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#i don't feel i can hold that authority
bumblingbabooshka · 6 months
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[TUVOKTOBER: Day 6] Based on this line of dialogue:
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#I will forever be like 'what did you mean by that??' jennifer lawrence clip about Tuvok saying he 'spoke out against it'#He isn't??? A politician?? And never was???#Is his family one which holds a certain amount of sway??#I need to know if he 'spoke out' in an official capacity - like a way that mattered to the world at large or if he was just talking shit#I tend to assume mostly the latter - maybe talking shit to specific people but still. It reminds me of how in Gravity he says#HE chose to leave Jara and school when in reality he was kicked out and banished - adjusting the facts#anyway one of the things I sincerely love about Tuvok is that he would be like one of many petty Vulcan antagonists* in another series#especially when he was younger but it's not like he's THAT much better in canon#Ex: Though Tuvok agrees & praises the peace treaty he still seems to view B'Elanna unfavorably bc she's Klingon#<- Like what Neelix says 'That's just it!! You don't feel anything FOR me but you feel things AGAINST me' that's him a nutshell#<- Another example is how he treats Chakotay in the earlier seasons: Deliberately undermining him and questioning his authority#He can be very sanctimonious both about him personally and facets of himself without much tolerance for others or deviation#It's a legit character flaw and I do love highlighting it bc I love him even when I want to choke him to death he's fascinating <3#It's also VERY interesting bc he WAS more of a rebel punk as a teen then he went to the monastery and now he is shown to be very#devoted to Vulcan ways and have a keen interest in monastic life.#I know Vulcan philosophy is NOTHING like christianity or catholicism but like forget that for a second. Ok. Now: 'Tuvok's born again swag?#off the charts' v_v thank you#bea art tag#Tuvoktober#st voyager#st voyager fanart#*And this never changes. Unlike Spock or T'Pol he never has moments (that I can recall) where the narrative's like 'GOTCHA!'#& he's never insecure about his identity as Vulcan. Never desires to feel or be more human. & I /do/ think this is bc he's older! We see#himas an ensign in 'Flashback' struggling with his identity as its pitted against humanity AND in 'Gravity' where he's shown to have disdai#for Vulcan culture & customs. It really makes me wish we had gotten more character-building episodes from him rather than character-breakin#ones where he's not really acting as himself in full. v_v#also one last thing: I recognize that other characters do try2 'GOTCHA!' Tuvok both seriously and lightheartedly but Tuvok is never framed#as being actually affected by this unlike Spock or T'Pol where it's a whole like Thing about their characters (humanity - feeling)#tuvoktober
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oneleggedflamingo · 8 months
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I’m finally starting to transfer all the pages I have written of the story to the computer, and AAAAAAAA, I really didn’t make this easy for myself. I have been writing the scenes into three different notebooks. :D On the other hand, writing the first version was very easy and fun. ^^
I love noticing how I keep going forward and ending up with the things I could only dream of as a child. But out of all the things I have dreamed of, slowly  turning the story into a book is so much more work than I thought it would be. But I’m not in any sort of a hurry, so it doesn’t really matter. I just really want to have it as a physical copy with my self made front cover and illustrations and then put it into my book shelf. 
And I can’t wait to have a collection of stories that I have written turned into physical books with colorful covers and have them all on a book shelf in my home when I’m old. I know it will happen, I shouldn’t rush. 
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It feels so surreal and unbelievable to be living my life each day safe, fed, in my home, while half a world away Palestine continues to be bombed. I can't think about anything else. I'm crying every day, grieving and caring for people I won't ever meet, whose suffering I am helpless to stop in any direct way. I don't even have words for this, for 10,000 people to lose their lives, kids, families, first responders and reporters, hospitals and schools and refugee camps bombed while the world looks on. entire families lost to rubble. it is horrific. I am sorry. I feel insane. How is this the world we live in? How can this be allowed to happen? while all we can do is watch?
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n7viper · 1 year
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I feel so weird when people on this site are nice to me because I tend to feel like I'm not worthy of it if I'm simply existing. Like, no one should be nice to me if I'm not talented - if I can't write fic or draw or something. And it's like, the dumbest brain thing? Why on earth would that be the case? I don't feel that way about people, so why would they feel that way about me? And if they do feel that way, why would I want to be around them? Like what the fuck? Brain, please.
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kyouka-supremacy · 8 months
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with all the respect in the world, i don't think your answer sounded pretentious per se, i just maybe think it doesn't really account for people who are new fans, who don't know how the abuse apologism in bsd actually reaches into the real world. i think it's fair to be shocked about that because even if an author presents themes i don't agree with, i don't immediately jump to them also agreeing to that theme in real life. again, don't mean this as an attack! just wanted to offer a perspective of why the reaction was so visceral
Mmmmmmmmmmhhhhh... I can see how it's not always easy to tell apart the morals portrayed in a book from the morals the author actually supports in real life. But generally, as a rule of thumb, I would say: one thing is for a character to express their own worldviews, and those may or may not correspond to the author's. But when it comes to an underlying, recurring pattern through the whole book, then that's hardly not an expression of the author's own position over a determinate subject.
