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semisgroupie · 1 year

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SINS OF THE FLESH

priest!nanami kento x fem. reader x priest!toji fushiguro

wc: 3.0k

warnings: sacrilegious, virginity loss, threesome (mmf), oral sex (m! and f!receiving), corruption kink, manipulation, blasphemy, lots of religious undertones, unprotected sex, creampie, Toji and nanami are so filthy here (it’s so sexy), reader is very naive and innocent (perfect prey), reciting of prayers during sexual acts, praise, slight manhandling

synopsis: it’s not a sin if you lose your virginity to two hot priests in a church right?

a/n: this is for my what’s done in the dark collab! and a lil belated birthday gift to myself!!

“Through him, with him, in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is yours, almighty Father, forever and ever.”

A unified Amen filled the entire room then people stood to line up, waiting to receive the small wafer and a sip of the wine dubbed the blood of Christ. You helped the elderly man seated next to you stand then walked behind him to join the line. You looked around at the familiar faces and sighed happily to yourself before making eye contact with the two men wearing cassocks, Father Kento and Father Toji.

You have always been involved with the church, your earliest memories were filled with the church. So, it was only natural for you to start attending your local church when you moved. That was when you first met Father Kento, he greeted you with open arms and a warm smile. It was easy for you to adjust to the new environment and then about a few months later a new priest in training joined the church, Father Toji. It was interesting to see how the two men interacted with each other when they were seemingly polar opposites. But what you weren’t aware of was what the two men had in common.

An insatiable urge to corrupt an innocent parishioner and both men had their eyes on you.

You were the perfect church girl and they knew how to get you right in their bed and between them. They knew you were the type to save yourself until marriage but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t drift you away from your original, innocent plans. Especially if they convinced you that, that’s what God wanted for you.

Being priests they had the gift of gab. That only meant it wouldn’t take much to convince someone as trusting as you to do what they needed you to do.

Each man stood at either end of the table, Nanami held the chalice with the wine inside and Toji started giving out the wafers. Each person went one after another and received their own blessing and finally it was your turn. You stood in front of Father Nanami and he brought the chalice to your lips and you took a small sip before pulling back. “Thank you Father Kento.” He smiled and leaned in, “you know you haven’t been to confession in almost a month, after mass you’ll go with me and Father Toji, okay?”

You nodded at his words and offered him another smile before moving to Father Toji. You watched how he placed the sacramental bread in others hands so they can place it into their mouths but when it was your turn, he ignored your cupped hands and tapped the wafer against your lips. “Open up, you know the deal.” He let out a low chuckle as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out slightly. Fuck you looked perfect like that, so innocent, so malleable, he could just take you in front of all the other parishioners but he had to be patient. He placed the small wafer on your tongue and pulled his hand back, “thank you Father Toji.” He nodded and watched as you got up and walked back to your seat.

The mass continued and everything happened so quickly. Both men couldn’t keep their thoughts straight, for you have infiltrated them so easily.

“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Toji lifted his hand to the crowd and moved it in the shape of a cross as Nanami started the ending of mass. Another unified Amen filled the room and Nanami finished with the concluding words, “The Mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

“Thanks be to God.” Everyone started getting up and thanked the two men for a wonderful mass while you stood behind. There was no real reason why you hadn’t gone to confession, there was nothing you had to confess. You hadn’t sinned, well maybe some things here and there but nothing that would warrant a confession. You moved your hands down to play with the hem of your dress as you consumed yourself in your thoughts.

Both men approached you and stood at either side of you while you continued to toy with your dress. Toji leaned down to your ear and placed a hand on your shoulder, “come now sweetheart. We’ll be doing things a little different today, you’ll be confession to both Father Kento and myself.” You jumped a little at the deep rumble of his voice and nodded at his words, too naive and trusting for your own good.

He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation. He continued to hold onto it while Nanami followed behind you both, itching to get his hands on you. The walk was filled with light small talk as the men led you to a more private area, their quarters.

You looked around the room and turned to look at them, slightly dumbfounded. “Why are we here? Don’t we normally do our confessions in the confessional booth?” God, you looked so cute. A slight pout on your lips as you looked up at the two men while your hands went back to the hem of your dress. Toji spoke first and placed a hand on your shoulder, “yes but it’s currently being fixed, so we just decided to take you here if that’s okay with you?”

You looked up at the raven haired male and nodded, your gaze drifting momentarily to his scar before meeting his eyes. “Good, now sit.” Nanami pulled out two chairs and put them back to back, he led you to sit down on one while Toji sat on the other. “What about you, Father Kento? Don’t you need a seat?”

He shook his head and smiled at you, “Father Toji is the one you’re confessing to, I’m just here to make sure everything goes smoothly.” He sat down on the desk in front of you and nodded his head, “go on and start.”

You sucked in a small breath and started, “bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago. These are my sins, I have succumbed to a sin of the flesh.” Heat rose to your cheeks and burned through your whole body as the sin you committed left your lips in a soft tone to reach the ears of the two deviants you were in a room with before reaching God’s ears. Both men perked up and raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, please elaborate further on that. God cannot forgive you for your sin if you don’t explain it in its entirety.” You played with the hem of your dress more as Toji’s raspy voice reverberated throughout the room.

“I have touched myself in a sinful way, Father.” You kept your eyes down at your hands, if the world swallowed you whole in this moment you would be thankful. Toji turned his head to look at Nanami and nodded. Nanami stood up and took a few steps over to you and knelt down. He placed one of his hands on your knee while the other went on top of your fidgeting hands. “Darling, you can’t just stop in the middle of a confession. Do you mind if I help you?” You tore your gaze away from your dress and met his warm eyes, you nodded slowly and he smiled. He moved his hand from your hands and moved it to the other knee. You watched closely as he started pushing them apart and you instinctively tried to keep your legs closed. The issue is, he was much stronger than you so he easily overpowered you and kept your legs spread.

“Don’t you want God to forgive you for your sins? If you don’t let me do this then God can’t forgive you and you can’t truly repent.” Your eyes widened at his words and you shook your head, “no, Father Kento I want to be forgiven, I want to repent for my sins!” He had to bite back a smirk and Toji moved so he could watch over your shoulder, you felt his hot breath at your ear and you turned your head quickly to face him.

“Just trust us. We’re just doing what God wants us to do okay?” He cooed softly at you and you nodded, both men knew it would be easy to get you to submit to their will but this was just easier than they expected. Toji hooked two fingers under your chin and lifted your head up as he leaned in close, “have you ever kissed a man before?” Your cheeks burned as you peered into his eyes and you shook your head, “no, Father Toji.”

“Good girl.” With that he closed the remaining gap between you both and kissed you softly, you whimpered against his lips and gripped the arms of the chair you were sitting in tightly. His lips against yours felt like nothing you’ve imagined before and as he deepened the kiss you felt the same burning in your belly whenever you touched yourself.

Now that you were distracted, Nanami lifted up your dress so it scrunched up at your hips and let out a low groan at the sight of your panties, white to represent your innocence that was soon to be tainted by the two men you were with. He moved one hand up your thigh and started rubbing gentle circles on your clit over your panties. You instantly arched your back and gasped against Toji’s lips, “so reactive, little angel.” Nanami mumbled before pressing his thumb against the growing wet spot on your panties and then hooked two fingers under them and pulled them to the side.

Your pussy looked perfect, your swollen clit and your pretty virgin hole clenched around nothing. He adjusted his position and leaned in close, taking in a deep breath. Fuck, you even smelled sweet. He pressed gentle kisses along your lower lips and kissed your clit. You gripped the arms of the chair tighter and whined against Toji’s lips once Nanami took your pussy into his mouth. Toji broke the kiss and looked down at Nanami, chuckling at how disheveled you looked. Your kiss swollen lips were parted ever so slightly and your eyes drifted between the two men.

Toji disrobed and your eyes widened as you saw his muscles once he took his cassock and shirt off. They flexed and tensed with the most subtle movements and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Then your eyes traveled down his body and saw his bulge, he seemed like he was about to burst through his pants. “Enjoying the view, sweetheart? Tell me, when you touch yourself do you think about me and Father Kento? Because I have a little confession for you,” he leaned in close to your ear while you moaned and whined due to Nanami’s tongue exploring your pussy like a man who hasn’t had a drink in days. “Father Kento and I have had filthy thoughts about you, thoughts that would make even the devil blush.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words, there’s no way they could be true, right?

These men are supposed to be the definition of holiness, they’re not supposed to succumb to sin. They’re held at a higher tier due to their devotion to faith, you look up to priests and the clergy as an example of how you’re supposed to live your life. But to know that they’re just as depraved as you are excites you.

You moved one hand down from the arm of the chair to Nanami’s hair and messed up the perfectly styled golden locks as he suckled on your clit. Your mouth fell agape as he continued his actions and Toji took advantage of the position you were in. He gripped your chin and turned your head so you could face him but this time he was completely undressed, revealing his throbbing cock. Your mind started racing but the big question that circled around in your haze filled mind was how would he be able to fit it inside your mouth? There was no way you could open your mouth that wide but you couldn’t dwell on the question for long. He moved one of his large hands behind your head and pushed you closer until the tip laid along your tongue. “You just need to suction your mouth like you’re sucking on one of those cherry lollipops you love to have right after mass and I’ll do the rest of the work.”

So you did exactly as he said, you wrapped your lips around the bulbous head and he started moving his hips, thrusting shallowly to let you adjust to his size but the way you were whimpering and moaning around his cock made it extremely difficult to go slow. Nanami moved one hand from your knee and brought it to your entrance, now coated in his saliva and your juices and slipped one finger inside you. The feeling was overwhelming, he pumped his finger slowly then started picking up the pace as he sucked on your clit harder. Just as he picked up the pace of his finger, Toji picked up the pace of his hips. Guttural and borderline animalistic groans left his scarred lips as he forced you to take his cock entirely down your throat. You gagged each time his balls touched your chin and tears freely spilled down your face but it just turned you on even more.

Nanami’s cock throbbed as he looked up at you, you were taking a cock that was entirely too big for you almost with ease and he just had to have you. He slipped a second finger inside you and started pumping them quickly, the squelching of your pussy almost felt too loud and your legs started shaking at the rough pace. Before you knew it, the coil inside your belly snapped and your pussy clenched around his fingers tightly as your orgasm washed over you. Toji pulled out of your mouth so you could catch your breath and Nanami pulled away from you. “Let’s bring her to the bed and put her on all fours.” Nanami spoke as he undressed and Toji scooped you up from the chair with ease and brought you to the cot in the room, he put you on your hands and knees and sat down in front of you, his cock still standing proud while the tip leaked even more precum.

Once Nanami was fully undressed he joined you two on the cot and moved behind you. He pressed his cock against your slit and dragged it through your folds to collect the mix of his spit and your juices on it. “Just take a deep breath, this will hurt but it’ll feel good very soon.” With that he lined up with your entrance and started slowly pushing in, “oh Christ, if this is what heaven feels like then I never want to leave.” He groaned and continued pushing in slowly, tears pricked at your eyes and you stretched your arms out to hold onto Toji’s thighs. “You poor thing,” Toji cooed and moved one hand to caress your cheek and wiped at your eyes, “you’re doing so good, just doing what the Lord needs of you.”

His hips slowly started to move faster and snapped against yours. Toji guided his cock back into your mouth and started thrusting up, both men using you. Nanami gripped your hips tighter and leaned down, “remember you still need to repent for your sins. So I need you to repeat after me, this is Corinthians 7:10.” He snapped his hips into yours while Toji buried his cock in the back of your throat. “Father, when I sin, help me to not dwell in a worldly sort of sorrow that would lead to my death” he smirked as you tried to repeat the prayer while Toji’s cock was still in your mouth. “Grant me godly sorrow and the ability to recognize it.” He gave you another moment to try to repeat his words before continuing, “May it result in repentance that leads to deliverance and leaves no regret. Amen.” You repeated the final words of the prayer and let out a muffled Amen around Toji’s cock and the raven haired male groaned.

Both men started to move in sync, each time Nanami bottomed out so did Toji. Everything they did was mind numbing and all you could do was moan and hold onto Toji’s thighs. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold off your orgasm much longer, it was already quickly approaching. The way Nanami’s cock explored your walls was like his cock was made to be inside you. Nanami gripped your hips tighter and threw his head back as you clenched around his cock tighter. He angled his hips and hit that spongy spot inside, instantly making you cum. You let out a muffled cry around Toji’s cock as your orgasm took over you. Both men groaned and Nanami’s orgasm washed over him first, he pressed his hips firmly against yours as he coated your virgin walls with cum then Toji held your head down as he came deep down your throat.

You dug your nails into his thighs and he pulled you off once he was done. You panted and looked up at him as your tongue stuck out slightly, some remnants of his cum coated the pink muscle. You swallowed and Nanami slowly pulled out of you, allowing you to slump against the cot completely. “Thank you Father Toji, thank you Father Kento.” Your voice was raspy from the face fucking you received and both men pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You did very well but there is still more you need to do to be fully forgiven. What do you say about having confessions like these every week after mass and after Bible study?” Toji spoke and gently caressed your cheek while Nanami covered your body with a blanket. You looked up at both men with half lidded eyes and nodded, “if that’s what God wants from me then I’ll do it.”

Nanami and Toji sported the same smirk and nodded. “You’re the perfect child of God, now get some rest.” Nanami whispered and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

taglist: @jctaro @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear

#wditdcollab☾#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk toji smut #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #tw:sacrilegious #tw:virginity #tw:unprotected sex #tw:creampie #tw:manipulation #tw:corruption #tw:blasphemy

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inkykeiji · 1 month

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ touya + your physical flaws

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, physical marking (bruises and bites), blood words: 253

“I love every fucking inch of you,” Touya’s murmuring into your ass, lips dragging across your flesh messily with the proclamation, rubbing his mouth into you. “Fuckin’ art, baby, that’s what your body is.”

Fucking art that he’s spent the past hour marring—carving, painting, sculpting, claiming—engraving you with his teeth, sharp enamel piercing soft flesh, leaving crescent gouges of his mouth embossed along your form, a collection of grotesque little dents that fill with blood, flood with blood, blotted up by his hungry tongue;

branding you with his touch, veins crushed to pigments of navy and violet beneath his fingertips, dimpling supple skin and inducing puffy welts to sprout under coarse calluses—blooms of dark colour that seep through tissues, that sprawl in misshapen smudges across your canvas;

staining you with thick salves of saliva, the tip of his tongue tracing along the jagged strikes of silver sketched across your body with practiced precision—your thighs, your hips, your ass, your arms, your tummy, your tits—lapping lovingly over every single one, blowing streams of warm breath across the shimmering spit and watching in awe as your skin skitters with pebbled chills, then sealing each area with a smattering of kisses.

It’s a worship of sorts, a holy sacrament he performs more nights than not, attentive and meticulous as he smothers your flaws in his love, in himself, whispering syrupy adorations into you and letting them soak into your flesh; saturating your tissues, marinating in your bones, rooting at your soul.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi x you #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x you #this idea has been in my drafts since april 21 so #might as well just get it out thereeee #inky.touya #inky.dabi #tw:blood

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samodivaa · 1 year

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Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 2)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Warnings - heavy angst ,stalking, attempted murder SMUT - non consensual, dom!Soldat, rough!Soldat, choking, knife kink, blood kink, Russian roulette ,degrading in Russian, harsh slapping, hair pulling, fuck toy!reader. Words - 4000

Bucky is non stop destroying what is left of his heart by constantly thinking about things that have broken him recently. He roots in alcohol, in misery, barely alive in his silent way. Sometimes he gets so drunk that he could hear y/n’s voice calling him at the door as she is coming home with groceries – sick with love. Their shared apartment will never be complete again, because part of his heart is elsewhere. He needs to feel at home in something, but this is the price he pays for the richness of loving and trusting. In this world he didn’t know what the color of love is – yet he is still deeply stained by hers, but maybe there is no love on earth for him, expect the one he imagined. His body felt the sadness that his soul couldn’t fully register. „Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling — Oscar Wilde“ one of her favorite quotes. How long will his ruined being still burn?

