#my hands may hurt BUT ITS ALL WORTH IT

[k4pp4-8]

6 fanarts challenge but I can't just pick six so I did 30 <333

[alphalesbian]

.

[gamblersdoll]

tw: size kink, sex talk.

when sukuna sees you for the first time as his true form, hes even more in love. he has to look down or even crouch down to your height and is still barely eye level. his arms suffocate you, and his hand is bigger than yours.

hes been waiting for this, holy fuck. he cant get over how small and beautiful you are. he only wondered how strong you could be now? can you even land a single blow on him?

eventually, you did, while using his OWN weapon? how you managed to do that, hes amazed. and youre overtop of him and hes finally healed, but he is still so intrigued by how you are able to do it with his state now.

“you truly are worth my time!” he laughs maniacally, smushing you face in his larger hand. hes so much bigger than you too, that hadnt left his mind during the whole fight, probably why he slightly even doubted you– never again.

so now hes got you in a compromised state, two arms on your hips and two arms on your shoulders. he barely got the tip in, you somewhat suck him in, and hes just… in awe.

your body is just astonishing to him, and hes grinning ear to ear.

“hoo fuck!” hes growling, is he even human? hes not, and he spits a fat glob on your pretty cunt. thats what does it for you, and hes able to get about halfway inside you, your tummy bulging and he sees the outline of his fat dick, dont even remind yourself about the second dick you may have to take either in your cunt or your ass. and thats a whole new level.

hes head over heels, over the moon, debating on would he allow you to boss him around for taking him? your almost at the base of his dick, and what sounds like degradation is him praising you.

“youre such a fucken whore! look at you, takin all of me!”

“im gonna have to be so so gentle, or i might just fuck up your uterus..”

and he’s going so slow as he can, (newsflash, its barely slow!) and youre biting your lip as it slightly hurts because of the sudden stretch, although having experience. hes wiping your tears with his tongue, kissing your cheeks as his belly mouth is eating and lapping up your clit as hes balls deep, so you have some type of lube.

hes laying on top of you after having a strangled climax, only making sure he pulls out and nuts on your tits (he doesnt believe you should take his cum yet, you could barely take a few strokes.) and hes overwhelming.

[creamecafe]

I haven’t seen many fics about player 333 yet (Myunggi) 😔 Could you do maybe an enemies to lover type story with him!!!

Wicked Game | Myung-Gi Pt. 1

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You're stuck in the squid games fighting for your life. It also doesn't help that you are stuck with a wanna be rich scammer fraud.

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Myung-Gi x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: enemies to lovers, hurt

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝:

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy this! Also the reader is an ex of Myung-Gi before the games. Please understand I don't HATE Kim Jun-hee, I just thought it would fit more for enemies to lovers. I also believe I may put this into two parts as the 3rd season is yet to come

If you would like to be tagged for the next part, let me know in the comments down below and I'll add you to the list!!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Joining the squid games could possibly be the last thing any person with common sense and a reason to live would consider doing. Unless they either had none.

That's what it looked like for you. The games you had to do to win 45.6 billion won had you either questioning if it's still worth it to still keep going or just to end it all on this island.

Out of all the people in these games, there's one face that you despised seeing and wondered how he's still alive after what he did, Myung-Gi.

He's your ex boyfriend. Being with him was great at first, but once he was invested in the crypto coin thing business, it felt like you're being cheated on. It also didn't help that he had an affair behind your back with a girl named Kim Jun-hee who turned up pregnant.

You didn't hate Kim Jun-hee, as you felt bad for her that your ex abandoned her and their baby, but the whole thing hurted you.

There's nothing more you wanted to get out of here with enough money to move to another place and start off fresh.

When you first woke up in the dormitory with all the other players, you wondered where this possibly could go. You looked around to see so many unfamiliar faces.

Then a man in a pinkish red suit all the way across the room wuth a black covered mas with a white triangle comes out from double doors and starts explaining why majority are here. Because of their debts.

They showed different videos of people playing Ddakji and getting slapped in the face. There was one face you recognized, your ex. It wouldn't be surprising that he was in debt for trying to chase after the crypt coin thing.

It looks like you're not the only one who hated him, many people who fell for the crypto coin were also mad at him. A purple-haired guy stood out from the rest, as he was a rapper you heard from others who were apparently fans. You had no interest in him or your ex but were wondering what the whole ordeal of winning money is.

You had to sign a waiver for the games, and you were soon directed to take pictures. It was rough enough. Then you would have to climb stairs that seemed like you were going to Mount Everest. You saw your ex from the right side across. You also didn't want to risk being seen.

Finally, you reached the first game after what seemed like an eternity. There was a huge robot doll and the whole layout was supposed to imitate a school playground with its blue sky and sand ground.

"Hey there pretty" You turn around and see the purple haired guy who was talking to your ex

"Who are you?" You exclaimed looking him up and down not in the mood to be hit on.

"I'm Choi Seung-hyun, Thanos for my music. You might of heard my raps before?"

"If I did, I probably would want to be deaf right now. Including not hearing this conversation."

He pretended to be hurt and put a hand over his heart.

"Ouch girl. Cold aren't you?"

You rolled your eyes. He sees another girl walks by and also tries talking to her. Poor girl, you thought.

"Y/N?" You hear your name being called and look around.

"Y/N!" A hand fell on your shoulder and you flinched turning around.

It was Myung-Gi. Your panic turned into annoyance as you rolled your eyes again.

"What are you doing here?" He asks

"Should be asking you that too, but I think it's obvious."

"Can we please talk?"

"What's there to talk about Myung-Gi? You chose a cyrpt coin over me and cheated on me, and got another girl pregant"

"And I regret it very much. Please come back."

"Share those regrets with the others in here too, including the mother of your child."

He tried to reply back but you walked away from him, ignoring him.

Speakers came on, explaining the rules of the game.

A screaming man came into the front and said it's not what we think the game is. He exclaims that if you move, you'll die.

People around you scoffed and found the man crazy. It seemed like to you he was crazy too, but what if he was right?

He was still screaming telling people not to move a muscle when the game starts.

The robot started turning around and putting her hand up to the tree to not look at the other player.

It started singing.

"Everyone freeze!" The man in front says.

Nobody moved a muscle. Your eyes looked around and saw no one moving. What if the guys telling the truth?

The doll looked away and you started moving forward quickly along with everyone else.

"Everyone freeze!" Yelled again the older man.

There was a scream coming from a girl who moved. She laughed exclaiming she just moved. A bullet came through her head and she dropped dead.

The guy really wasn't lying then. One wrong move, you're dead. More people started moving and more gunshots were coming.

Bodies were dropping. People are screaming. This was a bad idea to be here. You were also pretty sure you were going to die with your ex boyfriend. That another cherry on top to add.

"If you don't make it to the finishing line on time, you'll also die." The man yells but has his mouth covered like he was going to take a sneeze.

It felt impossible to win this game. You were so sure you were going to win money but now the only thing you could be winning is death. You wanted to see if Myung-Gi was still alive.

But you couldn't risk being shot. Everyone sooned formed into a single file line. The man explained that the doll can't see what's behind a person if there's a bigger person in front.

More gunshots came. More bodies dropping. You couldn't stop now though. You're close to the finish line, you can feel it.

You soon reached the finish line relieved that you made it alive. You looked around for Myung-Gi to see if he's alive.

Why do you care so much about him? You thought to yourself.

It's just basic human sympathy you thought. Hating him is one thing, but him dying is another.

The game ended and you witnessed the man who warned about the game, you see his number was 456 and another, a woman helping a man who got shot in the leg reach the finish line get shot in the head.

This isn't just a game. This life or death. Everyone including you who passed were allowed to go back to the dorms.

Zoned out walking, seeing bodies and blood, you hear your name being called.

"Y/N!"

Turning around to see who called your name, you see Myung-Gi run up to you.

"Hey, are you okay?"

A light smile came from your face.

"Yes I'm alright and you?"

"Alive thank God." He chuckled.

You chuckled lightly but didn't know what to say after. Usually, you would have something smart to say to him but after what happened, you wanted nothing more to be out of here.

There were yelling and shouts to how the man knew they would shoot if you lost the game. They were accusing the man of being behind the game.

A pink guard then came out and congratulated us for completing the first game. It then if a majority voted to O, you could leave the game.

Everyone chose their own sides O and X. You chose X, even though you desperately wanted the money to be able to move to another city. You see Jun-Hee, his other ex, chose X too. Myung-Gi chose O, which you weren't surprised.

Unfortunately there were more O's than X's which meant you had to stay. You were heartbroken but also upset and turned to Myung-Gi. Now you wish he died in the first game.

You went up to him and turned him around aggressively and slapped him across the face. People looked at you guys, but you didn't care.

"You're really that selfish, you had to choose O?"

"Y/N-"

"The mother of your child is in this game and you choose O. I should have known from the start dating you was a bad idea. If these games don't kill you, I will."

You stormed off away from him and went to your bed. Myung-Gi probably thought you were bluffing about you killing him.

Something deep down you wanted to keep that word true.

It looks like you'll have to wait and see the next day.

𝙽𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝚂𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚍 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝙹𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝!

[with-my-calamitous-love]

YOUR HEART WAS GLASS, I DROPPED IT ❆

katsuki bakugou x reader

on a cold winter night, you open the door for your warm, ex boyfriend katsuki.

part 2/2. i’m sorry tumblrs not letting me link anything atm :(

inspired by champagne problems

katsuki booked his flight home at night for a reason.

it was dark, meaning no one really would be out. he wanted to be alone and sit there in his hurt. he wasn’t sure what he hated more- the bustling crowds or silent sleepers. both of them had a clear absence of you.

the winter chill seeps into his bones as he waits outside your door. after the phone hangs up, we anxiously wonders if you’ll even answer it. its -26°, and he can only imagine your bundled up in there. its the place he left you standing before hoping on a plane and abandoning what he had with you.

he’s about to turn away, before he hears your voice. “get in here, it’s freezing.”

he immediately obliges, stepping into the familiar space. crimson eyes stare at you, noticing your different appearance. you’ve cut your hair and pierced your ears. theres an ache in his chest seeing you for the first time again. suddenly the apartment began to feel much warmer.

“your hair. its… shorter.” he awkwardly mutters like a teenage boy asking you to a dance.

“uh, yeah. i wanted a change.” you chuckle, no less uncomfortable than him.

he wants to take your hand, but he’s scared he’ll drop it again. your place was cozy, yet crestfallen. he remembered you told him you never particularly enjoyed living alone. you lead him to the living room. there, he sees your cats cuddling, slightly jealous of the companionship they share.

its here he notices that its still chilly, albeit not as cold as outside. he quickly clutches his hands around the warm cup of tea you bring him, taking in the mundane sounds of your apartment. leftovers on the stove, the dripping of the sink, and the soft snores of your feline companions.

“sorry, my heaters still broken.” you apologetically quip, sitting down next to him on the couch. katsuki mentally facepalms himself for that. he said he’d fix it for you before he left.

“yeah. guess i forgot about that.” he says, barely looking you in the eye. if he was gonna break up with you, leave you stranded and hop on a flight out of the country, you think the least he could do is make sure you stayed warm- but no.

“why didn’t you get it fixed yourself?” he asks, his usual gruff voice replaced by a particular softness for you.

you just shrug. “i don’t know. i never got around to it. winter came early.”

the both of you remember when you first got together. he told his family for a reason. he was so excited, saying he found the one. a few months later, no one was celebrating.

love slipped beyond his reaches the day he began doubting himself. he wasn’t good enough for you. becoming the #1 hero in his country only made him wonder more about his worth. he could barely give a reason towards the break up, instead spewing out that he needed to think things through instead.

“..how was your trip?” you break the silence, though you know the answer. his trip was great. the media wouldn’t shut up about it. about his parties and award shows, about the lives he saved and the talents he has. they particularly the people, more so the girls he was with. though you decided not to bring that part up.

he paused for a moment. he knew you would say something about it soon. he was being watched and photographed everywhere he went, which included a few girls who got some videos and pictures with him.

“it was exhausting, more than fun. you know all those girls only care about publicity and attention, none of it was real.” he sighs, taking a sip of his tea.

“i didn’t bring up girls.” you’re quick to remind him. though its nice how he’s so quick to assure any doubts you may have. “but… yeah. i figured as much.”

“you know nothing happened between me and anyone you saw, right?” he asks in a tone that makes it sound like it should be obvious- but its not. katsuki could have went home with someone else, done illicit drugs, drank and had unprotected sex, and it wouldn’t be any of your business.

“it… wouldn’t matter anymore if you did. we broke up before you left, remember?” you say.

theres nothing with katsuki’s memory. he thinks about that break up every damn night.

“um.. least you had kirishima with you.” you quip, just trying to lighten the mood. you get a genuine smile out of the blonde.

“yeah. shitty hair was annoying, as usual.” he chuckles fondly. only best friends can refer to each other like that.

shitty hair was also the guy that kept katsuki from doing something, or rather someone, he might regret. he knows his best friend and he knows where his feelings lie.

katsuki was midas. everything he touched turned to gold. and people adored him for it, revelling in the fame and fortune. but with that superpower comes consequences. not everything should b shiny and gold. sure, his midas touch on the chevy door looked beautiful, but you two could never actually drive it. your relationship shimmered and glistened, but it never went anywhere.

but for a moment, things were good. you’d laugh and smile with your group of friends- though after the breakup you believed you’d never say that word again. now, those friends have the nerve to deck the halls that katsuki once loved you in.

he never was ready, so you watched him go. neither of you just didn’t know the answer, even after begging him to stay on your knees.

you would have made such a lovely bride. what a shamed he’s fucked in the head. even though to him you were the real thing.

he still has your picture in his wallet. he wants to your hold hand dancing, and never leave you like he did ever again.

“…what happened to us, anyway?” he dares to ask, his whisper speaking volumes in the silence. he knows the answer. he knows why he did what he did. but you suppose he wants to know what you think.

“one moment you love me, and your promising to fix my heater… next thing i know, you’ve gotta think things through. and then you’re on a plane to los angeles.”

he flinches at that. kind of a dick move on his part, not explaining things and immediately fleeing the country afterwards. to be fair, it was a pr trip he had planned months before, but if that wasn’t the case he’d still book a spontaneous trip to alberta or somewhere, like the coward he is.

he feels the most guilt when you bring up the heater he said he’d fix. it wasn’t the only thing he promised you. he swore you’d always be loved, that you’d never be alone, and yet he couldn’t even give you a god damn warm apartment for the winter.

“i did love you.” he attempts to correct you, though you focus only on one word.

“did?” you ask, hesitantly.

he pauses again, realizing his slip up.

“…i do love you.”

you shake your head silently, eyes welling up with tears. one falls into your cup of tea. “don’t… don’t say that just to make me feel better, kats.”

but he’s not. he’s saying it because he means it. he’s saying it because he’s kept his mothers ring in his pocket, preparing for the moment he’ll make it your ring.

at this point, he can tell the cold is getting to you. your shaking slightly, your loose sweater respectfully doing nothing to shield you from the winter air. a broken heater neglected by a shitty ex-boyfriend is enough cold.

“you’re cold?” he asks. “no, i’m warm.” you answer sarcastically. its his fault for asking.

he debates on it for a moment. normally, he wouldn’t think twice before pulling you into his embrace. but now, he worries. he wonders if thats even what you want. his quirk keeps him warm enough, but you don’t have that. seeing your reaction to the bitter winter air pushes him to a decision.

“c’mere.”

maybe its the cold, the ache in your heart missing him, or some combination of both, but you don’t think twice before shuffling over to him on the couch as he wraps his arms around you. your head lays against his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.

god, he missed this. even the warmth of LA didn’t compare to holding you on a chilled night.

“you’re the worst.” you whisper, obviously still angry and heartbroken, yet still in his embrace. “i love you.”

those words feel like a confession. he takes it, both the proclamation of his faults and the admission that you still love him. both are true.

“i love you too, dumbass.” he says. “and i’m not just saying that.”

you perk your head up slightly, finally asking the million-dollar question: “..then why’d you break things off?”

he looks at you. he knows exactly why. but he’s not sure if he can break it to you yet. ultimately, he decides you deserve the truth.

with a sigh, he finally speaks. “i… i don’t know. i thought it would be better for you. i thought you’d be happier without me dragging you down, babe.”

you look into his red eyes and determine that he is, in fact, telling the truth- despite how fabricated it sounds. katsuki bakugou, the incredible #1 hero who was the best of the best, thought he wasn’t good enough?

yeah, thats exactly the case. because even through his heroic outside, katsuki wondered if you deserved more. or better.

he sees the confusion in your eyes and decided to explain his thoughts further. “i thought you’d be better off without me, with someone else. i thought you’d find someone better than me who didn’t have such a shitty personality, someone who you’d be better with.”

you shake your head, making sure he hears you. “i know you’ve been doubting yourself since you became #1… wondering if you’re good enough or not, but… i thought you’d at least know you’re good enough for me.”

its crazy to him how easy it was for his fears to die down if he had just talked to you in the first place. he’s learned his lesson.

so he nods, pressing a kiss and an “i’m sorry” to your forehead. you continue talking to him.

“you’re shitty, and you’re kind of an asshole.” you chuckle. “you’re also really sweet when it counts. you remember things about me. you fix things, i guess except for my heater… you’re good to me. you try. you try harder with me than with anything else in your life.”

he couldn’t help but smile a little at the truth in your words. even counting his time in UA, his relentless training to become a hero, katsuki tried the hardest to become better for you. “yeah. you make me wanna change.”

he presses his forehead to yours, just relishing in the newfound warmth. he’s happy, content.

“lets call it even.” you whisper, fingers intertwining with his. “i didn’t think i was good enough for you either.”

he almost scoffs at that. “you’re an idiot for thinkin’ that.”

you roll your eyes. “so are you.”

tags! 🫧

@dragonscribble @rayleeya @brisklofitea @saceaseeds

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Fellow Honest - Playful Dress Vignette

"My stars, a grave insult!"

[Scalding Sands – Silk City]

Fellow: Now, ladies and gentlemen!

Fellow: What you are about to see here is a one-of-a-kind wonder.

Fellow: This is truly a genuinely invaluable show you are about to witness.

[rabble, rabble]

Fellow: Nice, them people're finally startin' to gather…!

Fellow: If you're interested in what I have to show, please, drop a few madol in this can over here. Any amount is fine～!

Fellow: And now, feast your eyes…

Fellow: On this… A one-of-a-kind puppet that can walk on its own without strings!

Fellow: What do you think, Mister? Madam? Doesn't it look so life-like? Amazing, is it not!?

Fellow: This exquisite beastman doll is the only one of its kind.

Fellow: You all are fortunate indeed to see such a fantastical sight. If your interest was piqued, I implore you to leave a token of appreciation…

[rabble, rabble]

Fellow: …Eh? It's not a puppet? A normal living being?

Fellow: HOW RUDE! WHAT EVIDENCE HAVE YOU FOR YOUR ACCUSATION!?

Fellow: Please, look carefully. It might be able to move without strings, but even if I poke or tickle it, it won't even cry out or laugh.

Fellow: It is a beautifully crafted puppet. Yes, that's right, there can be no question.

