#unleashing the bloodthirsty

[mv1simp]

Obsessed ♥️

Max Verstappen x Reader

got the tensions so high, you can’t sleep through the night, know you try to fight it, but it’s on your mind (got you obsessin now, counting your blessings now)

After having had his eye on you - the paddock's it girl, viral influencer and now Lewis Hamilton's new fling - for months, Max decided to finally make you his after you snap his self control with your teasing. And everyone knows he’s not one to do things half heartedly - even if that means claiming you until you realises he’s the perfect boyfriend for you instead.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, dark! Max Verstappen, naive! Bratty! Reader, dubcon, kidnapping (but just for like a couple of weeks), LOL I KNOW I SAID I WOULD NEVER WRITE KIDNAPPING BUT I GOT HORNY, size kink, cheating, BDSM, bimbofication, aphrodisiacs, this is the nastiest piece of filth I’ve produced I hope the dark max girlies rejoice

With his muscled arms crossed and a clenched jaw, a certain blonde Dutchman watches you confidently walk around the paddock, your hips moving sensually underneath the frilly miniskirt you’ve decided to wear. There’s no way you didn’t notice the many eyes on you, guys from all different garages checking you out with interest, Max thinks with annoyance clear on his face. He’d heard about you a long time ago, as a rising content creator and viral Insta model beginning to dabble in sports reporting, but it wasn't until just a few months ago that he had first seen you. Max always rolled his eyes as he walked past reporters interviewing you, eagerly asking about your perfect makeup and gorgeous outfits. F1 was meant to be about racing, about bloodthirsty competition, not about pandering to internet celebrities. Especially ones who were only there because of fake fame made from social media. Honestly, Max hated attention seekers like you, and hated how you were in the Redbull garage more and more often to give your audience a closer look.

Yeah, he hated you, but somehow he couldn’t stop thinking about you all the fucking time. Before races, after races, back home in Monaco on an evening out, at night in his bed unable to fall asleep, in the morning as he zipped up his training fit. He hated how much attention you would draw with your pretty face and curvy body on display beneath the tight outfits you wore. He hated how all your interviews and posts went viral as the online audience flocked to your natural confidence and outgoing personality as you charm your way through the paddock. He hated how sexy you looked with your thick lashes and long curls, hated how his engineers would become distracted when you’d walk past mid conversation. He hated how you smelt like sweet vanilla perfume and how you’d stare at him with pouting full lips and hurt puppy dog eyes everytime he ignored you when you sweetly talk to him. Your stupid sweetheart pink minidress was so fucking tiny, pushing your cute tits up until they were practically in his face, how was his cock not meant to get hard at the sight?

Then he’d always have to storm off to his cool off room, closing his eyes and angrily jerking off and only cumming when he thought about finishing all over those lush tits of yours as you pull down your dress, looking up at him on your knees with those wide doe eyes. You disinhibited Max just by being in the same room, somehow made him spin out of control. And Max Verstappen was always in control.

You’re far too much of a potential headache for him to pursue you, attracting so much media attention that there's no way he could speak to you in the paddock without it ending up in 10 different headlines. So he decided to regain control another way - getting multiple other girls underneath him instead to blow off the steam, get his mind off you. But no matter how many he slept with, in however many positions or risk situations, he just couldn't fully unleash himself. It was almost funny how the universe taunted him by making him think about you even more. Mid thrust inside another random model he'd met at a club, he's far from focused on her and instead imagining how much prettier you'd look beneath him. It was almost too easy to start fucking the girl who's name he'd already forgotten from the back, so he could picture that it was your lush ass he was squeezing and slapping instead, your pretty hair he was pulling as you made cute ah, ah, ahs! Max came within seconds at the thought, releasing a low moan as he breathed your name. He wasn't surprised when the girl stormed out of his apartment angrily afterwards. Putting on some sweats, he made his way out to his balcony with a glass of gin, sipping slowly as he stared out to the glimmering Monaco nightlife. He should’ve known that replicas could never compare to the original, to what he really craved - you. You were the real deal, a true natural beauty with an aura that exuded confidence. He was done trying to ignore his instincts, and what Max wanted, Max always got. And what he wanted now was you.

There’s no more wasting time for Max, because he immediately calls his private jet and flies to your city, showing up at your door with an absurdly large bouquet of dark red roses. But to his surprise and frustration, you turn his offer for dinner down, saying that you’ve started seeing someone else. Apparently in the past month while Max had been suppressing his desire for you, you had somehow gotten tangled in a sensationalised media fling with Lewis Hamilton. Seeing you laugh as you cling onto his rival’s arms, dressed in your usual pretty pastel pink minidresses made Max’s jaw tense. But he doesn’t miss the way your doe eyes curiously drift over to him when you think no one’s looking, hastily turning back to Lewis when you find Max’s intense blue gaze looking back at you. He doesn’t miss the way you bite your glossed lips as Max unzips his suit mid interviews with you that he’s started doing, revealing his tight fireproofs stretched across his muscled pecs and broad shoulders. He makes sure to lean in, looking at you with full attention and letting you smell his husky cologne mixed with post race sweat. He smirks when he sees how you subconsciously take a deep breath, how your pupils dilate with attraction. Max is so much bigger, stronger, powerful compared to you, and your current boyfriend, and you guiltily squeeze your thighs together to control yourself. When he sees the way you cross your legs, miniskirt rising up to reveal chubby thighs that you clench so hard that your knuckles turn white, he knows that he has you right where he wants you. He corners you in an empty storage closet post debrief, large hands gripping your full hips as he leans down and murmurs that you two would make such a good couple, he’d spoil you so much, are you sure you didn’t want to join him for dinner tonight?

To his extreme annoyance, you hold your ground even more firmly than before, pushing him away and telling him in a condescending tone No thank you, like I said, I’m seeing Lewis now…it’s rude of you to ask again! You flash him a glare with those cute doe eyes of yours - an expression that doesn’t suit your pretty face at all - before strutting off in your kitten heels. You turn to look at him before you leave the garage, catching his icy blue eyes on your swaying hips, and can’t hide the small pleased smile at having caught the interest of the F1 champion. Max’s eyes darken as you slip out of his grasp for the second time, because now he was certain you knew exactly what effect you had on the Dutchman and were using it to your full advantage. Oh, and did you use it - bending over suddenly to grab something you “dropped” just as Max would appear behind you, giving him a hint of juicy ass, leaning in to grab something next to him and letting your soft cleavage press against his biceps. The real cherry on top would be the way you glared at him haughtily when his eyes would inevitably drift down to your neckline, where he caught the perfect view of your cleavage, before hearing you scoff at him and stride away with the ever present sway of your plush hips. And Max’s heated gaze would be fixated on you, watching you make yourself comfortable on Lewis’s lap with a giggle - but your oh so innocent eyes would meet ice blue ones with a fiery defiance. It was like you were taunting him, seeing how far you could take it before he snapped.

Max hadn’t planned on finally losing control when he did. After the Monaco race, when everyone found themselves dancing and drinking to the pounding bass in exclusive nightclubs, you had joined Lewis in celebrating his P2 with Ferrari. You still weren’t officially his girlfriend, with Lewis’ laser focus on an 8th WDC meaning he didn’t want to be distracted with a serious relationship. Still, you had hope you could be the one to convince him otherwise - even if shivers ran down your spine and heat pooled in your lower stomach not from Lewis’ warm, comforting eyes but from his arch rival’s intense, dark gaze. Even now you couldn’t help catching Max’s eyes across the neon club. You knew you shouldn’t think it, but seeing him lean against a railing and talk animatedly to Lando with a gorgeous smile on his face, you admired him secretly. He looked so good dressed in a white shirt that highlighted those broad shoulders and his infamous tight jeans, showing off his muscular thighs.

And then a girl approached Max, looking the very picture of a French model, flirting and batting her lashes up at him. You roll your eyes as you see the Dutchman entertain her flirting, because of course a guy as arrogant and cocky as him just loved women who threw themselves at him. Not you though, and as you wander off from Lewis and find your girlfriends you’re determined to put Max Verstappen far out of your mind and only focus on twirling and grinding your curves on the dancefloor. You do such a good job of drinking tequila shot after shot that it’s a little hard to remember much after that.

You remember giggling with your girlfriends, reapplying your makeup, saying goodbye to Lewis who wanted to go home early but you wanted to stay out and have more fun! You go from one club, to another, but the whole time you can’t stop imagining Max’s intense gaze locked into yours. You think you went for fresh air at some point, almost stumbling in your sparkly heels but then strong hands are holding you by the waist, bringing you in against a warm chest. And you’re staring into those ice blue eyes again, tipsily babbling that you’re sooo sorry Maxie, can he pleaseee help you find your friends?

Max looks handsome even in this dim street lighting and it makes your heart race. You feel your entire body weight being held up against him, as he’s whispering soft nothings in your ear that you’re okay, schatje, he’s got you, shhhh, here just give him your phone and he’ll tell your friends where you are. You nod sleepily, suddenly feeling so tired all of a sudden, grateful that you’d run into someone kind who was helping you out.

Really, Max hadn’t been planning on taking you back to his. But you’d fallen into his arms, begging him to help you, practically just asking him to look after you and make you his. You’re such a sweet girl, after all, dressed in her gold sparkly minidress and kitten heels, oblivious to the stares of the many hungry men around her who shamelessly checked out your bouncing tits and ass with ever cute jump on the dancefloor. And Lewis had left you all alone, all defenseless. So really, Max had no choice but to protect you and take you home with him. To unlock your phone and text your friends that you were going back to the hotel before your early morning flight so they didn’t look for you. To lay you down in his soft sheets, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your delicate neck as you slept comfortably, licking a line up the column of your exposed throat as he inhaled your vanilla honey perfume. It’s hard to resist the temptation to ruin the sleeping beauty beneath him, to spread your soft thighs with one of his muscular ones and grind his painfully hard erection against your heat, but he holds himself back - for now. He knew you’d have some difficulty seeing eye to eye with his method of protecting you, so he took some precautions…by locking you in his room as he headed out the next morning as you continued sleeping.

When he came back at lunch, he finds you anxiously pacing, your curls a disarray from pulling on them and streaks of mascara running down your face in tears at the unfamiliar situation. Your jaw drops in shock as you finally come face to face with your captor. Max?! You gasp, relieved it was someone you knew and not a random serial killer. You’re running up to him, confused, asking him to let you go home because why had he locked you in, you didn’t understand, was the door jammed or something-

Max cuts you off with a grin darker than you’ve seen before, confirming that you’re exactly where he wanted you to be. He tells you about how he planned on keeping you safe, keeping you protected, even if it means making you stay inside his apartment for the next few days. You don’t understand, schatje, he murmurs in a frustrated Dutch accent. You’re far too precious to be left all alone. Do you know how many bad men are out there who want to do bad things to you? Or who want to use you like a fling and never commit to you fully the way you deserve, like Lewis is doing.

Your eyes widen in shock as he slowly stalks towards you, backing you into a corner as he confesses what he’s done. You know you should feel scared, should be in hysterics, but for some reason you don’t actually think he would harm you…physically, at least. Mentally he was doing everything to break you down and accept his offer of becoming his. You’re crazy, you say, outraged. This is just kidnapping, it’s illegal, everyone will be looking for me, do you know how famous I am-

Oh, you had no idea just how far Max was willing to go when it comes to you. He smirks, shows you the multiple texts sent from your phone to friends and family that you’re going on some wellness retreat, you would be out of cellphone range. You look in horror at the replies telling you to enjoy, and then at your Insta post telling your thousands of followers you would be taking a break, and finally at your text to Lewis saying you think you two should take a break…and his reply agreeing, that you could catch up with him in a couple of months. It was too perfectly laid out, because you had been planning on flying out for a holiday that day - just to a fancy Greek resort with a suprise ticket for Lewis, and not some secluded retreat without wifi access. You’d even had your baby pink suitcase all packed full of cute outfits, ready to go - that Max had somehow collected from your hotel room and now deposited to you smugly. See, schatje? He purrs. I’ve thought about everything. Just relax, I’ll take good care of you.

You don’t believe him at all at first. You’re scared now that no one knows where you are, an unusual feeling for you around Max with whom you feel like you have the upper hand. But after a couple days pass and he makes no physical move to touch you, instead just telling you to shower because you smelt like a nightclub and making sure you ate three times a day, you start to relax when you realise he’s not planning on selling you off to the black market or force himself on you. And to be fair, the apartment is hardly a jail cell. No, the huge Monaco penthouse Max owns can only be described as luxurious, with his own terrace pool and gym, decorated with displays of his endless trophies that remind you just how successful your captor is.

You’re still skittish until he starts letting his cats inside the room to keep you company. Seeing his cute bengals who curl up in the bed to keep you company and then comfortably migrate over to Max, who treats them with such care and adoration, chips away at the last pieces of fear that fling onto you. Then you’re just annoyed, pissed off that Max thinks he can just make you his. You start fights with him, telling him he’s delusional if he thinks you’d ever want to get with him, just because he couldn’t charm you normally he decided to force you to spend time with him?

Max is unphased with your verbal insults, finding you similar to when his cats are in a hissy mood. It’s not until you level up that you really start to test Max’s patience. He regretted bringing your suitcase to make you feel more at home, because instead of wearing the same old hoodie and sweats of his for the past week you decide to put on things that are a little more…revealing. He comes home from padel to find you lounging on the plush couch, greeting him with a smirk as he walks over to you, oh so innocently stretching your neck and accentuate the low neckline of the white summery minidress you’ve chosen. Max had liked the sight of you looking so soft and cozy in his clothes, but seeing you get dolled up again, seeing how you bat your thick lashes up at him, giving him the perfect view down your plush cleavage from your seated position filled him with pure raw desire again.

He knows what game you’re playing though, and he’s not letting you take the upper hand. Instead, he teases you by leaving heat pooling in your tummy with his dark, intense gaze before asking what you wanted for dinner. You don’t stop there, of course, wearing skimpier outfits every day, endless halter neck crop tops and skin tight baby tees with tiny skirts, having him come home to find you sunbathing on the balcony in a pathetic excuse of a bikini, fat ass and lush tits practically out on full display.

You thought he’d finally snap when he catches you almost escaping from his apartment, when he’d let his guard down a couple of weeks in and left you alone in the living room to answer his phone. He’d never left you alone in any part of the apartment before where you could access the front door, and you didn’t even think for another second before scrambling towards the door, getting as far as stepping out into the hallway-

Before you’re yanked back inside with a strong arm around your waist, easily manhandling your full weight as you try to yell and fight him off. He locks you into your room again, like he’d done on the very first day, ignoring your angry bangs and pleas to let you out. So by day two you’ve switched tactics, remembering the most effective way at getting under his skin. You smirk to yourself as you rustle through your suitcase, pulling out the baby pink bullet vibrator you always packed.

Sitting in the next room over, a scowling Max spins his rig wheel around, the annoyance in the way he aggressively clicked his steering buttons evident. He thought you’d know better by now than to try something as silly as trying to escape. Clearly, he needed to make you understand your new position by his side. You needed to be disciplined, to be punished for testing Max to his limits. He’d let you get away with far too much, and now you were under the illusion that you had the upper hand. His dark thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a low buzzing, before he hears your sweet moaning, making his eyes widen in surprise. You sound like an OnlyFans star, putting on an absolute show with high pitched whines and moans he can hear through the wall. He smirks in approval - until he hears you breathily gasp Lewis, please…

Oh, sweet little you had no idea what she’d just awoken inside the possessive Dutch Lion. You were playing with fire, dramatically letting out sinful noises and moaning Max’s rival’s name. You don’t get to say it for long, because within seconds Max is entering your room, blue eyes icy cold as he glares at your arched form on the bed. You jump, startled, not having expected him to actually come inside and there’s an embarrassed flush on your face as you withdraw your hand and quickly snap your thighs shut, mindful that he could see between your legs. You’re stammering, asking him what the hell he’s doing here, can he get out-

You squeak as Max wraps a single large hand around your ankles and yanks you forward, easily bringing your whole body in front of him. You don’t get to say much more because you’re suddenly dangling in mid air as he tosses you over his shoulder, shutting up your indignant yelps with a firm slap to your bare ass that’s barely covered in the tiny red nightie. You can’t help the butterflies swirling in your tummy at seeing how strong Max is, how he carries you like you weigh nothing over to his bedroom, tossing you on his soft mattress with a bounce. You swallow nervously as you see the look on his face, his sharp eyes taking in your heaving chest and exposed cleavage where your nightie had started slipping off. Maybe you had taken it too far this time, so you sweetly try to apologise but are met with a dark chuckle from Max. Oh, it’s way too late for that, schatje he croons, tilting your delicate neck up to meet his intense eyes as he stands in front of you at the foot of the bed. A shiver runs down your spine at his possessive tone, but with it you feel your aching pussy throb, already stimulated earlier from your games. I think it’s time to teach you who you really belong too, no matter how much you keep trying to deny it, hmm?

And like always, Max proves his words weren’t a threat but a promise with his actions. He’d tied you to his headboard, your arms resting above you comfortably but without any chance of getting free. He knew that he’d have to break you in, leave you craving his touch so desperately that in the end you begged for him and never wanted to leave his side. So he teased you mercilessly now, large palms exploring your shivering form ever so gently, making you tense as you wonder where he’ll go next. Making you part your lips and sliding a finger in for you to suck on, over your peaked nipples through your lace nightie, and then down, down-

You whimper as Max fingers your hypersensitive pussy, your puffy folds eagerly dripping as he smoothly fucks you on his large fingers. So fucking tight and warm for me, Max groans lowly in your ear, licking the shell of it. Can’t wait to see how well you take my cock.

Your doe eyes widen at this, and you adamantly shake your head, whining that there’s no way you’d ever let him inside you-

Max smirks as your cunny gushes fresh slick all over his hand as you practically ride his fingers, despite your best efforts to act like you don’t want him. He decides to give you a little extra push in the right direction, grabbing a bottle of oil from his bedside table. Uncapping it, he lazily lets it hang downwards and drip all over your inner thighs, before trailing it up over your peaked nipples. You arch against the bed at the strangely pleasant sensation, the chill making you gasp. But soon the chill was replaced by a burning need, as your soft skin went into overdrive, desperate to feel Max’s strong, warm hands again. What the fuck did you just do to me, you demand brattily, refusing to admit the raw lust throbbing in between your legs right now was your own.

Instead of moving closer, Max grins as he gets up off the bed, still fully dressed despite the state you’re in - hands and thighs tied up, silk nightie bunched around your waist and lace cups pulled down so your pretty tits are on display. Oh schatje, he croons, stroking your cheek almost lovingly and making you glare at him. It’s just a little…stimulant. Makes things very fun in bed. But it only works to heighten emotions you’re already feeling…so if you really don’t want this at all, then it should just fade away, yeah?

And with a goodbye kiss to your forehead, he strides out the room, telling you he’d be back in a few hours. Of course, the oil he’d poured all over your body was nothing more than a particularly potent aphrodisiac, making you more sensitive and turned on. But telling you that it would only affect you if you felt attracted to him was a rather devilish move by Max to make you question your boundaries, second guess the line between hate and love towards the Dutchman.

It proves to be a very successful strategy, because that evening when he asks you if you’re ready for him to fuck you, you’re watching him in anticipation, biting your lip to try and hold in the desperate pleas. You so terribly want to just ask him to have his way with you but cling onto the last shred of self control you have. Max sees this, and responds by slowly undressing down to his boxers, enjoying the way your breath hitches as you stare wide eyed at this broad shoulders, his tense abs, and down to his muscular big thighs that you’d love to rub your pussy against. And when he settles in next to you, still carefully avoiding laying a hand on you but instead pulling his own large cock out of his boxers, he can’t resist darkly chuckling as he sees you practically swallow back drool. He jerks himself off slowly, and you lick your lips as your gaze remained fixated on the beads of precum rolling down his tip. He’s so well endowed that you can appreciate his size even with one of his large palms wrapped around it. More wetness slides down your cunny, mixing with the oil as it travels down in between your sensitive asscheeks. You whine, suddenly feeling boiling hot despite the chill from the aircon. You’re so thirsty, feeling so warm, so desperate with your need to feel Max that maybe taking him inside your mouth would help. You reassure yourself that it wouldn’t go any further than that, and breathily ask Max if you could go down on him. Hmm, what was that, schat? the handsome blonde next to you teases. Couldn’t hear you.

You huff, knowing he was giving you attention hard time for your bratty attitude earlier, but swallow your pride as you ask could you please suck him off, you’d do a really good job, you promise! You just needed a little taste, a brief relief from the sweltering torture consuming your body right now.

Max smirks in approval, rewarding you by releasing your ropes. You breathe in relief, sitting up to relax your muscles, but instead find the ropes replaces with a collar fastened around your neck, attached to a lead resting comfortably in Max’s large palms. You flush at the possessive gesture, but don’t resist as he playfully tugs on your collar to bring your face level with his cock. Up close, it’s even bigger, swollen and angry and red, making you swallow nervously before poking your tongue out to flick his tip. Don’t tease, Max growls above you, his hand territorially tangling in your curls. Or I’ll have to leave you alone again with some more of that oil all over your ass this time, hmm?

