#wait these are all tags oh wait this one isn’t glowing

[lemonouiiid]

i forgot tumblr exists

[innorogers]

Dusk

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Wait, WHAT? After everything you’ve been through, you thought he wasn’t serious about you? Oh no, Steve had to make sure you understood how committed he was.

Warning: Angst but then Fluff? / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / Hurt & Comfort / Past Trauma / Happy Ending / Comfort Steve / This one is actually funny

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening

The compound is silent, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Soft lights illuminate the hallways, leading the way. Steve’s steps echo through the room as he opens the training room door.

His insomnia hits again, harder and stronger than ever before. The adrenaline runs through his veins. His mind is restless. Burning. And this time, there was no bedtime story that could soothe the pain or anger he was going through. He doesn’t bother with gloves or wraps. He’s too pissed for that, too lost in his thoughts. All he wants to do is hit something.

His fists make contact with the heavy bag, sending it swinging in response. The sound of the impact echoes in the empty room, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

The image of you, standing alone against Frazer, fists clenched, blood dripping between your fingers, glass embedded in your palms. You were fighting back so hard against the control Hydra still held over you with those damn keywords. You were panting, agonizing, trying to survive. And the only thing he could do was watch.

He hits the bag harder, faster. The chains holding it creak from the force.

You were kneeling before a laughing Agent Frazer, desperately looking for the tranquilizer and pressing it into your neck before he could stop you. Before he could do anything. 

Your body going limp in his arms, your eyes closed, and your breath going soft for what felt like an eternity as you slipped away from him.

He growls through gritted teeth, his punches landing with brutal strength.

This… horrendous lab. Children—your siblings—taken. Sacrificed. Experimented on. Killed. Their golden threads snuffed out as you hoped you were helping them. Steve’s heart clenches painfully, his vision narrowing. The memory of your voice, the anguish in it when you told him how you’d watched each of them fade, haunts him. You were forced to be part of it. They lied to you—how could they.

His punches grow more erratic, fueled by the rising storm inside him. Sweat drips from his brow, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His knuckles split open, blood streaking the bag, but the pain barely registers. He isn’t stopping. Not until he can soothe these invisible scars in you.

Your soft voice, telling him how you watched helplessly as your siblings died around you. Your power shut down in self-defense, a last-ditch effort to survive the nightmare Hydra forced on you.

Steve clenches his jaw, his breaths coming in ragged gasps now. His fists slam against the bag like hammer strikes.

Each punch is harder, faster, more desperate. He can’t stop. He can’t fight the guilt, the rage, the sorrow. You had been through hell, and he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t save your siblings. He failed.

Your words, soft and kind despite everything. You caress his cheek, smiling in his arms, trying to comfort him.

"What happened to me isn’t a burden for you to carry, you know that, right?”

His rage peaks, spiraling out of control. He roars in frustration and punches the bag with all the strength he can muster. His fist collides with it, sending shockwaves through the air.

The bag explodes.

The canvas tears apart, sand spilling out in all directions like dust from a broken hourglass. The chains snap, and the bag slams into the floor, rolling limply as Steve stumbles back, chest heaving, fists bleeding.

He stares down at the mess he’s made, panting, his mind racing. But the anger doesn’t fade. It lingers, burning beneath his skin. Cause he knows…no matter how hard he hits, how much he punishes himself, it won’t change what happened to you.

It won’t change a fucking thing. 

Not the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most, nor the fact that he failed in the first attempt at eliminating Hydra, or the second. You only escaped because the fucking popsicle machine ran out of power. Tony and Natasha rescued you. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t even remember where the fuck he was.

He drops to his knees, fists still clenched, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing slows, and the silence creeps back into the room.

Grateful. The word echoes in his mind, like a bitter reminder. You were so grateful, so kind. To be alive. To be here, seeing everything. You loved every breath you took, and you loved him, with every glitter of your own golden thread.

But Steve couldn’t be grateful. Not yet. Not a bit. Not with all the pain, all the suffering, you had endured. 

It’s so fucked up. It’s so wrong. It’s so terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t be grateful for something so broken. And he wasn’t going to be. He wasn’t stopping until he crushed the last being on this fucking earth that would hurt you like Agent Frazer. He wasn’t stopping until he’d made sure of that.

"Your girlfriend told me once that we should invent some kind of power-resistant punching bag, especially for you. At least to help with your sleeping issues when it's late, and you'd hang around the campus looking for bags to hit." A voice behind him. Tony leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Then one day, she told me that you slept well every night, so maybe you didn’t need them anymore." He chuckled. "I didn’t even know where to start to ask—like, why, when, how’d she know how Steve sleeps? But I didn’t, of course, because she blushed, and I just… didn’t want to tease her."

Steve didn’t turn back. He stayed quiet for a while. "She’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t asked."

"Oh, so… she’s your ‘I’ll make all the best gear for my baby so he won’t get hurt’ genius engineer, and you’re her ‘you touch my girl, and I’ll mash you with the new shield she just made for me' kind of relationship?”

Tony nodded. "And also, you both have this ‘I’d sacrifice myself for you’ vibe that makes you a great couple. I think it’s cute, actually."

Steve sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. "Why are you here, Tony?"

"Maybe you won’t believe it, but I’m here for a friend." Tony sighed and sat next to him, keeping a safe distance, so as not to invade his space. "Just checked on her. Vital signs are fine. Injuries are starting to heal. She’s tough, and you don’t hear it, but… this is nothing compared to how we found her."

"You’re right." Steve frowned, looking down at his knuckles, the bleeding already stopped. "I don’t want to hear it."

They sat in silence for a while until Steve shook his head with a mixture of resignation and frustration.

"Why didn’t I know?"

Tony glanced over at Steve, sympathy softening his usual sharp edges.

“How would you? She never let anyone see the cracks. And that’s something we’ve been working on for the past few years. Hiding her. Blending her in. So no one would noticed, so she could be safe.”

Tony took a breath, weighing his words carefully.

“You’ve only met her due to an unexpected, and beautiful surprise. A sleepless night, I believe?” 

Tony smiled. He pauses for a moment.“She thinks that was a gift, you know? Some kind of universe retribution for all the years of suffering and torture...and…” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “I think that too.”

“If you weren’t with her... what would have happened today?” Tony softened his voice. “If you hadn’t ended Hydra… maybe we’d never have found her, and she would have died... alone, in the dark, frozen, and without knowing that she was meant to be cherished, cared for, or loved. And…”

He glared at Steve as his expression shifted. “And no one would ever know that she even existed. Her siblings gone, all the memories about her would be…nothing, she would have been a file number. Lost within thousands of archives.”

Steve felt his whole body tense as Tony’s words landed. The mere thought of it was like a blast of icy water rushing down his spine, numbing him. A world where you were nothing but a forgotten experiment, a nameless file in some dusty Hydra archives, erased from existence. It twisted something in his chest. 

The image of you dying cold and alone in some abandoned Hydra lab. No one to mourn you, no one to even know that you were gone. No trace left behind. It clawed at him, settling like a vice around his heart, tightening with every beat.

“Stop with this self-pity and self-destruction mode, Steve.” Reading his expression, Tony knew his words had an effect. “It’s in the past. She made it, she survived, and she’s happy. Put yourself together and stop bringing it up in the present.” 

He grunted as he stood up and looked at Captain America with seriousness. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Someone out there is trying to get and hurt your girl, Cap. Are you going to let them?”

Steve looked at the silent floor and the exploded bags for a while, then nodded. “You’re damn right.” He held Tony’s hand to stand up.

“Yup, I always am.” Tony smirked at him. “Go and get some sleep because tomorrow…” He clicked his tongue. “We have a briefing meeting since Nat is going to spend the night interrogating this guys and probably... you know, just a little bit of tango. Then analysis with Hill—shit, I shouldn’t have accepted that—and we have only 1,278 security protocols to discuss if you and your ‘not-my-girlfriend’ are going public or whatever.”

“And…” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Clean up this fucking mess, Steve, this is a 12 million training room for gods’ sake.”

Steve chuckled reluctantly. “Fine.” As he started tidying up the debris, he muttered: “This thing today, this agent, was straight after her.”

Tony was already at the door when he turned back. “Clearly. But I’m not gonna discuss this with you now at…” He looked at his watch. “3:22. My brain’s checked out. Unless it’s another half-the-universe-disappearing disaster, we’ve got this under control.”

Steve nodded, the weight of Tony's words settling into him. But it was more than that—your words still echoed louder. The reminder of how you wanted to move forward, how much you needed new memories. He knew Tony was right, but you... you were the one who truly brought him back from the edge. He inhaled deep, and started to pick up the mess he made.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen…” says a cross-armed Sam, standing in front of a glass wall, observing a room filled with white lab coat experts. Led by the only two people wearing regular shirts: Tony and Bruce.

“That’s because you’re not a regular on this side of the compound.” Natasha tilts her head towards the unified silence and the steady room full of geniuses. “This is just… a normal Tuesday.”

“They haven’t moved for 15 minutes!” Sam says with an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me this is normal. Look at Bruce, he’s not even blinking.”

Both Maria and Natasha chuckled before Commander Hill explained, “Their brains are working. They’re deciphering that code.” She gestured toward the screen displaying the tangled mess of numbers and symbols. “Until they crack it, they won’t move.”

“If you turn on the neuro-transmission scan right now...” Natasha grinned, “it’s like the Fourth of July in there.”

“So, what exactly are they doing?” Sam considered turning on the scan just to see what was happening inside their heads.

“The guy that attacked us yesterday had this retinal lens used as spyware; it was transmitting everything he saw. We cracked the code and followed it to the hub where it was connected and transmitting data,” Hill finished her coffee and said, “And of course, it’s encrypted. There’s the source code…” She gestures towards the huge screen filled with numbers and letters that reads as Asgardian to Sam.

“That’s… one code?” Sam is shocked. “How’d they look if there were ten?”

“Technically… that’s one piece of the code. Not the complete…” Natasha begins to explain, then gives up. “Never mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just… asked the dude?”

“I did. And… it got messy…” Black Widow answers as she pours some coffee and hands another mug to the Commander, which she accepts gratefully.

“You killed him?! Are we allowed to do that?” Sam’s eyes widen, not entirely in disaproval.

“No! Of course not!” Natasha thinks about it for a second, then replies, “No. We can’t do that.” Although Steve would’ve loved to. She pauses. “He got, um… it looks like his brain was programmed. After he woke up, he was entirely a different person. He didn’t remember anything. He was… is, actually, Charles Frazer. A normal MI6 agent who lives in London with a beautiful family and was sent here to respect the New Era Project. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”

“What?” The Falcon is stunned. “Can they do that now? Program someone’s brain?!”

“We talk to a tree that calls a raccoon his father, so…” Hill comments without taking her eyes off the screens.

“And the raccoon shoots big guns.” Natasha adds, as if that’s a valid point. “Well… the thing is, we don’t know when this programming thing happened. Has he always been like this? A spy with sleeper cells that suddenly woke up? Is he really a normal agent who underwent modification just before coming here? We’re doing a lot of background checks, but this guy is… immaculate. Clean. Like this glass.”

“That’s… even more suspicious.” Sam frowns. “But Dr. Lancaster said he looked just like her brother, and… I’ve seen the files. He does look like Four. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Probably his face was altered too. We just have to figure out when.”

“In any case, I don’t think the guy is normal.” Shaking his head, the Falcon isn’t buying it for a second. “No regular person takes a punch like that from Cap and wakes up. I thought the dude’s skull was broken.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Natasha starts typing on the screen. “I think Steve should be part of this conversation. Where is he? Making the windows foggy?”

“Unfortunately, no,” says Steve as he walks into the room, resignation in his voice, though his steps are steady and recovered. “She’s in R&D3 already. Back to work.”

He shakes his head. There was no way you’d go home and rest after being discharged, and honestly, he wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone. So, the best place for you (after promising for the 26th time you wouldn’t do any heavy work) was a lab full of people where you could put your mind elsewhere.

“As we all should.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve. “No one here can afford to be a porcelain doll, y’know?” She’s not easy to break and far from being easily corrupted. She doesn’t say it, but her expression makes it clear.

“I know.” Steve nods with a serious expression. Yesterday, you had shown remarkable strength, remaining composed even when restlessness set in.

“Since we’re on the same page…” Commander Hill approaches the table and leans with a professional smile. She really doesn’t have time to waste. “We need to talk about the 1,278 security protocols that Stark wanted me to discuss with you.”

“Ugh,” Steve says with irritation. But then, this is your security they’re talking about, so he surrenders. “Fine.”

You didn’t know about the struggles Steve was going through as he listened to the extensive, detailed, laser-focused report Maria was giving him regarding ‘how many scans people had to pass just to approach you or your lab’ or ‘the perfect plan for your girlfriend to walk through the campus with you holding hands without being posted on social media’.

No, you were in another state of pink haze because the man you loved had said, “I love you.”

Ahh, the sky was blue, the clouds were like cotton candy (not that you’d know because you’d never tasted it before), your plants were growing strong, and yes, you had a terrible past. There was this guy who had leaked information to God knows who super dark organization, letting them know you were an ex-Hydra agent blended within the Avengers.

And by the way, that guy looked just like your dead brother and he tried to manipulate you through brainwashing. You had stitches in your knees and arms, and you shot yourself enough tranquilizer to kill a cow…but ha… who gives a shit, the most perfect, gorgeous man has said that he loves you. Like, priorities, right?

“Someone is in a good mood…” Your colleague slash friend Dr. Lin observed you and swirled around in the chair. “Alright, alright, so the mysterious date has become…a boyfriend?”

“Oh no, he is not…” You were caught off guard, and that made you think for a moment.

Wait…

What are the social protocols for calling Steve your boyfriend? Is that something people would assume after some steps of development in their relationship? Or was it a conclusion people would reach after certain premises: like intimacy, living in the same house, or having to face some dude who tried to brainwash you together?

Is it something that you or he would be entitled to call each other after those steps were fulfilled? And also, there’s this thing about… are you the only one? Yes, you live in a society that has historically been monogamous in most cultures. But things are different now. Polygamy is becoming more accepted. You wouldn’t like that, but of course, you couldn’t force him into that. Like, there are gorgeous women around him, that’s true…

“Honey…” Dr. Lin could see the ‘loading…’ sign on your forehead now that you were frozen in thought. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

“I have some questions, Dr. Lin… no, Robert.” You put the computer in sleep mode and turned around. “Would the fact that he said ‘I love you’ make him my boyfriend?”

“Well… did he introduce you to his friends as his ‘girlfriend’?”

“Um… no.”

“Did you talk about it? Like, in which place are you standing? Or where are you heading?”

“Um…” You looked up as you remembered. “No. But we did talk about ‘making more beautiful memories’ together”.

“Oh shit.” Robert’s face shifted to ‘Gurrlllll…’ He carefully chose his words but wanted to be really clear: “And, uh… did he mention or hint that he wanted to be your boyfriend?”

“Mmm… no.” You shook your head. Not literally, at least.

“And you’re sure there’s no one else in his life?”

“Well. Yeah.” You made an obvious face. It’s not like he has the time; he is with you (or inside you) every night.

“I’m just saying…” Robert raised his hands. “There are a lot of dudes who’ll say anything to keep their bed warm.”

“Well… he is special.” You felt compelled to defend Steve. “He never lies.”

Robert almost choked. “Alright, darling… look, just make sure he’s not just banging you and planning to break your heart, okay? There are a lot of assholes out there, and trust me… you’re like a blank canvas for them, which makes you incredibly hot and attractive, but still… there are a lot of douchebags…”

“Mmm.” You were immersed in your thoughts again, analyzing what Dr. Lin had said, and as your “Loading…” sign appeared on your forehead, Robert just left you to it.

You had this way of getting so lost in your thoughts that the outside world faded away. You operated on autopilot, so you didn’t even realize how you’d gotten up at lunchtime and wandered into the common area where Steve was waiting. You didn’t notice the worried look on his face, nor the glance he exchanged with his teammates when you all sat down at the table, ready for lunch.

‘Ask her if she’s okay.’ Natasha’s eyes silently urged Steve.

‘Of course she’s not okay. After everything she’s been through.’ Steve replied with his glare.

‘Maybe she is just tired?’ Said Maria from the other corner. 

‘She does look sad…or confused.’ Observed Tony too.

‘Can you pass me the salt, please?’ Sam added to the silent conversation.

While the Avengers exchanged silent signals, you made up your mind to ask the questions that had been gnawing at you directly.

“What does it mean when people say that ‘you’re just banging me’?” You turned to Steve and asked.

Natasha spat her water out in Clint’s face, and Sam choked on a peanut.

"And I’m not against polygamy, but I think I’d be better in a monogamous relationship. If… we’re not just ‘banging.’" You nodded, speaking with honesty.

“I…” Steve tried to respond, but was interrupted by the hysterical laughter from Tony and Natasha as they rushed to save Sam from choking. (“Why would you have peanuts at lunchtime?!” Black Widow asked in a mix of laughter and disbelief.) Steve didn't know what to say, but a smile finally spread across his face as he looked at you in awe.

After the nightmare you’d all gone through yesterday, it felt like a lifetime since he’d actually smiled or felt any joy. Yet here you were, as you always are when he’s with you, with your clever, unexpected comebacks that washed away all his anger, anxiety, and rage. And your strange yet brilliant mind made him feel… so happy.

“Babe…” he chuckled, squeezing your hand and using a word he never imagined he’d use: “We’re not just banging…”

“We’re not?” You looked at him, a little confused, noticing his ears turning red. Lowering your voice, you added, “But that’s what we do every night… isn’t it?”

“OMG!” Clint stood up, covering his ears, trying not to burst out laughing. “Dr. Lancaster, may I kindly remind you this is a room full of people with extraordinary powers, including super-sensitive hearing… something we can’t exactly control?”

“Oh.” You blushed slightly, realizing how blunt you’d been, and leaned closer to Steve. “So ‘making love’ would be the right word?”

Steve chuckled as the rest of the team erupted in laughter. He squeezed your hand and smiled. “Yes, honey, that would be correct.” he said, amidst laughs and coughing.

Of course, you weren’t just banging. Steve had made up his mind to ensure you had no doubts about that. After the hilarious, "we'll talk about this for years" lunch, he gathered everything he needed to prove it to you and headed to the lab.

It was well past dinner when he arrived, and the place was empty, the only light coming from your desk. You knew he'd be late, so you waited for him to pick you up.

Leaning against the doorway, Steve watched you quietly for a moment, a soft smile forming on his face. You were completely absorbed in your work, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t want to interrupt, captivated by the focus you showed, his heart swelled as he took a few steps toward you.

"Hey… just… one minute…" You noticed his footsteps and quickened your typing. "I’ll wrap this up."

"There’s no rush at all." Steve sat in the chair beside you, smirking, though you didn’t notice, still immersed in your work.

"Just… borrow your hand, please?" he asked softly, knowing you were on autopilot. Without looking away from the screen, you automatically lifted your hand.

You felt something delicate wrap around your ring finger. Glancing up, you saw a slender golden thread circling it, secured by a tiny knot. Your eyes followed the thread as a delicate silver ring slid down, fitting perfectly. Startled, you looked up to see Steve raise his hand, revealing the other end of the thread tied around his own ring finger.

"What… what is this?" you asked softly, surprised.

"Well… I didn’t get the exact ‘sparkling glitter golden thread’ like you described, but… you get the idea." Steve smiled, standing up to kiss the back of your hand. "This is proof that I’m not just banging you, or…" He chuckled, "something that asks if I could bang you for the rest of our lives."

He paused, trying to remember Tony’s exact words.

"And it’s also a 'high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission. Embedded with micro-electromechanical systems that continuously monitor and broadcast vital stats—heart rate variability, galvanic skin response, and core temperature—with GPS coordinates. Plus, a predictive analytics algorithm to interpret physiological fluctuations, allowing for real-time detection of anomalies in health and emotional state.'"

"Oh wow…" you breathed, genuinely shocked. "Did you memorize all that?"

Steve laughed and nodded. "Tony insisted you should know exactly what you were wearing."

"Awww, babe…" You couldn’t stop laughing. "This is the most romantic stalker device I've ever had."

He let out a hearty laugh and showed you his ring. "It’s connected to mine," he said, pulling you closer, his hands settling at your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours. "And I used a golden thread—the one that represents life—because you’re my life now."

"Steve…" You gently caressed his face, looking down at your hands, the rings connected by the golden thread. Really in shocked.

"And… you’re sure? Won’t people notice?"

"Trust me, I went through 1,278 protocols before deciding on this. Honestly, I made up my mind long before that. Hill said I could've spared her the torture of explaining all those, and she wanted to punch me right in the face afterward, but…" His voice softened. 

"I don’t want you living in shadows or secrets anymore. I’ll be with you, always, by your side. And…"

"And since whoever our enemy is already knows about me, they’ll think twice before coming after us, seeing that I’m with the Captain of the Avengers." You nodded.

"Yeah, that. But more importantly…" He kissed you softly after laughing. 

"Because I don’t know how to live without you. This ring… it’s just a way of showing how serious I am. How much I love you." 

He smiled suddenly, a memory flashing in his eyes. "Do you remember what you asked me the first day we met?"

"I think so…?" You hesitated, unsure which moment he was referring to. "We talked for like 10 hours that night."

"You asked me, when you added your number to my phone, 'What do you want me to be, for you?' And I answered…"

"‘My Everything,’" you whispered.

"That’s right." He sealed it with a kiss. 

"You are my everything."

You were quiet, and in awe. Just like the night you met him. For so long, you’d been searching, drifting in and out of the shadows, living in the remnants of broken fairy tales. But now, standing here with him, you realized those tales had never really been broken. They’d just been waiting — for this. 

You were no longer lost, no longer broken and sifting through the ashes of old stories. You’ve found this. Your own spectacular fairy tale, and the best part? It’s real. You had been given the right to love, to be loved, to finally be someone’s everything.

And for the first time, you truly believed it.