[Gidel nods]

Fellow: Ah, stop, Gidel!

Fellow: …It moved? Oh no, it must have just been a trick of the eye.

Fellow: Or, are you perhaps trying to insinuate that I, Fellow Honest, am a liar?

Fellow: You didn't mean it…? Ahhh, oh, but you've hurt my feelings so～!

Fellow: I've been known as Honest John, a man of integrity, pure and innocent, and yet you would call me a liar…

Fellow: I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SUFFER SUCH A DAY! MY STARS, A GRAVE INSULT!

Fellow: Hey now, Mister. Since you've damaged my pride like this, feels like you should provide me with a show of good faith and…

Gidel: [sneeze]

Fellow: AH!!

Fellow: U-Uhh… Ladies and gentlemen, I… Hm? You want your money and time back? …No need to get so angry… Hahaha…

Fellow: …Crap.

Fellow: RUN, GIDEL!!

Fellow: Haah… Pant, pant… Did we lose them?

Fellow: …YOU NITWIT! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE RIGHT THEN TO SNEEZE!?

Fellow: Just a little longer and we woulda gotten something extra on top of their spectator fees!

Gidel: …

Fellow: Ugh, whatever. ...All we got to show for that in the end was just a little bit of spare change…

Fellow: …And whatever small bits and bobs of jewelry they had on them.

Fellow: I stealthily swiped them with my magic while those idiots were all focused on you, but there's not much here. Shame.

Fellow: This dump ain't worth staying in. Time to move on, Gidel! Fwahaha!

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Fellow: Look carefully, fair people! What I have here is a magestone. However, this is no ordinary magestone.

Fellow: The date: 1000 years ago; the place: the depths leagues below the Coral Sea. This magestone was said to be sought even by the Great Seven!

Fellow: It may look like an ordinary pebble. So, what makes this an extraordinary find? Once you hear what I have to say, you'll never recover from the shock!

Fellow: Listen and be amazed! This is a miraculous stone where whosoever holds it becomes capable of using magic!

Gidel: ! [honks horn]

Fellow: For you, ladies and gentlemen, I risked life and limb searching high and low for this in the most secluded southern regions.

Fellow: There is only one of these gemstones in existence. We'll start the bidding at 50,000 madol (500 Thaumarks)! Come, come, all who are interested, please raise up a hand!

[silence]

Fellow: …Huh, no one wants to raise a hand? What, do I have before me a gaggle of broke spectators?

Fellow: Heh, gutless, all of you. Ah, but damn it all! Is there not a single one among you with the courage to reach out and grasp the miracle laid out before you!?

Fellow: With icy demeanors like that, even my fleas will laugh at me.

Fellow: …I'm sure you all are simply thinking there's no way you could trust vagabonds like us, isn't that right?

Fellow: You think I'm selling you a fake? You think you'll be wasting your money?

Fellow: Aah, that's no good, my dear fellows! If you mistrust me so fervently, it's not as fun...

Fellow: Don't worry. If you believe in what I tell you, there's nothing for you to be afraid of.

Fellow: COME ON TO THE THEATER!

Fellow: LIFE IS FUN

Fellow: …Ah, there we go, that was quick. 80,000 madol from the gent over there! And 100,000 madol from the one over here!

Fellow: A good call, everyone! With such wise decision-making skills, you all have a future scholar inside you!

Fellow: Fwahahaha! Look at 'em idiots believing at whatever stupid story I throw their way!

Fellow: A magestone that'll give you the ability to use magic～? If something like that really existed, I'd've used it myself.

Fellow: Even the guys who were the most skeptical leapt at the chance once I used my Unique Magic. I sure enjoy pulling the wool over idiots who try to look down on me.

Fellow: Hm, let's see how much we earned today…

Fellow: Two, four, six, eight… Oho, not a bad haul. Look, Gidel, we'll be feasting tonight!

[Gidel hops happily]

Fellow: Word's probably got around by now, especially after I raked in this much. This might be the end of the line for our earnings here…

Gidel: …

Fellow: What? You want to head south this time?

Fellow: Not a bad idea. How 'bout we target vacationers at them fancy resorts?

Fellow: Let's see if we can kindly crash their little enjoyable vacations.

Fellow: …Yeah, that's perfect. You're a genius, Gidel. This time, we'll be the fancy, rich folk out on vacation.

Fellow: We go where we want, when we want. We have nothing and no one tying us down.

Fellow: That's the least we deserve as free-spirited folk!

[Sunset Savanna – Sunrise City]

Fellow: EEEEP～～! I PROMISE, I WON'T DO ANYTHING BAD ANYMORE, I PROMISE!

Fellow: HELP～～～!

[Sunset Savanna – Sunrise City]

Fellow: SHIT! THAT MASSIVE CHEAPSKATE!

Fellow: They were carrying around a crazy fat wallet. They could've spared even a little bit and nothing woulda hurt their bottom line.

Fellow: Yet they caused a fuss just from me trying to swipe a few thousand madol… Ouuuch, it's still throbbing where they hit me.

[stomachs gurgle]

Fellow: Man, I'm starving. It's gonna suck to go another night without dinner.

Fellow: Ain't there something we can find to eat…?

[Gidel starts to drift away]

Fellow: …Hey, wait, Gidel! Don't open that can!

Fellow: Geez… Don'tcha see what it says right here? It's got OIL inside. You can't eat it, even if you open it.

Fellow: You do the same thing every time you're hungry. I've taught you dozens of times, can't you read what it says?

Gidel: …

Fellow: C'mon, squat here a little. I'll draw it out on the ground, so don't forget this time, 'kay?

Fellow: O is for Orange! It looks round and tasty, don't it?

Fellow: I is for Ice Cream! That thin, ice popsicle was pretty tasty the other day, wasn't it?

Fellow: L is for laugh! Don't it look like a smile when you look at it on it's side?

Fellow: …Why is L the only thing that's not food? I couldn't think of anything, so sue me.

Fellow: There's only so much I can teach you, too.

Fellow: Tch. If I had been able to go to school… By now I woulda been more…

[Gidel pats Fellow]

Gidel: …

Fellow: What? We don't need school to fill our bellies?

Fellow: Sigh, oh, Gidel. You know, you're…

Fellow: TOTALLY RIGHT!!

Fellow: That's right, we're living just fine even without going to school.

Fellow: Learning whatever with books and pencils is utter nonsense.

Fellow: We'll just clean out those suckers that went though their oh so lovely education, and just live a life that's even fuller.

Gidel: !

Fellow: That's right, leave it to me! Follow me, kid, and one day, you'll be a grand showstopper too.

Fellow: We'll get some halfwit students to dance for us on a stage for our own amusement!

Fellow: Now… What's more important right now is figuring out what we're going to eat tonight. I'll try to find something, so you start a fire.

Fellow: Just throw whatever you find into the fire, like wooden crates, or posters or… Hm?

Fellow: This job posting here… Oh, well, well!

Fellow: Look here, Gidel, That one prick is looking to hire someone. And this time, it's at an amusement park!

Fellow: I don't know what they're planning, but… Last time we did work for 'em, we made a killing.

Fellow: I can't stand how he looks down on us, but there's a lot more to gain out of it…

Fellow: Why don't we just go hear them out, Gidel? If we don't like it, we can just bail.

Fellow: We live only for today, never thinking about what tomorrow might bring. We do whatever work keeps our lives free and fun. 'Cause we can go and do whatever we want.

[Gidel nods, Fellow whistles as they go off]

Requested by @sakurakudo.

[lavandulawrites]

Hii! I saw ur post about short requests and am here to submit mine!

May I pretty please get a yan!Kinich, Yan!Cyno and Yan!Diluc with a darling who may or may not try to destroy anything they find around the house to annoy the yandere in hopes of letting darling leave(in darling's mind, if she shows the yan! that she is more trouble then worth it, maybe he will let her go)

Ty 4 reading my request!

Yandere Kinich, Cyno, And Diluc With a Darling Who Destroys Their Belongings

Yandere Kinich, yandere Cyno, yandere Diluc x reader (all separate)

(Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: imprisonment, possessiveness, obsession

Word count: 439

Kinich

You picked up yet another bowl and threw it as hard as you could against the wall. The green painted ceramics shattered in a pile on the floor. You scoffed as you picked up another and repeated the process. For each broken dish, your satisfaction grew.

You might not be able to escape Kinich, but you sure as hell would make his life as miserable as possible. As you held the expensive bowl over your head ready to throw it with all your might, the door flung open.

In stepped Kinich without his annoying companion. His hazel eyes narrowed as he scanned over the damage you had done to his dishes. “What the fuck have you done?” he hissed. You blinked as it was weird seeing him mad.

He shook his head as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “You could have gotten hurt. It seems that I must remove some of your privileges” he mumbled into your hair.

Cyno

The General Mahamatra had a large storage space within his home filled to the brim with weapons. It was his priced collection.

The room was without any windows and lighting was poor. You let your hands run against the spears that were against the far wall. You curled your hand against one of them and lifted it out from its holder.

You bent it over your thigh and with all your might you managed to snap it in half. You tossed it aside as you picked up the next spear and snapped that one as well.

“If you think this is going to make me let you go, you are wrong [Name]” his voice broke you out from your trance.

Diluc

Diluc were really starting to get in your nerves with his constant worry over your being. You hated how he treated you like a delicate flower, afraid you would fall apart should he handle you roughly.

So with anger boiling inside you, you decided to venture down into the wine cellar. Rows upon rows of various wines littered the space. They were all neatly sorted from date to date, and flavour to flavour.

You picked a bottle up and smashed it onto the cold ground. Watching the red liquid pour it from the broken bottle filled you with great glee so you repeated the process over and over. It wasn’t before you heard the heavy door open that you stilled in your movements.

“What have we here?” Diluc’s deep voice filled the space. He clicked his tongue. “You should’ve said you wanted more enrichment, my dear” he smiled gently. “Come let’s go upstairs, it’s getting late.”

[explorevenus]

doll parts ♡ leon kennedy x f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 3.6k

description: leon may not take the best care of himself, but he certainly takes care of you. it's his favorite pastime.

tags/warnings: vendetta leon, established relationship, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dollification, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), mirror sex

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my lovely bestie @dollfacefantasy, who knows me so well in that she knew i was foaming at the mouth for an excuse to write dollification w leon >:3 AND it's based off of that one scene in euphoria where nate dresses cassie up LIKE GET OUTTA TOWNNNNN I WAS SO JUICED TO WRITE THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

You were mad. You were so mad, all the time lately, and you were past the point of wondering if you had any right to be. 

It was late, nearly half past midnight, the only sound in the dim house being the unrelenting patter of fat raindrops on the windows. Leon, too, was late, like he so often was. Of course, you weren’t allowed to complain or ask questions about his high paying job, or his whereabouts, or the secrecy, where all those injuries came from or why he didn’t return when he said he would for the hundredth time.

All your life, you thought relationships like this existed only in fiction, the trope of the distant workaholic who dismisses his partner’s concerns with nothing but his wallet and his sexual prowess, piling diamond encrusted bandages upon months worth of neglect, bottled up grievances and novels left unsaid. It was a concept confined to old movies and paperbound romances as far as you were concerned, before you met Leon.

You weren’t unreasonable, and you weren’t dumb. You had gathered that his mysterious government job really was important and strictly confidential, and you trusted that he was telling you as much of the truth as was permitted by the powers that be. You knew he cared about you, you knew he would rather be home with you than running around at the beck and call of the most powerful people in the country. You knew it was never his intention to hurt you.

But your awareness of his love for you didn’t make it any easier to swallow the unending cycle of broken promises, nor the visible deterioration of his mental and physical health while his ‘work trips’ became increasingly frequent until they all started to just blend together. 

You became numb to it after a while. It seemed selfish to demand his time and attention when he couldn’t help his circumstances. Even bringing it up made you feel like a monster, and it was all because you loved him so completely.

And you loved him so completely. You had seen him cry with laughter and sob with grief. You had seen him burn toast, fall asleep with the TV on, forget how to tie a tie, dread a mundane phone call, mumble to himself when he thought no one was listening. You knew his philosophies on life and love and death, you knew him heart and soul, and so too did he know you.

Thus, you just ate it, wore yourself down until you finally accepted that all those bottled up grievances, novels left unsaid and extravagant bribes were worth the privilege of being his lover.

Your eyes felt dry as you stared at the clock, counting in your tired mind exactly how many hours had passed since he was supposed to be home. It had been a long, rough day that would have been draining enough on its own, but the evening proved to disappoint even further. 

Leon heard about the karmic disaster that was your day through a handful of rant texts you’d sent over the course of it, each one more unfortunate than the last. Sympathetic to your senseless string of rotten luck, he promised to cut away from work an hour early to return home to you with your favorite dinner and enough doting on to make your teeth rot. He did not, of course, come home early, and not only that, but he didn’t come home at all, and you couldn’t get ahold of him.

If this wasn’t such a frequent occurrence, you might have been more worried about his safety, or even more angry at him for leaving you hanging on a day like this one, but you had become so familiar with this whole song and dance that your feelings around it were dulled.

You were just about to give up and go to bed when your phone lit up with a notification. Following the several undelivered texts you tried to send asking if he was okay, he’d given a simple response that you knew would redirect the course of your whole entire night.

Headed home in 15. Be in the dollhouse

You had long since garnered that the dollhouse was more for him than it was for you, even if he seemed to believe it was the other way around. It was nice to be pampered and doted on and styled like a Barbie, until it became a way for him to avoid talking to you about anything important. But that was neither here nor there. Dolls don’t talk, and they most certainly don’t complain.

With a deep, measured breath you exited the bedroom and turned down the hall, to what used to be a spare room but was now more aptly describable as a boudoir. The door creaked open to reveal the delicate, feminine space, heavy satin drapes blocking out any potential prying eyes. Between two solid oak wardrobes was an ornate standing mirror, the walk-in closet to the right overflowing with opulent clothing that hardly ever saw the light of day, just the familiar warmth of Leon’s cerulean eyes. 

At the other end of the room was an antique, three-mirror vanity, stocked carefully with luxury makeup, designer perfumes and every last tool one might need to style your hair, down to a box of satin ribbons in every color with which to tie it back. Leon was never one to do things half-way, and dolling you up was no exception.

Piece by piece, you stripped yourself of your clothes, hands moving as slowly and purposefully as his own would, as if by instinct. Just like a doll would be, you undressed to nothing but a pair of delicate lace panties, and you took your place at the vanity, your posture straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap.

All there was left to do now was wait for Leon, to stare at yourself blankly in the mirror and ruminate, to let your thoughts scream and echo around in your head until it would all collapse into silence, putting you in the proper headspace of an empty-headed little Barbie for Leon to play with.

You didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of the garage door opening, or move a muscle at all at the muffled thudding of his footsteps ascending the stairs. Your lips parted with a slow, deep breath, your posture straightening up one final time before the knob turned, and you watched the door open behind you through the reflection in the mirror.

He looked tired. To be candid, he looked like shit. It was evident he had left immediately from whatever dangerous, world-saving thing he was doing to rush home to you, not taking the time to change or freshen up.

Leon approached you gently, reaching over your shoulder to let his rough fingers cup your neck and throat, tilting your head up just enough to make you look at yourself, and to adjust your posture.

“Such a precious little doll, sitting so pretty for daddy,” He whispered, stooping down to plant a kiss at the crown of your head. His hands smelled like iron and gunpowder, and his breath smelled faintly of malted liquor poorly masked with mint. If only you could have confronted him about it. You just swallowed, staring straight ahead where he was directing your gaze.

Reaching over your shoulder, Leon’s steady hand plucked a detangling brush from the vanity, running his fingers through your hair carefully with his other hand. He felt through the length of your soft locks, mindful as always not to tug at any of the little knots he discovered here and there. Shortly after, he was running the brush through your hair with gentle veneration, delicate, even strokes that nearly threatened to put you to sleep.

Leon watched your expression in the mirror as your lashes fluttered, your head lolling back as if mindlessly chasing the attention. A low chuckle fell from his parted lips. “Feels good, huh? I’ll bet it does. Your hair is so messy, baby… You weren’t playing by yourself all day while daddy was gone, were you?”

He was teasing you. A subtle grin begged to tug at your lips, and you let it. Still, you were sure to shake your head ‘no’-- after all, you couldn’t have him thinking you had taken advantage of his extended absence to be naughty, even if you had been awfully tempted to. 

Carding his fingers through your freshly brushed hair, he hummed in mock consideration for a moment, like he couldn’t decide whether or not he believed you. Finally, he turned you around in your chair to face him, tilting your chin up so he could give you a kiss. “I know my baby would never. Always the perfect princess for me, even when I’m not always the perfect daddy.”

That last part came out a little quieter, like he was ashamed to even say it out loud, but somehow still, it was the loudest part to you. You softened.

He noticed, and he, too, softened. The tension in the air dissipated a bit– it was still somewhere around here, likely waiting right outside the door, but it was no longer actively present, at least. Leon gave you another sweet kiss, this one to your forehead, before gently correcting your posture again.

Pushing your hair back with a soft, fluffy headband, he opened up one of the drawers in the vanity and began to take a few things out. First, a light moisturizer, which he massaged into your skin with a jade roller that was cool to the touch and just as relaxing as always. Your moisturizer was followed by a gentle under-eye balm, a thin layer of primer and a hydrating lip oil.

The way he moved was so fluid, so methodical, like a conductor before an orchestra, and you were his masterpiece. In Leon’s eyes, you might as well have been carved out of the finest, most expensive marble, and you were to be treated no less delicately.

He stepped out just for a moment to wash his hands, a clean slate for the next step of the process, your makeup.

You honestly don’t know how he did it. Judging by some of the techniques and products he would use, you could only guess he must have been doing his research online or something, though where he found the time to do so was another question entirely. His lines weren’t always clean, his blending wasn’t always perfectly smooth, yet somehow you always still felt he’d managed to upstage you with the finished product– perhaps it was because he could see you in a way you couldn’t see yourself.

“Daddy?” You chanced a whisper, but he was quick to press a finger to the plush of your lips, ever so gently.

“Shh… Just sit nice and still for me, alright, sugar?”

You nodded, and he resumed his work with a careful touch.

Soft brushes and plush sponges worked their way around the surface of your face, applying shadow and powders and liner, with Leon holding his breath now and then to ensure a steady hand. Your cheeks were rouged, your lips were glossed, your lashes were carefully curled and it was all topped off with a cooling mist of setting spray and a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“There you are, hm? My beautiful baby dolly,” He mused, reaching forward to tilt your head up by your chin, then to the left, then to the right, checking over his handiwork from every angle. Adding a dash of blush to the tip of your nose, he deemed your makeup complete. “Just perfect.”

Slowly, Leon turned your chair around again, allowing you to look at yourself, and yeah. Wow.

You looked gorgeous, you were glowing even. All of your best features were adorned with purposeful swipes of blush, shade and highlight, your eyes dreamy and sweet, your skin smooth and radiant. He let you look at yourself for a moment, just admiring the expression of awe on you– you were always exceptionally stunning, of course, but you looked all the sweeter in these sacred moments in which you recognized your own beauty.

