#dream eating parasite | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkberrytea · 6 months ago

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He had tasted you once; now, he craves every inch of your being, his hunger insatiable.

Little death—a gift he bestowed upon her, and which she bestows upon him in turn. As her lifeblood touches his lips, Astarion reminisces about the fateful eve when he first sank his fangs into her pretty neck.

Come, gentle night; and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars.

Astarion x Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 3.1k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: i can't be the only one who is convinced my man is down bad since the very first bite, right? he is so interesting to me! i wanted to explore this idea further, hopefully i did it justice. thank you for reading!

tags: blood drinking; fluff & smut; possessive behavior; masturbation; body worship; mildly dubious consent; dry humping; somnophilia

“Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up. Just enough to give me strength, and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Footsteps. You hear them approaching, although in your half-unconscious torpor, you can’t tell if they’re near or far. You’re likewise unsure of what has disturbed your sleep, even if as of late, nights have been restless and plagued by nightmares, the worm etched in the recesses of your brain a constant, unforgiving reminder of your plight. Your mind is still hazy, fragments of your dreams clouding your thoughts, so you rely on your primal instincts instead—you smell nothing but the crisp evening air, feel nothing but the cool breeze caressing your warm body, see nothing but endless darkness from behind your closed eyelids, but your ears don’t fail you. You instinctively hold your breath, muscles tensed, staying as still as possible as if playing dead; the footsteps are now almost upon you, the crunching of leaves growing louder and muffling the noise of the crickets singing, and your skin becomes covered in goosebumps in anticipation, the pit of your stomach twisting and turning. Whoever it is, you seem to be their intended target.

Suppressing the mounting panic rising within your chest, you try to gather your bearings and make sense of the situation. You know where you are—Elturgard, or more specifically, a camp in the wilderness, somewhere between Elturel and Baldur’s Gate. Finding a cure for the parasite wriggling in your head is the reason you’re here, and the companions with whom you’re sharing your camp are afflicted by the same condition. Ah, your companions—the footsteps must belong to one of them, surely. The soothing heat of the campfire has significantly dwindled compared to how it was when you turned in, its crackling so low you can barely hear it, and the night is sufficiently chilly that your bedroll fails to offer enough shelter, so you wonder if they are about to tend to the dying flames, or maybe ask you to help them do so. You wait expectantly, pricking up your ears, but suddenly, the crunching sounds come to a halt, and you sense a presence looming over you. A shiver runs down your spine, and your heart starts beating faster, thumping so loudly you’re afraid it may give away your awakened state. The presence silently kneels down beside you, crawling even closer, too close for comfort; and then, you feel it—cold digits ghosting over your cheek, their featherlight touch almost tentatively soft.

Astarion.

Now you remember. You offered to let him feed on you earlier, a habit which you’ve unexpectedly picked up in recent days, although the reason for such eludes you. Perhaps it was his pained expression when he asked you the first time, or maybe something else—you’re not entirely certain, but the fact of the matter is, he is here, except unlike other nights, you are fully aware of your surroundings. Not only that, it has been no more than a fortnight since your little tryst in that pretty clearing, which it seems both of you are intent on pretending never happened. You more so than him—it would be insincere of you to claim you haven’t noticed the dangerous glint in his eyes, how he leans closer when you talk, the cunning smirks and wistful glances. Truth be told, you’re still unsure what to make of it all; none of it is how you expected it would be, not your time together, and certainly not the aftermath. Him, too—though it may be bold of you to assume so, you can’t help but think that his show of vulnerability, however brief, had not been intentional. Ever so often you idly muse over the raw perplexity etched across his face when you invited him to drink from you then, how he looked at you in utter disbelief, letting the mask of a debonair lover slip for a split second; how his kisses became more fervent, his touches less calculated, the confusion never truly seeming to leave him until you were done. And then, the morning after—the hurt in his voice, the complex feelings he appeared to be trying to suppress seeping from every word, as if he had been prepared for anything and everything but genuine yearning, and you ruined it all for him.

“This isn’t about hunger. It’s about pleasure.”

The digits on your cheek slide downwards, gliding across the curve of your jaw and towards your slender neck, where they stop for a brief moment, only to then press down on it, feeling around as if searching for something—an artery, pulsing so very tantalizingly with your precious crimson, a feast set out entirely for him. With his other hand, he gently runs his fingers through your hair and brushes it behind your shoulder, exposing his prize, and repositioning himself to straddle you, he lowers his head until his mouth is hovering right above it. He stays like this for a while, and your blood runs cold as it dawns on you that he may have noticed you are not asleep, but before long, his skin finally comes into contact with yours—however, rather than the sharp pain you’d been expecting, you feel only the pillowy softness of his lips; a tender kiss, which is then followed by another, and then another. One of his hands stays tangled in your hair, cradling your head, and he splays the other on the ground beside you to support himself. His fangs lightly graze the throbbing vein with each peck, almost teasingly, until finally, he sinks them into the sensitive flesh, carefully and steadily so as not to wake you. The uncomfortable sensation is not foreign to you, although it is clear he has become more accustomed to this, even if you have not; his technique has significantly improved, and after the initial stab, it hardly hurts anymore, other than a dull ache every time he swallows, which he does quite enthusiastically.

“Just you and me and—well, maybe a little death?”

Letting out low grunts and guttural moans as he drinks, Astarion sucks ever so vigorously, seemingly more at ease due to your apparent lack of consciousness. Your face gradually grows warmer as you notice tension building up low in your stomach, the noises he makes and the feeling of his plush lips and wet tongue against your skin causing your body to react with pathetic wantonness. You try to stifle the impending arousal, doing your best to remind yourself that he is only feeding, nothing more, nothing less; until you notice the hand on which he had been leaning make its way from its place on the ground to rest on your waist, gingerly moving upwards until his long fingers brush against the plump of one of your breasts, almost as if by accident—it is, however, no accident when two of them then pinch a pebbling nipple through the thin fabric of your nightshirt, delicately massaging the pert nub while the others knead the squishy surrounding flesh. The ache between your legs swells with desire, and you flusteredly bite back the whimper threatening to escape the confines of your closed mouth; believing you to be deep in slumber, he has no reason for such restraint, and his vocalizations increase in frequency and volume alike.