Your eyes widen at the threat of more torture, over your sensitive back hole this time, and you quickly start bobbing your head up and down his fat length. Hearing his low groan of approval, you enthusiastically deepthroat and choke on his pulsating shaft, head down and your ass up in the air as more and more slick drips down your thighs. You can't believe how horny you’re getting sucking Max off! You don’t normally enjoy giving blowjobs, preferring to have guys go down on you like the pillow princess you are, but something about the heady taste of Max's precum, the comforting warmth in your mouth is so addictive that you can't help but eagerly worship his cock with your plush lips. And the way he's murmuring filthy praises above you, calling you his good girl, take it all the way in, just like that, helping you take his sizeable length with a helpful hand applying pressure to the back of your neck, just adds to the heat pooling in your belly. And when he cums, his hand holds you down in place as you do your best to swallow the generous load he pumps down your throat. When he lets you up, you sit back, slivers of his cum dripping down the sides of your mouth that you lick up as you meet his heated gaze. Max got his release - finally, after all your relentless teasing - but you've become even more frustrated and desperate.

Max gives you a knowing smirk, taking in your heaving tits and dazed eyes. Training you would be much more effective if he drags your punishment out, and he does exactly that by telling you to go shower before he makes you both some dinner. The change in pace to sweet domesticity messes with you even more, and even though the warm shower water washes away the sticky oil coating your body, you can't stop thinking about how good it had felt letting Max handle you like that.

So a few days later, when Max is back from a race weekend and you've been secretly playing with your vibrator while picturing his cock instead, you sweetly ask if you could please sleep in his bed tonight? Just because you were feeling so lonely, of course, you weren't going to have sex with him or anything!

Max obliges, coming to bed in a tempting display of sweats slung low across his waist so you can admire his muscular chest. To your dismay, he pays no attention to the baby pink negligee you've put on, the fabric practically see through and showing off your tanned nipples. Instead of bullying his way inside of your clenching cunt like you hoped, he contentedly games away with his TV in the bedroom. Asking him to use his fingers again would be fine, right? He'd already done it before, without you asking...so really, it didn't count as anything more. You still weren't giving into him, you reason with yourself naively, before leaning up to press your tits against Max's large biceps and sweetly ask Maxie to pretty please help you out, you hadn’t been able to make yourself orgasm, just this once could he use his hand again?

He sighs, putting down his controller, murmuring that you were so needy, he’d only do it if you put that special necklace on again, okay?

You bite your lip anxiously for a moment, looking at the bedside drawer where you know the collar and leash rest, before giving in and nodding your head obediently, making Max smile and your heart flutter from making him happy. It was just this once, you were certain you’d calm down from this despite once you got your release! And so with the collar securely tightened around your delicate neck, you excitedly part your legs as Max lifts you and sits you in his lap, your back to his chest. He teases you for ages, only lightly rubbing circles through your thong, and you can’t even complain because he’s messily making out with you, his tongue exploring your willing mouth. You’re so caught up you don’t even realise he pulled out the oil until you feel it suddenly drip all over your spread inner thighs. H-hey! you protest, managing to weakly protest against Max’s distracting lips. No fair, that oil was so intense last time, and you were being so good for him now, why was he punishing you again?

Max hums as he litters your neck with gentle bites and hickeys, murmuring that he was using it as lube so he didn’t hurt your tight cunt with his big, thick fingers, making your heart race in confusion from his apparent thoughtful actions. Besides, he reminds you, you won’t feel anything different as long as you don’t actually have feelings for me, remember?

His gaslighting works its magic again, because he teases you right on the edge with gentle thrusts of his two fingers, not quite giving you enough to send you over the edge as your cunny flutters around his digits. You tell yourself that it’s just the oil heightening everything, including the tiny little part of you that wants Max back, as you as him for more, harder, please-

And then, when he’s already worked you through two orgasms with his hand you’re asking for even more, screwing your eyes shut and burying your face in his muscular neck. Would you please use your tongue Maxie? I need more!

Laughter rumbles through the Dutchman’s broad chest as he runs a soothing hand down your back, cooing how you really were just a sweet little thing that needed him to take care of you, hmm? But he’d already finger fucked you twice, and now you wanted him to eat your pussy, too…how were you possibly going to make it upto him?

Your dazed eyes try to focus as you run through all the possibilities, offering to cook his favourite pasta dish for him, or wash the cats, or reorganise his trophy display - but Max shakes his head. And then, just like he’d hoped, you blush and shyly whisper into his ear that you could make him feel good too, and let him fuck your mouth again if he wanted?

Max had to control himself from all but thrusting his cock into your divine warm throat right there. Oh, did he want. You had no idea how much he wanted, but he plays it cool as he shrugs and says you’d have to do a better job than last time, then.

You nod eagerly, ready to prove yourself, and willingly meet his lips in a deep kiss as you part your legs, expecting him to move his talented mouth downwards. He was such a good kisser that it already made you wet with slick, you couldn’t wait to see how good he teased your clit! But to your surprise Max repositions you, easily tossing you around so your thighs are snugly thrown over his broad shoulders and your face - your face heats up as it comes right in front of his erect cock. M-Max! you whine, embarrassed at the filthy manoeuvre into sixty-nine position he’s somehow manipulated you into. You’d never done something so dirty before! But when a familiar hand possessively tangles in your curls, pushing your neck down firmly, you have no choice but to part your plush lips and welcome his throbbing member down your throat. As you gag and choke on him in this unfamiliar position, drool and lipgloss leaking from your lips and dripping down your chin, Max starts lazily lapping at your dripping cunt through your soaked thong. He works you up into an ever more frustrated state, before yanking the flimsy lace to one side and swiping his nose through your folds to deeply inhale. Fuck, you smelt amazing, even better than anything he’d been dreaming about, and he’d certainly been having his fair share of dirty fantasies about having you split open on his tongue. Your responsive moan vertebrates around his cock, making pleasure course through him and he rewards you by dragging his wide tongue through your soft, puffy folds. You’re absolutely debauched for Max now, head completely empty and only one thing on your mind - which you make clear as you let out high pitched moans and shake your ass back against him, desperate for more. Max has to keep you disciplined, of course, keeping your head down like a good girl so you obediently continue kissing his cockhead and slurping on his large balls that were close to bursting. If he let you run free he’d have no doubt you’d start riding his face like a cowgirl, desperate for your own pleasure like the pillow princess you are. But you were learning your place, learning how to obey Max and make him feel good first, and you use your bouncing tits to rub against his warm cock as you keep suckling on his sensitive tip. He cums with a pleased growl at your submissiveness, thrusting his hips into your waiting lips so you could drink the entire creamy load greedily.

Only then does Max properly fuck you with his tongue, placing you on your back with his huge hands pinning your thighs against your soft tits, exposing your glistening pussy. You scream his name as his wicked tongue glides into your cunny, tears gathering in your eyes from the sheer intensity before you end up squirting all over his chin, making a mess of the sheets. He tsk’s at you playfully, blue eyes glinting as he takes in the beautiful sight of you completely wrecked and gulping deep breaths of air as you come down from your high. He can’t resist grabbing his phone to capture the moment, the flash capturing your glowing skin and swollen lips, the hickeys littered over your arched neck and soft inner thighs, your pink negligee still bunched up around your waist. Maybe it’s too soon, but he can’t resist-

Schatje, he murmurs, low and deep, making you cutely blink open your eyes from the content sleep you were heading towards. His phone light remains on, the blinking red light indicating that he’s recording as he asks you how did you like the taste of his cock?

A smile slowly spreads across your face, giving you the very picture of post orgasmic bliss as you lick your lips and say it was soo yummy, Maxie, you’d happily blow him anytime he wanted!

The handsome blonde lets out a slow exhale at your sinful confession, deciding to test how far he could push you. Oh really? He murmurs. Was it better that your ex’s dick?

Recognition flickers in your eyes at the mention of your ex, and you bite your lip again, thinking but Max plays unfair again when he comes in against you, letting his now hard length rest against your lower belly. You’re immediately distracted by the pulsating warmth deliciously stimulating your clit, practically getting heart eyes as your eyes darken sultrily. Oh, so much bigger and better than my ex, you say unashamedly, looking right at the camera because you know what Max wants. I never let him finish in my mouth, he’d always have to wear a condom. But you, Maxie…I’d drink your cum everyday and still want more! You finish with a playful giggle, wiggling your hips to get more friction on your clit.

And Max knows he’s got you exactly where he wants, ready to make him feel good however he orders it. He snaps away more steamy photos first, wanting to add to his personal collection while you look so delicious in his bed. Videos of you squealing happily as he slaps his heavy cock against your clit, the weight of it dizzying, and then of you jiggling your ass against him he turns you onto your side to slide himself in between your thighs. Feeling Max’s strong muscular arms holding you close against him, his lips tracing your ear as he murmurs dirty things in your ear, and most of all feeling his cockhead rub against your slit as he slowly fucks your thighs from the back breaks you down even more. Please, Max you beg, the sound music to his ears. I need it…just the tip, please?

You feel his lips smirk against your ear as he teases you for being so desperate for him again, see, he told you you’d feel so good by his side, right?

And when his fat cock stretches your pussy open you can’t help but gasp, because if this was just the tip you couldn’t even imagine how amazing the rest of him would feel. You both moan together as your wet cunny clenched and drools around his length, and then you’re reaching back and gripping his hip to guide him further into you. More, please Maxie, I need you- oh!

There’s only one way this ends once you’ve both gotten a taste of each other, and are addicted. With him fully thrusting his length in and out of you, making you scream his name as you cum around him, messily squirting. You’re so far gone that you don’t even say anything except moan sluttily when he finishes inside you, leaving you stuffed full of his creamy cum. There’s no going back after that, and in the morning - after he’s had another round in the sheets with you - he finally takes you out of the apartment, making your debut at a expensive cafe as Monaco’s new it couple. And with your manicured hand wrapped around his bicep, walking into brunch in cute kitten heels and feeling dozens of admiring and envious gazes on you both, you can’t help but feel like you’re finally where you’re meant to be.

—————————————————————————

A/N: goddamn this took so long to write hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the delay in posting Ik I’ve really slowed down, work has been getting me tired af lately but should be easing up soon!! Have lots of drafts half done hehe keep sending me inspo I love all your messages!!!

[dredgesnails]

it's very funny seeing the tuff guys talk about gem being so passive this season because on the one hand i totally see why, considering she's happy to let her barn burn down and she's brushed off the many attempts on her life and continued to stay allied with a number of them (even encouraged them to kill her), but i don't think she's as passive as they say.

i think she's being held back, like a hunting dog on a leash. gem likes to play the game and the game says green lives cant kill, but she's still bloodthirsty. she's so happy to convince everyone else to kill anyone but herself (mostly scott, to be honest). she helped scar build a trap and lured cleo in. all he had to do was pull the trigger. she planned to team up with jimmy to kill scott, and even when scott was no longer dark green she tried to convince him to go through with their plan anyway. she wants to pvp pearl, one on one, the honourable way. even back in episode three she was talking to her snail about what a great team they'd make (if only it wasn't targeting only her).

she's playing the long game but its only a matter of time before (like etho's apt volcano metaphor) she unleashes carnage on the server, and we've seen what that looks like in secret life.

[seijorhi]

Gorge

Monster Geto Suguru x female reader

tw: blood and gore, hard vore (not reader), implied non con, mentions of breeding, yandere-ish as always

Fairy & Rhi’s Big Bad Valentines Event ~ Here there be monsters

Days of silence, waiting, calling fruitlessly into the vast nothing that surrounds you, and the sudden crackle on the other end of the radio sends your heart leaping to your throat. 

“Mayday, mayday, this is the S.S. Sarugami, requesting emergency assistance. I repeat, this is S.S. Sarugami, requesting emergency assistance, we’ve taken heavy damage with multiple fatalities, requesting emergency assistance, do you read me?”

Please.

You don’t so much as breathe, fingers poised over the transponder as you wait. They might not pick up the signal, they might not care enough to stop and help. It could be pirates, unfriendlies. Scavengers or reavers. You’d close your eyes and pray if it hadn’t been made perfectly clear that any higher power turned their back to your plight a long, long time ago. 

“Don’t you feel the teeniest bit of guilt?” a smooth purr snakes through your head.

You don’t bother hiding the shiver that trickles down your spine like ice. “No,” you snip. It’s somewhere between a truth and a lie. You don’t relish what you’ll be unleashing on them if they arrive to offer the aid you begged for, but if it gets you out of here, away from him–

Self preservation will always win out.

You’re not a bad person for this. They wouldn’t come if they knew. They wouldn’t help you.

“No?” Amused. Always fucking amused. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. The near soundless shudder, breathy and excited, that reverberates through the cabin wrenches at you like a knife. 

Seconds crawl past, and then–

“Copy, Sarugami, this is the Admiral Fleet, I.C. Justice Prime. Report.” A flare of panic sparks at the identification, the brash, no-nonsense tone at the other end of the transponder. The Admiral Fleet isn’t your first choice here, they’re assholes of the highest order, bound by the code and, some might say, a little too eager to sniff out violations and injustices they can throw the book at. 

If one of them escapes, if they report you–

“You think I’d leave one alive? My, such little faith in me, I thought we’d dispelled such notions.”

Ignoring It, you say to Justice Prime, “We were attacked by reavers four days past with heavy casualties. The Captain and his command are dead. The med-team is dead. Our core was disabled and stripped and our life support systems are running low. Requesting emergency assistance, please.”

More lies, sprinkled in truth. Reavers would’ve left by now. Reavers aren’t nearly as dangerous as the threat you’re luring them to. Your hands tremble, heart trilling like a hummingbird and sweat beads at your temple. From the corner of your eye, you spy a flash of dark hair and pale skin, an all too familiar aroma of thick, smoky incense washing over you.

Lie, lie, lie. 

You squeeze your eyes close and breathe deep, fighting the urge not to flinch when something too cold, too soft, too formless to pass for human pets at your cheek. Like you’re a pet. A pretty doll. “I think I like this side of you. Vicious, bloodthirsty little mate,” It croons.

“… Copy, Sarugami. We’ll send a boarding party to assess the situation and advise next steps.”

No promises of help, but you suppose that’s too much to expect from the likes of the Admiral Fleet. It doesn’t matter. Once the airlock opens, none of that will matter. “Copy.”

The moment your finger leaves the transponder, you swing into action. You shoulder the blaster (almost drained) and the backpack (stuffed with as many rations and water packs as you could carry) and bolt from the control board out onto the main deck. There’s no telltale hiss of slithering behind you, no artificial footfalls sounding at your heels. It’s following you, though. Even if you weren’t trying to escape, It never strays far, firm in the belief of Its possession. 

Navigating through the ship isn’t as easy as you imagined, your pace unwieldy and slow with the extra weight on your back, but you can’t afford to stop or be seen. They’ll be suspicious when you aren’t there to greet them, but so long as they venture in – and don’t catch you slipping past behind them – it’ll be okay.

You just have to get past them before It starts eating or– 

Well, that’s the only option. Get on the Prime and convince them to shut the airlock and leave. 

“Such a lovely little mate, bringing me feast after feast. When you fail, will you finally accept that this is inevitable?”

The visage in the corner of your eyes flickers, pulsing, warping, too much of a substance in a container too small, and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You push forward, ducking out of sight, the back routes, the underbelly of the ship. Your breath comes in and ragged pants and your legs shake, more from the growing sense of dread twisting you up in knots than exertion.

“I’ll take the I.C Justice Prime,” It whispers in your head, far too sure of itself. “I’ll make a nest there to breed you in, keep you full and content. Such a good mate. Such a perfect, perfect monkey for me.”

Self-righteous assholes though the Admiral Fleet may be, you’re condemning them. Part of you knows it, even as It slips away from behind you, spilling from the tall, dark haired facade it adopts to soothe your nerves. Growing, black and slick, tendrils writhing, it slips through the grate like oil and forms itself on the other side.

“There’s other humans,” you hiss under your breath. “You can find another pet, I’m getting out of here.”

“None like you.”

The screams start before you resurface on deck. Your timing is off. There’s yelling and burst after burst of blaster fire, the sickening wrenching of limbs being ripped from bodies. Justice Prime sent seven soldiers and a single medic, and they’re being torn apart. Consumed in bloody chunks, still alive. Still screaming. 

Run, you think, skittering to your feet when they slip through a puddle, warm blood coating your hands, up your wrists and forearms, your knees. It’s everywhere, horrible trails of it leaking across the floor. Run. Run. Run, and for fuck’s sake don’t look back. 

“I shall have to reward you for this. Both my appetites sated, how you spoil me.”

Tears well in your eyes, shoulders shaking, heaving with the force of the sobs you choke back. The airlock is mere feet away – you’ve come too far to turn back. You cannot just submit to this, to It. 

There’s a difference, though, between the crew of the S.S. Sarugami and the I.C. Justice Prime. Your crew were explorers, scientists. Your best friend was a botanist studying alien flora, her wife a cartographer. They were taken unawares. The Prime are soldiers, first and foremost. Comms suddenly cut out on a suspicious mayday call, and they don’t wait to see if it’s a jammed frequency or miscommunication.

When you stumble through the airlock, the muzzles of six blasters greets you.

“We have to go!” you cry out, throwing your blood slicked hands up in front of you to show you’re not a threat, begging them to just listen. “Please, we have to go now!”

You feel It before you see It, the cold chill at your back. 

In one cruel sweep, It rips the blasters from their grips, sending them clattering uselessly to the wall. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, though it’s more a plea for forgiveness as you watch their eyes widen in terror, taking in the monstrous creature behind you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t watch, sweet mate. I know how this sort of thing upsets you.”

But closing your eyes doesn’t stop the screams, or the warm, wet spray of blood that drips down through your hair from the toothy maw above.

[felassan]

Some notes from today's new BioWare Blog post, which contained some new character insights and also gave some information on what is coming next and when:

Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations in the game

Lucanis is bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic. He was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. He's constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. There's a lot of love between him and Illario

As Zach is a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying

Neve is a Shadow Dragons rebel who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. Epler: " [she is] the working class hero trying to make her hometown better"

Emmrich is sincere, friendly, scholarly, sophisticated, eager to teach and learn, a well-meaning but oblivious academic, with a "hot nerdiness". He assumes everyone has an academic's curiosity so can be pedantic on select topics

The Mourn Watch are revered in Nevarra but odd at best and evil at worst outside of it

Nick: "I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this."

"Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch."

The world has changed a lot since DA:I

Harding has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle

Harding loves her mom. She loves to write letters home and is always talking about her mother. She likes plants and raising plants. She has grown and is a veteran now, a trusted voice at the table

Footage of the full DA:TV @ SDCC companions panel should be available in a couple of weeks

Next month there will be a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and the reveal of the release date

[emphasis mine]

And this paragraph:

"Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships."

[source]

[sabaldax]

olrox theory

i think there's a deeper meaning to alucard telling olrox "he's a good man, keep him safe" after mizrak gets wounded. i think it might actually be alucard giving olrox permission. more under the cut

we know olrox's past lover was a mohican man with a strong connection to his people and his country. he was an idealist and a revolutionary. the way olrox describes him in s1, he sounds like a hero. i don't think julia belmont would have a reason to kill the man olrox is describing in that scene.

but olrox isn't talking about what happened after he turned his lover into a vampire.

imagine this: olrox's lover - a goodhearted, strong man with good morals and dreams of peace and freedom - is mortally wounded in a revolutionary battle. olrox can't bear to lose him, so he turns him. olrox doesn't ask - there's no opportunity to - if he doesn't act now, it will be too late. his lover comes back to him as a vampire. at first, olrox is overjoyed. he'll never be alone again. his love story never needs to end. he can love without question or shame and be loved in return, forever.

only, his lover comes back wrong.

if we think of "becoming a vampire" a bit like "rolling the cosmic dice on whether or not your soul will stay intact"? olrox's lover just doesn't pass the check. he's still very much in love with olrox when he comes back - if anything, he's more in love than ever - because olrox just gave him everything he needs to turn the tide.

he goes off the deep end. olrox stands aside and watches in quiet resignation as his lover starts killing indiscriminately, even the revolutionaries he'd previously fought alongside. he becomes the monster in the night, the thing everybody is afraid of. and with good reason: he's killing men, women and children, annihilating the invaders. restoring his people and country to how they were before, how they were always supposed to be, unmarred by colonists.

olrox watches on, unwilling to intervene. but quietly, he's heartbroken that this is what he turned his lover into - that the honourable, peaceful man he fell in love with lost himself somewhere between his deathbed and his second life.

that's why julia belmont comes for him. it's why she targets olrox's lover, but not olrox himself. because olrox, the aztec vampire, is low on the radar compared to the current and active threat decimating entire populations in new england. and olrox still comes for her in due course - still takes her life to avenge the only man he's ever loved. but, deep down? olrox understands why she did it.

so fast forward to now. in s1, when mizrak says "because he was a vampire, and you did that to him. did you even ask permission?", olrox gets angry. that's not something we see him do anywhere else. he's always calm, always calculated, until mizrak hits that sore spot right on the head. did you even ask permission? no, olrox didn't. he didn't have time to. he was going to lose him. he couldn't lose him. you did that to him. olrox did. olrox did that to him. because he put his needs first. because he couldn't lose him. because he was a vampire. but his lover wasn't just any vampire, in the end. he was a nightmare unleashed. he became everything he used to hate in the world, when he was alive - and that was because of olrox.

maybe that's why olrox answers mizrak with a lie:

"and is that what you have planned for me?"

