#and its always me on the outskirts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedreamlessnights · 16 days

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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florencemtrash · 1 month

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!”

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do.

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now.

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely.

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red.

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?”

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.”

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.”

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.”

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole.

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold.

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky.

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines.

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand.

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying.

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy.

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family.

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening.

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact.

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away.

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.”

“The ones he plans to torture for information.”

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising.

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.”

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever.

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour.

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling.

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit.

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground.

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain.

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.”

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again.

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps.

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner.

“Azriel?”

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long.

You needed this almost as much as he did.

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet.

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.”

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.”

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.”

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out.

“You’re not?”

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.”

Yours.

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that.

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours.

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it.

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor.

You stared at him in horror.

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again.

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp.

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son.

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!”

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself.

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick.

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!”

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?”

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way…

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong.

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his.

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed.

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever.

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame.

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying.

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this.

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way.

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl.

“Hey there, little feather.”

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled.

“She left me.”

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull.

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?”

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders.

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority.

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.”

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had.

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.”

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile.

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.”

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface.

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.”

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger

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todorokies · 2 months

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RUMOR HAS IT - suguru geto

✩࿐ the streets of london have now been considered a danger for citizens when a blood hunger vampire prowls looking for their next lady in waiting . . .

contents: very suggestive, fem!reader, vampire!geto, geto is bewitched by you(r blood), nanami cameo (yippee), nineteenth century gothic victorian era, this leans towards the thriller side, reader is a bit naive, a wee bit of manipulation, blood drinking, usage of ‘m’lady’, inspired by the song ‘rumor has it’ by adele & this tweet, 2.5k words

a/n: there is a lot of imagery written !!! i truly hope u all like it, reblogs & supportive feedback is welcome ik the wc is a lot but pls bare with me :”) . . . apart of @kentopedia’s ‘love through the ages’ collab

the sun has begun to shift into its everlasting transition of casting soft orange hues of light that are softly entangled with a dark shade of blue that covers up above. the moon had tucked its companion away for the time being as it began to come into view.

the current state of main street however didn’t reflect the tranquillity of peace; the town clock had loudly reverberated alerting the public of the danger that would soon lurk.

citizens both young and old trampled out of buildings leaving a simple gust of wind in their wake to reach their residences.

a curfew had recently been implemented by the town council in order to reduce the sudden influx —dubbed as animal attacks— of women being found lifeless on the cold streets, with their blood being completely drained from their bodies.

but alas, the troublesome rumours of the attacks being performed by a person rather than an animal, rattled in, heightening the unpleasantries.

the rotten smell of fear lingers in the air with the pumping adrenaline coursing through the towns folks veins. if the perpetrator weren’t foolish enough, an entire course meal has been presented onto a platter for them.

“staring won’t do you any good if you end up dead.” nanami, your coworker, noted who was packing the last of the bakery’s unsold goods in a bag to be taken home.

you quickly drew away from the windowsill, “doesn’t the site of it all make you miserable. this new curfew has done nothing but made everyone even more frightened.”

nanami’s features softened and pursed his lips in a thin line before sighing. “the curfew is sensible in hindsight, but when rules are enforced people have a sudden urge to break them, mainly to figure out what animal—”

“—or person,” you sharply cut him off which causes his eyebrows to crinkle.

“i mean, let’s face it, what kind of animal leaves two perfectly clean puncture wounds on the neck and abandons the body as it is without any carnage?”

a beat follows before you continue, “this is obviously the work of some mad scientist in town looking to make a name for themselves.”

he sighs, “animal or …person, you shouldn’t be standing here chatting with me about it.”

his eyes twinkle with remorse whilst handing the bag of baked goods over to you, “i could chaperone you to your residence, you do live on the outskirts of town. i deeply worry about your safety.”

you lightheartedly scoff, politely waving off the suggestion. “nonsense kento, i always seem to have luck on my side, the walk home will be uneventful as always.”

he frowns at this.

you can be extraordinarily stubborn at the most inappropriate times.

“besides what would society think once they see an unwed woman getting escorted by the opposite sex. you should hurry home yourself! send my kind regards to yuuji for me.”

you bunch up the detailed lace of your overflowing gown in one hand while holding the brown bag of pastries in the other.

swiftly scurrying off into the abandoned streets, “do take care of yourself!”

“get home safely and hurry before the streetlights turn on!” nanami yells out the door before locking up the establishment and heading on his own way.

the cobblestone beneath your feet painfully ached and crumbled apart with each passing step you took. shutters from other houses forcefully swung open from the wind that picked up overtime, soon a ghastly fog began to move in, hindering some of your vision.

you truthfully dreaded this. nanami’s offer is still mulled in the back of your head, you mentally slap yourself for dismissing a comforting and preferably safer option of returning home.

however, dwelling on the what if’s have never been your cup of tea, instead you attempt to take in the scenery of the town in it’s glory.

the eerie atmosphere reminded you of an agatha christie novel you’ve once read. the fond memory warms you up in the dead of night.

soon your manor appears into view. relief immediately washes over you, a small breath of air exited your lungs.

but then you hear it; an extra set of footsteps a mile or two from behind you that rippled the cement.

too heavy of a stride to be another woman in heels and too human-like to be a four legged animal. with each step you took, they would take on another, almost in sync to throw you off their suspicions.

you felt bare and exposed as the only thing that you could focus on was the tangible breeze rattling your bones, fingers turning numb and losing its feeling. your head buzzed considering the only two options to best handle the situation: continue the venture to your housing or confront the entity.

continuing your journey would result in the mysterious entity gaining knowledge of your location. whereas, standing idly waiting for the perpetrator’s next move would result in you being the newspaper’s front headliner.

you’ve concluded the mental battle with yourself on cutting through the woods and loosing whomever is behind you in the dust.

just as you were about to pick up your feet, a tap by a set of fingers rippled against your shoulder causing you to shriek.

“m’lady, i believe you dropped this.” a sultry voice booms through your ears that belonged to a man so majestic you couldn’t comprehend. your breath staggers while your mouth hang slightly agape.

he was as pale as a lilith in its full bloom but still managed to glisten under the moonlight. monolid eyes sharpened that showcased nothing but intensity and gluttony.

you couldn’t dare away, especially not when his gaze has your flesh burning to the touch as heat pools between your legs, an endless void of lust and mystery.

somehow breaking out of his enchantment, you regain consciousness, blinking away the blurriness and swiftly take the handkerchief he handed to you and stuff it in your dress pocket.

“o-oh, thank you kind sir,” your words heavily slurs past your lips.

his overwhelming aura seemingly switches, presenting more of a laid back approach when speaking to you.

“what’s a dream like you doing roaming the streets at this hour?” he inquired.

it’s almost like whiplash— fear surging from every portion of your body to feeling a sense of ease with his presence around.

your face warms up. subconsciously picking at the skin that surrounds your nail beds. “just trying to make my way home, i had picked up a late shift from—”

“the bakery in town square, correct?”

taking a step, his taller frame leaned a quarter into your personal space suddenly being consumed by his aroma. sweetness mixed with a hint of sandalwood and lavender.

his fingers weakly pranced around a single strand of your hair that had been loose, meticulously swirling it about in a specific way that only pleased him.

only then were you able to come about his long raven locks that were styled in a charming half-do that seemingly blended in with the sinful sombre of the midnight sky.

your pulse amplified, picking up like the speed of lightning. your hands soon began accumulating sweat just by a single question.

despite town square serving the population of two countries bound together, not once have you had the pleasure of encountering this man.

he was far too bewitching to grace the status of a commoner. no, he must be a figure of royalty or at least had rich wealth flowing through his blood, but he showcases no obvious signs of luxury.

just who was this man exactly?

he watches you regain control over your psyche, backing away which lets the strand of hair he possessed on his finger seemingly bounce free.

“enlighten me. how do you possess knowledge of the location of my employment? my eyes have never seen someone of the likes of you before.”

he senses utter hostility from you. the entire cobbled street reeks of your fear. he can practically taste your appetizing disdain on the tip of his tongue.

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth to conceal the withering moan that elicited from his core; you’re unsettled by him which only fuels his erogenous.

he playfully surrenders his hands in the air as if you had just caught him in an obtuse act, “what, pray tell, are you insinuating?”

you scoff, “do you take me for a mockery?” your voice doesn’t waver, eyebrows cinched together with lips into a firm line.

he simply tuts, “only a well put together woman like yourself could gain employment at such a high end bakery that stands in town square. i based such an assumption off my judgement . . . forgive me, m’lady.”

your eyes cautiously scan his face to detect any signs of playfulness that went against his explanation. when none was present, it was your cue to ease up on your suspicions.

with a sharp intake of air, your tense shoulders unwind themselves from your ears as you straighten out your dress trying to knead at any wrinkles.

the bakery in town has built a famous name for itself, being known as one of the most ancient buildings standing tall, as well as offering fresh pastries throughout many wars and battles.

different hierarchies from all across the globe have made it their mission to invest in a trade deal of importing the bakery’s goods in exchange for many benefits.

“then again, you find yourself situated on this street conversing with an utter stranger during after hours. so pray tell, who exactly is the jester here?” he dryly asks.

the warm energy circulating between the two of you came to a sudden halt as the tension quickly grew cold.

his voice is fervent. a barbaric ignorance flows naturally in his tone as if he was challenging you, which is much different than how he addressed your inquiry.

truthfully suguru was growing impatient by the minute. he has worked all of the charms in the book but you still haven’t given him an opening for what he wanted the most. your body, soul and most importantly; your blood.

he salivated at the sight of the minuscule veins on your neck becoming more prominent when your voice raises an obtuse or two.

the excruciating torment of his body thumping with thirst made his head throb. his tongue swirled hungrily around his sharp left fang in anticipation.

if you had blinked, you would’ve missed how he traveled at the speed of light. a gust of wind swept through the streets as a strong swooshing of air caused the ends of your dress to get caught up in the wake. suddenly, you were face to face again with the mystery man, his nose ever so gently grazing yours, feeling his cold breath onto your lips.

his eyes carefully scans your features, taking notice of the crease between your eyebrows. “you aren’t aware of my name yet you give me your time of day? or rather night that is? i feel honoured.” he purrs.

your heart collapses to your feet. what in god’s name were you doing?

allowing yourself to get seduced by a nameless maniac on the street at the devil’s hour. letting your head get filled to the brim with such deception and trickery. your bread must’ve gone stale and you hadn’t noticed until now how terribly your feet ached from standing for so long.

your brain screamed at you to pick up your feet and dash out of a sickly situation you’ve unfortunately found yourself in. but to no avail your soles stood firmly in place, you pitied yourself for still being under his aphrodisiac.

your eyes sting as tears begin to well up into the base of your waterline. he shushes you by lightly tapping his index fingers against your bottom lip then leans into the shell of your ear, “you were the most naive out of others yet the most challenging one, what is your secret, m’lady?”

the only thing you could muster up in the moment was a faint, “p-please don’t hurt me…”

to that, suguru’s current expression gets replaced by a look of genuine remorse. he smiles fondly, his eyes forming into crescent moons. “you mustn’t worry, i have different plans for you. now be a darling and tilt your head for me.”