Bucky is falling apart – the deeply sealed stitches of the nightmares, began to tear apart, not letting him sleep peacefully. He grasps the extend of the loneliness and desertion that he is exposed to. For the first time in forever, there is a complete absence of emotional understating from her – his heart is heavy like an anchor, holding him still in the mist of the storms in his soul. And pain knows a way into every crevice – slowly gaping a hole into the abyss of Winter. Seasons change with the scenery of his emotions and the sky is a hazy shade of winter, there will soon be patch of snow on the ground, shallowing him whole. His heart begins to ache when he hears a knock on his door. It taints the very air he breathes with streams of hope. The greed of love, reeks of desperation as he runs to the door to open it.

„Sam?“ Bucky says, his eyes confess the fatigue of his living. He lets out a breath, before putting on a smile and forcing a laugh „What brought you here?“ „I came to check up on you, you are not picking up your phone…again“ His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise as he stares, not knowing how to respond. "Y/n told me...what happened" Bucky sighs and leans against the door frame. Eyes filled with pure acrimony - puffiness under the eyes. He stands hesitant, his soul floating with embarrassment. “Really? She did? Does all of New York know, now? Because it really feels like it“ Bucky says, his voice calm but the anger stands in his words like a flame. He furrows his brows, not only in anger, but in confusion too. Why did she talk with Sam about it? Why does he know more? “You know why she left…?” he questions with urgency, taking a deep breath before chewing on his bottom lip nervously. „Yeah…she told me.“ Sam answers, keeping his voice low. His eyes spoke so many unspoken words, begging Sam not to press on the matter, his face forming into a slight frown and his eyes narrowing for a split second. He’s clearly not happy about her decision of talking with Sam behind his back. „So, um…when do we start with the case of the missing CIA agent? I saw the files you send me yesterday“ Bucky needs to change the subject, a source of a painful reminder to Sam to be more cautious around him. „There is no need for you to come, I can deal with it alone…and the CIA will provide assistance, too“ „The CIA? Isn’t Y/n coming with us…?“ Bucky gulps, twisting the words into what he really wants to know.

„She…she won’t work with us anymore, she decided to join the CIA“ „What? Under whose command?“ It was awkward as they both stared at each other in, sitting engulfed in suffocating silence for a minute before Sam decided to answer. „Walker“ He bites the inside of his cheek, his head whips from side to side with nothing, but pure horror. Sam was simply waiting for Bucky to explore , whereas Bucky was trying to figure out and just process what had just heard. Hiding shaky hands in their pockets, hiding any evidence of his distress. His chest heaving with ragged breaths, trying to hold back his tears. When a man learns to feel love, he must also bear the risk of feeling hate.

„This…“ his words get catch up in his throat before he forces them out „The nerve-“ Bucky thinks to himself, before letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head in disbelief. „We are her team. What the hell is she thinking?“ he shakes his head, clearly frustrated. „They don’t even get along-“ he trails off at the end realizing that it was a cover up for their affair, it all made sense now. „-well…I guess that just…saves me from another discussion. If she‘s with Walker now, then she…has chosen her side. I…I just need some time to process this…“ „It is okay, Bucky…you need a break“ even when life has forgotten him once again, Sam is there – holding his hand, not letting him fall. „No, Sam I can’t leave you alone in this“ „Bucky, listen to me…if I need you I swear I will call, okay?“ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Bucky’s eyes have finally glazed over, something snaps in him as he closes the door. His lip trembles, and he bites it in hopes of stopping the tears that begin to build. He wanted to let go of the pain even though it was the last thing that feels alive from her. Love, he’d seen and experienced in his own way - a powerful emotion. It brought them together, gave them a reason to fight, and a purpose outside themselves. Love made him stronger and more capable of facing the challenges of a difficult extended life. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

„Good job today, y/n, wanna grab a coffee and discuss more?“ Walker was so cooky when she called him, sensing that something between you and Bucky happened. He wasted no time In seducing you, he was devoted to earning your love. „Yeah I-“ The moment y/n laid your eyes on him, she knew. As if time pauses itself, her brain is in a total blur when she spots him coming closer to them, one hand stiffed in his jacket, the left holding a gun and that is what divulges it. It was a joy to be hidden in the crowd and a disaster to be found. Bucky put all of his energy into protecting himself, developing a terrifying survival strategy. The Soldat’s behaviors, classified as psychiatric problems – obsessions, compulsions – his most destructive behavior, started unwillingly as a strategy for self-protection of his true self. Winter’s love for her flesh is a like a flower flooded with blood – opening new wounds, making them a garden of a reminder for his sadistic ways. Y/n pivot on her heels, decision resolute – to get closer to him, hugging him. „Hey Bucky, oh my gosh! Thank-k you for bringing my revolver back!“ this was the only idea she had. Her immediate reaction is to hide her face in his chest after giving him a hug, but he prevents her from doing so as he uses his other hand to cup her chin and steer her gaze back onto his. Y/n’s brain malfunctions before putting a hand on the gun as his grip loosens, allowing her to retrieve it in her pocket of her sweetheart. A disgusting public display of affection and ownership the Soldier never showed before. „Do you want me to shot him?“ She is happy that he says something that resembles Bucky as she turns her back to him, facing John. An enlarged hand grasps hers, and she stops in her tracks, back still towards him. He’s nonchalant when he speaks, his grip on the small hand loosens when she turns her full attention back on him, but he still keeps ahold on y/n’s hand in case she dares to look at John. „Sorry, John maybe next time…“ Pursing her lips as she replies, not removing her gaze from the empty blue eyes. What abuses has she endured on her heart from him – secret.

Walker’s dimpled smile is on display, meant for y/n only, but she is occupied and he spins around to head to the coffee shop alone. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Despite thinking that she has the strength, the will to do it, it starts to dawn on her that maybe she didn’t. She couldn’t fight him off, he requires her body once again. She is caught in a tide of lust and control – haunting the world inside of her. She is alone and if she wants to please him, she might as well do it honest, adorned in blood and bruises, all pain inflicted upon this body must keep his from the world, from Bucky, from her Bucky. In agony, in love, in worry – she is there for both of them. Metal fingers find the crest of her waist, his other hand skating slowly down the skin, from the chin to her neck, squeezing slightly. His erection crowds in her leg, rolling his hips into hers, the metal hand on her waist clamps tighter leaving the first marks of his assault. He starts flooding her with tiny kisses as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. That unexpected movement makes him groan. „Ты мне нужен сегодня ночью...“ (I really need you tonight...) he whispers, his breath tickling her ear. In between kisses, he adds - the shell of a man speaking to you „Ты ��е можешь убежать от меня“ (You can’t run away from me) „Так вот, я бежать не хочу.“ (I don’t want to run) Soldat was stunned to hear her speak Russian. His fingers came up to trace her jawline, the cold metal leaving tingles on her smooth skin. Something in him changed - her grief like a migraine, she is the only scapegoat from his wretched humanity. Shall she grieve ? Shall she hope? Metal fingers danced through her hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as the human hand started choking her slightly. „Пошли домой“ (Lets go home) „Ужасно хочу тебя трахнуть прямо сейчас“ (I really want to fuck you right now) he argues weakly, still struggling to control his breath.

Y/n’s stomach does a flip. She blinks for a few moments, trying to neutralize the look of worry that is sure is scrawled across her angel face. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Emotionally, she wanted to stay in hopes that Bucky comes back soon. Intellectually, she wanted to leave – but she has to punish herself so that after the she drinks of winter, spring will bloom. It was the first time that the Soldier came at daylight - her heart is sick of being in chains, but she is the savior as the winter takes one more cherry tree from the depths of her soul. He watched her for weeks, making sure no one touches his precious flower and here it is, the dark thing, the dark thing he has longed for months – at his mercy. He towering over her as he closes the distance between you. She lets out a deep sigh when he pulls away, eyes softening. “Can I?” She asks quietly and puts her long nails on his neck, drawing circles with fingers as red lines starts to form. The Soldat couldn’t speak, he just nods, moving his head to the side in order to give her flesh to explore. He growls shamelessly at her butterfly kisses across his neck, gliding her tongue along his earlobe, biting down gently to earn a groan. She's gentle, soft. Of course she smells of roses, but there's a bit of perfume as well while he smells of whiskey and misery. She slaps the soldier harshly across the face, making his head turn to the other side - now her tongue is sucking and licking there and his arms squeeze her waist, pressing himself to her warmth. Y/n gives him a proper kiss for the first time. Short, and just on the lips. It was meant for Bucky.

He had enough, Soldat grabs a fistful of her hair with one hand, pushing her down roughly to her knees. His calloused fingers graze over her chin, making her look up at him. She peers up at him meeting the blue eyes through dark lashes. Already her mouth is open, tongue hanging out, wordlessly pleading for him – anything. His dick twitches in his jeans. He slowly stuffs human fingers into her mouth, groaning as her lips fall around them, sucking like it is his dick. Y/n whimpers at the low timbre of his voice as he pulls her back by the hair, just to enjoy the sight before adding a third finger. She can only imagine what he must have planned for tonight. She immediately freezes up when his fingers leave – peering up at him from the floor while promptly undoing his belt, shallow gasp escapes her lips, wanting nothing more than to wrap her lips around his cock, its been a long time. Y/n catches her final deep breaths as she licks every single finger of her hands before putting them around his base. She gives the tip a modest, teasing lick before running her tongue around it is a talent of hers – both Bucky and Winter love it – wiftly swallowing every inch of him down her throat. Suddenly she feels his strong hand again, whirling around her hair more and pressing her down to his public region. She gags at the sudden intrusion, gurgling sounds fill the room and y/n eyes water, fucking her mouth with no mercy. His fiery blue eyes were almost widened from shock as he stares back at her, trying to steady his shaky breaths. He groans through gritted teeth as he forces her to take him further into her mouth. Quiet hums sent vibrations up through his cock causing shudders to crawl down his thighs. Soldat’s body shakes with pleasure as he forces his way into her mouth. Tears run down, mixing with the drool that's splashed around. His eyes roll back in pleasure - just playing around with his flower, while she stays all quiet and docile. Right now, she is shameless, she is still listening to the melody of his sounds - grunting and trying not to be too loud as he barely holds it. Her mouth tights as he hits the back of her throat over and over again while digging her nails in his tights to let him know that it is too much. Y/n attempts to breathe, but it results in more gagging noises and he locks her in that position – enjoying every tear that drops on her cheeks. He leans his head back and when she sucks on the tip, circling her delicate tongue around it as she restrains him in a vacuum-sealed, holding it in her mouth. He blacks out when he comes, the body tenses hard and then liquids rush into her mouth. He feels his knees buckle slightly at the sensation with an even heavier groan escaping his lips. Soldat withdrawals from her mouth slowly as she licks her lips to assure there is nothing left behind, he smirks looking down and decides to pull her back up by her hair. He throws her onto the bed, sighing and undoing his pants, removing them completely. He feels so high with this much adrenalin, with this much power and freedom. The knife is already in his hand, cutting through clothes. The marks on her body are his greatest mastery, Soldat’ smile lingers at the thought of leaving them all over. He trails the tip of it down to the edge of her panties, gulping slowly – with so much time and freedom he is unsure of his choice of action. He is still over the underwear, playing with the knife, seeing how deep the fabric can dip, tracing the folds he can reach, feeling how utterly soaked she is with precise precision of the blade.

The knife slices them as he lets out a whimper which causes her to twitch with fear, staring up at her incubus. Soldat presses the cool blade to her throat, a small line of blood starts to form. She cries out – a masochistic mixture of euphoria and pain. The knife is removed from her neck and replaced by his vibranian arm. He squeezes until he is satisfied with the angel eyes full of tears, she loves the way he is choking her…almost to death. He growls as he touches his dick with his hand, slowly forces his length into her, a throaty groan escaping his lips. They share a sickness that doesn't need fixing at all…flatline the heart, discard the brain - change her into whatever you feel like, she is not going anywhere.

He closes his eyes, lost in the moment – his own knife is pressed against his throat – she presses and the red pearls falls on her face and neck and that. It stings and Soldat whimpers about the pain, twitching inside her. He smirks, leaning down to her ear…leaning into the knife as more blood starts to flow. He growls lowly into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, grunting with every merciless thrust that lurches her body with it, his hot breath - intoxicating.

„Из-за тебя я отлично чувствую этот нож….ласковый цветочек“ (Because of you, the touch of the knife fees good…tender flower) „Поцелуй меня“ (Kiss me) Before she can register what’s happening, she drops the knife to the side of her head and kisses him. His hand collides with her cheek, stinging and bringing more tears, biting her shoulder as his thrusts get rougher, the unwanted orgasm too close to be postponed any longer. His cock is throbbing, shooting load after load of warm, sticky cum. Even after cumming, he can't bring myself to stop the assault - planning an overdose on orgasms tonight. Y/n whines at the lost of the feeling of his body, but he flips her over like a drag doll, onto her stomach and she instinctively raises her ass into the air, waiting for him. He gathers both her wetness and cum with his two vibranium fingers, forcing their way inside of her hole with a brutal pace as his other hand shoves her back down into the mattress. Y/n let her eyes flutter shut when he brushed over the clit, hips jolting up and craving for more fingers. He groans into her skin at her reaction, leaving a trail of teeth makes on the back on her neck. The feeling of delight was unfortunately short-lived, however – he doesn’t plan on her cumming tonight. He is still jealous of her interactions with John for the past weeks, he planned on killing him before she stopped him. He turns her around, on her back as he soon fasted her pussy, his lips latches onto the clit, circling it with his warm, wet tongue. She writhes in pleasure beneath him at the duo sensation of his metal fingers moving inside and his mouth on the clit….but everything stops. Again. Again. Again. „Please, please…Bucky…“ she murmurs, she misses every part of him. „У меня ничего не осталось от моего другого я“ (Now I have nothing of my other self) „Здесь только мы с тобой“ (Only you and me here) Y/n looks down at him, the Soldier looking back from between her legs, not seeing his wide grin. He doesn’t like it when y/n mentions Bucky, but he is too dizzy from the pleasure, not punishing her for now, only giving a warning in Russian. He gives the clit one last abrupt lick before flopping down in the middle of the bed, slapping his thighs and commanding her to sit "Ride me" She hovering above his cock, sliding in one motion. She moans shamelessly as she finds a suitable rhythm, her hands firmly planting onto his neck and he mirrors her act, squeezing her tightly at her neck. As he is closer to the edge his sadist mind deprives her of any oxygen, her struggles to stay conscious and that slowly drives him over the edge - his throaty moans fill the room as he slams deep for the final time. Y/’s body is writhing, but his hand around her neck keeps her in place, knowing there’s no use in trying to fight him off.

As the grip around her neck looses she opens her mouth to take deep breaths. He takes advantage of this by spitting into it.

„Как ты, дорогая“ (How are you, darling?)

Soldat slaps her cheek, urging her to respond, but her head is so foggy with pleasure that the reaction is delayed.

„Я в порядке“ (I am fine)

„Грязная шалава“ (Dirty bitch)

He glared at her intensely and when his brain had fully calmed down, he flips her over onto her back so that he was on top. He wastes no time in pinning both her small arms above her head, hurling both over her legs over his shoulders as he starts slamming back inside. Closing her eyes, trembling with fear. There is a little cold kiss on her forehead and when he opens her eyes – her own revolver. He shows y/n the single round before placing it back, spinning the cylinder – Russian roulette. They stand together set in stone, hearts open wide - flames of afterlife getting closer. He counts to three and pulls the trigger. Her whole body tenses up, eyes closed. The Soldier exhales slowly, watching her eyes full of tears, shallowed by fear. „Your turn“

But the concept of it seems less gruesome then reality. The time seemingly stopped for a moment. Every time she blinked it presented itself. Memories. Regrets. Love. Fear.