Leon rested one hand on your shoulder to recapture your attention, his other hand coming forward to stroke your cheek. Your long lashes fluttered as you met his eyes in the mirror, a silent signal that your focus had returned to him. Now the hand that caressed your cheekbone was coming forward to take your own. He helped you up from your seat at the vanity and across the room, to the plush chaise lounge in front of that standing mirror.

The room filled with the quiet noises of rummaging, Leon sifting through drawers and racks of hangers stuffed with what had to have been thousands of dollars worth of designer, a stark contrast to his own attire of largely plain black shirts and jeans that had seen better days.

But you were his princess. Leon was just Leon, and Leon couldn’t possibly deserve as much as a princess.

Turning over his shoulder, Leon approached you with a simple pair of white stockings in hand, sinking to his knees right before the chaise lounge to put them on you. Your ankle looked so slight and delicate in his strong hand as he lifted your leg, drawing a line of kisses up the inside of your calf to follow while he rolled the stocking up higher and higher, until the hem reached just above your knee.

He repeated the action with your other leg, the movement of his hands fluid and practiced, but his breaths were becoming shorter, his kisses a little wetter and needier on your skin. Your own breaths were quickly falling in sync with his own just by watching him dial in on your sex, his calloused hands propping your legs up onto his shoulders so he could shuffle closer.

Gripping you by the hips to angle you up to his liking, he buried his nose into the seat of your thin lace panties and breathed you in deep, as though he were starving for oxygen. The tip of his nose nuzzled forward to brush your panties aside, and just as soon as your slit was bared to him, his tongue was darting out to taste it.

He spread it flat in a slow, languid stripe from your weeping hole all the way to your throbbing clit, his lips closing around the little bundle of nerves to coax it from beneath its hood. You sucked in a breath, your manicured nails printing into the lush material of the furniture you were perched on, trying as hard as you could to keep quiet and still, to allow him to guide you, to play with you as he so desired. Luckily, he wasn’t in too stern of a mood this evening anyway– you weren’t likely to be reprimanded for small errors like that, especially not while he was otherwise occupied.

“Fuck,” He growled lowly into your cunt, leaving white prints where he gripped your pillowy thighs just to ground himself. You could feel his body growing warm as he lost himself in you, lapping up every drop of your arousal with greed. For just a moment, his dilated, denim eyes flicked up to look at you, his rosy cheeks gently squished between your quaking thighs as he puffed out, “Just look at you, my dolly… Daddy’s favorite little toy…”

Your eyes screwed shut with pleasure as his hot mouth met your center again, and when they fluttered open, you caught sight of it all in the mirror. It nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Your dainty legs spread out over your gruff boyfriend’s broad shoulders, adorned in delicate white stockings that looked pure and bright against his tight black t-shirt; his sandy blonde hair damp and messy as he wedged himself between your thighs and drank from you like a fountain; your hair and makeup fit for a gala as your expression contorted with rapture… it could have been an oil painting.

Every swipe of his tongue up the length of you, every flutter along your swollen bud, every deep, wanton, needy groan had your eyes rolling back in your head, your thighs trembling and tightening around his jaw. Every inch of you felt featherlight with electricity as he worked his magic on you, more than capable of making you cum in three minutes flat, but opting not to for the fun of it.

Not that you were complaining. At times he could get carried away in his teasing, but tonight was not one of those nights. Leon wasn’t going to waste your time dangling you over the edge much longer than was strictly necessary. As soon as he noticed you were having trouble sitting still, quiet whines and sighs of pleasure occasionally slipping out from between your glossy lips, he knew it would be unfair to string you along any further.

Leon was practically making out with your folds, the room quiet aside from the slick sounds and lustful whimpers that accompanied his dining of you. Soon it was joined with the low, husky timbre of his voice as he groaned into you, “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna make a pretty mess all over daddy’s face?”

In all honesty, you barely registered his words, but all it ever took to get you nodding like a bobblehead was that upward lilt in his tone that indicated he was asking you something. That was all you needed to know that the correct answer was yes.

Smirking briefly to himself as he witnessed your eager and rapt approval, he doubled the intensity of his efforts, his hands wrenching tight into your thighs to pull you flush against his face, but more importantly, to keep you from wriggling away. He didn’t bother to shush you when a shocked yelp bubbled out of you, your body jerking in response to the added stimulation. After all, it was the response he was expecting, and the response he yearned for.

Your shaking hands darted forward to claw at his hair, half-lidded eyes catching your reflection in the mirror once more. Your skin was warm, your breasts heaving as your spine drew into a fine arch and your lips parted to gasp in all the oxygen you could get to your dizzy brain, heels digging into the prominent muscles in his back. He felt every quiver and twitch of your muscles and it only spurred him on. He ate you up like you were his last meal.

Your vision went white as your climax crashed over you hard– the sounds he made were obscene, a satisfied groan vibrating from deep in his chest at the syrupy sweet taste of your arousal. It was an essence he couldn’t possibly get enough of.

As you laid there panting, your legs shaking after the tension in them released, Leon’s eyes dragged up the length of your body with pride. He carefully pulled your panties back into place with a sweet kiss to the bow in the center of them and an affectionate pat to the thigh. 

“There’s a good girl,” He hummed, crawling up from between your legs to kiss you, his mouth still warm and slightly slick with your own spend. “A perfect little doll. All I have to do is pull the right strings to get you to sing for me, huh, princess?”

Once more, you nodded, eyes fluttering shut just for a moment as he kissed your forehead. Then, he stood to his full height again, one hand taking yours and the other steadying you by the dip of your waist as he raised you up to join him, wobbly knees be damned. After all, he wasn’t finished playing dress-up yet. He took a moment to ensure you had regained your balance enough to be able to stand without assistance before opening up one of the wardrobes in search of the remainder of your outfit.

Moments like these only piqued your curiosity in terms of how his brain worked. Sure, you’d been dating for a long time and it was safe to say you knew him quite well, but his penchant for compartmentalization never ceased to astound you. He possessed the sometimes frightening ability to just switch his brain from one mode to the next.

You were brought back to reality once more by the feeling of his lips on your neck. He murmured into your ear, “Arms up, darlin’,” and he barely even finished saying it before you were complying.

You lifted your arms, and he slipped a new dress over your head. There it was, the compensation for being home late, for dropping off the face of the Earth again. The dress was flattering and soft, a delicate blush pink color with embroidered details along the bust and white lace hemming. He drew up the zipper without resistance, and as it reached its apex, the fabric hugged your form perfectly, as though the garment itself was made with you in mind.

Leon kneeled down to straighten out your stockings, and then the skirt of your dress, his eyes scanning over you meticulously in search of any little imperfections that might need fixing. Finding none, he wandered over to where he’d left his jacket, fishing a baby blue box out of the pocket. You had become quite familiar with that blue lately– Tiffany.

Nestled in the slender box was a dainty diamond necklace that now rested right at your collarbones, the clasp in the back secured with a smooch. He carded his fingers through your hair one last time before turning you around to look at yourself in the mirror, his hands rested on your hips, head stooped low to smother the crook of your throat in kisses.

“What do you think?” He whispered in your ear, nibbling gently at the shell.

“Beautiful,” You replied just as quietly, “Thank you, daddy.”

[moonstruckme]

oh my god i was hoping u werent sick (no pun intended unless…) of all the doc rem requests!!!

can we get not just a regular doc rem but a casually dominant doc rem. like he’ll make sure ur drinking ur water, fixing ur posture by pulling your shoulders back gently, forcing u to put on a jacket if its just a tad 🤏🏻 bit cold outside

and ofc will scold u (lovingly) in the process. fem!reader is all like 🙄 but loves how much he cares about her

You're a genius for this lovely, thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 994 words

Your throat’s been bothering you since you woke up. It’s just a little scratchy, barely anything, but it feels like an ill omen. Still, you’re not going to bring your life to a halt on the slim chance the tickle in your throat is going to turn into something worse, and Remus would never hear the end of it if you skipped out on one of Sirius’ things anyway. 

You probably should have abstained from drinking, though. You’ve only had one, but now your throat hurts worse, the music and chatter are too grating, and your head feels a tad fuzzier than it ought to. Sirius and Remus have gone from bickering about music to teaming up against James to bicker about films without your noticing, and now Lily’s offering you another drink and you have to ask her to repeat herself before declining. There’s an inconvenient ache blooming behind your eyes. 

You know you’ve been sussed out when Remus wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you into his lap. 

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs. “Everything alright?” 

“Mhm.” You leave it at that, leaning a back against his chest. 

He hums. “Did you finish your water today?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What have you had to eat?” 

You roll your eyes. Remus knows, somehow. He gives your hip a warning squeeze. 

“Rem, I’m fine.” 

“What have you eaten?”

You tell him, as if he wasn’t there for breakfast and didn’t pack your lunch himself. He nods, reassured you’d finished it all. 

“You seem knackered for only having had one drink,” he observes. 

You shrug. “I’m just not up to more tonight.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

Remus hums, his grip adjusting just slightly to hold you more securely against him. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m just a bit tired.” 

“Dove.” Your boyfriend has several tones you know well enough to pick up on a single word. This one is all too familiar. It’s mistrustful, admonishing, heavy with the weight of implied consequence. It says, I know you’re not being fully honest with me. 

James may not pick up on all that, but he recognizes the shift in Remus’ attention, one of your boyfriend’s lengthy hands splaying protectively over your stomach. He sends you an amused look, which you return with a touch of loving pique, and then Remus is turning you around in his lap. 

“Dove,” he says again, breath fanning over your face and eyes boring into yours and overall torturously close to you, “are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” 

You give up on denials, turning your eyes up to his pleadingly. “It’s really not bad,” you try.

Remus is unmoved. “Tell me, and I’ll say if it’s bad.” 

“I don’t want to make it a thing.” 

“You’re not. Go on.” 

You sigh, squirming under the attention you can feel at your back. Remus’ friends have continued talking, but you know his behavior has caught their attention. “My throat’s just a bit sore,” you admit, “and I guess the alcohol must’ve made it worse.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, nodding for you to continue. “I feel a bit more affected than I usually would, so I decided to stop. That’s all.” 

“Well, you don’t have a fever.” You release a tiny exhale, and Remus’ lips twitch. “How long has your throat been bothering you, sweetheart?” 

You consider lying, but it’ll only make things worse. “Since this morning.” 

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but your boyfriend’s stare beats that easily. “You ought to have told me,” he says in a low voice. 

“It’s just a sore throat.” You roll your eyes. Remus makes a soft tsking sound that lets you know he’ll remember it. 

“I have you talk to me about these things for a reason,” he says. “Do you know why that is?” 

You’d really rather not enable him, but you’re trapped. You let your expression convey your reluctance. “Why?” 

“Because I’d tell you,” he slips one hand beneath your top, thumb sweeping across your side in the way that softens you like butter, “not to drink when you’re coming down with something.” 

“I don’t know if I am,” you say weakly. 

“Hopefully not.” Remus smears a kiss across your forehead, reaching for his coat. “But if you are, we might still be able to avoid it if you let yourself rest. Y/N’s not feeling well,” he explains to Sirius when the other boy notices his preparations for departure. “I’m going to take her home.” 

“Aw, I didn’t know you were sick,” James covers for his sour friend, who’s still looking like he might protest. 

“I’m not,” you say, but Remus ushers you towards the door. 

Lily gives you a kind look, glancing knowingly towards your boyfriend. “Feel better, love.” 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he placates his friends, placing his jacket over your shoulders. He opens the door for you, and seems all too prepared for the argument on the tip of your tongue when you step outside. “Don’t take off the jacket. You should have brought your own, but now that you’re sick I don’t want to risk weakening your immune system.” 

“I’m not sick,” you insist, starting to shrug the jacket off despite his hands pinning it to you. “And it’s barely cold out here.” 

Remus levels you with a look. “Keep it on.” 

You huff but stop your attempts to remove the covering, trying not to notice how Remus has slowed his brisk pace to accommodate you. “Why did we have to leave?” you ask. “I’m not feeling that bad, really.” 

“I figured you wouldn't want me looking down your throat with a flashlight in front of everyone.” You purse your lips, and Remus grins, wrapping an arm around you. He rubs your shoulder through the material of his jacket. “I’m looking out for you in more ways than one, dove,” he teases, “you can trust in that.”

[pinkberrytea]

If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins.

O, Fitcher’s bird, how com’st thou here? And what may the young bride be doing?

Vanitas—Life is vain. As the true nature of their bond is revealed, the Vampire Ascendant’s Dark Consort is reminded of the futility of swimming against the currents of fate, and must decide whether she shall drown in its river of blood, or let herself be gently carried to the shore.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 12.8k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! i decided to attempt something a little more plot heavy this time, hopefully it is an interesting read! again i would like to dedicate this work to @locallegume and hismostbelovedspawn. thank y’all for being always so kind and supportive!

tags: blood drinking; non-con blood drinking; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; creampie; hurt & comfort; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior; intercrural sex; frottage; mind control; aftercare; choking; piv sex

He will notice. He will know.

The metal surface of the key on your hand feels cool against your skin; lifeless and cold, not unlike yourself. As you look down at it, the world dissolves into darkness, a sickening surge of dread welling up from your stomach and running down your spine. Its serrated edge is stained with red—your red. Even if you wipe it, wash it with soap and water, rub it vigorously until all traces of blood are gone, remnants of your scent will linger on it still. Maybe not to the untrained nose, no; but to a vampire, it would most definitely be noticeable, of that you are certain. Your darling is, however, no mere vampire, but the Ascendant, whose consort’s distinctive bouquet he would undoubtedly be able to recognize anywhere, even more so while it is still fresh. There is no escaping your fate, and as that merciless truth dawns on you, you curse yourself for your own foolishness, for your vain stubbornness. Was it worth it? Whatever did you gain from this? Knowledge? For what purpose? To what end? You find answers to none of these questions, and yet another plagues your mind—once the truth is uncovered, what will happen then?

“My lady. The master is home.”

If your inert heart was capable of skipping a beat, it would have done so just now. You turn around in a swift movement, only to be met with a pair of ruby red eyes staring back into your own, their gaze ever so apathetic, unemotional, yet you see a spark of something in them that worries you greatly: cognizance. She knows; the one your darling calls your “lady-in-waiting”, who you are nonetheless very well aware is loyal not to you, but to him, and him alone. She is the only one who remained from the very first batch of spawn he sired, other than you. Shortly after you both moved into what would come to be known as the crimson palace, now his by right following his triumph over his old master, he decided that all the mortal servants who survived were to be turned, for he aspired to make an army of spawn, and where better to start than by turning those who would willingly surrender themselves to him? 

She was one such servant, of course; a human, whose short lifespan would be made inconsequential by the gift of immortality. And yet, as he would soon come to learn, not even the Vampire Ascendant is immune to the dangers of siring those who have yet to prove themselves worthy. One fateful evening, upon walking into one of your fellow spawn trying to force himself on you, he would kill them all in a fit of rage, taking back the gift he had so generously offered only to be repaid with such vile betrayal—all except your lady-in-waiting, whom he had grown to trust, for she was hauntingly fascinated with his eternal adoration of you. As it were, she was the one who warned him of what had been about to happen that night; not out of fondness for you, naturally, but rather as a desperate measure to protect from corruption what she worshiped as the purest form of love, one so raw and so relentless that not even the gods themselves would dare quell its vicious, unforgiving flames. She would not allow anyone to rob you from him, nor anything to stand between you—not even yourself.

“Ah, yes. I’ll be there in a moment,” you say, trying to sound as collected as you possibly can, yet failing miserably at it. The situation you’ve been caught in looks incredibly suspicious as there would otherwise be no reason for you to be in your lover’s study, crouching behind his desk, and both you and your lady-in-waiting are fully aware of this. She can probably smell the scent of your blood, too, as the papercut on your thumb leaks still, a thin red trail running down your hand, smudged on the spot where it came into contact with the object that is now evidence of your misdeed. Neither of you acknowledge this, yet the oppressive silence lingers, perhaps even more unnerving than it would have been if she said something, anything about it. But she doesn’t—in fact, she remains completely still, standing in the doorway and watching you quietly, knowingly, her sharp eyes boring into your jittery self. She doesn’t intend to leave, not without you at least. 

You look at the documents scattered over the desk, and then back at her, almost as if to ask for permission; she doesn’t react to this, which is as good an answer as any. With trembling fingers, you awkwardly gather the papers and put them back inside the open drawer as discreetly as you can, praying that she hasn’t noticed which drawer it is, yet knowing full well she likely has. One paper remains—the one whose rugged edge cut into your flesh, and that which you’d been reading before it spilled your blood and stained the drawer’s key. It is the sole reason why you are even here, stuck in this predicament. 

Earlier in the day, one of the maids had brought a letter that had arrived that morning to your darling while you were both sitting at the breakfast table—a letter addressed to you. You questioned him about it, asked him if you could read it, yet as he’d done with the many others that had arrived before it, he’d lay it aside and tell you, “Dearest, let me spare you the trouble of worrying your pretty little head about such trifling matters.” And as always you’d comply, because you trusted him. Still and all, when hours later he’d inform you he had some urgent business to attend to in the upper city and that he wouldn’t be back for supper, your mind would sneakily wander to thoughts of stealing into his study while he was gone. Could those letters have been sent by your old companions? Those who had once traveled alongside you—those who you had once called friends? It would be easy, so easy to just grab the key to the drawer where he’d toss your correspondence, for you knew he kept it in the pocket of his overcoat, yet you trusted him, did you not? You’d tell yourself you did, and then let the matter rest; for a few minutes at least, before your wandering thoughts would inevitably circle back to the tantalizing prospect of seizing that golden opportunity. You managed to suppress the ever growing temptation for the rest of the day, but when the clock struck nine, that fading last chance became too hard to resist, and curiosity emerged victorious in the fierce battle raging within you.

Your prize now lies before you, for better or for worse, although as you’ve come to find out, and to your utter disappointment, the sender is in fact not any of your old companions. As for the contents—too much information, too little time to process, and you’ve yet to make sense of it all. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, you take one last look before tucking the letter back inside the envelope, eyes lingering on the sender’s initials: 

To the bride of the Vampire Ascendant,

I hope this letter finds you well. As with my others, I don’t expect a response, yet ever so often I feel compelled to write to you on the off chance that the information I share may somehow be of use. I suppose I may have something of a soft spot for you, for I have once been in a position I consider very similar to yours. I would even go so far as to call you kin. Yet as I have done in the past, I would remind you that there will always be a way out. You are not trapped, regardless of what your sire would have you believe. 

Observations I’ve made over the past few years have all but confirmed my thesis that you are indeed no spawn—not of the common variety, anyway—and while I empathize with your unwillingness to put that theory to the test, the evidence leaves little room for interpretation. I understand my… surveillance of you may be unsettling, but I cannot ignore what is to me now clear as day: you do bear three bite marks, do you not? One on your neck, the other on your shoulder, and the last one on your wrist. 

