#i desperately need to find a good source of stills

[plethorawrites]

How would the vampire Batboys react if their GN human partner/reader offers them their blood? Maybe reader offers because the boys aren’t lookin’ good/aren’t drinking enough as they should, or maybe reader offers as a way to show them their trust, or build intimacy? :3c

Yes!! I did something similar with Dick previously, but I can totally see this concept with the others as well. (TW: Mention of blood)

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Bruce: Deep down, I think he'd always imagined feeding from you one day. Maybe as some fantasy or maybe a part of him just knew you well enough to know you'd offer. It wouldn't phase him much, but he'd be elated internally. Still tender, though. He'd make sure you had a glass of wine or tea or something beforehand and sit you in his lap, having you lean your head against his shoulder to expose your neck and he'd definitely hold it firmly the entire time, even when you started to squirm in pain.

Dick: Like in a previous post, I think he'd limit his use of drinking from his partner because he's worried about losing control/getting addicted. It's a treat or a desperate measure and he has to really focus on your heartbeat and how hard you're gripping his arm to make sure you're not starting to panic or lose too much blood. Afterwards, it would just be continuous praise, thanking you over and over and muttering how much he loves you and how he promises to never take too much from you.

Jason: Is terrified when you suggest it. He's spent his whole life being viewed as a monster, even in his own eyes and once finding someone who doesn't immediately fear him, he doesn't want to ever risk making you change your mind. But he's lethargic, out of blood bags in the fridge, and too tired to go find a fresh source. You're right there; of course it makes sense. He's still apprehensive the entire time, physically in pain when he keeps himself from indulging but refuses to let himself. Instead, every single sharp inhale or slight whimper of pain makes him stop, even if it hurts, to check on you.

Tim: Has to do a double take, making sure he'd heard you correctly. But when you nod a second time, his open jaw closes, turning into a grin. He wouldn't pounce right away, not wanting to seem too eager, even if he was. But a few days later, when you're over, cuddling in his bed, he'd be tracing your neck like he often did, imagining how it would taste. His breath would be warm when he whispers in your ear, asking you if you would let him have a snack. Of course you would nod. And of course he would take your hand, letting you squeeze it as tightly as you needed to when he sunk his fangs into your neck, humming in content, just leaving them there for a moment. He adored the puncture marks that lingered for a week.

Damian: Would be confused, at first. He'd stop in the middle of whatever he was doing�� training, getting ready for bed, etc. and just stare. You were his partner, not his blood bag. Why would he put you in a position where he could hurt you when he was meant to protect you? It takes some explaining from you, telling him how you want to know what it feels like and for him to know you trust him, that he even entertains the thought. He's still hesitant, but at your request and his own hunger, he tries. He has to pause when you make a sound of pain, but doesn't stop until he's satisfied and you're dizzy. Then, he just wraps his arms around you, kissing the puncture marks to erase the remaining blood.

[im-real-sorry-frank]

emergency baberoe + text posts for the propaganda war

[zeroxxlhero]

Beastly Instincts • Vi & Caitlyn Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, begging, edging, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, dom! Vi, sub! Reader, dom! Caitlyn, hair-pulling, double penetration, blowjobs, rough sex, foreplay, biting, blood-sucking, gp! Vi and Caitlyn, multiple orgasms

Pairings: Violet x You, Caitlyn x You, Vi x Caitlyn

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Caitlyn and Vi’s growing desperation leads to them initiating a search for you, their hunger not just for your blood but for the power and control you exude. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but you’ve turned it into something far more dangerous—a trap they walked into willingly, even knowing they might never escape.

The night was still, save for the whisper of wind that rustled through the leaves and carried the scent of the hunt. Caitlyn and Vi moved through the dense forest, side by side but worlds apart in focus. Both were creatures of power, bound by their instincts yet driven by something far more dangerous: the memory of you. The two of them had felt the pull of your blood, the intoxicating lure of the power and pleasure you’d given them, and now they wanted more.

No, they needed more.

“I told you, she’s not just some ordinary hunter,” Caitlyn hissed under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth. Her voice was measured, calculated, but there was a fire burning behind her composed demeanor. “She’s clever. She won’t make this easy.”

Vi frowned, flexing her fists as she cracked her knuckles. “Doesn’t matter how clever she thinks she is. I can track anything. We’ll find her.” Her confidence radiated like heat, but even she couldn’t deny the gnawing frustration clawing at her gut. She could still feel the phantom touch of your hands, the intoxicating tease of your presence, and it was driving her mad.

They moved in silence for a time, their heightened senses alert to every sound, every shift of the shadows. Caitlyn’s nostrils flared as she caught a faint trace of your scent on the wind, and her heart raced despite herself. It was subtle, almost maddeningly so, but it was there.

“She’s close,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice low and sharp.

Vi paused, tilting her head to catch the scent as well. Her body tensed like a spring ready to snap. “I’ve got it too. Let’s move.”

The hunt continued, the two predators weaving through the trees with predatory grace. They followed the faintest traces of you—a broken branch here, a scuffed footprint there. You were taunting them, leaving just enough of a trail to keep them chasing but never enough to catch you.

“She’s playing with us,” Caitlyn growled, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. The edge of frustration in her voice was unmistakable, and Vi couldn’t help but smirk at her partner’s irritation.

“She’s good,” Vi admitted. “But she’s not perfect. Everyone slips up eventually.”

But deep down, both of them knew better. You weren’t slipping up. You were toying with them, leading them deeper into the forest, away from any semblance of control they thought they had. And that only made them want you more.

As they pushed forward, the air seemed to thicken, the tension between them growing. Caitlyn’s normally cold composure was fraying at the edges, her mind clouded with the memory of you—the way your blood had tasted, the way your voice had dripped with authority, the way you’d held complete control over her.

Vi, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wasn’t the type to overthink things. She wanted action, and she wanted it now. The waiting, the searching, the endless chase—it was driving her insane.

Finally, the faint scent of smoke reached their noses, and both women froze. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. This was it. You were close.

They approached the source carefully, their bodies low and their senses on high alert. The scent of smoke was stronger now, mingled with something that made their blood sing—the faint, heady trace of you. It was enough to make Caitlyn’s mouth water and Vi’s heart race.

The small campsite came into view, the dying embers of a fire casting flickering shadows against the trees. But the clearing was empty.

“Damn it,” Vi muttered under her breath, her frustration boiling over. “She was here.”

Caitlyn’s sharp eyes scanned the area, her mind racing. She didn’t believe for a second that you’d just left without a reason. “Be careful,” she warned. “This could be—”

Before she could finish, a low, melodic chuckle echoed through the trees, stopping both women in their tracks. It was your voice, smooth and mocking, and it sent a shiver down their spines.

“Well, well,” you drawled, stepping out of the shadows with a predator’s grace. “Look who came crawling back.”

Caitlyn and Vi spun to face you, their bodies tense and ready, but there was no mistaking the hunger in their eyes. You stood before them, calm and composed, as if you hadn’t been the one hunted all night.

“Miss me that much, did you?” you teased, your lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Caitlyn snapped, though the sharp edge of her voice faltered as her eyes darted to the faint cut on your arm, the scent of your blood filling the air once more.

Vi growled low in her throat, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re not getting away this time.”

You laughed softly, the sound like velvet, and took a slow step closer. “Oh, sweet Vi,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “You think this little hunt was for me? No, darling, it was for you. Both of you.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched as she realized just how completely you’d played them. You hadn’t been running from them—you’d been leading them, controlling the entire game from the start. And now, standing before you, she felt it again—that pull, that undeniable need that made her knees weak and her resolve waver.

“Now,” you said, your smile widening as you looked between them. “Why don’t we see just how desperate you’ve both become?”

The tension in the clearing was palpable, the air charged with the energy of two predators sizing up their prey—or so they thought. Vi cracked her knuckles, her grin more animalistic than confident now, while Caitlyn’s glowing eyes locked onto you, her sharp fangs bared as she gauged your every move.

“Enough,” Vi growled, her voice low and feral. “Let’s end this.”

The first strike came fast, almost too fast. Vi lunged forward, her fist aimed squarely at your jaw, the sheer force of her punch enough to snap a tree in half. But you sidestepped at the last second, your movements smooth and precise, as if you’d been expecting it all along. Her fist sailed past, hitting nothing but air.

Before Vi could recover, Caitlyn was already on you, her speed a blur as she closed the distance and swiped at you with claws sharp enough to cut steel. You ducked low, feeling the rush of air as her claws missed your head by inches. With a fluid motion, you spun and brought your leg up, kicking Caitlyn squarely in the chest and sending her stumbling back a few feet.

“You’re both getting sloppy,” you taunted, your voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I expected better from Piltover’s finest.”

Vi snarled, her frustration bubbling over. “Shut up!” She came at you again, this time with a flurry of punches that were faster and more erratic. But for every strike, you had a counter. You weaved between her attacks, your body moving like water, fluid and untouchable. The sound of her fists cutting through the air was deafening, but not a single blow landed.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, had regained her footing. She darted in from the side, attempting to catch you off guard. Her claws flashed in the moonlight as she aimed for your throat, but you dropped into a low slide, narrowly avoiding her strike. As you slid past her, you hooked your leg around her ankle, causing her to trip and tumble to the ground.

The two women regrouped, panting slightly but far from finished. Their eyes burned with determination, and something more—something wild. They weren’t just fighting anymore. They were hunting. And they were losing themselves to the thrill of it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you asked, your smirk infuriatingly smug as you straightened up. “Letting the beast out. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Shut your mouth,” Caitlyn snapped, her voice low and venomous. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lip, her eyes narrowing as she glared at you.

Vi growled, her muscles tensing as she prepared to charge again. “You’re not getting out of this one. Not alive.”

You feigned heartbreak, “Oh, Vi, I can’t believe you would do such a thing to me. I thought we were just getting closer.”

This time, they came at you together, their movements coordinated and feral. Caitlyn moved with the precision of a predator, her strikes calculated and deadly, while Vi was raw power, her punches shaking the very ground beneath your feet. But even as they pushed themselves harder, faster, more monstrous, you kept up.

You ducked under Vi’s punch, countered Caitlyn’s clawed swipe with a swift kick to her side, and leapt over a combined attack that would have torn any other opponent to shreds. Your movements were almost… effortless.

It was starting to sink in for them. You weren’t just skilled. You weren’t just lucky. You were something else.

“What the hell are you?” Vi snarled, her chest heaving as she circled you. There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes now, and she hated it. Hated that you were still standing, still smirking, still in control.

Caitlyn’s gaze was sharper, more analytical even in her feral state. She could feel it—the wrongness of you. The way you moved, the way you fought, the way you seemed to anticipate their every move. “You’re not human,” she said, her voice quieter but no less dangerous. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

Their silence was telling. For all their bravado, for all their power, they were realizing just how outmatched they were.

But the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Caitlyn lunged at you again, her movements a blur as she aimed straight for your throat. You sidestepped, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. She hissed in pain but didn’t cry out, her pride refusing to let you see her weakness.

Vi charged in next, her fists glowing faintly with a hint of her suppressed power. You released Caitlyn just in time to dodge Vi’s attack, her punch grazing your ribs but not quite connecting. You spun, your foot sweeping out to catch Vi’s ankle, but she jumped back, snarling in frustration.

“Getting tired, are we?” you teased, your tone infuriatingly calm as you faced them both. “You can keep going if you want, but I think we all know how this ends.”

They didn’t respond. Words weren’t necessary anymore. They were too far gone, too lost in the hunt, too consumed by the memory of you and the maddening need to have you at their mercy.

The fight reached a boiling point, the air around you thick with tension and fury. Vi and Caitlyn moved with increasing speed and power, their attacks fueled by frustration and primal rage. They weren’t holding back anymore, their monstrous sides emerging as they fought with a ferocity that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.

But you weren’t normal, were you?

Vi charged forward, her punches coming in a blur of motion, each one powerful enough to shatter stone. You weaved through them effortlessly, your movements precise and almost lazy, like a predator playing with its prey. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws aimed at your side, but you ducked and spun away, leaving them to collide with each other in their frenzy.

“You’re getting sloppy,” you taunted, sidestepping another wild swing from Vi. “I thought you two were supposed to be the best of the best. Guess I was wrong.”

Vi growled, her voice guttural as her frustration mounted. “Stand still, you coward!”

She lunged at you, her fist glowing faintly with suppressed power, but you sidestepped her again, grabbing her arm mid-swing. With a fluid motion, you flipped over her, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her into an excruciatingly arched position. She let out a strained snarl, her muscles trembling with the effort to break free.

Leaning in close, you grinned, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. “Tell me, Vi,” you murmured, your voice low and mocking. “Do you have a preference? Vampires… or humans?” Your teeth hovered dangerously close to her throat, the promise of a bite lingering in the air.

Before you could make good on your threat, Caitlyn’s furious snarl ripped through the chaos. She charged at you, her glowing eyes blazing with fury. You shoved Vi away just in time, sending her tumbling to the ground, and dissolved into a swirling black mist as Caitlyn’s claws swiped through where you’d been a moment before.

The mist reformed behind her, and when she turned, her eyes widened in shock. You stood there, no longer the calm, human figure they’d been fighting. Your amber eyes glowed like molten gold, and your hands had morphed into claws sharp enough to tear through steel. The faint outline of fur traced your arms, and your grin was sharp and predatory.

“Werewolves, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice a low rumble. “Not all of them are mindless beasts. Some of them know how to have a little fun.”

Caitlyn froze, her feral instincts clashing with the disbelief on her face. “You’re—you’re a wolf?” Her voice faltered, her confusion and rage warring with each other.

Vi, picking herself up from the ground, stared at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “That’s not possible,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re—you’re human.”

You chuckled darkly, flexing your claws as you regarded them with an almost casual air. “You’re right, I am human. I bleed like a human. Smell like one too. It’s what makes the hunt so much more fun.” You took a step closer, your eyes flicking between the two of them. “But you’ve felt it, haven’t you? That little itch in the back of your mind telling you something’s off? You knew I wasn’t normal.”

Caitlyn growled low in her throat, her glowing eyes narrowing as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing. “What are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with accusation.

You tilted your head, your grin widening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Their rage reignited, and this time, there was no holding back. Vi lunged at you with a roar, her fists swinging with a force that made the ground tremble. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws slicing through the air with deadly precision. Their movements were faster now, more animalistic, their monstrous sides fully unleashed.

For the first time, you had to take them seriously. You met Vi’s punch with a block, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground, and twisted to avoid Caitlyn’s claws, her strike barely grazing your side. Their power was overwhelming, even for you, and you found yourself being pushed back.

But you didn’t lose your composure. Instead, you smirked, your movements becoming even more fluid as you dodged and countered their attacks. “You’re both getting desperate,” you teased, sliding under Vi’s swing and narrowly avoiding Caitlyn’s strike. “It’s cute.”

Caitlyn let out a snarl of frustration, her claws glowing faintly as she lashed out again. Vi followed up with a punch aimed directly at your head, but you ducked under it, grabbing her arm and twisting her to the side.

“You’re not human,” Vi growled, her voice strained as she tried to break free. “You can’t be.”

“Good observation,” you said with a smirk, tossing her aside and dodging Caitlyn’s attack in the same motion. “Took you long enough.”

Their feral instincts had fully taken over now, their attacks wild and relentless. But you knew when it was time to end a game. As Vi charged at you again, her fists glowing with raw power, you dissolved into black mist once more, letting her attack pass harmlessly through you.

The mist swirled around them, disorienting them as they tried to locate you. “Time to cool off,” your voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, tinged with amusement.

When the mist dissipated, you were gone, leaving Vi and Caitlyn standing there, panting and furious, their monstrous sides still clawing for control. But in the quiet that followed, one thing was clear: they hadn’t even begun to uncover the truth of what you were.

Caitlyn’s rage was unstoppable. Her mind clouded by the thirst, her vision tunneled to the scent of your blood. It consumed her completely, driving her to abandon everything else—reason, restraint, and her usual calm. She felt herself losing control with every step, and though Vi’s voice echoed behind her, calling her name and trying to pull her back, Caitlyn couldn’t stop. The hunger was a beast inside her, and it was all she could do to keep it at bay long enough to follow your trail.

She tore through the streets with frightening speed, her senses sharpened, homing in on your scent as it led her to a small, dimly lit town. She stalked through the streets, her fangs already extended, eyes burning with that bloodlust that had taken over her. The people she passed didn’t even notice the air around her change, but she could hear the beat of their hearts, smell the warmth of their blood. She had to hold back. She was going to find you. She was going to make you pay, but she couldn’t show her powers to anyone, not yet. The town had no idea what was coming, and she was going to keep it that way.

Finally, she reached the bar where the scent of you was thick, almost suffocating. The door creaked open as she slipped inside, scanning the room with a predator’s gaze. And there you were. Sitting at the bar, so casual, as if you weren’t the cause of everything that had broken inside her. The moment your eyes met, she could feel that familiar wave of fury crashing over her again.

Her fangs elongated, her hands trembling with the effort to control her power. Her eyes flashed red, and a low growl rumbled from her throat. She didn’t care about the eyes that were starting to look her way; you were the only thing that mattered. She stalked toward you, her every step radiating pure menace. There was no reasoning left in her, no fear. Just the unrelenting need to tear you apart, to drink from you until there was nothing left.

But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, your posture relaxed as you watched her approach, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “Careful, Caitlyn,” you warned, your voice smooth, deliberate. “You don’t want to make a scene in front of a bunch of hunters. They’d take you down faster than you could say your mother’s name.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the rage in them intensified, but there was a moment of hesitation. She could feel the presence of others in the room now. The hunters, the ones who had been lurking, waiting. Her bloodlust was on the verge of consuming her completely, but you had her on the edge of two choices—fight or retreat.

She didn’t listen. She lunged, her body a blur of motion, intent on bringing you to your knees.

But you were ready. Faster than she could process, you reached out and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward with force that made her stumble. The shock of it hit her like a jolt of cold water, and for a split second, she froze. Her fangs were still bared, her lips curled in a snarl, but there was no action. Not yet.

And then, in one swift movement, you pulled her into a kiss. It was forceful, demanding, and Caitlyn’s mind went blank. Her breath hitched, her body stiffened in surprise, but there was something strangely calming in your touch, a strange power in your control. The hunger in her lessened, her senses buzzing as she tried to regain control over herself.

“Relax,” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and teasing. “You’ll be able to show me those scary vampire powers later.”

Something inside her shifted. The red in her eyes dulled, just a fraction, enough for her to think clearly again. She pushed against you, still furious, but she couldn’t shake the unsettling calm you had instilled in her.

You released her from the kiss and pushed her gently but firmly into a chair. “Stay seated,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. “Let the storm pass for now.”

Caitlyn was still seething, her heart pounding with frustration, but the primal rage that had gripped her was fading. She remained seated, her fangs retracting, her breath returning to a more normal pace. She clenched her fists, silently simmering in the chair, the tension still thick in the air.

Moments later, the door to the bar creaked open again, and Vi stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the room, locking onto Caitlyn before her gaze shifted to you. The tension between the three of you was palpable. Vi’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She stalked toward the table, every step measured and cautious, a predator assessing her prey.

As Vi moved to stand beside Caitlyn, you leaned back in your chair, unfazed, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t make any threatening moves, Vi,” you warned, your voice calm but edged with something darker. “One of the hunters in this room will be wearing your canines as a necklace before the night is over.”

Vi paused, her gaze flicking toward the people around the bar. She looked at Caitlyn, the two of them silently communicating with just a glance, both of them reluctantly understanding the situation. Slowly, without another word, Vi took a seat at the table across from you.

You watched the two of them closely, the tension between them and the room shifting into something more controlled, more calculated. The game had changed.

Now, you were in charge.

And they knew it.

“What now?” Caitlyn finally spoke, her voice quiet, but the edge of her anger still evident.

You met her gaze, your smile never wavering. “Now, we wait,” you said simply. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to make this easy for either of you.”

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged another look, both of them more aware than ever that they were dealing with someone who wasn’t just playing by the rules—they were dealing with someone who made their rules.

And the night was just beginning.

The moment stretched unbearably for Vi and Caitlyn as they sat across from you, forced to watch while you leisurely sipped your drink. The tension between you all was palpable, a wire stretched to its breaking point. For them, it felt like an eternity of restraint, each tick of the clock dragging them further into frustration. You were composed, maddeningly so, your casual demeanor only fueling their growing impatience. Caitlyn’s knuckles were white against the table, her nails threatening to break the wood beneath them. Vi, though trying to appear calmer, had her leg bouncing under the table, a clear sign of her fraying patience.

Finally, Caitlyn snapped. She slammed her hand onto the table, leaning forward with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. “Enough games,” she growled, her voice low but brimming with fury. “Why are you doing this? Why us? Everything you’ve done—every little game—it’s all been to get our attention, hasn’t it? You knew we’d fall for it. Every single time.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, the glint in your eyes both infuriating and captivating. Swirling the last of your drink, you finally set the glass down with a deliberate clink and leaned back in your chair, as if you were pondering her question. “You know,” you began, your tone playful yet cutting, “I think you’re starting to figure it out.”

Caitlyn’s glare darkened, her fangs peeking through as she fought to keep her composure. Vi’s gaze darted between you and Caitlyn, her own frustration evident, though she held back, letting her partner do the talking for now.

“You’re good little beasts,” you continued, your voice dripping with amusement. “Always coming running the second you catch my scent. Obedient, relentless… predictable.” You leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Caitlyn. “You want to know why? Because you like it. The chase, the fight, the thrill—you crave it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, and Vi’s fists clenched, her patience wearing thin. But before either could respond, you leaned closer to Caitlyn, your smirk growing into something sharper, more dangerous. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you bit down hard on your lower lip. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and the effect was immediate.

Caitlyn froze, her gaze snapping to your lips, where a thin line of crimson welled up. Her nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated, a flash of red overtaking her irises as her vampire instincts surged to the surface. She gripped the table tightly, her claws beginning to dig into the wood as she fought to maintain control. Her composure was slipping, her breathing becoming shallow and uneven.

You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping to a low, almost taunting murmur. “Do you want it, Caitlyn?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her attention was solely fixed on the blood, the scent drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She barely registered your words as her instincts battled with her self-control.

“Go on,” you encouraged, your tone soft but laced with a challenge. “Clean it up. I won’t stop you.”

For a moment, Caitlyn’s restraint faltered entirely. She leaned closer, her fangs fully extended now, her breath ragged. Her gaze flicked to yours, and for a fleeting second, there was hesitation—perhaps a trace of shame or conflict. But it was quickly swallowed by the primal hunger surging through her.

She closed the distance, her movements almost trembling with need, and before she could second-guess herself, her lips brushed against yours. Her fangs scraped lightly against your skin as her tongue darted out, catching the bead of blood that threatened to spill. The taste was electric, a jolt that sent her instincts spiraling out of control.

Vi’s voice cut through the haze like a whip. “Caitlyn,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though it lacked the full conviction of disapproval. There was a flicker of something else in her voice—curiosity, maybe even jealousy.

But Caitlyn didn’t pull back. If anything, Vi’s interruption only made her grip on the moment tighten. Her hands, still clenched against the table, trembled as she fought to maintain some semblance of control while indulging in the taste of you.

You chuckled softly, your voice steady despite the ferocity in Caitlyn’s actions. “There you go,” you murmured, almost teasingly. “Good girl.”

The words seemed to snap something in Caitlyn. She growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as she pulled back slightly, her crimson-stained eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around you both, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance.

Vi, still seated, was tense, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. There was a flicker of conflict in her gaze, torn between stepping in and staying back.

You leaned back slightly, licking the corner of your lip as if reclaiming what Caitlyn had taken. “See?” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond, her breathing still uneven as she fought to regain her composure. The hunger in her eyes hadn’t faded entirely, but there was something else there now—frustration, humiliation, maybe even a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

You turned your attention to Vi, who was glaring at you with equal parts anger and intrigue. “What about you, Vi?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Are you going to sit there and pretend you’re above it? Or are you just waiting your turn?”

The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, and for a moment, Vi’s hands flexed, as if she were considering lunging across the table. But she stayed rooted in place, her jaw tight and her gaze locked onto yours.

“Thought so,” you said with a smirk, leaning back in your chair once again. The game was far from over, and you were enjoying every second of it.

The tension in the room thickened as you shifted your attention from Caitlyn to Vi, a slow, deliberate move that felt like a predator locking onto its next prey. Vi’s sharp blue eyes met yours, her expression a mix of defiance and barely concealed curiosity. You leaned back lazily, crossing your arms as if this were all a casual conversation instead of the charged, dangerous game it truly was.

“Hmm,” you began, your voice dripping with mock contemplation, loud enough to draw Caitlyn’s wary glare back to you. “I’ve always wondered what werewolves really liked. I mean, vampires? Easy. Blood, obviously. Power. Control. But werewolves…” Your eyes flicked to Vi, watching her jaw clench as her fingers gripped the edge of the table. “What’s the deal with them?”

Vi didn’t respond, but her eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly forward, her muscles tense. The corners of your mouth curled into a smirk, and you continued as if pondering the answer aloud.

“Is it the thrill of the hunt?” you mused, tilting your head. “The feeling of the ground under your claws as you chase your prey? Or maybe it’s the fight? That surge of adrenaline when you’re up against someone who won’t go down easy. Or…” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, and though your tone was quiet, it carried across the table like a taunt. “Maybe it’s something else entirely. Something more… primal?”

Vi’s breathing hitched ever so slightly, and you didn’t miss the way her eyes briefly flicked to your throat before she forced herself to look away. Her reaction only fueled your teasing.

“Do werewolves like to dominate?” you asked, your voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Or is it the opposite? Do they like to be pinned down, teeth at their throat, heart racing because they know they’re at someone else’s mercy?” You paused, letting the words hang in the air, watching as Vi’s hands flexed against the table, her knuckles turning white.

You leaned even closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for her. “What about you, Vi? Is that what you want? To take me down? Or…” Your smirk widened, your eyes gleaming with amusement as you delivered the next line with deliberate slowness. “Do you want me to do that to you?”

The reaction was immediate. Vi shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor as her fists slammed onto the table. Her expression was a volatile mix of anger and something darker, something she didn’t want to name but couldn’t entirely suppress. Caitlyn’s head snapped toward her partner, a flicker of concern breaking through her still-recovering composure.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Vi growled, her voice low and dangerous. Her heightened senses made it impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the maddeningly calm scent of you—human, yet not—only further stoked the fire in her veins.

You leaned back casually, unbothered by her outburst, and shrugged. “I mean, I’m entertaining myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Vi’s teeth bared slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like she was about to lunge across the table. Caitlyn’s hand shot out, gripping Vi’s arm, and though her strength was still shaky from her earlier loss of control, it was enough to hold Vi in place.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn warned, her voice sharp but tinged with the same frustration. She wasn’t defending you, not entirely—but she knew that causing a scene in this bar, surrounded by hunters, would end badly for both of them.

You watched the exchange with mild amusement, raising your glass for another sip before setting it down with deliberate slowness. “Careful, Vi,” you said, your tone mocking but underlined with a hint of genuine warning. “You wouldn’t want to prove me right, would you? That you’re just as predictable as your partner over here?”

Vi’s gaze burned into yours, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained rage. “I’m not predictable,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, grinning. Then, as if to drive the point home, you added, “You came running just like she did. And you’re still here. And you keep coming back. Why is that, Vi? What’s keeping you glued to that spot? Is it the thrill? The challenge?” You tilted your head slightly, your grin sharpening into something more dangerous. “Or is it me?”

Caitlyn’s grip on Vi’s arm tightened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she spoke, her voice low but filled with warning. “Stop provoking her.”

