#irritated sorceress

[newtkive]

confectionary clash - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x afab!reader (established relationship)

summary: carmy's girl is the human embodiment of a sweetheart. that is, unless it's that time of the month and richie provokes her.

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, fighting, weaponized incompetence from richie but we still love him.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but turned into 3k words. so it's written kinda like a drabble?? (hence the lowercase i can't be arsed to change) but just... long. idk hopefully its entertaining. also, i don't mean to demonize richie, he's my favorite character i think,, i just love writing him as problematic lmao cuz he's so funny. anyways, enjoy!

as carmy’s confidant and girlfriend, you were always the voice of reason. with just a string of words, you’d be calming him down after a hectic work day, giving him a fresh perspective on his work dilemmas since you were outside of the restaurant circle. in the time he’s known you, he hadn’t seen you do as much as barely raise your voice. maybe the occasional snap, but you always follow it up with swift apologies and big watery eyes.

that is, unless you’re in pain. specifically cramps. the sight of you 180ing from a sweet girl with a bright smile and even sweeter words, to an evil sorceress with spells rolling off your tongue, inflicting curses onto anyone who irritates you is jarring. a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s what you were during that time of the month—dramatic.

carmy tries best to dote on you. you would never ask him to go out of his way for something, unless it’s grabbing a heating pad or water, but carmy wants you to. it takes prying to hear your desires and cravings after asking a million times, and you begrudgingly give in with no expectations. nevertheless, you end up with exactly what you asked for, or something close to it, and you’re endlessly grateful.

on days when you stop into the restaurant when you’re feeling down, carmy enacts this same routine. if it’s food, he’ll cook it for you; desserts, he’ll grab any extras marcus has (or marcus happily makes it from scratch if they're not busy, claiming he needs the practice). if you want snacks, he sends his right hand man richie out to grab them despite your protests.

richie does it often whenever you stop into the store, and he acts like it’s a chore sometimes, but everyone has a hunch that he really loves it. come on, twenty dollars to get a few items for you and pocket the rest for himself? plus a break from work? done deal.

richie wouldn’t admit it, but he liked taking care of you too. you were always a sweetheart to him, but it wasn’t in his personality to be as sincere as you, so this was a little act of service to show his love. besides, the year and a half you’ve known him has definitely earned you the title of a friend, and you’d agree.

now, you don’t ever want to seem ungrateful, but when you ask for a specific treat, you get disappointed when you don’t really get it. maybe it’s the fluctuating mood talking, but you always end up snapping at richie due to his poor choices. if you ask for one thing, he’ll get you the next, and you even suspect he does it on purpose sometimes. pulling reactions from people is his specialty.

it’s not like you’re a complete bitch about it, because he took his time out to go get you something, but richie has a problem with weaponized competence even with his new and improved attitude. you know he can get you the jolly ranchers you suggested, but he chooses to grab goldfish because it’s closer to checkout. it was annoying, but you never really brought it up to carmy. it's not like you needed to, it wasn't a huge deal. you figured richie could use the little break, and you don’t hate the snacks he brings.

except on days like this.

you were at the restaurant on a slow day, dragged yourself out of bed despite your cramps just to see your little grumpy boyfriend and hide in his office. even as you entered the establishment through the back you glared at richie (who sweetly waved) in passing, side eyeing a few of the newbies who ran in front of you despite their apologies. none of your usual bright smiles and cheery greetings. the bee line straight to the office was a clear enough explanation for how you were feeling.

upon entering, carmy looked up in a panic, which quickly melted into a soft smile at the sight of his girlfriend. “hey, baby.” he cooed softly, immediately scooting back from his desk to reach out to grasp at your waist. you let him, but pushed down the irritation, not favoring touch at the moment. however, his rough hands sliding a little under your shirt to grasp at the flesh of your hips calmed you down, earning a small quirk of the lips from you.

“whatcha doin’ here, love?” he asks, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss softly, still looking up at you.

you shrug, squeezing his hand, face a bit stoic. you’d been like this for a couple of days so he wasn’t surprised by your lack of friendliness. knowing you this long, carmy became accustomed to your monthly mood swings, and he felt privileged that you didn’t feel the need to put up an act for him.

“missed you.” you finally sighed, scooting closer so you stood between his knees. palms found both sides of carmy’s face and tilted it upwards a bit so you could study his appearance. stressed and tired. however, he seemed to glow at the mere admission of you missing him. it took a few seconds for his brain to rewire, looking up at you like you created the cosmos. the only reason you heard his soft, shy, ‘missed you too’ was because of the stagnant silence.

“hungry?” carmy asked, beaming from the attention. you shrugged again, allowing him to tighten his grip on your sides and tug you onto his lap. whining a bit in protest, you reposition yourself, legs falling over his lap and arms around his neck. your faces were closer now, and carmy looked at your sad eyes with a little pang in his chest. brows furrowing, he tilted his head and snuck a hand under your chin. long, tattooed fingers tickled at your chin, and before you knew it you were giggling and grinning while batting his hand away.

“cmon, i know you must want somethin’.” your grin was infectious and laced in his soft words. you hummed, already cheered up, and tapped a finger against your chin to make a thinking face. carmy chuckled, brushing a lock of hair away from your eyes and patiently waited.

a thought crossed your mind and you met gazes again. “i might go grab some little debbie snacks from around the corner.” you decided and nodded to yourself as if solidifying your decision.

as you started sitting up more, carmy’s grip tightened on your waist. “ah, ah, no. stay here.” he protested. soon enough he was calling out ‘cousin!’ and richie came bounding over, opening the office door.

richie’s face used to contort in disgust at any visual sign of affection exchanged between you and carmy, but he was used to it now. “what’s up, cousin?” he asked, almost seeming out of breath, eyes flickering between the both of you.

a short exchange between the two occurred: carmy asking richie to run to the corner store, handing richie a twenty, and richie asking you precisely what you wanted. you made it simple and easy, something he could remember: oreos and ho-hos, a midwestern's guilty pleasure.

“ight, cap’n, i’ll be back.” richie says, saluting you two before heading out. both you and carmy exchanged an amused smirk, knowing the only reason richie went was to get himself some cigarettes and hot fries he would scarf down on the walk back.

__

in the twenty minutes richie was gone, the kitchen had gone to shit. the newbies had been running the wrong food to tables, online orders were filling the tablet nonstop due to a discount glitch, and carmy was close to losing it. sitting in the office, now alone with the muffled sound of your boyfriend yelling, you were more grumpy than before. arms crossed, you snapped your head to the side once the door creaked open. in walked richie with a plastic bag, inside of it holding your hope for a better day.

"what took you so long?" you frowned up at him, but sat up straighter in anticipation. you eyes almost shone as you looked at corner store logo on the bag.

"went the long way." he mumbled, digging in the plasic. the skeptical look on your face didn't leave as he pulled out an item and set it on the table. your frown deepened further as you noticed there was nothing at all you asked for, only met with a crushed sleeve of crackers.

“where are the oreos?” you sighed out, lips pursed in a bit of a pout.

“didn’t find any, so i got you some peanut butter crackers.” he mumbled, digging around the bag again, as if he didn’t just break your heart. if it was anyone else you'd believe them, but with richie you figured he just got bored of looking.

your jaw fell slack and you gaped like a fish for a moment, waiting for him to pull out more treats from his bag. but that time didn’t come, as he fished a pack of cigarettes out instead. “and the ho-ho’s?” your voice was hopeful.

richie perked up at that, putting the cigarettes down next to the crackers. the next second he presented you with a smushed mountain of brown and white concealed in a plastic wrapper sitting atop the palm of his hand. eyes flicking between the disappointment before you and his face, you frowned in disbelief.

richie only managed to emote as much as a ‘yikes’ face before placing it on the desk. “got smushed in transit, but tastes the same!” he gave his best attempt at a smile. your brows grew taut together and anger bubbled up in your chest. you were sure your face was quickly turning red.

“carmy gave you twenty dollars, and you come back with this?!” you hiss out, daring to look at the dry crackers and smushed up dream of a ho-ho. the sight only made you become angrier. this was something a senile old person would give you, not a competent 40-something-year-old man. his lack of care was clear, and you were boiling.

richie just scoffed—he had the nerve to scoff.

“no, not just that! i got a sprite and a few pack of cigs for myself and the guy.” he waved around one of them to prove his point. if you thought you were mad before, you reached a new level of anger. usually, you’d deal with the disappointment and thank richie for even going—aside from a smart alec remark.

however, the demon conducting your period for this month did not make your rational decisions seem clear nor enticing. as you shot up from carmy’s chair, you only knew you wanted to make richie as upset as you were in this moment.

with one finger poking his chest, you began raising your voice. as soon as you started talking, richie's eyes turned wide as saucers, exactly like a deer in headlights. a string of curses snuck into your tirade, between phrases such as “you always fucking do this richie!” and “are you fuckin’ dumb?! did you get dropped on your head?!”. you only figured he didn't fire back right away because he was so stunned.

outside of the office, the kitchen was calmer now. things were finally falling into order but still required carmy’s supervision until the sudden rush ended. the only disturbance was you. now, it was your voice yelling behind closed doors and not carmy’s.

the chef—in the middle of helping sydney plate a dish—just about gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around to look at the barely cracked door of the office. there was the telltale muffled yelling, but what shocked him was it was clearly you yelling.

turning back around, carmy gawked at sydney who silently shared the same look of surprise. it was only until they heard richie start yelling back that sydney silently pushed him toward the door. it didn’t take more than a second for carmy to snap out of his surprise and march over to the office.

throwing the hand towel he was using over his shoulder, he yanked the heavy door open before all but body slamming his way into the room and slamming the door closed. the yelling was suddenly clear, as if carmy was being pulled out from underwater.

“YOU GET ME WHAT I ASKED YOU, OR GET ME NOTHING AT ALL!”

“THEN YOU’D BITCH ABOUT THAT TOO—“

“OR NOTHING AT ALL!”

“hey, hey, HEY!” the two of you were too busy at each others throats to even hear carmy enter, until his voice brought you both to a halt, heads turning towards him.

carmy’s eyes were immediately glued to you, not paying the least bit of attention to richie. your arms were stiff as boards to your sides, fists and jaw clenched, brows taut, and race beet red. the man had never seen you look like this before, and his instinct to comfort you took over. turning to richie with a look that could kill, carmy finally spoke. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?! except take precious time to get your girl shit she didn’t even want?!”

an offended gasp left your mouth, and you retorted instantly. “oh please! because a crushed up sleeve of crackers and a mountain of mushed up cake is just what i asked for!”

“you’re ungrateful.” richie pointed a finger at you now. carmy launched forward and slapped it down. he knew richie would never hurt you, and you knew it too, as you just rolled your eyes in response, but carmy’s instinct’s took over. richie didn’t even look phased, just irritated. carmy stood in front of you and forcefully turned richie around by his shoulders to send him to the door. if carmy didn't have half of a sane mind, he would’ve kicked richie's bottom with his shoe for good measure.

“go take a break chef! or do whatever the fuck, i don’t care.” carmy shouted after richie, and the man left with a slam of the door.

you simply watched the scene unfold with arms crossed and that same deep set frown. carmy turned around to face you as the air settled, a hand running through his hair. blue eyes raked over your tense form and carmy decided he would give you a little space to calm down. however, the second he saw your bottom lip wobbling and eyes grow watery he threw that thought to the wind

“hey, no, no, don’t cry.” carmy extended his arms and collected you into them. the tense posture you held relaxed into his slouched form as he held you close; one hand in your hair, and the other rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled.

a pit of guilt burned in your stomach and spurred you into attempting to bury yourself into carmy. blue straps of his apron rubbed against your cheek as you shuffled impossibly closer. usually, carmy would love this, but right now he'd do anything to not see you so out of it. shushing you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

there were a few beats of you hiding away before you decided to pull back a bit to face him again—and boy did you look pitiful.

the same cheeks previously bright with anger were now flush with embarrassment and stained with tears. a tattooed hand found itself sitting on your cheek, thumb rubbing under your eye to collect a fallen tear. at the touch, your eyes fluttered closed, and carmy’s heart broke at the sight.

“you gonna tell me what happened?” your boyfriend asked, trying not to make you feel even more guilty. his full attention was on you. exhaling slowly, your eyes fluttered back open and were met with those bright blue ones that always calmed you down.

“i dunno, i just-“ you shook your head and carmy waited patiently, “it wasn’t even a big deal, but richie just really set me off for some reason.”

“yeah, may as well join the club.” carmen’s words were light, not at all sarcastic, but aiming to ease you and bring out a smile. it worked, your lips turning upwards and carmy mimicking the half smile. he looked down at you with such love, head tilted to follow every time yours moved, and thumb caressing your cheek as he took in every expression.

your smile finally faltered as you glanced back at the office desk. “i feel so awful. he went out and got me stuff and i just yelled at him.” you sputter out.

carmy followed your gaze over his shoulder to finally see what started all of this. at the sight of the crackers and ball of what looked like mush, carmy scoffs in both disbelief and amusement, because of course richie would bring you that. turning back towards you, the chef finally gets it.

“baby, if someone brought me that shit while my insides were shedding i’d kill them.” he chuckled.

“really?” you asked hopefully, smile forming again.

“yes, really. even if i wasn’t goin’ through that i’d actually kick his ass.” carmy mirrored your smile.

nodding, you let yourself chuckle along with him. strong arms found you again and you were wrapped in a tight hug, allowing his squeezes to take away some guilt you were feeling. a moment passed and you knew carmy had to get back to work. with a sigh, you pulled back.

it was your turn to reach up and cup his cheek. guiding his face close, you met him halfway and pressed your lips to his in a kiss. lips moving against his, your noses brushed, and after a moment you let the kiss dissipate; lips slowly falling away from where they were molded together. one last peck was placed on carmy’s lips, as if saying, ‘thank you for being so attentive’. that earned an appreciate hum.

you both beamed, faces still close as you came back down to earth. “you gotta get back to work, and i gotta apologize.” you murmured and carmy nodded obediently.

with apprehension, carmy let you go, arms floating in the air for half a second as he walked backwards towards the door. “don’t go easy on him, though. richie lives for a fight. that was probably his anger management for the day.” carmy smirked, grasping the doorknob.

you just shook your head, eyes narrowed teasingly. before he turned to leave, you called out to him. “thank you, carmy.”

the man just gave you a confused look, chuckling. “don’t thank me, you're my girl.” with that he was back to work and you were left to your own devices. with one more glance at the monstrosity on the office desk, you left the room and went on a search for richie.

thirty minutes later, carmy was due for a smoke break and approached the back door. he slowed his tracks, lighter and cigarette in hand as he cracked the door and heard giggling. the sight before him was drastically different than before: you and richie sitting on a ledge next to each other, giggling and bumping shoulders. carmy breathed out a laugh at the sight and fully walked out. this caught both of your attention, grinning ear to ear as you clearly made up.

“hey, cousin!” richie grinned, and you both waved. figures.

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

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter One. Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: Sub/Dom, Toxic Behaviour, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Begging, DubCon, CNC.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

You were a good girl, and an exemplary student. One who consistently demonstrated exceptional discipline and commitment. Your dedication to academics was unwavering, as you diligently followed the rules and guidelines, never straying from the prescribed path.

Your singular focus was on nurturing your intellectual curiosity, and you showed no interest in indulging in activities that might distract you from your educational pursuits. Your life was calm, quiet, and focused.

Until, one day everything fucking changed.

———

In the enchanted realm of Hogwarts, there resided a studious and exceptionally bright seventh-year Ravenclaw witch, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and her steadfast commitment to the noble pursuit of knowledge. This young sorceress, a paragon of virtue, refrained from the temptations that often lured her peers, steering clear of parties, alcohol, and the haze of smoke that veiled the Ravenclaw common room during clandestine gatherings.

Her life was meticulously ordered, her goals sharply defined. But the universe had a curious sense of humor, for it threw her into an unexpected affiliation with the most notorious bad boy in Slytherin:

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He, the embodiment of rebellion, was a stark contrast to her pristine existence. Mattheo's reputation preceded him: a Slytherin troublemaker, one who was almost always found in the midst of chaos. His devil-may-care attitude was a challenge to authority, and there was not one singular individual that could tie him down.

Yet, fate had woven their paths together, forcing the astute young witch to confront the complexity of human nature, unraveling layers of his defiance while simultaneously testing the boundaries of her own steadfast resolve.

And that witch; that poor fucking witch--well, that was you.

———

"Please, Riddle...if you'd take a seat," you ran your tongue along the backside of your teeth, straightening your posture in your chair as you tried to contain your irritation. "...I must express my desire to commence our endeavors prior to the conclusion of the academic term."

"Eager, are we?" Mattheo sneered, sauntering toward the desk painfully fucking slow. "You know, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is mastery. I'll sit when I'm fuckin' ready to sit."

His voice was low, the sadistic drawl of his tone making your bones ignite with fury. Gods, he certainly fucking loved testing you.

"And I won't tell you again...call me Mattheo."

You inhaled a sharp breath, flattening out your blue uniform skirt against your thighs as you bit your tongue hard enough to make it bleed.

"Rome may not have been built in a day, but it certainly collapsed in one--now, I won't ask again, Riddle..." you looked up, meeting his dark obsidian eyes, fighting back a sadistic smirk of your own as he narrowed his gaze in challenge. "Take. A. Seat."

The words were clipped behind your teeth with an obvious urgency that shut Mattheo up for a few seconds, the gears turning inside his head as he contemplated how he could one up your little jab--a constant occurrence that seemed to happen every single fucking time you met with him.

At this point, your tutor sessions were an easy seventy percent bickering with the remaining thirty being a half-assed session of one-sided discussion where he mostly offers you fleeting blank stares while zoning you out. You hated that you'd agreed to this, but you knew you needed to get on (and remain on) Professor Dumbledores good side if you wanted a career here at the school after you graduated--and you were so fucking hungry for it you'd do almost anything to solidify your fate.

Even if it meant surrendering your sanity to the hands of Mattheo fucking Riddle.

You chose not to let him, of all individuals, tarnish your path. Your reputation, fragile as it may have been, resembled a tinderbox, and he was the combustible element, ready to erupt at any given moment. This resolve became your steadfast anchor, shaping the direction of your choices.

"You know," Mattheo said as he finally slumped down into the chair across from you, his tousled brown hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. "I was under the impression that the brilliant Ravenclaws such as yourself valued intellect over impulsive haste..." he tilted his head, his gaze scanning every movement of your body as you stared at him. "It was my understanding that impatience was more of a Gryffindor trait."

Your fingers trembled with palpable irritation, yet you understood the imperative need to suppress it. You couldn't afford to reveal just how deeply he affected you, realizing that acknowledging it would subject you to endless taunts and jibes, a fate you were determined to avoid at any cost. This restraint became your shield in moments such as these.

"You wish to discuss house values, Riddle?" You tilted your head, straightening out your posture once again. "Because I, in complete honesty, was under the impression that Slytherins were known for their resourcefulness...your reluctance to cooperate suggests a rather curious lack of ambition."

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, his expression growing icier. "Resourcefulness doesn't mean blindly following every stupid instruction thrown at you, and ambition means choosing the battles worth fighting, not wasting time on pathetic, trivial matters."

With a subtle smirk, he leaned back, hooking his arm on the back of his chair as he eyed your discomfort--seemingly undisturbed by your challenge--and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, somehow knowing he wasn't finished.

And of course, he wasn't. "If you really believe this seemingly-stubborn insistence on when or if I sit reflects a lack of ambition, you clearly misunderstand the depths of Slytherin cunning. We pick our battles wisely, and right now, this isn't one of them."

