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notquitecanon · 6 months

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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."

"No promises."

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.

____

Ambushed in the night.

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.

And Astarion? Their target?

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.

"SHADOWHEART!"

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader #astarion x you #Astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 fanfic #Astarion self insert

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daydreamingyuta · 5 months

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Sweet Kisses | Mark Lee

summary: fluff, drabble, sweet kisses from bf!mark on a picnic date wc: 714

You finish the last strawberry and set down the stem in the little bag Mark brought for the trash. He had set up a picnic date in a private part of the park that you both found by chance a few weeks prior. It doesn't have a view of the pond that you always liked to visit, but there was nobody around which offered some peace and quiet.

Thinking of how serene this date was made you realize that Mark hasn’t said anything in a minute. You look over at him and he’s very clearly basking in the sun, with his eyes closed. “You look like a cat.” His eyes flutter open at your words and he looks at you, smiling. “You always compare me to a cat.”

You nod your head in agreement, “You’re a very cat-like man.”

He scrunches his nose at the comparison, “Cheetah.” He says, matter-of-factly. Usually you would pretend to argue with him, but since he took you on this beautiful picnic date, you were feeling nice so you let him have this one. “Ok, you’re a cheetah who very cutely basks in the sun.”

“See, was that so hard to admit?” He asks as he scoots closer to you, making the space in between you two nonexistent. You hum in response and he tilts his head, looking at you with the most loving eyes, and playing with the hem of your dress. “You know, you wore my favorite dress.” His words were unexpected and made you blush slightly. You had only worn it around him a few times, but each time ended with his lips inseparable from yours, proving that he very much did like this dress on you. “I didn’t think you noticed I was wearing it.”

“Of course I did, baby.” He leans in to you and gives you the softest kiss, just barely brushing against your lips. He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes for a moment before his hand meets your cheek. “You know, I think I’m like kinda obsessed with you right now, y/n.” He says, before kissing you again with more intensity. “…I mean I’m always obsessed with you, but you just-” His hands bury themselves more into your hair as he cuts himself off mid sentence giving you more kisses, “-just look so good.” His attention shifts slightly from your lips as he travels down to your neck, peppering you with a million more kisses. “and you smell so good.”

He pulls away from the kiss and strokes your cheek, still looking at you with so much love in his eyes. “You always blush when I compliment you, baby.” He whispers to you, making the same face he always does when he’s teasing you.

“Of course I do, you make me feel all… pretty and stuff.” You say, slightly out of breath. Your words set him off again, clearly not ready to let his lips part from yours. In this moment, you’re both in heaven. Nothing matters except the two of you, so in love that your minds are incapable of thinking of anything else.

The moment is interrupted though, when you hear a clanging noise. Mark was insistent on getting as close to you as possible, which caused the perfectly placed blanket under you to get bunched up, which then caused his water bottle to fall over. He breaks apart from you and looks over at it, making sure it was nothing important.

You both wanted nothing more than to go back to the moment before, but the reality of what you were doing sets in, causing you both to laugh. Making out in a public park was a tad bit scandalous, especially because anyone could come into sight at any point.

You both wordlessly agree to try and contain yourselves as Mark rests his head on your shoulder. “Really though, you started it. You know I love that dress on you.”

You try to deny his words, but you knew what you were doing when you put it on this morning. There was just something in the way that Mark kissed you that was so addicting, you couldn’t help but want more, and he always gave you what you wanted, being just as addicted as you are.

#mark lee #nct #nct 127 #fluff #k-pop #drabble #imagine #nct dream #nct scenarios #fanfiction #fanfic #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you

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koschgay · 12 days

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okay. 73 Yards: Explained- An Attempt, by Me

important presuppositions for this theory:

-Ruby is an eldritch being (probably part of the Pantheon or a different, older thing) with the power to control stories. she has no idea about this, but she is.

-snowing is a sign of her eldritch powers at work

-the Doctor broke the universe in Wild Blue Yonder and let magic in (this is basically canon at this point tbh)

the theory:

-the Doctor stepped in and broke a fairy ring and was duly punished in the traditional fairy manner, by being whisked away to the fairy realm and made to dance for their entertainment

-Ruby opened a scroll, got mildly weirded out, and then noticed that the Doctor was missing and got really weirded out

-this caused her powers to trigger (it starts snowing around this point in the episode), and in her panic over losing the Doctor, she spins herself a story that she has very little control over

-The Woman is a manifestation of her fear of abandonment. everyone she gets close to leaves her without explanation; her birth mother did it, and now, in her panicked mind, the Doctor has just done it as well. The Woman is entirely a creation of Ruby’s powers, she has absolutely nothing to do with the pre-existing circle and any fairies it may or may not contain

-Roger ap Gwilliam is just a shitty guy. maybe he called himself Mad Jack on TV thanks to Ruby’s story powers, but he isn’t any kind of fae creature or magical entity that has been unleashed upon the workd

-Ruby fixates on stopping him as the solution to her problems, and so she does stop him, because her eldritch story powers dictate that She Has To Win In The End

-however, the Doctor was vanished away by a force completely separate to her story powers, so her ‘getting rid of Mad Jack’ does nothing to bring him back or appease The Woman. Ruby is still Abandoned By Him, in her mind, so The Woman, her Woman, stays with her

-she lives her entire life not knowing what to do, because her story and the Doctor’s problem are entirely separate

-when she dies, because she’s a being with powers incredibly fundamental to reality, the universe goes ‘hang on, this is wrong, she’s not supposed to be able to die, I need my story function’. and so it reboots her, and Ruby’s powers allow her to warn her young self about the fairy ring BEFORE the Doctor steps in it and BEFORE she reads the scroll

-all this time, she hasn’t known how to end her story. she’s been incapable of it, because she hasn’t had the key missing plot point: that the Doctor disappearing was completely unrelated to her own misadventures

-and at the end of the day, what’s the classic way of ending a story when you don’t know how to finish it off? ‘it was all a dream’, or in this case, ‘it was all an alternate timeline’

the end. thank u for listening <3

#doctor who #dw spoilers #fifteenth doctor #ruby sunday #73 yards #ncuti gatwa

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shitouttabuck · 8 months

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oh my god nina!!! 8 for the bedsharing prompts if it takes your fancy <33

thank you sweet peach this scratched an itch !!!

bed-sharing prompts: whispering “Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up.”

Eddie’s not old—he’s not even 30, despite the near-constant jokes about his senior citizen-isms he seems incapable of shaking. And he wouldn’t even say he’s a man of creature comforts. He just likes familiarity, and routine, and his own goddamn bed.

Quarantine has brought a lot of change: being away from Chris, living in a single-occupancy apartment with three other people, and sharing a bed with all six-foot-two of Evan Buckley.

Currently, this means waking up at some wretched hour and squinting in the moonlight filtering in through half-open blinds, because the aforementioned best friend has stolen Eddie’s pillow from right under his head yet again.

Eddie groans quietly, easing his neck out of the crick it’s cramped in. He glares at the enormous lump snoring serenely beside him and pats the mattress blindly for his pillow. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he’s greeted by the same sight he’s woken to at ungodly hours thrice this month already: Buck with his gigantic thieving arms wrapped happily around Eddie’s goddamn pillow as he clutches it to his chest, dead to the world.

“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie mutters, reaching out and tugging the end of the pillowcase to no avail. Buck’s vice-grip doesn’t falter even in sleep. Eddie’s usually able to coax it out of his grasp without waking him, but it takes a minute, and their last shift had been a full-body workout from hell, and Eddie just wants to go the fuck back to sleep with a single measly pillow supporting his exhausted head. Surely that’s not too decadent a luxury to expect.

He tugs again, harder and meaner than he normally would. The pillow inches out of Buck’s hold, and Eddie grabs a firmer handful to yank it away, grunting triumphantly when it pops free.

“Hrmmph,” Buck grumbles, crease appearing between his eyebrows. Eddie stills, holding his breath as he gauges Buck’s proximity to consciousness. He thinks he’s in the clear, but then Buck murmurs unhappily and rolls ever-so-slightly towards Eddie.

“S’your turn to be th’ li’l spoon,” he slurs, and Eddie freezes even further. “’M th’ big spoon t’night.” He pats half-heartedly at the mattress between him and Eddie, jaw going slack again after a few seconds.

Eddie grins, just barely containing the snort that bubbles up at Buck’s sleep-talking. There’s enough distance from Ali and even Abby, post-train debacle, that means he can wring weeks’ worth of teasing out of this. Whichever one of them it is Buck’s dreaming of, Eddie thinks multiple nights of interrupted sleep allow him a little good-natured—if merciless—ribbing.

He shifts onto his back, shoving the pillow under his head and shutting his eyes with a sigh, but the movement has Buck mumbling again. His face is mashed into his own pillow, words barely intelligible when he says, “Y’re littler than me. C’mon, lemme be big spoon.”

The snort sneaks out of Eddie then, just a bit. He barely knew either woman, but he can’t quite picture them indulging Buck in this line of conversation. It’s—sweet, if deeply mortifying for Buck himself to know anyone else has heard it.

Buck snuffles discontentedly, forehead scrunching as he reaches out in search of the pillow, still asleep.

“Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up,” Eddie whispers, wondering if there’s more entertainment about to be provided and if it’s worth getting up to unplug his phone and catch the tail end of this on video.

“Urgh,” asleep-Buck responds, patting the bed a little more insistently when he’s unsuccessful in his pillow-retrieval endeavours. “Wh’re—c’mere. Eddie. Y’re li’l spoon.”

This time when Eddie freezes, it’s such a sudden locking of every joint in his body that his neck cricks in the opposite direction. He barely feels it, singularly focused on Buck’s latest garbled complaint, because—is Buck awake? Is Buck dreaming about him?

He’s frozen so still he doesn’t realise Buck’s questing hand is now well in range of Eddie himself, and he jolts back into his body when Buck’s strong, calloused fingers wrap around his wrist.

“C’me back,” he whines, tugging at Eddie while shuffling closer at the same time. Eddie holds himself carefully still, hardly daring to breathe as Buck slowly but surely plasters his long, long body along Eddie’s side, hitching one leg over Eddie’s thigh before flinging an arm across his torso and dragging him nearer.

“Mm,” he hums, brow smoothing out. His cheek rests on Eddie’s shoulder, face smushed but seemingly satisfied. Eddie’s arm is trapped between his own side and Buck’s stomach, and he worms it under Buck’s body almost on autopilot, more to get comfortable than anything else. This leaves him basically cradling Buck to him, and Buck gives one final happy grunt before burrowing his face into Eddie’s neck and going limp, a dead weight over Eddie’s right side.

Eddie makes his fingers relax where they’re clutching the back of Buck’s t-shirt. This is—fine. Normal and fine. So Buck isn’t dreaming about cuddling an ex-girlfriend, he’s dreaming about holding Eddie. They’ve been living out of each other’s pockets more than usual recently, leaning on each other a little heavier through a global pandemic and missing Christopher. Eddie’s told himself it’s because of constant proximity, and maybe it is, but whatever the reason, if Buck’s subconscious is embracing that vulnerability in this way, that’s fine. He’s an affectionate guy, and while it’s relatively new for Eddie to be on the receiving end of that from another man, he’s not one to shy away because of someone else’s archaic ideas of masculinity.

And—hold on. Y’re littler than me? Was that what Buck said? Eddie huffs indignantly, and then huffs again for different reasons, feeling his cheeks heat. He doesn’t know why, but he pulls Buck a little closer.

It’s still normal and fine, he finds, turning his head to press his nose into Buck’s curls. That surprises him a little, that there’s no freak-out of any kind accompanying—whatever this is. Buck smells like vanilla, because he used Chim’s fancy shampoo that’s actually Maddie’s fancy shampoo because both of them are missing her something fierce, and he’s definitely drooling onto Eddie’s neck, and now that he’s not sleep-talking he’s back to snoring like a motorcycle, and Eddie’s slipping under before he can marvel any more at just how normal and fine it all is.

When the moonlight is swapped for sunlight, Eddie stirs to Chim singing along to radio in the kitchen downstairs. Buck blinks awake right alongside him, cheek imprinted with creases from Eddie’s collar and turning pink as he hastily peels himself away.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He contorts his body in surprise trying to roll off Eddie’s arm. “Did I—sorry, Eds.”

Eddie works his arm back under Buck, easy and deliberate. “S’fine,” he yawns. “It was my turn to be the little spoon.”

In his peripheral vision, Buck turns a brilliant red, and Eddie gives him a reassuring squeeze before taking great joy in telling him just how embarrassed he should be about the contents of his dreams.

(Buck’s mortification is blessedly short-lived, since the contents of Eddie’s dreams are equally embarrassing in the very exact same way, as it turns out.)

#911 fic #buddie fic #wrote this then had GRUELLING therapy so now posting this and legally u have to be nice. please #i have missed writing silly stuff i know it’s just been a few weeks but this was so fun thank u sami it’s exactly what i needed!#911 #buddie #writing tag #ok running on three hours sleep and a therapy hangover and a regular hangover so. posting and snoozing xoxo #bed sharing prompts #mine

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annabelle--cane · 5 months

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Hey so I'm not good at subtext and I saw you posting about ep 200 of TMA being awesome. I've listened to it a few times and I'm mostly...confused? I don't understand what happened

(I mean, I get what Martin did to Jon, but nothing other than that)

Would you mind explaining why it's impactful to you?

honestly the main standout thing that makes it really shine to me is the soundscaping and vocal editing, and I've seen people take that as an indirect snide comment about the writing before but it really isn't, the entire scene in the panopticon just sounds gorgeous. the distortion and static on jon's voice, the underscoring of the statement, the way jon and martin's dialogue pops out from the sounds of the crumbling tower, it's just. aaaaaaaaaa. I find it really pleasant to listen to, if you've only listened through speakers then I'd 100% recommend trying it with headphones, it is simply very pretty and well made.

from the story side, it's beat after beat of ultimate catharsis for threads and arcs that have been set up for the whole show.

jon going ham and just really brutally killing jonah with his own hands, no supernatural influence, finally fulling snapping and, it sounds like, gutting him like a fish. it's just about the most lively and impassioned we've heard him all season, and, as far as anyone could deserve to do such a thing, he really is the person who deserved to get to do it.

jon and martin both betraying each other and making the choices that the whole story has been leading them to. jon has spent years fighting against his internalized idea that he can't trust anyone and he's the only person who's powerful/expendable/knowledgeable enough to make decisions and solve problems, and at last he submits to it and takes matters into his own hands. martin has spent years operating under the assumption that he's unimportant and incapable, and now just as he finally accepts that his choices have meaning, he sets the plan in motion that ends up getting them both killed. and jon has tried so hard to be transparent and show him trust that he underestimates just how willing jon is to go behind his back and disregard the plan completely.

and the fuckign. web lighter. I have a longstanding obsession with the mechanics of fate in tragedy narratives, and this lighter. hhh. so, fate (the web) was guiding jon & co to release the fears, but to jon's knowledge, killing jonah and becoming the pupil should have been his winning move to keep them contained. as far as he was capable of comprehending, he made all the right choices, but fate (the web) (the oppressive forces that govern all of our lives) doesn't play fair, it planned for this and cheated him. because he couldn't remember the lighter. he couldn't remember that he already gave georgie the catalyst for the explosion.

this tells me a few things: the ultimate end of releasing the fears was always going to happen, there was nothing jon could have done, but, technically, he could have adhered to the plan and lived to spend what was left of his life with martin and the rest of his nearest and dearest. but that was never really an option, was it? jon archivist sims would never have made that decision, that's why martin tried and failed to plan around it, that's why the web tried and succeeded to plan around it, it would never have happened differently. jon made his choice, it made no difference except to doom himself and the one he loves, he didn't have to do it, and it was inevitable.

and after all of that, after the web cheated him, he could still have won. he could have survived the tower collapse and kept the fears. but one of his biggest stated motives, over and over, is that he can't stand to lose anyone else, and martin is not immune to burning buildings the way he is. in an inverse to gertrude, at the last moment, he chose the barest chance for martin to survive over his own life and principles and big picture goals. he could cope with being responsible for killing the world in the abstract, but when it came to watching the person he loves most die right before his eyes, he caved and came around to martin's perspective. the other worlds can cope, he wants to save the man he loves.

#tma #answered #anons

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senp1i · 4 months

Text

GYM BRO’s? GYM HOES!

(SNSD Choi Sooyoung x Male reader) rewritten!! WC: 3440 + also if u previously read it then read after the keep reading, from then on ive added and changed the story

Sooyoung stumbled into the brightly lit 24-hour gym at stupid o'clock in the morning, unable to stay still in her apartment . With SNSD’s big summer/late-summer comeback announced, her schedule was absolutely shit lately between vocal training, choreography bootcamp hell, and a new diet that had her craving carbs 24/7.

Call her crazy, but a good workout sounded way more appealing than yet another hour tossing and turning in bed.

The location near their dorm was usually blissfully empty at ass o’clock in the morning too - perfect for looking like a disgusting post-workout mess without judgment. She swiped her membership card at the empty front desk, earbuds already queued up with a stupid EDM mix.

Rounding the corner towards the cardio equipment though, Sooyoung came to an abrupt halt.

Wait a damn minute...was that...a guy?

Working out alone in the free weights corner? Well crap, so much for having the place to herself, she thought.

Squinting across the room, she vaguely recognized him - one of their fan-sites maybe? He seemed just as startled to no longer be alone, nearly dropping the dumbbell in his hand with a awkward fumble.

“Oh shit! Sooyoung-ssi?” His eyes bugged wide, literally about to pop out, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be here this late...”

Sooyoung snorted, shifting her gym bag higher on one shoulder. “You and me both, dude.” An awkward silence passed of them just standing there staring. *sigh* no use being a bitch about it, she decided. Gym’s open 24/7 to members, even nosy fanboys.

Tossing him a casual chin jerk goodbye, she headed towards the treadmills.

“Well don’t let me mess up your sesh or anything,” she called over one shoulder, queueing up her go-to cardio playlist. Setting her phone on the ledge, Sooyoung hopped up on the belt and started jogging.

The familiar burn soon had her zoning out - eyes fixed on her reflection in the big wall of mirrors, volume cranked enough to drown out any other noise.

Including the sound of fumbling weights behind her...as the same flustered fanboy now seemed incapable of looking away from Sooyoung's sweaty reflection. His eyes tracked her bouncing boobs barely contained in the old Nike sports bra, and down to those leggings leaving nothing to imagination with each pounding step.

((a/n: so for the sake of my sanity we’ll all pretend this is a treadmill and that the fila is a Nike, alright? Good.🫡))

Sooyoung noticed the attention after a few minutes, torn between rolling her eyes or biting back a smug grin. Fan service was part of the job after all - but she also knew damn well what she looked like working out in minimal fabrics. Didn’t mean she enjoyed feeling ogled like a piece of meat, but the ego boost was kinda nice.

Nearly 45 minutes and 5 miles later however, tiredness sank in as Sooyoung began cooling down to a walk.

Her leg muscles felt more like limp udon noodles at this point, chest heaving to gulp oxygen. Risking a glance behind her, she noted the fan seemed to be wrapping up his own workout now too - re-racking an impressive set of heavy dumbbells across the open floor space.

Sooyoung slid her feet to a stop on the treadmill, skin sticky with sweat. She bent down to stretch her quads and muscles briefly, back to the weight area.

When she straightened up from touching her toes, the guy was much closer than expected - openly staring with those wide dark eyes.

"Feeling pretty bold over here aren't we?" Sooyoung arched an eyebrow, unflustered. His mouth snapped shut audibly, face and neck flushing darker.

"S-sorry noona!" he stammered, glancing away and raking a hand through his messy black hair. "I just uh...wanted to say nice workout? You really seem like you know what you're doing..." His awkward compliment trailed off into uncertainty, still avoiding direct eye contact.