You glanced at Caitlyn, your grin softening into a smirk. “Oh, I’m not provoking her. I’m just asking questions.” Then, turning your attention back to Vi, you added, “She’s the one getting worked up. Must’ve hit a nerve.”

Vi took a step back, her fists still clenched, her entire body trembling with the effort to keep her composure. For a moment, silence hung between you all, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, Vi let out a slow, shuddering breath and sat back down, though her glare never left your face.

“Good girl,” you murmured, the words dripping with condescension, and Vi’s knuckles cracked as her fists tightened once again.

Caitlyn shot you a sharp look, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re walking a fine line.”

You met her gaze evenly, your smirk unshaken. “Oh, I know exactly where the line is.” You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms behind your head. “The question is, how long can you two stay on your side of it?”

The clink of coins on the counter marked the end of your drink as you finished it in one smooth motion, savoring the silence that followed. You rose from your seat with a fluidity that made even the smallest movement seem deliberate. Vi and Caitlyn, ever vigilant, mirrored your movement almost immediately, their eyes trained on you like hawks circling prey. Despite the seething animosity that practically radiated from them, neither could bring themselves to break away from your orbit.

As you adjusted your coat, you cast them a lazy glance over your shoulder, smirking faintly at how they followed so closely. “Well,” you announced, your voice calm but carrying just enough of an edge to draw their attention. “I think it’s about time I turned in for the night.”

“Like hell you are,” Vi growled, stepping closer, her sharp glare boring into you.

Caitlyn stood rigid beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her crimson eyes glowing faintly under the dim bar lights. “After everything? You think you can just leave?” Her voice was clipped, the words escaping through clenched teeth.

Your smirk widened, clearly enjoying their defiance. “Oh? And why not?” you asked, your tone light but steeped in mockery. “What’s stopping me from walking out that door? Surely you’re not saying you need me to stay?”

Vi bristled at the implication, her fists tightening at her sides. “Don’t twist this around.”

“I don’t have to,” you replied easily, your gaze sliding between the two of them. “You’re both doing that just fine on your own.” You took a single step toward them, your presence almost suffocating as the smirk on your lips softened into something more mischievous. “So tell me—why can’t I leave? What is it you’re both so desperate to say but won’t?”

Silence fell between them, the tension palpable as they both stared at you, their emotions warring just beneath the surface. Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep control. Vi, on the other hand, looked ready to throw a punch, her body vibrating with barely contained frustration.

When neither of them spoke, you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “That’s what I thought,” you murmured, almost pityingly. Then you tilted your head, feigning curiosity as you asked, “Or maybe…” You paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Maybe you just don’t want me to go because deep down, you like this. The chase, the thrill. The fact that I’m the only one who can make you feel this alive.”

Their reactions were immediate. Vi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her nostrils flaring as she clenched her fists tighter. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed brighter, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm beneath.

Before they could argue, you took another step forward, this time closing the distance entirely. Standing between them, you reached out, one hand gently brushing against Vi’s cheek, the other cupping Caitlyn’s with a surprising tenderness. They both stiffened under your touch, their bodies rigid and their breathing shallow.

“There’s no shame in it,” you said softly, your voice low and almost soothing. “It’s natural to want to follow your instincts. To give in.” Your thumbs grazed their skin lightly before you pulled your hands away, your smirk returning as you straightened. “So… are you coming with me, or do I leave you here to brood?”

They exchanged a brief glance, their pride clearly warring with something deeper, something primal. And yet, neither of them moved to stop you as you turned toward the door. Instead, when you stepped outside into the cool night air, they followed, silent but determined, their presence a steady weight at your back.

You cast a glance over your shoulder as they fell into step behind you, their reluctance betrayed by the fire still burning in their eyes. With a faint chuckle, you reached out and patted them both on the cheek once more, a gesture that was equal parts condescending and oddly affectionate. “Good little beasts,” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement as you began to lead the way. “This is going to be fun.”

..

The tavern was dimly lit and smelled faintly of ale and woodsmoke. You strode up to the front desk with the same air of confidence you always carried, Vi and Caitlyn trailing just behind you like reluctant shadows. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged tavern keeper with a tired but pleasant face, perked up as you approached.

“I need a room,” you said smoothly, your voice low and calm. “Something soundproof.”

The request was simple, but it hung in the air like a thunderclap. The woman blinked, momentarily taken aback, her gaze flickering to Vi and Caitlyn, who stood rigid behind you. Caitlyn’s sharp, elegant features were still taut with barely contained tension, while Vi’s fists remained clenched at her sides, her glare aimed at the back of your head.

The tavern keeper’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as her imagination filled in the gaps. “Soundproof, you say?” she repeated, her voice faltering just slightly.

You gave her a polite, knowing smile, leaning an elbow on the counter as you added, “Yes, soundproof. Privacy is very important to me, you see.” Your tone was calm, but there was a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

Her gaze darted to Caitlyn and Vi again, lingering on the two of them with a flustered expression. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her vampiric features giving her a dangerous beauty that likely unnerved the woman. Vi, with her broad shoulders and tense stance, looked no less intimidating. The tavern keeper cleared her throat and fumbled for the ledger in front of her.

“Right, well,” she said quickly, avoiding direct eye contact as she flipped through the pages. “We do have a room that should meet your… requirements.” Her tone carried a distinct undertone of awkwardness, and you could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she scribbled something down.

You tilted your head slightly, watching her reaction with thinly veiled amusement. “Perfect,” you said, sliding a few coins across the counter. “I appreciate your discretion.”

The woman nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as she slid a key toward you. “Room at the end of the hall. Quiet as a graveyard. Should be just what you’re looking for.”

Her choice of words earned a faint chuckle from you. “Graveyard, hmm? Fitting.” You straightened, pocketing the key before casting a glance back at Vi and Caitlyn. “Come on, then,” you said casually, gesturing for them to follow.

As you turned, you caught the tavern keeper’s gaze darting between Caitlyn and Vi again, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment. She clearly didn’t know what to make of the situation, but she was far too polite—or too scared—to ask questions.

The three of you moved toward the stairs, the tension between you palpable. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes still glowed faintly, her composure hanging by a thread, while Vi’s scowl deepened with every step, her fists clenching and unclenching as if itching for a fight.

When you reached the room, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open just long enough for them to follow. You didn’t bother waiting for them to settle in before leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and surveying them both with a faint smirk.

“Well,” you drawled, “now that we have some privacy, let’s talk.”

You leaned casually against the wall, your smirk widening as your eyes flicked between the two of them. Caitlyn’s crimson gaze was fixed on you, unblinking and unnervingly intense, while Vi stood a little behind her, arms crossed and jaw clenched tightly enough to crack. They both looked like predators cornered into an uneasy alliance, trying to decide whether to lunge or retreat.

You grin, an expression that was predatory and chilling.

“So,” you began, your voice low and teasing, “why is it, exactly, that you two are chasing me like this? Hmm? Can’t get enough of me? Or maybe…” You stepped forward, inching closer to Caitlyn with an almost predatory grace, “…you’re just bored and need a little excitement in your lives?”

Caitlyn stiffened as you approached, her jaw tightening. Her fangs gleamed faintly under the lantern light, and her red eyes never left yours, but she didn’t move. Vi, behind you, let out a low, irritated huff, but you could feel her tension like a coiled spring. She wasn’t going to make the first move—not yet.

Caitlyn’s composure finally cracked. She took a step forward, her fangs fully bared and her voice trembling with fury. “You’re toying with us,” she spat. “You think this is some game you’re in control of, but you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Or,” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you closed the distance to Caitlyn, “maybe it’s something else. Something deeper. A craving you can’t quite ignore. A thrill you can’t resist.” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, soft and coaxing. “Is that it, Caitlyn? Am I the only one who can give you what you really want?”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, her composure cracking for just a moment before she forced herself back into control. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She didn’t answer, but the way her crimson eyes flickered betrayed her struggle.

You smirked, taking another step closer until you were right in front of her. Her tall frame loomed over you, but you showed no fear. If anything, the proximity only seemed to embolden you. Behind you, you could sense Vi shifting slightly, her frustration simmering as she watched the scene unfold.

“And Vi,” you said suddenly, your tone light and almost playful as you glanced over your shoulder. “What about you? What’s your excuse? I know you’ve been itching for a fight, but this?” You gestured vaguely to the room, the tension, the chase. “This isn’t just about a fight, is it? No… you’re just as caught up in this as Caitlyn.”

Vi growled low in her throat, but her hesitation was telling. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t even move. You chuckled softly and turned back to Caitlyn, your gaze locking with hers as you reached up, your hand moving with deliberate slowness.

“Maybe it’s time to admit it,” you murmured, your voice low and intimate. Your fingers brushed lightly against Caitlyn’s cheek, your touch gentle yet firm. Her skin was cool beneath your fingertips, and her breath hitched again, her eyes widening slightly as you leaned in just enough to invade her space.

“You’re both here because you want to be,” you said, your words cutting through the silence like a blade. “Because no matter how much you hate me—or how much you hate yourselves for it—you can’t stay away.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted between yours, her fangs still bared, but her resolve was slipping. Behind you, Vi’s breathing grew heavier, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your fingers trail over the exposed skin of Caitlyn’s neck, her collarbone. She trembles beneath your touch, her fangs biting into her lower lip as you descend.

Lower.

Lower.

Your hand ghosts over the flat plane of her stomach, dipping into the waistband of her pants. The need to feel her, to explore the secrets hidden beneath the fabric, is a living thing inside you. But you have company. A warm, solid weight at your back. Vi flanks you, her front pressing to your back as she watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. A growl rumbles deep in her throat, a wordless approval as you cup Caitlyn through her pants.

Caitlyn hisses through clenched teeth as you stroke her through the fabric of her pants. The need to rip away that barrier, to feel her soft, pliant skin is an itch beneath your nails. But Vi's presence at your back is a steadying influence, a reminder that this is a game, a dance. So you hold back, contenting yourself with teasing swirls of your palm over her clothed length.

"You want this, love?" you coo, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Want to feel me wrapped around you, squeezing you so tight you forget your own name?" Your hand squeezes as if to punctuate your words, and Caitlyn's hips jerk into your touch. You smile, all teeth and wicked promises. She snarls, her hands clenching at her sides as she fights the urge to grab you, to take what you're so coyly offering.

You stroke her slow, maddeningly slow, keeping your touch feather-light to drive her wild. She’s squirming now, her hips rocking into your palm seeking more friction. You obligingly tighten your grip, humming low in your throat as she pulses against you.

"Such an eager vampire," you taunt, your thumb swiping over the tip of her cock. "So desperate for my touch. Will do anything for it, won't you?" To emphasize your point, you drop to your knees before her, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along her length. The need to taste her, to feel her slide over your tongue is an ache in your mouth.

But you have patience.

You suck her through the fabric, letting your teeth graze the sensitive flesh beneath.

She reacts sharply, hissing as your teeth scrape over her straining erection. You do it again, purposefully, your tongue a wet swirl against the hidden shape of her. The need to see her, to truly appreciate the sight of her cock is a burning demand. Without warning, you rip open her fly, your fingers delving into the newfound space.

Your hand wraps around her immediately, the hot, hard length of her against your palm making your mouth water. She's perfect, thick and veiny and hard enough to hurt. The need to swallow her down, to feel her stretching your throat, is a pulsing throb between your legs. But you hold off, settling for a gentle pump of your wrist as you lave the weeping tip with kittenish licks.

You swirl around the swollen head, collecting every drop of pearly pre-cum as it leaks from her tip. She squirms, her hands fisting at her sides as you torment her. The need to wrap your lips around her, to finally put her out of her misery, is a desperate clawing thing. So you do, hollowing your cheeks as you slide down her cock. The taste of her explodes across your tongue, musky and masculine and so deliciously hers.

You swallow around her, fighting your gag reflex as she nudges the back of your throat. The sound she makes is pure sex, a drawn out moan that has your cunt clenching. You do it again, over and over until she's reduced to a panting, pleading mess.

Caitlyn's hands bury in your hair as you release her from your mouth with an obscene pop. She's panting, her chest heaving as you continue to stroke her steadily.

The need to hear Vi's permission, her okay to touch and taste is a sudden, desperate thing. You gazed over your shoulder, your tongue peeking out to wet your swollen lips. "Want me to suck you too, baby?" you purr, your voice husky with desire. "Want to feel that pretty cock fucking my throat while I swallow Caitlyn's cum?"

Vi's answering growl is low and primal, her fangs flashing as she licks her lips. In an instant she's behind you, her hands making quick work of her pants as she frees her massive erection. The thick length slaps against your cheek, smearing pre-cum over your skin. "Yes," she hisses. "Fucking yes.”

You return your attention to Caitlyn, your hand stroking her with renewed purpose. You scoot forward, your free hand wrapping around Vi's muscular thigh for balance as you take Caitlyn's cock back into your mouth. Your lips stretch obscenely around her girth, your jaw aching as you force yourself to relax.

But she doesn't push for more, allowing you to set the pace as you bob up and down her length. Beside you, Vi hisses, her claws scoring your hips as she watches you. Your core clenches, arousal flooding your panties at the feral possessiveness in her growl. Your neck aches from the strain of your double task, the need to have both your beasts inside you, consuming you, a physical hunger. So you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks as you swallow around Caitlyn's cock.

You alternate between the two cocks, your saliva mixing with their pre-cum to slick the way. One moment your mouth is wrapped around Caitlyn's impressive length, the next your hand is wrapped tight around Vi's massive girth. The need to taste them both, to feel them both, is a burning insistence in your gut. She reacts differently to your ministrations, Caitlyn's hips stuttering as you take her to the root, Vi's thrusting into your grip like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You work them together, your mouth coming down to gently suck Caitlyn's heavy sack. She doesn’t disappoint, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, chasing her pleasure on your tongue. Beside you, Vi grunts, her rhythm faltering as you jerk her off with practiced strokes.

Caitlyn curses, a litany of praise falling from her lips as you worship her cock. Her grip on your hair tightens, bordering on painful as she fucks your face. The need to be used, to be nothing more than a convenient hole for their pleasure, is a dark thrill that races down your spine.

You pull back, releasing Caitlyn's cock with an obscene pop. Your spit shines on her cock, a testament to your oral attentions. But there are other ways to pleasure her, other ways to drive her wild with need. So you let your fingers do the talking, jacking her off with a loose, easy grip. The need to multitask, to pleasure both your lovers, is a challenge you're eager to meet. The need to have them coming undone because of you, to be the center of their universe, is a burning desire.

So you lean back, your hand continuing its steady work on Vi's dick even as you lave Caitlyn's with kittenish licks. The combined sensations are heady, intoxicating. A drop of pre-cum lands on your cheek, the warm wetness a brand against your skin.

You turn your head to the side, your mouth gaping wide in invitation. Vi stumbles forward eagerly, her cock sinking into your waiting throat with a low groan. You swallow around her, your nose pressing into the wild thatch of hair at the base of her dick. The need to breathe is a distant concern, eclipsed by the burning desire to taste Vi's pleasure on your tongue. Your tongue undulates along her length as she thrusts, your hollowed cheeks hollowing and swelling with the force of her strokes.

Beside you, Caitlyn groans, her hand joining yours as you feverishly pumps her cock. The added stimulation is too much, Vi's thrusts growing erratic as your throat squeezes around her. You bite back your own moan, the vibrations of your vocal cords urging her on.

You bob back and forth between the two, your hand working Caitlyn with feverish strokes even as you release Vi from your throat with an obscene slurp. You need to have them coming, to see them falling apart because of your touch, is a chant in your head. You kiss up Vi's dick, nuzzling into her heavy sack as your fist tightens around Caitlyn's dick.

She doesn’t hold back, her hips snapping into your grip with animalistic grunts. You need to taste them, to feel their hot release coating your hand and painting your skin, is a screaming desperation. So you lean forward, your hand twisting on Caitlyn's cock as your lips wrap around Vi's weeping tip.

Caitlyn hisses, her hips jerking erratically as her orgasm crashes over her. Hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your chest, splashing against your waiting skin in a show of mark-making that has your cunt clenching. But you have no time to bask in the warm, squelch of seed on your breasts. Vi's hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks your throat with abandon. She snarls, a broken sound of ecstasy that mixes with Caitlyn's panting moans.

You swallow, your cheeks hollowing as you fight your own gag reflex. The taste of her, salty and thick and so unmistakably Vi, floods your senses. It's perfect. You moan around her, the vibrations of your throat catapulting her over the edge.

You stay kneeling on the floor, Vi's cock slipping from your lips with a lewd pop. Your chest is sticky with Caitlyn's release, the white ropes splattered across your heaving breasts like macabre war paint. They look down at you, panting and flushed and oh so very ready for round two. You need to be filled, to be stretched, to be utterly ruined by these magnificent creatures is a pulsing demand between your legs.

But first, you want to admire your handywork. Vi's cock is bobbing obscenely, pearly drops of cum beading at the tip. Caitlyn's is no different, the head engorged and leaking. You want to have them inside you, surrounding you, consuming you is a roar in your skull. You scoop up some of Caitlyn's seed, painting your lips like you're about to eat the most decadent treat.

Your thoughts are swallowed by Caitlyn's mouth as she yanks you up by your hair. Her kiss is hungry, desperate, her fangs scoring your lips in a way that has you opening automatically. Your blood mingles with her tongue, the coppery taste a metallic counterpoint to the musky flavors of sex and sweat that cling to your tongues. Behind you, Vi is a warm, solid presence, her canines worrying the nape of your neck in a mirror of her lover's actions.

Your head swims, the combination of pain and pleasure shorting out your circuits until the only thing that matters is the mouths on you, the hands groping, the cocks pressing urgently into your curves.

You surrender to it, to them, your body pliant and yielding as they manhandle you between them. You fall in Vi's arms, your fronts flushed together as Caitlyn crowds you from the back. The sword of Vi's tongue duels with the press of Caitlyn's fangs, the dual sensations stoking the fire in your veins to a roaring inferno.

You want to be touched everywhere, to be worshiped and cherished and fucked until you can't walk straight, is a chant in your head. Caitlyn plays her hands over your ribs, her thumbs flicking across your nipples. You moan, the breathless sound dying against Vi’s lips. She grinds into you, the hard length of her cock nestling between your thighs like it was made to be there. Vi cups your ass, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh as she grinds against you.

"Fuck," Vi groans, her hips grinding harder into you as she watches you debauch yourself. "Fuck,you're so hot like this. So desperate for us." Her words are a dark promise, the rumble of her voice making your clit throb. Behind you, Caitlyn seems to silently agree with her, her eyes glassy with lust as she takes in the sight of you.

"C’mon," you whisper, your voice raw and ragged. "I need you. Need you both. Need you to fucking breed me." The words are a revelation, a baptism in the basest, most fundamental of needs. And they're only too happy to oblige.

Caitlyn grabs your hips, spinning you around to face her. Her lips claim yours in a bruising kiss, her fangs nipping at your lower lip in a silent demand for entry. You yield, your mouth opening automatically to grant her access. Your tongues dance, the taste of you mixing together in a perverse mockery of foreplay. Behind you, Vi growls, her hands yanking your ass up and back in a move that has you gasping into Caitlyn's mouth. The change in angle puts your cunt right at the perfect height, Vi's dick nestling between your folds like it was made to be there. You shake, the heat of her almost too much to bear.

But that’s the point isn't it?

To burn in their fires, to be consumed by them until there's nothing left but cinders and ash. Caitlyn’s hands roam your body, calloused fingers teasing and taunting until you're a writhing mess in their arms. Every touch is an inferno, stoking the flames of your desire until you're ready to incinerate from the inside out. She scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs locking around her waist as she impales you on her thick dick with a single, smooth stroke. You wail, your head falling back on a scream of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around her. The stretch is obscene, your walls straining to accommodate her girth.

But oh, it feels so fucking good.

So right.

Vi's hands on your hips guide your movements, lifting you up and down on Caitlyn's cock like you weigh nothing. The drag of her dick against your walls is delicious agony, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Behind you, Vi grunts, her own hips rocking forward to slot her dick between your ass cheeks. The slick slide of it, hot and heavy and oh so very her, makes you clench hard around Caitlyn.

Behind you, she snarls, her hands digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. But you don’t care. You just want to be marked, claimed, owned in every way possible, is a pulsing throb beneath your skin. The greed to be theirs is the only coherent thought left in your head.

They work you between them, Caitlyn's thrusts setting a brutal pace that Vi matches beat for beat. Your head lolls back onto Vi's shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as you lose yourself in the rhythm. It’s hypnotic, the push and pull of their bodies, the slap of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh. Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your throat, marking you in a way that goes soul-deep. The pain is fleeting, lost in the haze of pleasure as Vi's hips buck, her cock slipping between your folds to slide against Caitlyn's. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your vision whiting out as the dual stimulation shatters you. You fall, tumbling headfirst into bliss, into ecstasy, into a place where there are no more worries, no more cares.

Caitlyn stands, holding your quivering body aloft as Vi sinks her cock in your pussy, stretching obscenely around her girth. You are stuffed so full, so deliciously stuffed, you feel like you might split in two. But you don’t. You don’t because this is what you were made for, to be their plaything, their receptacle for all things depraved and delicious.

You sink down, taking them both to the hilt in a move that has you screaming. The pleasure is incandescent, searing, so all-consuming that you don’t even feel it when Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your breast or Vi clamps down on your neck. All you know is the bliss, the perfection, of being taken so hard and so deep. Of finally, blessedly, being home.

You can only hold on, your nails scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slicked shoulders as they fuck into you. Caitlyn's angle has her rubbing that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending stars shooting across your vision. Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she pounds into you from behind. You are sandwiched between them, a willing prisoner to their combined machinations.

Caitlyn’s hands roam freely, tweaking your nipples hard enough to border on pain before soothing the sting with gentle caresses. Vi nips and sucks at your throat, no doubt marking you as theirs for all to see. But you don’t need to look to know they belong to you just as much as you belong to them.

The thought is a revelation, a sudden burst of clarity in the haze of fucked-out bliss. The cree is binding, unbreakable, and in this moment you know you would do anything for them.

Anything to keep them, to preserve this moment of perfect connection. It’s a thing that scares you. It's something that, in your right mind, youwould run screaming from. But this isnt that. This isn't right or wrong, good or bad. It’s just is, a simple, pure truth that settles over you like a warm blanket. You surrender to it, to them, your body going slack in their hold even as your walls ripple around their cocks.

You're nothing more than a willing vessel now, a receptacle for all their pleasure. And that, you think dazedly as you're fucked into mindless oblivion, is exactly how it should be.

Caitlyn’s hands move to your hips, holding you in place as they fuck you with increasing speed. The need to come, to let go completely, is a desperate litany on your lips. Vi's rhythm steadied, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own release. They work together seamlessly, as if they've done this a thousand times before. Maybe they have, with countless others who weren't you, who weren't their mate.

The sudden surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, is enough to make you see stars. You clench around them, your cunt bearing down on their cocks as you teeter on the edge. You're so fucking close, every nerve in your body drawn tight as a bowstring. Caitlyn must feel it too, because she bites down, hard enough to draw blood.

And that's it.

That's all it takes to catapult you over the edge. Your orgasm slams into you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that rips through you with the force of a hurricane. You come with a scream, your cunt clenching and spasming around Vi's and Caitlyn's cocks. A flood of liquid heat gushes from your core, soaking their dick and dripping down your thighs. It's obscene, you know, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the pleasure is so sharp, so intense, it feels like it's splitting you apart from the inside out.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her hips slamming into yours with a force that would be bruising if you weren't so far gone. She doesn’t pull out, working you through your orgasm until you're writhing, oversensitized.

"Keep going, please keep going," you babbles, your words slurring together as they pound into you. Your overstimulated cunt spasms around them, aftershocks from your previous orgasm still rattling your frame.

But they don’t stop, if anything their thrusts grow harder, more insistent. It’s almost too much, pleasure bleeding into pain as your body is pushed to its limits. You scrap at their shoulders, your nails leaving red welts in their flesh. Caitlyn hisses, the sting only seeming to spur her on. Behind you, Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she fucks into you like a woman possessed. You're being used, claimed, fucked into oblivion, and it's perfect. It's everything you could ever want. You cum again, a high, keening wail tearing from your throat as your vision whites out.

But there's no respite to be had, not when Caitlyn and Vi are so close to their own finish. They work you mercilessly, pounding into your abused cunt with single-minded focus. You're nothing more than a toy to them, a warm hole to spill their seed in, and you've never felt so deliciously used in your life. Caitlyn groans, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her release.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her canines finding your mating bite and biting down hard. Pain and pleasure short-circuit in your skull, the resulting burst of sensation sending you careening toward a third orgasm. You clench around them, your walls rippling along their lengths as you teeter on the brink of oblivion. Then Caitlyn’s coming, her cum flooding your channel in a scalding rush that pushes you over the edge.

You fall, your mind going blank as your body is wracked with pleasure. Your cunt spasms around Caitlyn's cock, milking her for every last drop as you squirt on their cocks for the third time. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already full channel with even more cum.

You want it, crave it, so much so that you can taste it on your tongue. The need used by them, bound to them in every way possible, is a frantic beat beneath your skin. They crush you between them, their mouths finding yours in a sloppy, three-way kiss that leaves you panting. Youcould die like this, youthink dazedly, sandwiched between these two magnificent beasts.

Vi's arms hold you aloft, your legs too weak to support your own weight after your mind-blowing orgasms. She slowly walks you towards the bed, Caitlyn's cock slipping from your pussy with a lewd squelch. Your legs hit the mattress, the sudden change in angle making you pitch forward. But Vi's hands are there to catch you, guiding you down onto all fours.

You collapse onto your elbows, your face pressed into the sheets as you tremble with exhaustion. But that exhaustion does nothing to dampen your desire, the need to feel them inside you once more an all-consuming inferno. Caitlyn scoops your hair away from your neck, her fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. Behind you, Vi hums, her palm flattening against the small of your back.

You squirmed between them, your hips wiggling back against Vi's in a clear invitation. You're so fucking sensitive, every brush of air against your swollen, well-used lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. But that pain-slash-pleasure only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt clenching madly around nothing as you crave to be filled again, to be stretched and stuffed and utterly used until your pussy is molded to their cocks. You beg them to take you again, your babbling pleas falling on deaf ears. Caitlyn chuckles darkly above you, her hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips.

"So greedy for us, aren't you?" she purrs, her breath hot against your ear. Behind you, Vi growls in agreement, her fingers pricking at your skin as she squeezes the globes of your ass.

You mewl, arching into their touches like a cat in heat. Your pussy is throbbing, the emptiness a physical ache that demands to be filled. You know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't crave their cocks like you do. But you can't help it, not when they make you feel so good, so cherished. Caitlyn slides a finger between your swollen folds, the lightest of touches enough to make you gasp. You're fucking dripping, your arousal coating her digit and dripping onto the sheets below. Vi groans behind you, her hand slipping from your hip to your core, swiping through the slick mess.

"Fuck, you're so wet," she growls, her voice rough with lust. She punctuates her words with a sharp spank to your ass, the sting only serving to heighten your desire.

Vi's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as she thrusts into you. Her thrusts are messy and desperate, the force of them jostling the bed beneath you. Over your back, Caitlyn makes her own slick sounds, her fist working her dick to the tempo Vi is setting. Your head spins at the sheer depravity of it, of being used so carelessly, so thoroughly, like a common whore. And yet it's the hottest thing you've ever seen, the knowledge that your body is enough to drive them to such heights. You sob into the sheets, your face pressed into the mattress as Vi takes you harder and faster. She's fucking you like she's trying to split you in two, her grip on your hips hard enough to leave lasting bruises. Behind you, Caitlyn grunts, her hand moving faster as she watches Vi rut into your aching cunt.