I implore that you think back to your turning: was there pain? Was it agonizing? Terrifying? A spawn’s turning is a terrible, terrible thing. Do you remember the gruesome feeling of all life being drained from your body? Because if not—well, that would be most unusual. Did you partake of your sire’s blood? Not that you’d be able to remember that, of course. The usual turning rite is nothing like what you probably experienced. Three bites, delirious pleasure, drinking from your sire: all hallmarks of a vampiric bride’s creation. The dark kiss, they call it. Has your sire ever compelled you? Surely not. You retain your free will, after all, unlike common spawn. And that is my point: the connection needs not be severed for you to leave. 

If you ever reconsider my offer, our small settlement in Gillian’s Hill would welcome you with open arms. Some of us are also runaway brides, although none are sunwalkers like yourself, of course. Our community would benefit greatly from your presence. Should you decide to join us, just say the word—I will come to you. 

Your friend,

L.I.

The hour of reckoning is upon you.

There he stands, near the entranceway, surrounded by the servants who have come to greet him. He is giving instructions to one of them—you will be hosting another of his infamous soirees soon it seems. Some patriar’s niece has apparently taken a liking to him, puppy love no doubt, an excellent opportunity to make yet another powerful ally. You watch him silently from your position a few feet away, your lady-in-waiting close beside you, and the pit of your stomach tightens every time it seems he is about to turn in your direction. It takes but a few minutes for him to finally acknowledge your presence—his stern gaze immediately softens once he lays eyes on you, the hint of a smile appearing on his lips, and for a moment you almost lose yourself in the gentleness of his expression.

“...Astarion,” you softly say his name, your voice quiet, uncertain. His smile widens as he turns away from the servant and approaches you; the closer he is, the better you can see him, and you can’t help but think of how very handsome he looks in his black waistcoat, embroidered with red spinel gemstones. The overflowing love you feel impossibly warms your chest and causes tears to well up in your eyes at the mere sight of him, yet the creeping guilt haunts you still, impossible to ignore.

“My love,” he coos, bringing his hand to your face and lovingly brushing his fingers against your cheek. You lean into his touch, yet the tenderness is short-lived; with that same hand, he then grabs your neck—his grip firm, but not tight—and leans down to press his mouth to yours while holding you in place. His lips are soft, warm—you close your eyes and try to revel in the comforting feeling of your skin against his, but that too doesn’t last long. He lets you go, smiling still, and tucks a few strands of stray hair that have come undone from your hairdo behind your ear. You look up at him from under thick lashes, trying your best not to lose your composure, yet something in your gaze apparently gives you away. As his eyes meet yours, his smile slowly fades and he raises a brow ever so slightly, puzzled countenance inconspicuous to all but you. 

“My lord, would you have the maids prepare the—oof,” you hear your lady-in-waiting start to say, only to be abruptly cut off as she trips over her own feet and bumps into you. Your body sways with the impact, not enough for you to fall, but with just about the force required for your torso to slightly bend over.

Clang.

All those present turn to the source of the metallic sound in the otherwise quiet room, you included, and upon seeing the object that now lays on the floor, so close it almost comes into contact with the tip of your shoe, the already cold blood in your veins congeals into ice—the key. You had hurriedly cleaned it and stuffed it under your petticoat before leaving the study with your lady-in-waiting in tow so you could later get rid of it while no one was watching, yet it seems that plan is now no longer an option. You press your lips together and slowly turn your head to the side, tentatively glancing at your lover, and what you see causes any remnants of color to drain from your already pale face. Any semblance of joy in his expression has completely vanished as his now darkened eyes glare fixedly at the unassuming piece of metal by your feet. Without uttering a word, he leans down and picks it up. The atmosphere is so thick you could cut it with a knife; no one dares break the foreboding silence, and all you can hear is the now painfully loud ticking of the grandfather clock adorning the grand foyer.

“How… curious,” he finally says, voice low, seemingly calm, yet your trained ear can discern the underlying anger. You gulp uncomfortably and wipe your sweaty hands on the skirt of your house dress, eyes never leaving his face, studying every twitch of his muscles. “Has the key to my drawer created a life of its own, I wonder? There can surely be no other explanation. How else would it have made its way here? Unless of course…” he raises his head to meet your stare, and you instinctively recoil at the seething ire building up underneath his otherwise impassive visage, “it had some help.”

“I…” you stutter, your throat completely dry, causing your voice to crack and come out raspy, so hushed it is barely above a whisper. You turn to your lady-in-waiting, brows knitting together in your desperation, but she doesn’t look back at you, coldly avoiding your gaze. All the other servants watch you silently, apprehensively, exchanging knowing glances. “The—the laundry basket. It could have been thrown in there. Transferred from one pocket to the other…” You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, and as a surge of blind panic rises within you, wild and unruly, you start feeling nauseous and light-headed, your trembling knees threatening to give out. “If not that, then—I don’t know… I can’t think of any other reason why I’d have it…”

“Oh?” His fury becoming increasingly more difficult to subdue, the flames of anger now lick through Astarion’s eyes; you can see yourself reflected in them, one of the boons he so lovingly extended to you, and despite knowing how lucky you are for having never been required to let go of your own image, staring back at your pathetic, quivering frame makes you wish for a moment you were like the other spawn, with whom he would refuse to share his ascended blessings—yet as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you shun your own petty egotism, for you know how much he has sacrificed—how much you have both sacrificed—to ensure neither you nor him would have to hide in the shadows ever again. “Is that right? I suppose that could be possible. Except,” he scowls, and you feel all hairs on your body stand on end in anticipation for what you predict will come next, “that doesn’t explain why it smells of your blood, of all things. Does it, darling?”

This is it. You always knew it was pointless to come up with excuses, yet you tried to deceive him anyway, foolishly both underestimating and defying the person whom you were supposed to trust the most. Your eyes ashamedly leave his face and you lower your gaze, not bothering to answer—at this point, there is nothing you could say that would avert or deescalate the situation. You’ve made your bed, and now must lie in it. After all this time, after all you’ve been through, to think you’d still betray him, lie to him; it is despicable, indefensible. 

“To the boudoir. Now.” Each word he articulates drips with contempt, the hostility in his voice now undeniable. Your eyes sting as the tears start to form and bead your lashes, blurring your vision. Shame, guilt, fear, regret—the unsightly commingling of emotions comes to a head, making you feel unworthy of even being in his presence.

“I—”

“I was not asking, darling.” He grabs your wrist as he says this, his grasp so strong you’re afraid he may dislocate it. You let out a yelp, and he turns your hand around, exposing the bright red papercut at the base of your thumb, maculating the thin, sensitive skin between it and your palm. It no longer bleeds, but even your enhanced vampiric healing talents have not been enough to allow the still fresh wound to close in the short time that has transpired since it was inflicted upon your flesh. As you anxiously raise your eyes to meet his gaze, your heart sinks at the realization that he is not only furious—he is hurt. He is scared. He is heartbroken. 

“Astarion, please—” you try to say, but he doesn’t let you finish, closing his fingers around your upper arm and forcefully dragging you across the foyer. The servants know well not to follow; they say nothing as you both make your way down the main hall, Astarion’s feet heavily striking the ground with every step, and you treading close behind, stumbling and trying to keep pace with him. You’re unsure what to think, unsure what to feel. While he was always prone to outbursts of anger, you have never before seen him react so viscerally to anything—not like this, not even in his most vulnerable moments. You know him better than you know yourself, maybe even better than he knows himself; in the many years you’ve spent in each other’s arms, you have always been able to read his every expression, decipher his every thought—but this, this you don’t understand. It’s novel, foreign, terrifying. 

“Astarion…” As the two of you turn a corner, finally no longer within the servants’ line of sight, you try to speak once more, fighting back the tears. “Please…” you whimper, your forlorn supplications going unanswered, unheeded, as if never uttered at all. “Please… you’re hurting me…”

As soon as the words leave your lips, he abruptly stops, and you feel his grip on your arm tighten. When he turns around to face you, you cower at the wrath you had never before seen manifest with such intensity in his eyes, and mixed with it, although less discernible, fear—raw, violent and hellacious. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, and the loud thumping of his heart sounds like an accusation, a condemnation of your wretched selfishness. It now only beats once more because of you; because of your complacence, your foolishness, your blithering, pitiful neediness. You wanted him to love you, feared that he’d leave you, and while telling yourself it was because you wanted him to be happy, you sentenced him to eternal guilt. All the sacrifice, all the hurt… and now you’d turn your back on him? You’d make light of the bond of trust you had so earnestly forged and nourished throughout the years—the only reason why you both live still?

“I am hurting you?” Astarion hisses through his teeth, letting go of your arm only to use that same hand to fiercely grab your throat and shove you onto the sill of a nearby window, forcing you to lean against it in a half-seated position, yet at the same time cradling the back of your head with his other hand to cushion the impact. “You come uninvited into my study, rummage through my things, lie to me about it—yet I’m the one hurting you? Do you even hear yourself?” He straddles you and brings his face close to yours, his nails digging into your neck, squeezing it to the point of slightly choking you. 

“...You—you’re the one who’s lying…” you manage to say between pants and squeaks, for despite having no need to breathe, it is difficult for you to talk or emit any sounds at all with your windpipes crushed under his grasp. “You’ve been lying to me… all this time…” He buries his fingers deeper into your skin, but that doesn’t stop you from finishing, it doesn’t prevent the impending disaster about to strike. “I’m not your spawn… I never was.”

You don’t know what has come over you, but the words are spoken before you can swallow them. Astarion seems as taken aback as you are at your defiance—he looks stunned for a few seconds, yet as soon as he recovers, his eyes narrow and glow with sanguineous intent, a darkness so ghoulish and vile festering deep within them that for a moment, you become genuinely frightened. His hand lets go of your neck to then aggressively pull at the hair on top of your scalp, forcibly tilting your head upwards, and he slams the other on the wall next to the window, entrapping you against it.

“No, darling, you are my spawn. My spawn. Mine. Your body, your mind, your soul, they all belong to me. I’ve made you. You are mine to use however I please,” he growls, spitting each word with viperous malice.

Before you can react to this, or even begin to process what is happening, shock waves are sent through your body in the wake of the lancinating pain that suddenly shoots up your throat as he violently sinks his fangs into the hollow at its base. You let out a soundless gasp and your eyes widen in shock, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally streaming down your cheeks. Him feeding on you is a daily occurrence, something you were supposed to already be entirely used to, but never before had he been so forceful, never before had it hurt this much. He sucks with such vigor and so sloppily that the blood spills from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the white fabric of your clothes, speckling them red. His fingers remain tangled in your hair, keeping your head in place as he drinks, and your hairdo partly unravels. You are unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think, even, but not unable to feel: you feel shame, you feel guilt, you feel remorse, for betraying him when trust was the only thing you could ever offer, the only thing that was even left.

“I’m sorry…” you lament, your voice so quiet you are unsure if he is even able to hear you, so you say it one more time. And then another. And you keep repeating it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much effort it takes to voice each word, you apologize again and again hoping your feelings will somehow reach him, hoping he will somehow understand how ashamed you are of yourself, how regretful you feel, how deeply you love him—and you do, you love him, so profoundly that life to you has no meaning without him by your side. If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins. He is your sire, your darling, your master—he is your everything. In hurting him, you hurt yourself, and in breaking his trust, you destroy the very foundation of your existence. 

I’m sorry. Forgive me. I love you.

As your crimson runs down his throat, Astarion can feel it. Your anguish. Your sorrow. All of it. He can feel them so intensely, that it’s as if your feelings are his own—and they are, for he too feels scared, he too feels ashamed, he too loves you, just as desperately, just as ardently. He is scared of losing you, ashamed of hurting you, and the love you share has ascended to such heights that it needs not be voiced, it needs not be reaffirmed. Nothing terrifies him as much as the idea of being apart from you, and he’d do anything to keep you close; if that implies lying to you, inflicting pain on you, then he’ll gladly embrace the shame, for he never thought himself worthy of your love to begin with. And despite it all, you’d still have him—you’d still join him in immortality, trust him beyond reason, bow down and accept your position below him, for power is all he has ever known, all that has ever mattered, and wielding power over you is his only way of ensuring you will never be taken from him. 

I want you. I need you. Don’t leave me.

The tears you shed fall from your eyes and drip onto Astarion’s face as if wept by him; the sensation brings him back to reality, and as the fog clears, he is relentlessly assailed by the regret welling up within his heart. Finally unlatching his mouth from your neck, he slowly lifts his head up to look into your eyes, releasing his grip on your hair and using the newly freed hand to wipe his lips and chin, which are now smeared with blood—with that same hand, he then cups your cheek, gently brushing his thumb against your skin, and in doing so, painting a red streak across it.

“Forgive me… please forgive me…” you plead between soft sobs, the teardrops uncontrollably pouring and mixing with your crimson. Cupping your cheek still, he uses his other hand to dry the now ruby-colored beads, his caresses ever so tender, ever so gentle. Although the darkness has not entirely faded from his eyes, it is eclipsed by the genuine warmth blooming on their dewy surface. He rests his forehead against yours, sliding his fingers which are now wet from the bloody droplets down your shoulders, gliding them across your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip. His touches are so incredibly delicate, tentative almost, that it’s as if you were made out of porcelain and applying the slightest amount of pressure would cause you to break into a thousand pieces.

“Shh. It’s over, my love. It’s over.” He is so close to you that his breath tickles your face and his lips graze yours as he speaks, the soothing tone of his voice lulling your frenzied mind. After hesitating for a split second, his wandering digits venture further down, toying with the hemline of your dress, hiking the bloodstained fabric up just enough to expose the waxen skin of your thigh, only to then slip under it. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine, and still unsure what to make of his advances, you let your eyes fall shut, savoring the moment as if waiting for the spell to break, as if the illusion is about to shatter, yet it doesn’t—instead, he finally closes the distance between you, covering your mouth with his and spreading your crimson that still trickles down his jaw all over you both. As you kiss, some of it makes its way onto your tongue, the coppery flavor so very familiar, for your blood is one and the same, and tasting yourself is as if tasting him.

“That's what you want, isn't it? To be mine? Forever?”

His lips never leaving yours, Astarion moves his hand on your cheek to the side of your head so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face, now damp from your blood only as the tears slowly dry. The hand under your dress finds its way to your backside, splaying across its soft curve and slightly lifting you up from the windowsill, supporting your weight as he leans his body into yours to pin you against the glass. You hold onto his shoulders with both of your hands and wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself from slipping, bringing him closer and pushing his crotch flush against your stomach; doing so allows you to feel the obvious erection under his pants, which you hadn’t yet noticed was there. While this would be a common effect of feeding under other circumstances, it startles you at first, flusters you almost, yet the reason for his sudden wantonness notwithstanding, even if you can’t fully understand it, what you do know is that the two of you may need this just as urgently—to lose yourselves in lust and hunger, feel each other, be reassured that you are both still here, that you are both still real. 

Letting out a low groan, he starts leisurely rolling his hips, burying the fully hardened bulge between your thighs. No less eager to touch him, you rock your own in rhythm with his movements, to which your body responds more willingly than what either of you would have anticipated, heat pooling in your abdomen and wetness collecting between your folds, some of which soaks through your underpants—the sweet scent of your budding arousal encourages him to keep going, and the fingers of his hand propping up your behind reach out for their waistband, slipping under the lacy fabric and pulling at it. With some effort he is able to get them to slide down a little, but not enough to expose your aching sex; deciding to try a different approach instead, he untangles his other hand from your hair and uses it to pull his own pants down, freeing his already leaking cock. Were this any other day, he would have taken his time teasing you, building you both up to the edge only to pull away at the last minute and start all over again, but not this time. Never before had Astarion’s urgency to take you been this great; never before had he felt like he must make you his as quickly as possible, lest you are forever lost to him.

Lifting up your petticoat to gain access to your still clothed core, he slides his cock under it, your underpants now the only layer separating your flesh from his. You moan against his lips at the sensation, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his warm tongue inside your partially open mouth. As the petticoat falls back down, he has his freed hand join the other, using both to cradle your ass, his long digits groping and fondling the soft skin. While rolling his tongue over yours, he resumes his hip movements, massaging your dripping slit with his length and squeezing even more slick out of you, drenching the fabric that envelops it in your juices; due to the friction and the wetness, the flimsy piece of cloth starts wrinkling and sliding to the side, revealing more of your swollen folds with each thrust. Noticing this, he tilts his pelvis, angling himself to help push it out of the way, and it doesn’t take long before your skin finally comes into contact with his—once it does, you jerk your hands away from his shoulders to then wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and he avidly sucks on your bottom lip, fighting off the urge to sink his fangs into it, drawing even more of your blood.

Wet as you are, he glides effortlessly along your now partially naked mound, gently nudging your twitching entrance with the velvety tip of his cock, only to then back away slowly, spreading your folds apart and massaging the engorged bud atop them as he moves. Although his pace is languid, you can tell by his small grunts that he is growing more desperate, more impatient; once your mouths unweave, a thin string of saliva forming between your bruised, reddened lips, you are unwittingly sucked into the endless vortex of passion and yearning lurking within his crimson irises, his feelings flooding into your own heart as you lock eyes with him. Without you, there is nothing—without you, he is nothing. He offered you eternal life, and in return, you promised him eternal love; you cannot, you will not back away now. Only by feeling you, tasting you, ruining you can he convince himself that you remain within his reach, that you belong to him still. The intensity of his gaze overwhelms you, yet as you turn your head to the side to avoid it, he brings one of his hands up from under your dress and grasps your chin, forcing it back into its previous position.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Astarion says, his voice soft, but his tone firm, commanding; as if under a spell, you obey unquestioningly, staring back at him as intently as you can manage while he grinds against the raw, sensitive skin of your center, sliding along the wetness between your puffed folds and coating his cock in your sticky essence, the lewd squelching noises that ensue echoing in the empty hallway. Now increasing the tempo of his thrusts, he presses his throbbing cockhead harder and harder against your cunt with every jerk of his hips, threatening to stretch its tight borders open only to then pull back, the agonizing anticipation of it setting your nerves on fire. The coiling tension in your abdomen grows tauter by the minute, begging for release, and you can no longer feel the searing pain of the gaping wound on your neck, your mind shamelessly burdened with naught but thoughts of him—of how much you love him, how much you want him, how desperately you need him inside you, buried soul-deep, filling you to the brim. 

His appetites mirror your own, for he too craves nothing more than to have you wrapped around him, ready and primed for him to use however he wishes, for you are his, and that is his prerogative—but first, he would have you come undone, watch as you crumble into nothing at his behest. Without ever breaking eye contact, not wanting to miss a second of your unraveling, he pounds into the outer edges of your entrance with ever increasing furor, dipping his cockhead deeper within it each time, while simultaneously holding back the overwhelming urge to stuff you full in a single thrust. He can tell you are close, so close; as you have not fed since morning, the color of your flushed cheeks is not nearly as bright as it would have otherwise been, but he can still hear it—what little remains of your cold blood rushing through your veins, frantically flowing to your face and cunt, puffing up your skin and painting it a pale pink. 

