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gaythreadrunner · 6 months

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so you're taking care of your computer's software health. NICE! but what about its physical health?

because yes, computers do need the occasional real-world checkup to make sure that they're running well. but what exactly does that entail? i see many posts about maintaining software health: limit your browser tabs, ensure your antiviruses are working properly, so on and so forth, but checking the physical components is something i sparsely see discussed here.

so what's the deal with physical maintenance? well, have you ever had your computer hack and wheeze trying to keep up even if your OS and all your drivers are up to date and functioning? if you've never opened up your computer before, you may be shocked to find just how FILTHY it can get in there:

take a closer look at that snout dust! PTOOEY .. BLECKH

computers are much more likely to accumulate internal dust if they're sitting on the floor, and especially if they're near any vents and/or if you have pets.

ok, you've figured out how to open your device and now you're staring at the second coming of the dust bowl in your gaming rig. what now? let's explore some basic cleaning tips, deep cleaning pointers for your CPU/GPU, and tips to help keep maintain your computer's physical health in the future.

first of all, turn off your computer and unplug it (for my computer, i turn it off, turn off the PSU switch, unplug it, and then press the power button for about 30 seconds to drain the capacitors and minimize static risk)

generally, you're gonna want to have THESE items:

some sort of face mask (dust masks are best, but anything that'll help keep the harmful dust out of your lungs will generally work)

a can of compressed air (or an electric duster if you're ~fancy~. they look and function like turbo blowdryers)

a vacuum will be useful if there's a LOT of dust, best to use in combination with an anti-static cleaning kit

if you ARE gonna use a vacuum, spray every attachment you use with an anti-static spray. disturbing large amounts of dust creates a lot of static, and electronics are very sensitive to that.

it's never a bad idea to grab an grounding wristband as well, but as long as you wear loose clothes and always keep some part of your skin in contact with the case, you should be ok. (i don't know how much this applies to laptops and smaller devices, since the cases for those are typically plastic)

if there's staining (like from smoke) or there's more gunk caked on than you thought, you can gently clean electronic components with a brush/paper towel/microfiber and medical-grade isopropyl alcohol ONLY. do not use any other cleaning alcohols for this task.

before you do anything, TAKE THAT FUCKER OUTSIDE! always clean a dusty device where the wind can carry that shit away, because oh my GOD will it fuck up your lungs like crazy. (that, and compressed air cans have fluorocarbons in them, which isn't great to breathe in either)

most of the time, you'll probably be fine just using an air duster. for compressed air cans, spray the dirty surfaces in short bursts. an electric duster can be constantly blown. when dusting fans, make sure that you're holding the blades still as to not accidentally make them spin too fast (ESPECIALLY with an electric duster!), since that can damage the mechanism that makes them spin.

however, if there's a lot of dust, it may be better to give it a vacuuming first. anything from a handheld to a shop vac will work, and attachments with brushes on the end will help tons with loosening up even more dust. and of course ALWAYS make sure that you're spraying any attachments with anti-static spray, and keep a hand on the case of the computer to electrically ground yourself since the hose will be in contact with the internals.

if there's any left over, give it a blast with the duster.

in some rare cases, there may be some extra gunk caked onto the internals, and you may have to really get your hands in there or take components out individually. if you don't have an anti static wristband (the ones with an alligator clip) do your best to ALWAYS keep your skin in contact with the case as you're finagling around in there.

it's probably a good idea to have disposable gloves on for this. grab your isopropyl and towel of choice (microfiber is ideal, but dirtier PCs may need disposable paper/shop towels), soak it a little bit, and gently scrub off the gunk n' grime as needed.

with heat sinks specifically, since they're just big blocks of metal, they're the one part of a component that can be cleaned under water. if a dusting doesn't suffice, gently scrub it with a brush under warm, soapy water, rinse thoroughly, and let it dry on a towel for a few hours before reassembling it into the electronic components.

if there's still little bits stuck in the radiator fins, stick an isopropyl-soaked q-tip in there to push it out.

the dust settles, everything's put back together, and it's all clean in there again. YAY!!!!! but what if you're still experiencing temperature problems? well, it typically comes down to either the CPU or GPU:

IF ITS THE CPU: if you took off the cooler to clean it, then i hope you remembered to dab some fresh thermal paste on there. you should be replacing thermal paste few years, otherwise it dries out and loses its effectiveness.

the type you use makes a huge difference too; i like to use arctic's mx-4, it has excellent thermal conductivity while still being an electrical insulator, so spillover isn't a problem. if you go for a liquid metal compound, please do your research first, since some of them can run the risk of corroding the cooler pipes and/or the CPU's outer casing.

to replace thermal paste, make sure that the crusty old paste is sufficiently scrubbed off the contact points of both the CPU and cooler. again, use isopropyl for this. once it's all cleaned off, put about a pea-sized amount of paste on the CPU and carefully lower the cooler onto the mounting bracket before fastening it in place. (also it really doesn't matter how you put the paste on, as long as it ends up covering most of the contact area)

also if you're still using the cooler your CPU came with, you should probably get a better cooler. especially if you're doing gaming or using graphically/mathematically intensive software. sorry. the stock coolers that most CPUs come with are mid as hell. you can get a nice ARGB one for less than 20 USD i promise its worth it

IF ITS THE GPU: like CPUs, your graphics card also needs to have its thermal paste cleaned out and replaced every so often. but they also utilize a second thermal material called thermal pads. these are usually made of either silica gel or a very thick clay-like grease, and come in different thicknesses. my favoured pads are owltree's 12.8w grease pads, the assorted pack comes with enough for about 4-5 GPUs.

taking apart a GPU seems scary, and understandably so; they're incredibly expensive and hard-working pieces of technology! but i've done it twice now, and it's actually surprisingly simple (as long as you keep track of all the damn screws... im lucky there's a magnetized screw mat in the house i can use)

i recommend watching a deep clean/teardown video of the GPU model you have before digging into it yourself. generally, they separate into 4 distinct portions: the outer shell, the heatsink, the board, and the backplate.

the shell contains the fans and any possible RGB elements. it'll have 1-2 controllers plugged into the board, one for the fans and one for the lighting elements if there are any. once the case is unscrewed, unplug these connectors with a firm squeeze and tug.

these tend to be surprisingly dusty on the inside, so it's probably a good idea to blast it with a duster. again, make sure to hold the fans so they don't overspin. you can also remove the fans from the shell and clean them individually if you'd like.

the heatsink is BIG and heavy, and you can do all the same stuff here that you would with a CPU cooler heatsink. it may take a bit of effort to tug off if the thermal materials are really making it stick to the board. once it's off, scrub the old thermal paste, blast it with a duster, and wash under soapy water if needed before rinsing thoroughly and leaving it to dry for a while.

the backplate is just a flat piece of metal that protects the back side of the board. usually all this will need is a simple wipedown.

the board is where all the magic happens, and will usually have a layout that's something like this:

clean up as needed; gently scrub off old thermal paste, scrape off the old thermal pads (but take close note of how thick they are so you can replace them with the correct pads), and brush/wipe down the dust and grease on each side as needed. take care to avoid touching the PCIe connector too much (the bar of golden pins that juts out from the bottom)

thermal padding varies from card to card (i recommend checking thermal pad placements for your gpu in water cooling guides, even if you're not doing water cooling) but it's typically gonna be on THESE spots:

the VRAM chips surrounding the die (main chip) along with the small black chips next to the capacitors will require thermal pads the most. cut each one to size, carefully peel off the plastic films, and press each piece onto the chips.

now you can grab your thermal paste and put some on that big shiny die. now take your freshly pasted/padded board and CAREFULLY lower it back onto the heatsink. i highly suggest having a good source of lightning for this, since shifting around the pieces too much trying to get them to align properly can displace the thermal pads and mess with how the paste spreads.

screw the heatsink tight to the board, and double check to make sure that the pads and paste are snug against the heat sink. now put the backplate and shell back on and BAM YOU'RE DONE! with the paste and pads i used, i was able to bring down the temperature of my cards by a good 10-15 °C.

ok you've done all this deep cleaning shit and your computer is happy and healthy. what can you do for your computer's health in the future?

DUST AT LEAST ONCE A YEAR. haul that thang outside and spray that shit out to stop it from building up for too long.

KEEP IT OFF THE FLOOR. if you can, of course, not everyone has the desk room for it. computers accumulate dust easier when they're close to the floor. if you do need to keep it on the floor, you might have to dust it every 6-8 months rather than once a year.

AND STOP PUTTING YOUR LAPTOPS ON SOFT SURFACES I SWEAR TO GOD

GET A FAN CONTROLLER. motherboards are DOGSHIT at maintaining fan speeds!!!! there are physical fan hubs that use controller software, but if you can't afford that, fancontrol by rem0o is a stellar software-only option.

IF YOU DON'T ALREADY HAVE CASE FANS, GET THEM. the number of fans depends on the motherboard form factor your case can accommodate (ATX cases typically have 6-8), but having that air circulation is very important to maintaining ideal temperatures. arctic makes fantastic budget-friendly fans.