You can only take it, your body rocking with every savage thrust. Your cunt is on fire, the pleasure bordering on pain as Vi ruts into you. But you love it, love the feeling of being used so roughly, so thoroughly. Caitlyn groans above you, her fist flying over her cock as she chases her pleasure. You cry, a desperate, keening sound that's muffled by the sheets. Your orgasm is barreling towards you, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Caitlyn slaps your clit hard. The pain-pleasure rocket sends you screaming over the edge, your cunt clamping down on Vi's cock hard enough to make her snarl. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already cum-soaked channel with even more of her release.

Vi pulls out, her cum leaking from your well-used hole and dribbling down your thighs. You barely have a chance to miss the fullness before Caitlyn flips you over, hauling your limp body up into her arms. She sits back on her heels, settling your straddling legs on either side of her hips. Her cock slides against your folds, smearing their combined releases between you. Behind you, Vi moves to kneel on the bed, her chest pressed to your back. Her hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of your breasts and teasing your nipples. You mewl, your hips rolling in Caitlyn's grip, chasing more of that delicious friction. But she holds you still, her grip bruising as she lines herself up with your entrance. You barely have time to brace yourself before she slides into you, impaling you on her thick cock in one brutal thrust.

Vi and Caitlyn work you between them, one thrusting into you as the other nudges her cock to your lips. Your pussy is stretched and filled to the brim, every ridge and vein of Caitlyn's cock kissing along your inner walls in a way that has you sobbing for more. It's a primal move that speaks to the most basic parts of you that crave to be owned and claimed most fundamentally. You claw at the bed, your nails biting into the sheets as you hang on for dear life. Behind you, she groans, the sound sending vibrations through his chest and straight to your core.

You gag on Vi's thick dick, spit bubbling from the corners of your mouth as she fucks into your throat. Your eyes roll back, your hands scrabbling at the sheets for purchase as they use you so thoroughly. You're just a set of fuck holes for their pleasure, a warm sleeve for them to dump their seed in. And it's perfect, so perfect, to be so utterly and completely theirs. Behind you, Caitlyn pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip of her cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. The force of it rocks you forward, Vi's dick lodging itself even deeper down your throat. You gag, the muscles in your neck convulsing around her as your eyes water. They pound into you mercilessly, their rhythm ruthless as they chase their release.

The two of you exchange a long, heated look. Then, as if by silent agreement, they double their efforts. Vi's hands fist in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks into your mouth. Caitlyn's grips on your hips tighten, her nails digging into your flesh as she pounds into you from behind. The need to come, to let go completely, is a frantic rhythm in your skull. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Vi roars above you, her dick pulsing as she reaches her peak. Thick ropes of cum paint your face, your hair, your open mouth as you struggle to swallow it all. But it's Caitlyn who steals the show, her thrusts growing erratic as she nears her own climax. You barely have time to gasp before she slams into you one final time, her dick erupting inside you.

You clench around her, your cunt milking her for every last drop of her seed as your own orgasm crashes over you. It's so intense, so all-consuming, that your vision blanks out at the edges. You fall forward, catching yourself on your elbows as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through you. Behind you, Caitlyn collapses against your back, her forehead pressed to your shoulder as she pants heavily. Above you, Vi grunts, slumping down to drape herself across the bed. You're sandwiched between them, a willing victim to their lusts and desires.

And in this moment, as you bask in the afterglow, you know there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

[httpswritings]

pretty, pretty, please

alexia putellas x reader

The first month after giving birth was a whirlwind. A constant, exhausting rollercoaster of emotions. Every time you looked at your baby girl, a wave of overwhelming love would wash over you. You felt like the luckiest woman alive. Watching Alexia interact with her filled you with a sense of calm and happiness. It was truly a scene out of a fairytale.

But the reality of your changed body was a stark contrast to this idyllic picture. Your body was still recovering, and looking in the mirror was an agonizing experience. The stretch marks that marred your belly were a constant reminder of the changes you had undergone. You felt a deep sense of loss for the body you once knew, and you desperately tried to hide it from Alexia.

Despite your struggles, Alexia was an unwavering source of support. "How's the best mommy doing?" "You're so beautiful, mi amor." "Good morning, princess." Her daily compliments were a lifeline, preventing your self-esteem from completely crumbling.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day, you finally opened up to her. "What's wrong, mi amor?" she asked gently.

Even though you knew she would be understanding, you hesitated. "Do you... do you love me?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Alexia looked at you, bewildered. "Of course I do."

You knew she loved you, but you needed reassurance, a deeper confirmation. "I mean... physically. Do you still find me attractive?"

Alexia's face softened. "Of course I do. I love every single part of you. I'm just... I'm so afraid of hurting you. I know you're still recovering, and I don't want to do anything that might cause you discomfort."

"It's not about you," you explained, your voice catching. "You've been incredible. I know you're being extra gentle, and I appreciate it more than you know. It's just... I don't like looking at myself. I hate these stretch marks."

Alexia bit her lip, feeling a pang of sadness for you. "Amor..." she began, searching for the right words. "What's wrong with them? What don't you like about them?"

You touched your shirt, hesitant to reveal the source of your distress. "They're so big and noticeable. I'd think they're beautiful on someone else, but on me..." you trailed off, unable to articulate your feelings.

Alexia reached out, her hand hovering near your stomach. "You don't have to show me, love. Don't feel pressured."

"I just... I want to feel beautiful again," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

Alexia gently pulled you closer. "Listen to me," she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Your body is a masterpiece, a testament to the incredible strength and resilience of a woman who brought life into this world. You created a human being, and your body underwent extraordinary changes to make that possible. It's not just a body; it's a vessel of life, a symbol of your incredible power. You deserve love and compassion, even when you don't feel it for yourself."

Her words washed over you, offering a glimmer of hope. You looked at her, your eyes glistening. "I love you," you murmured, kissing her softly.

As you pulled apart, you took a deep breath and slowly lifted your shirt, revealing your stomach. Alexia's breath caught in her throat. She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and tenderness.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Every inch of you is perfect."

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine admiration she felt for your body, despite the stretch marks. It was a powerful reminder that beauty came in all shapes and sizes, and that your body, though changed, was still uniquely yours, still worthy of love and appreciation.

Alexia reached out, her touch feather-light as she gently traced the lines on your stomach. "You did something incredible, mi amor. You brought our daughter into the world. You endured pain and discomfort, and you emerged stronger and more beautiful than ever before. I admire you beyond words."

Her words, coupled with her gentle touch, began to soothe the ache in your heart. You felt a sense of peace wash over you, a quiet acceptance of your new reality.

Your body was different, yes, but it was still yours. And with Alexia by your side withyour sweet baby girl, loving you unconditionally, you knew you would learn to love it too.

This experience deepened your understanding of yourself and your relationship with Alexia. It taught you to appreciate the strength and resilience of the female body, and to embrace the changes that come with motherhood.

And as you lay in Alexia's arms, feeling her gentle kisses on your skin, you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey, a journey filled with love.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Your relationship was all a lie and the confrontation about it happens in front of everyone, including a certain lieutenant that has a secret. Seeing you so upset has him following after you with a need to help and after a confrontation, there is a confession that happens that changes everything.

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings: Feelings of worthlessness, Slight violence, Confessions, Kissing, Fluff and angst

Lt. Riley looks up from his plate of dinner as a commotion across the mess hall grabs his attention away from his thoughts. The noise rings out above the droll evening conversations that surround him as he sits in solitude eating dinner and his eyes dart around until he finds the source. He can see you over at your table sitting amongst a couple of fellow sergeants, one of which you were involved with, and he watches as you shove your chair back and launch up onto your feet as a flurry of angry words spew from your mouth.

“You’re fucking serious?” you shoot the accusation to the sergeant in front of you as he and a few of his friends look as if they’re trying to hide their smiles and laughter behind their hands. 

The chatter in the hall dies down to almost nothing as faces turn to watch. You can feel the staring eyes from all around you, but you are too furious to care who sees or hears what as the only thing you can focus on is what you had just been told. 

“Answer me!” you yell, not caring about anything other than getting a response.

The sergeant straightens his face as he looks around to see he has all eyes on him. “Well, yeah,” he answers as if it should be obvious. “You didn’t really think I was serious…” 

You don’t let the stupid boy finish his sentence before you heatedly cut back in, the redness in your face matching the indignation in your voice. “So, it was a fucking lie. All of it? I can’t…” you take a deep, rushed breath, as if struggling to intake enough air to finish, “you goddamn bastard!” 

Reaching back towards the table you pick up your cup full of water into your hand and fling the contents directly into his face before flipping his plate of food into his lap. He too jumps to his feet as he curses your name, calling you a fucking bitch, but nothing he says now can touch the pain of what he had just revealed.

Lt. Riley waits anxiously on the edge of his seat as he watches this unfold, ready to jump up in a flash and intervene if needed, but before the sergeant can even think about making a move you toss the empty cup to the ground with a reverberating clang and turn to storm past tables filled with whispering military personnel.

You pass by Lt. Riley’s table on your way to the doors of the mess and in that split second as he looks into your face he can see that your eyes aren’t just cold and sharp, but that there is a shine to them that he recognizes; you aren’t just angry, this is something more.

Without a second thought Lt. Riley is situating his mask back down over the lower half of his face, leaving everything else behind on the table to swiftly follow after in your footsteps. Night is just beginning to fall as he makes it outside, but it’s still light enough that he can see you up ahead and he takes off in your direction. Your rage-fueled steps have already carried you a good ways ahead of him and he has to book it to even get close enough that you’ll hear him try to get your attention.

“Sergeant, stop,” Lt. Riley calls out after you once he gets within range.

Your heart skips as you recognize the voice of your lieutenant behind you. Please, no; why does it have to be him? Why now, in one of your lowest moments? You’re no fool, you realize your confrontation drew a lot of attention back there, but you are on the verge of losing it and there is one person that you desperately don’t want to see you like this - at your worst. 

You have to get to the safety of your room before he has to see you fall apart.

You defy his order and keep the pace fast. “Not now, sir,” you return over your shoulder, choking back the tears burning your eyes and blurring your vision as your chest feels too tight to breathe.

The lieutenant’s still hot on your tail as you quickly walk through the base determinedly headed towards the barracks. He can’t recall a time in the past two years where you’ve ever been this upset and something about that tugs violently on his heartstrings so that he won’t stop till he is certain that you will be okay. 

The buildings pass one after another in rapid succession, the lines from their shadows growing longer by the second, until he tries to call out once more. “I said stop, private. Tha’s an order,” he returns, putting the authority into his voice so that you are forced to slow out of policy for your commanding officer. It’s the last resort he has at his disposal, but he hates to see the way you bristle at his words.

He wants to be a comfort, not another source of stress.

You plant your feet firmly into the ground and grit your teeth behind your closed lips. The tears are welling at the rims of your eyes and it won’t be long before they breach the barrier and roll down your cheeks. You need to make this fast; you’ve already been made to look a fool today, you don’t want it made worse by letting him see you weak about it.

“Yes, sir?” you say cold and clinical as the crunch of Lt. Riley’s boots get closer and closer until he makes his way around the front to come face to face. 

It is obvious from the way your eyes glisten and your face twitches as you desperately try to control it that you are in distress something terrible. He can only imagine all the things you must be feeling in this moment after just having witnessed that public display: you’re probably embarrassed and feeling vulnerable. If it was him, he would not want anyone to see him like this and he knows he needs to get you out of the way of any prying eyes and fast, but where? 

Looking behind you he realizes that you’ve come to stop right in front of the rec center; perfect, it’s still vacant for the moment. You can talk without having to worry about anyone skulking about. Pointing a finger towards the door he gives you a brief “come on, follow me inside” and you do as you’re told, praying that this will be swift.

An electrical buzz rings out through the stillness inside as Lt. Riley throws the switches to illuminate the space and as he tends to that you walk off into the interior in a huff. He makes sure the door is secure behind you both and satisfied with how you’re locked in, he follows and finds you leaning against the far back wall, kicking it with the heel of your shoe over and over, harder and harder.

Your ears pick up his approach, but that isn’t the only thing they catch. You heard that click as the lock was latched; now there is nowhere to hide from those dark, discerning eyes… the same ones that make your pulse race. All the emotion coursing through you gives rise to old feelings that you buried and now that you are alone again all at once you’re back to those days when you would get butterflies whenever you knew he would be around.

And that makes this ten times worse.

“Care ta tell me what the hell that was about?” he asks as he comes to stand in front of you. His voice is firm, but not unkind.

In your sensitive state you mistake his tone as a reprimand rather than concern and you’re sure you’ve done it now. He’s here to simply discipline you for the infraction you’ve broken that will get you a week’s worth of firewatch or worse for causing havoc in the mess, but you don’t care. That bastard deserved worse and your superior should be glad that you restrained yourself from actually doing something harmful like bashing his stupid fucking face into the table. 

You answer straightforwardly, but avoid his eyes to stare at the floor as you start to pace back and forth, your hand brushing along the wall as you walk to distract yourself from the emotion tearing at your insides. “Nothing of concern, sir.” 

He takes another few steps towards you to close some of the distance. “I think it is. That was quite tha display.”

You inhale deep, trying to keep your voice from shaking as you give a short summary that will hopefully get him off your back… or at least get him to issue you your punishment faster. “Personal matter, it’s over now. It won’t happen again, sir.”

He knows that isn’t the whole truth, otherwise your eyes wouldn’t be shimmering and your cheeks flushed. It’s killing him to see you suffering and not be able to do anything about it, though he doesn’t know how to say he cares without giving away a secret he’s been keeping hidden for a while now; a reason that causes him to be here trying to comfort in his own strange way. 

A reason that makes him keep a close eye on you more and more recently, that makes his heart skip a beat whenever you are near, a reason that had made him jealous of your relationship with that no good sergeant in the first place. 

So he stays silent for a moment, unsure of what to do here; he doesn’t want to make things worse than they already are for you, but he needs to know how to fix this and that won’t happen until you talk. The longer he stands quietly, the more that truth that was just revealed to you gnaws away at your composure until the pacing isn’t enough to stop the emotion welling up inside and it slowly starts leaking out so that before he can speak again, you start to talk. 

“I-” you hesitate “I’m just a fucking joke, that’s all,” you say, a lump forming in your throat that causes your voice to waver. “I should have known better, that a guy like that would never want to be with someone like me.”

“Tha’s not true,” Lt. Riley interjects, but you shake your head, the pacing getting faster as everything spills out.

“Oh it is,” you say as you grit your teeth, unable to hold back the words. “The only way someone like that would ever be with me is through something as fucking stupid as a bet.”

The lieutenant’s brow furrows under his mask at your oddly specific statement.  “What do ya mean?”

You bite your lip as a tear too engorged to keep contained rolls engorged down the side of your cheek and onto your shirt as you make another pass along the wall. A heavy sigh of defeat breaks from your mouth; you’ve already said more than you should have, you guess you can keep going. 

Why not let your whole life fall apart?

You clear your throat. “You see, that bitch and his so-called friends made a bet amongst themselves to see how long he could fool me into dating him. And it worked.”

The emotion is so intense that you hang your head in shame as more tears start to fall like rain onto the tips of your shoes, leaving a trail along the ground as you continue to make your passes back and forth. “Apparently I’m pretty fucking gullible it seems. I just thought someone could actually like me, but it wasn’t real, none of it…all of it was a goddamn lie. And I fell for it like a fucking lovesick idiot.”

“Oi.” The lieutenant’s intense interjection makes you stop in your tracks and look up at him. “Don’t ya ever fuckin’ say that ‘bout yourself,” he says heatedly. “Those fuckin’ boys are the ones that’re the imbeciles. Ta think that anyone’d ‘ave ta make a bet ta be with ya is ludacris.”

You divert your gaze again. “That’s not true. Do you know how many times I’ve been asked out since I was transferred here?”

He shakes his head even if you aren’t looking to see it. “No.” 

“Twice. Just twice,” you admit sheepishly. “And one of those was by a drunk down at the bar off base so I don’t think he really even meant it. I’m a fucking joke.”

“Stop,” he says, but you ignore him.

“Why? Why deny the truth?” you ask. 

The flood is released and the tears fall even heavier as you hurriedly try to rub them away with the back of your arm, but they can’t be stopped now. It’s all too much: knowing that you weren’t even liked and having to reveal all of this to the only other person you ever desired in this hell hole. A sharp, stabbing pain pierces your stomach so that you have to wrap your arms around yourself to keep it together as if at any moment you will break apart.

You swallow hard. “I mean…” you have to clear you throat “fuck, I just want to be someone’s first choice, you know? The person that someone would do anything to be with. But no one ever chooses me. Maybe I’m just meant to keep making a fool of myself chasing something I’ll never have.”

The lieutenant is furious now not with you, but with the fact that no one has ever made you feel like the amazing person you are. How dare anyone make you think such things about yourself like that. Just because one stupid boy can’t see the whole entire package you are doesn’t mean that no one can… that he can’t see it. A brilliant mind, a gorgeous face, a tough fighter, and a firm leader, there is so much in you to admire and adore.  

It makes him burn with rage that that jackass should get away with this type of destruction without consequence. 

He can’t do it, he cannot stand here and allow that piece of shit sergeant to ruin your self-esteem. The anger is visible in his gaze and he is breathing heavily as he struggles to contain it. Now that he knows the truth about what was done to you he isn’t going to sit idly by and allow anyone to hurt you. He is going to make sure that he makes that bastard pay.  

“Look at me,” he says suddenly and you do. “Wait here. I need ya to wait here till I get back. Can ya do that?”

There is such fury in his voice that it nearly chokes him and without waiting for your reply he swivels around and rushes back to the front of the rec in a flurry of anger with only one objective in mind: find that son of a bitch that ever thought he could hurt you and make him fear for his pathetic life.

“Wait, where are you going, sir? Lieutenant?” you call after him, but he doesn’t answer and the door slams shut so that you are left standing alone in utter confusion.

Lt. Riley knows exactly where to start and sure enough the lieutenant spots the sergeant making his way from the mess, laughing with his friends like he doesn’t have a care in the world and his blood begins to boil over. After having to watch those pained tears fall from your eyes, seeing this asshole so cheery makes him murderous.

There is no warning, no call out or any sound to give the sergeant a heads up until a force like a freight train is dragging him behind the next building over, further into the shadow even as night is now almost completely set in, and he is suddenly pinned to the brick wall by his throat. He struggles against that grasp, but can’t break free and finally he decides to look into the face of whoever it is that has launched this assault. What he is met with are those piercing dark eyes glaring at him through a gap in a black balaclava.

A shiver runs up his spine, making him unable to speak. His friends intercede with their pleas on his behalf, but the lieutenant is having none of it; he has no more patience for anything anyone has to say right now. His mind is too focused on what he feels he must do. 

“Unless ya want the same, I suggest ya fuck off,” he growls at the group as he stares them down with a monsterously terrifying glare, the venom in his voice enough to make them shiver in fear. The threat is intimidating enough that they immediately realize the weight of the situation and are quick to disperse, leaving their friend to whatever fate is his.

Alone now, he turns his attention back to the sergeant who looks as white as a sheet even in the dark and he shoves him harder into the wall to make the rough surface dig into his back through his t-shirt. “I d-don’t know what’s going on, s-sir,” the sergeant says feebly.

“Don’t know?” the lieutenant scoffs as his hand tightens around the boy’s neck before easing only enough that the bastard can still breathe. “Ya must be quick ta fuckin’ forget.”

The sergeant stares up into that masked face disoriented by the sudden hostile confrontation. 

“S-sir?”

Lt. Riley gets into his face. “Ya think ya can just use people and get away with it, do ya? Ya think nothin’ will happen to ya?” he asks in a snarl and he can feel the boy swallow hard under his hand. 

“I…what…” the sergeant stammers.

Again that gloved hand tightens around the sergeant’s neck. “Ya heard me, boy. I heard ‘bout what ya did to your fellow sergeant. People like you fuckin’ disgust me.”

“It was… j-just a prank…” the sergeant tries to backpedal, but the lieutenant is quick to cut him off. 

“I’m only gonna tell ya once and take this as a final warning. Ya ever even look at Sgt. Y/N again and I’ll be sure there ain’t a piece a ya ta fuckin’ identify. Do. You. Understand. Boy?”

A shiver runs through the sergeant at those threatening words and his entire body begins to shake in the lieutenant’s grasp like a leaf in the breeze. “Answer,” Lt. Riley barks.

“Y-yes, s-sir.”

The lieutenant gives one last hard squeeze, trying to make that miscreant think that he isn’t going to let go, before he quickly releases him and the sergeant stumbles as he takes a step to the side to get out of harm’s way. “Now, get outta my fuckin’ sight ‘fore I change my mind and drive ya through this fuckin’ wall.”

He watches as the now terrified sergeant trips over his own feet trying to scurry away like the vermin he is and only once he is out of sight does the lieutenant start his adrenaline-fueled trek back to the rec, mouthing silent pleas behind the mask that you are still there and hadn’t decided to slip out because he won’t let this day end without making sure that you know how much you are wanted.

You jump as you hear the door open harshly, breaking the silence of the building, and it makes your heart leap into your throat as you watch as the lieutenant makes a beeline straight for where you stand. He doesn’t stop until he is standing just a few inches from your body, his chest heaving up and down laboriously from his hurry to get back. 

You want to ask what is going on, why he left so abruptly, but he interjects before you can even get your question out.

“I want ya ta tell me why ya think ya can’t be someone’s first choice?”

The question seems so strange after being left alone randomly as the lieutenant went god knows where and it makes you pause out of confusion. 

“...what?” you ask.

He rephrases. “Who said you weren’t someone’s first choice?”

What the hell is happening? Disoriented and still upset, you aren’t sure what he is trying to say. All you can guess is that this is some sort of weird feel good speech opening and going off that, you answer. 

“Sir, if this is some strange way of saying that there are plenty of fish in the sea or another meaningless platitude that people spout whenever someone gets hurt, you don’t have to say it. I’ve heard them all thousands of times and they’re not actually helpful.”

Those stark eyes shadowed inside his disguise soften as he speaks, though his breath is still fast, but not from exertion anymore. “ ‘s not what I’m sayin’,” he returns.

You look at him and he stares right back at you, his gaze unwavering as the thought hangs heavily in the air while he waits for you to recognize the intention behind the phrase. Your eyes linger on one another, no words being said as the last bit of your tears dry on your cheeks, until understanding begins to slowly wash over you like a wave.

“Sir?” you ask quietly, not sure if you believe what your thoughts are trying to tell you. “Areyou saying…”

Your sentence is cut off as the lieutenant moves in and he gently places his gloved hands on either side of your face. Lt. Riley can hear the hitch as you struggle to catch your breath; never has he shared such an intimate connection with you like this before and all you can do is peer up into his masked face while your mind reels and your pulse quickens under his palms.

“Ya are someone’s first choice,” he murmurs before stopping. 

No, this isn’t right and he needs to do this right. The lieutenant removes his hands from your face to pull off those bits of cloth keeping your skin apart before coming back to cup his hands around your cheeks. Your face is so soft, so warm, everything he always thought it would be to caress and you seem to melt into his rough touch.

A charged tension fills the space around both of your bodies; it is so thick that it’s suffocating and you hold your breath waiting for what will cause it to break. The lieutenant must be overwhelmed with it too as he inhales sharp and shuddered. There is an electricity in his touch and it makes his hands shake slightly against your skin even as the rest of him stands still as stone.  

He can say it, he has to. You need to know that you are wanted, desired, and he has to be the one to do it before someone else can come along just to break your heart again. He has put this off longer than he should have and he isn’t going to waste another second or make you shed another tear.

“You’re someone’s first choice,” he repeats. “Mine.”

You’re not aware of your body until you realize that your hand has cupped over top of one of his on your cheek. You need to know that this is real, that he is real, and you press his hand down firmer onto your face while you shut your eyes, just for a moment to test that you aren’t dreaming. As they flutter back open, he’s still standing before you with his hands lingering around you. 

It’s suddenly a struggle to find your voice, but you push through. “I-I didn’t even think you noticed me; I thought I was always invisible to you, sir.”

The lieutenant shakes his head. “Never. Jus’ never seemed the right time to say it. But I can’t let ya stand ‘ere and think that no one knows what a fuckin’ catch you are.”

Is he still breathing heavily now or is it you? Maybe both? You can’t tell where you end and he begins anymore, yet it doesn’t seem enough to satisfy; you want to get closer to him and something in the tone of his voice makes you trust his words. You step all the way into him, reducing the distance between your bodies to nothing and the tension immediately escalates.

Lt. Riley has craved you from afar for so long now that he can hardly believe what is happening. Your advance leaves him reeling, his skin tingling, and now his tongue feels weighted in his mouth. He should say more, but he’s never been too good with words and it’s made worse because he’s lost in the ecstasy of your presence. Instead of talking, he leans his face in closer.

Only millimeters of space and a thin piece of fabric keep your mouths separated and yet for how near you are it still makes him burn in agony to be this far apart. The tip of his nose brushes against the tip of yours over the mask, foreheads nearly pressed together, mouths ghosting so near and yet so far; it’s torture, but he won’t let himself take anything that isn’t given to him freely, no matter how desperate your little gasps makes him. 

His eyes flutter closed, absorbing every second of your presence while you still allow him to have it. “Please, luv,” he groans the words, the warmth from his breath making your lips tingle even filtered through the mask, “tell me I can fuckin’ kiss ya. Cause I really want ta do it now.”   

You inhale sharply as an ache settles itself in your chest at his request, an ache for him to let you feel that desperation on your lips. Your mind is spinning in circles as the warm tension gathering between your bodies becomes unbearable and everything else falls away; it’s like you are the only two people left in the world.

You nod in his hands. “Kiss me,” you whisper as you barely have enough breath to get the words out. 

There is not a moment more of hesitation as he has his consent; his mask is ripped up above his lips to rest over the bridge of his nose and in a flash your back is being braced against the wall behind you as the lieutenant pins you to it, the bulk of his chest crushing into you as he leans in and breaks the space between your mouths with enough passion that you could choke on it.

The lieutenant can taste the salt still lingering on your mouth, all that sadness you had just endured giving your lips a briny flavor, but he is determined to kiss it all away and erase the memory of that bastard from your skin if it’s the last thing he does. He bombards your mouth with his unrelenting yearning, open-mouthed kisses overtaking your lips until you can taste the need across your tongue

“Anyone with half a brain would kill for tha chance to call you theirs,” he gasps against your lips. “And I want ya more than anythin’, before another bastard can take ya away from me.”

Your entire body feels weightless like you are floating the longer he takes your mouth. To be embraced like this, being devoured as if he has been starved of your kiss, is overwhelming and suddenly you’re lightheaded as time passes uncounted. All the pain and sadness that just had you in a chokehold evaporated from your mind as if it was never there and it is replaced by the emotions shared between two sets of hungry lips. 

“And stop calling me sir,” he says, “when it’s me and you, it’s Simon now.”

Kisses like fire pepper your lips, his entire mouth enveloping your own with noses pressed into cheeks so that neither of you can breathe and yet pulling away feels like torture. You know the type of man the lieutenant is, know that to be so vulnerable about what he wants is not something he has displayed much before, and that for him to be so open is important. 

He doesn’t just want to say the words, he wants to prove them true.

Simon’s large hands release your face to wrap themselves around your hips, touching you in such a way as if he is trying to write promises on your body through your clothes with his fingertips. “Jus’ want tha chance ta show ya that someone can fuckin’ choose ya. Tell me ya fuckin’ want that too,” he implores in a desperate whisper.  