Your blood pressure surged, the crimson currents in your veins reaching their boiling point. Months of enduring relentless bickering and one-upmanship had pushed you to the edge--this man may be an utter degenerate but he certainly knows how to use his mouth when it matters. You could no longer bear the weight of this incessant game, and in a fleeting moment of frustration, you finally succumbed to the pressure.

You knew this was your breaking point.

"I'm just trying to fucking help you." You said, before you even realized you had. You hardly ever cussed, never out loud--that is. "If you don't want to be here, then get out. I promise you, you won't be hurting my feelings if you do."

He huffed, leaning forward and crossing his hands together on top of the desk as he wet his stupidly plush lips, a devilish grin swallowing his cheeks while he revelled in the fact he'd so clearly fucking won. Yet again.

"No," he said. "I don't think I will."

You clucked your tongue, irritated even further at his response, gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly before you rolled your eyes--brushing off his suffocating arrogance and pulling your textbook out of your bag, slamming it down on top of the desk between your bodies.

"The Grimoire of Arcane Relics?" Mattheo read the title out loud, voice laced with a confused, almost offended undertone. "We don't cover this until the middle of second term..."

You cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Seems a bit...hasty, to shove this down my throat so early on," his voice carried a sadistic drawl that nearly made you leap across the desk and choke him unconscious. This man knew how to fucking test you. "Would it not be far more beneficial to proceed in the order the books are taught?"

You drew in another swift breath, the fabric of your navy robes clinging to your form, trembling fingers smoothing out any wrinkles on your button-up blouse as you adjusted it.

"I was unaware..." you said, not bothering to look up. "...that the individual I'd be tutoring this term was in fact a professor, and not a seventh year student..." you glimpsed him now, offering him merely but a slight tilt of your head as you watched his jaw tense. "...I must have been ill-informed, do pardon my ignorance."

"A moment of self-awareness? What a fucking breakthrough for you, Raven...pity it took you so long." He was clasping his hands together on top of the desk with enough force to involuntarily crack his knuckles. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, though I wouldn't hold my fucking breath."

"Please don't," you said, teeth gritting. "We wouldn't want to deprive your already-oxygen-starved brain of any more, now would we? It needs all the help it can get."

Mattheo's gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a teasing smirk, highlighting the scars that adorned them. The effect he had on you was undeniable, a sensation you longed to dismiss more than anything. However, with every passing moment in his presence, resisting the pull of attraction became an increasingly futile endeavour--yes, he was suffocatingly arrogant, but Gods, he was fucking attractive.

And he knew it.

"Quite the fucking mouth on you, I'll admit..." he dropped his voice to a low whisper, so deep it practically rattled your bones as it vibrated through you. "Never met a Ravenclaw with such an attitude problem...maybe I could tutor you on how to fix that issue, once we're done here, of course."

Your stomach twisted, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire. Curse him and his painstakingly arrogant charm. Curse him to bloody hell.

"It'd be a cold day in hell before I take any sort of guidance from you, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice accidentally reverberating as a seductive pitch. "And even then, I'd probably still refrain."

"You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?..." his eyes darkened, an evil mischief crawling its way through his irises. "What would daddy Dumbledore think about the way you're speaking to me, huh?"

Your heart stalled. "I-"

Your words faltered as Mattheo stood up, moving leisurely like a predatory creature circling its prey, until he was right beside you. His eyes, sharp as daggers, bored into your skull, and he loomed over you, a sadistic smirk twisting his lips into a cruel curve. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, knotting your stomach with an unsettling mix of fear and desire.

He placed a singular hand on your desk, leaning down closer to your level. "Perhaps I pay him a little visit...perhaps I tell him that you've been missing lessons, that you've been extremely unprofessional...perhaps I somehow fail my next exam...perhaps-"

"Okay, okay!" You panicked, cutting him off. "You've made your point, Riddle...I'm sorry, okay?" The words were fucking painful as you forced them past your teeth, and you swallowed your ego, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Let's just get this over with, please?"

Mattheo huffed, gratified by how effortlessly his threats appeared to compel your submission. The gears turned in his head as he grasped the extent of the power he truly wielded over you. He fully understood that your entire post-graduate career almost certainly depended on his decisions, and he was eagerly anticipating taking action.

"I like the way you say please..." his voice was breathless, his dark eyes consumed by something you couldn't really identify as he slumped down in the chair directly next to you, his sight never once leaving yours. "Do it again."

Your body tensed, immobilized as he inched closer, his penetrating eyes scrutinizing your features with intense focus. It was no secret that Mattheo had been oblivious to your existence until he was placed under your guidance--despite being the most popular Slytherin student in the school, you, a practically invisible Ravenclaw, were easy to overlook. It had taken him over three weeks to even remember your name, a fact he never bothered to acknowledge, let alone use.

But within that time frame, within the time you'd been tutoring him; as much as he drove you mentally fucking insane, you couldn't deny that every time he'd show up for lessons with torn knuckles, cut lips and alcohol radiating from his breath--you couldn't help but to feel something in the pit of your stomach.

Whether that sensation was disgust, arousal, or sheer terror, you couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a feeling that whispered in your veins, urging you to surrender to the dominance he held over you. It screamed for you to let him have his way without resistance, because just as he commanded your obedience, he wielded the same control over the entire damn school. The prospect of defying him felt like a dangerous game you weren't willing to play.

"Riddle-"

He tilted his head, his face dangerously close to yours now, his eyes peering into your soul as he stared. As he wet his lips, his breath turning shallow, you felt a feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, and one between your thighs as well.

"I said, do it again." His voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his eyes studying you as though you were a page of a textbook. Not that he'd ever read one of those. "Go on, Raven...beg for me..."

Your breath hitched, and you involuntarily clutched the edges of the wooden chair between your fingers with an indescribable force. You didn't want to admit it--not to Mattheo, not to anyone really--but you were a virgin. You'd never even kissed a boy; your entire life was devoted to your studies...so this...this was extremely fucking new to you.

When you remained silent, Mattheo's eyes darkened even further, turning a shade of obsidian so intense they put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame.

"You want me to keep your perfect little reputation intact, hm?" He breathed, leaning closer. "You want me to help you stay on Dumbledores good side?"

Your throat was more arid than the desert, and you nodded, unable to blink--unable to peel your fucking eyes off of him.

"Then do as I say..." he murmured, a large battered hand finding purchase on your thigh, your entire body involuntarily flinching at the foreign contact. "I want to hear you, Raven."

You stared down at his hand resting lazily over the fabric of your blue uniform skirt--it's massive size swallowing up almost the entirety of your thigh, calloused palm catching on the pleats as it slid upwards, agonizingly slowly--and when he paused, stretching his fingers around the diameter of your thigh the best he could, fingers digging into your flesh as he squeezed; you gasped, involuntarily, and he huffed--bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"One more chance..." he purred, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "You won't like what'll happen-"

"Please!" You snapped, squeezing your thighs together out of pure desperation. "Please, Mattheo...please, let's just get this over with..."

"Mm." He hummed in satisfaction, slowly pulling his hand off of you. "That's fucking right..." he murmured, warm breath tickling your ear. "Nothing is sweeter than your submission, Raven."

You swallowed, not daring to look at him, nodding your head frantically in response as he pulled away, slumping back in the chair--not once peeling his eyes off of you, spreading his legs way-too-fucking wide as he made himself comfortable--he was silent, now, watching your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, watching the way you squirmed in your chair at his sudden dominance--a dominance that had an effect on you that you couldn't even begin to describe.

And then, before you could even realize what was happening, Mattheo leaned back in, his fingers gripping your jaw and tilting your face towards his--and as you meet his dark, intoxicating eyes, your lungs stalled, entire body shrinking in your seat as he stared at you with such intensity that you felt like he could see right through you.

"From now on, I'm in charge here," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Understand?"

You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat, and watched his darkened amber eyes as they glanced over your lips, lingering there for far too long, before returning back up to meet your gaze--something swimming in his irises that made your stomach twist.

When you were silent, he tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow. "Use your words, Raven..."

"Yes." You squeaked, voice barely audible. "I understand."

He hummed, a devilish smirk crawling across his lips, fingers digging into your jaw with added pressure as he pulled you closer, lips so close you'd touch with a deep enough breath.

"Understand, what?" He breathed, eyes dipping over your lips yet again. "Say my fucking name."

"Mattheo..." you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only obey his words as though he was controlling you like a puppet on strings. "I understand, Mattheo."

He huffed, smirking. "Good girl, Raven..." his voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his full lashes fluttering as he blinked, meeting your eyes. "You learn so quickly...I should have done this months ago..."

When he pulled back, slowly releasing you, air slowly returned to your lungs; not enough to rid the dizziness from your brain but just enough to keep you conscious. Mattheo turned toward the desk now, as though nothing even happened, gesturing for you to start the lesson.

And somehow, you did.

—————-

Chapter two->

#smut #fanfic #severus #severus snape #harry potter #professor snape #severus smut #severus x y/n #draco fanfic #lucius malfoy #mattheoxreader #mattheoriddlesmut #mattheo riddle #mattheo #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoriddle #mattheo smut #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #riddle smut #Tom riddle #tomriddlesmut #theodore nott smut #theodore nott #tomriddle #theoriddlesmut #theoriddle #tomriddle smut #tomriddle x reader #lucius malfoy x reader

[lili-harg]

Can you do a Megumi fic?? Where the duo (Yuji and nobara) trying to tease Megumi with reader's name! and it's just a heartwarming scene. Pls do it. Thank you! I love your writing.

hii, thank you for your request, I really liked it and sorry for the delay, I had a bit of a busy week and also infinite thanks for your words, I am very glad that you like my writing 🫶🏻💗

Don’t say her name

• Fushiguro Megumi x Reader

-Yuuji idiot you must be quiet!

-But I can't move Nobara!

The two young sorcerers were hiding behind a small bush ready to spy on their reserved black-haired friend.

But before continuing let's see how all this started.

Lately Nobara and Yuuji had noticed their partner a little distracted, out of his mind, something that was not at all common for Megumi. So one afternoon Nobara decides to tell the pink-haired man about her suspicions.

-"Yuuji, have you noticed that Fushiguro is more... I don't know, distracted." She says smiling, eager to comment on her suspicion

- "Umm now that I think about it, maybe I noticed he wasn't as irritated as normally" says the pink haired man in a carefree manner - "Why do you ask?"

Nobara gives a disappointed sigh, as she clearly didn't hear the answer she wanted to hear. -"Don't you realize Itadori!!!, it's very obvious, Fushiguro is in love" she says with a big suspicious smile

- "In love? Do you think?" he says doubtfully.

-"Well, of course, that's why he's so distracted and so happy, what else could it be. Men are so easy to decipher" Nobara says the last part between murmurs.

- "There's only one way to check it," says the pink-haired man, standing up much more excited than he was a few minutes before.

Nobara gives him a knowing smile and explains to Itadori her plan to find out.

And that's how we got to the current situation, after watching Megumi write on her phone with a small grimace (which could be taken as a smile) they decided that they would follow him to wherever their "date" was.

So after following him, and passing by one or another store, they arrive at the moment where Nobara verifies her theory.

While the young people were hiding in that small bush, the sorceress said to her friend.

-"I knew it!! He's heading to the flower shop, without a doubt Fushiguro is a romantic. She says proudly for successfully proving her theory.

-"In fact I don't think he's heading there" Itadori says in a whisper while pointing at his partner.

Clearly As Yuuji said, the young black-haired sorcerer had continued past the flower shop entering a bookstore? Nobara's face was shocked.

-"It's not possible, let's follow him more closely, I'm never wrong." The young sorceress says firmly, while she brushes off the leaves of her uniform and drags Itadori towards the bookstore where his friend had entered.

Then, in the most stealthy way they could find, they began to follow the black-haired man. They moved behind him, looking at everyone. the books he was looking at, without finding any answer.

-"Maybe he's looking for a book to give her instead of a rose" says Yuuji

-"That's a good point, it would also prove my theory, now we just have to figure out which book he chooses and for whom. is" says Nobara, very immersed in her role as a spy.

This is how they chase him to the Manga section where they see him take one after inspecting it with his phone, determined to buy it. Anxiously, the two sorcerers pick up the manga after Megumi walks away and can see that it was the new volume of a comedy manga called "The Disastrous Life of Kusuo Saiki".

-"Wait a moment..." Nobara says remembering something "This is the manga that Y/n said she wanted last week" now smiling she has the proof that was the last piece to confirm her theory "Are you thinking what I'm thinking Itadori" she says while looking at the pink haired boy who nods at him with a knowing look.

-"FUSHIGURO IS IN LOVE WITH Y/N" they say excitedly in unison, without noticing that they would attract the attention of a certain sorcerer who, upon recognizing those annoying screams, would know who the owners were.

A very upset Megumi, after paying for her purchase, drags her classmates out of the bookstore (where they had actually been kicked out for their behavior) and tells them with annoyance.

-"What the hell were they doing in there!!?"

-"Or don't act mysterious, we already discovered your secret" says the young sorceress with a big smile.

-"You can't keep it to yourself anymore Fushiguro, if you liked Y/n you would have to tell us, we are your friends" says Itadori

Megumi says when hearing Y/n's name in love in the same sentence, I can't hide the blush on her cheeks and ears.

-"What, what are they saying" he says annoyed while turning his face

-"Ohh come on we already know, no one loves that manga more than Y/n" says Nobara pointing to the small bag that Megumi was carrying.

When the black-haired man analyzes the situation, he manages to realize that they had been following him all this time, so he internally curses how intrusive his companions were and, exhausted, he sighs and confesses (in a very short way) the feelings he has for his recently named partner Y/n.

Nobara and Itadori high-five after having successfully proven their theory and decide to help their friend confess his feelings for Y/n, although he refused and insisted that he did not need help.

And that's how on a beautiful afternoon Megumi hands over the book, and she also hands over her chosen gift for the black-haired boy as they had planned a few days ago on the phone, but what Y/n didn't know is that inside the book there was a letter where the sorcerer confessed his feelings. And so it was that on that same Autumn afternoon the two young lovers shared their first kiss.

And from some distant bush two hands high-fived again for the success of their plan.

#jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu itadori #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #itadori x reader #jjk #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #jjk geto #itadori fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu megumi

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Eclipsing Shadows

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

64.media.tumblr.com

Please note:

There are mentions of Astarion's trauma in this chapter.

Mr. Blackwell’s green eyes look like murky poison puddles that drip with corrosive contempt. His burgundy garb is wrinkled, creased and stained, clearly unchanged for some time. Whatever remains of his sparse, dingy-grey hair is slick with grease, dishevelled, and unkempt. He’s in a plight of disrepair not often seen in the noble class, eliciting wide-eyed stares and snickers from the crowd in the ballroom.

Guards are warily observing the onset of the altercation with avid attention. Their hands instinctively drift and sit precariously on the hilts of their weapons. You can hear the clinking of metal amour as they inch closer, ready to spring into action. From what you know of Mr. Blackwell, he is well-connected and an influential figure in Waterdeep. If you allow the quarrel to escalate, the guards will likely take heed of his requests and pay little attention to yours. You must tread carefully, a daunting prospect as your palms heat and your temper bubbles under your skin like an overboiling cauldron.

Your eyes scan the mob roving through the ballroom, subtly looking for Astarion. Aldous spoke to his father about the pale Elf with red eyes. You cannot allow Mr. Blackwell to gleam a view of Astarion. Quick and practiced, you take inventory of all possible exits and escapes while you count the guards.

Your neglect to answer him only irritates Mr. Blackwell further, and he crams himself into your line of sight. He is not a small man and towers over you. “Did you hear me, girl?” He squalls, gruff and strident. His hands slam into the wall beside your head with an ear-splitting boom as he barricades you in. “What have you done with my son, you fucking miscreant!”

Girl? Miscreant?! Why did I tell Astarion that murder was off the table?

His fetid breath feathers over your face. An inhuman, snake-like grin splits your lips as your adrenaline spikes. You’ve rivalled devils in the Hells, eradicated a vampire lord, euthanized countless fiends, and rained death down on hordes of shadow-cursed creatures. You will not be intimidated by the likes of this cretin.

“Mr. Blackwell,” you purr unenthusiastically, straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, and bedecking your face with a saintly visage. “Welcome home. It’s good to see you. What’s this about your son? Is Aldous missing?”

“Don’t play stupid, sorceress.” Mr. Blackwell roars. His face reddens further as he descends deeper into his fit of rage. Blue-hued veins pop from his forehead and neck as he snarls in your face with bared teeth. Your palms heat until blisteringly hot, and you resist the urge to shove him. “I know it was you. Where is he? Where is my boy?!”

Dead, and rightfully so.

The guards are getting antsy, shuffling from foot to foot, and the other patrons gape at the dispute before them. A crowd of onlookers is starting to form behind Mr. Blackwell. They stare and laugh with gleeful tittering as the show plays out. Your heart crashes against your sternum, playing your ribs like a drum. Your blood is broiling in your veins, and your fingers twitch with the urge to incinerate the threat.

Where in the Hells is Astarion? He would have heard this as soon as it started. You’re surprised and infinitely relieved that a dagger has not skewered Mr. Blackwell yet, but his absence is starting to make you uneasy. Have the guards already apprehended him? Did Mr. Blackwell recognize and have him arrested? Astarion would not go quietly, and you haven’t heard or seen any evidence of a struggle elsewhere. Astarion is far from stupid. He may know that his presence will only magnify the issue, but it’s unlikely to stop him from stepping in. You grumble under your breath at the thought. No matter what he’s seen you do or how powerful you are, Astarion protects you as if you’re a fragile wildflower, but you are not fragile like a flower; you’re fragile like an unstable explosive.

I protect him with the same ferocity, and I will never stop. Perhaps we are even.

You lean close to Mr. Blackwell, almost nose to nose, and growl under your breath, “You would do well to get out of my face lest I introduce you to the fire of my ancestors.”

Mr. Blackwell gnashes his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his forehead pinches, “You dare to threaten me?!”

Oh, yes. I dare.

Your temper is getting away with you. A hand clasps Mr. Blackwell’s shoulder, and you almost lurch forward, preparing for the fight that is sure to ensue, until you see Gale, wearing an elegant and regal mauve suit with one arm behind his back. You’ve never been so damn relieved not to see Astarion.

Gale’s face is composed with a cordial smile, and he laughs kindly as if nothing is amiss. You see the pink current of the Weave wash over Mr. Blackwell and recognize Charm Person as Gale casts imperceptibly with naught but a murmur.

“Of course not, Mr. Blackwell,” Gale assures in a charitable tenor. “Such a thing would be crass. Isn’t that right, my friend?” Gale prompts you. Gale is skilled, but his charisma is not nearly as honed as yours, and you recognize the petition for assistance charming the man.

Cloaking your voice in an alluring baritone, you put your silver tongue to work, “Quite right, Gale. I would never dare utter such ill-portent to our very good friend here.”

Mr. Blackwell’s eyes glass over as the spell and your charm ensnare him, dousing his rage like water to flame. Mr. Blackwell leans back, tottering on his legs, and mumbles through numb lips, “Of course not. I must have been mistaken. Please, forgive the outburst.”

“All is forgiven,” you shrug while revelling in the influence you have over feeble minds and continue your coercion. “Mr. Blackwell was just telling me he was on his way home. He is ever so weary from his travels. We should not retain him, Gale.”

“Yes.” Mr. Blackwell stammers, blinking hard as your suggestion plants and grows roots. “Yes, I was just about to retire for the night.”

Gale nods curtly to Mr. Blackwell while offering you his arm, “Get some rest. We should be going as well. It’s getting quite late. Dawn is almost upon us, after all.”

Taking Gale’s offered arm, he leads you away from the onlookers ogling you. The guards have relaxed as tensions decrease, but they still watch you with a keen eye. Gale’s warning starts to sink in.

Dawn? Fuck! Where is Astarion? He must get home.