IF YOU HAVE AN NVMe HARD DRIVE: please put an aluminum heat sink on that thang. they get toasty :(

OK THATS IT I THINK. if anyone else has tips they wanna add, go right on ahead. ok thank you bye your computer will love you

#sprite.exe

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trashbinbackyard · 1 year

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#i occured to me i never actually gave lucien a backstory other than 'he uesd to be a shady guy'#so here goes #he was born out of wedlock to a mom who didn't want him #and the dad just up and left #in northern thani #he grew up in a small village and was pretty much bullied all his youth #he was illiterate and uneducated #then at 16 he killed a guy #out of frustration? or to protect himself? maybe both #but yeah after that he had to skip town #to the thani capitol #where he was a blade for hire #and a thief to survive #he later got accepted into a gang and at 23 he learned to read #gang got in trouble and everyone had to spread into the four winds #lucien went further south to what is now the no-mans land north of asaya #got into the blackwoods gang there #was an enforcer and the right hand of the leader #was sent to asaya some 10 year later #hung around there #whoops a war is happening #got contacted by the knight commander Anila to do some dirty work #'well son of a bitch i'm in the money's good'#did just that in the ranks of the freedom fighters for another 10 years #he's 48 now #'go blow up this supply line'#'you got it boss'#*explodes and dies*#shit.png #*resurrected by begging screaming and crying*

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vagabond-umlaut · 29 days

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you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #kit posts 📝

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the-californicationist · 2 months

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That Fire is Repeated

AO3 Link

From an anonymous ask: fic of where instead of Price, it's reader who's been infected with sex pollen?👉👈please and thank u!

Deep in the southern jungles of Urzikstan, Captain Price is sent to help with your extraction. On your way out of the makeshift Konni laboratory, you accidentally step on a trap, and Price volunteers to save your life.

“I can’t hear her comms!” Simon yelled out over the noise of the helicopter, pointing to his headset and giving the thumbs down to Laswell.

She typed something into her datapad and showed it to him, yelling back,

“Dead zone! You’ll have to go in on foot.”

Price adjusted his vest and checked to make sure his gun was fully loaded,

“I’ll go. She’s my recruit, my responsibility.”

“Sure you’ll wanna be the big hero for her, too, huh?” Farah laughed from the cockpit, glancing over her shoulder as Price twisted his face, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink from his shame.

It was well-known that Price had a terribly strong crush on you. You had accepted his advances, but he was reluctant to take it further, realizing that fraternizing was frowned upon. So, you pined for each other from afar, and the whole base knew about it.

Laswell rolled her eyes at Farah’s comment,

“Should we go back to basics? Captain: don’t subtract from the population,” her eyes narrowed, “Don’t add to the population…”

“Yeah, alright, Kate. Got it. Loud and clear,” Price waved her off, staring out the window and ignoring the obvious ribbing from his colleagues.

“Go get Sparrow and let’s go the fuck home,” Laswell hollered at him, opening the door to the chopper and letting the air whoosh inside.

The wind stung his cheeks, and the tall grass blades spun and twirled like violent dancers as he made his way towards the old, dilapidated lab. You’d been sent to infiltrate secret Konni operations here, disguised as a chemist. Now that the Konni operatives had been dispatched, you secured the intel and were ready for extraction. Price was ready to have you back. These types of ops were so delicate. One wrong move would put you in danger. He was glad the worst of it was over.

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Price made his way inside. It was a little odd that you weren’t outside waiting for the extraction, so his guard was up. In the main lab, he spotted you, standing with your bag and your weapon with your back towards him.

“Little bird?” Price questioned under his breath, moving forward slowly, using the pet name he saved for when you two were alone.

“Hey, Captain. Glad you made it,” you called out to him, your voice tinged with obvious sobbing and stress.

“What is it, Spar? What’s happened?”

He made his way around the lab table and saw you. You were standing stock-still, staring down at your foot. Then, he knew what had made you cry.

Jutting out of your pant leg, a giant syringe was stuck into your calf, empty.

Price leaned down to help you, removing the needle, panicking at the thought of losing you,

“Can you move?”

“When I do… Captain, it’s excruciating.”

“Fuck,” Price tried the comms. But, then he remembered it was a dead zone, and no one was coming to help him. He asked you, “Is it poison? How’d this happen?”

“They call it XLR8. It’s what they’ve been working on. A prototype. I was bending down to grab my bag and this was rigged to hit me. They knew I was a spy.”

“What does it do, this prototype?” You heard his voice quiver at the end of his question.

You blushed, laughing a bit,

“It incapacitates you, first. Removes your inhibitions, next. Then, it causes extreme vasodilation…”

“In the Queen’s bloody English, love. Please…”

“John,” you used his name, looking up into his eyes, “I may ask you to do things to me. Things that I might not usually ask for. And I want you to know that you don’t have to listen to me. I don’t want you to do anything… I don’t want to force you to do… things…”

“Birdie. Tell me what I need to know.”

“When the Konni scientists injected it into mice, they would breed… for hours. They wouldn’t eat, they wouldn��t sleep. One time, a researcher opened the door to the cage, and they didn’t escape. They only bred…” You looked at him in his eyes, making sure he heard you, “But, the mice who were alone in their cages and were given XLR8 got a high fever and died. Every last one of them”

“Are you… “ Price pointed down at your leg, “Do you mean to say that you’ll need someone to…”

You looked down at the ground, steeling yourself for the harsh reality of what was to come,

“When the drugs hit my system, the effects were immediate. Stage one should be almost over now.. You’ll… you’ll know it when you see stage two. But, listen to me, John. I couldn’t live with myself if I forced you to do something that you would regret. Please. I’m sure they’ll think of some other way to help me…”

“Little bird,” he caught your gaze and smiled softly at you, “I’m here for you. I’m not going to let anythin’ happen to you. I won’t lose you to this. I can’t… I care about you too much. I’m going to catch you, and we’re going to get out of here. Just fall forward into my arms, love. I know it hurts. We need to get you to the bloody medic as soon as we can.”

You nodded, and then you did as he commanded. Every movement felt like some sort of hell. You could hear yourself screaming, but it was muffled, your face buried in his chest. You were hanging, limp, against John’s body. You could feel every stinging step he took as it jostled your body. Suddenly, you heard the angry clipping of chopper blades. Then, you passed out.

Sometime later, you awoke, still on the chopper, sitting in the jump seat way in the back. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Price was sitting in the jumpseat and you were… straddling his lap.

You were humping him, shamelessly, right in front of Farah, Laswell, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. The helicopter was full of soldiers, and here you were, uncontrollably rocking your hips against your captain. The others tried to avert their gazes, sitting at awkward angles, trying not to watch, but that somehow made it worse.

You cried out as if you were in pain, and Price held you closer, soothing you with his deep, rumbling voice, speaking to you right in your ear,

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, little bird. I’ve got you. Almost home. Just a few more minutes.”

“John… fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I need… oh, God.”

“I know what you need,” he kissed your neck, and he took his hand and shoved it down the front of your pants, giving you something to grind against.

His fingers were strong, and the tips of them were thick, easily pressing through your folds for you, exciting your nerves just the way you liked.

You moaned loudly, unable to stop yourself. When you did, you saw Soap’s head peek around the back of his seat. Then, a gloved, skeletal hand yanked him back around to face the front. If you didn’t die from the XLR8, you’d die from embarrassment afterward, that was certain.

“It’s okay, bird. It’s not your fault. They know that,” he tried to reassure you, but you hid your face in his neck anyway, unable to stop your wanton writhing, soaking his fingers until they slid against you unimpeded.

You felt your hands reach for his belt, digging under his vest and all of his equipment straps. You wanted to spear your body onto his thick cock. You were sure that it would cure you. The fever made you feel too cold and too hot all at the same time. You shivered in his arms, but your brow was dotted with beads of sweat.

He caught your wrist to stop you,

“Just a little while longer, love. Shh, shh, shh. I know…”

You sobbed into his shoulder, ashamed and needy, too weak to fight his grip.

“Hey, look at me,” you obeyed, and he rubbed your cheek, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

You shuddered, cresting over a brief, sharp orgasm, coming on him as quietly as you could, biting your cheek so you wouldn’t cry out. For a few seconds, you experienced some sort of relief, but then it was gone, and the overwhelming internal fire raged in your belly once more.

The chopper pitched, landing on the pad at your base, and everyone cleared out of the hull except for Laswell. She looked down at you, pity in her eyes, and then turned to him with concern,

“I’ll send a few supplies to your room. The medic wants to run some tests. How long is this supposed to last?”

John shrugged, petting the sweaty hair out of your face, tucking you in close to him in his arms,

“Not sure. Just trying to get her through it. Take her datapad. It’s got her notes from the lab.”

Laswell took it and stepped down from the chopper, jogging off to the med bay.

“C’mon, love. Let me help you take that fever away, hm?”

You nodded, feeling dizzy and dehydrated, letting him carry you from the helicopter. It seemed like the tight coil in your belly was getting more and more tense by the moment. Your orgasm had been too weak, and it was almost like you hadn’t quite completed the event. You were just stuck in between coming and not coming, waiting for someone to put you out of your misery. What you thought had been relief was really just a prelude to the main event. It was torture.

As you lay your head on his chest, you could smell his aftershave as it mixed with his skin, a comfortingly warm scent with woodsy spices and the faint hint of tobacco from his favorite cigars. You wanted more of it, so you turned your nose into him, running your hands across the belt of his pants, trying to pry your way in..

When he arrived in the barracks, he kicked open the door to a dark room. It smelled just like him. You realized then that you were in his quarters. He lay you on his bed and set to taking off your gear. Your boots and socks slid off, and he unclipped your vest. Then, you felt his fingers on your neck, carefully inspecting your wounds.

“Birdie…” He shook his head, obviously regretful for what you were going through.

You whimpered, looking up at him as you moved your hand down your own pants, rubbing yourself in front of him out of a desperate need,

“John, I don’t know how to ask you this.”

“You don’t have to. Medic’s gonna check you out, and I’ll give you whatever you want, little bird. I promise.”