End

Continue to:

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Andddd I'm sorry I'm posting so late today, but having two full time jobs is hitting really hard, will try to maintain regularity as I can. But its getting hard! Thanks for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed the chapter, mayb posting a different story next friday ;) See you then!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[actuallysaiyan]

Crawling King Snake(All Smite/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, Love quirk/aphrodisiac, dub con, All Smite is a mushy gushy lover behind closed doors, mentions of loss of consciousness, kissing, swearing, violence mentions, angst, mentions of death, just all around a dark themed fic, lots of daddy kink(Smite calls himself daddy A LOT) usage of pet names(baby, kitten...), squirting/bodily fluids/cum words: 1.9k pairings: Villain!All Might/All Smite x Fem!Reader summary: you're the pride and joy of Toshinori Yagi and he's always trying his best to be soft with you, but it is hard when he's hit with a mysterious quirk. a/n: dividers by @adornedwithlight. tagging: @cogentsummoner @pixelcafe-network. Very inspired by a lovely drawing by @stormcallart(which for good reason I definitely cannot show here, but IT'S A GOOD DRAWING)

He loves sweet girls like you. Despite him being the number one villain in all of Japan, All Smite loves sweet girls. He craves warmth and love and affection. He’ll never show anybody else. He would outright deny it in front of others. Oh but when he’s alone with you, his heart finally feels a little more full, a little more fixed. You heal him like nothing else. You remind him of his mother; sweet, kind and so full of love.

His whole life was spent in such desolation and anger and pain. Toshinori knows nothing but sadness and anger. And with that, he used it to make the world around him crumble at his word and at his strength. Nothing and nobody goes against him. With time, patience, fear and brute strength, he has made Japan into his criminal empire. After he lost his mentor, Toshinori finally got to see just how dark and depressing reality was.

The only change? Oh it was you. You simply walked into his life one day. He’ll never forget the day you reached into his chest and took his heart. And he never regrets it either.

You’re the one thing he’s thinking about, even now as he is fighting against a large group of criminals who decided to fuck around. He’s thinking about you even now as one of them uses a quirk he’s never heard of on him. The rush of love and lust surrounds him and envelops his mind, causing him to feel so fuzzy inside. With swiftness and brutality, he dispatches all the enemies. There’s only one thing on his mind and that’s you. 

Now there’s urgency as he makes his way home to you in his hideout. You will be waiting there for him like a good girl. This both excites and frightens him. You could get hurt based on the way he’s feeling right now. He tries to calm himself, but it’s much too difficult. The way this quirk has hit him so hard, he’s already erect as he hurries home to you.

Once inside, he’s rushing to you. You’re in the bedroom and the way he opens the door and grips the doorframe, you both hear a crack. Toshinori growls when he realizes you’re in bed. You can see how dark his eyes are right now, and they are no longer blue. No, they almost seem to glow red.

“Kitten,” he pants. “Daddy’s home.”

You shudder at the way he says this. This isn’t right and you can sense it already. He’s looking crazed and manic. His eyes aren’t supposed to be red. He doesn’t show you violence unless he needs to protect you. Toshinori isn’t himself and you are frightened.

He stalks closer to the bed, a wide and evil grin plastered on his face. You crawl backwards on the bed, pulling the covers on top of you. You know it won’t save you, but it gives you comfort. Smite’s smirk falters when he realizes you’re afraid of him.

“No…wait…” he can’t think straight. His cock is throbbing in his pants, the precum staining his underwear. “Baby, I got…I got hit with a weird quirk. I’m so fuckin’ hard.”

You tentatively reach out to press your hand on his forehead, and he’s grunting at just that. You watch as the big man nearly melts into your touch. He’s like a big puppy dog sometimes, but especially right now. The bed creaks under his weight as he gets on it with you.

“Need your help, kitten. You know daddy would never get rough with you unless you wanted it,” he starts with. “But daddy is really horny right now and I can’t fuckin’ think straight and I might hurt you.”

Your heart stops in your chest and you gasp. This was quite the dilemma. You didn’t want to leave him while he’s in need, but you also don’t know if you can take him while he’s like this. It’s like he was under the effects of an aphrodisiac. There were only two choices and one of them involved completely abandoning your lover while he was vulnerable.

“I’ll help,” you offer in a sweet voice. He’s practically shaking when you say this. “I can take it, Toshi.”

Whenever you call him by his real name, it makes him feel so good. It makes him feel like he’s actually deserving of your love. This was no exception. He was practically purring as you said you’d be able to help. He looks at you, his eyes still very much glowing red. 

“You are so good to me, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Without warning, he pushes you back and he pulls the blankets from you. Then he works on getting himself undressed. Seeing just how hard he is already, you know that he won’t want to spend too much time teasing you. What surprises you is when he focuses on just kissing you and his hand pulls your shorts down.

“I need…I’ll try to prep you as best as I can.” He grunts. He’s losing his mind right now, but you matter to him.

Two of his fingers slide into you, making you squeak. He looks at you, loving the cute way you react to just being penetrated by his fingers. All of him was so big. Everything about him was so large. And just his fingers alone would be more than enough for you.

“Feelin’ good?” he asks, kissing your neck and sucking on it. He’s desperately trying not to just bite down and draw blood.

“Y-yeah…” you moan as he begins curling his fingers inside of you.

Smite has always had the expertise of being able to just blow your mind with pleasure. Not that you were a virgin when you first met him, but you hadn’t had too many partners before him. And you certainly had none as big and as experienced as he was. It had made you jealous at first, thinking about all the women he’s fucked in the past, but soon you realized it was all to your benefit.

Toshinori is trying his best to keep his mind from getting too clouded and just pushing you into a mating position, but the sound of your pussy squelching around his fingers is driving him almost insane. He takes deep breaths between sloppy kisses and he continues to curl his fingers deep inside your cunt. When he lets out a whimper, you know he needs more than this.

“Please,” he purrs. “Please, you know I don’t beg…fuck this stupid quirk got me all fucked up.”

You take a deep breath and you push him back on the bed. His eyes are wide as you straddle him. You’ll need to take this at your own pace first, otherwise he’s going to actually break you this time. Toshi grunts loudly when he feels you sliding his cock between your wet folds. He’s going crazy and he knows there’s a very good possibility he could hurt you.

He throws his head back in pleasure as you slowly sink down onto his girth. You can feel yourself shuddering and shaking from the stretch. It feels like it’s too much if you’re being honest. But you want to do this. You want to take care of him. You want him to feel better. Love pushes you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

His large hands grip your hips and he pulls you all the way down. When your pelvises meet, you let out a soft cry. The tip of his cock is bruising against your cervix. He’s still got that crazed look on his face. And then he’s pushing and pulling you up and down on his cock, rocking your hips for you with his hands guiding the pace.

“Fuck yes! Oh fuck yeah, daddy needed this so fucking badly.”

It’s your turn to be the one who can’t think straight. The way his cock keeps bullying itself inside you, bruising your sweet spot, you know you won’t be able to last long. You try to warn him of your impending orgasm, but the way he keeps fucking up into you, you can barely do anything but moan.

When he flips you both over and pushes you into a mating press, you know you’re done for. Both of you gasp when your juices begin to gush out of you. Sure, you’ve squirted before, but it’s always a nice surprise for him. He smirks as he looks down at your fucked out face. He then buries his face in the crook of your neck and begins to pound you into the mattress.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he growls. “Always so willing to help me. Love me unconditionally.”

His words only seem to push you further into the subspace you’re in. It was almost like the quirk he was hit with was now affecting you even more than it had affected him. You try to hold on and pace yourself, but his cock keeps smashing against your sweet spot. A soft squeak escapes from your lips as you begin squirting again.

“That’s daddy’s good little kitten!” He growls and picks up his pace.

The bed frame is creaking underneath you both from the sheer force he’s using to fuck you. Your brain is scrambled from the intense pleasure. Your legs are jelly from cumming so hard two times already. The bed is soaked from your juices. And Smite looks like he could keep going for a long time. But the pleasure is building quickly, lighting a fire in his tummy.

“Gonna fucking cum inside your little pussy,” he growls before leaning in to kiss you deeply. “Gonna fill that cute little pussy.”

His hands pull your legs up and your ankles are resting as close to his shoulders as they can. Your eyes cross from the deep penetration. A loud laugh rumbles from his chest that soon turns into a deep grunt. A few more thrusts in this position renders your lover into a moaning mess. He grunts something like ‘cumming’ before you feel the thick ropes of semen filling you.

His roar is loud and makes the windows shake. You try to stay conscious from the intensity of it all, but it’s hard. You feel like you’ve been fucked to the point of exhaustion. One of your little hands reaches out to touch his chest, trying to ground yourself. When he’s done riding his high, he slumps down on top of you for a few minutes.

“I’m so lucky…” he pants out. “Fuck I’m so lucky to have my sweet girl.”

This is when he notices you’re barely holding onto consciousness. He’s cursing himself for pushing you well past your usual boundaries and limits. He pulls out of you, watching as your mixed juices flow out of your poor abused hole. He then cradles you in his arms, pressing soft little kisses on your face.

“I’m here…I’ll take care of you.” He says softly.

True to his word, Toshinori bathes you and gets you hydrated before changing the sheets on the bed. He tucks you in, holding you so close to his chest. He is weak for you, and he would do anything for you. So the one time you chose to help him for something beyond your strength, he will always remember this night.

A little kiss from you rouses him from his thoughts and you smile. “I love you, Toshinori.”

He smiles, “And I love you.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[thedreamlessnights]

Fixation

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: When a mistranslated ancient spell goes wrong, you're forced to suffer the consequences. Astarion takes a keen interest in your... predicament.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac spell, Spawn!Tav, established relationship, possessiveness. Brief referrals to the Rite of Profane Ascension and Cazador. Fingering, oral sex (receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms, slightly rough sex. Brief overstimulation, praise, mild degradation, uses of the terms 'pet' and 'consort.'

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: And here's the second of my parallel aphrodisiac fics for Non-Ascended vs. Ascended Astarion! It was honestly very interesting to write the differences between them. The Non-Ascended one is much softer than this - please mind the tags!

The book must be hundreds of years old, but it feels warm in your hands. You’ve perused it inside and out, practically memorizing the faded runes. Fixation. It’s a weakness of yours. 

Still, how often is it that you find an ancient book of spells? Who knows if you might discover some long-lost secret buried within the pages. And, yes: you’re bored. 

Your messy translations are not ideal for this sort of thing, which is exactly why you’ve chosen a basic spell to start with. It’s mid-afternoon, quiet and still, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the room. 

The long-forgotten words flow from your mouth like honey - as if they’ve been waiting for centuries just to be said. Light and sweet, they settle into the room and linger for just a moment. Some spells can be felt in the very air, manifesting as an electric haze that tickles the lungs, but not this one. When the sound of your voice fades away, the only sign that the spell has worked is a gentle heat that settles in your skin.

For a long moment, you kneel, studying the small scrape on your finger and waiting for something to happen. If you’d translated correctly, this should have been a basic healing spell with enough capacity to mend small cuts and burns. An increasingly pleasant heat builds in your veins, but the scrape remains untouched.

It should have worked by now. But if it wasn’t a healing spell, then…

Your eyes turn back to the pages, flickering between the references you’d found and the runes. Something connects. A line you hadn’t seen. A word you hadn’t added. The runes on the page - they’re not for healing, like you’d thought. But if they don’t mean health, then…

You stare at it a moment longer.

Lust. 

“Oh. Oh, gods.”

You rise to your feet like you’ve been slapped. The heat is bearable for now but growing incessantly, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. No counterspell. No healing potion. Anything you try could just as well make it worse. Which poses the question: what the hells are you going to do?

You suck in a deep breath.

First things first: you need to get out of this room. The air is feeling like it might strangle you. 

The chill of the hall greets you sweetly as you pace up and down the walkway, weighing your options. A spell this simple shouldn’t last long. It’ll most likely linger for only a few hours, then dissipate. It doesn’t seem dangerous. It’s not painful. Not yet, at least.

You could lock yourself in the cellar for the night, but that isn’t exactly appealing. The bedroom wouldn’t work, either. It’s Astarion’s room too, after all.

Astarion. Just the thought of him sends sparks flaring through you. It ladles heat into a very pleasant spot in your abdomen, and something flutters deep in your gut. Gods, what you wouldn’t give for him to be touching you.

But he cannot find out about this. By the hells, he can’t ever find out, because if he does, you will never live this down. Which leaves two options: you can either go to dinner and attempt to act like you’re fine, or you can try to hide away in one of the rooms and wait it out. 

Neither one is ideal. Being physically near him, he’ll be able to read you like a book - which makes dinner a very dangerous concept. But if you neglect to show up at all? He’ll be even more suspect. He’ll certainly seek you out and find out the truth in the end.

So. Dinner it is. 

You’ll just have to keep yourself composed, somehow. If only doing was as easy as thinking. But do you really have a choice?

No, you think. 

You don’t.

As soon as he’s through the door, Astarion’s eyes are on you. They always seem to be, these days. Ever since the Ascension. His dark consort, his right hand. His, for whatever he wants. He never seems to see you like he used to, but the sting of that faded long ago. Another thing lost to the ritual.

“Hello, my treasure,” he greets.

You offer him a smile as he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the skin. You can only hope he doesn’t notice the fear in your eyes or the way you’re trembling. 

The gods must be on your side, because he’s distracted. The moment he releases you, he’s talking with a servant about something or other. You can barely keep up with the politics of the city on a normal day, much less on one with flaming lust in your stomach.

So you follow him to the table like a puppet, moving to your usual seat opposite his. It seems much closer together than usual. Everything does. He could be across the room, and you’d still feel like he was at your side, his breath at your neck. You’re almost grateful that the near-only things you can consume are blood and wine, because your trembling fingers are not fit to handle a knife.

After you’ve taken your seat, you have to put all of your attention into holding your glass. You’d try to act natural, but you can’t even remember what that feels like anymore. Does your skin look cold enough? Is your smile convincing? Is the picture you’re painting compelling, or will your imperfections give you away?

For a moment, Astarion’s attentions are focused on his papers. Then, with a sigh, he sets them aside and looks at you. He seems bored, more than anything. Not suspicious yet. “And how was your day, pet?” he asks.

Your grip tightens around your glass. “Good,” you manage to say. “I found a new book in the library.”

He raises a brow. “Did you?”

You nod, attempting to bury yourself in a sip of wine, but it doesn’t work. The more he looks at you, the more the feeling grows. Your hands are slick. Your mind feels clouded over. 

“A - ah, book of poetry.” Your voice shakes as you speak, and the betrayal of it is like a dagger in your chest.

He sets down his knife and fork. 

Already? you think, lightheaded and humiliated. Gods - you’d known he’d likely catch on sooner or later, but, really? Not even two minutes in? It’s pathetic.

But you aren’t going to give in yet. Astarion may have the winning card in his hand, but you’re determined to play this game for all it’s worth. So you set down the wine, fold your hands in your lap as if you aren’t struggling with keeping still, and give him your prettiest smile.

The glint in his eye grows. “Really?” he purrs, tilting his head. “I didn’t know you liked poetry.”

And as soon as he’s spoken, his voice is in your mind - words you’d thought you’d forgotten, pressing to the front of your thoughts. 

It’s a poem. A gift from Cazador.

The first time you’d seen his scars. 

“I…” Your voice chokes, and you swallow hard. “I don’t read it often. But I enjoy it, sometimes.”

He hums in response. His eyes are fixed on yours like a predator - watching your every move. Every blink. Every swallow. Every tremble. He’s waiting for you to break. 

You don’t. Not yet.

“And you?” you ask. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” he muses, his hand gesturing indifferently. “The usual.”

But you don’t know how it is. He hasn’t told you a word about his work, and you’ve never invited yourself into it. He leans back in his seat, and his expression molds into something complacent as you struggle to find the right thing to say.

You decide that wine on your tongue will be much better than words. It’s rich and dark, mildly bitter, and heady. It lingers for a long moment after you’ve drunk, sloshing around your glass as you swirl it.

The end is coming. Your body is fighting you tooth and nail. Your hands are shaking, your mouth is dry, and your head is foggy. Setting the wine down shouldn’t be a difficult thing, but it feels like trying to thread a rose stem through the eye of a needle - painful and futile. 

Your wrist twitches. A tiny, incomprehensible mistake. The goblet nicks the edge of the table, your grip loosens, and the next thing you know, there’s wine everywhere. Bleeding over the top of the table. Dripping into your lap. Splashed over your chest. The taste of it is still in your mouth, bitter on your tongue.

“You’ve gotten clumsy, pet,” Astarion says. He places his hands on the table, pushes to his feet, and approaches with a languid stride, amused and possessive in his gaze. You meet his eyes, determined not to break.

He grabs a clean napkin and half-heartedly dabs the wine off of you, stopping to swipe a droplet off your chest with his finger. Then he lifts it into his mouth, never looking away. “You’re trembling,” he says.

“Am I?” Your voice is breathless. “That’s strange.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you feeling alright, dearest?” 

“Me?” you ask, your hands clenching into fists. “Of course I am.”

He stares at you. You stare at him. He raises a brow. You paste on your sweetest smile, just for him. 

“You know,” he sighs, circling behind you, “I do hate it when you lie to me.”

The feeling in your gut is ravenous now. You’re nothing short of feverish, buried in a haze of sheer need. You need him more than you have ever needed before. You will not let yourself have him.

You play this game with him because, no matter what he says, you know he wants you to. You slot yourself in as his pawn, settling into your place, competing with him even though the game is rigged from the start; all because he wants it. He wants you to lose, and to beg for him to touch you. And, gods help you, despite this cruel, vicious thing he’s become, you still want him. 

He reaches out to a loose strand of your hair, tucking it away behind your ear. “I want the truth,” he says, leaning in close. You’re shivering with desire. Every part of you wants him near. You fight the impulse to make a sound, and he steps away.

“I really am feeling fine,” you insist. 

His eyes pass over you. You can feel the way they trail along your features, both analytical and skeptical. His head tilts and he smirks, and you know you’ve lost. Just like he wanted you to. 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Little love,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb along your jaw. His touch is warm, skimming against your skin. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven't you?” The corner of his lips flick into a smile, but his eyes stay cold as ice. “I know lust when I see it.”

Then, he lets you go.

You want to beg him to come back.

“What a shame,” he muses. “I have so much work to do tonight. You’ll wait for me, won’t you, my sweet?”

You will. You don’t have any choice.

A small sound involuntarily chokes from your throat, and his eyes narrow. “Now, now,” he chides. “Be patient.”

He returns to the doorway, studying your appearance with a smug sort of satisfaction. “Oh, and darling?” he says. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” 

He pulls the door shut after him, and you stare blankly ahead.

Gods. He’s going to drag this out. You know he will - he loves to see you squirm. But to tell you that you can’t touch yourself? It’s particularly cruel.

But this is where he wants you. You’d lost the game, and this is how you’re paying for it.

The time ticks by. The feeling in your gut grows. You have to squeeze the armrests of your chair to keep them from straying. Heat flushes through every part of your body.

It’s a strange thing, being warm. It’s been months since you’ve had warm blood in your veins. You’d almost forgotten how it felt. It only makes this sensation so much more overwhelming. 

It’s like the sun kissing your skin. It’s like fire, searing through your chest. It’s both pain and pleasure, mingling in your senses. More pleasure, perhaps, if you were allowed to touch yourself. You don’t dare to, not even once. Not even a little. No matter how much you want to.

When the door finally opens again, you let out a rush of air. Relief. Sheer relief. But Astarion doesn’t move toward you. He goes to the papers he’d left on the table, rummaging through them. He finds the one he wants, pauses, then glances at you.

“My, my. Look at you,” he remarks. “Gods below. You’re a mess, darling.”

It’s only then that you realize he’s not coming back yet. He’s not here to touch you.

“Astarion-”

The look he gives you silences your words. Your mouth snaps closed, and you try to resist the urge to sob.

“Patience,” he says. His tone is a warning, low and dark. “Or you’ll get nothing at all.”

The door shuts once more, and this time, a noise breaks free from your throat.

You should have just told him. You’d have lost the game all the same, but he might have taken pity on you. But you’d lied to him. You’d kept it hidden. You hadn’t begged.

His message is as clear as day. This is what you get. This is your punishment.

You’d just had to try out that spell book, hadn’t you? You couldn’t have left it alone? Now look at you. Shaking, clinging onto the chair so tightly that your fingers are beginning to go numb. You feel rabid. Whatever self-control is leashing you is beginning to slip.

Just hold on, you tell yourself. Just until he comes back.

So you wait. Your body feels like it’s on fire, but you wait. 

You’ve just begun to consider touching yourself, consequences be damned, when you finally hear the blissfully familiar sound of Astarion’s voice. 

“I’m here now, my dear,” he announces. “You can stop terrorizing the poor chair.”

He’s standing in front of you, looking down at you with a mix of desire and possessiveness. You have to stare at him for a good ten seconds before you realize that he’s actually there, not just a vision. That your torment will soon be over. 

His words finally connect with your mind and register somewhere within the mess of need. Your hands loosen from their grip, and a soft noise escapes from your lips. From pain or want, you don’t know.

“Kneel,” he says.

Your legs tremble when they stand, as if they might finally give out. You sink to your knees, barely feeling the hard stone beneath you.

Astarion takes two fingers and places them under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “My pet, do you want me?”

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“Tell me.”

You swallow hard. “I - I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

His head tilts. “Good.”

He drops his fingers. You want to scream at the loss of his touch.

“Get up,” he instructs.

You can barely move, but you do it. Your knees shake. You want to grab onto him for support, but you know you shouldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, his hand wraps around your waist. “Just look at you,” he murmurs, echoing his statement from earlier. His other hand comes up to your mouth, his thumb brushing against your lips. 

Then his hand on your waist trails up your back, up your neck, fisting into your hair. “And all for me.”

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. Bruising. His hand cups your cheek, his grip tightens in your hair. His lips are warm and soft and demanding, coaxing your mouth open as he walks you into the table. The back of your legs meet the edge and you pull away to sit, panting as he sets himself over you, straddling your hips.

His eyes are dark and hazy, trailing over you in a way that makes you shiver.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing a finger along your cheek. His lips move to your jaw, trailing feather light kisses along the bone, and you tilt your head to give him full access to your neck. He hums an approval into your skin.

You barely feel it when his teeth sink in and draw blood. There’s only a faint flash of pain, a muddled sensation beneath your want. You feel his hand rest on your hip. His gentle, wet tongue, darting out to clean the wound.

If he doesn’t touch you soon, you’re sure you’ll combust.

“Astarion,” you breathe, gripping onto the back of his shirt. You know he heard you, but he keeps kissing down your throat, stopping at your collar bones to brush his lips over them. A sharp nip. An apologetic kiss to soothe the sting.

“Astarion, please,” you repeat.

“Hm?” He doesn’t bother to pull away. He simply undoes the lacing of your clothing without looking and tosses the outfit across the room.