Examining the case at hands, I do believe, if one were to read chapter 39 alone, they could legitimately say there's no abuse apologism happening in it, but rather a portrayal of two men with very twisted views of what abuse and fatherhood are. And yet such take stops being valid the moment the scene is inserted in the wider context of the manga and novels. When one adds how Dazai's word is commonly considered as true and unmistaken in the context of the manga, and when one adds a rather insensitive approach to the theme in making Akutagawa hit Higuchi being treated even as comic relief at some point, and when one adds how the abuse towards Akutagawa is already presented as something the reader isn't supposed to hate Dazai for (being depicted when the reader is already far used to sympathize with Dazai), and when one adds Akutagawa's words in chapter 85 about how Dazai's treatment towards him was rightful and part of a bigger picture, and when one adds Beast making of the orphanage director almost a martyr, and when one adds Aya's thoughts for her violent father as someone whose teaching helped her when she most needed... Well, then it stops being a single character opinion and starts being an underlying author worldview. But isn't this what reading critically ultimately means, to make connections between the various elements in play in order to recognize patterns and themes?
Still, you're probably right, and the connection between the various instances is something people may have overlooked. Thank you for offering your point of view!!
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bijoumikhawal · 1 year
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Ive been reading the Persian Boy and I'm not suprised by the orientalism but I am disappointed
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night-dragon937 · 4 months
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currently holding back the urge to critique the entire gardening plot of this one shot and I'm being so brave about it
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asteralien · 4 months
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haven't watched the last two loki eps. haven't watched the last two ofmd eps. haven't finished the last season of mythic quest. haven't listened to dndaddies in months. haven't listened to dungeons and drimbus in over a year. haven't haven't haven't. hng argh blah and so forth
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scarletfasinera · 4 months
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Worst thing a writer of a book can make me deal with is talk to me like I'm an idiot who can't understand books while I'm actively reading the book they wrote
#txt#Me having to set the book I'm reading down and remind myself that YA fiction is literally just written this way#as if it's a style and isn't out-of-this-world levels of fucking annoying and condescending#The author has to always be present in the text but not in the fun way. In the hand-holding so you don't get lost way.#Not only does it suck but it's a huge pet peeve for me personally which makes it worse than anything else a writer can put me through#Worst thing for someone who hates being treated like he's stupid is to read a book in which the writer thinks their readers are all stupid#Which again. I understand is just how 99% of YA fiction is written and that's my fault for reading it. But come on.#Sometimes I come across a book where it's particularly egregious and it makes me mad.#Like leave some room for your readers to have at least average intelligence. Coddling us just feels patronizing#It's fucking annoying. Let me figure things out. You don't have to explain the symbolism immediately after the symbolism.#You do not have to TLDR in parenthesis what just happened in the text as if I'm too stupid to understand it.#Literally. Swatting at the author with a broom. Get OUT of here#(as a guy who is incapable of “separating art from the artist” and must be aware of the artist at all times#this is still an extremely annoying way for the “artist”/writer to interact with their audience through the text.)#Any writer who writes their entire book while pbviously believing that their audience are a bunch of idiots. HUGE pet peeve#Drives me fucking insane
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mortalityplays · 1 month
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there's something I find really instructive about the whole thing with the columnist who was scammed into handing over her savings in a shoebox, that I haven't seen many people talk about.
plenty of people have justifiably laughed at her credulity for just accepting that she was dealing with the cia and doing whatever they said, and she mentions herself in the article the sense of crushing mortification that she was so ready to bow to any perceived authority. other people have discussed the value of the piece being its "it could happen to anyone" message, coming from a financial analyst who has written about avoiding scams, which is fine and does have value.
but what I find fascinating is the way it illustrates the secret power of a good scam artist or charismatic leader: they don't have to look or sound convincing to 99% of observers. they just have to be talented at picking up on the specific cues that work on one person. this is why they move so quickly to isolate their targets from everyone around them, and maintain intense pressure with ticking clocks and regular check-ins. the scam is not designed to hold up under even 5 minutes of close scrutiny, it's designed to bypass scrutiny by hitting emotional buttons on a specific individual. the stupider you feel after you cool off, the better they've done their job.
anyone interested in charismatic manipulation, whether scams, cults, or abusive relationships, has heard people say "I'd never fall for something like that". and every victim, in retrospect, says "I never thought I'd fall for something like that". there is no special pattern of stupidity, intelligence, vulnerability or confidence. the pattern is that the perpetrator recognises a thought or behaviour characteristic they can take advantage of. they're the ones selecting you. and that's why teaching people the underlying social mechanics of charismatic abuse is more effective than telling them about lists of individual scams to watch out for. the thing that works on you won't look like anything you've scoffed at, by nature. survival bias plane dot jpeg.
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sugume · 2 months
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MOMENTS WITH YOUR PREGNANT BELLY w/Jujutsu Kaisen  
( CW ) f!reader, reader is pregnant(duh), tooth-rotting fluff  
Featuring: Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru 
author's note: short rewrite from my old blog
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☾ GOJO SATORU 
"Toru, stop splashing my stomach!" you exclaimed at your playful husband, attempting to push the lukewarm bathwater onto your stomach, inadvertently splashing your face. "But she likes it, look!" he exclaimed with a huge smile as your daughter continued to kick your stomach. "I don’t need to look; I can feel it," you rolled your eyes. "Feels like she’s trying to break my ribs." You let out a little grunt when she kicks a particular spot. Satoru shoots a worried glance at you. "Are you alright?" he asks, rubbing smooth circles on your stomach. "I'm okay; she just keeps kicking the same spot," you gave him a small smile when he leans down to kiss your belly. "Hey now, take it easy on your momma, or no more splashes for you," he mummers to your stomach. As if your daughter understood, she stops and starts gently kicking in another area. "Look, Angel, she listened to me!" he exclaims before pushing more water into your stomach. "Toru! You got water in my nose!" 