The revolver feels impossibly heavy in her unsteady hands. Soldat takes a deep inhale through the nose as he eyes close. Index finger rests on the trigger. Click. Her soul is in a constant struggle between her need for Bucky, fear of losing him, and a desire to executes the Soldier herself. She was never really insane except upon occasions when Soldat played too much with her heart. His cold laugh alone drives her to tears, his pulsing cock starts pounding into her again – y/n is trapped in a nightmare, breathing just a little, calling it life. She wants a version of herself that isn’t neck-deep absorbed in this filth. „Bring him back…“ she is prepared to be devastated, but there was a need to confess. A misfit, people wanted to lock him in, but there she is – satisfying both of the Winter Soldier’s and Bucky’s needs…oh yeah, will Bucky remember when he comes back? ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When she wakes up, he is gone. Y/n decides to look at herself in the mirror – there is a huge bruise on her neck as If she is stripped of beauty. She laughs, then she cries, choking on tears – haunted down by the Soldier even though she tries to stay away. Sometimes love is a slow burn that keeps you warm, and sometimes it's a bonfire that can't be contained…she is so worried about Bucky, the love in her heart demanding for his presence. Without him, she is nothing but a faint noise. She has to call him, to make sure that he is back after weeks wasted by stalking her as the Soldier. „Doll…why are you calling?“ The line goes dead. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✭TAG LIST ✭ @smplymrvl @i-want-to-be-hit-by-a-car @msoldier @marvelxlevram @lovelywritinglady ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ "Fine, I'll do it myself." - me writing fics about daddy Soldat THIS IS WHAT I AM HERE FOR - THE WINTER SOLDIER LMAO BARKING RN

#winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #winter solider imagine #winter soldier x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x female yn #bucky x f!reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #I AM HERE TO WRITE SOLDAT FICS LMAO

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starrierknight · 7 months

Text

𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.” ― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 5k

pairing— vampire slayer!dom!gn!reader x vampire!sub!gojo

cws/tags— enemies to enemies w/ benefits, S&M, predator/prey dynamic, knifeplay, bloodplay, blood as an aphrodisiac, heavy degradation (+use of “slut”), humiliation, biting & marking, oral + fingering (reader receiving), reader has AFAB anatomy but isn’t gendered, dry humping, hairpulling, inaccurate vampire lore, porn w/ plot, porn w/ (angsty) feelings, very description heavy

The passage of time had led you to this decisive moment. There he kneeled, ensnared by the circumstance of your bait, his once confident demeanour reduced to vulnerability. Wide-eyed and labouring breaths betrayed his desperation, his pale chest heaving under that billowing white shirt.

You stood tall, your gaze an icy lance that pierced through the layers of cunning that once cloaked this despicable being. A vampire, an embodiment of the dark myths that have haunted humanity for centuries. In the story of your seasoned exploits, the ones you’d slain had been unfathomable monsters, grotesque aberrations. The raw power that you expected to emanate from a monster so ancient, so sinister, seemed to have dulled into something strangely human. His aura of malevolence was overshadowed by a pitiable aura of need. The haunting question dawned on the precipice of your thoughts: Could it be that even the darkest of beings can yearn, can ache for something beyond their cursed existence?

The tableau is one of stark contrasts—the resolute hunter and the feeble prey, the chilling void of the night and the warmth of desperate need. The air remained unbroken: You, the embodiment of unyielding purpose, and he, an enigma knelt before you, leaving the promise of revelation in his desperate, longing gaze.

The monster before you took on a hauntingly primal quality. A languid, serpentine motion as his tongue darted out, collecting the remnants of blood, your blood, that clung to his lips. The taste, metallic and potent as you knew it to be, was like the sweetest nectar to him. A guttural groan escaped his parted lips, a sound laden with both pleasure and pain; The very act of an existence marked by unending darkness and insatiable hunger. With deliberate slowness, his eyes shuttered closed, a brief surrender of ecstasy. His lashes casted long shadows against his pale, parchment-like skin.

“Speak, monster,” you said in a cool, steady tone.

Time seemed to expand and contract, a canvas stretched taut, as he eventually broke the stillness.

“Oh, come on. Why the formalities?” he taunted in an airy whisper, a smug lilt to his tone. “Don’t you think we’re past that?”

His eyelids parted, revealing pupils dilated to a darkness. Those eyes, a chromatic anomaly amidst the desolation of his existence, were a cerulean that defied nature's palette. They were too blue, too vivid—a celestial fragment from the vast expanse of the heavens that had fallen into his wretched possession.

“Tell me your name before I slay you tonight,” you spat, your will unwavering.

His eyes drank you in with an uncanny hunger. “Gojo Satoru. Though, please, Satoru will do just fine.”

You tilted your head to one side, leaning down to inspect him with morbid fascination. He was disturbingly beautiful: Far too angelic in appearance, though you supposed it was a façade to lure in his prey. How ironic.

“Gojo Satoru,” you murmured, still inspecting him. Satoru shuddered at the way his name fell from your mouth, and he groaned again. “That’s a very human name, unfit for you… Though it’s your vampiric desperation that got you here, isn’t it?”

Satoru's response sliced through the charged atmosphere like a serrated blade. His lips parted in a breathy exhalation that transformed into a rueful laugh, a delicate sound that danced in the air. The corners of his mouth quirked into a crooked smile, a wry look that exposed his pointed fangs.

“Was it yours, by the way?”

“The blood?”

“The blood. The blood in the chalice—that bait you left for me. Was it yours? Did you… alter it?”

You frowned and raised a brow. Instinctively, your hand moved to your belt, where your weapon of choice rested. The scabbard relinquished its hold with a whisper of leather, allowing the ornate silver dagger to emerge into the moonlit room. Your fingers curled around the hilt, finding solace in the familiarity of its weight.

“Your final moments are rapidly approaching, and you question my methods for luring you here?” you asked bemusedly.

Satoru shrugged one shoulder, but his eyes snapped to focus on the blade. “I’m just making friendly conversation.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he laughed again, hunger flashing in his eyes, “I’m not. Tell me, though.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “It’s mine. Unaltered.”

Satoru's throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, the sound resonating. He took a deep breath. “So, you just taste… like that, do you?”

“Like ‘that’?”

“Just so… sweet. Humans aren’t usually so sweet,” he clarified.

With a fluid motion, you idly twirled the dagger through the air. The blade's polished surface caught the moon's glow, transforming its silvery sheen into an almost-blue hue, the ornate dagger an extension of your intent. The blade's tip, sharpened to a lethal point, found its mark with an almost imperceptible pressure against Satoru's skin.

The chill of the metal against his neck was a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body. The sensation was immediate, a jolt of icy reality that underscored the gravity of your confrontation. His breath hitched, his pupils dilated more, the pulse of his veins thundering in tandem with the rhythm of his twisted excitement.

“You disgust me,” you hissed, pressing the blade to his neck so that it was perilously close to breaking his skin.

The whine that escaped his lips was involuntary, a mixture of pain and desire that reverberated through the charged air. It was a reminder that his existence, no matter how abhorrent, was still woven with threads of need and yearning. He pressed closer to the flat of the blade—the dichotomy of his action hauntingly human. The cold metal met the feverish heat of his pale skin, his lips parted as he breathed heavily.

“Please,” the longing etched into his contorted expression spoke of desire both primal and inexplicable. “One last request before it’s over. Please.”

“You think you deserve a last request?” you challenged, eyes narrowed with scrutiny.

Satoru moistened his lips, eyes darting from you to around the room as he scrambled to provide you with an answer to your question. The room, with its moonlit corners and shadows, seemed to close in, the walls serving as both witnesses and silent participants in this exchange between hunter and hunted, captor and captive. The request that followed was both shocking and strangely intimate:

“I was human, once,” he began, “I wanted a good death for myself, once. Please, give me a shred of humanity to die with. Please, let me taste you before you kill me.”

It's a collision of desires—a yearning for connection, for a glimpse of the humanity he once possessed, and the chilling reminder of his vampiric nature.

You laughed coldly, sneering down at him. “And humanity is blood, is it?”

“Please.”

Jutting your chin out, your gaze seared downward. The intensity of your stare, unyielding and incisive, spoke of your unwavering resolve in the face of his plea. The retraction of the dagger was a calculated move—an action that rippled with implications.

As the blade sliced across the palm of your hand, your own blood welled forth, a crimson testament to your commitment to the path you'd chosen. The sting was a reminder of the sacrifices you were willing to make, and the offering of the blade, now smeared with your blood, was a bridge.

His reaction was immediate and visceral. The scent of your blood, intoxicatingly sweet to his heightened senses, seemed to fill the room; A siren's call. Satoru’s breathing grew heavy. His eyes locked onto the vivid liquid, reflecting a hunger that surpassed all others.

“Have your taste before I slaughter you, Satoru.”

As if drawn by an irresistible force, Satoru's compliance was immediate and unquestioning. As his tongue darted out to lick the smeared blood from the flat of the blade, the room seemed to hold its breath, a voyeur to this intimate ritual between predator and prey. The metallic glint of your blood met his tongue with an electric charge, a connection that transcended what he thought he had centuries of damned experience with. The blood's influence, as it coursed through the currents of his veins, was immediate and potent.

The sweet nature of your blood sparked an undeniable fire within Satoru; A desire, once lurking in the shadows, that now surged to the forefront of his consciousness. The echoes of his moans, the rise and fall of his uneven breaths, served as evidence of the pure need he experienced.

“You really are the most repulsive thing I’ve ever seen,” you muttered, regarding him with sickly interest. Satoru's gaze—those magnificently blue eyes, like pools of sapphire—rose from the blade, still in his kneeling position, to meet yours.

“That was hardly a taste,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Your indignant silence was punctuated by the steady rhythm of dripping blood. Drip-drip-drip. You felt the warmth from the gash on your non-dominant hand curl around your fingers, falling with resonance onto the aged wooden floorboards. Drip-drip-drip. As your gaze swept across the space, the play of light and shadow painted the scene. Your attention fell upon a solitary chair nestled in the corner.

Without uttering a single word, your injured hand lifted and extended, your blood-stained fingers pointing with stark clarity towards the chair. Drip-drip. The gesture was a directive, an invitation, an unspoken promise. Satoru, his towering presence marked by the contrast of moonlight and shadows, heeded the call of your gesture. With a deliberate grace, he approached the chair, the sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor, the very air itself holding its breath.

The surprise that unfurled within you was mirrored by the unexpected turn of events. As he dragged the chair closer, your pulse quickened, and you sat. Then, in a gesture that defied your expectations, he knelt before you once more, his handsome expression a mixture of reverence, his own expectation, his own unrivalled desire.

“You deserve less than I’m giving you,” you said lowly, “But enjoy yourself while you can.”

You extended your injured hand, the delicate appendage still weeping ruby-red tears. Satoru responded instinctively, cradling your wounded palm in his larger hands, their touch exuding a profound gentleness. As if guided by an innate sense of care, he brought your bloodied offering to his face, a visage that seemed both ravenous and reverent. The moment his tongue made contact with the open wound, a jolt of sensation shot through your body. The taste of your blood, infused with the sweet essence of your very being, flooded his senses. His eyes, once fixed on you, now fluttered closed, and a euphoric expression painted his features. As if overwhelmed by a wave of intense pleasure, his eyelids fluttered, and his irises seemed to lose focus, rolling upwards.

The world around Satoru seemed to dim, his focus narrowing to the essence that flowed from your wound. Each taste, each drop, acted like a potent aphrodisiac, igniting a fire that blazed within him. His body responded with a tremor, his pale hands involuntarily tightening their hold on your injured palm. His muffled groans, now a mixture of raw need and aching restraint, reverberated through your body.

Satoru’s soft, warm mouth enveloped the open wound, a fervent kiss that drew forth the crimson nectar. As he sucked on the source of this intoxicating sweetness, rivulets of blood painted intricate patterns on his lower face, a macabre, and yet strangely artistic, display. Despite his immense presence, he remained on his knees before your chair, his powerful form now a portrait of vulnerability. Satoru’s head, heavy with the weight of his longing, found its place on your lap, a gesture that radiated a delicate surrender. His silvery hair, like silk against your legs, contrasted starkly with the increasingly depraved display.

“You really are vile,” you breathed, the sting from the wound shooting up your arm.

Your grip on the dagger in your dominant hand tightened instinctively, and a mixture of apprehension and curiosity coursed through you as his tongue lapped at your skin. Your senses keenly caught the subtle shifts in his body language, the telltale signs of his arousal and need. The feeling of his fingers tightening around your wounded hand, his thighs pressing and rubbing with a rhythmic urgency—a plea for something unattainable yet relentlessly craved.

With a languid grace, he shifted his kneeling position, his body settling. As if guided by some unseen force, he positioned himself so that he was seated on one of your boots. His head found its resting place on your thigh, and his mouth maintained its fervent dance upon your hand—his lips and tongue slid over your skin, causing a paradoxical sensation of tension and pleasure that set your nerves alight.

His body responded to the all-encompassing craving that had engulfed him with a feverish urgency. The torrent of desire coursing through him could no longer be suppressed, and his body moved of its own accord. In a desperate bid for release, he pressed his hard-on against your boot, the friction providing a fleeting respite from the intensity that consumed him. Desperate moans, heavy with frustration, escaped him, the sound an unbridled testament to the intensity of the moment.

Finally, his fangs sank into the tender palm of your hand with a swift, hypnotic movement. The moment his fangs pierced your skin, a rush of sensations cascaded through you and a gasp, half surprise and half excitement, tumbled from your lips. The pressure of his bite, a fierce declaration of his need, sent shockwaves through your body.

"Did I say you could bite?" you hissed through gritted teeth.

With a decisiveness born of instinct, your dominant hand moved with purpose. The edge of the dagger's blade found its place against the vulnerable curve of his neck, pressing into his pale skin as his own blood, darker and more tainted than yours, seeped onto the cool metal.

Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a desperate apology. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please…”

His lips sought redemption in a sequence of fervent kisses. They trailed across the delicate skin of your wrist, your knuckles, and the tips of your fingers. The gesture, if not for the lingering urgency of his movements, would have held a sweet tenderness, an attempt to mend what had been broken. Amid this tangled web of feelings, the grinding of his arousal against you persisted, a relentless echo of his desire. The moans that escaped him seemed to punctuate each kiss, a wretched symphony of need.

“You’re fucking pathetic. You should see yourself right now,” you scolded, “On your knees for me, grinding against my leg like a fucking feral animal.”

His body moved with a desperate rhythm, a primal need guiding his every motion. With each rutted thrust, he sought an elusive release, a respite from the smouldering longing between his thighs. His movements were fueled by a frenetic energy, his hips surging upward in a rhythm that spoke of desperation and longing. The dagger's lethal caress against his neck seemed only to further stoke the fire within him.

Gasping for air, Satoru’s breaths came in ragged intervals, but amidst the tumult, a single word slipped past his lips—a plea heavy with need. "Please."

“Please what? What are you even begging for, slut?” You laughed at him. “You wanna taste some more? You wanna cum for me?”

“Fuck, please… I need you… I need you so badly, please,” he whined, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, his head still resting on your thigh.

“You want more? More blood?”

“Y-yes, but… more you. I just, fuck… Need more of you,” he panted.

The sound of his own confession served as a catalyst, the final thread that unravelled his restraint. With a loud and unfiltered moan, Satoru fell apart on his knees before you. His hips jerked against you with a frantic urgency as he whimpered. The tension that had been building, coil by coil, snapped like a taut band, releasing a flood of euphoria that consumed him entirely. At that moment, there was no room for thought, only the unadulterated pleasure that surged through his veins. The pleasure, a heady mix of physical release and emotional surrender, overtook his senses, rendering his mind blank and his body malleable under its power. His mouth parted in a silent exhalation of bliss, boring witness to the depth of his pleasure.

Even in the aftermath of his release, his body continued to move in a slow, rhythmic grind against you as the aftershocks of cumming reverberated through him. The room seemed to shimmer with the echoes of his moans.

Your bloody fingers laced into his silky, white hair. With a firm tug, you lifted his head, his body draped across your leg in surrender to the aftermath of his climax. The tip of the dagger's blade traced a deliberate path along his jaw; The steel's cool touch acted as a focal point, drawing his attention to you in his post-orgasm daze. The sensation pierced through the fog of pleasure, reorienting him.

“Vampires are supposed to be scary, Satoru. Where’s the beast I came to slaughter tonight?” you taunted, a lopsided grin splitting your features. Caressing his face with the flat of the dagger’s blade in your dominant hand, your grip on his hair tightened—he winced and whined in pain, much to your satisfaction.

“I’m… I-I am still a monster,” he mumbled in weak protest. “I’m still a monster, even if I need you… Oh, God, how I need you…”

His white, billowing shirt, once pristine, now clung to his skin with a sheen of sweat. The fabric, once airy and light, had transformed into a second skin, moulded to the contours of his form by the heat of his actions. The shirt, rendered translucent by the moisture, hinted at the contours beneath—the rise and fall of his chest, the sculpted lines of his handsome body.

"You're a fucking mess, y'know that? A mess so pathetic, it's disgusting," you remarked, your voice a mixture of exasperation and a touch of distant amusement.