Having to now use his upper body strength to keep himself propped up, he decides to instead gently fall on top of you, momentarily unlatching from your neck to then slightly push you to the side and press his strong chest flush against your back, one hand woven in your hair and the other cupping your breast still. With almost desperate keenness, he hooks one of his legs over yours, shoving his crotch against your rear, and immediately you notice the rock hard bulge nudging the space between your buttocks. The tips of your ears burn bright red at this realization, making you wonder how common of an occurrence this must be; as your mind wanders to the night when he first bit you, he sinks his fangs back into the bruised vein, and your eyes water a little due to the sudden pain, which you quickly forget about once you feel his hips start almost imperceptibly grinding against your own. Wedging the bulge deeper within the valley of your ass, he moves it to and fro, almost in rhythm with his sucking of your blood, the digits on your bosom earnestly playing with your nipple and those in your hair tenderly caressing the tousled tresses.

“Hm—hnng…” Astarion groans lewdly, lasciviously, making suggestive wet sounds while sensually lapping at your crimson. No longer satisfied to feel you up through your clothes, he sticks his hand under your shirt, and his cold fingers quickly resume fondling the soft skin of your breast, in response to which shock waves shoot up your legs and arms. Freeing the digits tangled in your hair, he brings them to your ribs, sliding their pads along your navel and down towards your groin, where he then firmly grabs one of your supple thighs. That’s when it occurs to you how unlike your night together he seems to be acting—eagerly exploring your body with almost adolescent clumsiness, his movements sloppy and impulsive, he appears to be entirely focused on taking rather than giving; having no reason to try to impress you, he acts greedily instead, intent on achieving his own personal ecstasy above all else, a fact that doesn’t bother so much as instill in you a puzzling sense of relief.

Increasing the pace of his thrusts, he tightens the grip of his leg around yours, and for a short while you all but forget that your crimson is running down his throat still, unable to focus on anything but the heat irradiating from his skin as it becomes ever warmer the more he feeds. When you notice you can no longer feel the tips of your toes, it is far too late—a tingling sensation spreads across your heavy limbs due to the loss of blood, and holding onto a single thought proves far too difficult, your mind now a messy whirlwind of memories and abstractions. Your arousal persists even as your conscience starts to wane; slick soaks through your underpants, the sweet scent of which causes Astarion to immediately stop moving, freezing as if caught with his fingers inside the cookie jar. After what seems like an eternity, both his hands and fangs leave your helpless form, and he shuffles behind you, presumably looking for something—before you can even begin to wonder what, you feel him press a soft piece of fabric against the fresh set of bite marks on your neck, which he uses to gently wipe the thick red blooming from the small wounds.

Worried that any further stimulation might disturb your sleep, he decides to attempt a less bold approach instead, pulling away slightly, although your legs remain twisted together. Barely awake now, the echoes of the forest reach your ears in hushed, distant hums, but you can still hear him as he brings the bloodstained cloth to his nose, taking in your scent deeply, eyes closed and a libidinous moan falling from his pretty lips. One of his now freed hands hastily makes its way to the waistband of his pants, only to then slip under it, and as soon as his elegant digits brush against the velvety crown of his cock, he wraps them around its engorged girth, squeezing lightly and drawing pearly droplets of precome from the weeping slit.

“Mngh…” he croaks, his voice raspy and hoarse, and you can’t tell for sure, but a whisper that vaguely sounds like your own name wafts through the air and vanishes into the evening sky as he starts sliding his hand up and down his length, smearing the clear liquid seeping from the leaking tip all over himself. Prior to your night of passion, this is how he would choose to relieve the painful erection inevitably provoked by his daily feedings, only he would retreat to his tent then; once you became more intimate, things changed, and raw eroticism would percolate into every session, images of your moments together sweeping through his mind and springing his aching sex to life with each gulpful of your lifeblood. The instant you offered him your neck, all he had ever known suddenly came into question—drinking from you while balls-deep into your tight cunt was an experience unlike any other, to the point of almost completely resignifying the concept of pleasure for him. By owning your body, he had made you his, even if only temporarily; your blind trust was something he had never before experienced, and not once had he felt so powerful as with you squirming under him, completely submitting to his whims.

“Astarion, please…” he recalls you whimpering, the sound of his name on your pink tongue so enticingly sultry, stirring up in him all sorts of conflicting feelings; lust, infatuation, guilt, anger, all blended together and indistinguishable from one another. How beautiful a vision you had made then—such a pretty, luscious thing, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes glinting with coquettish longing. The more he finds himself caring, the more he hates you for it; the more his hatred for you grows, the more he wants you by his side. Choosing to manipulate you into a tactical alliance was the culmination of careful and meticulous deliberation—at once deadly and most pleasing to the eye, yet seemingly unaware of either fact; a naive, kind fool, lost and alone, his perfect target from every angle, you were the obvious candidate. He had no way of knowing at the time—how you would unwittingly beat him at his own game and steal your way into his undead heart, without even really trying.

While pumping his now glistening cock, your precious face is all Astarion can think of, every detail of it perpetually burned onto his retinas—long, thick lashes, curtaining doe-like eyes; sweet little freckles speckling the bridge of your nose; smooth skin and plump rosy lips, so soft and kissable. And your scent, oh, your scent—delicious and intoxicating, such a lovely, delectable bouquet. Although now warm, his hand could never compare to the feeling of your slickened walls clenching and fluttering around him, and no amount of pressure would ever be able to replicate the sensation of stretching them open, coaxing yelps and cute whiny pants out of you with each nudge of your cervix. He wonders for a moment what other expressions he has yet to witness you make; in what other manners he has yet to take you, in what other positions he has yet to watch you come undone. Maybe on all fours, that round ass of yours sticking out so very invitingly, begging to be devoured; maybe on your knees, darkened lips wrapped tightly around his cock, eyes watering and drool dripping down onto the swollen peaks of your perky breasts as you accommodate all of him like the good girl you are. Each idea is more enticing than the one before, and the very thought of acquainting himself with all the ins and outs of your body makes him feel alive, bulging veins and tumid cockhead pulsating madly against his sweaty palm as he goes over the endless possibilities. He had tasted you once; now, he craves every inch of your being, his hunger insatiable.