His request is met without words at first, but your smile is against his mouth and the way you kiss him back harder, meeting his lips in feverish bursts as you tangle your fingers into the hair at the back of his head to push him tighter into you is answer enough.

“I do,” you whimper, only breaking from his lips long enough to spit the words out. 

His voice is calm, yet firm, quiet, yet powerful as he murmurs the words into the small gap between your mouths. “Then you’re under my protection now, got it? I won’t let any manky bastard mess with ya again.”

Something about the way he says it makes you suspicious of where he was just minutes ago, though you don’t ask the question. Let that chaos rest for another time, right now you are going to let yourself enjoy this.

Heated lips connect again as if he is trying to make you swallow his vow. “No one’s gonna hurt ya, not while I’m ‘round.”

There is a pause as Simon breaks the kiss and pulls back, dark eyes lingering on the beauty of your flushed face and hazy eyes. More gentle than you could have thought possible from the intimidating lieutenant, his fingertips caress your cheek as his lips upturn into a smile. “Cause from now on, you’re gonna be my first choice.”

[inuhalfdemon]

Alastor x Female Reader

"Hang In There"

Rating: Explicit [SMUT]

Word Count: 4,576 Words

“Hm…I’d sure like to hang off of those antlers,” you told him; both of you drinking giddily at the bar.

Who knows why he humored the offer. Perhaps Alastor was tipsier than you realized, maybe he just felt like being entertained or, maybe he was just feeling uncharacteristically ruttish this evening.

For whatever reason, Alastor turned back to you and purred: “I’ll let you, too…. but, rule number one is: you can’t let go.”

Warning Banner Source: cafekitsune

Heart Divider Source: bunnysrph

So it is, that you find yourself in bed with The Radio Demon.

When he's got you pressed firmly to him; both of you naked, and squirming in the sheets, it's easy to forget how you got yourself there in the first place. You both have been going hot and heavy there for some time now...your body is electric, demanding more. Biting your lip, you arch your back...every curve in your body fitting with his; desperate now for any form of friction. Your hand slides down...but he catches your wandering fingers before you make it below his waist. 

"Ah, ah, ah..." he scolds you - his voice singing back at you in a dark and low manner. "I have a very important task for you..." 

He tilts his head and you've only just now realized just how fully his antlers have come in. Points branch and jut up to the ceiling in long, sloping sharp curves. You've never seen them this long...this heavy... 

He tilts his head more; watching you coyly from mischievously narrowed eyes. You smirk back at him. Ready to play his game and feeling confident, you raise both arms and firmly grip around his brow tines; the points of antler that stretch most forward and that are nearest to his head. 

"Good girl..." he growls...the sound sultry and dripping with favor. 

You feel heat crawling up your face as he shifts himself; pushing you back down so that you are firmly pressed beneath him again and into the bed.

His face leans in close; and the heat of his breath tickles at the soft, fine hairs that trail upward from you neck - just behind your ears. He begins trailing kisses...gentle and sweet...starting there and working his way slowly...teasingly...all the way to your chin. He pauses. Kissing you warmly – firmly - before you part your lips in a gasp, your tongue sliding out to meet his in a need to continue and deepen the kiss. Chuckling, he pulls his mouth away...instead going back to trailing kisses all along your jaw on the other side. You huff and you swear you can feel his smile widen, against your scorching hot skin. He continues to pepper you with kisses...very slowly working his way down and across your neck, licking and nipping in the chosen spots he finds along both collar bones. With your hands occupied as they are, you cannot touch him and the implications of this are only now starting to sink in... There is a sliding wetness that's been building between your legs...a pulsing need for a special kind of attention spreading and thrumming from your navel and dipping down... 

When he comes to a breast...cupping the mound of flesh in one hand and flicking his tongue across the pert nipple, your back bows and you can't help the needy whimper that escapes you. Lifting his head; Alastor grins back at you in a lazy sort of smile. 

"Patience," he growls again. "All good things come to those who wait..." 

Watching you, watch him, he leans his head back down...tongue slowly sliding out from behind sharp teeth...the warm and wet tip of it swirling slow and teasing circles all around the firm flesh of your breast.

The tortuous teasing elicits more whimpers from you...turning into soft whines when he begins squeezing and kneading at you and his face drifts to the side as he repeats his teasing ministrations with your other nipple.

He is watching you still...red eyes glowing sharply back at you...dancing back at you in delight. He's enjoying seeing you coming undone...piece by piece...with you unable to do anything for it. 

A pant bursts from your lips; the building need that pulses incessantly between your legs is becoming too great. You squirm beneath him, lifting and squeezing your knees together  - seeking any amount of friction that your own body can provide. He presses himself further down on you...forcing you to remain still. Your whines to him sharpen...turning his ears...brightening the red glow that is coming from his eyes...eyes that have never once left you.

He begins sucking at your nipples, slowly and purposefully alternating between them. The tension in you has coiled so tightly…you are quivering now; a sheet of sweat is just beginning to coat your too heated body. One of his hands drags fingers down your side – claws grazing against taut skin stretched all down your ribcage.

A sharp tooth scrapes across the too tight - the much too sensitive - skin of the nipple he’s been actively tormenting. You can't help your hips from lifting into him in a soft buck. 

Alastor tsks at you... "I'm making this too easy for you, I'm afraid." He's looking at you now with a wry smirk. "Remember, our rule..." 

He shifts himself again, moving so that he is raised on his knees in the bed. It forces you to raise up with him - arms still lifted, hands clenching antler -, sitting fully upright now, with your back pressed flush against the headboard. He helps guide your legs out so that they are comfortably pulled out in front of you. Settling in, he leans close...not quite straddling you. 

His hand returns to the breast that he was attending before you interrupted him...his fingers gently brushing against the overly sensitive bud there before he pinches it. You bite your tongue, turning your reddening face away and suppressing a moan. He presses himself in closer and you feel his other hand finding your hip...feel his claws pressing into your skin there...not quite piercing through. 

He twists at the nipple again, then gives it a sharp tug. A hiss of pleasure slips past your tightened lips, and you hear him chuckle softly. 

The way that you are sitting, you can feel the wetness between your legs...feel it coating your sex and feel it sliding down and seeping into the bed. You so badly want to rut yourself into the mattress, his leg...anything that will bring you some form of relief. 

Almost reading your thoughts, his hand resting on your hip glides away...claws tracing sparking and burning trails all across your skin - going to just below your navel and still traveling lower...he slides his fingers through and into your pubic tuft...his other hand still playing and teasing at your incredibly firm nipple. You feel shock waves traveling down from your chest; rippling and building into something greater. His fingers curl into the hair that's there...pulling and tugging. He's already got you panting again. 

He's made you so dizzy with want. Shuddering, you suppress more wanton moans as you bend your head backward...exposing your neck to him. He lifts the hand away from your breast, his palm pressing to just the side of your neck...long, fingers wrapping...his thumb brushing tender and soothing circles over the pulse that's there. You didn't notice his hand ever releasing your pubic hair... didn't notice the way he shifted and leaned...the way his smile tightened, the way the tip of his long tongue poked from between his lips and slid across them in building anticipation. 

But, you felt it when he touched you. One long finger sliding between your wet folds...another finger sliding in beside it. You gasp, a small cry involuntarily leaving you at the contact he has made. Your hips tilt, legs spreading to him in open invite...you want more. The fingers he has pressed and wrapped around your neck tighten. Both of his fingers are gliding through your slick folds...massaging and spreading them away from the entrance you have hidden there. One finger dips inside...the claw of it dragging pleasurably against your wall when it enters. You can feel your sex fluttering; your body crying out with your intensely growing need. 

"Oh...sweetheart," he tells you breathily. "You're very nearly ready..." He drags his finger from you and you feel your walls throbbing...aching from the retreat of his claw. 

Leaning back now, he pulls his hand away. Peeking back at him with one eye, you see strings of your slick...gathered and dripping between his fingers. 

He sees you looking and the tilt of his smile curls at the corners. Humming, he dips his hand down and runs his hand across your belly...covering you in your own carnal slickness. 

You can feel your face burning...feel a pleasurable prickling running up the back of your neck and flooding your scalp as he leans himself down...Still holding onto his antlers, your arms are lowered as he bends down...head tilted back so that the curvature of his points that are near to your face are aimed safely away. 

His tongue darts out, taking long lapping sweeps of it as he cleans up the mess of you he has made. He comes to your navel and you groan...the hand that has never left your neck tightens...claws digging into skin. The tip of his tongue is teasing at the rim of your umbilicus...before dipping in and finding the beads of wetness that slid there. 

"Ahhhhh...." You shake out a breath. His tongue presses into you more...darting in and back out in a suggestive manner...giving you a very clear idea of the things he could do to you... with that tongue. 

You’re squirming underneath him again...unable to help yourself. Your legs opening still wider. 

"I hope you are well and prepared, my dear...because I mean to pluck three orgasms from you...one by one." 

Your eyes widen at this and when you turn to see just how serious he is...seeing how those red eyes are glinting back at you... you know that the answer is: deadly. 

His thumb presses against the pulse in your neck before his hand slides lower...claws raking pink lines against your skin as he leans himself further down. He is back to tongue-fucking your navel but he pushes two...three fingers inside you now and you feel your entrance pulsing around him. He moves them in slow, steady strokes...the tip of his claws dragging in and out of you in the most delicious of ways...the pad of one finger stroking and pressing into your sweetest of spots. You rotate and tilt your hips more...and your senses become absolutely flooded with everything that is pleasure. His tongue presses into your navel deeply...the tip of it wagging against you as he adjusts the angle of this fingers...jutting into that oh so sweet spot perfectly now...you've only just processed your climb when he’s got you thrown over the edge and you feel yourself breaking apart beneath him...your climax washing over you in a great and rushing wave. 

Your body is still sparking...jolting in pleasure when his fingers leave you...trailing through your quivering and sopping folds...finding your swollen and delicate nub and pressing against you just there. You buck sharply against him, and he pulls his tongue away from you now; his mouth latching to your skin above one breast...claws digging...only just piercing the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. He's swirling his fingers against your clit...increasing the pressure he places against it with the increasing firmness he feels building underneath. His mouth is suctioned against your skin... lips and teeth moving...popping fine vessels underneath...

His fingers change directions, swirling and jutting against you as his mouth comes off you in a pop; his tongue dragging against the mark he's left on you. You've been reduced to nothing but little pants and small whimpers... your body shaking as you feel the tightening of that burning coil...feel it growing hotter and hotter until finally the heat of it is just too much. Your body cracks...you feel yourself splitting apart...another orgasm starts and it doesn't stop until he releases you...his fingers slowly stroking your clit back down into swelling softness. 

He pulls his hands away; moving them to your knees and pushing them out wider. He is looking at you...assessing your current state. You want nothing more than to touch him...to run your hands across this bare chest...to drag your nails; to rake them deeply all across his back...to run your fingers through his hair...squeeze his long ears. 

"Oh my..." He's looking down, and his tongue curls at the corner of his mouth. "My dear...you are positively dripping..." His mouth opens at the sight of it and it's clear that it is watering. 

You whimper and it pulls his attention upward. He hums when he sees the mark on you he has made. 

"That's rather lovely..." His eyes soften and he leans in; lips pressing softly to the bruising skin. "I might just have to make more of them." 

Choosing another spot above your breast to place one; he softly licks at the skin. Keeping one hand resting on your knee; he slides his other back to between your legs...fingers trailing back into your seeping folds. Your whimpers turn into a low moaning when he enters you again...long fingers pushing inside you...his thumb stretched and pressed firmly against your clit. 

"Ah...fuck..." You gasp, feeling his thumb starting to move and swirl against you; his fingers moving inside and out of you in long, slow and tortuous strokes

He grins against your skin and then bites down. It pulls a soft cry from you; and you duck your head down now...swiftly becoming overwhelmed. 

He releases his teeth from you - going over the new mark again with his tongue. 

"Deep breaths, darling...slow and steady wins the race." Moving his face, he nuzzles a spot over your other breast before his mouth is on you roughly again. 

You try to concentrate on your breathing but there's just too much... his fingers are still slowly dragging in and out of you...his thumb pressing and pushing into your now throbbing clit...the claws of his hand on your knee is tracing vibrantly pink circles into your skin there. 

You begin rocking your hips, tilting and pressing yourself forward...desperately trying to ease this new growing tension. Finishing his newest mark, his face drifts beside it and he makes to start another one. Your whimpers turn to pitiful whining...you are doing everything you can to shift yourself more forward...to feel more of him against and inside you... 

His grip tightens at your knee and his teeth clamp painfully against your skin but the stroking he's doing to you is quickening and the pain only builds into more pleasure. 

Static energy runs through your body; your back arches and your arms pull back - your grip tightening around the antlers. 

"Can you take one more, dear? Just for me?" He breathes, his nose brushing against your neck...warm air touching your skin there. Your head leans back and you are exposing more of your neck to him now. 

"That's it..." He croons, his mouth pressing beside your pulse and tightening there. Eliciting cries from you now, he bites down in earnest - your blood seeping from between his lips. Your grip on him tightens and you feel his fingers really fucking you now...his hand on your knee is pressing you down - holding you open. 

The climax you find now is like slamming into a wall; your orgasm rushes in and you’re coming so hard and fast that it almost knocks you senseless. Your body bows and bucks beneath him and he is snarling against you - his mouth still suctioned tightly to your neck. His fingers haven't stopped working you and every stroke now is an electric jolt of pleasure that strikes deeply...resonating into your core...

You can feel your heart pounding hard inside of your chest; your body is feeling strained from all of the building and re-building of tension, you are sucking in air – panting and trying to steady yourself as you relax your arms, moving your fingers so that you might release his antlers and stretch out the small and aching joints in your hands. 

He is smearing the last bit of your blood across your skin with his tongue when he stops – pulling back and looking at you with a dark and hunger-filled gaze.

“Oh, no no no…darling,” he chides at you. “We’ve only just begun. I told you how many orgasms I planned to pluck out of you…I never said just how many I planned to fuck out of you.”

Your jaw drops and he laughs delightedly. He slips his fingers from you and both of his hands are sliding underneath of your legs; wrapping under knees – his hands cupping and gripping your ass.

“Hold on tightly now,” he tells you before he lifts you up and off of the bed. Reflexively, your hands tighten back around the smooth bone in your grip as he raises you; setting your ass against the top of the headboard and pinning you there with his hips. The bedcovers and sheets that had him covered drop away and your eyes fly open when you see the jutting erection that he’s got pressed into you.

Oh, sweet Lucifer…he’s huge!

He sees your reaction and it only brings him more mirth.

“It’ll be a tight fit…I’ll admit but, I think you’re well and ready for it now.” He leans further into you; his cock pressing nearly flush against you. “Oh, my…but how deep I’ll go…”

Your eyes are widening; your heart hammering even harder now as you imagine that inside of you. He presses even closer and you can’t help but notice how heavy it feels.

“Well, now I’ve gone and made you nervous.” His red eyes flash back at you in amusement, and you are now just noticing the slithering movement of shadows – the many dark tendrils that are winding their way slowly from behind his back and twisting toward you. “Perhaps…some assurance.”   

He hoists you so that your ass is still balanced on the headboard, but you are free from his hips.  Tentacles hurriedly slip from him and begin wrapping themselves around your waist and legs; holding you up and spreading your knees wider.

“How many parts of me can I fit inside of you…I wonder?” He muses, teasingly as one of the tendrils wiggles and waves in between you and him; just as another one is sliding up your upper thigh and its pointed end is prodding into swollen folds.  

You gasp at the cool and ticklish touch of it; feeling it explore you in an unfamiliar but exciting way.

Your heart rate climbs up again as you feel it pressing now against your sensitive entrance. Alastor is watching you process the anticipation of it entering you. When the tendril slides inside; you feel it undulating as it moves – feel it widening and shrinking as it presses itself further inward – stimulating your walls. You are more than a little wet, making it an easy thing for Alastor to slide two more tendrils in beside it. You rock back with a low moan, feeling his tentacles slowly reaching their way inside of you – stretching your walls and filling you up.

His eyes have left you; traveling down and watching how his appendages are penetrating you now – how they are wriggling and moving through you by your entrance.

He pushes the tentacles into you as deep as they’ll go; letting them undulate and thrash themselves about inside you before retreating them back and sending them rushing forward again, and again, and again. Each stroke is pulling breathy gasps from you, and you limply feel your body becoming more and more pliant.

He’s still greedily watching the tendrils fucking you and you can see the pre-cum beading at the slit of his purplish twitching tip. Seeing his growing arousal pulls a pitifully needful whining whimper from you. His long ears jerk toward you at the sound, his red eyes shifting back to your flushed face, and you see that the pupils within them have significantly widened.

He continues to fuck you with his tentacles, but he is stepping back into you now; his hands are moving, adjusting your legs. He shifts his hips and in one fluid motion one of the tentacles slides completely out from you while the other two retreat back – pulling at your entrance and your folds from both sides to create more of an opening – before he thrusts himself inside. You feel the two tendrils slipping out as he is driving in. Air rushes from your lungs; his girth is dragging against your walls, and those walls are clenching around him.

"Oh... that's....heavenly," his voice grates out from the back of his throat and you’re not sure if you ever heard words dripping with such sin. His eyes have transitioned from their glowing red to an almost pit-less black.  

He's slowly sinking into you, or you onto him; his shaft steadily traveling deeper. 

"A moment...if you, please." He pauses, ceasing all movement. His head is leaning back – your arms stretching with the tilt of his antlers – his eyes are closed as he breathes slowly, deeply. 

When he slowly opens them again, his eyes are not as blown out black as they were.

Slowly – shakily – you can feel your body relaxing around him. He tilts his head forward again and using his hands, he pulls your legs around his waist. As his tendrils are falling away, he’s got a firm grip on your ass with both hands, and you are solidly pinned between him and the wall. 

When he starts to move – shifting himself back and then pressing forward again - his length drives into you even deeper. There is no part of him that isn’t touching a sweet spot within you right now and the way that you start groaning with every jut of his pelvis is obscene. With each sharp thrust into you, he is sending you back into that dizzying elevated climb.  

You are just thinking how you are not nearly as sore as you could be when you first notice it; the sound – the absolute squelching that is coming from where your bodies are joined each time that he rocks himself in and then out. You notice that, and then you notice the coarse tickling of his curls against you with each connection that is made. There is a low groaning and scraping sound above you and you notice flecks of paint are falling on you now – the branches of his antlers scraping heavily into the wall. He begins to grunt; his own body becoming slick with sweat as his juts into you are becoming more urgent.  

When you come, even you can feel the gush of fluid that rushes from you – feel it dammed against his cock as it pulses out of you in spurts.

"Oh that's...lovely..." he manages to groan out before he’s over the edge with you; coming inside. He pumps himself out into you – his thrusts jerking, stuttering but slowing down now and you can feel him softening in you.

Before you have a moment to fully come down; he straightens himself – standing himself up to his full height and lifting his head – and lifting you. You’re not sure how he does it, but he easily walks himself back, away from the wall and you are quite literally hanging from his antlers as he slides his hands away from your ass.

Tentacles are wriggling and winding their way back to you; more of them than before – a lot more. They are curling and slithering to you from all directions now – creeping up your body and sliding coils around your torso and limbs. A few are slowly sliding themselves through your sweat-soaked hair; a couple are teasing and twisting around your nipples and one especially frisky one is slipping its way up the back of an upper thigh and pressing its tip between your cheeks. You buck your hips up; unprepared for the touch and Alastor laughs.

“One last round, I think.” He is chuckling, and out of breath. “I have gotten quite old, after all…”

Tendrils are securely wrapped all around you, supporting your weight, but even at that…you are exhausted. Your arms are shaking; your hands are cramped, and your palms are sweaty, and you know that you can’t take anymore. Your fingers are slipping and just as you try for one last attempt to find a better grip around the branches of his antlers, you feel a cool grip tighten firmly around both hands.

Surprised, you jerk your head up and see a dark wide, gaping maw smiling back at you – Alastor’s shadow is leant sharply away from the wall – your hands clenched in its fists, as it is holding you in place.

“I told you, darling” Alastor was growling in a low purr. “Rule number one is: you can’t let go.”

Oh, fuck…

Alastor starts moving and it is only then that you realize: he is still inside of you.

In long, slow, dragging strokes, he is fucking you with his cock again. Whilst this is happening, more tentacles are sliding in to tease you now.  One gently coils itself around your neck – the tip of it coming to the corner of your mouth – encouraging your lips to part so that when you do; it is tangling its tip with your tongue. Another – perhaps the one that was there before – is sliding and pressing into your ass; flicking its tip against the rim to your entrance and teasingly threatening to penetrate you there. Still, one other is slithering through the soft curls that is your pubic tuft – the tip of it sliding into your slit just enough that it is able to swirl against your sorely swollen clit.

All of this happening – completely overwhelming your system - and soon Alastor is pounding into you. You wouldn’t think it possible – that your body was capable of such stamina – but, you can feel yourself starting to build again.

Alastor slams himself into you; his back arching into the thrust. His pupils are blown out wide again and he is biting his lip. He’s on the brink of it and it’s very clear that this time he will be the first to come.

With a groan and a shudder; he thrusts himself deeply into you one last time. You feel him releasing inside of you and all at once your body feels like a live hotwire. Every sensation erupts into a fiery jolt of rising pleasure. Your coil tightens and you feel as if it must find some violent release or you will fall apart completely. A tendril tightens and twists against your breast and there is hot rod of vibration that plummets downward into your belly. The fire of it spreads quickly; engulfing everything in its path. A convulsive shudder runs through you, and you feel like your heart might just actually stop beating – again. When it reaches the core to your coil; everything within you ignites, sending you into the longest, most powerful orgasm you have ever experienced – you’re not even certain where it began or even where it ended.

But, end it did and when Alastor’s shadow slipped away, releasing your hands and returning to the darkness; you finally – shakily – released his antlers and let go.  

[sleepyjuice]

weed, sex, beach - jj maybank

summary: you and jj share a joint on the beach and have some good ol’ beach sex.

warnings: 18+!!! drug use (weed), semi public sex (there is no one around but it’s still in a public place), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, a lil praise kink.

wc: 2064

a/n: this is literally just filthy dirty smut. had me giggling and kicking my feet writing this. enjoy! <3

It was well past dusk, the only nearby light source being the moon which illuminated the dark waves that splashed onto the shore.

It was beautiful, this spot jj had taken you to. No one else around for miles, only you and jj occupying this little sliver of the beach that he claimed was a ‘hidden gem.’

It was, it was peaceful and you could get away from the congestion of your hectic lives for a bit.

“I like it here, jay.” You hummed, head on jj’s shoulder as you both sat on a beach towel, one and a half joints deep.

He flashed you a satisfied smile as he passed you the joint, his hand rubbing softly up and down your thigh.

You brought it to your lips and inhaled, holding it in a bit longer than usual as you decided this would be your last hit of the night, your eyes feeling heavy and your body loose.

“Atta girl. You done?” He asked, taking the now almost finished joint from you.

Nodding in response, you rested your head against his shoulder, watching the gentle waves move in front of you.

You loved moments like these. Just you and jj and the tranquility of the beach. All the drama this island brought was long forgotten when you got to experience this side of things.

jj finished off the last of the joint, putting it out in the sand below before slowly inching his fingertips up your thighs.

You instinctively opened your legs a bit, allowing him to go higher, a soft sigh leaving your lips. His light touch felt so much stronger and it felt like his fingertips held electricity.

“That feel good?” He whispered against your ear, and you hadn’t even realized you let out a quiet whimper, your mind a beat behind your body.

“Yeah, it does,” he answered for you, chuckling softly, his fingers now undoing the buttons on your shorts, “let me take care of you, pretty girl.” Your head fell back and off of his shoulder, your gaze finding jj’s face as he worked to undo your shorts and pull them off your legs, leaving you only in your shirt and bikini bottoms.

He cupped your pussy through the fabric, and this time you were well aware of the moan that fell from your lips, moving your head down to watch as he slipped a finger through, rubbing a slow line up and down your wet slit.

You didn’t miss the slick sound that his actions created, and neither did he, his dick now fully hard in his shorts as he began rubbing circles on your clit.

“You’re all wet for me, baby. Look at you.” He cooed gently, chuckling when you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate for more of him.

“Need you, jj.” You breathed, completely at his mercy.

Your words emitted a groan from him, his dick now painfully pressing against the seam of his shorts, begging to be released, to feel you.

“I know, sweet girl. Let me see you.” He moved his body so he was in front of you now, but not before he gently laid you down on the towel. Keeping his motions against your clit, he used his other hand to fully remove your bikini, sliding it down your legs.

You shivered as you were now fully exposed from the waist down, the soft ocean breeze hitting your wet pussy and bringing goosebumps to your skin.

He quickened his pace against your clit, your mouth falling open as you shamelessly grew closer to your high. It didn’t take much, the weed very much present in your system had your body feeling extra sensitive and after spending the whole night with jj, you were already fiending for him.

“I know, baby, I know, let go for me, yeah…” he urged you on, sensing how close you were without you having to say anything.

You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a loud moan, your eyes rolling back as you came, his fingers working you perfectly as you rode out your orgasm, thighs clenching and threatening to close due to how sensitive you were.

“Fuck,” you panted, reaching to grab jj’s wrist to pull it away from your now throbbing clit, the sensitivity too much.

He chuckled at your actions, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick up your arousal that had coated them.

“God…” you breathed, his sensual actions making your pussy ache for more of him.

“Need you to fuck me.” You spoke, not a care in the world.

“Yes, ma’am.” At that, he wasted no time undoing his shorts and pulling them off, the tent in his boxers present along with the wet spot that pooled just where his tip rested, precum leaking eagerly.

He quickly rid himself of his boxers, his hard cock springing free from its restraint and you swore your mouth was watering at the sight of him like this. His tip was slightly swollen, the moonlight gently illuminated his slick precum that was leaking down onto the base of his cock. He was perfect.

He spread your thighs a bit more, positioning his body between your legs, his hand pumping his cock slowly as he slid it teasingly against your leaking entrance and up to press against your clit, gathering your arousal and dampening his cock even more.

You whined at the feeling of him, not usually caring about his teasing actions, but right now, you needed him inside of you. Your pussy ached at the feeling of emptiness, his cock right there and so close to being inside of you had you ready to throw all of your morals away. You were so down bad for him.

“Eager, huh? You need this sweet pussy fucked good, huh?” He teased, lightly smacking his cock against your sensitive clit, a hiss falling from your lips at the feeling.

“jj, please, please.” You begged, not a care in the world. He loved this, though. He loved how much you needed him this way, and he certainly needed you, too. He ached for the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, but seeing you so desperate for him was one of the hottest things in the world.

“Shh, I got you, baby, I got you. Imma take care of ya.” He assured you, lining himself up with your entrance as he slowly pushed himself in, his mouth falling open at the feeling.

Your body accepted him immediately, taking little to no time to adjust to his cock, allowing him to bottom out almost immediately.

You moaned at the feeling, his tip pressed deep inside your pussy as he stayed still for a moment, relishing in the feeling.

His balls were pressed against your ass, both of you breathing heavily as you waited for him to move.

“Please-“

He pulled back swiftly, cutting you off as he began to finally thrust his cock into you, a loud gasp falling from your lips at his movement.

He found a good rhythm, his hand grabbing onto your thigh and lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he pounded into you.

He grunted with each movement, your pussy swallowing his cock perfectly, gripping him tightly as he fucked into your wet walls.

“Let me…” he grumbled, stilling his movements for just a second as he grabbed onto both of your legs, bending your knees and positioning you so your legs were bent and your knees were pressed up against your chest.

“Oh, fuck, yeah…” he groaned loudly as he began his movements again, this new position allowing him to fuck you even deeper, hitting parts of you he had never reached before.