“Touch me,” you beg.

At that, he finally stops kissing you and looks up at you, something dark and hungry simmering in his gaze. “Dearest, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he drawls, “but I am touching you.”

You’re in no mood to deal with this - not with the scorching flame inside that will not let up even for an instant. “You know what I mean,” you snap. “Please, gods. Touch me.”

But the more desperate you are, the more he pulls back from you. He gives you a look - half amused, half bored. “But I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “I can’t read your mind anymore, my sweet. Don’t you remember?”

Anger and frustration cloud your vision in a veil of red. A sharp noise chokes through your chest, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails into the skin. “Fuck me, Astarion. Please.”

The corners of his mouth flick into a self-satisfied smile. “You’re lucky I like you, little love,” he murmurs, easing your legs apart with his thigh, and you sigh in relief, relaxing into his touch as he returns to kissing your neck. “But you wouldn’t deny me a taste, surely?” he asks. “I want everyone in the city to hear you screaming my name.”

And then he drops to his knees.

You’re left shivering with need, so desperate that your vision seems to be clouding over. The top layer of your clothing has been removed, but you’re still in your smallclothes, and he of course takes his sweet time with you. The feel of his tongue through the fabric of your smalls, so desperately close to where you need him to be - but not there, not yet there - is all but maddening. You fix your hand into his hair and try to relax, but you’re so tightly-wound that you feel like a rope about to snap.

How the hells are you supposed to relax when the sweet friction of his mouth is pressing against your clit - when he’s on his knees for you, his grip on your thighs bruising and almost, almost perfect? You could come like this, riled up to the point of climax, but that would be too easy. He’d never let it be that easy.

Instead, he brings you to the verge of orgasm, bites at the tender flesh of your thigh, then pulls away.

“Gods,” you mutter, caught between feeling like the tiniest action will send you into waves of pleasure and simultaneously feeling like you’re going to black out. “Astarion-”

“Shh,” he says, still on his knees. “Relax, pet.”

Out of the two of you, he’s in the more vulnerable position, but you’d never know it from the way he’s practically holding you down on the top of the table - from the way his eyes are devouring you, practically daring you to protest. 

You know him. The more you rebel, the less he’ll give you. So you don’t. You force yourself silent and suck in a breath or two, trying to remember the way oxygen tastes, trying to keep the dam inside you from bursting open.

A small sob breaks free, but aside from that, you’re a statue. A lustful, slightly relaxed statue. It’s all you can give, and it must be enough, because he finally pulls your smalls off of you. 

They’re so wet from his tongue and from your arousal that they stick to you, and you can see the way his gaze darkens. The way he swallows, taking in a deep breath and setting them aside. He could keep you here all night, but he’d be torturing himself, too.

He starts slowly again, and with every graze of his warm fingers, with every brush of his skin against yours, your body bucks into his touch. It doesn’t matter where or how brief; it’s just the silky trailing of his fingertips over your abdomen, your body is still chasing the minimal pleasure his presence gives you. If it’s his thumb against your clit, your body still shudders the way you know he wants you to.

When his tongue finally, finally meets your clit, you let out a sharp gasp and have to physically stop yourself from following that feeling, from grinding against his mouth the way you so desperately want to. Your nails dig into the tablecloth, but you let him keep his own pace. His own agonizing, teasing pace. 

One finger, slipping inside of you, finding the electrifying spot inside of you that has you moaning his name, your hand tightening in his hair and your hips bucking of their own accord. Then one becomes two. A slow, even rhythm of thrusting that slowly grows harder, faster, deeper. 

He brings you right back to the edge, and this time, he lets you come. 

Your body tenses. Your grip tightens even more. He groans against you, and the vibrations of it course out through your skin. The rope of tension pulls and pulls and pulls until it finally snaps, leaving you shuddering and mindlessly crying out, his name leaving your mouth like a mantra. 

Just like he’d said it would. 

Your consciousness seems to float away from your body - a blinding, sharp pleasure that comes to you in a pulsing, ambrosial wave. When you come down, you’re still burning. The fire wanes a little, but won’t be sated. Not that easily. In many ways, it’s just like Astarion. Running you through, filling you with need, and not letting you go until it’s done with you.

When you come down, you find yourself with wet thighs and covered in sweat, your breath pulling unnaturally from your lungs until you’ve recovered. You’re still shaking, and Astarion is still between your legs - licking at sensitive skin. 

You whimper, and he finally pulls away, his pupils blown wide and an impatience to his expression. Possessiveness. Need. He rises to his feet and winds a hand in your hair, pulling your head back with a grip that borders on painful.

He doesn’t say a thing, but his gaze speaks volumes - the glittering, dark ruby of his eyes, the almost removed way he observes you, eyes trailing over your face. Studying how he’s ruined you, no doubt.

He releases his hold on you, and though you can see his erection through his trousers, his movements are slow - methodical, almost. When he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

“Come here, my sweet, little consort.”

And you do. With your still-shaking legs, you slide off the table and take a step closer, unsure how near he wants you. 

“Turn around,” he instructs. 

And you do.

You only register his hand on the nape of your neck when your cheek connects with something hard. The table. He’s bent you over it and is standing behind you, and the impact barely smarts in comparison to the heat that floods between your legs.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Astarion muses, dragging a finger along your spine. “You want everyone to know who you belong to. You want me to fuck you into this table and let everyone hear how much you need me.”

And you can’t even argue with him. You can’t argue, because you know he’s right - and he knows it, too. 

You swallow hard, back arching toward his hand. “Yes.”

He’s silent for a moment, tracing his hand along your back. Then he presses his thumb to your clit and you mindlessly grind into him, barely resisting the urge to beg him to just fuck you already.

Then you hear fabric shifting, and your whole body tenses in anticipation of him. 

He’s not gentle, and he’s not tender. He sheathes himself into you in a single, harsh thrust that has you crying out, your hands scrabbling for something to grasp for support but finding nothing. 

“Gods,” he growls, his grip settling on your hips and pressing into the skin as he sets a rough, punishing pace. His voice is breathless when he speaks. “You look so pretty for me, pet. Bent over like this. Say my name for me, won’t you?”

You can barely choke out the sound between his thrusts, but it comes out of you nonetheless. “A… A-star-ion-” 

“Good,” he says, and then his pace turns brutal, every thrust sending your cheek scraping against the table. There’s pain, but you barely feel it - not against the burning pleasure of him inside you, filling you up, and not against the fire in your skin that’s building to a boiling point again.

Over and over.

His breathing is getting faster. His grip on you is ever tightening, sure to leave a number of tender bruises for the morning. He’ll kiss them, then, draw his fingers over them in admiration, but for now: he groans and grips at your hair again, and you sit there and take every inch he’s giving to you until you can barely stand it - the sweet, delectable friction of him inside you, the vulgar, wet noises that echo around the room. Evidence of how much you want him. How close you are.

“Tell - tell me you’re mine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m yours.”

He thrusts even harder, and it vaguely occurs to you that you might not be able to walk tomorrow. You can feel the tell-tale signs of him getting closer - the tensing of his thighs, the panting as he approaches climax, the moans he’s letting out. He pauses mid-thrust and trembles for a moment before he slams back into you once, twice - three times.

That’s all it takes to send you over the edge with him, clenching around him, barely conscious of the table under you, barely conscious of the fact that both of you are in the dining room and almost certainly the servants are able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You can feel him seeping out of you, trickling down your thighs, and you go slack against the table, gasping and trying to remember how to breathe.

He finally releases your hair and pulls out of you, paying no mind to the way you wince.

You definitely won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

“What a good little pet you are,” he remarks, smoothing your hair away from your neck and placing a kiss to the nape. When he speaks again, his voice has gone to that pouty, condescending tone that he sometimes uses. “You wouldn’t dream of doing that to me again, would you, my treasure? Lying to me? Hiding your own pleasure from me? And at my table, nonetheless.”

You attempt an answer, but it comes out as nothing but a helpless whimper.

“What was that?” he asks. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“Good.”

He straightens, running a finger between your legs - no doubt studying the mess he’s made of you.

“Get up,” he says. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

You unstick yourself from the table, legs trembling, and as his gaze travels over you once more, you have a deep, sudden feeling in your gut. It’s too easy. Too easy for you. Even after all the torment you’d faced earlier, stranded and desperate in your chair, it’s not enough. He’s not done with you yet. 

And if you know him at all…

It’ll be surprising if he’s finished with you before morning.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Twelve

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

SUPRISE, YOU GET TWO CHAPTERS TODAY! Chapter Thirteen is also up! Posted a bit early because I was too excited!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Twelve- The Kidnapping

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!! (let me know if I missed any!)

“It’s been twenty fuckin' minutes!” Velvette kicked at the air. “How much longer do I have to fuckin' wait!?” 

The brat demon’s words echoed throughout the night. Pentagram City waited sixty floors below, V Tower being the tallest building around. The roof and top few floors were newly rebuilt, complete with a penthouse beneath Velvette’s feet and a rooftop designed for entertaining. 

Alastor sat tied to a chair, surrounded by a platform that overlooked three sides of the tower. Velvette had wanted a pool, so she got one, along with a hot tub and a poolside bar. It was designed with Sinstagram in mind. Of course, the layout is aesthetically pleasing for one with a proclivity for photos and videos. It also created a great place to stage a kidnapping with numerous installed cameras - courtesy of Voxtek Technologies - that captured every angle. 

The brat demon was rearing to go the moment she hit send on the video, including a live link to watch the battle about to go down, but what she didn’t expect was for you to take so damn long! 

The demon groaned in his chair.

“Oh, shut it,” Velvette rolled her eyes. Cell phone in hand, the brat had stationed herself in a lounge chair, attempting to appear nonchalant while she waited. At about three minutes passed she double-checked that she actually posted the video.  At about five, she was growing impatient. At ten, she could no longer sit still and took to pacing in her new boots - her outfit was meticulously designed for this fight because, of course, it was. At fifteen, she became angry. At about twenty, she was royally pissed off. 

“How dare I be made to wait!!” She turned to Alastor, beaten and bruised - the demon hung his head, slipping back and forth from consciousness. “You were supposed to be fuckin' valuable! You…!”

“Angel Detected! Angel Detected! Angel Detected! Angel Detected!” Velvette’s notification screen lit up with alerts. 

Voxtek’s Angelic security was now online, and its perimeter expanded out five blocks from V Tower - it was two, but after you attacked, they decided they needed a bit more warning time from incoming threats. 

Quickly, Velvette typed out a text before finding her place before Alastor. The Overlord was ready.

In a cloud of black smoke, you came flying down from above, landing in an explosion of shadow. The smoke curled away from your feet, invading the freshly placed tile of the rooftop. It lopped over the edges, across the pool, even going as far as Velvette’s feet before dissipating. 

The female Vee took a step back, out of reach of your dark magic. Clutching the knife, she pointed it in your direction, “About fuckin’ time! Do you know how long I have been waiting here!?” 

You didn’t respond. 

“Well!?”

You didn’t move, continuing to stare down the Overlord with your glowing yellow eyes. 

Velvette stomped her foot, “You have nothing to say!?” 

More silence. 

The demon stomped forward, her arms balled into fists at her sides. With tears in her eyes, she screamed, “You murdered my best friend and destroyed my home for no fuckin' reason, and you have nothing to say to me!?” 

Silence as the tension was building. Vox’s cameras zoomed in on you as if waiting for an answer. After a long moment, you held your hand up and…

… started violently coughing? 

You bent over at the waist, your hands on your knees as you coughed as hard as you could. 

“Holy shit. I’m… I’m… So sorry.” A voice choked out,, little puffs of black smoke escaped the hood as they talked. “I was holding my breath for as long as I could, but the smoke was… too much!” 

Velvette took a step back, thoroughly confused- that was not the voice she remembered you having. She grabbed her phone and scanned you using the Soul Scanner app Vox downloaded onto it. 

“Lucifer Morningstar,” the lady’s voice read out.

“What!?” She shrieked, taking a step back. The demon flipped to another app and pushed a button. 

There was a shriek from behind her.

Velvette spun to find you collapsed on the ground, nearly out of reach of Alastor’s chair. In your leather gear, your silver hair braided back into a twist that reached halfway down your back, the watch Vox had given you morphed. The metal bit into the flesh of your wrist, hooks preventing it from being removed. The metal contraption had delivered an electric shock so powerful, it dropped you where you stood. 

Velvette’s gaze shot between you and Lucifer, who had since thrown his hood back so he could breathe. 

“Oh, sorry…” Lucifer cringed, eyes red from the smoke.

____________________________________________ 

(20 minutes earlier)

You resisted the urge to smack your face. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Fire.” You summoned your flame.

“Fire.” Lucifer did the same. 

“Smother.” You clapped your hands together, the flames extinguishing, allowing smoke to pool from between your fingers. 

“Smother.” Lucifer did the same, but instead of a wave of smoke, the King produced merely a trickle. “Hey, I got it!” The Angel beamed, jumping up and down like a proud child.

It had only taken like fifty fucking tries but sure… He did it. 

“Okay,” you huffed. “Now, do that while you're flying and while you’re standing there. I usually always have a little bit milling about for aesthetic purposes, so if you don’t do it, it'll be weird.” 

“Right, and no talking?” He frowned a little.

“No talking.” 

“But I have such good comebacks prepared,” the King pouted. 

“No.” You handed him your cloak. “Keep the hood up; she doesn’t know it’s you, so she won’t be able to see under the cloak at any point in time.”

Lucifer threw the black fabric around his neck, tying the strings together. “You don’t ever suffocate in this?” 

You looked at him dumb. “Smoke is heavy. It naturally wants to flow down and away. Let it do its thing, and you’ll be fine.”

The King pulled the hood up, “And no talking?” He prodded again. 

“The second you open your mouth, Velvette will know it’s not me. Just stay quiet till I can get to Alastor, okay?”

“Fine!” The King whined. 

God, you did not miss his childlike attitude. Okay, moving on, “Angel, what ya’ got for me?”

____________________________________________

(Now)

Move!

You forced yourself to your feet, scrambling for Alastor. While Lucifer distracted Velvette, you were to sneak in from the other direction and attempt to untie Alastor before she noticed. You tried, before you left the safety of your hiding place, to use the connection you fostered with Alastor to somehow send him some of your energy - if that's even how this connection worked. The demon tried something similar with you the day you couldn't eat anything. He came scrambling home and used his magic to calm the bubbles in your chest and infuse your blood with life. It worked then, but it wasn't working now.

Alastor remained slumped forward in the chair, his face unreadable as you tried to reach out. You released a tentacle of magic from your core, but when it slithered over to the Radio Demon, it couldn't feel him. He was still breathing, still moving, but his magic felt absent.

Which terrified you.

If you could just get to him, maybe you could forcefully push some of your magic into him. Actually, you didn’t even need to get that far, you just needed to reach Rolf, you just needed to reach his shadow. 

Mere steps from Alastor, Velvette hit the button on her phone again, sending a wave of electricity rocking through your body. You dropped like a stone, hitting the tile with a smack, your cheek cracking open on impact. 

The female Vee spun, preparing to take on Lucifer, but the Angel had fled, leaving your black cloak in a pile on the ground where he once stood. You were on your own. 

“There you are!” She cackled. The female Vee kneeled beside you, your body refusing to move as the electricity slowly ran its course. Goddammit, the wound on your torso burned. “Awww,” She pouted. “Little Thestral finally came out to play.”

Fuck. 

“What? Didn’t think we’d figure it out? Ha!” She cackled. “Remember this?” The demon scanned your face with her camera.

The woman’s voice rang out, “Unknown.”

A memory surfaced of you and the remaining Vees battling it out at the base of V Tower. Vox scanned you during the fight, just as he had during your date. Both times, the woman called you “Unknown.”

Vox and Velvette have known it was you for weeks. Vox knew it was you today when he came to visit the Hotel and even when he was getting updates from Charlie. That’s why he wasn’t mad about you disappearing. That’s why he approached you again. He wasn’t apologizing. He was tricking you to get the watch on your wrist. 

The Vees knew and were probably stalking you for weeks. Hence why they’ve been so quiet. They’ve been lying in wait, watching, waiting to see where your weaknesses lie. 

And they found it: Alastor. 

You knew the Radio Demon wasn’t sloppy. He didn’t make mistakes, and he didn’t miss any of the bystanders who saw the fight go down that day. What he wasn’t expecting - what neither of you was expecting - was Velvette and Vox being smart. 

“Fuck you,” you gritted, your jaw stiff and tongue heavy. You spat, temporarily blinding Velvette with spit, and then punched her right in the nose. The demon fell back, blood spraying from her face, as you clumsily attempted to go for Alastor once more.

If you could just touch him… 

“AH!” You jumped as another wave of electricity ran up your arm. Your body went stiff as you collapsed and landed THROUGH Alastor. 

And then the demon DISAPPEARED. 

“Ha, ha!” Velvette cackled, her finger still on the button as you convulsed at her feet. Fuck, your jaw clenched so tightly that a molar cracked. Your eyes threatened to roll back into your head before Velvette finally let you go.

What the fuck was going on?

“Did you like that? My idea, actually.” She clicked a button, and the image of Alastor reappeared next to you.

The demon was in the same position - his head slumped forward, his hair covering his face. He barely moved save for a moan here and there and the occasional rise of his chest to show he was breathing.

“You can’t capture Alastor’s image. He’s made that bloody impossible. So why not re-create him?” 

You noticed the twitch in Alastor’s form then - it was a hologram. No wonder your magic didn't connect with anything. Nothing was there but light manipulated to look like Alastor.

If he wasn't here, then...

“Where is he?” You demanded, your words slurring with the effort it took to move your mouth. The last hit was harder than the ones before, each compounding on top of the other to create greater damage than one shock could do alone. 

Velvette checked her phone screen, “Dead.” 

You didn’t even humor her with a fake laugh or a dumb look. “Don’t give me the bullshit, Velvette. Where is he?” Life came back to your fingers, their movement stiff and constrained. You forced them to move, hoping it would speed up the process somehow. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Velvette stood.

“Aww, do you really think I’m pretty?” You gritted. 

Velvette considered the thought. “Well, the black dress didn't make me want to barf..."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks..."

Spinning, Velvette called out, “Crim!" 

Wait, Crim?

No one answered.

Velvette looked confused. “Crim!” She called out again, but nothing happened.  

“Where the fuck did he…”

“Change of plans. Sweetheart,” Angel appeared at the edge of the landing above you, a giant piece of metal in hand. It kind of looked like a futuristic looking… bazooka? The spider demon kicked a tied and gagged Crim to the edge of the railing.

Hell, yes.

Velvette jumped back, putting ample space between you. You took the opportunity to force life into your body, attempting to push yourself into a seated position. 

“The bad boys are tied up,” Nifty poked her head out from behind the bar, dragging a shark demon out into the open by his fin. 

“Sorry!” Charlie and Vaggie appeared from behind the hot tub. Characteristically, the Princess apologized as a shark demon fell over, smacking his face against the tile. 

DING! Husk and Pentious appeared in the elevator, kicking three sharks to their knees, guns aimed at the back of their heads - Carmilla Carmine weapons. 

____________________________________________

(15 minutes ago)

“Angel, what ya’ got for me?” You trudged over to the spider demon, who had a hodgepodge of handwritten notes before him. 

“Confirmed with Odette, Velvette ain’t just using Crim as a third party to buy the weapons, she hired ‘em, like you suspected.” Angel ran his hands over his notes as he talked. “But get this, she ain’t just buying guns, she’s goin’ afta big stuff.” 

Angel handed you a paper. “An electric bazooka?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. 

Carmilla never told you about anything like this. 

“Vox apparently hired some of their engineers, been workin' on it for a while.” Angel crossed his arms and leaned back against the bar. "We’re walkin' into a trap." 

“So, we just bluff,” Husk appeared behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. 

“What?” You ask, grabbing the whiskey in his hand and trading it for water.

Husk stares you down but ultimately accepts the change without a fight. “Bluff, like in Poker,” He takes a swig. “Play like you got a good hand, even when you got a shit one. Make the other person fold before you lose and take the pot. It’s basic card skills.”

“Huh,” you thought, “that actually might work.”

“Hmm,” Angel pondered. “Ambush the ambush. Sounds kinda hot!”

Husk rolled his eyes. 

“Lucifer!” You yelled. The King jumped, clearly in deep conversation with Vaggie. “I have another idea.”

____________________________________________

(Now)

“Fuck yeah!” Lucifer flew over the edge of the building and dropped a pile of gang members onto the tile roof. “You just got fucked!”

“Dad!” Charlie groaned. “It’s ‘fucked up.” 

“Oh…” He cringed. 

Velvette’s team was surrounded. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before Velvette figured out it wasn’t you beneath the cloak. All she had to do was check her phone. So, if you somehow got caught while Lucifer was distracting Velvette, he was to sneak away and help Husk fly the rest of the team to the top few floors. Quietly and quickly, they’d take out the Crimson Mafia gang - thus ambushing the ambushers. 

Ignoring the pain in your torso, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your newly healed muscles screamed.

“It was over before it even started, Velvette. Where’s Alastor?” You demanded. 

“No!” She screamed. “It isn’t over.” She swiped something on her phone. “I had wanted to take my time killing you, but this will have to do.” 

Fuck, she was going to electrocute you to death. 

“No!” Charlie screamed. 

BOOM! 

In a panic, Angel did what anyone in his position would have done: he aimed the cannon and fired. A ball of electricity, larger than yourself, erupted from the barrel and was headed straight for Velvette. 

BEEP! BUZZ! BEEP! BUZZ! 

The watch around your wrist vibrated. And, because Vox had accounted for this, the projectile changed direction and headed straight for you. You had moments to dodge before it exploded beneath your feet, flinging you backward into the bar. Bottles of alcohol exploded, glass dug into your skin, and wood splintered around you as you smashed through the structure and went rolling toward the edge of the building.

The rooftop plunged into chaos as the Crim mafia gang took the opportunity to fight back. The world was a blur as you came to a stop, your mind spinning, your body stiff and immovable as your muscles convulsed. You must have bit your tongue because your mouth tasted of iron.  

“Ah!” Velvette screamed. The demon jumped atop you as the sound of bullets filled the air. “Fuckin’ bitch!” She pulled out the knife, preparing to slash your throat. 

But Nifty was faster. The small demon jumped atop Velvette’s hair and pulled. “Bad girl!” She screamed. 

The demon fell off you as the two of them tossled. 