Just before he could retort, you acted swiftly, clapping your injured hand over his mouth. The surprise on his face was palpable, a mix of alarm and intrigue as he found his voice silenced. The sensation of your touch against his lips seemed to ignite a response within him, a mixture of surprise and a familiar yearning. Despite the unexpectedness of the action, his instincts seemed to guide him. His tongue, quick and warm, darted out to taste your blood once more. A groan escaped his lips. His body responded with a shudder, a ripple of pleasure that coursed through his frame.

“Dumb fucking slut,” you laughed quietly. “I’ve been so good to you, and you’re talking back. I’ll teach you manners before I slay you tonight.”

A muffled moan, laden with a mixture of need and surrender, escaped from behind your bloody palm that covered his mouth. The sound seemed to hang in the air. His gaze, fixed upon you with half-lidded eyes, held a certain vulnerability. You leaned in closer, your proximity a tantalizing promise. His half-lidded gaze met yours.

"You need to taste me? Let's see how badly."

The words held a challenge, a daring invitation. The proximity between your lips, the touch of your hand against his skin, the dangerous lilt to your voice—it made him crave so much that he ached for you. Satoru's back arched like a bowstring, his head tilting back slightly as he let out a small, soft moan. You removed your hand from his mouth and retracted the dagger’s blade that had been held against his neck.

In a frenzy born of unbridled desire, Satoru's actions took on a new urgency. His hands, no longer restrained by inhibition, sought purchase against the buttons on your trousers. Fingers that trembled with need fumbled against the fabric, the movements driven by a hunger that consumed him entirely. Each button undone marked a step closer to a line crossed, and the air crackled with the intensity of his actions.

With your trousers discarded, his hands found their place on your bare thighs, his touch both tentative and determined. He shifted between your legs, his form kneeling before you while you remained seated in the chair. His positioning spoke of a certain vulnerability, a submission he had adopted in your presence. His hands traced a path across the expanse of your bare skin, a map of desire that unfolded beneath his touch. Beginning at the inside of your knee, his movements were deliberate and unhurried, a slow exploration of the terrain he now navigated.

“Thank you… Oh, thank you, I need this so badly,” he murmured.

Your breathing had grown laboured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as you watched. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

“Yes. God, yes, please… I just need you,” Satoru whispered.

The dagger in your dominant hand clattered to the floor, and both of your hands took root in his white hair instead. The sensation of your hands in Satoru’s hair seemed to awaken a primal response, his body shivering and trembling beneath your touch. His closeness, his lips against your skin, painted a vivid picture of his passion. His kisses, once deliberate and slow, had transformed into something more. They were now passionate, desperate—an unfiltered expression lust.

His mouth moved with an animalistic need, tracing a fiery path up your thigh. The pressure of his fingers, his grip bordering on painful, mirrored the urgency that had taken hold of him. The threat of his fangs grazed against your sensitive skin, and your hands gripped his hair harder. Satoru was lost in the sensations that pulsed through him, his body a vessel for the consuming ecstasy that had taken hold. His lips, once soft and reverent, were now a reflection of his unfiltered need—a need that was unashamedly on display, stripped of all pretence.

As his jaw moved against your skin, the strength of his bite left indelible marks, and the lines between pleasure and pain blurred to become one. The room echoed with his cries, each whine and moan a declaration of his longing. Your name, a desperate refrain, punctuated his every sound, the syllables a litany of desire. Saliva glistened on your thigh as his teeth left behind a trail of marks and bruises. His grip on your thighs, unyielding and possessive, held you captive. The drool that trailed down his chin, mingling with his moans, was a visual testament to the intensity of his lust. The sound of his needy moans, louder than ever before, echoed in the air. His teeth digging deeper into your skin were causing bleeding that added to the pleasure.

You let out a sharp exhale, the sound escaping through clenched teeth, your body reacting to the dual sensations. A low groan followed, a mixture of discomfort and an unexpected yearning, escaping from deep within you. Your hips, an unconscious reaction to the intimate contact, shifted towards him—a movement that made him whine needily. The warmth of his tongue against your skin, the wetness that traced the path of the blood and saliva, painted a vivid picture of your shared bloodlust.

"God, I want you so bad... So bad. Oh, please... Please... Don't hold back... Let yourself have me... Let yourself have me..." the words were a broken mantra that emerged from his lips, the syllables heavy with longing.

“H-Have you?” you groaned.

His bites became harsher, leaving even deeper marks in your flesh. But your moans were having the opposite effect, driving him closer to that sweet insanity.

"Oh, God... Please, please... Please..." he begged in a fractured voice.

As his tongue swept over the wounds he had created, an intense heat spread across your skin, merging with the dampness of the blood that trickled forth. Iron lingered in the air, mingling with the primal scent of exertion and urgency. With an unyielding grip, his fingers clenched around your thighs, the strength of his hold leaving imprints. Your senses wavered between the stinging sensation where his nails dug into your flesh and the surreal touch of his mouth at work.

With firm urgency, you guided his face to your cunt, an unspoken directive that he obeyed without hesitation. As your fingers threaded through his hair, a mixture of tugs and pulls that mirrored the ebb and flow of your need, his name escaped your lips like a prayer. In response, a resonant moan spilt from his lips, a reflection of your name, as if he were returning your prayer in kind. Completely at your mercy, his obedience was an unspoken offering, his face moving to kiss the softest skin of your inner thighs.

Satoru’s breath was hot enough that you could feel him breathe against you, as if the fabric of your underwear was a mere afterthought. Inhaling through his nose, the combined sent of your blood, and your arousal pooling between your thighs, made his eyes shutter closed, moaning. His fingers quivered with anticipation, his nails scratching your thighs as he licked a flat, broad stripe across your clothed pussy. He tilted his head and rhythmically moved his lips against you so the fabric was soaked with your wetness and his spit. Oh, how he yearned to taste everything you would offer him, making it run down your thighs just so he could lap it up.

His mouth became a haven of sensations, each deliberate nudge of his nose against your clit igniting a cascade of sparks that danced along your nerve endings. The friction created by his touch caused a cascade of moans to spill from your lips. His devotion was palpable in the way he knelt before you, an embodiment of desire and submission that bordered on divine: His open mouth, his cheeks rosy, his eyes sealed shut in a state of blissful surrender.

“Fuck, maybe there’s a use f-for you, after all,” you murmured.

One of his hands slid your underwear out of the way. The moment hung in suspended animation, a pause that held as he halted his other movements to marvel at you. The vision before him was a masterpiece; You were a masterpiece.

Satoru’s long, pretty fingers dipped between your folds, sliding through the velvety slickness, before bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them. He whined praise at the taste, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes that shined with reverence. His eyes, those pools of cool blue, met yours in a gaze that transcended words, brimming reverence that could only be equated to worship.

He carefully pushed a finger inside you, looking up at you hungrily as he felt your walls hugging the digit. Your breath trembled and hitched, a shaky exhale escaping your lips as you indulged in the feeling—a primal yearning that coiled hotly like a serpent in your abdomen. With steadfast devotion, he turned his attention to your sensitivity, his mouth finding purchase on your clit. The skilled wetness of his tongue traced deliberate circles around the tender bundle of nerves, each flicker of contact a jolt of sensation that reverberated through your core. A plaintive whine emerged from him, the vibration a tantalising echo that melded with your own moans.

Another finger joined the first, the slow glide in and out of your depths accompanied by a lust that seemed to resonate through your entire being. Your body responded, a silent plea that spurred his rhythm, the pumping of his fingers sending shockwaves of heat rippling through you.

Satoru's presence in the moment was visceral, his desire manifesting audibly as he pressed his face against your dripping centre. The noises that escaped his lips, a cascade of moans and whimpers, melded with the wet sounds of your shared pleasure. His fingers were adept, plunging into your pussy with a rhythmic thrust that strummed a chord deep within your core. With each push, his fingers curved and curled, a deliberate manipulation that seemed to coax the most exquisite sensations from your body. The taste of you, an intoxicating blend of your essence and arousal, consumed him wholly. His gaze, though hazy, still found you, his pretty eyes locking onto yours with lustful adoration.

You came undone on his fingers with a moan of his name, his mouth was flooded with the taste of you, as his fingers, slick with the evidence of your ecstasy, bore witness to your release. Your nails dragged against his scalp deliciously, twisting his soft hair, inciting a drawn-out groan from deep within him. He kept you riding that high, guiding you through the bliss he had manipulated. Your body was tingling all over, waves of pleasure radiating through you as you gasped. Every drop of cum, every trace of your arousal, became an offering that he ardently consumed, letting no taste of you go unadored.

As he finally withdrew his fingers, the absence was palpable, but his attention didn't waver; Instead, it shifted to a new focus. Your thighs trembled, but his hands became gentle instruments of comfort and affection to soothe you. He massaged and caressed the tender skin, his lips following a path his fingers traced, each kiss a sweet tribute to you. The chorus of murmured gratitude that escaped his lips lingered in the heavy air as you caught your bearings.

“Thank you, thank you… You taste so perfect, so perfect…” Satoru said, with his voice still broken and raspy from his intense moaning. "Thank you," he repeated, the phrase becoming a mantra.

The timbre of his voice was a blend of vulnerability and sincerity, each utterance a token of his appreciation for you. The emotions that had coursed through him, the moans and gasps that had marked his need, seemed to linger in the remnants of his voice.

"Perfect," he continued, his words resonating with a kind of awe that transcended mere description. "Beyond sweet," he concluded.

You looked down upon him kneeling between your thighs, your hands still in his hair, with a mixture of awe and reluctance. Satoru, this enigmatic creature, had been laid bare before you. The dichotomy of his nature, of his humanity and his vampiric instincts, hung in the air like a question unanswered. What had you done to him?

“You can kill me now, and I’ll die human,” he murmured.

Though after sharing a little death with him, could you kill him?

a/n: I guess you could say he's your #1 fang... Buh-dump tch! LOL, I hope you enjoyed. Be grateful I didn't include Twilight refs, bc I was tempted to. Happy Kinktober, lovelies :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

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bg-brainrot · 8 months

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Hello, I am writing Astarion fanfic with no signs of stopping 👋

Note: All Astarion x Tav, all written with gender-neutral pronouns and from second-person POV. Will continue to update this! This blog is all BG3 + Astarion

Love at First Knife

Rogue!Tav and Spawn!Astarion

This series is based on my double-rogue playthrough. Tav is an assassin rogue, chaotic neutral, chooses mostly good options but a ton of options just for the laughs or the money. Astarion remains unascended. Everyone shows up sooner or later, though main group includes Karlach and Shadowheart.

The Trap is Set: Two 8 strength rogues get stuck and need to wait for rescue; one of those rogues doesn't like being trapped underground

Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You: the gang plays Truth or Dare and Tav starts to realize their feelings

Healing Threads: Astarion is an expert at embroidery -- Tav finds this out through an injury. They later find out *why* he’s such an expert

The Night They Slept Together: Tav pines, and their relationship with Astarion shifts ever so slightly. (They literally do just sleep) [Tumblr]

One Small Bedroll, Two Confused Hearts: oh no, one bed! But both Astarion and Tav are scared to admit they're catching real feelings

Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder: Astarion POV, he begins feeling some new feelings. It's only after Moonrise Towers that he can put a name to them. [Tumblr]

Stolen Hearts: Tav "picks" Astarion over Karlach (Tav and Karlach were never really together but oh well, semantics)

NEW! To be Known: Astarion reads a book and wonders what it means to be known. [Tumblr]

A Stolen Moment: Tav and Astarion are on a thief date

The Rogues that Slay Together Stay Together: Tav goes down protecting Astarion, Astarion has never been this worried

A Pair of Penguin Pebblers: Both Astarion and Tav love stealing, they steal through a shopping episode and go on a date afterward

The Smut Peddlers of Sharess' Caress: the group finds smut written about Astarion and Tav [Tumblr]

A Bad Counterfeit: Tav is replaced by a doppelganger and Astarion immediately notices something's wrong, some angst as he comes to term with being a "hero"

Hugs for a Vampire: Rogue!Tav and Astarion's romance as told through hugs [Tumblr Masterlist]

More than Vampiric Charms: After some banter between Jaheira and Astarion goes too far, Rogue!Tav reassures Astarion [Tumblr]

Would You Still Love Me?: Rogue!Tav asks the question everyone wants to know the answer to "would you still love me if I was a worm?" [Tumblr]

Of Bets, Bluffs, and Briefs: The gang plays strip poker, though it seems like not everyone (Astarion) is playing by the rules [Tumblr]

Brawls Fair in Love and War: What starts out as a scuffle turns into a full out tavern brawl for the gang [Tumblr]

Alone in a Crowded Camp: Astarion reflects and realizes that company isn't so bad. [Tumblr]

Their First Winter Together: Astarion and Rogue!Tav enjoy a lot of winter firsts in this fluff-filled extravaganza [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12]

Unraveling Plan Meet Immeasurable Insecurity: Tav tries their damnedest to propose, only to be rebuffed by Astarion at every single turn. [Tumblr]

(smut) The Thousandth Time: Astarion and Rogue!Tav make love for the thousandth time. In a bathtub. [Tumblr]

Random post-game rogue!Tav headcanons

A Star in the Dark

Evil!Dark Urge and Ascended!Astarion

Evil!Dark Urge and Astarion have a tumultuous relationship, make dubious choices, and become a power couple. *This playthrough scares me so I'll update this sporadically hah

(smut) In My Head: Dark Urge has an all new kind of daydream after Astarion approaches them

(smut) A Bloody Sacrament: Astarion licks Dark Urge clean after they bathe in a pool of blood [Tumblr]

Other

Tav x Astarion fics that don't belong to a series

IN PROGRESS When He's all but Forgotten How to Love Again: Elf-Tav reincarnation story, they dream of him in their reverie, and go out to find him once they reach maturity [Tumblr Masterlist]

IN PROGRESS The Consequences of Convenience: Tav enters a marriage of convenience with their unromanced, best friend Astarion-- feelings ensue.

Spicy Astarion Headcanons (both A!A and Spawn!A)

Horny Astarion Headcanons (both A!A and Spawn!A)

If you're looking for some more fics, check out my fic recs here!

If you're wondering which Hozier songs fit which pairings, check them here!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3

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desolatespring · 1 year

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head empty, just thinking about trying to play a rigged drinking game with yan chrollo so he’ll get drunk and you can escape but it backfires completely

Mont la Salle

Ooh I love this idea! I’ve only written one other yandere work before so bear with me on this one 😭

CW: blood/light gore, mentions of alcohol, implied kidnapping, religious imagery, implied female reader, and Chrollo being Chrollo

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

You sit on the steps leading up to the altar, the torn carpet doing nothing to shield you from the cold and rotting wood beneath.

“I offered you a seat next to me.” Chrollo remarks when he sees you shiver once again. Leering over your shoulder you see him sprawled on the priests celebrant chair behind you. His legs extended outwards before him. He seems almost pleasantly surprised when you stand up and walk towards him, his posture straightening in response.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” Short, sweet, and to the point was the best way you’ve found to communicate with Chrollo. The less you said the less he had to pick apart and dissect. “If you can make yourself useful and pick a lock for me, I will sit with you.”

Chrollo tilts his head in thought, most likely trying to figure out if unlocking anything will offer you a means of escape. When he finds no way of it aiding you he stands up. “Lead the way.”

He follows you to the church’s ambry; two full bottles of garnet tinted sacramental wine sat collecting dust behind the locked door. Chrollo shakes his head with a curt laugh. “You bribe me so you can steal altar wine. Have I corrupted you, dear?”

You cross your arms over your chest and purse your lips. “Are you opening it or not?” Another tactic you’ve found useful when asking for something of Chrollo is to be blunt. He’s less likely to tease you when you’ve been forthcoming, and you suspect, he’s intrigued by your boldness. Not many people are willing to try and push their limits with him.

Chrollo presses his hand lightly against your temple as he plucks a bobby-pin from your hair. He straightens the pin and makes quick work of picking the lock. Once opened he grabs a bottle of wine and brings it back to the altar. His eyes skirt across the label and he seems satisfied with his findings. He fishes a small blade from his pocket, the sharpened piece of silver pops the cork out with ease.

Chrollo places his right hand on the small of your back and ushers you towards his chair. Sitting down with the now opened, aged bottle of wine in hand, Chrollo deftly pulls you onto his lap. Clearly taking full advantage of your agreed upon seating arrangement. You’re unable to hide your grimace when the hand on your back snakes around and finds its home on your waist.

