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feyascorner · 3 months

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Imagine Tav who has a thing for deep voices (ahem Astarion’s when he gets all low and breathy and AHHHHH) and he notices. I’d combust

AGLAGKJL I HAVE OTHER REQUESTS BUT I SAW THIS AND I HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEIDATELY HES JUST SOOO....also warning this is a bit suggestive nothing terrible but i also haven't written anything other than fluff and angst in ages so i might be a little rusty....

You have barely any breath left in your lungs, and you think you wouldn't mind dying this way. He shoves the door to your shared room open with his back as you push him through it, lips molding against his in a heated wave of passion. Your fingers entangle themselves in his white curls, pulling at them just gently enough to draw out a low groan from his throat, and in an instant, he has your back pressed against the wall, both hands holding either side of your face as if it's the last time he'll get to touch you.

And as much as you wouldn't mind dying from suffocation here, being ever so perceptive, he pulls away to lean his forehead against your own, watching as your chest heaves up and down in a helpless attempt to catch your breath. He pinches one of your cheeks. "It's a relief that one of us needs air to remain conscious. If you were to become like myself, I'm not confident we'd actually ever stop."

"I never said we needed to stop," you say breathlessly.

"You don't need to tell me," he leans forward to press his lips against the area where he usually sinks his teeth into your neck. Instead of the familiar prick, all you feel are his cool lips peppering kisses on your skin. "Your body, and how it responds to me...it does all the talking for you."

And much to your embarrassment, his words are sent straight to the hammering of your heart. It must be the way he says it---so softly, yet rough. Teasing, yet honest. Low enough to drop his voice an octave but not enough to take away its usual charm. And the worst is the breathiness adorning his very words. For someone who doesn't need to breathe, he certainly sounds like he does it a lot.

You feel him nip at a sensitive spot of your neck and practically yelp, earning a snicker from the culprit in front of you.

"Your heart's beating quite fast, darling," he says slowly, almost in a whisper. "Are just a few words enough to rile you up so much?"

You remain silent, afraid all sanity you have left will snap if you dare to speak.

"But that's not all, is it? No, my sweet, you only feel this way about my words because I'm the one saying it," you can hear the grin in his tone. He pulls away from your neck, lifting his head back where he can meet your eyes. "Do you like when I say things like this? Vulnerable? Sensual? Seductive?--"

You slap your palms across his mouth, heat practically radiating off of your face, as you feel his fangs through his smile. He knows, you think, face paling. He knows how you respond to just his stupid voice, and you know him more than enough to expect the worst from the power you've given him. It's humiliating almost---but more than anything, you want him to shut up. To stop talking to you in that way that brings butterflies to your stomach, to stop looking at you as if you're the most desirable person in all of Faerun, to stop just existing in the moment---

Astarion gently pries your hands away from his face, satisfaction more than apparent in his expression. "No use being bashful now. I'm not offended at all. If anything, I'm rather flattered to know you find even my voice as attractive as the rest of me."

"Please stop talking."

"You don't mean that, clearly."

You grab a nearby pillow and smush it against his cheek, pushing him away.

With a soft laugh, he takes the pillow from your hands, placing it beside him to look at you properly. You want to hide away in a hole forever, but you can't do much other than look to the ground, beyond embarrassed. His obvious amusement doesn't do much to soothe you.

"Look at me, darling."

"Hells no."

"Will you listen if I whisper it to you?"

You shoot him a glare, and he laughs again.

So instead of convincing you any further, he takes either of your hands. His voice is low again, and you swear he's doing it on purpose. "We all have our quirks, my love. I enjoy drinking your delicious blood in our nights of passion, and you enjoy listening to my wonderful voice during them."

"Did you just compare this to being a vampire?"

"This and that. Same thing."

The quirk of your brow is enough to tell him of your annoyance, making him squeeze your hand with a grin. You'd throw him out if he weren't so pretty. Those long lashes, the white curls, that irritatingly beautiful shade of his eyes...Gods, you're helpless. But something tells you that the feeling is mutual. Wordlessly, you find yourself leaning closer again, and his grin stretches wider. "So talking lowly does seem to work its charm on you."

You snort, rolling your eyes. "Shut up and kiss me."

"As you wish."

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff

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kentopedia · 6 months

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if we're asking for nanami thoughts then i just wanna know how he'd act if you came home llate from a mission or work jwjbsbs i need this rn

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ SAFE & SOUND — nanami kento

contents: gn!reader 🤍 heheh i didn't mean to write a whole little drabble but i cannot resist something like this ! sfw & a little bit of angst for kicks and giggles — 700

given the nature of being a sorcerer, nanami can't help but get worried when you're running late. he watches the clock tick, minute after minute passing while you still haven't answered his calls.

he's nervous, of course he's nervous. but he doesn't want to be annoying. he knows you can take care of yourself, knows you're strong and capable; and he doesn't want to seem like an overprotective boyfriend. even if it terrifies him that he can't get a hold of you.

instead, he'll just wait for your response, pace the apartment with his phone in his hands and pretend like everything's fine.

kento tries to stay calm. but 45 minutes have passed, and you still haven't answered him.

he's not usually an anxious man, not usually one to let his emotions get the best of him; but his palms are sweaty, his hands shaky, and he can't remember the last time he's felt so on edge.

the dinner he made earlier is already cold, even his own, which he can't bring himself to eat now.

kento's beginning to wonder if he needs to start making calls. there's no need for him to overreact, not when he hasn't been informed that your mission went awry. perhaps satoru knows where you are, shoko, one of the students.

or maybe not. if he doesn't get an answer soon, he'll consider going out after you.

he waits for ten more minutes. the seconds drag on and on.

kento's finger hovers over gojo's contact name. he contemplates.

but the door unlocks just before he can click it, and you're stepping through the threshold, shaking off your coat like nothing's wrong. your hair's a little wind-blown, but otherwise, kento can't spot anything off about you. there's no noticeable wounds, no pain in your expression other than exhaustion.

he's to you in just a few steps, dropping his phone back on the table to take you into his arms. you don't even have time to take your shoes off before he's crushing you to his chest, a heavy hand on the back of your head, pressing it near his heart.

you can hear it hammering in his ribcage, an erratic rhythm that makes guilt flower in your stomach. already, you feel so horrible, you'd been in such a rush to get home.

"kento," you say softly, apologetically, and he swallows, kissing your forehead. he's trying to pretend like nothing's wrong, like he wasn't just scared out of his mind, but you can see right through it. "i didn't mean to worry you."

it doesn't take a genius to realize he'd been afraid, not with the way he can't take his hands off of you.

he breathes, kisses the top of your head. "you didn't call me back."

"my phone died. i didn't get the chance to." you feel so, so awful, especially since you know that this has always been his greatest fear.

time after time, he's lived while other sorcerers die, and you know, even if he doesn't tell you, that he's just waiting for it to be you next. for it to be you lying on that steely table, leaving kento all alone, hardened to the world, perhaps forever.

"i'm so, so sorry, kento," you say, pressing your hand against his chest, feeling as the rhythm of his heartbeat dies down. "i was going to call you back as soon as i finished the mission, and then–"

"shh," he squeezes you tight once more, reassuring, "it's okay. it's not your fault, sweetheart."

"i should've been more prepared." your features pinch together. "i should've charged my phone before i left."

"it's okay," kento says again, and you're not sure when you became the one that's being consoled. "the important thing is that you're home safe and sound."

you swallow down your guilt, kissing his collarbone, the closest part of him that you can get your lips on. "i don't like worrying you."

finally, kento pulls away. you can see the distress that's slowly fading, the way his hands stop their nervous shaking. he brushes a piece of hair away from your face, smiling softly. the expression is almost sad, but there's so much love there, so much affection that you ache.

"well there's nothing we can do about that," he says, kissing your forehead before slinging an arm over your shoulder. "i worry about you all the time."

you open your mouth to argue, but it dies quickly. your rebuttal is futile, hypocritical. you worry about him just as much.

"i'm going to be just fine," you tell him as he leads you to the kitchen, where the cold food is sitting there, waiting. "i'll always make it home to you."

he smiles, and squeezes your hand once. "i sure hope so."

#i am missing him so bad rn.#yearning fr #nanami fluff #nanami angst #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#໒꒱ rylie's angels

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emotionoitme · 9 months

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riding virgin!carmy bc he's overwhelmed by how good it feels 🤤🤤

time to give the people what they want 🫡

enjoyyyy <3 you dirty whores

shit

he wasn’t at all expecting their third date to go so well or so far—in fact the opposite—not once fathoming that he would have the bravery to invite her back to his place, and not expecting her to accept. he tries to unlock his door as quickly as possible while the girl kisses his neck, touching his chest, pressing her body against his. the tips of his nerves tingle, heart hammering against his ribcage at the prospect of what was to come once they were inside. he shoves the door open, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in. once they’re securely shut in, she grabs his face, smashing her lips against his, feeling a firm poke against her thigh as she presses closer to the man.

“let’s, uh,” he mutters between kisses, “go to my room?” the suggestion hardly registering in the girl’s ears, just following his lips as the two of them stumble into his bedroom. she pushes him to sit on the bed, standing in front of him and peeling her shirt off, watching as his face flushes a bit in surprise. he slowly mirrors her actions, pulling his own fabric over his head as she continues to strip, unbuttoning her jeans and shimmying them down her legs. he feels his mouth go dry at the sight of her standing before him in her underwear, eyes graciously raking over her body. she comes to straddle his lap, thighs on either side of him as she encircles his neck with her arms and leans in to capture his lips once more. he’s unsure what to do with his hands, awkwardly resting them to his sides. she lets out a soft giggle, pulling from his lips, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you can touch me, y’know,” she teases, giving a small rock of her hips, clothed heat brushing against his bulge. he allows a humored exhale to part his lips before nervously bringing his hands to her hips, fingers splaying out over her skin. she’s incredibly soft, he thinks, flesh buttery beneath the pads of his fingertips. he feels emboldened to slide his hands a bit lower, feeling the curve of her ass, softly squeezing. she lets out an elongated breath, continuing to rock her hips against him, trailing to his jaw, neck, peppering kisses wherever she can reach. he clears his throat, trying to focus his mind on how he would break the news, deeply inhaling.

“i’ve never, um,” he hesitates, gaze darting away, “i’ve never done this before,” voice low, fingers pressing into her skin. she pauses for a moment to discern his tone, eyes roaming over his features.

“done what?” she asks, fingers coming to card through the hair growing from the nape of his neck. he finds it hard to keep eye contact, neck tight and hot at the weight of his confession. it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was a bit of an insecurity for the young man—assuming most women would want someone much more experienced than he was. he doesn’t want to spell it out for her, instead giving her a poignant look. the girl catches on to his insinuation, brows raising a bit in surprise.

“you’ve never had sex?” she gently asks, genuinely shocked at the admission. he burns under her gaze, mentally chastising himself for not bringing it up sooner. he slowly nods his head, jaw tightly shifting, expecting her to get off his lap and put her clothes back on.

to carmen’s surprise, the girl lets out a small giggle and pulls him back into her lips, kiss now deeper, hungrier. it added up in her head once she thought about it—the way he would tense very slightly under her touch as if it was electrifying. him being a virgin didn’t bother her in the slightest, either. she smiles into the kiss, wondering if he’ll be sensitive, wondering if she’ll be able to watch his composure crumble beneath her, watch his handsome face contort into bliss. the implication of forever imprinting her memory into his head leaves the girl pooling into the fabric of her panties.

carmen strains against his boxers, twitching against the plushness of her clothed mound, feeling entirely too worked up from just kissing. he chases her lips slightly as she pulls away, eyes opening to find a smile growing over her features.

she stands, walking backwards a few inches away from him, and unclasps her bra. his eyes widen a bit, watching closely as the straps slide down her shoulders, garment falling to the floor to expose her bare chest. he’s unable to help the groan that tumbles from his lips, nearly cumming in his pants from the sight, trailing closely over the sight of her perked nipples. the girl then hooks her fingers into the straps of her underwear and slides them down her legs, standing in front of him in her starkness. he fumbles with the button of his jeans, shoving them around his ankles and standing to rid of them completely as the girl takes her position on the bed, head resting against his pillows. he’s nervous but eager, coming to cage her head in between his arms, kissing her sweetly, sharply inhaling when he feels her reach down to grab his cock. she pumps it a few times, then presses it against the wetness of her entrance, looking up to make eye contact with the man. his pupils are blown, face flushed as he slowly eases his length into her.

the hot tightness of her core immediately overtakes carmen as he lets out a strangled groan and dips his head into the crevice of her neck. his body feels overwhelmed with the pleasure, marveling at the new sensation, allowing his hips to sink forward. he remains completely submerged in the girl for a few moments, still, trying to gain his composure. she grows impatient at his lack of movement, rocking her hips slightly, the head of his cock rubbing against her walls. his breath stutters, eyes screwed shut, trying to connect his mind to his body to move.

“ffuuck,” he exhales, giving a small pump of his hips in an attempt to meet her rocking motion, body overcome with a white heat. it feels almost impossible to thrust—as if he’s going to lose it all too soon. the girl desperately bucks her hips again, eager to feel him pound into her, trying to pull him in deeper.

“shit,” carmy curses, “i, uh,” he feels his chest and neck grow tighter, “i feel like i can’t fuckin’ move,” he admits, exhaling a soft laugh. he feels himself visibly relax at the sweet smile that grows on her face, a small pang in his heart.