Move! You need to move! You flooded your veins with magic but the fire did not burn life back into your body. 

Fuck. 

Think. Think. Think! If not fire, then… Wait! 

"…shut down the whole grid!" Angel's words echoed in your mind. "All of Pentagram City was plunged into fuckin' darkness!"

If this technology was partially developed by Vox, maybe it had some similarities to his magic system.

Digging down deep, you grabbed that connection and pulled. Green static erupted over your skin, loosening your muscles and lessening the convulsions overtaking your body.

It was working! 

You pulled harder, allowing the magic to explode from within you. The static breathed new life into your body, even going as far as stitching your healing muscles into strong fiber throughout your torso. You soon found yourself able to move, your body in even better health than before Velvette gutted you weeks ago. Moving onto your hands and knees, you sucked down a mouthful of air, your body finally your own again. 

Jesus H. Christ, do not get hit by another one of those!

Nifty managed to get ahold of Velvette’s phone and tossed it over the side. 

“No!” The demon crawled to the edge, screaming in vain as the cell phone plunged to the streets below. 

You grabbed the Overlord by the collar of her shirt and lugged her to her feet. Your yellow eyes shined as the green magic enveloped your form. You could see the confusion in Velvette’s eyes, confusion at the control you now had over the magic which didn’t belong to you.

“Tell me or the next thing that drops sixty stories is you,” you could feel the power boiling, Alastor’s magic festering. 

His magic was angry and so were you. 

“You wouldn’t dare, bitch,” Velvette dug her nails into your forearm, her nails piercing your skin where the leather was thinnest.

“Try me,” the magic surged, pulsed as if fueled by the anger. 

At the other end of the line you felt something push back, like a surge of magic calling out to you. While Velvette considered her options, you pushed back and felt something similar to a door open. 

A heart beat. A breath. It was Alastor calling out to you in the same way you had tried to do before you left the Hotel for V Tower. 

He was alive and he was angry. You might not know where he is, but he felt okay physically. Just extremely pissed off. 

The static boiled, growing in power as a green aura emanated from you. You felt the shadows beneath your feet move, swirling about your ankles in anticipation of the murder you were about to commit. 

“Velvette,” you garnered her attention, your voice almost sounding static-y, “last chance,” you swung her body over the edge, her feet dangling off the roof. 

The fight behind her eyes shifted, “No.” she smiled.

CLICK! 

You didn’t have to turn around to know the barrel end of a gun was pressed to the back of your head. You didn’t have to look to know it was Crim who wielded it.

“Put the boss lady down, gently,” the Mafia Boss commanded. 

The static sizzled across your skin as you felt your demon form break through. Horns grew from your head, a sharp tail uncurled from your backside, and the sclera of your eyes turned red. 

The fangs in your mouth sharpened as you smiled. You had a better idea. 

You grabbed Velvette around the middle and jumped. 

You summoned your wings as you fell, but unlike the last time you found yourself falling from this building, you didn’t aim for the cement. Instead, you pulled up at the last second - much to Velvette’s terror - and threw the Overlord onto the ground. Not enough to break anything, but enough to rough her up a bit. 

You needed Velvette alive and put together enough to give you the information you needed - for now. 

Spinning, you prepared to ascend the Tower to solve your little Crim problem when two large booms echoed throughout the streets. 

Someone had fired two shots, honed in for your bracelet. If you were a gambling Angel you’d put your money on Crim.

Velvette cackled as you took flight, aiming for Heaven’s Clocktower. You watched the two balls of electricity bank as you turned, following you in circles about the plaza. 

Shit, these things could maneuver… but how well? 

You got an idea. 

The Entertainment District has the largest buildings in town and as such you often found yourself flying through what felt like a maze night after night. It was the perfect place to lose the two missiles on your tail. 

The first one was easy to lose. Heading from the Clocktower, you aimed for the first large building you came across. Banking hard right, you cut the turn so sharp your wing brushed the glass of the building. Taking a complete 180• turn, you headed right back for the Clocktower as the first ball exploded into the side of the glass building. 

Shards rained down like acid behind you, showering the streets below. 

The second one wasn’t so easily deterred, almost as if it had learned from the first. It didn’t sit as closely on your tail, and thus had more time to maneuver as you took the turns. 

Soon it became obvious, the thing wasn’t going to quit. Fuck. You were hyperventilating, your face drenched in sweat, your wings cramping with the effort. You hadn’t flown in battle in what…? Since before the Age of Man? Your skit with the Leviathans maybe… at least your torso was holding up. Whatever Alastor’s static had done, it healed you, leaving behind nothing but a scar.

Fuck, what to do what to do!? 

You craned your neck over your wing to catch a glimpse of the ball of blue electricity and that’s when you noticed the trail of green static following you across the sky. The sparks danced over your feathers and dissipated as they fell, like the trail on a shooting star. It was beautiful. 

Alastor’s magic: the one person Vox’s electricity can’t take down. 

Shit. Okay. Flight wasn’t working, so maybe it was time for fight. 

You dug across the connection, throwing open the door to find an entire well of magic you didn’t know was there. Yet this magic was warm, smelled of the deep forest after rain, tasted of rye in your mouth… You took hold of this magic and used it to fuel the static drifting off your wings. 

You had one shot at this, better make it count.

You soared skyward, till you were higher than V Tower. Then you fell. You spun so the ball of electricity was in front of you, your back to Pentagram City below. Grabbing hold of Alastor’s magic, you created a ball of magic of your own, composed entirely of Alastor’s static. 

Then you threw it forward. It collided with the ball of blue energy and exploded in the sky, raining down blue and green sparks across the sky. 

“Yes!” You cheered, safely making your way to the ground. You landed on the edge of Cannibal Town and the Entertainment District. 

“Holy shit, that actually worked!” You laughed in disbelief. “Now for this piece of shit.” You concentrated the magic in your wrist and fried the watch. “Fuck you, Vox!” You ripped the watch off, gritting in pain as the hooks sliced through your skin.

The metal fell to the ground with a thud. Alastor’s static concentrated on your wrist, the green dancing across your wound. You watched the skin restitch itself and settle into a set of fresh scars.

Was this Alastor’s doing or some sort of acceleration of your blood’s natural healing abilities? Did Alastor’s magic amplify it somehow?

So many questions… Hopefully Alastor had answers because this was so weird. Sharing his magic…? What did that mean?

“Oh - !” There was a tug behind your navel so strong it knocked you back a step.

What the fuck was that? 

Another tug, this one even stronger. You braced yourself as orange and mint flooded your nostrils. 

The third tug knocked you onto your ass, but it was the feeling the card gave you that finally helped you to understand - Alastor was using his obsidian calling card to summon you and he had used his own blood. 

Which meant two things: 1. Alastor was desperate and 2. You knew where to find him. 

Without so much a second thought you took off heading for the Entertainment District. 

You landed at the base of V Tower the same moment a blur of black and blue went whizzing past you. Briefly, you registered the flying blurb as Vox - no, wait, he wasn’t flying. Vox had been thrown. 

The media demon went slamming into a bloodied Velvette, the two of them went flying across the cement before coming to a stop in a pile of blood, broken bones, and wire. 

Before you had a chance to register what was going on, a portal opened up about twenty feet away from you. The Hotel team came flooding out, weapons raised, prepared for a fight, but paused when they saw something behind you. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Alastor?” You breathed, your entire body going rigid as you turned and…

A body slammed into you, warm and familiar. Alastor threaded his fingers through your hair, the other coming to rest at your back as he pulled you into him. His lips came crashing down on yours before you got a proper look at the demon. 

It took your mind a moment to register what was going on, a moment before you were up on your toes, your arms around his neck, your body melting into him. 

God, he tasted like blood and rye. His scent woeing you in a sea of iron and rain. Alastor was a wall of steel, holding you so fiercely - as if you might disappear in his arms. 

The shadows about his feet danced - Rolf was okay too. 

The demon came up for air, but he didn’t back away. Alastor kept his forehead on yours, his grip tightening around you, as he spoke, “Mon couer.”

My heart.

He didn’t have to say anything more. You understood. You were a perfect mirror image to the things he had been feeling and to the relief you both now expressed.

He was okay. Alastor was okay. 

“What happened?” Was all you could manage to say before your voice broke and the ugly tears fell. “I thought they had you. I thought…”

“Shhhh,” Alastor shushed your tears, using his thumb to wipe away the water from your cheek. “I know.” 

“Velvette was going to…”

“I understand,” he kissed your forehead. 

“I didn’t know what else to do...” You choked. You grabbed onto the lapels of his now destroyed jacket. “Please, Alastor… Don’t leave me.”

The demon smiled softly, your face in his hands, “Never again.”

He embraced you, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you. 

Charlie approached you slowly, hesitant to ruin the moment but also so, so worried. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Perfectly fine, Princess. Seems Vox found it pertinent to occupy my time in the Doomsday District.”

A memory flashed in your mind…

“Well hello there little pet, where’s your master?”

“Like Hell I would tell you anything!”

“So he’s still making chaos in the Doomsday District then? That answers that question…”

Fucking Vox.

“Is she okay?” Charlie asked. You could hear the emotion in her voice.

The demon smiled into your hair.

Then, Alastor did something that would shock you for years to come, he opened an arm and invited her in. The Princess wrapped her arms around the two of you and soon, so did the rest of the Hotel Natives - minus Lucifer. The King had been standing there dumbfounded the moment Alastor kissed you. 

Wow, he really did not like him. 

“This isn’t over!” Vox yelled. He was bloodied and bruised, as was Velvette who was helping him limp over to your little cuddle fest. 

Alastor had some fun while you were fighting the electricity across Pentagram City.

“Hmmm,” Alastor hummed. The group disbanded, taking a step behind you and the Overlord. “That is where you are wrong, old pal.” 

The Radio Demon persona slammed back into place. He summoned his cane and twirled, before resting his hands atop it. Although he was in complete disarray, there was still an elegance which he held that Vox did not.

You made a mental note of the lack of shark demons coming to the Overlords’ rescue. Crim probably realized they were losing and hightailed it out of there. No worries, you’d pay the imp a visit later…

“Kill them?” You asked Alastor.

Alastor’s eyes lit up in amusement. “No, death is too good for them. The punishment is far more fun if they have to live with their humiliation.” The demon smiled, his lips curling at the edge. 

“So then,” You looked to Alastor for permission. You wanted to show off for him, if he’d let you. “Unplug him?” 

The demon tipped his head back and laughed, “After you, ma cherie.” 

You took a step forward and summoned Alastor’s magic. Green waves of static licked your form as you dug deep into that well. 

“Hey, Vox,” you smiled. 

The demon stopped, his eyes bouncing from yours to Alastor’s. The demon’s screen glitched. “You're dating him now!?” 

You rolled your eyes, “Vox, we never dated. We went on one date and it was horrible.” 

Another glitch. “What!?” 

“Are you two seriously going to talk about this now?” Velvette groaned. 

“I was miserable. You’re a lousy date.” He was buffering, his screen going staticy as you felt Alastor’s magic reacting to Vox’s weaknesses. 

“And, you’re a terrible kisser,” you smiled. 

Vox shoved off Velvette and took a few wobbly steps forward. You were pretty sure his ankle was broken. “Now listen here, you little…”

“Uh-ah-ah!” You tutted. “I wasn’t done.” You closed the gap, and leaned in to whisper something in Vox’s ear. 

The media demon exploded, his screen shifting from lost signal to his face to static to random colors. He fell backward into Velvette, who barely managed to catch him. 

The cameras around you exploded, light bulbs popped, and storefront windows cracked. 

And soon, the entirety of Pentagram City was plunged into darkness. 

“Rolf,” you summoned the shadow. “Will you please take out the trash?” 

The shadow smiled at you, his horns curling, before he whisked Velvette and a short-circuiting Vox off into the night. 

And it was finally over. 

Alastor came up behind you and ran his hand through the static - it tickled, actually. The demon was absolutely mesmerized. “You are beautiful in red, ma cherie,” He cupped your chin, his thumb running across your lower lip. “But green suits you far better than I could have imagined.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I told him…”

Alastor used his thumb to stop your lips, his eyes darkening. “I know what you said, ma cherie.”

Rolf swirled at your feet. The little snoop was eavesdropping.

Your face turned red. “Vox got a little close on our date. Not my fault that I could feel everything.”

Vox was all over you when he kissed you… It wasn’t long, but it was enough to know…

“Is it true?” Alastor’s eyes couldn’t leave your lips, his mind transfixed on their shape, their feel, the way they moved when you talked.

Ha! There’s the narcissist in him.

“Yes, Alastor,” you smirked. “You are much bigger.”

The static pulsed, reacting to the delight spreading across Alastor’s face, but you forced it down, forced the magic back behind its door. Now was not the time nor the place to get carried away. Especially considering you practically leveled a building the last time you and Alastor... got into it.

Actually, now was time for something else - a conversation you were dreading.

“Alastor,” you collected his hand in yours, “I need… I want to tell you everything.” 

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, shall we?” Alastor smiled, holding out his elbow for you to take. 

The demon wasn’t done with your previous conversation. “I want to hear more about what you think of me.” He smirked, his grin lopsided. That look always meant trouble. “And perhaps discover how you look dressed only in my static.”

Jesus… Did you - via standing up to Vox using Alastor’s magic and utterly humiliating the media demon - inadvertently turn Alastor on? You sniffed. Vanilla, Alastor smelled of warm vanilla… Your face was pink before, but now it was bright red.

This was an opportunity you were not going to let slip away. You wrapped your arm in his…

“Mikaela?” Lucifer took a step forward interrupting the moment.  

Your entire body went still. 

Vaggie did a double take, “Wait. Mikaela as in Mikaela Morningstar, the Archangel?”

Your arm. Velvette scratched your arm - she cut the rune Stolas drew onto your arm! 

Slowly, you turned to face Lucifer - your brother. The Angel took a few steps forward, his confusion turning to hurt. 

“Mikaela.” He frowned. There was so much sadness reflected in those eyes it made your throat swell with emotion. 

“Lulu, I’m so sorry,” your voice broke. 

“Wait, hold up.” Angel raised an arm. “When yous told me ya were a head honcho in Heaven, I just figured you were an Angel manager or some shit, but the General of God’s armies? That doesn’t make any sense. I thought Michael was a dude?” 

“No,” Charlie stepped in, her face one of disbelief. She’s never technically met any of her father’s family and yet here you were all along. “Humans changed it.”

“Changed it?” Angel shook his head. “How do you fuckin’ change the fact that he is a she!?”

“Humans are patriarchal assholes,” Vaggie butted in, one arm wrapped around Charlie - whether to hold her back or comfort her, you didn’t know. Either way, the Ex-Exorcist was thoroughly irritated. “Can’t handle a woman being in a position of power, not to mention a warrior - the fucking warrior.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Angel agreed. 

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer asked. The King didn’t dare step closer. If anything, he moved in front of Charlie. 

Did he think you were going to hurt her? You would never!

“Dad…” Your voice broke just by saying his name. “... sent me to Earth to take care of something. It went… wrong.” 

Fuck how do you explain!?

“I couldn’t - can’t - go back.” You corrected yourself. Your eyes flit between him and Charlie. “I am not here to hurt her.” Your vision blurred with silent tears. “I would never hurt her, Lucifer.” 

Your brother’s face changed, his eyes hardening. He stood at his full height, an arm held out to prevent Charlie from stepping forward or say anything. 

“You can smell deceit, Lucifer.” You both could - family trait. “You know I’m not lying.” 

Lucifer swallowed dryly, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze fell to his feet, the gears behind his eyes turning. He was deciding what to do about you. 

“I had nowhere else to go.” You continued. 

“Dad?” Charlie tested the waters. 

“Don’t, Charlie,” He snapped. “Just don’t.” The Angel, unsure of how exactly to react, how to think, or how to feel about you, turned and started walking away. 

Your heart broke at the sight of him walking down the street alone, abandoning you, just as you abandoned him. You took a step forward to go after him, but Charlie beat you to it. 

“Dad!” She called out as she ran after him. The two of them disappeared around the corner, heading for the Hotel. 

You looked to the group, but their eyes were on Alastor as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us. I believe Mikaela and I have some catching up to do.”

Fuck. 

Husk shot you a look, his eyes asking if he should say something, if he should step in - ever the protective father figure that he was. You shook your head and let Rolf shadow you away. 

____________________________________________

“Are you okay?” The demon asked as you appeared in the Nothing. Pentagram City was a dot in the distance, a glowing presence on the edge of a sea of black dirt. 

You wrapped your arms around your middle, attempting to metaphorically and physically keep yourself together. 

Fuck, you didn’t care about how you were doing. You cared about how Lucifer was doing. The way he just walked away like that… He turned his back on you just as you did him. God, how could you live with yourself? 

“Sit,” Alastor commanded, his voice oddly absent of static. He summoned a chair from the Void and forced you into it, pushing down on your shoulders. 

You were numb - that was the best way to explain it. Your body and feelings were numb. 

Alastor knelt before you, one hand on your knee as he attempted to catch your eye. You couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the memory you shared on the balcony after you were injured. He attempted to comfort you then just as he was now, but the difference was he held so many questions in his gaze. 

No more running. 

“It’s a long story,” you scoffed, still in disbelief. 

Alastor’s face remained neutral, his emotions unreadable. “I have all the time in the world.”

Surprise! You get two chapters today! Go! Go! Go!

-> Link to Chapter Thirteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto

[quitesins]

𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Masterlist | Ao3

Bakugou x fem!reader

Tags: 18+, NSFW, Smut, Oneshot, pwp lol, aged up bakugou, pro hero bakugou, established-but-early-relationship, soft dom katsuki, soft fic in general, reader wears Dynamight themed lingerie

“Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours.”

Your relationship is by no means a secret, but it’s in it’s earlier stages, so the sudden pda surprises him. He welcomes it, a little flustered, and brings himself close to let you whisper.

“I have something to show you.” 

His eyes lift in amusement and curiosity. Then he nods and turns to you. 

Bakugou pays no mind to the eye rolls of his friends, the childish ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from Kaminari, all he can focus is on you. The dim lights look good on your skin, illuminating you, pretty like a picture. 

His eyes flick to your hair, there’s two mimic explosions clipped in, like his own uniform’s. Cute , he thinks, before finally taking your hand and letting you lead the way. 

He ruffles your hair as the two of you walk, smirking to himself. “What’s this?” 

You simply shrug with your own subtle smirk. “You’ll see.”

You don’t give away a thing as he drives to your flat. Even when his free hand dances over your thighs, you keep them closed with a mischievous smile. 

Tugging him along, with his hand in yours, you push him gently into your room. You tell him to sit. He raises an eyebrow at your command but listens. 

You don’t sit with him, which he finds a little odd. Oftentime he’s in your bed- it’s beside you, despite the space seeming too tiny for a man like him. But he waits patiently anyways. While you skip around, looking for something. 

When you do find the object of your searches, it’s a little remote. One for your lights, he notes. With a few clicks, the room suddenly becomes dark, fluorescent in its glow. He huffs a small laugh, seeing where this is going.

“Ok now watch me.” He thinks the way you speak is almost innocently eager. Although he understands the intent, he can’t help but find it sweet. “Don’t laugh!”

“M’not!” Katsuki raises his hands in jest, letting you continue.

As you begin to strip, he watches with a knowing grin. 

“You wanted to fuck?” He muses playfully. “Is that it?”

Your eyes roll. “Just wait for it.”

Soon he sees the expanse of your skin, covered in something- oh.

It isn’t often Katsuki is rendered speechless, even through fear and defeat, it tends to come with a million curses. But there he sits, mouth agape, in utter silence.

It’s like you’re draped in him. Black lace coats your breasts, with orange criss-crossed atop. As your trousers slip, he nearly groans when he sees the garters on your thighs, fashioned like his own. Have you been wearing this the entire time? 

“F-fuck.” He finally lets out, breathy, probably not even realising he has. His eyes glow in genuine awe.

“Like it?” Your words are playful as you give a quick twirl. Posing even, making your skin crease against itself, looking so soft and pliable. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. He doesn’t say anything either, too mesmerised by the sight.

Your expression falters for a moment in hesitation but he doesn’t let it simmer, raising his arms and beckoning you to the bed. 

“Come here, pretty girl.” 

And you do, sultry as you walk to take seat, in his lap.  

The weight of you on top of him is familiar, yet it feels so new. Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours. 

His eyes latch onto your breasts, how they fill out your bra so perfectly, stretching the orange X across your chest. By now, he’d already have a tit in his mouth, sucking harsh to satiate his growing oral fixation. However this time, he lets his fingers run across the lace. He feels you shiver when he goes over the slight bump where your nipple hardens, and groans. 

“I guess you do like it?” You ask impishly, knowing you don’t need an answer. 

“Of course I fuckin’ like it,” he huffs, bringing himself to kiss you.

The kiss is strangely gentle, a little calculated even. He can taste the cold of the gum you had been chewing, while his hands work carefully to tug your bra down. He could easily unclip it, having done so many times before, but he wants to see it on you. So he pulls it down, stifling another groan when he watches your breasts spill out. He creates a trail with his kisses, past your neck, to your collar, and then to where he wishes to be most.

It’s with a tentative lick, does he let himself taste you. He rolls your nipple around in his mouth, lightly, but tugging here and there. You react so prettily for him, taking sharp breaths that edge close to whines. You even start to subtly push yourself down onto him, whether you realise it or not, aching for any friction. He wants to stop you, to savour you, but it’s difficult when you look so needy.

“Relax for me sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin. “Let’s take it slow.”

Katsuki doesn’t have to look up to know you’re a flustered mess. 

You listen, as you always do. Even when your brain starts to melt, you always listen. And that shoots another wave of heat through him. How can he be in control of himself with a girl as gorgeous as you so ready, so pliant, so obedient. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Get on the bed for me?”

With you splayed out against your sheets, his eyes aren’t even sure where to look. The cute face that stares back at him. The tits that look too perfect to be real. Or the dampening spot between your thighs, that he can practically taste from where he sits.

“You’re too…” Unsure of how to even word himself, his voice trails off. Instead he opts in showing you. 

Using his hands to caress you, his lips settle on yours again. This time, when he paints his kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop to where your breasts still call for him. Rather, he keeps going, passing where his hands hold your waist. The sensation is strange, you jostle- feeling ticklish, and he continues to mouth against the bare skin. 

When he reaches the green strap that digs into your hip, he’s tempted to lift it, just to watch it snap. And he does. He’s slave to his desires after all. When he looks up, you pout indignantly, but he can see how your pout holds back a smile. 