“I hope you like pomegranate and plum, my love.” The wine sounds almost as sickeningly sweet as the pet name. As the bottle reaches Chrollo’s lips you can’t help but piece together some noteworthy information.

There’s enough wine here to get him at least a little buzzed no matter how high his tolerance is, there’s no other troupe members around, and you aren’t currently confined with any restraints. If you’re going to make a break for it this may be your only chance.

You’re so deep in thought it takes you a moment to notice him passing you the bottle. You look up and see the deep cherry red it’s staining his lips. If any other personality were attached to the man before you, you might’ve been tempted to lick it off. The porcelain skin, grey pouty eyes, and shaggy black hair were enough to pull you in when you’d first met.

Now you’re stuck forcing a smile before taking a few small sips. Only drink enough to feel confident in your plan.

As the first bottle slowly empties, the vast majority of it going to Chrollo, you feel his fingertips creep along the fishnets under your shorts, gently tugging and slipping under them when he pleases. He always gets so handsy after a few drinks. You will yourself not to push his hand away, as it’ll only reveal how little you’ve had to drink if you start resisting him now.

When the second bottle is opened you take a few more sips, slightly bigger this time. Being so close to him you realize you underestimated how much you’d need to drink to build any semblance of courage.

When Chrollo’s eyelids droop the slightest amount and the touches on your thigh become less coordinated, now fueled with more hunger than passion, you excuse yourself to the restroom. You’re painfully aware he’ll only allow himself to get so inebriated in front of you, never wanting to lose his self control. This is the closest to an opportunity you’ll ever receive.

You climb from off his lap, and begin heading for the narrow staircase that leads to the bathroom, making sure to give your most convincing stumble along the way. Once the door to the stairwell shuts behind you, you drop the act and move quickly to the bathroom while still keeping your footfalls and breathing as soft as possible.

Now inside you shut the door. Clicking both the dead bolt and knob lock into place. You immediately head for the window which is just above eye level. To your relief the glass has already been shattered presumably due to the weather or past vandals, leaving only the screen intact. Picking up the largest shard of glass you can find, you hastily cut a hole in the screen before grabbing onto the windowsill and hoisting yourself up.

The sharp glass stings as it cuts into your palms but you ignore the pain to the best of your ability, knowing you only have so much time to act. Your arms shake as you pull yourself up and through the window. Cool mossy pavement offers your burning hands enough relief for you to pull the rest of your body through, careful not to cut yourself any further.

Once you’ve crawled out you stand up on the concrete, pausing just long enough to retrieve the glass shard from earlier and give the briefest look around to ensure Chrollo isn’t already outside and waiting for you. Feeling as if the coast is clear you begin running at a full sprint towards the woods, thinking it’ll hide you the best. You occasionally stumble over your own two feet as they refuse to move as fast as you’d like.

As you break through the tree line the first tendrils of hope begin to seep into you. There’s no way he can see you with the branches shrouding your figure.

Your right leg comes forward to jump over a fallen log and your hope vanishes just as quickly as it came. You gasp as your back hits the hard forest floor, leaves doing nothing to cushion your blow. By the time your lungs are ready to take in air again Chrollo’s already hoisting you off the ground and tossing you over his shoulder.

The speed at which everything unfolded leaves your neck stiff and your head reeling. It isn’t until you go to stab at him with the glass you realize you dropped it in your fall. With the last bit of fight you have left in you, you punch and thrash in Chrollo’s grasp, clawing at anything you fingers come in contact with.

Chrollo remains silent as he carries you effortlessly back towards the church despite all your frantic thrashing. By the time he gets you inside the cuts on your palms have reopened and your finger nails are chipped and bleeding from the strength you were using to scratch at him.

Chrollo less than gracefully pulls you off of his shoulder, gripping both your wrists in one of his hands, the other opening the door to the confessional booth before shutting himself in it with you. He places you on the bench, effectively holding you in place before leaning closer to you. “Now why don’t you start by telling me exactly what you had planned? And don’t forget to ask for my forgiveness.”

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo imagine #chrollo hcs #chrollo

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kerubimcrepin · 2 months

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Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 23]

I think after this it's kinda natural that Joris will never ever put his trust into anyone that isn't Kerubim or Atcham ever again.

I am once again asking why Kerubim has these books and what was he doing at devil's sacrament.

He's never beating those necromancy allegations.

There's a canonical name for the evil-ass looking huppermages.

youtube

Once again, this is Them in Dofus 2 when they reveal to Joris that they framed Julith or something. (source: my beautiful mind)

The Dessous comic implies that Marline bought this stuff from Kerubim which is so funny. It's beautiful how little of a shit the man gives for the safety of others.

I may not like Khan in his present form, as a macho gobbowler, but I like the idea of him. Joris, and his little "ghnhnn I have to do what's right, I have sacrifice my happinesss for other people" complex needs someone like that in his life who will buy him alcohol and help him run away from home when he's 14-16.

I'm sure if given another movie, or a show, Ankama's plan would have been to make Khan more likeable. He seems like a ride-or-die friend.

A scene ago he was in Julith's arms. So, she found it important to get him into the arms of this dofus-powered doll. Personally, I like to think that he started thrashing and maybe even bit her.

What did she lie about though? Liking him? Not wanting the Dofus? Being a competent person and not a fuck-up? (I love Bakara and say all of this with affection)

Once again, I empathize, that Julith was gloating about this to Bakara. That she doesn't really care about Joris (and by extension, Joris's feelings.)

She is killing a thousand people, who did nothing to her. These are civilians who came to watch a sports match. How many mothers are here with their sons and daughters who just wanted to look at their idols? If Joris never had Grougalorasalar's soul, if he and Kerubim never learned of her plan, THEY would have been among these viewers.

Julith is a very interesting character because she's ruthless, she has no morals, absolutely no understanding or compassion for others, — even Bakara or her own son, — and yet she is driven by love almost entirely. And that's her one redeeming quality.

But also — does it really change things, when you're driven by love to kill a thousand innocent people? To ruin your son's life? Because it doesn't really change much, to me...

I think there's a tragedy in that. She does love the idea of Joris. She loves what she sees of him, his voice, his face, and eyes. If she learned more about him, she'd probably love the parts he didn't show too. She'd love to see how he grew up.

She'd love how committed he is to those he loves. She'd love his ruthless march towards what he thinks is right that will allow him to close his eyes as he does unforgivable things. The only thing she would dislike is his loyalty to Bonta.

But the reverse will never be true. Joris can become a warmonger, a dictator, and a war criminal, but he would loathe to place his needs above those of others. He wouldn't do horrible things if he didn't think it was for the greater good of mankind.

As a 600yo man, Joris has lived through two apocalypses, — and yet people like Nox and Julith will lose 1-4 loved ones and go insane, killing people. I doubt he feels much for her, except for disgust.

Their friendship is so important to me. But also, somewhere out there, Tatak is crying.

I think one of the great tragedies of Joris's character is that he is doomed to break his own moral code, slowly but surely.

One must imagine Joris Jurgen living happily with the blood of innocents on his hands, because the alternative is more haunting.

One of her main issues is that she projects the actions of a few onto literally everyone in Bonta. Which is a very crazy fucking reach.

But I understand how she arrived at this reach to begin with: I don't think she was ever happy, before Jahash, and when she finally was happy, for once in her entire life, they took even that away from her.

You wanna know who else in this scene is going to have only 2 people who give meaning to his life? Jo—— [I am forcefully restrained by the police]

I just really like pointing out the similarities between Joris and Julith, — and the way these similarities underline their differences.

Once again: she doesn't give a shit about anyone's opinion. She is betting everything onto a nebulous future where Joris and Jahash and Bakara forgive and forget everything she did, and they live as a happy Fambly (in Brakmar, because that's a GOOD city and they will LOVE to move there, after being no longer welcome in Bonta due to the 1000 dead people.)

(Guy whose very emotional and Julith and Joris voice) guys I think she's starting to realize that their familial relationship is going to be unfixable.

Joris and everyone present here are quite aware that stopping this will kill one of them.

They are also very aware that one dead person is better than a thousand.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #dofusmovie #joris jurgen #Youtube

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lottiecrabie · 1 year

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pray for my soul. part one – matty healy

you are a good girl: devout christian, studious student, dutiful daughter. resident atheist matty healy might be tempting you, but who can blame you when he looks like sin itself?

warnings: eventual 18+, kiss, religious imagery, blasphemy, (the author has never been to church and had to google some really weird shit to half-figure out how services go lol)

part one of five

2351 words

Sundays you spend on your knees. Hands tucked together, dainty cross falling gracefully between your collarbones, you recite the prayers diligently. The priest’s monotonous voice resonates against the vault, sloping across the arches. Beside you, your father mouths the words.

You hear some sort of muffled laugh. Peeved, you open your eyes, turning just slightly to catch a peek of him. Matty Healy, black hair falling over his forehead, face drenched in the blue and red and green of the stained glass. He sits on the pew when everyone kneels, biting back a laugh. He looks utterly sinful; dark and half in shadow, spitting in the face of God.

You narrow your eyes, pursing your lips. You don’t know why he even bothers to show up if it’s just to cause a ruckus.

As if he could hear your thoughts louder than the organ ringing through the room, Matty’s eyes snap to you. You stifle a jump; your stomach dipping in sheer surprise. His eyes are dark like him, piercing. He sees through you, underneath your flesh and blood, seeping through your bones. You don’t know what he sees. It unsettles you, how deeply he watches, how baring it feels on your covered skin.

Your crossed hands clench, digging your poor heart ring in your skin. Muted pain spreads down your palm, but you barely feel it. You stare back at him, unwilling to let him win.

The priest praises the Lord. Matty smirks. You shift your knees on the cushion.

“Pay attention,” your mother hisses, reaching two fingers to your side and pinching in warning. You startle, turning back towards the pulpit dutifully.

Somewhere behind you, another quiet laugh, much more taunting, much more pleased. It slitters under the pews, climbing up your straight spine. You tighten your hands into fist you wish you could use. There’s some unspoken anger living inside of you, something unfit for a good girl, a dutiful daughter, a pious person. You let it breathe with you because you cannot smother it; you’ve tried.

Still, you exhale loudly, unclenching your hands, shaking your shoulders to relax them. You plaster a smile over your face. You recite the right words, echoing the pastor.

When he calls for the eucharist, you stand up, following in line between your two parents. You feel a pair of eyes on your back, itching under your modest cardigan, tickling the ends of your hair. You try to ignore it, but you can’t stop yourself from throwing a look Matty’s way. He catches you, of course, smiling like he got you. You hurry to look away.

In front of the preacher, you open your mouth. Gently, he places the sacramental bread on your tongue. You don’t let it dissolve; you bite, swallowing the body of Christ. Again, you open your mouth, taking a holy sip of wine.

Turning around, you lick your red lips clean. You give yourself another self-indulgent glance towards Matty. He’s distracted by your mouth, it seems, but it snaps back to you. He smiles shamelessly. He’s stayed perfectly seated throughout the eucharist, of course. You scowl to yourself, although you can’t quite pinpoint why it bothers you so.

“Don’t make that face,” your mother warns beside you. You smoothen your features, schooling a complacent smile again. You sit back on your pew while your mother mutters to your dad exasperatedly, “Such a pretty face. I don’t know why she frowns like this.” Still, you smile, staring straight ahead.

It was a lovely sermon. Sundays leave you clean.

—

Everyone gathers after the service in the Fellowship Hall. Although most people do it to gossip, there is a table of snacks against the wall. There’s watery coffee, but your parents don’t like when you drink it. You take a paper cup, pouring yourself some orange juice instead. You turn around to make sure your mother is busy chatting Mrs. Finley over some recent neighborhood drama and grab yourself a cookie.

You scarf it down in two bites before anyone sees.

“That looked like the single most delicious biscuit ever made.”

Of course, one person had to have seen, and it had to be him. You look up, stopping yourself from cursing the higher above for his sick game. You flip to Matty with a crisp grin, something utterly stuck in your cheeks. “It was.” You don’t manage to make it sound cheery. Condescension drips on your tongue.

Matty laughs through the bite. “Do you have something to tell me?”

You clench your jaw. Refusing to give him an inch of ground, you grind through your teeth, “No.”

“No?” He says, and he makes it even more condescending, practically pouting at you. “You sound a little upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Mmh. That’s not how you’re coming across.”

You huff, impatient, crossing your arms. “I’ve said five words.”

“Six.” Matty smiles cheekily. “More, now.”

Enough, you can’t stop yourself from snapping. “You know what?” Rage twists in your belly, something uncontrollable, unreasonable, unexplainable. “I don’t know why you bother to come if you’re just going to be a—”

“A what?” Matty asks, and he looks thrilled, something childishly gleeful in his taunting smile.

“Nothing. Just— Nevermind.” Clutching your arms, you twist around, trampling away from him.

He’s quick to follow, hot on your trail as you trudge out of the Fellowship Hall. “It seemed like you were about to curse.”

“I wasn’t.” You hiss. He’s beside you now, shoulders knocking against yours. You scowl, walking faster.

“No, I’m pretty sure you were. What was it gonna be? Dickhead? Asshole? Little shit?”

“Can you shut up?”

“Can I? Yes. Will I? Now, I think you can figure out the answer to that, smart girl.”

“Gosh,” you roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

He prances beside you, careless, carefree. His hands dig into his jeans pockets. “It’s for my mom, if you must know.” You throw him a look, arching an eyebrow. “Why I come here. Personally, I couldn’t care less about church, seeing as I’m an atheist.”

The word grinds your ears. You knew, in a broad, immaterial way, that he didn’t believe in God. But to hear it spoken so plainly, so brazenly is another thing. You’ve tried to be open, but there is something so off-putting, so wrong about the sheer idea of a faithless life. Where does he go? How does he trust the path he’s on?

You stop in your tracks, staring at him. “Does it not scare you?”

He snorts, as though that was a silly question, as though he wasn’t slapping away God’s merciful hand. “No.”

“But you’re— you’re alone.”

“Everyone is. You’ve just deluded yourself into thinking you weren’t.”

You clutch your cross, furrowing your eyebrows. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it worse, inventing some grander thing just to sleep at night? Speaking to the sky like there’s anyone listening?”

“You’re being mean.”

He clicks his tongue. “Maybe. It’s still the truth.”

This whirlpool of anger, uncouth for a nice girl, a devout Christian. You clench your fists. “It’s not. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re speaking like you— like you understand any of this. But you’re never listening. Not to the sermons, or the prayers, or the voice of God.”

“The voice of God?” He says, and it sounds derogatory coming from his mouth; small, ridiculous. You huff air from your nostrils.

“Yes, Matty. He’s— He’s there, he’s with you, and you’re not listening.”

“Well, tell him to give up. He’s wasting his time.”

“Oh, my Gosh.” You roll your eyes, continuing to walk. Again, he follows you. “You’re not getting it. You’re miserable and you don’t even know why.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m miserable?”

You stop, twisting to him. “Yes!”

“That’s presumptuous.”

“So is saying I’m deluding myself!” Your heart races. Your stomach knits together. “You— You just shit on everything I believe in because, why, you think you’re better than me? Smarter than me? Is that it? Because I’m not a cynic? Because I’m trying? Who are you to judge? You are not God, you’re not even his opposition. You’re just some guy laughing in church, being a fucking dickhead.” You yell, throwing your arms up, “And, yes, I can fucking swear!”

You pant. Matty’s eyes darken, dipping to your lips. Whirlwind coiling in your belly, spreading its rapacious fingers through your limbs. You breathe harder, quicker. A curl streaks across his forehead, tickling his brow. His jaw clenches. He’s beautiful. You curse to yourself, tightening your fists into weapons you’ll never use. Your eyes flick to his mouth.

Jeremiah, prophet of doom, circles you like prey. You fall into it face first, crashing your lips against sin itself.

It’s a harsh kiss; it’s your first kiss. Two hands grasp his jaw, like you could shatter it, like you could own it. Matty does not even seem scared of the boundless possibilities existing between your fingers. He grins, cocky, satisfied.

“Don’t say anything,” you warn, frustrated, because he would, because he was about to.

To make sure of it, you open your mouth, coaxing your tongue in his. He welcomes it easily, a groan falling into your wanton lips. You lick it up greedily, then sneak a hand in the mess of his curls, tugging to trick new ones from him. He offers them willingly; you take and take.