“I need you, now. I don’t… I can’t… mmmngh...”

“Captain?” A woman’s voice floated into the room from the doorway. Price cracked the door and when he saw it was the medic, he let her in.

She knelt by the bed, and took your hand,

“Hey, Sparrow. I’m just going to check your vitals, okay?”

You nodded, trying not to stare down the dark opening of her lab coat. Her voice was so sweet, and her breasts looked full and soft. Her olive skin would probably feel so warm on your lips. Before you could stop yourself, you had your hand behind her head, kissing her neck, trying your best to unbutton her blouse.

“Easy! Easy does it,” John sat himself down behind you on the bed, positioning you between his legs, and held you back, keeping you from accosting the medic.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I… oh, my God…” You writhed, trying to fight the demonic need building inside of you.

“That’s okay,” she said, “They warned me. We’re going to get you some help… Let me take your temp… Goddamnit. She’s burning up. I’m going to give her a light sedative and something to try and cut her fever, but…”

She stopped speaking, looking up at the captain, trying to be delicate,

“You probably need to… um… begin. The sooner the better. I’ll leave these with you,” she dropped two blue pressed pills into his hand, “Just in case you, uh, need a boost.”

Price recognized the sexual enhancement drugs and put them on his side table. He waited patiently for the medic to take a small vial of your blood. He thanked her, trying not to sound like he was in a rush (even though he was), and eventually she shut the door, leaving you two in each others’ care.

John stayed where he was, but he softened his grip, kissing your neck. He reached down and unbuttoned your pants, giving your hand room to move. You rubbed your folds faster, making tight little circles around your clit, struggling to come.

“Nnngh… fuck. Fuck, I can’t do it. I’m so close, but…” You whined, gritting your teeth and struggling against the XLR8. It was making you woozy, and you couldn’t keep your strength up in order to get yourself over the edge.

“Show me,” he whispered, staring down at your furious masturbation, watching your hand as it worked, “Show me how you like it, little bird. Teach me.”

Your heart raced, equal parts excited and embarrassed to show him something so personal and intimate, but you did as you were told, letting him see how your fingers worked your flesh. He sighed, and you felt his cock shift against the small of your back.

He took over for you, sliding his hand down below yours, mimicking your movements, and getting very close to perfection.

“That’s it!” You hissed, keening for him, “That’s… oh, fuck, that’s so good. Don’t stop. Please, don’t —”

Your orgasm was almost immediate. Your body locked up, every muscle squeezing you until you were frozen, rigidly convulsing as you came on his hand. Your mouth hung open in a breathless, silent scream. Then, to your horror, you felt the heavy stain of some sort of fluid soaking through your pants. At first, you thought you’d wet yourself, but then when John pulled his hand away to inspect your emission, you saw the sticky, gooey consistency shining on his fingers.

“What… I don’t understand. What is that?”

“It looks like your come, yeah? Quite a lot of it…” He observed. Price brought it to his nose and mouth to smell it. Then, he licked his fingers tentatively, and his eyes rolled back into his head, “Mmm. Fuck. It’s sweet.”

He lifted you so easily, it was as if you weighed nothing. Propping you up on his pillows, he helped you out of your pants and boots, stripping you down. When Price saw you, dripping and pink, splayed in front of him like a gleaming prize, he stalled. Then, he looked up at you, eyes wide with glorious wonder,

“Little bird…”

“John,” you gasped, “Please.”

He didn’t waste any more time. In a flash, your thighs were hitched up toward your chest as he shoved them back, giving his mouth access to its warm, wet reward.

The first long lick was like its own kind of drug. Your whole body sang like a bell, trembling and ringing out for him and his soft tongue. He licked you again and pulled away, confused but pleasantly so,

“Fuck, love. You taste like strawberries. That’s… fuck.”

You lost track of time as he devoured you. His whole face was shining with your stickiness, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He was gasping for air, practically drowning himself, rubbing his chin and nose through your folds as he tried to writhe his tongue deeper into your core, fucking you with it to draw out more of your slickness.

The sounds you were making seemed almost inhuman. You were convinced you had never had a true orgasm before if this is what they were supposed to feel like. Every lap of his tongue felt like its own crescendo. You were putty in his hands, figuratively and literally judging by the dampness beneath you.

Eventually, he made his way back up your body, peeling away your shirt and bra, rustling out of his own clothes as quickly as he could, his muscular arms getting trapped in his jacket, stretching and pulling against his heavy bones for freedom.

“You alright, little bird?” He asked you softly, crawling over you and settling himself between your shivering thighs.

You nodded,

“Yeah, that was so amazing, John. I know its selfish, but I need more. Can… can you fuck me? Please? I’m clean, I have an IUD. Please? I won’t —”

“Shh. Hush, love. I’m not leavin’ this room ‘til I’ve cured you, one way or another. C’mere.”

He pulled you to him, kissing you, covered in your come. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he was right: it was exactly like strawberries. It must have been the stimulant, you thought. Something to… entice…

Your mind went blank as John began to feed his fat cockhead into your hole. All of the pain and the heat from the fever disappeared, and you were normal again. Well, a very horny normal, but at least you felt some relief.

“Oh, my God!” You cried, “That’s it. That’s what I needed. Oh…”

“Yeah?” Price narrowed his eyes, studying your face, watching your reactions with rapt attention. Where you were stabilizing, he was falling apart at the seams.

His whole body shuddered as he slid himself into you. It was shallow at first; he was too thick to fit inside of your tight pussy, no matter how wet you were. But, as he lubed himself up in your body, he squeezed deeper and deeper inside, eventually drilling down right to his base, slamming his hips into yours like a hungry machine.

Your screams echoed in his small room, and the metal bed creaked under his enormous weight. You could feel his power through his thrusts. He was so incredibly strong, and his muscles bent and twisted just to serve your pleasure. It was hypnotizing to watch. You were focused on the straining sinew in his immense neck when another orgasm threatened to bubble over inside of you.

It was too soon. You’d barely recovered from the first one, and as he felt your body start to contract around his shaft, he began to moan right along with you.

“That’s it, Birdie, let it out. C’mon. Come for me… That’s it. That’s… ungh!” He coached you, talking you through it, fighting his own pleasure like the dragon it was, the heat of his breathing furling in hot bursts down your neck.

His eyes were wrenched shut, but between his long, aching thrusts, he rambled, spilling out his words instead of himself inside of you like he wanted to.

“Spar… don’t you know how badly I’ve wanted this?”

Your pussy was being pounded so hard you could feel your pulse slamming against your skin.

“...I’ve wanted you… wanted to feel you…”

His face was near yours, close enough that you could still smell your sweet slick on his beard.

“...it’s so good. I never want it to stop. Feels like heaven…”

When he wasn’t speaking in that hoarse, smoldering timbre, you could see his jaw working against itself, fighting the inevitable.

“...so damn responsive to me. Such a good girl…”

Then, his tone turned dark, burning into your face as he spoke against your cheek through gritted teeth,

“You want more, hm?”

“Yeah…” You whispered, your voice sounding so small.

“Harder? You want it harder, don’t you, little bird? I can tell.”

You nodded, whispering your pleading to him in wordless gasps. He smiled. You could feel it against your skin,

“Bloody hell. Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he lamented, rising up above you, wrenching his fingers around your waist, the gentleness gone from his touch, “Fuck, Birdie. You’ll make me come. You… ah!”

He brought you with him as he tumbled over the edge. You felt like you’d been hit with a flashbang. You couldn’t hear, and your vision went white. When you begged your lungs to breathe, you couldn’t take in the air. All you could feel — the only thing your body would allow you to feel — was each silky throb of his cock as it pumped his come inside of you. You could feel it as it burst from him, and then as it melted down your walls, flowing across his fleshy head. It was lava-hot, and you knew nothing except that you needed more.

Price collapsed on top of you, his heavy, furry body sweaty and panting, gasping for air himself. He seemed spent, but you weren’t done.

You flipped him, planting him on his back, enjoying the shocked look on his face, his eyes wide and uncertain. He couldn’t speak; there wasn’t enough time. But, as you began to rock back and forth on his softening rod, he cried out with something between pain and bliss.

“Oh, fuck, love… wait! I’m… oh, shite…”

“I’m… so sorry, John. I can’t stop…” You ground your swollen pussy down to his base, fucking him raw and wild, feeling his come slipping out of you in foamy smears.

He nodded, hiding his eyes behind his palm, struggling to get his breathing under control,

“It’s alright, Birdie. It’s alright. Take what you need.”

As you rode him, he fully softened in you, and you cried out, trying everything you could to bring him back. Then, you watched as he fumbled across the end table, reaching for the blue pills the medic had left behind. He took one, and stared up at you,

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs, and with very little struggle, situated you across his face, grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto him, forcing you to put your weight on his jaw. He began to eat you out, licking long circles around your messy hole at first, and then he thrust his long tongue inside of you, rubbing his nose deep within your wet folds.

You screamed for him then, trying to battle your insecurities and failing. It was overwhelming. The pleasure just built and built inside of you, mounting up and then… nothing. It remained there at its peak, a tightened coil, ready to bust.

“John! John, I can’t… Help me, please.”

With all of his strength, he lifted you off of him, shoving you on all fours, situating himself behind you.

All of his movements were rabid and unwieldy. He was struggling, trying to overcome his soporific pleasure to accommodate you. Hungry for you even though he’d recently been sated.

Your chaos quieted for a moment when you felt his fingers prying your lips apart between your legs, slipping into you like a cork, sinking down to his knuckles into a perfect fit.

“Oh, Sparrow. So fuckin’ soft. So sweet.”