his eyes glowed a crimson hue that casted a reflection in your own eyes. his divine string of words compelled you to follow his demand, having no conscious influence over your own actions.

he could see your arteries viciously pumping oxygen. unstable hollow breaths depart from your plump lips.

what a delightful sight you are.

finally, his fangs penetrate your fragile skin causing goosebumps to arise upon impact as angry scarlett red seeps out of the two puncture holes he’d created.

you gasp, your head is frantically bubbling with heat as your knees buckle, static shoots through your joints feeling vibrations all over your body.

he gently cradles the back of your head with one hand using his grip to better his angle on his landscape. drowsiness consumes you whole. feeling yourself slowly slipping into a labyrinth that only the man in front of you has the key to.

your whimpers and soft pants fill the air. your stomach soon coils with a pleasant sensation of pleasure, you’ve truly gone mad as you bite your lip to cover up the choked up moans from the pleasurable aches of pain.

your eyes roll back to the sky, mentally counting the stars until your body decides to shut down what leftover functions it had left.

your eyes softly flutter open, wincing almost immediately from the dim overhead lap that shines directly in your face.

you’re currently lying on top of the broody velvet red loveseat that resided in your manor’s foyer. how you got home is beyond your comprehension.

suddenly the horrific memories of this particular night floods in your head like a tsunami.

that man… his fangs…the blood.

your hand quickly flies towards the area of the wound that resided on your neck, which to your surprise, is covered by a heavily padded gauze that will soon need to be changed once you get up.

who or what brought you home and tended to your wound? was it that man or maybe he had left you on the streets, barely alive when another lost soul roaming at the witching hour took you home.

you spot a glass of water on the floor that had a note taped onto it next to your bagged pastries. you cautiously pick up the glass to hydrate your overly dry throat then carefully peel the paper off the glass to read the note.

the contents of the note reads:

i have seeked high and low for the purest form of life, to find a companion worthy enough to indulge me in this wretched world of misery but yet, you were found from right under my nose.

your purity sings to me like a songbird o’holiest of thee. a crystallized soul patiently waiting for a body to mold.

your blood is as rare as black dahlia, hidden deep within the nooks of clouded nostalgia. your pastel beauty is the cure to my everlasting torment in hell.

i will return for you, my love.

always and forever yours, suguru.

tags: @cawwn @osaemu @yunymphs @megumimania @dollria @maeby-cursed @get0

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

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comatosebunny09 · 4 months

Text

hurts so good | astarion a

summary: he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy, explicit language, bodily fluids, blood drinking, orgasm denial, brief anal play, cervix fcking, dirty talk, terms of endearment (love, darling), praise kink, drabble notes: heavily influence by this beautiful artwork by @looneylolita. screenshot credit

No time for pleasantries.

Just Astarion notching his hips to yours. Holding you so tight, the fat of your ass craters beneath his fingers as he fucks into you from below.

“Take your pleasure,” he rasps. “Take what you want from me, my love. Use me.”

The depth of his voice is enough to make you clench.

Like you haven’t been doing plenty of that already.

Each roll of his hips is languid. Deep. Purposeful. As if he’s on a mission to unravel every tangle of nerves in you with the slippery scrape of his cock. The head of it intermittently batters against your cervix, punching the air from your lungs.

You tremble so good for him, making his cock twitch and his body shudder.

You’re both saturated with sweat—or perhaps it’s slick? You gave up distinguishing the two after hours of this. This excruciatingly slow dance where you’re fucked within an inch of your life. He stops when your stomach pulls, and your mind floods with endorphins, and fuck.

It’s always with that wicked smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes that he tells you, “Not yet, darling. Gods, not yet. I need you to hold out for me a little longer. You can do that for me, can’t you, my love?”

As if it’s that easy a feat with his thumb running meticulous circles ‘round your clit, and his tongue flittering across your nipples.

The sultry gravel of his voice doesn’t help matters, mingling with the perfect amount of desperation. And the way he looks at you. Strips you down and exalts you like an idol to be worshipped despite the maddening thrust of his hips—

Gods.

You’re too drunk from the pleasure to argue—maybe it’s blood loss? It’s all so very frustrating. Confusing because hours ago, he was telling you to fuck him like he were your toy. And at first, you did, with hands pressed to his sternum for leverage as you bore down on him.

But he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. Stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning.

Judging by the ethereal, orange glow seeping through your curtains, morning has already begun its sluggish creep across the horizon.

Astarion bucks his hips, bringing you back to the present.

You careen forward, catching yourself on your hands. You’re a panting mess, pupils blown wide, lips parting with the effort to breathe. You sift through the haze of your lust to glare at him.

His eyes crease with mirth in response.

“Astarion, what…what the fuck, man?”

He chuckles, something hoarse and abrasive that gnarls in your stomach. One of his hands smooths up your back to clasp around the nape of your neck. He brings you down to tempt you into a kiss, and he licks into your mouth, evoking a keening sound from your throat as his thumb tenderly skates along your cheek, betraying the devilish snap of his pelvis.

“Focus, darling,” he croaks into the space between your mouths. “Wouldn’t want you giving up on me after coming so far.”

It takes every bit of you not to smack him for being such an insufferable piece of shit.

You settle for growling something half-hearted, coming down onto your elbows, your hands bracing themselves on the crown of his head. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, pelvis rolling like waves dragging along the shoreline.

His hand pinches and pulls at your rear as you ride him, occasionally dipping between your ass cheeks to tease your puckering anus and fuck it all if he doesn’t know what it takes to push you to the outskirts of chaos.

He affectionately roots his nose against your neck, a groan rolling like thunder in his rib cage as he traps you in the circle of his arms.

“That’s it, love. Fuck me. Mmm, just like that.”

Behind shuttered lids, you feel the cold prickle of his fangs in your neck. You relinquish a sigh to the balmy air, your nipples sore and pebbled as they rub raw against the rigid pane of his chest whilst your hips rut against him at their own discretion.

Your senses are crowded with only him. The slow pull of your blood into his mouth makes your pussy quake, and you share dual moans from the feel of it. His hands glide down to your rear to steady you. To temper the pace as that sparkling feeling builds between your legs. You whimper with exasperation, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Astarion,” you gasp, fighting against his grip around your body.

You wince when he retracts his fangs, and he breathes something sweltering and erratic as he drags his flattened tongue up your throat, fingers reaching through the riot of your hair and pulling.

“I know, darling. I know. But you’re performing so wonderfully for me. Stay with me. Just a bit longer.”

You sigh, the sound wet and painful as if forced from your lungs. Maybe if you’re good and continue to play at Astarion’s game, he’ll grant you the luxury of your release.

Until then, you settle for rocking against him, praying to the Gods above for a most handsome reward.

masterlist

#astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #smut sunday #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion

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oh-my-damn · 3 months

Text

Sleepy Orange

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav/reader

Summary: You come back from a fight exhausted beyond belief. Astarion does his best to take care of you. Part of that includes peeling your orange.

Wordcount: 1300

Warnings: None. Pure, unadulterated fluff. A happy, sappy, in love Astarion (just as he deserves to always be)

Masterlist

You huffed as your tired body plopped down on the bed in your tent, a groan spilling out when you land on the many pillows adorning it.

Your head lolls back as your eyes droop closed, every muscle in your body aching from your escapades today.

It had been a long one. A long and rough one. It felt like you'd been fighting for days when you finally came out victorious, but the price of winning meant that you'd been covered in blood and bruises.

One long bath later, you were finally back in your tent, lit candles scattered about, jewel-shade pillows in velvety fabrics adorning the space.

Your living accommodations had certainly become more colorful and frivolous ever since you and Astarion had decided to shack up together.

It had been an accident, at first. Your relationship had it's ups and downs, but after defeating Cazador, he finally told you how he felt. He laid himself bare for you, not just his body but his soul as well, and your heart soared at the idea that the man you fell for so recklessly finally loved you back. Even with everything the two of you had gone through.

Eventually, it came to a point where the two of you would spend every night in each others arms, either in your own tent or his. So naturally, you came to the conclusion that it would be easier if you just shared one tent. Together.

It had taken a period of adjustment, at first, but it didn't take long for both of you to find a home in your newly shared accommodations. For Astarion, an important part of his living space was that it be elegant, and comfortable – at least whatever comfortable meant to his standards. For you, it felt more lavish than anything, but after a while you started to find your own comfort in merely the thought that he loved the space. You found comfort in the thought that he felt at home, considering it had been so long since he'd felt that way.

You and Astarion aside, however, your work was still cut out for you on the fighting front. Defeating Cazador was nowhere near the end for you, even despite of Astarion now being a free – albeit still spawn – vampire, your main quest remained the same, and you were still fighting day to day to make it happen. Which is why you're currently camped out on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, planning your next move.

Unfortunately for you and your companions, your presence in Baldur's Gate didn't exactly please everyone, which is why a group of mercenaries had cornered you earlier, prepared for a fight. They got one, but victory didn't come easily, which is why you're now achingly sore to the point of almost crying.

Your bones ache, so do your muscles, and your stomach feels empty beyond what could possibly be deemed healthy, but you're simply too tired to make any food.

You almost manage to drift off right there, in just your casual outfit on top of piles of velvet pillows, when you hear soft steps approaching, entering your tent.

You already know who it is just by the sound of his steps, how silent they are; you can tell that the only reason there's a sound at all is for your benefit, to alert you of his presence.

When he speaks, his voice is soft, laced with worry, a gentle whisper that caresses your mind, lulling you gently.

"Darling. Please tell me you're not dead."

A tired smile works its way onto your face, but your eyes remain closed as you murmur, "I'm alive."

"Thank the gods," Astarion responds, and you can just imagine the characteristic smirk on his face as he speaks, "Because if you were, I'm sure our companions wouldn't hesitate to suspect it be my doing."

You can hear him ruffling about faintly, closing the flaps to your tent to grant the two of you privacy, but your mind is already desperately slipping towards dream-state, only urged on by your body.

A beat passes before he speaks again, more quietly this time, but his voice is clearer than before despite it, which indicates he's moved closer to you.

"Have you eaten anything yet?"

You mumble something inaudible, but you manage to shake your head slowly, your eyes staying closed as you remain too tired to offer him a proper response.

He let's out a sigh, one that's steeped in worry rather than disappointment, and then you feel something cold gently brush over your cheek. His fingers.

"You need to eat, my darling. I know you're tired, but you haven't eaten all day. What can I get you?"

Your brows furrow as you shift slightly on the bed, tilting your cheek into his embrace. He cups it carefully, his cold touch soothing on your skin when his thumb caresses it.

"Mh, dunno.." Your response is barely there, but Astarion doesn't move away, his voice determined.

"I cannot in good consciousness let you sleep before you eat at least a little bit. How about fruit? An apple, perhaps?"

You grunt, your brows furrowing as your head shakes.

Astarion tuts gently at your antics, his fingers brushing over your forehead in a soothing manner, "Okay, my sweet, point taken. No apples. An orange then, would that entice you?"

You hesitate. An orange does sound absolutely perfect right now.

But then you let out a whine, "Too tired to peel it."

Astarion chuckles softly, his fingers gently sliding down the bridge of your nose as he whispers, "Don't fret, my dear."

