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deathlieteez · 8 months

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ATTENTION (3.1)

yunho x reader

♡ attention series masterlist ♡ ┋chapter 1┋chapter 2.1┋chapter 2.2┋chapter 3.2

chapter 3, part 1: (the grudge) a way down. ever since that night when yunho cheated on his new girlfriend to fuck you at the emergency exit of a nightclub, he decided to focus on you again. you fucked him almost every day in a dynamic where you always ended up rejecting him. he felt attached to you somehow, didn't know if it was called love or if it was the idea of getting you back that kept him practically obsessed. however, it seems that yunho has started to find a new - or not so new - "way" to finally get over you, but you couldn't imagine how fucked up you would end up.

appears: yunho as your exboyfriend + mean reader.

genre: angst, smut. college au.

warning: unprotected sex (be careful hun♡), cursing, mean reader, heartbroken yunho, petnames, oral receiving (yunho)

word count: 2.6k

intentional use of lowercase letter

english is not my mother tongue

songs i get inspired by: my strange addiction - billie eilish + gimme love - joji + dunno - marc miller + gimme love - rosenfeld + something about us - daft punk + if you want love - nf

it is not meant to be representative of jeong yunho's personality or any ateez or another groups' idols who appeared ♡

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"keep going, my beautiful" yunho growled, digging his fingers into your hair for a better hold. the laughter that came out of your throat when you saw how needy he had become in just a few minutes, right after telling you it wasn't a good day for visits. but it was you, and yunho couldn't resist your charms. or your body, your mouth, your cunt, or the slightest drop of affection that would give him the tiniest, remotest hope that it might work one day.

you could brag about having him tied between your fingers. you could do it because he would appear with a snap of your fingers, no matter how hard you pushed him after a magnificent sex.

"fuck, fuck" the vibrations from your little giggle went to his cock, making him twitch. he dropped his arm back, flexing on the bed to allow himself to raise his hips against your mouth, digging deeper into your throat. the saliva was already dripping down your chin as you set up your gag reflex, but that only made him moan louder. his low, almost broken voice unraveling for you was music to your ears, "this is my baby. can you take some more, right? will you let me cum in your slutty little mouth?" a guttural sound of affirmation sent vibrations through his thick cock again and he was sure if he wasn't sitting on the edge of the bed in your old apartment he would have fallen backwards.

you surprised yourself by answering his calls and even calling him after that first night. after that, things changed dramatically between you and yunho. he himself let you know that his relationship with that girl ended the next day, and although you didn't want it, were glad about it, but didn't let him know. your reaction was colder and more distant. at least you made things better with her, was the only thing you told him after you read his message. he tried to call you after you wrote, but you didn't take his call, which didn't mean it was over. in the beginning, that was what you wanted. you were still angry with him, because you hadn't forgotten what he did. still had that image in your head, and the simple thought made your blood boil.

that hostile feeling was what made you call him a few days later. it didn't take long for it to become a fucking dynamic. day in and day out, would text or call each other: you, to fuck him; he, to see you - and fuck while you were at it, because that's all that ended up happening. when you were done, you'd leave his house or kick him out of your bedroom. you'd be lying if didn't say that more than once almost succumbed to the desire to sleep with him, but never did till now. the worst part for yunho was when the weekend came.

"u're beautiful with my cock in your mouth" he moaned, and you instinctively pressed your legs, soaking wet without him even touching you properly. the very image of yunho with his face completely fucked, his lips open, his dark gaze glued to you as if you were the only one for him - and the one who ate him the best. he lifted part of his shirt to show you his smooth chiseled stomach, because he knew how much you loved to see his skin tighten in pleasure thanks to you, who are a goddamn sight to see from any angle, and he could fuck your mouth all fucking day long. but as much as he liked the idea, it wouldn't be enough. he needed you and knew you needed him. "get up, my love."

at times like that, those were the only times you allow him to call you anything remotely affectionate. precious, my love, jagiya, baby. you only tolerated it when it had a sexual connotation. told yourself it was to punish him and show him his place, but actually you couldn't bear to leave his side after he used any affectionate nickname on you. you were especially strict, even cruel, on weekends. sometimes he didn't show up, afraid you'd hurt him again by eating some guy in his fucking face who was really just the appetizer before him, the main course. his friends warned him over and over again. you were cruel, you had no feelings, you were just using him, you were a heartless bitch. it was all true. at least partially -or apparently.

