, but he’s a good man. And he deserves to know what true love is like, not whatever that…farce was that Mystra put him through.” 

“Lae’zel is…intense. But I think she’s finally met her match in you, and she almost seems…softer, around you.”

“Sometimes I think Shadowheart is still that scared girl in the woods…but something about you comforts her. I think if I called you her guiding light she’d smack me, but you know what I mean.”

“I know I’ve had my issues with Astarion in the past…and in the present, but even I can see how he seems…different around you.  That infuriating facade of his almost drops when you’re around.  I think if anyone could bring out a genuine emotion in him, it would be you.”

What are Tav’s plans for the future?  Do they propose to the PC, or is marriage not something they’re interested in?

Oh Aurel is SUCH a romantic, and if the PC managed to help him get over his anxieties regarding relationships? Oh he's sticking by them FOREVER. It's even worse if Dragomir shows up. The PC has met his DAD and his dad LIKED THEM.

Anyways. I think one of Aurel's final Act 3 romance scenes is him trying SO HARD to set up a romantic atmosphere to propose but he keeps fucking it up and things keep going wrong and it's SUCH A cringefail moment and he ends up getting SO anxious and exasperated and says something like "of COURSE when I try to propose to the LOVE OF MY LIFE it ALL GOES WRONG" and then he realizes he RUINED the SURPRISE and it becomes a whole thing. Aurel's romance really is just him being an absolute anxious, neurotic mess of a man and the PC either being just as insane as him or trying to calm down the chaos a little. Wyll absolutely calmed the chaos. God bless that man.

[cwarscars-a]

[ cuff ] — my muse handcuffs your muse (since Heid likes to be told what to do by a woman, ahem 8D)

kinky/rough smut prompts

CW: VERY NSFW! contains potentially uncomfortable kinks like bondage, cum play, knife play, sensation play, etc. feel free to combine prompts & change pronouns/descriptors as needed. put under a read more for viewing safety, & it’s also rather lengthy as well. written from the perspective of the sender — ‘my muse’ = sender, ‘your muse’ = receiver. !!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!

@stingslikeabee

a day together outside of work - a sweet bliss so rare that the day has almost had him nervous. melissa at his side and his house entirely theirs to share; her curiosity at each and every trinket, a delight. a framed photograph of his wife set face-down to a table. everything else admired and adored.

a soft bit of play that had taken them from the lounge to the bedroom, lips and fingers that had explored the curves of each other. his hands firm on her form, a curl of his fingers around her waist that had quickly become a warm embrace - strength urged when he'd lifted her up from the floor and pulled her onto the bed. a chuckle neither can help escape them, whispers that come with a kiss - "i can't get enough of you-" - it isn't a lie. he really can't help but touch her; hell, since the affair had begun, it'd been hard to keep his hands off of her.

the slightest grazes of hands in the office, any excuse to get close - to have his lips ( or hips ) near hers. she had become a highlight, no - a necessity in his day. a quenching to his thirst, an addiction like any other ( dangerous, too ).

still - he'd not have it any other way. if anything, he'd found himself pining for more. eager to show her all; from flecks of his past to his secret desires.

not that she'd know the extent of his fantasies - only the briefest hint here and there. the slightest of submission when she'd uttered his name. that time she'd straddled his hips in the office, jerked him off through his pants as he'd sat red-faced at his desk. her words, a constant tease. a tease enough to have him entirely at her mercy. the littlest of hints that he weren't all brutal.

perhaps his desires had been too obvious -

for when she explores a drawer and pulls free a pair of cuffs, a smile spread across her lips and a certain look in her eye -

he finds himself hitching a breath.

gods have mercy; his cock twitches at the mere sight of her holding them. the lacy gown she dons, her breasts ample and her thighs, luscious. skin teased with a dress so short - a dress near-see-through. still, he only thinks about ripping it off. carnal desire supressed ( or is it, teased? ) with the way she encourages him to lie, climbs atop him and snaps the cuffs around his wrists. has him chained in a way that makes him entirely hers -

heidegger feigns his disinterest, acts as though the kink isn't one he's fantasied about more times than many. shifts his gaze & teases a smirk. the red of his cheeks a giveaway but the stiffness between his legs, more-so.

his enthusiasm felt in the hardness that she presses up against - boxers slid free of his hips to reveal his swollen member, a damp on its edge - his breaths losing him at the smile she dons.

"so -" he breathes "what now-" the slightest laugh, a lick of embarrassment that has thighs aching and his cock jerk. the sensitivity that inspires a press of his lip when she grazes him with the slightest touch. "you've got me all to yourself" gosh, it has him almost choking to say. a fantasy come-to-life; a woman in absolute control. his body, hers.

him; her personal sex toy.

he can feel nerves edged, the cut of the cuffs rough on skin. even when she stays still, he can feel his cock seize between his thighs. each and every second another tremble of flesh; his member, thick and throbbing. the faintest glimmer of pre-cum, a flavour he'd beg her to try. the mere act of being bound, enough to edge him. despite his usual refrain and despite what she may or may not know -

she has him entirely at her mercy.

her answer comes in the form of a wider smile, hand slid around the girth of his cock - the slightest squeeze to have him squirm - a thumb that taunts nerve, a lick of her lips. "i do" she purrs, a free hand coursing up her gown, fingers that free her breasts, body caressed to tease the two of them. "don't i-" she leans in close, her body pressed to his, her lips on his neck and a kiss that turns to a bite "magnar-"

and with that his head is pushed back into the pillow; absolute submission as his cock pleas for more.

gods, what a woman.

[stingslikeabee]

❛  you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.  ❜

quotes from stories I never finished . accepting

Nothing about the woman on the outside denounced her true origins - the dress was simple enough, similar to the types worn by the peasant girls; there was no jewelry in sight, no hint of a royal birthright adorning wrists, neck or ears; even the cloak hiding most of the brunette's face and body from casual observers was convincingly tattered at the edges, as if it has brushed against the ground for many moons.

And yet, there was just one thing that Princess Melissa failed to take into account when journeying alone to town - or, more precisely, the woods that stood imposingly dark and silent further to the south. They were avoided by the locals - no one visited these parts of the realm for wood or even game because of the rumors and stories about the dangerous beast lurking within. Not many had seen it - but almost everyone within range had heard it; the howls, the growls, the screams.

But Melissa was unaware of these legends - there was only a pull, the faint whispers of something unknown pushing her towards that part of the capital. Almost as if the young royal was under a trance, but at the same time retained consciousness - each decision of the woman was her own, but definitely encouraged by a drive that was impossible to put into words. These woods sung to her, called Melissa out, demanded her presence.

The feeling of finally getting there was indescribable - the full moon shining in a clear sky, making silver paths over fresh grass and feeling distinctively like home so far away from the fortified stone walls that had surrounded Melissa all her life. The princess had a smile on her face, abandoning all the alertness that had persisted until she arrived at the forest - enough to push her cloak back, kneel and touch the vegetation that seemed so alluring and alive under the moonlight.

Melissa didn't get very far in her exploration, however - a figure approached from a nearby shed that remained hidden from sight, the steps of the newcomer muffled in a way that paid testimony to his knowledge of the surrounding area. It all happened so very fast - and suddenly the princess found herself on her back, laying on the ground and with the view of the moon and stars above blocked by a man she had never seen before.

His hand was on her throat, the other pressing something that felt sharp and dangerous to a lower part of her frame - it wasn't enough to deprive the princess of air or to cut into skin, but it was clearly a threat. Immovable and understandably startled, Melissa didn't do anything - not even scream for help; it had been all so sudden and unexpected that the ability to react and to proclaim her lineage were all forgotten.

The strange man - his impossible blue eyes - seemed so familiar, too; and yet, Melissa was convinced she had never met anyone with that particular look.

"You shouldn't have come here, let alone on a full moon," the man said in a low, vaguely threatening voice, "You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into."

"I..." Melissa attempted to speak, but faltered; words eluded the brunette, and instead she held the strangely captivating gaze of the man holding her temporarily hostage, a faint smile appearing on her face nonetheless. "I needed to come. I do not expect you to understand," the princess got out at last, a hint of the haughtiness of those of blue blood coloring the words, "Why don't you enlighten me instead of threatening a guest to these woods? They belong to the realm - access is not forbidden or restricted."

Melissa did not realize it, but her heart was pounding - and not only that, but the breathing had quickened and the woman felt the world surrounding her with a clarity that had never manifested thus far. All that sheltered life in the palace should have made her afraid of the unexpected encounter - but it didn't; it made the princess so incredibly alive, even if she was at the mercy of the kingdom's most lethal predator and completely unaware of the fact.

[atozdreammeaning]

Annoyed by Some Stranger

Feeling irritated by an outsider can happen to anybody whenever, yet it's memorable's essential that we have zero control over others' way of behaving, just the way in which we respond to it. Here are a few hints on the most proficient method to manage inconvenience from an outsider. Have you at any point felt irritated or disappointed by an outsider? Perhaps they cut you off in rush hour gridlock, chanced upon you in the city without saying 'sorry' or just acted discourteously towards you for reasons unknown. It very well may be hard to manage these kinds of circumstances, yet the following are a couple of tips that might prove to be useful:

Take a full breath and attempt to resist the urge to panic. Responding adversely to somebody's way of behaving may just heighten what is happening.

Try not to take part in a contention. It could be smarter to leave or disregard the way of behaving essentially.

Reevaluate your point of view. Attempt to comprehend the reason why the individual may be acting along these lines. Maybe they are having a terrible day or managing their very own issues.

Consider standing up to the individual in a courteous and conscious way. Make sense of what their way of behaving is meaning for you and check whether they will transform it. Generally, recall that everybody has their own difficulties and battles to manage. Attempt to move toward the circumstance with sympathy and understanding, and deal with yourself simultaneously.

Take a full breath and attempt to keep even headed. Recall that blowing up or disturb will just exacerbate things.

Attempt to comprehend the reason why the individual might have acted the manner in which they did. Perhaps they are having a terrible day, or they don't understand Annoyed by Some Stranger what their activities are meaning for other people.

In the event that the circumstance permits, attempt to speak with the individual and express your sentiments in a quiet and deferential way. This might assist them with seeing things according to your point of view and could prompt a serene goal.

Assuming the individual's way of behaving is genuinely unsatisfactory or dangerous, it's critical to eliminate yourself from the circumstance and look for help if fundamental. Keep in mind, everybody has terrible days and commits errors. It means a lot to attempt to be understanding and merciful towards others, regardless of whether they are outsiders.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @little-gremlin-in-the-walls @tinyegg @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @rat-poisin @alm334 @cdizzlevalntyne @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity

[pingutats]

wake up in some promised land

despite his best efforts to keep their relationship out of the public eye, harry & y/n are photographed together as they leave a party one night —and harry has an interview the very next morning.

warnings: a little bit of angst about trying to navigate fame and a relationship. harry has a foul mouth. but there’s a happy ending!

word count: 2.2k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

Harry was decidedly not in a good mood. 

It had been a late night. He’d had a few more drinks than he usually did. In his defence it was earned—he’d just released an album, it was soaring to great heights on iTunes charts all over the world and already receiving overwhelmingly positive reviews—so sue him if he indulged in some expensive champagne, a couple fancy cocktails, too many rounds of shots for him to remember clearly… It was a good night all around. 

The headache he has right now though, brought on by the sudden blare of his alarm (far earlier than he would have preferred), threatens to tarnish the memory. He even considers swearing off drinking forever so he’ll never suffer like this again. 

When he voices this intention to a dozing Y/N as he pulls a shirt on, his only feedback is a pillow-muffled, “You’re such an old man, H.”

He leans over the bed and kisses the small part of her forehead that’s exposed between the pillow and the blanket. “Come on, love. Time to get up.”

“You can get up. I don’t have a radio appearance to make.” She jerks the blanket up to cover her head entirely. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”

He manages to drag her downstairs with him anyway, with promises of making her coffee and a hot breakfast. In the kitchen she yawns and stretches, the over-sized sleep shirt opening like bat wings as she raises her arms above her head. He has to force his fond gaze away to concentrate on turning the coffee machine on and pulling eggs out of the fridge. 

“This is a really ungodly hour,” she comments, watching him rummage around in a cupboard for a frying pan. 

“No such thing as a good night’s sleep when you’re as successful as I am,” he tells her wisely. 

She doesn’t even indulge him with a laugh, which tells him exactly how tired she is. 

The coffee’s done quickly—Harry is so addicted to the stuff he could probably make it in his sleep with all the practise he’s had—and she grabs the cup from him with greedy fingers, closing her eyes and sipping as she’s perched up on the counter. 

Harry nearly lets out a moan when the caffeine hits his lips. It surely can’t work that quickly, but already he’s starting to feel alive again. He turns to the stovetop and cracks the eggs in the frypan with one hand, using his other hand to cling to his cup for dear life. 

His phone starts ringing and the sound pierces through his head. His manager’s name is displayed, which is a good thing because if it was anyone else calling right now Harry would probably be tempted to kill them, and even if no publicity is bad publicity, he’s not sure a murder charge would be good for his album sales. He slides his finger across the screen to answer it and tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he adjusts the heat on the stove. 

“Hey, Jeff,” he says. 

Jeff laughs on the other end. “You sound fucked.”

“Big night,” Harry grumbles. “You don’t sound to pretty yourself.”

“All I’m saying is you better get yourself set in the next half hour, ‘cause a voice like that on the radio isn’t going to help you sell records.”

“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Harry retorts. “Got a coffee, I’ll be fine—oh, shit—fuck!” He’s mixed up his hands as he tried to flip the eggs, and poured coffee in the frypan. “Give me a second.”

He sets his coffee down on the counter and unsticks his phone from his cheek, turning it on speaker and placing it next to his cup. He stares at mess in the frypan and decides he’s going to have to try drain the liquid into the sink, without losing the eggs. He accepts this challenge with humility and grace, because he knows it’s his own stupid fault.

Y/N is cackling behind him. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but her laughter this morning just means that she’s in a better mood than earlier. He’d give anything to keep her happy, so if it takes fucking up their breakfast to have her smiling—so be it. 

“Okay,” Harry says to Jeff once he’s secured the situation. 

“Is everything okay over there?” Jeff’s voice is slightly tinny through the phone speaker, but his stress is evident in his tone. 

“Yeah, we’re just—“ he looks at the eggs, dyed brown by the coffee, and glances over his shoulder apologetically at Y/N. “We’re having caffeinated eggs. You’re on speaker. Y/N’s here too. Say hi, baby.”

“Hey, Jeff,” Y/N chirps. 

Jeff sighs. “Hi. Listen, it‘s probably good that you both hear this anyway. There are a couple of photos of the two of you from last night that are doing the rounds on Twitter this morning.”

Harry stiffens. “What?”

Here’s the thing: Harry and Y/N are definitely an item. It’s happened pretty quickly. They’ve been dating for a few months and now whenever they’re in the same city they’re practically living together. They’ve said “I love you” to each other often enough that its utterance isn’t a special occasion anymore. So, sure, they’re boyfriend-girlfriend, and if all goes to Harry’s plan, they’ll be more than that soon enough.

But in the meantime, she’s also his best-kept secret. There have been rumours, of course. They’ve been spotted having lunch together or going on walks. Anyone paying attention knows they’re good friends, but Harry has been careful not to let the other dimension of their relationship slip out into public yet. He conducts himself on public outings (secretly dates) like a Victorian gentleman, constantly vigilant that his affection never goes beyond what’s appropriate between friends. 

“They’re not bad,” Jeff says quickly. “It’s just pretty obvious what’s going on. I’ll send them to you, hang on.”

Y/N slides off the bench and comes to stand right behind Harry, leaning around him to stare at the phone. The minute of waiting for the photos to come through feels like forever. Y/N must sense his tension, because she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes. 

A notification pops up at the top of his screen: from Jeff, 8 images attached. He taps it quickly and frowns at the photos. 

They must have been taken as they were leaving the bar that the album release party was at. He notices Jeff and others also crowded on the pavement outside, lit by the orange glow of streetlights. The focus, however, is of course on Harry and Y/N, who were putting on something of a show for all their friends—and, apparently, the rest of the world. 

The first couple are okay. There Harry is, his arm slung around Y/N, clearly not sober as he bellows something up to the sky with a massive grin on his face and closed eyes. They were singing, he vaguely remembers, the karaoke they were doing inside the bar spilling over the rest of their night. Y/N is laughing at him, clapping her hands together.

Harry drags his finger up the screen to scroll to the next photos in Jeff’s chain. These ones start to reveal the two of them as much more than just friends. The arm around her dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. And then he was bending his head down. And then he was kissing her. 

He scrolls down even further. 

In this one, he’s groping her ass in full view of the camera. 

“Harry, you lecher!” Y/N scolds, smacking his arm in good humour.

He just shakes his head, staring at the photo. “There’s no plausible deniability, is there?”

“There isn’t,” Jeff says over the phone. He laughs weakly. “You two put on a real show.” He must sense the panic that Harry’s feeling, because he adds, “Listen, Harry, I can blacklist questions about it if you want. Just tell me what you want to do.”