The bed shifts again, his cool touch leaving your face, but it doesn't take long before your mind steals you away again, luring you into your dream state.

You're almost there when you feel movement again, your brows furrowing slightly as your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips.

Astarion gently slides a hand down your arm, his voice quiet, "I'm back, my love. I've got something for you, won't you indulge me in having a few bites?"

You stir at his words, settling against the pillows again, and then you feel something prod at your lips as he speaks again, "Open up for me, darling."

Your lips part, and he gently feeds you an orange slice, the taste making you hum when you bite down on it.

Astarion smiles at the tired look on your face, further peeling the orange to get more slices when you chew them.

"There we go. Tastes good, yes?"

You nod sleepily, blinking owlishly to look up at him through tired eyes. His smile widens when your eyes meet his, his adept fingers expertly peeling the orange without issue, "There she is. My little warrior."

You let out a tired chuckle at his words, parting your lips when he offers you another orange slice.

"Just a few more, darling. Then I'll let you rest."

You nod, your eyes fluttering closed again, but it doesn't deter him from feeding you the remaining orange slices as he speaks to you quietly to keep you awake.

"You were a sight for sore eyes today. I bet Gale is jealous you're not halfway to passed out in his bed right now."

You let out a snort at his words, shaking your head which makes him chuckle, "Now now, stay still, you little vixen. Eat the last of your orange."

You comply, chewing the last few bites and swallowing with a satisfied hum once you finish. His cool fingers gently caress your face, first your cheek and then down to your jaw, before you feel him lean closer. You feel his lips brush a kiss to your forehead, and then another on the tip of your nose before he whispers, "Thank you for eating. You may sleep now, my treasure."

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #fluff #astarion fluff #orange peel theory #bg3 fic #astarion fic #astarion x female tav #orange peel #feel good fic #fluffy fic #fluffy astarion #astarion romance #astarion ancunin

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stevenose · 5 months

Text

adidas (18+)

a continuation of this blurb from july.

contains: steve x reader; shy reader; no gender descriptors for reader, word ‘hole’ is used; car sex! my fave; oral (steve receiving); heavy petting; make outs

hope u likey 🫶🏻

=====

“steve?”

he jumps when you talk to him. like he wasn’t expecting it. his face flushes a bit, matches the maroon of his shirt. “uh-huh?”

you’ve been working yourself up for this for a week. well, actually, for the last three months. since he’d parked his car in that abandoned lot and sent you home a changed person. “eddie can’t take me home tonight.”

because the plan of steve starting to pick you go and take you home fell flat on its face. robin didn’t want to ride with anyone else, which was fair. and you both weren’t exactly keen on everyone knowing. what you both wanted eventually fizzled out, and instead manifested itself in longing looks and some occasional, “accidental” touching.

the bastard still hasn’t given you your underwear back.

steve blinks once. twice. his adam’s apple bobs. he runs a hand through his hair, flustered much more than you’ve ever seen him. “good thing i know where you live, huh?”

it really has been the most aggravatingly long three months of your life. nothing has been the same and yet nothing has changed. steve still treats you like always - a friend on the very outskirts of his circle. you still stare down at his adidas when he’s a little too close to you, talking to you and someone else about work or a new movie. and eddie has been at every. single. hangout. picks you up and takes you home and you never once tell him (or robin, for that matter) to fuck off so you can get laid again.

but tonight, eddie has a gig, and no one passed the motion to reschedule.

“when?” steve asks, moving closer. “jesus, never thought you’d ask.”

your breath shakes when you inhale, looking up from the neck of his shirt to stare at his big brown eyes. you wonder what the look he gives you means. “couple minutes? up to you.”

“do you - want to?” he asks as his head tilts.

“yeah,” you whisper. your face turns hot. “want proof?”

there’s no one else in this corner of nancy’s kitchen. steve nods, almost imperceptibly so, and you gently take his wrist before guiding it towards the core of you. he takes a sharp inhale and looks around, his hair bobbing. you don’t know if you want to laugh or scream. he looks back at you and licks his lips. “now? we go now?”

“rob,” you’re saying two minutes later, “i’ve got a hell of a headache - steve’s gonna take me home. can you get a ride from nance?”

maybe you’re paranoid, but the smile she gives you is a little irritating. you’re relieved when she doesn’t argue. “hope you feel better.”

it’s quiet and tense when steve gets the passenger side door for you. you slip into the soft leather of the seat and open your mouth to say thank you, but steve’s lips are suddenly on yours. it shocks your brain - in fact, you feel a little sick, want and need rushing through you.

you shouldn’t be kissing a guy like him. and he shouldn’t be kissing you, you think. but his soft hands cup your heated cheeks, pink tongue caressing your bottom lip. he pulls away quickly, swipes his thumb across your cheekbone and nods with a little smile.

“sorry,” he whispers, eyes wandering your face. “had to.”

“that - that’s okay.”

steve jogs to his side of the door and slides in quickly. turns the key so fast the engine stalls for a second before purring to life. he giggles and reaches towards you, letting his hand fall on your thigh. again. it’s burning your skin.

you have to roll down the window.

you’re both silent. overthinking, certainly. steve bites his cheek while you stare out the window, and for a minute you think this will go nowhere. but then he speaks, his thumb rubbing circles on your leg.

“i missed you. y’know how hard it was watching you? i didn’t - i, uh, i didn’t know if you’d want to do this again. do you want to?” he asks again.

“please?”

he grins. “well, when you ask so sweet… you like the car? i can take you to a proper place, if you want.”

the car sort of invigorates you. it’s a little dirty and perverted. you aren’t either of those things - it makes you feel like a whole new person. “i kind of liked the view last time….”

steve snorts. “you’re funny.”

“so’re you.”

“hmm. how about you take a compliment without giving one back?”

it makes your skin crawl and you don’t really think before you say, “what else should i take?”

steve groans. it’s music to your ears. you’ve dreamed of it, tried to remember it at night - hell, during the afternoon, the early morning when the thought of him won’t let you sleep. you’re addicted. you’d say the sluttiest things imaginable if it kept getting that reaction.

you knew exactly what you wanted to do for him. got your lips all soft and red with cherry lip salve. you know how much he loves cherries. you’ve watched, hungry, while he bit off the flesh of one from a stem, covered in whipped cream. watched him add it to his coca cola. smelled it on his skin.

yes, indeed. you’re tasting him tonight.

his car veers off to the usual spot. at least, you’d like to call it that. the usual spot. you want to utter it to him when those tight levis break your imagination. when his big hands distract you as they slide into a bowling ball.

you’re desperate for courage when he parks, though steve feeds it to you. “can i kiss you?” and a second later, his soft lips are back on yours. he’s so good at it it makes you dizzy.

“such a pretty thing,” he whispers. “is that cherry?”

you nod, hands grabbing his shirt. as if he’d stop you from floating into space. you can’t even open your eyes. the sight of him might kill you.

“did you know i love cherries?”

“i know a lot about you.”

steve’s big hand slides up your thigh, playing with the sensitive skin on the inside. “oh, yeah?” his lips press against yours but he still talks. “like what?”

your face is so hot it’s embarrassing. you’re not even aware that you’re grinding against the seat below you. so goddamn needy for him. you speak between kisses. “like - you - suck - at - pool.”

“that - a - deal - breaker - for - you?”

you giggle. you can’t help it. “least you - can kiss.”

steve surges towards you, his chest pressed i’m against yours. you’re on fire. you might suffocate. it’s delightful. you want to feel this claustrophobic because of him all the time. your hands tangle in his hair and you pull him towards you while his fingers finally find you needy between the thighs again.

“you been thinkin’ of me like i’ve been thinkin’ of you?” he asks, pulling away. his lips are tinted red now, too. he looks a little pathetic when he asks it, excited, eager, but ready for rejection.

“of course i have,” you breathe. “every night, every morning.”

“what a romantic,” steve teases. he applies a little bit more pressure to your sensitivity. “y’know how much i’ve been thinkin’ about you? jerked myself sore after every hangout. but i’m starting to forget the taste of you.”

you’re so wildly out of your depth here. he talks about this like it’s second nature. “that’s too bad.” you’re perpetually out of breath. “i….”

steve raises his brows and inclines his head towards you, a teasing smile tugging his lips. “you….?”

you’re dizzy. “i don’t even know what you taste like.”

“huh?” he genuinely did not hear you. you’re mumbling, scared to say the wrong thing. it really riles him up, though.

you don’t want to repeat yourself, so you instead reach across the console to rub his erection with your hand. he gasps and bites his lip while his puppy dog eyes squeeze shut. “oh!”

“can i taste?” you whisper.

steve’s eyes snap open and he looks truly surprised. “oh,” he says, less slutty. “i - uh - i - are you -?”

you nod. “want to feel you in my mouth.”

it sounds so lame when it comes out but steve groans, head falling back against the window. “don’t say shit like that,” he moans, rutting up against your palm.

okay, now you’re on fire in a very different way. “like what?” you don’t really have to make yourself sound innocent. “like, i wanna feel how heavy your cock is on my tongue?”

“oh my god,” he groans. “baby - jesus christ. christ. shit. where have you been?”

“waiting,” you answer. “will you help me?”

steve gets his pants down his hips in record time. he blushes heavily, waiting for your reaction. which - your face is probably blank to him, because conceptualizing the size of him is a difficult task. he’s thick, long, the tip gently slapping against his tummy. your pipe dream of getting him in your throat is out the window. for now, you’ll have to start small.

which, he is not.

“is it okay?” steve asks.

“what?” your head snaps up to see his disheveled face and messy hair. “its - yeah. i - i might not be able to -“

“of course!” he says quickly, shaking his head. “you don’t have to do anything - kissin’ you’s more than enough - and - and you know i love tasting y-“

you lean forward and it shuts him up. he shifts so he’s facing you, so he’s closer. your hand reaches out experimentally to feel him. steve sighs when your fingers wrap around the velvet length. he’s so much warmer and harder than you ever imagined.

“and you’ve never…?” he asks hoarsely.

you look up at him through your lashes and he almost combusts. “no.”

steve shivers. his hands gently scrape through your hair, pushing it out of your pretty face. “go slow, okay? you want to stop, we stop.”

it’s almost annoying. “steve, be quiet.”

“i’m not known for th-aaaaaaaah!”

his head falls back against the window again just from you licking the tip of his cock. the salt of his precum makes your mouth water. his nails scratch gingerly at your scalp in the same way your fingers try to find purchase in his shirt when he kisses you.

you feel powerful. really, truly.

he’s saying nonsense above you when you really start your work, taking him further and further into your mouth. he’s so heavy on your tongue. tastes clean and inoffensive. you adore the way his shaft tenses up when you run your tongue over a vein or focus on the head.