“lay down then,” she suggests, pushing herself up onto her forearms. his eyes widen a bit, pulling out of her slowly, breath straining at the loss of sensation. he uncages her from his arms, turning to lay flat on the bed as she hoists her leg over him, coming to sit on his lower stomach. she leans forward to kiss him and he groans, the slick of her arousal hot on his bare skin. their lips ferociously intertwine, tongues swirling, teeth bumping; the two surrender completely into the sensation.

the girl teaches down to grab the head of his cock, rubbing him through her slick folds then pressing him against her entrance. she pulls away from the kiss, hand coming to his firm chest to help her sit up, slowly sinking back onto the shaft she holds. her eyes remain locked with carmen’s as she watches his mouth fall open and facial expression become tense. she doesn’t stop taking him in until her hips are flush with his, the thickness of his cock soothing the dull ache in her core.

carmen feels like he’s going to pass out at the sight of the girl on top of him, erection completely engulfed in her warmth. his eyes fall over her bare stomach, the curve of her waist, intently watching as she slowly rolls her hips against him. the sheets beneath him are tightly gripped beneath his fingers, taking deep, strained breaths to try and recenter. he almost feels like he has his body under control until she plants both hands on his chests and begins riding, increasingly desperate to satisfy her own needs. his hand flies up to grab her hips, trying to slow the motion.

“fuck, baby,” he sharply exudes, “slow down a bit,” plead tumbling breathily from his lips, fingertips pressing into her with a bruising force. she rocks her hips mercilessly against his attempts to hold her in place, chasing the pleasure, gushing onto him. carmy unleashes a throaty moan, her relentlessness forcing him to approach his climax, fixated on the way her breasts bounce as she rides him. he daringly reaches up and cups the soft mounds, gently squeezing, luxuriating in the feeling of her skin.

she just moans in response as her head falls back, hand flying down to her clit, fingers circling the bundle of nerves. its a marvelous view for the former virgin, synapses firing in his brain, coming nearer and nearer to spilling into her. he arches upwards, angling his hips to better meet her rocking motion, sliding his hands down her body to grab her ass.

“yes,” she cries, grabbing at the man, “you feel amazing,” her praise genuine, igniting carmen’s shortening fuse. he grips her tightly and pulls her closer, quickly spilling his hot cum inside of her with a long, deep groan. it was unlike any orgasm he had ever given himself, legs beginning to tremble as the girl continues her rocking thrusts, a breath escaping his lips in the form of a whimper as the overstimulating sensation engulfs his body.

he watches closely as her thrusts falter and mouth falls open to release a cry, bringing herself to orgasm atop him, declaring himself religious at the holy sight. her walls clench around him as she reaches her release, falling over him and nuzzling her head into his neck as she rides out the shocks.

carmen really wasn’t expecting their date to go so well, but he holds her closely and smiles into her hair knowing it did.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #the bear imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto headcannon

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thehollowwriter · 6 months

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Summary: Jade is drunk. That's it that's the story. Nah, there's some fluff and dancing with gn reader too.

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Mostro Madness

In the midst of bright neon lights, blaring music, and a crescendo of of excited voices, you wondered if your eyes were deceiving you.

They had to be. It was the only explanation. Because the man in front of you right now could not possibly be Jade Leech

Surely, this was Floyd Leech. It couldn't be anyone else, given his current state.

Suit jacket and hat discarded, bowtie undone, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to just above his belly button, his hair an absolute mess and sticking to a face flushed red and stretched with a wide fanged smile.

Alas, Floyd was currently on the dimly lit stage to your left, singing remarkably well into the mic while swinging back and forth with a half empty glass of whiskey in hand

Therefore, unless someone had duplicated Floyd, the eel smiling at you right now was none other than Jade Leech.

Completely and utterly hammered.

"Puffball." Jade was swaying on his feet, his special pet name for you lilted and floaty on his tongue. "You look..." He giggled softly. "You look beautiful tonight."

You briefly wondered if he was pulling your leg, laughing like that, but you decided to humour him anyways.

"Thanks, Jade." You said, sickly sweet. "You look absolutely enchanting yourself, hon."

Jade's eyes widened in surprise and he covered his face with his hands, his golden eye peeking out from between his gloved fingers.

"Oh my." He slurred, giggling again. "My love is kind to me tonight."

You rolled your eyes at his sudden bashfulness. He was going to be quite embarrassed about this tomorrow (unless he decided to be happy about all that transpired) and he had nobody to blame but himself.

A friendly- if you could really call anything involving Jade friendly- drinking competition with Azul and Floyd had gone laughably awry, leaving all three of them a mess.

Azul lay spawled across one of the couches, glasses askew, with eyes as wide as saucers. He mumbled feverently to himself, ignorant of Floyd drunkenly singing on stage and Jade turning into a giggly puddle at your words.

How the twins managed to get Azul to agree to such a competition in the first place was a mystery.

Truly, the Mostro Lounge 10th Anniversary party (staff exclusively) had devolved into chaos, given the utter state of everybody else there too.

"Jade, I think you should sit down." You say, raising an eyebrow at his horribly wobbly legs.

"Hmm... nooo..?" Jade's voice slurred. "I think... I would like to dance."

"Jade, you're in no condition to walk, nevermind dance!"

Jade's smile was lopsided. "But my love, it'd the perfect time to dance. Alcohol on the tongue, a beautiful setting, romantic music in the air~"

You would hardly call Floyd snarling crude lyrics into the microphone romantic, as good as his voice was, but you hardly had the heart to say no to Jade when he looked so excited.

"Darling~" Jade gripped your hands with own. "Dance with me. Please?"

He looked at you with wide bright eyes, crocodile tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

You sigh.

"Okay. But don't whine when you topple onto your ass and bring me down with you.'

Jade didn't reply, instead opting to let out another airy giggle and pull you to his chest.

Right hand on your back and left hand intertwined with yours, Jade led you into a messy attempt at a dance that had you swinging around with erratic janky movements.

You nearly fell over a number of times from stepping on each other's feet and knocking into people and furniture.

Jade didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked utterly delighted. His sharp teeth were on full display, mouth stretched in a genuine happy smile as laughter bubbled from his chest.

It was a Jade that was on cloud nine, happy and free of care. He wasn't blackout drunk, oh no, but he was close. Enough to let go of his carefully crafted facade for a short while, surrounded by friends and loved ones.

Suddenly Jade picked you up and spun you in a circle, grinning at your shriek of surprise.

He came to a sudden stop and pulled you close once more, stroking your cheek cheek his thumb.

"I love you so much, my little puffball.' He whispered. "More than any mushroom in the world."

-End

......................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! I like the idea of Jade calling his s/o mushroom pet names so you're his Puffball hehe

Tagging: @krenenbaker @jadeleechisagoodboy @jaylleoo14 @hoboyherewego @officialdaydreamer00 @dadofdisappointment and @azulashengrottospiano @honey-milk-depresso for the Azul cameo ;)

#jade leech x reader #octavinelle x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #writing #one shot

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chadillacboseman · 1 month

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Makarov with a baby is cool, but I wanna read the fic where they MADE the baby 👀

Oh you're so right let's do it 🤌 F!Reader, mentions of getting PREGNANT, obviously.

Nothing gets Makarov's blood pumping like a close call.

Nolan is in the seat next to him, breaths coming in short, pained, waves as he clutches at the wound in his leg. Blood spills past his fingers in thick crimson rivulets, sliding down the fabric of his fatigues and to the leather of the seat beneath him.

Nolan will be fine, it's not his first rodeo; Makarov is sporting his own bullet wound, a clean shot through his upper arm that aches and throbs with each uneven piece of the road.

The rest of the trip is a blur, through rain-soaked streets and to the safehouse where a doctor held at gunpoint meticulously tends to their wounds, too scared to have an errant slip and get their brains blown out.

Sporting fresh stitches and a heart still thundering in his skull, Makarov pushes through the front door and kicks his boots off, ears straining against the thrum of his own blood to listen for your presence.

He calls for you in the darkness, knowing you're likely in bed by now; long gone are the days when you would wait up wringing your hands in his absence.

Makarov moves to the stairs, heavy footfalls carrying him up to your shared bedroom where he finds you curled up under the thick comforter. The moonlight glints off of your skin as your chest rises and falls gently.

"Любовь моя," he nudges you gently, stubbled mouth finding your ear, "I'm home."

"V!" You throw your arms around him and he chuckles, "oh my god, what happened?"

Your eyes are wide as you rake them over his bloodied shirt and the bullet hole in the fabric. You pass your hand over the frayed edges and he catches it in his own, bringing his mouth to dust gently over your knuckles.

"I'm fine," he murmurs, lips ghosting over your skin as he speaks, "but I missed you."

Makarov's mouth is on yours in a heartbeat, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with your own. His heart is still hammering, though for different reasons now, pulse thrumming in his ears.

A brush with death makes him desperate, wild and hungry for you; he needs to feel you, to be inside of you to keep himself grounded.

His hands move down your body to lift your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor near the bed. Makarov takes his lip in his teeth at the sight of you, causing your cheeks to warm under his hungry gaze.

Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he kisses his way down your stomach and to the waistband of your pajama pants. He tugs them down and off of you before discarding them next to your shirt.

Makarov's arm aches, but he ignores it as he lifts your legs up over his shoulders. You let out a tired whimper as he flattens his tongue and runs it over your clit, as if you are the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

"V-" you whine out the nickname and he chuckles against your skin before pushing a finger inside you.

You buck against him and he slings an arm across your midriff to pin you in place. His dark eyes meet yours and they crinkle at the corners, giving away his devious grin.

Makarov wants to break you apart, to have you come undone over and over. He gets like that when he comes to to toe with death. He needs to hear you cry his name and beg him to relent before he gives you any mercy.

His finger curls inside you and you let out a pathetic moan as he finds a rhythm with his tongue that sets your mind ablaze. He loosens his grip on your middle and instead moves his hand up to your breasts, rough fingers rolling your one of your nipples between them.

"V, please-" you don't even know what you're begging for, your mind feels like a live wire draped into a puddle of water.

Makarov pauses and then sucks gently on your clit; the motion makes you cry out in earnest and he does it again before adding a second finger inside you.

Your heart fairly hammers in your chest as the pressure builds between your legs, threatening to overtake you. Everything feels overwhelming, unbearable, white hot. You finally hit your limit and thread your fingers into his hair as you grind up against his mouth with a choked sob.

He lets you ride out your high, grinning against your pussy until your legs shake on either side of his head. He gives you a moment to recover, then his tongue is back on you. You gasp, already so overstimulated that it's painful, and grip his hair tightly. You jerk his head up and his eyes find yours- he looks drunk, his eyes heavy lidded and his mouth upticked in a lopsided smile.

"Let me do this," Makarov whispers, "please."

He needs this just as much as you do.

You release his hair and he returns to work. Again and again he makes you come undone entirely until you can think of nothing. Your mind is a scorched forest, and he's the one holding the match.

He knows when you can take no more by the way your legs clamp onto his head and your voice is shrill, cracking in the quiet room. He's satisfied then and pulls away, his mouth still gleaming with your wetness as he shucks his shirt, then his pants.

All you can do is watch, dazed, as he wraps your legs around his waist and then slips inside you. You stare up at him, cockdumb and hazy, and he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. You open your mouth and he puts the digit inside; he groans when you run your tongue along it.

Makarov's first thrust has you seeing stars, clinging to his broad shoulders as he fucks you. Another thrust and you feel like you're gasping for air.

"You can take it," he murmurs. You're not sure you can, "So pretty when you're taking me."

You swallow thickly and look up at him with your mouth slightly agape, pupils blown out with lust. His thrusts are quicker now, and each one nearly makes you sob. Makarov looks down at you as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

You are. He doesn't know how he ever got you to love him, or why you stay. He's a terrible man- a murderer, a bastard. He doesn't deserve a pretty, innocent thing like you.

"V," you whimper and he drops his sweat-soaked forehead to yours with a strangled 'hm?', "I want- I want you to cum inside me. Please."

The request sets his mind into a frenzy and he latches his mouth to yours, tongue forcing its way inside as his thrusts quicken.

"You want that, hm?" he pants when he breaks his mouth from yours, "To fill you up?"

You nod and he grins, his lips brushing against yours again before his next words, "you want me to make you a mother?"

Your eyes meet his and you see the intensity in his gaze. You don't even know what it would be like to have a child with him- how you could possibly make it work with his "work".

Makarov thrusts, hard, and you decide that you'll figure that part out later. You give him a choked off 'yes' that makes him feel as if his chest is going to burst from the way his heart hammers.

His next few thrusts are less measured, more sloppy, until he's cursing under his breath in Russian and you feel warmth bloom inside you. He stays planted there until his cock goes soft and he pulls out, pausing to examine his handiwork as it drips down the curve of your ass in pearlescent rivulets.

Makarov falls into the bed next to you and pulls you in close, letting you rest your head on his chest. You decide that cleanup can wait, right now you're content to melt into his embrace. He kisses your forehead and you hum contentedly.

"You sure you want a baby?" you ask, glancing up at him; he looks pensive, staring off into space in the darkness.

"Do you?" he finally looks down at you and his dark eyes are full of something you can't quite place.

"Maybe. Could you keep us safe?"

Makarov scoffs and knits his brows low over his eyes, "I'd kill anyone who even looked at you wrong."

You know he would. You've never felt unsafe for a moment since you met him, even though you know he's a hunted man.

"Then yes."

#makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #ns/fw

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harryforvogue · 3 months

Text

Harry sets the hair dryer down on the table beside Yasmine’s shoulder. Her eyes blink open to glance at him curiously through the mirror, hand already reaching for the dryer to take over. “Got tired?”

He shakes his head, staring back at her reflection with a pensive look.

It was his idea to dry her hair for her since her arms were sore from yesterday's therapy. Despite taking a hot bath immediately after to soothe her muscles, the ache had made it tough this morning. They’d showered together, Harry’s gentle fingers massaging the shampoo into her scalp, gliding the conditioner down her ends, and his palms carefully smearing over her eyes to remove any suds from her face. He’d held her jaw in his hands and bent down to kiss her softly, thumbs rubbing over her wet cheeks.