You gasped, which quickly turned into a loud moan, reaching your hands up to hold onto his shoulders as he fucked you relentlessly, your tits bouncing beneath your shirt with each movement.

“You like it like this, baby? Like feeling me so deep inside of you?” He grunted, quickening his pace, his tip hitting your g-spot perfectly with each thrust.

“I- oh god, yeah, so good.” You panted, digging your fingers into the skin of his shoulders as if you were holding onto him for dear life.

His movements were hard and quick, and with each thrust you could feel his heavy balls smacking against your asshole, which only brought you closer to your end.

“Takin’ me so well, baby. You’re- you’re perfect, my perfect girl, this pussy is so perfect.” He praised you between moans, his breathing staggered as he attempted to speak through the euphoric pleasure that filled his entire body.

Your pussy clenched around him, hugging his cock tightly as he continued to fuck just the right spot inside of you.

“I’m close, oh fuck… jj- oh god, I’m close.” You whined, your heart rate picking up as you felt your lower stomach twist and tighten, your fingernails now pressing harshly into his skin.

“I know, baby, let go for me. Cum all over my dick for me.” He moaned hoarsely, his own cock twitching as he felt you tighten around him.

It didn’t take much more, his cock hit your g-spot once again, and that was it for you.

Your head fell back onto the sand, eyes rolled back as you came, your pussy clenching so hard onto his cock that it pushed him out, squirt gushing out of you and all over his cock and down his balls, some painting his shirt as well.

“Oh, fuuuckkk…” jj gaped, quickly grabbing his cock and shoving it back inside of you, continuing his previous movements as your pussy continued to flutter and clench around him.

You moaned so loudly, a straight up pornographic sound filling the air as you came, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you continued to ride out your high, the wet sounds of jj’s dick fucking into your soaking pussy was euphoric.

His now soaked balls were warm with your release, smacking against your ass once again, only heightening the sensation you were feeling.

“Fuck, baby, I’m ’bout to cum.” jj announced only a second before you felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt him fill you up with thick hot spurts of his cum.

He groaned loudly through his release, keeping a steady hand on your upper thigh so he wouldn’t slip out again, the mixture of both of your releases creating a wet mess between you.

“God, you’re so good, so so good.” He muttered as his thrusts slowed, both of your releases now leaking out of your pussy and down onto his balls before he eventually stilled inside of you, taking a moment to catch his breath as his dick slowly softened.

You were a panting mess below him, feeling properly fucked and full of his cum, your pussy clenching around his softening cock as it adjusted to not feeling as full anymore.

He eventually pulled out of you, thick globs of his cum pooling out of your pussy and onto the towel below you.

He leaned down to kiss your damp forehead, peppering a few slow kisses before kissing your plump lips sloppily, having to pull away as he was still working to properly catch his breath.

“That was so good, baby.” He smiled lovingly down at you, pulling up the corner of the towel to somewhat clean you up the best he could.

You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down on top of you, relaxing at the feeling of his body weight on top of you as you held him close, breathing in his scent. Ocean water, sweat, weed, sex and a hint of cologne he had put on hours ago.

“I love you so much.” You hummed, the serotonin from the sex and the weed pooling around in your brain. You couldn’t ask for anything more in life.

“I love you, too, baby.” He spoke against your skin, his legs intertwining with yours.

“Ugh, we have to walk all the way back.” You spoke after a moment, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your legs were jelly, that thought just about ruined the moment.

jj laughed loudly at that, shushing you with another kiss.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, baby. I got you.”

[pure-smut]

and they were roommates.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: roommate!Sukuna, only one bed, best friends to lovers, spooning s*x, unprotected s*x, slightly possessive!Sukuna, teeny mention of a fight/blood at the start

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

Ryomen Sukuna is, against all odds, your best friend. Yeah, he’s abrasive and antagonistic and - oh my god - so arrogant but the truth is, you’ve always felt safe with him.

The first day you met, a group of boys were bullying you on the playground, taunting you and pushing you to the ground. Sukuna stepped in, scaring them off, but told you he’s only going to rescue you once.

“You need to learn how to punch,” he said.

When you told him you didn’t know how, he taught you. True to his word, the next time the boys showed up, he watched from a distance. When your little fist connected with one of their noses, spraying a shock of blood across your hand, Sukuna clapped you on the back and declared you “cool”.

Years later, you went to college while Sukuna started working in a tattoo studio. Two broke twenty-somethings, you made the only sensible choice and moved in together as roommates.

At first, he was a barely-present roommate. He’d head out to the club and not return for days, dishevelled and hungover. You got used to finding him passed out on the sofa, chicken nuggets still in his hand, or stumbling in at 6am, trying and failing to be quiet.

It was never a problem – not until you started seeing someone.

You had warned him about your roommate but he still wasn’t prepared when you took him home to see Sukuna in his boxers, his tattoos on show, standing in the kitchen eating cheese straight out of the bag. It was a source of endless frustration for you that he can eat like a raccoon and still look like he’s chiseled from marble.

Your not-quite-boyfriend isn’t pleased.

“Why is he walking around in his underwear?” he asks gruffly once you manage to get him into your room.

“Because he lives here?” you sigh.

To tell the truth, you don’t want to talk about Sukuna. You’re horny, you haven’t been laid in months, and you just want to get to the point. So you pull him on top of you, pressing your mouth against his to shut him up.

Luckily, your distraction tactics work. His fingers don’t quite find your clit but he’s pretty keen so you lick your hand and rub it along your lips, wetting yourself for him. He might not be perfect but it still feels good when he pushes himself inside you.

The bed creaks as you fuck, rattling against the wall. You wish it was a sign of how good he is but, in reality, you just have a cheap, shitty bed frame. Which is why, after five minutes and just as he cums, you hear the crack of wood. You both freeze and a second later, the frame collapses against the floor.

“Holy shit,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “I must be good.”

You laugh nervously and push him off you. He’s already pulling on his pants, making it clear he’s finished even though you clearly aren’t. But you don’t have time to be annoyed – your fucking bed is broken.

Once you’ve shooed him out of the house, your return to your room to inspect the damage. The frame has completely snapped on two of the legs while the other two are bent awkwardly, half-broken. You thump a fist off the ground, groaning, before lying back on the floor in defeat. You press the palms of your hands into your eyes.

This is great, you think. Just fucking great.

You know you don’t have the money to replace it but you’re desperately doing the mental math anyway, checking and double checking how much you really need to eat in a week to survive.

You’re interrupted from your spiralling by a low whistle. You open your eyes to see Sukuna leaning against your door frame.

“That’s impressive.” He nods at the broken bed.

“No,” you sigh, pulling yourself up to sitting. “The frame just sucks. He wasn’t that good.”

“Oh, I know.” Sukuna shrugs and you narrow your eyes at him.

“How would you know that?”

“Dude, these are pretty thin walls.” Sukuna raps his knuckles off the wall as if to demonstrate. “I know what you sound like when you get yourself off. That guy didn’t even come close.”

Your mouth drops open and your cheeks burn.

“Sukuna, what the fuck?” You pick up a pillow and throw it at him. He bats it away with a laugh. “You’ve been listening?”

He rolls his eyes.

“It’s hardly listening when it’s right next to my head.”

“Oh my god…” You bury your face in your hands. “This night could not get any worse.”

Sukuna crosses the room and squats down next to you.

“Listen, forget that guy and forget the bed. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

You chance a peek from behind your hands.

“Really? You’ll fix it?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t be hard.” He shrugs and you’re not sure if he does actually know how to fix it or if it’s his arrogance shining through.

“But-”

“You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

You blink at him. Sukuna can be generous when he wants to be, usually when he’s in a good mood, but this is out of the blue. He must see how stressed you are. You beam at him.

“You’re offering your bed?” You ask and he nods. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

He scoffs.

“In the bed, obviously.”

Your face drops and you give him a flat look. You should have known he wasn’t that much of a gentleman.

“I thought you were giving me your bed.”

“I am.”

“Without you in it.”

“Hell no.” Sukuna stands and stretches. “It’s my bed.”

“We can’t share it!” you protest, rising to your feet as well.

“Why not?”

“It’s a single bed and you’re…” You gesture at him. “Huge. I won’t fit.”

Sukuna scoffs again.

“Stop being ridiculous. Just come on.”

Sukuna stalks out of your room and you trail behind him, giving one last mournful look at your broken bed. Damn you, you think before following Sukuna to his room.

Sukuna is surprisingly clean, despite eating like a garbage bin. His room is gaudy, overloaded with trophies from the sports he played in school, but at least it’s neat. You’ve definitely seen worse bedrooms from guys.

Sukuna strips off his t-shirt, leaving him down to his boxer briefs, and climbs into bed. You dither for a minute, tugging down the hem of your night shirt, knowing you’re naked underneath. It’s actually an old t-shirt of Sukuna’s that you borrowed and never gave back. It never bothered you before but now it feels weirdly intimate.

“Hurry up,” Sukuna calls, yawning.

“Ugh.”

You groan and take the plunge, slotting yourself into bed beside Sukuna. He rolls over so his chest is pressed against your back, his large hand on your hip. His body heat radiates off him like furnace and his chest feels like a slightly softer brick wall.

Annoyingly, he’s right – it’s definitely a tight fit but you can both squeeze into the single space. Admittedly, with less than an inch between you and the edge of the bed. You scoot back, pressing yourself tighter to Sukuna so you don’t fall off.

He tuts in your ear.

“Don’t get me worked up.”

“I’m not,” you huff. “I’m just trying not to fall out of this tiny bed.”

“Mhmm. A likely excuse.”

“Shut up.”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up your night shirt and resting on your bare hip, making you freeze.

“I don’t blame you,” he says, his voice low. “You didn’t finish tonight. You’re all worked up yourself.”

“Shut up,” you repeat but there’s no weight behind it.

You know you could bat away Sukuna’s hand if you want to, you know he would stop as soon as you told him. But you don’t. Again, he’s irritating but he’s right – you’re still horny from before.

Sukuna lazily traces circles against the bare skin of your hip with his thumb. For some reason, even that simple touch is making you wetter than the guy from earlier did. Maybe it has something to do with Sukuna’s bulge pressing against your ass, a promise of what you can have if you choose. Maybe it’s the confident stroke of his fingers playing at the line between friends and something more.

Maybe it’s because it’s Sukuna.

“Stop me anytime,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “If you want.”

“I know,” you whisper back.

Even with your permission, Sukuna doesn’t move straight away. His large hand slides up and down your hips, the callouses of his palms catching your skin and causing goosebumps to spring up your arms.

When Sukuna’s hand travels up under your shirt to your stomach, you suck in a breath. You’re glad you’re facing away from him so he doesn’t need to see the flush of your cheeks. He’s not even touching you anywhere sexual but each stroke of his finger feels intimate. Like he’s taking his time with you, exploring the parts of your body he’s never gotten to touch before.

Behind you, Sukuna buries his face in the nape of your neck, pressing teasingly soft kisses against your shoulder. You tilt your head back, giving him more access. Sukuna moves his hand up and up until his fingers brush against the soft underside of your breasts. Your back arches on instinct, craving more.

“I thought you’d be rougher,” you say and you surprise yourself with how breathless you are.

A puff of air escapes Sukuna’s nose.

“Oh, I will be, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your neck. “Don’t you worry.”

Sukuna palms your breast, massaging the soft flesh before rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You’ve always had sensitive nipples and the sensation makes a light moan escape your lips.

“Mmm, noted,” Sukuna says between kisses, lightly pinching your nipple to elicit another reaction.

He’s really working you up now. You push your ass back against him, grinding against the hardness you can feel through his boxer briefs. Your thighs slide off each other, slick with your arousal.

“Sukuna…” you whine and you feel his grin against your neck.

“What is it, princess?” he asks, still playing with your nipples. “What d’you need?”

“More. Please.” You’ve never begged for an orgasm before and you both love and hate how much control Sukuna has over you right now. “I need to cum.”

Sukuna hums, pretending to think it over.

“I like it when you say please,” he coos.

His hand trails down to your stomach again before stopping. He’s grinding back against you, his cock throbbing and needing some friction. You let out another needy whine – he’s so close to where you need him. Your clit is aching to be touched.

“Please, Sukuna,” you say, giving him what he wants. “Please make me cum.”

Hearing you beg him and whining his name is more than enough.

“Whatever you want, princess,” he whispers before pushing his hand lower.

Sukuna’s fingers find your clit and it’s an immediate hit of endorphins. You automatically spread your thighs slightly for him. Sukuna deftly strokes your sensitive bud, your arousal making it slippery and sweet to the touch. His other arm wraps around to continue playing with your nipples and your breathing quickly turns ragged.

Sukuna has to stop himself from moaning. Your pliant body pressed against him, his cock snug between your ass cheeks, and his name on your lips. He’s often wondered how you’d sound, how you’d feel, but nothing more than a fleeting thought. As soon as you got into his bed, something changed. You felt so right next to him. He couldn’t help himself.

Now he’s harder than he’s ever been before. Because it’s you.

You grasp at Sukuna’s thick forearm, feeling the muscles move as he plays with your pussy. You’re right at the edge and you know you’re about to cum. Your mind is clouded, too caught up to consider that you’re about to cum on your best friend’s fingers. You let yourself melt into it, into him, as he brings you to your climax.

“S-Sukuna-!”

It’s your best friend's name on your lips as your orgasm overcomes you, washing through your body and curling your toes. Sukuna works you through it, his touch softening but not letting up, not until you whimper and have to push his hand away, too sensitive to continue.

Sukuna cups your hip instead, one hand splayed on your breast, as he sucks gentle bruises on the soft skin of your neck. He waits for you patiently as your breathing slows, coming down from the high he gave you.

“Feel better?” he asks, not able to stop the smugness from leaking into his voice.

You want to say something snarky in response but your mind has gone blank, the strength of your orgasm wiping your mind clean.

“Yeah,” is all you can say, dazed.

“Ready for more?”

“I… I can barely feel my legs.” You huff out a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, princess, you don’t have to do a thing.” Sukuna smiles against your shoulder, reaching down to free his painfully hard cock. “Just lay there all beautiful for me, yeah?”

You nod, feeling his cock, solid and hard, slide between your slippery thighs.

“Yeah.”

At your permission, Sukuna slots his knee between your legs, hooking it behind his knee and pulling your legs apart. He reaches down to line his cock up with your entrance and you feel his fat tip pressing against your hole. When he’s satisfied you’re in position, his hand returns to your hip, keeping your ass flush to him.

“Ready, baby?”

“I’m ready.”

Sukuna goes slow, pushing in the first few inches, and has to clench his teeth to stop himself from moaning. Your back arches and his hand instinctively moves to your naked breast, the feel of it making his cock throb. He wasn’t lying when he said he would be rough – but not now. He needs you pliant first, needs to stretch you out for him.

Sukuna presses deeper, making you cry out. You’re wet enough for him but you didn’t realise how thick he would be. Sukuna whispers praises in your ear, his fingers teasing your nipples again. The idea of him playing with your most sensitive spots, making you as wet as possible so you can take his cock, is enough to make you dizzy with pleasure.

By the time Sukuna bottoms out, sealing you completely, your eyes have rolled back in your head. Every pinch of his fingers makes your pussy clench around him and you can hear his throaty moans. Sukuna wraps his other arm around your middle, holding you to him as he starts to pump his cock in and out of you, using his knee to keep your legs spread for him.

“Oh, god… Oh, fuck…” you gasp, each stroke tipping you closer to another orgasm.

After a few thrusts, once it’s clear you’ve stretched out to accommodate him, Sukuna stops holding himself back. He’s never felt jealous of the guys you brought home before but now he’s inside you, a wave of possessiveness overcomes him.

“This what you needed?” he growls in your ear, his grip around you almost crushing.

“Y-yes, Sukuna, “you gasp out.

He sets a brutal pace, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back inside you. You feel like a sex doll, held in place while he fucks you, using your pussy to pleasure himself. For some reason, that turns you on even more.

Sukuna buries his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of you as your hot, plush walls squeeze him so deliciously.

“This pussy belongs to me now,” he moans. “Gonna - ah – gonna fuck you so good you don’t want anyone else. Understand?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer out in between thrusts.

If you’re honest, you’d agree to anything right now. Sukuna’s cock drags against somewhere deep inside you, something that’s sending you hurtling over the edge.

“B-belongs to you, S-Sukuna,” you whine. “Only you.”

Sukuna’s never heard such sweet words. He moans, long and low, his cock throbbing as he explodes inside you. You reach your apex together, your pussy clenching like a vice grip around him as you cream on his cock, your nails digging into his forearm.

You both lie there, chests heaving. Even as Sukuna’s softening cock slips out of you, he makes no indication of moving. If anything, his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I meant it,” he eventually says, voice hoarse. “Did you?”

You manage to turn over, wriggling in his tight grip to face him. Sukuna’s pupils are blown out, sweat glazed across his brow. You press a soft kiss against his lips.

“I meant it.”

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[ladycaramelswirl]

A Dream Like You

Female reader x Aaron Hotchner

A/N: I did something… hormonal 💀 may delete later

summary: you and Aaron share a bed on a case. oh, also you’re both in love with each other and totally oblivious. And sexually frustrated 🫠

cw: Idk how ratings work but I’m pretty sure this is explicit. (sm*t?) No mention of Y/N! Also quite a bit of swearing, which is unusual for me.

A/N (main): this is my first time writing anything remotely sexual. It’s short! I was writing something completely different but it ended up as… idk what this is. Also I’m sorry for any typos. Enjoy 💀

————————————

You wake up to the most perfect warmth enveloping you. And the delightful smell of soap and a citrus scented laundry detergent. You sleepily bury your nose into the smell. Except the source of the smell is Aaron, who immediately startles awake at your movement, only to go completely still when he realises you’re the reason for the wonderful warmth pressed against him. He tries to move away but you pull him closer, pushing your breasts against his chest and your leg between his thighs, dangerously close to his now extremely hard cock.

You move against him in your sleep, rocking against his sensitive underside, causing him to moan. This was bad. So bad. He really needed you to wake up. 

“Hey”, he whispers.

“Mmm”, you mumble into your bedmates neck. “It’s so nice here. Don’t want to get up”. 

God you were killing him. He tries to move away, not wanting to disturb your much needed sleep, but you just hold onto him tighter. Were arms supposed to feel this good?

“Please wake up”, he pleads. You needed sleep, but if you kept rubbing against him, he was going come, and then things would be very very uncomfortable. He tries to shake you awake but you rock your hips against him again. 

“Fuck”, he hisses, pleasure rushing through him. Your sleepy mind finds immense satisfaction at his voice and starts moving against him harder. 

“Oh God”, he chokes. 

“You feel so good baby”, you whisper in his ear. You throb with desire. “I need you”, you whine, the friction from your movement sending you into a state of bliss. God you’ve never had a sex dream this good.

Aaron feels his heart race with your movement but it’s your words that cause him to get harder. How was he supposed to forget how you called him baby? He tries to shake you off. 

“You need to wake up. I-“, his words are cut off by an uncontrollable gasp of pleasure that escapes him. 

You feel desperate for the feeling of him inside you. “Fuck me. Please fuck me”, you beg. It takes all of Aaron’s willpower to push you off of him and he jams a pillow between you. He immediately gets on his feet, needing to get away from you. You let out a disappointed whimper and that’s all he can take before he rushes into the bathroom. He turns the water on in the shower before stepping under it, trying to get the cold water to cool him off. But nothing is helping. He wraps his fingers around his hard shaft, slowly moving it up and down. He grits his teeth together, the memory of your words making it almost impossible to not vocalise his pleasure, but you were still asleep and if you woke up, he’d have to explain why he was so flushed. So he tries his best to be quiet. Your voice plays in his head - “you feel so good baby”. He strokes himself faster. “I need you”. His knees buckle in pleasure. “Fuck me. Please”. His mind goes blank as he experiences an euphoric climax and his legs shake as his gratification covers the bathroom tile. Fuck. He’s never got himself off that fast. Shit. He just fucked himself thinking about you. He immediately feels a surge of guilt. He is your boss. He is not supposed to feel this way about you. And you had thought you were sleeping. He has no excuse for his behaviour. He towels himself off and checks his watch for the time. 4am. It’s too early to get up but he cannot get back into bed with you there so he gets dressed. He leaves a note explaining that he’s gone to the precinct to work on the case and that you should join later with everyone else, then quietly slips out of the room.

The sound of the door closing stirs you from your sleep. You reach for your nightstand to check your watch, but find nothing. The panic of being in a strange room makes you sit up and you remember that you’re in a hotel room on a case. You reach to the right for your watch again only to realise you’re not on the side of the bed you slept on. And that you’re alone but you hadn’t been when going to bed. You notice the note on his nightstand. Of course he was already up at 4am. Unless you had kicked him out of bed by rolling onto his side? Oh God, you hope not. And why did you feel so… sensitive? You notice the pillow between your thighs. You recall your dream, and his sounds of pleasure, groaning in frustration and burying your face in the pillow. Only you’re overwhelmed by the smell of Hotch. It’s enough to have you throbbing again. You’d just had a sex dream of your boss. While in bed within him. Why couldn’t you be attracted to anyone else? It was so embarrassing. And completely inappropriate. You had to pull yourself together. But you felt a desperate ache between your thighs. And the smell of him was overwhelmingly good. Before you can really think about what’s happening you bring one hand to your breast, palming yourself through your shirt and slip your other hand into your sleep shorts, rubbing your sensitive nub. Were dreams supposed to be that vivid? The memory of his body against yours has you imagining your fingers are his. You slip one finger inside, then two. His would be so much thicker, so filling. You throb against your digits at the thought. You can almost hear his moans. You fuck yourself harder. God it feels so good. 

“Yes Aaron”, you pant, and you’re not sure if you’re thankful that he’s not here. You pinch your nipples as you swipe at your sensitive bundle of nerves and suddenly remember the sound of him whimpering. It’s enough to make you see white. Your orgasm rips through you and you’re soaked in sweat by the time you come down from your high. You stare at the ceiling, contemplating when you’ve ever had an orgasm that good. Never.

You were so fucked.

———

A/N P.S. : I hope you liked it! should I post the writing that inspired this? It’s pretty much the opposite of this - far away from smut land and very much the capital of pining city. It’s much more my usual style. Anyway let me know what you think :)

Masterlist

[vaguely-concerned]

I think there is no better illustration of the more intimate, internal angle veilguard chooses to approach its characters and themes with than the fact that like... listen in this game we get to follow so much pain back to its source, and we find it really does permeate everything in thedas today on a level that evokes a kind of cosmic horror. the bones of the earth itself are broken open and drenched in trauma; the world is mired in suffering down to the core and the marrow. as above, so below. as outside, so inside. on the big scale, and the small. all of creation is a throat gone to bloody shreds from screaming in agony, when you allow yourself to listen. (maybe that's why we usually don't, or can't, bring ourselves to listen.)

...and yet the thing that makes me personally so desperately gnaw-my-own-arm-off sad that it feels like I could die from it is that in a run where you save minrathous, lucanis never gets out from the ossuary in his mind. what's worse, no one even knows he's in there. he's still in there. and there is no rescue on the way, because he's locked down so deep inside himself this time that there's no way for anyone to even understand there's a need for it. would he be able to welcome one, if someone did realize it and tried to reach him? You know him -- you can open the door, but he won't walk through. He won't move. There's nowhere to go. the way he says 'it doesn't matter what I want' with such utter, leaden, final resignation in the wrecked treviso cutscene is going to haunt me forever. it makes perfect sense to me you can't romance him after that, I'm not sure he's ever really here completely in that version of events, at least within the timeline the game takes place. he's just standing in the shitty awful ossuary torture room all alone, and no one's coming to find him.

and what is that, next to the millennia of suffering screaming through all of history and creation? well. nothing, of course, not really. a single plucked string in an endless deafening symphony of despair. one singular trapped and broken soul among the untold millions that have gone before and the untold more that will surely come after, that are being made as we speak in the conflicts and tragedies unfolding through the game. but more importantly it's also everything. to me. and to the game too. the game says this also matters. just as much as anything else, this pain matters and deserves to be loved and comforted. even in the face of all the suffering in the world, beneath the systems perpetuating all the banalities of evil, for good or for ill sometimes, we matter to each other. and what would be the point of anything, if we didn't? that's where hope lives. as long as you're alive, the right key might still arrive to gently open the locks of your mind, the right hand might reach out one day and you will bring yourself to take it. you don't know what tomorrow's going to be. if in the meantime the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other -- isn't that enough? isn't that everything? why does this one guy saved mean the world saved to me, a little bit? hello. hello. hello. there's stuff going on in the deep here.

when I say that the deep thematic spine of this game is so good and solid that the occasional clumsiness and false tones of the writing on top of it simply cannot hurt me... I think this is part of what I mean. works for every single one of the characters of course! lucanis' is the predicament that speaks to me most viscerally. for. uh. personal reasons there simply is no time to get into at this juncture lol. but just as much the idea that davrin can die before he could see the world freed from the blight and the need for wardens, or that harding can get cut down right at the beginning of a great revelation that could change everything and heal things no one had even dreamed could be healed. all of them are like this. each and every one of us has a world and so many stories inside that matter, and it's not to dismiss the larger systemic forces and evils that create so much of the suffering in the world to focus in on that for one installment of the series -- only to view it from a different angle that brings other things to light than what we're looking for normally in this series. it's worth looking at what's actually here.

(have you ever heard the poem 'good light' by andrea gibson? it's very good. you should check it out if you haven't, you can find it on youtube. it has these lines:

Come make it count Our finding each other like we found God Come root for the salt Come believing we can heal it all, even everything Even everything that has ever been done I know how much the pain of this world weighs But I can still tip the scales in light's direction Whenever I have your name on my tongue

and yeah. I think that's basically what I'm trying to say here.)

[astarion-obsessions]

I think not enough people understand that Astarion doesn't want you to be his main or only source of blood. This even stands in direct contrast to what he really wants to achieve with biting Tav. Let me explain.

Why Astarion doesn't want you to be his blood bag

Let me start with explaining how I approached this topic. First of all, when I triggered the bite scene in my playthrough, I obviously let Astarion drink from my Tav. But then I got curious. What happens when I don't stop him? He's said I could trust him just a moment ago, didn't he? So I did just that, I trusted him literally with my life. 

Aaaand... he killed me. Well. What did I expect from a vampire, really. But that he actually drained me dry broke my heart. I really wanted to trust him, to reach out and show him that I didn't judge him for what he was and so on. I was really disappointed in him and couldn't quite grasp why he would do this. Was it a conscious decision? Did he lose control? Surely he would apologise and explain everything to me once someone resurrected me, returning the trust I was giving him the night prior, right?... right?

Of course not. The dialogue after him killing Tav was... at least as disappointing as him killing Tav in the first place. He shows his usual attitude, apologises half-heartedly and then just keeps going on with talking about draining the occasional bandit. He even snaps when you mention the topic of him feeding after that with something like "I already apologised, what more do you want?".

There's no real regret, no emotions. He simply doesn't care.

We know that he didn't care in the beginning, he tells us as much when he confesses his unwanted, growing feelings towards Tav in act 2. But still the whole bite scene didn't sit right with me until…

The Nightmare 

I randomly stumbled upon a clip of Astarion having a nightmare, so I researched about it and even started an Astarion run to experience it myself. So, if you play as Astarion, at the second long rest of act 1 he has a nightmare about Cazador, in which he recites the rules that defined how Astarion and the other spawn had to live:

First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures. 

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. 

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. 

Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine. 

However Astarion reacts to this dream, he jolts awake afterwards and instinctively panics that he needs to find a way back to his master as soon as possible. His eyes set on his companions, who are sleeping / meditating peacefully around the fire, and then a thought passes his mind.