Sooyoung couldn't help chuckling internally at just how shy this random fan was at interacting with her one-on-one, especially with so much exposed skin on display. She had to admit she didn't exactly mind the shy flattery. After over a decade pressure-cooking in the entertainment industry, it was actually sort of refreshing.

"I thought maintaining stamina is important for those long music show rehearsal hours," she replied easily, straightening up with a slight groan as her abdomen muscles protest.

Noticing the guy's eyes follow the flex of her defined abs, she had to hide another smirk. Too easy.

"But clearly you know what you're doing too," Sooyoung continued with a glance at the impressive set of free weights he had been using earlier

"I don't usually see guys your age lifting that heavy without a spotter."

Pink still dusted his sharp cheekbones, but he met her gaze now without the prior dose of awkwardness at the indirect praise.

Rubbing the back of his neck almost shyly, his lips quirked upwards.

"I try to hit the gym pretty consistently. Can't let you idol types have all the good bodies, you know." Y/N murmurs with a smirk, a smile.. somewhere in between

Was he...flirting back now? Sooyoung thought as she cocked her head, curiosity piqued by this boost of confidence in him,

She noted that he really was very good looking, with feline eyes and a sharp jawline that complemented the defined muscles under his sweaty workout t-shirt. No wedding ring either she observed.

"Oh really now?" she challenged, arms crossing under her boobs subtly. Enjoying the way his dark, definitely interested gaze automatically tracked and traced her tits, she took a half step closer.

"Maybe you could...give me some tips then?" Batting her lashes innocently, Sooyoung gestured one manicured hand at the bench press station nearby. "My upper body strength is definitely my weakness in dance practice lately." She says,

Y/N looks momentarily caught off guard by the bold invitation, his adams apple visibly bobbing in a hard swallow. But then he regains his confidence, lips quirking in a smirk again.

"It would be my pleasure to help demonstrate, Sooyoung-ssi” he says with his eyebrows raised and the smirk plastered on

Sooyoung watched with interest as the handsome fan confidently adjusted the bench press bar to a heavy weight for her petite frame. Clearly trying to impress her. Smirking slightly as he patted the black vinyl meaningfully in invitation, she walked closer. Intentionally lingering longer than necessary in his personal space before fluidly getting into position on her back.

The barely there bra did nothing to save her from the cold of the bench against her mostly bare skin. Goosebumps rising, Sooyoung tilted her chin up towards her impromptu trainer hovering near her.

"Well show me what you've got Mr. Gym Rat," she prompted cheekily.

His appreciative gaze flicked down to where her nipples had peeked almost visibly through the sweat-damp bra barely covering them.

Clearing his throat, Y/N carefully guided her hands into position holding the loaded barbell now held above only inches from her breast .

Sooyoung noticed how his fingers lingered, thumbs sweeping the inside of her wrists.

"Right uh, form is pretty important obviously..." Y/N started out slightly unevenly. As he began explaining proper technique, one large hand pressed unnecessarily against her toned stomach - supposedly to demonstrate using her core muscles.

"Make sense?" he asked, unconsciously stroking along her defined abs with his thumb distractedly.

"Mmhmm..." Sooyong managed, hoping she didn't sound as breathless to his ears as her own thudding pulse. She chalked it up to a normal physiological reaction - an undeniably hot guy was freely running his big hands all over her pretty much naked skin. It had been awhile since she got this type of casual intimacy with her crazy schedule and long-term even busier relationship.

Noticing her physical response, Y/N's lips curved slyly. He leaned down close, caging her under the heavy bench bar. "Why don't we start with a set, see how you handle it?" The intentionally lowered voice raised involuntary goosebumps on her skin,

Swallowing, Sooyoung tried focusing on proper breathing and form as she guided the weight smoothly down. But with him hovering so intimately close, she became hyper aware of every inch of bare skin exposed to the gym air and his wandering gaze.

Each brush of his fingers igniting sparks over her nerves.

Biceps burning from exertion, she carefully guided the barbell back into its holders. Breath coming shorter, she couldn't resist looking sideways up at him through her lashes.

Heart kicking faster seeing pure lust in his hooded eyes. She should tell him to back off, that she wasn't some groupie to take advantage of. Should remind him she had a whole career, a boyfriend even - a goddamn celebrity boyfriend none the less. But the words died on her lips as his palm smoothed down her stomach again.

"I think you need another set baby..."

The risky nickname from his mouth sent a new flood of wetness between her clenched thighs. Recklessly she arched up into his arm, just enough to make her stiff nipples touch across his wrist. His low hum is satisfying to her ears.

Maybe she could blame it on the adrenaline crash later she thought, Or the fact that she hasn’t gotten laid properly in weeks thanks to her and Jung Kyung-ho’s overlapping schedules .

But right now, feeling so desired and drowning in endorphins was exactly what Sooyoung needed after endless brutal days of smiling through every nonsense using her idol-persona as a shield

So here and now, Sooyoung threw caution fully out the window. Grabbing a fistful of her Y/N’s sweaty shirt, she yanked him down insistently, crushing their mouths together. He responded immediately, large hand pulling too-roughly in her messy ponytail to angle her head for better access.

She bit and pulled at his lower lip sharply. "What's your name anyway?" Sooyoung asked against his mouth, just realising she had no clue who this fan who felt so good pinning her down was,

"Y/N..." he managed, kissing wetly down her throat. Hearing the breathless need filling his voice sent another slob of wetness straight between her legs.

"Hmm Y/N-yah..." Testing his name on her tongue earned a responding groan. His hands slid boldly up from her shaking stomach to cover her neglected tits, kneading roughly through the thin cloth of her sports bra. White burst behind Sooyoung's shut eyelids, back arching off the vinyl bench.

"Oh fuck..." she moaned out. The vulgarness is a stark contrast from her idol act coming out unfiltered.

Y/N’s dark chuckle against her hammering pulse made her inner muscles clench on nothing.

"That's it baby, tell me what you want," he murmured , thick fingers tweaking her hard nipples for emphasis.

"Ahh!" Sooyoung whimpered as the sensation went straight to her clit, hands flying down to roughly shove down the band of her leggings and underwear before she peeled her sweaty bra over her head. Tossing it carelessly to show her gorgeous bare tits with stiffen nipples. His pulse racing double time seeing literal fantasy material come to life right in front of him. "Holy fucking shit..." Y/N mutters, staring open-jawed,

"Like what you see?" Sooyoung purred, noting his stunned expression. Inching closer she took his shaky hands, guiding them onto her exposed tits. Hot soft skin filled his palms and Y/N groaned at finally living out countless fever dreams.

"Fuck yes... You're even sexier without clothes noona."

He tested their size and weight gently. Watching with wide crazed eyes as she bit her kiss-swollen lower lip on a moan when he thumbed over her nipples teasingly, properly now that her bra is off.

"Been wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits for years..." he rasped before ducking down to capture one of the brown peaks in his mouth.

"Oh god!" Sooyoung's shocked cry as he lavished attention on her breasts with lips, tongue and a hint of teeth. He smirked around a mouthful of her boobs.

"Sensitive here huh?" Tweaking her spit-slick nipple sharply in emphasis.

"Yes! Fuck..." Grinding against his thigh slotted between hers searchingly, Sooyoung fisted a hand almost too-tight in his hair. Urging him to give equal attention to her other needy tit.

The power rush left Y/N lightheaded. Never in a million years did he imagine his long-time celebrity crush would be practically humping his leg whining for more. He needed to be inside her like five minutes ago.

With urgency he flipped Sooyoung, bending her over the bench. Groaning reverently at the sight of her flawless bare ass and soaked panties.

"Fuck you have no idea how many times I've jerked off imagining this perfect ass up in the air for me." He emphasised the filthy words with a sharp open-palmed spank to one plump asscheek. Her answering moan urged him on. Gripping her slim hips bruisingly tight, he dragged his still covered dick along her slit.

"Please Y/N-aah... Want to feel you inside..." Hearing Korea's darling beg so prettily to be fucked sent Y/N into overdrive. With shaking hands he shoved down his boxers, dick springing free and almost smacking her ass. Groaning at the first glide of his angry red dick through slick soaked folds.

"Tell me how bad you need this cock baby..." He asks as he teases them both - rubbing his swollen purple head along her pussy but refusing to enter.

Sooyoung whined, circling her hips urgently. "Please, feel so empty... Fuck me oppa!"

That was all the permission he needed. Tightening his hold on her hips,, Y/N thrust forward - plunging into her incredibly tight velvet heat in one relentless slide. Balls slapping harshly against her clit.

"Holy shit!" They both choked out. Frozen for a second, from just pure bliss

Then Y/N was fucking into her hard and fast - years of suppressed longing fueling his brutal pace. The lewd slick sound of their smacking flesh filled the empty gym. Her sharp cries urged him deeper.

Draped over her arched back, he slid a hand down her shaky stomach. Through the neat patch of pubes to circle her clit in firm strokes.

"Don't stop, please...I'm so fucking close!" Sooyoung whined, sharply circling her hips with his still imperceptibly swelling dick nestled deep inside her. Y/N starts fingering her clit in fast strokes, wanting to push her over the edge,

"Be a good girl and cum on oppa's cock," he rasped directly into her ear. Licking along the line of her throat when she tossed her head back, mewling.

"Oh god, fuck yes I'm cumming!" Sooyoung wailed, vision white as she orgasms hard - cunt spamming erratically around him. Milking every last drop of cum from his buried dick as she shook through endless waves of dizzying twitches.

Y/N fucked her slowly through the intense aftershocks until her limbs went limp, slumping forward. Soft puffs of breath hitting the bench under her flushed cheek. Holy hell she looked completely fucked out like this - hair, a wild mess, his release leaking steadily from her well used pussy.

Unable to resist, he carefully pulled out his sensitive dick free with a wet sound and her whimper, making him groan again as even more juices dripped freely down her soppy cunt in globs now coating her thighs. Gripping her ass cheeks, he spread them eagerly - her slick puffy folds still shaking, twitching.

Ducking down without hesitation, Y/N licked broadly up the entire crease. Tasting the salty-bitterness of her orgasm mixed with his semen.

"Ohhh fuck..." Sooyoung jerked, overstimulated nerves clearly on fire. But he just hummed directly against her, the vibrations making her squirm as he straightened his tongue. Spearing deep into her pussy to taste everything,

He gripped her hips again to hold her trembling body still, continuing to spear his tongue relentlessly into Sooyoung's oversensitive canal "Oh god, oh fuck!" Sooyoung whimpered and gasped as the intense sensations crashed over her overloaded nerves. The lewd, slick sounds of his sucking filling the empty gym.

Just when her thighs started really shaking from the stimulation, he finally let up. Pulling back to admire his handiwork once more with a satisfied groan.

But he isnt done with his bias yet,, he pressed two thick fingers back inside her velvet heat. Smirking when she jerked and whined at that light penetration.

"Mmm , you'll take a little more for your fan ,right?" He purred slyly even as she shuddered through another weak orgasm.

Not giving her a chance to recover, he quickly lined himself back up. Nudging just barely inside once more.

Sooyoung blinked sluggishly up at him, lips parted and slick with spit, eyes filled with tears even. "Ohhh f-fuck I can't..." Sooyoung whined, still shaking through the aftershocks. But despite her pleas she eagerly pushed her ass back for more of Y/N's thrusting fingers.

"Mmm yes you will," he growled. "Gonna make you cum all night..."

The lewd sound of his fingers pumping her soaked pussy echoed around the empty gym. Her broken whimpers urging him on.

"Oppa wants that sloppy cunt nice and wet before you take this dick again."

Adding a third finger, he twisted them until she bucked sharply - abusing her g-spot mercilessly. "Oh shit! Oh shit don't stop..." Sooyoung babbled, rocking her hips desperately to get those thick fingers deeper.

Y/N chuckled darkly at how needy she was for it already. His free hand cracked down hard on one jiggling ass cheek, making her yelp.

"Fuck yourself on oppa's fingers just like that. Let me see you cum again."

Arching sharply, Sooyoung braced her hands properly - shamelessly riding his thrusting fingers now. The lewd sound of her soaked pussy sucking them in greedily echoed with her pitched cries.

Right on the edge, Y/N suddenly ripped his hands away - ignoring her scream. Gripping her hips tight enough to bruise, he rammed balls-deep into her still-spasming cunt. Bottoming out so deep she saw stars.

"OH FUCK yesyesyes!" Sooyoung babbled mindlessly.

Y/N set a brutal pace instantly - their slick bodies slapping together loudly. Obscene squelching noises coming from where their juices dripped down her trembling inner thighs.

"Yeah? Oppa's cock feels good pounding this tight pussy?" He rasped filthily against her ear. Her constant and almost musical 'ah-ah-ah's with every deep thrust said it all.

Flipping her easily onto her back not the nth time, Y/N hooked one slim leg over his shoulder - driving himself impossibly deeper. Loud smack of balls against her ass echoing.

Sooyoung's next orgasm crashed through her violently - back bowing off the bench as she wailed his name. Cunt spasming erratically, trying to milk his cock.

Not nearly done with her, Y/N manhandled her limp body into his lap , as he sat down on the gym’s vinyl flooring next - spearing up into her dripping hole once more. Sharp cries ringing out as he bounced her roughly on his dick by the hips.

"Yes yes fuck! Shit I can't..." Sooyoung babbled, still cum drunk and now full on crying. But her petite yet tall body continued riding him eagerly. Tits jiggling wildly with the force of it.

Reaching around, Y/N's thick fingers found her throbbing clit again. Rubbing messy circles as she squeezed almost painfully a fourth time. Her rhythmic contractions pushed him closer to the edge too.

But he still wasn't done using her gorgeous body yet.

Pulling out abruptly mid-orgasm, he smirked at her wrecked wail. Manhandling her to knees, he fisted himself rapidly - aimed right at her sweat-slick back curved so beautifully before him.

"Look so fucking good on your knees noona... Now tell oppa what you need," he gritted out, squeezing the life out of his own dick,

Whining and grinding her ass back desperately, Sooyoung glanced over one shoulder. Eyes glazed and burned into his.

"P-please...want you to cum all over me oppa," she begged prettily, pink tongue swiping across her swollen bottom lip. "Mark me as yours..."

"Fuck!" Y/N roared, fist flying rapidly over his slick dick. Her nasty plea instantly triggered his release. He painted her back and ass cheeks in endless ropes of white hot semen - marking SNSD's lead dancer Sooyoung as claimed, way more claimed then her man could ever mark her.

Chests heaving, he eventually tugged her fucked-out body upright against him. She mewled weakly feeling their mixed cum and her juices now dripping freely out of her loose fucked out vagina and down her thighs and his.

"Let's get you cleaned up hm?"

Scooping her up easily, Y/N carried his pliant bias towards the locker room showers....... [A/N: lol pt2 coming out soon , i might finally surpass 5 if not 7k words, it'll be a personal milestone, took down the previous one cause i noticed typos and added bs, i didnt spellcheck it or even read through it prior to posting like an idiot, anyway req: @snsdyb]

#kpop smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #male reader #x reader #pov smut #reader insert #request #Snsd sooyoung smut #Girls generation Sooyoung smut #Choi Sooyoung smut #smut

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avocado-writing · 3 months

Text

notes: full version of this. contains mild brat taming, spanking, holy imagery. reader is genderless. special love to @dhampling who read over the start for me, and M for being my beta 💕

pairing: astarion x LG!Paladin!Reader

rating: E

words: 3k

Astarion looks at you, and he wonders.

He wonders, back when he was a spawn stalking through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if his sheer proximity to you might have burnt the alabaster skin from his bleached, undead bones. That is the force of your radiance.

Every part of you is a perfect fragment of your god. Sunshine-brilliant and drenched equally in his glory and wrath, there could be no doubt that you are a child of Pelor. You carry his emblem on your armour and his love in your heart. Your skin has a dreamy pearlescent lustre, soft and hearty, and you seem to glow from the innate light within you.

It makes Astarion sick.

You are so nauseatingly good. When he met you on the road near the crash site it was your first instinct to help. Not to second guess his nature, not to wheedle any masked truth from him, but to draw your sword and offer protection to a stranger.

He got the jump on you, of course - but he recalls how easily you laid him out on his back in return. When he was staring up at you, forcibly unarmed, and the sun framed your face like your god had in that moment blessed you with a halo just to spite him.

And still you had reached out a hand to him in friendship.

You hadn’t withdrawn when the truth of his condition came to light. He figured someone of your vocation would try to run him through without a second thought. But instead of offering him the point of your blade, you offered him your neck.

“If my blood will strengthen you then I will gladly share it,” had been your words. He wanted to prove you wrong for your kindness, to drain you dry just to spite you - and your taste had been ambrosia. Sweetly blossoming on his tongue he had almost lost himself in the taste of you, until once again your firm hands pushed him away.

No. He would not get to end you that night.

Every day the two of you bickered. You, the stalwart immovable paladin; him, the nefarious rogue always up to something. The two of you were total opposites. It seemed almost cruel that fate had forced you into being travelling companions. And yet…

And yet.

Whenever you finished swapping barbs (well, the threw barbs at you, and you remained unbothered in the face of them, deflecting his venom with the pavise of your cool-headedness) he would see you smile as you turned away. He’d be well aware there was one on his own face, too.

Stupid. Weak.

How he managed to get you into bed after that party at the Grove, he’ll never know. It was a gamble and the dice were not in his favour. But he gave it a go anyway, drolly mentioning the quality of the wine and the overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere. When he suggested meeting you later that night he braced himself to be staked.

But that hadn't happened.

You’d been surprised, definitely. Eyebrows raised and smile sudden, but you’d said yes. You’d even giggled at the idea, dizzy like a schoolchild.

And, admittedly, he felt an erotic thrill as he sauntered to meet you in that clearing. One he thought himself incapable of experiencing any longer. He was never excited about sex any more. He’d tried to convince himself it was due to his stygian soul, that a creature like him lying with someone as pure as you would be a defilement, would be sullying your holiness - something to bring you down a peg or two. Make you not so out of everyone’s reach.

Out of his reach.

Perhaps, though, in the corner of his mind he tried to wall up, he just relished the idea of being close to you.

And close to you he was. Your grip on his cock was warm and sweet as he slid inside you. You bared your neck and he found the bite marks that were becoming a permanent fixture on your skin, the softest place on you - every other inch was hard muscle. A reminder of that shield you carried, the righteous sword you swung. He made love to you in the most passionate way he knew possible.

He hadn’t realised he’d wanted to hear the sound his name made from your lips as you came around him. It burned into his soul.

He expected you to fall asleep quickly, after, but no. You’d actually held him. As if he weren’t some creature of the abyss but…

Well, your equal.

You hand had caressed his back in a way he’d never known before, soft and sweet, reading his scars like braille but not asking for their origin. Instead you’d opened up yourself a little and let him hear some of the chapters of your life.

He wasn’t surprised when you told him you swore your oath as a teenager. You grew up in the church, devoted from youth, and he could picture you: pocked-faced and wide-smiled, knowing exactly how you wanted to live the rest of your life.

So sure-footed. He was jealous. He was smitten.

“Do you ever regret it?” he’d asked, burying himself into the warmth of your body. You’d shaken your head and looked him dead in the eyes, so utterly sincere that it moved him.

“I rarely regret anything. Not my oath, not the nautiloid… not you,” you’d whispered before kissing him.

And, true to your word, you never did.

Nowadays? You make him feel safe. Protected. Watched over both in and out of battle - whenever anyone tries to take advantage of his vampirism, when they act like he is a thing rather than a person, you are the first one to his side to defend him.

It forces him reevaluate how he feels about himself; question if he is, in fact, a being worthy of love.

He hates it.

He is looking at his reflection in the mirror of you. Yes. You do see something worthy in him, something worthwhile and deserving of your nurture. It makes him so damned scared. Because if that’s true, it means maybe there’s more to him than the vicious little cretin he portrays himself as. Maybe he is worthy of it all. Of kindness. Of love.

Of you.

His soul begins to itch. He needs to do something to realign his universe, put things back into the way they’re meant to be. He needs to be a rogue, damn it!