☾ TOJI FUSHIGURO 
"Are you okay, beautiful?" Toji inquired, concern evident in his eyes as he observes you holding your stomach with a furrowed expression. "Just a big kick from the baby," you struggle to get out, your stomach contracting. "C'mere--lemme make you feel better, baby," he whispered, sitting up on the headboard of the bed and pulling you between his open legs. "What are you doing, Toji?" You question as your husband reached towards the nightstand to grab something. "Makin’ my girl feel better–just lay down and relax," he whispers in your ear before placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. With the cramps becoming unbearable, you had no other choice but to obey. Eyes squeezed tight, body resting on Toji’s toned chest, you tense when he starts to gently massage your stomach with what feels like lotion. A moan of relief escaped you involuntarily. "That’s right, let me take care of you," he mummers, continuing the soothing massage. 
☾ NANAMI KENTO 
"Are you ready to taste heaven, babies?" Nanami smiles warmly at your stomach as if expecting your unborn twins to give a response. Quickly, he leans down and places two affectionate kisses on your stomach, one for each baby. "C'mon, Kento, ’m hungry!" you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. Nanami was supposed to be giving you new food items that he found online, but the more he talks, the more it seems like he's eager for his children to be the taste testers rather than you. "You know they can’t actually give you a review, right?" you question your husband, but he ignores your sass and reaches for a plate. "Duh, ‘course I know that, but they're still going to taste it inside of you," he says as if it's the most obvious thing. "Yeah, all mashed up and mixed with a bunch of different foods. Now, give me that plate–I’m hungry!" you insist, reaching out for the plate as your husband laughs. 
☾ GETO SUGURU 
"I don’t think they like me," Suguru grumbles, and you laugh as your unborn child tries and fails to kick their father's head off your stomach. "Hell," Suguru yanks his head up and glares at your protruding stomach. "Hey, don’t cuss at my baby," you laugh. "I wouldn’t have to if my baby wasn’t trying to give me a concussion," he rolls his eyes dramatically before rubbing his calloused fingers on your stomach, The baby kicks at his hand. "Don't be so dramatic, Sugu," you roll your eyes at your husband as he continues to tease your child with his hand. "How do you think I feel when they’re kicking my bladder at three AM?" you laugh. "You better not come out as moody as your mommy," he taunts before pressing a soft kiss on your stomach. "I’ll give you whatever you want when you come out if you let me lay down in peace, deal?" he whispers to your stomach, and all he gets is a harsh kick. "Deserved.” You huff out. 
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osaemu · 4 months
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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ KISSIN' AND HOPE THEY CAUGHT US ❜❜
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.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: you and him kiss—a lot—while the stream's still going, but neither of you notice
contents: fem!reader. pda written by someone who doesn't particularly like pda. gets a little suggestive around the end. inumaki tells satoru 'kys' multiple times. not proofread.
author's note: kissin' and hope they caught us, whether they like or not, i wanna show you off, i wanna show you offff
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"i swear you guys are really out to get me," satoru groans, addressing the flood of comments filling up his chatbox. he spins around in his chair, tilting his head back and exhaling when he stops. you watch him shake his hair out of his eyes and grin at the camera, just like he does every time he's getting ready to end the stream.
"okay, guys, that's enough, i gotta go," satoru says, right on cue. he partially turns around and shoots a rueful smile your way, taking a quick moment to admire the way you look all cozied up on his couch. and it's only an added bonus that you're even wearing his hoodie—the same one he wore on your first date.
turning back to the screen, satoru stretches his arms and waves. "see ya tomorrow, can't wait. except for you, toji, and inumaki too. fuck you guys," he adds, snorting when he sees their replies just a moment later.
inumaki: kys!!!
inumaki has been kicked from the stream by satoru-gojo.
"aw, and we were almost about to set a new streak of one day without me kicking inumaki," satoru sighs, shaking his head dramatically. "maybe one day we'll even make it to two streams, but i think that'll take a couple centuries." satoru laughs and waves offhandedly, clicking the 'x' in the corner of his stream to end it.
he switches tabs to go back to his previous game's stats and turns around again, spinning his chair to face you. satoru opens his arms and beckons you with both his hands, a puppy-like shine in his eyes. "c'mere, lemme hold you for a little," he says, smiling wider when you begrudgingly get up from your spot on his couch.
"i was so comfy," you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself as you walk over to satoru. if his stream was still on, you'd probably be on camera now.
"i'll make you even comfier," satoru insists, grabbing your hand and tugging you into his lap. his arms snake around your waist and hold you snugly against his chest, hands slipping into the pockets of your hoodie. "you look so cute, wearin' my hoodie like that," he smiles, kissing your cheek affectionately.
"satoru, your lips are cold," you grumble, leaning away from his mouth—but you don't put that much distance between you two, considering his snug grip on your torso. satoru ignores your protests and kisses you again, peppering kisses all over the side of your face.
"you're so—fuckin'—cute," satoru murmurs, punctuating each word with a kiss. his lips are soft and you can feel them warm up a little more with each press to your cheek. his minty breath tickles your face as he whispers sweet nothings against your skin, decorating your face with his lips.
"what's the occasion?" you ask tentatively, looking at satoru's blushing face out of the corner of your eye. he tilts his head and shrugs, and you feel his chest rise and fall as he does so.