"u like my cock so much that can't let go?" he grunted, pushing you away with the palm of his hand, pressing it against your forehead, forcing you to look at him. your cheeks were burning, your hair was a mess and your face glistened with saliva. "could look at you like this all my fucking life, but i need you in bed right now. open your legs for me, baby. want to taste you." also, those were the only times you obeyed his orders. your eyes were locked on his pupils as you fought the desire to watch him masturbate hard as he watched you crawl on your back to him, undressing you in the process. you spread your legs in an agonizingly slow rhythm, prompting him to drop to his knees and spread them himself, squeezing your thighs tightly together.

arched your back as you felt his breath on your pussy, which was still covered by a lace panty that barely did its job of covering the skin. "look at u, dripping and u just ate my dick? tsk, tsk" he left several wet kisses on the inside of your thigh, making a path to your pussy as he lowered the last bit of fabric from your body "you come to my fucking house and tease me all the fucking time, even though i told you today wouldn't be a good day" he growled, lightly palming your lips, getting a whimper from you that made him smile "thought you were just a cunt, but u're also a needy slut, aren't you? needy for my cock" he licked lightly with the tip of his tongue between your walls, not going any further. you moaned with a groan, he slapped your lips again "use your mouth for more than just sucking me off, beautiful. what do you want, tell me" he demanded, your mind beginning to cloud with desire and anticipation.

"yuyu, i want you," you whimpered, "need you, please.

i need you. he hated that phrase almost as much as he loved it. it was driving him crazy, the idea of having you. he would beg you on his knees to spend one fucking night with him if you would just let him. and that fucking phrase always made his stomach turn with a glimmer of hope, even though he knew exactly what was coming next. you would go away and leave him alone again. he was fucked. really. he didn't know if he still loved you or if he was just obsessed with the idea of getting you back, but his days were starting to feel like an eternity without you. he spent them sad, not wanting to do anything but watch tv, play league of legends, or sleep. he had to find a way to get better without you. he was working hard at it, and that's why he told you it wasn't a good day.

"u need me, huh?" he moaned, feeling his cock twitch just hearing you whine about it "if my baby needs me, she's got me" he was ready to devour you, but as his deep voice showed, anger took over his system, mixing with lust, desire and maybe love. he stood up abruptly and aligned the head of his cock, swollen and glistening in the presemen, with your entrance.

"please, yuyu" begged, and he didn't need any more. not even having the patience to prepare you for its thickness, he slammed it in all at once, taking your breath away and watering your eyes with the impact. the pain and pleasure grew in your stomach, moaning his name almost in a scream. he sighed in relief to finally be inside you, bringing both hands to your hips, using them for support to take on a frenetic rhythm. "my god" you moaned, he groaned.

"fuck, fuck, fuck" he wanted to tell you how tight you were for him, how you fit together like a puzzle and drove him crazy, but the words only came out in the form of an insult or a curse. he fought not to roll his eyes, keeping them open to your face, your body and his cock moving aggressively in and out of your hole. he felt more and more that he had to choose between the two realities of you that occupied his heart: the old one or the brand new sluttier version, sometimes funnier but certainly more cruel. he missed you and could only feel you close when he was inside you, which was great but also sucked because… that hopefully only lasted an hour. maybe two if he extended the preliminary and had a good rest the day before, which happened less and less often.

that's why he'd been looking for another way to… distract himself lately.