“Mine…” he growls possessively, picturing your tits bouncing and the rouged knot atop your dripping core throbbing for him as he feels his climax draw nearer, rubbing the cloth sullied with your crimson against his nose, your taste still fresh in his mouth and a trail of red running down his chin. You are not his, not yet, but although he curses himself for it, he would bring his simple plan to fruition, for all the wrong reasons; he wants you, he needs you—his own little bundle of joy, his light in the darkness, his glimmer of solace, his, his, his, and his alone. He won’t share your kindness, not with your companions, not with anyone, and he cares not if his greediness makes him unworthy, for he never deserved any of it in the first place; regardless, you’d still extend a hand to the wretch who put a knife to your throat, toyed with your emotions and sucked you dry, in more ways than one. You may not realize it, but in sharing your life essence with him, you breathed color into his world, roused within his soul a vital spark he’d long forgotten had once ever been there. He may not be entitled to it, but he’d still have it all—he’d still have you, to the bone and beyond.

“Oh, gods…” With one last stroke, Astarion empties himself on his hand and stomach, legs convulsing and hips stuttering, letting go of the cloth to then nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, lips pressed against the bloodied gashes maculating your otherwise flawless skin. The inside of his pants is now covered in come, yet even as the thick fluid runs uncomfortably down his thighs, he feels strangely at peace—happy, even. His softening cock twitches and jerks still, but fearing that his luck may soon run out, he lets go of it and wipes his fingers on the hem of his shirt, which he learns is also stained with his seed; once they’re sufficiently clean, he wraps both of his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, focusing on the gentle raising of your chest as you inhale ever so softly, finally at rest.

“This is a gift, you know.”

He won’t forget it. Regardless of what may lie ahead, he won’t. Warm flesh, beating heart; as your crimson courses through his veins, the thread of life now connects you both, your fates forever intertwined. When morning comes, all will be back to normal, but for now, he shall hold you, cradle you, as he would a lover. A true lover—though what would that be, if not prey that wakes by his side once the dawn breaks? Disturbing as that thought may be, it is of little import for now; basking in the clarity of death, he allows himself a moment of reprieve, for your time together is far from over. What treasures will the future bestow? Why—finding out is but a matter of waiting.

#personal #astarion #bg3 #astarion x tav #bg3 fic #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x reader #tavstarion #my fics #fic: bloodless

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prokopetz · 1 year ago

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One of the occupational hazards of being so preoccupied with game design as a discipline is that sometimes I'll have dreams that are just some unknown force explaining an idea for a game to me, and last night I dreamed what is possibly the most obnoxious mechanical premise for a game I've ever come up with.

In brief, it was a traditional JRPG-style game with an atypical levelling-up scheme. Rather than gaining XP or levelling up at milestones, party members would grow in power by finding and absorbing or ingesting these little extradimensional parasites, represented in the dream as small grub- or fetus-like creatures with smiling humanoid faces. These parasites would be found as treasure and enemy drops, and could freely be given to any party member, except for the player character; the player character alone was unable to use them for Plot Reasons, and was entirely reliant on equipment to grow in power instead.

Absorbing a parasite both granted permanent stat boosts and unlocked weird psychic powers. However, they'd also cause progressive personality changes in the party members to which they were assigned, reflected by changes in dialogue and interactions, and eventually in granting or denying access to particular side quests. This function of the parasites was undocumented, and would likely go unnoticed by the player on their initial playthrough, as they'd level up as they went and would never see the unmodified dialogues.

A further wrinkle is that this effect was mediated by the game's expected progression. Farming parasites and "over-levelling" beyond where the game expected you to be would accelerate the personality changes, while going deliberately under-levelled would slow them (i.e., by giving your party members more time to acclimate to having bugs in their brains); like the personality changes themselves, the existence of these hidden modifiers would not be hinted at to the player.

If you spent a long enough stretch of the game sufficiently over-levelled, you'd eventually receive a non-standard game over where your party would betray, kill, and eat the player character. Furthermore, this non-standard ending had a deliberate "eclipse phase" whereby it would wait for a while after you hit the required threshold before pulling the trigger, in particular making sure that you've saved at least once, leaving your save file irrevocably fucked.

As a final twist, the non-standard game over would only trigger after resting; though the game's mechanics would heavily incentivise resting on a regular basis, it would theoretically be possible to massively over-level your party on purpose and avoid the bad ending simply by never resting again, potentially as a speedrun strat. However, doing so would alter the game's ending to replace the usual final boss with a hopeless solo boss fight against your own massively over-levelled party.

#concepts #gaming #video games #violence mention #death mention #cannibalism mention #body horror mention #insects mention #swearing

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clitorphosis · 27 days ago

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REAL MUSOR

Leon S. Kennedy x reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, NON CONSENSUAL SEX, STALKING, SOMNOPHILIA, SMUT, female reader, Leon is a cop and a little bit obsessive, breeding, he is icky, mutual masturbation (reader isnt aware of it btw), unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, entering and breaking, forced exhibitionism I guess?, dirty talk, pet names, light gaslighting, non consensual voyeurism, use of spycams, police corruption, non consensual drug use.

Summary: dating isnt really Leon's thing, to waste his precious time and money over a woman that may refuse to have sex with him at the first date isn't worth it. Sure, putting cameras in your apartment to jerk off of your body and breaking in to fuck you are considered much better ways to get what he wants - quicker too.

notes: Musor is a derogatory slang term for a cop (=pig), also it means "trash" :3 I don’t condone anything here in real life. :3 uhm, reblogs or comments and any kind of feedback are really appreciated!