Harry looks at Y/N, chewing on his lip. He feels like a teenager again, out of control of his narrative and at the mercy of the media. He’s meticulously developed his skills of privacy for years, now, and one night of insobriety and bad luck undid it all. 

Jeff clears his throat. “The thing with blacklisting is that it might raise more questions. And even if you don’t talk about it, you’ve gotta remember that everyone else will be.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Look—“

Y/N puts her hand on his cheek, patting him. “Hey,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and holds it in for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally with a sigh. 

She scoffs. “You’re not the only one in these photos.”

He frowns. She doesn’t get that he’s apologising for more than just the photos. It’s the fact that they have to deal with this at all, that it’s such a big deal for them to simply act like a normal couple. It’s the fact that it’s him, and he is who he is. 

“H,” she presses further. “It’s up to you. Your decision. But I want you to know that I’m happy whichever way you choose.”

He searches her eyes for any hint of doubt. She didn’t manage to clean off all her make-up last night, and there’s a smear of glitter on her temple and dark smudges of mascara underneath her eyes. She looks tired, but she’s definitely serious about what she’s saying. 

“You get what it means to be public with me, though,” he says at last. He hesitates. “It’s… intense.”

She shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” She’s holding his head in her hands, her fingers smoothing his unruly curls off his face. “It’s just a few photos. It isn’t everything.”

It isn’t everything. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down to kiss her gently. It’s just an innocent peck, but the feel of her soft lips against his is enough to ground him.

Jeff clears his throat awkwardly. 

They break apart with embarrassed smiles. “Sorry,” Harry says, but he isn’t really.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sounding uncomfortable. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because we’re really cutting it fine.”

Harry looks at Y/N, who nods. 

He turns back to the phone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry says. “Let them ask the questions.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asks. “Okay then, that saves me a load of trouble. Good luck, man. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hanging up with a sharp tap on the screen. He turns around to Y/N with a grin on his face. “Where were we…”

Y/N giggles as he gathers her into his arms, pulling her in close for a kiss that no one else can see or hear, a kiss just for them. When she pulls back to breath, he peppers his lips all over her face until she’s squirming away—“Harry, that tickles!”

He lands one last kiss on her cheek before his gaze lands on the time display on the oven behind her, which tells him he has ten minutes before he needs to be on the Zoom call for the interview. 

She notices the sudden shift in his demeanour and glances behind her to see what caused it. She turns back around. “I’ll sit with you.”

He nods. “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”

“It’s Harry Styles!” the presenter cries. 

“It’s me! Hello, hello,” he says, waving at the screen. The laptop is set on the coffee table and he’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he grins at the screen. “How are ya?”

“Oh, we’re wonderful,” the presenter replies. “More importantly, how are you? Looks like you had a big night last night, judging by these photos we’re seeing!”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Big night,” he echoes, dragging out the word. 

The presenter laughs. “Sounds like a great time. Well deserved after this masterpiece of an album. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re quite close with somebody there. Would you explain what’s going on here, Harry?”

Harry peers at the photo displayed on his computer screen, even though he knows exactly what it will be. The one they chose is a sweet one, with Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck and kiss that he seems to be melting into. He can’t suppress his smile at that. “Oh, well,” he says. “That’s my friend Y/N.”

The presenter raises his eyebrows at that. “Good friend, is she?”

Harry glances up over the laptop to look at Y/N, sitting on the other couch, her cheeks pink and round from her smile. Harry surreptitiously reaches his arm towards her, out of frame, and she leans forward to hold his hand. 

“She is. She’s a lovely girl.” He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we’re very good friends.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

thank you so much for reading! this fic is based on a request from @kissmyaxe140 — i really intended this to be a shorter blurb of a few hundred words, but i’m incapable of brevity. apparently. this grew into a little monster but i rlly had fun writing it!! the title is a lyric from secret life by bleachers.

if you liked this fic, a reblog and/or any kind of feedback would be very much appreciated. my masterlist can be found here and you can send me messages here. have a gorgeous day!

[azaleavi]

Stranger with a knife - Y.B.

Summary: A stranger disturbs you in the middle of the night. Turns out that stranger might have a thing for knives.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: use of knives, blood, alcohol mention, stab wound, mention of knife kink, very brief hint on use of poison

Author’s note: My first ever Yelena fic!! I’m super nervous to post it so please give me feedback! I’ve never written for a female character before but i hope you guys like it!

Feedback is always appreciated and don’t forget to reblog and like if you enjoyed it and want to see more. Thank you!

Masterlist

It's in the middle of the night when you hear noise coming from outside your front door. It must be the neighbor you think and turn to your other side, away from the door to your room. You look at the digital clock and the bright red numbers tell you that it's just a little past 4 am. You are used to the people living next to you making noise. They always go out partying and they come back around this time so you don't make a fuss about it.

The noise of a few cars passing by on the street flow through the open window with the movement of the curtain caused by the light breeze. It does nothing for the heat that settled inside the four walls, the summer sun not letting go of you even during the night when it's sleeping.

You hear the noise again, like a person grunting just outside your little living space. It must have been some party you smile to yourself, a little jealousy seeping into the curve of your lips. You wanted to go out and party sometimes. Of course, you do, but that kind of time is not something you have.

The noise comes again, not moving an inch away from you and you realize that it's a female voice. You sit up in bed, worried for the mystery woman. She might be in trouble and you could not sleep knowing she might need your help.

Your feet touch the ground beside your bed just as the front door opens. The creaking of the old door echoes through the quiet space as you freeze in your spot, hands on the edge of the mattress ready to push you up to stand. Didn't you lock the door?

You are thankful that your eyes are used to the dark as you stand on shaky legs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Slowly walking to the door you grab the wood to open it just enough to look through the crack. An outline of a smaller figure catches your eyes as she stumbles in and closes the door behind her. At least she has some manners.

She stumbles onto your couch, her hands clutching her side. Landing on the soft cushions with a groan, she turns on her back.

You open the door a little more but stop your movements as it creaks. Damn old doors. She looks up from her stomach that she is still holding and your mouth opens in shock as she locks eyes with you. She has beautiful eyes.

"What-" she starts speaking, but her words fell short as she loses consciousness and falls back onto the couch. In a panic, you walk out the door and turn on the light. The woman has a big red patch on the side of her shirt and you can see her flesh under it as the fabric is cut open.

You pull the shirt away from her wound to check it out and you realize that it's not as bad as it looks. You are not a doctor, but you can tell that she doesn't need stitches. Pushing her shirt up just enough, you go and get some water, a towel, and some bandages. She needs your help no matter how she broke into your house. You clean all the blood away and wrap her in the bandages to the best of your abilities. When you are satisfied with your work you sit down on a chair facing the couch. You know you couldn't sleep with a stranger in your apartment so you decide on watching her. Your tired body has other plans though and you slip into sleep 15 minutes after.

-

The morning sun shines onto your closed eyelids making you stir in your sleep. Realizing what happened you jolt awake, almost falling off the uncomfortable chair you have been sitting on for the past few hours. the woman is still in the same place, passed out. A sigh leaves your lips in relief. You don't know what she would have done to you if she woke up before you.

Your stomach grumbles into the quiet morning air, signaling that the small dinner you had was not enough. After one last check on the woman, you walk into the kitchen to prepare something for you, making a little more than you usually would in case your guest wakes up hungry too.

As you busy yourself with breakfast, you don't notice the woman wake up and look around the unfamiliar place. Felling something around her torso she looks down and sees a bandage neatly wrapped around the wound she sustained last night. Her eyes land on your frame standing by the stove and her training kicks in. Standing up she quietly walks over to the kitchen counter that has knives on it and grabs one.

You feel a presence behind you, but before you can turn around you feel the coldness of the metal pressed to your neck. Your hands stop moving as you gasp. Her other hand goes around your waist and you can't help but grab onto it in panic.

"Who are you?" her accent is thick as it rumbles inside your ear.

"I think I should be the one asking that" your accent is just as prominent yet slightly different and she is taken back for a second. Who are you to talk back to her like this when you have a knife to your neck?

"I asked first" the childish claim is the only thing that comes out of her mouth, her brain unable to think of anything else. You tilt your head slightly as if saying fair.

"I'm the owner of the house you stumbled into in the middle of the night" you don't know where this confidence comes from, but you like it "Your turn" you look at the tiles on the wall ahead of you, trying to make her out in the reflection but it's no use. It's way too blurred to make out any features, but you can feel that she is around the same height as you.

"I'm the person who stumbled into your house" you can basically hear the smirk in her voice and you hold back a groan.

"I'll need a little more than that" you talk back to her and she is surprised once again.

"Well too bad" she lets go of you and you immediately turn around to come face to face with the most attractive woman you have ever seen. You look into her eyes and now it's your turn to be speechless.

"I was right" you mumble as a small smile plays on your lips.

"About what?" she furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"Your eyes are really pretty" her whole body freezes at the compliment that leaves your mouth. She stares at you for a few seconds then clears her throat and turns away from you.

"So what happened?" she sits down on one of the chairs, keeping the knife close to her hand. Just in case.

"I told you. You walked into my house and bled on my couch" you shrug as you turn off the stove. Taking out two plates you scrape the food into each. She watches as you place one plate in front of her before sitting down on the chair across the table.

"How do I know you didn't put anything in this?" she looks down at it and she has to admit, it smells delicious.

"You'll have to find out" you tease her but immediately regret it as the knife is back under your chin, pressing against your skin almost breaking it.

"I'm starting to think you have a knife kink" your eyes don't leave the blade as you continue to tease her. She scoffs at your comment and pushes the knife harder against you "Okay, okay I'm just kidding" you try to de-escalate the situation as you hold your hands up in surrender. She takes mercy on you and pulls away the knife from your throat. A sigh escapes you as she leans back into her chair, making her smirk under her nose.

"Do you want me to eat from your food too?" you raise your eyebrows but she waves you off.

"I'm not hungry anyway. Do you have some vodka?" she tilts her head that you find oddly adorable.

"Vodka?" you ask back in surprise. Why would she want alcohol early in the morning?

"Yes" she nods like there is nothing wrong with what she is asking for.

"Sure" you shrug, acting nonchalant. If she wants to drink so early then she has another thing coming. You walk to the fridge and pull out a bottle. Trying to shield it from her view, you pour it into a shot glass and turn around to face her. She is sitting there impatiently as you hand the glass to her and she drowns it without thinking. You can see on her face that she was expecting the familiar sting of alcohol. Instead, she got a big shot of water from you. You can barely hide your smile as you see her face drop. She turns to you and you hide your mouth behind your hand.

"Do you think you are funny?" her voice is low as she stands up and you take a step back.

"A little, yes" you scrunch up your nose while nodding. She feels her anger dissipate at the action, but she steels herself.

"Okay then funny girl why don't you tell me your name?" she takes another step closer to you, but you mirror her movement backward.

"You first" your eyes don't leave hers as you play this cat and mouse game.

"I could kill you in a second" she threatens you, but for some reason, you don't budge. Everything you do baffles her and she needs to figure you out.

"If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already" you tilt your head to the side with a small smile. She stops in her tracks as her heart almost skips a beat at the action. Almost. The expression on her face makes you furrow your eyebrows "What?" the question shakes her out of her stupor and she raises her knife once again. She needs to leave right now before she does anything she will regret.

"If you tell anyone that I was here" she steps closer and this time you don't move back "you will die a painful death" you suck in a sharp breath at her words.

"Wait, you are leaving?" there is a slight sadness in your voice that she notices, but chooses to ignore. You don't even know why you want her to stay. She is a stranger that got stabbed and broke into your apartment in the middle of the night. You shouldn't want her to stay.

"I already stayed longer than I should have" she explains as she puts down the knife on the table and walks towards the front door.

It's already open by the time you reach her and you grab her elbow in a hurry. Her hand wraps around your wrist so tightly that it hurts and you hiss as you pull away from her. She mumbles a sorry under her breath as she fully turns back to you.

"I need to-"

"At least tell me your name" you interrupt whatever she wanted to say. Your eyes are wide as you look at her, your voice having a hint of desperation. Her heart beats just a little harder as you stare at her with so much hope in your eyes. A sigh parts her lips as she brings her hand to your cheek. Her palm presses against the soft flesh on your face and you can't help but lean into her touch. You don't know her, but you feel more comfortable around her than you had with anyone in your life.

"Yelena" you didn't even notice that you closed your eyes until it snaps open. Her name. Yelena.

"Yelena" you whisper is like an echo of an empty staircase of her voice and she concludes she likes it. You stare at each other for a few quiet seconds, her hand still on your cheek.

"Don't move away from this place" she lets go of you and leaves you perplexed by her words.

"What?" you ask back. You must have heard her wrong.

She doesn't answer you. Instead, she walks away from you and only throws you a smile over her shoulder. You stand there as she walks down the stairs and disappears from your sight.

Your mind is a mess as you close the door and press your back against it. You don't know anything about her other than her name, but you know one thing. You won't move away from this apartment until a specific blonde woman shows up at your door again. Maybe this time not bleeding.

[after-witch]

Title: Holding Time [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

Title: Holding Time [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

Synopsis: How long have you been in the basement? How long would it take to starve to death? How long does it take for your lover’s corpse to decompose? 

Word Count: 1960

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, graphic description of corpses, abuse, violence, injuries, starvation 

Dripping. Something is dripping from somewhere--or some thing. The sound is too regular, too maddening, and your eyes dart around the basement to find the source. Not that you could do anything to stop it, with your hands chained to the wall.

It would normally be hard to see in the darkness of the basement, but Fyodor has kindly provided you with a light, hanging above the alcove against the wall just opposite where your chains were lodged. The light is warm and not over-whelming; the type of lighting you might read a book or have dinner under, if the circumstances were different.

Right now, that light is hanging just above the corpse of your boyfriend, a corpse artfully propped up against the wall in a mockery of a sitting stance.

Fyodor didn’t kill him in front of you. Which, you suppose, was meant to be a mercy. But your lover’s body was fresh when Fyodor dragged it down the basement, thumping thudding sounds which still echo in your ears, and you’ll never forget the sight of his lifeless corpse laid out in full view. You screamed and screamed and Fyodor simply watched, before pushing his corpse into a sitting position, right across from you.

“You can have a nice conversation with him now, just like you wanted.”

That was weeks ago. You think. And no, you didn’t have conversations with your lover’s decomposing corpse. But you sometimes talked to yourself. Just to hear something, anything, other than the skittering of mice and buzzing of insects (thanks to the shortness of your chains, you can’t even swat away the flies that land on you, crawling and itching) and the emptiness of the space around you.

You asked yourself if you did something to deserve all this.

You asked yourself if you should have done something different.

You ask yourself if it was stupid not to give in, not to force yourself to accept Fyodor’s advances, physical and otherwise, instead of screaming and biting and telling him you’d rather be dead than around him another second.

That’s when you first ended up in the basement, but that wasn’t the end of it--no, no. The end of it (maybe the end, you think, is there more? Is there more that he can do to you?) was a dead body thrust in front of you. The end of it was realizing that the person you loved most in the world, the person you imagined spending the rest of your life with, was no more. Their hopes and dreams and wishes and wants and needs? All gone. All nothing.

Just like you.

You still can’t decide if it was part of your punishment or if Fyodor would have killed him regardless of how you behaved. Maybe he would have stashed his body in a warehouse somewhere, sealing it with cement, never telling you the details but instead resting easy knowing that there was no real competition for your affection.

You’re not sure which would be worse--giving in to Fyodor’s sick demands and never knowing that your boyfriend had been murdered, or refusing and spending the weeks here, watching his body go from warm and red to stiff then big and bloating and now--now this, wasting away.

You wish your chains were longer. Then you could at least cover his face, so you didn’t have to see him staring at you, eyes white and glassy and unseeing, or his mouth gaping wide, flies and maggots sometimes making their presence known inside. Sometimes the mass of insects makes it look like his jaw, unhinged and slack, is moving--and you spend hours with your eyes closed, peeking only to see if the inhuman effect has ceased.

You can’t escape the smell of decay. Your chains aren’t even long enough to let you cover your mouth, your nose, and your forced to breathe it in every second. Disgustingly sweet and sour and strong, something you’ve never smelled before in your life but you know you will never forget it. All tinged with the smell of your waste which is, at least, mercifully contained in a wooden pail shoved up against the wall. Your legs are weaker and it’s harder to push yourself up using the backs of your elbows, but you manage.

There are few mercies in this basement, but the bucket is one of them, and you dare not complain about the odor lest it be taken away from you, too. Besides, it’s not as if you do more than piddle a meager amount most of the time, anyway. You haven’t had food in--you don’t know. Long enough that you don’t have regular bowel movements anymore. Long enough that the sharp piercing ache of hunger has turned into something altogether new, a deep, dull carving ache--starvation. He stopped bringing food once he brought your boyfriend, once he left you alone with a dead body and your thoughts.

Your water supply is low and inconsistent. Fyodor doesn’t come down into the basement at all anymore, actually, and you’re not even sure that he’s the one tossing the water bottles down the basement stairs.

Sometimes they reach your grasp, sometimes they don’t. On good days, the three bottles thrown down at regular intervals all get close enough that you can pull them to you using your legs or feet. On bad days, your tongue swells up and you swallow nothing but spit.