As he praised you, he ate you, pulling out more and more of your stickiness onto his hand, lapping you up with his tongue. You were coming unwound, and it felt amazing. It was as if he was pulling pulsing orgasms from your body on a long silk ribbon, one after the other, soft and slick, neverending.

Then, finally, you felt his head tapping its way into your wet hole once more. Fucking you from behind seemed to be your commander’s preference. It was either that or he had become beyond overstimulated. His noises were a cross between whimpers and growls. He kissed his way up your back, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck and shoulder, grunting like an animal as he buried himself into you.

“You’re so big. I feel so full,” you whispered to him, glancing over your shoulder as he knelt over you like a feral hound, bucking into you shamelessly.

“Feels good, little bird? ‘M not hurtin’ you, am I?”

“No, John. You’re perfect,” you found his jaw as he kissed your neck, nuzzling his face with your own, rubbing against him like a cat.

“Gonna come for me, love? Squeezin’ the fuck out of my cock.”

“I can’t help it,” you cried, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks. You were so overwhelmed, your body was processing every sensation, fraying your nerves. He wiped your temple with his hand,

“I know, Sparrow. I know. Let it out, love. C’mon. I can take it.”

“Nghah!” You screamed, trying to relax into the blinding pleasure, feeling your legs start to tremble from it.

“Mmm,” Price groaned deeply, sitting back on his knees as he felt you spill over the edge. Your sticky come coated his cock and the dense hair at his base, matting the dark fur, “Tha’s it, baby. Fuck, so wet.”

You sobbed through the orgasm as it wrecked your body. John gathered you up in his arms, taking the sheet with him, clutching you to his chest messily, still humping himself into you as gently as he could, but unable to quell his own lurid desire.

“Lay down, Birdie,” your captain whispered, pulling the sheet away and pushing you prone into his mattress, “Try to breathe for me. Tha’s it.”

You tried to do as he commanded. You wanted to be good for him, but your breath kept hitching in your throat. You needed more, and you didn’t know how to get it. You writhed below him, feeling his cock slipping in and out of you, the wetness from your body pooling beneath you.

“John, I’m still so hot. Feels like I’m losing my mind,” you looked at him over your shoulder, and you had to admit he didn’t look much better. He was spent, fucking you on auto-pilot at this point, letting nature take its own path. He was nothing more than base instincts at this point, and you could tell he was having trouble keeping himself tied down.

He wanted to come again, you could feel it in how rigid his cock had become, helped by the pills. Something inside of you wanted to force his come from him, to make him explode in you again, filling you up. So, you pushed your hips back, arching your spine to allow more of his cock inside of your pussy, teasing him with your swollen hole.

“Oh, fuck. Sparrow… don’t…”

“Does it feel good, John?” You asked, not following his orders for once, “Do I… make you feel good?”

“Holy fuck,” he spat, his voice dark and animalistic, unable to tear his eyes from where your bodies were joined together.

You twisted your hips back and forth, effectively jerking him off with your drooling sheath, listening to his deep whining as you tormented him, pushing him to the brink but not fucking him fast enough to toss him over.

“Little bird… Please…” John whimpered, overstimulated and eager to come.

“Tell me,” you teased him, not recognizing your own voice, “Tell me how you like it.”

“I fuckin’ love it. Just like that, Birdie. So damn good. Keep movin’ your hips like that, pretty girl. Gonna make me come again.”

You could feel his eyes watching you fuck him. He used his hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, giving him a bird’s eye view of both of your holes. You could feel the cool air rush across them, exciting you and making you shiver from the sensation.

“So damn pretty,” Price crooned, whispering almost to himself, petting your stretched skin with his thumbs, smearing your wetness all over you.

You felt him grab your hair, right at the nape of your neck, forcing your back to arch, pulling you up to him,

“You want me to come in you, little bird? You want my fuckin’ come? Hm? Tell me!”

“Nghh… Yes,” you hissed. His grip was so restricting, and you felt the air try to escape your throat, “Come. In. Me.”

“Sparrow!” Price shouted, releasing your hair to hold you across your belly, wrapping your body in his arms, ramming himself into you as deeply as he could, letting his cock spill into you once again.

You were full of him. John was everywhere. He was wet and dripping within you, and as he fell to the bed with you, his body covered yours fully, wrapping you beneath him. You shifted a bit, convincing him to roll onto his side, kissing his neck and face, whispering sweet nothings to him as he caught his breath.

“So good, John… You are so good to me,” you let your lips sink into his warm, panting mouth, letting your lips slide together.

“Mmm,” he sighed, “Still hard. The medic was right about those pills.”

“I’m so sorry,” you straddled him again, humping against his still-rigid shaft, “I still need you, John. Please?”

“Sure, little bird. Ah! Oh, fuck, I’m sensitive. Easy… Ngh!”

“I’ll go slow,” you leaned forward to kiss him, capturing his long moan in your mouth.

Suddenly, there was a quick knock at the door and then a slit of light as it creaked open. A skeletal gloved hand reached in with a stuffed bag and dropped it just inside the room before shutting it tightly again.

Price removed you gently, watching you pout, and he explained,

“Laswell’s care package.”

“Come back, John,” you pulled his hand toward you as he opened the bag with the other.

He started laughing, letting you guide his cock back into you while he was standing at the edge of the bed. You watched as he pulled a couple of water bottles out of the bag and set them on the end table, still chuckling to himself.

“Hey,” you pet your fingers through the hair on his belly as you writhed against him, “What’s funny?”

“Strawberries,” he smiled as he pulled a small box of the fruit from the bag, his eyes twinkling in the low light, “You want one, little bird?”

You nodded, but then felt the sudden emptiness of him removing his cock from you again. Then, with a devilish grin, you watched him dip the tip of the bright red fruit into your pussy, twirling it around in your juices, coating it with your thick stickiness, and then sucking it into his mouth, eating half of it and letting it drip down his chin.

He brought it to your mouth, at the same time thrusting himself all the way inside of you, making you gasp,

“Open wide, love.”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #cod mwii #john price #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #call of duty #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #x female reader #cod

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ohangelmyangel · 1 year

Text

Some people repel happiness. They repel hope, repel expectations. They deny themselves pleasures deemed basic to the rest. These people, you can never save. They tear themselves apart, will they spare you, you with your warm hugs and your sparky-sun eyes? Will they ever be able to?

-oama

#you can not save a person who wants to drown #i need something covering my head so i don't get brain freeze but now my hot bod's smoking sweating and i don't like it #i wish i could make waterloo by abba the universal audioworm #we could have aliens jamming to waterloo across galaxies #ah sure would be a shame if a portal to the land of witches suddenly opened into my room #would be a shame to not return #i wish i were a country house clock with a bird cuckoing out of my tummy every 60 minutes #i wish i were a blade of grass in a prairie swaying with the lazy afternoon wind

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mooshywrites · 5 months

Note

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his shy gender neutral crush accidentally sitting on his lap? They get off immediately while apologising the moment they realised!

A/N - Ahhhhh this prompt idea is so adorable ;-;!!!!!

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Masterlist

Art commissions

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Astarion -

~ Astarion would definitely not let you forget something like this.

~ After a particularly hard day full of fighting, I can see the whole camp deciding to relax and pass around one or two (or a case) of wine.

~ The alcohol goes straight to your head and you’re tripping over your feet in no time. This isn’t a problem, that is until… you stumble and trip your way right into Astarion’s lap

~ Your cheeks get all red, your words coming out with a plethora of excuses and Astarion basks in your embarrassment with glee.

~ He’s secretly loving it for another reason, that being the closeness of you against him now. You’ve been much too shy up to this point to even look him in the eye, let alone touch him

~ You’re falling over yourself trying to get up, apologizing more times than anyone can count and of course Astarion has all the petty things anyone could ever say

~ “If you wanted a place on my lap, you need only ask, darling.”

~ He loves it even more the next morning when he notices that now you can’t even look in his general direction without turning a beautiful shade of red

Gale -

~ Gale would be all jokes if you accidentally sat on him, trying his best to ease the awkward tension

~ “You know, I always thought I looked like an awkwardly plush chair” he would tease, lending a hand to help you up

~ I think he would love the flush to your cheeks, knowing you’re absolutely mortified by the experience.

~ He wouldn’t tell a soul about it, not even in jest. He knows how shy you are and knows the accident would only embarrass you further if your other companions caught wind of it, even if part of him wanted to brag

~ Instead, he would playfully point out ever tripping hazard while with you, leaving it an inside joke between the two of you

Wyll -

~ I can definitely see you losing your balance while practicing a difficult attack, landing right into the Devil’s lap

~ Wyll would be as charming as ever about the whole situation, making a dramatic flourish as he “caught you”

~ He’d probably rave on and on about how the ‘Blade of the Frontiers’ often had to catch damsels in distress as they fell into his awaiting arms. Everyone else may think this was because he was a braggart, but you knew deep down he did it to ease your embarrassment

~He would definitely be kind enough to ignore your reddened cheeks, whispering that everything was absolutely alright as you shot up practically shouting an “I’m sorry”

~ From that moment on, though, he always made sure to be the closest one to you, making sure he’d be there if you needed a knight in shining armor’s lap to save you again

Halsin -

~ You would be immensely tired after a long day of traveling, not even looking where your feet planted as you plopped down on what you thought was a log.

~ You practically jump out of your skin when strong arms wrap around you casually, Halsin continuing on his conversation with the others as if nothing happened

~ You would feel the red hot embarrassment in every nerve of your body, hissing to Halsin to let go, apologizing for sitting on him

~ He would cling on for a few moments, letting out a deep chuckle at your blunder

~ “Think nothing of it, my heart, I simply thought you wanted to sit somewhere softer than the ground. Would you prefer to sit on me if I were a bear?”