"do i need an excuse to kiss my girlfriend?" satoru replies cheekily, rubbing your tummy through the pockets of your hoodie. "my hands are cold, baby, wanna warm them up?"
"huh—"
satoru doesn't wait for an answer before he tugs your hands into your pockets with his, hiding a smile at the little indignant sound you make. "you're so cute, i just wanna eat you up," satoru mumbles, scrunching up his nose. his white hair falls into his eyes for the thousandth time, and he blows out a puff of air in an attempt to clear up his vision. it doesn't work—his hair just falls right back into his eyes.
so you extract your hands from where they're clasped in between satoru's and brush back his hair, fingertips lingering on the sides of his face. he turns his head and presses his lips to the palm of one of your hands, cold lips curling into a smile at the cat-like look on your face.
"how was the stream today?" you ask, leaning into his chest. satoru shrugs again, kissing the top of your head.
"fine, i won a couple rounds," satoru says indifferently. his attention is on you, only you—right now, his stream and his games are at the back of his mind. "don't change the subject, baby."
you huff in disbelief, nudging your elbow against his chest. "what even was the subject?"
"me wanting to eat you up," satoru replies instantly. he grins playfully, hugging you tighter and burying his face in your hair. "c'mon, you know you wanna—"
the flickering red dot in the top-right corner of his screen catches your eye, and you practically flinch out of his arms. satoru looks at you, confusion evident on every part of his face. "what is it, baby?"
you groan and lean away from him and closer to his table, dragging the mouse over to one of his tabs and clicking it open. and just like that, satoru realizes that this entire time you've been live. to thousands of people. for five whole minutes.
"oops," satoru says with a sheepish smile, scratching his head bashfully. you turn and shoot a venomous look at him, and he laughs nervously. "oh, uh, that's my bad, honey—"
"you're dead," you mutter, grinning when satoru shrinks back into his chair. satoru swallows and gives you a thumbs-up, gently nudging you out of the way to check the comments.
yuuji-itadori: aw they're so cute together :)
toji-fushiguro: she can do so much better
inumaki: how does this loser have more streams than me. kys kys kys!!!!!
inumaki has been banned from the stream by satoru-gojo.
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ozarkthedog · 6 days
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𝐊𝐍𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏
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summary: joel fingers you for the first time in his truck.
warnings: 18+ mdni. joel miller x afab!reader. no physical descriptors of reader. fingering (pussy and ass). heavy ass play. Joel being a fucking menace. no beta. w.c: 823
author's note: had this thot for the last few days and had to write it out before i went insane but now i'm taking you all with meeee
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭
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Joel's two knuckles deep in your cunt while an old country tune quietly floats from the radio into his dimly lit truck that's parked on the side of a dusty road. He languidly fucks his thick digits between your sopping folds, each thrust making your breath hitch more than the last. 
He's taking it slow, figuring out what spots make your cunt spasm and quiver for the very first time. It's a mess of limbs in the front seat; your skirt is rucked up your hips, legs bent at the knee, and he's holding you against his side, cradling your head in the crook of his arm.
"Righ' 'ere?" he grits, swallowing hard as you clamp around his fingers. 
You grab at his worn button-up, tightly fisting the material with a needy whine as a wave of pleasure burns deep, and he doubles his efforts with a twist of his wrist. "That's it. Come on, pretty girl, there you go."
Joel curls his fingers, seeking the fleshy spot behind your clit that makes you see stars and forces you to the edge listening with perverted delight to your frantic cries.
He leaves his fingers in your obscenely wet pussy just a bit longer, enjoying the feeling of your cunt convulsing from the aftershocks. He teases his soaked fingers along your slit when he withdraws them, toying with your folds and puffy, hairy outer lips before moving south.
A gasp catches in your throat as he cautiously circles your rosebud.
"Ever been touched 'ere?" Bright moonlight casts off his dark coffee-colored eyes as he searches your face for discomfort.
All you can muster is a broken "No," and he hums a deep rumble. It sounds like the beginning of a summer storm, and the ominous tone sets a blazing fire in your belly.
"s'ok if I keep goin'?" he asks, timidly looking down at you through his lashes. He shifts his hips, grinding his cock against your outer thigh. You mewl upon feeling his hard, throbbing length through his jeans.
You dumbly nod, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. 
Your mouth drops open, panting, as he slowly presses one thick digit into your ass. He curses at your tightness but keeps moving until his knuckles graze the soft globes of your cheeks. "S'fuckin' tight lil' ass you got there, sweetheart." He croons, nudging his nose along your jaw and tipping your head back before branding you with a searing kiss.
You moan wantonly as he licks into your mouth and starts slowly fucking you. "Tell me how it feels." He husks, breaking the kiss.
His lips latch onto your neck, sucking and nipping his way down to your clavicle as your mind searches for anything remotely resembling words.
A mess of mumbled moans and broken curses stumble from your lips into the small truck cabin. Your hips move on their own, wanting his finger deeper and faster, but he never breaks his steady stride. He chuckles against your skin. "This sweet rose wants more, huh? First time bein' touched, and she's already gettin' greedy."
He leans back, pinning his eyes on where he's stretching you open, and groans at the filthy sight of his syrupy, thick fingers stretching your small, shiny hole. He meets your wild doe eyes with a wolfish grin before pursing his lips and spitting.
The shock of his warm spittle landing on the rim of your sensitive hole makes your insides violently churn, and a yearning, brazen moan spills from your lips.
"Gotta make sure it's nice n' wet," he says while lining up a second finger, still piercing your gaze. "Don't wanna hurt 'er."  