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

Leon has a problem and it started many years ago. Not his alcoholism, no, that can be put aside as something to indulge when life hits hard. Guilty pleasure one would call it. Not his job too, he likes being a cop - it comes with its own advantages. His problem is much simpler and it also got nothing to do with his dick.

Dating apps. They aren’t his cup of tea; meeting new people is hard and nowadays most of them try to find someone on dating sites or apps. Wasteful, he is an employed man with a big responsibility so to court a woman that may be a gold digger would be foolish. Also, unluckily for Leon, one date is not enough to bring most women into bed and the prices are already too high so risking to find a parasite without any payback isn’t something straight out of his dreams.

Also, women don’t get wet if you are a cop unless they have a cop fetish. Apparently, uniforms and handcuffs are only cool in the bedroom. Not like he minds that, cause with time Leon found other ways to enjoy his women. Much more preferable ways.

Two or three knocks on the wooden surface with his knuckles, fingers ran through his blonde locks so they wouldn’t dangle in front of his eyes. Your door opens wide with your confused eyes set on his frame, not expecting any guests, especially a cop. A bad omen.

“Good afternoon, I am here to check. Someone complained about noises coming from your apartment at this hour, miss” Leon explains, showing a pearl-like smile. Too perfect, too cheesy, but attractive appearance always soothed people’s worries, being easy on the eyes makes things uncomplicated. Who doesn’t trust beautiful people? “It won’t take too long”

A pensive hum escapes from your tensed lips, but there is no other choice other than accepting this - you nod, letting him enter inside without any additional questions. Like taking candy from a baby. And you were dumb, which ended up playing nice for him.

The apartment is a studio one, not expensive too. That was expected, you look young, but not enough to have your own place. Renting at a cheap price in not notoriously good neighborhood suits you better.

When the checkup is finished, you seemed so worried to hear his eventual words or clear bullshit. Not every person is used to a cop’s presence in their own cozy little place. Suspicions are natural reactions, but not for you, still believing in that little story that he told you before. A blatant lie, only the dumb bitch would have believed that. You.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry—“ you were apologizing almost every time he would appear in front of you. And even now. Annoying, but also hearing your words filled with so much anxiety made him feel good. Really good. And any wrong word would make you cry easily. Which would be nice to see. He cut your quick rambling, waving a hand mindlessly as his eyes travel to shelves.

“Yeah,“ Whatever. Leon nods absently, finally crumbling to the urge to glance into your almost glossy eyes - with great pleasure enjoying his own reflection in them. His mind wanders to possible images of your face filled with tears underneath him, easily making his pants feel tight around his cock. He can’t help himself. “Maybe someone holds grudges against you, be careful”

Another bullshit, but still you appeared unsure and at the edge of his presence until he was out of your apartment. There should be kept a count of his successful lies. As a respectful man, it was hard not to thank you and wishing well-being before leaving. After all, it would be a bad touch to leave without a gift, right? Leon hadn’t actually thought these little cameras would be used today, but fate had other plans for you. In his defense, it was really hard not to set those little cameras in your apartment while he was ‘doing’ his job. Especially when you were so sweet to him. Weirdly enough, installing them was an easy and quick task, even simpler was to find crannies or shelves to put in these little cameras he had bought or confiscated. After all, it would have been a big waste to throw them away, right?

So sweet. You were asking for it.

An easy target too. And now many rooms were under his watchful eye; bathroom (the best view is there), bedroom and also in living room too. In a little time, Leon got to know your schedule, it wasn’t hard to remember - a simple routine, even a kid would be able to memorize it. Like a little TV show, he enjoys watching after work or during his rare vacations. Whatever you do on Friday morning, when you return home, and when you usually go to sleep. Or when you have your private time, masturbating in bed alone and filling his ears with your moans. Or even better, showering or resting in the hot tub, your tits and body exposed to him - like a nicely wrapped present that he needs to open one day.

The best part is - you aren’t aware of this.

You aren’t aware that many evenings when your fingers creep their way down to your pussy to part its lips and rub slow circles on already swollen clit under the sounds of cheap-acted porn actress’ moans - these evenings were shared with Leon. There is that arousing wet sound when your fingers stroke your leaking pussy. His attention easily glues to the screen, out of habit freeing his hard cock from the pants - it bobs and twitches in the air with already formed beads of pre-cum on his aching tip just begging for any kind of attention. Your lips would be nice, but a tight pussy even better. His fist cups it in a tight grip, slowly pumping his cock while watching the sight of your trembling and parted legs. And your moans, little breathless whimpers - his favorite. Sadly, this gets muffled by his moans, as his own strokes become rougher and quicker trying to keep up with your fingers. Leon knows the signs of your approaching orgasm, he knows everything about you too well. Watching like a possessed man as your toes curl from the growing pleasure, thighs snap closed around your wrist as your back arches while making more sweet noises.

He cums with you too, at the same time. His body tenses and his hand grips tighter around his hard cock. Eyes rolling back. Mind blank, intense orgasm hits him hard as usual. No other thoughts other than how good you are for him. And pretty. His breathing is hard and heavy, feeling his cum sticking to the skin of his hand and stomach.

The best porn he can ever see - special too, only for him. Putting such a show for him to enjoy after a hard day of work.

Feeling the stickiness of his cum on his palm and not being able to avert his eyes from your spent body. This brings him to his senses like an apple falling onto his head, a sweet idea. He needs more of you.

It has become a routine at this point.

Did he abuse his authority? Yes. Does he care? He doesn’t, because in other circumstances he would do that again.

Watching your body and getting off from this little show isn’t enough anymore. Doesn’t hit the same. Like a drug addict, searching for another dose and something stronger one can offer. He needs his hands on you. Going further, exploiting every opportunity his job gave him - it wasn’t hard to start breaking in without any traces.