Your adventure has called you back out to the Emerald Grove. With Isobel safe after the attack at the Last Light Inn you were comfortable leaving the Shadowlands for a while under the knowledge that before you fought Kethetic things were unlikely to get better, but also unlikely to immediately get worse. Astarion erects his tent on soft grass, relieved to not be surrounded by magical darkness, and waits for you to be distracted.

It does not take long. You are swept up in good-natured conversation with Wyll, discussing some sort of swordfighting technique he neither knows nor cares about. When he is certain that no eyes are on him he simply melts into the gloom of evening.

Where he belongs. Pathetic creature.

As far as he can tell, nobody notices him. The shadows cling to him like a second skin, like his body was made to have them mould around him, and he heads into the Grove. It is easy enough. The druids are all busy, guards down ever since the tieflings left, he just needs to not make too much noise and they are easy to pilfer from. Nothing too big or obvious. Nothing they really need. A healing tincture here, a handful of rare herbs there, a couple of silver pieces left loose on a stone desk. But the more he takes, the less it thrills him.

It occurs to him that none of this has the same impact that it used to. Once, the idea of robbing good people blind filled him with glee. Now, he can only picture your face every time his hand flits out to snatch something up. How disappointed you’d be with him. He is trying to fill a hole in himself and it is one that you have made. It sounds violent, but truth be told it’s anything but - he has been split open by your kindness, as if you were simply trying to carve away the rot and allow him to properly heal. That healing has barely started, and he's trying to patch over the necessary work with old bad habits which used to bring him joy. Not any longer, though.

No. His soul isn’t in it today.

He returns to camp with his heart and pockets heavy. He wonders what he should do with his ill-gotten gains. Return them? Perhaps, as quietly as he took them in the first place, making sure no attention is paid to him. Gloss all of this over like an artist sealing a painting, finish this nasty piece of work.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that, when he pulls back the fabric door of his tent, your presence there makes him actually jump.

You’re sitting on an old wooden chair, dragged over from your own quarters, legs crossed with one of your pauldrons in your lap. A cloth is grasped in your hand and you’re taking your time shining the metal. He catches you doing this a lot. You like to make sure your armour is in tip-top condition, every day. You once told him cleaning your plate mail is an act of worship for you, and he found that quietly ridiculous; Pelor forbid you get any blood on the thing saving your life every battle.

He freezes when you look up at him. The door falls closed, trapping the two of you in the canvas together.

“You’re up late,” he says, trying to affect nonchalance. He does not think you’d be here if this was a social call, at least not with such a serious countenance.

He’s been rumbled.

“Mm. I was in bed when I received a missive.” You hold the pauldron up and breathe a stream of warmth onto it, watching it fog before polishing the same spot.

“What sort of missive?”

“Nettie said she saw you skulking around the grove.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bloody druids and their bloody perception. He’s going to torch that bloody Grove and all of those green-fingered bastards in it.

Except no, he’s not. He’d never. Not now. But he still finds himself going on the offensive, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Oh! ‘Skulking’, was it? Was that the actual word she used?”

“Yes, Astarion.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just harrumphs.

“You know that I do not lie,” you add on, as if his silence threatens to be damnation of your oath.

“Mmm, I’m aware of that, and it is incredibly vexing!”

Finally you put the pauldron aside, all attention on him now. Hands clasped in your lap. Serious.

“Turn out your pockets for me please, Astarion.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

You sigh.

“Is that because you’re denying you went and robbed our druid friends, or you just don’t want me to see what you took?”

His face burns. He doesn’t answer.

“Please, Astarion. Be a good boy.”

Oh. Oh. His body has an… involuntary response to that, one he wasn’t expecting at all. He feels himself throb as those words settle about him.

“You’re not in charge of me,” he protests, but there’s little oomph behind it, because slowly his defences are beginning to fall. You need do so little and he is laid bare at your feet. He would lay himself bare at your feet.

He wonders if he can push you further. He wonders if this is all working for you as much as it’s working for him.

“I know I am not, my heart. But when you act like a brat I have little choice but to treat you like one.”

His mouth falls open at your brazenness, a perfect pink ‘o’.

His lips say, “I’m not acting like a brat!”

His cock says, I am and it’s on purpose.

“Pockets,” you say one more time, and he feels the full force of your gaze upon him. Half-hard and flaming-cheeked, he gives in. Slowly he divests himself of all of the grove’s trinkets and treasures, laying them out on the floor at his feet in a slow display of shame. You remain absolutely neutral through it, face hardly moving an inch. When he unhands the final bunch of herbs you finally speak.

“Come here.”

If his heart needed to beat, it would be racing. He feels himself twitch in his underwear.

He comes to you.

You reach out, wrapping a strong but sure hand around his wrist, fingers encircling its width perfectly… and then with a single tug, you topple him over into your lap.

He squeaks. Well, really, it is more of a moan, as he lands across your knees, your palm running across the swell of his arse. He’s never been so humiliated. He’s never been so aroused.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, voice feather-light, as solemnly as if you were swearing a vow.

Ever since he escaped Cazador, he never lets anyone do anything he doesn’t want to his body. He won’t let them have control over him ever again. But this? You? That is different. He knows if he said a single word to the contrary, you would cease. You would not exploit him or take him for granted. He knows that he is precious to you, a thing to be treasured.

And for that, he trusts you to the ends of the world with him. To take care of him.

To give him what he needs.

So when you ask him if he wants you to stop, even though he knows what’s coming, he whispers, ‘no.’

The first smack steals the air from his lungs, a breath he did not need but must have taken on his way over to you. It is a firm sting, and his cock goes from half-mast to full embarrassingly quickly.

Your hand goes back.

On the second smack, he finds himself mewling, a desperate little noise beckoned from the back of his throat from your ‘punishment’. It is one of rapture. He begins to try and rut into your thigh for some sort of relief, but you open your legs wider in order to remove his purchase on you.

He whines. It isn’t fair. You keep going.

On the third, his arse has begun to smart. If he had blood his cheeks would be rosy, he’s sure. And yet each strike is like lightning up his spine. He has begun to leak into his britches just from this, and he feels pathetic and small, but so thoroughly safe and looked after in your embrace.

You ask him if he wants to continue. He nods so violently his neck threatens to break.

If this is the penance Pelor would have you deliver, perhaps he can find it in himself to be a religious man after all.

His head empties as you keep striking, but he hears the way you pause after every slap to listen: take notice of if he wants you to stop. When the only sounds you hear are moans of satisfaction, you keep going. He lies there, bonelessly aroused and limp-bodied, his whole universe centred entirely onto your hand and his cock.

“Do you want to come, Astarion?” you ask, eventually, voice heavy with desire. He nods, and for the first time he realises he has tears of overstimulation trickling down his face, so desperate is he to find release.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” he groans.

“And you’ll be a good boy if you do?”

Fuck. Anything you want.

“Yes…”

Your hand snakes round to cup him through his trousers. It only takes a couple of strokes over the fabric, and your touch is enough to finish him off. He comes in his underwear like a teenager who cannot control themselves, mewling and sobbing in desperation. It is like a blinding light across his eyelids, he swears for a second he sees your god in the white-hot intensity of his orgasm. The best one he’s ever had.

You’re an angel, a fucking angel sent to be his salvation.

As he rides out his climax against the meat of your palm, he feels the other one rubbing across his sore backside. It occurs to him you’re using your Lay on Hands to soothe some of the sting for him, which, if he were more lucid, he’d find utterly ridiculous; however as it is the ache in his arse is still pleasant but now less demanding of his attention.

You manoeuvre him to sit up, letting his whole body collapse into yours. He is aware, through the cotton-clouds of his thoughts, that you are whispering his praises. Telling him how well he did. Reassuring him how much you care for him. Letting him know how proud you are. He’s never been so pleased in his life, and rubs his face into your neck, like a pampered cat seeking attention.

“Are you alright?” is what you ask eventually, after you’re sure he’s returned to himself properly.

“To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I was better,” he manages, and you laugh in a gravelly little chuckle.

“Good. Your happiness matters to me.”

He can’t think of anyone who that’s ever been true for. He’s humbled that you have the sincerity to voice it. You are so… you’re so…

Wonderful.

Even now, you care. He’s never had that before.

“Astarion…”

“Mmm?”

“Tomorrow, you’re returning those things to the Grove.”

He groans and you laugh again.

“Come on, now. You said you’d be good.”

“Fine! Fine. Just… don’t make me think about those nature-loving freaks while I’m bathing in the afterglow, hmm? I just had an orgasm that sent me into the astral plane. I’d like to enjoy it there a little longer.”

You do not argue. He feels your lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of his neck.

Later, you’ll carry him to the nearest stream and wash him, your hands dancing across his skin like worship. You’ll treat him as if he is a holy relic. Precious.

It will be then, in the water and softness of your touch, he will realise that he loves you.

The next day he gives back what is stolen. He can’t look at your thighs without his cheeks burning.

taglist & those who seemed interested: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @clairetheflower @foxiecelery @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @hopeful-n-sad

#Astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x y/n #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion fic #bg3 fic #astarion x tav #Astarion smut #Also it says your skin has a pearlescent lustre. That isn’t meant to reflect skin colour - rather how matte it is

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vulpisnocturna · 8 months

Note

hello <3 i hope you’re doing well! could i please request prompt 7 and 14 for Itachi? thank you in advance hehe

It would be my pleasure ;)

7: Power Imbalance

14: Rough Sex

Masterlist

Kinktober Day 2: Power Imbalance with Itachi

Warnings: power imbalance, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, creampie, no massacre au

You let out a slight huff as you listened to your Captain drone on about mission duties. You found him to be patronising. He wasn’t mean, he was quite polite, actually, but his tone reminded you of a teacher scolding a petulant child. You were no child, and though he might have been a more experienced ANBU and your Captain, you were still Lieutenant, and you weren’t weak by any means.

‘Are you listening to me?’ he quipped, smooth, deep voice slightly irked, as if he thought you immature.

‘Yes. You said follow orders. Got it’ you said, crossing your arms and staring at him. The room of the inn you were staying in for the night was cold, and your uniform did not provide much coverage.

‘I said that five minutes ago’ he lifted a dark eyebrow, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he was tired of you.

‘Did the topic of your monologue change since then?’ you snapped, disliking his attitude. For someone so impassive, his irritation was sure seeping through the cracks of his calm façade.

‘I detect some hostility, paired with clear insubordination’ he said.

‘Not to be rude, Captain, but it’s hard to respect you when you speak to me in such a patronising tone’ you said, aware that even though you had prefaced your sentence with that disclaimer, your tone would be considered rude. But you trusted your captain to be able to have a conversation around the weight of the argument and not rules.

‘It’s hard for you to follow my orders is what I am gathering from your tone- which is, once again, impudent’ he said, tapping his fingers on his toned bicep. You let out a sigh, rubbing your tired eyes.

‘I’m being honest here. If you want the teamwork, you gotta work for it’ you said, sure that by being more forward with your complaints you could make some steps in the right direction. Itachi was a reasonable guy, a patient one, even though you knew well not to push him too far.

‘I see. I cannot have a subordinate who clearly revels in defying me. It could prove utterly dangerous in a mission’ he said, looking down at you. Your brow furrowed, and you swallowed, shaking your head.

‘You can’t fire me’

‘I am not going to fire you. I am going to teach you how to follow orders. Despite your… shortcomings, you are a capable kunoichi, and I cannot replace you. Therefore, you are going to have to learn’ he said, his face unreadable. Your lips parted, and you took a step towards him, overtaken by annoyance at him saying you had shortcomings but also butterflies in your stomach at the words that had followed his backhanded compliment.

‘What do you mean sh-‘ you started to say, but was interrupted when Itachi closed the distance between you and placed his hands on your waist, his head dipping to kiss your neck. You let out a soft gasp, your heart hammering in your chest as Itachi’s- your Captain’s lips pressed against your pulse point, tracing your artery to the junction of your shoulder and neck, where you could not contain a small whimper.

‘Captain, what-’ you breathed, your mouth dry as Itachi continued kissing, making you feel hot all over.

‘Do you trust your Captain? Or are you incapable of that too?’ he murmured against your ear, nipping at your lobe, ‘you need be taught a lesson on rules. I believe enjoyable lessons often lead to better results, considering my monologues do not seem to work on you’

You could not believe your ears. Itachi wanted his lesson to be delivered through fucking? Not that you would stop him, Gods, he was the most attractive man you had ever met, but how was this going to teach you how to follow mission rules?

‘I- trust you. But how is this going to help you?’ you whispered, your face growing hot as Itachi’s hand slid to your ass, cupping and squeezing.

‘That’s all I need to know. No more questions’ he said again, voice low and seductive, just before he turned you, wrapping his arms around you, sucking on your neck.

You let out a soft moan, pressing your ass against him, to which he chuckled.

‘The first thing you need to learn’ he drawled, one hand lifting to knead your breasts, ‘is patience. Until I say it’s time, you wait. Understood?’

You weren’t sure you were following him, but you nodded a little, and Itachi hummed in a satisfied tone, helping you take off your undershirt. He must have taken off his too, because your next contact with him was skin to skin. The pad of his fingers grazed your nipple, and you shivered, now rutting against the bulge in his trousers.

‘Stay still. Patience, pretty girl’ he said, pinching your nipple harshly when you didn’t listen to him and rolled your hips against him again. You whimpered, squirming, to which his teeth sank on your shoulder, making you moan loudly.

‘The more you disobey, the rougher I will get. And if you continue, I won’t let you cum’ he said, and you gritted your teeth, the pressure in your lower stomach growing along with your impatience.

Itachi was slow but deliberate as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, completely ignoring your lower body to the point where you thought you might implode soon. You tried to pull his hand lower, but he clucked his tongue, one hand squeezing your throat, long, willowy fingers pressing on the sides.

‘What did I just say? Lesson two: you ask me for permission. You do not act by yourself without my knowledge’ he said, and you closed your eyes, biting down on your bottom lip.

‘Can you touch me, Captain?’ you tried, hating the way you had to ask him to do it. And yet, at the same time, it was turning you on. The power he had, the control he had stripped from you in a matter of seconds…

‘Good girl’ he crooned, and you swore a small moan left your lips at his words. He yanked down your trousers, cupping you between your legs, applying some pressure.

‘See? It seems you enjoy obedience after all’ he said, dragging his fingers over your clothed cunt. Your hips twitched, and your face flushed at the humiliating comment. He slid his hand under your panties, two fingers easily pushing inside you. He curled them, and you stopped breathing for a second, a lewd moan pouring out of your lips as he found the perfect spot.

‘Ahh- Captain…’ you breathed, one arm lifting to anchor yourself to his nape.

You started moving your hips into his hand, and his fingers curled on your hip, keeping you still.

‘I did say stay still, darling’ he said, pumping his fingers in and out, the palm of his hand rubbing against your sensitive clit, making you whine for him.

‘Keep going- I’m close’ you keened, a distressed groan tearing through you as he stopped, slipping his fingers out of you.

‘Lesson three: what I say goes. You don’t call the shots’ he said, pushing you on the futon, taking off your trousers and soaked panties, taking off the remainder of his clothes and climbing on top of you.

He wasted no time, thrusting inside you, tearing a whine from you and a soft groan from him.

‘Fuck- so tight’ he murmured, gripping your thigh, bottoming out and thrusting back in.

‘Captain- fuck…’ you let out, your nails embedded in the pale skin of his upper back. He latched onto your neck again, sucking harshly.

‘Now, it will be rough, as a consequence for your behaviour in this mission’ he said, starting at a relatively slow pace, but his thrusts were deep, pressing against your g-spot and making you see stars and squeeze around him. You nodded, your eyes dazed as Itachi lifted one of your legs and quickened the pace, making it hard and fast, until tears were prickling at the corners of your eyes and your cunt was pulsing around him, a devastating orgasm washing you.

But he did not relent. He lifted your other leg, slamming his hips against you, letting out soft moans and grunts, the tip of his cock grazing your cervix, making you unable to speak or think, even when he released one of your legs in order to wrap his fingers around your throat once again. You could feel him everywhere, dragging along your walls, stretching you out, the slight upward tilt of his cock deliciously pressing against your g-spot in a way that made you lose your damn mind.

‘Ahh- I-tachi… Captain…’ you moaned, clawing at the blanket until your knuckles whitened and ached.

‘Lesson four: learn politeness. Now ask nicely’ he said relentlessly, the shadow of a smirk on his face, his eyes now red with his sharingan. You stared at him, entranced, your own eyes bleary and expression dazed from just how good it felt.

And yet, you didn’t want to have to beg for it. Didn’t want to stoop that low, even if he was your Captain, even if he felt so good-

He slipped out of you, turning you on your stomach, lifting your hips up and spreading your thighs with his knee, sinking back into you, his hand fisting your hair and pulling as he smacked your ass hard. You whined, biting down on your lip.

‘Ask nicely, and I will let you cum’ he said, fingers digging in your hip as he continued to fuck you, though he was avoiding your g-spot on purpose, and in this position, his cock reached even deeper, felt even bigger.

‘Fuck- please, Captain’ you moaned, and he clucked his tongue, seemingly displeased.

‘Please what? Words, darling. If you can manage them’ he taunted, and you cursed, tears staining your feverish cheeks.

‘Please, let me cum, Captain. Want it- so bad’ you cried out, and immediately, he rewarded you with his fingers on your clit, deft and skilled, and you felt the band in your stomach tighten and snap, releasing. Your cunt clamped around his cock, throbbing with your orgasm, and you heard him moan softly, fingers pulling on your hair even harder -not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you whine filthily for him.

‘That’s a good girl’ he huffed out, his own voice sounding breathy, as though he was close, ‘where can I-’

‘Cum inside me- please… on the pill- inside me’ you stammered, still coming down from your high, and he lifted you up, wrapping strong arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let out a soft moan and spent himself inside you, pushing a few times before he stilled.

He held you up, and you were grateful for it, unsure if you would have been able to stay upright if it weren’t for his arms.

He slipped out of you, helping you to lie back down as he leaned on his elbow, catching his breath. A minute later, he was already up, putting on a pair of trousers and disappearing in the bathroom. When he came back, he had a damp towel, which he used on your inner thighs, even after you told him you could clean yourself up.

‘Did you learn your lesson?’ he asked after you were both back in your clothes and lying down on the futon, and you turned to him in the dim light of the room, sucking in your lips to keep from grinning.

‘I’m not sure. Might need some revising’

#itachi uchiha smut #itachi #uchiha itachi #itachi uchiha #itachi smut #itachi x reader #itachi imagines #itachi x you #itachi x y/n #naruto smut

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depravitycentral · 7 months

Text

Muzan Kibutsuji General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Muzan Kibutsuji x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, violence, graphic gore, mentions of cannibalism, verbal and physical abuse, murder, one brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of Muzan slutshaming you, mild sexism, verbal abuse, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of low self esteem, fem reader, MNDI

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

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Human

Muzan is not one to easily develop feelings for others in any positive context.

He’s a selfish, cruel being, utterly bent on his own self-preservation with no regard for the lives of others.

He’s self-centered to the extreme, and as such, if he develops feelings for someone (especially romantically), it takes a very, very long time and can only be achieved under specific circumstances.

His darling has to be someone intelligent, quick-thinking, perceptive, ambitious, charming, and a whole list of other things that are almost impossible to achieve.

And yet, the biggest, most glaring trait they must possess is their humanity.

It’s strange and a juxtaposition to Muzan’s own inhumanity, but there’s just something that draws him in about the idea that his darling is so very flawed by the very nature of their being and yet so alluring and tempting and intoxicating.

It enrages him, quite frankly, but his darling must be a human in order for these feelings to form. He initially only feels a mild curiosity towards them – mixed with irritation and contempt, of course, but there’s this nagging feeling urging him to learn more about them, to interact with them, to understand why his pulse picks up ever so slightly when they’re around.