Euphoria hikes up your head. You’ve never been drunk, but this must be it. You let go of his hair, finding the warmth of his waist, the firmness. He’s so real against you, something tangible, something breakable. You sigh as he licks your lip. Your eyelids flutter, as does something lower.

Matty’s hands find your back, digging in your red cardigan. He clutches, stretching the material, then lets go. Fingers climb up to the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your cross necklace. You push the realization away, his proximity to the clasp.

He could undo it if he pleased. He could undo you.

He adventures his other fingers down, grabbing a handful of your ass, and it feels like he does. Need throbs in unspeakable places. You clench your thighs. You shouldn't let him undo you. You shouldn’t even give him the opportunity, dancing with fire, with the devil itself. You moan into his open mouth.

Matty breaks away from you, breathing heavily. He stares in one eye, then the other, falling to your swollen lips, to your heaving chest, cross rising with it. His look darkens. “I understand why fools believe in angels.”

You pant, “Shut up.” You drag him back to you, diving into your downfall.

When you bite his lip, tugging it to hear the resounding groan slip from his swollen mouth, you bite into something sacred, something hidden. You shouldn’t have. Still, you lick his tongue, gripping the cotton of his shirt, the warm skin of his waist. He tastes like apples and cigarettes.

His stomach is tense, rippling underneath your silk hands as you climb them higher and higher. You discover his skin, smoother than you’d have thought, stumbling on a few scars and drawing them over and over like your new prayer. He breathes quicker, harsher. Maybe he’s discovering new religions, too.

Eve was just a girl. You don’t eat; you devour.

There’s an endless pit inside of you. You store the aggregation of your stifled, festering sins: all the rage, all the envy, all the pride, all the lust. It grows, swallowing you whole. You want and want, desperate, greedy.

You want to pop him like a balloon between two heavy hands. You want to be all the girls he’s seen before you. You want to be his best. You want him, hot and hard and alive and twirling a thumb around your peaked breast.

Reverbs of pleasure. You let go of his lips just to moan in galactic shock, face scrunched. You taste the infinity on your tongue, the greatness of the universe; splinters of light. Why must you contain it inside your skin? Why must you smother it, kill it? You want him. You want him.

“Are you gonna pray for my soul?” Matty whispers, low and hoarse, half-broken out of his throat. You moan again as he twists two fingers around your nipple. “Get on your knees?”

Clarity is a bucket of cold water. You come out of the deep end, gasping for air. Your eyes snap open. Matty is watching you with black eyes. You feel him against all parts of you; under your palms, on your breast, on your hip, still burning on your lips.

You step away, letting go of him. He reaches a hand for you, trying to coax you back to him with a shrewd smirk.

You want to spit the taste of him out of you. Want to scrub your skin where his touch still lingers. He’s marked you, you can feel it. You want to scrape yourself clean. (You want him.)

“You disgust me.” You say, even if your belly still swirls at the sight of him, even if you’re still dripping down your thighs, even if your lips are viciously red from a head-twisting kiss.

Matty gives you a onceover purposefully, clearly considering all the reasons he doesn’t disgust you. “Yeah, darling. I felt that.” You blush, digging your nails in your palms in punishment.

“Don’t talk to me again.” You say, even if you’re still out of breath. “You’re— You’re a bad influence.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Me? You practically mauled me.”

You frown, gasping in offense. “I didn’t—”

“I think my lip is bleeding.” Matty holds it, slurring his speech to prove his point.

You snap, “Good.” You turn around, walking back to the Fellowship Hall without looking back.

Your mother spots you, smiling as she beckons you over. She has her coat on, but she talks with Mr. Collins still. “There you are, honey.” She frowns, bringing a hand to your forehead. “You look a little flushed.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I’m not feeling very well.”

“Oh, no. Are you sick?”

You lick your lips. Apples and cigarettes. “Maybe.”

#matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #imagine #smut #writing #i am literally an atheist i had no idea how to write any of this #i do not have the religious trauma for me to find corruption this hot #sorry if this is offensive to some religious bffs out there i swear i will write some less weird shit soon #pray for my soul

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sprout-fics · 11 months

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I can’t send in any super thought-out thots bc I’m out of town and I have very limited service BUT. Personally I think vampire has really loves it when you bite him back 🏃‍♀️

*Blows a kiss* For the Vampire Gaz girlies

“That’s it, that’s right doll.” Gaz croons into your hair, pressing a hand at your skull so your face is buried farther into his shoulder, your teeth seizing on his beautiful dark flesh in a fit of desire tempered only by violence.

He has you in his lap, your knees folded under you and splayed on either side of him. His bare arms secure you to his front, one veiny forearm flexing as it presses the soft rise of your chest to his. The other cradles your head as you pause from his shoulder, letting it collapse into his palm as you let loose a shuddering gasp. There’s wetness dripping from your thighs where he joins with you, thrusts upwards with precise, rolling impacts that shatter you, send you trembling into his embrace.

It’s not enough.

You raise yourself up, so the tip of him nearly pulls out from inside you, and then force yourself down on him and groan into the flesh of his shoulder, teeth once more digging brutally into his form. The drag of him pulls at the wet, coaxing grip of you, fitting seamlessly into your core. Pleasure bursts behind your scrunched gaze, unfurling like dark creatures of the night in their nocturnal ambiance, sharp and dangerous as it alights across your coiled muscles.

“Fuck.” Gaz snarls abruptly at the bite of you, and the sudden punch of his hips upwards has you whimper. Docile and pliant but wanting, just how he likes you. “Fuck that feels good. Harder.”

You comply, growling, teeth biting down as hard as you can without breaking the skin. To do so, to let his own crimson darkness run across your tongue is a taboo you can’t cross. The taste of him would rewrite your body, draw you into a horrible, feverish slumber where you awaken hungry, different.

Like him.

Your body feels sluggish, heavy as he drags you from him, has you switch shoulders and rest your cheek there in exhaustion. The draw of him saps away your energy but not your vibrance, the colors of you that glimmer like stained glass into the desolation of his loneliness. He shivers as you press a weak kiss to the underside of his jaw, one hand descending downwards to grip as the roundness of your ass, dragging you up and down to meet his thrusts.

You groan into his shoulder, try once more to feast on him, teeth gripping half heartedly at his skin as you try to tether yourself to his unconquerable pleasure. It rises inside you with every push and pull, inviting molten heat that spreads outwards like the unfurling of wings. You’re blinded by the darkness of midnight, by the euphoria that sings higher like a sacramental choir until it echoes against the heavens with a futile plea.

“Right there, right there.” Gaz chants in your ear as your thighs tighten around him, warning of your impending climax. “Let go doll, I got you. Go on, let me feel it.”

You do. You throw your head back into his palm, bare the soft flesh of your neck as the crest of your climax snaps inside you, gushing downwards over his length. Gaz’s teeth skim along the vein of your pulsing heartbeat, and as you cry out the sharpness of him punctures the skin, drinking in the aphrodisiac taste of your desire. He moans against the red that coats his tongue, briefly going limp at the pure relief of your blood filling his mouth. You let him drink you down, go pliant in his hold, surrendering to the depths of his obsession.

“Want to stay like this.” He tells you, licking a stripe of scarlet up from your collarbone. “With you, inside you, tasting you. Want you here forever, doll. Just the two of us. Forever.”

You blink your glassy stare open to gaze up at the velvet canopy of his bed, thinking of eons and lifetimes and the things that live longer than your mortal flesh.

You press a kiss to his blood stained lips.

#vampire Gaz #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle garrick x reader #thursday night thots

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haveyouseenthishorrormovie · 4 months

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before this goes any further, I want it on the record that you all asked for this.

my first and most petty point: Midnight Mass gets basic details about Catholicism wrong, such that even I (not a Catholic) twigged them. The big one is that Catholics DON'T HAVE MIDNIGHT MASS FOR EASTER - it's a Christmas thing - but since the priest holding the mass is also a vampire, I can accept that he's going off-book. I have a harder time with them holding a PICNIC for ASH WEDNESDAY, aka THE DAY LENT STARTS, aka the day everyone starts fasting and are therefore not snacking on a potluck. It's a minor thing, and normally I wouldn't pick at it, but since this show ostensibly revolves around Catholic doctrine, it bears mentioning.

on a writing level, not one single character in this show talks like a human being. or acts like one. I couldn't give you any information about who these characters are as people, because they're not people, they're mouthpieces for Flanagan to impart his ideas to the audience. He is both deeply in love with his own writing and entirely unconvinced that his audience is smart enough to Get It, so he has his actors turn to the audience and lay it all out. Not only is this bad writing on a character level, it brings all plot and tension to a screeching halt whenever it happens. The most unintentionally hilarious instance of this has to be when Annabeth Gish comes to the sheriff to tell him that the church is being run by a vampire and her mother is aging in reverse, and his response is to start rambling about where he was on 9/11. Like. Nothing about this makes sense, and also why should we care when it has fuckall to do with the story?

(as regards the sheriff character: I, a white Quaker, am not the person to critique this show's handling of Islam. But I will say that Flanagan doesn't seem to have a clear idea what he wants to communicate: the overarching plot is antitheistic, in a very r/atheism sort of way ("WHAT IF THE SACRAMENT WAS VAMPIRE BLOOD" ooh wow didja cut yourself on that edge there, buddy) but Flanagan has no idea how to balance that with the precepts of any religion that isn't Christianity while also maintaining his broadly liberal bona fides, so it all sits very uneasily next to the church plot. I'm not advocating for the show to go full Christopher Hitchens, but I am saying that if Flanagan wants to posit that faith is a mass delusion and a net detriment to any community formed around it . . . he needs to either focus only on Christian characters or be willing to engage with how other religions function in society, because as is, the storyline with the sheriff and his son just peters out into nothing.)

but the thing that made me angriest - that took me from "this is so boring and pretentious and badly written" to "oh FUCK this guy and the horse he rode in on -" was the titular midnight mass. It is very overtly inspired by the Jonestown massacre, which a lot of horror media does, but what it fails to account for is that the members of the People's Temple did not voluntarily kill themselves. I know "drink the kool-aid" has entered the popular lexicon as shorthand for "blindly following a leader," but extensive testimony from Jonestown survivors - not to mention the death tape, which is available online if you really want to ruin your day - all confirms that the people who died that day were forced to drink poison at gunpoint, after years of brutal abuse from Jones and his inner circle. And even after all of that, people fought back. And not outsiders - people who had been in the Temple for years and wholeheartedly believed in the mission that had lead them to Guyana in the first place. (Christine Miller was a fucking hero and she deserves to be remembered for it.) Jonestown was not lemmings going off a cliff, and any serious take on the story would involve reckoning with that - that these people believed in a higher power and also believed that they had a right to live despite what Jones told them. But that would contradict Flanagan's point of "religion is dumb, WAKE UP SHEEPLE," so instead he borrows the iconography of a truly horrific tragedy and disrespects the victims by implicitly representing them as dumb, brainwashed cult members who eagerly toss back poison because they think sky daddy wants them to. He has so little respect for the subjects he's portraying, and the real people whose deaths he is copying for shock value, that he doesn't care about the inner lives of anyone whose beliefs might demonstrate that faith is more nuanced than his screed would have you believe.

There are good horror properties out there that are critical of religion and society - The Medium, which we posted about a few days ago, is one. The Witch is another. So is The Sudbury Devil. Hell, you could go back to the sixties with Witchfinder General. Religion - especially socially dominant religions like Christianity in the west - can and should be critiqued. But Midnight Mass is too sloppily written to be a critique of anything besides, accidentally, how far Mike Flanagan's head is shoved up his ass.

Anyway, that's why mod L doesn't like Midnight Mass. I did warn you.

#not a poll #mod L #ask the mods

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exmotranny · 22 days

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the green carpet scratches at your pink heels. bile rises in your throat.

they talk about womanhood- but it’s not quite right. there is the pink and compliments and talk of boys

i am a beloved daughter

but there is also something else. it digs at your flesh, it feasts on your skin. your mother motions at your chest, bigger than hers and you're not even done growing yet! how lucky.

of heavenly parents

you pray to a man every night, finish it in another’s name. on your knees. you were sent a shady link as a kid. the woman on her knees, tears streaming out of her eyes, i don't want this, she said

with a divine nature and eternal destiny

blood on the inside of your underwear. you were told this meant you were a woman now. you were ten years old. what the fuck did you know about being a woman? your mom said you weren’t allowed to touch between your legs, but it's normal to want to. you didn't know what that meant, either.

as a disciple of jesus christ,

you wanted to be desired. you daydreamed of being the trophy for boys around you, of claiming that role one day as a wife. you came from a long line of women married young. you don’t know their names, but you were taught about their husbands in church.

i strive to become like him.

pressing your breasts down as much as possible, trying to give the illusion of a flat chest. badly cropped jpgs of jesus photoshopped to have top surgery scars are the secret currency you pay to get past the hours of church. you hold them like diamonds.

i seek and act upon personal revelation

you thought god was talking to you. you almost threw away everything you owned. you thought you were a prophet. total fuckin’ ego death! holy shit! god speaks through me!

and minister to others in his holy name

and then the next morning. when your faith crashed, when moroni abandoned you, did it feel unreal to you too, joseph?

i will stand as a witness of god

oh god, no. please. i don’t know what’s real anymore.

at all times

leg hair peeking from under your pretty sunday dress. they all stare. you ignore them and open up to D&C 132.

and in all things

emma, did you love him to the end? i don’t think you wanted him. did you watch as he married a 14 year old? did you tell him you burned the commandment? did you cry when he died for the church that he loved more than he loved you?

and in all places.

blood on the floor of carthage jail. this martyr will be remembered forever. do they talk about you, emma? or are you just joseph’s wife?

as i strive to qualify for exaltation,

when i marry, my husband will be a god, and i shall cleave onto him. when i marry, i will go to his universe and bear more of his children.

i cherish the gift of repentance

heads bowed low as the sacrament is passed. my hands clutch onto the bottom of my skirt. pleasure outside celestial marriage is forbidden. i apologize for loving the wrong way.

and seek to improve each day

i tried to kill myself, last time i got home from girl’s camp. i got home and cried and found the pills and shoved them into my mouth until i cried more and more until i was gagging. i hunched over the toilet. my hands on the grimy floor.

with faith, i will

forced to sing in front of the congregation. my head spun from anxiety. my stomach turned with nausea.

strengthen my home and family,

loving wife beautiful kids loyal husband church once a week work weekdays weekend mom monthly round on the business end of his cock forever and the vomit threatens to make an appearance.

make and keep sacred covenants,

an old man is in a room alone with me. he asks me if i masturbate.

and receive the ordinances and blessings

i tell the man no. i receive a card so i can be ordained.

of the holy temple.

that's just how it goes, isn't it?

all around are paintings of god and jesus. we learned about heavenly mother. why don’t i see her in paintings? did god have plural marriages? did heavenly mother make us? why don’t we pray to her? did she watch god marry a 14 year old? did she cover her eyes? when she saw blood on her underwear, was she told she was a woman? did she touch between her legs? did she ever believe herself better than god? does she cry when she cant talk to us? why do i cry? was heavenly mother scared of singing in public and did she press her chest flat and did she cry when god forced himself into her mouth? did she burn his doctrine too?

i am given flowers on mother’s day. i will be one eventually, after all. and i vomit in the church bathroom quietly like the perfect woman i am supposed to be.

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ladyduellist · 4 months

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Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion makes an offer to Tav, later succumbing to his hunger.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 3: Thirst

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexually Explicit Language, Blood, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

He loved her right away. Her smile. Her creativity. Her heart most of all. He told her he used to have dreams about a woman before he met her, one fitting her description. It seemed like fate when they finally met. They both shared the same affinity for music. When he wrote her a love letters in the first few months of their courtship, he knew she would be his. She thought someone finally understood her. 10 years of a life together. 10 years of the dual natured beast that would wound. 10 years of love and honey of the cycle in between. Until she was numb.

— Evenlit (mother of Tavelle), diary entry 523

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“Ah, my favorite traveling companion, do you have a moment to, well, chat?” Astarion’s voice was less theatrical—more thoughtful—than usual as he saddled up next to the bard.

The crew had been traveling on foot again since early morning, deciding not to veer from their previous path. Searching for any signs that could point them in the direction of a healer that could excavate the worms inside their brains, hadn't yielded any results so far.