He could try to break one of Cazador's rules right then and there. He's able to stand in the sun, to bathe in running water, so maybe…

And that's why he decides to bite a companion. Astarion wakes up utterly terrified of what his master will do to him if he doesn't return to him in an instant - and he knows all too well what kind of horrors would await him if he so much as dares to think about rebelling again (read about that here) - so he is in desperate need of confirmation that he is now able to withstand and actively break the rules that have dominated his life for two centuries.

He needs to know that he is able to drink the blood of a thinking creature. And there they are. His clueless companions served on a silver platter. It's like an invitation to him, to test his boundaries. And who would be more fitting than the good hearted leader of the party Astarion wanted to (or already has) seduce(d) anyway?

This piece of information shed a whole new light on the bite scene. But let's look a bit closer at that. 

The Bite Night 

The very first thing Tav registers about what's going on with Astarion that night is him baring his fangs right above us, about to sink them into our flesh. He pulls back as soon as we open our eyes, retreating immediately until there's a safe distance between him and Tav. 

This may be the first time Tav gets to know that Astarion is a vampire, so he gets defensive and tells us that he's never killed a person for food, only animals. But then, instead of letting the idea of feeding on Tav go, he insists that animals aren't enough. 

But it's not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so weak. 

If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please. 

Then he goes on, literally pleading to get what he wants while putting on a sad expression in the end, even averting his gaze. 

And if we now have in mind that he just woke up from a nightmare about Cazador, feeling powerless and in desperate need of even a glimpse of hope that he might escape Cazador's cruel grip, his lines make a lot of sense. He's veiling the truth, of course, but not all of what he says is a lie. 

He indeed feels weak - powerless in fact - so drinking Tav's blood (the blood of a thinking creature) could prove that he may have regained a bit of power over himself, which had been exclusively reserved for Cazador the last 200 years. This would absolutely make him feel stronger, more confident than he's felt for a long, long time. 

And he indeed could think clearer after tasting Tav's blood, because this would bring clarity to the question if he is now able to break Cazador's rules on purpose and therefore give him information to work with when he needs to think about what to do next. 

Right after this, we get the chance to push into Astarion's mind, and if we do this, we can see what he thinks about. 

His mind opens up, revealing cracked and quivering memories. At their heart, you see dark eyes, commanding you to feed. 

You open your mouth and bite down. Not into a tender neck, but in the twisting body of a rat - the only thing your master lets you eat. 

He recalls the memory of how his master used to force him to eat disgusting vermin. As his memory is told, we can clearly see how deeply this affects him, for he can't keep up his walls of defensiveness and detachment. They just crack, crumble and reveal his misery clearly for Tav to observe. When we ask him about it directly afterwards, he first seems to search for a way out - a witty remark, anything - but gives up almost immediately. And he looks and sounds just completely defeated and tired, confirming what Tav just saw in his mind. 

He goes on with talking about trust. I think here he's seeing a chance to gain Tav's sympathy. If he already reveals such delicate information about his past, he can as well make use of it. So he appeals to Tav's understanding, offering us that this past is the reason for him only trusting Tav slowly. But then he immediately adds that now he trusts Tav, and that in return Tav can trust him, too. 

What he does here is displaying himself as pitiful, gaining Tav's sympathy, then seemingly going out of his way and saying that despite all he does trust Tav, which puts Tav in the position to follow suit with returning the trust… which Astarion definitely lied about on his part. But that's what he does. Manipulating. 

If we then respond with "You tried to bite me. How can I trust you?" instead of assuring us of his trustworthiness with more manipulation, he gets frustrated. 

Because we don't have a choice! Not if we're going to save ourselves from these worms. 

But he goes on with masking his reasons, even if he gave us a hint right in the beginning of act 1 when we picked him up, where he said that he would rather control the tadpole instead of removing it. If we play as Astarion, it gets clear pretty fast that he holds onto the tadpole, because it seems to be the only thing that had been able to "save" him from Cazador whilst no one and nothing else even attempted to help him for two centuries. Of course he would not want to get rid of the tadpole just like that. But he says so nonetheless to align with Tav's goals and display himself as useful. 

And then he does something interesting. 

I need you alive. You need me strong. 

Please. Only be a taste, I swear. I'll be well, you'll be fine, and everything can go back to normal. 

In the beginning of this conversation he mentioned he needed the blood to fight better. Now he takes up on this by saying that Tav needs him strong, hinting on him getting stronger after having a taste of Tav's blood. And then he promises that after this "everything can go back to normal", which right now means Astarion feeding on animals again. 

A few things about this are odd. 

Firstly, "only be a taste". Everyone, literally everyone has heard about the insatiable hunger of vampires. So how is it supposed to work that Astarion gets stronger from just a taste of Tav's blood? For how long? A few hours? Not nearly long enough to pose a real advantage, eh? For me this makes no sense. And if we think about his true intentions - wanting to find out if he can break Cazador's rule - just a taste would be absolutely enough. (And after he bites Tav without killing them, he even says that he needs something more filling!) 

Secondly, if Astarion really wanted to become stronger with the help of Tav's blood, why would he promise to go back to normal afterwards? He just offered Tav a stronger companion but then immediately nullified this argument by literally saying that this will be a one time arrangement. 

Thirdly, he subtly offers a bargain. "You give me your blood, I will be a stronger fighter for you." He did so in the beginning as well, repeating it with different words. And it fits his character very well to do so, because for all he knows everything comes with a price. He almost gets beaten to death and Cazador mercifully comes to his rescue? The price is a never ending life of torment and abuse. Astarion helps a potential victim for Cazador to flee? The price is a year of starvation, locked up in a dusty and dark tomb without knowing if it will ever find an end. Mindflayers rescued him from Cazador, (passively) granting him to possibly be free of him at last? The price is becoming a tentacled monster in the end. 

If we then allow him to bite us, he's visibly surprised about our graciousness, but of course doesn't let this chance slip and suggests getting comfortable instantly. Then he finally gets to sink his teeth into Tav's neck. This part of the scene can more or less be viewed from both sides - Astarion's and Tav's. 

He begins to feed on Tav and after a bit we can decide to interrupt him, but have to pass an ability check first. This repeats a second time when playing Tav, and even if it's only one AC when we play Astarion and decide to bite a companion, it still aligns, showing that Astarion seemingly loses himself in the taste of Tav's blood - which is very likely because (as he later tells us) we were the first humanoid he's ever fed on, so it's imaginable that Tav's blood must be tasting almost divine to him. 

This theory is supported by his actions after we fail the first AC or just let him continue. He grabs the back of Tav's head to pull them towards himself, emphasising on how greedy he is sucking the blood out of Tav. The camera even uses the exact same angles before failing or skipping the first AC and after, so the comparison is easy and the difference is clear:

If we then fail or skip the next AC, Astarion just drains us dry… And it gets even better after the bite night. 

The Morning After 

When Tav gets revived and then talks to Astarion, he is visibly surprised to see us, after he left the dead body of Tav behind with saying "Oh no, something terrible has happened". Sure Astarion, something… 

All of this happens when Astarion still doesn't care for Tav. He reacts with panic when we confront him with the fact that he literally killed us, and just manages to get his expression under control after a few seconds. I mean, just look at him:

'Killed' feels like a strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour. 

He definitely knows what he's done, and that 'killed' is indeed the right word for it, he is just very very bad at coping with guilt (which is amazingly analysed by thelikesoffinn - definitely read this, you'll understand Astarion so much better after this). 

He instantly lays the focus on our codependency again, that we need each other and so on. If we question why we should keep him around, he answers with:

A strong, well-fed vampire? I'm a powerful weapon - you'd be a fool to toss me aside now. 

With mentioning this, he wants to make sure that Tav will let him stay by their side and therefore grant him protection. 

But more importantly he continues:

Anyway, last night was an aberration. It will never happen again. 

He doesn't even start with something like "Next time I'll be more careful" or anything similar. He straight up says that it will never happen again. Period. If we then ask who he will feed on next time he gets hungry, he presents the idea of feeding on villains and bandits "who need killing anyway". And this is exactly what he wants. This even shows in his reaction to Tav's response to his suggestion.

If we agree and therefore allow him to feed on our enemies ("Sounds good. Glad we could agree"), this is how he reacts:

As am I. I'm starting to feel a little peckish already. 

This itself doesn't sound all too enthusiastic, but we get his approval up, which definitely shows that he very much likes that Tav agreed. 

On the contrary, if we suggest he can feed on Tav, ignoring his will wish to feed on villains ("Look, I'm not against you feeding on me, but only if we talk about it first"), this is his reaction:

Of course! This sounds eminently reasonable. 

I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. 

Doesn't sound too bad either, eh? But we don't get his approval. He doesn't disapprove, of course, because this is still a thousand times better than what he had until then, but still not what he really wants… 

So, what does all of this mean for the initial question? 

Conclusion 

The crucial point here is what it means for Astarion to feed on Tav. The only things he remembers since Cazador turned him, are being relentlessly dominated and horrifyingly abused. The things Astarion wants the most are to be safe and to finally have control over himself again. 

He bit Tav for the sole purpose of finding out if he can be free of Cazador's rules. So why would he jump right into being dependent on Tav? He suggests to feed on villains, because then he is free of anyone's mercy. He doesn't need to rely on Tav to graciously allow him to get a drop of blood. He can do this himself now. 

This is such an important step for his character growth, to find the way to his autonomy again, so if we only allow him to feed on Tav, it instantly sets him back into old habits of bowing to his masters words - or in this case Tav's. Because it's all hes been doing for the last two centuries of his life. 

So, as much as the thought of the self-sacrificing offer to be his personal blood bag may seem romantic or whatever, it's actually the exact opposite, trapping Astarion in what he desperately tries to escape from. The restrictions that come with someone dominating him mentally and physically. And as I mentioned earlier, he doesn't believe in the goodness of people. For him every "kind" act has a price and he likes to know what he has to pay, so he wouldn't even want to just drink Tav's blood without Tav getting anything out of it. He would most certainly expect Tav one day to come around with something he doesn't want to give or do, so he wants to control such situations beforehand. 

All he wants is to make his own decisions and be free in every way possible… 

So please just let him drain some bandits, will ya? 

[prythianpages]

Too Good To Be True | Lucien x Reader

...you're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...

summary: in which your newest muse catches you red handed.

word count: 1,600

a/n: I do struggle writing Lucien but I had seen this tiktok and wanted to write a meet-cute over it and when I saw this fanart above made by IG user kri_stasss_, I took this as a sign lol. I also listened to the song can't take my eyes off of you like 100x while writing this.

With a sigh, you lean back into your seat, allowing your eyes a break. You had been sitting at the corner of the bustling cafe for over an hour, choosing to surround yourself with Velaris’s warmth and the smell of coffee in the hopes to finally draw something.  But your sketchbook is spread open on the table with a half-finished drawing.

You look at the view before you, the Sidra River shimmering like pure sapphire under the sun’s gaze. The leaves of surrounding trees rustling gently in the soft spring breeze and flowers vibrant hues adorn the riverwalk. It’s a beautiful sight–one that many stop and admire. Yet, it is not enough to fuel the inspiration you so desperately need.

The flowing water and distant laughter of children blend into a soothing symphony as you absentmindedly twirl your pencil between your fingers, thoughts drifting. Send me a muse, you plead to the Cauldron, yearning to feel that thrill again.That spark that ignites your passion of drawing. The very one that moves your hand effortlessly across the paper.

The sound of iron against pavement startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. You blink your eyes back into focus and instinctively, they land on the source of the noise. The table diagonal from you, that had been vacant for the past hour, now has an occupant. An occupant who is blocking your view of the Sidra River, the very one that is half drawn across your sketchbook.

But you can’t bring yourself to complain.

Not when there is a man of striking beauty seated there. 

His mere presence commands your attention, his red hair catching the sunlight and gleaming like fire. You feel your breath catch in your throat as your eyes trace the elegant lines of his face. Brutal scars mar the left side of his face–from his brow all the way down to his jaw. 

Despite this, the male is devastatingly handsome. Ethereal. 

Too good to be true, you think, finding yourself captivated by his eyes. His right eye, whole and russet-colored, holds a depth that draws you in. But his left eye…His left eye is a mechanical marvel, golden and intricate, and gleaming with an otherworldly light.  

And suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to touch him. To reassure yourself that he is real and not just a figment of your imagination. Gods, with a face and built body like his, he’d be heaven to touch…

A rush of excitement floods your veins and you feel a familiar thrill coursing through you. Your hands are turning the pages of your sketchbook until a blank page sits before you. And before you know it, you’re pouring your awe and fascination into each stroke of your pencil. Your eyes flicker up and down as you commit the details to mind, heart pounding every time with the fear of being caught. 

Though you're cautious about it, you’re too lost in his eyes to catch the way the male’s lips curve slightly upwards.

**

Lucien takes the last sip of his coffee, admiring the sight before him. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in twilight hues and dancing across the Sidra River. Along the riverwalk, Fae stroll leisurely. Couples walk hand in hand, children skipping along the cobblestone path, pausing to catch the fireflies that are now visible in the dimming light.

Velaris was proving to be more beautiful with each passing day—a sight he’d never expected from a place like the Night Court. All his life, he had only come to know the Court of Nightmares. A place that truly lived up to his name. And though there were children laughing and running freely, he couldn’t help but still be wary of the City of Starlight. It was still part of the Night Court, after all.

His eyes scan along the riverwalk, golden eye making a soft sound as it moves, in search of something. Or rather, someone. Just as a frown is about to settle on his face, he finds what he was searching for. The reason why he was at this cafe…despite the fact that the best espresso in town was at a little coffee shop in the Rainbow of Velaris.

You.

You are sitting at a bench, knees drawn up and a sketchbook nestled onto your lap. As the sun continues to make its descent, the street lamp near you croaks to life. It bathes you in its soft glow and he is able to appreciate the slight furrow of your brow, the slight way your lips purse in concentration. He wants to know what you're drawing.

Ever since he caught you staring at him at this very cafe, he had an inkling as to what may be hidden within those pages of your sketchbook. He had meant to approach you about it but you had been so into your sketch, he found the sight endearing and feared disrupting you. 

So he had left you to it and showed up to the cafe the next day at the same time in the hopes of seeing you again and he did. That time, your gazes had met and though it had been brief, it felt everlasting. He remembers the way your cheeks tinted with blush before you turned your head away, flustered at being caught. If only you had seen the way he had smiled softly to himself afterwards.

It’s been days since that incident. Though he didn’t find you in that same spot the day after, he came to the conclusion that this was your favorite area to frequent in Velaris. It slowly became his too, his eyes always finding you amongst the busy riverwalk. 

Lucien had never been the shy type–at least, not when it came to pursuing people he was interested in. He had just been waiting for the right time–for the right moment to talk to you. And as you closed your sketchbook with a light exhale, his heart fluttered as he realized what better time than now.

**

Calling it a night, you close your sketchbook with a soft sigh. The sun had been replaced by the moon and the street lamp’s light was too dim for your liking to continue you drawing. You feared messing up what you had meticulously spent hours on. As you rise from the bench and turn to make your way back home, you bump into a smaller frame than yours, the sketchbook in your hold falling from your grasp.

“Sorry, miss!” A lively voice chirps and when you look toward the source, the small child is already far away from you. Kids, you muse to yourself as you turn back around.

Your breath catches in your throat. Standing right in front of you is the male who has become your muse.

But he’s not looking at you.

No, he’s looking at the sketchbook on the ground. Your heart skips a beat, heat rising to your face. The sketchbook had opened to the pages you've been working on—the ones with multiple sketches of his eyes.

You’re frozen in horror, watching as he studies your work. None of you say anything for a moment. It’s when his gaze lifts to yours that you spring into action. “Oh,” you gasp, beginning to bend your knees to gather your belongings. You're absolutely mortified, praying to the Cauldron he can’t hear how fast your heart is racing.

“I’m so sorry.”

Before your hand can reach for your sketchbook, another hand beats you to it.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice deep and enchanting, causing your hand to freeze in midair. There seems to be a magnetic pull in his words, a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. Is there anything about this male that is not attractive?

“I’ve never seen the beauty of my eyes until now.”

The words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them. “You’re joking, right?”

He’s knelt before you, his hand hovering over your book. But instead of picking it up for you, he grasps for your hand instead. It’s warm and calloused yet feels so good against yours. Like heaven. His eyes finally meet yours, holding you captive. He slowly brings your hand to his lips, and you don’t think you’re breathing as he presses his lips against your skin.

“No,” he grins as he rises to his full height, using his free hand to grab your sketchbook before bringing you with him. “I’m Lucien.”

It takes you a moment to realize he is waiting for you to speak, his presence overwhelming but exhilarating.

“I’m—” you clear your throat to steady your voice. “I’m y/n.”

“y/n,” Lucien repeats with a smile, finally handing you over your sketchbook.

You take it, immediately clutching the book tightly to your chest and avert your gaze, casting it downwards. “I promise I’m not a creep. I was drawing the Sidra–well, attempting to, anyway. But then you came along, blocking my view and something came over me. You see, I’ve been struggling with artist block and your eyes–your eyes are so pretty”--and under your breath, you mutter–” All of you is, if I’m going to be honest…”–Lucien’s smile widens at that–”and I finally felt inspired–oh gods, I’m rambling. I should just shut my mouth.”

Lucien’s russet eye twinkles with amusement. “I inspired you?”

“Yes,” you answer quietly and bashfully.

“Then perhaps,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “I should let you inspire me as well.”

Slowly, you lift your head back up, meeting his eyes once more. A wave of relief surges through you as you find nothing but sincerity and shared interest in his gentle gaze. You find yourself mirroring his smile, and something warm blossoms in Lucien’s chest—the start of something beautiful.

And he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the Night Court isn’t so bad after all.

a/n: okay, that's enough Lucien for now. Can't keep letting him distract me because I need to focus back on the other Vanserra *cough* Eris *cough*

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Kiyoomi Sakusa General Profile

Yandere! Kiyoomi Sakusa x fem!reader

TW: kidnapping, stalking, drugging, controlling behavior, Kiyoomi is secretly a wee bit of a misogynist, he makes a few comments about Reader's weight but there's no explicit descriptors, allusions to reader purposefully hurting themself, reader suffers a minor concussion but it was an accident, implied noncon, mentions of physical abuse, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Considerate

Kiyoomi is not an especially generous person. He’s civil, sure, and adheres to social customs enough to not be considered too rude, but he’s never really understood the need to stick out one’s neck at the expense of others.

And so Kiyoomi is equal parts intrigued and frustrated by a darling who’s empathetic and cognizant of others’ desires and wants. He thinks it’s admirable, if not a bit naïve, but it’s not until they stick their neck out for him that he really begins noticing them.

It’s small things – offering him the package of communal sweets first so that he can have the first bite, their smile seeming too big when they tell him that they know he hates when other people touch his food first. It’s the way they always ask about his day, asking about specific details when his blanket statement of fine doesn’t seem to be enough.

(And specifically, it’s the way they ask about how he felt, rather than simply what he did. It makes him pause and think, glancing at them like they’re crazy, but finding himself slightly intrigued because he can’t remember the last time someone had asked about his feelings.)

It irritates him, more than anything, but as his friendship with them grows, Kiyoomi finds himself almost growing protective over how invested his darling is in others. It’s dangerous to be so selfless, don’t they know?

They’re practically asking to be taken advantage of, and while Kiyoomi tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care in the beginning, it becomes harder and harder to maintain that air as his feelings slowly begin festering.

It’s just a sign of stupid kindness, he thinks, but it nonetheless draws him in, desperation to be seen by his darling insatiable.

Smart

Unfortunately, Kiyoomi is a bit of a snob. And although his profession isn’t exactly academic, he still likes to think of himself as a man with decent taste, or at least someone with a good head on his shoulders. And so, having a darling who is equally as intelligent is something that Kiyoomi absolutely must have.

He can’t tolerate a ditzy partner, finding himself growing too irritated to stand being around them. Instead, he needs a darling that’s quick-witted, perhaps even snarky like him to match his wit and challenge him intellectually.

Despite what proves to be a distinctly possessive and controlling edge in his relationship with his darling, he does truly find their intellect and ability to think for themselves wildly attractive.

(He limits this, of course, feeling that his thoughts and feelings are ever so slightly better for his darling’s wellbeing, but it’s still a significant source of where his attraction is stemming from.)

And because Kiyoomi needs to have been friends with his darling for a significant period of time before his infatuation fully settles in, his darling needs to be smart enough for him to feel like they’re an equal in a platonic, friendship-based setting.

They don’t need to be a genius, but Kiyoomi respects those who are inquisitive and able to foster a healthy curiosity about the world around them. It’s sweet, and while he’s never given much thought to having kids (because while he feels he’d be a decent father, he’s not sure if he could handle having such disgusting things latching onto his leg or drooling over his shoulder), the mother of his children absolutely must have a good sense of judgement and wits about her.

It’s just so appealing to him, and even as his obsession festers and grows, eventually trapping his darling away, he still expects to see that fire in their eyes, loving the way they seem to understand what he’s thinking without him even needing to say it.

Flexible

Because Kiyoomi is so particular, in order to develop a friendship with him, his darling needs to be flexible. They need to be able to understand his preferences, and understand that he’s moody.

A stubborn darling that butts heads with him will only lead to Kiyoomi growing frustrated, and instead he’d prefer someone who’s more complacent with his own desires. It’s a trait that Kiyoomi is a bit embarrassed to say he finds attractive, if only because it’s an admission of knowing that he can be difficult to be around, but the comfort that his darling provides for him in this aspect is one that makes his feelings grow exponentially.

He wants to feel comfortable and cared for in their presence, and a darling that’s willing to do whatever he would prefer not only soothes his anxieties, but it spoils him in a way that makes his heart flutter, his cheeks blooming ever so slightly pink and his palms clamming up a bit.

It’s just so very sweet, and it leaves him feeling only more eager to be in their presence, desperate to spend every waking moment he can with them.

And as his infatuation continues, this is a key trait that allows his feelings to fester and grow to the degree of feeling constantly on edge without his darling in his sight.

He’s able to insert himself into their life more easily this way, able to control every aspect of their life, keep them away from potential suitors, keep them looking at him and him only.

Clean

This one isn’t as imperative, but similarly to matching his intellect, Kiyoomi appreciates a partner who’s naturally cleaner. He’s comforted by the knowledge that his darling isn’t dirty, that when he gets brave enough to reach out and oh so carefully, hesitantly run his fingertips over the soft skin of their palm, that they’ve washed their hands recently.

He likes knowing that the wonderful, lovely scent of their hair is a mixture of their natural scent and shampoo, making his eyes roll to the back of his head because he just wants to keep inhaling and inhaling, breathing in as deeply as humanly possible to consume as much of them as he can.

There’s this subtle sense of pride that settles into his chest when he enter their apartment for the first time, pleased to see the way their living-space reflects his own – perhaps with elements of their personality, maybe more colors or patterns or photographs of friends and family, but it’s almost too easy to see himself pulling his darling into his side on the spotless sofa sitting in their living room.

It’s disturbingly easy to fantasize about pulling the covers of their well-made bed over his head, black curls brushing against his darling’s navel as he travels lower and lower, listening to their gasps and moans as he greedily laps at the spot between their freshly washed legs.

It’s just reassuring, and it only pushes his obsession deeper because he takes it as yet another sign that he and his darling are entirely compatible, a perfect match that he’d be a fool to let go.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Gradual

Despite his status as an internationally known professional athlete, Kiyoomi’s habits haven’t changed much since his youth. He’s still not especially interested in any sort of romantic relationship – he’s picky, incredibly so, and it takes him an extremely long time to feel comfortable enough with someone to actually be willing to be open and vulnerable with them.

(Particularly in the context of anything intimate – he needs to be very, very comfortable with them to reach the point where he’d willingly kiss them, touch them, or, god forbid, be inside of them.)

He’s not fully against the idea, but he’s realistic enough to know that he’d be a hard partner to please, and he just isn’t all that interested in finding someone. He’s got his career to worry about, and with all the traveling he does and his own personal idiosyncrasies, it would just be easier to not have a significant other.

And frankly, this mentality sticks with him – you have to have known Kiyoomi for quite some time before he develops feelings for you. At the absolute minimum, he must’ve been truly friendly with you for three years; that way, he can solidly say he finds you tolerable, that you’re acceptably clean, not too annoying, someone he doesn’t hate being around.

And even once his feelings begin forming, it’s a slow process – he doesn’t just suddenly wake up and decide that he’s in love with you. No, it’s much more gradual, much more subtle – he doesn’t even know it’s happening until it’s too late, after all.

It starts off as little things that he notices; a new haircut of yours (it was just a trim, something small and something even you had difficulty noticing) that he comments on absentmindedly, telling you it looks nice, this hairstylist is much better than the last one.

He’ll notice that you’ve changed your style a bit; maybe you bought a new pair of pants and you’re a little nervous about wearing them because they’re cute, but it’s a new color or a new cut or just a little bit outside your comfort zone. (He’ll blink and stare when you settle into the other chair at the café, your nerves getting the better of you as you ask what he’s staring at, only to get the rather flat response are your pants new? I like them.)

He's always been observant, noticing little things about you, but normally they’re things about your personality, or things about your likes or dislikes. He knows your favorite ice cream flavor, and which brands to avoid when he’s buying you some for your biweekly movie night (something you had to beg him to start, but now he finds himself looking forward to – enough that he’s counting down the minutes in practice that day, dark eyes glancing at the clock every few minutes and sighing lightly at how slowly time is moving).

He’s always known you were a bit of a klutz, and that your spatial awareness leaves a lot to be desired, just because he knows you. You’re tight friends, after all. But lately the things he’s been noticing are less platonic and less general, and more relating to your looks.

He’s never noticed that you have a fleck of another color in your eyes – it’s pretty, and when you turn your head just right in the sunlight, it makes your eyes glow.

He’s never noticed that you fill out your clothing very well; he’s gotten teased for spending so much time with you, sure, Hinata or Atsumu’s dramatic assertions about how the two of you must be more than friends always making him scoff and roll his eyes, disgusted by the implications. But now he finds himself wondering, late at night, with guilt gnawing at him, what it would be like to actually undergo those implications – being physical with you, that is.

His gaze is lingering on your pants a little more than usual, dark eyes staring just a hair too long at your ass, the jeans tight and accentuating every curve you have.

He’ll force himself to stop thinking about it, wondering where the hell that thought had sprung up from, rolling over in bed and shutting his eyes tightly, praying for sleep to come and for the images of the few, accidental times he’d seen you in your bra to stop flashing through his mind.

He notices that his thoughts towards you are changing a bit, but he tries not to think about it. You’re friends – aside from Komori and his teammates, you’re his closest companion, and developing feelings for you would ruin the fragile thing you have. Except his denial of his feelings doesn’t magically make them go away – he’s noticing how often he touches you, without even consciously realizing it. When you hand him some cash to repay him for some snacks he bought you, your fingers brush against his, and he actually freezes when he feels it.

(Your hands are so fucking soft – not hard and calloused like his, not rough and scratchy from years of smacking rock hard volleyballs.)

He never realized that he unconsciously let his hand rest on the small of your back when you guided him through crowds, trying to find the shortest route to minimize his discomfort. (He’d always liked that about you – your acceptance of his dislike of large crowds and germs, never making him feel weird or like a freak for it. You’d even shared an irrational fear or disgust of your own, just to make him feel better – it didn’t, but he appreciated the sentiment.)

Small things begin compiling up for Kiyoomi – things he’d never really noticed or thought about before, but now seem to be at the forefront of his mind. And yet, he still represses his feelings – no, he doesn’t want a girlfriend, and if he acknowledges his feelings for you, he'll want to push your relationship in that direction, to not suffer in silence because he wants more more more.