You don’t have a mirror or any way of seeing yourself, but you can guess that you’re not in the best shape. Your muscles feel weak and cramped. Your wrists are sore, stinging, and you can see the slightest hints of red underneath the cuffs attached to the chains on the wall. Probably an infection, from pulling on them until your wrists bled. Your side hurts all the time, a dull ache that won’t go away.

You haven’t bathed, of course, but the stink of your own unwashed body--the smell of staleness and sweat and body oil--is nothing compared to decay. The smell. The sight.

Does his family know he’s dead? Does your family think you’re dead? Nothing outside the basement feels real, nothing outside the basement feels important. Your world has shrunk down to the grim reality that you’re starving in an isolated space with only the company of pests and a corpse.

And your thoughts, which are sometimes the worst companion of all.

You think about lots of things. You think about your life before all this, how you took it all for granted, how Fyodor ruined everything. You think about your life before the basement, even, the uncertain anxiety of what he was going to do next as you cycled through being handcuffed to Fyodor’s bed, to the dining room table, to the side table next to the sofa.

You think about your hunger. God, you didn’t know hunger could feel like this. You didn’t know it was possible to be so empty, so desperate for the smallest amount of nourishment that sometimes you lick your skin for the salt, the sweat, for the taste of something in your mouth.

You think about your choices. You think about how you threatened him, how you promised him that he was going to get caught and your friends at the agency were going to severely fuck-him-up. You think about how he took all of this with a grim smile, how he smacked you across the face, how he wiped up the blood on your lip and kissed you afterwards.

You think about how he gave you chances, after each time, until finally you'd crossed some line and he dragged you unceremoniously to the basement and clicked on the too-tight cuffs.

Maybe leaving his body behind wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was a lesson. Maybe it was a forewarning of your own fate: you’re going to die down here. Like him. And then you’ll be nothing but a corpse, a sack of flesh animated by the wiggling of insects infesting your insides.

The thought of dying like this brings a low, throbbing horror into your body. Your chest aches. Your throat aches. Everything aches. All the time. But especially when your thoughts race to the future, a future you won’t actually be alive to acknowledge.

But you don’t want to die. You don’t want to die like this, especially, slowly starving and withering and sitting a few inches away from a bucket of your waste.

But that’s what’s going to happen if this goes on much longer.

Fyodor didn’t say he was going to leave you here to die. You thought he’d keep you in the basement until you begged to be let out. And, truth be told, you would have done so already, if he kept coming to see you--but he stopped, and the only face you’ve seen in the past few weeks has been rotting away. He didn’t even give you the opportunity to fix yourself, to apologize, to beg for mercy. Or whatever it is he wanted out of you. Obedience? Amusement?

It doesn’t matter that it wouldn’t be genuine, it doesn’t matter that you hate him more than anything in the world. What matters is that he kidnapped you and killed people in the name of keeping you and destroyed your life in every way imaginable… and now he’s just leaving you to die without giving you a chance to fix it.

Like you’re nothing.

He probably wouldn’t want you now, anyway. You’re a shell of yourself, aren’t you? Your arms are weak and your muscles weaker; and your skin looks sallow and you’re sure, you’re sure, that if he saw your eyes, they would be as glassy and dead as the corpse across the way.

You’d messed up, you’d let yourself become a shadow, a slip, a wraith of a thing stuck in the basement until it finally dies and frees up his time to find someone new. Someone full of life and beauty and anything but the stubbornness you couldn’t let go of, the pride that refused to let you see it was a life or death situation. Life--with Fyodor, sitting on his lap and letting him kiss you and touch you and possess you. Death--well, you see what that is now, an unceremonious bloating and wasting away. Maggots and shit and stink.

And you chose death--didn’t you? Unwittingly, unknowingly, but you chose it all the same.

If you had a do-ever, you know you would choose life. You would grin and bear it. You would throw yourself into it, you would do everything in your power to stay in his good graces, to stay upstairs--where you would be clean and fed and sleep on sheets and never have to understand what it’s like for your lips to be so dry that they crack open and bleed. 

Maybe... maybe he didn’t even wait for your death to get someone new. You can hear sounds from upstairs, sometimes, undefined but surely there. Maybe he’s already got someone upstairs and they were smart enough to keep their mouth shut and their expressions neutral, pretending they weren’t horrified and disgusted by the person who ripped their life into pieces.

Maybe it was too late to beg on your hands and knees for forgiveness, for another chance. Too late to tell him that you were wrong and stupid and you want to be with him, upstairs, please, please, please.

And that’s what you say now, what your thoughts propel you to whisper into the stagnant basement air: Please. Please. Please. You say it so much that your throat hurts, you say it so much that you don’t know how much time has passed before there’s a sudden sound--a sudden light.

You jerk your head towards the light, the opening of the basement door at the top of the steps. The light hovers, murky, shimmering, like the sun viewed from underneath the water. The only sound now is the jingling of your chains, and then--

Footsteps, on the stairs descending.

One.

Two.

Three.

You hardly recognize your own voice when you cry out, wistful and hopeful and above all things, desperate.

“Fyodor?”

[ka-za-ri]

Sequel

Someone on Ao3 said something about showing Diavolo the tape Simeon and Lucifer made with you. Things spiraled down from there. Y'all know what kind of trash I'm all about being. A follow up to Press Play Pairing: Simeon x Diavolo x Reader Genre: PwP Smut Wordcount: ????     Tags: Smut, Porn without plot, Sub Dia, Voyeurism, size kink, dirty talk, sex toys, orgasm control, orgasm denial, pet play Summary: Simeon hatches a plan to include Diavolo in his next feature film.

There was a certain tension in the air you couldn't quite place. The pointed glances Diavolo made over his cup made you uneasy. It was made worse with how Simeon seemed blissfully unaware of just how heated the Demon Lord's gaze was whenever he glanced at the angel. You felt out of place, to say the least; but there was no getting out of a personal invitation to tea from Diavolo. "I do hope classes are going well for you." Diavolo broke the silence with mundane chit chat, though there was still the underlying feeling that he was hiding his true feelings from you. "Have you found things to do to alleviate your stress?" 

Before you could speak, Simeon answered for you, his tone matched Diavolo's; chipper yet oddly restrained. "Oh yes, we've gotten into the habit of meeting up to go through a movie on Lucifer's watch list. It's quite extensive. Everyone benefits from a little stress relief at the end of the week, don't you think?" Diavolo laughed jovially, his expression no longer as tense when Simeon explained your weekly "relaxation" activities. "Oh absolutely!" Diavolo agreed. "Nothing like a good movie and some quality time with friends!" You heard his voice lilt just slightly at the end, an oddly fragile note to his overall happy-go-lucky attitude. Was that a… pout you saw forming at the corner of his mouth? 

Simeon chuckled, taking a small sip of his tea, ignoring whatever signs the demon lord might have been dropping. “Yes, the quality of time spent with my dear friends has been nothing short of exquisite. It is such a shame that Lucifer is away on business this week and we will have to skip out on our regular meetup. I was so looking forward to the film this week too.” 

“Oh, what was on the watch list this week?” Diavolo’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Was it something I’ve seen before?” 

“Ah, we were… going to view a film we shot together.” Simeon’s smile was ironically innocent for what he had just said. The silence that followed from his statement said volumes and only added to the tension in the room. 

“Oh.” Diavolo finally stuttered, blushing madly. “Lucifer has advised me of your ah… filmmaking endeavors, I hear you’re quite the director.” It was your turn to blush. Diavolo knew of what you did with Simeon and Lucifer. Lucifer told him about the film you had made. Even if it hadn’t been said out loud, you had thought the recording would have been a secret between the three of you. “Well. I uh... “ You stammered, trying to come up for a defense for yourself. 

“Well, since you’ve already screened my latest work, what are your thoughts?” Simeon cut you off. The look in his eyes had changed, there was a glint of mischief and the heat in them matched Diavolo’s. “I’m always open for constructive criticism.” Diavolo looked to the side, to the ceiling, to the carpet below, anywhere but right in front of him where Simeon sat. He cleared his throat and loosened the collar on his top. “Well. If uh.. I had a say in it, I think I’d like to perhaps partake in the sequel you had planned?” his voice faltered and for once, you saw the vulnerability in his expression. Diavolo was lonely. Despite all he owned, he was feeling left out of gatherings. There was a hint of desperation in his voice as if he had put all his eggs into one basket, hoping to be included in this activity. 

His expression was everything Simeon had hoped for. Diavolo had walked into every trap he and Lucifer set up for this very moment. The pleading expression and the puppy dog eyes he was giving Simeon were just a bonus. The angel’s face broke out in a wide grin while he regarded the redhead. “Well, since you asked so nicely, it’d be rude of me to not let you join us. It’d be a good surprise for Lucifer to come back to, yes?” 

Diavolo’s face brightened instantly. He nearly leapt up from his seat in excitement. The tension in the room broke instantly once he heard he was to be included in your rendezvous for the week. “Oh how great! I’ll make sure my evening is free! Bar--” 

Simeon silenced Diavolo with a simple gesture, holding his hand up to stop the demon prince from going too ahead of himself. “But first….” The pitch of Simeon’s voice dropped an octave. He stood up, sauntering to Diavolo and gazed deep into his eyes. “To land a role in any film, a proper audition is needed, yes?” 

“Ye-yes…” Diavolo stuttered, looking down at the angel who was mere inches from his face, the smile told millions of secrets that he had only begun to unravel. In his flustered state, he didn’t even notice Simeon’s subtle movements until something was pressed into his hand. Diavolo didn’t need to look down to know what it was. The weight and the shape in his palm told him all he needed to know. Simeon retreated, satisfied once recognition flitted across Diavolo’s face. “Well, I’ll see you later tonight! I have to help tutor Luke a bit and prepare some snacks for the movie. See you!” He waved and made his way to the door. As he passed you, he slipped something into your hand. 

“Prep him well, will you? He’ll need all the help he can get.” 

You waited until after the door clicked shut to look down and have your suspicions confirmed. A little remote, no doubt one that was connected to the thing Diavolo had in his hand. 

There was a long gap of silence, one which made the tension grow once again. The two of you stared at each other for what felt like hours and you sat there frozen in your seat. Who would make the first move? Who would speak first? Would Diavolo even consider submitting himself to such humiliation? Surely he wouldn’t? “Well…” He cleared his throat, his blush turning his cheeks as red as his hair. “Think you can help me with this?” 

There was a certain charm to the way he was so sheepish and how he hesitated with his words. It made you want to take care of him, take charge and promise him everything would be all right in the end. “Of course.” You replied smoothly, pushing the shakiness out of your voice as you took control. Simeon did task you with ensuring his proper preparation, the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint the angel. 

You strode over to where he was and slipped the control into your pocket for the time being. You gently guided him to bend over the arm of the chair he was just sitting in. “Relax.” you reassured. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” 

You kicked his legs apart, making sure his knees were bent to prevent him from passing out.Your hand caressed the swell of his ass and he shivered under your touch. The smallest traces of a moan left his lips and he quickly buried his face into the cushions to hide from the shame. You hadn’t even done anything to him and he was already trembling. “Are you excited?” You asked, tracing the cleft of his ass, trailing your finger up and down the seam of his pants while you waited for an answer. You noticed the crotch area was already rather tight and you couldn’t help but smirk, realizing how affected he was by the simple gesture of being invited to movie night. 

“I… I’m a little nervous.” he admitted, stuttering. The normal confidence he had around others was all but gone as he submitted himself to your touches and your approval. “I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint.” 

“You could never disappoint.” You cooed, reaching around to undo his pants. “Just remember to breathe.” Your hand dipped between his legs to grasp his half hard cock, earning you a loud gasp. His dick twitched in your hand as you felt just how large he was. Even without being fully erect, he was a girthy monster, your hand was barely able to circle around his shaft and your walls clenched at the thought of possibly taking him in later that night. 

“There now, see? Just like that, be good and show me how excited you are for tonight.” You encouraged, stroking his length and watching his body language change from nervous to lustful. You slid his pants down his thighs to gain better access to his cock. Looking down and seeing his member hanging hot and heavy between his legs was such an enticing sight. His balls pulsed with need, nearly ready to release his load prematurely if you kept teasing him. 

“My, my, you’re quite hard already, aren’t you? I know you’re going to be perfect for the audition tonight.” You praised, letting go of his cock to palm the smooth, soft swell of his ass. He whined, once again burying his face into the cushions, ashamed at how turned on he was from just the thought of later activities and your teasing touches. 

Diavolo shivered, unable to process much outside of the fact that his precious exchange student was currently making him feel a certain way he couldn’t quite comprehend. It felt good to be the center of attention. It felt good to be under you, at your mercy and letting you take the lead. It only made him anticipate the activities to come. “I’ll… I’ll do my best to impress.” “Oh, I’m sure you will.” You smiled softly and plucked the plug from his hand. Even if Simeon and Lucifer had left you out of planning to get Diavolo involved with your movie nights, you were rather satisfied with the outcome to say the least. You assessed the plug and had to admire Simeon’s taste. It was slim, long and textured in a way you imagined would tease the demon prince for hours but not enough to make him cum. You traced Diavolo’s ass crack with the tip of the toy, paying close attention to his body language and memorizing the moment you had the demon prince himself bent over and at your beck and call. “Well now… this wouldn’t be very good to go in dry…” You mused before you sauntered around him and placed the toy at his lips. “Make sure it’s nice and wet, won’t you? You wouldn’t want to get hurt taking this all in, now would you?” He looked up at you, his golden eyes filled with a fair amount of lust in them before he dutifully took the toy into his mouth, obediently licking and sucking it until it was coated with his saliva. You could see how much it hurt his pride to do such a debauched thing based on how hard he was gripping the cushion below him, but his hard cock told you how much it also turned him on. He couldn’t even hold back a moan when the plug hit the back of his throat as you pushed it in further, ensuring he got every inch of it coated. “Good boy….” You praised, patting his hair softly and admiring how pretty he was whenever he blushed. Once you deemed it adequately lubed up, you went back to his waiting ass and pressed the toy into that tight hole of his. You heard him gasp at the sudden intrusion before his whole body seemed to relax and he let out a breathy groan. In no time, he was pressing himself against the toy, willing it to go deeper and deeper into him. He was eagerly moaning at this point, cum beaded at the tip of his cock as he was finally getting the attention he craved. “Aww look at that, it went all the way in so fast.” You praised, giving his ass a quick pat before pressing the toy into him as far as it would go. He rewarded you with a particularly lewd moan when the tip of the plug brushed against his prostate and made him see stars. “You were waiting for something like this, weren’t you?” “I… I maybe…” he mumbled, his words were muffled by the cushions. It was adorable. He was so eager to join in on the fun. You could tell just how lonely he was and how jealous he had been when he found out Lucifer was having these movie nights without him. It almost made you forgive Lucifer for showing him the movie you made. Almost. You giggled once everything was in place. Getting his pants back on was no easy feat considering how hard he was, but there were still a few more hours before you were supposed to meet back up with Simeon. Not to mention, he had quite the mountain of paperwork to do still. “There you go, all nice and tidy.” You announced once he wearily buckled his belt again. The bulge in his pants looked almost painful and you resisted the urge to reach out and fondle him. Instead, your hand went to your pocket and you clicked the power button. The reaction was almost instantaneous as Diavolo doubled over, collapsed onto his knees and his whole body trembled when the toy buzzed to life. His soft, breathy moans couldn’t cover up the hum of the toy in his pants and his embarrassment was only intensified by this fact. His cock throbbed in his pants, yearning for freedom once again, but he had duties to attend to even if his mind was far removed from them. Possibly the most arousing part was how attentive you were, how much care you showed him as you toyed with his body. That, was the most erotic part of it all. He had lost all power over you and now, you controlled him at the touch of a button. You watched writhe a bit longer, admiring how his body contorted as he tried to find more stimulation somehow without begging for it. After a while, you lowered the intensity of the toy until it just barely vibrated at regular intervals just enough to remind him who was in charge. “I’m sure you have so much work to do before we get to meet up with Simeon again.” You said, acting as if nothing was wrong at all. “I actually have a report I need to work on too. Do you mind if I stay here and ask you questions?” “N-no.. not at all.” Diavolo managed to stutter out. It took all his strength to stand back up, when he did manage to get back on his feet, he felt light headed, his mind was solely focused on pleasure and not anything else he had to get done. However, with you pulling out your books and settling down at the table to get to work, he made his way back on shaky legs to his desk where his mountain of documents awaited him. Diavolo yearned to touch himself while his lower half was hidden by his desk. It would have been perfect for him to just get a little bit of relief from the torment you had wrought up on him. However, he knew better than that. He knew if he could be patient, there would be a much greater reward than the immediate relief he sought. 

It was just unfortunate that he would have to suffer for hours to get to his goal. And as he finally settled down to start going over contracts with neighboring lands, the toy inside of him hummed to life once again, sending jolts of pleasure through his body until he couldn’t see straight. Just as he felt like he was about to pass out from being denied the ability to cum, the vibrations stopped and he was left on edge. Breathlessly, he would glance over to you diligently working on your report, the perfect image of innocence before him even though he knew that in your palm, you held the incarnation of sin itself. 