You’re a vision like this, parted lips reddened with dried blood, half-lidded eyes curtained by long wet lashes, nipples pebbling under the thin chiffon of your bodice; his pretty consort, his sweet spawn, his good girl, so foolishly trusting, so naively kind. When did he lose sight of you? When did your blind devotion turn into treacherous cynicism? When did the desire to bring you to heel consume him, when did the darkness within start to take hold? As these thoughts sweep through his mind, Astarion forfeits all self-control—he needs to feel you, deeper, closer; conquer your soul, dominate your body, devour you whole. He plunges into you without warning, reveling in the feeling of your tight cunt fluttering and contracting around his cock, creaming and coating him in your sweet come, as having him finally buried deep inside you pushes you over the edge of your release. You shut your eyes close and let your head fall back, only for him to firmly grab your jaw and force it up again, intent on having you face him as you dissolve into pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he purrs, the look in his eyes expressing adoration and subjugation in equal measure. “My sweet girl. My good girl.” Holding your jaw still, he slides in and out of your spasming slit without giving you time to recover from your orgasm, and the pain from the overstimulation overlaps with the high of the afterglow—rather than shun the sensation, you welcome it, for its paradoxical nature at once grounds and comforts you; the greater the pain, the more intensely you can feel him, the more entangled your souls become. The fingers of the hand still holding your ass tighten their grip, pushing your hips against his, tilting them to allow his cock to sink as deeply within you as possible. Although he refuses to avert his gaze, looking upon you with bone-chilling fierceness, the sweat beading his forehead and the growing fervor of his lust-ridden expression give away his ascent to his own rapture. To him, there is no greater bliss than feeling you clench around him as he massages your slickened walls, his velvety tip ever so slightly brushing against the spongy skin of your cervix with every thrust. He belongs inside you, and you belong to him; your body is more his than yours, your heart less yours than his.

“All mine,” he grunts between ragged breaths, the thought of you completely submitting to him, letting yourself be ravaged and debauched for his pleasure alone racing through Astarion’s mind as he reaches his climax, spilling himself all over your walls and flooding you with his warm seed. His hand that had been keeping your jaw in place lets go of it to then splay across the side of your face, affectionately caressing your cheek, and he finally lets his eyes wander away from yours, lowering his head to nuzzle into the crook of your neck while basking in his release; yet the moment is short-lived, for once he catches sight of the still bleeding mess right below his nose, two crimson gashes carved on the pale skin of your throat, his mind suddenly freezes and his gorge rises. All his—but at what cost? Was this what you wished for? Was this what he wished for? You agreed to eternity, accepted your share of the burden, became his of your own volition; but doesn’t a toy become useless once it’s broken? Doesn’t love turn into hate once it’s ruined? He knew the time would come when you’d finally see him for who he truly is, when the pathetic, repulsive rot festering under the husk of shallow charm would be laid bare before you, but why now, when he had gathered enough power to offer you the world and everything in it? Was not even that enough to keep you by his side? Feeling you squirm under him, hearing your pained whimpers and tearful pleas—he was not supposed to take joy in any of it, yet his body would betray his mind as he drained you dry. The more you pull away, the more his obsession grows; the more you try to escape, the less you are likely to get away. So why would you reject a fate you had once embraced? Were you his obedient girl no longer? Would you doom yourself, doom your love, let the dam in his living heart burst and the murky waters within consume you, him, and all in their wake?

“I already have everything. Except you by my side.”

You wince as Astarion pulls out of you, the sensitive flesh of your core now red and tender, slathered with his thick come, which runs down your entrance and onto your thighs. Raising his head back up, he brings his face close to yours, tenderly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hand on your cheek lingering for a moment before making its way downwards, sliding under your petticoat and reaching for the space between your legs. Once his fingers come into contact with your still exposed wetness, you instinctively roll your hips into the long digits, eliciting a faint smile from him; however, rather than indulging you, he grasps the wrinkled fabric of your underpants, so drenched they have stayed put on your groin ever since being pushed there, and smoothens it as best as he can to cover your dripping sex. Planting another kiss on your bloodstained skin and lovingly rubbing his forehead and nose against yours, he uses that same hand to tuck his softening cock back inside his pants; with one last peck on your temple, he then moves his other hand away from its place on your rear to wrap both of his arms around your waist, hoisting you up. No longer pinned against the glass, legs still around his midriff and arms around his neck, you tighten your grip on him to keep yourself from falling, leaning your upper body forward and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he coos, bringing one of his hands up to cradle your head and affectionately run his fingers through your hair. Backing away from the window, he then turns around and sets off towards the living quarters, all the while carrying you as if you were unable to walk on your own. Not bothering to question his reasons, you close your eyes, intent on enjoying his uncharacteristic gentleness while it lasts and surrendering to the overwhelming allure of his warmth, his scent, his soothing touch and the soft thumping of his heart, which you can feel with your chest flush against his, as if it beats for the two of you. The familiar aegis of his embrace offers solace and protection in equal measure, and for however long he holds you, you feel safe, you feel loved, and nothing else matters—not the guilt, not his darkness, not your selfishness.

“Astarion…” 

You whisper his name as if chanting a mantra, not really for any other purpose than to comfort yourself. The throbbing pain on your neck, the unpleasant sensation of your fluids and his drying on your thighs, the blood all over your face, hair and clothes; somehow, you care about none of it while in his arms, feeling your body rock gently as he moves, the world an endless void behind your shut eyelids. Before the moment ends, it’s just you and him, him and you—no souls weighing down on either of you other than your own, no phantoms from the past lingering in your memory, no outside voices joining in the chorus and challenging your undying love. The voices within remain, however, loud as ever, questioning if you’ve been forgiven, pondering if you’d even deserve it; while he has yet to let go, they have no power over you, but you’re no stranger to the ephemeral nature of his tenderness. Be that as it may, what scares you more than anything are not the loud accusations echoing on the surface, but rather the quiet murmurs rousing in the depths of your heart—those suggesting that time will erode his essence, stripping him off everything but the desire to consume you.

“I’m willing to share all of this with you. What’s that, if not love?”

“Bring me clean towels and lukewarm water. Make it quick.” His voice sounds muffled as you drift in and out of consciousness, and for the first time you notice you can’t feel the tips of your fingers, the blood loss clearly too great a challenge for even your undead body to overcome. The servant whom he is addressing answers something you can’t quite make out, and with a reverent nod, turns away and takes her leave. You slightly open your eyes to get your bearings, and the first thing you see once they adjust to the sudden brightness is the ornately hand-carved frame surrounding the door to your private chambers, its gilded accents glinting in the light of the candelabra, left behind you as Astarion makes his way further inside the room. Upon reaching the grand canopy bed, draped with opulent velvet curtains, he gently lays you down onto the soft mattress, using the hand still tangled in your hair to support your head. The instant you part with his warm touch, the ever constant coldness of death seeps through your skin, its icy tendrils grazing the fringes of your soul; the sudden loss is, however, somewhat subdued when he then circles the bed and sits down by your side, bringing his fingers to your face to glide their soft pads across your brow, studying your features in reflective silence.

“My lord.” No sooner has she left than the servant is back with a pile of plush cotton towels in her arms, one of your handmaidens following close behind, carrying a wooden wash tub that looks far too heavy for her scrawny frame. You prick up your ears at the sound of the familiar voice, and upon discreetly raising your eyes to take a better look at her, you recognize said servant as none other than your lady-in-waiting; it strikes you as no mere coincidence that she’d been waiting for your arrival with the necessary provisions ready, but you decide not to dwell on it. Likewise, there is no effort on her part to acknowledge you as she sets the towels on the eiderdown duvet, gesturing to the handmaiden to put the wash tub down near the bed.

“Leave us,” Astarion says, addressing them both yet not for a moment letting his eyes drift away from yours. Each gives a brief curtsy before doing as told, carefully closing the door behind them on their way out. Once they’re gone, he reaches out for the towel on top of the pile and dips one of its edges in the clear water inside the tub, letting it soak for a few seconds before pulling it back out. Remaining silent and with his gaze fixed upon you, he then brings the now drenched cloth to his own face and rubs it against his mouth and chin, removing the crimson still spattered over his skin with relative ease. You timidly meet his stare from under thick lashes, feeling a bit faint, your limbs heavy and numb from the lack of blood within your veins.

“...Astarion,” you tentatively call for him, your voice so low you wonder for a moment if he is even able to hear you at all; rather than answering you, he places a finger on your lips, hushing you gently. His jaw now rid of stains, he lays the bloodied towel aside and grabs another, soaking it as he did the first, only this time, he presses it to your cheek instead. The damp fabric feels soft and warm against your gelid complexion, and he dabs at it so delicately, so soothingly, that you find yourself leaning into his touch. Your eyelids start threatening to fall shut again, your mind bereft of all thought, but just as you are about to nod off, he starts speaking, snapping you out of your torpor.  

“I never lied to you. Not really.” As the words leave his lips, Astarion’s eyes darken with an intensity you can’t quite make sense of. Deeming your face to be satisfactorily clean, he lowers the towel to massage the pale skin of your throat, letting his gaze wander away from yours to rest upon the grisly puncture marks left by his own fangs. “You are my spawn. My creation. Born from my blood,” he says, the softness in his voice contrasting with the sobriety of his words and the somberness of his expression. After pausing for a moment, not so much out of hesitation as to stall the inevitable, he continues, finally unearthing that which had been hidden for so long with confounding casualness, the revelation likely to have gone by unnoticed if meant for slightly less attentive ears. “My consort—my bride.”

Neither of you utter another word in the minutes that follow. He remains focused on your neck, undoing the top buttons of your bodice to gain better access to it, thus baring your shoulders and collarbone, carefully patting the towel around the ruptured flesh and wiping the encrusted blood off its swollen borders. You, on the other hand, can do anything but focus, unable to process what has just been exposed or the significance of it. Your body is like a doll’s under his; you do not blink, muscles stiffened and chest unmoving, an inanimate object with no will of its own—but you do have a will of your own, do you not? If the letter is to be given any credence to, then wouldn’t the implication be that he let you believe that he could control you when he in fact could not? And if so—what were you to call it then, if not a lie? Did he not trust you to stay? (Had he no trust in your bond?) Was that the source of his fear? (Were you the source of his fear?)

“Is it true, then?” you hear yourself ask, your mouth moving on its own as you let the surge of emotion guide your actions in the absence of coherent thought. “Can you really not compel me? Am I free to do as I please?” Despite the quiet pitch of your voice, and although it trembles ever so faintly, there is a hint of what Astarion can only discern as resentment laced with it. He suddenly stops moving, the now red towel in his hands still pressed against your skin, remaining motionless for a moment before slowly raising his head to lock eyes with you—and there it is again, that raw, visceral dread, only this time masked with a thin veil of arrogance.  

“Oh, sweet thing. Shouldn’t you know it by now?” His lips slightly curl into a humorless smile, voice smooth as silk, yet the words are spoken with deliberate inflection, eerily measured and dangerously sharp. He discards the towel, having it join the other, and casts a predatory gaze upon you, leaning down until the tip of his nose is only inches apart from yours. Bringing both of his hands to your face, he then gently cups your cheeks, fondly caressing them with his thumbs. “I’m the Vampire Ascendant, bound by no such petty rules. That some meddling busybody would underestimate me is not surprising, but I expected more from my good girl.” To your disconcert, although he says this, glimmers of affection peek through the shadows lurking within his eyes. “I’ve spoiled you.” 

You look up at him in confusion, brows lowered and drawn together, trying and yet failing to read his expression. The smile stays on his lips for a moment, but before long, any warmth in his countenance suddenly vanishes. Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach in anticipation, your body’s primal response signaling the imminent threat, but like a mouse caught in a trap, you are helpless, pinned under him in more ways than one. As you lose yourself in the ruby red pools of his irises, the subtle scent of his cologne, that intoxicating brew of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, grows stronger and more concentrated, filling your nose and wafting down your throat. And then, you feel it—a tingling sensation in your fingers, climbing up your arms, spreading to your ribs and chest. It builds up, intensifies, until it is no longer tingling, but shooting pain, radiating outwards in searing waves. Your every muscle screams in protest, throbbing and burning and aching, but when you try to move your limbs, you find them unresponsive; neither can you open your mouth when you try to scream, not even close your eyes once you feel them brim with tears, which then roll down your temples.

“Ah—ah…!”

“Shh. Don’t fight it, my love. It’ll be over soon.” Astarion says as he softly dries the falling droplets with his thumbs, the words slipping from his pretty lips in dulcet whispers. Once you heed his advice and stop struggling, the pain subsides—you remain, however, a passenger in your own body, unable to do anything but stare into his eyes. Within them, the fear still lingers, but it no longer muddies its bloody waters, suppressed by the confidence now sprouting in their depths; and that’s when you notice that this is to him as much of a novelty as it is to you. Despite his haughtiness, he couldn’t have been sure that it would work, for he had never attempted such a feat before. But alas, any concerns prove now unfounded—you are, and were always his thrall. His puppet bride, subject to his every whim.

“My dark consort. My right hand. My most beloved spawn.”

The compulsion persists for no more than a few minutes, but once he finally loosens his hold on you, it feels as if it’s been hours since last your body was yours to command. With a loud gasp, sucking in the air desperately as if your undead lungs would have any use for it, you are back in control, for what that’s even worth now. Pressing his forehead to yours, he hushes you tenderly, breathing words of comfort as if soothing your unrest after a bad dream. Tears continue pouring from your eyes even as they fall shut, yet the source of your grief is unclear; your mind is, however, in too great a turmoil to allow you to sort out your feelings, so you try to focus on his touch instead, yielding to it as he moves one of his hands from its place on your cheek to lovingly brush your hair away from your face. Regardless, the moment lasts only for so long—once you are no longer as agitated, he pulls away, his expression undecipherable, an uncanny blend of darkness and placidity, dolefulness and sobriety.

“Pay attention, my dear, for this is an offer I will make but once,” he says, the danger in his voice underlying its velvety slickness, reflecting the ambiguous glint in his eyes. As you open your own, you see him take and soak another towel from the pile, which he then brings to your neck to continue removing the dried blood, by now almost completely gone from your skin, yet staining your clothes still. “Freedom. That’s what you wish for, isn’t it?” Smiling bitterly, he undoes the remaining buttons of your bodice, exposing the narrow valley between your breasts, yet his gaze remains drawn to the fresh set of bite marks on your throat; he seems distracted for a moment, but soon enough, his lips continue moving, the tone with which he speaks taking on a deceptively poised quality. “Say the word and I shall unmake our bond. Refuse, and resign to your fate as my eternal spawn.”

Astarion doesn’t look your way even as he tells you this, focusing on the wound still—a manifestation of his inner demons, the sigil of a man who chose to fully embrace the shadows, and whose only remaining light he now tries to dim. Oh, how he wishes the illusion would have lasted forever; you in his arms, eternally his, a bird singing beautifully in its gilded cage. Not clipping your wings was his biggest mistake, for he had always feared that sooner or later, you’d give into the desire to soar high, leave him to waste away, consumed by power and shame. So now he opens the cage himself, before you lose your voice, before the song is silenced. He wants to see it, he needs to see it—hear your denial, feel your rejection, taste your betrayal. Whether he means what he says is inconsequential, for he himself knows not the answer to that; his wish is but to have you confirm what he already understands to be true, so that he may finally snuff out that trembling flame and surrender to lonesome oblivion.

Your answer to him is, however, nothing but silence; having by now wiped most of the stains off your neck area, he straightens his torso, and his eyes finally make their way back to yours—which, to his astonishment, are not only misty and glistening with the tears still pooling in their corners and flowing down your cheeks, but wide and unblinking, unrelenting terror etched across your face. Terror? Why terror? No, no, this makes no sense. Is he to believe you’re crying tears of happiness? Could these be complicated feelings surfacing now that you’ve finally been given that which you’d always wished for? Freedom—that is what you wish for, surely? He never doubted your love, for he could feel it just as you could feel his, but he did question whether just love would be enough to keep you by his side, whether even a love as real as yours would stand the test of time. Never had he been able to understand your love for him, but he knew it to be true, and he would protect it in whatever way he could; as the Ascendant, there was very little he could not do, thus taking away your freedom was the obvious course of action. And yet, now that he offers it back, you react not with relief or gratitude, but terror?

“I would sooner die again,” you finally say, voice quiet and strained, raw emotion pouring from your every word. Astarion stares at you in complete shock, frozen in place, and time seems to come to a standstill while each of you wait for the other to break the silence. As he disconcertedly studies your face, trying to make sense of your unexpected fretfulness, a realization dawns on him—are you perhaps afraid of spending eternity by yourself? Is it not his promise of making you into a full vampire, independent of its creator, but rather the prospect of total separation that upsets you so? That must be it, that has to be it—why else would the offer of freedom, that which has always driven him, the ultimate goal, sound so appalling to your ears? Although it is no less surprising that you wouldn’t use your newfound autonomy to turn your back on him at the first opportunity, as far as his proposal is concerned, this is but a misunderstanding; he should clarify, then.

“You—”

Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.

Your words ring in Astarion’s ears as if spoken by you, yet your quivering lips remain sealed. Hah! How quaint, that such an ability would manifest now. As your thoughts flow from you to him, he notices you don’t seem to be aware that you are speaking into his mind. Of course not, why would you? He had kept the nature of your bond a secret, and thus, your mental connection was too concealed. Oftentime you’d unwittingly let your inner voice seep into his head, but never had you noticed, and never had he brought it to your attention. It feels invasive, peeking into your heart when you haven’t let him in, but he can’t help himself, for he needs to know; he needs to be certain that this is what you want, that this is the fate you’ve chosen, no matter how grim, no matter how hopeless.  

I promise I’ll be good. I need you. Please.

Raising your upper body into a seated position, you reach out for his arm, and your fingers tentatively grasp at the sleeve of his shirt. You can’t bring yourself to voice your feelings, yet you hope that the earnestness in your tear-filled eyes somehow is enough to convince him of your sincerity, for the thought alone of having your souls ripped asunder horrifies you. You had accepted your circumstances once, and you’d do so again—bearing the guilt and remaining his spawn for the rest of your days is too low a price to pay for his freedom, for his life, for him. All for him. It always was, it always will be. You failed him once; not again. Never again. For however long he’ll have you, you’ll remain by his side, pay your penance, atone for your sins, love him with all of you, body, mind and soul, until there’s nothing left but dust and blood. 

As the confusion in his eyes gives way to gentle warmth, Astarion brings one of his hands to your face, tenderly cradling it and brushing his long fingers against the damp skin. After letting go of the towel which he had been holding still, he leans forward, pausing for a moment to meet your weepy gaze before pressing his pillowy lips to yours, and relief washes over you like a balm. You relax your muscles which you hadn’t noticed were tensed until now, and although you have yet to stop crying, the salty droplets are no longer an expression of fear and regret, but of succor and deliverance. Timidly starting with a sequence of soft, chaste pecks, the kiss gradually becomes more sensual, more passionate, and soon you feel his tongue flick at your bottom lip, asking for passage. Once you comply, he begins eagerly exploring the inside of your mouth, the digits of his other hand running through your hair as he tastes you, unweaving what still remains of your hairdo and letting the tresses fall over your shoulders. Longing to be as close to him as physically possible, you tighten your grip on his sleeve, lovingly nuzzling your nose and cheeks against his, and in doing so, making them wet with your tears. 