Tav nodded to Gale and Shadowheart, gesturing them to travel ahead, sensing Astarion needed privacy. The wizard shot her a prudent look under the guise of respecting her quarry to speak with the pallid elf alone.

Astarion didn’t strike her as the kind of man that would revisit a situation once he was rejected. No, he didn’t even seem wounded. Presumably, he would continue to carry on, his pretty lips sheen with dialogue prepped for the next casualty. Sure, it seemed suspicious enough, but if he had already moved on from their ordeal in the temple, there was no reason she should continue to dwell on their—misunderstanding.

Still, there was an awkwardness Tav buried behind her faint smile and neutral eyes. The want to restrict the memory of a foretoken graze of his willowy hands.

As Tav finally regarded him, her thoughts still flickering back to their time in the ruins, she met the garnet of his vision with a cautious gasp stuck in her throat as he stepped closer. The sun’s beams creating a halo around the feathery wisps of his curls, presented Tav with the imagery of an angel that had flown down from the heavens to gather her into his arms. Back arched, pecking along the top of her bosom—a holy sacrament that could convert her to him.

Thy will be done.

Her mouth felt dry. “Of course.”

Their boots slowed, equally matching each other’s footsteps in the dusty loam of the earth. Astarion stared ahead of them, his vision fixed on their two companions, likely watching their distance.

“To be quite frank, I read our little predicament wrong yesterday and took advantage of it without due respect to you. I’m sure that seems a bit odd coming from the likes of someone like me—considerate as I am—but I think we got off on the wrong foot." He absentmindedly scratched his neck. "I suppose even a charlatan like myself can get it wrong sometimes."

Tav was skeptical of his accountability that seemed less than straight-laced. But, it did dawn on her that she may have misjudged a few circuits that intersected within his heart. That, yes, while he seemed to live submerged in coquettish self interest, in this moment of letting her walls down just enough to scramble through some of the thickets of his inner mechanisms, he may be showing an ounce of authenticity.

Yet, there is an element to the contrition of her heart that she dare not speak. To utter it with a covetous breath would mean to give it truth. That while she seduced her thoughts of being filled in ways she had never known within the margins of a romantic relationship, that she was terrified to completely expose herself to another.

Astarion was indubitably beautiful, charming, and humorous. But, beyond those surfaces, she sought connection—maybe just enough to avoid more conflicting emotions to sow. In the minutes, hours, weeks she could stand, she knew love could be cutthroat and messy. Its afflictions: hail and brushfire, a constant bickering. She was unsure if she could ever love or be physically intimate in the way of it crossing the universe again.

The risk was so very grave. No matter the man present in her life, her interests must remain just that—interests.

For she, too, spits the saliva of the devil’s lies to guard the silly thing that is her heart.

“It isn’t as if I told you to halt as soon as it happened. I think we were both caught up in the moment and lust can be a powerful drug.” Her tone was so sickeningly gentle and candid with him.

“Is that a confession?” the man teased.

The songstress jokingly rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Hardly! Astarion, I am 91 years old. You are scarcely the first to try and seduce me.” She looked at him earnestly. “I’m sorry I let it go as far as it did; I have no desire to lead you on. I am attracted to you—gods, how couldn’t I be—but I...”

A silent awareness of their near intimate rush within the dank crypt walls hung thick in the air. Of the primal urge that can arise during traumatic events. The need to rake nails down another’s back. Foreheads slick with sweat. The smell of salt and sex in the air. To live inside one another’s flesh.

The impact of surviving: release.

He crossed his arms. “Enlighten me then. What is it that you’re seeking?”

Tav stayed silent. The truth crippled her heart. She didn’t even know if she believed such a concept existed anymore, belonging solely to romantic folklores of lovers supping droughts of poisons in order to meet one another again in the afterlife.

Astarion searched her face. “Something you think I’m incapable of?”

“I think it is something you’re not accustomed to,” she answered flatly.

“Then, it wouldn’t hurt to aid me with a hint. At the very least to prove you correct.”

Silver tongues belonged to silver serpents. And this, may be a game for him. But, self preservation could be the royal quandary of boundaries and she had already revealed enough. The vulnerability was there, ripe for the winnow of another’s cup, but she couldn’t bear it. Not yet.

A quietness slipped between her lips, the storm of her optics solemn. “…we do not know each other adequately yet.”

Astarion held his chin between his fingers, deep in thought. He reminded her of a scholar that endlessly agonized over scripts with his rumpled skin set amidst two silvery brows.

“Hmm. Tav, you’re really overthinking this. What I am offering—and desire, mind you—is a distraction. A short term fling to take us away from all this madness we’ve found ourselves in. But, if you prefer a less invasive course: what about friendship?”

“Annnnd, if you find yourself wanting that distraction, the offer will always be available,” he added swiftly with a quick wink.

The bard couldn’t help but laugh loudly. “You’ll be the first gentleman I’ll call upon in that case then! But, as for a friendship with you…I’d like that. A lot, in fact.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, mouth perfectly molded into that of the trickster. “This whole conversation has been enlightening. In the spirit of ‘friendship’ and since we have gotten those unpleasant decrees out of the way, I believe this requires a bit of a reintroduction." He ceased his steps, placing a hand on his hip, while the other crossed over his chest. "My name is Astarion. I was a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. I enjoy a needle and thread, gilded chalices, and whatever other indulgences I can sink my teeth into. And you?”

And there was that darling blush creeping up the tenderness of her neck anew.

With all that hubris, Tav was amazed his head didn’t inflate thrice its size. Still, she played along, not discounting the potential for this being a gateway for better camaraderie.

A huff accompanied a subtle smile. “My name is Tavelle, but Tav is generally preferred by most. I was a traveling bard. I lived in Baldur’s Gate for the past year before the mind flayers came. I enjoy reading, a fine glass of bourbon, and the art of sword-fighting.”

“A bard? My, my. I’m sure the patriars just adored you, darling! To live in the Gate for that amount of time without winding up on the streets with folded hands begging for coin or between the sheets of some foolish braggart that doesn’t deserve your affections, warrants much more credit than I afforded you earlier,” he appraised her wryly.

Tav giggled coyly. She observed the high elf momentarily permitting himself to study the lifting of her own crinkling vision, down to the demure smile she flashed him.

“It seems you’ve misjudged me sir magistrate. A lady never reveals how she’s managed to work the entire city fawning over her! Though, I will say, it surely isn’t because of anything I’ve worked towards. I shudder to think I have any actual real prowess worth speaking about,” Tav bantered back sarcastically.

Bantering was not her typical forte. She had a quirky sense of humor about her, albeit a bit dark at times—she certainly wouldn’t consider herself to be an expert in the art of wit—but Astarion was bringing this side of her to light out of the blue. It was fun. Playful. An escape of sugary and sour amusements reserved for them alone. She couldn’t get enough.

“And where, my dear, has all this surprisingly sharp humor clawed its way out of? You’re typically so quiet of nature. Who knew our songbird had so much to say!” The way his mirth emerged itself when he bared his teeth to her in a dashing simper, caused her heart to skip a beat.

He tilted his head and grinned more broadly, as if there were an inside joke he had immediately recalled. Like he had heard the hiccup of her bloody organ.

“I may be introverted, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy talking to others. Especially if it’s someone as charming as youuuu.” Another melody of a titter, her eyes so exceptionally spirited.

They both laughed.

Stepping closer to him, her fingers twiddled with the thrown plait of dark ash brown over her shoulder. She casted her steely blue gaze downward before raising them to his face, the lower portion of her lip bitten in thought.

“Thank you for speaking with me and trying to understand. Truly.”

Bong! The bell’s toll striked and the hunt began. With teeth real sharp and a charming grin.

Tav noticed his pupils track her teeth wedged into the soft plush of her lip as he swallowed gradually. ”Hmm? Yes, of course. Now as much as I’d enjoy teasing you relentlessly for the rest of the day, we should probably get moving.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

As eventide washed over the land, the party decided on a night of respite before their visit to the Grove. Now aided by the addition of Lae’zel, the githyanki warrior, their dreadful circumstance had become notably strenuous. Two wary tiefling guards from a place called Druid's Grove, had captured her in a cage, frightened of the havoc she may cause. Her claim to have access to an apparatus that could rectify their tadpoles was a chance they could not all agree would be worth investigating, but Tav insisted they listen to the information she volunteered, offering her space within their elusive band.

However, she did not mince words once they were around the comforting light of their nightly fire. The flames casted a glow of saffron and tangelo reflecting onto the group’s complexions, bathing them in balmy heat. Shadowheart and the gith were standing near with arms crossed and irritated voices. Round green eyes narrowed on darker buttery skin. Razor teeth gritted and ready to spit.

“My people possess a cure for this infection. We will interrogate this Zorru at the Grove about where he saw my kin—unless you wish to sacrifice yourself to ghaik?” She was irrefutable in her credence, hellbent on reaching the githyanki crèche she deduced was nearby.

“Tav, she sees your kindness as a weakness. She will exploit it,” Shadowheart warned, pointing a finger at the bard.

Astarion slid past them, finding Tav sitting atop a massive piece of driftwood log by the fire. Her doublet was unbuckled, revealing a thin cream linen shirt underneath, tied lazily near her neckline. Relaxed and humming a whimsical tune, she had been pulling the last of her plait out while she seemed to be ignoring the two women's altercation.

She did not greet Astarion, instead resigning to a serene smile with a faint sprinkling of pink upon her skin as he watched her focus on running her fingers through her tangles. Even when his lissome form sat down beside her, fingers unknotting a snag, she still held the same expression.

Until out of nowhere, her voice caught him off guard, puncturing through the air between them. “Good evening, magistrate.”

Oh, did he ever bask in hearing the use of his former job title as if he still held a position of power. A fantasy of Tav pecking the coolness of his knuckles in reverence. “You’re not a monster, Astarion,” she’d whisper. The sly minx. He twitched in his pants.

The vampire bent down, his breath brisk against the point of her ear, inhaling the scent of natural oils from her hair. He was automatically taken back to their short affair inside the temple as he watched her skin prickle. Part of a plan failed, but not lost.

“Lae’zel is delightful. In a very ‘look at me twice and I’ll dismember you’ kind of way—of course,” he whispered.

Tav dramatically scoffed. Her hand drifted next to his bicep, placing it reservedly on him. She was climbing, climbing, climbing up, spreading her warmth over the sleeve of his jacket. It was seeping through—she was seeping through.

Her lips were a mellow heat and soft hush near his lobe. “Sounds like a challenge, Astarion. You have my support. Don’t let her get away!”

He modestly turned his head at the precise moment she descended from his ear to see her bottom lip swiftly bitten in a carefree simper. The same as she had done during their earlier conversation.

But, if he lifted the frail veil over her face, would he find her lips murmuring in prayer for him? For his cuspids to glide across her soft flesh. Mouth open and wet. On your knees, sweetheart. I will save you.

Then, there was a hunger present. A vivid thought of his teeth, latching onto that same part of her lip. Licking. Sucking. Kneading. His cock half erect. Until he bites into it and…

He cleared his throat, forcing the impure fantasy to subside, begging whatever divine beings that would consent to listen to not let their mind worms connect at that precise moment. If he didn’t gain momentum on the aching thirst he felt, everything would be lost.

Astarion leaned in closer, one of his longer curls unfurling, brushing against the side of her forehead like a feather landing in a dusting of snow. He delivered another punchline within distance of her temple. “You wretch. How could I ever say no?!”

Then, his voice was a purr. A final insert, one that neither the gods nor he can help himself but to taste on his tongue. “Though, quite recently, I’ve found my attention has been fixated on the enjoyment of wordplay with a friend.”

He could feel Tav shift nervously at his side, removing her hand calmly from him, folding it with the other in her lap. She turned her head halfway, peering over towards where Gale had been cooking their evening meals. There was a plume of flush resonating from her neck to her cheeks, contrasting against the ivory tone of her skin that sent a devil’s smirk on his lips.

All was not lost, after all, he thought.

“Gale appears overwhelmed. I should probably offer my help,” she muttered considerably, without acknowledging Astarion further.

Tav stood, placing the length of her wavy locks to hang like a waterfall down her back. She drifted towards the other side of the flames. Astarion watched her stroll towards the wizard, hips swaying like branches in the night’s breeze. Those same hips that were only inches away from him a few moments ago—inviting and wide.

Astarion leisurely rose, walking back to his tent to procure a bottle of a long forgotten red and a dingy goblet. He could overhear Tav and Gale discussing plans to prepare a suitable meal for their entourage with items from the packs they had picked through.

Gale appeared quite accustomed to cooking, skilled in frying meats to that perfect amount of crisp—or at least he had boasted. He passed along an enticing grin with a wiggle of his eyebrows towards Tav when he flipped a piece of sliced sausage midair and it landed right back in its starting position.

Tav beamed, "I see you are a man of many talents. Please never ask me to cook food so acrobatically for you. I promise it will not end well.”

“I fear, after this, I may have unofficially put myself in the position of ‘Camp Cook’ for our group. Food tricks and all. Though, let us resign from asking Lae’zel to help with food prep. I fear she’d insist on using that massive sword of hers on a poor tomato.”

“Not to worry, Gale. We’ll be sure to find you an apron and embroider your new title upon it so that everyone knows what you’re truly here for.” Tav appeared at his side, teasingly patting his arm.

Astarion cocked his brow, casting a sneer towards the two chefs before taking a large sip from an matured cup of wine. He disappeared behind the flap of red linen to change into a set of clothes that were more casual.

Folded neatly on his bedroll was an old ruffled shirt. Beloved and cared for over a long period of time. Multiple tears were visible, but each was stitched up with such precision, one would have thought they were graced with the surgical deftness of a doctor. Removing his intricately detailed coat, he carefully put the shirt over his torso and rolled the length of his sleeves up to his elbows—a particular piece of flair he added over an age.

This shirt was one of the few things that belonged to him in some fashion. When it was handed over to him as a “gift,” Astarion was aware that he would receive no other unless his behavior was considered favorable. For he would never be glorified for his contributions to his “family.” No, his tears were the sapid dessert that he demanded.

"Ungrateful boy. Your sobs will serve as my music tonight. Now bend over and cast your eyes to the hells for want of a contract with a hellion that will never save you from the flay."

Astarion crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself. A chilled sweat trickled down his forehead. Four walls baked in musk and blood: the kennels. His usual practiced breaths became gasping and erratic. He felt light-headed, needing to escape. His head started to scream louder than a harpy’s screech.

Yet, her mellifluous voice was sneaking into his ears, smoking out the curse that haunted him. It swirled around his body, protecting him, tugging him towards the source.

“Astarion. Astarion? Are you okay?!” Tav called out to him in concern.

He ran his fingers through his curls. Steady. Slow. The fabric walls of his tent come back into view.

Then, the roguish rake scratched its way back up his throat. “Ah, my sweet songbird! To think you left your handsome wizard to come sauntering all the way over here to look for me. You must be looking for refinement after all!”

He opened the flap to his tent dramatically like a ringmaster inviting patrons into a circus. Only, when he stepped out to face the bard whose voice granted him redemption, her appearance was perturbed.

Tav appeared sickly, like the blood had been drained from her upper body. A visible worry inscribed into the fine lines by her nose. She stood still and lifted her arm. Then, opened and closed her hand several times as if she wanted to reach out to touch him before deciding to rescind it entirely.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought you were hurt. Your breathing…I thought I heard you in pain.” A tiny bit of breath left her mouth as if she were relieved. “Dinner is ready. I’ll give you time to collect yourself and head back.”

The elf bowed his head in her direction. “I assure you, I am fine. Run along; I’ll be right behind you.”

And then her smile was suddenly the first day of Spring. “You better or I will drag you over there!”

Precious angelic lark. Do not despair. Your wings will serve as the gateway for those that capture you.

Astarion wondered if he had chosen wrong.

No. He was rarely—if ever—wrong about his targets. Tav just presented more of a challenge. Had he not succumbed to the numbness he enacted to conserve what was left of his mental state long ago, guilt may have plagued the bits of humanity he plummeted away from Cazador.