“you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he slurs, watching you with hooded eyes. “so good at that, honey, y’sure y’never did this?”

you pop off of him and use your hand to leisurely jerk him off. it’s much different from his ferocity when he ate you out. “why? you jealous?”

steve’s chest heaves and he tries to find words. “sometimes when eddie’d take you home i - i’d get - thinking about him touching you -“

“please don’t mention him right now,” you beg, though you’d be lying if the idea of him getting pissed over you and someone else didn’t do it for you.

he changes the subject quickly. “touch yourself.”

you pause. “i - might be hard -“

“ugh, right,” he moans. “wish - wish you - had more room. could finger that - that pretty little hole while you suck me off.”

you moan now, and lean back forward to suck him off again. you’re messy with it, letting yourself drool on him to account for what you couldn’t take. you wish he’d make you take it, his fingers bullying into you while his hips buck up. you want it so bad it has you drooling harder, your core aching. it hurts.

“miss it,” he continues, voice strained. “miss how t-tight y’were on my tongue, shit! oh, honey, we - we - should s-sixty-nine, that’d be so hot.”

you moan and, against your better judgement, take him a little deeper. you gag when he hits the back of your throat but the mini freak-out steve has when you do is so worth it. he gasps and thrashes, a long, guttural groan filling the car. “yes, fuck! fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck i’m close so close-“

and you don’t really know what to do with your hand, so it reaches down to fondle his balls, which feels dirty and makes your heart beat fast and hard. steve’s pulling you off of him so quickly you get whiplash, and then he’s cumming in thick spurts, gasping and arching and whining. you reach for him to help him finish, his big hand finding yours and helping you jerk him off. his mouth open in an “o”, his eyes staring at you with adoration, brows furrowed.

your pristine hand is covered in his cum. it’s pretty, pearlescent in the moonlight. you want to taste it but you’re not sure if that would make things awkward. your fever has vanished and you’re thinking a bit more clearly now. anxiety creeps in - but steve’s lips quickly quell it, soothing you as they move against yours.

“sorry,” he whispers. he’s very giggly. “got y’messy.”

“you’re prone to doing that.”

he laughs louder. “cute and funny?”

“and good at head?”

“that’s not a requirement.”

“an added bonus, certainly?”

steve pulls you towards him again. “you want my dirty underwear this time?”

you feel lightheaded when you say yes.

#steve harrington smut #stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader

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candycandy00 · 5 months

Text

The Doll House - A Nanami x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Despite your crippling fear of men, your family sells you to the Doll House. Luckily, you end up with the handsome, gentlemanly Nanami as your trainer, and he’s about to show you how great a man can be.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Nanami’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m keeping the same tag list as Geto’s part. If you’d like to be removed, please let me know!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Daddy kink. Hair pulling. Oral sex. Fingering. Divider by @benkeibear!

Ever since you can remember, you’ve had a crippling fear of men. Your father died when you were so small, you have no memories of him. You have no brothers, no uncles you’ve ever met, and you don’t even remember playing with any boy cousins as a child. Throughout your education, you only went to all girl schools. Otherwise, you’ve avoided going out in public as much as possible.

As a child, your older sister told you scary stories about men being brutish monsters who only wanted to hurt girls. Looking back, you understand now that she was only teasing you. But those stories combined with the fact that you’ve never even had a full conversation with a man before has left you with quite the phobia.

Even though you’ve watched movies and tv shows and seen men in that context, you’re still afraid of them. The fact that you find lots of fictional men attractive only confuses your emotions even more. You’ve spent years watching animated shows with men way too handsome to ever be real, developing crushes on them because they felt safe.

And your favorite, the one you’ve always been in love with despite him being made of ink and paper, is Prince Sebastian. In the cartoon, he’s a tall, muscular, blonde prince who is always a perfect gentleman to the women around him, always there to protect them from danger. Despite being an adult now, you still have a poster hanging on your bedroom wall featuring him.

Now, you find yourself standing in the welcome room of the Doll House, waiting to meet your trainer. How did it come to this? Just yesterday you were cooped up in your room, playing video games. Then this morning, your aunt who raised you and your sister stormed into your room and announced that she was selling you to the Doll House. You thought she was joking at first. What she was saying was unthinkable! She was rich! She didn’t need the money! Sure, she’s been complaining a lot lately about you staying in your room all day, but you didn’t think she was this angry!

You screamed, you cried, you made quite the scene. But then she told you that if you refused to sign the contract, she was kicking you out of her house and completely cutting you off. So you could live in a nice house with a rich man, or you could live under a bridge. To you, both options were terrifying. But one was slightly worse.

If you live under a bridge, how would you watch your favorite shows or play your games? And who knows how many unsavory men would approach you? Dealing with one man would be much better. Or so you’ve been telling yourself since you got here. But… now that you’re here, and there’s a strange man on his way to get you and do unspeakable things to you… you can’t do it!

You make a run for it, even though you’ve already signed the contract and met the owner, even though your aunt dropped you off and told you not to come back, you run out of the welcome room and into the front lobby, toward the exit. But just before you reach the door, you hear footsteps and voices behind you. One of them sounds like the owner, calling out your name. You’re so startled that you trip and crash to the floor, pulling off a perfectly humiliating face plant.

For a moment, you just lie there, feeling stunned and defeated, the adrenaline that fueled your brief escape attempt all gone. Tears sting your eyes as you begin to cry, hiccuping pathetically as your shoulders shake.

“Are you alright, miss?”

At the sound of a male voice, your body freezes up in terror. You turn your head to the side so you can look up. A man is squatting down beside you, holding out his hand.

“Let me help you up,” he says in a soft voice.

You blink away your tears as you stare at his face, and you realize something that momentarily shocks the fear right out of you. He looks exactly like Prince Sebastian! That blonde hair, those kind eyes, that muscular shape! It’s like the character just walked out of the tv! You never thought a real flesh and blood man could ever be as beautiful as Prince Sebastian, yet here he was!

Still stunned, you take his offered hand and allow him to gently pull you up. It’s the first time you remember actually touching a man.

He hands you a white handkerchief, spotlessly clean, and you use it to wipe your eyes. “Thanks,” you mumble, reaching the handkerchief back to him.

“My name is Nanami Kento. I’m your trainer,” he says, and you can’t help staring at him. He’s your trainer? Prince Sebastian? Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. But no, you can’t let your guard down! He might be ridiculously handsome, but he’s still a man!

You introduce yourself in a small, quivering voice. He nods and then calls over the lady working behind the front counter. “Can you take her to my room, please? And make sure she has whatever she needs.”

The lady smiles and nods, then heads back toward the welcome room. “Follow me. We’ll grab your suitcase on the way!”

Numbly, you follow after her.

************************

Nanami waits until his new doll has left the room, then turns to the owner. “When you said she has a fear of men, I didn’t realize it was this bad,” he says, sighing. “So what’s going on? You normally don’t accept dolls who were clearly forced or coerced into signing the contract. She obviously doesn’t want to be a doll.”

The owner gives a sigh of her own. “Her aunt came and spoke to me yesterday. Apparently she threatened to throw the girl out if she didn’t sign.”

“Coercion,” Nanami says. “Despicable. So why did you accept?”

The owner looks him in the eye. “The aunt said that if I didn’t take the girl, they were going to sell her on the direct market. You know how things work there. It would be like tossing that girl into a lion’s den blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back.” The owner pauses and sighs again. “I thought that if she’s trained by someone like you, at least it would be like tossing her in there with a sword and a shield. At least she’d have a fighting chance.”

She has a point. The whole situation leavrs a bad taste in Nanami’s mouth though. “So why is she afraid of men? Any past trauma I should be aware of?”

“None,” the owner says. “She’s just never been around men in her whole life. No male relatives. Went to all girl schools.”

“Hmm.”

“And Nanami,” the owner adds, her voice dropping a bit lower, “I know you’re not going to like this, but you’ll have to deflower her. Ordinarily I’d keep her a virgin and charge a premium for her, but in this case I think sending her out so unprepared would be exceedingly cruel.”

He looks toward the door the poor doll had disappeared through. “Only if she agrees to it.”

The owner nods. “Of course. Oh, and stay sharp. There’s something off about this whole thing. Her aunt is wealthy, and she even took half what I would usually offer. She seemed really determined to have the girl trained here. There might be something else going on.”

Nanami looks at the owner. “A punishment perhaps?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. But the contract was signed so we’ll see where this goes.”

*********************

Inside your trainer’s room, you find the place impeccably neat and orderly. There’s a large bookshelf filled with difficult-looking tomes, though you do spot a few fantasy novels you’ve read yourself. The bed is so smoothly made that you wonder if he even sleeps in it. The dresser has several bottles of expensive-looking cologne, and a peek in the closet reveals a wardrobe of stylish, fancy clothes in brands even you, who grew up in a wealthy family, haven’t heard of. They’re probably brands that focus on menswear, something you would be clueless about.

The lady from the front desk sits your suitcase on the floor beside the closet and smiles at you. “You hit the jackpot, miss. Nanami is an excellent trainer.”

“He is?” you ask, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

The lady laughs. “Let’s just say that if I had to pick one of the trainers to be mine, I’d pick him in a heartbeat. He’s respectful and kind, and not to mention handsome. The dolls he trains are always sad to leave!”

That made you feel a little better, and you were grateful to her for trying to put you at ease. “Thanks for telling me,” you say. “That’s really good to know.”

She smiles and nods and leaves the room, and it only takes a few moments for your anxiety to return. Your trainer will be coming in here any minute. He’ll probably make you strip! He’ll make you touch him! He’ll touch you! Even if he’s gorgeous, you can’t handle that!

You hurry over to the lone window in his room. It overlooks the back parking lot. You push the window up, opening it, and lean out to look down. The Doll House’s structure is elevated a several feet off the ground, but it’s still only one story. The drop doesn’t look too bad. You sling one leg out over the ledge, leaving you straddling the window. Just then, the door opens, and your trainer walks in.

It only takes him a moment to assess the situation and realize what you’re doing. He rushes toward you, and in a panic you try to jump out, but your other foot catches on the window sill. You fall at a strange angle, reflexively reaching out with one hand to grab the ledge, screaming as you do. Your trainer is quick to action, lunging forward and grabbing your arm.

Nanami pulls you back in through the window, and the two of you fall to the carpeted floor, you on top of him. Did he purposely turn so that his body would shield you from the fall? His strong arms are wrapped around you, holding you firmly but gently. You look up at him, and he seems upset. You let out a squeak of terror and scurry away from him, backing into the wall, still sitting on the floor.

He stands up and dusts himself off. Oh no! Did his fancy clothes get dirty? Is he mad now? He looks at you with a strange expression. Something between exasperation and concern. “Before you hurt yourself trying to escape,” he begins, walking over to a polished shelf and pouring what looks like water into a glass, “why don’t we talk?” He steps over and hands you the glass. You take it, then sip the water.

“Okay,” you say, feeling stupid now as you tuck your knees under yourself.

“Let’s go over a few things,” he says. “First of all, I’m not going to hurt you. If there’s any pain involved in what we do, it will be thoroughly discussed and agreed upon beforehand. I’ll respect your boundaries. I won’t do anything that you don’t consent to.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. You start to relax just a little.

“That being said, the more training you receive while you’re here, the easier things will be for you when you’re purchased,” he says. “I’m not here to make you miserable. I’m here to prepare you for the next ten years. It would be to your benefit to experience as many things as possible here, with me, in an environment where your wishes are respected, before you end up with an owner who might not be so patient.”

You know what he’s saying. “You mean, I should have s-sex with you.”