Leon can’t be reckless nor impulsive, but to keep his hands to himself and not give in to a sweet fruit was hard.

Your sleep is short, he noticed that soon. You wake up at every little noise coming from different sources. That won’t do. This is not good and can’t be healthy for a young woman. On one of many visits to your empty apartment, to take a little present for himself or to adjust cams, an idea popped into his mind: why not put something in the bottles of water? The dose would be light anyway, this drug can easily knock out a big, burly man and Leon is here just to take care of you, in a boyfriend-like way. Not to overdose you.

Your apartment feels homely to him already, kicking off his shoes before walking freely around the place. He may be a cop, but not a pig. The anticipation was insupportable, months of waiting for your body, many concerns - not being really sure about the method and the dose. What if it wasn’t enough, what if it wouldn’t work, and many-many ‘if’. Leon had waited enough, there was a limit to his patience and it was already tearing apart with every passing second.

The mattress beneath you dips softly with his added weight, in the dark room the outlines of your figure are still visible, and the edge of your shirt is rode up and shamelessly exposes the flesh of your stomach - what a tease you are and you don’t even realize it. Your unconscious body, deep in the sleep, and he probably has all night to enjoy you. This heightens his arousal, not daring to touch you for a solid minute - not believing how lucky he is right now. Blood buzzes in his ears, hearing his own thoughts now: you, fuck you dumb, and need to cum in that pussy.

“I know you so well,” Leon whispers, his voice comes out shaky. What a man wouldn’t do to stuff a pussy. His lips carefully kissed yours, not being able to pull away his eyes from your peaceful face. Tracking out every little twitch in your features, but you are in a deep slumber. “like a book that I learned to remember. By heart. Inside… and out”

His hand lightly touches your neck, giving a brief squeeze, watching you gasp when he lets it go. Still asleep. Leon is testing the waters here.

“Oh, it’s alright, sweetie ” Leon whispers, not being able to hide his fascination towards your state. Cupping your jaw and tilting it to the side, like a doll to play and move around as much as he wants. “We are on camera, this is so important for both of us. Something to remember, right?”

This is wrong, of course, in the back of his mind someone whispers that Leon shouldn’t enjoy this so much - you are unconscious, not aware, but that’s the thrill. In any other circumstances, he could pull out a gun to force you, but the idea was pulled aside as the sight of your malleable state is much better. His fingers rubbed your thighs, pushing them apart easily so he could position himself in between. So soft, he can’t help but enjoy the sensation of your skin, his hand impatiently slips to push away the fabric of your underwear, to get a real glance and close of your not-so-aroused pussy. Too bad, but this is easy to fix. A mouthful spit of saliva would be quick and nice, a way to avoid a headache, but he changed his mind - your pussy is shaved. Leon whistles lowly, what a good girl you are. To bury his face in your pussy would be a nice start, after all, you have shaved for him, no? He is nice enough to reward you for this.

Shifting a little bit, easily manhandling your legs and placing them on his shoulders. Leon spits down a mouthful of saliva on your cunt, before leaning down with a long and broad stripe across your pussy, parting the lips with his tongue, groaning against your slit. Tongue glides across the folds, slowly warming your body up, like a hungry man trying to relish in the taste of your pussy so sweetly lingering in his mouth.

“Such a good girl, letting me play with you like that” Leon groans against your clit, it sends a pleasant vibration across your limp body. His hands grip tightly the flesh of your thighs, a normal person would have woken up to push him away, right? His mouth sucks on the clit, giving light bites with his teeth and your hips naturally try to ride him, messily bucking into his face with every rapid lick of his tongue across your sensitive bud.

Fuck, your reactions are cute, he wants more. His two digits push inside your hole, starting to move in and out of you shortly - making your body flinch again and a soft moan draws from your lips. He kept lapping across your slicked folds, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive nub, but not enough to hurt - his tongue laps away that bite anyway, not forgetting to suck your clit in between his lips too.

Your cunt gushes wetly around his fingers, they curl up against your walls, with the rough pace pumping and press on the velvety and wet skin, until he finds the spongy, sweet spot that made your hole clench tighter around his fingers. Soft and weak moans escape from your now parted lip, chest raises up and down rhythmically with every thrust. That’s a good sign. The taste of you and your natural body reactions entrances him, making his cock throb more in his pants, straining so hard and uncomfortable against the fabric. Leon pulls away from your now-soaked slit, impatiently freeing his cock from the jeans. It would be a waste to finish this so quickly after just getting a taste, fingers pull out of your hole roughly with a wet pop, your cunt left dripping, wet, and cold now like he took all the heat with it. Frankly, Leon does not care about your pleasure. Unlikely he will any time soon.

“Huh, you like this” Leon mumbles out slowly to himself, his hand gripping his cock and it twitches in his fist as Leon began slowly stroking it. Thumb presses on its tip, stimulating more pleasure through his body and letting out a breathless moan as his blue gaze surveys his work; your warmed-up pussy, more aroused than before. It glistens with your slick and his saliva on it. What an addicting sight. A light feeling of pride rose in his chest, as his hand flexed again and more beads of pre-cum formed on the tip, quick strokes smeared it along his sensitive and hard flesh. His cock throbs and aches to be inside you. Hell, Leon needs to stop before he cum over your unconscious state. Impatiently not noticing his own heavy breathing filling the air, he positioned his cock to your pussy.

“Who would have known you would be so fucking wet for me” he cooed huskily, rubbing his cockhead against your slicked folds, bumping against your clit. Your arousal is mixed with his saliva, it spreads easily on his veiny and hard cock - to use it as a lube. Easy and free, he doesn’t bother to buy one after all. His free hand grips your hip tightly, angling it to finally guide his cock into your neglected hole. “you really waited for me to use you, right? Just dying for more.”