“Had to.” He shrugs smugly and continues.

Soon his tongue is slipping over the fabric itself, soothing where it snapped. His breath is so warm and it’s hard for you to stay still. So he holds you a little firmer.

It’s especially hard when he gets to your thighs. His fingers sink into them so tenderly, circling the skin where your garters lay. For a moment he wonders where you even found such a thing, of course not complaining.

“Can’t believe you’d do all this for me.” Humming, he slinks up and down your legs, making sure no part of you is left untouched.

“Wanted-” You breathe. “Wanted to look pretty for you.”

He stills as he reaches your hip, frowning. “Always look pretty to me.”

Through kisses he speaks, so earnest. “Always-” Kiss. “So-” Kiss. “Perfect-” Kiss. “For me.”

You can’t even reply with your own fluster, Katsuki catching you off guard as he parts your thighs.

He looks at where the fabric of your underwear clings to you, stickied by your own lust. He gulps. It’s pure sin. Pure fucking sin. And he hasn’t even seen you yet. 

A wiggle of your hips breaks him from his stupor. When you look at him, you expect eyes of ravenous hunger and dangerous desire, but instead you are gifted with the view of a man so innocent in his awe.

“Something else.” He shakes his head, like he can’t fathom the sight. “You’re something else.”

When he does go to rid you of your underwear, he’s a little stuttered with his undressing. He pulls them down slowly, getting caught onto the garter. Then, frustrated, tears through them. Finally, you’re free, all for him to see.

His touch is timid. Again, like it’s his first time. He feels he should just give you what your body begs for, but he can’t. His own shyness too much to push through. 

“Want me to open you up?” 

The shake of your head widens his eyes.

“No, I want you, even if it hurts.” 

The words should be filthy, should give him perfect avenue to taunt and tease. Yet all it does is make him swallow his moan, cock aching terribly at the thought of sinking into you, so raw and untouched. 

Although he knows it’s best to give you the warm up, he can’t deny your request.

“If that’s what my girl wants.”

He’s quick to take his shirt off, and then his trousers. Probably looking like an eager fool but he didn’t care. He just needed to be inside of you. 

His cock springs up as soon as it is freed from his boxers. Choosing to ignore the wet patch where his tip leaked, he palms himself slightly. There’s no reason to, he’s already harder than he’s ever been.

Katsuki gulps when he brings himself to you, taking in the sight one last time. He looks at how your breasts, covered in his marks, are cupped by the bra of his colours. He watches as your chest rises and falls, comfortingly. He even takes a second glance at the clips, messy, but still stuck into your hair cutely. 

“Katsuki please.” 

He nods. And finally pushes in.

The feeling is devastating .

You’re soft, and tight, and the further he sinks in, the more his head starts to spin. So devilishly wet, so angelically warm. He feels a little debauched in how much pleasure he takes from the simple act of being sheathed by you. He hasn’t even had the thought to move. 

He feels as you hold your breath. It makes a part of him twinge in sympathy, but he knows if he stops- you’d hate it even more.

“Breathe for me sweetheart.”

With a few heavy but needed breaths, he lets himself pull out, hissing as he does. That slight friction is enough to have him almost keeling, but he continues. You’re no better, looking up at him with eyes so full of desire. 

He pushes back in, hearing the noises of your bodies intertwined. Your heat is engulfing. So much so, the thought of pulling out pains him. 

When he does pull out once more, it’s slow but he’s quick to find a rhythm that works. 

It’s a sweet and slow back and fourth, an ebb and flow of the two of you tangled as one. Synchronised in the same pleasure. There are words unsaid. Thoughts unspoken. Yet nothing is hidden. Nothing is not shared. 

When you whine, he already knows what you want. He’s heard the same sound a million times before but it never fails to leave him dizzy.

“I know baby, I know.” He comforts, still not giving into your pleads. You were too good to rush. He wanted to relish every second.

Responding by wrapping your arms around him, he smiles. Still so compliant. He lets your nails dig into his skin, then hisses because he likes it. In turn his thrusts become deeper, and you seem to like that.

You clench around him too many times to count, his own growing tightness following to bring him close. The room fills with the sounds of touching skin and lusty moans. It’d be a miracle if no one could hear, if no one could tell what was happening behind the thin walls of your apartment. 

Katsuki grits his teeth when you nuzzle into his neck, you always get so clingy when you’re about to come. He isn’t any better, pushing himself closer and closer. 

The tightness in his abdomen starts to get too much. He even struggles to keep up with his own thrusts, growing erratic with each push. Your body doesn’t help either, moulding so perfectly around him, squeezing each time he presses against that spot he knows all too well. 

“Come with me baby- fuck-“ The words tumble out of Katsuki. “Come with me Angel.”

You reply only with the frantic nods of your head, arms wrapping tighter around him, legs doing the same. Not only does your heat embrace him, but your entire form does too. It’s too much. 

The two of you break.  

With skin pressed so close, unable to tell where he ends and you start, you both come with shattering pleasure. It ripples between you, like a pebble dropped in water, stretching out your orgasms till you shake and cry.  

His arms wrap around you, comforting, protective. You shiver in his hold, body jellied from everything, and he strokes your hair out your face, soothing with each touch. 

“You okay-” he croaks, throat groggy. “Baby, talk to me?”

You only nod, but he wants to hear you so he pulls himself off and switches your positions. Rested on his chest, he cups your chin and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are watery and your smile is shaky, but he knows as much as you, you’re in nothing but bliss. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his chest. “Liked it… a lot.”

“So, the gentle stuff huh?” He speaks, a little guiltily. If he knew how good it would be to take his time with you, he’d have done it a million times before.

You breathe out a little laugh. “I like anything.” He can feel your smile against his skin. “As long as it’s you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” huffing, he turns, unable to keep the sickly smile off his face. “So fucking sappy.”

“I love you.” You’re unrestrained with your words, too sleepy to care. 

Katsuki softens, then presses a kiss to your forehead. He whispers his own confessions and closes his eyes. 

He knows soon you’ll feel too sticky to stay comfortable, to hot to be in bed- but for now, with you on his chest, he lets himself rest.

This is my third time posting, if it don’t work I’m exploding myself into a billion pieces.

[ladykailitha]

Batshit Soulmates Part 1

Yay! We have finally got to the meat of the story. And oh boy do Steve and Eddie go through it.

In Medias Res| Prologue|

***

Steve wanted nothing to do with Eddie Munson. Never had, never would. But Dustin was like a brother to him, and he would move heaven and earth to make sure the kid was safe. And he knew all too well that if he didn’t tag along, Dustin would get himself and anyone who went with him in trouble. Possibly hurt or worse. So he offered to drive.

They arrived at Reefer Rick’s place and Steve led the way. They tried the house first, but the lights were off and no one seemed to be home.

Steve was close to strangling Dustin as he kept yelling the worst possible things. But they tried the boathouse next.

He looked around but couldn’t see any drug dealing, D&D playing nerds, so he grabbed an oar that was leaning against the wall. The last thing he needed was to touch something and have it rip his arm off. He poked at the tarp.

What happened next, Steve wasn’t sure was a good or a bad thing. But it was certainly the most interesting thing that had happened to him in all of his life. And that was including finding Robin or the monster coming out of the wall at the Byers house.

The tarp ripped open and suddenly he was being slammed into the wall, a broken bottle placed to his throat. He knew that there was no way to get the leverage he needed to swing the oar to defend himself. And that’s when he felt it. He could feel the jagged edge of the bottle piercing his throat, threatening to draw blood. But he could also feel a burning on his forearm.

“Eddie!” Dustin cried out, suddenly afraid. “This is Steve. He isn’t going to hurt you.”

Steve gulped. That was certainly true. At least until they talked, anyway. He looked into Eddie’s frightened eyes and knew that Eddie wouldn’t hurt him either. But he was scared.

“Steve drop the oar!” Dustin instructed.

Steve threw the oar away. “See? I’m not armed anymore. Can you let me go?”

Eddie pushed the bottle further into Steve’s throat.

And Dustin, Robin, and Max all gasped in alarm.

“Hey, Eddie,” Dustin continued to try and soothe the scared boy. “This is Robin, you remember her from band? And this is Max. She the one that doesn’t like D&D, but she still cool.”

But nothing seemed to be working and everyone leaned forward expect the worst, when Steve spoke up.

“Eds, man,” Steve said softly. “Is–is your right arm burning all of sudden?”

“What the hell kind of strategy is that?” Robin squeaked.

But Eddie’s eyes flicked down to the arm that was holding the bottle and then back up to Steve.

He didn’t answer, but that was enough for Steve.

“Just let me pull up my sleeve,” he continued, his eyes still wild with fear. “I’ll show you, I’m safe.”

Max frowned but when she looked over at Robin and Dustin, they didn’t look confused. They looked shocked.

Robin was whispering “Oh my god, oh my god,” over and over. And Dustin was covering his broad smile with both of his hands.

She looked back over at Steve and Eddie and still didn’t understand what was going on.

Steve slowly pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket and tore off his soul patch, throwing it to the ground.

Max gasped. She knew what was happening now and she couldn’t believe it.

Eddie looked down at Steve’s arm. There it was: four stylized bats that were glowing bright red. His eyes flashed up to Steve’s again and said through a clenched jaw, “Why the fuck is mine a nail bat?”

“Oh my god!” Robin squeaked. “Max go get it from the trunk. He needs to see this.”

Steve pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed her direction, praying it wouldn’t land in the water.

But Max caught them and dashed out of the boathouse. They all waited on baited breath. Because Eddie wasn’t going to let Steve go without knowing the meaning behind his soulmark.

Max came running back inside. “Steve! Catch!”

Eddie turned around to face her, letting the other boy go. Steve caught the bat before it even got close to either of their faces. Eddie’s eyes were wide for a different reason now.

He dropped the bottle and stepped back, everyone else breathing a sigh of relief. “Why the fuck do you have a nail bat, Harrington?”

Steve slumped against the wall and slid down it, holding the nail bat tightly in both hands, it was straight up. Like a knight holding a sword.

Dustin got between them and moved Eddie to sit down on a nearby crate, while Robin was at Steve’s side checking to see if the bottle had cut him.

It hadn’t. But he let her fuss over him, because they both needed the reassurance that he was, in fact, okay.

Eddie pulled off his leather jacket and ripped off his own soul patch. He had a couple of tattoos on his arm. One he had done himself, but the other? The other was a soulmark that throbbed bright red. It was Steve’s nail bat, no doubt.

“Bats,” Steve giggled manically. “Our soulmarks are bats.”

Eddie cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question, Harrington.”

Dustin grimaced. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

Robin and Max nodded emphatically.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know, not after what I saw. It was horrible.”

Suddenly Steve was on his feet and at Eddie’s side in a heartbeat. “I have a feeling we would be the only ones that would understand, Eds.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath, but started talking. He told them about Chrissy and the drug deal. He talked about her nightmares and how lost she seemed when he was nice to her. He talked about how scared she had been in her final moments. And how he ran when she started to twist in a horrible, unnatural way. How she died screaming.

“I can’t get her screams out of my head, man,” Eddie whimpered. “Why her? Why me?”

“We don’t know,” Robin said. “But we’ve done this before.”

Eddie stared at her in shock.

Steve nodded. “Three years for Dustin and I, although he has about a week up on me. Two years for Max. And one year for Robin.”

“Three–three years?” Eddie stammered. “What the fuck?”

“Since Will Byers vanished,” Dustin said sadly.

Eddie closed his eyes. Both Wayne and he had volunteered to help look for the boy and Wayne had been among those that found the fake body. He nodded before opening his eyes.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

Steve knelt in front of him and touched his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

*

Steve was having a panic attack. That was the only thing he could think of when he started to hyperventilate outside of his house after dropping everyone off at home. They needed to get Eddie some food and explain things properly to him, but all that consumes Steve is the refrain of: He’s my soulmate. He’s my soulmate. He’s my soulmate. Over and over.

Tears threatened to fall from his cheeks. A boy was his soulmate. He didn’t care, but his dad would. Dustin and Max seemed fine with it. Hell, Dustin was practically bouncing in his seat all the way home. Berating Steve for not meeting Eddie sooner. If only Steve had listened to him he wouldn’t have struck out with so many girls.

Steve dropped him off first just to stop the constant stream of his monologue and then Max. As he was pulling away from Forest Hills Robin touched his shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked gently.

He didn’t know if he was ever going be. Because his forearm still burned, still glowed dark red. In fact it was getting darker and more painful the further he got from Eddie.

“I think we’re perfect mates,” Steve ground out through the thick pain lancing through his arm. “A true pair.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. Like only a hundred of those are born every generation.”

He pulled up his sleeve to show her. She took his arm gingerly and ran her fingers over the dark soul mark.

“I don’t think you could have found a worst time to meet him,” she said softly.

Steve nodded.

Robin kissed his cheek and inside her house, leaving Steve to drive home alone with his thoughts.

So that brought him to where he was now. Having a mental breakdown in front of his empty house. He knew that he was going to have to compartmentalize. Which was something he was pretty damn good at. It just was shit timing. But before he could do that, he knew he had to work through the shock of his soulmate being a boy.

Usually he would talk to Robin about this, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. After all, Vickie was her soulmate, the girl just wasn’t interested in being with Robin. She would rather chase after some boy who had already go off to college and was likely cheating on her with who knows how many girls. So how could Steve gush about his soulmate when hers didn’t want her? He wasn’t an ass. Or at least not anymore.

Steve finally got out of the car and opened the door to his house, half expecting his parents to come storming out of one of the rooms demanding where he’d been. But the house was silent. As it always was these days. He toed off his shoes in front of the door, suddenly not caring if it blocked anyone from coming in. Maybe that was a good thing.

He didn’t want to be disturbed while he wallowed in his misery.

A boy. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever assume his soulmate wasn’t a girl. Not even once did even consider it wouldn’t be someone with soft curves and pouty lips. Steve scoffed. He supposed he got the pouty lips. Just no curves. Only curls. He closed his eyes and threw himself bodily onto the sofa to wallow.

Steve threw his arm over his head and sighed. Was he attracted to boys? He knew that being soulmates didn’t necessarily include sex or whatever, but he always assumed that his soulmate would fill every aspect of his life and not just being someone he could rely on.

And there lied the other crux of the problem. Could he rely on Eddie?

Eddie Munson: metalhead, two-time super senior, drug dealer, goofball. Nothing like the person Steve imagined growing up. Someone who was an equal, who would help him with their kids.

Kids! Shit. There went that, too. They would have to adopt if they even got that far. Steve could taste the bile that rose from his throat. But he forced it down and let out a deep breath. He just had to readjust his thinking is all. Instead of focusing on the negative.

He sat up and really thought about Eddie as his soulmate. He already knew that Eddie got along good with Steve’s little nuggets. Three of them were in his club, for fuck’s sake. And from what Dustin had said was really impressed with Erica. So that was four of his kids that liked Eddie. Or at least tolerated him in Erica’s case. That was something.

That was something else. He had taken in Lucas, Mike, and Dustin when they were lost little freshmen with no clue how to navigate high school. Of course things between Lucas and Eddie may have soured a bit over last night’s game. And while Steve wasn’t in any clubs, he had grown up watching his mother plan party after party.

Rule number one was at least three days notice of canceling unless something had literally come up that day. Which Steve knew wasn’t the case with the championship game. Lucas knew a week in advance what was coming and chickened out telling Eddie. So that situation made for bad blood all around.

But as Steve sat there he could tally up more good things about Eddie then bad. And as for the attraction, well...he had just described the other boy as having pouty lips and soft curls, so maybe he wasn’t as straight as he thought he was.

He thought back to the big brown eyes and quivering hands. And yeah, maybe Steve was more attracted than he thought.

All right crisis...well not averted. Because he was still in the middle of some shit. But managed he supposed. Now all he needed to was make sure his stupid soulmate made it out of this alive. And you know, clear him of a murder charge.

But that was a problem for future Steve, current Steve needed food and god damned nap.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @oxidantdreamboat @mogami13 @samsoble @xandriumbat

[diorsluv]

feather , part 19

“ you act like a bitch ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

missseraphina

liked by lhughes_06 and 674 others

missseraphina not quite golden hour but you make it feel like it anyway 🌅

view all comments

username16 i’m gagging.

username47 fuck no lmaooo

username3 so cringe

username92 luke isn’t even commenting he’s only liking her posts 😭😭

→ username96 i knowww like this has got to be the most embarrassing thing i’ve ever seen

username77 miss girl is trying way too hard

username30 ignore the haters babe!

liked by missseraphina

username25 i honestly would off myself

username81 god please tell me this is all just a bad dream

username20 this is my 13th fucking reason. i need my dryshughes crumbs rn

yourusername super cute! golden hour is any hour when you’re with the one you love 🥰

→ missseraphina thanks i guess? lmao and yeah maybe that’s why he always tells me i’m glowing

username1 don’t fucking tell me she just implied that luke loves her in lil drizzy’s replies

username6 there’s no way luke didn’t comment but his ex girl did

→ username49 lmfaooo i don’t think she’s his ex

→ username37 at this point she might as well be

username42 stopp this is so adorable

username21 so happy for u!!

username69 someone gouge my eyes out i’m begging

lhughes_06

liked by jackhughes, markestapa, yourusername, and 77,298 others

lhughes_06 throwback time? 🫣

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

trevorzegras kid u make me laugh LMAOOO

→ lhughes_06 glad i could be of service

→ _alexturcotte fr this is too funny

→ colecaufield who needs netflix when you have luke

username56 I CANTTT they all see it as a joke

→ username84 it is a joke bro 💀 like luke’s just fucking around w mississippi

yourusername were u just keeping these photos locked up for months 🙄🙄

→ lhughes_06 i mean they’re not even that old tbh

→ yourusername aw just wanted an excuse to post me huh?

→ lhughes_06 dont even need an excuse

username61 DRYSHUGHES IS MAKING A COMEBACK

→ username4 I AM GOBBLING THE DRYSHUGHES CRUMBS UPP

username73 i just bet my friend $30 they get together by the end of the hockey season

→ username50 ur investing a lot into a relationship that doesn’t even exist yet

→ username73 key word: yet

missseraphina oh but the retro days have been over, no need for a throwback 😁

dylanduke25 i vividly remember you got us kicked out of the restaurant as soon as you threw her over your shoulder

→ lhughes_06 no you got us kicked out bc u squirted ketchup all over mackie

→ mackie.samo you stained my favorite white shirt and i’m still waiting for you to replace it 😒

→ yourusername that was your doing dyl don’t even

→ markestapa i thought it was because eddy kept screaming

→ edwards.73 BECAUSE DUKER WAS HARASSING ME

→ dylanduke25 🙁🙁

_alexturcotte i left you on the curb for a minute so i could heat up the car and i came back to you snuggling

→ lhughes_06 we were tired

→ yourusername WE WERE NOT SNUGGLING

→ jackhughes i mean you did look pretty cozy

→ lhughes_06 i was pretty cozy

username75 luke’s just stirring it up and i’m here for it

→ username21 fr cuz that other girl was bein a bitch to MY girl 🙄

username98 lmfaooo mississauga doesn’t even realize he dont gaf abt her

next chapter notes ) mississippi be doin too much frfr, but its okay bc luke dont even want her 🥱

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

The king's gift

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 24

Prompt: Birthday

Rated: T

CW: veeery light dubcon if you squint really hard; mild blood and violence

Tags: Time Travel; Magic AU; Fantasy AU; Royal Eddie; Time traveller Steve

Notes: Continued from day 15

A bird is singing outside the window, a cheerful melody of trills and chirps celebrating the sunshine. 

Steve is gonna murder it. 

The sun, too, while he's at it. 

Even with his lids shut, the light feels like someone is trying to wedge a dagger into the space behind his eyes. Each new note from the stupid bird pounds in his skull like the blow of a hammer. 

Or the chime of a giant clock. 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face as fuzzy memories trickle into his mind. Snarling monsters with giant fangs and claws, chasing him through the ruins of an ancient castle. A crumbling throne covered in vines, silver sigils glowing all around it. The sound of the clock in his bones, in his blood, and then … silence.

“Fucking hell … weirdest dream I've ever had.”

“Don't blame you,” someone says, and wait, he knows that voice. It was in the dream, too. “Making the acquaintance of those charming critters will do that to a guy.” 

Steve freezes.

Then, very slowly, he peers out from behind his hand. 

There's a guy in the bed with him, a vaguely familiar guy with long dark curls and eyes to match. He's lounging against the headboard, a book in his lap, but when he catches Steve gawking at him, he marks the page and puts it down on the nightstand. 

The very unfamiliar nightstand. Right next to the very unfamiliar bed they're in. 

“Hey, pretty thing,” the guy smiles, and one hand, heavily adorned in silver rings, tenderly smoothes Steve’s hair from his forehead. “Feeling better?” 

“The fuck?” Steve shoots upright. “Where the hell am I?” 

Because the room, as it turns out, is as unfamiliar as the bed. It looks like something out of the period pieces his mom watches - ornate furniture and plush carpets, walls covered in velvet tapestries. Like some medieval king's castle, and … 

… oh, no. 

No fucking way. 

“Careful now,” the guy chuckles good-naturedly and grabs him by the scruff of his shirt. “They did quite the number on you. My head mage patched you up, but you don't wanna overdo it.”

He makes to pull him back into the pillows, but Steve twists from his grip and jumps out of the bed, ignoring the wave of vertigo that comes with the movement. 

“Woah woah, wait!” he stammers. “What the fuck do you mean? That was real? What the hell is even- What am I wearing?” 

Because his jeans and tee are gone. Instead, he's in some sort of wide, billowy shirt. It flows around his form and ends somewhere around his very naked thighs. It has frills. 

He isn’t wearing anything else. 

“You were somewhat covered in blood, darling,” the man laughs. He languidly unfolds himself from the bed, one long limb at a time, and steps into Steve’s space. “Didn't wanna risk an infection. Also doesn’t befit my gift to run around like that, all dirtied and-” 

“Excuse the fuck outta me?” Steve squawks. “Your what?”

Anger flares low in his gut and he takes a step backwards. The man just smiles easily and follows, and then, suddenly, warm calloused hands are cradling his cheeks. 

“My gift, sweetheart,” he repeats, like that isn't something only a complete fucking lunatic would say. His thumbs idly stroke Steve’s cheekbones. “It's my birthday and the magic gave you to me, just like the oracle said it would. I've been waiting so long for you. Didn't expect you to be this gorgeous, but that's an added bonus, isn't it?” 