He nods. “That would be my recommendation, yes. But I won’t force you to do anything. It has to be your decision, and you don’t have to decide right away. For now, why don’t we start with something simple, like letting me help you up?”

He extends his hand to you, for the second time today. Earlier, you were so stunned by his resemblance to Prince Sebastian that you took his hand easily. Now, you hesitate, staring at him for a moment before reaching up and letting his large, warm hand envelope yours. He pulls you to your feet, and you end up standing so close you can see his face more clearly than ever. Ahhh, he really is incredibly handsome!

“Now, is there anything else you’d like to try?”

You blink. “Right now?”

“If you want. Or we can wait until you’ve had more time to adjust.”

You think for a while. His muscular frame looks so inviting. You’re not sure how much you can handle, but you want to try.

“Would a hug be okay?”

He seems a little surprised, but he smiles softly at you. “Sure,” he says, before slowly putting his arms around you and pulling you into his embrace. It actually feels really nice! And he smells so good! For a brief time, you almost want him to make love to you right then and there. Your brain is filled with thoughts of him picking you up and carrying you to his bed, of him taking charge, pulling off your clothes, having his way with you. The thoughts leave you blushing, and you pull away.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you tell him as he gestures for you to sit in a plush chair beside a table.

“When the training begins, there will be some rules,” he says, sitting down in a matching chair on the other side of the table. “You are to refer to me as ‘Daddy’ at all times. If you misbehave, I’ll punish you. But, as I said, that’s something we can discuss and ease you into.”

You feel your heart pounding rapidly. Calling him Daddy? Punishment? It sounds terrifying, but also strangely hot. You’ve watched porn before, so you know a little about daddy kinks. You’ve always been kinda turned on when the man calls the woman “good girl”. You just never imagined, in your wildest dreams or nightmares, that you would end up in a situation like that. When you watched porn, it always felt distant, like something happening in another world. You’ve even masturbated to it, still never once imagining yourself in those positions. Men in “real life” were far too scary.

“I’m going to leave the ball in your court,” he says. “You can tell me when you’re ready to officially start the training. Until then, I’ll keep a respectable distance and let you get accustomed to being here.”

His words are very reassuring. You can feel your anxiety beginning to melt away. Maybe, just maybe, you can get over your fear with a gentleman like him.

That night, Nanami sleeps on a borrowed futon on the floor, giving you the bed. You feel terrible about that, but also relieved. While a small part of you was excited by the prospect of sharing a bed with him, a much bigger part was scared out of your mind to be in such close proximity to a man all night long.

For three days, nothing really happens between you and your trainer. You do feel slightly more comfortable with him, sharing a room and a bathroom will do that, but aside from a couple more hugs and some accidental brushing of elbows, he hasn’t touched you. Deep down, you’re a little disappointed by that.

You accompany him to the dining hall for meals, and you’ve met the other trainers. Most of them stay away from you, even as Nanami introduces them. You figure he’s informed them of your phobia. Just one of them occasionally comes a little closer than you’re comfortable with: the one named Gojo. He’s friendly and not at all threatening, but he’s still a man. So when he stops by the table you’re sitting at with Nanami, you can’t help sliding away from him a little, which results in you sliding closer to your trainer.

On your fourth day at the Doll House, you come to a decision. It’s time to face your fears and begin the training!

You wait until after dinner to tell Nanami. He’s standing at his dresser, loosening his tie in a way that makes you extremely weak. He occasionally makes polite conversation with you, but oftentimes he simply reads for a while before showering and going to sleep on the futon. Tonight, you approach him at the dresser.

“Um, I think I’m ready to start now,” you say, your voice a bit shaky despite your best efforts to stay calm.

He turns and looks at you. “Are you certain?”

You nod. “As certain as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright, then we need to discuss a few things.”

You feel yourself droop. You’ve hyped yourself up for some wild sexy times, but now you have to talk first? You really hope this conversation doesn’t get too awkward.

“First of all, you should choose a safe word. Are you familiar with that term?” he asks.

You are, or rather you’ve heard it used in porn or the smutty stories you read online, but you’re too embarrassed to admit that. “Not really,” you say.

“You choose a word or short phrase that wouldn’t normally be used in the bedroom, and whenever you say it, I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. If you’re genuinely afraid or something hurts or just makes you uncomfortable, say the safe word. We’ll stop immediately and only resume once you’re comfortable again.”

“Okay. How about… snowcone?” you ask.

“Snowcone? That’s fine. Don’t forget it,” he says.

“I won’t.”

“Now, part of my training involves light punishment for bad behavior. Mostly spankings, hair pulling, and things of that nature. Nothing that’s going to seriously hurt. Is that something you can handle?”

You suspected as much, but hearing him say it out loud, in that smooth voice of his, makes you feel dizzy. The thought of being spanked by this man as he calls you a bad girl turns you on way more than you expected. It also scares you. A man! Touching you! But you beat back down the panic that’s threatening to undermine your decision and nod. “I think so. I want to try at least.”

He walks over to his bed and sits down. His legs are spread apart as he undoes the first few buttons of his shirt and then runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, leaving it a little bit messy with a few strands hanging over one eye. He gives you a look that nearly makes you buckle, and says, “Come over here and show daddy what a good girl you can be.”

Your jaw nearly drops, your breath gets caught in your throat, and your only response is to say, “I’ll be right back!” and flee to the bathroom.

Slamming the door shut behind you, you grab a fluffy towel from a shelf and press it to your face, using it to muffle a scream. Is it a scream of terror? Of excitement? Even you don’t know. You pant for a few moments, trying to pull yourself together.

He’s hot! He’s soooo hot!

But he’s a man!

He looks just like Prince Sebastian!

But he’s a man!

After several more deep breaths, you feel the panic subsiding. You can do this! You step out of the bathroom as if you’d simply powdered your nose and walk back over to Nanami. “Sorry, I just needed a moment,” you say, hoping he didn’t hear your garbled scream.

He gives you a small, amused smile. He definitely heard it! But he only says, “That’s fine. Take your time.”

Ahhh! He’s such a gentleman! You want him to do unspeakable things to you!

“C-can we start over?”

“Of course. I believe I told you to show me what a good girl you can be,” he said.

“Okay,” you say, feeling even more awkward than usual standing there in front of him. “How should I do that?”

He gives you another one of those sultry looks. “You can start by coming closer and getting on your knees.”

Oh shit. He wants you to suck him off! Can you do it? You’ve seen it done in porn countless times. Yes, you can do it! And after you’re done, maybe he’ll pat your head and call you a good girl! Ahhh! Just imagining it has your heart pounding!

You take the few steps needed to be directly in front of him, so close he could hug you if he wanted to. Then you get on your knees, right between his thighs. You glance up at him, unsure of what you should do next. Do you open his pants? Wait for him to do it? This is a daddy kink scenario, so maybe you can just mimic what you’ve seen and read online. You look up at him with wide eyes. “What do you want me to do, Daddy?”

There’s a flicker of surprise on his face, but then he leans back slightly on his hands and says, “I’ll let you decide. What do you think would make Daddy happiest right now?”

You hesitate for just a moment more, then reach up and unbuckle his belt. Your hands are trembling as you unbutton and unzip his pants. This is it! You’re going to see and touch a real man’s cock! You see his boxers when you open his pants, black and classy. With your heart hammering wildly in your chest, you grip the waistband and pull it down, under a dick that seems way bigger than it should be. But what would you know?

With one hand, you lightly wrap your fingers around the hard, hot organ. Feeling unsure, you gently move your hand up and down the length. It’s too dry! Isn’t it supposed to be slippery? Wait… maybe that’s why women in porn often lick or drool on it. You glance up at his face, and there’s no change in his expression. Should you just spit on it? But that doesn’t seem like a very “good girl” thing to do.

“Can I lick it, Daddy?”

“If you want to,” he answers.

Slowly, you lean forward and touch your tongue to the tip. You thought it would taste bad, but really there’s no taste at all. The only thing you detect is the pleasant scent of bodywash. Of course someone like him would keep himself immaculately clean. You move your tongue all around the tip, licking it the way you would a popsicle, then you move your tongue down the shaft, toward the base, trying to get it as wet as possible. You hear him exhale a breath, and your eyes dart up to his face. He looks like he’s enjoying this!

You feel his hand in your hair, and then all at once he’s got most of it gathered in his grip, holding it firmly. It doesn’t hurt, but it does make you feel like he’s completely in control of this situation, and that in itself makes you wet.

“Take it in your mouth,” he says, his grip on your hair getting just a little tighter.

Eager to please him, you do as you’re told, letting him fill your mouth with his cock. It’s a scary feeling at first, as you adjust to breathing only through your nose and occasionally gagging around him when he slips a little too far down your throat. But somehow his hand pulling your hair is comforting. You realize you like being led.

He pushes your head up and down his length, slowly at first, gently. It’s more like he’s guiding you than forcing you. Gradually he ups the pace, going a bit deeper into your throat, which automatically constricts around him. By now your lips are covered in drool and the sticky fluid leaking from his tip, making them glide along the shaft easily.

After several minutes, you hear his voice again. “I’m going to cum,” he says, a very slight strain to his tone. “Don’t spill a drop.”

Before you can do anything to react to his words, his grip on your hair tightens as he pushes your head down, his cock going halfway down your throat. You feel the warm cum shooting out, sliding directly down to your stomach. You swallowed it all without even getting the chance to taste it.

After he pulls out of your mouth, he gives you a few moments to catch your breath, then his hand releases your hair and rubs your head. “Good girl,” he says, and you think you might just faint.

The hand rubbing your head slides down your neck, your shoulder, and then grips your wrist. He pulls you to your feet, and then into his lap. You’re sitting on one of his muscular thighs as he deftly tucks his dick back into his pants with one hand. His other hand is holding you in place, the arm wrapped around you from behind.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a kind look in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, surprised by how true that is.

“Then, since you’re being so good for Daddy, why don’t I reward you?” he says, his free hand slipping under your skirt, between your legs.

Your body jerks in surprise, and if he wasn’t holding you firmly in place, you probably would have tumbled out of his lap. His eyes are on your face, watching carefully, as his hand slowly slides down, inside the front of your panties. He’s taking his time, giving you ample opportunity to use the safe word. But you don’t, because despite the fear you’re currently feeling, you don’t want him to stop.

His fingers softly rub your most private place, gently parting the slick flesh, one finger quickly finding your clit. You gasp and clutch his arm, the sensations nearly overwhelming you.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, his voice close to your ear.

You nod your head, murmuring, “Mmhm.”

His fingers traces circles around your sensitive nub, then strokes it, making you release little mewling cries.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says, almost in a whisper. “Use your words.”

“It feels… so good, Daddy! S-so so good! Nothing has ever felt so good!”

You suddenly wrap both arms around his neck and bury your face in his shoulder. The pleasure is too intense! He’s way too good at this! His fingers never stop, even as you quiver in his grip, even when you cry out “Daddy!” as you cum, your whole body shaking.

While you’re still trembling through your orgasm, with his hand still in your panties, he says, “There’s another rule you need to be aware of. In my training, you have to earn pleasure by being a good girl. You’re not allowed to pleasure yourself. Do you understand?”

You nod against his shoulder, feeling too dazed to speak.