Your grip slips from Gale, but he catches it and pats your arm, “Keep calm. Your panic will only further alarm the guards, and I fear they will not be as easily swayed as Mr. Blackwell. We are quite a team, but we cannot charm them all without someone taking notice. Astarion is waiting for us outside, just beyond the grounds.”

“Astarion is outside?” You query with an arched brow.

Gale nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people who take notice of him. Once he’s managed to excuse himself from the tedious small talk, he leans close. “I sought him out as soon as I arrived. He is ever so antagonistic and easily provoked when it comes to you. The man would brave the sun if he thought you were in danger. It was considerably difficult to convince him it was best to leave it to me. I apologize I did not come to your aid first. I know you have more sense than he and would a keep cool-head. When I found him, the idiot had already drawn his damn weapons. Always violence first with him, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard and keep your mouth firmly shut. Gale knows you, but perhaps not as well as he thinks. You would have incinerated that man as soon as he stuck his face in yours, guards and onlookers be damned. You do not take life unnecessarily, but you take it without guilt when there is a threat to your friends. Mr. Blackwell is a danger to Astarion, and you can be impetuous when it comes to him.

“Thank you, Gale.” You breathe a long sigh as relief sates your nerves. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwell came to the manor looking for you. I tried to appease him, but I am neither as intimidating nor convincing as you are, and he stormed off before I could get more than a word or two in. I knew he would go scouring the parties for Aldous and more than likely come across you.” Gale chuckles, “I’ve been through several of these celebrations tonight. I should have known to go to the most extravagant one first.”

“Mr. Blackwell will be back.” You point out, mouth twisting into a grimace as your mind tries to piece together some semblance of a plan. “We have not heard the last of this.”

“No,” Gale murmurs. “We most definitely have not. It is my hope that he doesn’t realize I charmed him tonight. If he does, it will only compound his fervour. We will have to tread these waters carefully. If this reaches the Masked Lords of Waterdeep…” Gale trails off with a sullen shake of his head, “May the dice roll in our favour.”

Your eyes bulge. You don’t know much about the government of Waterdeep, but everyone has heard of the masked lords. A ruling council whose identities were well hidden and carefully guarded.

“Could he really do that? Take it to that height?” You wheeze breathlessly as an invisible hand grips your lungs and clenches, “The Lords of Waterdeep surely wouldn’t concern themselves with such a trivial matter of a missing boy. Would they?”

Gale shrugs, “I wish I could say. Mr. Blackwell is exceptionally renowned. It’s plausible that he will go to great lengths, and I’m unsure how far his reach extends. I will do what I can to protect you and Astarion, but even my influence has limits.”

The brisk air bristles against your skin, giving you goosebumps or perhaps that’s due to Gale’s mention of the lords, as you and Gale continue your hastened retreat. Gale takes long strides, making you trot beside him to keep pace since you are considerably shorter than he. What is with men and walking as fast as they can? You would ask Gale to slow down, but you’re in a hurry to get away. The rapid click, click, click of your heels on the stone makes you uneasy, as it sounds like a clock counting down your final moments.

There’s an eerie reticence in the courtyard this evening, as silent as the sheeted dead, as if the city beyond these stone walls has ceased to exist. A ghostly wind causes your modest steel-silver dress to flutter around your knees. The scent of incoming rain hangs thick in the air while drab clouds swarm the sky as a storm coming off the ocean makes landfall, and the weather fronts interact.

Magic glows in your eyes and fingertips as you practice the various spells in your repertoire. Your fingers are a spectacular florid ballet, the Weave tiptoeing over the pads as you rehearse the movements for Sunbeam, Chain Lightning, Cloudkill, and Blight and recite the incantations in your mind like a sermon without ultimately casting as you drill yourself. Weaving the intricate web of the Weave is ingrained in your soul, and this is not an exercise you need to practice, but the recent events and Gale’s mention of the Masked Lords have caused anxiety to breed in your muscles. You need to make sure you’re ready for war. You’re an incredibly gifted sorceress with the ferocity of your draconic ancestors dwelling in your blood. You can be death incarnate, and you will be if it comes to it. You will raze this damn city to the ground if it means to harm Astarion. No one will hurt him again if your lungs still draw breath.

You’re glowing so brightly, the Weave shimmering around you like an aurora, that you don’t notice that day has fallen victim to night when Astarion breezes into the courtyard. He looks at you, brandishes his dagger with a finesse that never fails to impress and descends into a defensive stance. He observes the surroundings with an acute eye and gives you a questioning look after he’s assessed there’s no danger.

With a quick step you learned from him, you pivot and toss a very weak Fire Bolt straight toward him. Astarion whirls, his propensity for dexterity evident in his movement, avoiding the spell.

“Impressive agility. I’m glad I taught you something at least, but what in the Hells was that for?” He smirks with a tsk and clicks his tongue. “At least, I ask before I bite. I am civil - unlike you.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting sloppy,” you giggle with a virtuous shrug.

“If that would have hit me, I would have deserved it,” he chuckles and glowers at you with an amused grin. “That was far too slow and weak. I did not even feel the heat from it. You can do infinitely better than that. Even I can cast that cantrip. Come on, darling. If you’re going to spar with me, you could at least give me the decency of a challenge.”

“A challenge, hm?” You smirk wickedly. Sparring with him isn’t a new activity. When you lived with him, you two would often spar long into the night until you were both sweating and tired. He craves thrill and danger as much as you, and you keep each other on your toes. “As you wish.”

Astarion’s rapscallion smile and the way he bends lightly at the knees indicate that he welcomes this exchange. The Weave brightens around you, and you cast Fire Bolt repeatedly in quick succession with a little more power and speed behind it with lithe steps. Astarion swings his body, nimbly ducking, dodging and avoiding everything you throw at him as he advances toward your position until he’s in front of you and takes you into his arms while he laughs.

“You caught me once. It tickled.” He glances toward a small burn mark on his shirt, “If anyone has gotten sloppy, it’s you.”

“What you call sloppy, I call careful casting,” you giggle.

“Sloppy,” he corrects, narrowing those scarlet eyes glinting vibrantly with excitement and adrenaline. “You’re already a veritable sovereign when it comes to magic. How about we work on expanding your skillset?” He twirls a dagger at his side without so much as looking at it, catches the blade between his fingers, and settles the hilt in your hand with a devious grin. Astarion takes a few steps backward and motions you forward, “Come on. Attack me.”

You stare at the dagger, your fingers sliding over the metal hilt, “You want me to come at you with a knife? Have you gone completely mad? There are training dummies right there.”

“Oh yes, those will surely help you.” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue with audible disapproval of your reluctance. “I am positive your attacker will stand stationary for you so you can stab them - if you ask nicely enough. You will learn nothing from those.”

It’s unlikely that you’ll hurt him. Hells, if you did somehow manage to so much as nick him, Astarion would probably be proud of you, but you stare at the shiny steel with trepidation, “What if I cut you?”

Astarion’s head tilts back, and he laughs loudly, “Oh, you are adorable. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I will be fine. You’re more likely to hurt yourself, and if you somehow do cut me, what does it matter? It’s not like you can kill me further.” He giggles, “Now, remember your footwork and keep the sharp pointy end directed toward me and not yourself, love.”

Well, multiclassing never hurts.

Slipping off your sandals, you recall everything he’s ever taught you or tried to, at least. Bending your knees and rolling your weight into your heels for balance, you lunge toward him. You and he spar while he deflects your attacks with an ease that vexes you, and he barks various instructions - straighten your back, keep your weight centred, don’t lean forward, and use your momentum until your heart beats hard, a prisoner in a cage constructed of bone. Exhausted, you sit on the ground, gulping down ragged breaths.

Astarion crosses his arms with a chuckle, “Done, are you? Well, I’ve certainly seen worse - from a babe. Do not go getting into any knife fights without me. You will surely get yourself run through.”

“Astarion,” you throw your head backward exaggeratedly with the back of your hand against your forehead, “you wound me. I think I could rival you with one or two more lessons.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “One or two centuries of lessons, perhaps. You stick to magic. I will happily do any required stabbing.”

The man doesn’t need to breathe, and you know it, but he’s not even sweating. You frown at him while wiping your brow, “Could you please pretend to be winded at least?”

“Apologies. Where are my manners?” Astarion drops to his knees and gives you a gentle shove, sending you sprawling to your back. Crawling over you, he mimics your heavy breathing with a smug smirk, “Better?”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue out at him frivolously, “Kiss me, you fool.”

“Blood running a little hot, sweetheart?” He purrs sensuously, pressing his body into you, grabbing your thigh and guiding it around his waist, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cool silk against your heated pout and as delightful to the senses as plunging into cool water on an arid day. His tongue traces your lower lip, enticing your mouth to part. His taste is rich and hypnotic, a firewater of desire and good Gods, it’s intoxicating. His fingers trail up the delicate skin of your upper thigh with firm pressure, leaving blazing trails of icy fire, coalescing between your legs and making you throb. Bolts of electricity amble up your spine in a slow progression, making your body shiver awkwardly as bumps rise over your skin.

Astarion wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you to your feet, tugging your dress back into place, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Gale has returned,” Astarion says, smoothing your hair down. “That man has the worst timing. Also, a bath. You smell.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you groan at his candidness. With a gentle shove, you grumble under your breath and stalk away from him to your room.

There’s a chill in the air that sinks its teeth into even his already frosty skin. Winter is drawing near. The trees have shed their leaves, preparing for dormancy, and the ground is stiff beneath his boots. He’s tired and filthy, spending much of his days lately in caves or held up in shabby barns or abandoned shacks during the day as he continues to run from the only love he has ever known. He has been lucky so far. He can often make it to the next godforsaken hovel to find shelter if he travels fast enough through the night, but as he progresses, the little towns are growing further apart. One of these days, he may not be able to find shelter before dawn, and the sun will consume him - a rather painful demise for a vampire.

Before Astarion enters the ramshackle tavern in this puny rural town in the middle of nowhere, he casts his eyes skyward and looks at the silvery moon as he does every night. If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that she is somewhere, under the same stars, and maybe, just maybe, she is looking at the moon, too.

The tavern is as destitute as the rest of this town, with low ceilings and lit by only a few oil lamps, giving it a gloomy atmosphere. It’s quiet. No minstrel or bard plays music here, and the only sounds that can be heard are the dragging of flagons across the rough tabletops and the grotesque gulps and burps of the few downtrodden labourers and drunks. It smells of mildew, fetid spirits and vomit. He crinkles his nose. He usually mimics breathing out of habit in public, but for this place, he will make an exception.

The floor is absurdly tacky, and even he can’t help the sound his boots make as they peel off it. He orders a pint and sits in a rickety chair that wobbles underneath him. Calling the ale rotten would be an understatement. He’s never tasted anything quite so vile in all his two centuries, and his diet once consisted of dead, putrid rats. It’s hard to say which is worse.

A pair of ne’er-do-wells attempted to extort some coin out of him by betting they could juggle more daggers than he. Fools. Even if blind drunk, his dexterity would be vastly superior to theirs. They could scarcely juggle two - child’s play for him. They left quickly with superficial lacerations to their fingers and hands. He wishes she had been here to witness this. They would have had a good laugh. She always loved watching him.

Even though the ale is terrible, the little table is starting to fill with emptied flagons. Tonight, every iota of him aches loudly in the silence of her absence. He does not need to trance, not since the tadpole no longer wriggles in his skull, but he will, if only so he can fall into a memory where they are sure to meet.

His vision is blurred, and his mind thinks of nothing but her. What would she be doing right now? Reading by the fire and sipping wine? Trying to mend her clothes and doing a terrible job now that he is no longer there to do it for her? Sleeping in their bed? Would she be alone, or would Halsin or Gale have come to console her? With him out of the picture, perhaps she could find happiness with one of them. The thought makes his very bones throb, and his fingers wrack through his hair, unsettled by the notion of any but him with her in their bed.

Astarion empties the next flagon and frowns while he grinds it across the table, clinking it against its fallen brethren.

Gale would be the most likely. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he had always been fascinated by her innate authority over the Weave. Where Gale had to read books, scrolls, practice and study spells, she could simply cast them reflexively with little effort. Early in their adventure, Gale had tried to beguile her, boasting his control of the Weave with a demonstration. Astarion watched with curiosity to see if she would reciprocate the obvious flirtation. She kept a straight face, smiling politely and copying as instructed until the foray was completed. She walked away with her arms crossed and a hard roll of her eyes in exasperation while Gale watched her all dew-eyed. It made him snicker at the time.

Despite his prowess, wealth and renown, Gale would probably bore her into an early grave. She craved excitement, risk, Hells, even danger. She needed someone not afraid to get into a little, or a lot, of trouble. She would not be satisfied sitting idle in a library for the rest of her days. She loves fiercely and deserves to be loved fiercely in return with untamed, unbridled passion.

Hot baths. Animals. Fresh fruit. Red roses. Long walks through moonlight forests at night. All the things she loves flit through his mind.

Her face appears in his blurry vision, laughing as she runs through the forest with him hot on her heels. Her modest pastel green dress waves in the wind. She casts Misty Step and disappears from his view. She is not quiet in the forest and knows it, but she pops out from behind the large trunk of a tree and yells, “Boo!” He pretends to be startled, but she doesn’t believe his facade and dissolves into adorable giggles.

She strolls up to him, smiling brightly, still laughing, and the stars themselves descend from the heavens and twinkle in her eyes. Her voice, majestic like a siren’s song, fills his ears as she says, “You’re an adorable idiot. I love you, Astarion.”

He smiles, blinks, and the memory dissipates. He tries to hold onto it, but it withdraws despite his efforts to keep her with him.

A woman’s voice catches his attention, “Stop, please. I said no.”

In Astarion’s drunken daze, he almost hears her voice, but it’s a hint too breathy and modulated. He narrows his eyes and tries to peer past the film of inebriation, mucking up his vision and making him see double. A young woman sits at the bar, and a man much older and ragged-looking pets her hair with clumsy fingers, muttering slurred, vulgar innuendos. She tries to push him away from her, but it’s futile. The man stumbles and chortles, taking another noisy sip of his ale, missing his mouth and washing his beard with it.

He cringes with a roll of his eyes. This is not his business. He does not fancy himself a hero, and he is not foolish enough to get caught up in such a quandary. He peers into his empty flagon. A deep, dark well of sorrow gazes back at him from the bottom. He should leave and return to the inn, where he can slip into his trance and be with her until the sun dips below the horizon.

“I said stop!” The woman’s voice rings out higher, making his ears twitch and grating on his nerves. It’s so close to hers that he has trouble reminding himself it’s not. It can’t possibly be because he... he left her.

He looks around the tavern, hoping someone else will step in, but no one even lifts their sagged heads to assess the situation. He leans back in his unsteady chair, and his fingers rap against the table with hard, rhythmic thumps portraying his increasing frustration.

He is no hero.

“No! I said no!” 

Is no one going to do anything? Really? He growls, clenching his jaw and grating his teeth. The woman’s voice is just too close to hers. It’s making his fingers twitch over the hilt of his dagger, and his muscles tense.

“No! Please, stop. Help!”

The woman’s shoes drag across the floor, and he’s already out of his chair, stalking toward the commotion with a haunting scowl. He ignores the itch to draw his blade. If she taught him anything, it’s that talking is often all that is necessary, but if all else fails, he has no issue with killing.

He is a little peckish.

He stands beside the woman with his practiced liar’s smile, “My friend, how lovely to see you again. Funny we should meet here of all places.”

The man glowers at him through droopy, glassy eyes, releasing the woman’s arm. The woman simply stares at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and ruddy, unsure of what to do.

Gods, these people are dull. All she must do is play along. He attempts to make his intentions plain, “Allow me to walk you home. We can catch up on the way.”

“That lady is coming home with me.” The man snarls, poking his shoulder with a finger that he can’t even keep straight.

This man would be easy pickings indeed if it came to it.

“No.” Astarion stands tall, squaring his shoulders and layering on his most intimidating intonation, “I will be taking her home. If you try to stop me, I know a thousand ways to gut you before you can so much as blink. Do not tempt me.”

“Ah Hells,” the man snickers after sizing him up and stumbles back, “She’s not worth the trouble. She’s all yours.”

He hoped the man would force his hand, but this is probably for the best. He is looking forward to resting indoors today. It has been many days since he was able to wait out the day in a room with a bed that did not smell like some form of livestock.

The woman turns to him with big, round eyes full of adoration and grabs his arm, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Astarion doesn’t quite know how to react, and he does not like the way she is eyeing him. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.”

The night feels too silent and still around him as he walks the dim streets. The woman follows on his heels, blabbering and stuttering her praises and gratitude. He doesn’t speak another word to her as he fights his mind. Emotions are stirring in his head. He's unsettled, angry even, and he doesn’t understand why. At least the walk isn’t long in a small place like this.

As soon as the woman opens her door, he turns to walk away.

“Won’t you come in?” Her eyes slink over him, and he feels revulsion. No one but her should be looking at him like that, and it only increases his discomfort further, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” he snaps back gruffly.

He keeps walking until he feels the woman’s hand clutch the back of his shirt, her fingernails grazing over his scars. Those old emotions flood him - fear, loathing, disgust, and he whirls with a fanged snarl.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, Astarion.” Her hand recoils from his back, and she jumps away, pressing herself to the headboard with eyes rounded in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to go?”

Shit.

He let his mind wander off with him, and the memory bled into reality. Blinking hard, he reorients himself. He’s safe in Gale’s manor. He is with her. It was her touching his back - at his request, of course.

He jumps off the bed, flexing his hands as he paces the room. He needs time to get his head straight, but the raw anguish in her eyes is gnawing at him. This is why he left in the first place. He keeps hurting her when the storm sweeps him away in a flash flood, and he’s lost in it.

“I’ll go and give you some time.” She slips into her housecoat, cinching it at her waist and opens the door. Before she closes it, she turns to him, “I’m so sorry, Astarion. If you need space for the night, I understand. I will rest in my room tonight.”

He can’t get his godsdamned mouth to move or his tongue to form words. He stands idly as she closes the door behind her. He listens to her bare feet pad down the hallway at a quick trot and then the click of her door closing. His hands wrack through his hair, fingers curling into it. He knows better than to let his mind drift aimlessly, although the fact that it did roam is an interesting development. He’s used to being able to think of nothing but withstanding the sensation of her hands on his back. He’s improving, albeit slowly.

He laces his hands behind his head, arches his back and stretches his tight chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Astarion closes his eyes and shakes out his arms.  He feels panicked and tense. His skin squirms as if snakes are writhing below the surface. Patrolling his bedroom, he tries to mollify his unease, taking deep breaths of air he doesn’t need. The memory has agitated him for some reason that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His ears twitch as they catch suppressed weeping from her room. Fuck, he’s upset her. This was not her fault. It’s been a while since he went and fucked things up like he always does. He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. Did he make a mistake returning? For months, his singular goal was to find her, but now he wonders if this was selfish. He could not stand living without her, but she may have been better without him.

Astarion is sliding down an icy hill made of doubt, and he can’t stop his descent. Has he doomed her to a life sharing his pain? What does he have to offer her other than his unconditional love? The shadows have claimed him once more.

No.

He can’t let himself fall back into old patterns. She can handle his darkness.

The silence of this room without her heartbeat is dark and heavy. She should be here with him. A chill like an electric bolt runs down his spine at the sight of the empty room when he opens his eyes. It reminds him of when he left, a year as nightmarish as the one he spent in that tome, alone and hungry. He aches to hold her.

He takes long strides and taps on her door lightly.

“Are you okay, Astarion?” She sniffles, trying hard to confine the tears, making her eyes shine.