They're close, very close, so close that some errant strands of curly hair are tickling Steve’s flushed cheeks. And somehow the guy is still getting closer, head tilted ever so slightly, plush pink lips parted just enough to- 

Steve isn't a violent guy, usually, but … he's going through a lot right now and he's panicking, okay?

He doesn’t even consciously process what happens. Just knows that a stranger whose bed he woke up in and who just called him his fucking birthday gift is pulling him in for a kiss. One second later, his knuckles are hurting and said stranger is in a heap on the floor, wiping blood from his split lip. 

“Pretty and feisty,” he mutters. When he lifts his gaze, his eyes are full of awe. “You really are perfect, aren't you?” 

“What the fuck?” Steve blurts. Again. He's starting to lose count of how often it's been. “Who do you even think you are, you fucking weirdo?” 

The guy cocks his head in confusion, but only for a second. Then, that infuriating dimpled grin slips back on. He's handsome, in a dangerous and rugged way, with his wild hair and bruised lip. 

“Apologies, he rumbles. "Where are my manners?” 

And then, without getting up off the ground, he reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his. Steve watches, heart in his throat and eyes wide with confusion, how the guy bends into a dramatic bow and reverently kisses his own blood off his raw knuckles. 

“The name is Edward. King Edward Munson of the Woodland Mountains. Also oh-so-aptly known as Edward the Banished, though my friends just call me Eddie. And you, my dear …” 

He looks up at him, all glinting eyes under dark lashes and Steve needs to swallow against the lump clogging his throat. 

“You're going to be the one who saves me.”

All my holiday drabbles

[curi0us-gh0st]

Birthday (Bada Lee)

pairings: Bada Lee x Fem!Reader

word count: 1,365.

genre: smut.

summary: Surprise gift for Bada's non-birthday made her sigh.

warnings: Bada!Bottom, lingerie, breast play, tagging, fingering, strap on, overstimulation, squirting, filming.

a/n: 100 followers special!! Thank you to everyone who likes my work, I love you. 💙

Bada opened the door to her shared apartment, being greeted only by the warm breeze from the heater, finding it strange that her girlfriend didn't welcome her, perhaps she left and didn't warn her? She thought until she heard the soft sound of the television, a familiar melody.

Entering the room, watching the television that glowed from the performance, her gaze finding her static body, unconsciously biting her lower lip, her hands lightly scratching the unfamiliar gift box, she smiled and cleared her throat to get the hypnotized girl's attention. Her body waking up from the trance, startled before relaxing after seeing Bada's figure at the entrance of the room, a cute smile appearing on her lips as she looked at her.

“Hello darling, welcome home!” She stood up to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Have you been there long?” She asked with her puppy eyes waiting for her answer.

"Hey." She left a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “No, I just arrived. I’m curious what you were doing…” Bada glanced at the display behind you.

“This is Ten’s Birthday performance for Vogue, I was researching you and well…” she replied, lowering her voice little by little. “I bought a gift!” She held up the small box with the red bow.

“Oh, a gift for me? But it’s not my birthday and today isn’t a special date… Or is it?” She thought back to some important date that she had perhaps forgotten.

"No love. It’s a gift, I just bought it for you.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Bada who raised an eyebrow hesitantly. “Go change, quickly.” She pushed towards your shared room.

It's been a few minutes since Bada was in the bathroom, a silence settled in the room, possibly the only thing that made noise was the beating of your heart, nervousness and tension making a mush in your stomach, you took a deep breath waiting for her. On the other hand, in the bathroom, Bada was a blushing mess, when she opened the small box and saw the black lingerie, she missed fainting.

His hands carefully picking up the piece, the piece that caught his attention the most, the hang glider panties. Bada's cheeks were as red as a pepper, she took a while to process the information until she came out of the bathroom with just her lingerie on, her long arms not knowing where to stay, opting to hold one arm while she was nervous.

Her eyes shining at the sight, Bada in all her glory in the black lingerie, sports bra and panties, those panties. Swallowing hard, observing every detail of his girlfriend's body as if it were the first time, she looked stunning.

“This is so much better than I imagined…” You rambled as you looked at her.

“Stop nonsense.” She flinched, you shook your head and walked towards her, your hands floating in the air not knowing what to do exactly.

“Let me give you my attention…” You whispered to her, pushing hair back, moving closer to her as you kissed her deeply.

Their lips dancing to a familiar melody, their tongues exploring my steps, their arms finding their places on each other's bodies, biting her lip to gain that angelic sound, their mouth moving down to kiss her neck, walking softly to lie on the bed, without separating.

“Let me make you feel like it's your birthday, princess…” her hands came up to grab her breasts and massage them, making Bada sigh.

Your lips worked on marking Bada's bust, without being able to spend a second away from her body, seeing her in that way awakening inside you that makes you want to never stop, as if her body were a heavy drug that you can't live with without, Bada is her biggest vice, everything about her is perfect, every detail, every trait, fuck everything.

You moved away to position yourself, her back on your chest, smelling her hair, her head on your shoulder as you made her legs open, your hands playing with her breasts, pulling and pinching them making her moan slyly, your hips lifting up for some friction, you smiled running one of your hands down her flat abdomen, playing with the edge of her panties.

“Y/N, please…” She asked, her lips in a pout, you trying not to smile at this, so cute.

"Anxious?" Bada shook her head, biting her lip as she felt his fingers dance teasingly. "Speechless? How can I know where you want me to touch you, kitten?”

Bada gathered all the strength she had left in her body, slipping one of her hands as she grabbed her wrist, lifting it where she wanted, her hand touching the stain that was forming the longer you took. "Here."

You nodded, the tip of her finger touching your bud through the thin fabric, pressing as you felt the pulse, delicately making circular movements, proud as you heard her sigh in pleasure and relax against you. Staying like that until she assured herself that she was wet enough, grabbing her panties and setting them aside, sliding her fingers through her wet folds.

"Strip." You talked about the fabric on her body, you just shook your head, she groaned in frustration.

“My gift stays, princess.” She closed her eyes feeling two of his fingers enter her wet hole.

The fingers moving in and out at such a slow speed, making her think that she had done the wrong thing to receive such treatment, but no, she stopped thinking about that when his fingers penetrated her insides deeply, the moans could no longer be contained as Bada writhed. in your arms, asking for more and grinding against you, her insides squeezing your fingers, showing how close she was to the edge, the fingers hitting your sensitive spot again making your back arch, moaning for you as she cums on your fingers.

“Thank you… You are the best.” Bada whispered as she recovered from her newly orgasm, you removed your fingers from her as you placed them in her mouth.

You let out a giggle before speaking again, “So loosen up, do whatever you want tonight, yeah?”

After other sweet, slow orgasms you were giving her, like it was the sweetest gift in the world as you touched her, she found herself riding your strap on, chasing her next desperate, quick orgasm, her hands pushing your shoulders against the pillows. , moaning loudly, his cheeks stained with tears as he dug his nails into you, his hands helping her on her journey to reach climax, the smirk as his eyes watched her slender body contrasting with the lingerie, pulling and smiling when she hit again in the shoes of Bada who mumbled, playing with her breasts that bounced along with her, you let her play for a long time, when you saw her throw her head back, it was the moment.

The quick movement, holding her hips and making her lie down on the bed, before protesting the quick change, her brain melting as you began to pound deep inside her, hitting all the sensitive spots that even Bada herself didn't know she had. Pinning her hands on top of her head, kissing her hungrily, leaving hickeys and bites down her neck, sucking her breasts before lifting her legs and continuing his work of making Bada cum nervously.

She moaned loudly, grabbing the sheets and asking you to slow down — which you didn't. Her back arching as she screamed and squirted into your pelvis heavily, tears flowing as she pushed you away from the overstimulation. Slightly lowering her legs, remaining inside her, approaching to kiss her face sweetly and praise her, saying how good a girl she was to you.

“You are perfect..” she whispered kissing her swollen lips.

“Look who says it…” She rolled her eyes as she returned the kiss.

“Remind me to send your mother flowers, I need to thank her for making you.” You continued laughing after receiving a slap from Bada.

“Jagiya, why is your camera flashing red?” Bada asked innocently as she breathed, her eyes focusing on the headboard where the object was.

“Performance…?”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 21

And suddenly, the tables have turned.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst in this one 😔

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Callob with @euphoricfilter!

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Bowser was incredibly happy to see the both of you, and Jungkook cant say he didn’t enjoy it as well.

Now, back in the car, it’s quiet- bags packed and stored in the trunk, tickets ready to have you both board the plane back home. He’s silent because he feels disappointed- mostly with himself. He didn’t end up asking you at all, never got himself to do it, and so he’s bringing back the ring- just not on your finger, like he hoped it would be the case.

What’s he supposed to do now?

The magic is gone, it’s nothing special anymore, and once you’re back home, you’ll both just get back to work and go about your days like nothing happened. All his work, all this stress was for nothing- just because he’s a stupid scatterbrained coward that can’t just ask his girlfriend to marry him.

Do you even want to marry him?

He’s never actually asked himself that question, now that he thinks about it as he takes the bags out the trunk to return the rental car, and take a cab to the nearby airport. He’s never really brought up the topic, it just felt like it was the right thing to do after this amount of time with you. You’re his final destination, there’s no other person he’d rather grow old with, so tying you both together legally was just a thing he felt was right.

But do you see him as such as well?

“Kook?” You ask, snatching him out of his thoughts. “I asked you if we wanted to eat something before we board.” You wonder. “We still have an hour and a half..” You wonder, looking around to check the variety of foods and snacks to get. But Jungkook just shrugs.

He doesn’t feel hungry.

“You can get something, I’m not hungry.”

This is the first major red flag for you that something isn’t right. You have an idea, but you’re also not really sure about it- and also, you don’t want to mention it, especially not in public like this. It’s a delicate situation, because you know that Jungkook doesn’t like talking about things that involve his emotions in such open spaces like now- because he’s soft at heart, and tends to become very riled up about things. So you want to give him some space right now instead- until you’re back home, and in the comfort of your safe privacy.

The flight is awkward.

You try and make some smalltalk- but it’s very one-sided, and it’s obvious he’s not in the mood to talk, so you leave it at that- instead stretching your limbs in his car that wraps you up in a familiar scent of sweetness, fabric spray and cold winter. Jungkook is still upset, quietly starting the car, which needs two attempts because it’s just a little too cold for the rather old engine. But it still starts up, purrs to life and instantly chimes up with the notice that his windshield washer fluid is low- something he constantly forgets to refill.

“We could stop by the gas station on our way home.” You say, pointing to the symbol glowing. “Before you forget-”

“I won’t forget, god damnit.” He growls, roughly putting in the gear before he starts driving.

“Okay, what’s wrong.” You ask him, unable to stand the silence any longer. “You’ve been upset ever since we came back from meeting up with Bowser.” You say, trying to be as gentle as you can be. “Is it because we had to leave him behind?” You worry, but he sighs.

“No, it’s not about that.” He whines, waiting at a red light. “Just.. Doesn't matter.” He just says, mostly to himself.

“Oh, is it about the propos...-” You start, his head snapping towards you with wide open eyes, all round and just as surprised as you are shocked.

Fuck.

Honking cars behind you both make him snap out of it, as he angrily drives to park his car in a gast station where he’s out of the way and off the road, before he turns to you. “You knew?!” He barks at you, completely short-circuiting now. You knew apparently what he was up to, what he was failing at, and you never told him, rather watched him struggle the entire time. “Since when.” He asks.

“I just-”

“Since when did you know?” He cuts you off, eyes glossy as he gets emotional again. He’s so embarrassed, feels like he’s stripped naked, like you’ve been watching him like some circus animal.

“..I found it in your bag, when we were using the pool.” You mumble. “I.. Just thought it was weird to keep your smartwatch in a velvet box, and I was wondering if you charged it. And when I opened it I saw it, and you know.. Connected the dots.” You shrug, feeling incredibly small under his strong gaze.

“And you thought ‘oh lets watch the stupid idiot struggle’ just for fun, huh?” He claims, crossing his arms.

“No!” You whine. “I just- I thought I’d help you by giving it to you? But you panicked and I don’t know..” You try and explain yourself. “I wanted to let you do it on your own. Because you’d get upset if I had told you I found out..” You say, but he just shakes his head, and starts the car again, quietly.

You feel terrible.

Even back home, as you both bring your bags up and back into your apartment, he refuses to properly talk to you- visibly upset at the whole situation, and you don’t know how to fix it. You can understand why he’d be upset, but what else were you supposed to do? Just tell him you found it and ruin his chances at getting it right? You couldn’t have known that he’d mess up every other chance.

So instead of coming back home as a freshly engaged couple, the velvet box is thrown openly on his office table, left alone just like you are, even though he sleeps right next to you.

Turned away, his back all he offers you.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Generations

Synopsis: Astarion just watches his baby daughter sleeping. That's all. And three centuries later Alethaine does the same with her own little elf.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Tags: fluff, dadstaron, dhampirs, snippet into the future, no hurt, no angst

Alethaine's age (1st part) - 7-months-old

Alethaine's age (2nd part) - 302-years-old

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Alethaine is seven-months-old. She can already crawl and tries to grab everything she can reach out for. The little dhampir bites, her fangs grow faster than regular milk teeth, and she often leaves small bite marks on her mother’s hands. 

The girl sleeps peacefully in her cradle, covered in pillows and blankies, barely visible in her soft shelter. Other pillows are thrown on the floor in case the half-dead baby decides it’s time to crawl out using her spider climb.

It’s already a headache that she can defy gravity by using walls and ceilings as the continuation of the floor. 

Astarion places his pale hands on the cradle. His sharp senses immediately identify the fast heartbeat of the girl. Her living heart beats so fast that it sounds like a little drum.

But her chest doesn't move, as if she were dead.

A month ago Astarion held his baby girl fearing she was going to die. A sickness, a fever – the town's healer couldn’t help Alethaine and just told her parents to wait. Tiriel cried, placing her red head on his shoulder, and so did he. But then, Tiriel accidentally scratched her finger causing some blood to spill. Astarion still wonders what exactly made Tiriel believe the solution would be to give these red droplets to the girl. 

But she was right.

The moment her mother’s blood was spilled into her toothless mouth, Alethaine’s eyes glowed red and her chest stopped moving.

Forever. 

A dhampir. Half a vampire. 

An elf with a quarter of human blood. 

His daughter. 

Astarion caresses her silver hair – they are already pretty long and have the same color as his. 

“Is she asleep?” Tiriel asks, entering the room. “It is time to feed her.”

“If she was hungry, she would wake up,” Astarion whispers. 

“All right. I want to go outside,” Tiriel kisses his cheek. Astarion nods – it’s a summer day and Tiriel loves spending it outside. “You know where her food is.”

“Don’t worry. Will you go to the woods?”

“Yes, I want to swim in the lake.”

“Be careful, darling, there are some nasty things in this forest,” Astarion playfully slaps Tiriel’s butt. 

“Oh, everyone knows I am married to a vampire! I have permission to do whatever the fuck I want!”

As Tiriel leaves the house, Astarion stays alone. He tries to remember how the woods look in the summer sunlight but can’t. The High Wood isn’t like the forests around Baldur’s Gate, and it transforms into another world at night. Alas, he can’t leave the underground part of Daggerlake – and now, when the days are long, he sometimes feels confined. 

He shakes his head.

The thing is, he isn’t. A confined person wouldn’t have his own home. A confined person wouldn’t be a parent.

But he has and he is. 

Astarion walks up to the ceiling. Then, he lies on his back right above the crib looking at his daughter. Alethaine moves in her sleep and he smiles like an idiot. 

Such an adorable little creature. 

Elven culture is extremely child-centric. Every baby and every pregnancy is seen as a gift from the gods. Miscarriages are treated like the death of an actual child. Elven babies are rare and usually, there is only one child in a community. 

Astarion doesn’t consider himself an elf – he is a vampire, and it seems like his whole mindset is closer to the human one. But looking at his daughter awakens something in him. Maybe it’s just what every parent feels toward a wanted child.

But maybe it’s his own elven nature that reacts to the fact he was indeed blessed with a gift. The gift of having a child.

Does she have an elven soul, one weaved by the Seldarine? Did she have past lives? Do dhampirs even have souls? What will happen to her when her long centuries of life come to an end? Will her soul mingle with other elves and return to the material plane in the next reincarnation? Or she will experience mor, the final death?

So many questions. And no answers. 

Alethaine’s ears twitch and she yawns, exposing her little fangs. Astarion keeps looking at her from up there, grinning and smiling.

Suddenly he feels his body stir. Sunset.

The night has come.

Alethaine opens her dark eyes and sits up. She stares somewhere, baring her fangs.

The night has come for her, too.

Then, she looks up and sees Astarion. 

“Da-da,” Alethaine stretches her little arms to him.

“Good morning, little princess,” he says in Elven. 

She tries to stand up but falls back as her muscles are too weak. Then, she turns away as if hearing something.

Astarion catches Tiriel’s scent.

“Oh, it seems like Mum is coming back,” he coos, returning to the floor.

As Astarion takes the baby in his hands, Alethaine immediately presses her little face into his chest. 

“Hello, my love,” Astarion smiles at Tiriel coming to their small kitchen. Tiriel smells like the woods and the lake, and her hair is wet. She cups his cheeks and kisses him. 

“How have you two been?”

“Woke up at sunset,” Astarion sits at the table, and Alethaine immediately switches her attention to Tiriel. 

“You are such a sleepy kitten! Look what I brought you!” 

Only then, Astarion notices a wooden plate full of blackberries. They are big and smell like late summer. 

Alethaine wastes no time and grabs a berry with her small hand. In a second, the berry is already in her mouth.

“Do you like it?” Tiriel asks.

Alethaine grabs another one. Her lips and cheeks are covered in purple juice; she looks a bit like a vampire. 

“Well, now we know she does,” he laughs. “I suppose your scratched hands are the result of your berry gathering?” 

“Couldn’t resist!” 

Alethaine hicks and turns away – she’s eaten enough and now wants to do something else. Tiriel places her on the floor. Alethaine sits looking around and then tries to get up which ends with her falling back. The moment it happens, the dhampir bursts into tears.

“Kitten, don't be upset” Tiriel rubs her daughter’s left ear. “You will learn. What?” The half-elf laughs looking at her husband’s face. 

“I am just happy,” Astarion finally admits. “I am very, very happy.”

**

302 years later

A seven-month-old elven baby sleeps in a wooden crib. The blanket covering her delicate body is green and decorated with intricate symbols and runes, a combination of Wood Elven and Moon Elven scripts. 

The girl has fire-red hair and it is already pretty long, a very clear difference between elven and human children.

Alethaine holds a plate with blackberries in her hand. It’s the third one she’s eaten today – blackberries grow abundantly in the Isle of Evermeet, especially close to the Feywild portals, and it’s probably the dhampir's favorite thing about her new home.

The fact she doesn’t need to wait for the late summer to get her favorite treat 

“Still sleeping, Little Fire?” Alethaine asks, studying her daughter’s face.

The moment the newborn was placed in her hands, she noticed this quirk of her. Her hair is the color of a forest fire. None of Elren’s ancestors had such – he was half a Wood Elf and his mother had Sun Elven heritage. Thus, Alethaine’s husband has fair hair with shades of gold. 

And his eyes are as blue as northern rivers, a contrast to Alethaine’s pitch-black irises. 

“It seems like we all are heavy sleepers in this family, Tiriel Goldenroot,” Alethaine murmurs.

It is against elven traditions to give an adult name to the child. But no one could prohibit the witch queen of Evermeet from calling her daughter in honor of her mother, Tiriel the Barbarian. 

Tiri. Little Tiri, that is what became her child's name. 

Alethaine puts the plate on a table and walks up to the ceiling. She nestles right above the crib putting an arm under her cheek.

Looking. Studying. Listening.

Tiri’s heartbeat is fast like a drum, and her chest moves up and down as she peacefully sleeps.

Elren says she might see some glimpses of her past lives, but they will never be consistent enough for her to apprehend.

Alethaine smiles. By the time she turned 299, she had accepted her life was in its stable stage. She had settled in a small town and got known to the locals as “that witch who helps to investigate suspicious deaths”. She loved digging graves and scaring suspects with her necromancy. Asking the dead questions was fun and comfortable.

Her father, Astarion, would sometimes come to her without warning when he grew tired of his vampire guild. Sometimes, it annoyed Alethaine (who would love to share the property with a parent at her age?), but mostly, she enjoyed his company. Though it was difficult to deal with a father who was going through his third or fourth youth while the dhampir was experiencing yet another existential crisis. 

And then, Althaine got guests. An elf. His friends – a dwarf, a halfling, a druid, and a dragonborn. And a job – help them to retrieve an artifact that could potentially save the world from demons.

Alethaine just asked for money – and Elren didn't try to convince her to play the hero. He was offering a job, not a life mission. And he’d had enough life experience not to teach others what to believe in. 

In her crib, little Tiri turns on her right side and her ear twitches. Alethaine bares her fangs – she still breastfeeds and the dhampir feels an unpleasant heavy sensation under her corsage. 

The side job ended up with Alethaine finding her thiramin, her elven soulmate, the man who was worth staying with. Elren led the elven army to the fight and Alethaine resurrected the dead, her very own soldiers slaves to her necromantic will.

The adventure came to an end with her becoming the “witch queen”, the elven king’s wife. She knows Elren suspects she will grow tired of such life and run away back to Faerun, maybe to her father’s guild.

But Alethaine won’t. She feels at home. She feels safe. She feels loved. 

Her parents tried their best to raise her, but she is a dhampir. Half-undead. A monster of her own. Nothing can change it. 

And now, she knows what her father felt by Tiriel’s side. When someone looks at the monster and loves them the way they are. Elren looks at her as if she was some dark goddess. And her mother adored her father as if he was the most precious and beautiful thing in the world.

Well, Alethaine can’t complain.

But there is a thing that bothers her. 

What is her child, exactly?

Dhampirs are born mortal and normal, but then, they experience bloodlust, they stop breathing and suddenly they realize an unfriendly creepy neighbor is a vampire. Usually, this transformation happens before puberty, sometimes later, sometimes earlier. It’s a disaster if it happens too late, when the dhampir is already an adult. Alethaine became a dhampir when she was five months, and she thinks it’s for the best because she just doesn’t know what it is to be something else.