Deep down, like every man, Leon prioritizes his pleasure. Who doesn’t actually? Good women should be eager to please and look nice for him. Attractive even. Unfortunately, your state isn’t the one to expect the eagerness. But there are advantages to this too: unconscious girls are much easier to enjoy. But still, giving a free pass to you isn’t something that will please him, no matter how good your pussy is. His pleasure has been always the most important element in the sex. Would not be fair to his former lovers too. He is so nice after all, any other man would have pulled out a gun to threaten you after breaking in to fuck you without putting a substance into some of your drinks. That’s an idea to keep for next time.

Your pussy feels so nice, your walls stretch around his length slowly. Leon imagined it differently, not so tight, but tighter it is, better for him. Warm heat envelops him almost in a vice-like grip, forcing a low groan coming from his throat. Maybe this wouldn’t be pleasant for you if you were conscious. But also, aren’t you so sweet and nice? Of course, you would have let him do that over and over. And if you wouldn’t - again, Leon doesn’t care. Your pussy engulfs him in so addictingly warm and to make this even better, your walls clench ridiculously tight around his cock. For a moment, Leon was not sure he would have been able to last long enough for him. Your pussy makes him dizzy, so much that he needed to take a pause, keeping his cock halfway through.

Leon slowly pulls out, leaving inside you just the head of his cock, his gaze is not on you anymore. He couldn’t care less about your state, but the sight of your pussy stretching around his tip is the one he can get drunk on. Popping it in and out, over and over until all he can hear are wet and filthy noises - and his own moans mixed with heavy breathing, while more slick gushing and now sinking his cock into you deeper and so easily. That didn’t last long, he hates denying himself what he needs. What he craves and now he craves to fuck you. And cum. Inside you. And he will.

“Taking me so right… fuck” Leon groans, burying his cock deep inside you, his hips meet flat against your ass. Slowly starting to roll his hips back and forth, deep and slow thrust, hitting his cockhead against your cervix.

This is addicting to him, worse than any kind of drug. Mindlessly mumbling out senseless praises, while his hips rock into you in quick thrusts, heavily breathing and not being able to look away from your leaking cunt. God, the images of you waking up and begging to stop fill his mind in a suffocating manner - his cock throbs inside you, another slam of hips. A hard gulp.

A man should be careful with his own wishes. Nails weakly dig into his biceps, not enough to leave half-moon marks. Even a kitten would have been able to leave a deeper scratch on his skin. But still, Leon’s hips stutter, realizing you shouldn’t move. In the dark, your eyes are half open, clearly fighting with the grogginess of the drug in your system and trying to orientate.

“Shhhh… easy there, sweetie. Be a good girl, get back to sleep” The tone of his voice is sweet and whisper-like, but the breathless lilt is still there. Your back aches weakly again, feeling him hitting your g-spot in slow and agonizing thrusts, but this isn’t enough to pull you out of your state. God your head is dizzy and the man in front of you is so blurry too. Heavy breathing escapes from your lips, swallowing hard the excessive saliva pooling in your mouth. It is hard to squint, hard to focus on anything. A side effect he didn’t know about, still not his fault.

“Not real, just a bad dream” Leon adds, his breath fanning across the side of your head, watching how your expressions shift weakly and eyelashes flutter as he slowly drags his cock out to bury it back in the same pace into your pulsing pussy.

“No…uhh…-not a dream…” your voice is so weak, meek, his dick fills your pussy entirely, every drag of it makes your body tremble and tighten around it more. You are easy to play though, mind is so fogged by the drug it would be easy to convince you.

Blue eyes almost spark in the dark, looking down at your confused and groggy state, his hand covers your mouth - he doesn’t need any noises other than moans and whimpers coming from you. Too distracting. You are clearly not aware of what’s happening, feeling the heaviness of your body dragging you back into the intoxicated slumber.

“…Just a dream. ” Leon repeats, enjoying watching you trying to push him away, your hands ghostly pressing against his chest in a weak protest. “Be a good girl, nothing bad will happen”

And these struggles make his cock throb in your pussy. So addicting to watch how the drug in your system is still kicking strong making your limbs return to being limp again, God, he was so close to just busting a load in you.

His pace quickens, becoming more ruthless and messier than before. He can’t stay here forever, unfortunately, but god he wants to fall asleep on you with his cock and cum buried inside you - to watch your reaction in the morning. All he can hear right now is the flesh-hitting sounds mixing with wet ones too. Your lips twitch, heavy pants and whimpers drawl out of them, while your pussy clenches tightly in a silent plea to fill it, not only with his cock, but sperm too.

God, and if you aren’t on the pill? What a nice present he may give you after this night. Getting you pregnant was enough for his hips to stutter in their pace for the last time, before shooting a hot load of sperm inside you. Burying deep inside, the warm cum fills your pussy almost to the brim, his mind is blank - focused how his cock pumped rope after rope inside you. When he is all spent, Leon slowly pulls out of you, and a disappointed whimper escapes from you too - too bad, he is not going to let you get your high. Too much work. His blue eyes watch how the cum oozes out of your hole for the last time.

The lights of the morning are particularly blinding, you’ve never noticed that before. Dryness in your throat. Like needles pressing inside every time you swallow down, aching for a gloss of water. The urge to throw up and to hide away from the rays of sunlight is overwhelming, not stronger than the heaviness in your body though. You force yourself out of the bed, dragging yourself to the bathroom was so hard, like a heavy bag instead of your body - it is already almost impossible to wake up and get your things done. Washing away the exhaustion from your face with the chilly water from the faucet. Your mind is foggy and not catching on to sticky feeling in your panties. Nonetheless, your body screams at you - your stomach feels turned inside out, messy, and used. And unsatisfied. Like you had the worst sex in your life, without getting your own high.

Your memory tries to flash out the sight of the dark room and blue eyes, being filled and hearing his voice whispering heavily, but you shake your head - pushing it away in your mind. Hiding it in imaginary drawers, - just a dream. Nothing more, you check your door every night. It is always locked.