~ You couldn’t even answer him, smacking his chest and jumping out of his arms

~ Thank goodness it was dark, you wouldn’t want anyone seeing the goofy smile on your face paired with the knowing grin on the gentle giant elf

Dammon -

~ Dammon would be so generously kind as you accidentally sat on him, helping you back up, worried he made you uncomfortable

~ He would definitely be the only one to be more embarrassed than you, his cheeks the exact same shade of red. He’d try to play it off, but the cracks in his voice gave it away immediately

~ Both of you would be an adorable mess of apologies and stutters, trying to ignore how nice it was to be that close only moments earlier.

~ He would finally clear his throat, trying to change the subject as the red in his cheeks began to even seep down to his neck.

~ You both finally relaxed a little, smiling relieved smiles

~ That is until a very loud, very obvious Astarion would gesture between the two of you, “When the hell are you two going to finally admit you like each other! Seriously, this is getting difficult to watch”

~ It would take days before the you and Dammon could make it through a conversation without sounding like a bumbling lovesick kit after that

Rolan -

~ If anyone could be more awkward than Dammon when you sat on his lap, it would absolutely be Rolan. Apparently the invisibility spell he was trying out worked a little too well.

~ You would let out a shriek as you sat down, expecting the chair to feel… well… like a chair. You spun around to an apologetic smile and hands held up in defense

~ Both of you would choke out an “im sorry” at the same time, giggling a little breathlessly

~ “What the hell were you doing as a chair?” You’d complain, trying to swallow away the embarrassment, not knowing it was written across all of your features

~ “We’ll, technically, I wasn’t a chair” He’d say defensively, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of his already crimson skin

~ Neither of you spoke of it after, but you definitely didn’t miss the way Rolan seemed extra attentive in the days after

Zevlor -

~ Zevlor would be sickly sweet about all of it, a little disappointed when you didn’t stay for more than a moment

~ You’d make up for that when your sweet quiet voice would squeak out some apologies, eyes looking anywhere but him. He so very loved when you were embarrassed like this

~ He’d brush it off quickly, pulling up your hand to kiss it gently

~ This would make you blush more but that was probably his whole goal to begin with

~ “I’m completely at your disposal.” He’d say, taking every opportunity to memorize the shy smile you gave him

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 headcanons #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #gale x reader #bg3 gale #wyll x reader #bg3 wyll #halsin x reader #bg3 halsin #dammon x reader #bg3 dammon #rolan x reader #bg3 rolan

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

Text

Exhausted and in the middle of a week-long field exercise, you seek comfort and visit Ghost in the command tent.

———————————————————————

You step into the command tent, letting the entrance flap fall quietly behind you. The only light illuminating the place is a small hanging lamp above the worktable, filled with maps and scattered paperwork.

Your eyes gradually adjust to the dim interior, and your focus settles on the back of the figure before you. Ghost leans over the table, absorbed in a discussion over the comms about the field exercise’s next steps.

His leg is crossed in front of the other, and he glances over his broad shoulder as he senses your presence. He raises his fist, silently signalling for you to wait until he’s finished.

However, you’re not one to obey such commands from him; he knows that all too well.

You drag your weary feet across the ground, and the sound of rocks and dust echoes softly in the confined space. The lieutenant motions with his palm for you to move quietly as he continues the conversation with his comrades. This time, you decide to comply.

You walk cautiously and approach the workstation, closing the distance between you. Although behind him, you can see him better now; his head is lowered over the map spread across the table. He listens to the soldiers on the other end of the line, briefing him on safety protocols, emergency procedures, and potential hazards for tomorrow. He nods and murmurs the occasional “mhm” in response.

You place your thumbs into his pants’ belt loops and gently pull yourself closer to him. He doesn’t budge. You exhale through pieced lips, releasing the tension that had been building up, and nestle your face between his shoulder blades. You take a long and deep inhale, breathing him in. That’s the only scent you want to fill your lungs with right now—not the bitter odour of gunpowder nor the dry breeze of the fields—just him.

A stray wind ruffles the tent’s fabric from the outside, and he stiffens up. His head turns towards the source of the disturbance, and his hand retreats from the table to rest on your back as if protecting you from the outside.

“It’s alright,” you whisper into his back, “just the wind.”

He relaxes, shifting his attention back to the comms. His hand migrates from your back to your forearm, gently urging it out of his belt loops. He lifts it to his lips, kissing your hand beneath the balaclava he wears. He sets it against his stomach and holds it there. You follow his lead, repeating the gesture with your other hand and wrapping yourself around him, intertwining your fingers.

He delivers the final instructions over the comms and signs off. He straightens up.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, yet still holding your wrapped hands around him.

“You shouldn’t have let me in,” You reply.

You feel his right hand moving, grabbing a pen and writing something on the map. “It’s not as if you ever ask for permission,” he remarks.

You take another deep breath into his back, followed by an audible sigh.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just tired.”

He puts the pen down, lifts his right arm, and you slide beneath it. He hugs your shoulder, and you rest your head on his chest. You both look at the worktable in front of you.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

He shrugs and kisses the top of your head. “You know what they are.” He replies, his voice muffled by your hair.

“I don’t wanna do tomorrow.” You frown as you gesture at the map. “It looks... chaotic.”

His hand shifts from your shoulder to rest on your waist, gently guiding you until you stand between him and the table. You look up into his sleep-deprived, bloodshot eyes. He, too, is tired.

“Nobody does,” he replies, “but we have to, yeah?”

You nod and brush your fingers against his chest. He plants one final kiss on your forehead, then taps your hip twice with his hand.

“Off you go,” he commands. “tomorrow will be a long day.”

You pout and grumble, but he doesn’t back down. You have no choice but to yield to his authority. You walk towards the exit and lift the tent’s flap.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You venture.

He shakes his head. “Too many eyes, love,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Wait until we’re back at the base.”

You sigh softly. “I miss you.” You confess.

He turns his entire body towards you as he leans against the work table. The hanging lamp reveals his eyes; there’s a smile hidden within them.

He nods. It’s his way of saying ‘Me too,’ and that’s all you need. He may not voice affection openly, but he doesn’t have to. You understand each other in ways words could never express.

He extends his hand towards you, palm facing down. He makes a small, subtle wave with his wrist, insinuating that you’re standing in the middle of the entrance with the flap open, making yourself an easy target to spot for whoever passes by.

You snap back to reality, excuse yourself, and exit his tent. You make your way towards your own, longing for the moment you’ll finally be reunited at the base.

———————————————————————

3K notes · View notes

barbieaemond · 22 days

Text

And I dream of a grave

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.

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sixosix · 7 months

Text

requested by anon!! hope u enjoy, warning for profanity, fluff

As soon as Wanderer’s eyes laid upon the ball of fluff in your palms, he had said with a disdainful glare to “discard of that at once.”

But you aren’t having any of it. The little kitten curled up by your chest is looking up at you so adorably that you simply can’t discard it, no matter what your boyfriend might say. In fact, the shade of the cat reminds you of his eyes—but saying that would provoke him further, and you’re already on thin ice, letting the cute stray run around your shared home while he makes a face at each sight of its fur.

You coo as the kitten licks your nose when you hold him up to your face. “Do I name him after you? Can I name him after you? I’m naming him after you.”

His eyes narrow, glaring at the impossibly tiny space between you and the animal. “You are not naming it after me.”

“Kuni,” you negotiate. Not that he has a choice anyway because you already have your mind set on it. “Kuni, baby, are you hungry? Do you want some food?”

Your Kunikuzushi bristles, hackles rising. “Seriously? You’re doing this?”

The cat, as if beckoned by his voice, paws at him. “Meow,” the little kitten says softly. Wanderer, to the cat’s dismay, doesn’t respond; he simply rises from his seat and leaves.

So it’s established that you’ve long accepted that Wanderer is not fond of your new pet.

A crying shame because the cat adores him. You don’t know if there’s anything deep to his hatred for your new stray or if he’s just jealous that your undivided attention is no longer on him, but you took pity and decided to own the responsibility of taking care of it.

Which makes it a surprise to come home one day and see your boyfriend nestled against your bed with the kitten curled up on his chest, meowing as he smiles faintly and rubs its head with a finger.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re hungry again?” he murmurs. If you had been in another room, you wouldn't have heard it yourself. “Don’t get too greedy.”

Your breath hitches, too afraid to shatter this moment by bursting into the room. Then again, you should’ve realized that the cat has been sticking too long around him too often without something at play. Perhaps the reason why it’s so fond of your boyfriend is because of secret tender moments like this.

“Your owner will get mad at me if I overfeed you,” he says conspiratorially, rubbing his finger against the cat’s chin while it purrs and nuzzles its face further into his palm for more.

Your heart melts, a tiny noise escaping your lips at the sight of the ever-so-haughty Wanderer on the bed, all but cuddling with your pet.

Wanderer’s eyes snap the crack of the door, perfectly meeting yours as if he knew all along that you were there. “Not a word.”

You gasp, enough to startle Wanderer and make him jump but not enough to wake the sleeping kitten on his hat. Lambad’s Tavern is a little empty, with only an adult or two hanging around to drink their sorrows away or loosen up to their heart's content. And you and your boyfriend are tucked in the far corner, where no one would bother to peep.

“Kunikuzushi!” you cry out, hands hovering around his head in panic. “Kuni, careful, what if Kuni falls?”

Kunikuzushi the human(?)’s face twists in confusion. “You should have never named it that.”