He likes the fact that his darling is so weak; he’ll never tell them, of course, but it only reaffirms his own superiority complex, convincing him that he’s the strongest, and his darling is the weakest.

They’re a pet, in a lot of ways, but Muzan finds himself oddly intrigued – his human is so complex, the emotions they feel and their motivations something he’ll never fully understand, but as time passes he finds himself hating their presence less and less, sometimes even desiring to touch them – a notion that makes his skin crawl in both disgust and a strange, potent sense of desire.

It’s frustrating and confusing, but Muzan’s darling will be a human – though not for long.

Intelligent

It’s no surprise, really, that Muzan is absolutely incapable of handling a darling that doesn’t possess above average intelligence.

They don’t need to be a genius, but his darling must have a strong grasp of both academic and social intelligence.

Where these intelligences lie is flexible; he’s equally impressed by a darling that can recite complex physics formulas and one that can analyze some of the most classical literature ever written.

It doesn’t really matter where the smarts lay, but his darling must be able to showcase at least some level of critical thinking in their daily life; Muzan is enticed by someone who can come as close as possible to being his equal, and as a creature that views himself as smarter and superior to all others, his darling must be something special, too.

(Of course, his darling will never truly be an equal – he’s still the most magnificent, perfect creature, tireless in his search to become immune to human constraints like sickness and aging, but there’s something endearing about a darling that can entertain some of his conversation, who can at least follow some of his logic when he’s feeling generous enough to include them in his plans. Besides, and he’ll never admit to it, he’s fond of hearing his darling’s opinion – he’ll continue with what he thinks best, of course, but if his darling present sound reasoning, Muzan will often entertain the notion for a bit, distantly surprised if his darling has considered an idea he hasn’t yet, or if they present a line of argument that manages to stump him.)

And so, in order for Muzan’s interest to be piqued, his darling must be intelligent and must be unafraid to showcase this – but as his attention is initially fickle (it does not remain this way, however), they musn’t be too proud of their intelligence.

Pride is a sin only he can indulge in, not some lowly human.

Perceptive

Muzan is, unsurprisingly, easy to upset.

Being in his presence is akin to walking on eggshells, with the repercussions of a single step out of line costing a life. And while he won’t ever kill his darling, but it’s still very much in their best interest to learn his triggers and what makes him particularly angry or calm.

His darling must be able to analyze others and understand them quickly – a certain level of empathy is needed, and while he’ll never admit that his darling can read him like an open book, in order to survive they must be able to.

He’s attracted to the idea that his darling understands when to speak and when to stay silent, when to approach him and when to give him space, even when to refer to him as my Lord rather than his actual name.

(He always prefers his actual name, as the way the syllables sound rolling off his darling’s tongue is heaven and sends shivers down his spine, but he must maintain a certain level of control over them and forcing such a title is a good way to highlight the difference in power between them.)

And so, a darling that’s able to pick up on these silent cues and patterns is immensely attractive to him – he has very little patience for idiotic people, and he already harbors enough resentment towards his darling for catching his attention that they must be able to navigate the treacherous waters he places them in.

Besides, there’s something indescribably pleasing when his darling knows exactly what he wants, able to predict his desires often before he can express them or realize them himself.

It makes him feel good, his ego getting stroked and relaxation spreading throughout his entire body, and of course, it only makes his feelings for his darling grow, taking root in his gut and twisting and turning these roots until they’re wrapped so tightly around his heart it may strangle it.

And while Muzan likes to think he’d never let someone hold such a grip on him, he’s simply in denial of how truly dependent he is on his darling’s presence – he’s in much, much too deep.

Quiet

Muzan himself is not a particularly talkative man – even during his human years, his voice was reserved mostly for complaints, yells, with a scowl sprawled across those pale pink lips of his.

He’s not one for idle conversation, and while he can force a pleasant smile and white lies and it suits his purposes, he generally doesn’t desire being in the company of those who talk incessantly.

It’s annoying, frankly, and Muzan isn’t exactly understanding or patient once he’s deemed someone irritating.

And so, a darling who is naturally less talkative is incredibly attractive to him – he likes that they’re quiet, that they only really speak when they need to, if only because he enjoys silence.

A more selfish part of him also enjoys the knowledge that a less talkative darling means a significantly lower chance of them interacting with other men – they aren’t likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the street, barring them from potential danger and potential suitors.

His darling’s quietness is pleasing, yes, but there are times when Muzan becomes annoyed by this particular trait, however; his darling should be quiet but still talk to him, when he desires it. They should be silent around others, sure, but they should still respond eagerly and enthusiastically when he initiates a conversation with them.

He wants to see them smile at him and treat his every word as if it were gospel, as if it were something precious and important and cherished.

And so, while his darling should watch their tongue around others (and around him too, really), they should be actively engaged when speaking with him.

But not too much – Muzan can tell when they’re forcing themselves to be eager, and it bruises his ego a bit to know that his darling isn’t being totally honest when they compliment his latest strategy in finding the blue spider lily or the Ubuyashiki manor.

It makes a wave of insecurity settle in his gut, a feeling he resents possibly more than feeling weak – it infuriates him, so it’s best to avoid laying it on too thick.

Really, being his darling is just one big balancing act – they’ve got to keep him pleased and happy, a task that could quite literally result in life or death.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Possessive

In general, your existence absolutely infuriates Muzan.

It takes an incredibly long time for his feelings to form, and even then, he’s entirely unsure of why he even likes you – you’re plain, weak, boring, worthless compared to him. Why is he wasting his time with you? You’re simply one human in a sea of them, all doomed to slowly wither away and die some miserable death, inevitably suffering and growing weaker with every day. Why would he ever find himself even remotely interested in a creature with such a glaring flaw?

How could he allow himself to ever hold even a flicker of intrigue towards a being with such obvious limitations?

Centuries and growing power have left Muzan with such an extreme level of arrogance that he’s equal parts enraged and in denial of his interest in you – early on, he tries his best to simply pretend that you don’t exist. Perhaps he’s having to live in human society for whatever reason, and you’re a neighbor or a woman he occasionally sees near his home.

Regardless, he’s making a point to not speak to you, to not even look at you, fully not acknowledging your presence all in the hopes that the weird, scratching feeling in his heart will go away and he’ll no longer be plagued by this weird, horrible awareness of you.

Except, while he likes to think that it works, the moment he sees another man look at you or converse with you, his nails sharpen and veins sprout along his temples, a new kind of irritation coursing through him. He doesn’t like the way you make him feel, but he likes this even less – this man, this human, who’s standing so very close to you and has absolutely no reason to.

The feeling is strange – it’s envy, he thinks, something he’d felt often back in his human days, but this is different. There’s something else, something sharper, something that’s twisting and burning, something that makes him grit his teeth, that gets his feet moving before he can really even think about it. He’s quick to separate you and the stranger, physically separating you with his body between yours, his breathing a bit uneven and strained, those blinding red eyes of his trained directly at the stranger.

He has enough self-control to not immediately slaughter the man (you’re in far too public a setting – killing every human in the crowded plaza square wouldn’t be hard by any means, but it’d certainly be a hassle), but he’s only brought back to reality out of the angry trance he’d been placed into when he hears your small, irritating, alluring voice saying the human name he’d flippantly told you.

Immediately he’s scoffing, glaring at the man for a final moment before turning on his heel, quickly sauntering away from you while trying to figure out why the fuck he’d just unconsciously rushed to your location. He’s unsettled, quite honestly, and angry, of course, but more than that he’s worried – he'd done that without his control, his body not waiting for his permission to approach you, to interrupt whatever that human had been trying to do.

(He personally raids a small village that night, slaughtering every human he can find in ways that leave blood pooling across every floorboard, his pretty, pressed clothing stained red and feeling wet and heavy against his skin.)

And even once Muzan eventually realizes that what he’s feeling for you is attraction – and, dare he say it, fondness – this possessiveness doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows worse. Because now, rather than simply being uncomfortable and angry with other men (and women) approaching you, he’s angry because they’re approaching something that’s his – you’re his human, his woman, his plaything.

And why do these stupid, irrelevant humans think they have any right to look at you, to steal your time and attention, or god forbit touch you? He’s overwhelmingly possessive, and while there is some part of him that feels something loosely resembling love for you, his feelings akin you much more to a beloved object rather than his partner. You are not an equal with him – he is in charge, and he’s the one who decides your fate.

And even once he’s stolen you away this feeling persists – he’s not loving, and he doesn’t really make any attempts to hide how he views you. He’s not particularly expressive, so there’s a very good chance you won’t be aware of his romantic intentions towards you until later into your captivity, but you’ll know that you’re below him from day one. H

e’s constantly verbally reminding you that he’s superior, that any efforts you take to escape, disobey him, rebel, or call for help can and will be dealt with accordingly – often with a few lives lost. He’s possessive and selfish, genuinely believing that you have no reason to interact with another living thing on Earth besides himself – you’re his partner, his woman, and although you’ll never be an equal, he should be absolutely everything to you.

So, you’d better get good at acting.

Obsessive

While Muzan never fully comes to terms with the level of his obsession with you, his actions speak much, much louder than his words. He may speak to you like you mean nothing to him, but if you knew the extent to which he’d stalked you, watched you, and collected information about you prior to kidnapping you, you’d become even more terrified of the demon.

He’s not particularly subtle about his emotions, but he keeps a very strict barrier between the two of you. He holds every ounce of control in the relationship – he knows everything about you, but you know very little about him.

You only know his name (and only Muzan, not Kibutsuji), that he prefers the small home he keeps you in to be extremely clean, that he doesn’t enjoy physical touch (at least, you don’t think he does – if you knew the extent to which he imagines touching you or the things he’s imagined doing to you, you’d never enter the same room as him).

You don’t know a lot of basic information about him that you really, really wish you did – why did he kidnap you? What is he? Does he want to kill you? Questions swirl in your head constantly, but the same can’t be said of Muzan – at least, not in the sense that you’re a complete enigma to him.

On the contrary, he understands you almost scarily well – courtesy of the extent to which he watched you before kidnapping you. Because he was so angered at himself for developing an interest in a human woman, he found himself desperately hoping that by finding out more about you, all of his interest would fade and vanish, allowing him to simply kill you and continue on with his life.

And so, he took to watching you – you’re remarkably weak, he finds out. You live in a home that’s very, very easy to break into, the locks on your doors hardly putting up a fight before budging under his strength. He scoffs at this information, though it does make a small sense of envy eat away at him – has any other man done this before? How often do you get visitors in the night? Are you secretly whoring yourself out to other men?

He finds himself digging through every corner of your small, modest home – every drawer is opened and searched, every cabinet thoroughly analyzed, every closet and shelf picked over in extreme detail. He’s noting each and every thing he finds, his eyes narrowing or his eyebrow cocking up because wow, there is nothing even remotely remarkable about you.

You don’t have any particular wealth, nor do you have any supply of medicine, nor do you even have any particularly enjoyable artwork or cooking materials. He’s disappointed, but as he moves towards your bedroom and slowly slides open the door, his breath catches. You’re laying on your back, the small gap in the window letting in moonlight that shines across your face, your eyes dancing rapidly behind your eyelids.

He frowns, his nails digging into the wood of the door, irritation settling deep in his gut. You aren’t supposed to have this affect on him. He isn’t supposed to lose himself momentarily just from the sight of you – you, who has absolutely nothing to offer in the face of his power, wisdom, and resourcefulness.

And yet, here he is – staring at you like some sort of lovesick fool, his eyes unable to stop detailing the curve of your nose, or looking at the very vague outline of your chest from underneath the blanket. He leaves, that first night, finding an innocent to slaughter and only feeling marginally better. He’d hoped that one visit would be enough, trying to focus his mind on the fact that you’re so painfully average, that there’s nothing remarkable about you – but for every negative thought he has, a glimpse of your voice or the sound of your voice overpowers it.

And eventually, he convinces himself to return to your humble home, this time going directly to the bedroom. You’re asleep again, this time on your side, with strands of hair framing your face. Your soft breaths make his brows crinkle, and a sudden, fleeting thought runs through his mind – you’re so vulnerable in this moment, he could kill you with very, very little effort.

And soon his nails have grown sharp, and his elbow is cocked, adrenaline surging through his veins because if he could just kill you, perhaps this whole stupid infatuation could be done with. But the elbow stays cocked, doesn’t move, even as his eyes stay staring at you, not blinking, every nerve in his body screaming at him to end your life.

He can’t.

And that realization is the most upsetting of all – he can’t bring himself to kill you. Him - Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King, can’t bring himself to murder a sweet little thing like you. It’s comical, really, and although it infuriates Muzan, it represents a turning point in his feelings for you.

After that night, he no longer tries to force himself into forgetting about you or ignoring you – instead, he pushes himself to learn more about you, becoming fascinated with understanding why you of all people have caught his attention.

And really, this is where his more obsessive traits come into play. Suddenly he’s making a point to watch you sleep every night, always staring and watching your chest rise and fall, marveling at what power something as weak as you has over him. He’ll thumb through your closet, pulling each article of clothing out and appraising it, deciding if he likes it or not.

(Those that he doesn’t like are taken away with him, thrown into the trash and discarded so that only what he chooses actually adorns your figure, just as it should be. Later on into your ‘relationship’ this will still be true – he’s choosing what clothing you wear around the cabin, even what undergarments you wear. He’s particularly fond of silk and satin, liking the luxury feeling of the texture on you and the way it feels against him when he’s pressed up against you.)

He’s following you every night, walking around as your shadow and keeping a watchful eye on you, noting with disdain when you stumble or when you spend too much money on a snack or when you aren’t aware of your surroundings.

He’s especially stuck as your shadow when your period comes about – he’s on you like fucking glue, even going so far as to carefully pull back the sheets and spread your legs as you sleep, kneeling between your knees and pressing his face a few inches away from your clothed cunt, letting his eyes flutter closed as he inhales, smelling you you you.

(Masturbating feels beneath him, but the first time he smelled you while you’re menstruating, he’d decided his pride was worth sullying if it meant getting the release his body was desperate for – desperate enough to have soaked a visible portion of his slacks with precum.)

So really, while he’s an arrogant, narcissistic creature, your presence is his one weakness, his one guilty pleasure that allows himself to indulge in – if only just understand how the hell someone like you managed to snag the attention of someone as powerful and important as him.

Controlling

Muzan doesn’t see you as an equal. You’re a possession of his, something that he has full control over and can dictate every part of their life. He’s so much stronger than you, literally able to kill you with just his pinky alone, and this power dynamic is certainly not a secret to you. You’ll be very, very aware of just how liable you are to what he wants.

Even before he kidnaps you, you’ll be aware of the presence of something in your life – to you, Muzan is simply a loose acquaintance. You don’t know each other well, but he always seems to show up at the strangest of times – with excuses of just passing by, wanting to catch up, or some other innocent, plausible explanation.

And so, when he’s telling you at the fruit stand that pears really aren’t the best for your health, consider apples instead, you simply nod and thank him for his insight. (Of course you don’t know that he wants you to eat the apples instead because he can’t stand the smell of pears, and to have you reeking of the fruit would be a serious deterrent his experience of watching you for the rest of the day.)

When you decide to be bold one day and wear the pretty, colorful kimono you own, Muzan happens to run into you and comments on it, telling you that you look so lovely in more neutral colors, don’t you think? (You don’t need to know that he wants you to be wearing less flashy things so that others won’t notice you as much, so that you won’t draw too many eyes, so that you won’t be lusted after and pined after by so many men – you wouldn’t their blood on your hands, now would you?)

He’s subtle about it, never making you believe that you’re being swayed one way or another, but that changes after he’s stolen you away. Once you’re in his clutches, you’ll become very, very aware of just how much Muzan inserts himself into your daily life.

He’s obviously chosen where you’re to live, forcing you stay with him and keep you isolated from everyone else on Earth, just so that your dependence on him will grow, just so that no one else can see you, just so that he becomes your entire fucking world, just as he should be. But he chooses more subtle things, too – things that border on uncomfortable, things that really should be solely your choice.

He instructs you on which clothing to wear each day – giving you a specific outfit, telling you to style your hair in a particular way.

He’ll tell you whether to bathe that day, and the order with which you should clean yourself – always hair first, then arms, breasts (this is part that he’s most fervent about watching, claiming that you don’t do a good enough job and he must be present to ensure that you’re truly clean), stomach, back, legs, and between your thighs.

(He’ll allow you to privately clean yourself there at first, but as time passes he stops allowing you to turn your back to him, instead standing over the washing tub and scrutinizing your technique with his eyes, insisting that you haven’t thoroughly spread yourself, that you haven’t pressed inside yourself deeply enough. And, once you’ve begun having sexual relations, he’ll insist that you aren’t capable of being fully clean unless something else helps clean out inside of you, too – something clean and meticulous and cared for like what’s between his legs, of course. So let him settle into the bathing tub and seat yourself on him, allowing him to maneuver you to really, thoroughly clean you.)

He’s even instructing you on what order to eat your meals – vegetables first, then protein, then carbs, those watchful eyes of his like a hawk’s making sure that you follow his commands to a tee. It gives him a sense of control, like a palpable sense of superiority over you – sure, you make him feel emotions that he has no control over, making his body respond in ways he despises, but at least he controls you. It’s a weak ploy at maintaining his ego, but it’s effective – because as time passes, slowly you’ll forget what it was like to live a life where your every decision wasn’t made for you, and the thought will honestly scare you – how did you survive? How were you able to stomach the thought of so many small decisions, so many unknowns, so many things that could’ve gone wrong?

And Muzan will feed these delusions – commanding you with a firm, almost bored voice and following it up with an weak women like you shouldn’t be making too many choices, you’ll always choose incorrectly. You wouldn’t have survived without me, don’t you agree?

Which connects to another key aspect of his controlling tendencies – Muzan is extremely manipulative. He’s a selfish creature motivated by his own personal gain, and he is gifted at deceiving others in order to get what he wants. He’ll never explicitly lie to you, but Muzan has no qualms with warping your world perspective a bit, feeding you delusions, forcing you into believing that you truly are nothing without him, that you truly need him in the way he claims that you do.

And it’ll work – all those comments about you being beneath him and unable to take care of yourself will eventually become a mantra for you, and while you’ll still be terrified of the demon, you’ll start slowly depending on him.

You’ll start needing him in a way that makes Muzan smug – because now, he’s not the weak one, right? You need him much more than he needs you. (This isn’t true, but Muzan convinces himself of it – it has to be true.)

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, it’s rare that you find yourself in a situation where another physical person is around you aside from Muzan. He’s very, very possessive over you, treating you more akin to a pet or prized possession rather than a partner. And because of this, he’s able to easily control the people who interact with you – who they are, when they see you, how long they’re permitted to be in your presence, even what words they say to you.

Generally speaking, if he’s feeling kind, you’ll be permitted to see the Upper Moons, but even then it’s in extremely sparing quantities.

He doesn’t like the way Douma touches you, clinging onto you like some sort of leech and getting his filthy hands all over you.

He doesn’t like the way Akaza bends to you as if you have some sort of power over him, as if you were equal to Muzan himself – it makes some part of him smug to think that his underlings recognize that you’re his, but it still bristles his ego to think that you’re even remotely close to his status, even if you’re objectively higher than other demons.

He doesn’t like the way Hantengu sneaks glances at you that Muzan very much notices, just the mere act alone making him scowl and slice off the demon’s neck, sending him squealing and scampering away.

He doesn’t like the way Gyokko is always complimenting your beauty – you’re gorgeous, true, but only Muzan is allowed to admire you. Only he is allowed to take in the curves of your face and body, the softness of your skin, your alluring smell, the gentle lull of your voice. Besides, only Muzan is allowed to compliment you – even that alone is a huge, huge struggle for him, if only because positive affirmations of anyone aside from himself is a foreign concept, and he simply cannot have Gyokko undoing all the hard work Muzan has undergone to break down your confidence and build it back up himself.

He doesn’t like the way Daki insults you, because although Muzan doesn’t want anyone to compliment you, it’s almost more offensive to have an underling openly mock and ignore you – can’t she tell that you’re so, so much more important than she’ll ever be?