Yes, a bad one, explains your state too. The nightmare does exhaust you easily after all.

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saintshigaraki · 6 months ago

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please, if you have the time and/or are feeling generous, please expand on that horror soulmate ran idea where he likes flexing his influence and power over you while you’re on shift….what kind of restaurant does reader work at? is the high-end kind where customers who look as rich and charming as ran come often…..or is it some regular diner/local favorite and ran likes coming over to call you sweetheart and darling and he likes tipping you $50-$100 bills………………………..he tips bigger and orders so much when he brings some work associates over during their lunch break or something 0_0

dior im so glad you ask bc I've been ruminating over these very questions for like a month....

yandere tw, ran is harassing the shit out of you at work rip, soulmate au, she/her pronouns for reader

i think you work at a really small rundown sort of place open 24 hours. pulling 12-hour shifts 12 days in a row just to pay the bills. it's pure and total chance that ran and his...associates waltz into your establishment. it's late and you're so so exhausted. you absolutely do not like the look of them. they're dressed nicely, too nicely for a place like this and they don't even bother trying to hide the guns peaking out from their waistbands. and beyond that you can smell it on them. you know their type. the type that get too handsy, that hold their tips over your head. make you do a song and dance and for what? the two dollars they'll so generously leave you when all is said and done? it's a fucking joke and you hate them all before they've even said a word to you.

your feet hurt so badly that you're limping a bit when you go to greet them and the smile you put on feels carved into your cheeks, throbbing like a wound. all their faces look the same to you. a big blur of dangerous man after man after man. you write down their orders without really listening. you want this over as fast as possible. you were set to be off in an hour, but with a group this big, you know that's now nothing but a pipe dream. god you're so so tired--

"and what is it you'd recommend, darling?"

something about the voice makes your eyes shoot up. airy, smooth, and nonchalant in a way that makes you grind your teeth and reluctantly pulls your attention. there's a nauseating sort of authority in it that has your hackles raised.

you're a bit shocked when you see who has spoken. he's pretty. long hair, obviously well kept, a tattoo on the side of his neck that makes you rather nervous, but it's his eyes that makes you step back. you feel the shift in the air when your gaze meets his, a crackling energy, two halves being made whole and all the other sappy shit people say when describing their first meeting with their soulmate.

no one mentions how scary it is, though. it's like you've lost a limb. or gained a parasite. you swear you can feel him in the back of your skull, already eating away at you. you don't want this. you don't want this. take it back you almost say aloud. please please take it back.

the man (your soulmate?) doesn't say a word. there's a slight quirk on his lips, but that could be anything. could mean anything.

you take a breath. you're tired—very tired—and now you're imagining things—delusional. your heartbeat slows. everything's fine. it's fine.

"ah ran, you've left the poor thing starstruck," a man to his right says, jostling him a bit.

the man—ran—tilts his head, still waiting, rather patiently, for a reply from his apparently airheaded waitress, struck down by his pretty face.

it's rather scary, being the sole focus of his attention. it's as though he's flaying your skin from your flesh, leaving you defenseless. like you're nothing but a young girl again, alone and cold and hopeless beneath his eyes.

it takes you too long to gather your wits. "the omelets are okay, good for a cold night." you just barely manage to keep the trembling from your voice, a shrillness that would in any way reveal your fear.

he smiles now, a real one. and it scares you. so amused by you, his little shaking waitress. "just okay?" he asks, taking pleasure in teasing you no doubt.

"this isn't a place you come to if you're looking for something gourmet." better to be honest than to get their hopes up. you can smell the money on them.

he laughs and you have to bite back your tears, you really dont like him. there's terror worming it's way beneath your skin. "it was a last resort, i'll go with the omelet, darling."

when you bring out their food you assume that will be it, at least for a little while. you'll refill their drinks again and again and again and pray they'll be gone by 2, but the worst of it is done. you'll hide in the back for the most part until they're gone. it'll be fine.

your hopes are quite quickly dashed once you set ran's food in front of him, avoiding eye contact but unable to keep the tremor from your fingers. before you can dart away his hand lashes out, forming a shackle around your wrist. tugging you far closer to him than you'd ever want to be.

"why don't you join us for a bit. you seem tired. perhaps you're a bit hungry too?" he asks it like a question, but you know it's not. he has that sort of authority about him that lets you know he's used to be listened to. used to giving out orders and having them followed. you don't like it, and you make excuses even though you know it'll bode badly for you.

"i can't sir, i'm so sorry, but im still working and my boss will be--"

he cuts you off quickly and uncaring. "he won't mind."

he most definitely would, you think. your boss reminds you of ran a bit, in the way that he likes to exert power over others. quick to insult you, quick to admonish and threaten. he most definitely would care if he saw you sitting with some customers, even if the rest of the place was deserted.

"sir," you start again, "i could be fired please--"

"what's his name?"

you're taken aback. a bit confused, too. "your boss, darling. what's his name?"

there's a long pause before you say anything at all.

"hikaru," you tell him at last.

he smiles at you, tugs you in even closer. "thank you."

he smells good, you think absently. expensive.

"hikaru!" he yells suddenly, causing you to practically jump out of your skin. your boss is quick to appear, looking like a beat dog. he seems to recognize ran, and he seems to be scared of him and you really, really don't like that.

"is there something i can help you with, sir?" he asks, timid as a mouse. your heart stops. there's something wrong here, you think. there's something very wrong and it's too late. its too late.

you're sitting beside ran now, his arm wrapped around you and his hand rubbing your shaking shoulder soothingly. "you wouldn't mind if she joined us, would you? we could use the company."

your boss' eyes flit over to you, just barely, before he bows his head again. "of course not, sir. it's no problem at all."

ran turns to you at that. "you hear that, darling. no problem at all." you look down and can't help but notice drops of red marring the pristine white of his dress shirt. it's right on the cuff. it's dried now, more brown than anything else but you recognize it for what it is.

you can't help but think you've stepped into a bear trap of sorts, and now your foot has been cut clean off. you’re screaming and screaming, trying to staunch the bleeding and ran won’t stop smiling.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere ran haitani #yandere x reader #ran haitani x reader #yandere ran haitani x reader #haitani ran x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #vicwrites

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 8 months ago

Text

Burn

My heart always hurts when I watch the cutscene where Astarion burns under the sun. Dammit Larian Studios

Summary: You chase after Astarion when he runs away from the rising sun and remind him that you chose him.