It would be a very long afternoon indeed for him. 

~~

Diavolo wasn’t wearing a leash, but he might as well have been with how eagerly he followed after you down the long hallways and to your usual meeting room where Simeon awaited you two. The promise of snacks wasn’t a lie as the scent of popcorn and cookies got stronger the closer you got to the room. You threw the door open and grinned widely when you arrived. “We’re here!” You announced with Diavolo in tow. 

The lights were already dimmed and a rather familiar film was playing on the screen. You blushed madly when you were faced with the movie you had made earlier with Lucifer and Simeon. Diavolo seemed to be absolutely entranced with the images flashing across the screen. There was an unabashed adoration that flickered across his face and a yearning you couldn’t quite place in his expression while he watched the lewd acts play out. 

“And you’re late.” Simeon chided, his gaze was hard and cold. “Not a very good start to the auditioning process, now is it?” His voice cut through whatever daydream Diavolo was in and the demon prince stood up straight in attention. Ah, he’s in one of those moods… You smiled sheepishly, ushering Diavolo in and shutting the door behind you. “I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in finishing my latest report so that the rest of the weekend is free.” You explained, hoping for some mercy; though you knew it likely wasn’t going to happen. 

He ignored your excuses and busied himself with setting up the camera. Simeon took one long look at Diavolo, his expression was unamused and he almost seemed bored. The angel finished fidgeting with the camera before turning to Diavolo. “I have high expectations for you. I’m hoping for a rather riveting performance.” He had the smallest of smiles on his face before gesturing to the bed. “Why don’t you start by showing me how well you can undress yourself.” Simeon took a seat in the corner of the room, crossing his legs and leaned against the armrest of the chair. His gaze never left Diavolo as the prince sheepishly climbed onto bed and started to undo the layers he had on. You moved to help him but Simeon stopped you, beckoning you over to sit on his lap while Diavolo did his thing. 

“Come now, the view from here is so much nicer, isn’t it?” 

You nodded dumbly, not able to resist Simeon. The sound of your moans coming from the television had you remembering exactly what he had done for you just a few weeks prior and you squirmed in his lap. 

“I hope you’re looking forward to this.” The angel murmured. “It’s not every day that we are graced with the presence of Lord Diavolo himself. We should make the most of this, yes.” He smiled sweetly, grasping your breasts while he trained your gaze back at Diavolo who was in nothing but his boxers. There was a noticeable wet spot at his crotch and his hard cock strained against the soiled fabric. Even in the dark, you could clearly see the outline of it and once again, imagining what it might be like to take him. 

Just as Diavolo started to peel off his boxers, Simeon stopped him with a quick gesture of his hand. The redhead audibly whined. He was so close to being free. Yet, he knew better to disobey if he wanted to impress his audience. He couldn’t help himself from stealing glances at the screen. Watching you get fucked by both a demon and an angel had him wondering just how tight you would feel beside Simeon and he hoped to experience that later that night. He licked his lips, barely aware of Simeon getting up and getting a hank of rope from one of the drawers. It wasn’t until he felt the weight of the rope on his shoulder did he realize something was happening. 

“Distracted are we?” Simeon teased, covering up the screen just as the film behind him reached its final climax. The sounds of shouting and moaning echoed in the room and Diavolo blushed at just the thought of what that scene looked like. However, he had more pressing concerns to worry about in front of him. Simeon looked like the very definition of sin in that skin tight get up he wore regularly. There was a reason why he didn’t enforce the school uniform rule on the angel. The eye candy was much too tempting for him to resist. 

Simeon’s fingers were deft, gracefully working Diavolo’s arms behind him and securing them in place with intricate knots. “There we go. Now, you can focus much better, yes?” Diavolo nodded, his eyes now solely entranced and fixated on Simeon. “Yes… sir.” There was a genuine smile when Diavolo let the title slip from his lips. “Oh… I like how that sounds coming from you. Call me that again when you cum.” The angel swooped in, kissing the demon prince deeply, pushing him onto his back and settling between his legs. He beckoned you to come over as well to join them. Once you joined him between Diavolo’s legs, Simeon finally started to take off the last piece of clothing he had on. 

“My, my. What a mess he made.” He commented, noting the large stain on the boxers before tossing it to the side. “Did you have fun this afternoon?” You nodded, holding up the remote to the toy still inside of the man below you and pressed the button to put the vibrator on the highest setting. “I sure did!” You giggled while Diavolo screamed, writhing from the stimulation. Simeon ignored him, his attention affixed to you and his eyes were filled with pride and adoration. He stroked your hair before kissing you as Diavolo watched helplessly. When the kiss broke, you were breathless and more than ready to entertain whatever whim Simeon had. 

“Now… what shall I do with you... “ Simeon finally turned to Diavolo and casually stroked the man’s length, making him squirm even more. The buzzing in his ass slowed and eventually stopped, giving him some reprieve. “Aww, the batteries must have died.” Simeon pouted. “No matter, It’s time we gave our … pet a new toy, yes?” “Sounds like a plan.” you agreed, reaching between Diavolo’s legs to slowly pull the plug out while Simeon continued to tease his dripping cock. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Come with me, Let’s go looking together.” He suggested, leaving Diavolo right at the edge of a climax. “The night is still young, my prince. There’s so much fun to be had.” 

Diavolo was left in silence as Simeon led you away to a corner of the room he could not see from his place on the bed. HIs mind raced with the possibilities of what was to come and it only made his dick twitch in anticipation. A small puddle of cum pooled on his abdomen as his cock continued to leak and when Simeon came back to see the mess, he could only tsk at how poorly Diavolo was misbehaving. “My, my…” He chided, smearing the fluids across Diavolo’s abdomen. “This just won’t do.” He shook his head, feigning disappointment before selecting a cock ring and securing it around the base of his shaft. Diavolo hissed at the feeling of being so restricted after just having a taste of freedom. “There….” Simeon smiled, patting his member. “Now we can have all the fun we want without worrying that you’ll cum too soon.” His expression was so sweet, it almost made Diavolo sick, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on that fact. Part of playing with him meant you and Simeon dressed him up in the prettiest toys you had. Nipple clamps with bright red jewels were affixed to his chest. A delicate chain connected them and that was soon attached to the collar you placed around his neck. “A proper leash for a proper pet.” You explained, patting his cheek softly. His heart melted seeing you so content. Your touches sent him right into bliss. The pain at his chest felt negligible when he was able to bask in the attention he was getting. It had been so long since he had been pampered in such a way. He had missed those intimate touches, those longing looks. He craved being coddled and here you and Simeon were, giving everything he could dream of. Though he was barred from entering heaven, he wanted to believe that what he was experiencing in that very moment was akin to paradise. Diavolo struggled against his bindings, wanting to return the favor, he wanted to thank the two of you for showing him what it felt like to be adored. He whined, putting on the most impressive pout he could muster. “Please… I want to touch…” Simeon paused in the middle of undressing you and scoffed at the request. “A little early for begging, isn’t it?” He mused before completing his task. “Our pet’s a little talkative, why don’t you shut him up while I do a little disciplining?” You nodded, crawling up Diavolo’s side and straddled his face. You pat his head once more before lowering yourself over his lips. “Keep me entertained, why don’t you? I promise if you do a good job I’ll sit on that fat cock of yours.” You didn’t give him time to reply before grinding yourself down onto his face and letting his tongue do the work. 

Simeon smirked, parting Diavolo’s legs so he could properly situate himself between them. He could spend hours watching you ride the prince’s face if only he didn’t have more important things to do. The angel waited for you to get a hold of the headboard to keep yourself stable while grinding down on Diavolo’s face in between breaths. From the sounds of your moans and your breathy sighs, it seemed as though the prince had quite the talented tongue. Simeon wondered briefly what it would feel like if he was in your position before he steered his focus back to what was right in front of him. Having prepped Diavolo earlier meant that the toy he had chosen slid in with little resistance. In fact, it was as if the thick dildo was being sucked into the prince’s hole with how easily it went in. “My, oh my….” Simeon mused, impressed with how quickly Diavolo seemed to adjust to taking the toy. “We really do have to teach you patience, don’t we?” Simeon started a sinfully slow pace, fucking Diavolo with the toy and simply taking the time to admire every reaction he was able to pull out of the man below him. His moans were muffled but there was no denying the pleasure he was getting out of this. It only made it more sweet to torment him and deny him his climax. 

Time and time again, he would pull the toy almost all the way out before inching it back inside. Even with the cock ring on, Diavolo’s member throbbed and his seed dribbled from the tip. Simeon made sure to tease the rest of the demon’s body, tugging at the chains to the nipple clamps, placing soft kisses all along his thighs and pelvis but pointedly ignoring the aching cock that begged for attention. He loved seeing Diavolo’s muscles tighten anytime he was close to getting what he craved and only drove him to tease the man below him right to his breaking point. 

He counted the times you came on top of Diavolo and decided that maybe after your second orgasm you could rest a while before he finally ramped the pace up. “Rest a bit and watch,” Simeon gently guided your tired body to where he sat, letting you sidle up against him in content while he continued his work. He worked in a methodical, almost calloused way when it came to controlling every aspect of Diavolo’s pleasure that evening. It was equal parts arousing, amazing and terrifying to you just what Simeon was capable of. Diavolo gasped for air once you were no longer on top of him. He stared at the ceiling, not sure what he should do next. The taste of your essence lingered on his lips. He was sure he could have continued until he either passed out from lack of oxygen or you did from overstimulation. Unfortunately, that scenario would only remain being a dream and he could only daydream about it. He was instantly snapped back to reality when Simeon roughly shoved the dildo that had only been teasing him all the way in without warning. 

The prince let out a choked cry, his whole body tensing in the sudden roughness. He loved it, he loved every second of the sweet torture the two of you had come up with. He couldn’t tell when the pleasure stopped and the pain began, but he didn’t care. He wanted more of it, he craved the attention and would do anything to be on the receiving end of it. Glancing down between his legs, his heart skipped a beat when he saw how happy and content you were snuggled up against Simeon who was relentlessly fucking him. There was a tenderness in your expression that he wished you would direct his way. 

“Look at you… So sensitive.” Simeon cooed, tugging at the chains attached to Diavolo’s sensitive nipples. “I’ll bet you could have just cum without me touching your cock at all. You’re that much of a needy slut,, aren’t you?” He chuckled, slamming the toy inside of the prince once again. 

“Y.. Yes…” Diavolo sputtered arching into the thrust, wishing that the toy would go deeper, stretch him wider, do something to tip him over the edge. “I… I need…” 

“You need?” Simeon repeated. “We’ll have to teach you some lessons, now. Good pets don’t need anything. They beg for what they want.” 

“I… I ahhh~~” Diavolo’s brain short circuited when you had grabbed a nearby vibrator and pressed it against the tip of his cock. Whatever he wanted to say promptly flew out the window as he was thrown into a world of bliss. “I… I…” “Use your words.” You encouraged, turning the vibrator on higher. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.” 

He wanted to fuck. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted everything all at once but he couldn’t express it with how overloaded his senses were. “I … I want to…” 

“Go on.” 

“I want to fuck… I want to fuck you and cum… please. I want to cum so bad. I did good, right? You weren’t bored right? I can keep being good, just let me cum, please, please please. I’ll be the best slut you’ve ever seen.” 

You looked up at Simeon, wondering if the angel approved of Diavolo’s groveling. His expression betrayed none of his emotions and he simply pressed the toy further into Diavolo’s ass, garnering a loud, appreciative moan from the man beneath him. “Very bold words… I hope you’re ready to live up to them…” He said quietly. 

“Yes, yes. I promise I will! I’ll do so good. I’m a slut, a fuck toy for your entertainment. I’ll do anything for you. Please, just… I want to cum so bad. Can I please?” 

“Hmmm” Simeon hummed softly, carefully considering Diavolo’s words. “Yes, you may.” 

Diavolo gasped, his heart nearly beating out of his chest when he received permission. However, his excitement soon grew into dismay when Simeon produced a long length of ribbon to tie the vibrator against his cock. “Wh.. wait, you said I could cum…” He whined. “I said you may, I did not say when.” Simeon stated smoothly. He reinforced his statement by turning the toy onto its highest setting before he pulled you into his lap. The angel had your back towards him and he spread your thighs out to let Diavolo see just how drenched you were. Simeon reached between your legs and spread your lower lips, toying with your clit and making you moan in need. He wasn’t ready to reward his new pet just yet. 

What he was ready for was making Diavolo watch you getting fucked. There wasn’t enough desperation yet, not enough hopeless need coming from the prince. “Is this what you want?” Simeon asked, grunting as he was balls deep inside of you. “Is this what you want to feel? How hot they are? How tight they’re going to be around your cock?” The pace he set was hard and fast. You had craved being filled after being eaten out so thoroughly before and Simeon’s cock was filling every craving you had. You ground your hips down to meet every one of his thrusts, loudly moaning every time his cock hit the most sensitive spots inside of you. It wouldn’t be long before you would be climaxing around him and he knew it. As soon as he felt your walls fluttering around him, he slowed his pace and let your racing heart calm down just enough to leave you hanging. 

You whined squirming in Simeonn’s lap, hoping he’d keep going, but he stayed still and observed Diavolo’s expression instead. You followed his gaze and you were met with the most delightful visage of the debauched prince, blushing and desperate for attention. Tears were freely flowing from his eyes as he babbled incoherently, begging to experience the same thing he was witnessing. 

“Please… sir, I want to cum” His voice cracked. “May I now please cum?” “What do you think? Do you think he’s deserved it?” 

You pretended to ponder over your answer, dragging out Diavolo’s torture for a few moments more. “I think he’s done well enough to be rewarded.” 

“Hmm, I think so too.” Simeon agreed. 

He was loathed to leave the warmth of your pussy as he laid you down on the bed; but he was sure his cock would be satisfied soon enough in other ways. The toys were taken away, the cock ring removed and Simeon waited a moment for Diavolo to get his wits about him before offering your body up. “Well, go on. You’ve earned it.”

Even with his arms still bound behind him, he was able to roll onto his sides and bring himself onto his knees. It was rather impressive, to say the least how quickly he got between your legs and plunged himself into your waiting hole. Though Simeon’s cock had stretched you out earlier, nothing compared to how full you felt once Diavolo was sheathed within you. You wanted to savor the moment, but there was no time to think as he started to pound you with his cock. 

It was your turn to be a blubbering mess. The fullness, the roughness, the wanton need that oozed out of his very being was intoxicating and you were lost in the pleasure of it all. “Oh, good boy.” you praised, reaching up and pulling on his hair to encourage him to keep going. “What a good slut you are.” Hearing your praise only made him go feral with need and he redoubled his efforts to gain more of your compliments. Diavolo was so lost in the moment, he nearly forgot Simeon was there until he felt something warm press up against his ass hole. His pace stuttered and he looked back in confusion. That bit of disobedience was met with a hard slap across his ass cheek. “No one said you could stop.” Simeon hissed, pressing himself into Diavolo. 

“Prove to me how good of a slut you are and make us cum at the same time.” He demanded. 

This was it. His final test. He put everything he had into turning himself into the perfect pet, the ideal fuck toy for the two of you. Diavolo resumed his pace inside of you, making his strokes long and hard while his ass clenched around Simeon’s cock to ensure the man behind him was enjoying the hot tightness there. His own pleasure didn’t matter to him anymore, it was pleasure in itself to serve the two of you. 

Euphoria was reached when he was the best slut in your eyes. 

Diavolo did as he was promised, making both you and Simeon climax at the same time. You were the first to crumble. Your inner walls clenched around his cock, sucking him in deeper, milking him. All the while, Simeon’s thrusts became erratic as he reached his climax and spilled his seed deep into the demon prince. The moans coming from his lips were the most delightful symphony. 

“Go on, show us how pretty you are when you cum.” 

Finally having the permission to climax, Diavolo slammed himself into you, burying himself as deep as he could go before releasing his load into you. The hot spurts of his seed filled you and you swore you came again just from that feeling alone. The groan that came from the back of his throat sounded more like a possessive growl to you and the heat behind his golden eyes was practically palpable. 

It took a long moment for the three of you to come down from the high of such an intense climax. Simeon was the first to recover. He carefully extracted himself from Diavolo and went about finding some towels to help clean up the worst of the mess you had all made. Along with that came the snacks he had baked earlier and water. Setting everything aside, he finally freed Diavolo’s arms and the demon prince visibly slouched in relief as his aching muscles finally got a chance to relax. 

He wasn’t ready to leave the warm confines of your pussy just yet and shifted himself to cradle you against his chest while Simeon fed you cookies and made you sip some water. Diavolo’s fingers brushed your tousled hair and you stared at you with nothing but admiration in his eyes. “So, do you think I’d get a callback after that audition?” 

Simeon chuckled softly, sliding back into bed with a bowl of popcorn and offered some water to the prince who gulped it down eagerly. “Absolutely. You’re the perfect fit for the role.” 

[matchamorphosis]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝓫𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼!

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓻𝔂 | you’re the birthday girl and the birthday girl always gets what she wants.

𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮 | fluffy smut

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 | daddy!andy barber × bratty birthday girl![black//woc] reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 4.5K

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | 18+ nsfw! ddlg lifestyle, daddy kink, hint of brattiness, kinda spoiled reader, fingering, slight size kink, ass groping mention, spanking mention, punishment mention, loads of praise, loads of kisses, loads of sweets being consumed, stuffie talk, teasing, there may be a few grammar mistakes

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓼 | easy living by billie holiday, teddy wilson ♡ dance of the sugar plum fairy by pytor llyich tchaikovsky ♡ babygirl by charli xcx ♡♡♡

𝔀. 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 | this is a little birthday gift for @cloudystevie 💗💘💞 go show some love to the birthday princess cherubs!!! ♡ hope you enjoy this jasmeen darling, happy birthday ♡♡♡

 ♡ long fluttering lashes bat soothingly at the sight of flowing auburn liquid pouring from your teapots spout into your stuffies porcelain tea cup, the drip drop of the last dip before you raise the pale pink tea kettle up.

 ♡ the sweet smell of cakes rising in the oven flows in a curled aroma throughout the kitchen, catching the hints of rich german chocolate and zesty lemon you smile tenderly as you finish pouring all your stuffies cups of tea.

 ♡ this tea party isn’t common like your other tea parties before, your stuffed animals know this as all their plastic glass eyes dash along the various jam puff pastry and chocolate icing treats that rest on rosy designed plates atop lacy doilies which crowd the table.

 ♡ it certainly isn’t like your other tea parties, there's a sparkling trance in the air that grows stronger wherever your angelic presence takes you and it surely captures all their plastic eyes on the extravagant purple silk that adorns the smooth sweet pea lotion that sparkles off every inch of visible strip of skin.

 ♡ a glittering swarovski tiara rests on the crown of your glossy curls that fall in thick abounding ribbons, shining silver gleams with every shift of your head it correlates well with the powdered sugar like snow that falls softly outside and Andy dusting a layer on hot and ready out of the oven blueberry tarts.

 ♡ the expensive headpiece surely was a sight for sore eyes, it brightened the silver stars in your hues when you were caressing the satin like bath wash that smelt of peonies and strawberries, bathing that early morning to get ready for your special day.

 ♡ taking your special time appreciating every hill, bend, curve and dip of your body as a knock struck the door, “is my birthday princess in here?” Andy’s voice rung, pulling your head up in attention you grinned.

 ♡ “she is daddy!” you replied as your lower half swished in the rose petal water, hearing the bathroom door opened and the pad of Andy’s loafers hit the marble bathroom tiles.

 ♡ rippling contentment raptures and allures your bubble bath soaked figure when his bearing body comes into view while you were focused on rubbing your shoulders with your sugar scrub.

 ♡ taking delight in the peachy zest fragrance as you admired your freshly painted acrylic nails you had your daddy help you apply the other night, unaware of Andy’s glorifying glance as he stands looking down at your charismatic care.

 ♡ a white towel wraps your head keeping your hair in place and a light sheet mask rests on your face, bending down on his knees Andy’s hands grab your body sponge before rubbing the planes of your back covered lightly in bubble suds.

♡ “what do you wanna do first today princess? anything you want and anything you need daddy will give it to you,” Andy spoke, his head snaking in the crook of your neck and before you could speak you broke into a fit of giggles as the sponge in his hand intentionally grazed the sensitive skin of your sides while his lips pressed wet kisses on your neck.

♡ “d-daddy stop!” you broke but your seemingly endless giggles kept getting in the way as Andy continued to smile as he kisses your neck while his other hand dipped into the water to tickle your other side. 

 ♡ receiving the reaction he wanted his fingers stop their tickling torment but not before caressing the bubbly skin of your waist and stomach, you only have sight of his wide shoulders as his head continued to trail kisses down your neck, nibbling and sucking on your skin here and there.

 ♡ “go on sweetheart, the tickle monsters gone,” Andy smirk against your skin before lifting his head away from your neck and his arms from the bath tub soapy water, shifting your body around causing the water to splash over the railing you sat in place star struck at your daddy’s attire for the day.

  ♡ as much as it tingled the space between your thighs at the sight of him wearing those tight collared polos that drove you crazy beyond control you grinned up at him as you told him of your plans and ideas but Andy’s surprised to find you don’t wanna go out to get more presents.

 ♡ “I thought you wanted to go out princess, what changed? you love going out and getting more presents,” your daddy spoke, causing your eyes to shift shyly away as you took sudden interest in your shiny nails as they gripped the outline of the tubs rim.  

 ♡ “I know you said that you wouldn’t mind but I just want something between you and me, and- and do you know the tea party i’ve been talking about? the one with my stuffies? with the tea and sweets and cakes, may we please do that today daddy?” voice softly bashful and sweet as can be Andy coos down at you after pecking the tip of your nose. 

 ♡ “absolutely princess, how about we have your tea party after lunchtime. how does that sound?” you nodded your head enthusiastically and Andy chuckled, “perfect, what is the birthday princess going to wear?” and of course he’d say that.  

 ♡ the sole reason you weren’t getting out of the tub was because he had to decide which dress you’d wear but before your daddy knocked the bathroom door you already came to a resolution. 

 ♡ pointing to the dresses that are hung on their individual hangers on the towel closet near the bath tub, “i’m going to wear the pink puff sleeved one for brunch and the purple slip for my tea party,” you spoke, watching as Andy got up to grab a towel from the closet then the hanger bearing the pink dress.

 ♡ the dress wasn’t inherently familiar to Andy nor does he remember buying it for you but he had to admit he has bought you loads of dresses, bags or whatever else that made you so stylish and posh to come to a memory of so.

 ♡ instructing him to get which strap heels and what designer bag from your closest you want to go along with the short puffed sleeve dress as you took the sheet mask off your face and washed the citrus sugar scrub then floral bubble wash from your skin. 

 ♡ from the doorframe your unaware stance doesn’t notice the focused observation as your daddy admired and traced every detail of your bare bodice as your hands rubbed the soap from your neck to the undercurve of your breasts.

 ♡ with no sight of bubble suds on your skin you bend over to retrieve the towel on the near stool Andy set for you but before you could reach it Andy’s strong arms wrap around your bare chest, pulling your soaked back into the solidness of his bare chest.

 ♡ you gasp at the contact while his hands take rough handfuls of your breasts as his fingers roll your nipples, his face sneaking back into the crook of your neck as he bite and sucked, not afraid to leave love bites anywhere his lips graced against.

 ♡ “daddy,” you moaned but it’s quickly hushed as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, his other hand leaving your breast to glide slowly down passed your stomach till it found the slick of your needy cunt that erupted more small sweet noises with every dip his fingertips took at teasing your hole.

 ♡ your head throw back, resting on one of Andy's biceps that steady on the tubs rim the hand doesn’t leave from pinching your nipple or groping your tit as his other doesn’t stop tracing figure eights or rubbing the slicked pearl at the peak of your pussy before thrusting a stretching thick finger into your tight hole.

 ♡ “let daddy take care of you princess,” Andy shushed in your ear as your sweet moans and little sighs captured his when another finger pumped into your hole, your grinding hips rippled the water attempting to find the perfect balance that will help you reach the blinding pleasure and spill your euphoria on his fingers.

 ♡ “daddy please! please daddy!” you whispered hopelessly in his ear, your quivering body desperate for his fingers to break the chain tightening in your belly and before you could whine and beg once more as he takes his fingers out your hole your back suddenly arches when three fingers thrust in and out of your weeping cunt.

 ♡ your arched figure has your head falling back more against his bicep till you neck only rests upon it and Andy takes the opportunity to smash his lips to yours, teeth rough to bite your bottom lip you gasp and moan as his tongue enters your mouth just like his fingertips graze the golden spot at the end of your slicked channel.

 ♡ your going to combust, the erotic cocktail of his hot tongue swirling with yours and his thick fingers thrusting and stretching your honeyed pussy is making you see stars even though you have them closed, your hands rise to frame his face, fingers spread to dig into his toffee brown locks as the other relishes the scratch of his beard.

 ♡ its again that he hits the sweet spot his curled fingers graze against that has you whimpering in contrast to his relentless passionate kiss while you rest at the mercy of him and his thick fingers, “daddy p-please, I need to come! please let me come, daddy!” you're able to beg as he lets go of your lips from his.

 ♡ “why should I let you come princess? give me one good reason,” his low voice rumbled as his smirk plasters against the skin behind your ear, making you shiver Andy’s enjoying pushing you passed your limits as well as savoring the immature pout while your forbidden honey slowly coats his knuckles deliciously.

 ♡ “b-because it’s my birthday daddy. i-i’m the birthday princess, your birthday princess,” you whisper as a tear drips off your curls under lashes to your cheek, his chest fills again with an awakening desire to have you crumbling and moaning underneath him. 

 ♡ possessing your lips again you gasp in pleasure when his fingers pump impossibly more continuous as you tug the handfuls of his toffee brown hair in your grip, achieving to pull rough growls from him and to your own satisfaction him scissoring you open while his other fingers your other tit.

 ♡ however we can only have so much of something before we’re washed up on the tide of ecstasy and Andy knows how much the big wave is going to wash over you as your thighs tremble and your moans turn into needy whimpers of barely audible daddys and pleases that do nothing but increase the speed of his fingers and harden his cock.

 ♡ “come on my fingers princess, come for daddy sweet girl,” your grip on his hair tightens as you feel his fingers pull your orgasm closer and closer to the edge, you pull his head away from your neck to just smash your lips against his into a bruising kiss nothing more than teeth, tongue and hot breath.

 ♡ and as Andy guessed the thrashing wave washed over your body as his relentless fingers continuously hit the g spot that had you screaming his name when you came on his fingers, your arched position slipping a bit your daddy’s quick to take care of you.

 ♡ pulling the plug of the tub and rinsing your body again from sweat, Andy washed your sore core with warm water and a hand towel before wrapping your body covered in dew drops and carrying you out of the tub and into your room to dress you.

 ♡ settling you done on the plushy comforter of your shared bed with a quick peck to your lips before he can turn around and grab your body lotion from your vanity, your gripping grasp at his wrist stops him in place.

 ♡ “what wrong princess?” he says but your eyes don’t reach his blue ones, his heart stammers and paces wondering if he did something wrong, bending his knees till he’s face to face with you.

 ♡ “did daddy hurt you when he was trying to make you feel good princess? what’s wrong sweet girl, can you please tell me,” Andy speaks as his hand cups your chin to gently turn your face to meet his bit your eyes look down shyly. 

 ♡ “can I have a bubble bath tonight daddy?” your whispered as your fingers grip the belt loops of Andy’s trousers, his sly smirk not getting too big too tease his little one but still pronounced.

 ♡ “of course dove,” his low voice broke, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of your shoulder, your neck then you jaw then finishing on your lips.

 ♡ “with you?” picking his head up from the sweet and floral scent of your shoulder his eyes cascade into yours as your faces are centimeters apart.

 ♡ stricken by the twinkle in your hues and the bountiful soft of your lips your soaked hands creep up his wrists, hitting all the right spots that inspire another pleasurable session to take place between your legs.

 ♡ thick fingers stroke your overstimulated folds, shuddering from the contact you don’t dare dart your eyes away from his gentle ones, “as you wish princess,” 

 ♡ at this time it’s a quarter after lunch, much later than both your enchanted session of touches and kisses you have a small porcelain jar in your hands, the lid set aside you stare down at the perfectly cubed sugar lumps.

 ♡ “how much sugar lumps would you like with your tea mrs. genevieve?” your gleaming glossy lipped smile radiates across the table to your plushed white bunny rabbit who sits atop a stack of books you stole from Andy’s office in order to reach above the table top. 

 ♡ the bunny plushie dressed in her daisy blue sundress, matching sun hat and finishing her outfit with a shiny sapphire bow comfortably around her neck sits next to your other stuffies dressed handsomely and eloquently for the special occasion.

 ♡ they sip from the steaming cups of honeyed herbal tea your daddy prepared specially for them while nibbling on sweets of custard eclairs and fluffy macaroons, heart squeezing in contentment.

 ♡ “four sugar lumps? that’s far too much sugar mrs. genevieve! I am giving you only two! you’ve already had ten cookies! same goes for your husband- yes bartolommeo I am speaking of you-!” 

 ♡ the playfully sternness that possess the softness of your voice makes Andy widely smile to himself as he takes the numerous pans of rising cakes out of the double oven.

 ♡ the older man goofily grins to himself, of course he knows you are imitating him, down to his tone to the scrunch of his brows he would usually have to put you in your place and remind you of your manners but he doesn’t, seemingly enjoying this. 

 ♡ letting you continue to let you discipline the stuffies on their sugar intake while your extended arm swindles a chocolate chip cookie or two in your sneaky grasp from the untouched plate at the other side of the counter.

 ♡ Andy let’s the action slip, it’s your birthday! you’re the birthday girl and the birthday girl can treat herself to as much sweets, gifts, and attention her heart desires.

 ♡ tchaikovsky orchestrated symphony of the nutcracker plays on the amazon echo, every single one of your favorite details you planned for this tea party he partakes in joyously while listening in on his little one playing the perfect hostess.

 ♡ settling the hot pans on the kitchen island, not far away from the table you’re treating all your dressed stuffies to Andy slips off the oven mitts and sets a timer for the cakes to cool down.

 ♡ prepping your favorite fruits to be sliced, jars of frosting and icing to be whipped, melting chocolate to be spread and chopped nuts to be sprinkled Andy seems to know what direction he has for each and every cake. 

 ♡ it was indeed a major saving grace he had a few years of experience in the baking category ever since he started to date you, you were demanding and very high maintenance cause you only wanted the best cause you deserved the best.

 ♡ that’s one of the many things Andy adored about you besides the fact his little princess loves sweets, baked sweets to be more specific and technical.

 ♡  at the very start of their relationship he became accustomed to whisking eggs, sugar, and butter, sifting flour and dry ingredients without making a mess as well as becoming patient for not only your brattiness but the sweets in the oven to.

 ♡ baking was now a favorable hobby of his now and he loved baking, whether or not you watched and helped him with cracking an egg or two or by himself as you attended your big girl responsibilities. 

 ♡ although on this day he devoted himself to not let you raise a single finger, on this day you were truly a princess more than you were any other day and your daddy enjoyed looking over to you.

 ♡ adoring your sweet giggles and honey voice as you remarked back at what your stuffie said as you refilled their cups and snacked on the prepared sweets he completed.

 ♡ “are you enjoying your tea ms. dolores? how about you mr. alfred? I know you two prefer peppermint than sage and chamomile but I had daddy add just enough honey for your liking,” 

 ♡ dazzling eyes flash to the mint green piggie in her flowy gingham skirt and white blouse then the indigo whale in his top hat, of course only you could hear their kind affirmations of agreement.

 ♡ “stupendous! i’ll be enjoying my coffee- no ms. darla you cannot have any coffee! you are too little! the only one who can have coffee is mr. humbert,” 

 ♡ your eyes dashed from the kitten stuffie to the teddy bear with spectacles on his nose and a buttoned up tweed jacket covering his arms and chest, “he has reached the proper age to drink coffee, you all have to wait,” your retort makes Andy’s brow arch in amusement.

 ♡ “and what is the proper age for a stuffie to start drinking coffee?” Andy broke as he bite of a slice of apricot; the tangy citrus nectar coating his tongue he continues cutting the colorful fruits on the platter waiting for your answer.

 ♡ “sixty two,” your answer quick and analyzed, Andy chuckles thankful he isn’t a stuffie who must obey the critical coming-of-age caffeine consumption law.

 ♡ “that’s very old princess, or should I say congresswoman? have you poured elder humbert his coffee?” andy spoke while recounting the cookies on the plate to know how much you’ve already eaten, you haven’t eaten a large portion of the forty cookies but he’s coming more concerned of your caffeine intake as you blurt out a loud reckless giggle.

 ♡ “i've refilled mr. humberts cup four times now! I think he really likes the oat milk,” you grinned up at your daddy as you drank from your porcelain cup, your sparkling eyes never leaving his as Andy playfully squinted at you deviously.

 ♡ “he does now? and exactly how many tea cups of coffee did my little coffee bean drink?” he spoke in his authority tone, placing the batter spatula down as he relished in your childish smirk.

 ♡ “they’re tiny tea cups daddy. why don’t you guess.” your glossy lipped smirk was as tempting and teasing as your purred voice, the purple silk dress made your smooth skin glowy just like the lavish fabric. 

 ♡ Andy couldn’t help but take little peaks here and there as you bend over the table to refill a clinking cup of tea for your stuffies, his longing stare as the hem of the tiny silk dress rose up to your high thighs, inching to catch a glimpse of whatever panties you have on.

 ♡ however with this erotic tension laced interrogation it seems to be losing its stern touch that usually melts you into a puddle of obedience as Andy admires your glowing face then pursue to have get an answer, you can be so distracting when it comes to dishing out punishments.

 ♡ but who wouldn’t be inattentive from the task at hand when the shimmery highlight of your plump cleavage and glittery cheekbones capture the apple of his eyes, as much as your smirk widened as you received all the attention filled glances that fuel the seductive that drips from your lips as the purple silk strap of your dress falls off your shoulder.