He watches your face twist from the pressure as he slowly glides two sizeable fingers into your snug hole. "S'ok, you can take it," he calmly encourages, kissing the pinched skin between your brows. 
He raises his thumb up and over your pusling, weepy core, and plants the heavy pad on your clit. He suffocates the tiny button, earning himself a full-on quiver and high-pitched wail from your defenseless, blissed-out body. 
"Thatta girl. Feels good, don't it?" he grunts, thrusting his fingers deeper.
A solid buzz blossoms in your veins under his wicked touch. The dual action he's doling out with his insanely massive hand makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. So overcome with the depraved rapture, you can't help but give in to the delirium.  
"Can feel you loosenin' up. S'good girl," he coos, smiling down at you even though your eyes are crossed dumb from the sheer euphoria racing through your veins. 
"Pretty soon, she'll be stretched around my cock." he informs, hissing when he feels you tighten at his words. Your mouth falls open with a silent wail, and your spine bends like a bow ready to strike as he purrs sinfully in your ear. "Tha's righ'. Gonna make this sweet rose take every fuckin' inch."  
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feel free to scream at me -> 💌
->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-
follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!
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empresskylo · 6 months
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➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓
ZOMBIE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X AFAB!READER
SUMMARY | Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simon—alive, but certainly not himself...
WARNINGS | dead dove do not eat! this is literally smut about zombie!ghost... so... beware i suppose. gore. dub-con?? afab!reader. wc 3k
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ lock me up! send me to jail!!! i can't believe I wrote this yes i can. This is how down bad i am for Ghost, I literally wrote smut about fucking him as a zombie... someone send the authorities, i need my internet taken away. (happy oct 1st btw)
𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.
The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soap’s hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. “We have to get out of here!” he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simon’s dying breath.
The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didn’t find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water. 
With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go. 
The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep. 
“We’re never gonna survive here if we don’t get that medical supplies,” Soap explained. 
“It’s too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,” Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves. 
“So, what then? We’re gonna send more men off to die, tryin’ to get shit from the city?”
Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. “We can’t risk more men. We’d be sendin’ them to their death, Soap. We don’t have the ammo to spare.”
“We don’t know that. We’re still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.”
“It’s too–”
You cut the men off. “I can go.” Both their heads snapped in your direction. “I’m just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I haven’t been as much help as you guys have been. I can’t fight. I can’t–”
“No. We’re not riskin’ you,” Soap said sternly. 
“Soap,” you breathed. “I’m the only one here that isn’t crucial to the team. And don’t argue with me. It’s just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. I’m far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.”
Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that. 
“Let me be of use,” you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldn’t survive here without Soap or Price. 
“Lass, are you sure?” Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didn’t want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon. 
“Let me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.”
He couldn’t argue with you. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting. 
“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”
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You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building. 
You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this. 
“Be quick about it, lass. We’ll be right here when you get back,” Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. 
You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soap’s arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” he mumbled into your hair. 
You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in. 
The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing. 
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Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream. 
He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall. 
Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing. 
Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasn’t in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought. 
He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind. 
He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound. 
He froze in place when he saw you–though he didn’t know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didn’t hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.
You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but that’s where you had last seen Simon. You didn’t have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone. 
Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you. 
You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic. 
Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering. 
But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. “These will have to do,” you said softly, shoving them into your backpack. 
A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He remembered—though he wasn’t sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell. 
His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghost’s true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didn’t want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him. 
Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat. 
Ghost still wasn’t fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan. 
You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body. 
You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.
It was Simon.
Terror flooded your system. He didn’t look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you. 
“S-Simon?” You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare. 
A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them . 
You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fate—a small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.
He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came. 
Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghost’s hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise. 
You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in. 
Ghost’s cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before. 
You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction. 
The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself. 
Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.
Your cries ignited a flame in Ghost’s chest—the feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hair—felt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory. 
He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support. 
You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasn’t real. This wouldn’t last longer than this moment in time. 
Ghost’s chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldn’t get you close enough. That if he had his way, he’d let you make a home beneath his skin. 
His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldn’t quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time. 
You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful. 
When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life. 
You couldn’t hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didn’t reach out and hold you like he once would. He didn’t try to comfort you like he always did so well. 
But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didn’t attack you. He didn’t try to kill you. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.
You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you. 
You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements. 
You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all. 
He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. It’s true, he wasn’t completely gone, but he was fading fast. 
You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. “What happened?” he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.
Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasn’t gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever? 
You suddenly regretted leaving him. You should have stayed with Simon, even if he was a shell of who he used to be. You should have waited the time out together until he fully lost himself, and you would let him take you down with him. 
6K notes · View notes
ao3commentoftheday · 8 months
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I'm just putting this out there because I'm thinking about it and because I want people to know it's not just them.
I don't really read fic anymore. It's not because I stopped liking it, though. It's because I made a rule for myself that I'm not able to follow.
I told myself that if I read a fic, I should comment on it. And not just "I loved it!" but a detailed comment. A live reaction or at least quoting favourite lines. Maybe talk about symbolism or about references I caught or about characterization etc.
I did that because I loved the authors I was reading and because I'd received so many lovely comments like that and I wanted to be able to pass that joy onto others. But then I found it hard to actually comment like that.
I could manage it sometimes? Oneshots weren't too hard, for example, but multichaps? My rule was that I had to comment every chapter. And the kinds of comments I wanted to write, well that meant reading on my laptop because I hate typing on my phone.