"of course not, mizrak. i'm not in love with you."

olrox lies, because he can't bear to face the truth: that he's in love again, and he would do it all again. every bit of it. that if mizrak were dying - a good man, an honourable man with good values and morals, a good man who could so easily become an unstoppable bloodthirsty killer - if mizrak were dying, olrox would still gamble his soul rather than let him go. olrox is willing to roll those dice.

((it's different this time, though. genuinely different. old man coyote presumably wasn't waiting in the wings to take olrox's past lover's soul, the way he is for mizrak. maybe olrox would have let mizrak pass on otherwise. i like to think so, honestly. i think he'd have honoured his previous lover by not repeating the cycle.))

and we know alucard and olrox know each other. they have at least some amount of history. and since olrox told mizrak about his previous lover, it seems fair enough to say olrox is willing to talk about it provided the other party is a very handsome man. it stands to reason that he's told alucard.

so let's say alucard knows. alucard knows that olrox's last lover was dying, and olrox saved him, and his last lover came back wrong. more to the point: alucard knows what olrox is thinking.

i don't know what to do. i can't bear to lose him but i can't bear to see him come back wrong.

so alucard says what he needs to hear:

he's a good man. keep him safe.

i'm not sure what that means yet. maybe alucard's saying, "he's a good man, a genuinely good man. this time it will be different. so don't let him go to old man coyote. keep him safe from that hell." or maybe alucard is saying, "he's a good man, too. just like the last one. so don't risk losing him to the darkness. don't roll those dice."

or maybe i'm just deeply, profoundly mentally ill, and season 3 will roll around and they'll reveal an olrox backstory that's completely different to any of that.

... but i know what headcanon i'll be building into at least one of my mizrox fics.

what do you think?

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Four

Summary - The consequences of your defection to the Autumn Court become clear as you realise how deeply rooted the betrayal of your family lies within you.

Warnings - angst, self-doubt, trauma, depression, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three

Nesta's toes curled uncomfortably.

Rhys was pacing before her and Lucien who was sunken into the seat beside her, Azriel and Cassian stood as still as stone to the side of Rhys' desk as he walked the length of the room behind it. Anger burned in his eyes, the violet orbs that Feyre loved so much now blazing with infantile fury at what he had lost.

The power pulsating around the High Lord was nothing compared to yours, but it was still uncomfortable to swim in; it was migraine-inducing, it made her eyes feel heavy and limbs weak, and she knew the power within him was teetering on the edge of unleashing.

Rhys, as calm as he was portraying, lay his palms flat against the table surface, staring Nesta and Lucien down, but neither of them relented, neither of them would dare falter in front of him, "Tell me where my sister is," his lips curled into a smile, a sadistic thing of psychotic beauty, his eyes were demanding, and Nesta stole a glance to Lucien whose fingers were ripping at the leather arms of the chair.

You had disappeared from Helion's birthday gathering, your scent floating away in the breeze, and you hadn't told a soul of where you were going. Rhys had assumed you were ashamed of yourself and had returned to Velaris, that he would be able to deal with you later. But when Eris' note had landed in Lucien's lap that evening, he had never felt such simmering relief.

There was history between Rhys and Lucien, they weren't exactly the best of friends, but they weren't enemies, Lucien dealt with him for Elain and Rhys delt with him for Feyre, but if he had it his way Lucien would cease to exist.

"Y/N," Lucien bit, to remind them that you were y/n, your own person, and not just known to be his sister and executioner, "Has denounced her place in the Night Court, she is residing elsewhere."

Azriel scoffed, his finger trailing along the sharp edge of Truthteller, "She can't denounce her place so easily."

"Well she has," Nesta smirked, her stare barrelling into Azriel whose pupils flared in response, "I suppose this is what happens when you raise a female to be nothing more than your dirty little secret."

Rhys bristled, "I would watch how you speak if I were you, Nesta."

Rolling her neck, Nesta drawled, "I think you forget how little I care for your opinions, Rhysand," Lucien hummed low in agreement, legs lax and open against the confinements of his seat, "It seems as though y/n finally realised what you've done all these years."

"And what's that?" Rhys challenged.

Nesta could have smacked that smirk from his lips, but she restrained herself from doing so. Unfortunate.

"Lie," Rhys' eyes darkened, "All you've done is lie to her. You had never hidden her to protect her from what happened to your mother and sister, you used it as an excuse so that no one would find out just how powerful she is. You hid her so that she would never realise her full potential, you never trained her abilities and yet her power still drowns you, and instead of caring for her and helping her, you locked her away in this city and silently forbade her to ever leave."

Lady Death rose to her feet and approached the desk, paying little mind to the daggers shooting from Cassian's eyes. Fuck the male who would let their master manhandle their precious mate. Nesta mirrored the High Lord, palms flat across the table and leaning in so that she could feel his breath on her cheeks, "You have raised y/n to be your executioner, you have spread this vile word of her ferocity and violence so that no one would ever wish to be around her. You created the image of a bloodthirsty monster that lays dormant in the Night Court until her master calls upon her, and y/n has realised just how much you have betrayed her. All she knows is what you reared her to be, not what she actually is or can be."

Lucien shuffled in his seat, opening his mouth and voicing, "You stole away her chance to choose her own path by manipulating her into believing that her place in the world was to be nothing but the Feared Princess of Velaris," he leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the way Cassian took a step forward, "The mere mention of her name strikes fear into the souls of every traveller, they sing songs around fires of her, she is the monster in the nightmares and the one dying men wish they never meet on the other side, and she has been allowed to be depicted like that because you wished it."

It was masterful really, how Rhys had manipulated everyone to believe that you were an awful abomination of a thing when in reality all you wanted to do was see the world and curl up with a good book. You hadn't experienced anything good or soul-awakening, Amarantha had stripped your essence from you the moment she carved your wings from your body, and that had been the moment that Rhys had wrapped his talons around your mind and bent you to his will.

"Tell me where she is."

Nesta cocked her head to the side as she scrutinised his face with horror laced in her orbs, after all they had said all he cared about was knowing where you were, he had no interest in acknowledging or accepting anything he had done. She looked to Cassian, "Do you not understand how disgusting this is? She grew up with you, you said she was like a sister to you that you loved her as much as him," Nesta pointed at Rhys who pulled back from the desk, "How could you stand by and allow this?"

"Y/N's power poses a threat to us all, I did what was necessary to ensure our safety."

"If that's truly what you think then you are no mate of mine," she spat and his eyes rounded as his forehead creased, his façade was cracking. Nesta turned her attention to Azriel, "You. You're supposed to be her best friend, she loves you more than anything, there's nothing she wouldn't do for you, Az."

Azriel shrugged, "My duty is to the Night Court."

"You're a pig," she took in the sight of Rhys who had taken a step or so backward and had found a place to lean against the fireplace, her anger bubbled and there was little she could do to stop the truth from stabbing him in his soul, "Y/N is in the Autumn Court. The one place you physically can't go, where none of you can and I'm so glad she got out of this shitshow of a city because she would have died if she had been locked away for another moment longer being treated like nothing and no one."

"Watch it."

Nesta chuckled lowly, "Or what, Rhys? You'll kick me out of the Night Court? It's a good thing that I'm already leaving."

What have I done?

The thought was on repeat in your mind, an overlapping record jolting with the same phrase.

A pit had opened inside of you, a gnarly black hole full of anger and hatred that had dampened the moment Eris had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a flurry of light, and you could distinctly see the world as you knew it warp before your eyes.

The dress you had worn was draped over a standing mirror, the skirt of it brushing against the glass in the breeze swelling through the room Eris had led you to that night. Flowing water from a babbling brook sounded from beyond the window, harmonising with sweet birdsong and the rustling of autumn leaves. Sunlight speckled through the room and streaked across the thick brown carpet that made you feel like you were walking on clouds.

For a moment, you stopped thinking of how your life had momentously changed in the space of one decision. It was a peace you welcomed before the reality of it came crashing down on you.

Rhys would be furious once he found out that you had denounced your home court and title, so furious that he may not allow you back which wasn't exactly a bad thing. But nothing would made that vein in his forehead pop more than when he realised where you had gone. To Autumn. With Eris.

Your heart raced at the thought of it, your hands went clammy and damp, and you couldn't stop thinking about what exactly would happen to Nesta and Lucien because of your reckless decision.

You are the author of your own story.

A soft knock rattled on the door, pulling your mind back into the present. Lifting yourself from the larger-than-life bed, you padded over to the door, knowing that Eris would never just let himself into the safe space he had gifted to you.

Eris stood on the other side, the sunlight brushing over his face and turning his eyes into molten shimmer bronze, he looked handsome, dressed in tight taupe pants that were tucked into his riding boots, a cream shirt loosely poked into the waistband.

His gaze travelled down your figure that was half-hidden behind the door, specifically at the shirt he had leant you that barely fell to your mid-thigh which left the rest of your leg exposed to him. Your hair was messy from the night full of tossing and turning, but he thought you looked radiant, that it made you look rather adorable actually.

"Good morning," he told you softly once he was done examining you, there was a box in his arms along with a few folded pieces of fabric, "I went out this morning and got these for you," he offered, "You don't have any clothes here so I thought these would do for now until I could take you into town."

Taking the box and tower of clothes from his arms, you smiled, "Thank you," you suddenly felt naked in front of him, the breeze drifting inward and up your legs reminding you of that fact.

If he knew of your realisation he didn't let on, "Our fashion isn't like that of your former court, but I'm sure you'll look incredible in it regardless," his eyes sparkled and your racing heart began to relent, "I'll be in the gardens when you're ready, Fawn."

Eris left you after that, he left you with the lingering speckles of his scent, the same scent that you had drifted to sleep bathed in thanks to the large shirt he had given you. The arms of the shirt drooped on you and you knew that it was due to his large arms perfectly fitting in the fabric.

The clothes were lovely, a mixture of dresses in a variety of styles and hues that you knew would mould against your skin perfectly, tailored shirts and tight leather pants, feminine waistcoats of forest green and red wine with golden embellishments, and undergarments that you knew Eris wouldn’t dare pick himself. Even the thought made heat rise to your cheeks.

Deciding to embrace your defection, one that Eris had been careful not to voice directly, you dressed yourself in a pair of high waisted black pants and a fitted artic blue blouse. It was so unlike anything you had ever worn, but it was beautiful in its own way. Turning to the box, you lifted the lid and gasped at the oyster coloured riding boots that must have cost a small fortune considering the intricate stitching. They weren’t just regular riding boots, no, when you slid them up your calves and found yourself adjusting them to your thighs, you knew they were a statement piece if you’d ever seen one.

Pulling your hair back into a low and messy bun, you found your reflection and grinned.

Eris was right, you did look incredible, like Velaris had been dispelled from you long ago and was nothing but a horrible dream.

Fir Manor was a special place, you could see why Eris chose to live there over the Forest House. It was light and bright and full of warmth from the whispering sun, ornate furniture was littered everywhere, the library was the personification of comfort and grace, exposed wooden beams loomed overhead and the windows were large and clear enough that you could see to the edge of the estate and the woodland beyond.

Your sun-starved skin cried in relief as you stepped outside, drinking in every vitamin offered to it, a low whistle caught your ear and you found Eris stood before a pair of large but stunning stallions, his hounds chasing one another and running between their legs which didn’t phase them at all.

“You look,” he trailed off as he approached, a jacket now completing his outfit and fingers raking through his red hair.

“Like Autumn threw up on me?”

“Something like that,” you huffed out a laugh and looked to the beasts, “I thought you’d like to explore the woodland today, get you out of the manor for a few hours?”

It was an offer than you wanted to say yes to, but at the same time couldn’t, ashamed of your oncoming admittance, “I would love to. It’s just,” you faltered, your eyes moved from Eris to the towering midnight black stallion that had craned its neck to look to you inquisitively.

Eris caught on, “You don’t know how,” a solemn finish to the sentence you were trying to voice, his heart clenched slightly at the defeat in your eyes, yet another thing that had been taken from you, “Well I can teach you,” he spoke, “Today you can ride with me, learn the basics, and you’ll be on your own stallion in no time.”

The High Lord of Autumn stood beside you, elbow to elbow, and even through the fabric of your clothes, you could feel his fire prickling across your skin and work its way into the woven fibres of your soul. He stood there seemingly unknowing of it, and when he looked down on you, waiting for your answer, all you could do was nod.

The stallion, Axos, shuddered under your touch as your fingers drifted over his side and around the curve of his saddle. Hands curled around your hips and you almost fell backward at the touch, Eris was behind you, his chest moving against your back and you glanced backward at him, "Don't get too excited," he smirked, and you wished you could have seen the muscles in his arms rippling as he lifted you up, instructing you to swing your leg over before he settled in behind you with ease.

The reigns became wrapped between his fingers, his breath was hot against your neck and Axos was moving onward after a curt click from Eris' mouth, his hounds trotting happily alongside you, "You have to roll your hips with each step he takes," his voice was gruff in your ear, low enough to send shivers flowing down your spine, "Like this," he unwound one of his hands from the reigns and placed it on your hip, gently moving it back and forth to the steps of Axos beneath as the stallion carried you both into the woodland, through the arched hanging branches and grasslands.

Awareness washed over you at how close Eris truly was, you were nestled at the centre of his open legs, his thighs encased your own, his entire chest shrouded you, and a shadow fell over you from the sheer size of him. He was pressed up to your back to the point you could feel his heart beating through his shirt, a thing you had become extremely aware of but didn't dare shudder away from in fear of him pulling away from you.

The landscape was picturesque, mounds of fresh earth, dainty flowers and fallen branches, leaves of orange, brown, and red, and water flowing through the small brooks, trying to find their way to the river. Even the sun felt surreal, it streaked through any respite of bark that it could, its golden glow spreading and infecting the land. Soft scampering of tiny paws ran through the trees, squirrels jumped from branch to branch, following you and paying no attention to the swarm of hounds keeping an eye on them.

It astounded you how a place so beautiful even existed.

It scared you how place so beautiful could turn into the most vicious of battlegrounds.

"Are you afraid, of Rhys coming here?"

Eris tensed behind you, his hand still lingering on your side, "We don't have to talk about this, y/n."

"I know," you told him, smiling softly as you watched a small bunny poke its head above its burrow, "I just know him, and I don't want to put you or your court in danger."

"I'm not afraid of him, and he will never step foot in my court. I won't allow it," he was stoic, and you knew he was telling the truth, Eris had faced worse than Rhys, he had endured worse.

"I can go, I don't have to be here, Eris."

Axos stopped moving, your brows itched together in a frown and you turned to capture Eris' gaze which was riddled with confusion, "I would never dream to keep you from doing whatever it is you wish to you, even if you wish to leave, I would not stop you. But I would like you to stay, and I think you would like to stay too."

Eris' amber pools softened and he smiled sadly at you, knowing that you didn't wish to leave but wanted to protect him and his home from whatever it was that Rhys could inflict upon it, "You will always have a place here, y/n. No one can take that from you, whatever you wish for is yours."

"Who knew that the fox could be so sweet?"

Eris tilted his head back and laughed, a pure thing of serenity, he moved his hand to your thigh and squeezed it gently before grabbing at the reigns once more, "Keep going, Fawn. You're getting warmer."

The hours ticked by, idly chatter filled the air, he told you the names of his hounds, you had unmounted Axos and delved further into the woodland, touching every tree that you could as if you wouldn't see them again all whilst Eris trailed you with a distant grin on his lips. Sunlight began to wane into its mid-afternoon position, the warmth replaced with bristle breezes and the birdsong drowned out by the emerging chirps of crickets.

Golden hour.

A moment you had heard of, when the sun reached its most comfortable resting place before it beckoned the moon to start its ascent, where the world was coated in the golden autumn glow that consumed the land. You had heard the stories of its beauty, but nothing could prepare you for it as you watched the light shift to a different angle and a shimmer cling to everything that moved. The waters glistening, sparkling and reflecting against the bodies of the trees, and that sparkle bounced all over the clearing where you stood.

"It's beautiful," your voice was a whisper but your eyes floated about the clearing, your body turned where you stood and you drank it in.

"It is," Eris confirmed from where he stood, dry branches creaked under his feet as he approached, "It's something that I take for granted, when you see it every day you forget how special it is."

"I wish that you could see it again for the first time."

A weight shifted at your feet and you peered down to see one of Eris' hounds, Willow, perched atop your toes, looking up at you with a lopsided grin as she panted. Reaching down, you scratched the spot beneath her shin and between her ears, your heart swelling as her tail swatted at the floor and her eyes screwed closed as she accepted your touch, "She likes you."

Willow was an elegant beast, long brown lashes, deep brown eyes, shining fur of tan and black, and shaggy ears that fell down the sides of her face, "I like her too."

Eris' eyes glowed, with what you couldn't quite tell, "We should head back to the manor, you must be starving."

When you thought of it you were hungry, you didn't remember the last time you ate, perhaps the morning of your departure but you couldn't be sure of it. The ride back to the manor felt too short, you were relishing in his company far too much, so much so that you wished that the day wouldn't end.

Fir Manor approached in the forefront of your vision and you sighed, ready to be in more relaxing clothes, but also ready to eat something. You could only imagine how incredible the food would be if even the landscape alone brought you happiness. Eris dismounted first and held his hands up to you, not even straining as they gripped your waist and placed you back on the ground delicately.

Eris' finger reached to tuck a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear, one that must have fell loose from the effortless bun you had thrown your hair into that morning. That same finger lingered, ghosting over the curve of your jaw and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. His eyes were on you, waving themselves over your face.

You could have stayed there for much longer, in his arms with his fingers dusting over your skin. It seemed that others were too impatient to allow the moment to continue as the door to the manor swung open and you turned your head to see Nesta and Lucien stood on the porch with Elain in the doorway.

"Nes?" Eris' grip on your waist tightened slightly but relented as you moved away, pacing up the pathway and flinging yourself into her open arms which wrapped around you tightly, "What are you doing here?"

"Our place is with you," she muttered and you pulled away, looking between her, Lucien and Elain as Eris fell to your side.

"What about Cassian?"

Nesta shuddered, she took a moment to glance at Eris and the apprehension he wore as he inched closer to you, "I can't be mated to someone who could allow something like this to happen."

"I'm so sorry, Nes," guilt pooled within you and she could see that as clear as daybreak, she took a step closer to you, taking your head in her hands and stroking your cheeks with her thumbs.

"Don't be," she shushed, "I chose you. I will always choose you."

Lucien placed a hand on your shoulder and offered more detail, "Rhys is furious, but he knows that he can't get to you here," he glanced to his brother and his lips tilted downward, "He's asked for you, for a meeting at the boarder."

The High Lord growled under his breath and took a protective step to you, it was clear that Rhys was going to attempt to barter for your return, that he was going to use his manipulation tactics to steal you back, "Fine," your blood ran cold and Nesta's fingers gripped at your wrists as Eris rounded your figure to stand beside her, "You're not going anywhere, alright? It's in our best interests to see what he has to say. I'll never let him take you," Eris turned his head to peer over his shoulder at his younger brother and Elain who had drifted from the doorway to entwine her fingers with his, his eyes faltered in want before he spoke, "You'll accompany me."

Lucien nodded stiffly and once, "For her, I'll do whatever you need me to."

"Thank you," Eris' words were sincere and he found Nesta's gaze, "You can all stay here for however long you'd like," then he found yours and he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing over your knuckles, "Forever if it suits."

The sun hung low in the sky, the moon was pushing itself through the clouds and your heart raced with anticipation for the moment Eris and Lucien would both leave for the boarder, "Please be careful."

Eris nodded, rubbing your clothes arms in his hands to allow his warmth to run through you, "We will. Go and get changed, I'll see to it that food is on the table for you three by the time you're back."

"Us three?"

"The boarder is hours away," Lucien spoke for his brother who couldn't bare to tell you that they would have to leave imminently in order to meet with Rhys, "If we don't leave soon then we risk missing the window altogether."

"You're safe here, y/n. They can't get in."

In that moment, all you wanted to do was throw your arms around him, just to bask in his scent and warmth for another moment longer, but you couldn't. Instead, you nodded and allowed Nesta and Elain to lead you inside, and you continued to look over your shoulder up until the moment when Lucien closed the door with a tight lipped smile cast in your direction.

It would not be the last time you'd see him. If it was, then you'd decimate the entire of Prythian with your fury.

Author's Note

Here we are!