 ♡ “well?” your voice broke the silence but before Andy could open his mouth the timer for the cakes went off, you smirked to yourself as you took another sip of your sweetened coffee, saturated with a bit too much oat milk and sugar lumps you shifted to meet your eyes back to your stuffies.

  ♡ “I apologize if I am being a rude hostess but I hope you all have kept this special event going between yourselves. I was busy with daddy talking about some stupid stuff,” you didn’t dare lower or mutter the last bits but vocal them, smirk deviously to yourself as you felt your daddy’s glance at the back of your head.

 ♡ it did nothing but spread the disobedience you craved and the lingering wetness dripping from your cunt, although you played an untouchable poker face as you heard whatever utensil that was in his hand settle down as his footsteps come nearer and nearer.

 ♡ walking around the counter of his baking station to you sitting crossed leg in your cushioned chair making conversation with ms. darla complimenting her pine green and white striped sailors outfit as if you weren’t the one who dressed her.

 ♡ “oh hi daddy!” you beamed, pretending to not see the stern glare in his blue hues or remember misbehaving the minute before but you couldn’t help but deliciously eye the thick muscle of his arms that are crossed over his wide chest.

 ♡ “do you need something daddy?” you stood up on your knees to attempt to come to eye level with the man but you’ve only come face to face with his chest, causing you to tilt your head up for Ari to meet your astral irises laced in faux innocence.

 ♡ Andy’s defeated sigh before bending down to come eye level to you, “princess, listen to me please,” he spoke and your eyes sparked up in attention, loving the sudden embrace of his large hands wrapped yours, making them all warm and toasty as well as making you feel so small. 

 ♡ “I know you really wanted to have this tea party for a long time now, daddy loves making sweets for you and your stuffies but daddy doesn’t want to punish you for any bad behavior. daddy doesn’t want his special angel to cry on her birthday and he doesn’t want you cooped up in a corner at this tea party because you’re doing such a good job playing hostess! can you be my good girl and behave for daddy? can you do that for me princess?” 

 ♡ Andy’s soft voice and soft caress of your hands and cheeks are like magic, as if with each stroke of his thumb against your chin that swiped your glossy lips planted bundles of rose buds in the pit of your belly, growing rapidly within the minute.

 ♡ “yes daddy I can be your good girl! the bestest good girl!” your enthusiasm made him grin, a ray of sunshine clearing the cloudy thoughts of introducing a punishment out of his head.  

 ♡ “i’ll hold you up to those words princess but you’re doing so good now. play nicely with your stuffies while daddy works on decorating your cakes. can you do that for me to princess?”

 ♡ you nodded your head with a content smile, “words please princess,” Andy reminded you.

 ♡ “yes daddy I can do that,” he smiled to himself as you brought your attention back to your stuffies but before he can walk back to his prep station a tug of his trousers pulls him in place looking back down at you to spark in concern when your eyes gloss with neediness.

 ♡ “what do you need princess?” he spoke, hands rising to stroke and pet your hair only but grab that same hand and pull him towards you, murmuring what he assumes to be what you want under your breath. “uh-uh, speak up princess,” 

 ♡ “you didn’t play with me today daddy! can you please play with me for just a few minutes before going back to the cakies?” your pout was like a punch in his gut, a bullet ricocheting through his rib cage, his very kryptonite but he should now these few minutes of daddy little playtime will turn into hours upon hours with you on his lap unaware or purposely ignoring his hard on.

 ♡ “okay princess, but just five minutes! I have two more cakes in the oven and dozen others to decorate for you,” he softly smiled but you smiled so brightly as you picked you off the chair and into his arms before sitting down on the chair himself and settling you on his lap comfortably.

 ♡ “would you like me to refill your cup mr. humbert?” your voice chipped, Andy’s glance falls on the old stuffed bear seemingly passed out on the table cloth, its short snout resting in the toppled over porcelain cup.

 ♡ “I think mr. humbert had a bit to much coffee for today,” Andy spoke but you shook your head as you refilled ms. dolores tea cup, adding her desired sugar lumps after biting into a slice of cake, chocolate and whip cream staining the corners of your lips.

 ♡ “mr. humbert falls asleep all the time, it’s normal. see he’ll wake up right now- mr. humbert wake up!!!” you shouted but the stuffed bear didn’t bulge, “I think mr. humbert had too much coffee daddy,” speaking as if you found that conclusion.

 ♡ Andy chuckles at you, petting your hair and tracing your shiny locks with his fingers while you spoke to mrs. humbert, your body reaching over the crowded table top to reach a plate of macaroons at that opposite side, the sight clouding Andy’s mind of the many other things he’s suppose to do.

 ♡ the helm of your purple slip dress rises past your thighs and as much as Andy wants to grope your ass he doesn’t want to interrupt your conversation or humiliate you in front of your stuffed animals.

♡ yes you had a special rule when it came to touching you inappropriately around your stuffies.

 ♡ however the sight of the lavender silk covering your ass seemed to wrap the plumpness of it perfectly enough that it was impossible to not lift up the thin curtain to run his open palmed hands over your globes, take harsh handfuls and watching the skin of your cheeks bounce with each spank.

 ♡ but he kept your rule in mind but it was becoming more difficult with you wiggling it practically inches away from his face or when you sat back down on his lap and continued to shift and ‘accidently’ grind on his stirring cock.

 ♡ your ass in the sultry silk dress purposefully or accidently shuffling against his tensed loins felt like burning heaven until he came to a sudden flaming question whether or not your wearing anything under under the lavender. 

 ♡  immediately upon that lingering thought filling all his action mechanisms his curious hands creep through the slit of your provocative slip, a slight stickiness  is welcomed against his thick fingers as the sinful honey runs down your thighs and as his fingers keep wandering, your wet pussy.

 ♡ Andy’s cock is hard now, bulging in his expansive trousers that keeps getting teased the plumpness of your ass inches away from his watering mouth, you surely wouldn’t find a retaliation to give him as his fingers creep up to meet your folds. 

 ♡ his wandering hand is under the table, no where near eye level for the glass beady black eyes of your stuffed animals to see but they can however question your flustered stuttering state as his taunting thumb traces figure eights with your slick.

 ♡ “daddy-” you hush but it’s interrupted with a quick slap to your bum, Andy’s smirk widening at the sight of it jiggling along with the fabric, he can’t help but take his thumb covered in your pleasure and take it in his mouth.

 ♡ moaning at the delicious taste of you before grabbing your ass again in rough handfuls, making finger like indents that could possibly bruise your skin you bite your lip in anticipation for another spank until Andy’s large hand hovers over the curves of your hips till he grips your waist.  

 ♡ “keep playing sugarplum, pretend daddy isn’t here playing with your princess parts,” finishing the husky whisper in your ear with a kiss to your cheek, whimpering slightly as one of his hands glide back to the slit of your dress and playful fingers slowly rub your slicked pearl.

 ♡ you don’t argue as you continue to play hostess with your stuffies while trying to survive your daddy’s teasing fingers, attempting to not let a single sound escape your lips or a stutter in your words, hoping your daddy will keep his promise and only play with you for five minutes before going back to the cakies. 

 ♡ yet as you think that unfortunate thought Andy’s finding pleasure of his own, maybe he won’t just play with you for five minutes since he’s infatuated with the cake in front of him. 

 ♡ the older man knows you’ve been wanting him to put you in your place the moment you started acting cocky and who is he to not give it to you?

 ♡ the birthday girl always gets what she wants

♡♡♡ thank you for reading! ♡♡♡  pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this follow me to read more of my future works! ♡♡♡

𝓇𝑜𝓈𝒾𝑒'𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 || @cloudystevie​ ♡ @steebsbabygirl​ ♡ @lovelyblxckgirl​ ♡ @honeychicana​ ♡ you may comment down below or throw me an ask if you’d like to join my taglist!

[mochikeiji]

Troublesome Baby

↠ Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

↠ Warning: SMUT! Slight size kink, nipple play, overstimulation, hint of breeding, Akaashi wanting to make his baby know how pretty she is and how wrong people are about her.

↬ Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Pissing a delinquent is never a persons choice. And what pisses off Akaashi most was when people picked on you instead of him.

⇢ Day 2: Delinquent

A person's feelings can be confusing. One minute they're saying they like a good guy who knows how to keep track in time and hs his future planned out and the second they're liking someone whom their parent's had warned them about.

If you like someone who was always up to no good, are you a masochist? They would ask. Are you out of your mind? They would scold. Do you have any idea how this'll affect your life? They would judge.

You'd like to think otherwise of people who wore tattoos, have so many scars, are always picking fights or having that gangsta stance and aura. You prefer to see them as still a human being with a cold outer shell in order to protect themselves from the cruel world, shielding their gentleness deep within.

It was cliche; a bad person getting soft for one person. But that's how it is even in reality. Sometimes, we can only be vulnerable to the ones we trust the most. And the ones we trust the most are the loved ones.

And those who we love, never deserve how they spit at the world.

That's how Akaashi was with you.

Everyone was shock by the time the former first year had a drastic demeanor change. He was timid, reserved back at his first year in highschool. Polite, and what you'd expect to have an astounding school performance. Hey never would've thought that joining the volleyball club would change someone so idly.

They always thought they were a team filled with passionate players who loved to play fair, but it turns out they loved to get rough around games and outside matches.

Roughness was never Akaashi's agenda. But with a stoic facade and built, athletic feature, he fits in perfectly to look like someone you should stay away from. Still, he kept on being the reserved person he was by hiding his wounds underneath his uniform or volleyball jacket. He doesn't admit it outloud, but he was insecure about his beating wounds.

The times where he and the team would go on random beatings after losing a bet or if someone dares to mess with anyone close to them happened often. Now that word was spread that you, sweet little you, happened to be the pretty faced setters girlfriend is targeted by many disgusting comments.

No man would want to tolerate that or will tolerate their beloved pummeled onto the ground. From all the members of the team he was voted to be the most terrifying one, he doesn't stand down from a fight especially for his baby, he wouldn't stop until the person who made a worthless comment about you, the person who would make you look down at yourself, the person who would make you cry is at their mercy.

His delinquent phase soon carried on until he reached his 20s. Even though now he was an editor and his teammates had their own domestic lives and jobs ahead, they kept up with their ways to earn a bit of cash during the night. Minus Bokuto on some occasions due to his volleyball tournaments world wide, it was mostly just him and the former third years. Even the two females had managed to know their ways into the dangers in joining as long as it helped them raise the cash up a bit.

And that leads the scenario now, you cleaning up his wounds again at the peak of 1 am in the morning after a misunderstanding beat down the past hour. He came home more bruised and bloodied than before— that meant they were outnumbered. Usually, it's Bokuto who would bark at the people who would mess with them. He was known to be feared due to his popularity, but inside the group, it's really just Akaashi who was the monster amongst all of them when he was angry.

You didn't know how long you were going to tolerate this. Him always coming back to you with new scars drawing his skin and you patching him up. It was always like this since highschool, but as you grew, people get tougher, bolder. This was too much.

"Keiji, please stop doing this."

Dabbing the cotton on the alcohol a little and tapping his skin gently to avoid stinging him, you were sat on your study chair whilst he was sitting on your shared bed. You were already trying to hold in the dam from breaking as you had been cleaning all his wounds for the past minute, but as you do, they only seem to get bigger and painful for you to bear.

"I don't want you to keep getting hurt."

Finally putting ointments on his arm, he uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, and raises you too look into his eyes. Ones that weren't feral as they were a couple of hours ago.

"They were bad mouthing about you, I wasn't letting that slip."

"But it's fine! People bad mouth about me a lot even before.."

Inside it still stung. To be growing up mocked by society in any way they see flaw in you. You were always an insecure woman up until now, any little words from others can make you into a brawling mess. What more if some threatened you, you'd be a fleeting coward.

Akaashi knew that about you when you began dating. At first he didn't pay mind into it, but the more he got to know what a kind and loving person you were, he realized just how cruel people can be to those with soft hearts. He hated those to the bone, he would never tolerate that kind of person throwing a pile of crap to someone above them.

"I just don't want to keep thinking one day you won't be coming by the door because of this..I'd rather you just stop being like this after years than to get more bruises. I don't care about the money, Keiji, I earn a lot too."

Your trembling figure was obvious, he knew how emotional you get for whenever he gets reckless, and how you over think of the things the people he has placed back in their place said about you. He never liked the fact you tried to be strong for him so many times and not even reaching out for comfort from him.

"Baby."

He cooes softly, moving away the medical kit from your side and hoisting you up from your chair with ease, allowing you to straddle his lap. You were easy for him to carry considering the height difference, thus making him more protective of you seeing as you look like a small child in fear.

Protesting softly at him to put you down since he was just freshly fixed up, Akaashi let's your head fall on his naked shoulder blade with his hand behind your head, giving your hair a slow stroke down to your back.

That's where you started to cry on his skin.

"I don't care about the money that much, I just hate it when someone threatens or mocks you without even having to know you."

He hears you sniffle at his skin, your tears wetting a small patch on it along with your face. He hushes you for a second before patting your bum, indicating he wants to see your face. With head lowered, you pulled away from his shoulder, sniffling down the tears while roughly using your wrist to wipe your eyes.

He grabs one of your wrist as his soften eyes met your red ones. He lowers your hand down to your lap, with your other one following as he was the one to wipe your tears away.

"It hurts me to have them say such things and have you crying like this. You have no idea how far you are from what they say."

The both of you took a small pause, letting him squish your cheeks with his thumbs rubbing underneath your eyes as small, left over tears escaped. Your hands below pressing against his bandaged abdomen, wondering how much trouble he's gone through just for you with a new batch of tears ready to fall.

"You don't cause me trouble, baby. I did this because you didn't deserve it. It was my decision, not yours or anyones. You will never be the reason for my troubles."

He was an observant guy, any little sign of of your body he knows what's going on. He slides your hands up from his abdomen, to his chest and placing them on his shoulders for you to hold onto. Tilting his head a bit to get an angle of your view, he gives you an adoring smile at the sight of your lips slightly pouting out and your eyes wide and glossy.

"You look cute right now."

Blinking away the blurred vision, your heart thumps a little from the way he was looking at you and his small compliment. You loved it when he gave you a lot of assurance and reminders about yourself. Even in times where they seemed unnecessary.

His finger tracing your cheeks to your nose, tapping at the tip making you shut your eyes and crinkle a little. When he groaned at the shift of your hips now snugging against his growing bulge, he quickly places his hands on your hips to hold you in place.

Your eyes popped out, stammering apologies saying you didn't mean to do it on purpose while gripping his shoulders. You hear him sigh out, worried you might've hurt him but soon vanished when you felt his hands sliding down once again to your bum.

"Why don't I show you how pretty you really are?"

He moves from his position. By instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he lays you down on bed and pushes himself up.

"W-wait, your wounds."

"I'm fine, baby, don't worry."

His hands found their way down to your pajama shorts and pulls them down with ease. He let's his shirt that you were wearing on as it only fueled his arousal at the sight of you looking smaller compared to him.

Thighs shaking and biting back a moan when his index finger slid down on your clothed slit, he repeats his actions upwards and downwards until you shortly got the middle part of your panties wet.

"Just enjoy and relax for me." 

You clutched the pillow underneath your head when his finger started to press in your clothed slit, his warmth radiating strongly against your sensitive regions, it made you grind shyly on the finger teasingly trying to intrude your entrance. 

He bites lip at the delicious sight and pulls his fingers away, spreading your legs apart so that he could settle himself on his stomach and his face near your lower lips. Sliding your panties down almost too quickly, he pushes your inner thighs to spread for him, giving him a better view of what his teasings done to your body and blowing cool air on your twitching hole, drooling with more arousal.

He hears a small whimper from you and looks up, you covering your mouth with the back of your hand, and your other fisting the sheets. Giving your inner thighs a kiss to calm you down, he winks at you before repeatinf his early ministrations on your now bare pussy.

"You're so easily aroused."

It came out like a breathy whisper from his lips as he watches his finger slide up and down. The thought of you tight and clenching to nothing makes him want to plunge in immediately.

He hums pleasingly at the sight and slowly inserts his index finger in. You moan out loudly in surprise, hiding your face to side and not wanting to look down thinking you might just cum from the sight. He began pulling his finger out and then pushing it back in, he wiggles a little inside of your hole loving how warm and wet it was, until he inserted a nother finger in to stretch you.

"Keiji!!"

He thrusts both fingers in with a decent pace, not wanting to go fast knowing how sensitive and easily you'll cum. His mouth was watering at the sight of his fingers being swallowed in your small pussy, and leans his face down with his other hand spreading your lips and giving it a small kiss that made your hips jolt up as he began to attack your clit.

"K-keiji! Too good!"

His free hand holds one of your thighs way to keep you spread amd at his mercy. The two fingers inside of you thrusting erratically when you tightened around them, now hearing the sloshing noises and his mouth sucking you to death.

He watches your head move from side to side and your chest heaving from his treatment. He can feel his own cock painfully erect inside his pants and moves bit, moaning against your clit at his boxers friction, and your hands finding their way to his hair and begging him not to stop.

"Keiji! Please, please, don't stop! Please, I'm close!"