And yet, as time passes, Kiyoomi finds that he simply can’t not acknowledge what he’s feeling – it’s too much, too strong for him to ignore. His heart physically aches when he’s not around you, his mind racing and whirring with thoughts of what you’re doing, how you’re feeling, who you’re with, if you’re thinking of him.

It’s overwhelming, and it gets to the point where Kiyoomi literally cannot function without recognizing just how far gone his feelings for you are – it's effecting his playing, his relationships with his teammate, his eating habits, even his sleeping. You’re just too all-encompassing, his feelings to fucking intense – intense enough to leave him staring at his ceiling night after night, the bright screen of his phone illuminating his bedroom as he scrolls through photo after photo after photo of you.

Always you.

Possessive

Kiyoomi’s feelings, while strong and nauseating and so, so very good, really end up intensifying to an unbearable level from a single, main cause – he absolutely cannot stand watching you interact with other men.

He can’t repress the way jealousy claws at his throat, making his mouth taste sour and his gut twist because who the fuck is that man you’re talking to?

All it takes is one instance of a man flirting with you while Kiyoomi is present for these feelings to spark up – frankly, he's shocked that the man had the gall to approach you when you’re with someone as famous and handsome as Kiyoomi Sakusa, but perhaps he’d only felt confident enough because you were smiling at this stranger, standing close to him, laughing at a joke.

His fists clench up, dark brows drawing tight as he watches, the bustling café too loud for him to pick out exactly what’s being said. Seeing the way another man looks at you makes his gut sink, and even once you return back to him (with the food you’d ordered for both of you, since you know how much he hates talking to strangers), he can’t shake off his sour mood. From that moment forward, Kiyoomi is forced to confront his feelings – specifically, the ugly, twisting mess of emotions he feels whenever you’re around another man.

He grows possessive of you remarkably fast, hating when your attention strays from him, particularly if the new target is another person. Another man, really. It makes all these insecurities begin sprouting up in his chest – things he thought he’d long moved past, doubts and self-criticisms that make him feel weak, helpless, pathetic.

When he sees you catch eye contact with the man passing you on the sidewalk, your smile and small good morning makes him think about whether this stranger can stand being in a crowd for longer than three minutes. (He probably can, something Kiyoomi can’t – this man could take you to all those concerts you talk about, and he could take you to fun amusement parks and be in the crowd at sporting events and museums and all sorts of things that Kiyoomi can’t.)

When he sees you laugh and apologize to the man you nearly ran over with your shopping cart in the grocery store, Kiyoomi can’t help but notice how easily the man’s smile comes, his entire aura radiating positivity and happiness, the little tease and joke he makes in response to your apology making Kiyoomi’s hair bristle, unease sitting in his chest because no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t be so carefree and socially comfortable.

(Would you prefer someone more confident and natural in social settings, someone who can make you laugh so easily and introduce himself to strangers, shaking their hand and telling them with any sort of honesty that it’s nice to meet them? Kiyoomi hopes not, please be no.)

He grows pessimistic at the prospect of you interacting with others, because Kiyoomi recognizes that he probably isn’t your type. It makes him feel insecure, worthless, ugly, but more than anything it makes him panic, his fingers shaking and his knee bouncing because he absolutely cannot allow another man to come along and sweep you off your feet.

He needs to do something – and do it quickly, because you’re beautiful and gorgeous and funny and sweet and smart and so fucking perfect, and surely another man will realize that soon and you’ll be gone forever, all while he’s left to watch and stand by, forever regretting that he let this happen. And so, Kiyoomi decides that his only option is to try and limit your time with other men – meaning, he needs to monopolize more of your time, keep you with him, your company limited to only your family, coworkers, and him.

It’s the only way – and while he’s never been particularly subtle about anything, even you will be shocked at how blatantly he acts on this desire.

He's calling you up more, sending texts with flying fingers asking if you’re busy tonight, if you’d like to move your movie night up a few days, if you’d like to go get lunch at the ramen shop Bokuto won’t shut up about, if you’d like to stay the weekend with him at the VRBO he’d already rented on a beautiful little lake.

(He won’t tell you he’d chosen that one specifically because there was both a lake and a hot tub present, meaning he’d get to see you in your swimsuit hopefully more than once, but still.)

He becomes desperate to get your attention solely on him, and while you’ll be surprised, you won’t give it too much thought. Kiyoomi’s always been a little strange, and if he wants to further your friendship, you wouldn’t put up a fight.

But then he’s also scowling when you bring up the name of any other man, even when you’re alone – talking about any of your friends or any of his teammates gets him clenching his fist so hard his perfectly manicured nails dig into his palms, sometimes even pressing hard enough to draw blood.

You’ll notice his discomfort, the way he tenses up, how his voice gets terse and he talks less than normal, and when you ask him about it, he’ll only bite out an I don’t want to talk about another man with you. It’s cryptic, kind of, and it’ll take you aback, but you’ll respect his wishes, mentally noting how odd his behavior is.

And really, that’s how it’ll all progress – you’ll write off Kiyoomi’s strange, possessive behavior, which only makes him further push the envelope, not allowing you to talk about another man in his presence, or even look at them or stand close to one. It’s too much, and it’ll make you uncomfortable, but Kiyoomi’s too far gone.

And frankly, before you pluck up the courage to actually seriously confront him about it, it’s too late – your mouth is already being covered with the chloroform rag, your body going limp and landing in his arms, the sound of him deeply inhaling next to your hair and the low whimper he lets out making you dread when you’ll awaken even more.

He just wants your attention on him, and even more than that, he can’t accept the idea of you leaving him – you’re close, you’re friends, even though the word makes him spit, and he won’t let you leave him. You aren’t allowed to, he won’t let you. So don’t even bother trying.

Controlling

Tying into his more possessive traits, Kiyoomi slowly begins morphing into someone you hardly know.

He becomes blinded by his obsession with you, allowing himself to become more and more omnipresent in your life, worming his way into every little aspect of the way you live, from who you spend your time with to the clothing you wear. Though he’s not particularly subtle, the beginnings of his more controlling behavior will actually spark up long before he realizes how he feels for you.

Much before he’s come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t mind waking up with you wrapped in his arms every morning, he’s telling you that you really should consider waking up at a more reasonable time. It doesn’t matter if you’re a chronic oversleeper, or if you rise with the sun every morning – you’re always doing something wrong, really, and Kiyoomi will point it out to you.

(This is done in a genuine effort to get you to healthier, though. It doesn’t really feel like it when he’s criticizing you for your lack or overindulgence in sleep, his words snarky and cutting, but the motivation behind his prodding into your sleep schedule is to make sure that your body is getting the appropriate amount of rest. To make sure that you’re taking care of yourself, really – because Kiyoomi simply doesn’t trust that you know how.)

Long before he realizes that he wants to press kisses against the column of your throat and feel your soft, warm pulse underneath his lips, Kiyoomi recognizes that you don’t take perfect care of your skin. You could always use a better moisturizer, a better toner, take more time in the mornings and evening to make sure your skin is glassy and smooth and soft.

(He won’t insinuate that you’re ugly, of course, because Kiyoomi is many things but not a liar. But that doesn’t mean he won’t make comments about how he thinks you’ve gotten more pimples recently because your creams are expired, dropping skincare recommendations on you unsolicited and without batting an eye. And when they arrive on your doorstep the next day, shipped with the fastest service possible that you know costs nearly double the regular speed, you can’t even truly get mad at Kiyoomi – after all, his skin is perfect, and maybe he does know more about skin care than you do. The least you could do is try the new products, right? It would be rude not to.)

He’s always been a bit controlling about how he wants things done, but where you’re concerned this is only amplified – it’s a response to caring about you more than anything. He loves you, feels such deep, horrible yearning for you that he feels he must have a say in your life. He’s a successful man, with the last puzzle piece of his life missing being a sweet, loving wife who dotes on him and he on her in return.

And perhaps it’s a coping mechanism to make up for all the years of feeling ostracized, having minimal friends and even less romantic pursuits, finding himself suddenly feeling the pressure to make sure that everything is absolutely perfect because can’t fuck up what he has with you.

He’s become too dependent, too reliant on your presence in his life, and he becomes all-consumed and paranoid at the thought of accidentally doing something to dissuade you from wanting to spend time with him. He won’t change himself for you (or, at least, not too drastically – just enough to keep you interested in him, just enough to keep you in his life), but Kiyoomi is putting every possible effort into making sure that everything goes according to plan.

Expensive dinners are meticulously analyzed, dark brows furrowing at each potential obstacle as he mentally rehearses for the date.

(He’ll order to smoked fish fillet, and you’ll have either the pasta or maybe the salad. But wait. Is it rude to recommend the salad to you? Would you perceive it as a comment on your weight? He wants to see you eating more vegetables, but he doesn’t want you to think he finds your body displeasing – absolutely not, not when he spends most mornings with a hand pressed against the shower wall, water mixing with sweat and dribbling down the curves of his back, other hand feverishly pulling and tugging at his cock, your name slipping between his lips like some sort of prayer.)

He's planning out who will attend your wedding, the seating arrangements, the colors and flower choices, even what your dress will look like and how you’ll style your hair. (It sounds sweet, really – except that it isn’t, because if things don’t go exactly how he’s expecting them to, Kiyoomi will panic, worry eating away at him because no no no! Everything needs to go according to plan, otherwise things will fall apart and you’ll look at him with disappointment and just the thought is making it hard to breath and he needs to see you right now and reach out and touch you and hear you say his name fuck fuck fuck -)

He becomes overly concerned with every little behavior that you exhibit, always making a comment on this or that, his eagerness for your approval (and your obedience) making it difficult for him to notice the way you roll your eyes or how you hesitate, slightly offended at the way he tells you to stop eating like you’re poor, chew slower.

Everything is done with the intent of trying to better your relationship, to make sure the two of you are as compatible as possible, but the execution will leave you often times feeling as if he’s purposefully belittling you, your irritation and anger growing but then tapering out when he looks at you with those eyes.

It’s hard to stay mad when you’re nearly his only friend, the authenticity in his voice when he says that he loves you making it hard to stay mad at one of your closest friends. Just don’t say that – it’ll have his eye twitching, something ugly clawing at his chest because in what fucking world are you two just friends? 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

As a general rule, Kiyoomi does not handle jealousy well. He’s always been an envious person, but once his attachment to you forms and he becomes aware of just how badly he needs you – both emotionally and physically – his jealousy only increases, his intolerance of other people greedily sucking up your time lowering monumentally.

Because really, that’s what it is, isn’t it?

Other people – worthless, unknown, people who don’t even really know you like he does – wanting your time and attention all for their own selfish, gluttonous desires. It’s disgusting, frankly, how these people think they have any right to see your smile, to hear your voice, to feel your hand brushing against their own when you’re handing something to them.

(And oh, what an experience that is – Kiyoomi’s entire body stiffens up when he feels your skin against his, his mouth feeling dry and his pupils dilating because god, you’re so soft and warm and he’s never felt this urge before – the urge to reach out and take more, to keep touching you and feel his way up your arm, to press against the curving bones of your collarbone, to thumb over the plains of your ribcage, to take a handful and squeeze what he’s sure are two very, very soft and supple breasts… Just the thought has him breathing heavily, staring at you with this look that makes your skin crawl ever so slightly, the intensity and the concentration nearly scaring you.)

His possessive streak is bad enough that he finds himself actively seeking out men who may be interested in you when he’s in public with you – you’ll be happily chatting away, animatedly waving your arms as you tell him about the latest episode of your show you’ve been watching, and while he wants to be listening, to give you his full, undivided attention and watch the way your mouth moves when you speak, how your eyes light up, hear how you occasionally say his name, the lilting Ki-yoo-mi making his knees weak, he can’t focus.

Instead, he’s glancing around the cafe you’re sitting in, mentally noting every man and what they’re doing – there’s a brunette in the corner with his laptop open, what looks like email after email being fired off with rapt, quick fingers flying over his keyboard.

An irrational pang of fear shoots through Kiyoomi – do you ever receive emails at such a rapid pace? How often do men email you, and is truly as professional as you claim? How well do you know the mind of a man looking at you as nothing more than a walking pussy?

Another man is sitting near the fireplace, his phone in hand a scowl sitting across his features. He’s practically yelling into the receiver, telling off what Kiyoomi presumes to be his secretary because of some misplaced papers. Kiyoomi winces, grinding his teeth and clutching onto his coffee cup tighter because has any man ever yelled at you like that? Have you ever been screamed at, wrongfully blamed for something, or have you ever cried because of some horrible, lousy man?

(Kiyoomi isn’t a particularly violent person, but the mental imagery of leaving the man’s face purple and blue makes something warm and fuzzy and good settle in his chest, a sense of satisfaction and a rush of adrenaline nearly making him dizzy.)

Even the cashier has Kiyoomi on edge – he’s smiling like an idiot, greeting each customer with that infuriating, chipper tone of his, and it’s immediately making your coffee partner irritated, wondering with only the smallest big of insecurity whether you’d like that more – someone more outgoing, someone more friendly, someone less difficult than him.

Every time he's with you, the constant feeling of sizing up the other men in the vicinity is always weighing him down, the fear that you could potentially lose interest in him and instead develop an attraction to someone else leaving his paranoid and quite frankly scared – you wouldn’t leave him, would you? You wouldn’t abandon him, would you?

The thought is enough to make him guide you towards a less crowded area, back towards his apartment, back to where it’s just you and him – how it should be.

Kiyoomi knows he shouldn’t have let you talk him into coming to the supermarket. There’s a reason he pays for his groceries to be delivered to him – it’s too busy, too loud, too many unaware people walking around with no regard for personal space or respect. It’s irritating, really, but you’d been looking at him with those pearly eyes and fucking pouting, and how could he have possibly said no to that?

Not when you were saying his name with that low tone of yours, practically purring it, making it nearly impossible for him not to snap and tangle his fingers into your hair, to pull you as close as physically possible and suck hickey after hickey into the sensitive, delicate skin of your neck. He’d been a goner the moment you’d brought it up, and it’s only now, as he’s standing at your side in the bread aisle, that Kiyoomi feels the full regret of his decision.

After all, the rather attractive blond man at the end of the aisle certainly hasn’t slipped his notice – the man’s tall (though not as tall as Kiyoomi, of course), decently muscular (though Kiyoomi knows he has much more definition in his quads, the lines dancing along his thighs and calves drool-worthy compared to the stranger’s), and staring rather intently at the shelved loaves in front of him.

It makes Kiyoomi’s eye twitch; he’s purposefully placed himself between you and the stranger, hoping that this vantage point blocks as much of the man from your view as possible. You’re too engrossed in your selection process to really notice, Kiyoomi knows, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying, the nagging voice in the back of his head urging him to minimize your chances of even acknowledging this mildly attractive stranger.

He’s still got that familiar unimpressed look in those dark eyes (mixed with a touch of adoration as he watches you bite your lip and furrow your brows, the sight pulling at his heart and almost, almost making him forget all about his jealousy), and that look only darkens as he hears footsteps on the linoleum flooring behind him.

He moves closer to you, opening his mouth to tell you that you should just grab the nearest loaf and leave, but the man beats him to it. His voice is timid, scared, even, and for just a split second it leaves Kiyoomi feeling smug – for all this man’s physical attractiveness, surely you wouldn’t want such a meek, submissive man. Not when you could have someone like Kiyoomi – someone stronger, more masculine, more dominant, more of a man.

The man’s question is innocent, all things considered – he reaches towards the loaf of bread you’d already stashed away in your shopping cart, pointing a finger and asking where did you find that?

Immediately Kiyoomi’s stiff, every muscle in his body going taut because no matter how you react to the man’s question, he won’t like the result. Your mouth parts into an adorable little ‘o’ that gets Kiyoomi biting his lip, before you smile and point towards the opposite end of the aisle, answering with a chipper, oh-so-fucking-cute response of right down there!

Kiyoomi’s brows knit together as the man thanks you, moving forward to go in search of the loaf you’d guided him towards. As the man passes, those dark eyes settle on his figure, leaving him to pick up his pace, the heavy weight of Kiyoomi’s stare making him noticeably uncomfortable.

As soon as the man is out of earshot, Kiyoomi snatches your wrist, his grip tight and making you nearly wince, his other hand reaching out to grab the loaf you’d been eyeing. Come on, we’re leaving, is all he says, walking with purpose in the opposite direction of the man.

You’re out of the grocery store before you can blink, Kiyoomi slipping his credit card back into his wallet and guiding you towards his car. You’re confused, really, and as you blabber on about how he didn’t need to pay for your groceries and ask about what’s gotten into him, Kiyoomi can only usher you into the front seat, throwing the grocery bags into the trunk and taking a final glance around him. The man seems to still be in the store, and Kiyoomi clicks his tongue, a small pang of relief racing through him.

As he settles into the driver’s seat and puts the car into reverse, he glances over at you, soaking in the sight of you in his car with his old sweatshirt on. His lips quirk up at the edges, the smile small, before stepping onto the gas, driving away from the store and trying to forget the sight of your smile being aimed at someone else.

He grips the steering wheel hard, focusing on the sound of your voice to calm him – your voice saying thank you for the ride, Kiyoomi, you’re the best.

(A sound replaying over and over and over in his head later that night, with the too-bright screen illuminating your photographed face and casting shadows over his naked body covered in a light sheen of sweat. The best, huh?)

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Really, as soon as Kiyoomi realized that his feelings for you were something so much deeper than he could ever imagine, he’d begun planning for your eventual relocation to his home. There’s a variety of reasons why he’s so eager, so insistent: it’s easier, and it makes more sense.

Because really, while Kiyoomi doesn’t want to steal you away, he doesn’t really have much of a choice, does he? You’re too independent for your own good – you’re always going out and doing things, seeing people, putting yourself in a position not only of meeting potential love interests, but also one of danger.

 Kiyoomi rationally knows that you’re strong and can make informed decisions, but there’s a part of him that slowly grows to doubt your abilities. It’s not that you’re incapable, but more like you aren’t the most qualified to make choices about your own health and life.

And really, doesn’t it make more sense for him to guide you? Kiyoomi, who is successful, wealthy, the pinnacle of health and fitness, and much more calm and collected than you. Surely he knows better – and you’d agree, wouldn’t you?

You always seem to support his choices, laughing and telling him that he’s so predictable and logical whenever he rants about his teammates and general annoyances. You always sound so in awe of him, the praise and tone going directly to his head, making his palms feel a little clammy and his voice getting a little hoarse because oh, being seen and complimented by you feels very, very good.

And so really, it only makes sense that Kiyoomi steals you away – he’s already controlling, but he isn’t with you at all hours of the day, and can you really be trusted to be constantly making smart, responsible decisions every waking moment?

You don’t know what’s best for you, and in order to have you in peak health and keep you utterly, completely his, this is the only way. But to Kiyoomi’s credit, he gives you ample opportunity to willingly come to him. His attempts to ask you out are, objectively, not particularly romantic, but his requests for you to stay the night are met with little resistance from you.

It’s typical, after all, for you to stay over at his place in his spare bedroom after you’ve drunk just a bit too much, sleeping off the tipsiness because Kiyoomi will be damned before he lets you out on the road in the wrong state of mind.

(Not for the safety of others, of course – solely for you, because if you were to get injured or, god forbid, die, Kiyoomi genuinely thinks he may never recover, the pain and guilt of losing you driving his mad with grief. Besides, you look very, very enticing all tangled up in his spare sheets, your pretty body so scantily clad in the t-shirt he’d loaned you and a pair of workout shorts that ride very, very low on your hips. Enticing enough to have him standing in the doorframe of the room, entirely motionless as he watches you slumber, swallowing thickly and not letting his eyes drift from your form for sometimes hours on end, just watching and waiting.)

But then those requests to spend the night start happening more days out of the week than you’re comfortable with, happening multiple nights in a row, so much so that you’re starting to spend more time at Kiyoomi’s place than your own – and so when you start denying his requests, he resorts to one final tactic.

Of course, it doesn’t feel good to be unscrew a few things under your bathroom sink as he ‘uses the restroom’, but it’s necessary. When you call in a panic later that day about how your apartment is flooded and your landlord is furious over the water damage, Kiyoomi will try his best to be sympathetic, to not sound as flat and mildly pleased when he offers to let you crash at his place for a few days until it all gets sorted out. He’ll mess with your piping first, then your thermostat.

(He’ll tell you on the phone that losing your heating during the height of winter isn’t a joke, I don’t care how many blankets you have you’ll still freeze to death – and who’ll have to organize your funeral? Me, so don’t be selfish.)

Then he’ll go so far as to start stealing things out of your apartment – of course, he’s always been a bit heavyhanded in ‘borrowing’ your things (mostly inconsequential things that he knows you wouldn’t notice, like little knick-knacks or pairs of clean socks – things that make him feel more connected to you and are the perfect size to fit underneath his pillow at night, of course), but then he starts looting away more serious items. Your books go missing, your jewelry, cups from your cupboards, even going so far as to steal your laptop or your speakers or anything else he knows you’ll miss.

And when you’re running to him and telling him that someone’s targeting your apartment, that you’re feeling unsafe, that you think someone’s been repeatedly robbing you and breaking into your apartment, he'll only sigh and tell you that you’d be stupid to not live with him for a while, that you’re practically asking for death by staying in that tiny little thing you call an apartment for any longer.

And in the event that you’re still planning on living on your own after all these attempts to force your dependence on him, Kiyoomi will see no other option – having you live with him is like his own personal heaven, and he’ll be damned if he loses the feeling of falling asleep under the same roof as you, of hearing your pretty snores and seeing the peaceful expression on your face as you slumber.

You’re just too damn perfect, and so you really, really shouldn’t be too surprised when Kiyoomi’s got the rag held over your nose, his words cold in your ear as he tells you to stop struggling, you’re only making this harder. After all, he’s made himself perfectly clear – it’s not his fault you didn’t pick up on the signs.

As a captor, Kiyoomi retains a lot of his mannerisms from before stealing you away. He’s still a bit harsh with you, his tongue biting and cold, but the difference becomes that Kiyoomi doesn’t bother trying to hide the nature of his feelings anymore.

You’d been aware that his interest shifted from a more platonic to romantic nature sometime along the way, but now there’s absolutely no way to misinterpret his actions – not when he’s resorted to making you sit so close to him on the couch, those dark eyes expectant when you don’t immediately shuffle into his side. He’ll stare for a while, before sighing, like it’s all some big chore, then grabbing you and forcing you to practically sit in his lap, all the while grumbling about you being so damn difficult, aren’t women supposed to love cuddling?

He’s making you take all your meals with him, forcing you to sit at the modest wooden dining table, the rather bland meal of white rice, fish and a roasted, unseasoned vegetable looking less appetizing with every day.

(He won’t let you cook, however – his protective tendencies show most when it comes to you being in the kitchen, if only because he doesn’t trust you to not injure yourself. There’s just too many possibilities – you could cut yourself, burn yourself, use the cheese grater or the potato peeler to tear off a layer of skin, you could squeeze lemon juice into your eyes or get jalapeno residue at your waterline. There’s just too much that could happen, and while Kiyoomi would absolutely love to have you entirely dependent on him if you were to become injured, the idea of knowingly letting you hurt yourself makes something bitter tinge in his mouth, his legs getting restless and his fingers twitching because he needs to do something to prevent that from happening.)

He’s curating a wardrobe for you, making sure to dress you in his favorite colors, rich fabrics, comfortable designs, things that he thinks will make you happy but still fit his tastes. (And besides, you’ve always complimented him on his own fashion choices – surely you’d trust him on this too, right?) There’s lots of complimentary colors and designs to match his own clothing, enjoying the way you two look right when you’re together, a smile gracing his lips and prompting him to twirl a lock of your hair around his finger, bringing it up to his lips and letting his tongue dart out ever so quickly, just to catch a small taste of you.

He’s controlling, always dictating what you do, what your plan for the day is while he’s gone, but it’s always done with the intention of trying to keep you safe and what he hopes will make you happy.

He’s investing a large portion of his very generous salary to getting the best supplies of any hobbies you have (as long as they revolve around music, art, anything that couldn’t possibly hurt you), always demanding you show him the progress you’ve made that day. It’s a desire to get you to interact with him, but it also makes pride swim in his gut to know that you’re getting better using the things he bought for you.

(And perhaps, there’s even some small part of you that’s improving to impress him… Just the thought makes him gulp heavily, having to shift his pants ever so slightly because the idea of you wanting to impress him, to seek his approval, to make him happy gets him hot under the collar.)

Life will become very monotonous with him. It’s a routine, with any deviation planned out in advance, Kiyoomi finding comfort in the order and consistently. It helps quell the anxiety stirring in his gut when he’s away for tournaments or away-matches, his knee always anxiously bobbing as he imagines what you’re doing.

He’ll whip his phone out nearly ever five minutes, tapping into the multitude of cameras he has set up around the apartment just to keep an eye on you, visibly relaxing when he sees you tucked up into bed, stepping out of the shower, or even reading on the sofa.

(He’s harsher than normal when Hinata bounces up and asks what he’s looking at, his words dripping in an extra layer of venom as he tells his fellow spiker to get away from me, it’s a private matter. Because he’ll be damned if he lets anyone see you in any sort of intimate, raw way – you’re for his eyes only, and Kiyoomi would rather cut off his left hand than let the redhead get even a glimpse of you.)

Kiyoomi is omnipresent, a trace of him present in every aspect of your life, and while it’s exhausting, humiliating, enraging, you’ll eventually grow tired of trying to rebel. He’s a patient man, but you can only handle so many derogatory comments, so many failed escape attempts (he has the best, most up-to-date security measurements around the apartment, of course) before you decide it may be better to simply accept this as your new fate.

After all, Kiyoomi isn’t that bad, right? You’d been friends for years – you know he’s a good person, and perhaps this is just a lapse in his judgement. Maybe he’s not thinking clearly. Maybe he’ll lose interest in you, or decide that what he’s doing it wrong.

You’ll cling onto the hope, repeating the mantra over and over in your head, but by the fifth year of living under his lock and key with a baby nursing at your breast, it’ll be very, very difficult to pretend that this isn’t your reality.

So really, it’s in your best interest to just accept him, to accept this – you’ll be happier this way. He promises.  

PUNISHMENTS:

In general, Kiyoomi is actually remarkably patient with you. Somewhere deep down, below all of the twisted, dark manifestations of his feelings, he does truly love you. And while his controlling behavior and the way he expects you to give him all of your time, attention, energy, and focus is exhausting and at times dehumanizing, Kiyoomi never truly wants to hurt you.

And as a result, it’s unlikely that he’ll ever lash out in a way more substantial than verbally. He’d never physically hurt you, as seeing you with even the slightest discoloration or bruise makes him near inconsolable, anger seeping into every part of his body because you absolutely cannot be hurt, not when he’s the one who’s supposed to be your perfect, caring, protective partner.

He won’t take away your basic rights, either – though, in all fairness, they’re effectively gone once he realizes the depth of his feelings for you. He forces you to spend all your time with him, share meals and wear the clothing that he picks out for you, and so aside from forcing himself to be present while you relieve yourself or perhaps feeding you with his own hands, there really aren’t too many personal rights that he could take away even if he wanted to.

Kiyoomi does have a tendency to be a bit mean when he gets frustrated or afraid, however. You’ve always known this about him – his snarky personality is what initially drew you to him as a friend, but there’s something more cutting and biting about the way it feels when he’s looking at you with a mix of such devotion and anger, the love pooling in those dark eyes scaring you even more than the way they crinkle at the edges, wrinkling dotting his forehead as he frowns and scoffs at you.