“I’m fine. Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and pressing his cheek against her. She hugs him awkwardly, more awkwardly than he hugged her the first time they did this. She keeps her hands off him, arms stiff at her sides. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”

She hesitates before placing her hands on his waist. He kisses her temple, gently grabs her arms and guides them around him, “A proper hug, yes? You can touch my back, love. It’s alright.”

He can feel the warmth of her hands hovering over his back, unsure, but slowly press into him, and she hugs him tightly. He’s surprised to find that it soothes the agitation. The spring coiled around his chest, constricting it, dissipates in her arms. He takes a deep breath to test how good the looseness feels.

“Come back to our room, hm? I will explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs against him.

“I know,” he rubs her back, “but I want to - if you’re willing to hear it, of course.”

“Always.”

They sit on the bed as he describes the memory in as much detail as possible. She stays quiet as she always did, waiting patiently when he must take a moment to collect himself, offering him her hand. When something he recalls upsets him further, she squeezes his fingers, grounding him and encouraging him to take a break - when and if he needs to.

“I don’t know why it agitated me so much. It made me afraid,” he rasps faintly with a shaky breath as his brows pinch together, perplexed. It’s still troubling him. “Her touching my back was not the only reason, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

She nods with a contemplative gaze. Her beautiful doe-eyes blink as she ponders, and the candlelight scintillates in them. She grabs a blanket and pats her lap, “Do you want to put your head in my lap?”

He smiles. She always knows exactly what he needs. Astarion rests his head on her legs, and she covers him with the blanket, making sure his back and scars are entirely cloaked. Tucking it around him, like he tucks her in at night to ensure it doesn’t slip.

Rubbing his arm, she keeps her voice to a solacing whisper, “Do you want to know what I think, or would you rather I just listen?”

She has always been keenly observant and deeply perceptive. Often able to gleam the tiniest subtleties in inflection, tone or body language. It is what makes her a master at persuasion and intimidation. Her insight is as boundless as the cosmos. If anyone can help him shed light on this, it’s her. If he is to heal, he needs to know what provokes these feelings.

“I have gone over it in my mind time and time again,” he sighs. “I cannot figure it out myself. Tell me what you think.”

“Stop me at any point if you no longer wish to hear it,” she urges. “May I hug you closer?”

With the blanket covering his back and scars, he feels protected and secure. He nods, “Yes.”

She curls around him. Her warmth seeps into him, forcing back the gloom. “You said you did not like the way she looked at you. You mentioned it twice. What look did she give you, and what did it remind you of?”

Flashes of the woman’s greedy eyes play out in his mind. She stared at him as if she wanted to devour and lose herself in him. She stared at him like he was her saviour. She stared at him like they used to stare at him before he brought them to Cazador.

Hells.

Will he ever stop being astounded with how clever she is? She’s not telling him what she thinks. She’s bringing his attention to details he skimmed over so he can work it out himself.

“It… it reminded me of the way my victims used to look at me,” his voice quivers and cracks, tears spring to his eyes, rivulets rolling out the corners. Good Gods, his body is trembling as he fights to keep his emotions from giving way. “The bloody dingy tavern, the way she simply trusted me to walk her home, the quiet, dark streets and the ardent lust in her eyes… It all felt like I was back to doing his bidding as if I was the fucking rake again.”

She rescinds her pressure on him slightly. He used to hate being touched when he felt like this, but not anymore, as long as it’s her touching him. He pulls her back around him. His body shakes more violently now as he continues to fight the overwhelming emotions.

“You don’t have to fight, Astarion. Don’t be afraid to break. We all fall.” She soothes him with an almost ethereal voice like an angel whispering, “I’ve got you. For as long as you need. I’ve always got you.”

Sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, and he falls to pieces in her arms. She’s not close enough like this. His body is painfully bare without her skin on his. She is the light that drives the shadows back. She is sunshine. She is his. He shrugs off the blanket with haste. She gasps at his quick movement, and his fingers find the hem of her nightdress.

She stops him with a confused look, “Astarion, what-”

“I don’t need it,” he chokes out, hoarse and urgent. “Not with you. Not anymore. I want to feel you. Will you let me?”

She removes her nightdress and opens her arms with a smile, tears streaming down her face. She wraps her arms around him, limbs cocooning his body, and pulls him securely to her, his bare back against her warm chest, choking away the fear.

With her, he is seen. He is understood. He is safe.

“I love you, Kamena. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” He speaks to her through sobs in Elven, their mother tongue, meaning “You hold my heart forever.”

“I love you too, Astarion. Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” she chimes with a featherlight kiss to his shoulder.

Safe in her arms, he shatters and breaks.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I've loved writing since I was a child but have never been confident enough to post anything for others to read. The encouragement I've received has been positively incredible, and it's been helping me through some hard times in my life - sincerely thank you so much! :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We did name Tav in this chapter. I apologize if it's not well received but I think it will make senes going forward. I did try to do it in a natural-ish way.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past #astarion x oc #named tav #astarion x named tav

[bucknastysbabe]

Can you make Maegor smut i can barely find any

I shall try my hand, I apologize for the 90 year wait. This was very fun and I hope you don’t mind the dark themes :) This goes out to you, dear anon, and Big Daddy fan #1 @fairysluna

And you sluts too: @borikenlove @aemondsversion @ilikeitbetterangsty @lovelykhaleesiii @godrakin @xfancyuu

Rating: EXPLICIT READ WARNINGS

Tags: TW: non-con, blood, knives, restraints, rituals and implied soul magic, background sacrifice, forced impregnation, dissociation, Maegor needs an heir still, black bride!reader, voyuerism, size kink, sex pollen/drugging, he’s a bit fond of her for now, Targs using old Valyrian magic, pnv!sex, creampie

Belly of the Beast

Huge armored Kingsguard drug you beneath the bowels of Maegor’s labyrinthian complex, your feet dragging along the ground. You’d ceased fighting two layers ago. Tyanna of the tower glared down at you, raven hair almost shining in the gloomy light. She was clad in a deep purple satin dress, pale face pinched. The rumored sorceress hummed, “You’ll do fine. We need an heir. Stop fighting it, I see it in those bovine eyes of yours.”

You whimpered in pain, feet and shins ragged from the rough treatment. Maegor was no where to be seen. You had only see him on your wedding night, the beast splitting you open and depositing his seed before leaving. When it appeared your womb had not quickened, the guards had seized you in the night. Which led to now. Something sinister curling in the air, the dark glow of the lanterns casting the halls in a murky bloody tint.

Tyanna took a left, disappearing. The guards dragged you onwards, pulling you into a rounded room. Your heart beat wildly with terror. What was this place? It reminded you of the paintings of old Valyria. Oily black stone fused by horrid magicks into bestial creatures. Tall columns twirled with blood wyrms, casting their evil gaze upon you. You cried out in fear, but your mouth was covered with thick bound rope, irritating and dry.

In the middle of the room lay an elongated stone plinth, blood smeared in unreadable lettering. Maegor waited like a hungry lion, huge muscles rippling with every movement. You could see his purple eyes dragging along your bound frame, obscene cock twitching at the site. He boomed, “Put her on the table.”

You stopped struggling again in a state of shock. You weren’t sure if they were going to kill you. Ser Darklyn and Bracken hauled you upright, placing your body on the bloody slab. Maegor shooed them off, locking each of your limbs in some sort of mechanism. He thumbed one of your teats, growling, “Such a fertile body, we’ll get a heir my littlest queen.” You gazed up at the gnarled ceiling, depicting unspeakable things and creatures. You whimpered softly as Maegor undid your gag, rumbling, “There, now they can hear your delightful crying.”

There was a balcony and there stood the dowager Queen Visenya and Tyanna. Visenya’s face was hardened, her hands covered in more blood. She called down, “Do not be afraid girl, this is a new beginning. You will give Maegor the dragon we so desperately need. Think of it as a gift.”

You nodded yes but your mind howled and tore itself apart at the seams. This was not a gift. This was an abomination. You thought of home, the seaside and the barking seals. Not this perverted facsimile of a sept. Visenya barked, “Give her the draught, my king.”

“With pleasure”, he smirked. The beast of a man stalked back to your side, a hand twice the size of your head caressing back your sweaty hair. He murmured, “Open up, you might be my true queen.” You did as so, opening your lips and drinking the thick liquid. It tasted horrid, you fought back a retch before Maegor’s hard lips forced it’s way on top. He smothered you, another huge hand squeezing the soft flesh of your hips.

There was no more you could do as he climbed on top, muscled trunks of thighs splitting yours open, tongue probing your mouth. He grabbed at your hair, biting and sucking roughly down your neck. He murmured, “Close now.” Visenya began to chant in an abnormal sounding tongue of Valyrian. Your skin felt hot to the touch, the glyphs on the walls seeming to glow.

A wave of intense arousal flowed up from your toes to head, making you whine in anguish. The sensation so intense you wrapped your legs around the king’s scarred waist and thrust your profusely leaking cunt up. Locked under the arousal your ego stood trapped, screaming for help. Instead you moaned, “Breed me my king, please, it hurts!” Maegor’s hard set eyes rolled some, his beard scratching your bloodied neck.

He chuckled darkly, “I’ll give it to you little bride of mine, fill that tiny cunt of yours, not waste a gods damned drop.” Pale calloused hands wrapped around your waist, almost encircling you. You bucked underneath him, slick pussy dragging ever so again Maegor’s huge cock. From above, Tyanna and Visenya’s stark faces disappeared as you refocused on him.

Your king, your stud, the one to fill your womb up so you can give him baby after baby. Simply a broodmare for the taking. You arched your full tits against his impossibly built chest, whining at the drag across his body hair. Maegor nuzzled at your collarbones, humming, “It’s so…delightful to watch you squirm. I could break your pretty bones into dust y’know?”

Tears burned at your eyes, the ache between your legs becoming a heady burning. In a warble you begged, “Please, do anything my king, need it, wan’ your cock, pleasepleaseplease!” Openly sobbing now, the brutish king moaned in delight, cock swelling further from your pretty tears and swollen lips. He spanned a hand down your writhing body to land on the base of his cock. Maegor grabbed the Valyrian steel knife and nicked the thin skin of his cock, grunting in annoyance as it began to drip blood.

He tossed the knife callously aside and grabbed your wide hips, shoving his cock in to the hilt. The pair of you cried out, the loud howl echoing in the dim chamber. Maegor growled, “Fucking- fuck! Tight little bride you are, felt ya’ split. Bleeding pretty on my cock.” You weren’t even registering the loss of your maidenhead, hyperfocused on the wonderful feeling of your untouched walls accommodating and stretching for Maegor’s girth. He paused in awe, patting your lower stomach.

Maegor rasped, “Look at this, can see my cock through you. Fucking hell.”

He fucked like the bull they called the king, powerful thrusts sliding you through the tacky blood. Maegor grunted and cursed, muscles flexing and glistening. He panted, “It’ll take, it’ll take, good little girl.” You begged softly, “My arms, my King, please!” In a flurry of movement he unchained you, pulling your smaller frame onto those sinful thighs of his. You rolled onto him like a brothel whore, bouncing and humping, growling and scratching.

He pulled you into a kiss, snarling, “They always said the untouched ones were the hungriest for it,” his hand came down on your ass with a loud crack! Mewling onto his hard lips you embraced the sweet pain, body still on fire with need, need, need. Maegor cursed again and rumbled, unhooking your feet and manhandling you face down on the slab, jerking your ass up into the air.

Your fingers scrabbled as Maegor quickly reentered your pussy, groaning in pleasure. “See, please him, be the bearer of that strong seed,” said your addled mind. The claps of Maegor’s hips echoed against your softer ass, him swiping a hand across with a smarmy look. He cruelly cooed, “Yeah? You like your king stuffing your sweet cunt full of seed? Mmm, when you’re all rounded out I’ll fuck another into you right after. You’re mine.”

“Yours, yours,” you whimpered deliriously.

He pulled you tighter and drug his thick cockhead across a spot you didn’t know existed, eliciting a guttural moan. One big hand locked around your slim throat, the other sneaking to that throbbing bud between your legs. You squealed and squirmed, the nerve endings sparking like wild fire across your used frame.

“No, you take it,” he snarled.

And take it you did, crying and whimpering as your belly tightened and tightened, whole body erupting in goosebumps. Your legs gave out but Maegor kept you aloft moving his huge arm from neck to your tits. In a trembly caterwaul of his name you clamped down on his thick cock and gushed on him and the bloody mess below. Maegor gasped and stuttered, sharp canines locking into your shoulder. His strokes dug deep in shallow, sloppy thrusts.

He practically roared when the load of spend painted your overspent cunt. Load after load while he cooed praise and panted in your ear. The fervor that once gripped you had abated, leaving you a boneless mess, emotions comparable to a husk. Maegor felt around for something then bent you over, shoving in a plug of sorts as soon as his cock exited. He patted your ass and rumbled, “I’m feeling blessed by the Gods today. You shall come wash up with me in my chambers, littlest bride.”

Tyanna was gone.

Visenya called down once more, “Splendid. Let’s hope the seed takes, girl.”

Maegor proudly carried you through the underbelly and up to his quarters in the red keep, showing your mottled, blood soaked body off. You went to somewhere quieter in your mind. A seaside cliff. Salty air. Seals barking. Home.

#hotd fanfic #maegor x reader #hotd smut #Maegor targaryen smut

[muddyorbsblr]

the right partner

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You had no intentions of joining Stark's party, considering that your ex had just dumped you two days ago and he was already announcing his new relationship. And then along came Loki, offering to be your date for the night…

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: language (yeah no, not sorry, Rogers); little bit of steam at the end; reader w/ insecurities [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Steve is the ex; Nat & Wanda offering violence to avenge their bestie; borderline dangerous dancing stunts (don't try this at home, kids); coworkers/teammates to lovers

"Babes, stop fussing over the dress. You look hot. It's giving revenge dress if I do say so myself. Everyone covering the event will take one look at you and see without a doubt in their mind that you won this break up. Especially considering how hot your dates are."

Natasha nudged your shoulder playfully, probably in hopes of wiping the scowl off of the reflection staring back at you as you adjusted the strap of your midnight blue mermaid dress, making sure everything was secure and no unflattering angles were even remotely feasible.

Then again you could barely walk properly in the damn thing, so there really wasn't much room for awkward and unflattering, considering that you'd be able to do little more than stand and pose. You'd wanted to trade in the dress for something that gave you a bit more breathing room considering that the man that chose -- well, he'd argue strongly encouraged -- the dress was no longer your date for the night, but your choices would be stiflingly limited with how close you'd have been cutting it if you'd returned it.

Two days to break up, pack up, move your things out of his apartment in the compound, move back into your own apartment, clean up said apartment to make it at least livable once again, cry a bit, and then ready yourself for this charity ball? There wasn't time to return the dress that Steve chose, let alone pick out a new one. Even with the help of both Nat and Wanda.

"Remind me to thank Bucky and Vision for letting me steal you two away tonight?"

"Don't even worry about it. But maybe you could talk to Bucky later and tell him that there isn't even a shred of this that's his fault? He somehow got it into his head that because Steve's his best friend he should have sensed something. Should've told me. Or directly told you. He's been feeling like shit over this whole thing since I came home two days ago and told him I had to help you clean out your stuff from Rogers' apartment and move back into your old one."

Just as you were about to reassure the Russian spy that you would talk to her husband the second you got the chance to when there were no nosy reporters lurking around corners or planting microphones around the event to capture their next juicy story, Wanda walked into the room, her expression colored with a mix of pity and irritation.

"Well he might feel a hell of a lot worse now that he's seeing in real time what his best buddy's been doing since the breakup." Nausea began to swirl in your stomach as they each took one of your hands and the sorceress led you to the conference hall that had been fully decked out for tonight's event. The crowd had gathered around the dance floor, phones out and whispering amongst one another as they looked on the couple in the center.

"Oh you've got to be fucking shitting me," Nat bellowed in outrage, her hand leaving yours and wrapping around your waist to ensure you were still standing straight. "You even asked him point blank about her and he brushed you off--"

"Don't worry about her, Cookie, I'm just making sure she has the best training available to her," you seethed, feeling yourself shaking in your friend's hold as you repeated Steve's words to you just last week. "Babes, I don't think I even wanna go in there. I can already see the fucking headlines. Heartbroken Avenger Y/N Y/L/N seeks the comfort of her girlfriends' company as former lover Captain America debuts his new relationship with SHIELD Agent Ava WhatsHerFace. This isn't worth it. You two go. Be with your husbands. I'm going home."

"Are you sure?" Wanda squeezed your other hand, her free arm already radiating her signature red magic. "I can trip her and make them fall flat on their asses, just say the word."

It took you a great deal to not take her up on her offer, instead opting to just squeeze her hand back before letting go, maneuvering yourself out of their hold. "I'm sure. No tripping anybody, you two. Last thing we need is the internet speculating on which sides the Avengers are taking in what they're gonna try and spin as the breakup that shocked the world, and then making these idiotic theories about how we might cause a reiteration of Germany right here in the Big Apple."

"Okay what if I just poisoned her drink no one would know it was me--"

"Babes, everyone would know it was you," you cut off the spy. "No poison. No tripping. Not even a backhanded compliment. If you really can't stand the sight of her then walk away. Otherwise Pepper will kill us over making a scene over this and I'm not even joining the damn party but she'll drag me in anyway because she's gonna figure out that you two did what you did because of me."

"You're a better woman than that little shit ever deserved," Wanda grumbled, pulling you into a quick embrace. "We'll see you after the party then? Because no way in hell are you sleeping alone tonight."

"After," you confirmed, already walking away from the two as they walked toward the bar to where Bucky and Vision were undoubtedly standing and waiting patiently for them.

You'd walked down a good few feet down the hall when a voice halted you.

"Y/N?" You inwardly groaned at the sound of Loki calling out to you. The absolute last thing you needed was the member of the team who was undoubtedly and objectively the most unfairly breathtakingly beautiful person in all of New York -- hell, in all of the world as far as you were concerned -- seeing you in the dejected state you were in.

You did your best to plaster on a half-smile as you turned to face the god. "Hey, Mischief." You threw him a cursory glance, your heart skipping a good few beats when you registered his bespoke Burnham green tuxedo forming to his sculpted body like a well-worn leather glove. "You look great."

"You're breathtaking," he sighed, walking the rest of the distance and stopping a few steps in front of you. "As you always are." He gave you a curt smile, his fingers visibly twitching in your direction as he kept his hands to his sides. "Are you not joining the gala?"

"Thinking I might sit this one out, actually," you murmured, grimacing at just how miserable you sounded to your own ears. "Considering it doing Pepper a solid and making sure that tonight's all about whatever cause Stark decided to back this time around and not about the untimely demise of me and Rogers. The last thing we need is me becoming the center of attention because the media published headlines calling me the Heartbroken Avenger because I walked in there with my friends while my ex debuts his shiny new toy." You took an awkward step back, giving him an even more inelegant wave his way. "You have fun, though, Mischief."

He took your hand in his as you were turning away from him. "What if I escorted you?" Something with his soft spoken tone, partnered with the way his thumb was stroking the back of your hand, had you struggling to take your next breath. "We could walk in together, and it wouldn't cross anybody's mind to call you heartbroken or lonely or anything of the sort."

You couldn't help but scoff at his offer. "I'm not sure you wanna take on the media vultures who'll write about you getting Captain America's sloppy seconds. Hell, if I walk in there with you they'll think you probably did it out of pity. People already paint me as someone they don't think could have pulled the likes of Steve, but if we walk in there together you'll never hear the end of how charitable you were to--"

"Stop that," he cut you off, his tone sibilant and terse as if he was slicing through your self-pity party for one. "Rogers is an imbecile, he always has been. To have held painite in his uncouth hands and traded it in for mere rubble." He took a step closer to you, making you struggle to hide the shudder than ran through you when you could practically feel the warmth of his body radiating from him. "To walk into that room with you would not be an act of charity, darling. It would be an honor. A privilege."