But what about her baby daughter?

Is she like her? Did she inherit her dhampirism? Of course, it isn’t a problem – but Alethaine knows too well that being dhampir often… sucks. It’s loneliness. It’s fear. It’s…not as good as it may sound.

Alethaine jumps on the floor and leans on the crib. Elren says she looks like a witch  trying to kidnap a baby when she does it, but she can’t agree more. Besides, it’s a compliment. Elren, who could have been placed in a book with a commentary “a classic looking and behaving male elf”, has always had a taste for macabre.

Tiri opens her eyes and stretches her arms to Alethaine, demanding attention. 

“Your grandpa will adore you, you know that? He already does, even though he has never seen you.” 

Alethaine caresses her daughter’s ears, so similar to her own.

The realization comes to her out of nowhere and strikes her like sudden bloodlust.

Tiriel Goldenroot isn’t like her mother at all.

She isn’t a dhampir. She is an elf. In every aspect of her existence.

Alethaine grabs the baby and Tiri makes a disgruntled sound. 

“You are not half-undead!” Alethaine exclaims. “You are not!”

She presses the warm bundle to her chest and rushes downstairs. She passes by a few elves but pays little to no attention to them.

Elren reveries in the garden and his hair resembles molten gold in the sunlight. He sits placing his hands on his lap. His bow and arrows are put aside and his circlet, the only visible symbol of his “royal” position, lies in the dirt, as if the adornment caused discomfort.

His familiar, a lynx called Echo, follows Alethaine as she enters the garden. Echo is only two decades younger than Elren. 

Lynxes don’t live that long, but Echo does. And the ranger’s familiar is much more intelligent than it tries to look.

“Elren! Elren!” Alethaine kneels in front of him and basically pushes Tiri to his chest.

“W-what?” He returns from his trance dizzy and disoriented, unable to distinguish the events he re-lived and the things occuring right now. “What happened?’

“Look at her!” Alethaine demands, showing her fangs. “Look at her!”

Elren rubs his eyes and cradles his daughter in his gentle hands.

“She is mortal! She is mortal, not half-undead like me! I know it!” Alethaine sniffs.

“You say it as if it were something bad” He mutters, putting his arm on her chest as Tiri also awakens and starts playing with his long hair.

“Don't get me wrong, Elren, I wouldn’t want to be anything else, besides, I can’t imagine how limiting it is when you can’t use walls and ceilings to move. And having to breathe! You mortals don't understand how comforting it is to lie on the bottom of the tub covered with hot water or bury yourself in the heaviest blankets!”

“Yes, love, visitors who are told they would be greeted by an elven queen definitely don't expect to see a necromancer in a black dress standing upside down and commanding her skeleton-butler to bring tea,” Elren finally manages to concentrate on her face and Alethaine feels a bit guilty for disturbing his reverie.

“I thought you liked Mordo.”

“I do like him.” He places Tiri on his lap. Echo approaches them and leans its head near the girl, allowing the toddler to grab its ear. The lynx doesn’t seem to mind it. “Especially the fact it has shadows of the memories of all three people you’ve made him of”.

“And all of them were morons,” Alethaine would sigh if she could. “I like being a dhampir but I didn’t want Tiri to be like me”.

“And she isn’t?”

“She isn’t,” Alethaine kisses her thiramin’s cheek. “Sorry for interrupting your reverie.”

“Don’t. It wasn’t a good one.”

Tiri gets cranky and starts crying, stretching her arms towards her mother. 

“Hungry, Little Fire?” she smiles. 

Elren stands up holding Tiri to his chest. Alethaine picks up the circlet and places it on her husband’s head – he is much taller than her and she has to tiptoe to do that.

“It suits you, you know that?”

“Still not sure,” he pouts, taking her hand.

Alethaine Ancunin smiles sensing his warmth.

She is lucky. And happy. And it will always be like that. 

--

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@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[mangowillow]

last to know | ch. 1: haunted dreams

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst (who am i without it), hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: nothing really; well, maybe except seokjin's intrusive thoughts about an axe k*ller— but it's tame, i promise! oh, and jeongguk gets slapped. be nice and let me know if i miss anything! there's a mini flashback in this chapter in all italics marked by a ♥!

word count: 3,900

author's note: i am very nervous about this first chapter because it's been A WHILE since i last wrote ~something~ so anyway! here you go, enjoy!

fic masterlist

New York, 2023

It was right when the DJ turned up the volume that Jeongguk felt the impact of a palm hitting him square in the jaw.

Jeongguk doesn’t know what stimuli to focus on: should it be the loud music blasting through the speakers or the sting of the slap that he probably deserved. It doesn’t take his brain too long to piece together what just happened 5 seconds ago. He knows what’s coming and he is also very much aware that he did see it coming sooner or later.

“Fuck you, Jeongguk,” Ae-cha grits through her teeth. Jeongguk swears she’s about to cry, tears threatening to spill amidst the blue glow of the lights above them. “We are dating, how can you say that—”

“We sleep together when it’s convenient for the both of us, Ae-cha.” Jeongguk downs the rest of his scotch, along with the remnants of his pride. “I never said anything about dating.”

“You are such a jerk!” Ae-cha turns a shade of red, tears in the corners of her eyes. It isn’t the first time Jeongguk has ever made a woman cry, but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel that hollow ache in his chest; the one he felt the first time he made that mistake. He should feel bad, he thinks, but then again, he also doesn’t.

Does that make him a bad person? 

“I didn’t listen to my friends when they said you were trouble. I wanted to prove them wrong—” Ae-cha starts, but Jeongguk cuts her off.

“Why? Why do you have to?”

Ae-cha’s eyes grow wide as she watches Jeongguk stare at his empty glass.

“You should have listened to your friends.” Jeongguk says, matter-of-fact. Ae-cha scoffs and Jeongguk knows now is the right time to probably shut up.

But he’s a jerk, just like Ae-cha says he was.

“I told you right from the beginning… we just use each other because we’re both lonely,” Jeongguk feels his throat turn dry, “I think somewhere along the way, you misread my actions.”

Ae-cha doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She closes her eyes for a minute and Jeongguk looks at her, waiting for her rebuttal. Or maybe a second slap. Whichever comes first.

Ae-cha speaks in a voice so low, it’s perplexing how Jeongguk is still able to pick up her words— “Your problem is that you do not care about other people’s feelings, Jeongguk. You only care about your own.”

Jeongguk tightens his jaw; now he feels his heart aching.

“You hurt people. You ruin good things. You keep your heart under tight wraps and you do not let anyone in. If you keep that up, you will end up with no one.”

Jeongguk stares at Ae-cha, wanting to say something, but failing completely. Maybe this is what he gets for sleeping with a psychologist— a rude awakening.

Before he can say anything, Ae-cha turns on her heel and walks away. Jeongguk remains at the bar for a bit more until the song changes into a slower tempo. It feels like a chore walking back to the table where his best friend Yoongi was— like walking on lead. 

“That must’ve hurt—” Yoongi starts, fingers reaching out to the peanut bowl and putting some into his mouth. Jeongguk plops down on the chair with a sigh. “What a shitty night,” he quips.

Yoongi hums, “And whose fault is that?” 

Jeongguk looks at his best friend in annoyance. Yoongi chuckles, putting more peanuts into his mouth. “What’d she say?”

“That I’m a jerk who hurts people and ruins good things.”

“Is it true?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t think I need to do that, kid.” Yoongi concludes, glancing at Jeongguk. He takes a swing out of his beer bottle before continuing, “You know damn well the answer to that.”

Jeongguk clicks his tongue and takes the beer from Yoongi. He takes a swig himself, letting their conversation die out by drowning it into the same old music he’s used to hearing almost every night. 

Jeongguk comes home to his apartment that night, tipsy and his heart in pieces. Walking into the living room, the corner of his eyes catch the stack of luggages already packed and loaded. He didn’t feel like sitting on the couch so he opts to sit on the floor, his fingers grazing the carpet absentmindedly. A beat later, he allows his heart to bleed once more— as he always seems to do every single night for the past few years. Leaning his head back against the edge of his couch, he cries himself to sleep, wishing, praying the ache in his chest—and the words you hurt people—would go away in the morning.

Seoul, 2023

Your eyes try to take in the art in front of you— The Artist’s Garden in Giverny, Claude Monet, 1900. Usually, many emotions overwhelm your system and you cannot help but discuss any painting with the next person willing to listen. 

And once upon a time, you were enthusiastic about your craft and love for the arts. It was almost always too easy, too often that you could come up with pieces to add to your gallery. But that hasn’t happened in over a year— maybe more than. 

In the stillness of the room you are in, you hear light footsteps coming closer to where you are. You keep your eyes trained on Monet’s painting until your brother Seokjin sits beside you.

For a while, you and Seokjin just sit beside each other— no words, only a quiet understanding that close siblings seem to share and empathize with. Seokjin’s parents adopted you when you were eleven; a year after you and your parents met a horrible car collision. You are five months older than Seokin, yet that fact doesn't deter him at all, and more often than not, he usually ends up acting like your older brother. When he first met you at the orphanage, he grew fond of you real quick— already asking his parents when he’d be allowed to play with you. He doesn’t mind that you were once part of the system, that you are his half-sister— not really. He never treated you any differently. He loves you with his whole heart and he will always protect you. 

This is why he also cannot stand stillness at times, especially when it involves you.

“Have you been waiting long?” Seokjin asks.

You have a habit of kicking your right foot into the air when you don’t really know how to respond right away. You take a sharp inhale before shaking your head. Seokjin follows your line of sight— you were still looking at the painting.

“Does it make you feel better? Looking at this, I mean…” 

Seokjin’s question makes you look at him instead, like you just realized he had been sitting there this whole time and you never knew. He meets your eyes, sees the sadness in them. He will always know no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“Happy birthday, ____”

You don’t respond. 

“Taehyung and the others are waiting down at the cafe. Do you still want to meet them?”

You nod once before giving Seokjin a smile, “Of course.”

Seokjin slides into the gap between the two of you and instinctively, you rest your head on his shoulder as he envelops you in a side hug. He rubs a hand up and down your arm before planting a light kiss on top of your head.

“I know it doesn’t get any easier, ____. But I just want you to know that I love you… We all love you.” 

With shaky breath and tears that threaten to spill from your eyes, you whisper, “I know.”

As Seokjin gets into the driver’s seat, you hand him an envelope. Seokjin has an inkling what it is, but he asks you anyway as he squints his eyes at you.

“What is that supposed to be?”

You push the envelope towards him a bit more, just humming, “It’s the last payment.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes as he presses the ignition. He doesn’t take the envelope, “Oh come on, Seokjin, just take it.”

“And for the nth time, you shouldn’t have to pay for something I willingly helped you out for. We’re siblings, for gods sake, ____.”

You lower your hands, setting the envelope on your lap. Eyes cast down you mumble, “I know that. I was able to sell a painting again after a long time and it felt good… But I already told you this before— I’d feel better if you just please take this.” 

Seokjin lets out a sigh— usually he makes that sound when he’s already defeated. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re giving me all the money you worked hard for,” Seokjin starts and you shake your head as soon as you heard the word all. “No, not at all, I— I had some saved up and the rest of it will be for rent.”

You look at Seokjin who still looks suspicious. You playfully roll your eyes and Seokjin sees you smile for the first time that night.

“I promise.”

Seokjin sets his eyes on the parking lot, placing his hands on the steering wheel, “Fine—” you squeal as soon as he gives in and you place the envelope in the glove compartment. “—but this is the last time, all right?”

“Yes sir, that’s the last of the payments,” you respond a tone higher than your usual. Seokjin chuckles as he sets the gear into reverse.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help moving some of your stuff?” Seokjin asks as you fasten your seatbelt.

“Not really, I think I can manage just fine.”

You expect Seokjin to be backing up the car right now, yet he remains unmoving. You chuckle.

“I’ll be fine, Seokjin. Movers will help me move some of the heavier stuff.”

“Listen, ____, I was beyond ecstatic when you told me you were moving out of… there. I just don’t understand why you need to move in somewhere else when you can just stay with me.”

“Seokjin—”

“And it’s not like you have any problems with money or anything, I mean, you are doing okay right?”

“I am,” you answer with a smirk.

“Yah, don’t give me that look, ____. I’m serious, I really don’t understand why you have to stay somewhere else.”

“I already told you. I don’t need a big apartment, I just need a place to sleep. And isn’t it weird if we live together— people are going to think we’re co-dependent.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off, “And I know what you’re going to ask next. Why did I choose to move in an apartment on the other side of the city? And I already told you a dozen times— I need to learn how to be on my own for real this time. And it’s much cheaper compared to all the other apartments in the city center, I mean— have you seen Seoul?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, woman. Sure yeah, valid, but have you met your neighbors?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you ask confidently.

“Well, they could be an ax killer or something—”

“Or they could just be an ordinary person with a normal life, Seokjin.” You laugh at your brother’s catastrophic thoughts. You completely understand where he’s coming from— he just wants to protect you.

“That’s only hypothetical,” Seokjin snarks as he stops at a stoplight. You lay your hand on top of his on the console.

“I know you’re worried about me—”

“I am, you brat.”

“And I will forever be grateful… but I need to do this,” you reply calmly, almost like you were whispering. “I hope you understand.”

“I’m trying, ____. It’s not exactly easy to do that when you’re not giving me the grace to understand exactly why you need to do this… when you can just stay with me. The house is too big. And the cafe is right next door!”

“And we will get to that someday… but not right now, hm?” Seokjin sighs in defeat. “I will call you every single night if that will make you feel better.”

“Yah, those kinds of things have to come from the heart, not because you’re forced to do it just to appease me.”

“I’m not… I actually really want to talk to my little brother every day,” you tease as Seokjin scoffs.

“Fine, you have to call me every day, okay? Promise?”

You grin wide, “I promise.”

“And I am not your little brother, we’re only 5 months apart.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m older than you.”

Seokjin grumbles under his breath but a smirk was on his lips, “And you’re always going to be my brat.”

The coffee shop you and Seokjin run together has been passed down by your parents. Ever since Seokjin could utter the word, “coffee,” everyone in the family knew he was destined to manage the coffee chains. Even though you were technically the older one, your parents were more lenient and allowed you to forge your own path. Seokjin understood that and he wouldn’t have it any other way despite your pleas to help him with all the major business work. It has been a few years since the original coffee shop in Seongsu-dong expanded into different branches across Seoul. When you flew back from New York, you immediately put up your own artist studio right beside the cafe. Seokjin even pitched in on the idea of a gallery where people can choose to paint while drinking their favorite latte. Four years later, people now come for the art displays and occasional indie music performances, at times poetry nights. 

Four years later, you were also making a name for yourself as an artist. Seokjin once told you you were a jack of all trades, master of everything because you were crafty with your hands— painting, dress-making, cooking. And you brush him off every single time.

Because if anything, one of your greatest weaknesses was believing whether or not you were good enough for anything or anyone.

Seokjin opens the door for you as you both enter the coffee shop. As soon as you come in, you are greeted by your long-time friends— Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin. You met Taehyung and Jimin in New York because you were all fine arts students. Hoseok came into the picture as Taehyung’s lover not long after the three of you came back home to Seoul. 

“There she is, our little star,” Taehyung greets you with his signature boxy smile. His arms are wide open, ready to engulf you in a tight embrace. Jimin and Hoseok follow suit, each with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s about time you show your pretty face, ____. It’s been ages since we last saw you,” Jimin quips.

“But I text and call you guys almost every day,” you defend. Hoseok pushes a plate of strawberry cake towards you and adds, “It’s not the same as seeing you in the flesh, ____. You look amazing, as always.”

“Thank you, Hobi. That’s reassuring, considering the fact that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”

“Too many commissions?” Jimin asks.

“More than that, the gallery show at Seojung Art is in six months, and I still haven’t started on my piece.”

“Do you already know what you’re going to create?” Taehyung asks as he takes a bite of his croissant.

“That’s the problem… inspiration isn’t coming. It’s a bother,” a frown now evident across your face. Jimin holds your hand.

“You know you’re really talented, right, ____? You’ll pull through.”

“Thanks, Jiminie,” you smile at him. 

“Maybe one of the customers’ paintings here could ignite a spark?” Taehyung starts. “I mean, sometimes the best kind of inspiration hits when you least expect it.”

“You’re right. I’ll sleep on it tonight… if I do get to sleep,” you chuckle, but they all know it’s more than that.

Seokjin comes back to the table with your hot mint tea— a drink that almost always helps you fall asleep.

“What’s with the dead atmosphere, guys? It’s been a while since we all got together like this and you’re all moping,” Seokjin jokes. He has always been the life of the party contrary to his very introverted nature.

“It really is a good night, isn’t it?” Taehyung replies as he eats up the last bit of his pastry. “Hoseok and I actually enjoyed the night breeze on the way here because it was just the right amount of chilly.”

“Always the romantic, this one,” Hoseok laughs.

Jimin carefully watches you as you sip your tea in silence. “Are you all settled to move in tomorrow, ____? Do you need help?” 

“I’ll be fine, Jimin. I don't have as much stuff to pack, anyway.”

“Oh yeah that’s right, tomorrow’s moving day. Are you excited?” Taehyung jumps a bit on his seat, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Not really, I mean, it’s going to be pretty boring moving stuff around, don’t you think?”

“But it’s also the start of a new beginning.” Taehyung supplies.

You smile after taking a bite of the cake, “That is very true.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it. He changes his mind anyway, “Her neighbors don’t own axes or something, right Taehyung?”

Taehyung giggles, “I don’t know, hyung, It’s not like I went into every apartment on her floor.”

Seokjin turns pale and Taehyung laughs. Taehyung used to live on the same floor as the one you’re about to move into— before he moved in with Hoseok.

“Seokjin is so worried about the neightbors that he couldn’t stop ranting about it on the way here,” you chuckle. “But as I told him, I’ll be fine.” You placed emphasis on the word fine as you held Seokjin’s hand for reassurance under the table.

“Are you telling that to us or to yourself?” Seokjin starts. He has a way of being so upfront with you that there were moments when it became the cause of your fights and misunderstandings. Seokjin sometimes does not know when to stop, yet you know he always means well. You love and dislike him for it at the same time.

“Hyung…” Jimin readily interjects.

“It’s okay, Jimin…” you put your fork down and paused before looking at Seokjin. “I am telling all of you and myself… that I will be fine. I am honestly really thankful that you’re all here now to keep me company.”

You’ve been saying the word “fine” and “okay” a whole lot that night— you started to doubt if you really are or if Seokjin was right— that you’re just trying to convince yourself of it.

“Are you holding up okay, noona?” Hoseok asks, worried.

“Of course—” you take a sharp exhale before continuing, “It also means that time is helping me get past it. And I am okay with that.”

None of your friends respond. 

“We love you always, ____. You’ll always have us.” Taehyung said.

“Happy birthday, noona,” Jimin smiles. 

Your friends sing you their greetings as Hoseok brings out their surprise birthday cake and flowers. As you try not to cry at their gesture, you try to give them the most genuine smile you can muster. Yet in your heart, you know it’s not enough to convince them. Or yourself.

♥ “You do not get to tell me shit because I have done everything for you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Jeongguk—”

“And yet you still came here with me. If you are really that resentful about moving here… about marrying me— then why did you stay? Why are you still here?”

“I never said I resented you.”

“Yeah? Well it feels like it. You make me feel like shit whenever I can’t help you! God I— you know what? I’m done. I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“W-what do you mean you can’t—”

“—I’m saying we should end this. I want a divorce.”

Yoongi gently shakes Jeongguk’s shoulder to wake him up. “We’re almost landing, Jeongguk-ah,” he whispers.

Jeongguk slightly jerks from his sleep. His body feels heavy, his brain foggy but at the same time trying to recover from the dream he just had.

“It’s the same dream again, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks, knuckles turning white as he holds on to the arm rests. Turbulence has always been a bitch— well, at least to Yoongi. Jeongguk doesn’t answer him; instead, he looks out the plane window, thinking the plane couldn’t land fast enough.

“You keep calling out for her, you know? When you dream, I mean. Did you know that?”

That gets Jeongguk’s attention. He bites down on his lip ring before shaking his head, “No. I didn’t know.”

From baggage claim until Jeongguk and Yoongi exit through arrivals, there has been nothing but silence. Yoongi notices how Jeongguk’s hands couldn’t keep still: he’d take them in and out of his pockets. As they walk to the car that awaits them, Yoongi asks once more— “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?

Jeongguk lets out a long breath before looking at his best friend: “I will be.”

“This is the last of the boxes, ma’am.” One of the movers holds a medium-sized box. “Where do you want me to put it?”

You get up from one of the boxes you were opening, “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“I just need you to sign one more thing before we wrap up.”

“Of course,” you take the pen and sign on the dotted line.

“Have a good day,” The movers gave you a small bow before they went on their way. Looking around the room, you let out a sigh. The apartment is bigger than you initially thought but you are happy about that. There’s an extra room spacious enough to set up a painting studio. 

Your eyes land on the last box that was given to you by the mover. Inside it are memories that you don’t feel ready to touch just yet. Despite everything else scattered around your room, you pick up the box and shove it into the back corner of your closet. Maybe someday you’ll have the heart to open it again, but right now, it stays out of sight.

You were about to start opening one of the other boxes when a soft, melodic voice comes up behind you— “Hey baby.”

You turn around quickly, your heart and body naturally gravitating to the owner of the voice: Kim Woosung, your boyfriend.

“Hi,” you softly respond, heart happy upon seeing your boyfriend’s smile. He sets the take-out bags down to hug you. Woosung then gives you a long kiss on your forehead, mumbling, “I missed you.”

You don’t lift your eyes to meet his right away, but your hands reach out for his as he cradles your face. When you finally look at him, he gives you that warm smile you have always loved. With Woosung, there is peace, the kind that secures your heart. As he aligns his forehead with yours, you feel all your worries melt away. 

With Woosung, everything feels safe, so right.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Woosung apologizes. You shake your head gently and wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re just in time.”

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | teaser + drop date

Hi all you lovely people 🥰

I just want to give you an update on ‘My Heart’s Home’, because I said I’d hoped to be able to post it this week (week 9), but I have to push it one more week— IT HAS BEEN RELEASED; chapter 1 🥳

And then, a chapter will be posted twice a week! (on Mondays and Thursdays)

I want to thank each and every one of you— especially those on the taglist and @letjungcoook7! Thank you so much for being interested in the story, and Lua, for reading some of it and hyping me up 🥹 To be honest, I didn’t think anyone could be interested in it, or care. So I’m over the moon, and I hope you will enjoy it ✨

*the book cover is just me having fun lol, I couldn’t help myself 😂 Because you’ve been so patient and nice, I’ll give you a 1.2k teaser for ‘My Heart’s Home’.