The hand that was holding you in place moves up to grip your hair and pull your head back so he can see your face. It’s not a harsh action, but a firm one. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you say, and he releases your hair, then smoothes it down gently.

“That’s my good girl.”

**********************

Nanami sits in a chair in his room, thumbing through a book he bought recently and sipping wine. His doll is fast asleep in his bed, exhausted from the intense training session.

He had made sure she was okay, physically and emotionally, before drawing a hot bath for her in his private bathroom and then later helping her into bed. They will be sharing the bed now that the training has begun, and she seemed okay with that before she fell asleep.

Nanami is actually quite surprised by her. He had guessed it would be at least a week before she would be willing to try any sort of training, but here she is on the fourth day, practically swallowing his cock. She’s facing her fears, and that’s admirable.

Though her escape attempts and nervous, terrified energy are exasperating, he also has to admit that he finds her amusing. Earlier, when she ran to the bathroom to scream, it was all he could do to hold back his laughter when she returned and acted as if nothing happened. She was definitely a strange one.

He closes the book and stands up to stretch. His mind is already full of plans for tomorrow, for the various training exercises he can try with her. He doesn’t want to push her too far and make her fear of men worse, but he also wants to make sure she’s fully prepared for her life as a doll. He’ll do all he can to help her, that much is certain.

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19 @lyn-lotte @missthatgirl @peachedtv @ladytamayolover @nanam1nx

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #kento Nanami #Jjk x reader #x reader #jjk smut

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

Note

I liked your gally headcannon <3

could i request some headcannons for a reader he meets after the glade like they work for Lawrence and stuff? Thank uu

meeting gally in the last city would include

masterlist

ahhh thank you so much! ofc, i love making relationship headcanons <3 reader is a little softie. i'm sorry!! i love writing soft readers too much. suggestive themes.

before relationship

you two first met in an altercation with lawrence's men upon entering the last city's outskirts. he had suggested taking you back to lawrence to join his cause.

it took a while for him to talk to you. he didn't want to leave a bad impression, especially given his track record.

plus, he thought you were really pretty which to him, was intimidating.

he was surprised by how kindly you treated him and how warm the smiles you gave were. such pure-heartedness was a rarity in this world.

you started spending a lot of time together. he would train you in combat; you'd take watch together, and even sometimes talk on the roof at night.

people would definitely notice the connection.

the other men would blatantly tease him about liking you in front of you.

his attraction to you would reach its peak whenever you used a gun. something about a gun and girl really got him going.

there would be moments where you two flirted and then became all flustered when you realised what you were doing.

he would start distancing himself.

he'd never feel worthy of having you in his life. his past would always haunt him.

one night, he caved and told you everything he had done.

you kissed him for the first time and told him he was the strongest person you had ever met.

that was when he knew he had fallen in love with you.

during relationship

pet names would include baby, angel, beautiful, and short-stuff.

his sense of humour used to be self-deprecating, but your constant reassurance and loving words changed that.

now he'd do anything, say anything, to make you laugh or smile. he loved your smile. your laugh even more so.

he would be extremely protective over you. your gentle nature would make you more vulnerable, something he felt he needed to protect.

especially during missions and supply runs.

"don't leave my side, alright?"

"please be careful."

"i don't want you in any danger. i cant lose you too."

you'd always protect each other in combat, even though he's like, way taller than you.

sometimes he needed a little protection though, given the fact that he only had one good lung which affected his fighting capabilities.

sometimes you would sit on his lap during car rides with his arms wrapped around you as your seatbelt.

he wouldn't care about anyone watching. he liked having everyone know you chose him of all people.

he'd tease you about your height all the time. expect a joke at least once a day.

would love hugging you from behind, just enveloping your body with his.

kisses would be so tender. he'd bend down and cup your jaw so delicately while pulling you in by the waist.

forehead kisses, temple kisses, basically just kisses all around. not much in public though, that was something he liked keeping private.

when the relationship progressed, he'd still hold out on you. but gentle wasn't all that you were.

"touch me, gally".

and he would. he would brush his fingers along your jaw, up and down your arms, and hold the side of your neck as he kissed you.

"no," you'd whispered. "gally... be rough with me"

at first, he would be hesitant. but once he saw your insistence, he'd pick you up and plant you on a table, allowing his old rougher self to take over as he kissed you, touched you, and well...

that would be how you first sleep together.

he could lift you up like you weigh absolutely nothing. you're basically like a rag-doll to him. in an innocent way. most of the time ;)

his hands are so big that they completely cover the sides of your head.

you would wear his hoodies and sweatshirts to bed. he'd love how big they were on you.

people would hold parties in the ruins of old buildings. there'd be music, bonfires, and alcohol.

gally wouldn't be able to help himself. you'd just look so beautiful in the firelight, he'd bring you somewhere secluded and take you against a wall.

these were the only times he was harsh with you and you loved it—the contrast between having someone who was lovingly gentle and sinfully rough was exhilarating.

when thomas and the others came to the last city, they were genuinely shocked by how he managed to score you.

thomas especially.

"you know about the things he's done, right?"

you instantly come to his defence.

"i know. i also know that people can change. he's not the same person you knew. he's brave and strong and the most caring man i've ever met."

gally's a bit of a snoop, so of course he 'accidentally' eavesdropped on your conversation.

"did you really mean all that? what you said to thomas."

"of course i did. i love you, you big idiot."

"i love you too... little idiot."

damn this was kinda long. my bad.

#wife of all dilfs ✍️#gally tmr #gally x reader #gally maze runner #tmr gally #gally #gally x you #gally x y/n #will poulter #will poulter x reader #the maze runner #the scorch trials #the death cure #tmr newt #newt maze runner #tmr thomas #thomas the maze runner

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woso-fan91 · 2 months

Text

Forever After All (Steph Catley x singer reader)

Steph and reader started dating before both got famous. Let‘s get a sneak peak on a few parts of their story.

2015:

Steph stepped onto the pitch as a Melbourne Victory player for the last time. It was already decided that her next loan step would be Melbourne City. Her eyes scanned the stands before landing on her girlfriend of four years Y/n. She smiled and waved at Steph with a bright smile and Steph waved back. Both of them decided to go out tonight, no matter the outcome of the game just enjoying eachothers presence.

Later that night both Steph and Y/n sat in their booth at their favourite pub enjoying a cold beer with some fries and the jukebox playing softly their song in the background.

Later after their dinner together Y/n took Stephs hand and they walked to Y/n‘s truck. Charmingly Y/n opened Steph the door on the passenger site and let her get in.

Y/n started the truck and drove to the hill where she and Steph kissed for the first time.

After she parked the truck she grabbed the Maglite in the back of the truck taking Steph to an old oaktree cuddling up with her favourite defender.

Steph relaxed into your arms with a content sigh playing with Y/n‘s fingers knowing her scedule will become more hectic once the season starts.

She had no clue how right she was. Sure they lived together but their time alone became sacred.

They got into a routine and Steph felt, that was something that was bothering her girlfriend.

2020

The defender woke up alone in bed and your side of the bed was cold. With a sigh she stood up brushing the wrinkles out of your shirt she usually slept in. Steph usually slept in one of your shirts because they were more comfortable than her own and they smelled like you. She found you in the kitchen drinking tea: ”What are you doing up Baby?“ Surprised Y/n looked up: ”I could ask you the same dear. You need rest after your tough game yesterday.“ Steph stepped between your legs, wrapping her arms around your neck: ”I know but I usually sleep better when you‘re with me.“ You wrapped your arms around Steph‘s waist: „Sorry Love, I couldn‘t sleep properly so I thought getting up would be better than to wake you up.“ The moonlight shone through your kitchen window and danced across Stephs face. You couldn’t help yourself and kissed your girlfriend lovingly, she looked so beautiful in just your shirt, hair up and face void of makeup. It wasn‘t always easy dating a professional footballer who was on the move to England and with your own career kicking off but you knew deep down, that your love was worth everything.

A cold beer's got twelve ounces

A good truck's got maybe three hundred thousand

You only get so much until it's gone

Duracells in a Maglite

A needle drop on a forty-five

Are the kinda things that only last so long

When the new wears off and they get to getting old

Sooner or later, time's gonna take its toll

They say nothing lasts forever

But they ain't seen us together

Or the way the moonlight dances in your eyes

Just a t-shirt in the kitchen

With no make-up and a million

Other things that I could look at my whole life

A love like that makes a man have second thoughts

Maybe some things last forever after all

2023

You and Steph did a year of long distance but with close to 17.000km distance you decided to follow your girlfriend to England. Of course you were scared that Steph would not be happy to have you close again but with the help of Caitlin you decided to bite the bullet and hop on the plane.

You usually lived ob the outskirts of town so the bustling city of London kinda came as a cultural shock. You felt out of place but Caitlin‘s sure hand helped you relax. You were aware that Stephs ex was also in London and both met up regularly. A part of you was bothered by it, knowing how close they both still are but the other, bigger, part of yourself trusted Steph with your life and knew she would never cheat on you. They were still friends after their love fizzled out.

Caitlin drove you to the training facilities and you followed her inside. She guided you to the field where the rest of the Arsenal girls were practicing.

Katie McCabe looked up when she saw her girlfried return with another girl by her side and hollered playfully: ”Oi babe, you cheating on me?“ Caitlin snorted next to you before yelling back: ”Yep, you caught me with my missus.“ Katie laughed and the other girls came closer. Last one coming closer was Steph and when she realized it was you, she dropped her bottle surprised: ”Baby!“ Nervously you scratched your neck and smiled sheepishly: ”Hi…“ Steph stepped closer placing her hands on your cheeks: ”What are you doing here?“ You placed your hands on Stephs hips: ”Surprise?“ und smiled nervously. Steph kissed you infront of her team and you happily kissed her back, picking her up and twirling her around.

Kim cleared her troat: ”Want to introduce us Steph?“ Steph smiled brightly at her teammates: ”This is Y/n, my girlfriend of 12 years.“

Leah and Alessia put 2 and 2 together figuring out who you were: ”Wait, Y/n as in Y/n Y/l/n the country singer?“ Blushing slightly you nodded: ”In the flesh.“ Alessia squealed: ”Oh my god, we‘re such huge fans!“

Later that evening Steph posted a photo of the two of you curled up on her couch with the simple caption: ‚My love is finally home ❤️‘ and tagged you in it. You weren’t sure if it was a hard launch or a soft launch bit you didn’t exactly care either.

FM station on the outskirts

Blue jeans after years of shift work

All fading out like I always knew they would

The strings on this guitar

The first love lost on a young heart

Those things are gonna break after the getting's good

'Cause the new wears off and they get to getting old

Yeah, sooner or later, time's gonna take its toll

They say nothing lasts forever

But they ain't seen us together

Or the way the moonlight dances in your eyes

Just a t-shirt in the kitchen

With no make-up and a million

Other things that I could look at my whole life

A love like that makes a man have second thoughts

Maybe some things last forever after all

They say nothing lasts forever

But they ain't seen us together

Or the way the moonlight dances in your eyes

You settled in nicely in London living with Steph again getting back into spending your time between the studio, writing songs, planning a proposal and spending time with Steph.