Eventually, I felt so guilty when I read fic without commenting on it that I stopped reading fic altogether. Better to just not read if I wasn't able to hold up my end of the bargain.
I shifted out of my fandom not long after that, and I haven't found a new one that's sparked the same interest (ie obsession), so I don't know if I might be able to fix this habit if I ever get into a new fandom in the future. All I know is, don't be like me.
Comment as you can and when you can, but don't set up strict rules like I did. I can't speak for all authors of course, but I know that personally, I'd rather you enjoy my work without commenting at all rather than make yourself feel so guilty you stop reading it altogether.
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fangswbenefits · 2 months
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Everything
Summary: You're used to staying still whenever Astarion feeds on you. This time, he wants you to feel everything.
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. Vampire bite. Blood drinking. Blood kink. Inappropriate use of tadpoles. Dry humping if you squint. Handjob. Innuendo. PiV. Creampie. Precum.
Word count: 3.2k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: At the time of posting this fic (Feb 11th), I was unaware of a fic by @bhaalism that had been posted on Feb 6th and that some similarities are present, even if totally unbeknownst to me. It was not consciously done, but I can understand how some people might see it differently. I've discussed the matters privately with Kita and, as such, here's the link to their fic so you can check them out and appreciate their work!
I also want to emphasise that no negative behaviour should come of this (in either direction) as we've both discussed matters privately, and no one else has to get involved!
You've done this so many times before that it feels as natural as second nature.
It feels right.
If the multiple scrolls of Lesser Restoration are anything to go by, this is meant to be a prolonged feeding session.
You don't mind.
And by the looks of it, neither does Astarion as he pulls you by the waist to sit more comfortably on his lap.
He has this ritual of sorts with you. It would be so easy to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to his bite and let him feed comfortably, but he takes his time.
And you know it's only a matter of time before you start feeling it.
“You can just feed, you know?” you purr, pressing your forehead against his.
As expected, he huffs in feigned annoyance.
“Gods, are you about to lecture me with the ‘don't play with your food’ nonsense, darling?” he bites out dramatically, but you do know he enjoys a good tease.
“Maybe I should,” you say, swirling the soft curls at the nape of his neck around your finger. “You need to feed, after all.”
A devious smile curves his lips and you pull back to slip from his lap.
But he immediately halts you halfway with a firm grip on your waist, fingertips digging into your skin and holding you in place.
Oh?
This is new.
And that's when you first feel it twitch for the first time.
It's no surprise that Astarion gets easily hard with you and for you. In fact, it doesn't take much effort at all. It's as if his body is set to react to yours in unfathomable ways. 
But when you press down softly against him, and the motion earns a groan from him and yet another twitch from his cock, you know this is different.
Usually, he feeds on you as you lay flat on your bed, making use of the comfort a mattress can provide as he drinks your blood.
It is easy and quick and enough.
But tonight, it seems that Astarion has other plans and his lustful gaze paired with his hardening cock are proof enough.
He is evidently hungry for more than just your blood.
“As much as I adore you under me,” he begins, gaze dropping to your shirt, “I think I'd rather have you on top of me this time.”
Your hands come to grip his shoulders for balance, and your eyes widen slightly. “Why?”
A gentle tug at the laces of your nightdress nearly breaks your concentration, but you somehow manage to keep your composure as his crimson eyes find yours.
“Why not? Why shouldn't this delicacy be shared?” he asked with another tug and you felt the fabric  at your chest begin to loosen. “You should enjoy it, too, darling. And I want you to feel everything.”
He emphasises his words with a final pull that brings your nightdress fully apart, unravelling your breasts to his hungry gaze. They heave in unison with your quickened breathing and it's enough to transfix him.
You can't necessarily feel it, but you are certain his cock just got harder just as blood rushes downwards, swelling your clit.
The shift in temperature causes your nipples to slowly harden and that is what makes him groan.
“Enjoying the view?”
He nods. “You can feel how much I do.”
You feigned ignorance. “I don't think I can.”
The grip on your waist tightens and he pulls you against his cock, the flimsy fabric of your undergarments allowing your clit to drag along his covered length.
Hard and needy.
“You were saying…?”
Smug and cheeky and infuriating.
Three adjectives that fall short to fully grasp how he is with you when it comes to intimacy, but it's a good place to start.
He's good and he knows it and he wants you to validate him every step of the way.
“Connect your tadpole with mine,” he says unexpectedly.
“What? Why?”
“You know why.”
You do and it baffles you that he even suggested it in the first place. Connecting tadpoles intimately  is reserved for when privacy is a guarantee. And being inside one of the many rooms at the Elfsong Tavern offers everything but privacy.
“We're at a tavern, Astarion…”
He quirks an eyebrow, bucking his hips upwards ever so slightly. “Yes, I'm aware. Your point being…?”
“We'll be heard.”
“Do you not intend on being loud?”
Your mouth falls agape at the nerve. Silence is never an option with him. He takes pride in how he makes you feel, knowing fully well he's ruined you for anyone else.
“Would you have it any other way?” 
His cock twitches in response, but it's the way his half-hooded eyes roam deliciously slow across your face that makes you clench.
“And miss the opportunity to inconvenience our next-door neighbours?” he tuts with a smirk that bares his fangs. “I don't think so.”
In the midst of all the lust-heavy words and slow hip rolls, you manage out a chuckle.
“You're vicious. Shadowheart and Lae'zel will definitely not appreciate the midnight ruckus.”