He doesn’t like the way Gyuutaro openly stares and leers at you, licking his lips like some sort of animal – as if he’d ever let such scum touch you. Your body is his to touch and fuck, and for the other demon to even briefly entertain the notion of being intimate with you makes bile rise up the back of his throat and his nails to sharpen without his permission.

The only demon Muzan is somewhat likely (emphasis on the somewhat, because he still rarely ever lets you interact with anyone besides himself) is Kokushibo, simply because Muzan knows that the Upper Rank 1 will keep both himself and you in line. He trusts that Kokushibo, ever loyal to his leader, will not entertain any inappropriate thoughts or actions towards you. He also trusts that Kokushibo won’t allow you to step out of line, his punishing hand swift as he ties you up and forces you to await Muzan, the one who will give you your real punishment for nervously playing with your fingers.

(That’s unwomanly of you, Kokushibo will tell you, all six of his eyes glaring down at you. A woman capable of standing beside Muzan should be regal and confident, you are not worthy of him.)

And so, you effectively will have no interaction with another soul aside from Muzan – but before his obsession pushes him to the extreme of stealing you away, he was certainly no stranger to envy or jealousy.

It's an innocent thing, really – the man in the gray kimono was just trying to keep you from falling. The lantern chain you were trying to hang on the ledge of your roof wasn’t too complex, but the stepstool you were precariously balancing on was another story. Reaching high over your head to attach the chain to the wooden beam was extending your limbs to their furthest ability, leaving you wobbly and liable to fall at all any moment.

And, of course, you did – suddenly you were falling backwards, the lanterns slipping out of your hands and a yelp slipping past your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for impact on the hard ground below you, but the air is knocked out of your lungs by a pair of arms slipping underneath your legs and below your back rather than the cold Earth below. The man carefully helps you stand up, laughing sheepishly as you profusely thanked him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You’re smiling, Muzan can see from his spot at the end of the street, his gaze fixed on you even over the buzz of life at the nighttime market.

Your shop is easily one hundred feet away, but he can still smell you clear as day, your scent alluring and musky and rich, only now tinged with the slightest bit of embarrassment, appreciation, and attraction.

Muzan scowls, his dark brows drawing inward so tightly that wrinkles were sure to form. His fist curls in on itself, sharp nails already slicing into his palms and letting blood drip onto the ground below him. Every muscle in his body clenches, taut with anger, anticipation and the uncontrollable urge to do something, veins standing out against the paleness of his neck and forehead.

That man was touching you.

Helping you.

You, who was stupid enough to get on a ladder and hang up those incessant lanterns – you, who was careless enough with your own miserable, misfortunate human life as to potentially throw it away for some measly lights. Anger clouds his every thought, but he forces himself to stay still, to not immediately jump onto the man and tear him to pieces bite by bite until he was screaming and sobbing and begging –

Soon the man is on his way, leaving you behind as you disappear into the depths of your shop, the man tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile curling on his lips that makes Muzan’s self-control snap, his legs finally pushing him into action.

It’s not hard to snatch the man by the throat, his claws digging against the soft, thin skin and dragging him away to a deserted back-alley.

It’s not hard to hold him in the air, his feet not touching the ground as desperate fingers clumsily grope at Muzan’s, unable to break the inhuman grip the demon has on his neck.

It’s not hard to watch the man’s face slowly turning purple, his actions getting weaker and weaker, and it’s only once the man is right on the verge of losing consciousness that Muzan lets go, throwing him to ground and hearing a sickening crunch noise as the man wheezes. Muzan’s lips curl, his eyebrows still furrowed, his expression looking halfway between pained and exhilarated.

You worthless human. His voice is full of disdain, hatred seeping into every word as he kicks the man in the stomach, the action causing him to cough up blood, more wheezes and desperate heaves filling the back-alley.

Who gave you permission to breath? Who gave you permission to touch her? Who gave you permission to touch what’s mine? He kicks him again, the curl of his lip deepening.

The man is curled up into a fetal position, blood flowing onto the dirt below him. Muzan scoffs. Pathetic. You must think you’ve done a very heroic deed, saving her from falling.

Muzan’s smile drops. You did nothing. You are just a weak, useless human. What could you offer her?

He waits for a moment, just to see if the writhing mess of a man before him wasn’t as pitiful as he appeared, and his brows cock up ever so slightly when his wheezing, strained voice asks, then why didn’t you save her?

And with that, Muzan slices his head clean off, only the smallest of whimpers ringing in his ears, followed by the dull thud of the now decapitated head falling to the ground. Muzan’s chest is heaving, his red eyes wide, a few curls knocked out of place at the exertion, and for a moment he’s frozen.

There’s genuine rage swimming through his veins, and the sheer amount of that man’s blood staining his clothing makes him pause. Why had his words effected him so? He’d quite literally lost control of his body once he heard the question – why didn’t he bother to save you? Why had he only watched, allowing this other man to step in and keep you from cracking your head open on the ground?

Muzan’s scowl deepens, and soon he’s turning back to the body, sharp nails ripping and slicing at the man until all that remains are scraps of clothing and a face so disfigured that identifying him would be impossible.

And even then, Muzan doesn’t feel the sense of satisfaction that killing someone who insulted him would normally bring – instead, the rage is calmed ever so slightly by a strange feeling that makes his fingers tremble, his throat feel swollen, and his heart race in his chest.

And when he returns to the busy streets of the night market, inhaling over and over and over, he’s quick to catch your scent, trailing behind you with those red eyes trained on your form.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Muzan is in denial about his feelings for you for most of the beginning of his obsession with you, kidnapping you isn’t the first thing that comes to his mind. He tries to ignore you for as long as he can, holding out and believing that whatever it is that you’re making him feel will eventually go away if he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Except that it doesn’t, and as time passes he becomes more desperate to see you, to hear your voice and speak with you and be in your presence and – god forbid – touch you. And so, while not seriously considering stealing you away in the beginning, once Muzan comes to terms with the fact that his infatuation isn’t going to simply go away on its own he decides that keeping you by his side permanently is the only acceptable solution. It’s the only solution where he won’t lose his mind, honestly.

He grows so dependent on the idea of you that it starts affecting his daily tasks and life – he’s distracted, every moment he has to himself filled with idle thoughts of you and what you could be doing in that particular moment.

Are you eating enough? He knows humans have to eat more often than demons, and you have to be careful about balancing your nutrition and portion control – he’s sure he could a much better job at managing your dietary health than you can.

Are you sleeping enough? Demons don’t have to sleep, and as a result it’s been centuries since he’s had a full night’s rest, but he knows that you spend over a third of your day asleep – a massive waste of time, as far as he’s concerned.

(This doesn’t stop him from stopping by the measly apartment you call home, however, standing at the end of your bed with an unreadable expression on his face as he watches you sleep. Sometimes he’ll even get closer, kneeling beside you so that he can see your face better, perhaps even ghosting a few fingers over the curve of your cheek, your bedroom so silent he can hear his own breathing falling in time with yours.)

Are you with other people? Are you speaking with others? Are you wasting your time and energy on all of those ridiculous ‘hobbies’ of yours? Muzan wants to know – needs to know, and as time passes he simply can’t stand not knowing every single thing that you’re doing at all times.

And it’s not like kidnapping you would be hard – you’re practically defenseless, your reaction time not nearly fast enough to even pose the smallest fight against him. And so, it’s easy to scoop you up into his arms one night, picking you up out of your bed and taking a moment to lean down closer to your neck, his curls brushing against your jaw as he slowly, deeply inhales, the moment of vulnerability passing just as quickly as it occurred as he gulps and stares for a moment, only to immediately take off running towards the cabin he’s prepared to keep you in.

The cabin itself is in the middle of nowhere – in the countryside, at the base of a mountain, with tall trees and no trails leading anywhere. The cabin is wooden, with a fireplace and a meager dining area (only you’ll be using that dining space, of course, but Muzan grows fond of watching you eat – if only to comment on how pathetic it is that you need to sustain yourself with food so much more often than he does). A futon has been placed in the corner of the cabin – it’s big enough to fit two people, but thankfully he hasn’t tried to share it with you yet, not that you’re confident he will.

(You’ve woken to see him sitting beside you on it, however. He was still fully clothed, with an expression on his face that you’re not sure how to describe, but he’s never actually joined you in bed. Thank god.) t’s not horrible, per say, but your life within the cabin will far from idyllic.

Muzan is not a kind man. He’s not even a man – and this becomes apparent to you very quickly. It’s not unusual for him to return home from long periods of time away with blood staining his clothing, that familiar sour look on his face as he stares knowingly at you, expecting you to grovel at his feet and thank him for finally returning to you.

You’ve never seen him eat – he doesn’t touch the food he brings to you (and it’s good food, too – nutritious and surprisingly delicious, making you wonder exactly how he obtained it), and almost seems disgusted when he has to touch it.

You know there’s something wrong, but multiple things bar you from ever asking why his nails grow so long in such short intervals, or why he’s so inhumanely strong, or how he can be so silent when he moves – those things being the many silent, unspoken rules he has laid out for how you should act. He’s controlling in every sense, and although he doesn’t communicate exactly what he expects of you, you’ll quickly learn that he's picky, and he won’t settle for any behavior less than perfect.

Most of these rules revolve around the fact that you aren’t allowed to escape or disrespect him. Attempting escape is a rebellion against being his woman, and just as an owner does a dog, he will punish your ill behavior and pulling your metaphorical leash much, much further than you should.

Plus, your attempts to escape are a form of rejection in his eyes – he never makes it explicitly clear that he’s romantically interested in you, but he feels that you should just know this, and thus your insistence on getting away from him feels like a personal slight against him, like a slap in the face designed to hurt him in the most acute, intimate way possible.

Of course you don’t know this, but after each escape attempt, he’ll punish you, then promptly return to his office (a small, adjoining room in the cabin that you’re strictly forbidden from entering), sitting on his leather couch and letting his head sit in his hands, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop letting such stupid, weak, human emotions affect him so.

The only thing that works, though, to calm his heart is to once again watch you as you sleep, allowing himself to get close to you, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent, perhaps even holding a shirt in his hands and imagining the way your skin would feel against the fabric. It’s a reminder that although you were disobedient and tried to leave him, you weren’t successful – you’re still here, with him, as you should be.

Disrespecting him is also, of course, a severe infringement of the unwritten code he expects you to follow. He has to maintain some sense of superiority over you, and the moment you disrespect him either with words or actions, this fragile hierarchy is threatened, and you come dangerously close to the uncomfortable truth – that despite all his grandiose talk about you being beneath him, he would be absolutely nothing now without you.

He would be a mess, unable to function, unable to find purpose in avoiding death and sickness, unsure of how to move forward with a life that now no longer seems worth continuing. And so, as long as you avoid those two major triggers, most of your time spent in the cabin will be passed with Muzan simply sitting in your presence, those red eyes watching you like a hawk and making you beyond nervous. He scares you – he’s a monster and you know it, he’s stolen you away from your life and forced you into some strange, pseudo-relationship of roommates, though his intentions are much more sinister than you can imagine.

The one silver lining of being stuck with Muzan is that his crippling fear of rejection bars him from making any sort of sexual advance on you. Of course, he very, very much wants to fuck you (thought the thought shames him, because you’re a human woman, and the idea of touching a human and being touched by a human makes his skin crawl), but the idea of you not being as passionately and needily engaged and eager as him is enough to stop him from attempting anything.

This has an unfortunate side effect though, which is that he channels this anger and fear of being rejected by you into meanness directly at you – comments of how you’re clumsy or loud or irritating slip past his lips. And although he doesn’t often mean them, the venom in his voice will get you shutting up, fearfully and self-consciously staring down at the floor.

He feels the smallest pang of guilt when this happens, because although he’s a sadistic creature, seeing you upset isn’t nearly as pleasing as he’d expected. But it’s a necessary evil in the larger scheme of things – he has to keep you in line, and by stealing you away so that he can keep constant surveillance on you and control your meal times (he decides when you eat, even if you’re not hungry or don’t want the meal he’s brought), how often you bathe yourself (often he’ll watch the process, those red eyes raking up and down your figure, making sure to wear loose bottoms so that you don’t see how the sight of you wet, soapy, and embarrassed effects him), and make sure you interact with no one, he’s ultimately fulfilling a self-serving goal: preserving you, and keeping you all locked up and safe for him to enjoy.

And only him.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite Muzan’s strange fondness for you (or, more accurately, his dependence on your presence), he’s by no means a gentle lover. He’s cruel, demeaning, incredibly strict and harsh with you, with expectations that he never clearly communicates with you. It’ll leave you guessing in the dark, hoping and praying that your every action, word, and even thought won’t trigger some sort of negative response from him. He’s fickle, his mood changing quicker than you keep up with, and because of this, Muzan finds himself angry with you much more often than he’d care to admit.

He was resistant to developing feelings for you at first, embarrassed, disappointed and frustrated with himself for stooping so low as to develop an attraction with a weak human like you, but as time passes he finds himself growing less resentful and more desperate. He’s still angry with himself, ashamed that he’s allowed himself to let you become his one weakness, and because of this he’s a bit trigger-happy with punishing you.

He’s always looking for reasons to belittle you, to put you down in order to make himself feel better. He’s an egotistical, narcissistic creature, and just because you’ve managed to worm your way into his heart doesn’t mean that you are exempt from this aspect of his personality.

He’ll find ways to twist your words and actions into somehow being displeasing to him, whether by being disrespectful to him, or an attempt to escape.

You’re quiet and avoid speaking with him or looking at him? Sure, you’re scared, as you say, but this could also be an attempt lulling him into lowering his guard around you, like you’re waiting for the right opportunity to try and run or hurt him. (Just the thought along is laughable – as if you could ever do serious damage to him.)

So, he’ll force you into speaking simply by threatening any remaining family you have. That’ll get you spluttering and talking, he’s sure – your weak sensibilities and this absurd devotion to your family that you seem to possess is perfect to exploit. (Plus, it’ll get you to stop ignoring him, something that makes his heart feel like a knife is twisting inside him, making every part of him ache and bile rise in the back of his throat. But you don’t need to know that – he’ll never admit it.)

You’re refusing to eat the food he’s brought for you? You ungrateful thing – he’d gone so far as to get the best quality, fanciest food he could find for you – things that he could imagine himself stomaching back when he was a human. Things that – despite you being below him – you deserve as his pet. He’ll merely scoff, throwing the food off to the side, before returning a few hours later with something warm and wet and fresh – blood is dripping off the pretty white plate he’s dished the human heart on, his face carefully neutral aside from the smallest of smirks while he tells you to eat up, you wouldn’t want an ended life to be in vain, would you?

It’s cruel and it’s evil and it’s horrible, but pinning your compassion and disgust at him murdering innocent people because of your rebellions against you is the most successful and effective tool he could use to keep you in line. It works – every single time.

And Muzan has no qualms with using every possible resource at his disposal – sure, you may be angry at him, perhaps even hate him, but he’s confident that with time, you’ll realize that he’s all you have left. You’re weak and incapable and you’ll never, ever be rid of him, so why won’t you just obey him like you, as the inferior life form, should?

Your fingers are trembling as he nears you, that same unearthly silence to his steps that makes every muscle in your body stand at attention, your fight or flight instincts begging you to run as fast as you can away from the monster in front of you.

There’s nothing in his hands, but that doesn’t make you feel better – you know what he can do with those hands, and you curl up tighter against the corner you’ve sat yourself in.

Muzan’s got a half-smile on his face – it’s the closest he can get to a genuine smile, you think, but it still makes your skin crawl, unease and dread eating away at your gut. He stops in front of you, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with you. His curls sit around his face, the casual white dress-shirt he sports perfectly pressed and rolled up at the elbows.

Hello, how are you faring? He asks, and immediately you grow suspicious – this is unusual. He never directly asks you about yourself – he normally talks about himself, only occasionally dropping a comment or two about you that lets you know he recognizes your presence in the room.

What is he playing at? How do you respond?

I’m okay… you start, nervous that he’s looking for an answer that you don’t know. At your response, he makes no noticeable change, but instead stands once more. He’s still staring down at you, those red eyes feeling heavy and piercing.

Come with me.

And then he’s walking, and you’re scrambling behind him to keep up with his long strides. He settles down onto a leather couch in his study, and for the briefest moments you hesitate at the threshold, having never been allowed in this room.

He notices your resistance, and rolls his eyes slightly. Come here.

You do as you’re told, and carefully, tentatively sit down on the other end of the leather couch. It’s silent for a few moments, before Muzan breaks it, his voice a bit deeper than before. Come here.

Confusion settles over your features, but you slowly scoot over a bit, so that you’re an inch or so closer to him. Muzan’s still staring at you, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, and a frown sits on his lips.

You scoot over a bit more, continuing when he doesn’t say anything until there’s just the smallest sliver of space between your bodies. You can hear his breathing, having never been so close to him before. He’s still looking at you, but you focus your gaze on your hands in your lap, trying desperately to not visibly show your nerves.

Are you afraid of me?

His question startles you, and you stiffen up, peeking at him for just a moment. Unsure of how to respond, you merely nod, your voice small as you murmur yes. Muzan hums, and suddenly there’s a hand sitting on your thigh, his skin cold and dry, the weight feeling heavy. And although you try to stop yourself, knowing the consequences will be anything but pleasant, the unforeseen physical contact makes you jump, scooting away from him ever so slightly.

The room is still for a moment, before you hear his sharp inhale, literally seeing his face morph into one of rage. He’s breathing hard as he gets to his feet and practically storms out of the room, his steps still nearly silent. You’re still frozen, trying to process what you’ve just done – you rejected him.

Obviously you don’t want him, but this surely must be one of the unspoken rules you’re supposed to follow – surely such an arrogant man wouldn’t appreciate being you being so blatantly repulsed.

Unsure of what to do – does he want you to leave his study? Stay? – you stay in place, every part of your body shaking in fear and horrible anticipation at your punishment for such a grave offense.

You don’t have to wait for long – ten minutes later he’s barging through the door, dragging a woman by her hair into the space. She’s already stained with bits of blood, her hair matted with it and her pretty clothes darker than they should be.

Muzan’s staring at you, a wild look in his eye, his hair a bit messy and a few more buttons of the dress shirt undone. He throws the woman to the ground, and you notice how shallow her breathing is – she must be on the verge of death.

Muzan’s voice is deep, husky in a way that stills you to your very core as he growls out you will never, ever reject me. Do you understand? You have no place or authority to reject me. You are nothing. I am the only worthwhile thing in your life. Do you understand?

You nod, over and over, eyes flashing between his piercing gaze and the woman who’s slowly trying to get to her feet. Every time she gets close, Muzan pushes her back to the ground, the tears clouding your lashes just barely letting you make out the way her face twists up in pain.

You are nothing. You are nothing.

Muzan is repeating it to himself over and over again as he picks up the woman, forcing her to face you. Briefly, you’re shocked – you’ve never seen this woman in your life, but something about her seems oddly familiar, like you’re looking in a mirror.

Her hair is remarkably similar to yours – the same texture, the same color, just a different length.

Her nose is similar to yours, her skin color, even her eye color.

Her body is similar, too – a similar build, proportions, and suddenly you’re sick.

This woman is you.

Muzan’s still breathing hard, his face contorted into that ugly scowl, and without a word, his hands are tangled in the woman’s hair again, pulling and yanking upwards until a wet squelching noise fills the room, and suddenly her body falls backwards, limp, with her head still held in the air, his forearm flexing.

You can’t stop yourself from vomiting, the sight and sound too much for you to bear. Muzan watches with pursed lips, his eyes still wide and barely blinking. You look pitiful like this – shaking like some sort of scared mouse, staring at him like he's a monster, like he’s the Devil himself.