"Okay come on that's enough--"

"How I wish you could see yourself the way I do," he murmured, his free hand lightly grasping your chin and making it impossible to turn your gaze from him. "Come with me. We'll share a dance and afterward if you still wish to leave then we will."

"Are you insane?" you blurted out, shaking your head at how absurd his offer was. "If you walk in with me and you leave with me, you're gonna find out real quick that people actually can hate me more than they did when I was dating Steve, because now I'm preventing you from getting all the pretty girls' numbers in the party. There are supermodels in there, Mischief. Pretty sure there're some princesses, too. They came here for you."

"Then they will leave disappointed," he answered back, the corner of his mouth pulling in a smirk as he watched your brows knit together in clear confusion. "As for attaining the contact information of, how did you phrase it again? Pretty girls? I already have that of the most beguiling woman who would be in that gala, I truly need no more." He let go of your hand to reach for his phone and tap away at it to call whoever he was referring to.

A few seconds later your little purse began to ring, making you give him a pointed stare. "Smooth." Your phone stopped ringing as soon as he put his away, finding yourself fighting to breathe properly once more when he placed his hand back in yours. "Fine," you huffed. "But we're not dancing, I can barely walk in this stupid thing, the dance floor would turn into a crime scene if I so much as spun wrong."

The soft chuckle that escaped his lips filled you with a weird sense of pride, knowing that even for a few short moment the usually terse god felt comfortable enough around you to seem so unguarded. He released his hold on you to hover his hands by your waist. "May I?"

You took a moment to try figuring out what he meant before answering, "I don't know what you're asking for but alright. I trust you."

His playful demeanor faltered for a moment, eyebrows knitting together and raising slightly before he placed his hands on your waist and gently guiding you to turn and facing the mirrored wall. Your breath hitched in your throat with a squeak as his gaze met yours on the reflection, bringing his face level to yours, his lips hovering just beside your ear. "Beautiful as you are in this dress, darling, you look as if you'd been forced to conform into something you're not. You were made to move freely, as gracefully and as fluidly as you move in the field."

You held your breath as you watched his magic washing over you, your dress melting away from the shoulders down and slowly being replaced with a dark emerald silk gown that stopped just below your ankles, the skirt flaring out from the waist with a slit going up to the middle of your thigh. The feel of your hair cascading down your back had you realizing that you were so caught up in the spectacle of your dress changing before your very eyes that you'd barely felt his fingers deftly taking the pins out of your hair and undoing the tightly knotted bun that borderline violently pulled at your temples.

"Hmmm…much better." You fought against the chill that ran throughout your body at the low tone of his voice reverberating in your ear. "Just one more…tiny flourish." His hand moved from your hair to rest his fingers lightly on the juncture between your neck and shoulder, a slight smile appearing on his face in the reflection when your breathing became audibly staggered as a teardrop emerald pendant hanging off a gold chain materialized around your neck. "Himmelske," he breathed out, the vision of him lightly pressing his lips to the top of your head making your pulse pound in your ears. "Shall we?"

"This is too much…" you sighed, turning around to face him and nearly stumbling over your own feet when you saw how close your faces were to one another.  "I can't possibly--"

"You can, darling." He took your hand in his again and brought it up towards his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, all the while his eyes never leaving yours. "You look ethereal, like a goddess walking among mortals." He pressed his lips to your knuckles once more. "Min gudinne." He began to walk backwards towards the party, keeping your hands intertwined as he led you down the hall, typing something away a quick message on his phone as the music from the repurposed conference hall gradually grew louder.

Once you were mere feet away from the doors leading to the conference hall, the old-fashioned music that made you want to retch on the spot screeched to a halt, and Tony's voice boomed through the speakers.

"Alright Cap that's enough, some of us actually don't want to see our dinner a second time tonight." The crowd began to chuckle at his joking barbs toward your ex. "Why don't you and your new babydoll take a breather for a minute. Or a hundred. While I go ahead and play on a special request for…well I'll be damned…Reindeer Games."

The sound of Tony's little nickname for Loki had you growing frigid in the god's hold. "Mischief, what did you do?"

Your question went unanswered, him opting to give you a soft smile as he lifted your joint hands up to place a tender kiss to the back of your hand before leading you to the center of the dance floor, the sound of your friends' claps and cheers -- as well as a round of hearty hollers from both Bucky and Thor -- filling the room and overpowering the piano intro of "Tightrope" by Sara Bareilles playing over the speakers as soon as you came into view.

Glares tinged with thinly veiled envious rage weighed down on you like cinder blocks as the raven-haired Asgardian placed his hand on your lower back, bringing your bodies within mere inches of one another. "Everyone's staring," you wavered, trying to keep your breathing even as he began to lead you in a basic waltz around the dance floor.

"Envious, petulant mortals," he answered with a sneer, giving you a small smirk at the end. "Likely because I have the most beautiful date among them all."

"Do gods wear glasses?" you bit back, scoffing softly at his words. "Because I'm pretty sure Adriana Lima is here and--"

"I can see quite clearly, precious mortal," he cut you off, the gentle tone of his voice not once wavering. "Better than you think." He upped the pace of your steps, the smile on his face growing wider as your steps became less structured and he raised your joint hands to spin you on the spot, your dress twirling fluidly with each step before he pulled you back to him, now chest to chest as he resumed leading you in a large circle around the floor. "You seem surprised, darling."

"I usually would have stepped on your toes by now," you whispered, your breath hitching as every step you took together felt perfectly synced, a part of you heavily dreading stumbling and sending you both into a clumsy heap on the floor. Especially with the even closer proximity of your bodies to one another. "Are you doing this?" He answered you with a slight furrow of his eyebrows. "Did you enchant the dress? The necklace? My shoes?"

"I did nothing of the sort, dear Y/N," he whispered into your ear, the feel of his breath on your skin sending your heart into overdrive. "Perhaps you'd simply been with the wrong partners all your life." You faintly registered the way his hold on you tightened the slightest bit. "I wish to prove it to you. A little flourish both for our benefit and for the entertainment of our audience."

A sequence of movements was projected into your mind, each motion requiring complete trust in your partner as you climbed over his back, held up only by your joint hands and your knee braced on his shoulder as he spun on the spot. And then capped off with a dismount that had you hanging upside down and suspended as such for a few moments before righting yourself on your feet.

"Do you trust me, darling?"

You didn't need to think twice about your answer. "Yes." He flashed a brilliant smile before twirling you away and out of his hold, turning his back to you and giving you a silent signal to execute the move. Within a few short moments you were propped up on his shoulder, held up by your joint hands and feeling as if you were flying as he executed each turn with visible ease.

The faces of the crowd, a mixture of pure shock and awe, said it all. No one on the team had ever placed that much trust in Loki, despite the countless times he'd undoubtedly saved any and all of you throughout your numerous missions together. And here you were giving everyone a blatant display that among all the members of the team, you probably trusted him the most.

There wasn't even the slightest tremble in your movement as you executed the dismount, briefly giving them all a face-splitting grin that nearly mirrored the blond Asgardian watching from the bar as he looked on at the spectacle you and his brother had created before turning back and facing your partner. The next moment he'd gone back to holding you and twirling you both around the dance floor with a slight flourish as you reunited.

"There you are, precious mortal," he breathed out, securing his arm around your waist and lifting you off your feet as he spun you both again, the skirt of your dress billowing from the motion and creating a perfect flourish to your steps, earning you various oohs and aahs from the audience. You assumed that the bitter hmph sounds came from your ex and Miss Ava WhatsHerFace. "I've missed seeing that smile on you. It's been months too long. How I wanted to strike at Rogers' face the moment I saw the light in you wavering."

"You saw that?" You prided yourself in concealing your insecurities and the downward spiral that your mind had taken the moment that the new recruit had been assigned to train for the Avengers, painting on a bright disposition despite the interest that Steve had taken in her and the rapidly dwindling attention he paid to you in turn.

It never occurred to you that people might be looking closer than you intended them to. Or that one of those people would be someone you'd carried feelings for ever since long before you and Rogers ever even went out on the first date. You kept on guilting yourself that you were no better than him, if you were being completely honest.

The only leg up you had over your ex was that at least you did right by him and you never acted on anything. But then again you had no reason to believe that you could; in your eyes, Loki had to reason to see you, let alone return your sentiment.

"I see you, Y/N," he murmured, bringing his hand higher up your back, leaning forward, and tilting you backward in a low dip. "I've always seen you." Your heart caught in your throat as you felt him press a soft kiss to your cheek before bringing you both back up to stand upright, a new sequence of movements projected into your mind.

This time of him lifting you into the air, a hand braced on your lower back, the other wrapped around your ankle, followed by a drop that would land you safely in his arms and have the god carrying you bridal style. You could see the silent question shining in his eyes as the projected image fizzled away, awaiting your answer. "I trust you," you whispered, taking a breath as he turned you to face away from him and lifted you into the air with ease.

There wasn't a single doubt in your mind even in that split second where you were falling through the air. You knew you were safe with him. Physically at least.

Emotionally it felt like he was leading you to the edge of a cliff, and you were all too happy to step off if it meant he'd look at you even remotely like he did throughout any point of tonight.

You landed in his arms with a soft, nearly soundless thud, once again met with appreciative applause from the room of onlookers and Tony's voice once again sounding through the speakers. "Jellybean, I take back every joke I ever made about your dancing. Now I know it wasn't you that made those moves bad and that's all I'm gonna say on that. Give it up for these two one more time, ladies and gentlemen!"

A traitorous squeak from the back of your throat slipped from your lips as the god carrying you briefly touched the tip of his nose to yours and pressed a kiss between your brows before setting you back down on your feet, taking your hand in his and lacing his fingers between yours. He led you through the dance floor that was quickly becoming crowded as a rhythmic thumping beat boomed from the sound system, placing you directly in front of him with his free arm wrapped around your midsection.

Once you'd reached the bar, crossing paths with Nat and Wanda and their respective husbands as they made their way to the dance floor, only Thor remained to greet you as you occupied two seats next to one another. "Brother, elation becomes you." Before he walked toward the buffet, handing his empty plate to one of the cleaning staff, he turned to face you. "Take care of him. Actually, take care of each other."

Your brows knitted together as you watched the blond Asgardian walk away, confusion niggling away at your brain as you turned your gaze back to Loki. "What was that--"

The rest of your sentence died on the tip of your tongue as the raven-haired god cupped your jaw, weaving his fingers through your hair, as he closed the distance between you and captured your lips in a soft kiss. You whimpered against him as he stood from his seat, framing your face with his hands as he stepped closer to you, all the while his lips never leaving yours.

He breathed your name as he pulled away, the way that he seemingly sounded almost as flustered as you were paired with the restraint so evident in his hold on you creating a heady combination that made the room spin. "He never deserved you."

Those words had your eyes snapping open, wondering if you'd heard him right. "Loki what--"

"And you should have had someone that treasured you. Worshipped you. That knew with every fiber of his being that he was the most fortunate bastard in the Nine for being the one that you shared the most intimate parts of your life with." Your heart thundered in your ears as he leaned in to kiss you again. "Someone that would proudly show whoever was around to watch that he is equally yours as you are his. Perhaps even more so."

"Are you trying to tell me that that someone is you?" The music had faded away to nothing more than a dull thumping in the background as you looked into his eyes, rife with emotions that you couldn't quite place as his hands traveled down to wrap around your waist, stepping closer to you, and leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple.

"If you would let me," he murmured against your skin. "He was but a fool to have let you go. But if his foolishness leads to my fortune, then perhaps I could be moved to despise him a little less." He kissed a trail from your temple to your ear, making your breath hitch again as his thumb stroked at your side and tracing the faint lines of your ribcage while he whispered a deliciously tempting offer. "Leave with me. Let me be the fortunate wretch that gets to take you home. That gets to worship you, to pleasure you. Even if only for tonight, let me make you equally mine as I am yours. As I have always been yours."

His offer alone already had you trembling in anticipation for what he could possibly have in store for you the moment you gave him your answer. "I have to find Nat and Wanda," you blurted out, making a motion to step off of your seat.

"Y/N please--"

"They offered to stop by my apartment after the party," you explained, mustering the courage to press a quick kiss to his lips when you watched in disbelief as a touch of desperation colored his features. "They wanted to make sure I wasn't going to sleep alone tonight. I have to tell them I have other plans."

A brilliant smile stretched across his face as he pulled you in for another kiss, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as he pulled you against him, lifting you out of your seat and setting you back down on your feet, holding you in his arms the same way he did a few moments ago as you weaved your way through the crowd.

It didn't take you long to find the two women in question, tapping both of them on their shoulders to call their attention. "Rain check on the sleepover?" you shouted over the music.

Wanda took one look at how Loki was holding you and eyed Nat with a smirk. "You got a better offer, I see. Go, babes. We just wanted to make sure you didn't sleep alone tonight."

"Now we gotta make sure you stay awake at the mission brief in the morning because you won't be sleeping at all," Nat capped off with a raise of her eyebrow. She eyed the god holding you with a pointed glare. "If you hurt her--"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Romanoff," he cut her off. "Unlike some people in our non-immediate company, I have every intention of holding on to painite with every ounce of my strength."

Your brows once again knitted together as your friends began to squeal and giggle while you walked away with the god, the alcohol clearly beginning to get to them. "Okay I have to ask. What exactly is painite? You've…said that twice tonight," you prodded, looking up at him only to be met with a tender smile and an intensity burning in his eyes that nearly made you fall over.

"It is the rarest, most precious gemstone on this planet. Perhaps in all the realms," he answered, turning you in his arms as soon as you stepped foot into the corridor and walking you backwards until your back was flush against the wall. "And despite its crimson hue I would still say undoubtedly the most beautiful." You shuddered under his gaze as he trailed a finger from the center of your neck down your torso until he reached your waist and pulled you to him for a fleeting but heated kiss. "That is how I see you. Rare. Precious. And undoubtedly the most beautiful creature I will ever lay my eyes on."

The next moment your surroundings were awash with a wave of his green magic, and you were inside his apartment, your moans piercing the quiet darkness as his lips latched on to your neck and you felt his hands working to divest you of your dress. His next words, rasped against your skin, already had your legs shaking without him having even begun to touch you yet.

"Mine. Finally mine."

A/N: Omg I've finally finished it 😩 And he's precious your honor 🥹 I've honestly had this idea bouncing around in my head for so many days now that I'm so happy that it's finally out for y'all to read and (hopefully) enjoy.

There is a plan for a part 2 of this but it's literally all smut and it's a long ways away because I have every intention to get into 'relinquish the crown' again and also 'back to you'…and also the requests from the 500 follower celebration so just like 'sworn fealty'…it might happen, it might not happen, and that's that on that.

Translations: Himmelske – Heavenly Min gudinne – My goddess

'everything' taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95

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#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #muddyorbs writes #Spotify

[pagesfromthevoid]

A Real Nightmare | a.a. | 1

Astarion x fem!Tav

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Cussing. Astarion being…Astarion

Author’s Note: I’m not even sorry.

Talk to Me! | Series Masterlist

Astarion, visibly frustrated, threw his jacket to the ground with irritation, aggressively stomping out the flames that had crawled up its arm. A string of colorful curses escaped his lips as he forcefully dug his heel into the dirt, determined to extinguish every ember. Witnessing the dramatic display, Tav instinctively covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and panic. The crackling sounds of the dying flames, accompanied by Astarion's expressive language, created a chaotic scene that lingered in the air, leaving an awkward tension between the two.

The majority of the party had headed into the nearest town to snag supplies or dig deeper into their quest details, leaving Tav and Astarion to handle the camp setup—just the two of them. Despite their limited interactions in the few days they'd known each other, usually confined to brief and somewhat meaningless small talk, today marked a shift. It was the day they finally got down to setting up a proper camp, making it the longest stretch of time she'd spent alone with him.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world; it’s not as if she hated him or anything…she just didn’t like his snide comments on everything. Or the way he looked at her like she was something to eat and not a person. Or the burning feeling in her belly when he flirted. But when he didn’t have an audience, he wasn’t nearly as bad. Truthfully, he was almost tolerable. 

Astarion had thrown a fit, complaining about having "worked so hard" to gather what he considered "so much firewood" (although three logs hardly qualified, she didn't bother arguing), only to come back and discover they had no means to light it. In a moment of misguided goodwill, Tav offered to take care of it. In hindsight, she should have known better than to make such an offer; her command over magic, especially when it came to fire, was far from stellar.

Which was how Astarion's jacket caught fire. And how her tent also caught fire. Though luckily, she hadn’t put all of her belongings inside yet.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, hastily reaching out to retrieve his coat as he stormed away from the smoldering fabric. Examining it, she assessed the damage, hoping against hope for a chance at recovery. The arm was unmistakably burned through, but with the right supplies, she believed she could mend it. Her voice carried a mix of guilt and fear as she spoke, "I really didn't mean to do that – truly, Astarion. I would never actually try to hurt you, not on –,"

“You can’t even cast a spell correctly!” He interrupted, turning around quickly to point at her. His eyes flashed –a mix of darkness, anger, and a touch of dangerous allure.

“Excuse me, I can cast a spell just fine,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. His jacket hung at her side as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I just don’t have a lot of control after I cast it.”

“How is that any better?”

“Because at least I can do something!”

“You lit me on fire!”

“It was an accident!”

“What kind of sorceress can’t control her own fucking magic?” He demanded.

“One that has never been taught!” She spat back at him, her guilt receding only to be replaced with anger. He was allowed to be mad at her for lighting him on fire –he wasn’t allowed to insult her in the process, however.

“What the bloody hell do you mean, ‘one that’s never been taught’?”

Tav hesitated, realizing that maybe she had divulged too much. Her reluctance to expose her...deficiencies in magic was almost nonexistent.

When she had become the de facto leader of the party, and they had gathered up Gale into their midst, he had pressed her about her skills and spells that came from her home in Otherus. She tried to play it off at first, explaining that magic in Faerun wasn’t all that different from magic in Otherus, but Gale had been persistent –even when she explained she’d rather not have an audience. He just asked for her to join him in private.

It was there that Gale learned that their leader was not nearly as capable as she had made herself out to be. While she was able to cast spells and use magic, she couldn’t exactly…control the outcome. 

Magic had long been outlawed in certain parts of Otherus –in the main cities and around the edge of the kingdom, specifically –and Tav was born to a sorceress mother and a soldier of the king, who loathed those with magic at their dispense. Her mother, Fera, had kept her abilities secret for years until after Tav had been born. However, fearing that her babe would start showing signs, Fera thought it time to reveal to her husband what they were.

Fera had thought he would understand. That he loved them enough to protect them.

Fera had been wrong.

The King’s Guard had been called to the home, and by the time they arrived –Fera was slain, and Tav’s father was attempting to remove her hands from her body.

“A sorceress without hands is no sorceress at all,” he had seethed, pressing the blade into her wrist, breaking the skin and almost hitting the bone. 

The Guard stopped him before he did further damage; demanded if she had shown any signs of magic prior. When they determined she hadn’t, the Guard charged him with the abuse of a child; but his sentence was lenient for ridding the world of one more magic user.

Tav was ten. 

For a short while, Tav lived with her grandmother in a small village outside the kingdom but she was old and frail, and had no desire to raise a child at her age. Isowen, her mother’s sister, took her instead to the edge of the kingdom, as far from the king’s guard of Otherus as possible. Isowen ran an apothecary and taught Tav in the healing arts but forbade her from talking of magic or the arcane. Too many soldiers came in and out of their little shop; it was never safe. 

This was how it went for years –until Tav was old enough to go out on her own, and make a life for herself.