Hope you love it x

Someone told me that 'Who's Afraid of Little Old Me' by Taylor Swift is so The Fox and The Fawn reader coded and I cannot stop thinking about it

Taglist

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[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | 𝐟𝐞𝐲𝐝-𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐧

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: feyd-rautha was used to have whatever he wanted, it was well known, but so were you; what you desired, was already yours. and what you crave right now, is him. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!reader —word count: 1.5k —warnings: death, mentions of killing, blood, fighting (yk the usual feyd), just the reader and feyd-rautha being horny and a slut for each other.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

yes, i'm finally back!! dune part 2 has dragged me out of my cave and has given me inspiration like never before.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. Everyone knew it, perhaps the whole galaxy was aware of his very eccentric... preferences and appetites. He was well known for his immaculate and animalistic way of fighting, of destroying anyone who dared to present themselves as his enemy, of anyone who would dare to challenge him. But he was also honorable, proud and loyal to his beliefs, perhaps too self-confident for your own liking.

But every strong man had a weakness, a weakness that could bring them to their knees, to yield, to be left vulnerable. You were Feyd's weakness, rather, his strength, his fortitude, the fire in his veins, the beating of his heart. And it was quite strange and utterly unimaginable to think that someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen would have any feelings at all, there were those who firmly believed that he didn't even have a heart, not even a soul, that he was a demon in human form, a ruthless and bloodthirsty beast, the worst of the worst.

But there you were to prove otherwise.

It had been your idea to actually take him as a husband. Your parents disagreed, of course, for they thought you would be better off alone, after all, you were one of the strongest women alive, you didn't need any man or woman by your side. They called you the Golden Dragon, someone with too much power for this world, you had abilities that the world could not really understand yet, connections with the universe that could not even begin to be explained, the last descendant of one of the most ancient Houses, one that had vanished in time, detached from battles and senseless wars for power, a House that was recognized by that flag with the roaring and menacing red dragon on a golden field. That ancient beast that many thought extinct... until you came to Giedi Prime riding one. 

And you had arrived just on his coming of age day, where his favorite ceremony was battles, of course.

You watched him fight the Atreides men from your seat, your mother and father sitting at your sides, watching him as well, all in silence. Your eyes followed his every move, not even pausing for a second to watch the other poor men being annihilated, no, for your attention was solely on Feyd-Rautha, noting the predatory nature of his steps, his precise and powerful movements, eyes darkened with delight, eager for more death and blood. 

"He is a good warrior" Your father commented looking at him in awe as well.

"Too much so, I'd say" Your mother added in a naturally stern voice, distrustful dark eyes, observing the gory spectacle.

"He was born for it" Your father continued to comment, turning his head so he could look at you for a few seconds "For slaughter and death. Only to bring that."

"I think he's cute" you finally stated your opinion, voice low and serene, not even having the audacity to look at your parents, for you didn't have to look at them to know that they were both giving you horrified and scandalized looks now. 

Your father muttered your name in a warning tone of voice.

"He would look good in our home. He's built for fighting and protect, just like us." You explained, finally detaching your eyes from Feyd-Rautha, who had just killed the last Atreides standing, unleashing a wave of applause, praise and cheers from the audience. "Don't you think so, father?"

Your look was almost defiant, and yet composed, and your father took it as a challenge, but he would never be so foolish as to show any disagreement with you, for what the dragon princess desired, she had.

So, after sharing a short glance with your mother, he gave you a short nod of his head.

"I do."

And so it was settled.

Feyd-Rautha, for his own part, saw you and knew you were meant to be his.  He had heard of you, of course, his uncle used to insist that he must behave himself once your family arrived, for you were worthy of having the full respect of House Harkonnen, and that losing you as allies was not an option at all. So behave he did... or at least he tried to.

"I dreamed of you last night." 

Was the first thing he said to you, both found in one of the large, dark halls of his home, just a couple of hours after his victorious fight in the arena. The Baron and your father were in an important and pending meeting in which neither your presence nor Feyd's was required, because the whole focus of it was the two of you, and a possible marriage to ensure the alliance and heritage.

His eyes were barely distinguishable with the all the thick blackness surrounding him, his pupils dilated with desire, hands clasped behind his back, as inflexible as ever. He had put his all into making a good impression, his uncle had ordered him to, and Feyd was quite obedient when it came to the Baron's wishes. He was so loyal to that foul man that you thought it was something no better described than adorable. 

The thing was that, as powerful and menacing as he was, he was just another man, another pawn into this colossal game of power and thrones. And you felt rather pity for him.

"Na-baron." You greeted him somewhat pragmatically, turning fully towards him, golden eyes gleaming even amidst all the darkness through your gold mask. "It was a good dream, I hope."

"(Y/N) Pazuk, princess." He just took the satisfaction of deliciously savoring the name of your House, pronouncing it in that husky, deep voice of his. He also had the courage to move closer to you, rising from the wall and stepping cautiously, holding your gaze, looking down on you as if you were prey, a small helpless animal under his looming shadow. He then reflected, thinking about choosing the most suitable words... and the most appropriate ones "It was a very good dream."

You were in his territory, his planet, you knew it well and so did he, you were walking straight into the mouth of the hungry beast. Everything that was there belonged to him, he controlled it all and saw it all. 

And everything he was seeing now was you. And he was intrigued, captivated even. Because he usually encountered boring and vulgar people, people who were nowhere near his level, people who he liked to torture and make bleed to death. And the thing was, you happened to stand on his level, and even higher.

"Tell me more." You had the courage to order him in a soft tone of voice. He knew instantly that you were testing him, he was smart and knew how to read people well... but you, you were different, he could see it too, you were much more complex than other people. And he was delighted.

A hint of a phantom smile tugged at the corner of his lips just as he stood in front of you, posture rigid and dominant. "You showed me the way. The right way. The way of victory, the way of life."

You swallowed spit slowly and he noticed it, for his eyes descended to your throat for a few moments before rising again to your face, analyzing every expression that passed through your gaze, every gesture of your lips, every sign you allowed him to see.

Then he twisted his head slightly, face turning somewhat mischievous. "You think I'm scary, princess?"

Now it was his turn to test you.

He watched as your lips parted before responding, raising your voice with pure confidence, naturally, holding his dark gaze. "I think you're quite the opposite really, Feyd-Rautha."

He was silent for a few moments, long moments in which he simply gazed at you intently, with his full attention on you, on your body, almost as if he was looking at your pure soul.

"You are my destiny." He finally uttered, you could hear how his voice had wavered more for softness than harshness this time. "Show me the way, my princess."

You managed to feel the warmth of his body against yours. For someone so cold and distant, his body was hot and warm like fire.

"Are you going to ask for my hand?" You ask in a small voice, feeling suddenly intimidated by his closeness. There were very few who dared to stand so close to you, yet there he was, threatening your personal space. "Because here I am, na-Baron."

Before I could answer you anything, you spoke again, twisting your head slightly, barely narrowing your eyes. "You think I'm scary, my lord?"

He had never been so profoundly proud and thrilled by his title as he was at that moment, when you slowly modulated it with your tongue like a purr, your voice tastefully savoring it.

"I think you are beautiful." He immediately responded. "And I want you to be mine."

And so, fate had done it's work.

[i-dared-myself]

One, Two, Three

Yeosang x reader

In which you, a weak witch, can’t escape the powerful demon you’ve summoned.

18+

Cw: Stabbing, kidnapping, blood, explicit sex, accidental starvation of reader

Witches make mistakes. Sometimes the wrong ingredient goes into the wrong cauldron. Sometimes you bump into your table and bruise yourself.

Occasionally you summon a prince of hell. All you can say is oops and move on with your day.

Except when he’s chasing you through the abandoned building you had chosen for your ritual.

Your panting is growing harsh and it’s difficult to draw in air, but you keep running.

You can’t even hear him anymore, so you skid to a stop. You bend over and clutch at your knees, gasping for breath.

All that meets your ears is your rasping breaths and racing heart. It’s thumping harder than ever before in your life.

A sob rips itself from your throat, tears bubbling in your eyes. You never wanted this. Your hand slipped during the spell you were doing, and since witchcraft has to be so precise, you accidentally opened it. You opened the connection between worlds, causing a prince from hell to be unleashed.

Click.

Your head jerks up and you blink back the salt pouring from your eyes. You just heard something- something that isn’t you.

“Witchling,” someone croons, voice low and taunting.

You look around for somewhere to hide. A desk to find shelter under, a wardrobe to close yourself into.

But nothing.

Click.

Your index finger goes to your mouth, and you bite it to prevent a whimper from falling past your lips. You know the reputations of these things- these demons.

They’re bloodthirsty and cruel. Sadistic creatures that take pleasure in the fear of others.

Click.

“Witchling,” he croons again. “Where are you?”

You keep moving. Not running anymore, not wanting to create a lot of noise, but carefully walking down the dark hallways.

This place must have been an office building of some kind. There’s desks and chairs in the adjoining rooms, and the crooked doors have plaques with names on them.

Click.

You turn to see the source of the noise. The noise that was so close.

He stands at the end of the hallway, brown hair falling around his face. It’s not messy, but arranged tastefully. His eyes have a red sheen to them, and when his lips curl up, they reveal slightly pointed teeth.

“There you are.” The door shuts behind him with a soft sound. He laces his fingers together behind his back, tilting his head. “Why are you running?”

“Stay back!” You pull from your magic, casting a protection barrier. As long as you don’t move from this spot, you’ll be safe.

Unless he breaks it.

“Why?” he asks curiously. He takes a step closer, heels making a loud click.

“I- I’ll hurt you!” you threaten vaguely. Not that you’re certain if he can even feel pain.

He glides even closer, until he’s just outside of your protection barrier. “You would?”

“Yes,” you quickly say. “I’m a powerful witch. I kill demons and monsters all the time.”

“Then why is this,” he strokes the edge of your spell, making purple sparks fizzle in the air, “so weak?”

You curl inwards. He’s called your bluff.

“It’s pathetic, even,” he adds. His fingers probe deeper against the magic, the barrier straining to keep him out. It’s bending around his digits, and you can feel your magic fading fast.

You force your chin to lift boldly. “That’s what you say now, but wait until I kick your ass.”

He laughs lightly, eyes glinting. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you press. “You think I wouldn’t? I duel creatures like you all the time.”

His head cocks to the side, strands of hair tumbling into his face. “There are no creatures like me. There are other demons, yes, but to you I am the only me. And you are the only human for me.”

“What?” You don’t understand what he’s saying.

Both of his hands splay out against your protection barrier. You can see his skin smoking from where it touches the magic, but he ignores the pain.

“You think just anyone could summon me?” His mouth quirks as if he’s amused by you. “No. I come when I please, for my own reasons.”

You pour more energy into your spell, watching as the smoke twists and curls in the air from where he touches it. “What are you talking about?”

There’s a crazed look to him now, in the way he smiles. “You’re mine. Designed for me, and me alone. Don’t you feel it?”

You take a step back, aware of how close you are to falling out of the safety of your ward. “I’m not designed for anyone. I don’t feel anything for you.”

His nostrils flare slightly and he narrows his eyes. “Lying little witchling. Reach inside you and try again.”

Reluctantly, you search inside yourself for anything that might resemble a connection. An accidental bond or a curse, perhaps.

You find a sliver of darkness. A little piece of shadow that rests in the very being on your soul. It’s latched deep inside you, thrashing around.

Your magic flickers.

You’ve never gone this far with your powers. It’s exhausting, and now that you’re aware of this thing you can actively feel it.

“That’s me.” His finger shoots out and presses against your chest. His arm is through a hole in your barrier. “I can feel it. That means that we’re destined for each other.”

You stare down at where he’s touching you, eyes wide. “How did you-“

Then he shreds the ward with no effort at all. He lunges at you and wraps his arms around your body, pulling you close to him. He shudders, and you can feel that tiny sliver of darkness rising and lifting inside you.

His mouth is hovering over yours, eyes dark with hunger. “Mine,” he says simply, before lowering his lips to yours.

You’re distantly aware of the shadow slipping out of your mouth and into his, and then you’re kicking him away. You crawl as far as you can from him as he regains his breath.

He’s staring down at his hands with a look of wonder. “You truly are designed for me. You had the missing part of my powers. Don’t you feel stronger now as well?”

You scramble to your feet and cast another protection spell. It’s more powerful than anything you’ve ever done, and it felt so easy.

“There you go,” he says, something akin to pride in his words. “But I’m afraid our time is up. It’s time to go home.”

“Go back to the hole you crawled out of,” you spit, braver now with this newfound magic. “I’m not yours, and I never will be.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. “I know you didn’t mean it, so I’ll ignore it. But my patience is running thin. Come here.”

You scoff. “No.”

His eyes open again, and he gazes at you. “I’ll give you to the count of three.”

You pull at more of your magic, strengthening your shield. You know you can’t hold out as long as him, even with this new power, but you can at least make it difficult for him.

“One,” he says, eyes still locked on you.

You clench your jaw.

“Two.”

You widen your stance, preparing for whatever it is he’ll do. You don’t know what he wants with you, but it surely isn’t anything good.

“Three,” he softly says before shattering your shield. You build it up again as quickly as you can, desperate for anything to keep you safe.

It repeats over and over again, with him breaking down your protection and you putting it back up. It’s exhausting and you can feel your magic and energy both draining.

“Witchling” he suddenly says, worry in his tone. “Your nose.”

You bring the heel of your hand up to your nose, pulling it away to find blood. “Oh.”

He takes your moment of distraction to grab you. As soon as he makes contact with you, your knees buckle.

He scoops you up and looks down at you, the corners of his lips lifting. “I am Yeosang, witchling. And you are mine.”

Then darkness consumes you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stir, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings. It’s quiet, with no sounds except that of your breathing.

You sit up and push silk sheets away from your body, sliding out of bed. The bedroom itself is dim, with closed curtains blocking a wide window.

You’re wearing a loose-fitting top with matching pants. Both are a light pink with bunnies on them.

You push the door open, padding out into a long hallway. There are other doors along the corridor, and you open each of them. There are bedrooms and bathrooms, and what you think is a dance studio.

“Witchling,” the demon- Yeosang- says. He’s dressed in a black robe that is cinched around his waist. “You’re awake.”

You clutch at your shirt, twisting the fabric nervously. “Where are we?”

“Home.” The word sounds odd as it comes from his mouth. Intimate and nothing that you should share with him.

“Where?” you press.

Yeosang studies you carefully. “Where I come from. You’re safe here, though. No one will touch you except me.”

“No,” you sharply say. “You’ll leave me alone.”

He considers it for a moment. “We shall see. But be assured that I will do nothing without your permission,” he vows.

You relax as much as you can under the circumstances, nodding. “What do you want from me?”

“To keep you safe. To have with you what humans desire and yearn for.”

You swallow thickly. “Okay.”

You have no plans whatsoever to have anything to do with him. As soon as you get the chance to kill him, you’re taking it.

“Breakfast?” Yeosang sweeps an arm out to a set of stairs that you could have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago. They’re covered in a lush carpet and go down to a wide and spacious room.

You grip the railing as you go downstairs, trying not to trip on the flared bottoms of the pants. “Interesting outfit choice.”

“Do you not like it?” Yeosang asks from behind you, voice tinged with… insecurity? “Human women like cute things, do they not?”

“Some do.” You reached the ground and turn to take him in again. He’s ethereal, beautiful to a level that you could never compete with. “Others don’t.”

“And which are you?” His eyes flick over your form, falling on your face. “I can fix it.”

“It’s fine.” You tug at the hem of your left sleeve. “I’m not picky.”

Yeosang watches you for a minute before motioning to an open doorway. “Sit in there and wait.”

“Yeosang.” You struggle with what to say before sighing. “Why can’t I use my magic? My powers aren’t working.”

“You really think I’d let you keep them after everything?” Yeosang arches an eyebrow. “Nice try. You have to earn them back.”

You trudge off in the direction he had instructed, finding yourself in a dining room. There’s a long table with one place setting at the head of it. You settle in the chair, snatching up the knife next to the plate. You tuck it in your lap, out of sight.

Yeosang enters with a steaming tray of food. There’s a small bowl of fruit along with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

You take the fruit and spear a piece on your fork. “Are you going to eat?”

“No,” he answers. “I don’t have a need to, so it’s pointless.”

You glance up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Have you ever eaten?”

“Not any of your human food.” Yeosang shakes his head at you, scowling at a watermelon chunk.

“Really?” You gape at him in shock. “That’s… Wow. Here, try some of this.” You offer him the watermelon, shaking it when he hesitates.

Yeosang warily places a piece on his tongue, chewing slowly. He swallows and then reaches for another. “It’s not terrible.”

“You like it,” you insist. “Don’t pretend you don’t.” His cheeks flush, turning a pink that you never expected to see on him. “Finish your meal.”

You shrug and return to picking at your food. You eat as slowly as possible, hoping to piss him off. Do demons get impatient? Do they grow restless?

You get the impression that the answer is yes, based on how his leg taps. You smile to yourself and hide it behind your hand.

“Are you finished yet?” Yeosang asks, voice sharp and tinged with annoyance. “It can’t possibly take humans this long to eat.”

“Almost.” You push the empty fruit bowl away and pick up a piece of toast. You just stare at it for a moment before taking a bite.

He huffs and settles into a chair. “I have places to be, witchling. I don’t have time for this.”

Your fingers wrap around the knife in your lap. You haven’t forgotten about it, merely biding your time until the moment was right.

That time is now.

You lunge for him and plunge the blade into his chest. His eyes widen in surprise and his hands come up to the wound.

You remove the weapon and look at the blood-covered blade with satisfaction. It’s dripping with red, shining in the light.

He still hasn’t said anything, clutching at the hole on his chest. Blood is oozing out onto his fingertips, sinking into his robe. His mouth parts as he gazes at you, eyes hooded with pain.

“Fuck you,” you spit, tossing the knife away. “That’s what you get for kidnapping me.”

And yet your words are laced with regret. Guilt coats the inside of your mouth and turns your victory bitter.

“That’s it?” Yeosang blinks at you. “Are you done yet?”

“Am I… What?” You frown and can’t help but feel at unease.

Yeosang sits up and stretches as his wound stitches itself together. The skin that you can see where his robe splits apart is slick with blood. “Are you finished with your tantrum now?”

You take a fearful step back. “You’re not dead? How are you… Shit.”

“Indeed.” Yeosang hums and flicks a droplet of blood away. It lands on the white tablecloth and he cocks his head at it. “It’s your first day, so I won’t make this too terrible. I’ll even give you a choice.”

You’ve made a terrible mistake. A rash decision that has ended horribly.

“You can either be… dealt with now, before I leave,” he says. “Or later when I return. Now will be quicker, but I’m angrier now. Later it’ll take longer, but I may be more lenient.”

You shudder at the implication of his words. “L- Later.”

“Very well,” he mildly says. “I’ll be gone for a while and will deal with you when I return. You may have free rein of the house, but aren’t allowed to leave it.”

As if you’d listen to that.

But you nod and smile pleasantly. “Okay.”

He reaches out and cups your cheeks with both of his hands, splaying his thumbs out. “You promise to be good?”

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t even know what his rules might possibly be, not that you plan to follow any of them.

Yeosang smiles and presses the gentlest of kisses to your forehead. “I’ll return, witchling.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every exit is sealed with his magic. Every door to the outside refuses to open no matter how hard you press. Every window is shut and will not budge.

It’s frustrating, because you have no way of telling how long he’s been gone. It’s long enough that you have checked every way to escape twenty times, but that’s all you know. There are no clocks or any other digital way of telling the time. The sun is slowly setting, but you have no way of knowing if this is your sun or some kind of alternate dimension where it takes a week for the sun to go down.

You shuffle off to the kitchen, shoulders slumped with defeat. What you need now is some self-pity ice cream.

But alas, the freezer is empty. So is the fridge too. And the pantry.

You slam the cupboard doors shut, muttering curses under your breath. That bastard didn’t leave you any snacks.

To amuse yourself, you wander down the seemingly endless hallway. The attached rooms are always a surprise, and you even discover a whole ass library at one point. The ceilings stretch so high you could release at least twenty eagles.

Which is a strange unit of measurement, but still.

You eventually grow bored of exploring and return to your room. It’s exactly how you left it, and you throw yourself into bed. You fall asleep in almost an instant, exhausted from such a long day of exploring.

When you wake, you play dress up. You have a massive closet filled with hundreds of different outfits. Dresses, pantsuits, tuxedos. Even a maternity dress, which you instantly bring to the kitchen to burn.

You bring the edge to the open flames, cheering when it lights. It burns fast after that and you have to run to a different room when it goes out of control.

You stay at the other side of the house after that, fairly certain that you had burnt the entire place down.

And it’s on day three, you believe, that you realize he’s truly forgotten that you need food. You need sustenance if you are to survive. You have no idea how long he’s to be out, either.

You’re completely helpless.

Your stomach cramps with hunger and you groan, clutching at the railing to the stairs. Going down them when you’re this dizzy is a terrible idea, but you need to double check that the kitchen is empty.