"yuyu, gonna- i'm gonna-" you moaned loudly as he began to stimulate your clit at the same time as he deepened his thrusts, easily reaching all your sweet spots at once.

"me too, baby. cum for me, huh? cum on my cock" he grunted and you needed no more. your walls contracted and you sucked his dick hard as if you wanted to milk him to the last drop, forcing him to abandon your clit and grip your hips tightly again, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. your juices served as a lubricant to allow yunho to go even deeper into you, leaving him definitely limp when he finally sent thick ropes of cum into you.

he was still the only person you fucked without protection -condom-. although if you had to be completely honest, he was the only person you had fucked since he told you he had left the other girl for you. you didn't know it at the time, but you wished with all your might that you had told him earlier. and you would know it ver soon.

he placed both hands at your sides, bending his elbows to gently reach your mouth. kissed you gently, looking for a way to keep you a little closer to him. a few seconds or minutes before you said goodbye again. without an i love you, not even a fucking see ya later. "do you have to go now?" he murmured against your lips, as if it was a secret that he wanted you to stay longer. you nodded, smiling slowly as you opened your eyes, still a little lost in the sweet sensation of his lips.

"need to go home, take a shower and get some rest, it's been a long day" his gaze on yours clearly reflected his disappointment even though he knew your answer beforehand.

"u can do all that here. we'll order dinner, maybe watch a film. we could even take a shower together" he smiles weakly. the idea sounds very appealing. you sigh and purse your lips as a small feeling of fear settles in chest. yunho drops his body next to you and hugs you. his arms wrap around your shoulders and waist, pulling you into the warmth of his skin as if he knew he could weaken your convictions this way, because there was no better way to do it than to give you a small dose of nostalgia. your old bed, his warmth, the unmistakable scent of his precious skin, the softness of his touch caressing your naked body. with little else, you would fall asleep, holding him as close as you could, enjoying him in a more emotional way. much more real than the fleeting ecstasy of orgasm.

you remained silent, wondering if it was really that bad. in your head, it sounded like ingratiating yourself with the enemy. a temporary white flag that was actually wedding bells in your heart. wished you didn't feel so attached to him at times like this, or at all. that was why you were strict about things like affectionate nicknames, but this had been a really long day and there wasn't a single second when he wasn't in your head.

it sucked to know that nothing would ease the pain and tiredness like his arms. yunho would love to know all that. he would love to hear from your lips how your mind and your heart fought a seemingly endless battle for him, to give him a tiny chance to take care of you and love you right. if you had... if you had told him the truth, things would have been different afterwards. "it doesn't sound bad, but i'd better go" you finally said, more for yourself than for him.

"c'mon, jagiya," he kissed your head lightly, tightening his grip, "won't ask you to stay the night. just a little longer..." it was a plea, but even though you wanted to say yes, you pushed him away with both hands to get out of his very welcoming aura.

this time you sighed louder and turned your back to him before said, "m going out on friday, u can come if you want," you stood up and started to gather your clothes from all corners of the room. yunho felt his chest heaving as he watched you get dressed.

in his eyes you were a work of art. you had been sculpted by the hands of the greats, donatello, miguel angel, bernini. your beauty was something otherworldly. a miracle he had once called his own, but now it only made his heart break over and over again.

"doubt it" he said, covering himself lightly with his sheets, "i have plans."

"tell your friends to come if you want to" yunho shrugged, tilting his head slightly, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

"not going to see 'em" you wanted to, but you didn't ask who was going to keep him away from you the next day. a small alarm went on in your head, but he silenced it with his words "maybe saturday... if you want..."