And as he stares down at you, something pleasant settles in his gut, because while he’d prefer your adoration, the way you’re looking at him now is good, too. Because you’re looking at him, giving him the attention he was craving earlier.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to be kind in his approach at initiating physical contact with you. After all, it’s not as if you really have a choice – it’s such a strange, human desire to want to touch another, and really, isn’t it your fault that he’s feeling this urge?

(Isn’t it your influence and doing that he wants to touch you, to feel you, to be inside of you?)

He bares his teeth, an eyebrow cocking up. Do not reject my advances. Your death will not be as merciful as hers.

And to that, you simply nod.

OVERALL DANGER:

10/10

Muzan is, undoubtedly, a nightmare to have infatuated with you. He’s so deeply in denial in the beginning that he forces himself to stay away from you, only for that to make him crave you more, to realize that his feelings for you aren’t simply going to go away.

He’s possessive and controlling, seeing you as his in every sense of the word and feeling completely justified in taking over every aspect of your life.

He’s paranoid, always keeping an eye on you because being this emotionally tied to another living thing is incredibly nerve-wracking, your weak human body and disposition making him nervous that even the wind will send you knocking on death’s door.

And even then, he doesn’t express this worry in any healthy way – he’s not afraid to verbally degrade you, using harsh words as a shield so that you don’t see just how pathetically deep his obsession and attraction to you is.

It’s demoralizing, embarrassing to a degree that forces him to treat you like a pet of sorts – punishing you with threats, stealing you away to be stuck in some remote cabin in the woods where not a soul will dare near the home, smelling both him and the scent of death strongly in the air.

He’s so emotionally out of touch, and as a result your life with him will be a constant series of walking on eggshells around rules and expectations you don’t even know about. It’s difficult, and frankly you’re viable to find yourself quickly losing your sanity.

But don’t worry too much – Muzan may not act like it, but he does care about your health and safety, and you’ll be in capable hands to help reshape and remold you into the perfect little human partner.

Perhaps you’ll even become a demon – a very, very likely event, considering the fact that as a demon, you have to obey his every command.

(Just the thought of you completely obedient and submissive makes him smile, his eyes narrowing a bit and his nails tapping on the nearest surface, those slacks of his feeling a bit too tight.)

He wants you to be his, and a man as selfish as him knows no bounds. So really, get ready – you will be his, and will never escape him. Lucky you.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere muzan #_lee's profiles #_kny #_muzan kibutsuji

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starfxkr · 2 months

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I NEED puppy to snap, like they are out on an adventure they keep underestimating her or johnbee gets hurt and they play it down she loses her temper I need to see her angry -🍓

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆˚✿˖°

sometimes it felt like everyone thought you were stupid, less capable but that couldn't be farther from the truth. which is why when john b came back to the chateau--shoulder stiff and at an awkward angle you knew something was wrong.

if only everyone would stop playing in your fucking face about it.

"trust me pooch, your man's just fine. he's just kinda...tired, yeah." jj's grin does very little to settle the rage setting in your sternum.

he's a fucking liar.

"mhm." you turn to look at your boyfriend, barely containing your anger, "john b what happened."

"look it's nothing i'm fine i- FUCK!" you poke right at the socket of his shoulder, barely grazing at all and he looks like he wants to pass out.

"jj. leave."

"on it boss!" truly you don't have to tell him twice and the blonde leaves you inside to examine john b's likely broken shoulder.

for a while you don't say anything, focusing on making a makeshift sling and a comfrey compress to help with the pain. it's only when he starts talking again that your anger reignights.

"i just didn't want you to stress out-"

"stress? i'm way past stressed i could fucking knock your head off right now. do you think im a fuckin idiot? you think i'm incapable of handling these types of situations? because if thats the face why am i fucking here. why am i relegated to sitting here like a fuckin housewife hoping you'll come home in one piece. you never let me help you, or or go out with you so you lock me away and you're still worried about me being stressed like im some fragile little bitch who'll faint at the sight of blood! newsflash dickhead: i see more of it than you do!" by the end of your rant you're panting, pacing the living room as he stares at you from the couch.

"...sorry?"

frustrated, you let out a loud groan and stomp outside to the hammock, sprawling out as you tried to calm back down. after a few minutes you felt the hammock dip, and john b's hand rubbed your back.

"it's not that i think you're incapable alright? it'd just kill me if something happened to you. everyday i'm happy to just come home to you." slowly, he makes his way to lay next to you but you still face away from him.

"what good is that if you're getting fucked up. i just wish you would trust me enough to not lie to me either."

he sighs, "you're right."

"i know i am. i love you."

"i love you too, bubba."

"you're still in deep shit with me."

"fuck."

#✨.txt #john b prompt #puppy!reader #🍓 anon

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coryothesub · 2 months

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SíI just have this idea in my head and I can't get it out. I only think about how Coryo and Sejanus would react if a +18 scene appears during a movie

Okay okay so I'm gonna describe their reactions first and then I’m gonna write a little drabble (which will probably turn out longer than expected) because I miss writing snowjanus x reader so much!

nsfw / mdni

Sejanus would become all giggly and playful, he is a free spirited boy who is up for all kinds of experiments so he would be eager to reenact the scene right away. You would desperately try to focus on the movie, but it would become pretty much impossible as soon as you’d feel his hands and/or lips on your body. Him whispering “we need to try this out” in your ear would be the last straw and then you would just get to it.

Coryo would try to stay cool and focus on the movie, but you would soon notice a slight blush on his face. The boy would feel embarrassed by his own reaction and all the naughty little thoughts running through his head. Good Capitol boys don't just get aroused by a silly little movie do they? But then he would notice you touching yourself or if Sej was there you both starting some action and it would be impossible for him to be left out like that. First he would pretend that he's just touching you casually, but things would get quite heated pretty fast.

“Sej, what are you doing?” You giggled, noticing Sejanus's fingers running up your thigh. It didn't seem funny any more when his hand dove inside your panties and started playing with your clit eliciting a soft moan that somehow formed a weird unison with the girl on your screen who was being pleasured by two guys at once.

The way you were echoing that character startled Coryo who had been already feeling embarrassed by the fact that the three of you were watching such a salacious scene together. You felt quite amused seeing a shade of deep red filling his cheeks. But he also couldn't really say anything because it was his idea to watch this highly acclaimed European drama.

Coryo glanced at you and Sej and his whole being oozed judgment about you two being completely incapable of containing yourselves. Yet, he put his hand on your thigh firmly as if he was feeling the need to participate in some way. You placed your hand on his and gave him a suggestive look.

Sejanus sped up his moves making you squeak from pleasure, his fingers were just incomparable. His other hand was feeling your breasts through your clothes as his lips trailed hot kisses up and down your neck.

“Sej…” you moaned, squeezing Coryo's hand. The blonde looked at you again, this time with a hint of lust in his eyes and you noticed a hard-on forming in his pants.

“C’mere!” You pulled him in for a kiss, feeling an immediate hunger in the way he devoured your mouth.

Then you turned to Sejanus and kissed him in a sweet and playful manner.

“Now you two!” You instructed and watched both boys sharing a steamy kiss just mere centimeters from your face, while Sej’s fingers kept dancing around your clit inside your impossibly wet panties.

You grabbed the remote and paused the movie.

“I need both of you!” You declared. “In one hole.”

Their eyes flew open as they heard your request. You could see that your idea went straight to their cocks judging by the two impressive bulges that were pressing against you from both sides.

Moments later all three of you were naked and you were sitting on Sej’s lap, his dick inside your dripping cunt. Coryo was standing in front of you stroking his erect member ready to join the party.

A small hint of doubt crossed your mind as Sejanus was already stretching you out so much, but you still wanted to know how it felt to have both of them inside so you nodded at Coryo and he approached gazing upon you two with pure lust in his eyes.

Sejanus adjusted your position to give his friend better access and you felt Coryo's tip sliding in between your folds. After teasing your clit for a brief moment, he started pressing against your already filled hole, making you gasp.

“You alright?” Sejanus whispered against the back of your neck causing you to shiver.

“Never better,” you replied as your hand found Coryo's cock, helping him to get inside your tight little hole.

Both boys moaned as their dicks were pressed so close together embraced by your warm tightness.

Coryo's lips found yours in a passionate kiss as his whole length was now inside you.

“Oh shit, you both are so big!” you moaned loudly at the incomparable feeling of being stretched out so much.

Both boys looked at each other feeling flattered by such evaluation. They adjusted your position once more and started moving in and out carefully, their dicks frotting against each other.

Soon enough you became a moaning mess, feeling every nuance of the friction against your tight walls as the boys kept steady pace

Coryo kept kissing your lips and whispering soft encouragements while Sej trailed sloppy kisses along your neck and shoulders, leaving a mark here and there.

“Look at you princess, taking us both so well,” Sej praised you, speeding up the pace. You started panting heavily as the friction became more vigorous, almost impossible to withhold, but somehow it felt so good.

Your pussy was so wet, drenching both of their beautiful cocks in your juices and making it easy for them to move even faster, squelching sounds filling the room.

“Fuck!” You moaned against Coryo's lips feeling your climax approaching.

“You're making us feel so good,” he murmured before kissing your sweat clad forehead.

You just nodded faintly since you were at a loss of words feeling both of them hitting your sweet spot again and again.

Both boys were moving at full speed now their moans and groans filling the room as the friction between their cocks in your warm pussy made them feel like never before.

You held onto Coryo's shoulder with one hand, meeting Sejanus's fingers with another and intertwining them together. You had never felt such intimacy with both of the boys at a time.

“C’mere, Cor!” Sejanus smiled at his friend and Coryo leaned over your shoulder to meet his lips in a long kiss.

“You have a great dick, Sej,” he whispered against Sejanus's lips, getting flustered at his own words afterwards.

“You too, Coriolanus!” Sejanus giggled. “And our princess has the tightest, loveliest cunt yet she's taking our big cocks so we'll.”

His praise brought you over the edge and you rolled your eyes back moaning loudly as your juices spilled all over the two hard members still moving inside your hole.

“Need you to cum inside me,” you whispered powerlessly and both boys obeyed, shooting thick loads of cum inside your fucked out cunt and all over each other's cocks. Their moans grew even louder at the newly found feelings of their cum mixing with yours within the confines of your little hole.

“Fucking hell I swear that was even better than I imagined,” you spoke still trying to catch your breath after collapsing on top of Sejanus as soon as they pulled their dicks out.

Coryo joined you and you all cuddled up together making out lazily as you felt a stream of warm cum dripping from your pussy. It felt so arousing to know it belonged to both of them.

“Maybe we should finish that movie,” Coryo suggested.

“You sure baby?” You teased him while Sej was just giggling softly against your neck.

“With scenes this inspiring… I don't know how long we will be able to contain ourselves, before going for the second round.”

#thank you for the ask this was so so so fun #coriolanus snow #young coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #snowjanus #snowjanus x reader #snowjanus x you #thg #the hunger games #tbosas #thg tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #blurb #cts ask

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saint-siren · 1 year

Text

thoroughbred. | pt. ii: spring

summary: Levi’s precious genetic material can��t be wasted even when it can’t go inside you.

warnings: nsfw annnnndddd, I don’t think anything else that wasn’t in the first part?

contains: masturbating, a fleshlight essentially, Levi’s… ‘genetic material’ being collected, vaginal sex, breeding, Levi really wants to get you pregnant, hange is a pervert

author’s note: surprisingly, Levi’s cum being collected via a weird machine has been on my mind the past few days.

part i

The next afternoon was your second meeting. Neither of you had been able to stop thinking about each other or the awkwardness of your situation. Still, somehow you were able to get back to the task at hand.

He had you bent over the edge of the bed, fully undressed while he was mostly clothed, his typical neat clothing wrinkled and half unbuttoned. It was shameful how turned on you were, in the same place you’d been prodded at like a dairy cow, in the same position no less. But even so, you could hear the slick sounds of Levi sliding in and out of you. This time, he’d tasted you, working you up to a breathless edge before he slipped his tongue out of you and waited for you to relax before he worked you up again.

You were glad you could bury your face into the sheets, you didn’t want to know what seeing his face as he watched you take his cock would do to you— what kind of lasting embarrassment it would inspire. Levi had his hand curled around your throat, not yet squeezing but still holding you firmly. You were grateful to feel his warm, calloused hand on your skin, it was a little sentimental but it made you feel a bit more reassured. You could trust those hands, you could trust him with your body. Levi was making such pretty sounds from behind you, cursing when your cunt hugged his cock or when you throbbed around him and left him feeling dizzy. Your cunt steals the air from his lungs with each squeeze.

What if this was the time that did it? What if he got you pregnant right then? The thought was unreasonably appealing to you at the moment. Why hadn’t you imagined that it could feel this good? Each thrust pushed you forward on the bed, slightly. The rub of the sheets against your nipples, already carefully teased and made hard, was maddening. How would it be if you were pregnant? Would he like to see the soft curve of your stomach? The swell of your breasts?

Levi’s thoughts ran parallel to yours, the purpose of the two of you being like this could never escape him fully. He just couldn’t help imagining your belly swelling with the proof, the image of spilling all his cum inside you where it belongs was nearly overwhelming. He wanted it so badly, it disgusted even him. He felt like he was looking at you the same as your higher ups did, as just something to breed for the benefit of others and he hated himself for that. Still, it didn’t stop him from nearly spilling over at the very thought of getting you pregnant.

You were moving your hips back to meet each frantic thrust. You two were really no better than animals in heat the way you shameless rutted against each other, incapable of words. Serving your country this way was humiliating, invasive and yet you were doing it without complaint, enjoying it more than you should. This should have been a matter where both of you grit your teeth and went ahead with resignation like you had before, it was lucky for you that it wasn’t like that but even so…you felt a bit whorish for spreading your legs so gladly for this purpose.

Levi was gripping your hips so hard, you knew he’d bruise you. There was typically never a moment that he wasn’t aware of his own strength and you doubted he’d hurt you on purpose so truly, he had to be lost in the wet, silken squeeze of your cunt around him, in the sound of your skin meeting his. That was a very pleasing thought, you didn’t mind the pain, not when it came from him being so lost in the pleasure you were bringing him. If anyone deserved to be able to forget their strength, forget their burden, it was certainly your captain. What pretty embellishment the bruises would make later on, hidden under your clothes.

His hips moved fluidly though they twitched and stuttered every now again when he hit the spot that made your whole body tense and nearly fucking sob with the unbearable pleasure. When he did so again, with another graceful movement of his hips, you could no longer handle it. In a strained voice, as his hand had begun to slightly squeeze your throat, you begged him to cum. Incessantly, near incoherently.

“You’re talking too much” Levi groaned, he was trying to hold back until he could make you cum. The words were pushing him too close to his own edge, carelessly babbling out things that made his need near unbearable to resist. He put a hand over your swollen lips, blocking your noises.

He set a more intense pace, pressing right against your sweet spot repeatedly. Desperately trying not to embarrass himself by cumming early. You looked back at him, your eyes wide and teary, continuing to convey without words what you wanted from him. You were on the verge of coming, your body tensing in anticipation and the muffled noises from his hand over your mouth come louder and easier.

He was uncharacteristically messy, skin sweaty and hair out of place. The blush spread across his skin matched the shade of his swollen lips. His half lidded eyes seemed darker in the low light, he appeared like an incubus. The absolute personification of arousal.

He took his hand from your mouth, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip as his hand ran down your skin back to your throat. He pushed you forward onto the bed and made you lay flat on your stomach. He climbed over you again, pressing his body onto yours, forcing you down against the mattress.

Pushing your legs wider, he fucked you deeper than he did before; he’s so much closer right above you, you can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin before he kisses you, just below your jaw. He’s slower though, trying to avoid cumming before you. But you are no further away from your end with the proximity, the smell of him, the weight of him pressing down on you. “Cum for me, yeah?” he murmured against your skin and you just couldn’t resist him.

It was almost painful after having been teased and denied, Levi let you cry out freely. You moaned and panted like an animal, your cunt clenching around Levi. “Please, please, Levi” were the only words you could manage as you did. He certainly understood.

Through gritted teeth, he lamented his loss of control, “Godammit.” He came inside you with a gasp, painting your walls with what he swears is the most he’s ever came in his life. The noises he made might have embarrassed him if only he could ever hear anything but your heavy, satisfied breathing and your little whimpers as he moved his hips to ride out his climax. You, however, had the privilege to be able to hear his lovely, breathy moans and sighs.

You pulled away from each other for a moment to rest before he fucked you again, this time with you in his lap. He’d had to help you take his cock, the position made you feel him far more deeply and with the near overwhelming stimulation, you struggled to keep moving your hips. Your captain, with the flinty look his eyes he had when you were too slow for his liking in training as a scout, bounced you onto his cock, hard. “Don’t you intend to do your duty? You should at least be able to handle this much” He’d said in a low voice that made you jolt from the authority conveyed in it. “Seems like I have to do everything as always.” Already rubbed sensitive from the first time, you unraveled shortly thereafter.

After the six fertile days assigned to you for breeding, Levi was required, as all male candidates were, to report to the fertility center. While actual fucking was reserved for the fertile days of their partner, genetic material could still be harvested from male candidates for preservation outside of that timeframe. A task Levi looked forward to much less than he had actually having to consummate. He imagined he’d be masturbating into a cup in a tiny washroom and handing it over to a stranger to put in a freezer alongside a million other samples but not before being forced to sign off on some ridiculous form promising that it’s definitely, 100% his sperm. How humiliating.

No such luck on the stranger part. Hange was his practitioner, who greeted him with a smile as soon as they walked through the door.

“How are you even allowed to be assigned to me? They don’t even allow attendants be assigned to people they’re connected to.”

“That’s because with attendants, there’s always the potential to spoof the results if one were so inclined, confirm that someone fucked even if they didn’t. They pay them well enough and threaten them severely enough that bribes aren’t likely but if one were asked by a friend to let them off the hook…” They laughed. “Well, you know. But around here, it’d be hard to fake anything with how methodical everything is. And people feel more comfortable with people they know, they ice up with doctors they don’t know suddenly lecturing them about sperm counts and everything.”

Levi blinked. “Let’s get this over with.”

Hange went to a cabinet behind them and pulled out some strange device, attaching glass bottles to a hollow part of it in the body of the machine that sat on the floor. A long tube connected it to a clear, hollow apparatus with an opening pointing toward him. “You’ll be using this. I came up with the design myself and I had no complaints during the testing phase.” They smiled, somewhat mischievously.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s what you’ll use to collect your semen” they said, as if that fact should be obvious. “You’ll slide it on, stroke the canal there over your cock until you finish and then let it suck up what you put out.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack. C’mon smalls, it won’t bite. I know it won’t feel as nice as what’s between your partner’s legs but from the feedback I heard, it should still feel good enough to get the job done.”

“Shut up, there’s nothing nice about having to fuck some designated random with some grinning psycho waiting outside, treating you like an animal.” He scoffed. “And why don’t you have a match of your own? They’re playing favorites?”

“I’m a special case, my genes are just as ideal as yours if I do say so myself but at this point, it’s not recommended I put strain on my body with labor and pregnancy. So I’m freezing my eggs for preservation, so that my genes can still be passed along by someone who can safely give birth. It’s a little appealing, I think. Someone will eventually wind up pregnant with my kid. I hope it happens this generation.” They looked excited, genuinely excited.

“You don’t have to be so happy about it.” He scowled.

“Oh, please. Like you aren’t happy about getting to hump away at that partner of yours, like you wouldn’t want to see her pregnant with your baby.”

“I don’t think about those things, it’s just another job” He grumbled. “Not everyone is a pervert like you.”

“Oh? And I suppose you just lie back and think of Paradis when the time comes then, huh? You’re not attracted to her in the slightest?” Hange raised their eyebrow at him, with an annoyingly smug look.

“Just tell me how to turn this shitty thing on. I just want to get it done so I can leave” Levi asked, suddenly fidgeting with the device in front of him.