She did possess a certain loveliness to her. Not in the way of grand belles he’d bedded in the past, but one that’s described in poesy passages of endearing semi-guileless women, whose beauty shines through beyond being skin deep. Anyone would be a damned fool to think otherwise. But, an intangible hole existed inside her beating elvish heart that had not yet fully healed. Only, the path to her is strewn with meteors and fragile stars. An unanticipated detail overlooked, one he did not predict as he tried to lure her in the ruins with the aphrodisiacs' of his actions.

He sighed. Had this been one of his usual haunts on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, with less time to devote to his victim, he could easily capture another with memorized lines and rehearsed “fuck me eyes.” All he knew were the instincts of a man that seduced centuries worth of people, using his body to be the prostitute his master commanded.

Where Tav was involved, simply uttering honeyed speeches or licking an oath of exiled pleasures she had never experienced in a stripe along her slit, would not be enough.

But, what of trust?

Ah. Now trust carried power. However, the caveat to such an assured reliance was the privilege of obtaining it. Trust gleaned through lust was manageable. But, trust through measures of safekeeping another’s hope and beliefs came with greater transactions.

If this songbird meant to be Astarion’s silver lining, then he would make her sing.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Their lifeblood waits for you.

“Astarion, I don’t believe I’ve seen you eat a single morsel since you’ve been with us. You must be hungry? Here, there’s plenty to go around.” Gale brought the skillet over, sliding a portion of the food onto the remaining plates as the high elf approached.

You’re hungry.

He peeked over at the food sardonically. “As scrumptious as I’m sure—whatever all that—probably is, I will have to...decline. I have other sources of food stowed away. Regardless, you have my thanks.”

Starving.

Gathered around the campfire, they finished their meals while listening to Lae’zel speak about her crèche, K’liir, in the Tears of Selûne. Astarion couldn’t be less interested. He had no real family to speak of anymore—not that he remembered them—probably perishing many moons ago as it were. And the only place he called home, was the necrotic palace encased in stone towering over the lower city of Baldur’s Gate where dreams of a life go to wither.

”Your path is paved in blood. Your body does not belong to you. It was created to tempt. It is food created for anyone that craves it. Fuck your prick into anything that wants it. Your lips to press to whatever rotted or young flesh that desires it. You will never be anything more.”

Astarion refocused, nursing a goblet of wine as he leaned back against the log he had previously sat on with Tav. He caught the jovial expression on her face as she focused on each of them as they spoke—primarily that obtuse magician. The fucking gall of that wizard. I bet he gloated about his ‘mage hand’ all evening, he seethed.

Blood. You need to feed.

He needed to distract her. To cull her affections and isolate them on this farce of a relationship, ill-conceived by his want to survive.

Her. Your fangs want to be inside her, tearing at her throat. To taste the aurora of her voice as her blood warms you.

“Tav, dearest, why don’t you sing us a song from that arsenal of ballads you keep in that pretty little head of yours?”

The bard perked up, turning towards Astarion, her blue-gray depths wide as a doe. She was one of the moving pieces on the chessboard he satiated himself with.

Take her.

Though his request seemed innocent enough, the slithering leer of his gape seemed to make her feel abashed by the way she regarded him with her stare. This was all part of his cunning gambit of word wrestling they had begun to establish. And she knew what he was doing—of course she had to know. Astarion had the gumption to detect that she was conscious, but still uncertain, if he had only meant to tease her, to see her nonplussed in the moment, or if there laid an alternative motive to the glint of his impish smirk.

Her rosy lips parted slightly, a paltry excuse upon her tongue. “My lute perished in the crash.”

“Come now, it is not your lute that beguiles your audience with its voice. Do not keep us waiting, friend,” he winked, ushering her forward with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

Hunt her.

Tav did not argue. Perhaps to avoid further complications of the night or maybe because she recognized her talents had the ability to bring about a halcyon wave to their troubled comrades.

Though, as the first few notes she gifted to them uncurl like clear bells on silver tinsel decorating the reticence of the camp, her audience was now hers to command.

Taste her.

Tav's voice was ethereal, knitting together a story through the eyes of a traveler discovering fealty to happiness itself. She sang as if she were a holy entity within a chapel alone. The poetry of her words, the flames that would light the candles to the gods.

The winds spun around them, carrying her tune in ripples. Confidently, her eyes passed over to Astarion with a radiant warmth and he was motionless. As she reached a fluttering note, the bluish vein of her white satiny neck—a visible interference—caused an unexpected delirium.

Yes. Her blood will be the sweetest.

She had managed to do the impossible and hypnotize him entirely.

He had to have her. Just a taste.“Magistrate, please bite me.”

She’s yours. She’s yours. She’s yours.

The thrumming of his soul mate mark was a tittering of butterfly wings behind his ear. Astarion touched the sensitive area, crimson view darkened. Tonight. Tonight he would damn himself and be set free.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

”I love you, birdie,” he breathed into the nape of Tav’s neck.

The sunlight had just broken through with the dawn, casting illuminating golden beams onto their naked bodies. They were entangled with one another. Limbs thrown over limbs. Algos, her lover, spooning against her back. Pale and ruddy against his farmer’s tan.

He moved her cool brown locks away from her neck, placing a tender kiss near her hairline.

“Mmm. You spoil me,” she sighed lovingly.

“Not nearly enough.” He grabbed her chin, pulling it towards him.

Tav turned onto her side. She trailed her fingers daintily up his arm, then to the soft skin around orbs of near obsidian that were his eyes. If only she could freeze this moment. Collect it in a bottle and bury it within herself so the details, this exact moment, would never shift.

She scooted closer to him, the weight of her breasts hanging off to the side squishing them together. Her lips so soft, pliant, pressing to his own. They were slightly chapped, but doughy. The dreamiest of exhales left her nostrils.

He leaned in to kiss her back. One peck after the other, along her jaw, her chin. An amorous embrace accompanied by the heat of his breath kindling her neck again.

“Taste me, Algos.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion hovered over Tav as she awoke with his mouth wide open, crisp air caressing her neck. His lips receded past their gums with teeth a pearly sheen in the light of the candle she had lit inside her tent.

“...shit.” He cursed.

Her eyes opened wide in confusion, watching Astarion swiftly backing away from her. She was furious. “What the FUCK are you doing?! Explain. NOW.”

Tav grabbed the rapier she kept at her side while she tranced and brought her wobbly self up to nearly her full height without hitting the tent's ceiling. Her body’s temperature was still cool from resting, leaving her partially disoriented. She was dressed in nothing, except her smalls and a gauzy linen shirt that barely reached past her bottom.

“No, it’s not what it looks like! I swear. I’ve never killed anyone—at least for food. I wasn’t going to hurt you!” He was crouching, his hands up in surrender.

There was a disbelieving jeer she hissed out. “No?! Do not play these games with me, Astarion! I am not an idiot. It looked like you were either going to bite me or assault me. I will run this rapier right through your ribs if you don’t leave immediately!” She pointed it towards him aggressively.

His voice was an octave above a shaking whisper, rounded eyes staring at her shamefully. “Wait, please! I just needed—blood. For food. I’m far weaker than I’d like to acknowledge. It’s pathetic.”

Then, when he altered his weight onto his other hip, the fine lines around his mouth having grown from their stressful interaction, she finally noticed. Astarion's lustrous teeth had sharp fangs, one on each side in place of a human’s usual canines. His pallid color looked even more unnatural than she paid attention to previously. The bluish hue bags of his eyes, a bit darker—presumably from lack of food.

A slave to his sanguine hunger.

Her voice was suddenly breathy. And then, as quietly as she could manage, she fanned out an unsettling laugh. “A vampire. Of all the things…why didn’t you tell me?!”

Astarion opened his mind and bid Tav to connect with his tadpole. She saw it unfolding. He held back some of the pieces that fit into the jigsaw that was him, but then there was something hungry and on edge removing parts of himself he’d never get back. His mind opened further revealing quaking, ruptured memories of tyrannical eyes commanding him to eat the only creature he was allowed: rats.

Then, the connection dissipated.

“You were forced to eat them or else you would have to starve? By the gods, Astarion,” she heedfully replied, lowering the rapier and propping it against one of the tent walls.

Tav registered she’d wept a few tears when a salty one dipped into the cupid’s bow of her lips. The raw mental images he shared with her were intense. This was not what she had expected from him, regardless of him being a vampire or a mortal. Her heart ached for him and if she knew he would have allowed it, she would have pulled him into a hug, muttering that he was safe into the crown of his hair.

“I—yes. Whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. I hope this explains why I was slow to trust you,” he hesitated awkwardly, adjusting his stance to try and relax his arms at his side. “But, right now, I do trust you. And you can trust me too. I may be out of line in asking you to trust me further, but if I only had just a little blood, I could fight better and my mind would be clear. Please.”

Tav considered his proposal, the desperation in his presently softer accent. If she consented to him feeding from her, she ran the risk of him killing her—either on purpose or by accident if he could not control his hunger. However, she cannot deny this may be one of the first times since they’ve interacted that he was being ethically truthful with her. That he was aware of the risks if he did take her life. There would no longer be the presumption of his security nor the help of removing their worms.

The decision to be made was dangerous; she would not have much time to decide for the sake of herself, Astarion, and their sordid companions.

“You wish to feed from me, correct? But, not my neck. Not yet, anyways. Not until I know you’ll abide by your words in the future. Because you know as well as I do, that you certainly have a way with them,” she unexpectedly jested. “Will my wrist suffice for now?”

Astarion nodded quizzically. “I would only need a taste and not a drop more. If I wind up with a stake in my heart, well, I probably had it coming,” he chuckled. “That being said, your wrist is more than fine. Shall we make ourselves comfortable?”

Tav shook her head to reaffirm her consent and proceeded to sit on top of her bedroll in a cross legged pose, her shirt resting high above her pale thighs. The rosy buds of her nipples had pebbled, poking through the shirt’s fabric. Her areolas, a delightful crepe pink, faintly visible in the light.

Slowly, she rolled up the left sleeve of her shirt, revealing tattoo work inked intricately up the length of her arm. On her forearm, half of a falcon’s bust sat—mastery in keen observation—with iridescent blue and brown feathers. Up further, a white fox glared, clever, yet ready to strike. Each adorned in ornamental elven helmets surrounded by nature’s leaves and flowers only adding to the woman’s earthly beauty.

Astarion bent down to rest on his knees in front of her, the smooth leather of his pants tantalizingly grazing against her shins. She could see him studying her figure, switching to view ink on her arm. Then, he lingered on the shape of her breasts through her shirt, and back up to the flush that was spreading over her cheeks. He held out his arm towards her, his hand facing up.

“Whenever you’re ready.” His voice was soothing, humble even, gently inviting her to sacrifice herself to him.

May your blood be consecrated, the sacrament fulfilled. Waste not, want more. For you give yourself willingly for his power and nourishment. The gods be with you.

She extended her arm, first dropping her index finger into his palm, then tip-toeing the rest of her digits until her hand fully rested on his own. The glacial temperature of his skin flowed through her body entirely like titillating electricity. Tav bit back a moan when his other hand covered hers and moved up to the inside of her wrist, caressing the silky skin.

It had been years since she was touched so intimately by a man. The sensations with each movement of his fingertips rubbing circles into her skin, caused her to swallow down a gasp. Every instinctual nerve inside of her was at war, either to push him away to the far reaches of Faerûn or to offer her blood to the man that somehow made her feel virginal by the swipe of his lithe fingers across her palm.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m nervous and you're cold,” Tav uttered with a shudder.

“Hmm.” Astarion continued massaging, occasionally feeling the throb of her pulse. “Where are you from originally? Your birth place.”

“Wha—the Dalelands,” she managed to answer.

“And which of your parents is a high elf?” he continued.

“My father. My mother is a wood elf. How did you know?

He smiled tenderly. “I could tell by your fair features.”

She tilted her head towards him. Was he trying to distract her? The efforts were working.

He lifted her wrist to his faded pink lips, placing them airily on the stretch of her visible veins. A chilled breath exhaled through his elegant nose. “Why did you move to Baldur’s Gate?

Arrhythmia started overtaking the organ in her chest. She fisted the edge of her shirt in her free hand, sighing heavily. “I needed a change of scenery—to start anew.”

Astarion pecked her wrist. A shallow gravel of his throat vibrated against her skin when he lightly started to suckle on the outline of her vein.

She cried out sweetly. Her chest swelled in tandem with the swift movements of her breathing, but not from the nervousness she thought would plague her stomach with knots. No, it was from the longing ache of skin to skin contact he had unknowingly granted her.

"Shhh. Shh. We wouldn't want to wake anyone now would we?" He lightly bit her finger in warning and then slid his tongue back up to her wrist.

Tav was wet. Considerably so. She felt the petals of her cunt drench in want the longer he prolonged his desires for her blood. It occurred to her that he may be waiting for her to give him the final confirmation for him to bite her, but oh hells, when she noticed his bulge straining in his pants, she conjured up a reverie of her climbing into his lap and grinding herself up and down his length begging for him to take her.

Astarion moaned into her wrist. He had trailed his left hand up to hold her elbow, while the right still held onto her hand, waiting patiently. Her clit was throbbing; she would have given anything to move even the slightest bit to feel pressure placed upon it. Any sort of relief to wash over her to abate the shivers of her flesh, to shake the image of him biting and sucking on her breasts.

Eyes half-lidded, she willed herself to speak. “Astarion?”

Rubbing the point of his fangs in contact with her flesh, his tone was huskier. “Yes, Tavelle?”

Dear Oghma grant mercy on this woman!

It had been the first time he had mentioned the full length of her name and it was as clear as a magical forest revealing a trail to honeyed fruits that she should not partake in. What kind of man could be capable of appearing as both a divine creature and one that could lure her into the shadows?

Burning, burning, burning.

“Bite me.”

The sting of his fangs entering her wrist was like two icy shards stabbing her. Her blood filled his mouth in short spurts and he had trouble containing it all. At the corners of his mouth, two streams of her red essence dribbled down towards his chin.

Astarion gripped onto her arm tighter, involuntarily pulling her closer to him. Greedily, he gulped her down, sometimes stopping to lick at the puncture wounds before wrapping his maw around her wrist once more to swallow her down. He hummed in pleasure the longer he drank, possessed by the taste.

Tav felt lethargic. “ ‘Starion.”

He didn’t hear her. The scarlet of his eyes had grown foggy with a glaze of something voracious and abysmal. Guttural sounds accompanied slurps of her blood as his fangs dug in deeper.

Tav’s head fell forward meekly. She grasped onto his silvery curls with the strength that was slowly being depleted and tugged. “Astarion you must—NO MORE!”

All at once, he released her, falling backwards onto his elbows. He licked his fingers with a pleasing noise, as if he’d just treated himself to an extravagant feast.

“You were—you tasted amazing!” Breathing in quick shudders he added, "I feel…happy. Strong. My mind isn’t clouded.”

Still slumped over, she attempted to placate the vertigo that was causing her head to swim by regulating her breathing. She sounded raspy. “Could you please help me to lay down?”

“Ah! Yes, but of course. It’s the least I could do after that invigorating experience.”

Astarion crawled over to her. Cradling her against his torso, he considerately brought her down to rest on her bedroll. It was flattened, probably uncomfortable, but to Tav and her ailing situation—it felt perfect.

“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning over her, wiping her sweaty bangs from her face.

His scent rolled over her, lulling her to enter a trance. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, perhaps from her adrenaline spiking, but it was pure heaven. Bergamot, rosemary, and smokier warm notes.

“Mmhmm. A bit weak is all.”

She reached up and wiped the drying blood from his chin and lips with her sleeve, providing him with a tired smile. “Astarion? Thank you for trusting me tonight.”

He tensed as she touched him. Jaw tight. A furrowed brow. His eyes moved back and forth, searching hers. Something uncharacteristic briefly showed behind his inspection of her, then fleetingly faded away.

Strange.

Standing upright, Astarion turned to leave her tent. He looked over his shoulder, his voice a serious temper. “Rest well. I still need to hunt to fill myself completely, but this was a gift you know. I won’t forget it. ”

Snuggling into her blankets, she recalled the events of the night. The bizarre appeal of his icy breath. The arousal she felt when he stroked her. The pain mixed with carnal desire as he bit her. The weight of truths they shared. His unforeseen concern for her comfort. A veracity of his soul, bared to her before he left.

And as her lashes laid in long weaves along the edges of her closed eyelids, her last thoughts as she drifted off to enter the dream realm, were about the closeness Astarion unintentionally gave her that she hadn’t felt in years.

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