He’d usually be handsy in the shower, but this time he only held her and kissed her face, eyes never straying from hers. It unnerved her for him to be so silent, but it also excited her to have all his attention.

“What is it?” she asks him, because a silent Harry is something to be worried about.

Harry almost smiles at the immediate frown on her face. It’s a default expression for her, and oh how he loves it. “What do you think about marriage?”

Yasmine freezes. The frown disappears, but it’s now replaced by apprehension.

“Marriage,” she repeats.

“Mhmm.” He runs his thumb over the back of her neck. She shivers.

“It’s. Well, it’s marriage.”

“Astute, my love.”

“It’s legally binding.”

“That it is.”

“Webster Dictionary defines it as–”

“Yasmine,” Harry says quietly, but firmly. “First thought that comes into your head. Go. Marriage.”

She blinks and automatically replies, “Harry.” And then she has the audacity to look concerned with her own answer. “Oh.”

He smiles fully then, whirling her around so she can see his face. She looks up at him quizzically, but lets him push her hair back over her shoulders. Instead of kissing her, he hugs her to his torso, pressing her face into his stomach. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she says, muffled against his shirt.

“Just wanted to see something.”

He squeezes her tightly, hard enough to make her wince, but not hard enough to make her cry out. He smooths his hands down her back then, and then releases her, reaching for the dryer again.

“Whoa,” Yasmine says, placing her hand on his to stop him. “Listen, I’m not a very big romantic person, but there’s no way I’m going to allow you to propose to me while you’re drying my hair!”

Harry ponders over this for a minute. “Would it help if I got on one knee?” And then he does so, bringing the dryer along with him.

“Harry!” She puts her hands on each shoulder, scooting closer to him. The wild look in her eyes is still there, but it’s now mixed with…delight?

He shakes his head. “Yasmine, you have no faith in me. Why would I propose to you like this?”

“I don’t know! Why are you asking me about marriage?”

He gives her a pointed look. “We’ve been dating for over a year, not to mention you made me wait throughout grad school for you to come around. I hope you know that I’m fully committed to you and would like a life with you. You are mine. This is it for me.”

Yasmine feels her face flush, swallowing hard. Her heart hammers in her chest and the entire world melts away. It’s just her and this ridiculous gem of a man. “I thought that was a given. And unspoken.”

“It was. But now I’m saying it out loud so you know. Because I know things get lost between us sometimes, but I need to be clear now.”

Oh.

“I started dating you knowing you were the last woman I’d be with. I will do many, many things to ensure that. I will let you win as many fights as you want, put up with your worst habits if the need be. And I need to know if we’re on the same page about this.”

Something inside her squeezes. He looks so serious, eyes unwavering, jaw set, that it makes her shiver again. He’s rarely ever this intense about anything. His hand strays from the dryer, taking one of her hands instead, pressing her open palm to his heart.

“Of course,” Yasmine blurts. She grabs his shirt, tugging him a little closer. “We’re on the same page about that. You can’t get rid of me now.”

Harry nods once. “Good.” He then kisses the top of her head and then stands, her hand falling away when he reaches his full height. He manually turns back around and parts her hair once more, ready to dry it again.

“Harry,” she says before she gets drowned out.

“Hm?”

“I don’t have high expectations about a proposal. I need to clarify that.”

He finally smiles, his eyes clearing. He kisses her head again, more firmly, and then sighs against her. “It’s been years and you still think so little about my wooing skills.”

“I’m just saying. It doesn't have to be big.”

“I know, baby.”

The pet name makes her inwardly soar. “But just not while drying my hair.”

“It would make me happy,” he admits softly. “To propose while taking care of you. Something I consider my only purpose.”

“I mean it.” She tries to sound strict, her breath catching at the confession. She fails completely.

“I know,” he says again, and then hugs her tightly. “I know.”

#harry styles #harry and yasmine #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 3 months

Text

I Would Have Killed You

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Evie

A/N: This took forever, but hey! It's done. This is also my first experiment in using third person instead of second person when writing for Evie (Ace!Tav), so let me know if you want to stick with this or switch back to how it was before.

Warning: angst, blood, dissociation, Astarion being bad at emotions, heavy kissing

Summary: Astarion is reminded of the person he was before the tadpoles and what that means for his and Evie's future.

Word Count: 4.1K

It was so easy. Astarion almost felt bad for the little tavern mouse waiting at the door.

Almost.

He had been instructed to bring a bard to the palace. His master gave no explanation and Astarion knew better than to ask.

He had found this one playing at the Elfsong. They were a newcomer to Baldur’s Gate. No friends. No connections. Nobody who would miss them.

He gestured them into the hallway, plastering his most practiced smile.

The mouse gave him a tentative nod in return as they looked up and around, taking in the space.

The entryway succeeded in its intended effect, dwarfing all who stepped foot into its open maw. The walls were lined with deep reds contrasted against gold finery before pushing down a dark hallway. The only light came from a handful of candles and the clouded night just outside the windows. Of course, it didn’t look any more inviting during the day. Sunlight had not touched these halls in centuries.

Astarion guided them forward, placing a hand on their shoulder, just in case.

He tried not to worry. This was a new kind of trap he had put together, one improvised in the moment. It was rare for his lines to fail him so completely, but he had managed to salvage the conversation with the promise of employment. He was fairly certain it would work, but hardly the guarantee getting on his back would have assured.

Words drifted in his ears, something clever to disguise nerves.

He replied with his usual flattery; a few words assuring them how they were the best he had ever heard and something about his master being entranced.

He could hear their heart hammering as their eyes flickered from window to window, never focusing on one thing for more than a few seconds. Searching for an exit perhaps.

He kept his footsteps measured, quick to engage them in banal conversation. Couldn’t have the scurrying off now, not when he was so close.

A pair of double doors forced him to pause before turning to his offering. He said something he supposed was encouraging as they gave him something akin to a smile. At the very least their breathing was less shallow.

It was good enough and with a grand gesture, he opened the doors, revealing a table set for a lamb to slaughter.

Foods of various kinds covered the entire surface. The noise of smells bombarded his nose, sickly sweet and ripe as rot. Steam from vegetables and freshly prepared meats choked his lungs. Candles littered every surface. He could feel his eyes start to burn, whether from the smoke or brightness, he couldn’t be sure. All the same, he didn’t need his senses to feel his master’s smile as the lord rose to his feet.

Astarion gave a bow, followed quickly by the mouse.

It didn’t escape his notice how resolutely they maintained their gaze just left of his master’s shoulder and not the feast in front of them.

“I am glad to see you have found your way,” the master said, his voice decadent. “Please, join me.”

The mouse hesitated, caught between proprietary and something else. Astarion didn’t know how he missed it. Gods knew he had seen it in the face of his “siblings”. He wore it himself often enough. Little thing was starving.

A sense of calm came over him. He had been worried over nothing. Desperation was just as secure a motivator as lust.

Still, the mouse did try to maintain some dignity; something about not being able to accept such hospitality without earning it.

His master raised a hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. If Astarion’s praise is anything like truth, you will more than earn a meal here.”

It was the excuse they needed as they took deliberate steps to the lord’s side.

“Astarion. You will join us.”

It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t in a position to make it one. This held the promise of being wholly painless. Whatever game his master was playing, he would do his part.

Astarion spoke his thanks and took a seat on the master’s other side.

The mouse tried so hard. They waited patiently for the master to start the meal before serving themselves, careful not to overload their plate. This was an audition after all, they couldn’t risk making a bad first impression. Of course, it did nothing to quell the hunger in their eyes. Each bite was brought carefully to their mouth with such slowness it appeared painful.

Despite himself, Astarion had to admire their restraint. He wondered what they would do differently if they knew this would be their last meal.

He did his part to appear engaged. He moved food on his plate around and pretended to take a drink of wine, mindful to not let any pass his lips.

It would all be over soon. He would return to the kennels tonight with food in his stomach and the skin remaining on his back. He would not give the master an excuse. Besides, his lord seemed occupied assaulting the bard with questions.

Astarion tried his best not to listen. If the master wished to play with his food, there was little he could do to stop him. His part was done. The mouse was nothing to him. Sure, some of their conversation had been stimulating, but it did not make up for their fundamental stupidity. They deserved what was coming if they allowed themselves to be caught in such an obvious trap. So what if they were starving? What did they know of true starvation? Let them rot in a tomb for a year, unable to die. That would teach them to accept anything too good to be true.

“It is good to see you fed,” his master said. “If I may be blunt, you seemed near faint when you came in.”

The mouse gave an embarrassed look, answering with a self deprecating affirmative.

“Perhaps now you may give us a proper performance.”

They nodded, rising to their feet with more confidence than what they came in with. Astarion supposed a full stomach would do that. He wondered idly if that somehow made a difference to the quality of the blood. He knew his master too well to assume he was granting the little snack a kindness before their death. Perhaps fear spoiled the taste.

The bard took a position on the small podium just to the side of the dining table, pulling out a well kept violin out of a travel worn case.

“Let us see if your songbird lives up to expectations,” his master said, the words coming as light as a knife pressed against his throat.

Astarion’s spine stiffened, forcing himself not to swallow.

So, that was the game. Each of his siblings had received similar instructions no doubt. Find a bard in the city, any bard. He didn’t know the prize for finding the best, but he had a fair idea of what the punishment would be for bringing the worst.

His offering held their violin across their chest, ready for the lord’s request.

“Whatever is your favorite,” his master replied.

Astarion held his breath as the bard let go of theirs allowing strings to fill the air.

The first handful of notes came like a caress against his cheek, so careful and warm he nearly flinched. It didn’t shy away, and slowly he felt himself relax into its touch.

They were good. He had gotten an idea at the tavern, but that was for the unwashed masses of the lower city, not the private dining room of a palace. If anything, the change in scenery made their playing all the more potent.

The music slipped past his ears, boring deeper and deeper until he could feel it in his very bones. He found himself unable to look away. It compelled him back into his body and to the ever present here and now. Each note came as a release, an inspiration to keep living long enough to hear the next. If only they could play forever, perhaps they would never die.

There was something so familiar about it. Not the melody, but the phrasing, the shape of the notes as they whispered unknowable nothings into his heart. He knew that voice.

A smile spread across the bard’s face, content and lost in the music, wholly unaware.

Oh Gods. Evie.

Fear clutched his chest. He tried to open his mouth, but his lips remained placid. He felt the muscles strain with the effort and yet not so much as a twitch appeared on his face. He pulled at his arms, his hands, legs, neck, anything. He couldn’t move. His skin remained an impassive shell, trapping him inside his own body.

Bile rose in his throat. Cazador found him. It was the only explanation. Something went wrong with the tadpoles. The bastard was in his head.

To his horror the song came to a close.

Evie held her position as every good performer would, not even opening her eyes as the remains of the strings echoed into nothing.

A slow clap came from behind him filling the sudden stillness. How he didn’t flinch was beyond his comprehension.

She smiled in appreciation, giving a graceful bow. The triumph in her eyes made him want to wretch.

Run. Please, my love. Run!

“Beautiful,” Cazador said. “A truly remarkable songbird. It’s a wonder you were so eager to share Astarion. If it were me, I would keep her all to myself.”

Astarion felt the shell bow its head in respect.

“Far be it for me to deny you, master,” it said.

“Indeed.” Cazador then turned his sights to Evie. “I would have this settled tonight. Join me in my study so we may discuss the terms of your employment.”

“Oh…thank you,” she said, the uncertainty clear in her tone. “Will Astarion be joining us?”

“That will not be necessary,” Cazador said, his tone quickly losing its patience. “As it stands, Astarion has his own duties to attend to.”

Evie wavered, her eyes darting between him and the double doors.

This was their chance. Control of his limbs was out, but Astarion wasn’t about to give up. He dug in deeper into this mind. Surely the tadpole hadn’t been removed. It was just dormant, something. If he could just make contact. All he needed was a wriggle. The second he was free, he was going to tear the bastard’s throat out!

“I thank you for the offer, my lord,” she said. “But if it’s possible, I would like a day to think about it. If we could meet tomorrow morning–.”

“Do you think I make this offer lightly?” Cazador snapped. “If you wish to return to the streets in which you were found, you may. You are impressive, but do not think I cannot find another.”

Evie’s eyes widened, her hands clutching her violin tighter against her body.

The decision was written all over her face. She was still so hungry.

The shell’s aloof expression faltered. Brows cinched together as its mouth turned into a line.

“Oh go on little mouse. Off to the slaughter with you.”

Astarion froze. That wasn’t Cazador.

“I apologize, my lord,” Evie said. “I did not mean to offend. Of course, I am honored by your offer. I will gladly join you.”

A smile spread across Cazador’s face, one made of teeth and condescension.

“Excellent.”

He rose to his feet, gesturing to a side door leading out of the dining room.

Evie’s heartbeat came hard in his ears. Still she packed away her violin, preparing to follow Cazador wherever he would lead her.

Astarion’s throat tore with the effort to scream. His nail dug into the walls of his insides, pulling and grasping at flesh. He didn’t know how this was happening and frankly didn’t care. Anything beyond the beating of Evie’s heart was meaningless. He needed to get out. He didn’t care if he had to claw out of his own skin.

Evie all too soon joined Cazador’s side. The bastard placed a hand on her arm much as his own had before, guiding her out of the room to certain death.

There was only one option left. Instead of turning inward to the tadpole that, for some reason, had abandoned him, he pushed his thoughts outward.

Master. Please. Don’t do this. Hear me. I’ll do anything. I’ll bring you hundreds, thousands more. Whatever you ask of me, I will do. Just let her go. Please.