Hange was effectively distracted at the mention of their invention, one they were evidently very proud of and stopped teasing to explain. There were several settings, pressures, pulses, things too intricate for anyone but a pervert to think of, in Levi’s opinion. “Don’t worry, with these devices, there’s a disposable part in the place you’ll put your cock and they get cleaned out each use. Though, you’ll be the first one to use this particular machine so don’t think too much about it either way.” They patted the body of the device, sitting on floor, which housed the empty bottles.

Levi sighed. “Got it. You can leave now.”

“If you need any help, I’m in the hall, just give me a shout.” He would absolutely not be shouting for Hange even if his cock got stuck in the damn thing but it was nice of them to be so courteous.

Once they left and closed the door behind them, he locked it and flicked on the machine which made a whirring sound, softer than he was expecting. He still really didn’t want to put his cock in it, honestly just being asked to jerk off in a cup would have been less humiliating than having a contraption built for it. Why had he ever treated that like it was so bad?

He stuck two fingers in experimentally, feeling the inside of the hollow chamber. It was wet, lubed with a clear, thick liquid which allowed his fingers to slip in easily. The opening was of a soft, flexible material but it was tight, not unlike…He was starting to see where Hange’s head had been when designing it. There was pressure but it didn’t feel bad, it felt like a slight pull, like sucking.

After a moment, he managed to make himself hard and psych himself up to actually let Hange’s contraption near his cock. As he slid his cock into the sleeve, he sucked in a breath. It was so strangely, warm. It was warm as you were, almost. Although the stupid thing didn’t hold a candle to the way it felt inside you, it was softer, tighter than he thought. It was clear that the intention was to mimic that feeling and his body reacted accordingly. He stroked it over his cock in slow, gentle passes. His cock was absolutely weeping but the situation was distracting, he was very aware that he was alone in a room with Hange’s device clinging to his cock with plenty of people milling about outside.

He can get too in his head, lose his arousal quicker than a candle in the wind. But he desperately needed to get the fuck out of here so he needed to cum and get it done. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out his surroundings. Despite his wishes, he recalled Hange’s words. “Like you wouldn't want to see her pregnant with your baby.”

Somehow the thought made him shudder, it made his cock come back to life. He did, he did. He wanted to see it, he wondered how you’d look, pregnant with his child. The thought got him stroking his cock again, his cock being periodically squeezed by the soft machinations of the device. He imagined his hands roaming over your body, running his hands over the perfect curve of your stomach. He had heard that pregnant women were prone to having a stronger sex drive, in such case would you beg for him to make you cum? If he already had, would you beg for more? He’d have you sit on his face, even if you were too shy to truly commit to it, he’d move your hips for you and fuck you onto his tongue until he was a mess.

He moaned at the thought of you starting to show. At the thought of your breasts, swollen and tender. The thought of everyone knowing whose child you were carrying, who you’d laid with so many times. The thought of you needing him more desperately than before, making your pretty little noises when you begged for him. A guttural groan comes from deep in his throat. He strokes more quickly, the pace is near painful for how sensitive he’s become, it’s punishment for using you as masturbation fodder, for conjuring up the thought of driving his cock into you as he cradled the bump in his hands.

In an uninhibited moment, he thinks that he just can’t wait for you to be pregnant. He accidentally pressed a switch on the machine that made it seem to throb, he was mid moan when he felt the walls seem to twitch and he broke off with gasp. He thought of you, close to orgasm, throbbing and clenching around him. All of his attention centers on coming, on this facsimile of you. His head was tossed back, his lips parted and letting out his faint moans.

He chokes back hiccups as he comes close to coming. How long had he even been at it? It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes and he was already embarrassingly close, straddling the edge. He was tangled up in his illusion of you, halfway phased out of reality, simply enjoying the comfort of your tits filled with milk, of your warm skin, of your taste always being at the tip of his tongue. This alternate reality where he and you were a possibility. He’s even muttering to himself, to your illusion’s self, almost imperceptibly.

He imagines, lastly, your drooling little cunt leaving his lap slick as he bounces you onto him. He’s so immersed he can hardly think or manage anything other than a harsh, strained “Fuck” as the sleeve squeezes suddenly and your facsimile does the same, making him finally release, spilling for several seconds. He shoots everything, every drop of his cum– and there is a considerable amount – into you, into the machine. The pressure increases so that he spills more, a method imparted to make sure that they collect everything, prolonging his orgasm to a painful level until the machine clicks off and frees him.

The three little bottles sitting in the machine are filled with his cum, their lids are mechanically drilled on tightly as the machine shuts off completely. Levi was again awakened to reality. Post orgasm clarity hits him in the worst way. He’s red all the way to his ears in a matter of moments as his breathing slows and disgusted with all that he craved.

He waited a few minutes before seeing Hange and signing out, until he feels he can pretend to be his usual self again. He waited for that yearning and the guilt in his chest to fade, for disgust and humiliation to take its place completely. But even after another few minutes, the moment never came and he needed to get up anyway.

#levi thirsts #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #snk x reader #aot x reader #aot x female reader

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notthefirstfallenangel · 8 months

Note

Hello 👋 👋 do you take requests cause I had this idea in my mind but I suck in writing

how bout a ghost x reader where he had a bad day and takes it out on his beloved reader who he's been in a really long relationship with, by starting an argument and maybe saying some really mean and bad things that break the reader. Like the reader is only a shell of herself and completely ruined by ghosts words and just crying or sitting completely still staring off the wall or just staring at nothing just being numb.

What would be interesting is Simons reaction when he realizes the damage that he's done, maybe he would cry/break down idk when he sees the usually happy reader being so dull and almost lifeless yk

But Pleasee don't do this to our hearts and write some comfort and a happy ending please I couldn't handle too much angst😭❤️

I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you like it and that's close enough to what you had in mind.❤️

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn reader

Warnings: established relationship, argument, swearing, fluff

Summary: Simon had a hard time today and lashed out, hurting the one he loves.

Words: 3.2k

Having known Simon for years, you knew him to be rather reserved in regard to expressing his emotions. This was not merely an observation but something you had come to grudgingly accept and respect over the years.

In nearly all things, he exuded an overpowering stoicism that was difficult to penetrate. However, there were moments when you saw flashes of his emotions that were connected to you; they came to you like brief glimpses of lightning through storm clouds. His eyes would burn with intensity, and his voice would simmer with passion. When the two of you fought, it was like watching a tempest arise from the depths of his soul. His body would tense up, and his fists would clench as he struggled to contain the turmoil within him. It was at those moments that you knew you had touched something deep, something primal within him.

His raging anger was so unusual to you; it was almost as if his love for you transcended to the heavens, making him incapable of showing anything but adoration.

But exceptions make rules, and this time, It all started with the lightest touch and an apparently simple question.

Simon was in one of his peculiar moods recently, completely detached and unable to have a simple conversation that didn’t imply a sarcastic tone, a short answer or an annoyed look. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in a bizarre maze with no exit and surrounded by millions of strange thoughts.

But that night was worse than any other; he was in an intense state of anger, tension and anxiety.

When he got home from work, the night was thick and black, and the lights of the city spilt into the sky in front of him. The streets were deserted, save for a few scant cars that cast dull reflections on the wet pavement.

He put his keys down on the kitchen counter and poured himself a strong shot of bourbon. Settling into his favourite chair in the living room, he flipped on the television and watched football.

The sound of the TV echoed down the hallway and caught your attention. You were lying in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, drifting in that hazy place between awake and asleep as you tried to wait for him. You sat up and threw off the blankets. The sound grew louder as you stepped out of your room and walked toward its source.

The pale blue glow of the television cast a faint light into the living room. It bounced off the walls and covered Simon’s face in a pale blue hue, his stern features barely rendered in the dim light.

You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his chest rose and fell with each long breath. You knew him well enough to understand when he needed space and when he needed a comforting presence, and right now, it seemed that he needed both. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thighs brushed against each other but far enough that he didn’t feel suffocated by your presence.

“Dinner is in the oven,” you said.

He grunted in response, not taking his eyes off the screen. You knew that he was not in the mood for small talk, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt by his dismissal.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your voice soft and gentle. You placed your hand on his thigh, not expecting a response but just offering a touch of comfort. You watched his face, saw his jaw clenched tightly, and knew he was holding something back.

He met your gaze with an expression void of emotion. His stare was heavy and unfamiliar, and you felt as if he was looking right through you.

“I’m fine,” Simon muttered, his voice as flat as his expression.

He made no move to reciprocate the touch, not wanting to risk being drawn into any sort of conversation right now, especially not the dreaded ‘How are you, darling?’ talk that seemed to have become inevitable between you.

Your gaze travelled up his strong frame, and the broad shoulders now slumped with a heaviness you had never seen before. You had known him for years and, in that time, had become familiar with his habit of self-reliance; he rarely asked for help or confided in anyone. But the strain on his face was clear—you could only imagine how much he must be enduring.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” you ventured.

“I just need a bloody drink,” he said, his tone becoming more irritable.

You knew that he was hiding something, but you didn’t know what it was. You reached for his glass, taking it from him before he could react, and set it on the coffee table.

“It might be better if you didn’t drink right now,” you said gently.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he muttered, his voice raw and tired.

You understood his need to escape, to push all of his problems away and bury himself in something mindless. Still, you knew he needed to talk about what was bothering him.

“Simon, please talk to me,” you said softly, your voice a gentle caress. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I want to know what’s going on with you.”

"There's bloody nothin' to talk about.”

The words tasted like poison on his tongue. He could feel the liquor burning down his throat, washing away all reason from his mind with its fiery embrace.

His response to any emotional vulnerability was immediate and instinctive, like a reflex of a broken heart. It seemed easier for him to face a wild animal than to show his vulnerable side to the person he treasured most in this world. He was determined to keep all thoughts and feelings under wraps- a habit of self-preservation, his biggest weakness. But you were different. You were the only one who had ever been able to breach that barrier, the only one who had ever been able to see past the tough façade that he had built to protect himself.

You moved closer, your hands gently cradling his face. His bristly beard tickled your palms as his warm skin heated up beneath your fingertips. The faint scars were like old stitches holding a piece of fabric together. You could feel the ridges and curves of those white lines.

“Simon,” you whispered, “Please let me in. I won’t let you go until you do.”

He moved his head away from your touch. His jaw tensed, and his brows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He crossed his arms tight over his body as if the tension of his arms was necessary to protect himself, to conceal his vulnerability.

He was so big, so intimidating. But you knew that beneath that tough exterior was a man who was hurting, a man who needed to let it out. You didn’t give up.

He looked away. He was always a man of few words, direct and to the point. His movements were controlled and precise.

"You fockin' know I hate it when you do this,” he muttered.

“Do what? I just want to help you.”

Your voice was gentle, but he could hear the determination in your words.

“I don’t need your help,” he said stubbornly.

“Simon, please don’t do this,” you said, “I love you, and I want to help you.”

“I don’t bloody need your help,” he growled angrily under his breath. “Can't ya just leave me alone when I come home for once, love?.”

His tone was venomous as he said the words, a coldness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

He gritted his teeth together to prevent an outburst of anger. The atmosphere was charged with tension, like a thundercloud about to break, and he exhaled deeply.

“You can’t keep pushing me away like this, Simon. We’re a couple, and we need to be able to talk about things and work through them together.”

“You’re the one not listening,” he hissed, his fists clenched tight in anger as he prepared to unleash the fury that had been boiling beneath the surface. “ All you do is talk, and I can't be bothered to deal with yer constant bullshit, 'specially when I come home from work and I get fockin' interrogated by you all the time. I'm sick of this nonsense. Can ya stop with your constant neediness!?”

“I’m just trying to help,” you protested. “I care about you!”

“You wanna know what's wrong with me? Fine, ” he snapped, his voice quivering with anger as he stood up and turned to face you.”You think you know what I want. You think 'yah know what's best for me. Well, you don't. You haven't a bloody clue. I'm just sick of all of this... sick of you!”

You watched as Simon’s chest heaved, his eyes wild with fury. You had never seen him like this before, and it scared you. It was as if he was a stranger, a man who had disappeared into himself and returned changed, unrecognisable. Your hand reached out to touch him, but he swatted it away with a ferocity that made you flinch.

Tears pricked at the edge of your eyes, and you refused to let them fall. You refused to give Simon the satisfaction of seeing you broken by his words. Instead, you stood up too and looked him straight in the eye.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” you said, your voice steady despite your heart racing.” But you don’t get to treat me like this. I won’t be spoken to like I’m an inconvenience. Especially since I’ve been there for you through everything, every high, every low. I’m always here for you-”

“You were there for me? Ha! Please,” he said, laughing harshly as he rolled his eyes. “It's 'cause you need someone to need, and that's the only bloody reason you're still 'ere with me! You thrive off all this fockin' attention! Ya keep bloody tryina fix someone else 'cause ya can't look at yourself!”

“That’s not true,” you argued.

“Oh, but it is,” Simon sneered. “You’re nothing but a manipulator who’s gotten too good at playin' the victim.”

He had finally crossed the line, his words hitting you like a truck. This was by far the worst argument you had ever had, his words cutting far more profound than he intended if he wasn’t so consumed by anger.

“I won’t stand for this,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get to talk to me that way. Not after everything we’ve been through. I’m the one who loves you, and I will always stand by you.”

“You don’t know anything about love,” he said stern;

His voice was so icy, devoid of any emotion or warmth. It carried no trace of familiarity-just an unfamiliar chill that made it sound like somebody else talking.

He grabbed his jacket and turned away from you, walking off into the night without another word.

Your heart feels like it’s been crushed as you watch him go. You knew he was angry, but this was far beyond anything he had ever said to you. His words felt like a physical punch to the gut, and you can’t believe how easily he managed to shatter your heart.

You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying your best to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. Simon’s words repeated themselves over and over again in your mind, each one feeling like a stab to the heart. You couldn’t believe that he thought of you like that, and it hurt more than anything else ever had.

Time blurred together, yet you stayed planted on the couch. You were a mannequin of despair, too petrified to move or think. It was almost comical that someone so devoted could hurt you this badly.

You recalled the good times you had shared, from laughter to tender kisses. You felt your stomach churn as you remembered him claiming he loved you and that it would last forever. Now you questioned whether any of those feelings were real or if it had all just been an illusion.

You ran your fingers across your cheeks, wiping away the tears and salt water. As the truth sank in, you felt the goosebumps rising on your skin that the person you loved more than anything else was starting to despise you.

It felt like your body was burning from the inside out, like you were being eaten alive from the inside.

You felt your eyelids droop under the heavy burden as you lay on the couch, racked with an unbearable weight of sorrow and guilt. The room was still and oppressive. No other sound filled the air but a distant TV playing a commercial about an extravagantly priced product no one could possibly need, emphasising the complete silence around you. It felt like a thousand-pound weight on your chest as you sat alone in the emptiness.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Simon opened the door, yet the living room was already aglow with a faint light that cast shadows over your figure. The light refracting off your bright blue sweater made it look almost electric in the low morning light. It felt like the air of an autumn morning when the wind carried a chill, and the sun was still rising.

He hesitated at the threshold, unsure whether to step inside or not. He knew he had deeply hurt you with his words, and the guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. Simon had never intended to lash out at you like that, but at that moment, his emotions had gotten the best of him, and he couldn’t control the venom that had spewed from his mouth.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, making his way towards the couch where you lay. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel his palms growing sweaty with nerves.

When he reached the couch, he stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. You looked so small and vulnerable lying there, and it made him ache with regret for what he had done. It had been so long since he’d seen you cry he’d forgotten what it looked like. You were always the strong, optimistic one, but this . . . this sight was new to him.

He knelt before you, his hands shaking as he slowly reached out to brush the tips of his fingers through your hair. His eyes were full of emotion and desperation as he silently pleaded for forgiveness.

You jolted backwards as if an electrical current had just run through you. His heart sank, and he dropped his hand to his side; his vision blurred with tears, realising his attempt to push you away finally came back to haunt him.

His lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes were glassy, and his brow furrowed in anguish. He glanced down at the ground, searching for the right thing to say, trying to make sense of all the emotions bubbling within him. He knew it was his fault; he had been too stubborn and scared to let you in. Now, he was in a moment of despair, not knowing what to do or how to fix it.

You watched him in silence, feeling the weight of his guilt and regret like a heavy burden on your chest. He hurt you, but you still loved him, and the thought of losing him was unbearable. You sat up slowly, still unsure if you wanted to forgive him or not.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours, and he saw something he had never seen before. He saw the pain that he had caused you, the hurt and the heartache, and it was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s eyes were brimming with tears, and one teardrop crept its way down his cheek and onto his chin before falling onto his shirt. It lay there for a moment and then absorbed into the fabric of the cotton garment, leaving behind only a damp spot.

Those tears were nothing but a mirror of your own. You were both sharing the same feeling, both experiencing the same anguish.

You felt his strong, warm hands on your face. He used his thumbs to brush away the salty tears that trickled down from your eyes. He kissed each teardrop away with a soft press of his lips on your cheeks, chin and eyes.

You heard his voice crack ever so slightly as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, love.I'm so goddamn sorry.”

You closed your eyes, feeling his lips on your skin and the warmth of his breath on your face. His touch was gentle, and you could feel the sincerity in his apology as he continued to kiss away your tears. A part of you wanted to push him away, to make him suffer like you had, but another part yearned for his touch and love. You were torn between anger and forgiveness, between hurt and love.

Simon pulled back, his gaze still fixed on yours as he searched for any sign of forgiveness. You looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. You saw the pain and regret that he was feeling, and it moved you. It made you realise that he wasn’t invincible, flawed, and needed you just as much as you needed him.

“Didn’t mean any of that shite I said… I was angry, ‘n took it out on you. The job I’m on right now… It’s… rough.,” He blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from flowing down. “But you don’t deserve this.”

You felt your heart swell with emotion. You wanted to forgive him, and you knew that if you could do it, it would be a fresh start for both of you. You took a deep breath and nodded in agreement, finally finding the courage to tell him how much his words had hurt you.

You told him about all the sleepless nights spent worrying about what he was thinking and feeling, all the moments when loneliness had taken over your life, and how scared you had been of losing him forever.

But as you spoke, something inside of you changed. The pain slowly dissolved away as forgiveness crept into your body like the sun’s rays on a cold winter morning. Simon listened intently without interruption while tears streamed down his face; he held your hands tightly as he apologised again before pulling you closer to him in an embrace.

At that moment, everything seemed to fall into place.

He buried his face in your neck and whispered how much he loved you over and over again until all traces of sadness had dissipated from you.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms, and you knew right then and there that no matter what happened in the future, he would always be your home.

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x gender neutral reader #simon ghost riley x gender neutral reader #ghost x gender neutral reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff

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love-lilly02 · 1 month

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The Challenge— Chapter 11

AN: i really do hope these gif’s scare you before reading. Anyways this week’s is really short because finals kicked my ass, but i hope you enjoy!!!

Being in the military, you start to see some stuff you don’t really want to see.

There’s always someone dying, a mauled or mangled corpse in a dark corner of a safe house. You get used to it, after so many years on the job.

One thing he could never get used too is seeing his team like this.

Listening to your explanation was already rough. He was forced to stand there and watch you struggle to explain yourself, listen as you slowly gave into your feelings. And seeing you cry was…

Well. To say the least, he had never seen you cry before, in all your years in the military.

Your quiet sobs filled the room, muffled slightly by the material of Price’s shirt. He stayed on one knee, wrapping his arms tightly around your back and murmuring reassurances so quietly into your hair not even Simon could make them out. After what felt like forever, he lifted his head and looked directly at Johnny.

The man snapped out of his thoughts, and crept forward towards the pair. “Take her to the barracks, got somethin to take care of.” Price said, and Johnny nodded.

“Aye, sir. Here, lass, up ya come.” It broke his heart, seeing you like that. And he knew the others agreed, based on the looks they were giving you. Johnny helped you stand, supporting you on his shoulder when you wobbled slightly. “Steady, bonnie. I gotcha, it’s alright.” He felt the hand before he saw the person, watching as Simon wordlessly scooped you into his arms bridal style. You squeaked at the sudden movement, and the man just tucked your head into his chest.