Summary: You’d never thought you’d step foot back at the ranch– a place you used to call home a long time ago. When you are forced to go back, reconcile with your sister and a certain childhood friend that you had long forgotten, will sparks reunite?

Pairing: jimin x reader (main) and jungkook x reader (one time). There’s other pairings throughout the story, but those aren’t with the reader, but between the other characters— there’s one mxm relationship but it’s very minor.

Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.

AUs: ranch!au, slice of life!au

Genres: smut, humor, fluff, slow burn and angst (yes, it’s got everything lol!)

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

Word count for the teaser: 1.2k (approx. 180k for whole series)

Taglist: @kookswifesblog @kiki-zb @babejinnie @ownthesunshine @allie-is-a-panda @glllhjh* @bergandysam @13-manggaetteok

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, please check out this lovely post about it.

Looking for the masterlist?

In the morning, you gradually rouse to the sensation of something firm pressing against your face, yet there's an unexpected tenderness, a gentle caress against your skin. Your pillow, typically mundane, now cradles your head in an oddly satisfying manner, prompting you to nuzzle into it, seeking additional solace. A contented murmur escapes your lips in fatigue as you attempt to stretch your limbs, only to discover the subtle ache that permeates your entire body.

Wait.

Your eyes snap open in realization. This isn't the familiar embrace of your bed, and the comforting pillow beneath your head is anything but ordinary. A surge of awareness courses through you as you come to terms with an unexpected reality – you're sprawled across Jimin's thigh. 

More precisely, you’re nestled against his groin, where you abruptly discover the undeniable evidence of his morning arousal.

You spring to attention, the warmth of embarrassment coloring your cheeks, heart racing like a runaway train against your ribcage. In the hazy glow of early morning, you fumble for the most sincere apology you can conjure, breathlessly exclaiming, “Oh, goodness! I'm so sorry!”

As you settle onto the couch, your gaze locks with his still sleepy and drowsy eyes. The realization hits that you both must have drifted off in this intimate position, with you cradled in the warmth of his inviting lap.

Jimin's chuckle resonates like a melodious tune in the early morning, a soothing sound that plays a soft serenade to your ears. Despite your efforts to steady your heartbeat and contain the fluttering sensations, his laughter creates a symphony that dances through the awakening air.

“It's okay. I just woke up,” he rises and stretches, a lazy yawn escaping his lips. Why does he have to look this enticing? His blonde locks cascade in unruly curls, framing a face that's both soft and slightly puffy from sleep. Those pink lips, as if kissed by the night, slightly nibbled, beckon dangerous thoughts. As he stretches, biceps tensing and shirt teasingly riding up, a glimpse of his happy trail emerges, a sight your eyes try to resist but fail. Damn it, you scold yourself, but then his armpit becomes visible, and even that seems inexplicably appealing.

Oh, he smells divine—powdery softness, a hint of sweetness, warmth, and richness all mingling to craft an intoxicating musky scent. It envelops you, leaving your entire being tingling with an irresistible allure.

Jimin appears entirely unfazed, but you're left feeling utterly flustered, convinced your cheeks must be ablaze. “I'm so sorry for dozing off on you. I meant to offer you my bed, but I guess I fell asleep before I could say anything,” you chuckle, trying to shake off the lingering traces of sleep from your weary body.

A sudden realization strikes you like a bolt of lightning. 

Oh my god. If you’re sore, Jimin must be too! You practically slept on his injured leg!

“I apologize for your leg—I can't believe I slept on it. I might have undone all the massage from yesterday,” you groan in frustration, scolding yourself for your apparent weakness for this man. He's your childhood friend, the one who came and told you that you belong— at the place you once called home, reigniting something dormant within you, a feeling that has slumbered for centuries, now awakening and blossoming slowly.

“It's really okay,” he assures you with a soft squeeze to your leg. His hand feels firm and warm, mirroring his comforting presence. You realize a desire for more, but you tread carefully on dangerous waters, doing your best to keep your more horny thoughts in check.

“I'll have to head back soon,” he says, punctuating his statement with another heartfelt yawn, a languid stretch emphasizing the inevitable departure.

“Do you like pancakes? I could whip up a batch before you head out,” you suggest, caught between the genuine desire to treat him to a hearty breakfast and the subtle hope that it might extend his stay, sparing him the long drive on an empty stomach.

“Absolutely,” he responds, his soft smile revealing a glimpse of those charmingly crooked teeth. As you rise from your seat and head into the kitchen to whip up the pancakes, a subtle urgency whispers in your mind, warning that if you linger too long, keeping your hands to yourself might become an increasingly challenging feat.

With a culinary flair, you whip up the pancakes in record time, the aroma of warm batter filling the air. As you both settle around the small dining table, the atmosphere is filled with the comforting clinks of cutlery against plates. Amidst bites of fluffy pancakes, Jimin unveils the captivating tale of wild horses roaming the ranch, a narrative that unfolds with tales of Yoongi's quest to tame these untamed spirits, turning them into dependable companions through a gentle, patient approach. 

Fascinated, you ponder the intricacies of Jimin's story. “I had no idea such a thing was possible,” you muse, savoring a sip of water as if to quench not just your thirst but also your curiosity.

“Yoongi has a real knack for gentling horses, it's like second nature to him,” he shares, his smile lighting up the room as he effortlessly joins you in tidying up after the meal.

As the moment lingers, a subtle sense of farewell hovers in the air, but you're not quite ready to part ways with Jimin. The warmth of his company, the echoes of the past, all make you wish he didn't have to leave just yet.

Gratitude colors his words as he stands in the hallway, boots on, ready to step out into the world again. “Thank you for having me over,” he expresses, his gaze carrying a blend of sincerity and a hint of reluctance.

“No problem,” you respond with a soft smile, “having you here was truly enjoyable.”

“I hope to see you again, maybe back home?” His gaze lingers in your eyes for what feels like an eternity. There you stand, like a lovestruck fool, anticipating the one thing your brain has been yearning for since you glimpsed his softly bitten lips in the morning. The hope in his voice resonates, causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest once more.

Your gaze rises to meet his, and as he strides closer, his eyes lock onto yours. The proximity is electrifying; you sense his warm breath teasing your face, and anticipation builds as he leans in, closing the space between you.

You surrender to the moment, shutting your eyes as his warm hands cradle your cheeks. A delicate touch, his nose brushes against yours, setting off a delightful jolt that courses through your entire being. Then, in a tender ascent, his plush lips descend upon your forehead, leaving an imprint of warmth that lingers.

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around his biceps, a reflexive response to the unexpected closeness. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as the realization dawns – he's kissing your forehead, a gentlemanly gesture that leaves a trail of warmth lingering on your skin.

He withdraws, and as you open your eyes, his warm, smiling face is the last thing you see. “See you at home,” he whispers, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a lingering promise in the air.

As he gracefully exits the room, descending the stairs with an effortless charm, your heart beats wildly, a flutter of butterflies threatening to carry you away. Your entire being tingles, breath caught in a sweet suspension. A lovestruck smile plays on your lips, lingering like the echo of his presence.

Home.

He wants you to come home.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸

[domm1etae]

Once Upon a Dream: The Princess and His Knight

yunho x mingi

fluffy oneshot

777 words

Where does the dream end and reality start? Mingi’s the reluctant “princess” waiting in a tower, Yunho’s his less-than-dramatic knight—and the “dragon”? Just a gecko. But with a kiss that feels too real, maybe this fairytale isn’t just in his head

(nsfw) tags under

m/m, princess mingi, knight yunho, delulu mingi, kissing, fairytale, dreamscape

author's note: i miss my princess minki

Getting to the tower was surprisingly easy, albeit anticlimactic. Yunho had expected enchanted guards or a fire-breathing beast, but his only challenge was a waist-deep moat, more of a glorified puddle, and a couple of fairies squabbling in the treetops. The purple glow of twilight cast the tower in an ominous hue, but Yunho was resolute. Somewhere inside, Mingi, his “princess,” awaited him—though he still wondered how Mingi had gotten himself locked up in such a place.

After crossing the moat and trudging through the damp earth, Yunho made his way up the winding staircase, his armor clinking as each step creaked under his weight. The empty, dim lower levels reeked of mildew and were thick with cobwebs. He could almost laugh at the idea of Mingi trapped in this grimy, foreboding place, probably complaining about the dust or lack of proper seating.

When he reached the top, he found himself facing a plain, slightly worn door. Sword in hand, Yunho was about to strike when he heard a familiar voice call out, “You’re supposed to pull, you know.”

Startled, Yunho paused, then rolled his eyes, lowering his sword. He gave the handle a tentative tug, and the door swung open effortlessly. Inside, Mingi reclined on an overly ornate chair, one leg draped over the armrest, wearing a pastel-colored gown and a lopsided tiara. He looked both annoyed and completely unfazed, a small green gecko by his side lazily flicking its tongue.

“Mingi,” Yunho began, trying to keep a straight face, “why… are you dressed like that?”

Mingi huffed, arms crossed. “It’s a long story, and no thanks to you, I’ve been here forever. Are you going to rescue me or just complain?”

Yunho stifled a laugh, glancing at the tiny gecko perched on a nearby plant. “Let me guess—this is your ‘dragon?’”

“Oh, you bet. His name is Sparky, and he’s been keeping me company,” Mingi replied, completely serious, even giving Sparky a little pat. “But enough about him. I was expecting a grand rescue! Armor clanking, doors breaking down, maybe a true love’s kiss to break the curse. Instead, you’re here, wet, and looking… well, wet.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “You’re my princess, huh?” He smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t exactly look the part.”

Mingi feigned offense, hands on his hips. “Excuse me! This dress is vintage, and I’ll have you know I’ve been trapped in a tower just like a true princess!”

Yunho chuckled. “I suppose you’re waiting for that true love’s kiss you mentioned, then?”

Mingi’s expression softened just a bit, his gaze holding an intensity that made Yunho’s heart pound. “It’s the only way to break the curse,” he murmured, his bravado slipping just enough to reveal a blush.

Taking a step forward, Yunho placed a hand on Mingi’s waist, feeling the soft fabric of the gown under his fingers. “Any last requests, Princess?”

Mingi swallowed, his gaze flicking to Yunho’s lips before whispering, “Just don’t keep me waiting.”

That was all Yunho needed. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Mingi’s in a kiss that was both tender and electric. Mingi’s hand tightened on his shoulder, pulling him closer. In that moment, Yunho forgot the tower, the dress, and even the so-called “dragon” nearby—he only knew Mingi, smiling against his lips, a faint taste of honey lingering.

When they finally pulled back, Mingi laughed softly, pressing his forehead against Yunho’s. “Okay, maybe I like this ‘princess’ thing after all,” he admitted.

Yunho grinned, brushing a stray lock of hair from Mingi’s face. “So, does that mean you’ll let me rescue you again?”

“Perhaps, Prince Yunho,” Mingi murmured with a warm smile.

After a few more stolen kisses, they made their way out of the tower, hand in hand, Sparky in tow. Once outside, Mingi clung to Yunho’s arm as they descended, murmuring jokes and whispering about their “next adventure.” Yunho couldn’t help but feel the thrill of a storybook ending, complete with a happily-ever-after.

But just as they reached Yunho’s horse and prepared to head back to the kingdom, Mingi felt a sudden heaviness wash over him. The warmth of Yunho’s hand, the cool breeze, the thrill in his chest—all of it started to fade. Mingi awoke with a start, blinking at the familiar ceiling of his room. The fantasy tower, the gown, Yunho’s soft, teasing smile—all of it vanished in an instant. Groaning, he let his head fall back against his pillow, a mix of fondness and disappointment swirling in his chest, voice barely a whisper, “What a ridiculously perfect dream…” knowing damn well he wanted it to be more than just a stupid dream. about his bestie.

[quintessencewrites]

Little Panther

Shuri x black!fem!reader

And collect my son I do, adorning his little fluffy figure in kisses. "None for me?" Shuri pouts, eyes begging.

"Uh, uh. You told me to collect my son, not my girl."

Warnings: FLUFF!! Implied smut, explicit language.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Tags: @yvxmpire @zestgodtj @k3nn3dyxo @mlmilani @letitias-fav @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honey @g4yforu @remwritess @widowmakker @becauseimswagman1 @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed @laurensmabel1 @malltake12

Request by: @laurensmabel1 I hope I did this justice for you lovely!

A/N: Don't got much to say this time, other than enjoy my loves <3

Translations: sthandwa - my love; umama womnthwana - baby mama; usana - baby; mama wabantwana bam - mother of my children; i-panther encinci - little panther; molweni ekuseni, sthandwa - good morning, my love; enkosi, intombi yam - thank you, my girl

I was taking a risk, removing the beautifully sculpted kimoyo bracelet from my wrist and dropping them on the end table by my front door. Shuri knew my schedule better than I did; she would be ringing my beads, wondering why my location revealed me to be home and not in class. What she didn’t know, however, was that my Metallurgy class ended an hour early today, giving me enough time to execute the idea I’d been sitting on for weeks. 

The bus ride was far too long, my patience burned short with excitement. When the double doors parted at my presence, I felt like royalty; the way my Shuri must feel often. “Hi! Welcome to The Animal Rescue League of Boston. How can I help you today?” The chipper girl’s grin was contagious and I caught it like a virus. 

“Uh, hi,” I stated, suddenly feeling timid. “I’m interested in adopting a kitten.”

Her eyes could not have lit up any brighter, gifting her a glow that could rival the Sun. “Oh my goodness, absolutely! Are you a first time pet owner?”

I shook my head, easily. “No ma’am. I had a cat growing up, from the day I was born. She lived 17 years.”

Her already bright smile grew larger. “Oh, so you’re a pro then! Also, you can drop the ma’am; I’m not that old. Name’s Mackenzie.” Extended is her hand, awaiting my own. I give into the offer and give a gentle squeeze. “Y/n,” I say back, still smiling.

“Y/n? That’s so freaking pretty! Come, follow me. I’ll introduce you to our felines.” Mackenzie stands, and I follow, each step igniting a thrill in me. We make a sharp left and soon approach a glass door, behind which tiny predators flock and flit around. 

I catch a glimpse of dark fur sprint across the room, and when I enter it, that’s the first kit I go towards. With a timid hand outstretched, I wait, beckoning the little thing to come forward. It was beautiful, with more fur than it had body and a dark hue mirroring that of a night with no moon. Golden eyes peered at me, filled to the brim with playfulness and curiosity.

The tiny puss pounces at my fingers, dangling in its face. 

That’s it. That was all it took to melt my heart. “I’ll take this one.”

Mackenzie beames down at the two of us. “Yeah, he took to you instantly. He’s a beaut, isn’t he?” 

“He’s gorgeous,” I mew. 

Moments later, the baby ball of fur was in his crate, rapid meows spilling from his body whilst I joined Mackenzie to fill out the appropriate papers. “What’ll you call him?”

“Little Panther,” I respond with no thought, no doubt. 

When we arrive at my apartment, I barely walk through the door, greeted with my abandoned kimoyo beads buzzing furiously. When I pick them up, an image of my Shuri greets me. “Hi, my love,” I welcome her, placing Little Panther on the floor to explore, out of Shuri’s line of vision. 

“Do not ‘hi, my love’ me,” She threw back, clearly angry. “Why have you ignored my first…” She glances down at her own beads, probably recalling how many times she’d tried to reach me with no avail. “Ten calls,” she continued. “I was worried. I thought something had happened to you. I thought-”

“Baby, calm down,” I sooth, sensing a panic rising in my queen. “I’m okay. In fact, I have a surprise for you. How soon can you get here?”

“Y/n, sthandwa, I am queen of a nation. I can not just up and leave on an impromptu trip to the States.” 

She’s trying so hard to be serious and failing miserably. “So,” I trail. “I’ll see you in an hour?” Shuri bears barely there smile in defeat. “Make it an hour and a half. I have to pack.” 

I can’t hide my excitement anymore, jumping up and down and squealing like a child. My sounds scare Little Panther, who squeaks a shrill noise and seeks sovereign underneath the couch. “What was that?” Shuri attempts, but I stop her short. “Okay, my queen. Have a safe flight, see you in a few, bye,” spills from me hurriedly, as I hang up on Her Royal Highness to tend to my fur baby crying from his safety. 

Exactly 90 minutes later, a key is inserted into my locked door as Shuri lets herself in, bags in tow. I anticipated her arrival, hiding Little Panther in my bedroom, wanting to build up to his reveal. 

“Baby,” I rushed to her, truly excited. It had been a month since we’d adorned each other last, both our schedules conflicting frustratingly so. My queen’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling my body against hers. “I’ve missed you,” I admit. Shuri doesn’t speak, taking in the moment with me in her hold. My gaze climbs hers and I confess. “I have news, my love.”

My attempt at a heavy demeanor brings my Shuri’s features to pull into a smile. “What? Are you pregnant?” Her tone is joking and the claim almost causes me to break character, but I decide to play into it. 

Taking her hand and pulling her to the couch, I sit her down. My seriousness is threatening to crack but determined to hold it together, I sigh, a deep, troubled sound. “Shuri, we have a son.”

Her sculpted brows jump, yet her dark eyes narrow in suspicion. Mouth agape, all she can utter is “What?”

“We have a son,” I repeat, corners of my mouth rising, but so little, I’m sure it goes by unnoticed. “Would you like to meet him?” Shuri’s mouth barely moves, though her eyes dart to my belly, as if searching for a bump. When I stand to retreat to my bedroom, her eyes refuse to leave my abdomen, as if the baby that’s not there will grow before her eyes. 

In the safety of my room, the giggle fit erupts, and by the time I find Little Panther and bring him out to the living room, the laughter hasn’t subsided.

“Shuri, my love, meet our son.” Her eyes drop, caulking with boredom.

 “A kitten?”

An excited nod shakes from my head, Little Panther in my hands preparing to leap straight onto my love’s skeptical form. 

“You got my hopes up, umama womnthwana,” she admits, actually sounding disappointed. 

“Shuri, how-nevermind. Here, hold him.”

“Why?” my dubious girl questions slowly.

“I got him cuz he reminds me of you, mamas. He’s my Little Panther.”

“First of all,” Shuri starts dramatically. “He is a he.” My eyes roll to the sky, then back to my queen.

“Secondly, I am nothing like a meek kitten.” She spits the last word like it disgusts her. “I am the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda. I am not a kitten.”

Smirk growing on my lips, I retort, “Oh, really? You be purring for me when I touch your-”

“Eh!” the Black Panther exclaims. “Hold your vulgar tongue. I am trying to be annoyed with you.”

“Trying?” I ask, hopeful that the girl would share my excitement. 

“Mhm, trying usana. So, you’re not giving me an heir?”

This girl gotta be joking. “Usana,” I repeat, throwing it back at her. “Ho-how would I be pregnant? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, though I’m sure you have, being the world’s greatest scientist and shit, but we don’t have the parts for that.”

A mischievous grin spreads across her cheeks and she wiggles those beautifully thick brows. “I have ways, mama wabantwana bam, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you keep calling me? It’s sexy, coming off your tongue like that, but I feel like I should be insulted.”

Shuri’s curls bounce as she shakes her head, leaving my question stranded. “Well, then,” I propose. “Let’s start with a fur baby.”

I catch the grimace glitter my girl’s face and she stands to stretch before heading to the kitchen. “Nope.”

The night goes by and when the sun rises on the next day, Shuri isn’t in bed with me. Searching for the royal doesn’t take long. She’s in the living room, hands trying to type furiously at something on the laptop she brought with her. Little Panther is thwarting her attempts, swiping and springing at her nimble fingers each time. 

Neither of them have noticed me yet, and I watch in amusement. Shuri takes a deep, frustrated breath. Creeping down to be eye level with the fiery orbs of the tiny puss, my queen seethes “Listen you litte fur ball. You are getting in my way.” 

Little Panther swipes playfully at Shuri’s nose, causing her to scoff. “You are nothing like me. I am mighty. You are mild.”

The kitten opens it’s tiny mouth to meow an insult back at my girl. “I-panther encinci, little panther. Little Panther,” she drags. Her eyes never leave the cat’s, and it leans forward, butt wiggling in the air. “Oh, you better not-” Shuri starts, but Little Panther heads her words, leaping from the table and onto her lap with a fury. “I bet you think you just did something great, huh?”

Finally stepping out of the shadows over to my queen changes her whole demeanor. “Molweni Ekuseni, sthandwa. Come collect your son.”

And collect my son I do, adorning his little fluffy figure in kisses. “None for me?” Shuri pouts, eyes begging.

“Uh, uh. You told me to collect my son, not my girl.”

Little Panther has taken a liking to the Wakandan Queen and he was determined to crack her hard demeanor. Later that day, when Shuri napped, head in my lap on the couch, LP took it upon himself to climb atop her chest for his own nap. 

My queen’s eyes opened at his presence, but she left him be. That night, she bore her claws and let them swing in the baby cat’s face, allowing him to practice his pouncing while she rattled off tips and pointers as if he could understand.

“Enkosi, intombi yam,” Shuri spoke to me the day before she was due to return to Wakanda. 

“Translate, baby.”

A smile bore her face, Little Panther asleep in her lap as her fingers shyly pet his furry body. “Thank you, my girl.”

“For what?”

Her eyes were glossed over and she hesitated to speak. “This Little Panther…. He is nothing like me, I still stand firm on that.”

“Mhm,” I start, but her interruption cuts my voice short.

“But, he does remind me a lot of a greater Black Panther. The greatest one, in my opinion.”

The tears streak her face and I catch on. “T’Challa?”

“Yes,” she bites her lip, inhaling deep to steady her words. “He was meek and bold and determined all at once. He was a force to be reckoned with, one whom did not take no as an answer. Much like this Little Panther. That is his namesake, not my own.”

My own face is wet now as well, and I pull Shuri in close, her arm wrapping around me on instinct. “So, he’s grown on you?”

My love’s eyes roll, causing more tears to spill. “He broke my guard as soon as I realized his eyes matched the gold in my suit.”

Laughter pours from my lips and I accept the victory. “Yes! Welcome to the family, LP.”

Shuri’s head sways back and forth, a besting beam washing over her. “Welcome to the family Little Panther.”