Cazador paused, turning his head slightly over his shoulder.

“You may go, Astarion. Make sure to clean this mess. And take the tray with you.”

The shell turned its gaze to the one closed tray left on the table. The faint smell of death and something else sickeningly familiar hit his nose.

“Not as festering,” it thought idly.

No, he thought. He was thinking these things. He was the one doing this. He was the one killing her.

He didn’t even look up as the pair of footsteps left the room, the door closing behind them with a decisive thud.

Like an animal he pounced on the tray, throwing the top aside to dig his hands into the fat, putrid rat waiting for him.

His teeth tore into its stomach, tainted blood mixed with other bile filling his mouth, but still he drank. It was a drop of water to a dying man, not nearly enough and only meant to serve as a reminder of absence. Still, he could not deny himself. This was more than he had in a week.

His victory would no doubt be short lived. Cazador would find some way to punish him later for some imagined transgression, but at least tonight he wouldn’t suffer.

Evie’s heart disappeared behind the door. He almost wished it would stay that way. Silence would bring him the gift of denial, but since when had he ever been lucky.

Somewhere far away, he heard a cry of fear transform into pleas for help, then mercy, and then just pain until even those fell to nothing.

He couldn’t speak, but gods did he scream.

----------------

In a sudden jolt, he was upright, darkness invading his vision blurred at the edges by orange candle light.

He was breathing hard. His heart didn’t race, but his limbs trembled all the same. In some attempt to calm himself, he raised a hand to his brow pushing back the hair that had fallen across his forehead.

He paused, a sudden wave of relief washing over him. He had moved his hand. He was in control. His limbs, his breath, his body was entirely his own. A quick focus inward assured the rest. The tadpole was safe and sound, wriggling away.

The room around him started to come into focus. He was in the Elfsong. A quick glance revealed the rest of his companions fast asleep in their beds. For once he was grateful to hear Karlach’s snoring. He couldn’t be anywhere else.

His eyes turned to that one candle burning just beside him.

Evie had insisted, claiming she couldn’t sleep without one. It was a lie, of course. Astarion knew well enough she could fall asleep standing on her head if pressed. The candle had been for him; another small kindness to add to the ongoing list.

A slight shift in the bed refocused his attention, turning to the other laying beside him.

“Astarion? What’s wrong?”

Her voice was low and thick with sleep. Her eyes were barely open and her hair was a complete mess on the pillow. Now would be the perfect moment to tease her, to kiss her and slip back beneath the sheets, but he couldn’t bring himself to do any of it. He was too focused on the rise and fall of her chest and the steady rhythm of her heart.

“Astarion?” Evie repeated, concern now slipping into her voice as she turned more decidedly toward him.

He shook himself out of his head, slipping a practiced smile to his face.

“It’s nothing darling,” he assured. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t, I’m up now,” she said, stretching herself further awake.

She held her arms open to him. He knew he didn’t have to. It wasn’t a demand or even an expectation; merely an invitation, one he didn’t have the strength to decline.

He fell into her, wrapping her in his arms and burying himself in her neck. He let her scent fill his lungs, chasing away the lingering rot with the life of her blood and subtle musk of her skin. Her heart pressed against his chest so close he could feel it echo inside him like a memory. He felt her fingers card through his hair cradling his head against her in gentle assurance, as if she wasn’t holding a monster who could drain her dry with just the slightest parting on his mouth. Gods, what had he done to deserve this?

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her breath soft and warm against his ear.

He didn’t answer right away, pressing his lips against her neck as his mind turned searching for the right thing to say. Words continued to evade him as he moved his touch further up, catching the underside of her jaw, her cheek, the edge of her mouth, the tip of her nose until finally he landed on her lips. He kissed her softly, just a brush really, any more would be too much.

Another thing to add to the list, the solace in knowing he didn’t need to do anything else. No performance. No seductions. Just this.

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hand.

Her eyes were so soft, even as a crease worried her brow. He knew that was for him too. There was a time he would have scoffed at that look, dismissing it as pity instead of the care it was. Now it just made him ache.

His lips found hers again, kissing her long and deep.

He loved her. He knew that now. He had a suspicion he had known for a while, but couldn't allow himself to see it.

The word didn’t disgust him as it first might have done, but gods did it terrify him. His dream revealed more than one truth. He knew now the things he’d be willing to do, the parts of himself he’d be willing to sacrifice to keep her safe. By all accounts he should be cursing her name, but he just kept kissing her.

He couldn’t stop. His lips found new purpose, touching and tasting any inch of skin within reach. Nothing bad could happen just so long as he kept touching her. He’d hold her forever if he could, absorb her into his skin and keep her safe there. Nobody would hurt them ever again.

“Astarion?” His name came out in a choked breath, pulling him back to himself and to her.

He pulled back, going rigid in alarm as if he’d just be dunked in a tank of cold water. Somehow he had turned her beneath him, his body pressed between her legs and against her whole body. He pushed himself onto his hands, shame sinking into his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head, but it was plain enough by her expression to see she was overwhelmed. He could hear her heart hammering in his ears and cursed himself for not checking in sooner.

“I should have asked,” he said. “I wasn’t trying for more. I just–.”

“I know,” she assured. “Just needed to catch my breath. You know that thing mortals do.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. He could take a bad joke if it meant she wasn’t truly hurt.

Her hand found his cheek, simultaneously gentle and rough to the touch. He leaned into her, indulging in the sensation. It centered him in a way he couldn’t put into words. Something about the callous and healed cuts of her fingers made the reality of her all the more potent.

“You did nothing wrong,” she said firmly. “But I do think you need to talk about it.”

He let out a short sigh, knowing there was no side stepping the conversation and kissing his way out was now firmly off the table.

He fell back onto the bed, mindful to keep his distance even as his body yearned to have her close. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her, instead focusing on the darkened wood ceiling.

“I killed you,” he said. There was no softer way to put it and he didn’t have the inclination to try. “I handed you over to Cazador without a second thought, all for a rat and a night’s respite.”

A mirthless laugh escaped his throat. Gods what a mess, but what else did he expect? This was still his life, for lack of a better word.

“Why do you trust me?” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She remained silent for a long time before he caught the glimpse of a shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“Well you did ask me very nicely.”

“I’m serious,” he pressed, turning his head toward her. “I would have killed you. The moment we met, I lied to you and held a knife to your throat. That doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty.”

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line, remaining agonizingly silent. He was tempted to use the worm, if only to get a glimpse of what exactly she was thinking.

“You’re right,” she said, carefully. “And I didn’t trust you, at first. But, that was then. This is now.”

Her hand found his, slipping between his fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve saved my life more times than I care to admit, for a start,” she continued. “You’ve stayed with me when it would have been more convenient to leave me behind. You’ve allowed me to be honest with parts of myself the world kept telling me to bury away. And because of this.”

She moved forward, closing just enough distance just to press the barest kiss to his lips. It caught in his chest, imprinting itself somewhere inside him no one else had managed to find.

“You’re still a scoundrel and a rogue,” she whispered, “but when it matters, I know you’ll be there. At least, you have been so far.”

“Always.”

The promise came so easily to his lips, but it was the truth, one he felt more deeply than he realized until that moment. He wasn’t going to let her slip away. The world didn’t get to do that to him.

As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Evie moved closer, pressing herself against his side and draping her arm across his chest.

He took the offer, pulling her more securely into his arms. The fever had broken, but he would not deny himself relief from the symptoms. He contented himself with the warmth of her body and the perfume of her hair in his nose. He really did need to ask her what exactly she used. He’d buy the whole supply.

She tried to stay awake. He could feel her fingers trace nonsensical patterns into his skin. It didn’t last long. Her movements still and soon enough her body fell completely slack against him.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, lingering on the peace of the moment as a new resolve filled him.

Cazador would die, that much he knew for certain the moment he stepped into the city. He wasn’t going to spend the remainder of his life looking over his shoulder. He would have his revenge and tear that bastard apart for everything he had ever done to him, made better still by ruining his long awaited ascension and taking that power for his own.

He knew Evie’s hesitations. She’d expressed her doubts often enough, questioning if it was worth the price. He could understand why, after all it was her compassion that had allowed him to hold her like this, foolish as it was.

What was a little more blood on his hands if it kept hers clean. His “siblings” were no better than him. He’d be doing the world a favor. And in exchange, no one would ever control him again. No more pain. No more running. Nobody would touch him. He’d be free and Evie would be safe.

Once he ascended no force in the world would be foolish enough to try and take her from him. And if Evie agreed to become a vampire herself? If he could give her just a drop of that same power, not even time could touch her. They could have eternity. All it would take was a few meaningless deaths.

He wouldn’t let her trust in him come to nothing. He would keep them safe. Forever. For good.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x evie #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion bg3 #asexual!tav #bard!tav #evie #astarion x reader

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thephantomtheory · 1 year

Text

That Funny Feeling | Levi Ackerman x Reader

summary: on the boat to odiha, you and levi finally get a moment of privacy after being apart for so long as you deal with all the emotions of almost losing him in the explosion | 1.4k words

notes: this has been sitting in my wip's since the lastest ep aired and i finally finished it, so here's a lil smthn.

cw: general canon-typical angst, mild descriptions of levi's wounds

The ship sways as you walk toward Levi’s room, and so your palm grazes the handrail to guide you, to keep you steady, the world tilting beneath your feet.

It’s a feeling that has not left you since the Walls crumbled before your eyes and Eren’s skeletal frame rose, overwhelming, into the sky; the weight of his rage shaking the earth, the thunderous footsteps echoing the hammer of your heart. It lurched within you when Hange tapped on your window and told you Levi had been severely injured; that when they found him, he was on the precipice of death, and you had to hide the wave of nausea that surged in your stomach. Then again last night, when you finally arrived at the forest and saw Levi, his body broken and his spirit marred, and the feeling rolled through your chest, settling like a rock in your throat. Your eyes were locked on his frame as you dropped from your horse. Your feet hit the ground and you waited for the wave of relief to wash through you (he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive); instead, your world tipped on its axis, and the motion seeped into your head while static pressure built behind your eyes. Then once more, when you disappeared into the trees under the pretense of finding firewood, where the feeling choked you until you spit it all up, letting it spill out of you in salty tears, an anguished ocean pouring out from within.

Your grip tightens around the handrail. In the doorway, you find Levi sitting on the edge of the bed, his left thumb gently pressing at the knuckles of his two missing fingers.

“Are you just going to watch me like a creep?” His voice is rough and raw with a lilt of defeat, and you force yourself to hide the way it chisels at your heart.

You two have barely had time to speak since you reunited the previous night. It had been a month since you’d last seen each other, no contact; not even you were allowed to know Levi’s exact whereabouts with Zeke. But now, the distance between Paradis and Odiha has granted you a few moments of peace while the rest of humanity is crushed beneath the feet of hate. The distance between peace and destruction, then, is the space between one harbor and another.

“You should be resting,” you say, feeling the weight of air on your tongue.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“Sounds like a shitty excuse to get rid of me.”

Levi still hasn’t looked at you; instead, his gaze remains on his hands, folded in his lap. You go to him, lowering yourself to the floor at his feet.

His steel-blue eyes meet yours. Many who’ve encountered him would describe Levi as a stoic, expressionless man. But if they paid any attention, they would know that his eyes are the epicenter of his emotion, and they betray him every time. And so, his eyes meet yours in the first private moment you’ve had in weeks, and they look tired. You feel the ship rock under your knees.

He looks at you and, tenderly brings his right hand forward to trace his two remaining fingers across the line of your collarbones. He touches you, but he seems far away and near all at once. You want to pull him into you. His fingers find the curve of your neck, and you let him, you let him find you, his fingertips roaming over your skin. The ship rocks within the breadth of this intimacy, and his hand is on your shoulder, squeezing. He closes his eyes and lets you keep him steady.

You look at him and, softly, bring your hand to his bandaged one, the same hand that has been re-learning the shape of its lover. You stroke your thumb down the lines of his palm his eyes flicker open.

“It must still hurt,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

You notice Levi’s jaw tighten. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want you to worry even though he knows you already are. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows the pain. It goes somewhere deep in his belly, you think; he stores it all right in the center of himself so that way he never goes hungry.

“Will you let me change your bandages?” you ask, noticing the sticky blood soaking through the wounds by his knuckles.

He nods, knowing better than to give you a hard time about it. He doesn’t want to give you a reason to walk away, he just needs you to stay. So, he lets you help him.

You stand and gently coax him to lean back against the wall at the head of the bed. Grabbing some supplies, you settle with a knee on either side of his waist, careful not to put your weight on him.

The cabin moves in tandem with your breath. Levi’s gaze stays on you while you work, his eyes tracing over the curve of your nose and the shape of your lips. He drinks in the color of your eyes, parched after going so long without it, and the attention you hold in them as you diligently work.

You hesitate over the bandages covering his eye. It’s then that Levi’s fingers find their way to your outer thigh, and you feel them grazing loosely over the fabric. He touches you like this, in this familiarity, like he’s telling you it’s okay. You almost laugh at the irony of it, Levi comforting you.

He really does look so tired.

You unwrap the bandages like you’re peeling back the layers to open him up at the core, and it’s there where the damage is done. The sutured wound runs the length of his face into his lips, still raw, the stitches clearly rushed. And although his eye is still intact, his vision clearly is not.

It’s startling to see him so weak, so broken, after all those years of knowing him as the opposite. He looks so human. And you felt it again, the panic rising into your throat from the reminder that you had almost lost him, that you might still, the fragility of his life heavier than it had ever been before.

In a way, this is grief. What were you grieving? He’s here, living, breathing in front of you, and yet you cannot help but feel the profound loss of his former self, dead and left somewhere on that island.