Initially, she had every intention of departing from Otherus. The kingdom as a whole, in all honesty, didn't hold any allure for her, especially if she aspired to master the control of her magic. However, the lack of viable means to leave or reach any other destination left her with no choice. Consequently, she found herself navigating a transient existence, engaging in various odd jobs across villages she encountered along the way. To safeguard herself, she discreetly concealed her magical abilities, aware of the potential risks that came with revealing her unique skills in unfamiliar territories. 

It wasn’t until the damned tadpole in her eye that she was finally taken away from Otherus. And now she was the leader of a band of heroes, trying to save everyone…and she had no idea how to control herself.

Gale had been sweet enough to offer to teach her, and keep her secret. Even though he did sound a bit snobbish about the ordeal, his lessons were important to her and she enjoyed the time she spent with him. 

Astarion continued to stare her down, his gaze unwavering, expecting an explanation. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, her left hand instinctively curling around her right, fingers tracing the scar that served as a perpetual reminder of the painful history of her life in Otherus.

"Have you ever kept so much bottled up for so damn long that when it finally spills out, it's like a wildfire you can't control? But, you know, strangely satisfying? Like this unseen weight you didn't even realize you were hauling around just lifts off your shoulders?" she asked, settling onto the ground before the dormant fire pit. She absentmindedly wrung her wrist, caught in the residual tension of her confession.

Astarion remained standing, though when she looked up at him to ask him to join her, his eyes had left her face and were fixed on where she held her wrist.

“I can’t say I have.” 

His voice was soft –sincere, even –and Tav smiled wryly.

“I’m from Otherus,” she explained, and Astarion let out a little ah in response –a knowing sound. She let out a humorless laugh, holding her hand to him now. “I had just gotten enough coin to finally leave when the damn worm got me. And now…I’m here.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his end, but eventually Astarion kneeled beside her and took her hand, examining the scar that rested between where her hand and wrist met. “You’re saying, darling, that up until you became the leader of a bunch of weirdos –you had never used your magic?”

Tav nodded once, shivering involuntarily as Astarion ran his thumb over the scar. “Here and there; but never enough to be meaningful.”

“Sweet hells, we’re doomed.”

“Must you be so dramatic?” She asked, though instead of the annoyed tone she usually held, it was laced with a fear that she wished she didn’t have. “I…I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t know what happened; one moment, I was following Shadowheart’s lead then the next I was doling out orders.”

Astarion dropped from his kneeling position to sit beside her, one knee pulled up as the other was outstretched in front of him. He shifted and rested his weight on his hands. 

“You are rather bossy,” he pointed out, grinning at her teasingly, as if trying to ease the tension. “I suppose it only makes sense, minus the whole lack of skill bit.”

“You and Gale are the only two who know.”

Astarion practically giggled in delight. “Ah, so I have blackmail. I love it.”

She gave him a funny look, unable to help herself. “Astarion, you cannot blackmail me when I also know something about you.”

He scoffed. “Please. I’m an open book, darling.”

“You’re right; you are an open book. And the very first page says you’re a vampire.”

For a moment, she could tell he was debating if he would play off her accusations. She knew the look well; it was one she used herself when she wanted to avoid confrontation. But then he narrowed his eyes. 

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

She rolled her eyes, pointing at her throat. “You have bite marks on your neck, Astarion,” then she motioned towards her mouth. “You also have fangs. You never eat with us, or when I offer you food. When you drink wine, you look nearly offended by it —,”

“To be fair, it is shit wine.”

“Regardless —I know you think me an idiot, but what I may lack in spell casting, I make up for in intelligence. I’m rather observant when I want to be.”

At this, Astarion leaned in close to her, voice turning sultry. “Oh, so you observe me, my love?”

Tav swallowed hard, involuntarily leaning in as well without even realizing it. “Occasionally, yes. Probably as much as you observe me.”

Astarion's lips curled into a mischievous smirk, and as he subtly withdrew, Tav felt the heat rise in her cheeks. A mix of excitement and self-chastisement coursed through her, acknowledging the magnetic effect he seemed to have on her. As she opened her mouth to respond, the distant sound of Karlach's animated yell reached them, accompanied by the laughter of their returning companions. Both their attentions shifted towards the camp's edge, momentarily distracted from the tension that she was certain they both felt.

Astarion rose from his spot, extending his hand toward her. Tav met his gaze briefly before accepting his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Their hands remained connected for a moment longer than strictly necessary, a subtle tension hanging in the air, before Astarion finally withdrew and strolled away from her towards the group. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was about to go embellish how badly she fucked up the fire. 

But instead of feeling annoyed, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

“I hope you feel that weight lift one day, Astarion,” she said, soft enough that only he could hear. 

He paused mid step, glancing over his shoulder at her. “One day, perhaps.”

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fic #astarion imagine #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion

[chouxsardine]

Amabo Te---Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: When jealousy and insecurity get the best of you, when he wants to teach you a lesson. Will you give him a chance?

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 5002

Warnings: 18+! Minors DNI, established BDSM relationship, dom!jake/sub!reader, brat! reader, the infamous Jake snap, caning, alcohol, language, jealousy, insecurity, self-esteem issue, self-deprecation, unprotected p in v sex, crying, a mix of soft and mean Jake (?), nerdy Latin sh*t,

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort (with fluffy ending?)

Author's note: Sorry for the wait! inspired by this idea from @hearts-hunger. I've been wanting to write about this since the first day I've seen it, so I kind of took the idea and run with it. It turns out a lot softer than I expected (oops). A new attempt for me to toy around with power dynamics. Every single one of you is deserving of love. I love you a lot. Enjoy!

🎧: How Many More Times by Led Zeppelin; Sorceress by Jess Williamson; When Anger Turns to Honey by Chelsea Wolfe; Hey Now (When I Give You All My Lovin')" by Romare

You know damn well what you’re doing. The thumping of the drum aligns with your heartbeat, melting into your veins along with the few martinis that you’ve downed consecutively. The air is a mix of ostentatious colognes, sweat, and smoke that wafts off dancing and heaving bodies. The floors feel sticky under your feet, and the label of the dress you are wearing has irritated you all night. You can feel it digging into your sides, the two almost invisible row of plastic nubs cutting into your skin with each exhale and rubbing against it with every movement. Isn’t it amazing that such a trivial and hidden matters can make such a fuss? You know damn well what you’re going to do—bratting to get Jake’s attention—but you don’t know why you’re doing it. At this point, the anxiety and the alcohol in your system have managed to form itself into a vicious ouroboros, and you can’t tell which one is the cause.

Have you and Jake been spending less time together recently because he was busy? Yes. Have you been honest when Jake asked if you want to go to this party with him? No. You have also had a rough week, and you just want to cuddle with him on the sofa, watching some silly rom com while languidly poking at a bowl of Mac and cheese with generous amount ketchup squirted on top. However, you are afraid to say no because you don’t want him to think that you are a spoiled and needy brat. Welp, you guess this is where lying about your feelings leads to: uncomfortably standing in a night club, being a brat in another way. In the back of your mind, you know that if you’d only be honest and tell the truth, Jake will get you out of here in a heartbeat with no judgement. But the alcohol is messing with you, and it doesn’t help that a girl has been hitting on Jake this whole time.

She was also wearing a tight minidress—a searing red one with spaghetti strap, hugging her body in all the right places while also showing it off just enough skin to leave space for imagination—one that makes the one on your body eclipse. She puts her elbows on the bar counter while leaning purposefully so that all it takes is one careless movement while reaching for one’s drink to touch her breasts. Jake wasn’t paying attention to her, or at least not now, not yet. You feel jealousy shoot up your veins. Having left Jake’s side when he met an old acquittance and their conversation was getting too long , then being blocked by the crowd rushing into the dance floor when you plan to stride back, you are now standing on the other side of the room, anxiously tapping your feet, waiting for the hideous song to end.

You take another sip of your drink, and as you raised your eyelids, you saw the girl getting off the bar stool. She should’ve known better than standing up holding a full shot glass in her hands or perhaps she shouldn’t have done that silly little hop trying to impress. Of course, her heels got hung on the footrest a second too long, and she fell forward, throwing herself on Jake. He caught her, his hand on her shoulder to restore her balance. His action was neat and brief, his complexion barely changes. It is clear as day a spontaneous and innocent response, but for you, that’s the last straw.

You didn’t even care continue watching for their further exchange—or whether there was one. You down your drink and slam the empty glass on the counter a bit too harsh before stepping onto the dance floor. You make eye contact with the nearest guy. “Would you like to dance?” The music is loud and it is dark. You lean in closer and ask again when he doesn’t hear you.

Now you are sure that Jake has seen it. When he catches your eyes, a pang of guilt and shame zips through you, you feel like a child being caught red-handedly cheating on a test. You know what you are doing is wrong and petty, you are doing it to get his attention. But in the heat of the moment, with your emotions tangled up, jealousy gets the best of you. You try to look away, and that’s when you see the snap.

It is something that he has conditioned into you. Whenever you’re acting up in public, Jake’s snap is his warning to you. And when it’s quiet around, it’s a gentle but firm squeeze a little above your knee under the table. You got three strikes, but you usually get back in hand just with his warning glance or him simply raising his hands a little.

Jake was leaning back against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter. It is a quick snap between his fingers with a flick of his wrist. There was no way that you would hear it above the music, but in your brain, it rolls loud like thunder.

Out of the reflexive response, your body acts before your mind catches up. You freeze for a second, and you feel a phantom touch like a subtle current rolling over the area above your knee. You try your best to feign your indifference, peeling your glance away. He started it, you lie to yourself.

As the song comes to an end, the guy you were dancing with asks to buy you a drink. You accept and follow him to the bar. Before you even sot down, you feel Jake coming over and standing behind you. His hand is on your waist. A gentle squeeze. Subtle but possessive.

“Hey, what—” The poor guy is confused.

“Would you please excuse us?” Jake’s voice is calm and smooth. You don’t have to turn back to know that he is smiling politely. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

The man cocks his eyebrows. You don’t dare to read his expression. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Before he can respond, you turn on your heels and let Jake lead you out of the bar. Jake isn’t even gripping hard on you, but by now, every nerve in your body has learned to be attentive and obedient to his touch. It is only when the cold air outside hits you that you try to break away from him.

You knew you have gone to the point of no return. You have achieved nothing with your childish act, and to continue a tantrum is your only way to save face.

“Let—”

“Shut it,” Jake cuts you off, rage boiling behind those two words.

“I’ve got three strikes! That was only one!” You retort.

Jake narrows his eyes. “Then consider this your strike two.”

“Fuck you!” You blurt out, instantly regretting as the words left you lips. You see a moment of confusion and incredulous flash through Jake’s eyes before anger takes over. He lets out a dry laugh. You shiver.

“That’s it.” Jake releases your hand, taking off his jacket, flings it over your shoulder with a push at the small of your back. He walks the two of you to where the car was parked. He still opens the door for you and puts his hand up to protect you from hitting your head before circling to his side.

In the few seconds of silence between your side of the car door closing and his side of the car door opening, you sag like a bounce house with a puncture, all the furiousness has left your body, replaced by the bone-deep regret and exhaustion. You want to go back to a few hours ago, where you would say, “I don’t feel like going out tonight. Can we stay in and watch a movie?”, where you would say, “I don’t want to be here anymore. Can we go home?”, where you would straight up look into his eyes and tell him, “I miss you so much, I just want to spend time with you, alone.”

The broody silence stretches through the whole way home. You almost hop he would just leave you in the car. You feel ashamed when he yanks your side of the door open with his hand up on the frame.

Once you are in the house, Jake walks directly to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and pouring himself a glass. He stands in front of the French window, his thumb hooked in his belt, the left side of his jacket riding up.

There is no sign of the rage you expected. You are still wearing his jacket, your fingers curled up in the leather. The shame that was burning inside you clashes with the icy feeling down your spine.

You expect him to push you against the wall, or spit out “strip”, or at least a “go upstairs”. You know that you will drop down on your knees the second the first syllable of any those words parts his lips. Or something through his eyes, a silent scowl, a stern look. Even when Jake is silent, his eyes always convey something—-or at least you can always read something from them.

But he is not even looking at you now.

Please don’t ignore me.

“The silent treatment now, really?” It can’t be any clearer that you are fighting a lost battle. Your voice bounces off the silence and stabs you like a boomerang.

Jake finally turns around. He lowers his head and smirks. The next words he says make you icy cold. It’s like you are standing on a frozen lake and have misjudged the thickness of the ice beneath you feet; with a misstep, it cracks, and you fall into the piercing cold water.

“Do you think you deserve ‘treatment’,” he accentuates the word, “of any kind, my dear?”

The nickname is stripped off all its concomitant affection, only adding to the insult with biting irony. You’d rather he didn’t use it at all. The tears threaten to spill. You clench your fist.

“That’s your way of talking, huh?” Jake paces towards you, each step slow and steady like a confident predator cornering his prey, “some yaps and some whines, but my little brat just loves running her mouth.”

Brat. That word punches you like a left hook. A brat. That’s exactly what you have been tonight.

You know for sure you are finally going to submit, and once you reached that stage, it’s going to be pure bliss; it will be the closest you’ll ever felt to him. And that’s all you want, to be close to him. Sure, a beeline from point A to point B is straight and clear, but where’s the fun in that? Being a brat feels like an elongated foreplay. Just as you are ashamed of the amount of swearwords and moans you let out when being edged, you can’t deny that you love it. Love it so much that you are doing it to yourself. You wanted it so much, but you refuse to accept it without some struggle. You feel unworthy when things land on your lap easily. The emotions you will experience after winning the lottery probably would be fear and suspicion, as you contemplate “now that I’m hit on the head with pennies from heaven, what will I lose in exchange? You are plagued by the fairy tale in which the king is ravished with joy when he finds a precious jewel but then proceeds to lose his beloved once as the backfire. After all, life never gives anything for nothing, a price is always exacted for what fate bestows.* You believe the same goes for love. Jake came into your life so suddenly, sweeping in like a whirlwind, with such velocity and intensity that you are afraid one day he will exit like one, leaving your heart in the ruins. You have to earn his love, you will be his good girl.

“Have I been ignoring my princess? Attention, is that what you want? Jealousy, is that what got into you tonight, um?” His finger grips your chin.

You both love and detest how Jake has always been able to strip you bare with such ease, your body and your desire. To see through the “yes” behind the “no” when your pride and stubbornness get the best of you, and the “no” behind the “yes” when you overexert yourself and try to please while ignoring your limits. It does takes quite some effort to reach this almost telepathic stage, a bumpy trail full of frustration and trial and errors, but it’s worth the effort. When the voice inside your head gets loud and your body is aching with unsoothable desire, the wrong punishment will immediately send you crying in a non sexy way.

You have no choice but to look into his eyes. One simple stare from him dissects your thought like a scalpel. With one clean, cold cut, he slices you open. Exposed, vulnerable.

You are already playing a dangerous game, walking the tight rope, teetering on the edge. Now, you are pulled off balance by his eyes drilling into you, demanding complete honesty and obedience.

“Please.” You mumble, lowering your eyes.

“Please, what?” He tilts your chin right up.

Your voice is meek, barely audible, but legible enough for Jake. “Please punish me, Sir.”

He lets go of you. Immediately you miss his touch.

“Upstairs. You know what to do.”

You are on autopilot as you remove your clothing, leaving them in a pile on the floor and nudging them into the closet with your feet. Out of sight. The sequins on your dress shine like a flamboyant humiliation.

It can’t be more than five minutes until Jake comes into the room, but every single second feels like purgatory to you. You let out a long sigh of relief as you heard his footsteps. You hear him shuffle behind you, and then the sound of him rummaging through the drawer, collecting the things he needs. Finally, you see his feet in your lowered sight as he steps in front of you. You keep your head down, knowing better than looking up to see what he has in his hands. But you can’t escape the shadow that was projected onto the floor. Something long and thin.

“Please don’t tie me up.” You blurt out before immediately biting down on your lip.

“I’m afraid you’re not in the position to bargain, dear, ” He’s right. “This is a punishment; it’s not supposed to be what you want. You take. Is that understood?” His voice looms over your bare skin, giving you goosebumps.

“Yes, Sir.”

Then something hard touches your thigh. You look down and see the end of a cane. The cane. A blessing and a curse. It isn’t very often that Jake uses a cane on you. To you, it hurts more than a paddle but turns you on more as well. The cane draws a wiggly line down your legs, stopping at that area above your knee with three taps. Your kneeling frame perches up in response, your body instantly connecting the touch with Jake’s warning squeeze.

Then, a clear and crisp snap break through the quiet room. Your head shots up spontaneously and you crash into Jake’s eyes. His dominance is dialed up to the fullest from this angle. His long eyelashes cast shadows under the eyes, deepening his brown pupils. His lips are lightly parted, his eyebrows relaxed. He looks appreciative, like admiring an art piece of his own creation.

“Ah, so you do remember.” He makes a statement, but it sounds like a reprimand in your ears.

“I…”

“You will have plenty of chance to speak tonight, but not now.” Honestly, you are secretly glad that he stops you because you don’t trust your voice not to break. The apology lodges and throbs in your throat.

“We put a lot of time and effort into our warnings. It doesn’t come easy, I think you know that,” Jake continues, “you chose, deliberately, to ignore and violate them tonight. So I’m sure you have good reasons to do so.”

The cane nudges the inner side of your thigh, signalling you to stand up. And then a goad with the tip on the back of your sacrum, making you topple forward, with your hands gripping on the end of the mattress.

The whoosh sound of the cane as it comes down startles you even more than the stinging, closely followed by Jake’s gruff demand: “Enlighten me. Why?”

The delayed pain is now blooming over your skin. Why? All the previous shame resurfaces, forcing you to recall every detail. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip.

The next hit comes down harder, moving up slightly from where the last one lands.

Still silence. You close your eyes tightly, tears burning behind your eyelids. You want nothing more than being honest with Jake, but somehow you just can’t squeeze the words out of you. Thinking back now, it is so not worthy to act up something so trivial. Everything would have been fine if you just be honest right from the start, if you communicate your feelings directly. But why can’t you?

Whack.

The next one hits an inch to the left. The cane is worse because it gathers the sensations. If the paddle feels like putting your hands into a basin of hot water, the cane feels like splashes of hot oil. Obviously, you are still an independent grown-up with full control of your body autonomy, but at the moment, you so desperately need to transfer that control. Even if it’s temporary, so that your brain would stop lying to you. And Jake is demanding exactly that.

Why? Why can’t you be honest with him? Time has proved that this man has been nothing but respectful, understanding, and non-judgemental. What are you afraid of? What more can you ask for?

Whack.

“What’s your color?”

“G..green, Sir.”

You press your lips together hard. An involuntary tear escaping from the corner of your eyes. Your brain is determined to play a tug of war with the help of your stubbornness, but your body revolts. The pain is numbing your volition.

Whack.

Now that you’ve known each strike is calculated. Jake never hits the same place. They are always placed from each other with some space so that the pain spreads and connects like drops of paint on paper, spreading into a watercolour in different shades of pink. Your muscle contract. You are absurdly wet; it feels almost purely physiological, even though you know the agony is only a calling. Deep down there’s the yearning— craving to be touched, to be soothed and caressed. But are you worth it?

Whack.

“I am an ungrateful, attention-seeking brat.” You cry, your forehead dropping down on your laced fingers.

Jake is grateful that you can’t see his expression. And maybe that’s a good thing for you too. Because if you see the heartache in his eyes, your pretense of strength will fall apart in an instant. It rips his heart to hear you degrading yourself. It tortures him when you can’t see how worthy, beautiful, and precious you are the way he does. It hurts him to know that he fails to earn your trust, to earn your complete honesty. He knows your body; he has learned your threshold of pain and pleasure, and has the skill of a pharmacist when it comes to mixing the two to give you euphoria. However, he is an unarmed man facing the voices inside your head, he is clueless standing in front of the thorny-hedged gate of your heart. And it confounds him too when sometimes hurting you is the only way he can show you love. If you would only let me, princess, if you would only let me love you.