His fingers beckoning inside of you knowing what he was now pressing at and flattens his tongue on your pussy before smirking up and saying,

"Go on, pretty girl, cum for me."

Hearing his voice was like a knock out for you as your hips arched up and the grip on his hair tightened. The pads of his fingers pressing and teasing your sweet spot until you were cumming hard for his mouth to take in.

He pumps a few more thrust until your orgasm faded. You whimpered from the additional thrust and grabbed his wrist to stop.

"Too much, Keiji.."

Hungry eyes raking your sweating body and wet folds, his pants getting unbearable at the moment and zips it down immediately along with his boxers, letting his cock free and breathes in the cool air as it hits his cock that made it twitch in need.

How much he wanted to keep eating you out despite being sensitive, but the need to be inside of you caves in as he hovers above your quivering body and attatching his lips with yours. He slips in his tongue to deepen the kiss, grinding his cock against your wet slit as you moaned inside his mouth from the much needed friction and something inside your needy cunt.

But Akaashi wanted to savor the moment, he knows you were a virgin. He's only fingered and eaten you out during the years of relationship. Even though the thought of having his cock a taste of your cunt drives him insane, he wanted to make sure every part of your body was touched, kissed and adored like he promised.

"Mmh!"

Fingers now tweaking your right nipples as your legs tried to close themselves from now having to be stimulated from your torso, to his hard cock still grinding tantalizing. But his body was in between them, and his mouth was practically eating your whines and mewls for him. Seeing how sensitive you were getting over the little touches he was giving made him moan against your lips. His hand moves to tweak your other untouched nipple and pulled a little, your back arching as he releases his mouth from yours letting you moan loud.

Your back still arched giving him a quick access to suck on your erected nipple, biting softly yet playfully in synch with his pinching on the other nub.

"KEIJI! HAH— PLEASE!"

Trying to move away from his mouth and fingers by pushing his head gently, he uses other hand to pin both of your smaller ones above your head and releases your nipple with a pop, shivering from the air.

He stops playing with the other one and moves there to suck on it. His finger moving to the soaked one and pulling it softly. You trashed on his hold as he continued to assault your breast. Not seeing the way his eyes are now getting half lidded at the sight of your teary ones from the amount of pleasure and the sound of your pleading singing in his ears.

"AH! Keiji!! Please— no more!"

But he knows how much you didn't want this to stop. If you really did want to stop, you would've used your safe word. But just smiles at you fondly, letting his finger move from breast to breast and pulling and pinching quickly.

"Mm, I just love," he pulls a little harder on your left nub, but not to painfully for you, "How your body reacts to me." you hear his chuckled laugh when he stops to massage your breast alternatively, leaving you whimpering from how skillful his hands were.

"You're getting cuter and prettier as time goes by."

Shamefully, your walls clenched from his words. He knows judging by how you bit your lip and shutting your eyes and grins at you. He knows how much you loved getting praised and told all the lewd things he wants to do to you.

"You'll be prettier with my cock stuffing inside you, won't you, baby? 

Hands trying to pry his stronger ones away so that you can hold him, hide on his skin and let him ravage you. He does however, using both his hands, he separated your arms and pins them at the side of your head and proceeds to attack your neck.

"Baby."

He cooes at the side of your skin, cock now lubed from his pre cum and yours with the tip just poking on your lower lips impatiently.

"Please..inside, Keiji, please."

Yours legs widened themselves, preparing for what you've both been wanting that evening. He laces his hands on yours, the position you now had more vulnerable for him and he wanted nothing more than to take you and make you feel protected and pleased.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

Lips pressing on your forehead as you relaxed on the sweet sensation, but as seconds went by, your body tensed when he entered the head of his cock in, inching slowly his hard length.

Akaashi's hands gripped yours harder when he feels your cunt fluttering and hugging his member tighter than he expected. His breating becoming ragged so he started leaving trail marks of love bites on your neck to calm the both of you down from the foreign feeling.

Each mark he gave came with a soft praise, telling you how good you were doing taking his cock perfectly and how beautiful you were breathless underneath him. He told you, you were doing a good job holding in and with that you let out a shaky breath before telling him he can move.

Thrusting out slowly, letting your juice slide freely on his cock before thrusting back in with force, enough for you to choke a moan. His hips taking their pace into what he knows is bearable for a first timer like you, but the way he was clenching his jaw tight indicates how much he wants to have his way and fuck you like he was on a rut. You were so tight and small compared to his impressive length that it was getting painful for him to be in a vice like grip down there.

It was a struggle to take him, but at the back of your head as you feel his cock move in and out of you felt so right, you wondered if it could be more pleasurable as it is. His face was alarming to you so you rubbed your thumb on his hand letting him pause and exhale harshly. He didn't know he was holding back so much to the point he forgot how to breathe.

"Are you okay?"

He panted above you as you stared in daze and in euphoria from being stuffed. Trying to stay grounded, you attempted to grind your hips to rile him up, only for him to growl and thrust in, forcing your hips down with a squeal from your lips.

"Don't do that."

"But you're struggling."

He breathes through his nose, he hates to admit it but he had to hold himself together not to take you like a freak in bed. He reminds himself that tonight was about you and only you. How wrong the words were of the people he's beaten for you.

"It's fine, I don't want to hurt you."

Nuzzling his nose on your cheek, he hums happily on your skin when you press your cheek in reply. As your eyes stared at each other, you knew how gentle your Keiji was with you. You knew he would never hurt you even if he could. He wasn't going to.

"Please Keiji."

Moaning wantonly when your shifted your hips in a good angle for his cock to thrust on, you looked at him with pleading eyes and drooling mouth.

"Please go harder."

Groaning on your skin, he thrusts in suddenly, lettinf your back arch once more as he placed his chin on your chest and licks his lips in hunger.

"You asked for it, baby girl."

The thrusts he was making was now audible inside your room; his balls slapping below your bum, your cunts lewd juices being messed up on both your bodies and your moans slowly becoming screams.

"KEIJI!!"

His mouth found their way back on your nipple, biting roughly and licking away the pain followed by a good sucking. Hips never faltering or holding back anymore and engulfs your shaking body.

"Fuckers were so wrong about you, love. Look at you,"

Your mouth was drooling from the side, hair messed up in display on the pillow that made  them look soft and angelic on you, eyes, your hands holding onto him tight with your body jiggling up everytime he thrusts in.

"You look absolutely ravaging."

He lets go of your other hand and places his on the back of your leg, hoisting it up and placing it on his shoulder, letting his cock piston deeper into you and making a mess out of you.

"I can't even move a lot from how small and tight your cunt is."

He laughs breathlessly as he aims to find your sweet spot again. You were trying to pull away from his hold but with your thigh up on his shoudler, you were stuck taking this all in like a good girl.

"I think I may be too lucky to have you in my life."

The tip of his cock was now kissing that spot that made you scream out in the blue, Akaashi cursed when your cunt clenched his raging member as he kept aiming at your precious spot.

"Fuck, do you like that, baby?"

"AHN— YES! PLEASE, PLEASE, I WANT TO CUM!"

Sobbing for the much needed orgasm, your body gives up and lets the male above you use it to please you both.

"Fuck, my hips can't stop."

He buries himself at the crook of your neck, moaning near your ear, edging you close to your release to the sound of him. He lets out small whimpers and groans, his cock twitching violently inside you with his thrusts losing their rhythm.

"Baby girl."

"KEIJI, SLOW DOWN! AHH— I'M GOING TO CUM!"

The heat in your stomach felt different from your previous orgasms. This felt hotter, tighter, and a whole lot messier. But Akaashi showed no mercy and carried on,

"Cum for me, baby."

The freed hand he had a minute ago now being a teasing bastard and rubbed your swollen clit. Pinching and rolling all four of his fingers on, making you scream and thrash. Panting with the thought of dying frkm the immense sex he was giving until the last line made you scream without a sound,

"I'm going to cum inside."

Your eyes rolled sinfully at the last line, your bodh ascending above not hearing Akaashi gasp from the way you came and groan as both his cock and abdomen get soaked from your cum and your stomach filled with his thick load and kept thrusting in a slower pace. Your cunt spasming on his member, milking him dry until you were taking all of his load in.

Exhausted, his body stills and lays a bit above you, not wanting to squish you with his member remaining inside you. Sniffles can be heard coming from you as you calmed down from your high, Akaashi stroking your hand that was still clamped on his and peppered you with small kisses and sweet confessions.

"You did so good."

"That's my baby."

"Always so beautiful even like this."

You other arm came and wrapped themselves on his neck, pulling close to you as you inhaled his masculine scent, anchoring you down back to earth before coming to realization on how damp your bottom was.

"I—"

"Squirted?"

Blushing, you buried your head on his neck followed by a laugh from your boyfriend, listening to you blabber multiple apologies.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, I liked it," He captured your lips with kiss, kissing you lovingly and a little longer before pulling away only to give you small pecks repeatedly, "It was sexy."

"You sound so different when you use that word, Keiji.."

"But it's true."

He didn't bother pulling out after you pleaded him not to. Even if it was your first time, it was addicting to have something fill you up to the brim. It made you feel snug and full, and it felt right. Akaashi wasn't complaining on the cock warming, in fact he held you closer to his chest and twirled your hair nonetheless.

"You're really not what they describe you, love," he admires how the dim light from your room manages to create a good lighting that made your skin glow. The hairs that sticked to you forehead after the intimacy you both caught up made you look like a soft baby with eyes looking at him full of love,

"I can't even describe you anymore."

Your eyes trailed down to his wounded torso from his face. Even though he was tainted, Akaashi was sculptured beautifully like no other. But inside you prayed that he wouldn't go home another day with freshly opened wounds just to defend you as you traced your fingertips on each bruise and scar.

He spots on and grabs one of your hands and pulls it in for a kiss on the knuckles, "I promise, I won't make you worry anymore."

Smiling, you snuggled on his chest pleased and full of bliss, feeling his lips kissing the top of your head repeatedly and his arms hugging you closer to his body.

"Keiji?"

"Hm?"

Pressing your cheek on his chest, you looked up to him and asked, with a small tint of blush on your face in embarrassment, "Um..W-why did you you know...In me?"

For a second he blushes as well, but in the end he seemed to be smiling excitedly as you missed the way his eyes glanced somewhere down your stomach.

"So I can have another pretty baby to love."

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Please I'm on my hands and knees begging for some kind of angst/comfort or whatever sequel to Solace what do I have to pay to see it at last

You know what, anon? Fuck it—ask and you shall receive. 

DISCOMFIT ━ PART 2 OF SOLACE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader, previous shigaraki tomura x reader

» cw: noncon, free use (mostly implied/referenced), implied anal, mentions of cheating, little bit of comfort, whole lot of angst. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: This picks up exactly where Solace left off, and isn’t exactly canon-compliant because the war arc hadn’t ended when I first posted Solace. It’s also more angsty than smutty, but def still NSFW. As always, reblogs, replies, etc. are welcome <3

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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There's lead in Dabi's stomach as Shigaraki drags you towards the door, and he's already scrambling to tug on his sweats, staggering to his feet as though he could effectively intervene. He'd heard the threats hissed in your ear, the ones scattered among the taunts Dabi had tried so hard to counter with his own exaltations, but he hadn't been prepared for them to be genuine, had thought that in the end Shigaraki would view your shame as his own. That he wouldn't want to make this betrayal public, not really.

Apparently, Dabi was wrong.

When you're hauled across the threshold, he falters. The thought of your imminent defilement is enough to make him feel sick, bile rising at the back of his throat as his gut twists; he doesn't think he could bear to witness such a desecration. But in the end he also doesn't have a choice—Shigaraki pauses in the doorway, his vicious gaze fixing on Dabi as he gives the order. "You're coming too."

Dabi's throat tightens, because he knows there's no use trying to oppose Shigaraki's will, not with his newfound power. And there's no clemency in the man's burning red eyes, no hints that Tomura has doubts about his chosen retribution, nothing at all to give Dabi hope that perhaps the pale-haired man can be dissuaded from this corrective action.

So Dabi swallows back that bitter taste in his mouth, and he follows.

***

Your heart is in your throat as you're dragged into the hall for the second time, only vaguely aware of Dabi trailing behind, failing to interfere though you don't blame him for that, could never condemn him when this is so much more your fault than his. Had you ever really thought you could gladden yourself with Dabi's comfort and then return unscathed to Shigaraki's arms?

You're loud at first, and desperate. You rake at Tomura's forearm as you try to free yourself from his bruising grip, clawing until red droplets are blooming from the scratches on his skin and his flesh collects beneath your nails, but those marks knit themselves back together almost as quickly as you carve them in. Your feet scrabble ineffectually against the carpet too, trying to slow Tomura's movements, but all that accomplishes is friction burns when you stumble, collapsing to your knees even as Shigaraki continues his unyielding march, dragging you along without so much as a backwards glance.

You beg shamelessly again too, pleading with him to stop, to not, to simply let you go. You swear that you'll leave, that he'll never have to see you again, but he ignores those cries just as he does your pathetic attempts to grapple yourself free. It isn't until your implorations grow quieter, more disheartened, that he pauses—you're weeping, not even thinking about what you're saying, rash words falling from your lips. "Tomu, please, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please, if you ever cared about me, just let me go."

It's then that he freezes in place, every muscle in his body going rigid, the cords in his neck standing out as he whirls around to face you. His eyes are impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in disgust, and something dark flashes behind his expression, something that, but for a moment, makes him look wounded rather than filled with rage. It's gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by an expression stonier than any he's fixed you with thus far. He spits his retort through gritted teeth, his tone so tight and glacial that it sends a shiver down your exposed spine.

"Who could ever care about a whore like you?"

***

Dabi can see you struggling, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you beg, but he hears none of those supplications, hears nothing but blood rushing in his ears and the wet glug of his throat every time he tries to swallow down the lump that has lodged itself there. Just moving forward consumes all his focus; this sprawling mansion may as well extend for miles for all the effort it takes him to continue putting one foot in front of the other as Shigaraki tows you down the hall.

Your grotesque procession ends in the cavernous ballroom on the ground floor. It's ornate even in its empty glory, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and glinting off the crystal of the chandelier that hangs unlit from the ceiling. Dozens of observers trail behind, every inquiring mind that had peered out to investigate the commotion now obeying Shigaraki's commands for them to follow. They're watching warily, whispering behind their hands as their eyes flick curiously from Dabi, shirtless and shaking, to Shigaraki and you.

Dabi comes back into himself when Shigaraki hurls you unceremoniously to the floor, the sharp crack of your head against the hardwood echoing loudly enough to breach the disassociated haze in which he's been trapped. The sight of your face, dazed by the blow, has him instinctually moving forward, but he's stopped at once when a chiseled arm casts itself across his chest, halting his movements. A low growl issues from the back of Shigaraki's throat. "Don't."

It was easier not to protest Shigaraki's rough treatment of you when the three of you were alone in Dabi's bedroom. He'd been able to convince himself then that Shigaraki had some claim on you, some right to do what he was doing, a sense that had been given all the more weight by your own equivocal response to those harsh touches. But the sight of you now, curled on the floor clutching your head, your legs tucked to your chest as though that could somehow preserve your modesty, is harder to abide. It has heat roiling under Dabi's skin, his insides near-roasting as he does his best to restrain himself, to keep emotions too tumultuous to define from bubbling up and setting him alight.

So Dabi looks away. He does his best to tamp down on that growing heat and to endure, to think about the importance of being there for you. After.

Even after Tomura extends his sadistic invitation to the assembled remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, Dabi is naive enough at first to hope that no one will take the bait, that even a crowd of villains won't be depraved enough to indulge in what Shigaraki is offering. Except, Dabi had, hadn't he? Had found his own satisfaction in the first part of Shigaraki's punishment, even as you'd wept. He tries to tell himself that was different—he'd already had you, more than once and voluntarily, and you'd asked for him, implored him so desperately that he couldn't have refused, especially not when it was something Shigaraki had been so intent on enacting.

A darker thought flits across the back of Dabi's mind when he remembers the way you'd writhed under Tomura's domineering touch: if Shigaraki insists on it, will you beg here too?

It's a question that goes unanswered. You spend less than a minute sniffling on the floor surrounded by that mob of villains, and then Dabi's glancing up against his better judgement to see Re-Destro stepping forward, dark eyes glinting with curiosity as he shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, the balding sycophant unabashedly eager to avail himself of Shigaraki's sloppy seconds.

All your struggling has ceased; you're not trying to leave or asking for help, or mercy. Dabi's not sure if you're still trying to please Shigaraki or are only clinging to some last shred of dignity, if he should be disgusted or proud. Still, you flinch when the redhead crouches to trace one large hand up the outside of your thigh, and that small sign of discomfort is enough to have Dabi moving without thinking, every fiber of his body screaming out to defend you from that unwanted touch. But he only manages one feeble step forward before Shigaraki's hand is curling in his hair, yanking him back so hard that Dabi's scalp throbs. Shigaraki maintains that tight hold, leaving Dabi immobilized and with no choice left but to keep staring forward.

"You're going to watch every second," Shigaraki hisses.

Dabi nods. Grinds his teeth. Watches.