It’s hurtful, really, when he makes comments about things he knows you’re insecure about – perhaps your weight, your smile, your curves, your laugh, your intelligence, anything and everything because he needs to make you understand how you’re making him feel, how it hurts him just as much as it hurts you.

It’ll make your eyes sting, the venom in his voice enough to make you crumple in on yourself, and it’s only after Kiyoomi’s left and calmed down enough to breath normally again that he realizes just how truly devastated his comments make you. He’s softer, after that, approaching you with shaking hands and a tone that’s laced with something almost akin to fear, calling your name and pretending that it doesn’t slice through something soft and vulnerable and weak inside him when you flinch at his touch.

He’ll be kinder after that, spoiling you with your favorite foods (even the unhealthy ones, which would normally never be available to you, what with Kiyoomi’s obsession with keeping your diet squeaky clean), watching hours upon hours of your favorite movies and shows, even material purchases of new clothing and expensive jewelry.

It’s not enough to truly make you feel better, but as time passes and the realization that Kiyoomi is truly all you have in this lonely penthouse apartment of his, you’ll grow to appreciate it, even if his words still echo in your head.

But really, what primarily sets Kiyoomi off is your disobedience – his controlling tendencies are so ingrained into him by the time that he’s stolen you away permanently into his home that he simply cannot handle when you aren’t utterly compliant with his every whim and wish.

In his fantasies of you living with him and staying by his side, fueled by possessive need, you’re always so eager to please, doing anything and everything you can to make Kiyoomi happy. And when you contrast this idealized version of your behavior, it’s a rude awakening for him that you aren’t truly happy with him yet, that things aren’t as perfect as he wants them to be. And so, as a defense mechanism he lashes out, spitting out words and lies that make both of your hearts hurt.

But truly, what really warrants the term ‘punishment’ is what happens when something even bigger happens – when you hurt yourself. It doesn’t even have to be purposeful; it still results in utter, blind panic consuming him, his heart racing in his chest and a cold sweat dripping at his brow because you’ve somehow managed to cut your thumb while he was at practice.

It makes him see red, desperation tinging his movements, making his hands tremble and his feet practically flying as he rushes you into the bathroom, applying too many anti-bacterials and wrapping your thumb tightly enough to nearly cut off the circulation. It’s pure, unadulterated dread that seeps into his bones, a panic like he’s never felt before, and this leads to the most extreme reaction Kiyoomi will have to your behavior – that is, he doesn’t like slipping the pill into your food, but your body needs time to rest. You need time to rest. He needs time to simply hold your limp, unconscious body in his arms, clutching onto you like a lifeline and pressing you as tightly against his body as possible just to prove to himself that you’re here, that you’re alive, that you haven’t left him.

Kiyoomi doesn’t necessarily like drugging you, but it’s the only way to keep you from hurting yourself again for the next day or so, the only way to make sure you don’t have a repeat offense.

You hadn’t meant it – really, you swear you hadn’t – when you’d left the shower curtain a little too open. The water wasn’t supposed to be splashing out and leaving a puddle directly outside of the tub.

You know how Kiyoomi gets – irritated by the mess, those dark eyes clouding and frustration settling across his features because you’re so damn clumsy, can’t you notice when the shower curtain’s wide open? As you glanced at the clock sitting against the stark white walls of the bathroom, you bit your lip. He would be home any minute now from practice, surely needing to be in the exact space you currently were, aching to get every bit of sweat off his skin.

The towel clutched in your hand wasn’t absorbing as much as you needed it to, the gray already turned a dark, near black color despite how much water was left on the tiled ground. Cursing, you sat back on your heels, resigning yourself to needing to dirty another one and having to deal with Kiyoomi’s multitude of questions.

But as you shifted your weight, hands braced against your thighs to sit up, the sudden impact of the back of your head against the edge of the marbled countertop make you cry out, the stinging sensation followed by a dull thud making you collapse down. Clutching at the injured area, tears pricked at your lashes, body curling up into a feeble position despite the water now absorbing into the freshly clean clothing you’d just changed into.

Your vision was hazy, everything looking warped and bent, and you only very distantly hear the sound of the multitude of locks on the front door opening, Kiyoomi’s grumpy I’m home resounding through the apartment. His footsteps are heavy as he wanders through the rooms, slowly growing in speed and weight as he begins worrying, unable to find you.

But you do hear when he gets to the bathroom doorway, wide gaze catching sight of your curled-up form and the slew of curses falling past his lips as he immediately drops his bag and stumbles down to you. You’re clutching your head and through your bleary eyes you can see the way all color has drained from his face, eyes blown wide.

He doesn’t bother asking what happened as he scoops you into his arms, adrenaline coursing through him and forcing him to run through the apartment to your shared bed, settling you down as gracefully as possible. Before you can orient yourself he’s already pressing cold cloths against your scalp, shoving thermometers into your mouth and compulsively checking your pulse points, terror still running through him.

He’s muttering under his breath, what sounds like your name mixed with mantras of she’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay, though it sounds less like a statement and more like a hope.

It doesn’t take long for you to slip into unconsciousness, only being awoken a while later by Kiyoomi’s thumb stroking at your cheek, his eyes red and watershot, as if he’d been crying. Drink this, he tells you, holding a glass of what looks like water out to you.

When you don’t move, he grimaces. Please.

Your sips are slow, your head feeling like cotton, and Kiyoomi watches with baited breath, a hand still placed high on your thigh over the covers of your shared bed.

Those dark eyes are still fixed on you as you lean back, sudden exhaustion rolling through you, your own eyes fluttering closed once more. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out once you wake up, but it’s early morning now, from the looks of the barred window, and as you slowly come back to consciousness, trying to ignore the sharp pain in your head, you notice Kiyoomi standing at the end of the bed, seeming to loom over you.

He doesn’t say much, only rushing forward to grasp at your hand and once more check your pulse, sighing with relief when it comes back steady and normal. He doesn’t let go for a long time, still silently staring, watching the way you squirm and wince as your headache throbs. And when you eventually wander out of the room that night to see him making dinner, you won’t bother asking why the calendar shows that two days have passed, nor why there seems to be a thick rubber padding on every desk, table, and counter corner you see. It’s not worth it, really, because you already know the answer.

And as Kiyoomi spots you, the small smile that spreads across his lips makes your skin crawl, your thighs shifting weight as the lacy panties you know you didn’t have on previously tickle against your skin.

Sit down, love, dinner is ready.

And he can only smile when you do, something flickering in his heart at the sight of you looking at him with wide eyes, all confused and pretty and so very pliable. Sure, your concussion is no small injury, but the way you’d been sleeping so soundly in his bed, the smallest snores slipping past your lips and your body seeming to mold against his when he’d pulled you against his chest made him almost grateful for your clumsiness.

Stupid girl, he chides to himself. This is why you need me, can’t you see?

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

 While Kiyoomi himself isn’t inherently dangerous, what makes him such an intense yandere is his blatant disregard for hiding his feelings from you. He doesn’t care whether you see how deeply obsessed with you he is, whether you become aware that he wants nothing more than to keep you with him forever and ever.

Kiyoomi is resourceful and follows through with his plans and goals, so once you’ve gotten his attention, you can kiss any ounce of freedom goodbye. He’s controlling and possessive, and it’ll almost feel like you aren’t even yourself anymore, but Kiyoomi will always be there - looking down at you with an impossible to read expression, before a small flush will coat his cheeks and he’ll gently flick your forehead, telling you that he loves you and that he’s happy to have you with him, where you belong.

Of course, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter, but there’s something deliciously pleasant about pretending that you want to be here, something that makes his heart race and blood rush to both his cheeks and between his legs.

Kiyoomi is a tricky case, because your initial friendship with him and the odd charm of his strange idiosyncrasies will leave you naively blind to the way he slowly devolves into a deeper and deeper state of obsession. You can’t see the way he begins losing himself, all his time and focus beginning to shift only to you, and by the time you truly realize just how far gone he is, it’s too late to get away from him.

Because Kiyoomi has thought of absolutely everything – it’s practically impossible to get away from him, and really, can you so easily disregard years of friendship once the warning signs become clear? Are you so inhuman and cold as to pull away from your closest friend once he starts acting strange?

Perhaps you’re the crazy one here – a sentiment that Kiyoomi will only encourage if it means getting you to touch him, if it means you saying yes to spending the night at his apartment, if it means you say yes when he tells you that pregnancy would suit you.

But really, it doesn’t matter – after all, you’re Kiyoomi’s now, and absolutely nothing will change that.

[xxaraaq]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙚

masterlist

Synopsis | Alicent is a Godly woman who's morals stand high above everything else. She's given everything she's supposed to to the realm. She is so selfless, so fucking her husbands brother is the one thing she can keep to herself, right?

Word count | 1.5k

cw | Infidelity, spoken violence, corruption?

Authors note | Hi y'all. I know I haven't posted in literally the longest time ever but if I'm being honest I've been fighting with life it up until about a week ago it was beating my ass. Anyways, I'm back now, and I hope that this will make up for it, enjoy! Not edited.

She is a good queen.

That’s what she thinks to comfort herself whenever the regrets of her past set in.  She has done her duty to the realm, giving birth to formidable sons and a beautiful daughter. She did what she was supposed to do, she just happened to do it with the wrong man.

No one could blame her for her choices. Her husband, a now senile, miserable old man who had no romantic love for her, failed in his role as her source of comfort. Once Rhaenyra went off and fucked her uncle in a brothel, she felt as though she had no true friends, no real allies.

No one except you.

You were the youngest of you, Viserys, and Daemon. Meaning that you had no real responsibilities. You had close to if not no chance of inheriting the iron throne, and you accepted it. Instead of struggling futilely trying to climb your way up the line of succession, you sat back, kicked your feet up, and enjoyed the life of a royal, of a Targaryen.

With you and Alicent being so close in age, you only being four years her senior, she found it easier to converse and jest with you compared to her husband and virtually everyone else around her. You were light hearted, a companion she often sought the company of. And even though her fathers concern grew about the influence you have on her that grows with each passing day, she paid it no mind. After all, she was the queen, and no one could tell her no.

It was the day the ‘rumors’ spread about Rhaenyra that you swooped in. Exhausted, you were the first person she went to to deliver the news. 

“Your sister has ruined almost any chance she has at marrying a suitable lord.” Alicent huffs, pacing back and forth around the room. You chuckle, amused by the entire ordeal. “She is a princess, maiden or not, my brother will surely find a wealthy husband for my niece.” You say, trying to ease her nerves. It obviously doesn’t help, her looking at you like you have two heads. “This is nothing to joke about. Your niece might run your entire house into ruin with the horrid accusations circling about. Have you no care in what happens?” She yells, desperate to get you to understand her frustration in it all. “Accusations? Alicent, my closest friend, you are no fool. You and I both know she fucked my brother in a whorehouse. You can speak freely with me, I promise you that.” You stand from your chair, making your way towards her. You love your niece and brother, but you’re also not one to deny the truth.

A tear slips from her eye, the stress of it all pouring down on her. “Oh, my dear, don’t cry.” You cup her face in your rough hands. A chill runs down her spine, something she’s never felt before. The look you have in your eyes is not what she’s seen from you before. Your eyes are dark, a smirk on your face that means nothing but trouble.

“You are a good woman, I must say. A loyal wife, an obedient daughter, a great friend. You never fail to be there to fulfill the needs and wants from others around you. But what about your needs, hmm?” You ask, tone sultry with an emotion she can’t pinpoint. “I-I don’t understand what you mean.” She stutters, growing shy from your demeanor. “You know what I mean, Alicent. When’s the last time you’ve truly felt fulfilled? Rhaenyra is too busy chasing after Daemon like a lost pup to spend time with you. Your husband is still stuck on Aemma even though he’s the reason she passed on in the first place, God's rest her soul. And your father, as much as he may love you, sees you as nothing more than a tool. I am the only one who has genuine intentions for you. The only things I care about ensuring is your well-being and happiness. A life full of not knowing what it’s like to be pleasured and to bring pleasure is not one worth living.” 

She knows that you mean this deep down in your heart, and that makes her want to give in all the more. ‘We can’t, what if someone finds out?” She asks, fear covering her features. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Who would be so impudent as to try and tell the King that his youngest brother is fucking his wife?” You say. 

She thinks for a second, then two, then three. “I’m… I’m not certain that having an affair would be for the best.” She says, backing away until she hits the edge of a table. “Let me show you what I could do for you, please? If you don’t like it, just say the word and I’ll never make an advance again, I promise this to you.” You almost plead, desperation laced through every word you speak. You have to have her, you’re sure you’ll die if you don’t.

Her silence fills the room, making your heart beat all the more harder. You almost dropped to your knees to thank the Gods for having you in their favor the moment she nodded her head yes. It was slow at first, a kiss on the neck, a light caress on her thigh, but then you stopped holding back, and you took her to that table in a matter of minutes. You held your hand to her mouth, trying to keep her as quiet as possible as you fucked into her tight cunt with a fervor you’ve never felt before. Everything about her drove you crazy as you corrupted her. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way she so futilely used her hand to try and push you from her as your thick cock plowed through her. 

Your secret relations kept on through the years, past the birth of Ageon and the rest of the children. The both of you knew that all four of them were yours, words not needed to be spoken to know that you were the one to sire the king's heirs and not the king himself.

As everyone grew, so did the tensions concerning the birth of your niece's sons. You had to laugh when you first saw Jace’s brown tufts of hair. How could she be so transparent about her infidelity? It was Rhaenyra’s actions that truly caused the hatred to stir within Alicent. You knew as well as everyone else that it was only a matter of time before things grew too large to keep a blind eye to it all.

The day that Aemond was maimed was one that nobody could ever forget. It was truly just a blurry haze of squeaky voices, deep insults, and the sound of a sheathed blade. The royal blood that covered the pavement that night would never be forgotten. You were the one that escorted the queen back to her room that night, providing an environment where her tongue could be as loose as need be. You shut the door, the creakiness that shows its age filling the silence. “That vile woman and her, her…” She couldn’t even get the words out, she was so furious. “Bastards? Say it Alicent, we all know it to be the truth.” You say, leaning against the stone wall. She groans, hand running over her face as she goes back to her habit of pacing the room. “The king is so shielded by the love he has for her, he can’t even see the vile things she has done.” She says, pupils so dilated with rage she can’t see straight. “Must I remind you that we are in the same boat as her, only that her’s has started to sink while ours stays afloat?” You say, quick to point out the sins she has also committed. The words catch in her throat, taken aback by your sudden correction. “Are you taking her side?” Her voice trembles with stress as she picks at her nail beds. “Do you not remember how I to this day sneak into you room through secrets passageways to fuck you to sleep every night? How I’ve filled your womb with so much seed I’ve impregnated you four times? Or have you forgotten how all our children are bastards as well?” You say, your voice sarcastically sweet as you grip her waist, pulling her backside flush to her chest. You lay kisses on her neck and shoulders, soothing her tenseness almost immediately. “What happened to our son is a tragedy that may never be avenged. But as he said, the reward for losing his eye was much greater than the pain he suffered.” You whisper in her ear.

She is a good queen, she thinks to herself. 

She is a good queen, even as she lets you fuck her up against the bed posts, mouth cover by your calloused hands once more to keep her muffled sounds of ecstasy hidden from the outside world

-Nene

[sinstear]

ㅤㅤOVER THE FLOWER HILL, I’LL MEET YOU IN THE GARDEN

vi used to think she was indestructible. she’s been through loss after loss, still dealing with the trauma in her own way; finding fights and drinking unholy amounts, but losing you proved to her that she was indestructible. when she tries to sleep, you’re there, in her dreams and smiling at her. promising that you’re not going anywhere, that you’ll be waiting for her no matter what.

as much as she loves you, and she loves you like no one before, and although she knows she'll never get you back, the drinking doesn’t give her that escape she’s desperately clinging into, begging for, pleading for. all she ever wants is one night to remember you, not remember how she lost you. she wants to remember the good, but all she remembers is the bad, the way you looked at her with one final smile. one final yet painful and silent goodbye.

her hands, ones that you once always held no matter what, kept warm for her, are littered with dark brushes with old and new wounds scattered around the rough skin, wounds she can’t be bothered to hide, to fix. if she focuses hard enough, vi can still feel your lingering touch, it’s not as strong as it used to be, but it’s light, distant and she prays that feeling will never leave.

the wind around her is cold, bitter and evil. it nips at her already bruised face angrily, almost like it was mad at her for not doing her hardest to save you. maybe deep down she knows she should have done more, tried harder to keep you with her, but she couldn’t, no matter how many times she tried, it was inevitable. she knew you were dying, you knew you were dying, and you knew that in her heart, she wanted you to stay, wanted to do everything to take your pain away but she couldn't. there was not a thing in this world strong enough to save you, and vi hates herself because no matter how strong she is, she wasn’t strong enough to save you.

the only thing that truly mattered was you, and now she’s alone. like she feared.

“do you think things would be different,” you paused, turned around and found vi on your bed, resting up on her elbows and looking at you. “with everything?”

“maybe,” you found yourself smiling at her light smile and walked over to her. “but even if nothing changes, we still have each other. that means more to me than  anything.” 

“you promise?”

your eyes fluttered closed, sighed softly at the feeling of her lips against your forehead and leaned into her touch. “i promise.” vi nodded against you.

droplets of rain trickled down her forehead, down the slope of her nose and down her cheek. the action that’s so innocent and free had her fluttering her eyes open with a grumble and leaned forward on the battered and dishevelled roof. “what would it matter?” she questioned, looking at the scatter of people rushing around below her. “who would care?”

tucking her knee to her chest, violet finds herself leaning forward a little more, deeply inhaling the thick air and closing her eyes again. she missed you. she missed your warmth, the feeling of your fingers running through her hair when she got home. she missed the sound of you humming or singing, the sight of you sleepily stumbling your way into the kitchen in the mornings and hugging her, pleading her to come back to bed while your voice was still laced with sleep, and for the first time in months, she cried.

the tears ran down her cheek like they were trying to find a source, a lifeline, and before she would have wiped them away, hide them from the world, but for once she didn’t care that she was sitting up on a roof that could collapse beneath her, looking out over where you’d both sit, and was crying. 

if she took the leap, you would hate her for it. you needed her to stay grounded for as long as possible. vi needed to stay while you could wait. if she decided enough was enough, then it was all for nothing. time, healing and patience was all she needed. it was all she would ever need if it meant she got to be with you one last time.

the wait to have you in her arms would be the most painful, having to wait until it was her time to be able to see you again, to tell you how much she loved you, how much she wished she tried hard enough and to see that perfect smile on your face that you always managed to have. it will be worth it in the end. 

because no matter what, no matter if she’s asleep, or wide awake yearning for you to come home, back to where you belong, over the flower hill, through her dark fog of denial and regret, you’ll be there to meet her in the garden when it’s time. 

meet her once again where your and hers story began.

just a lil sad fic .. my apolocheese <3

[celeryb1tch]

spencer reid x student!reader

18+! this post contains nsfw content

when spencer gets home from work he finds that you haven’t finished your essay, so he tries to ease your mind.

content: lots of pet names, fem!reader, you’re getting an arts degree lol, age gap but not too intense since this is early-ish seasons spencer, slight degradation at the end, reader orgasm, oral and fingering (r! receives), overstim, forced orgasm.

(i’m literally gay but i’ve been so delusional and in love with this fictional man lately i had to write something to get it out of my system!!!)

—

when your boyfriend came home from work, tie loose and satchel abandoned on the kitchen counter, you felt a wave of embarrassment flush you. you were still working on the same essay you had been last night; the one spencer made you promise you’d finish today.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asked, laying back beside you on the couch. when he leaned over to kiss you chastely, your stomach churned and you shut your laptop quickly.

you could feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, biting back the sob you so desperately needed to get out. spencer took one look at your face and sighed, wrapping an arm around you.

“oh, baby. you didn’t finish it?”

“i tried!” you protested, your eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing his disappointed face. “please don’t be mad at me.”

spencer’s gentle hand cupped your cheek, running his thumb across it lightly. “look at me, angel. i’m not mad.”

the floodgates opened when you finally dared to look at him, seeing his mouth pressed in a flattened line. tears streaked your face and it only added to the embarrassment. your boyfriend was a capable man, and here you were crying because you couldn’t finish a stupid essay before he got home from his 9-to-5.

he tried to hold you closer, but you struggled against him. you didn’t deserve his comfort or his sympathy. he settled for running his free hand through your hair soothingly. “hey, just talk to me. what went wrong, can i help?”

you shook your head, fighting through a hiccupped sob to answer. “i couldn’t find the last source i need. i was sifting through articles for like four hours, and i just gave up.”

ever the problem solver, spencer smiled down at you softly. “okay, let me take a look. you know i have fairly good research skills, they’re kinda required for my job.”

“you don’t get it!” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. “you go to work all day and i can’t even find one source. one! i shouldn’t need your help for everything.”

recognition flashed in his eyes, and then he really pulled you in. it was useless to relent, you could feel the determination in his touch. he shushed you softly, one hand wrapped around you firmly while the other drew patterns on your back. when your breaths slowed and your sobs subsided, he pulled back to hold you at arms’ length. “baby, you are one of the smartest people i know.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and spencer grabbed your chin to ensure you couldn’t look away.

“i wouldn’t lie. no one i know is as sensitive as you are, as empathetic and in touch with their emotions. that’s what makes you so good at this program. i certainly couldn’t complete your degree.”

and you knew how bad at concealing the truth your boyfriend was, so reluctantly you believed him. “thank you,” you just about whispered.

his eyes cast pure adoration on you, even as your tear-stained cheeks were red and raw. “your incredible brain is one of the reasons i fell in love with you. so if you can’t find anything, there must be a reason. could you please just let me take a look?”

spencer had indisputably won you over, one arm still holding you to his side as he opened your laptop on his own lap. you relaxed into him, head pressed to his chest where you could hear his heart beating perfectly. with a hum, he scanned your tabs in a matter of seconds, scrolling to the bottom of the search result page at a speed the computer could barely keep up with. “i know what it is, but you’re not going to be happy.”

lifting your head, you squinted at your boyfriend inquisitively.

“you were typing the date wrong, honey. the last two numbers were flipped.”

you felt that feeling of incapability rush through you again, your eyes stinging in preparation to cry. but spencer was right there to prevent you from shutting down, hand on your head passing slow strokes in comfort.

his lips hitched into a small sympathetic smile when he looked down at you. “my poor girl, worked yourself up so hard your brain stopped working. too much essay writing this week.”

and of course, he was right. you’d been running yourself ragged recently trying to keep up with deadlines, not to mention the extra work you’d taken on early to prevent overwhelm for finals. when you’d told him your plan, spencer had advised against it. he didn’t want you sacrificing your sanity now for a bit more time with your boyfriend in a few months. but never not supportive, he relented and instead helped you draft a schedule to complete everything.

you couldn’t feel too stupid with spencer’s sweet voice telling you that you weren’t. “it’s not even due until next week, remember? i just wanted you to finish it tonight so i could take you out to dinner,” he confided sheepishly. “you’ve been working so hard, i wanted to reward you.”

despite knowing it was physically impossible (as spencer reminded you often), you could feel your heart swell from the overwhelming love you felt for your boyfriend. you pecked kisses all over his face incessantly until he swatted you away, blushing crimson from the unexpected affection. “okay, where are we going?”

spencer hummed mischievously in faux thought, tucking your wild hairs back from your face. “you didn’t finish your essay, so i actually think it’s only fair to punish you. at least before i take you out anyway.”

a heat bloomed in you, both in your cheeks and between your legs. it was rare that your boyfriend was anything but tooth-achingly sweet with you, saving his more dominant side for certain circumstances. apparently this was one of them. “oh, really? how are you gonna punish me, sir?”

he pulled you into his lap, mouth finding your neck immediately. “if you’re going to be stupid, i might as well treat you like you are. i know how much you like it when i call you a dumb slut, despite the fact that we’re both aware of how intelligent you are.”

your core ached with need, fluttering at his words. “that’s kinda fucked up, huh? i shouldn’t want that.”

“actually, it’s fairly common, especially for women with a high amount of stress in their everyday lives. most people enjoy some form of degradation and or praise when having sex.”

“spencer,” you groaned. his beautiful brain always had to get in the way of the fun, not that you seriously minded.

he smiled, pressing his lips to yours again. “sorry, baby. yes, it makes you a very naughty girl.”

despite the pure love in his eyes and his touch, you felt a pang of arousal when he degraded you. it felt good to be demeaned by someone who thought so highly of you. so you let him pin you against the couch, clothes long forgotten, and relished in his nasty words as he sunk to his knees before you.

your laptop was somewhere on the ground, still open to that unfinished document. but it was the last thing on your mind when you felt spencer’s mouth trailing down your front. his fingers hooked your panties, pulling them down with a string of arousal attached. “fuck,” he grumbled. “you are a little slut, aren’t you?”

you struggled to respond as his fingers passed through your folds, thumb toying with your clit lightly. “mhm, yours.”

“that’s right, baby.” all of the showy dominance dropped for a second when he smiled up at you, that familiar twinkle of passion in his eyes. and then he ate you out.

all you could do was grip the bedsheets, small whines leaving you each time he ran his tongue roughly up your clit. he’d take a moment to kiss your inner thighs, slipping two fingers inside to hit that sweet spot when he wasn’t lavishing it with his mouth. it wasn’t long before you were on the edge, feeling the knot snap in your stomach. with a start, you gasped through your orgasm, spencer’s hand finding yours to soothingly stroke his thumb across your knuckles. but as your breaths slowed, he didn’t.

“spence, i’m done,” you panted, hand gripping his hair.

“no you’re not.”

with a roll of your eyes, you tried to pull your hips away to no avail. his fingers were still pumping into you at a relentless pace. his head raised to meet your eyes, slick across his lips. he looked wild like this, disheveled, so different from your normal boyfriend, who was almost too sweet for his own good. “i told you this was a punishment.”

even knelt between your legs, this spencer was in complete control. his gaze was locked on yours, watching every tiny movement when he skimmed his thumb across your clit again. your core reignited when you realized what was going on. he was going to force you to cum again.

“please, too much” you whined, free hand pushing the top of his head away in a superficial effort. you couldn’t think properly with the intensity of the overstimulation.

spencer licked his lips, voice gravelly in a tone it only reached when he was purely aroused. “you can take it, honey. i know you can be a good girl for me. don’t you wanna be good?”

you nodded silently. there wasn’t much you could do but let him fuck you stupid.

“that’s it. gonna make you dumb, yeah? i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think.” his head dipped down, resuming his wet, sloppy kisses to your clit. and with the combined effects of his words and actions, you were cumming again quickly.

you were unabashedly moaning now, jaw slacked open and eyes screwed shut. you were far past the point of caring what you looked like to the man furiously devouring you between your legs. your hand gripped his tighter, feeling his fingers pound a bit harder in acknowledgment.

your second orgasm felt like being catapulted into the atmosphere. it was sharper, practically knocking the air from your lungs. it took you a few moments to stop panting.

spencer grinned up at you, a sight for sore eyes in your clouded vision. “thinking about anything, baby?” he asked. and when he only received a small shake of your head, “good.”

his mouth returned to your core, soft kitten licks causing you to twitch and wince away. he squeezed your hand firmly, giving you a stern look. “only cleaning you up this time, promise.”

once you weren’t dripping arousal down your thighs, spencer pulled you onto him when he sat back down on the couch. all you could focus on were his warm, strong hands tracing sequences on your skin. he loved to imagine binary code, mapping it out on you because he knew the motion calmed you down.

you were barely conscious, brain buzzing like tv static in the post-sex bliss. you heard spencer chuckle to himself before saying, “so i think we’re getting takeout.”