It’s charred when you arrive, and you have a sinking feeling that this isn’t what he meant when he told you to be good. But there’s a chance you’ll have starved to death when he returns, so you’re not too worried.

You have no idea what day it is when Yeosang comes home. It’s a sick feeling when you recognize that you referred to this prison as home.

“Witchling?” Yeosang softly calls. You can hear him from the patch of floor you’ve claimed as your own. “Where are you? We still need to discuss your behaviour.”

Is that what he cares about right now? Was this entire situation your punishment?

“Witchling?” Yeosang’s voice is louder now, with an edge of anger to it. “I thought I taught you that hiding doesn’t do you any good. Remember how I found you the first time? I always will, so don’t bother hiding.”

You’re aware of the clicking of his shoes on the polished marble floors as he searches for you. You’re too busy trying not to pass out to respond to him.

“Witchling.” Yeosang stands in the doorway, eyebrows pinched with concern. “What are you doing down there?” He kneels at your side and props you up, expression falling further into worry. “What’s wrong?”

You shudder and fist at his shirt. “I- I’m sorry.” You can feel tears roll down your face and you sniffle. “I- I won’t do it again. I’ll be good!”

“Thank you,” he says, sounding confused. “But what are you doing on the floor?”

Your head lolls into the crook of his neck, mumbling slurred apologies for stabbing him. You just want to eat. You want something to fill your stomach and will do anything for it.

Yeosang tilts your chin up at him. “Witchling? What are you- What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, pleading with him. “I understand what I did was terrible. Can I- Can you please-“ Your fingers tug at the material of his shirt. “I’m sorry!”

Yeosang picks you up and cradles you to his chest. “I- Did you hit your head while I was gone? Do I need to take you to one of your human doctors?”

“Can I please have something to eat?” you quietly ask. “I’m sorry for everything and won’t do it again. Just- I learned my lesson.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Witchling I’m so- Yes. Yes I’ll go get you something.”

Yeosang places you back down on the floor and hurries out of the room. You watch him go through tears, the sight blurring.

He practically sprints back into the room, falling to his knees at your side. He hands you a chunk of buttered bread, along with pieces of meat. “I’m so sorry, witchling. I forgot about your needs. It’s all my fault.”

You swallow down your first mouthful, staring up at him. “You- You did this on accident?”

“Yes, I promise.” Yeosang nods frantically. “I would never do something so cruel. I was planning to talk with you about how I could make this better for you.”

You chew as you listen, eating faster than you probably should.

“From now on I’ll be more attentive,” he promises. “I won’t leave your side unless absolutely necessary. You’re mine and I’m yours, for however you want me.”

“But I don’t want you at all.” You curl into a ball once you’ve finished eating. “I want you to bring me home.”

He rocks back on his heels, sighing heavily. “That, I cannot do. I need to make sure you’re safe. Everything inside me is screaming to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” you demand, lifting your head. “You’re the only danger! You fucking kidnapped me and almost starved me to death!”

“An accident!” Yeosang brushes his fingers over your cheek, only for you to slap his hand away. “Witchling…”

“Stop calling me that.” You bury your face in your arms. “Just leave me alone.”

Yeosang makes a small, strangled sound of protest before giving up. He stands and walks towards the door. “I’ll stock the fridge.”

As soon as he’s gone, you flee to your room and slam the door shut. You crawl beneath the covers of your bed, oddly at ease now that Yeosang is home.

But that’s insane, so you brush the thought away.

You busy yourself by reading all of the books you had smuggled to your room. They’re all works of fiction, designed to ease the mind with entertainment. It keeps you occupied until there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Witchling,” Yeosang gently says. “I miss you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have left me for days, then.” You scoff and turn the page of your novel.

You hear shuffling before Yeosang speaks again. “Can I come in? Please?”

You sigh. “Fine.”

The door is opened and Yeosang enters warily. There’s a tiny smile that grows on his face once he sets his eyes on you.

“Hi,” he says. He fiddles with his hands. “I brought you something to eat.”

You sit up and place the book in your lap. “Okay. Do you want a medal?”

He seems hurt for a moment before he reaches out of your line of sight and grabs a tray of food. Lines of steam waft upwards from a plate of pasta as he sets it down next to you.

You pick up the fork and take a bite, finishing the entire dish before glancing up at him. “I’m done.”

Yeosang’s hands shake as he takes the tray back. “Was it- Did you like it?”

You study his face for a second. He looks… odd. Fidgety and desperate for approval.

“It was okay,” you finally say. Something flashes in his eyes before he’s kneeling again, bending at the waist to drape his torso across your bed.

His lashes flutter as he gazes up at you, tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, I promise. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Will you ever let me go?” you ask instead of answering.

His fingers twist at the sheets and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I- I-“ Yeosang pauses to swallow, throat bobbing. “If that’ll make you happy, yes. I’ll let you go.”

You lean into the pillows, watching him. “Do you mean it?”

Tears spill from his eyes. “I- Yes I mean it. I really mean it. If it’ll make you happy I’ll do it.”

You don’t know how to feel about this. This is everything you’ve been hoping for, but something isn’t right. What’s wrong with him?

“Can you go?” You point at the door. “I’m busy reading.”

Yeosang brightens. “So you’re not leaving?”

You tilt your head at the door. “Get out.”

He whines, actually fucking whines, but catches himself. Yeosang gets to his feet and nods before exiting.

You stare at his retreating form.

Odd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Witchling.” Yeosang hovers in the doorway. “Can I show you something?”

You frown, but throw your legs over the side of the bed. “What is it?”

“I made you something,” Yeosang breathlessly tells you. He starts to leave before you can even get your slippers on.

You rush after him and almost fall down the stairs. He’s walking so fast, for no reason whatsoever.

“Yeosang! Slow down!” you yell as you stumble for the eighth time.

He instantly halts, glancing over his shoulder. He waits for you to reach his side before continuing, slower this time.

“I worked really hard,” Yeosang declares. His cheeks are pink and he keeps looking away from your face.

You push a door open, entering… a bedroom? The bed’s sheets are tucked tight enough to cut yourself on the edge, and paintings are hung. The curtains are a pleasing shade of red with elegant designs on them.

“What is it?” you blandly ask him.

“It’s our room,” he proudly replies. “You can have whatever side of the bed that you want.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“I don’t care which side I get. As long as you’re happy.” Yeosang beams at you, motioning to the room. “Do you like it?”

“Why do you think I’d sleep here?” You cross your arms across your chest. His expression crumbles, so you press on. “With you too? Never going to happen. I still haven’t forgiven you for anything.”

Yeosang wraps his arms around you from behind. “Please? Just for one night to try it? You’re so far away in your room… I miss you when you’re over there.”

You squirm away from him. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re so clingy and- and affectionate!”

Yeosang reaches out for you before his arms drop back to his sides. He bites at his lip before giving up and tugging at his hair. “You did this! You made me like this!”

“I did not,” you argue. “You’re just weird.”

“No,” Yeosang insists. “I found you, my other half, and it- It triggered something. Now I need you so bad. I need to hold you and make you happy. I need your smile and laughter. I need to be inside you.”

You jerk away. “What?”

Yeosang covers his face with his fingers in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you home now and deal with this on my own.”

You stop him, holding out your hands. “I don’t want to go home anymore. But, I want a few ground rules.”

Yeosang eagerly accepts. “Yes. Anything.”

“My first rule is that you’ll allow me to come and go as I please.” When he nods, you continue. “My second is that we’re equals. I want to be treated as a person, not some pet.”

“Anything,” Yeosang agrees. He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “What else?”

“I want your loyalty and devotion.” You keep your tone level as to not give away how much you want him. You want everything he’ll give you. “And I want my magic back.”

“Absolutely.” Yeosang has tears clinging to his eyelashes. “Just- Please?”

“Okay.” You relent to the longing in his eyes and the tugging at your soul. “What do you need?”

He mouths at the exposed collumn of your throat, his tongue shooting out to touch the skin. His teeth graze at your neck.

“I can’t stop thinking about what it be like to be buried inside you.” Yeosang groans, head tipping back. “You- You’d be so tight and warm. Clenching around me like the perfect fuck toy that you are.”

You gape as you’re backed up to the bed with each menacing step closer that he takes. “What?”

He shoves you hard enough that you bounce on the bed momentarily. Yeosang lays atop you, caging you in with arms on either side of your head.

There’s something coiling inside you, and you can’t identify it as magic or an impending orgasm. Your mind is just too clouded with lust to think about it.

You tug at the collar of his shirt and yank him closer to you. You kiss him fiercely and your teeth clack with his. Yeosang’s tongue swipes at your mouth and he whimpers once your own tongue dominates his mouth.

“You’re so needy,” you absently note as his hips roll down into yours. You can feel his erection pressing into your thigh, a sign of his desperation.

“Been wanting this for so long,” he pants out. Yeosang peppers your face with kisses. “And now I can’t think about anything else. It’s like- It’s like it’s taken over my mind.”

You stroke his hair, smiling softly at him. He’s so wrecked already, but you want to utterly ruin him. “Want me to take care of that?”

“Yes,” he instantly replies as you maneuver him onto his back. “More than anything.”

You laugh and slide down his pants to his ankles. Caressing his face, you smile widely. “Lick it.” You hold your palm out for Yeosang.

He obeys and slides his tongue up your skin, maintaining eye contact with you. You smile at him before reaching down to caress his cock.

When you thumb at his slit, his reaction makes you clench around nothing. Yeosang’s eyes are glassy, and his tongue rolls out of his open mouth, spreading glossy spittle across his jaw as he moans.

Your movements are smooth as your hand glides over him. His hips buck up to meet each of your hand’s motions. You run your finger over a vein, squeezing maybe a bit too harsh when you reach his base.

Yeosang seems to like it, though, back arching as he lets out a strangled cry. His fists clench at the sheets and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Are you close?” you coo. “Close to cumming everywhere like a good fuck toy?”

“Uh-huh,” he gasps, eyes rolling back in his skull.

You take a step away and wipe your hands on your pants. “Okay then. Good to know.”

Yeosang’s eyes widen as you walk to the door. “What are you doing?”

You grin, waving your hands to create magic chains around his wrists. “I think I’m going to explore the house a little bit. This place is endless.”

Yeosang thrashes against his restraints, eyes locked on you with anger boiling over in his expression. “You better run, little witchling, because when I catch you I’m going to fuck you senseless until you’re drooling. When there’s a puddle under your face, I’m going to laugh and switch to your ass.”

Your knees go weak for a second before you sprint out the door. You can hear the shattering of chains from behind you, emboldening you to run faster. You throw your sweater off as you go, hoping he’ll trip on it and it’ll slow him down.

As hard as your heart is pumping, you feel giddy. The thought of being pinned down right where he catches you is enough to make you ooze.

But you want to make this difficult for him, ever the fighter. You crawl beneath a desk in some random office, one of many in this massive and sprawling house.

Click.

This time, the sound of his shoes has a different effect on you. You’re no longer trembling with fear, but with want. You slide further into the shadows beneath the desk, straining your ears to hear him.

“Witchling,” Yeosang calls, voice soft and menacing. “I’ll give you to the count of three, and then after that I won’t be so nice.”

Click.

You can already imagine how it’ll feel to have him driving in and out of you at a bruising pace. The stretch will be good enough to make you cum just from it.

“One,” Yeosang says, voice coming from a different room.

Click.

“Two,” Yeosang says, this time closer.

Click.

This time you can see the source of the clicking. He’s standing in the doorway, and under the desk you can see up to his shins at most. “Three.”

You cover your mouth with your hands to stifle any noises. He’s waiting for any hint that you’re here, and you don’t want to give it to him.

Yeosang exhales heavily, turning the sound into a bit of a moan at the end. “I’m touching myself right now, thinking of you.” He lets out a breathy little sigh.

He’s lying. He’s a filthy lying bastard, and you know it. His pants are on. You can see them.

But you still peek out from under the desk.

Yeosang’s pants have been shuffled downwards slightly so he has access. His head is thrown back as his hand moves over his cock.

“Found you,” he croons, lowering his gaze. He peers at you through thick lashes, mouth parting. His cheeks are a flushed pink, and his hair is messy.

He kicks the door shut and slips out of his pants, throwing it in the corner with his shirt. You inch further into the shadows, although you know that the game is up.

His hands hooks around your ankle and Yeosang tugs you out from hiding. He tosses you over the desk, discarding you of your clothing as quickly as he can. He plunges two fingers into you and you claw at the wood of the desk.

“Yeosang,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. The hard surface is digging into your stomach, so you pull yourself across it further so it’s in the crook of where your legs meet your body.

“Yes, witchling?” Yeosang curls his fingers.

You squirm back onto his hand, grinding on the heel of it. Your clit is finally getting stimulation after such a long period of foreplay, and you want more.

“Was there something you needed, or should I leave you like you left me?” Yeosang leans down and presses his naked body to yours. “Pleading, and begging, and- and-“

You tremble at the thought of it. “No! Please!”

“But isn’t that fair?” Yeosang lays an open-mouthed kiss at your shoulder. “It’s what you did to me, after all.”

“But-“ You rack your mind for a reason. A way to convince him to give you an orgasm. “But then you won’t be able to fuck me. Aren’t you needy right now? I bet you just want to fill me.”

Yeosang hums lowly and presses another finger into you. His thumb works on your clit, just the way that you need it. “Yes, but I can wait. I’ve been waiting days to have you. I’ve been waiting years to meet you.”

“Then just fuck me!” you whine. “Yeosang! I know you want to, so stop pretending!”

Your budding orgasm is ruined when he promptly removes his fingers. He hooks his fingers in your mouth while the ones that had been inside you are wiped on your ass.

He kneads at the muscle. “I did promise to fuck your ass. Would you like that? Oh, it’d be so smooth and nice.” His fingers press down on your tongue, applying a steady pressure.

You groan, sucking on his fingers absently. You would take them down your throat if it meant you finally got fucked stupid.

Yeosang lines himself up with your pussy, swiping two fingers down your glistening hole. “Witchling, you’re dripping.” He uses it as lube on his dick before entering you.

Your back arches and you push your ass up to him in offering. A moan is torn from your mouth before you can stop it, followed by another one when he smacks your ass.

He gives you no time to adjust to the stretch before he’s thrusting into you harshly. You scramble for something to grip, clenching tightly on him.

Yeosang lets out a rough noise and his hands flex on the desk.

“So good,” he praises through pants and huffs. He manhandles you to your back and wraps your legs around his waist. “I can feel you just sucking me in deeper.”

“Oh, you’re so-“ You bite your lower lip. “Yeosang, I just-“

“It’s pathetic that you’re close to cumming already.” Yeosang scoffs and moves a hand to play with your clit. “Really that desperate for me?”

“Like you aren’t desperate for me,” you argue. You lift your hips to meet him halfway in the movements.

Yeosang grips your chin and tilts your head up. “Open, witchling. Be good for me.”

Your tongue unfurls from your mouth as you widen your lips. You watch as he leans in even closer, opening his own mouth in response.

Yeosang drools into your mouth, the corners of his lips curling as it drips onto your tongue. He pats your cheek once he’s finished. “Swallow.”

Your walls flutter as you obey, causing his hips to stutter. “Can I- Are you close?”

“Yes,” Yeosang answers simply. “You may cum.”

Your legs tremble as your orgasm washes over you, quickly succeeded by his. He remains inside you as he softens, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get you up to bed before I need you again.” Yeosang scoops you up, your sweat-slicked body sticking to his. “Then I’ll make good on my promise of fucking you until there’s a puddle under your face.”

Taglist (Open):

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

I’m so proud of me, this is more than 6k words. I shall brag about this to my bestie, and then force her to read it.

[origami-trust]

Elias: *winding down after about an hour* and then after all that considerable effort, perhaps of years, and careful, subtle machinations and manipulation that even the Web would envy, I can begin to set into play the actions that will complete the ritual for the Eye. I'm thinking of calling it something that demands awed respect and trembling fear, like the Watcher's Crown. Lena: We have Mr. Bonzo. He's like a bloodthirsty mascot we can unleash on people. I was thinking of putting his themesong on youtube because it summons him, and making it go viral. Elias: There's no accounting for taste, I suppose. Lena: There is. Forms 31.2.L through 31.2.LAAAC Elias: ....Oh. What, ah, Entity does Mr. Bonzo serve? Lena: Me. Elias: ....Ah.

[khywren]

What Am I Supposed to Do (But Sink My Teeth in You?)

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 6.7k tags/warnings: shameless smut, piv sex, fingering, pwp, sex pollen, established relationship, multiple orgasms, minor spoilers for Act 3 ──────── summary: It takes no more than fifteen seconds for Astarion to pick the lock, dexterous hands finessing the pins into place with unmatched ease. Ysera's too busy focusing on his fingers to hear it click before the door swings open, preoccupied with how those same precise movements have taken her apart beneath him time and time again. And how badly she wants to experience them now. ──────────────────��─────────── In the heat of battle, Ysera unknowingly casts an aphrodisiac spell on herself. With her resolve waning, Astarion is more than happy to let her whisk him away. AO3 ┊ masterlist

“You think that's the last of ‘em?”

Karlach lifts the heft of her greataxe over her head and rolls her shoulders. Gale is busy smoothing out his robes, and Astarion is wrenching his arrows out of several of the Bhaalist cultists he felled, tucking the good ones away for future use. 

It feels wrong to leave the bodies out in the open, but there's nowhere here to hide them. The commotion had driven the would-be onlookers away, but now it's only a matter of time before Gortash’s Steel Watch descends upon them. It's better to avoid any potential conflict if they can, even if they have declared one another temporary allies.

“Probably not,” Ysera groans, turning her eyes away from the carnage. Her magic had taken its toll on their assailants, ripping and tearing and burning through them with a ferocity that had surprised even her. 

The last week has been… a lot, if she's honest. Between the revelation of the Emperor's true identity to the quakes that have shaken the city – not to mention the small army of bloodthirsty minions Orin has sent to slaughter them – it's more than any of them bargained for. A thousand smaller fires popping up everywhere and running them ragged.

It would have been difficult enough if those were the extent of their troubles. Ever since they reached the city, Ysera's magic has been increasingly erratic and unpredictable, and the incinerated corpses at her feet are only a single instance of the destruction she has unleashed. 

Her blood always runs hot with adrenaline after a battle, but now… she feels even more strange than normal, a wave of delicious heat snaking its way through her body and curling low in her belly. She bites her lip and glances among her companions, grateful none of them seem to have heard the quiet moan that has just slipped past her lips.

Instead, they're looking at Astarion, who has already taken a stance with his arms crossed over his broad chest, expression twisted into a grimace.

“Honestly,” he gripes, scoffing. “You leave the city for five minutes and everything goes straight to shit. What’s next? Ghosts? Hoards of the undead?”

Gale's saying something now, finger in the air as he nods sagely, but Ysera hears none of it. When Astarion glances in her direction, the way his eyes widen before narrowing in silent acknowledgement sends another intense wave of pleasure through her, and her heartbeat quickens under his scrutiny.

Has he always been this handsome? Her gaze sweeps over his face, admiring the way his ivory skin almost seems to glow as the sun makes its descent below the horizon and the deep, shifting reds of his eyes that draw her in like a moth to a flame. His muscles flex beneath his armor as he steps forward, and she sucks in a breath when his scent reaches her. The heat has moved to her face, but it's more than embarrassment that's coloring her cheeks.

“ – okay?”

“Huh?” Ysera reluctantly looks from Astarion to Gale, whose brow is furrowed in concern.

“I asked if you were okay. Forgive me, but you appear to me to be quite feverish. I have just the remedy for that back at the Elfsong,” he says, flashing her a broad smile. “A delicious herbal tea that’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time flat.”

“I – I'm fine,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “It's probably just the heat.” Ysera catches a glimpse of Astarion's face on the edge of her periphery, his expression anything but convinced. She's certain he can already scent her growing arousal, despite the way she's got her legs pressed tightly together beneath her robes.

Even if she doesn't know exactly what's causing her current predicament, she does know one thing: she needs to be alone, or at least somewhere else with no one but Astarion. Already her mind is becoming hazy, her only dominant thoughts of Astarion and Astarion alone.

Bare-chested. Hair unkempt as it falls over his eyes. The way his fangs gleam in the light before he pulls her close and pierces her eager flesh. The way only she has seen him.

Her mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper as she swallows thickly.

“You two should go on ahead,” she suggests, the inflection of her voice surprisingly steady. “There's something else I want to show Astarion before we head back.” If she avoids Astarion's discerning gaze, she can almost pretend it's nothing but an innocent request.

Karlach seems suspicious and lifts an inquisitive brow, but she shrugs and says nothing. Ysera silently thanks her for her compliance.

“If you're certain,” Gale says. His eyes flit to Astarion, who nods despite the worry clearly etched across the wizard's face. “I'll steep a kettle for you just in case.”

“Don't be late for supper,” Karlach says over her shoulder as she and Gale turn to leave, “Or I'm eating your portion again!”

“It was one time,” Ysera whines, heaving a heavy sigh.