The feeling hollows you out.

You loved him and you love him still, you’ll love him even when your heart stops beating.

You bring your fingers to his wrist. You’ll love him even when there’s no longer a pulse.

He says your name and you’re pulled from your daze. You know he can see the tears welling up in your eyes, despite your efforts hide it.

“Am I that ugly?”

You shake your head no, as he brings his thumb to catch a fallen tear on your cheek. He frowns.

“Do I look scary?”

Levi feels the boat shift over the waves. What if the all the ugliness he feels inside has been blown outwards, reflected in the open wound of his face, seared into his skin? What if all this time, you simply had not seen it, and now, it was impossible to ignore? It was only a matter of time, he thinks, until you saw him for what he truly is.

“Never scary,” you shake your head again, “You’ve never scared me. You didn’t then and you don’t now.”

All at once, Levi feels guilty for ever doubting you. How lucky he is, to have you, to be seen by you and loved by you. But, oh. How terrified he is of losing you. He can’t imagine how you must be feeling, after almost losing him. He hates himself for putting you through it.

You take a few breaths to ease the slight tremor in your hands and manage clean and rebandage the rest of his wounds. When you’ve finished, you gently lean into him, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and burrowing your face in his neck. You feel his arms bringing you closer still. For now, at least, you’re both here, here, here.

The two of you stay like that, and while white noise envelops you in this moment of reprieve, the boat sails smoothly. The floor is steady. And for a while, the world is still.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x y/n #captain levi #aot angst

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swallowtail-lotus · 29 days

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Reincarnated Lover {Thor/Poseidon/Heracles}

Thor⚡-

Thor had originally thought he was hallucinating the second he saw his opponent.

After knowing he wasn't, he was more confused. Why did you look like her, his deceased love? More importantly, why was your aura the same as her?

His question was answered when you punched his stomach.

The spark in your eyes, you held the same ones. The god of thunder was sent back. But he didn't move.

He's fully convinced his love has reincarnated as you.

To everyone's surprise, he lowered his hammer.

He's never harmed his love this way when she was alive, why do it now?

He made Heimdall cancel the match and went after you. You turned around, seeing him looking down at you. He grabbed your hand and held it tight.

All of the memories came flooding in. Your eyes were wide with shock, both your smaller hands now cupping his hand.

"Love?" You whispered. Thor simply nodded, a small smile on his face. You quickly hugged him, laughing and crying. Thor returned the embrace, kissing your forehead.

He lost you before, and he wasn't planning on letting it happen again any time soon.

Poseidon🔱-

He didn't see the point in fighting when he knew he'll win.

But that thought went away when you stepped in the arena, your face as calm as his own.

The king of the seas was shook. He knew he wasn't seeing things. You look exactly like his past lover, who had passed away thousands of years ago.

A part of him told him not to harm you, to not kill you.

And so he lowered his trident and left the arena, not caring about what the other deities had to say.

After that, you searched for the god and found him at the beach. You reluctantly approached him, lowering yourself down on your knees. You should've feared the god, but you couldn't.

You rested your hand on top of his, the physical contact both bringing back memories and got Poseidon's attention. Tears came pouring as you held his hand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you so soon." You rested your head on his shoulder. Poseidon didn't push you away and instead pulled you closer. He kept silent, the sounds of waves crashing down calming him down.

"Don't be." That was all that left his lips. For the first time after his past lover's death, he felt... Happy. Happy to be reunited with her once again, just in another way.

Heracles🦁-

He felt his heart drop the moment you stepped in.

Everything about you reminded him of his love, from your beauty to your aura.

During the fight, everyone can see how he was hesitating, not hitting you at all.

Only a few can notice the sad look on his face.

You were going in for the final strike, but was brought in an embrace that oddly felt familiar to you.

"It's been too long..." The demigod's arms tighten around your small form. This sparked a memory from long ago, where Heracles always gave you hugs when he came back from his adventures. You began to sob in his chest, hugging him back.

"I've missed you, My love." You choked out, looking into the demigod's eyes. Heracles surrendered, and carried you away in his arms.

#i still have more to go-#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #thor x reader #poseidon x reader #heracles x reader #ror thor x reader #ror poseidon x reader #ror heracles x reader

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t-tomuras · 2 months

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⓽ ─── •𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Rensuke Kunigami x f!reader

Warnings: Messy blowjob, cum swallowing, assplay ( m receiving )

Wordcount: 2.5k

Notes: 10,000 years later another dialogue prompt completed for the anthology I am no longer doing sksks. for beloved @kingkunigami.

Your shared bed is cold when you wake, far from an unusual occurrence at this point. Feeling around in the tousled covers and soft sheets for a body you know won’t be there but hoping to find him nonetheless. Finally, you groan softly as you lift your head from your pillow, blinking the sleep from your eyes while reaching for the clock on your nightstand. Digital blue numbers reading the same time as they always do when you find yourself alone; midnight on the dot. Right down to the very second.

At least he was still punctual and timely.

Sighing as you pull yourself from bed, searching the scattered clothing on the floor Rensuke had left in his wake as he dressed quietly. He always came to bed with you after a nice dinner, spent time with you in the hours after you’ve both come home from an exhausting day at work. Always pushing down that feeling within him that you’ve done everything you could throughout the course of your relationship to lessen; that feeling of inadequacy he wars with daily. The chip on his shoulder he’d picked up from his time in Wildcard all that time ago.

For a while, before you’d caught on to this routine he’d fallen into, Kunigami would always gather the evidence of his departure. Shed white t-shirt on the occasion, like the one you wear now as you descend the steps of your shared home, and loose training shorts in favor of his compression wear. Always finishing his rigorous training sometime around two in the morning before showering and putting on what you’d seen him wear to bed with you.

Catching onto him eventually when you subconsciously missed his warmth and the comfort of Kunigamis body against yours. Staying silent about it the first few times because everyone goes through stints of restlessness and opting to physically exhaust themselves before they could finally rest but it didn’t take long for you to surmise that wasn’t the reasoning.

It seemed like he punished himself in his training, the moments you’d watched him run drills and commit to extensive workouts in the shroud of night. The look of exhaustion the following morning ran far deeper than simple muscle fatigue or sleep deprivation. Once again looking like a man defeated, the same man he was when revealed as a Wildcard in Bluelock.

And you’ve done what you can during the daylight, laughing with him and trying to bring that joy back into his eyes. Letting him be Rensuke instead of the number on his jersey, reminding him that he was more than that time. How much he’d grown, bringing back that soft boyish charm Kunigami once possessed and slowly putting back the pieces of his character that Ego had chipped away. That Bluelock and his love for soccer had broken down in pursuit of his ambition; his dream despite the new ones that have manifested alongside it once he’d met you.

“Ren,” called softly through a yawn when you stand at the threshold of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard he used as a makeshift pitch. Folding your arms under your chest, pulling his baggy shirt closer to your body and outlining your form as you try and retain some of your body heat.

Gaining his attention easily, you could’ve whispered it and Kunigami would’ve heard it over his heaving breaths and hammering heart. Stopping the ball with his heel in the middle of his dribbling practice, propping up on it as his breath puffs in warm vapors in front of him. Tilting his head and offering you a half smile as he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his jawline and throat.

“It’s late, why’re you still awake?”

You laugh, closing the gap between you both and stifling your hiss at the feel of cold, damp grass on your bare feet. “My personal space heater wasn’t in bed.”

He smiles when you reach him, small and apologetic but it shines a bit of the man you’ve helped make him. Always making him feel lighter by simply being in your presence, wiping the sweat from his palm on his compression shorts before cupping your cheek. Thumb swiping against the curve of it with a slight coo, “maybe we should buy you a real one then?”

“I can’t cuddle up to a real one now can I? Unless you want me to get burned,” he laughs at that. A chuckle that rumbles in his chest as he shakes his head. You always elicit true feelings from him without even trying, soothing to him in all the ways that matter.

Kunigami pulls you closer when he sees you shiver at an ill-times gust of wind, the chill of it already stinging your skin. Gooseflesh rising in its wake even as he rubs warm, broad palms up and down the expanse of your upper arms, “head back inside. You’re barely dressed.”

“Come with me,” insistent, firm in that cute voice of yours that always leaves no room for argument. His shoulders slack, kicking the ball away from him as he lets you tug him along before he closes the door behind him.

Taking your hands one at a time and bringing them to his lips, cupping his own around them as he huffs to warm them up faster. To keep that itching feeling of defrosting when you move too quickly between drastically contrasting temperatures from nestling beneath your skin. Sure to hold at least one hand of yours as you both ascend the steps to the master bedroom.

Beelining to the en suite bathroom, letting go of his hand long enough to open the faucets. Setting the temperature he prefers compared to your own as you aim to pamper him, resolute even as you smack him away once Kunigami notices.

A rarely innocent smile plastered against plush lips as your fingers splay over his abdomen after he’s grabbed your towels from the linen closet. Drumming lightly in appreciation to the taut flesh after you’ve slipped them beneath his compression shirt he uses for workouts. The material supposedly moisture wicking but Rensuke has such a grueling regimen that perspiration still clings to his skin regardless of the frigid temperatures he’d been exercising in.

With your palms splayed coyly over his Adonis belt before dragging your arms upwards so the damp fabric pools around your wrists and forearms before tugging it over his head. Standing on tiptoes to capture his lips with yours, chaste and featherlight as you begin your venture. Falling back onto flat feet as his hands move to find your hips, resting on them as Kunigami cranes his neck to the side to grant you more access. Forever weak to your affections, quick to melt at whatever contact you afford him with.

You ghost your fingers down his body, starting from gripping lightly at his triceps before sliding down over well defined pectorals to his chiseled abdomen until explorative digits hook into both bands of his training and compression wear. Dragging along the inside as you run your tongue along his even beating pulse, humming over the salty taste to his skin before you pull down at the fabric.

Smiling against the column of his throat as you suck a mark into his flesh before you sink lower. Bending slightly at the knees as the material begins to slack to lower you push them until they fall away all together. Nipping at his collarbones playfully between smatterings of featherlight brushes of your lips as your hand palms him testingly.

Massaging gently at his sac as one of his thighs of corded muscle slots between your own reflexively. Leaning into your touch as his fingers grip into the fat of your hips, pulling you against him earning a cheeky giggle over his reactions to you.

Delighting in how quickly he relaxes and responds to your touch. Cock swelling in your palm as you grasp him, pumping slowly and he instinctively falls into rhythm with you. Hips rutting into your hands, twitching into your hold as he enjoys the supple feel of you against him. Slowly dragging your clothes slit along his bare thigh as his head lulls back. Sighing out a soft groan as your thumb rolls over his leaking tip to spread the pre to aid in the pump of your wrist.

“Does that feel good, Ren?” You purr teasingly, draping your body against his as you twist your wrist, smile widening at the curse that leaves his lips following a throaty groan.

“Always baby,” a little more breathless than he meant it to but he feels good. The stress he’d put himself through slowly ebbing from his body with the pulse of pleasure you cause before the sensation slacks.

Fluttering blinks as he forces himself to focus, registering the kiss to his adam’s apple then his chest before you’re untangling from him enough to sink to your knees. Thighs flexing to abate the needy throb of your neglect clit when you’re face to face with his hard cock.

Pressing a kiss to the flushed head as you look up at your boyfriend, batting your lashes cutely in that way that drives him crazy. Saliva gathers on your tongue at the way he cants his hips forward and his shoulders back as Kunigami lovingly palms the crown of your head. Petting sweetly until he’s cupping your cheek as you press another kiss to the mushroomed tip, maintaining eye contact as you lean forward. Blessing him with the sinful feeling wet warmth of your mouth as he slowly breaches your lips.

Hollowing your cheeks as you take in more of him and it’s too much for him already, everything that you’re doing is a culmination to his unadulterated pleasure and you’ve only just begun. He can’t help but to cup the curve of your skull, to hunch forward in an involuntary urge to feel more of you.

Hissing a soft, “sorry baby shit,” when he pushes too far and causes you to gag ever so slightly but you don’t stop. Taking Kunigami until your nose brushes the wirey thatch of trimmed hair at his pelvis.

Heady scent of sweat invading your senses and your throat constricts around his cock as you swallow around him. Choking Kunigamis voice and reducing him to nothing but grunts and hisses as you take him. Spoiling him thoroughly as one hand cups his fat sac to massage gently, slick with the drool that seeps around the seam of your lips and soaks his balls.

Quick to find a steady pace as you bob on his cock, sputtering ever so slightly when you take him completely once again. Weeping cockhead hitting the back of your throat to coat his shaft in saliva, pulling off of him with your lips still pursed around the tip as you grasp his shaft with your free hand. Pumping him with ease so you can bat pretty lashes up at him while his legs tremble from the assault of stimulation. Tongue laving over the slit to taste the pre that dribbles from it endlessly with your onslaught.

And you’re glad for it, you want him to feel good again. To provide him with a decent stress relief, to force his tired muscles to relax for once. He’s close you know it by the incessant trembling of his thighs and how he locks and unlocks his knees. Humming over the idea of making him blackout from pleasure the moment he cums even if he does still need to shower and it’ll be a struggle to carry him from the bathroom.

It’s worth it though, you decide so as you bring your hand around to your boyfriend's cute ass. Squeezing at the firm glutes with a cute, muffled giggle; spreading his cheeks with your index and ring fingers so you can easily slip your saliva soaked middle finger into the tight rim.

Only giving a few short pumps before a guttural groan rips from Rensuke’s throat while he cums down yours. Voice strangled by his sudden orgasm that he couldn’t even warn you or attempt to pull back so he could fist himself to completion so he can watch himself paint your fluttering tongue.