This time, there is only a gentle tap on the fleshiest part of your butt.

“Nice try. That’s not the answer I asked for.” It takes everything in Jake to maintain his domineering facade. Bullshit. You’re a loving, gentle, poetic, sensible soul that just happens to be too good at feeding yourself deprecative lies.

By now, all the fight left in you is a poorly-crafted sandcastle swilled over and over by waves of pain. The good pain. Cathartic. Liberating. Hypnotizing, almost. They converge into the mysterious song of the siren, whispering in your ear: “Stop fighting. Give it up to me.”

The voice sounds warm, assuring, familiar: “Let me in.”

That busts you right open.

“I know there was nothing, I only did it to get your attention.” Once the hardest part was out, you find yourself unable to stop. The box-ed up feelings cascade out of you. “I..I don’t want to be there! I d-didn’t tell you because…I don’t want to look n-needy. You’re too good for me. You’re one of countless good things that have happened to me, w-what if you leave?”

Ugly sobs ripple through your body. Your legs threatening to give out as you shake your head in guilt. Tears burn you blotched skin and gone cold way too quickly, leaving damp trails on your cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I’m sorry.”

Between your whimper, you hear another swoosh of the cane coming down. You tense up subconsciously. There is the sound of the cane hitting flesh, but the anticipated pain never came. Before you could think further, your were pulled up and sat in Jake’s lap. His woodsy musk envelops you as he tucks your head under his chin. Pangs of guilt shoot through your body, hurting way worse than your behind. Slowly but surely, Jake’s warm and strong hands find the nape of your neck, pulling you towards his chest where you bury your face, your shoulder shudders, and you cry. Jake's heart contracts painfully along with each of your sob. He closes his eyes tightly.

“You silly, silly little fool.” He sighs, rocking you back and forth, “it would be so much easier if you just say so from the start. But my little kitten just won’t go down without a fight, will she?” His finger combs through your sweaty strands.

“Is that how you love, little flame?” Jake murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple, “always so fierce, so effusive, like a supernova?”

You keen on that word. You think you’ve never loved a a nickname more. Jake’s steady heartbeat against your chest grounds you and slowly restores all your senses like books being put back onto the shelf after being swept down to the floor in a storm. Slot by slot, mise en place.

Feeling that you’ve calmed down, Jake takes your face in his hands. “Let me show you.” He leaves kisses all over your face, pausing between each one to speak.

“This. Is. How. I. Love.”

He touches his forehead to yours. It is impossible to look away, impossible to feel anything else other than him.

“Allow me to love you.”

The sentence is like a curse, one that undid some wicked spell, one that wilts all the thorns on your heart, one that undid you completely.

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel the butterfly in your stomach. You know it was triggered by the long-caged bird in your heart flexing its wings. Soar. Soar head-on into love. Take the fearless flight and never regret thy fall.

The slightly weird sensation on the left side of your face makes something click in your brain. You hurriedly pull Jake’s hand down and see a swollen mark welt across his left palm.*

That’s where the last hit lands. He takes it for you.

“See? equal.” He holds up his palm.

“Jake…” Your lips quiver. You hold his hand in yours, desperately kissing it. Jake hardly seem to mind at all, using his other hand to wipe away your tears. His eyes infinitely gentle.

“Do not feel guilty, that’s not my point. I am sorry for not letting you trust me enough. I love you, it is my fault to not make it known to you it all the while.* We’re even now, clean slate. Only trust from now on, okay?”

Nothing reassures you more than a clean slate; that means you are not completely fucked up, that means you still have the opportunity to redeem yourself, to do better, and this time you know that you have a better chance because you are not doing it alone, you have Jake by your side, and he has managed to make you believe that he will always be by your side.

You press your lips against his. His tongue dips into your mouth. You roll your hips on his thighs. The need rekindles inside you.

“Tell me what you want, princess. Anything for you.”

“I want you. Jake. Please make love to me.”

With that, he lifts you up and flips you over. You land on the bed, letting out a chuckle as you watch him get rid of his shirt and pants. Your limbs go warm when his body covers yours. The pendant of his necklace drags down your sternum and dipping into your navel as his kisses your breasts. His mouth finds your nipple, his tongue circling around your areola, feeling it grow harder and perk up even more. You let out a squeal, arching your back, your clit meeting his pelvis for a futile relief. You feel him, hard and determined, flush against your entrance. Your muscles tense up, clenching around the emptiness. The silky desire flows down through your veins, gathering downward.

You lie open like a book, allowing his velvet tongue to explore every letter and punctuation. You are completely at his disposal. Jake’s movements are slow and skilled, tentalizing and hypnotic

“Please.”

“Please, what?” He repeats the question with a cheeky grin.

“Please, fuck me already.” The verb sounds so vulgar, yet you’ve never said it with so much love and tenderness. Fuck. You love the plosive in the end. Explosive, fervent, triumphant.

“Please,” Jake mused. His hand snakes between your bodies, his finger plunging into your wetness.

“Do you know,” his fingers curls and scraps, collecting your slickness and stroking them up and down your labia, “how do they say ‘please’ in classical Latin?”

“Poetic nerd.” You quipped, followed by a vindictive press of his finger against your tissue that makes you mewl.

“Amabo te.” He whispers as he holds his cock in his hand, his tip tapping on your entrance along with each syllable, each of them dripping onto your skin like honey. Knock, knock.

“Amabo te.” You mindlessly repeat after him. The sound is magical and mesmerizing, rumbling off your tongue with such gracefulness.

“And it just happens to also literally mean,” he pushes his hip forward, making every inch pronounced. The double suspense makes your breath hitch.

“I will love you.”

He bottoms out in one long, silky thrust. Every sensory system in your body fires up. Air is whipped out of your lungs and restored by his kiss. Your hands map his back, hugging him tighter, nailing him into you even deeper. Jake only pulls back slightly before pumping right back, cherishing the silky heat of yours as if there’s no tomorrow. His sharp pants fall all over your neck and your collarbone. The pleasure is building up at a scary pace.

Jake’s face is so close to yours, you see yourself in his eyes, fused with nothing but bliss and desire that danced through his blown-out pupils. At this moment, you are love. The realization sends a tremor through you. For the first time tonight, your body and brain and in sync. No more fighting.

“Can feel you, love,” Jake grunts, the vein visible on his sweat-coated forehead. You buck up your hips, spurring him on.

“Take me with you.”

For a few heartbeats, the world went silent. Never has an orgasm felt so good. Zings of fire sparkles and spreads. Your mouth hangs open; the pleasure robbed your voice, pinning you down as a time stamp. You are preserved in the moment like a butterfly specimen. It makes you want to exist like that forever.

Your leg jerks, urging him to stay as he rolls off you. In your peripheral vision, you saw you were still holding hands, his fingers laced and lodged with yours like a promise.

Jake’s lips graze your ears, a strand of his curls falls across your lips. His voice is raspy and low, with an easily detected tenderness. “Did I do it? Will you let me love you?”

You know it takes a lot of energy out of him as well. And now, a faint trance of postpositive guilt and the languid afterglow mixed with the subspace are catching up with you. Every inch of you is uncurled and loosened, but in the back of your mind still remains some sanity the size of a laundry basket where you have a heart to be strong, be strong for him; he takes such good care of you. You pull Jake’s welted palm against your bare chest, close to your heart. You squeeze his hand, followed with three gentle pats on its back. Just like the way he tells you that you are safe and he’s not leaving when you are blindfolded and tied up.

You know you will talk more about it in the morning over plates of French toast or blueberry pancakes, but for now, everything is good…..and that conversation doesn’t sound scary to you at all. You know that the man lying next to you will dote on you with nothing but pure love and acceptance. And that doesn’t sound half bad at all.

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*1: adapted from Stefan Zweig, Marie Antoinette: The Portrait of an Average Woman

*2: inspired by Three-Line Whip: A First Time Maledom BDSM Novella by James Hardcourt

*3: adapted from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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Yay! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

my other works: Permission to Fall || Mariner's Complex || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones || Coming back to me || Warm Honey || He Would || Hold Me (1) (2) || blurb: Chin Tattoo, Ribbon Bow 🎀, post-show

#greta van fleet #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiskza x reader #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka #gvf fic #gvf smut #jake kiszka fanfiction #jakedown

[sleepytwilight]

Hello! I'm another Arcana Twilight fan, and your blog is pretty popular when it comes to ArTw content, so I hope a request wouldn't be a disturbance!

This is my first request, and uh, can you write the ArTw men with a MC who plays guitar? That's all I ask for. Thank you! <33

Oki dokii :3333

𝔸𝕣𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕦𝕤

The first thing you do when you arrived at this world was to ask if you can get a guitar to play, Arcturus was surprised by your request but he still fulfilled your wish by making a magic guitar so you can at least have a magic weapon.

He was amazed by your skills. He tries to listen whenever you play it.

You told Arcturus that you're playing songs from Mid eartheim. He was thrilled and immediately promote you to play as an academy band.

Does the academy have a band? Never for thousands of years but Arcturus always find the way to make it happen.

"Summoner, I will make people see your talent!"

𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕒

Arcturus insisted him to form a band, he believes a band in academy won't do any good.

Well that was Spica 5 seconds ago until he heard you plays a song, he want to teach you a song from his childhood.

He is very glad your ambition for playing guitar brings good to the academy because apparently friendship is musical-

At least the clans started to get along because you're teaching them how to play instruments especially guitar.

"What a blessing for you to come here."

ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕩

If you think he won't take your guitar, you're right. He will have one for his own.

Now you guys are matching!

You teach Pollux how to play the guitar, it took him a month to understand the basic.

He still enjoy it and want to play with you again. You should bring extra picks because somehow he keep breaking it or lose it.

"Summoner, Summoner! I can play well now, should we perform this at the stage?"

𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕫

He often to take a nap in the place where you play your guitar. He likes the song, it's calming.

He was a multi talented kid but burned out- He magically can play any kind of instruments so when he feels like doing something, he plays piano with you.

When you play a song that Spica taught you, he remembers his childhood. It was the sweetest memories. He really likes it and feel a bit more motivated.

"Can you play that song again...? Oh, you're still learning? It's alright, I'll teach you."

𝕊𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕦𝕤

This guy will tease you whenever you play a song and purposely irritated you.

Even though, he's became a bit calmer, what I mean by calmer, he actually regain a bit of his sanity again.

Maybe because you were Polaris or maybe because when you play the guitar, Sirius started to remember a bit of his beautiful memories of him and Polaris.

He still tease you though and being complicated as usual.

He tries to kidnap you from classes so you can play a song for him. If he's in a really good mood, maybe he'll play the guitar with you too.

He don't know how to but you can teach him.

"My dear Summoner is truly talented in everything... I wonder what else can you do."

𝕍𝕖𝕘𝕒

Childhood memories brbbbb

Naur this guy immediately recognized you, he didn't hesitate to tell you that you and him are childhood friends-

Truly friendship is magical- Good for Vega, he learns how to play violin while living with Sorceress Gianna.

He'll love to spend time reciprocated a song with you.

It's like Romeo and Juliet but better and wholesome. Vega is better than Romeo, Romeo can go die in hell.

"Summoner, do you remember a song that used to play when we were children? Should we play that one?"

#arcana twilight #arcana twilight sirius #arcana twilight mc #arcana twilight arcturus #arcana twilight alpheratz #arcana twilight pollux #arcana twilight vega #arcana twilight spica #arcana twilight summoner #artwi text #artw ask #yknow I put a lot of effort in this bc I am happy someone said my blog is pretty popular :'D

[shanastoryteller]

Happy holiday seasons! Something about jaskier being the equivalent of the Beyonce of the continent (geraskier, yeraskier?) Also thoughts on Liam Hemsworth as the new Geralt? Love you! <3

a continuation of 1

Yennefer is in the middle of the very important work of schmoozing her way into a baron’s good graces when Jaskier and his husband enter the ballroom.

(Geralt had irritated her the last time they’d crossed paths so she’s currently only referring to him as Jaskier’s husband to his face. He secretly loves it, but it does cause a bunch of annoying questions for him that he hates, so it’s still a net win as far as she’s concerned.)

The baron gapes. “Is that – surely it can’t be – the bard Jaskier?”

There are more excited titterings around the ballroom, everyone looking at Jaskier with the hungry gazes that she wanted them to direct towards her. Rude.

“Yennefer!” Jaskier shouts, crossing the room to her side, Geralt trailing a half step behind.

“You know him?” the baron demands incredulously.

She’s a sorceress of almost limitless power and he’s impressed because she’s crossed paths with a bard. This has to be some sort of curse.

“We were looking for you, we could use some of you help with some, um, stuff.” He darts a look back at husband then looks at her meaningfully, as if she wasn’t perfectly capable of picking up his incredibly unsubtle hint herself. Geralt just looks resigned, and a little grumpier than normal, which means he really does need help. Anything that can get a witcher – especially Geralt – looking for help can’t mean anything good.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” the baron says, shoving her to the side to grasp Jaskier’s hand and shake it eagerly. “Are you available to play? We’d love to hear you. We can pay of course, and we have accommodations for you and your companion, if you’re interested. Even just one song would be wonderful.”

They already have live music. What’s the big deal? Just because he can carry a tune doesn’t mean he warrants all this.

Jaskier is pointedly not looking at her and doing his best not to smile, which absolutely means he knows what this is doing to her and finds it hilarious. “If Lady Yennefer can be persuaded to help my companion, then I suppose I can be persuaded to play.”

The baron turns his big pleading eyes onto her, paying her more attention than he has the whole night.

She mentally denotes Jaskier to Geralt’s husband.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #witcher #i don't mind the recasting bc i think it's pretty easy to do in universe #but dear god why the discount hemsworth brother

[bluewritinghood]

Witcher! Watch out for that tree!

“You didn’t have to throw that guy through a table you know.” Jaskier says absentmindedly plucking at his lute as he walks beside Geralt down the dusty path.

“He was being an ass.” Geralt reminds him.

“Yes, well it did get us kicked out of the inn though so maybe not worth it?” Jaskier says still plucking at his lute more than likely trying to subconsciously perfect a tune that would soon make an appearance in one of his latest songs.

“He called you a cocksucking bastard.” Geralt reminds him gruffly. “I wasn’t going to let it go.”

“I mean it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called I could give you a whole list of insults a mile long that’s been hurled at me this year alone and never repeat the same one twice.” Jaskier laughs at his own expense.

Geralt offers an irritated grunt by way of reply.

“I mean it wasn’t even really an insult since it’s true, I mean half of it at least.” Jaskier says tuning his lute slightly.

“You were an illegitimate child?” Geralt asks surprised.

“Oh gods no. No matter how much my father would like to claim otherwise, I meant the first part. You didn’t know I was Bisexual?” Jaskier asks sounding genuinely surprised.

Geralt doesn’t answer, doesn’t say anything at all, doesn’t look away from Jaskier even as they approach an enormous tree in the road. But surely Geralt couldn’t miss it, its trunk was wider than his shoulders for heaven’s sake.

Geralt runs smack into the tree with a dull ‘Thunk’ stumbling backward.

“Good gods Geralt are you alright?!” Jaskier says jogging the few steps he had fallen behind Geralt to catch up with him and check on him. “How in the world did you miss that tree?”

“You’re into men?” Geralt asks instead of answering the question.

“Yes, I thought that was painfully obvious. Don’t tell me that’s why you ran into the tree it’s honestly not that surprising. I mean I’m kinda fruity.” Jaskier says with a laugh.

Geralt just stares at Jaskier until his smile fades.

“You’re not opposed to that sort of thing are you?” Jaskier asks suddenly a little worried that this of all the things might be what ends their friendship.

Geralt is a silent as a stone for a few minutes leaving Jaskier to wonder what exactly he would say if he ever said anything at all.

“No.” Geralt finally grunts out relieving Jaskier of his fears.

“Well that’s a relief.” Jaskier says with a nervous chuckle.

Geralt continues to stare at him until Jaskier finally asks. “What exactly is the problem then?”

Geralt finally stops looking at him only to start looking anywhere but at him. “I’m in love with you.” He mumbles.

“I’m sorry come again?” Jaskier guffaws. “Because I thought a certain sorceress occupied that stony heart of yours.”

Geralt shakes his head reverting back to his normal taciturn state.

“You’re telling me I’ve had a chance with you all this time and you’re just telling me now?” Jaskier asks voice raising an octave.

Geralt finally seems to get the message that his feelings are reciprocated because the next thing Jaskier knows he’s being pushed up against the tree and Geralt is kissing him.

Ao3 link to this story.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45596839

#Ao3 is down for god knows how long so I’m posting some of my stuff here #ao3 problems #ao3fic #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #Witcher Tv #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #jaskier #geralt z rivii #geralt fanfic #jaskier fanfic #Drabble #fluff #swearing #bisexual jaskier #they have one brain cell and it belongs to Roach #545 words #word count: 545 #DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the walking dead nor do I claim to. #own any characters in this fan fic or from The Witcher This transformative work has been created purely for entertainment purposes. #No profit is made or sought. No copyright infringement is intended. #All publicly recognizable characters settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. #The original characters and plot are the property of the respective owners. #I am in no way associated with the owners creators or producers of any media franchise. #No copyright infringement is intended.

[gothicscorpiohub]

Lost You 3

Genre: Romantic–Thriller

Pairing: Marvel's Loki x Reader

Summary: A happy ending with a lot of angst in between. Loki and Y/n conclude the tragedy of Thanos.

The air was growing thicker than Loki had ever anticipated. The iron grip at his throat was breaking every ounces of his belief to oppose vulnerability. In vain did he attempted to sway his legs to the way of freedom. He hasn't been so helpless in his lifetime. His mind was fuzzed, full of traffic of thoughts but none could be analysed clearly.

Sounds were heard far away from consciousness, leading into complete deprivation of sounds, replaced by a constant irritable ringing from elsewhere around. His body felt light, like his brain. It was like his body was floating, or perhaps it was. He tried to let his heavy eyelids remain open. With the last much of his strength, he figured an inky black haze forming around his body, enveloping him inside, buzzing warmth embraced him. With the increasing haze around him, the intensity of the grip around his neck decreased into nothingness, leaving a buzzing sensation. His stomach lurched, then his chest, his heartbeat was louder than any other voice. His leg twitched and in no time, he was swirling frantically into a portal he couldn't see, his head as well, was swirling, if he could fight the exhaustion, he was strongly feeling nauseated the feeling stopped just as it started, replacing the uncomfort into a stillness, rather comforting. Blurred as the next few moments were, he captured a glimpse of a total new place, the portal had bought him in, before passing out into nothingness.

"Your Highness, you must be awake."

"...Mmphh" groaned Loki.

"Your Highness!"

Loki jolted up, wide eyed, before the beautiful entity came into his focus. "Y/n," he gasped harshly.

Y/n smiled, as if their life wasn't in mortal danger.

"We've to move. NOW!" He scrambled up the floor, gripping her shoulders tightly, only for her to shake her head reassuringly and cup his face in her hands.

"It's fine your highness, Thanos is gone. We're safe." She spoke softly, sliding a hand on her bulging baby bump and stroking lovingly. Loki opened his mouth to speak, only for his silver tongue to betray him.

She did it. She did what the greatest of the warriors around the universe couldn't. How could he forget about her inevitable strength of a godess and an amazing sorceress?