The moment they're out of sight, she grabs Astarion by the wrist. He sputters in surprise at her sudden urgency but lets himself be pulled down a series of narrow side streets, before they slip into the first alleyway they find. Thankfully, they're alone, attracting only the occasional glance from people passing by.

“Are you going to tell me what the hells this is all about?” Astarion demands as Ysera slumps against the wall. She runs a hand over her face. Gale was right; she's feverish and unsteady on her own two feet, relying on the wall to keep her upright. The stones feel cool against her back, a momentary but welcome distraction.

“I don't know,” she says piteously, biting back a whimper as the friction of pressing her thighs together becomes suddenly unbearable. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Like what?” Astarion presses. Instinctively, he stands between Ysera and the mouth of the alleyway, keeping her hidden from view. She looks a mess, hair falling out of the ribbon she usually ties it back with, eyes half-lidded and mouth open slightly as she stares at him with what he can only describe as desperation in her eyes.

“Like if you don't touch me, I'll go mad.”

Perhaps she already has.

Astarion tentatively reaches out towards her, intending to take her face in his hands, but Ysera recoils from him instantly. Hurt flickers in his eyes, masked quickly by confusion.

“I don't understand,” Astarion says. “Did you not just tell me that you wanted me to touch you?”

“I know,” Ysera replies, fixing him with an apologetic look. “But it's not fair to burden you with this. It's my problem to solve. If I could just find somewhere quiet, I could take care of this myself, I could just –”

Her rambling thoughts come to a screeching halt when Astarion lays his hand firmly on her shoulder. She instinctively leans into the touch, sighing softly. The roaring inferno inside her body is contained, but not completely extinguished. Already she can feel her renewed desire for him pushing away every other insignificant thought that flits even briefly through her mind.

“Don't be stupid,” he mutters, though not unkindly. “If it's your problem, it automatically becomes my problem. That's how this whole relationship thing is supposed to work, right? Do you honestly expect me to just stand by while you suffer right in front of me?”

His concern makes her heart ache for him all the more, his inexperience and uncertainty writ plainly across his face nothing short of endearing.

“I'm not asking you to,” she clarifies, mouth pressed into a firm line. She takes a deep, bracing breath, wringing her hands in her lap as she sits on a discarded wooden crate. “I just don't want you to feel obligated to do this, even for my sake. We don't even know what this is, or that anything you could do would help.”

Astarion's gaze softens. Of course she would put him first, even now. He looks at her with nothing but affection playing across his features, glad she isn't watching when he smiles despite himself. If it was anyone else, he knows he would be far less forgiving.

But he will always make an exception for her.

“Ysera, look at me.”  She shudders when his fingers slip beneath her chin, beckoning her to lift her gaze. The sound of her name sounds so lovely on his tongue, saccharine and sweet as honey, and with grim determination, she obeys.

Shadows have long since flooded the alley as the moon begins to rise overhead, but from this distance Ysera can easily make out every detail of his face. He looks resolute as he finally gathers her face in his palms, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

“I'm not offering to do anything I don't already want to do. You have my word.”

His tone brokers no room for rebuttal.

Ysera pushes herself to her feet, her restraint waning. “Good,” she says, “because I don't know how much longer I’m going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

Astarion huffs a laugh, threading their fingers together. He knows that just the contact of his bare skin is enough to overstimulate her, but neither of them trusts her feet to lead her without guidance. Ysera holds his hand tightly, following him out of the alley and into the winding back streets of the Lower City. She keeps her head down, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other.

Desire ripples through her every time Astarion tightens his grip to pull her around another corner, and she finds it nearly impossible to contain the moans and whimpers that make it past her lips.

Astarion finds what he's looking for before long, a small flat tucked away on a dimly lit street. The windows are boarded, and the door is secured behind an impressive looking lock – in short, the exact kind of place where no one will disturb them.

When the coast is clear, he releases Ysera's hand, retrieving the set of lockpicks he always keeps stowed away in his pocket. It takes no more than fifteen seconds for Astarion to pick the lock, dextrous hands finessing the pins into place with unmatched ease. Ysera's too busy focusing on his fingers to hear it click before the door swings open, preoccupied with how those same precise movements have taken her apart beneath him time and time again. And how badly she wants to experience them now. When he takes her by the hand and pulls her inside the tiny space, the renewed sensation of his cool, marble skin against her own searing heat drags a guttural moan from somewhere deep in her chest. She laughs breathlessly, drunk on her own arousal, and follows him inside.

A cursory glance confirms what Astarion already knew: the place is unoccupied. It's a good thing too, because she'd likely tell him to take her in the nearby alley otherwise, and he's not convinced Ysera has enough forethought to be quiet enough for that anymore.

Normally, he wouldn't care about the impropriety – he's guilty of far worse, after all – but this situation is far from normal. She is his – the first person he could truly call his own – and he will share neither her nor her pleasure with anyone.

Ysera's back hits the door as Astarion advances on her. He wastes no time before burying his face into the crook of her neck, featherlight kisses pressed into the smooth scars there as he inhales the scent of her hair. Ysera moans again and arches her back. Her hands fly into his hair, caressing the sensitive points of his ears.

A shuddering groan rumbles in his throat, bottom lip caught between his teeth. She repeats the motion, and his hips buck against her, a flash of white-hot arousal setting his nerves alight. 

Oh, she is dangerous when she wants to be.

With their bodies flush against one another, he can feel the way her body trembles at even the slightest touch, the symphony of the Weave in her veins. Her magic roars into a crescendo, threatening to overtake them both, but Astarion slips his hands into hers again, entwining their fingers at either side of her head.

His tadpole reaches out, connecting them together. The link comes so easy now, so effortless in the way that everything has become with her.

I am not afraid, he tells her. I'm right here with you. My heart, my love.

Pride surges within him as he feels the tension in Ysera's body ebb away beneath his tender affirmations. She finds his eyes when he lifts his head to look at her, the softness of his gaze a testimony to his devotion. She rests her forehead against his brow, his scent more calming now that she's beneath him, but no less alluring.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Brandy.

The scent of home, the truest one she's ever known.

I love you, she tells him.

She gives his hands a squeeze and releases a breath. Her mind conveys the words her mouth can't seem to form.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

When the racing of her heart has grown less frantic, Astarion dips his head low again and deliberately drags his fangs across the column of her neck and the soft curves of her jaw, and she whimpers with need before he captures her mouth in a bruising kiss. It drives him mad, how eager she is to taste him, lips parting as their tongues meet between panting breaths. 

All it takes is a light press of his palms against the backs of her thighs for her to know what he wants, letting him hoist her up so she can latch her legs around the small of his back. With her arms thrown over his shoulders for extra support, Astarion spins her around without breaking the kiss, carrying her partway across the room.

In a stunning moment of clarity, Ysera's eyes fly open, and she reluctantly tears her mouth away from his fevered kisses.

“Wait. We shouldn't – this is someone's home, isn't it? We can't just…”

She's panting now, fighting every instinct in her body that calls out to him. He can see it in her eyes, pupils blown wide, hair spilling in loose, disheveled waves over her shoulders. Her grip on him tightens, and Astarion watches with rapt attention the moment she feels the ridge of his hardening cock brush against her backside.

Even when her mind is so addled with lust she can barely think straight, she still has the presence of mind to worry about the morality of what they're doing. It's so very like her that he can't help but laugh.

“Relax, my love,” he reassures her, pressing a series of indulgent kisses across her face. But instead of leashing her desire for him, it merely fans the conflagration blazing inside her.

“Take a look around; whoever lives here clearly hasn't been home in quite some time. They won't even know we were here.”

He's right, of course. Aside from the neglected furniture, the most abundant thing in the room is the thick coat of dust that covers every surface within view. 

When he sees she's satisfied, Astarion carries Ysera the rest of the way across the tiny living space, depositing her on the oak writing desk in the corner of the room. He nestles himself between her spread legs, and the slow drag of his cock against her clothed core makes her tremble so much she accidentally knocks an old inkpot off the desk, where it shatters on the stone floor.

She pouts at him disapprovingly.

“They will if you keep doing that.”

“Want me to stop?” he asks, already leaning in to lavish more attention on her neck while his hands slip beneath her robes, searching for the swell of her breasts.

Ysera's breath hitches when his hands touch her bare skin, and she throws her head back with a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

A wolfish grin finds its way to Astarion's lips.

“I didn't think so.”

With her robes pushed open, the fabric falls down over her shoulders, exposing her collarbones and the tops of her breasts beneath her brassiere. Astarion palms at them beneath the cotton fabric, lips pressed against her throat as Ysera arches her back into his touch. He loses his resolve the moment he feels her nipples stiffen beneath his fingers, nearly tearing the garment off of her in his haste to enjoy her properly.

Ysera's breasts settle warm and heavy in Astarion's hands, and when he sweeps across her nipples and pinches the taut buds between his thumbs and forefingers, she cries out and rolls her hips against him. Her legs shake on either side of him, an indication that she's already close to coming undone for him. He had intended to take his time with her, but it seems as if whatever has taken hold of her has other plans in mind.

“Not just yet, my sweet,” he drawls, drinking in the delicious little noises she makes for him as he kisses her deeply. “We've only just begun.”

Ysera whines in protest when Astarion pulls away from her kiss-swollen lips, leaving her breathless and panting. But when Astarion sinks to his knees on the stone before her, she sucks in a breath, enraptured by the sight of him between her thighs. She's already kicked off her boots by the time Astarion slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants, and as she lifts her hips off the desk, one good tug pulls them down past her knees along with her underwear.

With the rest of her clothing quickly discarded, Astarion pushes Ysera's legs apart, greedily taking in the sight of her naked body. Her sun-kissed skin looks absolutely stunning, her slick core quivering as she stares down at him through her lashes.

Ysera leans back against the smooth wood grain, propping herself up on her elbows. The conflagration within her is all-consuming, her need for him encompassing every fiber of her being.

“Astarion…”

“Yes, my dear?” Astarion runs his tongue over the tips of his fangs, balancing her legs over his shoulders as he presses a series of slow, teasing kisses along the expanse of her thighs. Ysera whimpers and squirms beneath him, her arousal pooling onto the oak desk beneath her. She grasps blindly at the shelves behind her, gripping them so tightly the wood nearly splinters.

“What is it?”

“Please,” she begs, holding her breath as Astarion moves ever closer to the place she needs him most. “Make me come.”

A low, gravely chuckle rumbles in Astarion's throat.

“With pleasure.”

He's surprised she doesn't unravel the moment he presses his nose against her clit and drags his tongue through her slick folds, even as the feel of his mouth on her punches a long, languid moan from her. Ysera's entire body tenses as she squeezes her eyes shut, only for them to open moments later when his lips wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. He sucks gently and alternates the pressure of his lips, employing decades of practice and the intimate knowledge he has of her body to make her instantly delirious.

The oak desk groans as Ysera fights against her body, hips undulating as she struggles not to writhe too much beneath Astarion's mouth. His hands glide over her waist, holding her in place as he feasts on her, groaning when her cunt clenches around nothing. He'd normally have a sly remark prepared for just such an occasion, but the taste of her is too intoxicating, and he's loathe to stop pleasuring her for even the short moment it would take to tell her how much he's enjoying the way she murmurs and whines and begs for more.

He revels in bringing her this uncontested pleasure, safe in the knowledge that no one has ever made her feel so whole, so complete. His eyes rise to meet her own, so dark with lust that the rich gold of her irises has become like molten honey. She watches him with rapt attention, committing the moment to memory as best she can.

With several quick flicks of his tongue, Astarion brings Ysera to the very precipice of her climax, fingers curling into the soft flesh around her hip bones as his name tumbles from her mouth like a mantra. But before she can find her release, he purposely pulls away, much to her dismay. She knows what he intends to do, to draw out and intensify her pleasure, but tonight she lacks the patience required to be teased so cruelly.

Ysera locks her ankles around his shoulders and coaxes him back against her, groaning in relief when Astarion resumes his exploration. Nose pressed firmly against her clit, he slips his tongue inside her, a slow, torturous drag that leaves her gasping around her broken cries of pleasure.

“Please,” she begs again, head thrown back as an intense wave of ecstasy builds within her. “It's so good, you're so good, Astarion, Astarion –”

She's so close now, babbling incoherently as every swipe of his tongue unravels the final threads holding her together. She grinds her hips against Astarion’s face, losing herself in the feel of him against her flushed and oversensitive core.

“That's right, love,” he growls against her, “let go. I've got you.” He thrusts his tongue deep inside her, pressing into the spot that drives her past the point of no return.

With a ragged cry, Ysera comes undone, back bowing off the desk as she rides the cresting wave that crashes over her with such ferocity that she almost loses complete control over her body. The wood beneath her hands collapses, the desk ruined beyond repair as Astarion guides her through her climax with gentle but persistent licks of his tongue. She tastes divine, and his cock strains itself against his laces, eager to be inside her.

When Ysera finally comes down from her high, Astarion rises to his feet, face still slick with her arousal. Her chest heaves with each gasping breath she takes, vision hazy as his face floats into her field of view.

“It seems you don't know your own strength, darling,” he teases her, a lopsided grin plastered across his features as he surveys what's left of the old desk.

“‘S… your fault…” she mutters between breaths, absolving herself of whatever meager guilt she feels about it. Truth be told, she stopped caring the moment his mouth dipped between her thighs.

Astarion fixes her with an affectionate look, gathering her into his arms and letting her wrap her legs around his waist. “You're still burning up, darling,” he murmurs, nestling his face again in the crook of her neck. The coolness of his skin is less intense than before, but the heat simmering in her core hasn't abated entirely. She clings to him, fingers carding through his soft curls as he kisses her flushed skin, chasing the thrum of her pulse through her veins.

“It's not that bad,” she assures him. “Not like before. But I still…”

“Hmm?” he prompts, dragging his nose along her neck and nipping gently at her earlobe. “Tell me what you need.” Palms splayed across her back, he caresses the curve of her spine, tracing idle patterns over her sweat-slicked skin.

Her voice is hoarse, raw from overuse, and she swallows thickly. “I want…” Ysera hesitates before correcting herself, “need – need you. Inside.”

“Oh, love.” Astarion's lips are impossibly gentle as he kisses her, soft and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue. The sweetness of her arousal mingles with the salt of her sweat, a heady ambrosia that stokes the sleeping embers within her back to life.

“Let me make it better, sweet girl.”

Astarion lifts her back into his arms and carries her the short distance to the bed, laying her gently on the duvet. The mattress is surprisingly soft, and Ysera sinks into the sheets. Astarion peels his armor off, discarding it in a heap at his feet. Ysera watches him with bated breath, and he pauses halfway through undoing the laces of his trousers to huff a quiet laugh at the way her reverent eyes watch his every move.

He might as well put on a little show for her while he has her undivided attention. 

Astarion slides a hand over the sculpted muscles along his lower abdomen, fingers dripping just beneath the waistband of his pants. His eyes narrow, trained on Ysera's face as he takes his time undressing.

“Do you see,” he groans, hissing as the waistband of his pants and underwear brush over the weeping tip of his cock, “what you do to me? How badly I ache for you?” A fat bead of precome glides down the length of him, inciting her growing hunger. Saliva pools on her tongue, and she bites back a whimper as another wave of pleasure surges through her.

“Show me,” she says softly, a quiet, desperate plea. “Come and take your pleasure.”

She doesn't need to tell him twice. Astarion steps forward, catching the single beam of milky moonlight that spills in through the old planks nailed over the front windows. And just for a moment, Ysera almost forgets to breathe.

“How do you want me?” he asks, kneeling on the mattress at her feet. Ysera twists around, tucking a pillow below her stomach as she arches her back and spreads her legs wide. From this angle, Astarion can clearly see how eager she is to take him, thighs wet with the slick that drips obscenely from her waiting cunt.

“Hard,” she groans through gritted teeth. Her tail winds itself around his thigh, spaded tip twitching in anticipation. “Hard and deep.”

The husky growl in her voice sends a bolt of arousal straight through him, and Astarion's cock twitches with renewed interest. He strokes himself several times, stretching the soft foreskin over the swollen tip, a breathy, “A-ahh” slipping past his lips as the cool evening air caresses the arousal gathered there.

With one hand braced on the ample curve of her ass, Astarion guides himself forward, the blunt head of his cock barely slipping inside her before she moans and whines and rolls her hips against him. He pushes deeper, sheathing himself within her velvet heat, and although her body accommodates him with little resistance, she is still so fucking tight.

A low, satisfied groan builds in her throat, face pressed into the mattress as she adjusts to the fullness of him inside her. No matter how many times they've done this, each time feels like their first all over again, the delicious stretch of him as he fills her sending ripples of the sweetest pleasure coursing through her body.

“Fuck, Ysera,” Astarion groans, testing the feel of her with a few slow, shallow thrusts. Her walls pulse around him, encouraging him to fuck her harder, faster, just the way she wants.

And so he does.

Astarion snaps his hips forward, driving into her soaking cunt with every thrust, bottoming out each time he collides with the backs of her thighs. Ysera claws at the sheets, a string of oaths falling from her lips before she all but screams his name.

“That's my good girl,” Astarion praises her. “You're taking me so well, aren't you? Is this what you needed?”

Ysera fights to keep herself upright, her legs nearly buckling as he fucks into her hard and fast. He feels so good, so good, he's fucking her so good and she's already so close –

The hands anchored on her hips slowly slide up her back, fanning out over her shoulders before Astarion sinks them into the rosy pink waves of her hair. She lets out a choked sob when he wraps his hands around the base of her horns, holding her head aloft as he uses the extra leverage to find the sensitive spot deep inside her that makes her vision go white.

“Oh gods,” Ysera whines, her movements sluggish and clumsy as she shoves a hand between her legs and searches desperately for her clit. Astarion feels her fingers as they brush against the underside of his cock, and when she finally finds what she's looking for, it's only a matter of time before he makes her shatter.

“Come on my cock, Ysera,” he growls, primal and low. “Show me how good it feels. You can do that for me, can't you?”

“Yes,” she sobs, fingers rolling uncoordinated circles around her aching clit. “Yes, Astarion, yes…”

The pressure in her core is immense, a coiled spring waiting to snap, and when it finally becomes too much to bear, she loses herself completely, coming hard around him even as he refuses to slow his brutal pace. Astarion fucks her through her second climax, rolling his hips to push himself as deep as he can while her toes curl and she collapses, boneless, beneath him.

It's a miracle he doesn't tumble over the edge after her, her slick walls pulsing rhythmically with her racing heartbeat. His body fights him every step of the way, but he withdraws from her completely, and she whimpers in protest at the loss of him.

“Shhh,” he soothes, helping Ysera onto her back when she no longer has the strength to do so herself. “It's all right, love.”

Ysera's eyes are half-hooded and drowsy, and she struggles to look at him. The gnawing hunger she's felt for him ever since the battle seems to finally have been sated, and even though her body is utterly exhausted, it's her mind that has regained some sense of clarity.

“Astarion,” she calls out to him, reaching for his hands in the darkness. Astarion takes hers in his own, bringing her fingers to his mouth to press a series of tender kisses against the soft skin between her knuckles. 

“Yes, darling?”

“What about you?”

He purposely hadn't finished, preoccupied with making certain she was satisfied before chasing his own pleasure, despite what she had instructed him to do earlier. Ysera frowns when he shakes his head, turning her face away when he bends down to kiss her.

“You deserve to feel good too,” she murmurs, and although she's quiet Astarion can hear the stubborn insistence in her voice. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” she clarifies. The intensity of her gaze would have brought a flush to his cheeks were such a thing possible, and he lets out a resigned laugh.

“If you're certain.”

Ysera scrunches her nose and rolls her eyes, taking his face in her hands and pulling him into a kiss. Astarion's mouth falls open when her tongue runs across the seam of his mouth, and he lets her kiss him for as long as she wants, savoring the way he sighs contentedly against her.

“You're still worried about me,” she realizes, gazing up into the rich, wine-dark reds of his eyes. His expression softens with something like guilt, concern clearly visible across his features.

“Can you blame me?” Astarion asks, cupping her jaw with one hand as he bends down to kiss her again. “You didn't see yourself the way I did.”

“Whatever it was, it's gone,” she reassures him. “I'm fine, I promise. But that doesn't mean you have to stop… not if you don't want to.”

When Astarion sits up, his eyes travel down the length of his body. His cock has grown soft already, even though he still feels a lingering urge to bury himself inside her once more.

“Ah…” he says sheepishly, “about that.”

Ysera's gaze follows the same path, and she flashes him a wicked grin.

“Let me take care of that for you, darling.”

She takes his soft cock in her hand, working him back to full hardness as she strokes the full length of him. Astarion's cock swells beneath her eager fingers, filling her palm, and he tips his head back and releases a languid moan when Ysera's thumb brushes over his tip. 

“Better?” she asks, already knowing the answer. But she wants to hear it from him anyway.

“Yes,” Astarion groans, pushing her legs apart with his knee and settling between them. He flashes her a sly grin of his own. “You're absolutely insatiable, you know.”