"okay, yunho, we'll see" you replied, sounding cold, although in reality you had to admit that you were a little - or a lot - excited to see him again. waved at him before leaving the room, not even expecting him to walk you to the door. you didn't want a romantic goodbye on the threshold of his foyer. it was better that way. so you left your old house and he was left alone, in a huge bed that now smelled of you again, with the echo of the front door closing in anticipation of a little sob of disappointment.

hi there!!! again, it wasnt meant to be dividen in two parts, but im on vacation trip and i couldnt bring my laptop (im used to write there and the tumblr app somehow works shitty in my phone), but i wanted to update so badddddd. also, i think the second part is so interesting (the moodboard its a clue) so im gonna be writting anytime i have free time!!!!! thank u for reading my work and i hope u enjoyed it soooooo much ♡ lots of loveeeee

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☆tags☆ @yeosangsbb @atinyluv238 @livingdeadlisa

(also specially thanks to the ones who wanted to be tagged, u're so lovely♡)

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

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Astarion x Reader/Tav || nightmares and wet dreams

when i'm too far gone (can you show me love?)

warnings: 18+, mdni, sexual content, PTSD

synopsis: “Star? Are you okay?” Her voice comes second. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She tells him, knowingly. She doesn’t need to ask him for his stories and she doesn’t need to seek out reasons or excuses. With his word, she would be gone, and he would no longer be in her embrace. He doesn’t want that.

an excerpt of "'cause my love (is mine, all mine)"

word count: 1318

pairing: astarion/reader!tav

other tags: bard!tav, sexual content, smut, erotic dreams, poetic sex cause it's dream, nightmares, f!reader, friends to lovers, oblivious pining, mutual pining, song inspo: gimme love by joji

ao3: here

concept: wet dreams

Every night, when Astarion is alone, it is the same dream:

It’s Cazador.

(It’s always Cazador.

Always,

always,

always—).

And he is not free from him. Cazador is omnipresent in his dreams, a shadow of his worst nightmare. But then again, Astarion’s worst memory is nothing at all. It’s darkness and hunger and only his thoughts keeping him company. It’s the sound of silence, and he cannot even listen to his own heartbeat (the sound of defeat from a single voice, exhausted and hoarse from screaming). It’s red nails and fingers that do not matter (broken and bleeding from its attempts to pry the damn thing open, but he does not feel the pain anymore). It’s the smell of his own rotting corpse, taunting him.

(He never should have escaped Astarion Ancunin’s coffin. Cazador had been waiting for him to ‘save him’ from the hell he had orchestrated for Astarion. His hand was extended towards him to help him up.)

The coffin is hollow once Astarion has left it. What comes out of it is a hollower man. The light inside him was swallowed by that void, and he remembers that the starlight that people see are often from stars that no longer exist. He is empty, and months later, he is still empty. He doesn’t remember how to use his legs at first, and he falls. There is still no light once he steps out, and he loses his footing, prepared to fall into another abyss.

He sees the world in monochrome, dimly able to make out his Master’s pale skin against the darkness. He is draped in black sheets to preserve his modesty. He is still capable of such a thing—Astarion is laid bare below him.

He never should have escaped Astarion Ancunin’s coffin. Cazador had been waiting for him to ‘save him’ from the hell he had orchestrated for Astarion. His hand is extended towards him to help him up.

Astarion is ready to take it, because at the very least, it is something. He wasn’t ready before. Before, he would have pulled as far away as possible until the master forced his hand. He would have retched at the thought of contact. (That was the problem, wasn’t it? That was the punishment. His unwillingness to please his Master). Now, the Master’s cold hand could be a refreshing embrace.

It means nothing. Cazador would only grant him pain.

Astarion looks at his bloodied fingers. He wants to feel again. He wants to taste something. He wants to devour himself whole. If he is good (not good—obedient), if he debases himself onto the shadows that prostrate themselves at his Master’s feet, then perhaps the Master would grant him that.

He is prepared for Cazador to lay hands on him. Instead, he feels a warmth lay hands on his fingertips.