***

He thinks nothing could be worse than the powerlessness he feels as Re-Destro takes you. It's a sense of impotence that settles in his bones, that unearths and amplifies every inadequacy he endured in his youth until his knees are weak and there's blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Just like back then, he's too weak to do what is needed. He can only watch in dismay as someone slots themselves into a role that should be his.

He's wrong, of course, that nothing could be more horrible than witnessing that first act. It's worse when he starts to notice the familiar tensing in your body, and hears your high-keyed whines reverberating off of walls designed to carry just such a pitch. It's worse when he spies Skeptic with that camera trained on you, documenting your disgrace as he palms himself through his pants, and even worse when Spinner comes forward, casting a long, uncertain glance towards Shigaraki before burying himself in both your holes. It's worse when they stop taking orderly turns coupling with your pliant form and start to share instead, and it's worse still when Dabi realizes that somewhere along the way he's grown shamefully, achingly hard.

But the worst? The absolute worst?

That comes at the end.

You're nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, one cheek squashed against the stained hardwood, your expression glassy and far away. People have stopped coming forward, all those who wanted a turn having taken one, or more. Their faces are uneasy now that they're spent, murmuring again and shooting furtive looks towards the door, obviously unsure if their continued presence is required but too wary of Shigaraki to ask. So it's Dabi who finally works up the nerve to speak, his voice tight through his clenched jaw.

"You did what you wanted. Now can we go?"

A sense of relief washes over him when Shigaraki releases him, but it's short-lived as the other man fixes that red-eyed stare on Dabi.

"Huh," he muses thickly, his expression unreadable as he cocks his head. "You still want her."

Dabi hesitates. Because he knows Shigaraki doesn't want that to be true, is intent on ripping apart whatever tenuous connection you and Dabi have forged over the past weeks, but Dabi's not sure that such a thing is possible. Right now he can't imagine the future any further than getting you both far, far away from here, but even after watching you submit to Shigaraki so readily, after seeing you clench and moan while being offered up like so much meat, Dabi doesn't think he could ever turn you away, not so long as you want him. So he nods.

Shigaraki's unreadable expression morphs, his lips splitting into a wide, depraved grin. "Fine." There's something in his tone that has Dabi's chest tightening with dread already, a sense that only intensifies when Shigaraki continues. "Finish her off, and you can have her. After all, what the fuck do I care if you want to keep the toy you damaged?"

Dabi swallows hard, looking around again. The crowd is watching intently, exchanging hushed whispers, and he knows they can hear every word, have no doubt anymore about just what has happened here, if they had any doubts before.

"Better get on with it," Tomura jeers, followed by a quiet, callous chuckle. "Take the last turn, and the two of you can go. Or don't, and I'll keep her here for days."

Fuck, Dabi can feel the weight of all those eyes on him, of dozens of gazes flicking between his torn expression and your used up form. He wants to say he can't, that he could never, but it's not the truth. The thought alone might have him fighting back a wave of nausea but that doesn't mean he isn't still erect, tenting his pants in a way that's painfully obvious to himself and to everyone else. Physically, at least, Dabi absolutely could.

He takes a step closer to you. Grimaces. He wants to reach out to you, to give you the reassurance of a soothing touch, but there's nowhere your skin isn't reddened or contused, the evidence of that damage exaggerated by the sheen of sweat and worse coating your skin. Your eyes roll up just enough to meet his hesitant stare, and Dabi gives you what he hopes is an apologetic look.

Dabi does what he has to do.

***

The moment it's over Dabi is scooping you up, hooking his arms around your shoulders and behind your bruised knees and lifting you gingerly from the floor, taking you in his arms as gently as he can manage. Your eyes drift to him again, the corners of your lips twitching and a tiny whimper issuing from the back of your throat, a sound so small and feeble that Dabi has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to maintain some semblance of composure.

He avoids making eye contact with anyone as he leaves, not even sparing a glance towards Shigaraki to confirm this is really over; if the other man decides to change his mind, Dabi's sure it will be painfully obvious. But no one tries to stop him from taking you—he flees the scene of your discrediting successfully, with his heart pounding and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor ahead of him. Just as when he'd followed Shigaraki's march before, he puts one foot in front of the other and wills himself to think of nothing else.

It's difficult. Your skin is slick against his unclothed chest, and feels feverish. Every time he shifts you, he can feel wetness dribbling down your thighs as he tries to lie to himself it's nothing. Tries not to give it any attention at all.

Dabi's never been very good at deceiving himself, and it's all the harder now with the images of your defilement burned into his retinas—Shigaraki knew just what would make him suffer, Dabi has to admit that much.

When he reaches his room, he sets you gently to the floor, whispers that he'll be right back and then disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He cranks on the bathtub—it will be necessary to clean you up since he's certain you couldn't stand if you tried. It also serves to drown out the sounds to come, because the moment the water starts pouring he's lunging for the toilet and heaving his guts into the bowl, coughing and sputtering as he retches.

By the time he's finished being sick, the tub is nearly full.

He checks the temperature of the water. Once, twice. Three times. It's hard for him to gauge it adequately when he runs so hot, and the last thing he wants is to scald your abused skin or any of those tender, overworked parts. When he's finally wrangling you into the tub, he dips your hand in first, one final test to ease his anxious mind.

"That feel all right, baby girl?" He's not sure if you really nod, or if you're simply shifting a little, but either way he takes it as a yes.

In the end, it doesn't matter so much. The water turns disgusting almost the moment you're submerged, an oily sheen rising to the surface that Dabi doesn't want to think too hard about it. He drains it and doesn't repeat that mistake, only fills it a few inches full the second time and then scoops water over your irritated skin to rinse away the worst of the mess, a painstakingly slow but necessary measure. He repeats it twice and only after that muck stops rising to the top does he let the water creep higher so that he can wash you properly.

He starts with your hair. It's another slow process, trying to keep from snagging your damp tresses on the staples that line his palms as he massages shampoo into your scalp, and moving carefully to avoid the lump that's formed at the back of your head, where it cracked against the hardwood floor. He does his best not to grimace visibly at that swelling, does the same as he's working sweat and sticky clumps out of your matted locks—your eyes are still bleary but he knows you're watching him, and he couldn't bear for you to see how much it affects him to witness you like this.

Conditioner is probably an unnecessary touch, but he works it in anyway once the last of the suds have been rinsed away, thinks it might help you to feel some sense of normalcy, if that's even still a possibility for you. He lets it soak in while he tends to the rest of your inflamed skin, trying best as he can to be gentle, though that doesn't stop you from wincing every time he brushes over some raw, tender spot. When he finally works the washcloth between your thighs, the last horribly necessary task left, you let out a choked sob, your face contorting in distress in a way that has his throat tightening again.

"Shh, baby girl," Dabi soothes, his voice raw even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to stroke at your hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

You can't help but wonder if that's entirely true as you bite back more complaints and let him tend to your ravaged sex. You can see the tightness in his face, the way he can't seem to look at you for long, and Shigaraki's words keep running through your mind, a grim mantra that sticks in your head even more than the memories of the past few hours.

You'll be ruined for him, just like you're ruined for me.

The thought is enough to have panic brewing in your chest, a near-hysteria clawing its way through you. Because what would you do without Dabi? Who else would ever want you now? It would be too much to lose them both.

You don't realize tears are streaming down your cheeks until hot thumbs are brushing them away, cerulean eyes fixed worriedly on your own. "It's okay," Dabi murmurs again. "You're okay."

But it's not, you're not, probably won't ever be again, and you need more than those thin reassurances. Your arm aches when you lift one hand to catch his wrist, your feeble grip a reminder of just how worn you really are. "Am I—" your voice is hoarse, your words interrupted by a painful cough as you struggle to speak through your wrecked throat "—am I ruined for you?"

The way his face falls at your question is reassurance enough, that tight expression going slack and defeated, the corners of his brows lifting in grief. Then Dabi's pulling you to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the tub and cool porcelain digging into your side as he wraps both arms around you, his face burying itself in your damp strands as he cradles you close.

"No. No, of course not, baby girl. Never."

***

When Dabi finally releases you, he leaves you soaking in the tub long enough to take a shower. He's loath to abandon you for even one second, but he needs that cleansing and, more than that, needs a moment to breath. Because you'd never clung to him so eagerly before, never needed him the same way he needed you, not when you had someone else to hold tightly to.

So just now, when you'd burrowed against his chest and made clear that he was the one you were counting on? Well, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't felt good.

Shigaraki might have succeeded in cracking the pedestal Dabi had placed you on, but all that's truly accomplished is to bring you down to Dabi's level, to a place where he can actually hope to make you his. And Dabi doesn't want to find that thought reassuring, doesn't want to dwell on the realization that this whole fucked up situation might be the only way he'll get the one thing he still wants in life. But he does.

He cranks the heat in the shower as high as it will go as he tries to wash away that guilt, but the scalding water isn't enough. It can't rinse out the shame of finding personal satisfaction in your suffering, just like it can't scour away the memories of obeying Shigaraki's final order, of burying his length in the slick sensation of a dozen other men's seed, of squeezing your thighs together in a desperate bid to create some sort of friction, or of sinking himself into your tighter hole when it seemed like the only way to end that agony.

The list of things that require Dabi's contrition is endless, it seems.

Perhaps it's some kind of fucked up penance, then, that once you're both clean Dabi finds himself offering to go collect your things from the room you'd shared with Shigaraki.

It's an offer born of necessity; you have nothing to wear and while Dabi would love to dress you in his clothes, would relish the sight of you parading around in some oversized shirt that belongs to him, the way you had with Shigaraki's clothes back in the old hideout, he has nothing to offer on that front. An extensive wardrobe isn't among his precious few possessions—the options are his filthy tee shirt and jeans, the ones that reek of booze and ash, or his sweats, amply stained from your walk of shame. None of that seems anywhere near adequate.

So Dabi grits his teeth yet again, tugs on those dirty clothes himself and leaves you tucked safely in his bed, bundled in his only towel. There's an anxious look in your eyes as he departs, one that has a strange thrill coursing through him as he murmurs a promise to return quickly.

He tells himself as he journeys down the hall—pointedly ignoring every person he passes—that Shigaraki won't be there. Dabi's seen the boss angry before, knows he's one to wander and destroy rather than to sulk, and if Dabi were a betting man he would wager that Shigaraki won't be setting foot in the room he'd shared with you any time soon.

Unfortunately, Dabi is wrong once again. There's no answer when he knocks, but when he slips inside it becomes painfully obvious that lack of response wasn't because the quarters were unoccupied. He pauses inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and is almost immediately assaulted by the sounds issuing from around the corner, just out of sight: sheets rustling and heavy breathing, the faint slap of skin on skin, a quiet moan.

Fuck. Fuck no. This is the last thing that Dabi wants or needs to witness, even if the stab of incredulity and anger he feels about it is undeserved. It's how he himself would have coped, he knows, had Shigaraki's return to the Liberation Front and your return to him gone according plan, but the thought that he could avail himself of this ever after today's display has Dabi's stomach twisting.

He holds his breath as he immediately retreats, the carpet muffling his slow, quiet steps. Dabi will try something else, ask Toga to loan you some things, or rifle through the remnants of Jin's possessions if he has to. All he has do is get out of here without—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The sound of Shigaraki's low voice has Dabi freezing in place. He sounds different than when they last spoke, some faint trace of amusement there in place of that calculated callousness. Dabi keeps still, tries to convince himself that it's not him Shigaraki is addressing, but that hope proves unfounded.

"I can smell you, you know. You reek of smoke. So why don't you stop hiding and tell me why the fuck you're here?"

Dabi's first instinct is to simply turn and leave, to avoid this unpleasant encounter all together and pray Tomura will simply return his attentions to whoever had the poor judgement to leap into his bed. But in the end he steps forward, not willing to test the other man further than he has with his mere presence, not when there's still a sinister edge to his tone and the damage Dabi's wrought is already likely to haunt him to his dying day.

A light clicks on when Dabi steps into sight, the sudden assault on his pupils making him blink rapidly, and when the room finally swims back into focus, Dabi freezes. Tomura has some woman tucked neatly in his lap, her back nestled to his chest as he peers at Dabi from over her shoulder, the sheets barely covering where Dabi is positive they're joined together.

"I just came to get some of her shit—I didn't think you'd be here," Dabi says flatly, trying to not to let his eyes drift from Tomura's face as deadly hands grope at exposed breasts, dark bite marks and hickeys starkly visible even from the bottom of Dabi's field of vision. "I'll come back later. Or just find her new shit."

"Why bother when you're already here? Just get on with it." Dabi can sense something forced in that casual dismissal of his presence even as Shigaraki lets out a low laugh, and that impression is only strengthened when the woman—some MLA holdover Dabi recognizes but couldn't name—tugs at the edge of the blankets, obviously intent on providing herself with some sort of cover. Shigaraki growls immediately, pale fingers clamping around her wrist so tightly that she whimpers in protest. The first syllable of Tomura's name falls quietly from her lips, a paltry whine that's quashed as soon as it begins, Shigaraki's wide palm slapping harshly over her mouth. His eyes narrow in displeasure as scowling lips ghost over her ear.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck," Dabi hears Shigaraki hiss, "so don't you dare stop."

Dabi might have felt some sympathy for her in another life, some pang of unease at the way her eyes widen and she fidgets nervously before hesitantly rocking her hips, but in this moment he can muster no sympathy, not when her apparently voluntary presence far exceeds even Dabi's expectations for the shamelessness of these meta liberation freaks.

He does, however, feel a twinge of disquiet when he realizes, after a moment of staring, that she looks like you. Not exactly, of course—the nose is wrong, the hairstyle different—but enough. Her hair color, her eyes, her build: they're all reminiscent of your own.

Dabi tries not to think about what that means.

"Well, aren't you going to do what you came for?" Shigaraki taunts. That malicious glint is back in his eyes, the corner of his thin mouth curving up into a smirk that makes it clear he's enjoying Dabi's discomfort at the scene playing out before him. His hands start to wander again as though to emphasize it, pinching and tugging at puffy, exposed nipples while the woman continues to issue muffled mewls from behind his hand. "I'm busy, if you couldn't tell."

Dabi grits his teeth and looks away. "Where is it?"

Shigaraki only shrugs, that sneer widening, and Dabi turns stiffly towards the dresser, doing his best to tune out the soft cries as he rummages through the drawers. After a moment it's clear that nothing within belongs to you, and reluctantly Dabi steps further into the room to search the closet. He finds what he's looking for there, thank god; neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts line the shelves, blouses and those fancy nightgowns you're so fond of arranged neatly on hangars beside them. There's a duffel bag on the floor too, and Dabi quickly busies himself shoving as many of your belongings into it as he can, working with unceremonious haste and chewing at his cheek, still trying to ignore the way the sounds behind him are escalating, the moans and lewd wet smacks growing louder, more rapid.

He only stops when the duffel is overflowing, too stuffed full to even zip shut. It's certainly more than enough for now, but he wonders briefly about the rest of your possessions, if there's some other source of comfort he could and should bring you before Shigaraki decides to dispose of anything you've left behind. But Dabi has no way of knowing, has never been permitted to so much as step foot in this space before.

When the unmistakable sound of a slap emanates from behind him, followed by a throaty groan, Dabi decides it doesn't matter.

It takes him a moment to steel himself, to work up the nerve to turn back towards the room and the vulgar performance occurring mere feet away, but he once he does he strides purposefully towards the door without so much as a glance towards Shigaraki and his new—and very temporary, Dabi suspects—lover. He's almost out the door, seconds from feeling as though he can breath again, when that mocking voice is once again demanding his attention.

"Dabi," Shigaraki calls out liltingly, and Dabi pauses.

"What now?"

His obvious impatience draws a cold chuckle from Tomura. "Don't try to leave. Either of you," Shigaraki says. "The Violet Regiment still needs its lieutenant, and I need you motivated."

For a long moment, Dabi simply stands there, his hand still resting on the knob as he considers those instructions. Shigaraki isn't wrong to think he would consider it; Dabi's mostly accomplished what he hoped to with the League, and his more protective instincts have been screaming at him to get you out of here since the second it was clear Tomura intended to honor his threats. But he'd already had doubts that the jilted man would let that happen, not when the punishment he'd devised is most effective if you're both forced to stay, forced to face everyone who witnessed your downfalls and shared shame.

And also, well...Dabi's more protective instincts might tempt him to flee—he's disappeared before, after all, thinks he could do it again even if it would be harder to evade Shigaraki's reach—but his possessive instincts? Those have more self-serving thoughts brewing in the back of his mind. Because if the castigation you endured is most effective if you stay, it also means that Dabi has no advantage anywhere else. Would you cling to him so sweetly, so fiercely if you weren't surrounded by those who had seen you so thoroughly humbled? Or would such an escape only taint Dabi's presence in your mind, single him out as the last reminder of your humiliation and debasement?

It would, he thinks. So Dabi nods even though Shigaraki can't see him, noting the opportunity present in what was surely intended as a threat. The sadistic leader might be intent on dangling this over both your and Dabi's heads until at least one of you is dead, but Dabi's made the best of bad situations before, ones worse than this.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, working to keep his tone level and mild. He steps out into the hall, lets the door click closed behind him.

For the first time all day, Dabi smiles.