“Kuni,” you hiss as his movements have caused the cat to stir, yet miraculously not wake. “Don’t let him fall, ‘kay? God, I can’t bring myself to even leave my seat.”

He sighs, long and heavy. “I’m not going to drop him. Have more faith in me, will you? I have a better sense of balance than any of you in this Tavern combined.”

“But what if he falls and you accidentally attack him by trying to save him?”

“I’m not gonna wind blade the fucking cat.”

You’re staring at the kitten, who is, unfortunately, looking all too much at home on Wanderer’s hat as if it’s more comfortable than his own bed at home. It’s even worse that Wanderer spoils the cat rotten and lets him sleep wherever he wants. Now, wherever he walks, he has a tiny animal asleep on the top of his head.

Wanderer huffs, squeezing your mouth with a hand to prevent you from arguing. “If you love the cat, you will get us food and avoid waking it up with your yapping, got it?”

“Aw,” you smile, “you don’t wanna wake him up?”

He scowls. “Are you going to let us starve?”

The sight of him and the kitten looks too adorable. You can’t resist from agreeing to whatever Kuni the human is ordering you to do. You rise from your seat, leaving but not forgetting to kiss the cat’s head and Wanderer’s cheek, who flushes brightly and grumbles but doesn’t complain.

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #scaramouche drabble #wanderer fluff

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youaintnothinbuta · 2 months

Note

Could you possibly do something where Feyd and y/n are Wed and while he tends to his duties as Na-Baron y/n decides to look around and runs into Rabban and attempts to make and ally and while Feyd is looking for y/n he sees this and f*cks you in his brothers chambers and continues even when his brother walks and threatens him into watching. Love you (not in a creepy way) 😌😌

Love u too (not in a creepy way)!! I hope you don’t mind but the voices took over and told me to make Rabban sort of the opposite of an ally 😋

“You'll watch, and you'll learn that you will never win.” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: see request^^

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, graphic violence (not towards reader), fighting, blood, injury, (all not aimed at reader) probably typos :/

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You wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen residence, your footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. As Feyd-Rautha's wife, you were no stranger to the opulent decorations and intricate architecture of the for lack of a better word, palace, that you called home, but you still found yourself getting lost in its winding passages every once in a while.

Feyd was often busy, caught up in his Na-Baron duties, leaving you to your own devices. You didn't mind, really. It gave you the freedom to explore, to discover hidden nooks and secret gardens that even the most seasoned residents might not know about.

As you turned a corner, you came face to face with Rabban Harkonnen, Feyd's older brother, who was just stepping out of his chambers. His thick, brutish features twisted into a scowl, and you could sense the weight of his gaze upon you.

“Ah, Feyd’s little wife,” he rumbled, his voice like thunder in the confined space. “The little Na-Baroness, all alone and unattended.”

“Drop the act, Rabban. I’m just talking a walk.”

Rabban snorted, his eyes roving over your body. “What is it exactly that he sees in you?” He spoke quietly, attempting to insult you.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Rabban's eyes roved over your body, his gaze lingering on your curves. You tried to step back, but Rabban was too quick, his massive hand closing around your wrist like a vice.

“Let go of me,” you fought.

“Oh, I don't think so,” Rabban purred, his hot breath washing over your face. “I've been wanting to get my hands on you for a long time, and now that Feyd's not around to protect you... well, I think it's time we got to know each other a little better.”

As always, Feyd-Rautha appeared from behind you with perfect timing, his eyes blazing with fury as he watched you struggle in his brother’s grip.

“Rabban, you bastard,” Feyd snarled, his voice low and deadly. “Let her go.”

Rabban didn't even flinch, his grip on you tightening. “Oh, come now, Feyd,” he sneered. “You know I've always wanted her.“

Feyd took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “I'll kill you, Rabban,” he warned.

Rabban just laughed, his eyes never leaving yours. “You'll do no such thing, little brother,” he sneered.

Rabban liked to play this tough guy game. That was the difference between him and Feyd. Rabban liked to appear angry and threatening to everyone, even his family. That’s not to say he never truly was angry though. He was, always at Feyd, who was a smarter, stronger and more respected, despite being younger than him. Feyd however, actually was threatening to everyone, except you, of course.

You smiled at Feyd, feeling complete protection despite being in the arms of his brother.

With a swift, deadly motion, he drew a blade from his belt and plunged it into Rabban's shoulder, just above the collarbone, instantly, his grip on you was released. Rabban's eyes widened in shock as he realized he couldn't reach the blade to pull it out.

Feyd's voice was low and menacing. “You should have kept your hands to yourself, Rabban. Now, you have a choice to make. You can watch us, or... the blade goes deeper.”

Rabban's face twisted in rage and pain, but he knew he was trapped. Feyd's grip on the blade remained unyielding, his free arm welcoming you into his embrace. With a cruel smile, Feyd dragged you towards Rabban's bed, the velvet drapes billowing around you like a dark cloud. Rabban's was dragged along by the blade, his gaze burning with hatred and humiliation.

Feyd's voice was a cold, calculated whisper. “You'll watch, Rabban. You'll watch, and you'll learn that you will never win.”

The blade remained lodged in Rabban's shoulder, a constant reminder of Feyd's power and control. You knew that if Rabban tried to move, the blade would be shoved deeper, a cruel and merciless punishment.

“My darling girl,” Feyd growled, his hands roaming your body. He wasted no time bringing a couple fingers between your thighs, rubbing softly as he kissed you. You felt a rush of excitement, as Feyd pulled you closer. You reached your hand out to his body, pressing against his growing erection, eliciting a growl from him.

Feyd encouraged your touch, pressing you onto his brother’s bed. Rabban's presence seemed to egg him on, his brother's gaze a twisted, voyeuristic thrill. That’s another thing Feyd had that Rabban didn’t — a sex life. Feyd continued to ravage you, stripping himself and you of all clothing. Rabban's eyes locked onto yours, a cruel glint in their depths. Rabban's face twisted into a snarl, but he didn't move, didn't intervene, as Feyd continued to take you, right there in his brother's chambers.

“Nice and wet for me, princess,” Feyd breathed, testing your waters with his fingertips before lining the tip of his cock up to your sex.

You let out a gasp as his length filled you up, you felt your muscles being stretched out around him. You would never get used to his size. The burn was welcome, a familiar feeling you hated to love. A cry escaped your lips, Feyd kissing you, mumbling encouragement as he let you adjust.

“That’s it, there you go,” Feyd mumbled, feeling you relax around him. He began to thrust, slowly. Feyd was draconian, and sadistic, evident in the way he made eye contact with his brother as he fucked you. His cock repeatedly brushed over your g spot, making you whimper in pleasure. He licked his thumb, coating it in his saliva before pressing it to your clit, drawing over it just the way you liked. For Feyd, sex was always about you. Never him. Even when he just needed to rough you, or punish you, it was never about depriving you of pleasure, but rather, overwhelming you with it.

“There's my good girl,” he praised, your hips beginning to match his rhythm.

“Oh my god, don't stop.” You moaned, trying to get your legs even further apart, wanting Feyd as deep inside of you as he could be. It wasn't long before your orgasm started to build, Feyd squeezing your nipple between his teeth as he held your head down to the bed, fucking you like an animal.

Feyd felt your walls began to clench and release around him, he knew that feeling well, he knew you were about to come. He sped up his thrusts, trying to bring himself to the edge of release too, wanting to cum with you.

“Come,” he growled in your ear. His words sent you over the edge, and you came hard. Your inner muscles gripped him tight, he groaned as he bit down on your shoulder, filling you up with his seed. He continued to work your clit, stroking the tiny bud until you cried out again in pleasure, your orgasm peaking yet again as his cum continued to spurt inside of you.

He continued you stroke you through your release, until slowly pulling out of you. He stood, panting as he made eye contact with his brother. He walked over to him, his cock still twitching as his blood flow gradually calmed. Without a word, Feyd buried the blade hilt deep into Rabban’s shoulder, the sound of metal scraping against bone echoing through the room. Rabban's eyes widened in agony as he screamed, his body arching backward in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

Feyd's face was a mask of cold, calculated cruelty, his eyes glinting with a malevolent intensity. He leaned in close to Rabban's ear, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

“Thinking you had a choice. Laughable. You should have kept your mouth shut, brother. You will never have what’s mine.”

Rabban's screams grew louder, his body thrashing against the cold ground as Feyd twisted the blade, ensuring it was lodged deep within his shoulder. You watched in horror, and yet, sadistically, enjoyed the way Feyd would quite literally stop at nothing to protect and show his love for you.

Feyd finally withdrew the blade, his movements slow and deliberate. With a flick of his wrist, Feyd sent the blade spinning across the floor, its tip clattering against the cold stone on the far side of the room, leaving tiny blood spots in its wake.

As Rabban's cries of outrage and humiliation continued to echo through the chamber, Feyd turned his attention to you, his movements calm and deliberate as he helped you to dress. His fingers brushed against your skin delicately, as he fastened the intricate clasps and ties of your gown. His touch was gentle, tender, a stark contrast to the brutal intensity of his passion just moments before.

Once you were fully clothed, Feyd turned his attention to himself. He adjusted his attire to his body, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked. When he was finished, he offered you his arm.

“Shall we, my darling?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, as if the scene that had just played out had never occurred.

You took his arm, a small smile gracing your face as you realised just how much you were enjoying something you really shouldn’t be. Feyd led you out of Rabban's chambers, the sound of his brother's angry cries and threats fading into the distance as you left the room behind.