Now only able to ride the waves of his euphoria as it washes over him, hunched forwards with his palm cupping the curve of your skull gently. Hips twitching ever so slightly into your face as you hum happily, your boyfriend's hips twitching at the vibration until he has to withdraw from your warmth.

It doesn’t take Kunigami long to recover or catch his breath, but it gives you time to wipe at the corners of your lips before he’s grasping at you. Helping you to your feet, his hands finding the swell of your ass and the nape of your neck as he pulls you in for a searing kiss. Tilting his head to deepen it with haste, eager to delve into your mouth once more with his tongue, tasting himself on you as his spit mixes with yours.

Parting just long enough for air and for Kunigami to readjust his hold on you. Giving the cheek he cupped a light smack to hear the sound before his hands slip lower. Lids fluttering open after a short flurry of chaste kisses as he whispers a breathy, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe against his lips, hopping to aid in him lifting you, not that he needed it, after squeezing the backs of your thighs. Tongue slipping past your swollen lips as he feels around to turn close the faucet to his running shower. Palming your ass to support you, easily kneading at the supple flesh, fingers slipping beneath your panties as he carries you back to the bedroom.

Laying you on the tousled comforter, kissing you dizzy while rubbing teasing circles into your neglected clit. Worsening the ache between your thighs, the want for him despite wanting to spoil him moments prior without anything in exchange.

Arching your back up into Rensukes touch as he returns the favor of blazing a trail of chaste kisses to your body as he sinks to his knees. Pulling down your soaked underwear and letting it dangle around one of your ankles as he settles comfortably between spread thighs.

Regaining your bearings just enough to sit up as Kunigami plants tender kisses to your inner thigh, tilting your head as you knock your knee inward to jostle your boyfriend playfully, “you’re not too tired?”

Scoffing gently as he dips lower to kiss your mound, “never. I’m always in the mood to play, my love,” before his tongue laps languidly at your dripping cunt. Groaning at the taste of you, quick to get carried away as his fingers dig into your outer thighs before slurping lewdly.

Regardless of how tirelessly he drills himself, Rensuke always has the stamina to go all night.

#vixen drabbles #kunigami x reader #rensuke kunigami x reader

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ltleflrt · 1 year

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This whole backlash against printing fics irks the fuck out of me, and I got some shit to say about it. Mostly "Fuck You" but here's some nuance:

On the surface, I understand where the naysayers are coming from. It's a legitimate fear that making a profit from fanworks will bring down the C&D Hammer on fandom. I get that. Do not put on the One Ring, or you'll risk the Eye of Sauron.

But here's the thing. Fuck capitalism. Fuck digital only. We're living in the digital dark ages, and 100 years from now huge swathes of our history, fact and fiction, will be lost to our descendants because there will be no physical copies of our lives for them to find in old libraries and boxes in the attic, etc.

Creators deserve physical copies of their creations, and so do the other people in the world who love them.

I don't want to profit from letting people print my fics. That's why I use Lulu, since they have an option to set zero profit and make the links hidden so only fans in the know can get a copy. Other printing sites I've looked at in the past don't have those options. In fact, the first time I ever even thought about printing one of my stories was when I won NaNo for the first time and one of the prizes was a coupon for 3 free printings of your story. HELL YEAH, that's a copy for me, a copy for my beta, and a copy for the artist who made the cover for me. Perfect! But I ended up not using that coupon, because the site required I set a profit margin, and did not have an option to make it private. Ummm, no thanks. Not worth the risk. And even though the profit margin could be set as low as ten cents, I did not want to make ANY money from my fic, because I know that would be breaking Fair Use rules. I found Lulu instead, and decided to let other people get copies too, because I'm nice. And if I don't, it's not like I can stop them from doing it themselves, no matter how much I'd rather they not do that.

But that's not good enough for the Reporting Trolls. Their argument is that it's not possible for it to be completely profit free, since Lulu makes a profit on the printing costs and the shipping carriers make a profit off the shipping costs. Someone is making a profit, and that's unacceptable, even if that someone is not Me, The Person Who Made The Printing and Shipping Worth Paying For.

I would like anyone who thinks that to delete your accounts where you read fanfiction. AO3, Wattpad, FFNet, LJ, Dreamwidth, hell even Tumblr for the short ficlet stuff that only gets posted here. Because even if the website it self isn't profiting, (AO3 for example), the companies that sold them their server hardware made a profit. Since utilities are privatized, the electric company that runs those servers are making a profit. IF YOU PRINT IT ON YOUR PRINTER AND PUT IT IN A 3 RING BINDER, the paper, printer, and ink manufacturers made a profit from your dinky little print out. The companies that build all the parts for your computer or your smartphone made a profit on your portal to the internet, who profits from your monthly subscription, just like your electric company profits from the power it takes to run your pc or charge your phone battery. IT'S A SLIPPERY FUCKING SLOPE, AND YOU NEED TO LEARN WHEN TO BACK AWAY FROM THE LEDGE.

We live in a Capitalist Hellscape, and if a company could figure out how to charge you to breathe and for every single beat of your heart, they'd fucking do it. So get off your goddamn high horses with this "wELL SoMEonE iS makINg PrOFit" bullshit. Or if you truly believe that, shut off every account you own, turn off your utilities, and go live in the woods and make up your own goddamn stories, which you can only share orally to the local wildlife. They give kudos by biting you and giving you rabies.

(not to mention; these assholes don't go after fanartists who are ABSOLUTELY making a profit off their work. but noooo, Flirty can't format a fic for print and allow other people to pay for the printing service and shipping, while never seeing a penny of that herself, despite all of the GODDAMN WORK I HAVE PUT INTO IT, WRITING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE INCLUDED FUCK YOU VERY MUCH. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufucky--)

#ltleramblings #printed fic

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sitp-recs · 9 months

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15 fics with Harry pursuing unusual careers

I love the adrenaline and potential angst within the Auror partners trope as much as the next guy, but we can all agree that our mental health improves 10 times when we see Harry leaving the Ministry, embracing other possibilities and making his own destiny. This rec list hopes to celebrate those creative, disruptive, feel-good fics that are not afraid to come up with the most absurd positions and original job titles. They can be fun, smutty, depressing, hopeful or cathartic; there’s a little bit of everything in here and I’m hoping to bring some hidden gems into everyone’s radar, too. Happy readings!

Twisted Wizards by Enchanted_Jae (T, 3k)

Draco is just putting his life back together when Potter comes along and mucks it all up again. Job: storm chaser

The R. Correspondence by noeon (T, 7.5k)

While working on the Bagshot papers, Draco makes an important discovery for British Wizarding History. Now if only Harry can keep him alive long enough to enjoy it. Job: private security consultant

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)

Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping. Job: writer

Home County, orphaned (G, 10k)

Harry is an architect and the reluctant part-owner of his own firm. Malfoy works at The Ministry but doesn’t actually have a proper job title even though what he does sounds as though it’s pretty important. Job: architect

A Working Title by mindabbles (E, 12k)

Another in the long line of absurd biographies finally drives Harry to a desperate act. How desperate he doesn't know until his ghost writer shows up at his door. Job: Daily Prophet columnist

An Improbable Bout of Summer Madness by acari (E, 16k)

Draco had planned a quiet, peaceful summer holiday with his son. The last thing he expected was to find Potter here, in Draco's little Cornish retreat. Making fudge in a shop? The idea was too ludicrous for words. Job: fudge shop owner

The Strongest Affinity by @eidheann (T, 17k)

Trouble finding a wand for Scorpius leads Harry and Draco to something they never imagined. Job: wandmaker

Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be. Job: Handyman

The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)

Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world. Job: QUABBLE official (Quidditch representative)

Silhouettes in Sunsets by Pie (T, 22k)

Draco Malfoy was a Gringotts accountant by day and a luthier by night, making musical instruments that sang the language of the player’s heart, language audible only to the ears of his soul mate. Harry Potter was a struggling quill pal to the children of war and the owner of Hedwig’s Owl Emporium on Diagon—haven for future pets, owls retired from services and orphaned chicks. Job: Owl Emporium owner

Better To Burn Than To Fade Away by Ren (E, 23k)

Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win. Job: broomstick racer

Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton (T, 26k)

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Job: Owner of a Social Housing and Care Centre

All Roads by @korlaena (M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options. Job: Magizoologist

Whimsical by strawberryrose (T, 42k)

In which Draco is completely out of his depth (until he isn’t), Harry builds something improbable with the help of his friends, and everyone bonds over food. Job: amusement park owner

What Shall Not Be Unearthed by @iero0 (E, 49k)

At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Job: lighthouse keeper

#Sitp recs #Drarry reclist #HBD Harry week #odd jobs

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darlingsblackbook · 1 year

Text

Kamisato Ayato x Reader

Summary : A choice made by your parents without your knowledge, ended up uniting the two of you in an arranged marriage.

Wordcount : 2500

Warnings : Panic attack, arranged marriage, bad relationship with parents and angst? I have not reached Ayato's quest yet, so this might be ooc. Let me know if it is, please :')

A/N : I used to love writing but eventually stopped because it started feeling like a chore instead of a hobby, but now I'm back >:) I have never written for Genshin Impact, so this was new for me! Also, english is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes, feel free to let me know :)

Gravel crunched underneath your feet as you silently followed your, now, husband to your new home. The whites of the heavy dress, adorned by your body, unfortunately being dirtied as it dragged behind you on the ground. You could not bring yourself to care at this moment, not when there were many things running through your mind to worry about.

Your heart hammered against your chest, you truly feared it would fall out at any moment now. Raising your hands up, you clearly see the tremors in your hands. Every step you took, filled you with more and more fear, leaving you gasping for air. And as you saw the guards and the lights of the estate, from a distance, you could no longer control the expression on your face. You could already feel the tears trying to force their way out.

You didn't want to take any step further, you truly wanted to stop right there and then. You didn't want to enter the estate, it was not your home, filled with strangers. That included your husband, you didn't know him, you knew of him and the fact he was feared by many, but that's it. You had never talked to him before, the first and last words you had uttered to him until now were your wedding vows.

What a joke

Your parents just gave you away as if you meant nothing. Just an object to exchange for more power and status. The dress, your makeup, jewelry and your hair styled to perfection felt like nothing more but a big, red bow on a present.

You always knew, it was clear from the conversations you were always left out of, the trips where you were left behind, the love and affection you were deprived of, you were the black sheep amongst your siblings.

You never understood it, you never asked them for anything, always did everything they wanted, always did your best to excel in all subjects and yet they could not find it in them to give you - even the tiniest - bit of praise.

It's not fair.

How could they just leave you with a stranger, just like that, without any care? How could they decide who you would spend the rest of your life with, without the slightest care of your own wants and dreams? Did they not care to think about your own feelings, how utterly terrified you would be? To leave the only place you've ever seen, to go live with a place filled with strangers, even share a room with one-

I mean, come on, even if you were the least favored one, you must have at least meant something to them, right?

You could no longer hold your tears back, they softly fell, leaving a shiny trail behind. You slowed down a bit, fearing Ayato might hear you, fearing how he might react. He was a complete stranger to you, you had only heard rumors about the commissioner, you had no idea what to expect from him.

Your anxiety spiked, all kinds of scenarios running through your mind. There were just too many things you didn't know, the images fabricated by your mind filling up the blank spaces.

"Good evening, commissioner." You were snapped out of your haze by the voices of the guards. You had not even realized you reached the estate. You hurriedly wiped any traces of tears on your face but, judging by the looks on the guards' faces it had no use.

They did their best to give you an assuring smile, "Welcome to the estate, my lady.", they bowed.

You managed a small smile, thanking them for the kind gesture. You wiped away any traces of the emotions raging inside of you. There were maids everywhere in the estate, you could not risk being seen like this, it would leave a bad impression.

You couldn't help but look around in awe, the Kamisato estate truly was beautiful and much bigger than your former home.

You were so distracted, your footsteps slowed down even more, you hadn't noticed Ayato had stopped in front of a door. Nor had you noticed the softness in his eyes as he gazed at your form, the corners of his lips quirked up in the tiniest smile. "Y/n."

"Huh?" You turned your head so quickly, you were pretty sure you had a whiplash, not that you could help it. It was the first time he spoke since leaving the event. You immediately straightened up, fixing your posture and raised your head as an attempt to look confident. "Yes, commissioner?"

A certain glint appeared in his eyes at the title, if you didn't know any better you would have said it was amusement. He did not comment on it, simply sliding the door open and stepping inside the room.

You took a deep breath and followed him inside. It was a simple room, a huge bed, a closet and a vanity. On the left side of the room you could see another door, probably leading to a bathroom.

Was this his room? The room you were supposed to share with him? The bed you were expected to sleep in....with him? Your cheeks turned a bright red just at the thought.

"Is the room to your liking?" Ayato asked, after seeing you examine the room. You looked at him and silently nodded. "I'm glad to hear that, if there's anything you're not satisfied with or would like to change feel free to let me know."

"Thank you", you quietly responded. You fiddled with your finger and looked around the room to keep you busy as an awkward silence filled the room.

Until... a rustling sound was heard, followed by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. Your gaze automatically drifted in the direction of the sound, only for you to immediately slap the palms of your hands on your eyes.

"I'm sorry! I did not mean to look!" You gasped, the feeling of embarrassment causing your cheeks to turn a bright red.

You heard a chuckle, followed by footsteps and then the warmth radiating from a body - Ayato was standing right in front of you.

Warm hands gently curled around your wrist, softly pulling your hands away from your face. "Don't be embarrassed, you may look as much as you desire to."

"Wha…you…I-", speechless, you were truly speechless. What were you even supposed to respond with? Was he trying to cause you a heart attack?!

"Or do my looks perhaps not satisfy you enough?" Ayato said with a raised eyebrow.