They are gentle, as though scared to provoke him to run away, but most of all, they are warm. Each time feels like the first touch he has ever felt. He opens his eyes to see stars reflected in hers. She is bathed in moonlight, the same as the first time he had held her, and it brushes her cheeks and the light linen across her body with a cold blue hue. Her nails match his, dyed in a deep red paint. The room is awash in colour and light.

“Star? Are you okay?” Her voice comes second. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She tells him, knowingly. She doesn’t need to ask him for his stories and she doesn’t need to seek out reasons or excuses. With his word, she would be gone, and he would no longer be in her embrace. He doesn’t want that.

He presses his lips against her sun-kissed skin in an act of self-immolation. The heat from her body threatens to burn him alive, but he wants more.

He opens her up the way he knows how. He showers kisses on the nape of her neck and waits for her to whisper his name while canting her hips. His actions begin to fall into habit, to practice. He cannot help himself. What Astarion’s body knows best is how to please his master—the parts that the coffin gave him left him with little else.

She arches her back to meet him, but then she holds his face in her hands and says absolutely nothing. He pulls away from her and looks at her. If he looks at her eyes closely enough, he can nearly make out his own reflection.

You can be so much more, he reminds himself. He can become so much more, by choice. He chooses to make peace with his broken-down heart and forget about everything else. He chooses his own desire.

There cannot exist a void in him that he cannot fix himself. He chooses to try again.

He traces a hand over her neck and it is not entirely smooth. It has the uneven texture of dry skin from travelling in the sunlight for so long. There’s a bob of her throat as she anticipates his touch. She is a little ticklish around her throat, and she gives a breathy laugh and breath full of laughter and he wants that—he wants it more than he has wanted anything, so he tries to capture the laugh with a kiss. When he leans in, he’s rewarded with a ricochet of light across the silver bedpost.

“Do you love me?” She asks when he finally parts, and it is the only selfish request she has ever made of him.

He knows the script well enough. Here, he is supposed to say ‘of course’, and dip below her waist to help her forget the lie. That is how he was taught to exist, to serve, to deceive beautifully. That is what he would say when he wanted to inflict himself upon others.

He does not know if he ever learned the answer to the question she asks. There is nothing he can give her that he has not given someone else. His skin is pale enough to reflect the rays that try to heal it. The only unique thing he can give her is truth, so he tells her, “Forever.”

But then she whispers, “You are mine,” in her belladonna tune—a melody that he recognizes differently from long ago. For this moment, he promised himself not to be trapped by his Master’s words.

She says it in the same way that the stars belong to her, the same way they belong to everyone else. The same way they belong to Astarion. The same way she belongs to him, and he makes his claim against her neck when he bites at the same time his hips press into her. He wants to make her fall apart. She is light and heat and the only sun he needs to care about.

He has to lace his red-painted fingers in hers to keep properly hear her pleasure. Out of all the lovers he has taken, this is what he wants. It wasn’t as if Astarion hadn’t had countless nights sweating, shouting, wishing for it all to stop. It wasn't as if he spent a lifetime searching for something to fill the hunger in him, to fill the parts he was lacking, searching for her hair spilled like ink against the sheets, a flushed face and breath coming in starts and an imperfect snort of joy coming with his grin.

As she opens her mouth, the sounds pour into his ears, flow into his bloodstream, and wheel him into a sensory euphoria. This is his love, only this, all of this.

He will not let her choose freedom of him. If he can choose his curse, he chooses her. He will leave his past to disappear. He follows her into oblivion, her name a mantra in his mind.

Tav, Tav, Tav—

Astarion wakes up drenched in sweat, blood at his lips, the front of his pants ruined.

He lies on the bed and he can still smell Tav’s scent, lingering on his mind. He isn't sure if it's actually there or just the vividness of the dream as it replays in his mind, the addicting distraction of the vulnerability of her expression, the feel of her tightening around him, her voice crying his name again and again in his own personal symphony.

For a moment, he can ignore all insecurity and doubt, and revel in the fantasy that he had been granted.

Then reality hits him, and he curses.

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