He bucks his hips so that your face gets close enough for your lips to brush.
“And what exactly are they going to do, hmm?” he says with a smirk. “Kill me?”
Before you can answer, he leans in and captures your bottom lip in between his teeth. The suddenness of it all, makes you flinch back and when a fang grazes the frail skin, it draws blood.
It stings enough for you to curse, and you see his hungry gaze admiring the droplet that pools on your lip.
“They could do much worse to you,” you tease with a giggle, proving your point by denying him the taste of your blood when he leans in again.
He lets out a low rumble of disapproval as he slumps against the headboard. “If by ‘worse’ you mean ‘whispering healing prays and hurling nonsensical curse words’, then I agree. A torment,” he feigned pain dramatically.
There is something oddly satisfying about teasing Astarion to the brink of frustration.
You almost feel inclined to satisfy his bloodlust, but decide against it, wiping the droplet with a swipe of your tongue.
That immediately earns a deep frown from him and an obnoxious click of his tongue. “Honestly, what a waste.”
“Then be nice,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
Astarion's hips buck and you're sure your undergarments are soaked enough for the wetness to seep through the fabric of his trousers. If he feels it, he doesn't say. 
When you pull away, there's a faint stain of blood on his lower lip, which he pulls in between his teeth to suckle on it gently.
The sight is enough to have you roll your hips twice.
Suddenly, he looks uncharacteristically serious. “Connect your tadpole with mine.”
There is urgency in his voice and you can only assume he is past warming up and ready to move on to the next step. 
And you're not one to deny the offer of a good time if there is a promise that him feeding on you can be pleasurable to you as well.
You allow your mind to stir the dorment tadpole, urging it to find his.
It is rather simple and you've done it before with him during your sexual endeavours. But this is different. It already feels different. It's as if the worm knows this connection bears other purposes.
Astarion lets out a groan when his body meets yours through his mind.
The tug inside your head is enough to draw a breathy gasp as you are made aware of his intentions.
He wants your hand.
Your… hand?
Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, but not for long enough as his hand pulls yours from his shoulder.
And what he does next makes you clench so hard, you feel a gush of wetness drip from you.
“I want you to feel it – everything – as I feast on your blood,” he purrs, placing your hand around his throat.
Oh.
The tadpole squirms in anticipation as you feel his cock throbbing in your mind and against your clothed clit.
His skin is cool to the touch but it quickly heats up under your palm and, with his other hand, he undoes the laces of his trousers with unmatched dexterity.
You gasp as his thoughts bleed into you, allowing you to know what he expects next.
This time, he doesn't need to utter aloud his intentions.
You can hear him inside your head and you find yourself utterly unable to look away from his piercing eyes.
Take it out and grip it, darling.
Your hips buck, driven by pure instinct as you comply with his request. A shaky hand reaching down and tugging at the fabric of his own undergarments, and in one swift motion, you free his cock.
As expected, he immediately welcomes your grip with a thrust, and you feel just how hard and wet he already is.
His cock is still cool to the touch, but you know that is about to change soon enough.
With a gentle squeeze, his eyes flutter shut, head tilting back slightly as he adjusts to your touch.
It doesn't take long for a thick bead of precum to roll down his length before reaching your knuckles.
Inside your head, your tadpole shudders and you're sure it's because he wants to feel how swollen your clit is for him.
It pulsates rhythmically and Astarion growls with a smirk.
He adores feeling your clit.
Just as you adore feeling how stiff his cock can get in your hand and in your mind.
“You're already quite hard already,” you say, doing a laughable poor job at keeping your voice steady.
“I can get harder,” he says and you feel his voice rumbling against your palm.
You clench in sheer reflex. Mostly because you know he can and will.
Instinctively, you let out a soft moan from the delicious friction. 
And it's enough to have Astarion's ego soar high enough that it pulls the most devilishly alluring smirk from his lips.
After all, he never misses the chance to remind you that it is your blood that makes his cock thicker and warmer and harder.
Astarion finally opens his eyes again and brings his hand to your face, fingers tracing your jawline before he tips your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.
Hold on tight, darling.
He cranes his head and he plants a fleeting kiss below your ear, as he grazes his cool lips along the length of your neck. By now, he knows your pulse points by heart, so when he finds one, his fangs break skin and sink into your inviting flesh.
Out of reflex, you grip his cock tighter and he lets out a muffled groan.
No matter how many times you allow him to feed on you, the initial uncomfortable feeling is always there and it lingers until his lips wrap around the bleeding wounds.
And when he begins to suckle hungrily, downing mouthfuls of your blood, you nearly moan from the way you can feel it under your palm.
Your tadpole allows you to be aware of your blood rushing and coursing through his body at a steady pace and when it finally reaches his lower half, a faint pulse stirs his cock.
Immediately, you clench, frustrated that it's around nothing, but you quickly brush the disappointment aside as you finally understand why he wanted your hands around him.
He swallows your blood at a rhythm that matches the throb in his cock, and inside your head you can feel it beat in unison with the one in your clit.
It's your blood that brings him alive in more ways than one.
Warmth spreads across your palm and fingers and the veins that snake around his length begin to bulge as your blood fills them.
Tighter… tighter… tighter.
He repeats it like a prayer that he hopes you can answer.
He's so lost in you that his senses blur and he becomes one with you.
You try your best to comply, the back of your hand soaked with precum, as he hardens even more.