Kill me now

You frantically shook your head, just giving up on even attempting to speak. You couldn't look him in the eye, neither could you look down as his chest was right in your face, you just settled to look at the closed bathroom door behind Ayato. That's until he raised his hand and put a finger under your chin to raise your head up. "Oh? My looks don't satisfy you?"

"N-no that's not it! You look….fine…commissioner" You managed to say.

"Ayato." He said, after a moment of silence. An intense look in his eyes.

You blinked at him, "Hmm?"

"You may call me Ayato." He clarified, "We are husband and wife now after all. It would be…unusual..for you to call me by such a title."

"Oh.." you again averted your eyes to the door behind him, "I..apologize."

"There is no apology needed." Ayato cleared up and suddenly his smirk was back on his face. "Say, why won't you get ready for bed? You must be tired."

"O-oh, uhmm..o-okay" you quietly answered. Ayato finally lowered your hands and let go of only one, continuing to hold onto the other. You looked at him in confusion before a yelp escaped you as you were suddenly spun around. Your clothed back gently landed against his bare chest, his arm around your waist, holding you close.

You couldn't help the shudder that ran through your body or the soft gasp that escaped you at the feeling of his warm breath against your sensitive neck. Looking in front of you, you saw that he had turned you in the direction of a full body mirror. "L-lord…Ayato…"

The hand that was not holding onto you raised up and gently took out the hairpiece holding your hair up. The strands of hair gently fell down and framed your face perfectly. The same hand gently stroked your hair, feeling the softness and the faint scent of flowers of your shampoo wafting to his nose.

You looked up at him through the mirror, surprised at his gentleness. You had heard all kinds of things about Ayato, hushed stories that were passed from one maid to the other and had reached your ears. You were still scared, your shaky hands the proof of said feeling and reminder of how close you were to having a panic attack. Still, seeing the way he had treated you until now managed to somehow lessen the fear.

There was still one thing you were panicking about…

Ayato's eyes met yours in the mirror, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before he took a step back and completely let go of you. Your eyes stayed locked on each other. "Do you need my assistance in preparing for bed?"

Your eyes widened at his offer and you frantically shook your head. "N-no! I mean, I'll be fine."

"Very well," Ayato said, "then I shall continue to get ready as well."

You took a deep breath to slow your hammering heart, you would have to undress yourself. You raised your shaky hands to grab onto the outer layer of your wedding kimono. You turned your head to look in the mirror, only to be met with Ayato bare back as he himself continued to change into his sleeping clothes. You could faintly see the small scars scattered on the expanse of his back and the strong muscles as he moved.

You quickly turned your head away and hurriedly started to change into your nightwear, rushing to get clothed while his back was still turned to you as you did not feel comfortable enough yet to bare your body to him. He was still a stranger after all.

Even though it went against the advice given to you by your personal maids.

As soon as you pulled your nightgown down, you looked into the mirror again, seeing Ayato turning around right on time. His eyes briefly wandered across your form before he met your gaze.

Ayato started walking towards you until he was right behind you, his eyes still on yours. He raised his hands up and gently pulled all of your hair behind one shoulder. You held your breath when you saw his hand lowering to the back of your neck, until you felt him unlock the necklace around your neck.

His expression was unreadable and the look in his eyes so intense, you couldn't help but break eye contact. Your chest raised up and down at a fast pace, resembling the pace of your heartbeat.

"Why don't you get in bed?" He asked, breaking the tense silence. He took a step back and walked towards the vanity to store the necklace away.

You silently walked past him, to your preferred side of the bed and shyly sat down. This was the part of the night that could not leave your mind and had you scared the most.

Were you just going to sleep or did he expect a certain thing from you?

You harshly gulped, clasping your hands together as you felt the bed dip behind you. The same overwhelming fear threatens to take over again. You bit your lip, a nervous habit of yours, to distract yourself.

A warm hand landing on your left shoulder had your whole body stiffening up, you barely managed to hold yourself back from flinching. Ayato softly pulled your shoulder back in his direction, "Turn around, y/n."

You did as he said, turning your body in his direction but your head lowered as if the design on the sheet was the most interesting thing ever. Again, you could escape his gaze, he took your chin between two fingers to meet your eyes.

Did he….want-, your train of thought was cut off as you saw him leaning in. You softly gasped when his nose softly bumped against yours, his warm breath softly hitting your face and when he leaned even closer you tightly closed your eyes.

One, two, three seconds passed and then you felt it. His surprisingly soft lips placed an equally soft kiss on your forehead. Your eyes snapped open in bewilderment, that was the last thing you expected.

One, two and after three seconds, Ayato pulled away not too far though. Again he held you so close your nose almost touched his, "I do not intend to go anywhere you're not ready for yet. I understand how troubling so much change in so little time must be and the difficulty of being from everything that's familiar to you…. It may not feel like it yet but this is your home as much as it is mine and I want it to feel like such to. I do not wish for you to feel fear or unwelcomed in your own home, so if anything or anyone dares to trouble you, let me know and it will be dealt with. Do you understand?"

You could only offer a nod. A soft sigh escaped Ayato's lips before he pulled away from you. He blew out the candles on the nightstand at his side and silently layed down with his back turned to you and pulled the blanket over his form. You followed his actions and shyly rested your head on the pillow next to his, you had turned your back to him as well.

The tremors in your hands had disappeared. The pounding beat of your heart slowed to a steady rhythm and your breath evened out. The panic and fear in your body was pushed to the background as a warmth blossomed in your chest.

Still, as your lower lip trembled, you could not help it as tears welled up and softly fell. This time, they were not caused by your parents' mistreatment and neglect, neither by the aching loneliness or absolute fear and hopelessness of your future.

Instead, it was Ayato's thoughtfulness, it was the way Ayato clearly had made you his priority (despite you technically being as stranger to him too), he respected you and your feelings - just the fact you had noticed your inner turmoil and had not ignored it and done whatever he wanted ( like everyone else in your life ) was enough to reduce you to tears.

While you held your hand tightly clasped on your lips, keeping any sounds of escaping you, to avoid disturbing Ayato's sleep….

Said man was wide awake, his heart strangely aching at the sound of the soft sobs you could not hold back…

#ayato x fem!reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #ayato angst #ayato fluff #ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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bowieandqueen11 · 8 months

Text

Luis Sera Having A Crush On You Would Include...

Request: I don't have anything specific to request but I totally 100% would die for some spicy Luis headcanons!!!

Ngl I would climb this man like a tree so I kind of expanded this into some cute and spicy ones as well, I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing these! ;)

This takes quite a long time to write, so if you enjoy, please leave a comment/ reblog, it really helps me!!

Warning: some spicy headcanons, some sexual allusions, mentions of guns, mentions of injury and blood, mentions of smoking, some light swearing!

(I do not own Resident Evil or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @stdismas.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

When you radioed Hunnigan to let her know you may drop off the map because you had been tied up, you had no idea that the words would become so literal.

Groggily waking up to a firm back pressed against your own and rapid unintelligible Spanish babbling in your ear wasn't what you first expected when you and Leon had touched down in Valdelobos for the mission, but after the morning you've had you're little surprised. As you feel around your wrists to try and find out if you've been bound or chained to the ceiling of this quaint little sub-room, you're pleasantly surprised that said annoyed person behind you hasn't thrown an axe at you yet. It was only when you pulled at steel chain and the man suddenly stopped talking with a 'woAH' to come flying into your face that events started to become a little more unusual.

'Good morning sleeping beauty, ha!' You finally have full view of the man whose swinging before you, the toes of his dusty boots barely touching the ground and the firm chest held behind his tight leather jacket swaying uneasily against your own. Whiskey coloured curls hide inquisitive eyes, and as soon as he realises you're conscious he abandons whatever futile attempts he was trying in tugging off his cuffs to instead grin fully at you. 'Can I give you a kiss now, and you'll turn me into a prince?' He wiggles his eyebrows at you, wetting his bottom lip with the edge of his tongue as his body bounces against you again.

You yank at the chain, doing your best to keep your face professional as the wheels bounce over the beam and the man comes knocking into your face, held up only by your upper arm strength and a leg you wrap courteously around his quads to keep him balanced. 'You're mixing up your fairy tales. You telling me you're a frog?' You let him drop to the ground with an unceremonious thud as you break free, and Luis has to pretend, with his ass handed to him on the cobbled floor, that as you walk past him he didn't enjoy every single second of that.

When you finally find Leon desperately sifting through your stolen belongings in the next room over, the relief immediately floods his eyes as he pulls you into a tight hug. When he sees Luis following you like a puppy from over your shoulder, though, you can hear him sigh against your shoulder. Said shoulder which soon had Luis' hand firmly pressed against it.

'He won't stop touching my shoulder', you groan to Leon.

'I know. He does that', he replies with a tighter squeeze.

Luis was incredibly good at making your next meeting seem like just happenstance.

It wasn't as if he had scoped you out for miles down the rocky tracks, his heart hammering in times to the bells that rang out from his old church. It wasn't as if he had 'borrowed' a pair of binoculars from his new found friend Ada, and had watched you bring down Del Lago with an embarrassingly loud cheer and punch of the air. It wasn't as if he had been sitting leisurely behind this boat house playing with his lighter for half an hour, brain torn between getting back to his lab, and his heart's plea to see you again.

You're less than astonished when the man jumps out at you with his arms out at his sight, immediately cocky when he spots your magnum raised up towards his face. 'Now now, my princess. If you shoot me now, then how will we ever transform this magical kingdom, ey?' You're even less surprised when he wraps an arm around your shoulder, murmuring into your ear about how he's going to be like some knight in shining armour as you holster your gun and let him lead you further off into the wilderness of the village.

He's constantly asking you questions, though, when the two of you brave a stop to take stock of your ammo reserves and to charter the maps Hunnigan sent over to you. Luis just perches next to you on a free boulder, gently rubbing his pointer finger and thumb over his jawline, and watching you with something akin to enthrallment rising through his weary face. Although he tries to make them sound flirty, you can see the seriousness in his usual light-hearted expressions, beginning to become aware of his subtleties: in the way his eyes crinkle for a moment when the words leave his lip, or the give away of his leather shifting as his fingers clench where they're crossed underneath his armpits.

You shake it off as you answer him honestly, not realising that this is the first time since he was a child that anyone had ever talked to him as him. Not as a runaway. Not as a profit. Not as a monster. Not as a threat. Not as a joke. Just as... Luis. Something tight clenched in his heart, and as he nodded along to your answer, he found himself beginning to flush at how nice it felt.

It becomes a running joke between the two of you that whenever a villager tries to hit you with a lit torch, he asks if you 'have a light?'

Speaking of, when the two of you end up by one of the rundown boathouses littering the lake side, he leans his leg back against one of the boards to light a smoke. With a confused tilt of his head, his eyes suddenly widen when you stop his hand from playing with his lighter, stealing the cigarette out of his mouth. Instead, you cup your hands around the knuckles of his larger ones and lower your head down to light the end of the cigarette.

He fidgets, a knowing look on his face as he tries to hide how turned on he's become, how incredibly tight his jeans suddenly seem to feel when you let go and take a drag. Before he can reach for your lips to steal it back, though, you throw the cigarette into the lake with a wink, leaving him feeling only all the more turned on.

But Luis is also incredibly protective of you!! When you're being surrounded by hordes of angry plagas villagers in a derelict cabin, the man is constantly jumping in your way with all guns ablazing. It starts to frustrate you how, without any formal training or without any bloody protective gear he keeps shielding you from pitchforks with only his pecs to protect him. He just laughs, pulling you behind him and throwing off your aim as he holds a shard of broken bookcase out in front of him like a lance. Whenever you climb the stairs to kick down some of the ladders on the second floor, Luis is hot on your heels like your own personal talkative shadow. Thankfully though, while you were busy trying to lift the bed and shove it back against the shards of a newly broken window, Luis was there to notice a villager's head splat open and tentacles sprout out of it right behind your back. With a cry, he pounces himself at them, narrowly avoiding you getting a lash to the face as he uses his weight to knock them off the balcony.

You repay him by sliding your leg forward and managing, just in time, to stop his arms waving and his staggering legs from falling over the edge as well by grabbing the collar of his jacket and hauling him back onto you.

'See senorita?', he asks between pants, the two of you collapsed down onto the floor with Luis lying between your legs. He lets his head leisurely loll down onto the joint at the top of your thigh, letting his open palm fall over your knee. 'Nothing to it!' You roll your eyes, but even he notices the relief flood through your uneasy body when he uses his free hand to reach up and touch your face. At first you jump, not expecting the warm buzzing feeling of his fingertips holding your chin, but you slowly relax as he tilts your head back and forth. There's an intensity in his eyes that you haven't seem from him before, as he swipes a bead of blood away from the cut on your lower lip without a second thought. A kind of fury, but also... a hint of guilt racking through his head as he makes sure you're alright.

You can bet your ass though that as soon as you heft him back up onto his feet, he refuses to go out the door. Instead, he hops up on top an antique wine barrel, and pouts his lips at you. He whines like a kicked puppy until you agree to fix up his wounds now, and to kiss them all better.

'Absolutely not', you say through a smile, coming to stand in between his legs. He goes uncharacteristically still when you reach up to cradle his face, an almost imperceptible huff of air hitching through his nostrils when you tilt his cheek further into your palm. He rests his head heavily, the corner of his lips twitching up as he rubs his stubble against your skin and tickles you. 'Cut it out or I'll be sewing your eyelid to your ass', you warn him, pointing a needle you managed to worm out of your side pack at his nose. He just smiles, watching you work as if you were made of pure starlight itself. As you finish off by crushing up some green herb, you can feel his thick thighs begin to move tighter against your legs, effectively trapping you against his hip.