Your chance for the proposal came, when you had a huge gig at the O2 Arena in London. Steph and the girls interested got VIP tickets on your insistence and enjoyed their night and the sold out Arena.

You picked up your old guitar, the one that Steph got you for your one year anniversary, and smiled into the crowd: ”Well London, how are you guys doing? Enjoying yourself tonight?“ The crowd cheered loudly and you laughed happily: ”Well, I‘m so happy we’re on the same page here. I got a little surprise for you. You guys know I‘m not a fan of phones during concerts but for this I‘m willing to make an exception. Most of you know I‘m happily taken and very much in love with my girlfriend Stephanie and she is here tonight with some of her friends.“ The crowd cheered for Steph who blushed prettily and you turned to your security: „Guys, can you please help her up her?“ while the staff brought out a chair. As instructed they helped Steph onto the stage and she looked mildly nervous but intrigued what you were up to.

With a smile you took her hand and led her to the chair placed infront of the stool you would sit on. You pressed a tender kiss onto her lips under the roudy cheers of the crowd. Laughing you pulled back: ”Okay, okay, sorry I couldn’t resist. I mean can you blame me? Look at my Missus…“ Steph swatted you playfully: „Thin ice buddy.“ You gave her a crooked smile: „I know but I enjoy living on the edge.“ Steph shakes her head laughing and you decided to get back on track: ”But let me be real now… Baby, we‘ve been together for 12 years now. I watched you thrive on and off the field and I‘m so extremely proud of you. Watching you kick ass at the worldcup in the summer leading your team to such hights I couldn’t help but fall more in love with you every second of every day. We had our ups and downs but we always managed to get through and end up back on top. You‘re my everything Steph and I want to spend my forever with you. The next song kinda puts our relationship to paper and I‘m extremely proud that I wrote this song completely my myself. This is Forever After All.“

When the song finished you took the guitar off and got on one knee infront of Steph: ”I don’t want to do life without you Steph. You made sure I started to believe in a forever kind of love again so I want to ask you something really important: Stephanie-Elise Catly would you do me the honour to become my wife? Will you marry little old me?“

Stephs eyes were brimming with tears: „Fuck yes!“ The laugh that bubbled in your throat was a laughter of facilitation and you took the ring out of the box and put it on her finger. You shared a sweet kiss while you saw the flahes from the cameras: ”Make sure to send me those pictures aye?“ You looked over: ”For the last song I want the Arsenal girls here with us! This is The Angel“

A little look in the future

You were sitting at Stephs hospital bed, holding her hand where her weddingbamd glimmered in the sun. She was weak and you felt it won‘t be long until the Lord called her home first. Deep down you knew that you would soon follow your wife. A lone tear ran down your cheek and you pressed a kiss to the back of her hand: ”Rest love. I know you‘re in pain, just sleep I will be right here. With one last deep breath you knew he took Steph home. Your kids cried out but you smiled despite the tears: ”Kids, look at your mother… she is at peace now and will watch over you guys from above.“ Just as you said that, the sun seemd to get stronger and warmed all your faces and hearts "See, she shows us, that she‘s home. That she‘s fine“

Just a few weeks later, after you made sure that there was nothing to worry about your kids anymore you followed your wife home.

As you arrived you saw your parents laughing with a younger, healthier Steph. You looked down on yorself. The wrinkles were gone and you looked just as young as Steph. With a last look back you heard the voice of your son ”Tell mom hi. We love you so much.“

Your parents pulled you in a hug after all these years apart ”We‘re so proud of you dear. You got a good one there.“ With a bright smile you nodded ”I know. She‘s my Forever After All“

Steph stepped up to you ”Hi Baby. Welcome home, I missed you“ and with that you did what you always did when you still could: Picked the Love of your Forever up, twirled her around and kissed her with all the love you felt.

And I know there'll be that moment

The good Lord calls one of us home and

One won't have the other by their side

But heaven knows that that won't last too long

Maybe some things last forever after all

After all

#woso x reader #steph catley x reader #steph catley fanfiction #woso fanfics #Spotify

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mrskokushibo · 1 year

Text

A Prayer for the Damned

Yoriichi x Fem!Reader one shot

NSFW I 18+ I MDNI I

Synopsis: Yoriichi is your best friend, but will your friendship survive the night? This is a story about transformations: of seasons, life and feelings. And Yoriichi is about to show you a side of him you never knew before.... Are you ready to worship the sun?

Warnings: Smut. Anal. Oral. Vaginal sex. Analingus. Fingering. Cockwarming. Slight size kink. MANGA SPOILER

Word count: 3908

Masterlist

Image source: wallpaperflare.com

This story was written as per the following request from the wonderful and talented ❤❤❤ @muzanswaifu:

Can I get a yorrichi smut bestie with a fem! reader?

And i really liked the tension from your last fic where koku was mad at reader so for this fic can you flip it and make reader mad at yorrichi for doing something negligent to her and hurting her feelings?

It doesnt have to be that prompt tho, any yorrichi smut will satisfy me ❤️❤️❤️ love u

As he was walking toward his friend’s house on the outskirts of town, Yoriichi could not help but contemplate the change in the air that his favourite season was slowly bringing about. There was always something special about autumn, something that resonated with his calm and thoughtful personality. Vegetation burst into fiery reds and warm oranges and yellows, all the shades of flame, as if to mark its inevitable transition into death and winter. An affirmation that there was no life without death, no rebirth into spring without going through the natural process. Just like the human soul. And tonight, the air was finally cool enough to absorb both the smell of withering nature as well as the fires carried from human dwellings, all blending into an intoxicating scent.

Normally all this would make him at ease, but tonight he was unable to enjoy any of it. His thoughts were occupied by something he never thought possible, a tragedy so unimaginable that one would think could only happen in tales told to children on dark winter nights. His beloved brother turned into a demon. His heart was full of sorrow and regret, he was on the verge of hating himself. There were ways of preventing what happened, so many choices- his choices, that led to this. He could have been firmer, but also more understanding with Michikatsu, not be foolish to trust that somehow, he didn't really harbour such jealousy toward Yoriichi after all. But how can you defy sibling love; because he loved his brother and he chose to believe that Michikatsu, somewhere deep under the layers of bitterness and spite, loved him too. Twins share a special bond after all.

He finally reached his destination, but before entering the house, he stopped and looked up at the sky. The moon was a bright crescent, with thin veils of smoke and clouds obscuring parts of it and giving it a reddish hue. The sky was shifting purple, the same purple that adorned Michikatsu’s clothes and that also was the colour of his eyes. Staring at the moon, Yoriichi could not help but think of the ancient legend of Tsukuyomi and Amaterasu, the gods of Sun and Moon, that were tied up in an endless battle.

'Is this what is going to become of us, brother?’

*****

Only a few candles illuminated the otherwise dark room, incense smoke, and cooking vapour swirled intertwined through the air as if performing an intricate dance. A small figure knelt in front of a shrine at the far end of the room.

You held your face in your hands, dried-up tears stinging your eyes and skin.

‘Ancestors, I pray to you, wherever he is, please look after him, look after his soul.’

You knew that he was now bound for hell…. if anyone ever managed to kill him. Michikatsu has always been the one you were attracted to, in contrast to his stoic brother, he was more open and livelier, his eyes always lit by a spark, a subtle disclosure of a fire hiding beneath the tamed and friendly surface. He smiled more than Yoriichi too. But the two of you were not friends, neither did you want friendship only…When he left his wife and children to join the corps, you explained his behaviour by him being forced into a loveless, arranged marriage. By the way, the family he left behind was well looked after, with the entire estate being written over to them, thus securing their and even their prospective descendants’ future. All these excuses for his misdeeds were now coming back at you with full force.

There was one other you blamed even more than yourself: Yoriichi. His lack of resolve and action, his indolence, was what led to this. You were convincing yourself of it. Your feelings were connected by a pendulum swinging between anger and grief. And how do you even grieve someone who is not dead, who is … undead…

Your thoughts were interrupted by shoji door sliding softly. It was Yoriichi. He slid the door closed just as gently as he opened it and walked towards you with floorboards creaking under the weight of his tall body. He stopped a few steps away from you so as not to disturb you in your prayers. It was Wednesday, the day of your weekly dinner together. You were close friends since childhood and he was one of the most reliable people you have ever met. Always patient and with a soft manner. But now, your fury was blinding you, almost undoing the bond the two of you shared. You slowly stood up and turned around to face him, using all your willpower to restrain yourself from lashing out at him.

‘Are you all right (y/n)?’ he asked in his deep hushed voice.

‘I do not know, I really don’t know, Yori. Are you?’

He looked away without answering. The flickering of candlelight reflected in his nearly expressionless maroon eyes. You walked around him toward the firepit to check on the food that was simmering gently over the comforting heat.

‘I am sorry, but dinner will be very simple tonight. I just did not have the energy to make anything elaborate.’

‘That is perfectly fine (y/n). You know I am not fussy, and besides, you were very busy recently.’

*Very busy recently* what the hell *why is he dancing around the topic like this? * you thought, your aggression going up a notch.

In silence, you started plating the food. You passed him the plates and cutlery and he placed them on the table.

‘Would you like something stronger to drink? I know I do’ you asked.

He nodded in approval and sat down on the tatami in front of his plate. You grabbed the bottle of rice wine, and two cups and followed suit. You both ate in silence while you kept on filling up your cups with the strong drink. Due to his sheer size and muscle mass, the alcohol had very little effect on him, but you were getting drunk. Well, not the type of losing all control drunk, but drunk enough to no longer care to have restraint.

After dinner, he insisted to clean up while you sat with the drink in your hand. The alcohol was making your brain fog up. You even caught yourself watching him in a way you normally would not watch a friend. He was a man after all, and a gorgeous one at that, with the same perfectly symmetrical facial features and the tall and muscular body as Michi. And yet so different. Despite his stoic behaviour and calm eyes, his aura was like fire, the red mark on his face, maroon eyes and black hair with flame-red highlights, and his clothes to match. A warmth started to spread down your belly. You had to suppress this, it was so wrong to lust for a friend, and for someone that you now were so cross with. The mixture of embarrassment and anger was explosive enough to make you leap up to him suddenly.

‘How can you be so unmoved by it all? Are you not human? It is your fault he turned into a demon. You could have prevented this from happening, but of course, you did not. It would disturb your sacred peace, Gods forbid’. You were now beyond caring and were ready to say anything that came to your mind.

‘(Y/n), please stop. Not tonight. I am just as moved by this as you are. Believe me, but I think we should sleep on it and talk tomorrow when you are more, well, reasonable.’

He was now just about to walk away, presenting you with the silent treatment that you by now were familiar with being his irritating way of handling or rather avoiding conflict and confrontation.