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dancingbirdie · 7 months

Text

I interrupt your daily schedules to present some purely plotless Astarion x gn! Reader smut. Courtesy of me listening to an oldie but goodie "What's My Name" by Rihanna ft. Drake during my morning commute.

Note that this is seriously NSFW so don't read below the break line unless you're a horny little gremlin like this pair or me since yeah I wrote it. :)

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

The Things We Could Do in Twenty Minutes…

Rating: MATURE

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), hand kink, slight praise kink, slight dom!Astarion/sub!Reader, public sex/exhibitionism

Summary: You and Astarion have been tasked with a scouting mission. You grow a little bored from waiting around and very horny watching Astarion play with his knife.

***

The two of you were leaning side by side against the alley wall. Watching. Waiting. Poised to strike whenever your quarry exited the tavern across the street.

But it was late. You had been skulking about for hours. You were bored.

And Astarion, gods damn him, was flush against you, smelling like temptation and sin. Subtle wafts of his signature bergamot, rosemary, and brandy scent teased your nose as his fingers idly spun his blade around in his hands.

Your breath hitched as you watched him. Watched how gracefully those long, slender fingers absently played with the knife while his eyes scanned the street for any signs of activity. He was totally oblivious to your ogling, which was good because you could swear you were starting to salivate just watching him toy with his weapon.

You wondered how those fingers would feel scratching against your scalp. Pulling your hair. Clasping your jaw.

Fuck it, you thought. Throwing caution to the wind, you reached a hand forward to caress his chest. His head whipped around immediately to look at you, brow furrowed. It was an innocent enough gesture, but his eyes caught the look on your face, illuminated dimly in the silvery light of the moon. How your pupils were blown wide with unbridled lust.

He smirked, one delicate fang peeking out from between his lips.

“Can I help you?” he drawled.

“You can actually,” you whispered. Your hand lightly traced down his chest, down his abdomen, before it stopped at the bindings of his trousers.

You looked up at him beneath your lashes, your eyes beseeching.

“My, my,” Astarion chuckled, his voice like silk. “Wanting to play while we’re on the clock? Tsk. What would our comrades think?”

“It’ll make our cover seem more convincing, don’t you think?” you reasoned, licking your lips as you noticed the growing bulge between his legs. “Just two unassuming lovers, swept up in a moment of passion as they passed this dingy alley?”

“Our target should be leaving any moment now, darling. We wouldn’t want to miss our window of opportunity.”

“I give it at least twenty minutes before the tavern closes. And just think, the things we could do in twenty minutes…”

He gave a throaty laugh. “You make a very convincing argument. How could I ever deny you?”

“Is that a yes then?” your voice was husky, struggling to contain the urge to drop to your knees and taste him. You would wait for his consent. Of course you would wait. But you couldn’t deny the heady desires ratcheting up within you.

“Yes,” he cooed, nuzzling your neck and planting a quick kiss against the fang marks he’d left earlier that evening. “Go on then, love.”

“Thank the gods,” you groaned, immediately kneeling before him and undoing the bindings of his breeches.

You captured him in your mouth as soon as his impressive length sprang free, tasting the salt and musk of him as you took him as far back as your throat would allow. Your eyes watered with the pressure of him pressing down your throat. It was the sweetest pain.

You heard the muffled thump of his head as it hit the brick wall. You relished the tortured groan that spilled from his lips as you continued to gorge yourself on him.

Then a moan of your own vibrated against him as his hands moved to grip your hair. His fingers scratching against your scalp nearly had your eyes rolling back into your head. With your hands braced on his thighs, you continued to bob your head, sucking, licking and swallowing around him.

He tasted like the purest drug you could ever inject into your veins. You would never tire of doing this for him. Of hearing and feeling how your mouth and tongue caused him to shiver and quake with pleasure. You could feel your own release building because of it, despite the lack of any stimulation to your groin. It didn’t matter.

You had no desire for anything but Astarion’s pleasure tonight.

“Look at me,” he growled suddenly. You felt his fingers clutch your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

You peered up at him as you continued to piston your mouth around his length, whining softly as you beheld the look in his eyes.

“I want you to look at me while I cum in that gorgeous, sinful mouth,” he whispered, his hips beginning to buck into you, meeting your movements in perfect synchrony.

You moaned again at his words, your mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum as you continued to suck him.

“Are you ready, darling?” he murmured, his other hand reverently stroking your hair. A stark contrast to the absolutely deplorable things you were doing to his cock.

You gave a garbled assent, taking him in with a surge of passion as you anticipated the feeling of his release shooting down your throat.

A few moments more and your anticipation was rewarded in full. You groaned as you heard him grunt. Felt his final, feral thrust into your mouth. Tasted the salty sweetness of his cum on your tongue.

As he came down from his high, you gave him one last, obscene lick before removing your mouth. Slouching against the wall, utterly spent, he watched as you deliberately met his eyes and swallowed his cum with a gulp. He hummed his approval, grinning wickedly.

“You naughty thing,” he crooned. “You’ll be the death of us both.”

You returned his grin with an impish one of your own before wiping your mouth clean on the sleeve of your shirt and rising to stand next to him once more.

You surveyed the street. Scanned the tavern for signs of movement. Nothing was amiss. Your quarry hadn’t escaped.

“See?” you murmured, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Twenty minutes was all I needed.”

***

2K notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

Text

Azriel x reader: Unchained[*]

A/N: it’s a mess because I had no idea where it was going when it started 😭

Warnings: Masturbation, shadow-play (absolute menaces), slight voyeurism, hand job + blowjob, smut, soft!Az?, biting, forced proximity?

Word count: 4,408

You glare at the shadows as they twine up your thighs, nudging your book out the way.

Rolling your eyes, smile on your lips, you return to your story, having just settled down to read. The second you remove your attention from them however, they’re knocking at your book again, flicking between your fingers, eventually loosening your grip enough it falls into your lap. Brow scrunches as you peer at the shadows, “what’s gotten into you today, hm? You’re normally so docile?”

The darkness dances around your fingers, nuzzling against the dip of your palm, making you laugh. “Is your master ignoring you again?” Lips stretch at the imagery—they sometimes get a little antsy when he buries himself in work, feeling lonely and neglected. As if in answer, the shadows scoot up your arms, wrapping around your shoulders, pushing between your shoulder blades. A laugh huffs from your mouth as you raise to your feet. “Okay, okay,” you chide, softly, “lead the way. But you know how he is, I doubt I’ll be able to do much other than maybe play with you for a little.”

A shadow lightly brushes the crest of your cheek, making you smile despite the nerves building beneath your skin. He won’t be upset with you for disturbing him, will he? The last thing you want is to distract him. But if his shadows are the ones calling you… Teeth prod into your lower lip. Warmth dusts your cheeks, getting to see him.

Mindlessly, you allow the shadows to guide you through the hallways of the House of Wind, feet padding quietly along the floors as your lead deeper into the residence. Strangely, you note, they don’t seem to be taking you to his office—walk you straight past the door. Heart spikes as you realise the direction they’re pushing you in.

Hesitantly, you come to a stop, shadows carrying on for a little before halting, turning to watch you.

“Are you sure about this? Won’t he want privacy if he’s in there?” You murmur to them, worrying your bottom lip. Brow scrunches deeper, “he’s not bringing his work into his bedroom, is he now?” You ask, slightly exasperated. His private chambers should be where he’s allowed to relax for the little time he allows himself.

The shadows don’t reply. Merely press against the small of your back, gently encouraging you forward.

Reluctantly, you follow their guidance, a little unsure. But it’s his shadows; they wouldn’t do anything he wouldn’t be happy with. Reassured, you obediently pad along with them. Until you reach his door.

It’s already peeked open a crack, and his shadows drop to your feet, sliding off your body with a feather-light touch. Slinking across the floorboards, returning to their master.

Quietly—so as not to disturb him if he’s resting—you inch toward the door. It’s not wide enough for you to peer through the hinges, so your eyes find the mirror that reflects the wide expanse of his bedchambers. A strange scent catches your attention—deeper than what you’re accustomed to…muskier? You wish you knew what it meant, but you haven’t been granted enough access to him to figure it out. It’s not distressed, though, you note. That scent, you’re well-accustomed with.

Softly, you push the door a little wider, just a centimetre or two, revealing just enough of the mirror for his whereabouts to become apparent.

Eyes widen as you hold in your breath of shock.

He’s propped up on the bed, wings pinned behind his back to the headboard, arms bound near the base of his spine, and…and he’s—… There’s not a scrap of clothing on him. Save for the blindfold tied across his eyes.

Tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth as you take him in, blood spiking in your veins. Traitorously flushing your skin.

His shadows sweep over the muscled planes of his heavenly body, grazing his chest, threading through his inky black hair—head tips back ever so slightly, craning into the touch. His canines prick into one corner of his lower lip, skin whitening with the pressure as his back arches, stomach gleaming with sweat; flexing as his darkness—

You nearly stumble backward, exhaling a soft breath.

Mouth goes dry, watching his shadows swarm his cock, squeezing their master torturously. His cheeks flush with colour, a guttural moan ripping from his chest as they twist mercilessly. A low curse growls from his mouth as the darkness fists in his hair, dragging him backward to expose the strong column of his throat.

You shouldn’t be seeing this. Dear gods, you should not be seeing this.

Throat rolls, and you move to take a step back, when something else catches your attention.

At your feet is a small key, the kind that fits into each of the doors in the house. Azriel must have locked up before starting. But if that’s the case, how did—

Shadows build at your back, right as you piece together how eager they had been to drag you over to their master. Shove between your shoulder blades, forcing you to stumble into the room in order to right yourself. A yelp breaks from your chest as you collide with the door, tripping over your feet as you nearly topple over.