He slid a hand around the small of he back, other securely wrapped around his unborn baby who'd undoubtedly inherit the wits and strength of it's mother. Rested his head in the crook of her neck. "You never fail to suprise me, darling." He spoke, voice muffled between the hollow of her neck . Y/n stroked his back in assurance "I am flattered"

Loki raised his head to meet her brilliant brown eyes. His own vision blurred by tears. "I love you, Y/n, my better half." With that, he pulled her into a soft-loving kiss.

The End

________________________________________

Wrote it in fifteen minutes because it's extremely late and I have my annuals to prepare for.

#fanfic #loki odinson #marvel #loki #loki fandom #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #loki series #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki x wife!reader #loki x pregnant reader #loki angst #scorpio

[fanficsat12am]

how the brothers react to playing with his hair headcanons | Leviathan, Satan & Asmodeus

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜 Lucifer & Mammon Beelzebub & Belphegor

Leviathan

The first time you did it, he was genuinely not prepared. Levi was in the middle of sewing his next cosplay when it happened. He was so engrossed in making sure every stitch was right that he failed to notice you leave the bathtub he calls a bed.

He's only reminded of your presence when he feels the tender touches of fingers brushing through his plum purple hair.

Your hand combed through his tousled mop with ease, despite him forgetting to brush it that morning.

To you, it was just a nice little gesture to show some affection. To him, it felt like a spell closely associated with those casted by sorceresses he sees in his anime, chanting charms meant to lure unsuspecting wanderers deep into the forest.

Despite Levi claiming that he cared little for the deed, his actions beg to differ. Instead of pulling away, he leaned deeper onto your hand with a blush and enjoyed the fond moment with you.

He wanted to get back in his bathtub and cuddle, but he wasn't willing to stop sewing.

Thus, the battle in his head met a compromise of multitasking instead.

He continued to sew while you continued to play with his hair.

He's become accustomed to it and likes to feel your touch no matter what he's doing, as long as you're alone of course.

Playing Bad Devil Slayer, watching new episodes of Ruri Chan, just hanging out in his room, you name it.

"Levi-chan, wanna rewatch TSL with me? I promise I'll play with your hair"

"S-sure if you want to. You don't have to do it b-but if that's your vibe, okay I guess"

such a blushing mess

Satan

It seemed that everything around him was going wrong that day. He had been snippy all morning and got irritated at even the smallest things. To be fair, being bombarded with tasks from the council and a pile of homeworks that can fill a whole shelf can make anyone pissed off.

You felt really bad for the demon and wanted to so badly help cease his inner turmoil. You knew that keeping his wrath in check was a hard task on its own. With all that’s been going on? You weren’t even sure how he was still in his normal form

So you decided to do what you do whenever he's in the middle of reading, play with his hair.

At first, he swatted your hand

"I don't have time for this, MC"

Too bad for him, you were persistent

After a few more tries, he finally succumbs and accepts his fate.

Satan was irked at first, wanting to just finish his work. After a while though, he closes his eyes and starts to melt onto your hand like wax near a flame. The moment reminded Satan of a human world fairytale he read, an image of a girl spinning straw to gold.

For a few minutes, all his worries were washed away.

Just like Lucifer, he finds comfort in your touch and immediately looks for you on rough days as well as just a past time while reading.

"Hey Love, long day today?"

" I'm teetering on the edge of a crumbling cliff and your touch is the only thing keeping me from falling, Kitten "

Asmodeus

He was known as the brother who took pride in his looks the most in the land of Devildom. He always took extra care of his appearance from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

When the both of you started dating, he still had his guard up when it concerned his physical image.

So when he saw you even try to get your hand near his tuft of champagne hair, he instinctively dodged it. The crown on top of his head took him hours to do and he won’t allow someone to mess it up in just a few seconds.

He couldn’t blame you though. Who’d want to miss the chance to have a short glimpse of the treasured “Jewel of the Heavens”, who was brought down from the Celestial Realm to be seen by everyone, let alone be able to reach and touch him.

So one day, he decided to leave his hair be for once. Asmo didn’t do anything grand with his hair and let it flow naturally. He looked for you and luckily found you in your room, reading a book probably recommended by Satan. The demon laid his head down on your lap, took your hand, and placed it on the top of his head.

You were understandably confused by his actions, knowing how he felt about just the thought of his appearance being slightly disheveled. But, he insisted you play with his hair–so you did.

The moment was magical for the Avatar of Lust. Though he was the living embodiment of sexual desire, this was different. To him it was love. To him it was affection. To him it was a desire for his heart, not just his body. Whatever it was, he wanted more of it.

And more is what he got. The brothers now often find Asmo in your arms having his hair played with. He savors the feeling of your fingers grazing his scalp, his hair making it look as if you were brushing your hand along the fine grains of sand on a beach.

“Are you sure Your Majesty? I know you have an event coming up tonight”

“MC, you've got me all wrong. I’d sacrifice every party in Devildom just to get a sliver of your touch, Darling~~”

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the support in the last post🥰I hope you liked this one as well 💕I kinda got more in-depth with these ones hehe. More are coming soon so I hope you guys stay around for that ❗❗ Feel free to lemme know your thoughts and if you guys have any requests, my inbox is always open💌 See y'all next timeeee~~

#obey me x reader #obey me angst #obey me fluff #obey me imagines #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me x mc #levi x reader #satan x reader #asmo x reader #levi x mc #satan x mc #asmo x mc #levi obey me #satan obey me #asmo obey me #obey me leviathan #leviathan obey me #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #shall we date satan #shall we date leviathan #shall we date asmodeus

[miggylol]

#polls #tumblr polls

[lunyxdragon]

Dragons Rising Rant

I WAS NOT READY for season 2 part 1

(I'm spoiling pretty much everything below the cut)

This was everything I wanted and more (not to say it doesn't have its issues, but still)

I know some people were grumbling about Lloyd taking Zane's role of being the vision haver but I honestly like how they handled it. Because it feels an awful lot like a PTSD allegory. Like, Arin is literally like "you've been through a lot, maybe it's catching up to you" or smthn like that, the visions showing up at random and inconvenient times during the day, being unavoidable but they can be lived with, panic attacks, so am I the only one seeing this??? This does some interesting things to my Lloyd PTSD headcanons... another thing is the two people that have had visions are the two most likely people to have PTSD imo, so... there's that...

Lloyd verbally acknowledges having panic attacks which caught me so off guard for a show to sell toys to eight year old boys. It wasn't like puss and boots level of panic attacks, definitely not given that much focus, but it was there. Lloyd canonically has panic attacks!!

I know it's a kid's show, but I feel like they could have handled the sleep deprivation a bit better than "Lloyd is falling asleep all the time," like there's so many other ways you could convey that, at least vary it a bit. They hammer this point into the ground and I feel like kids aren't that dense, and would understand it even with half of the random falling asleep replaced with irritability, zoning out, or other stuff like that idk.

I WAS NOT READY for Kai to get sacrificed. When they were talking about human sacrifices I was like "nah ninjago would never go that far, that pretty much confirms that either the sacrifices aren't actually necessary or the forbidden five don't get brought back," then Kai literally gets sent to the backrooms with no way out.

And Bonzle. BONZLE. Need I say more? Wish she had gotten more focus though. The sorceress felt like a d&d oc shoved in last minute though, and her design was so chaotic it was distracting from the show for me. Probably just me though, I like order. She's fun, I just wish they'd either given her an arc or given that focus to Bonzle.

Internally screaming when Nya says "Jay would never forget me" and when Jay showed up. I really hope they give him enough time to shine.

Ras literally runs and catches up to a moving car and knocks out a dragon in a single hit. Bros insane. I guess the blood moon just makes him physically stronger? They didn't really elaborate what the blood moon does to Ras and why. But he's an actually competent villain, which Ninjago is in short supply of.

Cole literally said "Come at me (bro)" to the Administration.

Speaking of Cole, Geo misses him!! I'm way overhyped for this couple, but this is the closest thing we'll get to a canon gay couple in ninjago. Lego doesn't have the balls to actually show them kissing or being a couple, not with their show that gets aired all over the world to sell legos. I'm gonna go rewatch the land of lost things episode from s1 later.

The timeline is even more messed up now though. If Cole only just returned, when were the Mech Pilot shorts supposed to happen? We'll see what the creators say on Twitter lol.

Ending this off on a positive note, the found family is gonna kill me. Arin literally seeing Lloyd and Nya as his parents was gold. Oh man Ras slammed the poor boy around a lot, physically and mentally. Just let both Arin and Sora realize they're not useless. Nahhh the angst is too good.

Is there more? Probably. But I need to do my calculus coursework...

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago spoilers #ninjago dragons rising spoilers #dragons rising spoilers #dr spoilers

[whumpily-ever-after]

Whumpy Book List #3

Hello! As requested, here is another book list. Some of these books will contain a list of whump tropes and others will not. I did not take notes while reading, and I don't remember the exact tropes. There is at least a little bit of whump in each book.

Happy reading!

List below the cut

The Last Sun (The Tarot Sequence #1) by K.D. Edwards

Summary: Rune Saint John, last child of the fallen Sun Court, is hired to search for Lady Judgment's missing son, Addam, on New Atlantis, the island city where the Atlanteans moved after ordinary humans destroyed their original home. With his companion and bodyguard, Brand, he questions Addam's relatives and business contacts through the highest ranks of the nobles of New Atlantis. But as they investigate, they uncover more than a missing man: a legendary creature connected to the secret of the massacre of Rune's Court. In looking for Addam, can Rune find the truth behind his family's death and the torments of his past?

Genre: Fantasy, urban fantasy, magic, MM romance, Mystery, adult

Whump tropes: Past trauma

 Liar City by Allie Therin

Summary: A murder has Seattle on edge, and it falls to a pacifist empath—and a notorious empath hunter—to find the killer before it's too late It’s the middle of the night when part-time police consultant and full-time empath Reece gets an anonymous call warning him that his detective sister needs his help. At an out-of-the-way Seattle marina, he discovers that three people have been butchered—including the author of the country’s strictest anti-empathy bill, which is just days from being passed into law. Soon, Reece’s caller a shadowy government agent known as The Dead Man, who is rumored to deal exclusively in cases involving empathy. He immediately takes over the investigation, locking out both local PD and the FBI, but, strangely, keeps Reece by his side. As the two track an ever-growing trail of violence and destruction across Seattle, Reece must navigate a scared and angry city, an irritating attraction to his mysterious agent companion, and a rising fear that perhaps empaths like him aren’t all flight and no fight after all…

Genre: Fantasy, mystery, paranormal, MM romance, urban fantasy

Magic in Manhattan Series (Spellbound, Starcrossed, and Wonderstruck) by Allie Therin

Summary: To save Manhattan, they’ll have to save each other first… New York, 1925 Arthur Kenzie’s life’s work is protecting the world from the supernatural relics that could destroy it. When an amulet with the power to control the tides is shipped to New York, he must intercept it before it can be used to devastating effects. This time, in order to succeed, he needs a powerful psychometric…and the only one available has sworn off his abilities altogether. Rory Brodigan’s gift comes with great risk. To protect himself, he’s become a recluse, redirecting his magic to find counterfeit antiques. But with the city’s fate hanging in the balance, he can’t force himself to say no. Being with Arthur is dangerous, but Rory’s ever-growing attraction to him begins to make him brave. And as Arthur coaxes him out of seclusion, a magical and emotional bond begins to form. One that proves impossible to break—even when Arthur sacrifices himself to keep Rory safe and Rory must risk everything to save him.

Genre: Fantasy, historical fiction, MM romance, paranormal, magic, urban fantasy

Spell Bound by F. T. Lukens

Summary: Edison Rooker isn’t sure what to expect when he enters the office of Antonia Hex, the powerful sorceress who runs a call center for magical emergencies. He doesn’t have much experience with hexes or curses. Heck, he doesn’t even have magic. But he does have a plan—to regain the access to the magical world he lost when his grandmother passed. Antonia is…intimidating, but she gives him a job and a new name—Rook—both of which he’s happy to accept. Now all Rook has to do is keep his Spell Binder, an illegal magical detection device, hidden from the Magical Consortium. And contend with Sun, the grumpy and annoyingly cute apprentice to Antonia’s rival colleague, Fable. But dealing with competition isn’t so bad; as Sun seems to pop up more and more, and Rook minds less and less. But when the Consortium gets wind of Rook’s Spell Binder, they come for Antonia. All alone, Rook runs to the only other magical person he knows: Sun. Except Fable has also been attacked, and now Rook and Sun have no choice but to work together to get their mentors back…or face losing their magic forever.

Genre: Fantasy, young adult, MM romance, urban fantasy, magic

A Market of Dreams and Destiny by Trip Galey

Summary: Below Covent Garden lies the Untermarkt, where anything and everything has a price: a lover’s first blush, a month of honesty, a wisp of fortune. As a child, Deri was sold to one of the Market’s most powerful merchants. Now, after years of watchful servitude, Deri finally spots a chance to buy not only his freedom but also his place amongst the Market’s elite when he stumbles into the path of a runaway princess desperate to sell her royal destiny. But news of the missing princess and her wayward destiny spreads. Royal enforcers and Master Merchants alike are after it. Outmanoeuvring them all would all be hard enough had Deri not just also met the love of his life, a young man called Owain, whose employers are using the Market for their own nefarious schemes. Deri soon finds that the price of selling the royal destiny, making a name for himself, and saving the man he loves is dear. The cost of it all might just change the destiny of London forever.

Genre: Fantasy, MM romance, historical fiction, urban fantasy

Saint of Steel Series by T. Kingfisher

Summary: Stephen's god died on the longest day of the year… Three years later, Stephen is a broken paladin, living only for the chance to be useful before he dies. But all that changes when he encounters a fugitive named Grace in an alley and witnesses an assassination attempt gone wrong. Now the pair must navigate a web of treachery, beset on all sides by spies and poisoners, while a cryptic killer stalks one step behind…

Genre: Fantasy, mystery, romance

Silver Under Nightfall and Court of Wanderers by Rin Chupeco

Summary: Remy Pendergast is many things: the only son of the Duke of Valenbonne (though his father might wish otherwise), an elite bounty hunter of rogue vampires, and an outcast among his fellow Reapers. His mother was the subject of gossip even before she eloped with a vampire, giving rise to the rumors that Remy is half-vampire himself. Though the kingdom of Aluria barely tolerates him, Remy’s father has been shaping him into a weapon to fight for the kingdom at any cost. When a terrifying new breed of vampire is sighted outside of the city, Remy prepares to investigate alone. But then he encounters the shockingly warmhearted vampire heiress Xiaodan Song and her infuriatingly arrogant fiancé, vampire lord Zidan Malekh, who may hold the key to defeating the creatures—though he knows associating with them won’t do his reputation any favors. When he’s offered a spot alongside them to find the truth about the mutating virus Rot that’s plaguing the kingdom, Remy faces a choice. It’s one he’s certain he’ll regret. But as the three face dangerous hardships during their journey, Remy develops fond and complicated feelings for the couple. He begins to question what he holds true about vampires, as well as the story behind his own family legacy. As the Rot continues to spread across the kingdom, Remy must decide where his loyalties lie: with his father and the kingdom he’s been trained all his life to defend or the vampires who might just be the death of him.

Genre: Fantasy, vampires, LGBTQIA+, gothic

The Druid Stone by Heidi Belleau

Summary: Sean never asked to be an O'Hara, and he didn't ask to be cursed by one either. After inheriting a hexed druid stone from his great-grandfather, Sean starts reliving another man's torture and death...every single night. And only one person can help. Cormac Kelly runs a paranormal investigation business and doesn't have time to deal with misinformed tourists like Sean. But Sean has real magic in his pocket, and even though Cormac is a descendant of legendary druids, he soon finds himself out of his depth...and not because Sean's the first man he's felt anything for in a long time. The pair develop an unexpected and intensely sexual bond, but are threatened at every turn when Sean's case attracts the unwelcome attention of the mad sidhe lords of ancient Ireland. When Sean and Cormac are thrust backward in time to Ireland's violent history—and their own dark pasts—they must work together to escape the curse and save their fragile relationship.

Genre: Fantasy, time travel, MM romance, contemporary

Whump tropes: Curses, sent through time, torture

Whisper into the Night by Jay Leigh

Summary: Theo Moreau never wanted to be involved with politics, but when his mother wins the presidential election, he reluctantly agrees to tag along for his younger siblings. Nothing could have prepared him to juggle his anxiety, complex family dynamics, and the complicated world of the White House. Lacking supportive friends and family, he leans on his steadfast Secret Service agent as tensions rise across the divisive political landscape and the dangers of being close to the president come to the surface. Agent Connor O’Brien always wanted to be a hero, so working on the protective detail for the First Family seems like the perfect opportunity. What he isn’t expecting is to fall head over heels for the man under his protection. As their relationship blossoms, the foundation of the administration grows more unstable and the chatter from America’s right-wing demographic rises to a fever pitch. But when Theo becomes the target of their campaign, the stakes get even higher. Unsure of who to trust, and with little help from the President, Theo and Connor join forces with their motley group of friends to unravel the mystery of who is working against them from inside the White House before the situation turns explosive. As the sinister reach of this masked shadow spreads, Theo and Connor grow even closer and the magnitude of everything they risk losing propels them into a race against the nefarious mastermind, desperately clinging to the hope they’ve found in one another before their dream come true turns into a nightmare.

Genre: Contemporary, MM romance, suspense

Whump tropes: Anxiety, asthma, kidnapping, bad parents, bodyguard

Adonis by L Sherleen

Summary: Accused of a hate crime and expelled from school in his final year, Connor returns home to his seaside town to let everything blow over. There, not only does he have to learn to deal with the addition of two new stepbrothers and a new stepdad, but he also has to grapple with a world set against him. It’s not all bad though. Within his dad’s underwater lab, he discovers something in the deep. Something exciting. Something that calls to him. Something that doesn't shy away from the ugly in him as the world does. And Connor could use the distraction…even if it endangers his life.

Genre: Fantasy, MM romance, mermaids, science fiction, mystery

Whump tropes: Found family (kind of), bad parents, kidnapping, false accusations

A Rake of His Own by A.J. Lancaster

Summary: Marius Valstar doesn’t know which is worse: the dead body in his greenhouse or the naked fae prince on his desk. The only rakes of interest to Marius are garden tools. Not fae princes. Certainly not the arrogant, selfish fae prince he has the misfortune to have a history with. But when Prince Rakken turns up naked and bleeding in Marius’s college the same day a body appears in his greenhouse, scruples must take second place to solving a murder that could unravel the delicate balance between humans and fae. Marius’s own developing magical powers are more hindrance than help – as is Rakken’s bloodied past. Forced to work together, they must forge an uneasy alliance if they are to track down the killer. But how can Marius trust the man who represents everything he’s trying to avoid?

Genre: Fantasy, fae, MM romance, mystery

Whump tropes: Pain from telepathy, attempted murder, bodyguard

Wicked Fox by Kat Cho

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Gu Miyoung has a secret--she's a gumiho, a nine-tailed fox who must devour the energy of men in order to survive. Because so few believe in the old tales anymore, and with so many evil men no one will miss, the modern city of Seoul is the perfect place to hide and hunt. But after feeding one full moon, Miyoung crosses paths with Jihoon, a human boy, being attacked by a goblin deep in the forest. Against her better judgment, she violates the rules of survival to rescue the boy, losing her fox bead--her gumiho soul--in the process. Jihoon knows Miyoung is more than just a beautiful girl--he saw her nine tails the night she saved his life. His grandmother used to tell him stories of the gumiho, of their power and the danger they pose to humans. He's drawn to her anyway. With murderous forces lurking in the background, Miyoung and Jihoon develop a tenuous friendship that blossoms into something more. But when a young shaman tries to reunite Miyoung with her bead, the consequences are disastrous . . . forcing Miyoung to choose between her immortal life and Jihoon's.

Genre: Fantasy, young adult, mythology, romance

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