This was the last drop you needed to push you over the edge. You lunged forward to slap him in the face, but you did not even manage to swing halfway when his reflexes kicked in and he caught your hand, firmly but gently. You lost your balance and fell forward, the stopping point being Yoriichi. You literally fell into his chest and instead of pulling away, you stayed there, as if paralysed. This was the first time you ever had such close physical contact with him. Due to his reserved manner you never even exchanged so much as a hug. Being this close now made you realise the enormous size difference between you two. His stature was imposing, solid with broad shoulders and strong hips. You could not help but imagine what it would feel like to have him doing things to you…

The intoxication was making you weak, you really could not move away now, or maybe subconsciously, you simply didn’t want to. Being so close to him, his warmth and smell started to bring memories of Michi and you just wanted to stay like this a while longer imagining it was him instead. Yoriichi’s hips were on the level of your belly, the bulge in his hakama growing from the close contact. And that is where you snapped. Why be so decent and proper when you were pent up with anger, an unfulfilled desire for Michi, and whatever else that was driving you crazy? All these emotions went straight to your sex. You started rubbing his hardening cock through the fabric of his hakama and went down on your knees to start taking it off him, yanking unkindly on the belts holding it up.

All that time Yoriichi was completely still, shocked at your willingness to change things so recklessly between you, what he thought was a beautiful friendship. When you went down on your knees, he could not help himself anymore. He grabbed your head between his hands and tilted it so that he could look you in the eye.

‘Stop! This is not the way I want to fu…´He whispered embarrassed with what he was just about to say.

Yes, he desired you for a while now, but he respected you too much to ever entertain the idea. Tonight though, your anger, the alcohol, and the oppressive atmosphere of this autumn night created a chain reaction impossible to stop. He helped you up and took your hand, the look in his eyes changed.

‘Come’ he said quietly, his deep soft voice sounding with a promise of something you never imagined would happen. You followed him to the bedroom.

Well in the bedroom he stopped just next to the futon and leaned down to you and slowly started kissing you. He was gentle, the kisses like a flutter of butterfly wings, continuing down your neck and chest, he was now on his knees opening your kimono and continuing to kiss down your breasts and then your belly. He did not even touch your erect nipples or aching groin yet, but you were already overflowing with need. Your clothes fell to the ground while he resorted to sitting down to get comfortable access between your legs. He kissed your folds while caressing your back and buttocks. And that is when he suddenly parted the soft flesh of your labia and started licking you between them. Simultaneously, he reached up to your breasts and started to slowly roll one of your nipples between his fingers. A loud moan left your lips, your pussy leaking onto his tongue.

You started tugging at his kimono, desperate to see his naked torso. He complied and soon you were able to finally admire him in the privacy of your own home. And it was a sight for sore eyes… You were sliding your hands across his torso, feeling the broad neck and the hard triangle of his shoulders, his bulky biceps, toned pecs and abs, and the perfect triangle running down to his groin. Your insatiable hunger for his magnificent body was growing by the minute and you craved to see what was hiding in his hakama. You had an idea from when you stumbled into him, but still. You needed to see it, touch it, feel it inside you.

Sitting in front of you like this was not the most comfortable of positions, so he directed you slowly to the futon until you were laying down with his head between your legs. He was rubbing you up and down your inner thighs and pushing your legs toward your torso to grant himself better access to you, until he was comfortably positioned to focus on diving into your sex. Tongue tracing up and down, lapping up our slick. He alternated licking with sucking on your clit, just lightly at first to get you used to it, but eventually harder and harder as your arousal intensified. It was as if he could read your body, and most likely he could, possessing extraordinary senses and access to the transparent world. Your moans pointed him in the direction of the most efficient moves. You could feel his warm breath on your cunt and you were slowly losing yourself.

You started bucking your hips to rub yourself on his mouth, but strong hands stopped you and pushed your hips down, instead, he started copying your movement by using his tongue. He was licking in circles around your clit, faster and faster and faster, with increasing pressure on the swollen nerve bundle. His fingers were deep in your pussy, rubbing firmly on your g-spot. And then you felt the indescribable pleasure of a finger tracing around your asshole. A throaty moan left your mouth, this was so dirty. He rubbed harder around your rear entrance while thrusting his fingers into your sopping pussy and running circles with his tongue around your clit. All through this he was basically completely silent, only releasing a heavy sigh now and then. Occasionally, he would lift his gaze to meet yours.

With every lick of his tongue around your sensitive bud, the knot in your belly was being wound up tighter and tighter. All of a sudden, he inserted a finger into your asshole, adding to your already intense pleasure. You were now losing all control of yourself. The knot finally burst and you squirted your juices all over his face in the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced. Your legs were shaking from the overstimulation as he kept on tracing circles around your clit. Eventually, he took mercy on you and stopped, wiping your cum from his face with his forearm. His narrowed eyes looked up at you and in the faint light of the candle, the red pupils had almost an intensity of a demonic gaze.

Without losing eye contact, he started removing his hakama. You swallowed when his cock sprang out freely. It was huge, long, and thick, with a slight curve, pale on the shaft with a bright red tip, and it looked like it had some weight to it, not surprisingly since he was so tall and solid. In the hazy state, you were in, the words that left your mouth came out almost automatically.

‘Yori, fuck my ass...’

You knew this would hurt, but right now, physical pain was all you wanted, all you needed to numb the inner fury that was ravaging you. He did not say anything in response. His eyes narrowed a little, but he knew you well enough to see when you meant business, and he was about to respect your wish.

So just like that, he got up and said ‘I will only be a second.’ And quickly left the room.

You could hear him rummage through the pantry and a few moments later he was back with a bottle of oil. Your pelvic muscles contracted in renewed arousal. So, he was up for it… You turned around and lay down on your stomach. He climbed on the bed and placed himself between your legs. His hands massaging your ass and spreading your buttocks, you could hear him open the bottle and soon oil was running down your lower back and onto your soft cheeks. With determined movement, he was spreading the oil all over your ass, fingers circling closer and closer to your asshole, his mouth kissing and tongue licking around the sensitive opening. Oiled finger started to claim entry to your puckering hole, first one, then two, then three, and finally you could feel the tip of his cock starting to push against the opening. He was going slowly, with excessive amounts of oil as a lubricant, sliding in his cock into you, for what it felt like a very long time. You were squirming in pleasure at the new sensation.

When he finally bottomed out, he stopped.

‘Are you ready?’

You nodded in reply. He then began to pump his cock inside you. The pace was extremely slow at the start, but once he felt you relaxed, he started to pump harder and faster. His movements were steady and precise.

‘Come inside me’ your voice almost commanding.

You wanted to be sore, you wanted the rush of this. He shifted to hover straight over the top of you, his whole body in plank position, supported on his powerful arms, hammering his cock from straight above you. You could hear his breath speed up and sweat drops now falling on your back. His hips hitting your soft butt cheeks emitted a quiet slapping sound. A strong thrust later and he emptied the content of his balls into your ass. His after spasm made his whole body shake and he pulled out gently out of you.

‘Wait here, I need to clean myself up, I will bring some towels for you too.’ When he was ready, he came back with a damp hot towel and cleaned your still pulsing hole.

He then slumped on his back next to you. You turned around to your side to face him. You could not stop feasting your eyes on the sight that was in front of you. The smooth skin stretched so perfectly over his strong muscles, now all covered with small droplets of sweat, his long mane spread out around him. You were getting addicted to this, you understood now why women behaved so awkwardly around him, giving him hungry looks that he never reciprocated. Were you blind all that time? Well, I guess back then you foolishly convinced yourself that Michi was the one for you, and well, they were so alike, being twins. But now, you were realising that appearance alone was not all that made Yoriichi so intoxicating to you. His inner fire, so well hidden away, was hotter than anything that Michi ever possessed.

You were growing wild, cautiously you crept closer to him and cuddled up to his side, slowly embracing his chest with your arm. You then started to massage his chest, your hand slowly sliding down toward his groin. You were now massaging his large hips, avoiding his cock for now, teasing, mostly yourself as all you wanted was to grab hold of his delicious cock. He closed his eyes, enjoying the treatment you were gifting him. You ran out of patience with yourself and started stroking his cock. You grabbed it, pumping up and down the entire thick length. You then got up on all four and started to lick his veiny shaft. You could finally taste him and the salty precum was making you delirious, heat spreading in your stomach, increasing the ache you felt deep in your cunt.

As your arousal was getting stronger again, you were faced with a dilemma. On one hand, you really wanted him to come in your mouth, but at the same time, you were desperate for your own release. You sensed that one more orgasm could make him drained, as emotionally exhausted as he must have been after the week’s events. What if his rebound time got too long or he was not even willing to go again? No, you decided to fulfill your own needs, the first orgasm coming from your clit only, you needed a deeper sensation, you needed to be shaken out of the haze, and clear your thoughts.

You sucked his cock for a little while longer, swallowing it all the way to the hilt, your tongue drawing small circles on the sensitive tip. Yoriichi was moaning quietly, with his deep voice turning hoarse every time you sunk your head on his length. With a last lewd lick to the veiny underside, you shifted yourself and straddled him. Hovering your ass over his groin, you grabbed hold of his erect cock and started slowly lowering yourself on him, savouring the sensation of his generous member stretching every crevice and fold of your insides, making you feel fuller than you could ever imagine possible. He was now all the way to the balls in your throbbing pussy.

The look in his eyes was pure lust, the maroon now so dark under half-closed lids, that it almost made his pupils look black. You started riding him, your breasts bouncing, making him fixate his intense gaze on your soft mounds. His hands were now resting on your waist and soon he started to slide them all over you, feeling your back, and ass, and finally grabbed both of your breasts, squeezing them roughly, so they formed perfect circles with a delightful cleavage in between. You started to slowly reach the peaks of your ecstasy, you were slamming yourself harder and harder on his groin. As your movements intensified, he began pinching your nipples and that turned you into overdrive. Your walls clamping on him, his hands pinching both nipples, the relentless pace of your own hips, faster, harder, you were so close now.

Your climax came from deep inside your spasming cunt and you screamed. The sensation lasted long enough to make you almost pass out, trembling with aftershocks of the extreme pleasure you just experienced. The sheets under you were now soaked, you must have squirted all over him. While you were slumped on top of Yoriichi, he started working toward his own release. His strong hips were now bucking up into you, thrusting his cock deep into your slick-filled insides. Obscene, wet, and sloppy sounds of flesh pounding flesh, your moans and his heavy breathing were filling the room. You felt his cock swell inside you and you were soon filled with the warmth of his semen coating your clenching walls. Exhausted, covered with sweat and cum, his cock still inside you, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

*****

The first rays of the morning sun peeking through the window shine on the two lovers still sleeping in the same embrace they slumped into from the peaks of their climax. As the day wipes away the dark of night and the Sun outshines the Moon, so does love conquer fear and grief. This was heaven, him, the man you knew for so long and yet never knew well enough until last night. All thoughts of Michikatsu washed away now, it was only Yoriichi that mattered. If the two of you were forced to leave this place, then so be it. You were his if he wanted you to be. You understood that bathing in the rays of his warm aura and worshipping his body in return for the light, was something you could do for the rest of your days. You knew he was to become your everything. He was…

…. your Sun.

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As always, a big thank you to my peeps for providing daily inspiration:

@muzanswaifu @doumadono @muzansfangs @koku-shibou @kokusfluffyhair @dudeandduchess @ask-the-upper-moons @paintoreos @yoriichiitsugikuni @koyuki-the-flower @fuckkyourlife @nakimex @dahliamalfoy97 @chibi-koku @sunsblaze @angelltheninth @xxsabitoxx @ask-yoriichi @doumaslotus

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