You watch as blue lines crawl across his skin, steam rising as the sun eats away at him once more, now that he is free of the parasite. You hear the panic and sadness in his voice as reality sets in — he is no longer immune to the sun, condemned forever to live in the shadows. His ruby red eyes lift to meet yours as his skin scorches, an apology falling from his lips and he rushes to find shelter before you can say anything.

“Astarion!” You shout, watching his fading figure. He doesn’t look back, of course he doesn’t, he doesn’t have the time to when all he can think about is how his skin is searing. Your other companions remain rooted but your legs find an extra burst of energy and soon you find yourself hot on your lover’s trail, desperate to find him.

“Astarion!” You call out, panting from the exertion. Running like that just after defeating a Netherbrain was not a good idea, and you can feel your head spinning. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady yourself and lean against the nearby wall, getting as much air into your lungs as possible.

“Astarion,” you gasp, forcing yourself to keep moving, telling yourself that the vampire was suffering more than you were. You stagger onwards, barely remembering where you last saw him and pray that he hasn’t gotten far.

You make your way to a stack of crates hidden behind a docked ship and find a figure huddled in the corner, shaking. You stumble towards the figure, fingers hastily fumbling for the clasp of your cloak which you throw around the figure’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Star,” you breathe, relieved. You feel his arms slide around your waist tentatively, cautiously hugging you back.

“Why are you here?” He whispers. The scent of your lifeblood fills his nose, causing fangs to peek out but he holds himself back, holds the hunger back.

“For you, of course.” You continue to hold onto him tightly. “I’m not leaving you alone, not ever.”

“Why?” He can feel you, feel your warmth, your touch, but a part of him still nags at him, trying to convince him that this is all just a dream, that you want nothing to do with him, not when he is confined to the darkness. He runs his fingers through your hair, taking in the fact that you’re here with him, that you came for him when you could be out in the new dawn with the others.

“Why? Because I love you, I’m hopelessly in love with you and I don’t want a future without you.” Your fingers ghost over the burns, an ache in your heart when you see how badly the sun has burnt him. Even as the sun scorched him, he still took the time to apologise, to look you in the eye, to tell you of how much he enjoyed the journey.

“Even if it means being unable to live in the day? Being unable to feel the sun on your skin?” The words cause a lump to form in his throat. He wants to push you away, tell you to find someone else, someone better. You deserve so much better than whatever he can give you, you deserve to be able to live with the sun warming your skin, you deserve —

“Yes. I know what it means to be in a relationship with you, I know it means never seeing the sun again, never feeling its warmth, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means I get to spend the rest of my life with you.” The fierce fire he fell in love with back then burns in your eyes, daring him to deny you your choice and he feels himself falling for you all over again.

Your devotion to the people you care about, the lengths you would go for each of them, the love you had for those around you. He had once found all these traits foolish, but now they were his saving line, the reason you were currently kneeling by his side, tenderly caressing the rough burnt skin of his cheek as you firmly declared your intent to remain by his side for the rest of your life.

You pull the cloak over his head and shoulders, ensuring they cover as much of his skin as possible.

“I look terrible, don’t I?” He gives a hollow laugh.

“And yet still so beautiful. It’s not fair how you can pull that off.” You chuckle, tilting your head to offer your neck to him.

“Drink up,” you say with a smile so bright it blinds him. “Then we’ll head back to Elfsong Tavern and discuss what to do next.”

He tugs at the cloak around him. It smells of you, the scent deep and warm. He buries himself in it, grateful for the protection it provides and gently rests his lips against your bare neck. His fangs prick your skin, and then dig deeper as blood begins to flow into his mouth. The cracking blue lines on his skin start to fade, his usual pale likeness coming back as he drinks your precious lifeblood, savouring every drop freely given.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your neck.

“Anytime,” you murmur back, holding him close. It always brings a sense of comfort, feeling him in your embrace, breathing in his scent. You hold him for a while longer, basking in the feeling of his cold undead skin against your warm living skin until the others find the both of you.

Your group makes its way back to Elfsong Tavern while shielding Astarion from the sun’s rays. The walk is filled with a quiet yet comfortable silence, exhaustion from the day’s fight and thoughts of the future that lay ahead setting in.

Everyone files into their own rooms, leaving you and Astarion standing in the corridor, facing one another.

“You really mean it?” He asks. He has to confirm, he has to make sure that he is making the right decision to entrust a part of his future to you.

“Mean what?” You tilt your head quizzically.

“That you don’t mind staying with me.” He shifts his weight from one leg to another, playing the corners of the cloak over his head.

“I mean it. We’ll find a way to get you walking in the sun again, and if we cannot, then I don’t mind spending the rest of my life in the shadows.” You take his hand in yours, squeezing it tightly. “You’re all I need, you’re all I want in this future of my choosing. I hope I’m in the future you choose as well.”

In the future he chooses? He…oh right. Cazador is dead, there is no master to tell him what to do, to control his every move. He can decide what he wants to do next, where he wants to go, who he chooses to spend his time with.

And he wants to spend it all with you.

“Of course you are, my love. There’s no one else I’d rather have.” He flashes his usual smile, eyes softening at the way you light up upon hearing his words.

“Then…let’s start planning it, together.”

“Together.” He agrees, liking the way his new future sounds. Even if he had to skulk in the shadows for eternity, maybe such a life wasn’t so bad with you around. He would have you to wake up to, be able to hold you, be loved by you, even if he had to burn under the sun.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #durgestarion

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