Kissing you still, he untangles his fingers from your now freed locks and splays his hand across the small of your back, using his body weight to gently pin you down until you are both lying on the mattress, him on top of you. The hand on your cheek leaves it to reach for the last towel in the pile, which he then blindly soaks in the water remaining within the wash tub; your skin now completely rid of bloodstains, he sticks it under your petticoat instead, bringing it to your groin and tugging at your underpants with one of his digits. This time successfully managing to get them to slide down enough to gain access to your wetness, he delicately presses the soaked cloth to it, eliciting a soft mewl from you. All the while massaging your mouth with his, he rubs the towel up and down the still tender flesh of your sex, thus removing the remnants of earlier activities, yet at the same time nudging your slowly swelling clit with every stroke. Feeling the familiar tautness building up low in your belly, you roll your hips into his hand, squeezing your thighs together and clenching them around his arm, any pretenses of playing coy completely discarded as you helplessly plead for his touch.

Rather than mess around with you like he would on any other occasion, Astarion yields, and as two of his fingers feel up and circle the now twitching bundle of nerves through the wet fabric, another slides further down and rims your slickened entrance. You wantonly whimper against his lips, wrapping both of your arms around his neck, and his hand on your back makes its way to the front of your torso to unfasten the lacing keeping your unbuttoned bodice in place, thus revealing your breasts and stomach. As soon as they come into view, his skilled digits quickly find one of your hardened nipples, pinching and playing with the swollen nub as his tongue continues hungrily swirling around yours and his hand between your legs fondles your aching arousal, coaxing pants and all sorts of cute noises out of you.

“Sing for me, little bird,” he breaks the kiss to purr the words in your ear, fangs gently grazing your earlobe. You readily do as told, moaning and whining with your drying eyes closed, teardrops no longer escaping through your long lashes, and his face creases into a smuggish smile as he watches you writhe and squirm. Once he withdraws both of his hands, you let out a displeased sigh, in response to which his smile widens; finally tossing aside the towel, he then leans back to finish undressing you, and as you help him peel off both your dress and undergarments, you suddenly notice neither of you are wearing shoes, though you can’t recall at which point they were lost. Tucking a hand inside his own pants, he pulls out his cock, still partially soft but rapidly hardening again, yet there seems to be no intention on his part of removing the rest of his clothes, a fact which neither of you seem to mind—if he would rather have you naked and exposed before him, then so be it; if he finds strength in your vulnerability, then you won’t deny it to him, for his comfort is your atonement, even if it costs you your dignity.

“You wouldn't just be some spawn—you’re far more than that to me.”

“Come, pretty vampling,” Astarion beckons, intertwining his fingers with yours and helping you rise to his level. Once you are both sitting up and facing each other, he tenderly kisses the back of your hand, letting go of it to then wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull your chest flush against his, squishing your soft breasts between your bodies. After planting a loving peck on your brow and affectionately rubbing your noses together, he then slightly cocks his head to the side, exposing the smooth skin of his neck, marked only by two shallow indentations, so similar, yet so different from your own. It takes you no more than that to realize what he means, and you gingerly press your mouth to a blue artery pulsating right under his jawline, looking up at him demurely with lamblike eyes, as if waiting for his approval. With an affable simper, he brings one of his hands up to cradle the back of your scalp, which you understand as an assent; parting your rosy lips, you thus brush your fangs against the throbbing vein, only to then sink them into the sensitive flesh, as gently and carefully as possible. He groans at the sensation, not from pain, but pleasure, and you feel him lightly tug at your hair.

His blood tastes rich and angular on your tongue, and your hazy mind slowly clears as the thick crimson starts spreading to your extremities. You suck so delicately that he can barely feel your fangs piercing his neck—instead, he feels the plushness of your lips, the softness of your curves, the heat irradiating from your cold pale skin as it turns warm and flushed. He hugs you tighter, yearning to have you pressed even closer against him, letting out low grunts and quiet moans as you drink, his cock now fully hardened into an angry, painful erection. Bringing both of his hands down to your ass, he firmly squeezes your buttocks and slightly lifts up your body to sit you on his lap; following his lead, you position yourself while feeding still, bending your knees to support your weight on them and lining up your entrance with his leaking tip. However, instead of immediately lowering your hips, you start languidly rocking them back and forth, burying the engorged cockhead between your folds and coating it in your juices.

“Oh, you cheeky brat…” he says, yet the playful tone of his voice encourages you to keep going, even if from your position you can’t see the matching expression on his face, eyes closed and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Gods, you feel good…” His fingers press down harder on the supple skin of your behind, and his crimson takes on a sweeter flavor the more aroused he becomes; as it flows to your center, your rouged clit too grows tumescent with desire, slick dripping from your needy cunt. Setting an agonizingly sensual pace to your rhythmic movements, you bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders, a trail of red escaping from your lips and running down your chin. You can feel his cockhead twitching madly as you engulf it in your wet heat, hungering for the tightness of your walls, but the blood high emboldens you, and you continue stubbornly refusing to give in, even if you want nothing more than to have him stuff you full.

Astarion has, however, only so much patience, and being on the receiving end of teasing doesn’t sit well with him; once he feels the tip of his cock nudge the borders of your slit, he tightens his grip on your ass and yanks your body down, stretching your entrance open and sinking you to about half of his length. You unlatch your mouth from his neck and yelp in surprise, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, but before you can say anything, he crashes his lips into yours, lapping at the blood staining them red. While you kiss, he gives you time to adjust, and his hands move up to your waist, his touch at once firm and gentle. Despite the pain of the sudden intrusion, being filled with him is pure bliss, and as your walls accommodate his size, you start almost imperceptibly undulating your hips, although the slight friction serves only to fan the flames of your desire. Upon taking notice of your shy grinding, he eggs you on, pulling you downwards with only about enough force to encourage you to follow suit. Not willing to hold back any longer, you eagerly comply, lowering your rear until you are fully seated on him, buttocks pressed against his thighs. Stifling a groan, he nips at your bottom lip and sucks on the ruby droplets seeping from the small lesion, your taste indistinguishable from his own. If you’d give yourself to him, then he shall unapologetically take that which he is owed; from the marrow in your bones to the crimson flowing through your veins, you are wholly his to consume.

“You're the one that I want—the one that I love.”

“Hnng—Astarion…” you moan his name as your mouths come apart, so sweetly that it stirs up in him the urge to again sink his fangs into your flesh. Yet he doesn’t; instead, he bucks his hips upwards, prodding your cervix with his cockhead, and an amused glint appears in his eyes as you react with a high-pitched squeal. Trying to hide the blush spreading across your face, you lean forward, resting your chin on the curve between his neck and shoulder, warm cheek pressed to his, and biting back a whimper, you timidly start sliding yourself up and down his cock. With your ear so close to his mouth, you can hear the soft grunts and shallow pants slipping from his lips whenever he disappears into you, the lewdness of it setting ablaze the waves of fire seething under your skin. Your leisure gait doesn’t last long, and you ride him more energetically with each bob of your body, which he reciprocates by burying his fingers deeper into your waist and pulling you down harder, feeling the pert nubs of your plump breasts brush against his chest as they bounce.

“You’re doing so well, little love,” Astarion says while peppering kisses across the delicate skin of your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You can feel him pulsing inside you, bulging veins vibrating against your gummy walls as they are distended to their limit the stiffer he becomes. “Such a good pup for me, taking me so nicely,” he coos, bringing one of his hands to your navel, gliding the pads of his digits along the soft curve of your stomach and towards the ache throbbing in your crotch, where he then grasps your flushed clit between two deft fingers, massaging the tender knot with seasoned adroitness. The sound of smacking flesh grows louder as he pushes against your hips with his own, and you sink down his cock with greater abandon the more you approach the peak of ecstasy, your body glistening with sweat and burning red with his crimson. 

“Ah! I’m—close…” you stutter, your voice trembling as you work your thigh muscles with even greater ardor, letting go of his shoulders to lean back on your outstretched palms. With the fingers of his hand wedged between your legs, he continues stroking the rose-pink bud crowning your mound, moving the other from its place on your waist to gently squeeze one of your breasts, teasing the puckered nipple with his thumb. While watching you lose yourself in the rising crescendo of your release, he accidentally lets his gaze wander to the wound on your throat; promptly averting it, he chooses to focus instead on the luscious expression etched on your pretty face, his lifeblood blooming under your cheeks and nose—the moment you lock eyes with him, the tension finally snaps, and you buckle your elbows as your arms go limp, walls spasming around him and creamy pearls of come leaking from your stretched entrance.  

Spellbound by your cock-drunk image, Astarion pushes you down on the bed without warning, and cradling your face with both of his hands, pulls you into a lustful kiss, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. Still high off your climax, you don’t resist, obediently parting your lips, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist. Shoving his thighs against the back of yours, he bends them into a mating press, and wasting no time, starts ferociously thrusting deep into you, setting a brutal pace; your walls contract and twitch around his enlarged girth, the ripples of your orgasm yet to peter out, making vulgar sucking noises as you swallow him whole. He moans into the kiss with every roll of his hips, blood buzzing in his ears and heart pounding violently inside his chest, fucking you greedily, indulgently, minding his own pleasure and naught else. Your body sways weightlessly like a ragdoll’s each time the base of his cock strikes your groin, but you care not about his rough treatment of you, for nothing brings you greater elation than knowing you can make him feel this way.

“So tight…” he growls with his mouth still pressed against yours, his voice muffled and breathy. Propping his torso up with one of his arms, he brings the hand of the other to your throat, squeezing it firmly, and pulls away to admire his handiwork, a dark intensity blazing within his eyes. “Oh, darling, you look so precious with my fingers around your neck.” His silvery curls fall over his brow as he says this, tousled and dripping with sweat, his appearance at once statuesque and animalistic. He ruts into you in a disorderly fray, his movements messy and sloppy as they usually are in the short moments preceding the culmination of his desire, and with one last powerful thrust, he empties himself inside your fucked out cunt, feeling your fluttering walls clench around him, milking him to the last drop.

“Sweet gods…” Slumping down on top of you, he embraces your sore body and buries his face in your hair, taking in your scent as his cock continues convulsing inside your raw, tender slit, hardened still. Filled with him and his seed, nestled in his arms, you feel comfortably full, warm, safe. Your eyes fall shut, tiredness suddenly overtaking your weary mind, and although erratic thoughts run through it, you hold onto none of them, deciding to just for today, just for this night, turn a blind eye to all implications, all the ill omens, and let yourself be; be by his side, be his spawn, be his bride forever more. 

As you drift off into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the gentle sound of his heartbeat, oblivion tenderly cradles you against its merciful bosom, and the clarity of the precipice of unconsciousness rips your burdens from your soul and makes your every worry seem so futile, so meaningless. Your fate is inevitable, as certain as death itself, and following the precepts of life is a vain undertaking, for they are not the same as those ruling over undeath. Astarion knows this; so should you. Existence is transient, but his dark love is everlasting.

There is a light in every living thing.  It’s crawling t’wards the surface to survive. And in its wake, it tramples everything. We’ll kill the rest, so that the one can thrive.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Llama, could you share any datemate Fae!Dream you may have please 🥺

What a lovely, silly, complicated guy.

We know he's got... issues. His whole life he's been surrounded by yes-men and people who think the sun shines out of his ass. He really, genuinely believes that his worth as a person is directly tied to how 'good' of a King he is; hence his habit of hyper-focusing on a new partner, then gradually drifting away from them as his need to continually prove his 'goodness' begins to rear its head again.

I think Dream, deep down, really wants someone who doesn't think he's all that. Someone who doesn't admire him, or get swept up in his power and prestige. Someone who actually sees him.

He would really like someone blunt. Someone who sees through him. Someone who will say "Dream, I feel really abandoned, you're being a shitty partner." or "I'm hurt that you keep sending gifts as apologies for not spending time with me, it feels like you don't care enough to actually come apologise."

He wants someone who'll talk with him for hours. But if not more, he wants someone who will stay even when he's silent. Someone who'll sit with him by the lakeside, his head in their lap, doing nothing. Saying nothing. Reading together is one of his favourite activities.

He wants someone who won't rush to 'fix' that he isn't happy.

Someone who doesn't need a performance.

Being with Dream means understanding that he's the King of a massive, sprawling realm. He will be busy. You won't always have his time.

He's much more perceptive than he lets on. He'll remember if you expressed interest in something.

He has taken many lovers to the most beautiful areas of the Summer realm. But he has a place that's 'his', where no one else is allowed to go. It has a small pond, not as pretty as the big lakes. A tree, old and wizened but still bearing fruit. A tiny garden with flowers he planted himself.

He'll take you there. He wants you to see it.

You'd probably constantly be surprised that he keeps coming back to you. Everyone else in his life says exactly what he wants to hear, why does he always refuse to dismiss you from his side, even though you're the only one who dares to tell him what you really think? All the other fae look at you like you're insane when you plainly tell him your thoughts. Yet he still brings you everywhere.

He deeply craves that kind of reality check. You're always calling him out, but never in a malicious way. It's just honesty. And even when you do tell him he'd being a (pardon my British coming through) massive git, you still treat him with kindness and stay by his side. You see his flaws but remain anyway.

He's surprisingly not overly physically affectionate. He shows physical love in more restrained ways - taking off his gloves to help you down from a horse, seeing you for the first time in a while and spinning you when you jump into his arms, quietly resting his head on your shoulder when he's so tired but the day isn't over yet, letting the kiss on your hand linger that fraction longer.

When it's just the two of you, he doesn't smile as much. You come to realise just how much that means he loves you.

[dindjarindiaries]

Fight For Me

summary: When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

warnings: angst, strong language, mentions of trauma, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.175k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

You tugged on the hood of your poncho to conceal more of your face from view. “We’ve got a lot of eyes on us.”

“I told you.” Din’s modulated voice was low as he took a subtle step closer to your side. “We’re near Mandalorian Space.” You stole a glance over at him just in time to catch the quick tilt of his helmet. “The people out here aren’t fond of my kind.”

“I just…” You paused as the two of you passed another pedestrian, your chin and your gaze lowering until they were out of sight. “I thought you said Akiva was the first planet to pledge their allegiance to the New Republic.”

“They were.” Din’s gloved hand pulled into a fist at his side. You noticed it just as a bead of sweat began to trickle down your temple. “They wanted a change after years of the Empire ordering almost every Mandalorian warrior to do their bidding.”

“I see.” You exhaled and lifted your hand again to brush the sweat away. “It’s hot as hell here.”

Din huffed. “It’s known for its humidity.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And yet you let me wear this?” You gestured to the thick poncho that sat over your head and shoulders.

“Staying concealed is a bigger priority than staying cool. We won’t be here for long.” Din nodded towards a building on the right. “Here.”

You read the Aurebesh letters that hung overhead the building’s round entrance: cantina. That was the last place you wanted to be on a world where Din and his kind weren’t welcome, but there wasn’t much of a choice. It was your first, and so far your only, lead on finding the new location of whatever remained of Din’s covert.

Din led the way inside, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, the chatter dimmed. Hushed voices spoke as Din wove the two of you through the tables and other crowds, carrying through the cantina until each voice rose back to its previous volume. You tightened your jaw and remained vigilant. Din may not have been worried about the actions of others, but you sure as hell were.

You stayed at Din’s side as he reached the bar, his gloved hands settling on top of it as he instantly gained the attention of the bartender. The Zabrak man tossed his hand towel on his shoulder and looked at Din expectantly. “What can I get started for you?”

Din reached into the pouch on his belt and set down a handful of credits. “Nothing to drink.” He slid the credits forward. “Just information.”

The bartender gave the pile of credits a cautious glance. “What makes you think I have something worth knowing?”

Din looked left and right before he leaned forward, lowering his voice in a much gruffer way than he would ever do with just you. “Nevarro.”

The bartender did the same gesture as Din before he secured his hand over the pile of credits. “Hold tight.” He pocketed the credits into his apron and nodded. “I’ve got something in the back.”

Din returned the nod, assuming his previous posture as the bartender disappeared into a back room. You crossed your arms and set them upon the top of the bar. Your voice was a hushed whisper as you spoke. “Do you believe him?”

Din shrugged. “We’ll see.” He exhaled, as if attempting to release some of the invisible weight that hung upon his armored shoulders. Your heart ached at the thought of it. “There’s no other option right now.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” A booming voice disrupted any thought you were going to voice in reply to Din. Your head turned as you observed the Klatooinian who stood behind the two of you. Your blood both ran cold and red-hot at the same time as you watched the Klatooinian snarl at Din’s back.

Din’s helmet didn’t move, his visor instead focusing ahead of himself as he tapped his gloved fingers against the bartop. Your gaze slid over to him as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.

“You know what your kind did to us—to this entire system.” The Klatooinian scoffed, his guise of amusement failing in favor of his lethal anger. He raised an arm to gesture to the onlookers around them. “I speak for everyone here when I say we would take any chance we could get at killing you ourselves.”

“I don’t think your Republic would take kindly to that.” You couldn’t help yourself from biting out the words. Din’s visor slowly slid towards you, a silent warning you failed to heed.

The Klatooian’s vicious eyes found yours. He then laughed, a grating sound that stung you and made you curl your hands into fists on the bartop. “You’re on the wrong side of the planet if you want New Republic support, dustbreather.”

Din tensed at the insult the Klatooinian threw at you, but he still didn’t speak. Of course he wants to defend me more than himself.

The Klatooinian had since set his attention back on Din. “Your kind was eliminated for a reason.” He took another step closer to Din’s back. Your fists tightened even more, until the leather on your hands groaned in protest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your gaze burned through the side of Din’s helmet. His visor faced you as he gave his helmet a small shake, but you were already blinded by your rage. His way was not your way.

“Peel that armor off and what are you?” The Klatooinian scoffed and took one more step closer. “Nothing but a man who should’ve died with the rest of his—.”

You lunged in a movement so quick not even Din could have stopped it as you slammed your fist as hard as you could against the Klatooinian’s jaw. The entire cantina roared as every eye settled on you, especially as you shook out your stinging hand and faced the Klatooinian who was barely still standing. Din had whipped around at your side, but even he was frozen as you sized up the Klatooinian.

“Oh, you bitch!” the Klatooinian seethed as he swung towards you. You skillfully dodged his blow and elbowed his ribs, using the opportunity to hit him with an uppercut. The commotion amongst the onlookers rose more and more as you evaded the Klatooinian’s hits and dealt him more of your own.

It was all a blur of blood, sweat, and hot fury until two arms wrapped around your waist from behind and pulled you tight against a beskar barrier. You fought against the grasp, the hood of your poncho having long since fallen away from your face as you swung towards the Klatooinian who had to be supported by his peers. “Fuck you!” you spat at your opponent. “You haven’t gotten even half of what you deserve!”

You tried to push off of Din to lunge at him again, but Din’s grasp only got tighter as he pulled you back to him. “Easy,” his modulated voice gently warned you.

“That man deserves to be dead!” The Klatooinian points a weary finger in Din’s direction.

You fought Din’s grasp again, pushing even harder against him that time. “I’ll show you who deserves to be—!”

Din forced you against himself so hard that it stole the air from your lungs for a moment. “Easy, cyar’ika.” The lip of his helmet was just beside your ear as he went on. “That’s enough.” He freed one arm from your waist to hold the wrist of your bleeding hand, forcing your arm behind you. “We have to go.”