“What can I say?” Ysera laughs, giddy and still a bit fuck-drunk. “I'm a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, lifting her leg beneath the knee and spreading her open. His cock is fully hard by the time he slides it through Ysera's still-slick folds, teasing but not breaching her entrance. “And what, pray tell, is that exactly?”

“You,” she says without hesitation, pulling him down for another passionate, breathless kiss. “Always you. Only you. For as long as you'll have me, I'm yours.”

Astarion groans in satisfaction as he slips back inside her warm, waiting cunt, dragging his cock against her walls as he fucks into her slow and deep, savoring the feel of her around him.

“Forever,” he promises, rolling his hips into her and drinking in her soft, breathy moans. “Forever. You have brought me more happiness than I deserve, more than I even thought possible.” He keeps his pace steady, stoking the heat that roars to life within him, taking his time as he slowly builds himself up to his inevitable end. He wants to stay like this forever, enveloped in her warmth, her scent, her touch.

“No,” Ysera protests, her chest rising and falling with each rapid, shallow breath she draws in. “You deserve everything and more, do you hear me? I love you, Astarion. I love you.”

Their eyes meet briefly before Astarion dips his head and murmurs something incoherent against the shell of her ear. The pace of his thrusts quickens, and before she can question him, Ysera hears his voice in her mind, connected through their tadpoles. She sees her face reflected in her mind’s eye, writhing beautifully beneath him, the full force of his emotions flooding into her.

I love you too. My darling. My dearest. 

Gathering her hands in his, Astarion lifts Ysera's arms over her head, splaying her body beneath him and pinning her to the mattress. She whimpers his name and arches her back, unable to hold back her cries of pleasure when he angles his hips to brush repeatedly against her sweet spot.

“Is it good?” she asks, the question tapering into another whimper. That familiar pressure is already building, and she knows she'll tumble over the edge with him when the moment comes.

“Always,” is his swift reply. “I'm almost there… gonna come for you, feels so good…”

Ysera throws her legs around the small of his back, holding him closer. Astarion follows her lead, burying himself deep inside her with rapid, erratic thrusts that quickly begin losing their rhythm.

He won't last much longer, helpless to do anything but follow that tug that pulls him towards the precipice of oblivion.

“Just a little further,” Ysera encourages him, the words muffled against his lips as she leans up to kiss him. “Wanna feel you come…”

Astarion finally lets go, coming with a deep, shuddering groan. He buries himself to the hilt with one last thrust as he empties himself inside her, filling her with his spend as she cries out and swiftly reaches her own peak yet again. Her walls flutter and clench around him, prompting a few last thrusts before he pulls out of her completely once she stills beneath him.

Ysera feels weightless and blissfully numb as Astarion collapses behind her on the bed, sticky with sweat and equally spent. The air inside the flat is warm and damp as she inhales deeply, the scent of roses and bergamot and sex permeating every breath she takes. 

They lay there for a moment as an easy silence falls over them, listening to the quiet sounds of the city outside. After a while, Ysera glances over her shoulder at Astarion, who's only just rolled over onto his side towards her.

“Do you think Karlach will be mad we didn't make it back on time?” she asks with an awkward little laugh.

Astarion's face breaks into a sly grin.

“Hardly. I'm sure she'll be absolutely delighted to help herself to your share of supper again.”

Ysera's head falls heavily onto her pillow, and she hums thoughtfully. “Hmm… you know what?” she concludes. “I think you're right. We're practically doing her a favor by being so late.”

Astarion's arm wraps around Ysera's stomach and he presses his lips against the curve of her spine as he chuckles in agreement. “Exactly, darling. Now come here. I'm not quite ready to let you go just yet.”

He pulls her flush against his body, their legs tangling together over the sheets. Her warmth makes him feel alive in ways he never thought he could again, and the way she scoots back against him and lays her hand over his is only one of half a dozen constant reminders of how lucky he is to have her.

Ysera's eyes feel impossibly heavy. She's in no mood to return to the Elfsong just yet, and Astarion has no intentions of spoiling the moment. Together they drift off, content to enjoy their time together for as long as fate will let them. 

────────────────

Ysera's not certain what wakes her first: the muffled voices outside the flat as the city springs to life, or the singular sunbeam that slowly sweeps across her sleeping face. She squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches her face, rolling over to escape the bright light. When her hand reaches out and connects with something solid, her eyes fly open, and she finds herself face to face with Astarion, still deep in his trance.

He looks to be resting peacefully, his face placid in a way she's so rarely seen before. A slight smile graces the corners of his lips; whatever he's seeing, it must be something pleasurable.

And then it hits her. Morning. It's morning. 

Oops.

Ysera is hesitant to disturb Astarion, but they really shouldn't stay, and not only because they're trespassing. She indulges in the planes of his face for just a while longer, unable to hold back her smile. The serenity suits him in a way none of his sly smirks and devilish grins ever could.

His body is soft and cool as she snuggles against him, tucking her head against his chest.

“Astarion,” she says softly. “Astarion, wake up. You shouldn't have let me sleep so long.”

Astarion's eyes flutter open, and he drapes an arm around her, pulling her close. “You're welcome, darling,” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep.

She grumbles in protest but lets him pull her up for a kiss all the same, his lips satin-soft against her own.

“At this rate, Karlach's going to eat my breakfast too,” she groans, fixing him with a look of distress.

“How unfortunate,” Astarion drawls, dragging his lips over Ysera's jaw, where he presses them against the thrumming vein on her neck. He finds the familiar spot he prefers when feeding, the smoothed-over scars that adorn the soft skin there. “Luckily for me, mine seems to have been delivered directly to me.”

“Oh no you don't,” Ysera huffs, palms flat against his chest as she pushes him away. “Keep those fangs to yourself.”

She rolls to the edge of the bed, Astarion's arm chasing after her in vain. He whines something about her being cruel, how he'll surely starve now that she's denied him his meal.

“I'll be lucky to make it back, even with all my blood,” she says, throwing a pout over her shoulder as she slips back into her clothes. “If I don't get something to eat soon, I think I might actually die.”

Astarion joins her before long, arms encircling her waist from behind as he rests his chin atop the crown of her head between her horns. He sighs into her hair, chuckling softly.

“We can't very well have that, now, can we?”

Ysera slips her hand into his, pulling Astarion towards the door and into the morning light. He follows her happily, basking in the sun's rays as the pleasant warmth seeps into his skin.

“After you, darling.”

[belit0]

Can you write about Indra and the Uchiha clan when they find the body of their partner on the battlefield in a not very pleasant state and the person responsible mocks them by saying nasty things to them?

The battlefield is painted in crimson, the scent of death thick in the air. And there—amidst the ruin—lies her.

Her body, battered and broken. Her once-warm skin, now pale, smeared with blood that should never have been spilled.

And then, that voice.

Mocking. Laughing. Gloating.

Indra

-So this is the great Indra,- the murderer sneers. -All that power, all that arrogance—yet, when she screamed for you, where were you?"-

A chuckle.

-I thought she’d have more fight in her. But in the end, she was just a pretty little thing, crying in the dirt.-

One does not break before the enemy—never on the battlefield. His mourning will begin in private, for weakness is not an option. Fighting against the weight of his withering heart, restraining that bothersome liquid in his eyes—so foreign, so unwelcome...

Indra does not respond.

Not with words.

The wind shifts. The shadows coil. The enemy is still speaking, but their voice sounds distant, as if the world itself is pulling away from them.

And when Indra finally meets their gaze, something ancient, something terrible, stares back.

The sky weeps in crimson.

Madara

-She swore you'd come for her,- the enemy taunts. -Begged, actually. It was pathetic.-

They step closer, grinning.

-I told her you wouldn’t make it in time, but she didn’t want to believe me. Guess she knows better now.-

Madara exhales, standing on the edge of a bloodthirsty fury that, if unleashed, would wipe out his entire clan—obliterating the battlefield and himself along with it.

For now, just cold, terrifying anticipation.

-Keep talking.- His voice betrays him with the faintest tremor, his entire body taut like a weapon poised to strike. He waits for the perfect moment because, despite the pain, he remains a strategist—and this is the most crucial move he has ever had to make in his life.- -I want to hear every word before I make you regret them.-

The enemy smirks. -What, you gonna cry? Oh, wait—you Uchihas only do that when you're about to kill your own, right?-

A breath. A heartbeat.

Flames.

Madara watches, unmoving, as they scream.

-I hope she begged for death before you finished.- His voice is barely above a whisper. -Because you will.-

Izuna

-You should’ve seen the way she looked at me before I cut her down... Actually, I think she was flirting—offering herself in exchange for her life. Such a filthy bitch, that little girlfriend of yours.-

Izuna tilts his head..

The murdered grins.

"Huh..." It is the only sound the Uchiha emits, filling the assassin with the pleasure of believing he has won.

-I think she realized, in that last moment, that you were never coming. Used her last efforts to-

Everything happens too fast.

One moment, Izuna stands there, watching the scene, processing—quickly distilling hatred mixed with strength and something darker, an undeniable part of his essence. The next, the murderer has a kunai shoved inside his mouth and a hand gripping the back of his neck—one single movement away from death… or worse, a slow, agonizing torture.

A breath. A blink.

Izuna moves.

The enemy chokes— the heavy weapon rests inside his mouth, slicing the skin ever so slightly—but only by inertia. A moment of vengeance even Madara himself couldn’t restrain, an overwhelming need to act upon his loss.

-Don’t die so fast,- he murmurs, -I want to hear you beg next.-

Obito

-Oh, you should’ve seen her face when she realized it was over,- the murderer laughs. -All wide-eyed and teary. Kind of adorable, actually.-

-She wouldn't stop! "Obito, please, Obitoo!", fricking annoying.-

Obito is shaking.

Not with anger—no, something worse.

A choked breath.

A smirk from the enemy.

-I let her hold onto hope, you know. Just for fun. Told her maybe you’d show up and save her—

The ground splits.

Space itself folds, sucking the air from the enemy’s lungs.

Obito doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe.

-You will never leave this place.-

He watches them scream as they are swallowed by the void.

And it is still not enough.

Shisui

A scoff -She was so sure you'd save her.-

-Kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for her knight in shining armor.-

Shisui doesn’t respond.

The enemy laughs. He nudges her body with his foot, gaze filled with disgust and satisfaction—pleasure in knowing he managed to get under the Uchiha's skin.

-Guess she figured out the truth in the end— voice dripping with mockery, "—you were never coming."

A moment. Yet suddenly-

Laughter. A possessed, unbridled laugh—the sound a madman makes before completely losing his mind, or perhaps, when he already has.

Not theirs.

Shisui barks, rubbing his face. -You think that was a smart thing to say?-

A flash of movement—too fast.

A blade, a choke, a gasp.

He leans in, voice way too quiet, erratic.

-Guess what?.... I am here now.- He growls -And do tell me, please— he twists the kunai slowly, watching their eyes widen, —how does it fucking feel?-

Itachi

-You know, I expected her to fight harder,- the killer muses. -But once I broke her legs, well... she just wasn’t much fun anymore.-

Itachi does not breathe. His heart trembles, and so do his hands, a repressed instinct surfacing at the sight.

-She asked me to tell you something, though.- A smirk. -Said she loved you. Like that would change anything.-

Silence.

Itachi closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the loss of control he never allowed his mind to feel.

There is no turning back from this.

The speed and reluctance with which he usually executes enemies disappear, as if it had never been there in the first place.

The air shifts.

-You will regret every word.-

And he makes sure they do.

[echoisquiet]

“That’s not the same thing. You got trapped in a troll pod, because you helped unleash a bunch of bloodthirsty newborns. I got strapped to a magsidian throne and had an ethertine crown shoved on my head and…”

I love reading fantasy books because this sentence would make no sense to anyone in real life

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - A Luca Changretta/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I got the message quite clearly that just a few of you are more than a wee bit excited for this, so regardless of the poll results, ya bestie over here is giving you the first chapter. Everybody gather round and meet Emily Jane. She shyly says hi.

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,224

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Brooklyn, 1923. It was a dangerous place to be in certain areas of the New York borough, where bullets fell like rain and crimson bled plentifully into the gutters. Its misdeeds were becoming famous, the mob swelling like a well-fed beast, prowling the streets unleashed, snarling and hungry. In Brooklyn, the mafia were the kings, whether you, your mother, your cousin or the cops liked it or not.  

It was generally advised that you did not protest.  

Wiseguy compliance was safer than the alternative, and everybody knew it. When they came knocking, offering fistfuls of dollars to store barrels mostly containing contraband beer, gin and whiskey within the warehouses of legitimate businesses, the proprietors knew that you either said yes or you died. That money you were so generously handed would be earned back, though.  

“So look, uh, you gonna be lookin’ after this cargo for us, right? That means there are gonna be certain guys on the street who ain’t gonna be too pleased about you working with us. So, what I’m gonna do is have a few of my guys lookin’ out for ya. Fifty bucks a week and nothin’ happens to your business, or your family.” 

The story was the same for any other business within the radius of their turf, racketeering forced upon you whether you guarded contraband alcohol for them or not.  

It was generally advised that you paid them the fifty bucks.  

Of course, when it came to the families going to war with one another, there was nobody there to protect you, whether you paid into a protection racket or didn't. If the police were called, they generally – and purposefully - arrived too late, the large wedges of cash stuffed into their back pockets by whichever mob crew were buying their compliance ensuring that.

No, when the gunfire erupted and turned the silent streets into a bloodied cacophony, you knew there was only one thing to do.  

It was generally advised that you duck.  

On that particular chilly November night, though, with the threat of snow hanging heavy in the air from the thickened clouds above, one young woman opted not to duck. Instead, she chose to walk right out into the carnage, for it was perhaps the only avenue she could tentatively tread upon in order to save herself from hell.  

The Changretta’s and the Calabrese's had been at war with one another over turf for months, disputes rife over what mob presided over which area, promises of blood come good after negotiations had failed, leading to the shootout between both crews in the dead of night.

Bullets peppered the air, tattooing the buildings and cars along the street, screams and shouts only just about audible over the thrum of heavy machine gun fire, men diving and dying left and right. The sins they fought and died for knew no difference, but somewhere in the madness, these men of bloodthirsty savagery had a line they would not ever cross.  

The Changretta mob scanned the desolate street, high alert agitating their blood, neurons firing rapidly as they watched the area, looking, waiting for movement. The enemy had been thinned to what appeared to be nothing, their bodies littering the ground, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more lying in wait.  

Luca’s unblinking eyes toured the darkness, daring to slowly rise from his concealed place behind the front wing of a shot-out Ford, each step crunching the shattered glass beneath his feet. Nothing. They’d accomplished the extermination mission sufficiently, not a single Calabrese goon left breathing.  

“Boss! On your left!” 

At his right hand’s call, Luca spun, directing his gun at what his eyes picked out through the inky night, a glowing light splitting the dark, his men beginning to fire.  

“Stop, fuckin’ guns down, now!” he bellowed, his cadence rising sharply, way above his usual silky, rumbling drawl. “It’s a girl, you dumb fucks.”  

She seemed to glide over the ground, her feet bare, platinum hair matted and tangled, the white lace of her dress torn and bloodied.  

“What the fuck? Is it a trap, or what?”  

Luca turned to view Enzo with a slight shrug, his hand reaching out to grasp his arm when he raised his gun. “Ah, aspetta, aspetta.” At being told to wait, his right hand once again lowered the machine gun, both Italians watching as the girl continued her walk, her eyes wide and dazed, her face bloody, purple welts marking her features. The closer she got, the more of them Luca noticed, angry and swollen upon her pale skin, the infliction of brutality tarnishing much of her body, a body that buckled as she suddenly fell, collapsing in the middle of the street.  

“Ain’t no trap.” Moving out fully, Luca strode through rivers of blood and bullets, removing his long, wool coat, wrapping it over the barely dressed blonde as he crouched at her side. “Hey, what the fuck happened to you, huh?” He gave her cheek a few gentle slaps, trying to rouse her. “You with me? C’mon, wake up.” This truly wasn’t the time or place for damsels in distress. He had himself and his guys to think of before all else.  

Her eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly a few times as she came to, curling herself smaller. Her mouth opened, and Luca was sure she said something, but her voice was ghostly, so quiet he was scarcely sure she’d spoken at all.  

“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned closer, craning his ear, just about able this time to hear her words.  

“There’s a bomb under your car. Twenty seconds.”  

With widened eyes, his head spun round to where his assembled crew waited. “Move! The fuckin’ car is live, move!” Pulling her up off the street and into his arms, he and his men began to run, covering the ground rapidly. They’d gotten a good hundred feet away, yet their eardrums still all but ruptured when the TNT blew, reducing the Buick to an inferno.  

They took cover behind another car, a car Enzo rapidly broke open the door of, cranking the engine into life. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, eh?”  

So, it looked to Emily like she was leaving one set of wiseguys and going with another as the tall, slender man who held her jumped into the back of the car, three other guys piling in, the car shuddering out from its spot and being directed in the opposite direction to the blast.  

“Hey boss,” Dante piped up from the passenger seat, nodding at the blonde. “Who’s the dame?” 

“You know as much as I do.” He was just about to ask her that very question, looking down to see her head lolled over his arm, out cold once more. Whatever the fuck she’d been through, he could gauge it was a lot. Giving him the kind of information she had, though, information that had saved him and his crew from being blasted to smithereens, he wasn’t just about to let he be on her way.  

If she knew about the bomb, then what other information might she have? The firefight had not exterminated all of the Calabrese mob, just a mere handful of foot soldiers.  

Exiting the car on the corner of Third Avenue, Luca strode towards the doors of Bella Vita, the bar turned speakeasy he owned, the doormen nodding to him and swinging the doors open. He took an immediate right, the thumping blare of jazz music and patrons having a fabulous time hurting his still fragile, bomb-blasted ears, another large man employed for security purposes opening the next door he came to.  

It closed with a heavy thud behind him, the wall of noise muted, Luca beginning to climb the stairs that led to his spacious apartment. It had only been home for seven months, since he had the former three dwellings gutted out and fashioned into something more resembling the comfort he was accustomed to. High standing members of the mafia did not reside in shabbiness.  

His former abode, a sprawling townhouse upon the Upper West Side of Manhattan, was now solely home to his ex-wife and three children. For a quicker divorce from the wretched, screaming harpy whom he had once loved very dearly, he considered it a cheap price to part with for the sake of his sanity. Her alimony was also eye watering, but it wasn’t like Luca didn’t rake in serious bank.  

He’d also never deprive Milania, Guiseppe and Alessio of anything. His sons were the apple of his eye, and his daughter, well, she was quintessentially daddy’s little girl. He just wished she had a smidgen less of her mother’s hot-headed temper. Then again, he supposed he deserved every ounce of it, not being a particularly good husband to Filomena.  

Well, it was subjective, really. He provided for her, took her out regularly, bought her an abundance of luxuries from expensive jewellery to beautiful furs, but he did have somewhat of a predisposition for sticking his cock where he most certainly should not have stuck it. Filomena had all but turned a blind eye to his philandering ways, and Luca knew that was why he’d continued to do it, because she'd let him. She didn’t care, it seemed, so why should he?  

Maybe if she’d have been the kind of woman to crack his jaw and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was hers and hers alone, he might have fixed up and adhered to the fidelity he’d promised her, but she never had. It went right over his head that this is what he should have pledged without the threat of violence in the first place.   

The final straw finally drove her into action, though, arriving home earlier than he’d expected one day to find him in bed with two whores, one astride his face and the other riding his cock. There weren’t many women out there who could witness the man they loved in that kind of scenario and still continue to love him. She’d given him nothing but pure, unfiltered hell in the time between, Luca agreeing to all of her demands, just as long as she didn’t touch either his car collection, his speakeasy, or his home in the Catskills.  

Carrying the mystery blonde over to the lounge area of the open plan apartment, he placed her down on the dark, oxblood leather chesterfield, noticing that she’d come round again. “You wanna drink, sweetheart?”  

She nodded, beginning to tremble a little. “Hey, you’re alright. I ain’t gonna do nuthin’ bad to ya.” Emily doubted his sincerity, knowing wiseguys as well as she did. His voice was half salty rumble, half viper’s hiss, but each word was delivered with the kind of hush that made her feel soothed, she had to admit. The quietness of his tone made a nice change from being yelled at. “Whaddya drinkin'?” 

“A water, p-please,” she stuttered, Luca nodding. He’d been offering liquor, but water he could do, too.  

He paused before going to fetch it, crouching before her, studying her wounds a little more closely now she was under the brighter lights within his home. “Those cuts are nasty, doll. Who fuckin’ did this, eh?” He reached for her face, regretting it instantly when she shot across the couch, curling into a ball at the opposite end. “Woah, hey. Like I said, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanna help you, and for you to tell me what you know about the Calabrese guys. I’m guessin’ you know a whole lot, to know one of ‘em stuck a bomb beneath my car.”  

She trembled, her eyes wide, her silence profound. “I’m gonna get you that water.” He rose to his feet slowly, knowing he had to treat her as if she were an injured fawn, everything slow and steady, save her from becoming furtherly spooked.  