In between your legs, your clit swells up as if in response and you're so wet you're sure he'd be able to slide his cock inside with little to no effort.
How is it possible? How…
The connection allows him to hear your thoughts and he groans in response, rolling his hips at a clumsy and broken pace.
Astarion's concentration is hanging on by a thread. You can hear him curse in sheer frustration as he tries to hold on to some semblance of control.
But he gets too drunk in your blood and he is unable to keep his focus.
It doesn't help that your own arousal is spilling into his mind and mixing with his own.
A double-edged sword.
He wanted you to feel him as he feeds on you, and now he's stuck having to withstand double the arousal and the pleasure that your blood provides.
The first loud growl comes from him and you feel your grip around his cock loosen as he thickens.
Your walls flutter and he feels it, bringing one hand down to close around yours, ensuring you grip him firmly once again.
You keep clenching like that and I…
His next words aren' heard in your head and you feel your body begin the inevitable battle between overwhelming pleasure and the numbness that always comes whenever he feeds.
A faint growl slips past your lips and it quickly morphs into a strangled cry that echoes around the room.
You want to call out his name and warn him… warn him that your body can't take much more bloodloss and arousal.
But the tug inside your mind lets you know that he knows.
After all, your body is his now.
Just as his is yours.
He fucks your hand slowly with his atop yours, keeping the pace. The lump in his throat bobs rhythmically with each gulp.
Astarion… it's too much…
It takes him a couple of more seconds, two more mouthfuls and at least five more thrusts of his cock for him to finally unlatch from your neck with a guttural growl.
He drags his warm tongue across the puncture wounds, not wasting the rivulets of blood that dribble  down.
The wet sound is nearly intoxicating and you nearly jump in his lap as his other hand finds your breast, fingers tugging at your hardened nipple.
Astarion is close and, by extension, so are you.
Your blood rushes throughout his entire body and you now understand how good it feels. How good you feel inside him. He's warm and flushed from feeding on you and his head tilts back against the headboard as loses himself in you.
Somehow, he's able to keep a steady pace as he fucks your hand, the most beautiful moans spilling from his mouth as he does so.
You caress his neck lovingly as he tugs on your nipple.
“Darling…”
It's a plea.
Under different circumstances, you'd have to ask him what he wanted. But you're inside his head and you know why he's begging you.
He doesn't want his cum to go to waste.
He doesn't think the tightness and warmth and wetness your hand and fingers can provide.
I need to be inside you.
The alarm in his voice stuns you momentarily and your eyes widen as a very urgent tug
He's about to come.
You let go of his cock and his hands are suddenly in between your legs.
Your body reacts to this instantly and your walls tighten in anticipation, eager to squeeze something else.
Stop. Clenching.
A loud moan is all you give him in return as your vision blurs from how his cock pulses and throbs and leaks precum.
Another clench.
“Gods above… I can't take it anymore.”
And neither can you.
You hear the sound of fabric being torn filling your ears and his hands claw at your waist to position himself at your entrance.
A languid snap of his hips and he sinks into you, stretching you in a way that has you slumping against his chest, hardened nipples grazing his skin as he bottoms out.
He's so thick from your blood that you're sure you'll be sore from it, but none of that matters now.
All that matters is that you're stuffed to the brim, his balls pressing against you and the best part is that you can feel how he feels.
You're not sure whose climax hits first as you're so entwined with him.
You reckon it's his as you feel his balls tighten and cum coarse through his length, spilling into you with hurried thrusts.
It feels too good to be true.
You can feel just how tight you are around him and you can feel each gush of cum leaving his bodu
He whines. “I… it feels – Gods…” 
Astarion is a babbling mess under you and his words soon lose meaning as they become incomprehensible.
The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the creamy sounds of you milking his cock is enough to send you into overdrive.
The uncontrollable  contractions hit you like a tidal wave and both you and Astarion groan in unison as you both get thrust into each other's climaxes.
Your head is buried in the crook of his neck and you vaguely think in the haze of your peak that you should use a scroll of Lesser Restoration. You're still bleeding from the wounds and the fear that you might faint looms on the horizon.
But pleasure overcomes numbness and you welcome it with no resistance.
Still, as Astarion gets warmer and warmer, you begin to fade to the coldness.
Your tadpole is writhing with his and you feel him push you from him so that he can latch his lips against your bleeding wounds, careful to keep his fangs to himself.
He suckles gently as you descend from your shared climax and it's as if the action could lull him into a trance.
Blindly, you try to feel for a scroll that is somewhere scattered across the bed.
He's still buried deep inside you when the connection is severed, showing no signs of slipping out.
You find what you're looking for and utter the right words to activate the scroll, battling against your laboured breaths.
Vigour blooms inside you almost instantly and you feel warmth spread throughout your body with each pump of your heart.
The wounds close and he has no choice but to unlatch one final time, lips dripping with blood.
“I think I understand now… why you wanted to try this…” you breathe out, collapsing against him again. 
The sudden motion causes a few droplets of cum to drip from you.
His hand is splattered across your back, fingers caressing your flushed skin. “Why are you so surprised? You should know by now that I always deliver what I promise.”
You think it's impossible to love him even more, but the way he holds you surely tests your resolve.
“This was really good… really, really good,” you say.
“Keep on praising me like that, and we'll have to go for a second round.”
Two loud bangs on the wall are heard accompanied by a “Tsk'va!” and you chuckle.
“Well, do you think our neighbours enjoyed the show, darling?”
You doubt it, but this isn't about anyone but you and him.
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