His words made you snap out of your state of bloodlust as you turned your head around to face his helmet. “But we haven’t gotten your information.”

“Doesn’t matter. Half this cantina wants to fight you, and…” Din paused, his grasp easing on your wrist as he looked down at your hand, “you’re bleeding.” His voice lowered in worry.

“I’m fine.” You faced your opponent with indignance again. “I can take them.”

“No.” The arm Din still had around your waist gave you a gentle yet firm tug away from the growing crowd around the Klatooinian. “We’re leaving.”

Trying to argue with Din about that would be a losing battle, and so you sighed and started to follow him out. Before you could get far, someone whistled from the bar area. Din’s visor locked on something behind you, and when your gaze followed it, you found the bartender nodding at Din before tossing something in the air. Din released you only to catch it. He then returned the Zabrak’s nod and continued on.

“What is it?” Your curiosity got the best of you even as you and Din had to shoulder your way out of the rowdy cantina.

“Coordinates.” Din put your hood back over your head for you and led the way onto the street.

You furrowed your brow and cradled your stinging knuckles. “To where?”

“We’ll find out.” Din was clearly navigating for another specific place as he wove you through the fray. With the adrenaline of your fight still pumping through your veins, it was hard for you to focus, and that was something Din had no doubt picked up on.

Still, there was a more sickly sensation that prickled at you like a thousand icy needles, the chill of it settling inside your chest even amidst the humidity of the planet. You made your concerns known in a voice much quieter than you would have liked. “Are you upset with me?”

You earned no response. Din’s visor continued to look from building-to-building, and he moved at a pace that was getting difficult to keep up with. The needles turned into one sharp blade that sliced through your heart as you ultimately stopped in your tracks.

“You’re upset with me.”

Din stopped just a few paces ahead of you, but in an instant, he had closed the distance between you again. For a moment, his gloved hands cradled your face. “No. Not at all.” His helmet lifted in realization of your surroundings, his hands soon following as they settled on your shoulders instead. “I just… I want to get you somewhere safe.” He shifted his weight between his feet. “Now.”

“Here?” You lifted your brow in surprise. “Didn’t you hear what that guy said?” You shook your head at him. “Anyone here would kill you if they could.”

“But they won’t, because they can’t, and they know it.” Din tilted his helmet at you. “I told you these people aren’t fond of me, not that they’re a threat to me.” He nodded at your bruising hands. “Especially with you here to back me up.”

You began to smile at that. Din gave your shoulders a squeeze and turned away from you to continue on through the town. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for, a reliable source of lodging with a business owner who wouldn’t turn down any customer, not even a Mandalorian. He navigated the two of you once more to your own quarters and stepped through the threshold first only to be sure he could observe the room for threats before you followed.

As soon as the door was closed and secured behind you, Din slipped off his helmet and set it aside, his hands reaching for your face once again. This time, Din didn’t have to worry about eyes on you, and so he leaned fully into you and the bliss you two could share by pinning you between himself and the nearest wall and kissing you like his life depended on it.

Your arms wrapped around Din’s neck to keep him close as his mouth slotted over yours time and time again, his tongue lavishing praises onto you without having to speak a single word. You met his familiar rhythm with each movement, a pattern as familiar as your own heartbeat that thudded against your chest. It was a moment where the stinging in your hands faded and the worries of what Din thought dissipated completely.

He was making it clear how he felt about the situation, and you wanted to keep feeling it—at all costs.

Eventually, though, your lungs cried out for air, forcing your mouths to separate even as Din stayed close. His gaze, sparkling with affection even amidst his worry for you, found your own as he forehead rested against yours. His voice was a mere rasp from both its quietness and his lack of breath. “Thank you for defending my honor.” His thumb ran over your lips.

You smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb. “You never have to thank me for that.”

“I know.” Din returned your smile and brushed his lips against yours. “But I will anyway.” He kissed you again, but this time, he kept it brief. His concern no doubt got the best of him as he pulled away and lifted his hands to hold your wrists. He pulled them away from his neck and studied your hands, his smile transforming into a worried grimace. “Let’s take care of this.”

You continued to beam at him. “Sure.”

Din set one hand over your lower back as the other kept its gentle grasp on your wrist. He led you over to the single bed in the room, and you took your place on the edge of it, sitting just beside Din’s helmet. Din disarmed himself of his spear and jetpack before reaching into the pouch of medical supplies on his belt.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” You started by taking the leather off your hands, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from groaning at the way it tugged at your angry skin.

Din huffed, raising his brow in amusement as he took the pieces of leather from you and set them aside. “You’re almost as bad at lying as I am.”

You laughed at that, making room for him to sit beside you as he took one of your hands in his and started to work. Din began with your dominant hand, which was more beat-up than your other hand. You spoke to him as he worked, hoping it would ease some of the tension that knit his armored shoulders together. “How would you rate that fight?”

Din paused and looked at you with a wrinkled brow. “What do you mean?”

You offered him a mischievous smile. “I mean, how did I do?”

Din blinked at you for a moment. “How did you do?” He chuckled and shook his head, focusing on your hand again even as he responded. “Cyar’ika, he was barely conscious standing up.”

“So?” You tilted your head at him and smiled sweetly. “What do you rate it, then?”

Din smiled to himself while he traded a tube of bacta for a secure wrap. “There are no words for it.”

“Oh.” You feigned disappointment and looked away from him, your gaze settling on his empty helmet that was still nearby. “How else will you tell me your rating, then?”

Din’s gaze flickered up at you, but only for a moment. “I have ideas.” He lifted your bandaged knuckles to his lips and left a gentle kiss upon them before he exchanged that hand for your other one. “But finishing this is my priority.”

The sweet warmth of overwhelming affection and desire burned throughout your chest,and you gave yourself a few moments to recover from its powerful effects. Once you had waited long enough, you spoke in a softer voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?” When Din’s brow lifted in confusion, you elaborated. “To that guy at the cantina.”

Din sighed, his jaw tightening before he loosened it again. “You know me. I’m… not a man of many words.” He exchanged the bacta for another clean wrap. “I’ve always found that actions speak louder than words, anyway.” Din gave you an amused look. “You just beat me to it.”

You smiled to yourself. “I guess that’s what makes us a good match.”

“It’s one of many things.” Din paused to focus as he circled the wrap around your hand. “The way you can throw punches is…” Din had to stop again, but this time, his gaze raised to the ceiling as if he was summoning composure from some unknown source. You chuckled at him as he exhaled a soft breath and looked at your hand again. “It’s an advantage.”

You teased him by looking at him through your lashes, blinking them slowly as he finished with your hand and allowed his gaze to meet yours. “Yeah?”

Din lifted his hand towards his lips without breaking your shared gaze. “Yeah.” He kissed your bandaged knuckles and lowered your hand. His eyes studied it as he nodded in sudden severity. “Truly, cyar’ika, what you did… it means a lot.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had someone fight for me like that. No one except…” He trailed off. He didn’t have to say the name.

You raised the bandaged hand he wasn’t holding to caress the side of his face. Din’s gaze met yours again, and the deep admiration within it was breathtaking—but so was the deep longing hidden behind it. When you spoke, your voice was quiet yet meaningful. “I miss him, too.”

Din closed his eyes and nodded. After a long pause, he reopened his eyes and tasked himself with putting his medical supplies back in his belt. He exchanged them for the coordinates the bartender had given him. “Knowing the covert, this probably leads to the system they’re hiding in.” Din returned to business and you met him there, nodding at him to agree with his words. “It’ll take some more work to find out exactly where they are.”

“That’s fine.” You set a hand on his cuisse as you smiled in reassurance. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

Din’s gaze drifted from your hand on his armored thigh to your own eyes as he returned your smile. “I know.” He put the coordinates back in his belt and let his expression morph into something more mischievous as he faced you again. “So.” He cleared his throat, and you giggled at his clumsiness. He was smoother than you could have ever expected at some times, but this wasn’t one of them. “About that rating.”

You laughed, lifting your bandaged hands to the sides of his face to bring him closer to you. “You can just kiss me.”

Din chuckled with you until his amused breath became your own, one action that led to a long string of others proving exactly how grateful and proud he was of your actions that day.

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

[aciddrattboyy]

love & war

after getting upset with your bf over him beating someone up, he decides to make it up to you. in a library....

ryusei x f! reader ☆ smut ☆ wc: 3.3k cw: fingering, public sex, exhibitionism(?), dirty talk(?) [college au!] a/n: i had sm fun writing this its prob my fav work as of rn frfr im in love with ryusei

☆

“where’re you off to,” ryusei's voice seemingly came out of nowhere as he materialized next to you. walking in pace with you as you rushed through the campus courtyard to the bus stop. 

“somewhere youre not, ryusei,” your tone was dry, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. you heard him make a mock, exaggerated sound of hurt as he brought a hand up to his heart. 

“why so formal,” you could practically hear him pouting and under different circumstances you wouldve found it cute. but not now, while you were still upset with him over the events that happened a couple nights prior. “what happened to ryu or baby or love or honey or daddy-,” you spun on your heels, glaring at him as your face began to heat. he stood there, a dumb look of innocence on his face with his hands stuffed into his black shorts.

“shut up,” you grit through your clenched jaw, readjusting your bag as you turned back around, knowing you’d be screwed if you missed this bus. but ryusei had other plans, side stepping you and cutting you off.

“are you still mad,” he asked simply, in a way that sounded like you were the one being dramatic. you scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to move past him. but it was never that easy with him, getting stopped once more by his towering frame in front of you.

“i need to get on the bus,” you tried to reason with him, but the way his smile only grew made you realize that was a bad decision. 

“i’ll let you go if you give me a kiss,” he puckered his lips comically, pushing his face towards you. within a split second, you decided this wasnt worth it; quickly walking back the way you came in hopes of being able to find a friend or even an acquaintance willing to give you a lift. ryusei hurried after you, hands coming out of his pockets to wave them in surrender. “okay, okay, okay how ‘bout i just give you a ride,” much to ryusei’s delight, you stopped in your tracks as you seriously contemplated it. on one hand, you were still upset with him. on the other, you wouldnt have to worry about creepy men on a crowded bus or pleading with someone else to take you. 

“fine-,”

“yay!” ryusei was quick to drape his arm over your shoulder, navigating both of you to the parking lot. “so where’re you headed princess,” his overly sweet tone was annoying you. you thought about lying, having him drop you off somewhere close and walk the rest of the way. but after thinking about it for more than two seconds, you realized that wouldnt work on him. 

“the library,” you kept your hands on the strap of your bag, not wanting to play into his games. 

“oh ew,” he said quickly, detaching himself from your hip to open the passenger door for you, closing it after you got in. ryusei may piss you off more often than you wouldve maybe liked, but you couldnt deny he was still a gentleman most of the time. lightly jogging to the other side and hopping into the drivers side, he shot you a smile. “why’re we going to the library,”

you were in the middle of connecting your phone to his cars bluetooth, seeing your contact name ‘my baby’ on the small screen before you paused. ryusei's lips twitched into a smile just for a moment, seeing you be so comfortable around him despite how angry you were. 

“we?” you repeated, glancing at him in disbelief before you started scrolling through your plethora of playlists. 

“yes we,” he said quickly, turning on the car and backing out of the lot. “are you hungry?” he asked absentmindedly. for the first time since seeing you to he wasnt teasing you or trying to get even more under your skin. he was still your boyfriend after all and your health was important to him.  

“already ate,” you mumbled.

“when?” his eyes were on the rode, one hand on the steering wheel in a way he recalled you saying was attractive once before. he glanced at you, seeing you reach in his glovebox for the spare phone charger you stashed in there months prior. 

“like an hour ago,” you relaxed back into the seat, noticing how it was still reclined the way you had it last time you were in here. grabbing your phone. after ryusei nodded in response you decided to just put one of your playlists on shuffle. almost as if you were in some weird romcom, the first song to play was one of the first songs you ever recommended to ryusei when you were still in a sort of talking stage; the only way you knew how to flirt at the time being to share spotify playlists. 

ryusei who also remembered how this song was apart of your relationship origin story, smiled to himself. humming along and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat.  the two of you fell into a somewhat comfortable silence. if you could forget how ryusei broke a guys nose and gave him a concussion for simply offering you a drink and then saying he did it for you, it would almost be a normal day.

you unbuckled your seatbelt as he pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and opening the door once he stopped pulled into a spot. just as you were getting ready to give him your thanks, you heard him put the car in park and watched as he got out of the car. 

“what i said i was coming,” he shrugged his shoulders as you squinted your eyes at him. “oh,” he quickly cleared his throat, putting a hand over his heart and the other up by his shoulder. “i solemnly swear i will not break someones nose if they offer you a book,” 

“youre not funny,” you said lowly, scoffing as you made your way to the entrance. ryusei quickly got into step with you, easily slipping his hand in yours. 

“i was just being truthful,” pushing the door open for you, he watched as you took a crumpled piece of paper out of your pocket, reading it from over your shoulder. “are those the books you need?” he asked after reading the list. you only nodded, looking around the building as you tried to find where you should even start your search. ryusei knew you’d rather search the shelves for hours than ask for help and and he really didnt want to watch you go through hundreds of books before you could find the ones you need, so he snatched the list out of your hand, quickly turning away before you could take it back. “i’ll get these for you go find somewhere to sit,” 

“do you even know how a library works,”  

“no but unlike you i’ll ask for help- now go find somewhere to sit,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, making his way deeper inside the building before you could even respond. letting out a heavy exhale through your nose, you went the opposite direction, towards the study rooms and tables. 

you came across a corner with a small booth. the lighting was kind of bad but you’d rather have strained eyes than be confronted by yet another person who saw your boyfriend bloody a somewhat innocent man. you placed your bag on far side of the table, sliding into the booth with your back towards the wall and pulling out your phone. 

to your surprise, ryusei came walking over with a stack of books in his arms quicker than you thought he would. his face was turned away, using his most polite smile and tone to thank the elderly lady who helped him. you almost laughed when you saw the facade drop when he turned his attention on you. 

“here are all of your old, nasty smelling books,” he dropped them on the table with a small thud, ignoring your fleeting look of alarm at the noise. “librarians are actually very helpful,” he spoke while sliding into the booth next to you, smoothly draping his arm over the back of the creaky cushion.

“well thanks for your help,” you grabbed the heavy stack of books, pulling them closer to you and reading off the titles as you mentally checked off your list. “can you hand me my-”

“here,” he was already grabbing your laptop before you could finish asking, placing it in front of you before fishing his phone out of his pocket. you were grateful that he tamed his annoying tendencies when it came time for you to actually get to work. he sat next to you quietly, his side still glued to yours as he popped an earbud in and scrolled through tiktok. you put your own headphones on, quickly connected them to your phone and turning on your study playlist before opening your laptop and getting to work. 

ryusei was able to give it about three hours before he truly got bored. it was already dark out and he was running out of things to do. when he got tired of staring at his phone, he took a nap. when he woke up to you still working, he briefly stepped out to get you guys coffee and something to snack on. when he got back from the bathroom after chugging his drink in three seconds you were still typing away on your laptop. all of the books were open to pages you had marked, taking up almost all of the table space. he groaned and was mildly disappointed when he gained no response from you since your headphones were drowning out any outside noise. 

rolling his now sore neck thanks to his nap, he tried to think of something to do before he started bouncing off the walls. then his eyes landed on your thighs and suddenly he had the perfect idea. he knew he’d have to be careful about this, coming on too strong would make you all panicky. he had to take it slow. 

unceremoniously, he moved his hand from over the booth to his lap, readjusting his now half-hard cock in his basketball shorts. he slowly moved a hand to your thigh, rubbing small circles over the bare skin. he was silently thanking the weather for making you choose to wear shorts as he grabbed his phone off of the small portion of the table you so graciously left for him. 

you werent alarmed by his initial touch, it seemed harmless. you already knew ryusei was a touchy person and if anything you were surprised he was being so tame up until this point. that was until his hand rode up a little higher. it wouldve probably been noticeable if it wasnt for the fact that his fingers were now skimming just under your shorts. your head snapped towards him, taking your headphones off as you watched him stare at his phone. unfortunately for him, the sly smile tugging on his lips gave him away,

“whatre you doing,” you whispered, suspicion laced in your tone. he then looked at you, trying to use that same polite, innocent smile that he used on the librarian. 

“im just watching youtube-”

“you know what i mean,” you cut him off, not willing to put up with his bullshit. 

“no im not sure i do,” he squeezed your thigh lightly, letting you know that he in fact did know. this didnt stop him though, massaging your exposed skin as his fingers grew closer and closer to where he wanted to be. your thighs clenched as his middle finger slid over the crotch of your shorts, humming in delight at your bodys response. 

“behave,” you whispered through your teeth, turning back to your essay. but try as you may, you were not able to focus anymore. words blurring together as ryusei continued his little stuny, cupping your covered cunt. now that his charade was up, he completely disregarded his phone, eyes solely on you to watch every micro change on your face as you tried to keep it together. 

his hand traveled up to your waistband, not wasting any time before moving past both your shorts and panties. ryusei's smile was wicked as he pressed down on your clit, sliding down your slit. 

“well it seems like youre the one who needs to behave,” he spoke lowly against your ear, his middle finger just barely pressing into your fluttering walls. ryusei knew he was being a massive hypocrite. one glance over and you’d see his dick pressing almost painfully against his own shorts. but he enjoyed seeing you get embarrassed so he really didnt care. 

“youre awful,” your voice was strained, face heating up with a mix of fear and lust. you didnt know what you’d do if you were caught but it probably would involve your funeral. your insult only spurred ryusei on, dipping a finger inside you. he cursed under his breath, feeling how tight you were around him causing blood to run straight to his dick as he thought about how you felt around him when he fucked you. 

his free hand reach for your leg, hooking it over his to give him easier access. there was something extremely hot about how you didnt stop him. how you didnt want him to stop. it was evident in the way your hand clung onto his forearm. or more so in the way your hips were now rocking against his hand playing with your pussy, clit grinding against his palm. you didnt dare look at him, scared that if you did things would escalate even further. 

“youre pretty filthy arent you?” his tone was just plain mean, pushing two fingers in you without warning. he crooked them inside you before setting a slow, tortuous pace. “you say im awful but youre the one humping my hand,”

“ryu-” you whined softly, burying your head in your arms as if trying to hide yourself. his humiliating words made you clench around his fingers, silently willing him to go faster. he was moving painfully slow and you craved more. 

“ah there it is,” he clicked his tongue before roughly pressing the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit. “i see we’ve now dropped the formalities,” his fingers fucked into you just a bit faster. if you listened closely you could here the muffled squelching behind your shorts. “if i knew it would take a couple fingers in your pussy to make you drop the attitude i wouldve done this sooner,” 

this caused you to whip your head towards him, ready to tell him he wasn’t off the hook just for making you feel good. but this was a part of ryusei's plan, immediately catching your lips with his before you could even speak a word. the kiss was messy. bullying his tongue into your mouth as he added a third finger inside of you. you got lost in the pleasure of it all, small moans muffled by his lips as your hips eagerly bucked into his hand. 

ryusei was the one to break the kiss, pulling away slowly with your bottom lip caught between his teeth for just a moment before he let go. he loved the way your lips were now glossy and puffy because of him. he was about to smash his lips against yours again until he saw something interesting in his peripheral. 