Caring for another, though, was somewhat beyond his usual skill set. Luckily from his own scrapes, he both knew how – and possessed the necessities - to clean up wounds before they became an infected mess, going to the bathroom and pulling out gauze and a bottle of iodine, returning to the kitchen to fetch her requested glass of water.  

He handed it to her, moving to his drinks cabinet then and pouring himself a large measure of whiskey, returning to sit in front of her on the coffee table. “You gonna let me clean you up?”  

She shook her head, spilling several drops of water as she lifted the glass to her lips, downing it in its entirety.  

He nodded, sucking the matchstick he was chewing before removing it. “Alright. You gonna tell me what you know?” 

Again, she shook her head.  

He shrugged, a little agitated, but knowing he had to play his cards carefully. “I got all night, doll. Could start with your name, though, if the rest is too much to ask.”  

She wanted to trust him. Hell, he could have simply dropped her from his grasp and left her there on the street, but he’d taken her with him, back to the safety of his apartment, no less. Of course, though, it was to gain information. Then again, if it was solely that, why was he trying to help her? Men who sought only answers to their questions seldom had the interest to clean wounds. Hell, they usually jammed a gun to your tonsils and told you to spill all as soon as they removed it.  

Who was she to him that he’d care whether her cuts were bathed? Still, it took him a patient wait of just over a half hour until she finally spoke.  

“Emily Jane,” she finally replied, swallowing hard. “Emily Jane Mortensen. Most people just call me Emily, though.”  

He lifted his chin, pointing to her water glass. “You want another in there, Emily?” 

“Please.”  

Well, she had a name, at least. It was as good a start as any. “You know,” he began, long legs extending as he rose to his feet, walking back over to the kitchen area, “the Calabrese’s won’t do shit to you with me around. If that’s why you’re scared to talk, ain’t no mind, doll.” Returning to her, he resumed his seat upon the coffee table, handing over the glass. “Like I said, though. I got all night.”  

Protection. Something she’d longed for, but could she truly trust it? She knew exactly who he was; Luca Changretta, the big boss, the number one apex predator at the top of the mafia hierarchy. It was either the very best, or the absolute worst place that she could have ended up. “Gino Calabrese ordered Joey, his youngest son to have the bomb planted, so that if the firefight didn’t kill you, the blast definitely would.” 

His eyebrows rose a little, chewing the matchstick slowly. “And you know this how? Who are ya, to Gino?” 

Finishing her water, she reached to place it upon the coffee table, Luca taking it from her, resting his forearms back to his thighs as he leaned forward, looking expectant. “Um, nothing to him, but to his son, I – well, I was his card counter. That’s kinda moot now, though, since you and your guys put about sixteen bullets in his chest.”  

His lip curled slightly. “Card counter?”  

“Yeah. I have a real fast brain for math, so technically I can’t ever be beaten in a game of blackjack. I won Joey thousands upon thousands at games all over, from Vegas to Reno. Illegal games, too. Women don’t usually get a seat at the table, but I got to, because...” 

“Cuz’ Joey boy was partially sighted, I’m guessin’, right? You were his alleged eyes, but truly, you were there to tell him when to make his moves, amirite?” 

God, he was very sharp. “Correct,” she confirmed, although Luca still looked slightly dubious, reaching behind him and grabbing something. He turned back to reveal a deck of cards, sliding them from the box and giving them a rapid shuffle.  

“Show me.” Standing, he moved to sit beside her on the couch, dragging the table nearer and dealing out as he were the house, Emily moving a little nearer.  

“Alright, so I mostly use the Hi-Lo strategy. It means if the ratio of high to low cards is higher than normal, the player can make bets that are larger when the deck is favourable.” 

He noticed it instantly, how when presented with the opportunity to show off her skill, she unwound from the nervous, tense little waif he’d carried into his home just over an hour before. “How’d you know if the deck is favourable?” he asked, a frown knitting between his dark brows as he pointed at them on the table.  

“You have to track the ratio of high to low cards by assigning them with a value. You begin at zero, then as each card comes up, you add it to your tally. Cards two to six have a value of plus one, cards seven to nine have no value, and cards worth ten and also aces have a value of minus one, so you keep adding and subtracting, betting accordingly. Watch. Hit me.”  

He dealt her another card, Emily tapping it. Another was placed. “I’m holding.” Turning the other cards, he saw she would have won her hand had they been playing for cash. He made her do it another five times before he truly believed what she could do, sitting there with slightly widened eyes.  

“Look at that, huh?” he spoke, gathering the cards from the table and returning them to the pile. “No wonder he kept you around.”  

She shrugged. “Shame it wasn’t of my own free will. All of this mess I’m in, it was because I tried to get away from him earlier, so he took a set of brass knuckles to me. Wasn’t the first time either.”  

He studied her face, his jaw tightening. Luca had few codes of honour, and not taking his fists to a woman was high upon that list. He hissed a breath, his eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ asshole. I’m extra glad I shot the living fuck outta him now.”  

Dropping her gaze, she folded her arms, looking at her bare feet. “So am I.”  

Reaching for his drink, he knocked it back, truly feeling glad that Joey no longer breathed. If there was one thing he truly detested, it was a woman beater. He didn’t have much to be proud of in his life, morally speaking, but he had never and would never raise a hand to a woman. Ever. “Fuckin’ brass knuckles, Jesus above. I know how much those fuckin’ things hurt only too well.” 

She snorted softly, her eyes finding his again, her heart doing a little somersault as she watched the peridot shards glint at her through the low light. Hoo boy, he was a handsome one. Deadly, but handsome nonetheless. “Who on earth is brave enough to take a set of brass knuckles to the famous Luca Changretta, and live to tell the tale?”  

He smirked, rising to his feet. “Nobody these days, but when I was still comin’ up, plenty of guys.” Moving back to the drinks cabinet, he took the bottle of whiskey, turning to her. “You want another water in there, or somethin’ else? I got just about everythin'.”  

Peering at him over the back of the couch, he felt his inside pinch a little. She was so tiny and cute. “Could I have a vodka rocks, please?”  

“You can, but ice I don’t have. Gimme a sec.” He strode across the space again, heading back down the stairs, the sounds of music growing louder and then returning to the dull rumble, Emily moving to pull on the long coat around her, feeling chilly. It smelled of him. The woody, musky, yet slightly spicy notes of whatever cologne he wore filled her nose as she held the soft lapels to her face.  

The sudden blare of music signalled his imminent return, the tall Italian appearing from the stairwell once more, carrying with him an ice bucket he placed upon the table, going back to the cabinet and collecting the whiskey and vodka bottles, pouring a large measure into her glass, dropping the ice in and handing it to her.  

“Thank you,” she spoke, Luca noticing her manners were impeccable, also watching her face as it twisted into a grimace, Emily hissing before straightening her leg, examining her grazed knee.  

He gestured to her injuries with a sweeping hand. “Gonna let me help you with that yet? You’re kinda bleeding all over my couch.” 

In an instant, she looked horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, and probably your coat, too. I’m an idiot, I'll sit on the floor.”  

He moved swiftly, shaking his head. “It’s fine, ain’t no bother, doll.” In truth, it was, but he kept that to himself. Blood cleaned off, he had to concede. This girl, he needed to keep her sweet in order to keep on feeding him further information that he sensed she possessed. Joey Calebrese might not have been high up within his criminal family, a street guy who was not yet elevated at the time of his death (and which was why, Luca guessed, he’d used Emily for her card counting skills to make the kind of bank his lower standing didn’t allow for) but being around them, she was bound to know more.  

She was a valuable asset, and he’d treat her as such.  

He picked up the handful of gauze and iodine, moving back to the coffee table. “It’s gonna sting like fuck, but you likely know that.”  

She did. Bracing herself, she clenched her teeth as one by one, Luca dabbed each cut and graze with the iodine-soaked gauze, wincing, hissing at the burning, sharp sting. “Gonna be a little black n’ blue for a while, honey,” he drawled, his mouth tilting into a smile. “Still pretty, though.”  

He winked, and it sent a spark through her, although the rational side of her brain told her that allowing herself to be charmed by a dangerous mobster was the last thing she truly needed right then. He didn’t make it easy, though, being attentive to her, looking as good as he did. She’d always had a thing for older men, and she could guess he likely had at least a decade and a half on her twenty-three years.  

“So, you gotta home I can take you to, people wonderin’ where the fuck you vanished to?”  

Home. It was a word she didn’t really have any true comprehension over, the place that to everyone else acted as a sanctuary, a safe haven, had truly been anything but to her. “No, I don’t.”  

“No port in a storm, huh?” he asked, gently lifting her leg to rest upon his slender thigh, smoothing her dress up a little to reach a cut beneath. His hands were so hot. Yet another spark flared within her belly.  

“No, no port.” She paused, meeting his eyes, knowing he was expecting more. “I’ve no idea who my father was, and my mother was a drunk, still is for all I know. I don’t have any siblings either so when I was eighteen, I left California and made my way across the country to New York. Wanted a better life for myself. It didn’t exactly go to plan. I have a habit of trusting the wrong people.” 

He looked away from her then, eyes flitting to her knee, pressing the gauze onto an open cut. He was definitely a man she shouldn’t have trusted, and he wasn’t entirely sure why that suddenly prickled quite sharply at his conscience, but it did.  

“You probably don’t trust me, but if you wanna crash here until you find your feet, you’re welcome to.”  

She looked at him with big, grey eyes full of hope. “Really, you don’t mind?” 

He sniffed. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Placing the cork back into the iodine bottle, he moved to take a seat beside her again, picking up his drink. “Might be better if you do, actually. The Calabrese’s are likely lookin’ for ya. If you vanished and didn’t wind up as a dead body, and I didn’t get blown up, then it don’t take no genius to work out that you ratted on ‘em.”  

Shit. She hadn’t even considered that. It was a fear Luca was banking on playing upon, and it had worked flawlessly. “S’okay, though, sweetheart. As long as you’re with me, they ain’t gonna touch ya. You’re fine.”  

Was she, though? Emily truly had to wonder. She pondered over it for the rest of the night, Luca telling her she could go take a bath and clean up, loaning her one of his shirts to wear that absolutely buried her, telling her he’d take the couch while she slept in his bed. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. 

“I ain’t exactly a gentleman in a lot of respects, but you ain’t gonna sleep on the couch. Nah. It’s fine.”  

Was it, though? As her tired eyes fluttered, lying in the comfort of a big bed that smelled like her host, she truly did have to wonder.  

[sofiaruelle]

Unleash the Fury in Iris and Bone – A Gripping Tale of Loyalty, Power, and Magic by Alison Wright

Celia Harkwell is bloodthirsty. She’s vicious and angry and lives to protect her sister. By whatever means or magic necessary.

Get your FREE copy of Iris & Bone at bookfunnel.com

The amazing and talented artist, illustrator and writer, Alison Wright commissioned me to illustrate her beautiful tragic twins, Celia and Agie Harkwell from her short story, Iris and Bone.

Celia and Agie are part of an even bigger story, Blightshade which is available as an ebook on Kindle, Apple, Kobo and Everand. Yall should check her and her books out on book2read!!!

Summary and No-text versions of the illustrations under readmore:

Celia has always taken care of Agie. As her sickly twin’s condition worsens, Celia uses her Clairvoyance to predict her sister’s needs and keeps her temper muzzled so that no one ever has an excuse to take Agie away.

But a vision of Agie’s imminent death shatters Celia’s world and any restraint holding her back.

With only hours left to save her sister, Celia unchains her every brutal impulse in search of a magic powerful enough to stall death.

But Agie has her own ideas that will not only undermine Celia’s plan, but dismantle her very identity. Agie’s plan will rip them apart, but Celia’s extremes could cost her Agie in ways she could never foresee.

CW: Non-violent animal death, discussions of suicide, brief scenes of magic body horror.

[guess-that-ship]

S15 Round 2

On that rooftop

cw: spoilers, suicide attempt, human experimentation

S and N first met when N saved S from a one sided fight. N was planning to leave, but S followed to thank N, in which N only responded by telling S to never come back. However, S still constantly returns to find N and wants to hang out with him, and so their friendship begins. The two starts to hang out in an abandon building's rooftop. As N starts to open up to S more, N tells S about his job - participating in an dangerous experiment. S tells N to quit his job for his own safety, and even decides to help N find a better way of living, but N refuses. S although worried for N's health, still decides not to press further and just askes for N to stop when it gets too bad.

However, it all comes to an end when one day, N meets S at the rooftop one last time, revealing that the negative effects of the experimentation has gotten to him. He apologizes to S, saying that he should have listened and stopped. N then continues on by saying how he is going to end it all and he is glad to have met S before falling off the rooftop. S tries to save N, but hesitated which leads to N falling to his supposed death whilst smiling at S.

Unbeknownst to S, N survived the fall, but fell into a 2 year coma. When N is back from his 2 year coma, he reunites with S and apologizes for his actions. S still feels guilty of not saving N, but N says that it is because of S attempting to save him that makes N realizes that he still wants to live. S states that he wants to be friends with N again, and N accepts.

Hey, Let's Share a Last Name

cw: imprisonment, war, spoilers

Light Blue had a problem: he lived a decent amount of time and was the best he could be, yet died alone. When he next woke up, he was in a completely new body that couldn't see or speak. After wandering for hours in confusion, he suddenly bumped into something. A voice started speaking directly in his mind, teaching him how to use his new abilities to see and speak. But this made Light Blue realize something: the stranger was in fact the infamous terrifying monster Dark Blue.

Dark Blue had made a name for himself by causing wanton destruction, which was his form of entertainment. However, it also brought retribution, as he was sealed for centuries and slowly dying as a result. The isolation had also mellowed him out a bit, as he was desperate for company and agreed to be friends with Light Blue - a being he'd usually see as beneath him. Maybe Dark Blue was scary, but he'd also been helpful, so Light Blue pitied his current state and schemed to find a way to release him. He figured a plan out, but it'd require Dark Blue to disappear from the world for a long time, which he accepted out of trust for Light Blue's intentions. Before they parted ways, Dark Blue gave Light Blue a new name for his new life and Light Blue thought up a shared surname to symbolize their close bond.

Years later, Light Blue was finally ready to unleash Dark Blue back into the world. True to the growth and respect for Light Blue that had been fostered in his "exilement", Dark Blue went from a destroyer of the world to a defender of Light Blue's new peaceful nation. Every once in awhile there'd be a war, but inbetween they'd have so much fun - like playing "video games" together, throwing a festival, and even reuniting Dark Blue with his niece and his estranged sisters. During one particularly harsh war, Dark Blue was captured by the enemy - the worst mistake they could've made, as the usually easy-going Light Blue went into a rage over losing Dark Blue and unleashed the chains on his most bloodthirsty of subordinates. Never get between the Blue Boys, as another character revealed that in an alternate timeline, Dark Blue did the same in the wake of Light Blue's death.

[felassan]

BioWare Blog post: 'Unveiling The Veilguard: Cast and Characters Detailed at San Diego Comic-Con' [July 31st]

"San Diego Comic-Con has come to a close, but not before delivering mountains of Dragon Age fun for the amazing fans in attendance. The highlight of the week was the panel we hosted on Friday featuring some of our cast of companions who – in conversation with host Lucy James – shared new insights into their characters and revealed even more lore about Dragon Age: The Veilguard. We also joined our partners at Dark Horse on the showfloor for fan signings, giveaways, cosplay photoshoots, and more. In case you weren’t among the lucky attendees who got to experience this year’s convention in person, don’t worry – we’re here not only to recap all the action but also to share photos from throughout the weekend. Everything kicked off Wednesday night with the Dark Horse booth opening and some giveaways. Our team also enjoyed a celebration of Dragon Age with our partners at Fandom on Thursday night. Then on Friday came our panel “Dragon Age – Meet The Heroic Companions of The Veilguard,” which featured voice actors Zach Mendez (Lucanis), Jessica Clark (Neve), Nick Boraine (Emmrich), and Ali Hillis (Harding) and highlighted the heart of every Dragon Age title: the companions. The panel opened with a bit of background from Creative Director and 16-year BioWare veteran John Epler and Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow, who helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations and brought hundreds of characters and storylines to life."

"As Epler explained, Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships. “Companions have always been such a big part of this franchise,” Epler asserted at one point during the panel. “You’ll navigate some of the most compelling individual storylines you’ve seen from BioWare. I’m really excited about the bonds players will form.” Barlow later added, “I feel like you can fall in love with any of them. Everyone that has touched this project has put a piece of their heart into it and into all of the different characters you could cross paths with. I know for me at times, in the companion stories, it seemed like I was watching a scene out of my own life. It’s a powerful feeling to have something or someone to relate to on screen.” Meet the Cast With that, the panel shifted towards the companions themselves, as well as the actors who brought each character to life. First up was Zach Mendez (Horizon: Forbidden West, Married Alive), who voices Lucanis: an expert assassin of the Antivan Crow faction. Bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic, Lucanis was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. “As soon as Zach was cast, he deep dove into Dragon Age and read everything he got his hands on. He did it all to create that depth of character you can really feel,” Barlow remarked. “Zach’s a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying. And sometimes I’d have to remind him he’s a deadly assassin and to stay bloodthirsty, but I think he found this cool way of finding the light in the darkness.”"

"“After I finished [The Wigmaker Job], I realized this might be the coolest guy I ever get to play,” Mendez said. “What struck me was his mind is as dangerous as his knives. He’s constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. And also, he’s kind of hilarious. I mean, if you look at his relationship with his cousin Illario in The WigMaker Job, they’re constantly giving each other crap. But there’s a lot of love there. So I got to pull from my relationship with my brother, because we love each other dearly but we can be ruthless with each other.” Mendez also revealed to fans that, in addition to voicing Lucanis, he actually recorded lines for a variety of other characters, including the Grey Wardens. “I can go ahead and play a bunch of characters, so I had to really steep myself in the understanding that, okay, the Grey Wardens go through a lot to actually do what they do. They make a pretty intense bond. So, I tried to bring that as best I could to the physicality… I cannot wait to see how it plays out the game.”"

"Following a few more quips from Zach, the conversation moved to Jessica Clark (True Blood, Pocket Listing) and Shadow Dragons rebel Neve, a cynic with a heart of gold who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. She also has ice powers to halt an enemy or take advantage of the environment. “I’d describe her as the working class hero trying to make her hometown better,” Epler commented. “I love her loyalty,” Clark shared. “I love her dedication. I love how much she loves Docktown and its people and how she really sees a different vision that I’m into, as John said, and then what’s previously been depicted, and she’s really really fighting for those people and she loves those people.” Clark also commented on her experience with the casting and recording process: “Even though [the cast members] were all separate disembodied voices a lot of the time, we really all bonded. I know in a lot of projects they’re like all ‘we love each other,’ but we really do! And it just evolved so organically. There was something magical about it just being our voices in the beginning.” Full of Character Next up was Nick Boraine (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, Black Sails), who plays Emmrich – a sincere, friendly, and scholarly necromancer who comes complete with a skeletal assistant, Manfred (voiced by Matthew Mercer of Critical Role). “He’s part of the Mourn Watch,” Epler explained, “an elite group of necromancers who are revered in Nevarra, but outside it, they are odd at best and evil at worst. He’s your well meaning but oblivious academic – assumes everyone has an academic’s curiosity, so can be pedantic on select topics.” While Boraine agreed, he found another aspect of the character even more remarkable: “I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this.” Barlow chimed in to share insights from her time working with Boraine: “Nick encompasses Emmrich; his sophistication, and eagerness to teach and learn, his hot nerdiness. Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch.”"

"Finally came Ali Hillis (Mass Effect 3, Naruto) and everyone’s favorite dwarven scout Lace Harding, who returns with a big heart, positive outlook, and some unexpected magical powers. “The world’s changed a lot in the time period since Inquisition,” Epler observed. “She returns as an excellent scout and archer, and has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle.” “My favorite things about Harding are the little things like she loves her mom,” laughed Hillis. “You know, she loves to write letters home and she’s always talking about her mama’s stupid stuff like that. I love that relationship. She likes plants and raising plants which is inspirational since I kill them. But just the texture they add to the characters. That’s in general, but for me, it’s those little things that really kind of give me a bunch of stuff to work with in my brain.” Barlow effused, “Ali brought a weight and a history to this project as an anchor of the series. There was a growth to Harding. She’s a veteran now. She’s a trusted voice at the table, and the writers did such a great job of integrating her with the new team and finding the relationships with each of the unique characters.” Photo Opps Our panel ended with a crowd Q&A, but SDCC was just getting started. Our team spent the rest of the weekend giving away posters and exclusive Discord pins, signing those posters, and of course, meeting fans out on the show floor. Footage of the full panel should be available in a couple weeks, so for now we hope you enjoy these photos of our favorite SDCC moments! We’ll have more to share next month – including a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and our official release date (!) – so don’t forget to follow our BioWare and Dragon Age social channels. – The Dragon Age Community Team"

[source]