'I-I'm going to need you to open your mouth', you state, trying your damn best to not give Luis the satisfaction of hearing your voice go hoarse.

'If that's what you've wanted me to do, mi amorcito, all you had to do was ask.' Although he cocks his head at you, he can't help but drop his eyes, desire burning through every electric inch of his body as he drops his bottom lip open. It feels like an eternity as you gingerly press the stalks of herb down onto the point of his tongue, not helped by the way Luis' irises are trained solely onto your own for every second. You don't mean to, but your pointer finger brushes against the plumpness of his lip as you pull away, and you turn your head away with a furious blush when Luis swipes at the spot, leaving a wet trail against it.

You turn to pack up and leave, but he suddenly stands up and grabs onto your arm tightly. He leans sideways until he's almost over you, his brow furrowed as he searches your eyes for an answer he's terrified to find. 'Hey, I won't leave you here, you know? I promise, I'm not going to leave again.'

'Why are you doing this?', you ask tensely. 'Why are you following me?'

He swallows thickly, weighing up whether to confess his truth to you or not. After a moment, he sighs, too afraid at what you might do. 'You are a guest! It would be rude not to take you on a tour of all the hotspots in the village.' Although you roll your eyes, you can't help the way you start to smile at his cheesiness. He begins chuckling too, but you don't notice the way the tips of his ears burn with a crimson flush as he spins his pistol and places it back into his holster, looking up at the ceiling uncertainly.

When it starts raining, he immediately offers you his jacket, quick to unzip it and place it over your head. That is, until you elbow him in the ribs once he asks for 'some of your clothing in return, of course ;)'.

Since you've grown to warily trust the man, you believe him when he leads you into a dank smelling cavern underneath some of the huts, telling you that he miraculously knows of a way to move underneath the monsters undetected. Which is how you found yourself climbing up a well in a densely shrouded area by an incredibly sticking looking altar, running away from a man wielding a chainsaw, and sitting on a very content looking Luis shoulders as you clambered into the musty attic of what used to be the village chief's manor. Flicking your torch through the gloom, you were surprised to step on a cracked frame. Picking it up, you were even more surprised when you ran your thumb over the grime to clear the image of a young boy sitting next to his grandfather. A young boy, who even at that age had such strikingly distinctive... familiar characteristics. A young boy who, as you placed the photo down on a cabinet and began to flick through the pages of a withered journal lying next to it, had been through such grief and horror that you were amazed he was so nonchalantly peering through the rafters next to it.

No, no. That wasn't it. He was good, you had to give him that. He must have spent a long time projecting this image. Perfecting this façade. Wrapping himself up so tightly in his fairy tales of knights and princesses and magical lands, that he almost believed it himself. Almost. But it seemed almost innate with you: the ability to notice his giveaways. To notice the real him. The way his shoulders were slightly hunched, as if guarding himself from bad memories: the way his eyes flitted just ever so minutely around the room, as if a cold grip of fear was squeezing at his lungs: the way, that in all the time you had been standing there watching him, he had noticed the photograph and now refused to look your way.

'You-', you start, not entirely sure what to say. 'This is you? You're from this village? You, you-'

He looks so desolate, so horrifyingly sad as he deflates onto the edge of a desk that you can't even finish the sentence, let alone get to the accusations of his work with Umbrella. Instead, your eyes sweep over the last page of the diary, feeling your heart breaking at the loneliness and confusion this poor man must have felt for so long.

'You were trying to help', you finally murmur out through clenched teeth. 'You are trying to help', you soften, turning your body to face him with furrowed eyebrows. 'That's why you're following me.'

'I might have been', he shrugs, but even that motion seems to take all the energy out of him. He feels different now, more clear, more truthful as he folds his hands out in front of his lap. 'Maybe, at the start. But it's not just that. I'm a selfish man, senorita. Look!'

He throws an arm out towards the window with a faux smile, pointing an accusatory finger at the lingering hoards of torch wielding villagers that are stumbling through the fallen cast iron gates. 'See how well I did at saving them! No, no.' He rubs the bridge of his nose, before glancing crestfallen at the picture frame behind your arm. 'I'm no hero. I'm selfish. I decided a long while ago, mi amor, that I enjoyed your company far too much. If I can't save my village, I'm going to be selfish enough to save you.'

His eyes drop, and his nose sniffs, and you do the only thing your mind can piece together at that moment. You walk forward, and with a tentative face you wrap your arms around his torso and hug him. It takes him a moment to realise that you're not rightfully furious with him, before he lets his head droop down into the curve of your shoulder. You don't say a word when you feel his arms shake, sliding around your ribcage until his hands are clenched fists in the back of your shirt. He's so tall he's almost smothering you, but you don't care a jot. Instead, you just stay a moment in your perfect isolation, allowing the man in front of you the comfort and vulnerability to break.

You thought that was as bad as you would ever see him, but this man gets SERIOUSLY worried when he realises that you've been infected with las plagas too?? He curses himself with an incredibly frantic and incredibly rude string of Spanish curse words, realising it must have been around the same time Leon was infected, and you've been struggling with the pain of it alone this whole time. He goes into Serious Scientist Mode and does his best not to freak out when, in a flash, you've gone from idle chatting to flashing a boot knife at his throat. His adams apple bobs against the serrated edge of the blade as he slowly reaches his hand out to reassuringly squeeze your shoulder once again.

'It's alright, you do what you have to do. I told you, I'm not leaving you again, si?'

Your face crumbles in agonising pain as the black tendrils begin to flood away from your eyes to be replaced by blinking tears, mustering the strength to fling the knife until it sticks firmly into frame of a painting. You fall to the floor, writhing in pain, and it takes all of Luis' strength not to cry out as he falls down beside you like there are firecrackers nipping at his heels. He legit carries you bridle style out the door and onto one of those velvet cushioned chairs in the castle's corridor. He stoops down next to you, and you finally come around to his warm thumb rubbing just under your bottom lash line as he checks the white of your eyes for any lingering signs of infection.

His fingers are incredibly gentle as he unfurls your other intertwined hand to check the pulse on your wrist. The wrinkles on his forehead are so shoved together that he almost looks like he's folded in on himself, and you can barely make out the slight shake of his fingertips as he steadily counts with bated breath. He lets out a whistle of relief through his front teeth once he's reassured, falling backwards onto the gilded frame of the staircase's banister and stretching his legs out in front of him in blissful solace.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you whisper a pained 'hey handsome', gripping your side and stretching out your neck as you sit up fully. He doesn't even speak, his eyes wide and terrified as he flies forward and pulls you into a desperate hug, so tight against his chest you feel like you might pop if his biceps pulse any more. He seems almost sheepish when he pulls back, until you pull him down by the lapel of his jacket to kiss his cheek and whisper a 'thanks for not leaving me' into the shell of his ear. Like a lightning strike, like life breathed back into his lungs, he's grinning like his old self. The lovestruck dope. You really have wrapped around your pinkie finger.

Him screaming WHEEE and climbing onto your head the whole time you're in the cart mine lmao.

When you guys reach the garden maze, he just can't keep his feelings in any longer. He doesn't quite know if it was you nearly being mauled by the dogs that reminded him of his grandfather, and all he's lost, or if it's just the thought of him not getting you to his lab in time that makes all the frustration and love and pure adrenaline fear slam against his ribs. Before you can even wipe the blood off your forehead, peering around the next corner to see if you can catch sight of an end to these stupid ass hedges, Luis struts forward and cages you in his arms. He's kissing you so fervently, effectively pinning you between his groin, lower legs, and the bristles of the bush behind you that you nearly fall through with the intensity of it.

This man is definitely the type to nearly knock you on your ass though tbf because he's thrusting up against you, so desperate for you.

Smug bastard is smirking the whole time, until he feels your nails scratch lightly against the stubble by the pulse point on his neck. He winces, closing his eyes and turning his head towards the empty air at your side that you think you've hurt him, until the bastard starts groaning.

Without even realising it, Luis has shoved you down onto the grass, breaking your fall by landing you on top of his arm. He crawls between you like a ravenous tiger until he's hovering over your face. He bites at the side of your neck, leaving a few wet marks as his tongue eagerly glides across your skin as your hand desperately reaches up onto the stone side of the fountain. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly on your stomach ravishes you, only for your grasping hand to be met with his own heavily landing on top of it, interlinking quickly with your fingers. He growls as he pulls at the bottom of your thighs, raising your lower body further up towards him whilst also pulling your raised legs around the bottom of his back.

His other hand is aflame as it holds tight against the side of your pelvis, effectively holding you in place as he grinds against you, teeth nipping at your top lip as he kisses you like the world might end around him at any moment. His breath pants against your tongue, hand wandering like smooth butter down the sides of your hip, making sure you experience every inch of pleasure that's been pent up over the last few days. Making sure, with each swirl of his tongue against your own, that you finally realise how much he adores every inch of you. Ensuring, as he pulls you down by the hips to rest against the belt buckle of his jeans, that you're safe in the knowledge that he's never felt this in love: this safe, this devoted, so like himself again with anyone else.

Thankfully you're there to look out for each through thick and thin, and even more thankfully you're there to stop him being attacked and grievously wounded by Krauser. He swears, as the two of you finally come running hand in hand into his lab, and he holds onto your fingers with a grip tight and sweaty enough to bend metal, that he's going to make the most of this chance at redemption he's been given. He's going to be your knight in shining armour, for as long as he may live.

#resident evil #luis sera #luis sera imagine #luis sera x reader #luis sera headcanons #resident evil imagine #leon kennedy #resident evil headcanons #re 4 #re 4 imagine #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #luis resident evil #luis re #luis resident evil imagine #re4 #re4 remake

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

The Duff 17

Warnings: groping, insecurity, food and body issues, manipulation, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far. ♥♥♥♥

Image credit (I want to give dues where due but don’t want the creator to keep getting tagged in my posts as I have been approached by some before that they don’t want me in their notifs)

You get up to your apartment and lock the door, double checking before you can bring yourself to step away. Finally a chance to breathe, but you can’t.

You go to the counter, plopping your bag on top as you try to gulp down air. The roll and clatter of some unseen object can’t break through your panic.

What the fuck? What the fucking fuck!?

You don’t get it. Curtis, Andy, all of it. One big clusterfuck with no escape. Some weirdo you got stuck with in the club is not your personal pest and your own boss can’t take a hint.

Since when did you become some hot commodity? How could you take for granted all those years of being overlooked? You’d give anything to never be seen again.

You clumsily reach for your bag and fish out your phone. You can barely grip it as your breaths remain shallow and your hands tremble. You pull up your chat with Stephanie and text her; then Isla, then Mindy. You need someone.

You stare at the empty checkmarks. You’ll be lucky if you get a response before the morning. Some friends.

All your anger and resent boils up until you’re crying again. You were always the odd one out, the third wheel, always left with the scraps and now look what it got you. You blame them. For exiling you to the status of DUFF. For not giving a goddamn shit. Not one of them checked in after that night at the club.

You could throw your phone. Instead you swipe away the more than twenty messages piled up in your notification bar. All from the same person. Curtis is insane, you know that much. You should’ve seen it sooner. You should’ve let yourself see it sooner but you really thought you’d met a decent guy. The first guy to actually see you, but not he’s way too focused on you.

You feel helpless, trapped. You don’t know what to do. You can’t even hide at work with your desperate boss hovering like a shark. How did you not see that either? Well, you wouldn’t expect it. You’ve worked for Andy for almost a year and he’s never tried anything.

Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re sending all the wrong signals. Well, you don’t even know what kind of signals to send. When you want someone to leave you alone, they bother you, and when you’ve only ever wanted a bit of attention, you were castigated.

You give up. You get a hold of yourself and count until your heartbeat evens out. You plug your phone into the charger and pick up the half-empty bottle of mint-flavoured sparkling water from the floor. You place it back on the counter and drag your feet across the unlit living room.

You’ll call in, take a day to recover. Maybe one of the girls will finally answer their messages and you can get some ideas from them. One thing for sure, you’re locking yourself up in this place and not going anywhere.

You go into the bathroom, flicking on the light. You look in the mirror and sigh. Are you really the type to drive men mad?

You rinse your face and brush your teeth. You go through the motions, hoping routine can comfort you. It hardly does.

You enter the bedroom and flip off the bathroom light. You walk through the dark. You're too drained to turn on the lamp as you approached the bed.

You strip down to your underwear and pull on the tee shirt you left rumpled up by your pillow. You nestle under the covers and resist another wave of tears. You feel lost. You don’t know which way to go.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pray for sleep. You just need to forget everything. You just need a break. You–

You don’t drink sparkling water. You sit up and hold a cramped breath in your chest. That bottle. Mint? What kind of psycho buys organic mint water?

Your heart hammers. Your phone is out in the kitchen. Shit.

You get up slowly and listen to the silence of your apartment. You creep towards the door, your footsteps light but scuffing over the carpet and onto the hardwood. You pause just in the doorway as you try to see through the dark into the front room.

You hear the slow roll of the closet door folding back too late. In a moment, you’re wrenched off your feet. You flail and kick, your voice muffled beneath the rough palm as you claw blindly at the figure behind you. His low hush warms the shell of your ear.

“It’s okay, bunny,” Curtis grits softly, “I’m going to take care of you.”

He keeps his hand over your mouth, snug against your nose, blocking all air. Your eyes bulge as you fight to breathe and his thick arm comes up around your neck, squeezing enough to make you dizzy.

"I know you love me. Let me show you how much I can love you..." He rasps.

The world speckles around you, the distant noise of the city pulsing until silent, your eyelids closing against your will, casting you into horrifying black.

#curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #dark curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #drabble #au #series #the DUFF #snowpiercer

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