“look over there,” he cocked his head, motioning for you to look in that direction as his smile grew wider. there was the guy he beat the shit out of just a few days ago. ryusei just couldnt believe his luck, praying to any god up there that decided to smile upon him this one time. he turned his attention back to you, seeing how mortified you looked as you ogled the poor boy sitting on the other side of the room. he was just barely in view, the bandages over his nose leaving no room for doubt. ryusei slowly pulled his fingers out just enough to thrust them back in and get a reaction from you. you had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep quiet as he curled his fingers, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that would have you mewling under different circumstances. “do you think he saw,” ryusei's tone was different now, a lot less light hearted and more so possessive. his smile was downright intimidating as he saw worry paint your face. “i bet he wishes he was me,” he continued on, leaning over and whispering in your ear as you tried to hide yourself again. 

the grip you had on ryusei's arm only tightened as you neared your release, his dirty words accompanying his now brutal pace in your cunt becoming too much. ryusei had been prepared to draw this out, wanting to see you whine and beg for him to make you cum. but now he desperately needed to see you come undone while the idiot who tried to get with you was there. ryusei knew it was petty, but he didnt care. hooking a finger under your chin, he lifted your head, forcing to look at the guy who had simply offered you a drink at a party. he was typing away on his computer, most likely not even aware that the guy who sent him to the hospital was here. 

“ryu- wait-,” your whines sounded pathetic, even to your own ears as you felt the knot in your stomach only grow tighter. you shivered as he placed a wet kiss on your neck, lightly nipping at your skin.

“how do you think he’d feel if he knew what you were doing? such a dirty girl getting off on your boyfriends fingers in front of another guy,” whispering into your ear, ryusei was probably enjoying this even more than you and he wasnt even the one getting fucked. the tent in his pants had grown painfully tight but he decided it was definitely worth it. your thighs were trembling, your lips parted as you got closer to an orgasm. 

he let out a low groan, feeling the way you were clenching down on him. having had much experience with making you cum, he knew you were close. pulling his fingers out, he messily rubbed at your clit. watching with sickening pleasure as you hunched over, hands flying to grip the edge of the table as you came undone.

“atta girl thats it,” his voice was husky, dripping with pure lust as he helped you ride out your high. he only stopped when your hips started to jerk away from him because of the overstimulation. you looked beautifully fucked out as he pulled his hands out of your underwear, making sure to keep eye contact as he sucked each of his fingers clean. 

“you cant be serious,” you were in disbelief, absolutely mortified at ryusei’s display. burying your head in your hands out of embarrassment after he just shrugged his shoulders in response. 

“well,” he got out of the booth, stacking all of the now discarded books. “i think you’ve done enough work for today,” he couldnt bite back his smile even if he tried, being rather proud of himself  for all the hard work he’s done. “how about i go put these away and you go wait out in the car- or will you need help walking,” 

you flipped him off as you slid out after him, knowing you weren’t going to be able to live this down anytime soon. you followed him silently as he walked over to the return bin, not daring to look back where ryusei’s victim was sitting. 

“i hope you guys had a productive night,” the librarian said innocently, all too happy to take the books off of ryusei’s hand. with one glance at you, his smile only grew 

“we most certainly did,” 

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very much appreciated <3

[darkestspring]

Sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me the way I think about you.

with aegon x niece or sister reader please!

2k followers event | requests open

Maybe it would be easier if Aegon hated you as he hated your brothers. It would be much easier to just brush off the thoughts he always had of you.

He didn't care about Aemond, egging your brothers on to bully him without a thought and then stopping cold turkey when he saw your disapproving stare.

It hurt more any words, your disapproving stare as you guided your brother's away scolding them.

But that was then, he was a teenager then and he was a man now, just as you were no longer a girl but a woman. He still thought the same of you. Still yearned the same.

No amount of his mother's nagging or his grandfather's shouting could change his mind, he wanted you so badly that it felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest. It felt like if you didn't look at him or speak to him, he'd go crazy.

That's why in the several years you were aware after driftmark, he spent them drunk out of his mind or out in brothels, searching for girls that looked like you. But they were never the same and he ended up just giving up and keeping himself stupid drunk.

His every thought was consumed by you, you were drving him mad with your absence.

Come back, he pleaded drunkenly to himself, come back and soothe my heart so that I may be whole again. Take responsibility for what you have caused in me.

When you finally came back, wearing red and black, standing just a bit ahead of Jace, he felt like his breath had been stolen from him. It felt like finally all the fighting with his mother and protesting his farce of an attempted marriage to Helaena was worth it, you were back.

"Niece." His voice was smooth as he cornered you just outside of the chambers you were staying in for the remaining days of your visit.

"Uncle." Your voice was cool as you peered up at him through inquisitive eyes. "Someone might interpret this as something it is not."

"And what is this, niece?" Aegon tilted his head to the side. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me the way I think about you." He whispered softly, thumb grazing over your bottom lip softly, eyes dark as he gazed down at you.

"Do you yearn painfully for me the way I do for you?" His voice turned almost raspy as he leaned closer to you.

You peered up at him almost studying him as you intently peered into his eyes. It seems you had found what you wanted in him that you cupped his cheeks softly with your hands and kissed him.

It felt like another fantasy, was he dreaming again because he missed you so dearly? He didn't care if he did because it was everything he imagined it to be.

He felt whole again.

[softspace-fics]

Senses

A/N - it's been such a long week and I've missed posting so much, two requests currently in the making! I hope you guys enjoy whatever this turned into.

Masterlist - All my work!

Warnings ⚠️: Mentions of a mission, mentions of anxiety, mentions of a avengers party, let me know if I missed any!

Stucky (mainly bucky) x gn! Little reader

-------

If there was one thing that everyone in the tower knew, it was that you don’t touch bucky unless aloud. This even applied to you, even as his second partner along side Steve. The only one that was able to touch bucky without his life being in danger is Steve, and thats just because Bucky could almost like, sense him.

You felt a little sad that you may never have that with Buck, but you didn’t show it, atleast you did your best not to. You knew that if he ever did warm up to you, you’d open it with loving arms and let him know that he doesn’t have to be afraid.

Steve in a way, knew an saw how you felt. He would watch as your eyes showed how you wished that you could hug buck surprisingly as he did, or just to be able to move into rooms silently as you were known to do.

Bucky had a feeling about it but he couldnt put his hand on what was bothering you. The super soldiers knew you like the back of their hand. This is why when you became their partner, and little, it was like a part of them had been completed. 

You’d always announce yourself coming into rooms when around bucky, or make some sort of noise to make sure you didn't spook him. Bucky thought it was a sweet gesture, something you had been doing since you met him. Steve just knew it couldn’t only be that.

One day when all of the avengers were hanging out, you and bucky decided to hang back at your room in the tower. Bucky wasn't feeling the greatest, and in all honesty you weren’t either. Your anxiety had been spiking all day. You barely wanted to even have to get out of bed.

You were laying on the couch watching a movie when you heard bucky shuffle around in your guy’s shared bedroom. Nothing unusual, so you ignore it.

Until it happens again, and again, and maybe even a 4th time. That's when you decide its worth going to at least check out. You stand up and head towards your bedroom when you what bucky mumbling, and then making noise again.

“Bucky?” you open the door quietly as you speak, trying to figure out whats going on with him.

“No- No I don’t-” Bucky mumbles, his sleeping form crumpled in your bed.

“Bucky? Bucky are you okay?” You ask as you walk over to him, trying to gently wake him as he appears to be having a nightmare.

“No-No You can’t- You can’t have them!” Bucky screams as he sits up in bed, looking around with fear and worry in his eyes.

“Bucky?” You sit down in front of him, looking at him with concern, but avoiding touching him.

That is until he literally drags you into his lap, crying as he holds you tightly. He’s mumbling thank god and jesus christ over and over again, you softly hug him back, burying close into his embrace.

“I-I thought they got you. I couldn’t save you.”

“Im here buck.. I promise no ones hurt me.”

He sighs and gently kisses your cheek before wrapping you in the blanket and pulling you under with him.

He plays with your hair until you inevitably fall asleep on top of him.

When steve arrives home, bucky has you practically strapped to him with his own limbs, his arms are tightly secured around your torso and his legs are tangled with yours as you both sleep, soundly.

You were fond of the experience, this was the first time bucky had let you help him through a nightmare. You were honestly glad he was starting to open up.

Something you hadn’t realized was that bucky had the urge for you to just jump on him like steve did. Ever since the nightmare hes realized how much you made sure to let him know you were there, it was as if it was to make sure he didn’t attack you. You never touched him unless he saw you first, and you would always announce yourself in one way or another when walking into somewhere where he was, and you’d always leave him notes or messages to let him know if you'd be home at an odd hour.

With steve he never has to guess or know, he can feel steve a mile away, and hes beginning to be able to do the same with you. He can hear your small quiet footsteps, the way your keys jingle in your pocket, your breathing patterns, everything was starting to tell him that he was safe around you.

Weeks pass of this bothering him, he just wants you to not feel like you can just exist without him having to necessarily know.

The first time you don’t announce yourself is when you get home at 3:40am from a in-house mission. Your half regressed, and feel actually disgusting, the in-house being you had to join clint in the vents, and you really never want to go back.

You quietly enter the house, and slowly drop your stuff on the table, before opening the fridge and grabbing one of your pre-made juice sippys.

“Can’t hurts” you quietly mumble to yourself, your regression starting to take over.

You turn towards the living room and you see bucky standing in the door way, watching over you.

“Pa- Uhm, Bucky?” You ask, surprised.

“How did you know I was home?”

“I can hear you from practically anywhere, my senses know. You sure you want juice? I could make you up some milk?” Bucky smiles softly.

He sees the grime slimed on your face, and the dust from wherever you were on your clothes, but he sees you most importantly.

You give him a knowing look, before you slowly lose the facade of being big and walk over to him, burying your face in his chest and letting him take the exhaustion.

You didn’t need to announce yourself for him to know you needed him, and you’d be able to learn soon enough that you wouldn't have to announce yourself at all. 

_________

[cheolhub]

WORTH THE WAIT — KIM MINGYU ࿐

summary. mingyu forgets about the date you’ve had planned and he wants to show you he’s sorry in a rather unconventional way.

wc. 1.8k

warning. unprotected sex, couch sex, dumbification, lots of apologizing, big d!ck!gyu (ofc), kinda angsty but it’s all resolved, creampie — MINORS DNI 18+

note. this idea was sent by my beloved 🌵 anon… like…. literal months ago lol— it was a drabble at first, then it got a bit too long, so enjoy it xx [not proofread, kinda shitty]

contrary to belief, kim mingyu does have a few faults. he can be a bit clumsy and he’ll accidentally eat your leftovers every time he’s over, but the biggest fault of them all is… he can be a bit forgetful.

so when mingyu accidentally double books hanging out with wonwoo on the same night as your date, you find yourself dolled up and waiting around your apartment for him, unaware of his whereabouts. you hadn’t seen him much due to your conflicting schedules and you’d been looking forward to the date all week long.

you wait and wait— 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour. you text him a few times, but you don’t get a response and you figure he’s at work, asleep, or doing something else. whatever the case may be, he definitely forgot.

mingyu doesn’t realize this until he’s checking his phone for the first time of the hectic game night and he sees a string of text messages from you.

from you 6:33 

i can’t wait to see u!! :,)

from you 7:07

hi babyyy, text me when you’re here and i’ll come down

from you 7:39

gyu are you still coming?

if you wanna reschedule, we can… just text me back and let me know?

from you 8:02

i checked ur location to make sure u weren’t dead and i saw you were at woo’s

i’m just gonna assume ur with him, which is fine :) pls just let me know next time.

shit.

shit shit shit.

regardless of what you say, it’s not fine— he can practically hear your dejected voice through the text and the smiley face doesn’t do shit to mask it. 

he’s quick to tell wonwoo and make his way to your place, insides churning at the thought of you feeling stood up. he would never, in a million years, ever want to hurt you in any way.

he doesn’t text he’s here, he doesn’t knock, he just takes the spare key hidden under your placemat and lets himself in. 

you’re curled up on the couch in your date outfit watching some random show before you jolt at the sound of your door being unlocked. when mingyu walks in, panic on his face, you deflate a bit, internally thanking the universe that it was just him and not some intruder.

“baby…” 

you try to put a smile on as if he isn’t the last person you wanted to see at the moment, but mingyu sees through it. 

“hi, gyu.” you say curtly. “hope you had fun at wonwoo’s tonight.”

the subtle shade proves you’re upset, even if you had said it unconsciously. his lips turn down in a frown and he walks around the couch so he’s posted right in front of you.

“Y/N, you have to believe me— i’m so sorry. i got the days—“

you cut him off with a sigh, “gyu, seriously. it’s fine. it’s not that big of a deal. we can just do something the next time you’re free.” 

he doesn’t even know when next time will be given his rather strenuous schedule and you know that, yet those words come out of your mouth anyway. he huffs softly and takes a seat next to you, intertwining your hands into his.

“baby, please,” he whispers. “you know i would never stand you up on purpose. i lost my mind and got the days mixed up– please let me make it up to you.”

you shrug, avoiding eye contact. you want to stay mad, but the way he’s looking at you… the way he’s holding your hands… it’s making it impossible not to melt into a helpless puddle. “how?” you ask meekly.

he doesn’t say anything, letting go of your hands in favor of cupping your cheek and pulling you in. his soft lips meet yours and you practically forget why you’re angry to begin with. his tongue quickly finds its way into your mouth and your soft moan eases his nerves a bit. 

he pulls back, leaving you warm and fuzzy and a bit needy for more of him. he finally takes you in when his eyes open. you’re still in a pretty little outfit– presumably, one you’d picked out for your date– and it makes him groan a little bit. 

“you look so pretty, baby. you wore this all for me?”

you nod your head slowly. “i was really excited to show you…”

he frowns, “i know, i’m sorry… i’m so, so sorry,” he mumbles and you don’t say anymore, simply nodding your head at his apology. his lips are on yours again, rougher this time. it’s like he’s trying to prove just how sorry he is with every passing second. 

and when he breaks the kiss again, you whine. “gyu…”

“wanna take this off. can i?” he asks, referring to your dress and you just nod again. 

his hands find the hem, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you in your even prettier set. the black lace adorns your body and mingyu feels his pants tighten at the mere sight. 

he’s breathless when the pet name falls from his lips, “baby…”

he’s so glad you didn’t change, but he feels like such an idiot for fucking up this bad. he wishes he checked his phone earlier, he wishes he remembered your date was tonight, he wishes he could’ve taken you out in your gorgeous dress and brought you back home to see the even more gorgeous set underneath. 

but he’ll make up for it. he’ll spend all the time in the world doing so if he needs to.

he stands to his feet pulling his shorts off and revealing his aching cock. you bite your lip and slide down so your back and head are comfortably on the cushion of your couch, eyes trained on his huge length.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, rolling them down your legs and leaving your now-wet cunt bare. 

“so beautiful… so fuckin’ beautiful angel, can… can i keep going?”

you whimper and wordlessly nod again, brain unable to give him a verbal response. he grunts, joining you back on the couch by getting in between your legs. 

“tell me when…” he whispers, aligning himself with your hole before pressing his fat cock into you. “fuck, so tight…”

the burning stretch of your walls opening to take him makes your head spin a bit. no matter how many times he fucks you, it always hurts.

at first, at least, because now he’s balls deep in your pulsing cunt and all you can feel is blinding pleasure. the burn and stretch have subsided and your brain has turned to complete and utter mush. 

you clench around him tightly and he has to ask, “are you good, baby?”

you dumbly nod– it’s all you can do– but mingyu can’t help but feel more anxiety fill his body. you’ve barely said any words to him and it makes him worry that you won’t forgive him. 

you moan when his cock leaves just for it to suddenly fill you back up with a single, sharp thrust. this is how it starts before he’s moving faster and faster. 

words still fail to leave your mouth, just cute gasps and clipped moans, but mingyu can’t seem to stop breathy apologies from leaving his own. “‘m sorry… you know that right, angel? ‘m so sorry.”

and your eyes just roll back, ignoring his apologies as you’re all consumed by his massive cock fucking in and out of you. mindless babbles escape your lips and it’s not till then does mingyu realize how brainless you’ve become. 

it makes his heart clench. you’ve never gotten like this for him before and he knows it’s a result of being left to your own devices for far too long. he knows he hasn’t been there for you, knows you haven’t been able to cum properly in god knows how long and it hurts him. it hurts him so fucking bad.

and, to be transparent, he’s missed you more than you know.

his hand finds your abdomen, pressing down so he can feel himself thrusting into you. in doing so, his thumb reaches your clit and this seems to bring some life to you. “gyu!” you cry. “feels s’good!”

he lets out an elated chuckle at the sound of your voice, “yeah? it feels good, angel?”

and it’s almost like you read his mind with your next words. “s-so good, m-missed you.” 

a guttural groan erupts in his throat and he starts to fuck you harder– to fuck you deeper– and the thumb on your clit moves quicker, effectively stimulating the swollen bud. “me too– fuck, missed you so much. missed fucking this pretty pussy so much, baby, you don’t even know.”

your face pinches together in pleasure and you clamp his dick harder at the affirmation. “i-i’m–” you let out a gaspy whine and mingyu knows exactly what it means.

“gonna cum?” he finishes your broken sentence. 

you nod eagerly, eyebrows knit together as you feel the formed knot in your tummy get tighter and tighter. “gyu–”

he shushes, thrusts growing erratic. his voice is hot and breathy and you can tell, just by the sound of it, he’s just as close as you are. “just cum for me, baby– need you to let go ‘n cum all over my cock. you can do it.” 

you cry, body going taut as you cream all over him, pussy trapping him between your pulsing, velvet walls. mindlessly, you babble out some words that he can barely make out, but the second he hears those three words– i love you, said in your cute, pitchy voice– his worries wash away. 

he’s overcome by love and the feeling of you gripping him for dear life and the only thing he can do is press his hips flush against yours and fill you up the way he knows you need. his cum paints your walls, fulfilling the craving you didn’t even know you had. 

“god,” he moans, panting out, cock still twitching between your spasming walls. “please forgive me, angel. i promise i’ll be better ‘n make more time for you”

part of your mind finds its way back to you after a few seconds and you can’t help but giggle at his words. “i forgave you after you kissed me, babe.”

he smiles, large hands caressing your body, “really?”

you hum, hazy eyes taking him in, “mmh, you’re really hard to be mad at, you know that, right?”

“good ‘cus i don’t like when you’re mad at me.”

“well, then don’t do stupid things.”

he whines, “baby, you know that’s impossible for me, stupidity is practically in my dna.”

you giggle at the joke. “i know… but… i won’t be so nice to you next time you decided to hang out with wonwoo instead of taking me out.”

“you can be as mean to me as you want, baby, but i swear, i’ll never stand you up ever again.”

“good.” you smile back at him. “now… maybe you can prove how sorry you are again? in my bed this time?”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.