“Show off,” Soap grumbled, rolling his eyes at the man’s antics. Simon just shrugged.

The two of them brought you to the barracks, but instead of going into your room, Simon brought you to the spare room in the far corner of the hall. Long ago, since before you even joined, they had turned the room into a shared space for the four of them. It contained a bed larger than most of the ones in the bedrooms, big enough to fit all four of the men at once.

This is the bed simon set you down on, shushing you softly when you whined. Your eyes were red and puffy, and you were still sniffing. Simon gently removed your shoes, and sat on the bed next to you.

“Here, Johnny.” The scott needed no other motivation, kicking off his shoes and climbing in the bed behind you. The two men pressed you between them, Simon holding on to your waist and Johnny holding you across your stomach.

“We gotcha, it’s okay.” Johnny said, pulling you closer when the quiet sobs began again. The three of you stayed like that for a while, till your breathing evened out and you fell asleep.

It had been a good while since you had seen your sister, so long that you hardly remember her features. You’re somewhat sure she had the same eyes as you, maybe different hair?

Either way she was in front of you. And she was pissed. Her face contorted into thousands of shapes and expressions, her feelings displayed so clearly it was dizzying. One moment she was overjoyed, the next she was in despair, then she was so angry you thought she would kill you. Her voice resounded through the room, a chorus of loud, angry wails. The noise was deafening, so much so that you wanted to hold your hands over your ears, but you were rooted in place.

“How could you do this to me?” She screamed, holding her head in her hands. “I trusted you, you wretched bitch! Selfish, all i did was protect you, I even took your beatings! How could you leave me, why would you…“

The words made you want to cry, but you were incapable of producing the tears. Slowly, you lifted your hand to her, trying to help in some way, like you used too. The movement was like a harsh gust of wind, and she backed away from you so fast you were sure she glitched.

“Get the fuck away! Why would I ever trust you again?”

You actually did cry then. You wanted to scream, to tell her that it wasn’t really your fault, how you thought you were helping her, how you were sorry. So, so fucking sorry, but the words melted alongside the scene.

You were flying through dark space, into the next part of the dream. This time, the boys were here with you. They surrounded a chair in a small room, where one person sat with a bag over their head. It was a scene you had taken part of, on some mission years ago.

“Right, then.” Price said, stepping forward. “You know why you’re here.” He ripped the bag off of the persons head, and you saw yourself sitting in the chair.

Your face was covered in cuts and bruises, and your eyes were so swollen they couldn’t even open anymore. Your nose had been permanently broken out of place, and a lot of your hair was either completely cut off or uneven in the worst places.

“It was fun playing with you, pet. Unfortunately, if there’s one thing I can’t stand—“ Here he pulled out a gun, pointing it straight at your head.”—It’s a liar. See you in hell, eh?”

The sound of the bullet startled you awake, and you gasped as your eyes flew open. Gaz backed off quickly, raising his hands in the air.

“It’s alright, just me.” You tried your best to calm down your breathing, spinning your head on a swivel.

“Where’s—“

“Simon and Johnny had to go help Price, sent me in to stay with you. Tried to wake you up but…”

You nodded. There were dried tear tracks on your face, and you could tell your hair was horribly tangled without even having to touch it.

“You don’t have to stay here. I’ll be okay in a bit,” You said. Gaz just shook his head.

“Can’t let a teammate suffer alone. It’s part of the job description.” He climbed into the bed with you—you were still in the shared room— and pulled your head down to his chest.

“I don’t remember reading it in the contract.”

“It’s a new addition.”

That made you smile. The two of you lapsed into silence, simply enjoying each others presence. The sheets still smelled slightly of the other two men, and they were still a bit warm.

They left recently, maybe seconds before Gaz got me up.

“You’re thinking too much, princess.” Gaz whispered, and you shrugged lamely.

“Got a lot to think about.”

“Wana talk? That… It helps. Sometimes.”

You just shrugged. He nodded, and there was silence again.

“Full moon tomorrow.” He said, and you hummed in agreement. “The sky should be fairly clear, we can go stargazing?”

You nodded against his chest, and he smiled.

Times like this made everything feel okay.

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost x reader

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eeunoia · 2 months

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ENHYPEN Series

sinag — psh.

chapter five

pairings: park sunghoon x reader

synopsis: waiting for a great plot twist in your life, the ruthless and powerful mafia boss park sunghoon forced his way in to it.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: a contains harrassment, violence, guns, killings, abuse, obsessive love & other stuff. if you can't take this stuff, feel free to scroll away. let me know if i missed some.

note: hello, i hope you will enjoy this chapter and give me feedbacks. ily and thank you for reading my works. stay safe.

The man crawled slowly over the dirty street, trying to make a run for his life. He grunts as the injury and wounds to his whole body was inscrutable. He can hear multiple footsteps making sounds as they step into the puddles of rainwaters all over the place caused by the pouring rain. It made it colder and harder to breath.

He yelped in pain when someone stepped hardly over his back, pushing him further to the ground. Making him one with the dirty and wet street.

“Where the fuck do you think are you going?” his tone empty and devoid of emotions. It makes him scared and cries of plea follows right after.

He felt his head harshly pulled back by his hair as the man leaned down. To look at this brutal man’s eyes almost sent him down to hell. Despite being under the rain, blood splattered on his face painting his fair skin red.

“P-Please,” he begged.

The man showed no remorse and without a word, he slammed his head on the ground making him lose his consciousness completely.

“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Jake asks Jay as they watch their friend beat the shit out of this poor man.

Jay craned his neck to look at the scene and his reaction seems like he was pretty much used to it already. He shrugs his shoulder off while holding an umbrella to keep him from being drenched from the heavy rain. “Do you want to?”

Jake sighs and just silently watch their friend kicking the man on the ground. It was obvious that he was incapable to fight back or even shield himself from all the hit. He was unconscious, probably almost near his death.

Tonight, the three of them gathered to do some 'business' and since Sunghoon just came from his trip from another country, trying to find his girl, he's slightly on the bad mood. Slightly.

Jay and Jake were already covered in blood, but Sunghoon's showering over it. They couldn't just stop him because they know he somehow relieves stress this way. The look of murder on his eyes aren't fading just yet and they both knew it will last for a bit longer tonight.

“I thought you and Ni-ki are searching for her too?” Jay whispered lighting up another cigarette.

The other man sighs, “Yes. But its odd, we managed to find some informations about her but all of it was three years ago.”

It made Jay halt from taking a huff from his cigs before he tilts his head, “You mean its like she vanished?”

Jake nods his head. Even him find it uncanny how there's no more updates or informations about her whereabouts. Like she's purposely maintaining a low profile or someone is doing it for her? It made him confused and even made Ni-ki digs more deeply like as if that wasn't what the younger one was already doing.

“What if she's dead already?” Jay blurted while watching their friend let all his frustrations out.

“Hell will break lose,” Jake took a deep sigh, trying to relax his tensed shoulder. “Can you see him? He's a ticking time bomb and only her can defuse him.”

Jay smirks, “We really need to hope she's alive somewhere.”

“There's no records saying that she is dead so I think we're still good.”

They both nods their head and once again watch how their friend kill those unfortunate people who stands on his way. He was unstoppable, unable to be tamed. Right now, they knew they had to find you faster or else he will really lose his mind.

“Still nothing?” your head snaps to your side, shoulder slumped so low that shows so much of your disappointment.

You've been on a hunt for your new job for a month already and yet none of them calls back. Pretty sure its not the degree or experiences that sets as an issue to this matter. Your previous boss surely used his power to make your life miserable.

“Yes.”

Lucie stares at you with a look of pity before she sets down her glass of water. She trudges closer to where you are to try and console you. She can see how hard working you are and even if you haven't told her the full story yet, she knew it wasn't you who caused all the troubles.

“Why don't you just try applying on my previous work place? I mean, its not as big as your salary before, but its not a bad pay.”

Your eyes looks at her, “Yeah, maybe I should do that. Thank you so much Lucie.”

She smiles and caress your back. “No problem. I’ll send you the details for the HR department so you can send your resume.”

You nod your head and watch her walk back to the room adjacent to yours. Things may had been rough with you, but you are lucky enough to have her beside you. It's still amusing for you how she’s very nice. Guess its really true that whenever someone leaves and go, somebody will arrive on your life.

It wasn’t hard to get an interview appointment for the said company. It was a lot smaller than your old work, but that's fine. This isn't the time to be picky specially if you're starting to deplete your savings.

They replied with your said schedule of interview and the things you need to prepare for the application. It made you hopeful despite knowing the possibility of not being accepted again. These are the usual routine. You send your resume, they reply with your schedule for interview, interview you and then ask you to wait for nothing. Eitherway you let yourself hope and dressed up for it.

The company was discarding lots of employees for the past week now since they had a new boss. The information raised your expectation to be accepted since they're in need of people.

Your heart thumped inside your chest as you wait patiently for your turn. The ac was on, you're sure of it, but you're sweating cold. It was not a foreign feeling. Just like whenever a teacher asks you to recite something in front of everybody in your class or taking one of your biggest exams. It made your palms sweaty and your feet tapping lightly to the floor. It was a dreadful feeling.

On the other hand, Jake's eyes lazily watch the view from inside his vehicle. He felt his phone ringing so he fished it from his coat and answered.

“Dude, where are you?”

He sighs, “I’m going to work. What do you want, Jay?”

His friend's whine can be heard from the other line that tugs the corner of his lips upwards. “It's a saturday? Come on.”

“I can’t. I’m in the middle of rebuilding this new company I bought.”

“The one near your mall? Why did you even bought that when it doesn't even match your own companies?”

“It does have income and regenerating well for years now. I can check on what I can do to improve it and if not, I can just demolish and use the land to extend my mall.”

Jay lets out a sigh, he just couldn't believe how Jake is a monster in this field of work. He is pretty smart, he'll give him that, but when it comes to business he's on a different level. Mainly why most of their friends comes to him for advice.

“Fine, call me later after you finish playing with your toys.”

Jake chuckles, “All right.”

He ended the call just in time of their arrival at the said company. His men opens the door for him and the handsome bachelor steps outside proudly. He walks inside and workers started to greet him, paying full respect for him. His serious demeanor didn't falter and just head straight for the lift, going to his office.

As he arrives, line of people caught his attention. He was about to ask what's it all about when he remembered how he command for them to hire new employees after he dismissed most of them. He wanted this company working as to the way he wanted it to be. So those who are not in line with his vision, he gets rid of them.

“Mr. Sim.” his secretary for this company greets him with a flushing cheeks. He kept his placid expression and wait for what she's about to say.

“We already started to interview applicants for the job vacancies.” she said trying hard to check any positive reaction from him.

Jake's eyes roams around carefully as she continues to fill him through the updates from the things he asked them to do. Slowly, her voice became muffled as his eyes get caught at something that made him utterly surprised.

He pursed his lips, brows furrowing hardly at the sight of a girl a few feet away from where he's standing. Her nervous face was obvious as she continuous to fidget with her fingers. Jake doesn't know what to think. He was so close to asking his men if he's starting to see things, but then he snapped himself back to his senses.

“Who is she?” her secretary snaps her head in a hurry to follow his line of sight.

She hesitates and look back from you and Jake, just to check if she's getting it right.

“She's probably one of the applicants for the job.” her eyes dropping over the folder she was holding.

Jake didn't talk and kept his stance. He resets his mind to come up with his new plan and for his next move. He was always careful and never reckless.

“Ohh...” his assistant talks with a tone sounding a little bit astound. He looks at her as she checks her file.

“Why?”

“She's being blacklisted.”

Jake's forehead furrowed at the information he heard. This thing was already common in the world of business. People that have power uses this method to make sure someone they don't really like cannot be accepted in any company they are associated on.

“Blacklisted? By who?”

“Mr. Kang.” she answered quickly.

There's a lot of Kang in the industry of business, but since he knew whose the main investors of this company he already have an idea which Kang she's referring to. It slowly lights up curiosity over him on what did you possibly do to make him so upset to the point he was making your life this miserable.

Was he your ex boyfriend? Jake couldn't help but to scoff inside his mind at the thought of what Sunghoon will do to him once he found out. He may lose his mind and make Mr. Kang regret he even walked this earth.

Jake sighs, trying to hold his excitement.

“I want her in my office in five minutes. I will interview her myself.” he announced that surprised her assistant.

He starts heading towards his office and she follows him, “But Mr. Kang's instruction is to not accept her even in interviews.”

Jake didn't say anything and just lightly cranes his head to stare at her. Chills run through her spine at the strictness that lingers through his eyes. She instantly regrets insisting about what Mr. Kang instructed.

“R-Right away, sir.” she bows her head in a submissive manner before politely excusing herself to do as he say.

He trudges towards his office while fishing his phone from his coat. His men follows silently, waiting for anything he will order them to do.

“Riki.” Jake sighs, despite the calm demeanor he couldn't help but to flash a small smile over his lips.

“What hyung?” the younger one sounds in a rush.

“I found her.”

“Who?” his response made him roll his eyes in disbelief. Is he that distracted that he forgot their main agenda?

“Sunghoon's obsession.”

The other line went silent. Jake even furrowed in confusion and checked if Ni-ki turned off the call, but no. It's still going. He put his phone back to his ears.

“Hey,”

“No way, hyung? Are you for real?” now he sounded so interested. He smirks, remembering how he reacted moments ago after seeing you.

Who would not react that way? Sunghoon's been searching for you for years already and to see you now is just amusing. So he really did saw you and not losing his mind. Jake felt relieved, but also a little worried of how things will work out after this.

“Yes. I’ll send you her details later so you can go dig for her informations again.”

“All right. I’ll be waiting.”

They bid good-byes and Jake started preparing himself for your arrival. He's sure that his assistant will escort you inside any minute now.

Jake's was an inch close to call Sunghoon and deliver him the good news, but he's smarter than that. He knew better than to spoil the moment and mess things up. Of course he wants his friend to see you and finally put an end to his miserable search operations. He needs to think things through and come up with the best plans in order to help his friend.

“Miss Aelia?” your head lifts up after hearing your name. The lady who asked you to wait in line from a while ago was in front of you. She's holding this folder and she have this warry expression on her face.

Your eyes glanced around to check what's up and its still not yet your turn for the interview. Chest started beating fast and you worry that things are starting to be messed up once again. Shoulders already falling, you looked up at her with a pitiful eyes.

“Y-Yes?” you are so ready to pack up and leave when she flashes you a small smile.

“Kindly follow me.”

A bit bewildered that she didn't sent you home, you managed to stand up on your feet and follow behind her. People sitting beside you were also confused but has nothing much that they can do.

She guides you towards this hallway leading to a more secluded part of the floor. And your heart sank when you read that its the president's office.

Your hand unconsciously reached over your skirt, flattening it a bit. Next is your hair that you fixed and just in time, she asked you to wait for a bit.

She enters the room and not a minute long, she peaked through the door then asked you to come inside. You nodded and gulped, feeling your throat getting dry. To say that you are nervous was an understatement. Your breathing are fast and heavy, like your heart will jump out from your chest. Your palms both so sweaty and your throat running dry despite the continuous attempt of washing it off with your saliva.

The officed looked a little messy, like things are being moved from here and there. Maybe because they have a new president, the office are being renovated. But any of that should be the least of your concern because at the center of that said room, was Jake Sim.

The moment you laid eyes on him, you are slightly shook. He was handsome, very handsome to be exact. He has this mullet length black hair that seemed so soft. Plump lips and big doe eyes that reminds you of puppy eyes. Funny, because for someone who have delicate features, he sure is intimidating.

You feel very nervous as you took more steps closer to his visitor's chair that was placed in front of his desk.

“Good day, S-Sir.” you stuttered a little as he kept his eyes fixed at your direction.

You can't really tell what's in his mind at the moment. His stares remained and you couldn’t help but to feel odd about it. He didn't say anything even after his secretary has left the room. It's already been a minute.

Something about his stares makes you feel more nervous and somehow anxious. The urge to stand up and leave slowly intoxicated your mind, but you know this isn't the right time to let your trauma from your previous boss take over you.

“S-Sir?” you tried catching his attention.

That visibly snapped Jake back to his senses. He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed for staring too much. He cursed inside his mind, knocking his senses back to his system. He needs to collect himself and not mess this up. Surely it was fascinating seeing you here inside his office, but frightening you would be the last thing he wanted.

“So,” he draws in a sigh before grabbing a piece of paper to write on. “Miss Aelia, huh?”

Your head bops lightly and a short “Yes, Sir.” follows.

Jake scanned the folder he was holding. All the basic informations that Ni-ki had given him are mostly here. He clicked his tongue and tilts his head over to the side.

“Where are you currently staying?”

His question made you purse your lips tightly, contemplating whether to tell him or not. Various things clouded your mind, some of them even appropriate. You couldn’t help it, what happened to you in the past caused all of these.

“W-Why...”

Seems like the man in front of you noticed your expression so he was quick to pull off a small smile. He still looked intimidating, but it somehow ease your worry.

“If you’re living far from the premises we are to offer you a place to your convenience. Also a car for you to use to travel back and fort all expense will taken care of the company.” he offered.

You were caught off-guard by what he said. Is this how it usually is? Company aren’t this generous when it comes to new employees so you’re a little confused, but at the same time tempted. A place to stay sounds great and a vehicle? Sure sounds very convenient too.

“I live a bit far from here, Sir.” you answered that made him nod his head slowly, eyes trailing back towards the folder he was holding.

“Are you single or already married?” his eyes are fixed at your resume. It took you a while to answer that made him glance back up to you.

“Your benefits will be based on your civil status.” you felt embarrassed for thinking differently of his question.

“O-Oh! I’m single, Sir.”

Jake smiles and nods his head before resuming to reading your informations.

Its not that it even matter whether you’re single or not. In the end, Sunghoon will still do everything in his will to get you. But it’s good to know you are single, at least a soul was saved from his friend’s wrath.

“T-That’s actually great, Sir.” you managed to utter. His eyes lits up and lips lifts up in eagerness.

“So you’re accepting the job?” he sounds hopeful making you furrow your brows, addled with all of the things that’s happening.

“Y-Yes, but aren’t you going to interview me?” your tone sounded too soft for Jake. He knew Sunghoon will go crazy for it and he couldn’t wait for you two to meet. But there’s still a lot of things to take care of.

He lifts his head up to glance at you, tearing his gaze off from your resume that contains all the details he wanted from you. He shows a confident smile, making blushed a bit, getting caught off-guard by his visuals.

“I just did.” he shrugs his shoulders off in a relax manner.

Despite being a little confused as to how things just ended so well, you couldn’t help but to feel giddy to actually get the job.

“S-So I’m hired?”

Jake nods, “Yes. You can start on monday. Sounds good?”

Your lips stretched into a wide smile as you accept Jake’s hands. “Yes, Sir! Thank you so much! I will do my best and I will not disappoint you.”

He smirks and nods then watch how his secretary escorts you outside his office. It’s been two minutes since you left, but he was still staring straight at the door right in front of him. He couldn’t believe it.

He stood up and fishes his phone from his pocket, a big playful smirk plays over his lips while waiting for someone to pick up his call.

'“What?” Sunghoon hissed at him.

Jake scoffs, clearly not surprised to his friend’s arrogance.

“10 Million.” he started.

“The fuck you saying?”

“I’m selling you this new company I acquired and currently revisioning.”

This time, it was his friend’s turn to scoff at him.

“Ten Million? What? Is there some gold hidden in that company or something?” Sunghoon asks, very sarcastic.

Jake’s grin grew wider, wanting so bad to spill the great news to his friend.

“You can say that.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond right away and just thought of what his friend was offering. He may not be the best one when it comes to business, but he sure not a dumb person. Jake rarely sells him property unless it was worth it or he can benefit from it in the near future. He trust his friend.

He sighs, “I’ll send you the check tomorrow.” and ended the call right away.

Jake laughs and put back his phone inside his pocket. “God damn, this is fun.”

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