Instantly, you smack your hand over your mouth, but he’s already heard. Body stiffening. Shadows halting their games.

“Who’s there?” He snarls, letters ripping viscerally from between his teeth, arms flexing as he makes to remove the blindfold but— His shadows aren’t cooperating. They should have already unchained him by now, yet they’re remaining neatly wrapped around his cock, unwilling to halt his pleasure entirely.

Mortification flushes your cheeks, and you spin. Just in time to see the door slam shut, lock clicking. Key returned to its home.

You stare at the shadows as they slink away, darting back across the floor to reach him. Azriel.

The shadowsinger straightens, awareness lighting his skin as instinct kicks in—but not the one he needs. Arousal is still spiking his heart, shifting his scent, making his mind muddy and unclear. Opposite him, your eyes are darting about the room, trying desperately to find something to explain away the situation. Anything save for admitting you were watching him, then his shadows caught you. Though technically it had been them that had gotten you into this predicament. Surely that counts for something…

“I said,” he repeats, so rough it’s difficult to decipher, “who’s there?”

Heat flushes your cheeks. Maybe if you sneak to the exit…

“Cassian, you’re a dead male if you don’t fucking get out,” he snarls, making you halt. You sometimes forget how close they are. How peculiar their bonds are, too. You could never imagine being so comfortable with someone else.

Silently, you turn back to the door, tip-toeing forward, reaching for the key. Shadows bat your hands away, abruptly surging forward to lock around your waist, firmly guiding you back to the centre of the room. Just a few feet from the foot of his bed.

Azriel’s brow dips when he doesn’t get a reply. “Cass.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. It wouldn’t surprise you.

Shadows snare your ankles, and you inhale sharply, staring down as the writhe at your feet, pinning you in place. Azriel stiffens when your noise reaches his ears—definitely not Cassian. Nor Rhys.

Blood practically freezes when your name slides from his tongue, voice thick and rough. How did he figure it out so quickly?

You swallow, praying to the mother he’ll believe you that his shadows pushed you in here. Pushed you in, and unlocked his door. Then relocked it.

No way.

“Yeah…” you answer, voice catching. Clear your throat. Shadows stutter at the sound of you, squeezing his cock, making his jaw tense. He opens his mouth to speak, but you jump first. “Azriel I swear I didn’t mean to see anything,” you say, words pouring from your lips like they’re made of wildfire. “I was just—Your shadows were telling me to come see you, so I did, but then we went past your office and I was worried I would interrupt you, but they kept telling me to go forward, and then we got here, and I— They pushed me in, and I’m so sorry, I promise I… I’m so sorry…”

Humiliation crawls down your spine, carefully averting your eyes from between his legs.

Again, he opens his mouth to talk, but instead a sharp groan drags from his mouth, teeth biting his lower lip as shadows pulse around his cock, flicking over the slit in his head. Arousal zaps between your legs, skin buzzing as you try your hardest to think of something to keep your scent from shifting.

“Uh… I’m really sorry, but the door’s locked, and they’re not letting me—” You gasp as they raise higher, suddenly snaking up to your calves, crawling up to your thighs. “Azriel…” You squeak, freezing as they brush beneath your skirts.

The shadowsinger shakes his head, almost in dismay. “They do this sometimes. Misbehave when I let them off,” he bites out, chewing his lower lip—slightly swollen. “I need you to remove the blindfold. They’ll cooperate when they know I can see them,” he mutters.

Heat pools in your lower belly, but when you make to move forward, the shadows allow it. “Untie the blindfold and you’re sure you’ll be fine?” You mumble, quietly padding forward, skin tingling as you try not to look at him too much. How devastatingly hungry he makes you.

Azriel nods, oblivious to your inner thoughts.

Despite shaky fingers, you make quick work of the blindfold, silk slipping easily from the knot, allowing your eyes to lock with blown out hazel. Pupils dilated from the darkness. You look away hastily.

Yet things only seem to get worse, much to your mutual embarrassment.

“I don’t know what they’re doing,” he grits out, sending a scathing glare to the idle darkness, content to remain snug around his cock, unwilling to click the key in the lock of his chain. You shake your head, “I’ll just undo them. Then you’ll be good to go, right?” Eyes lock again at the poor choice of words, and heat flushes your cheeks.

“If you’re comfortable…” he hedges, colour dusting his skin. At least you’re not alone in the awkwardness.

Nodding once, you crawl onto the bed, getting to your feet. The only way you’ll be able to reach the lock is by going down between his wings, as they’re blocking your access from the side. You try to ignore the heat that’s steadily building between your thighs. Pray Azriel won’t be able to tell as you lean over him, feet either side of his hips as you attempt to avoid the great wings at his back. They’re really fucking big though.

Fingers fumble, feeling for the chains, but darkness is shrouding him, making it nearly impossible to actually see what you’re doing. “Is there any way for you to at least remove them from your arms? I’m struggling to see what’s where…” You brush skin, then zero in on it, tracing down to his wrists. “Wait— I think…” You lean further, his shoulders tensing, head shifting to make room as you reach for where you assume the iron is. “Okay… I can feel the locks,” you report, squinting in attempt to see what you’re touching. “Do you remember which one has the key in, Azriel?” You ask, trying to feel your way around.

Beneath you, the male has gone silent. Body rigid.

“Azriel?” You repeat, halting your movements. Pull back. “Azriel, what— Oh my gods.”

“I’m so sorry. They’re not—” He cuts himself off, hissing your name in warning. Just a second too late for you to register as his shadows hook around your hips, having crept up the backs of your thighs. You’re roughly yanked away from the chains, pulled with enough force to make you—

“Motherfucker!” You hiss, collapsing into his lap, shadows still working him with agonising slowness.

In any other scenario, Azriel would have released a surprised laugh at hearing the foul curse coming from your mouth. Instead, his cock twitches, unaccustomed to hearing such a filthy word on your tongue.

Both of you stiffen with the proximity, eyes locking and widening as scents twine. Gazes break, hastily snapping away. Clear your throat.

“Should I— I mean, should I get Cass? Or maybe Rhys’ll know what to do?” You manage, voice heavy and thick. Azriel shakes his head. “They’ll never let me live this down,” he mutters, muscle flexing as he shifts beneath you. “Maybe you should just let them continue…” you murmur, heat flushing your cheeks as hazel cuts to you. Swallow once. “I mean, that’s what they’re doing, right? Trying to get you to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he grits out, colour tinting his skin. Hisses when his shadows squeeze him in reprimand. Then stop entirely. Stubborn things.

Azriel’s chest rises up and down, sweat gleaming in the low light, your temperature increasing.

“Do you… Can I help?”

Hazel stares at you, making you want to steal the words back from the world. Open your mouth to apologise…

“You…” Muscle feathers in his jaw. Eyes flick to his shadows. One curls around his ear. Attention snaps to you, nostrils flaring delicately. “I would appreciate it,” he manages stiffly, still staring at you.

Mother strike you down.

Push away embarrassment, shifting in his lap, settling between his legs. Swallow once, wapping your hand around him. “I’m not sure what… Please tell me what you like.” Azriel sucks in a shaky breath, sending a free wave of his arousal wrapping around you, clouding your mind. “Firmer,” he instructs after you move your hand over him. He shudders, darkness stuttering at his back, brows digging together. “More,” he manages, sounding strained.

You grip him tighter, repeating the action, heart pounding as you watch his responses. His teeth biting into his lip, eyes pressed shut in attempts to manage his pleasure. Why is he wanting to stay in control when the whole point is to lose it?

That certainly won’t do.

Again, you shift, lips parting as your tongue flicks over the slit in his head, tasting the moisture that’s gathered there.

Azriel swears under his breath, feeling the weight of his attention on you. Exhilaration lighting your blood at being the centre of his arousal. Legs part, allowing you more access, and you settle more comfortably—one arm wrapping beneath his thigh, free hand pumping what you know you won’t be able to swallow.

Shadows flicker, then yield entirely as you slide down onto him, taking him into your mouth, tongue shifting against the underside. Tension melts from his body, slumping slightly against the headboard as he twitches. A guttural moan rips from his throat as you flick your wet muscle just beneath his head, hand pumping his base, fingers soothing brushing against his hip bone. Gentle and torturous.

Your name slips from his tongue, deep and rough. “I can’t—… I’m—” You hum comfortingly, encouraging him along. Shadows flick over the backs of your thighs, spurring you to take him as deep as you can, throat flexing around him as he twitches. His hips buck, causing a small gagging sound to whimper from you, and he groans. Without hesitating, he repeats the action, bucking up into your mouth, needing a repeat. Throat contracts, squeezing him as you whine, tears building at the edges of your vision.

When you pull to his tip, then slide back down, his restraint snaps, cum spurting from his tip as he sinks back against the bed, head tipping to expose the strong column as it bobs. Chest rises and falls deeply, panting as euphoria concentrates his blood, blinding pleasure coating his skin. Eyes flutter as they roll upward, spine curving as you take him.

Slowly, you pull back, tongue flicking over your lips to catch anything you missed, lapping the remaining moisture from his head. Blown out hazel cuts into you, temperature spiking at the hunger he greets you with. “Where did you learn that?” He pants, eyes narrowing. You swallow; he tracks that, too. “It’d be a little embarrassing if I didn’t know at my age, don’t you think?” You counter, trying to bite back the heat that’s turned liquid between your thighs.

His throat rolls, eyes flicking downward—raking over you. Reassessing.

“Well,” you say hastily, “you should be good to—” Bite your tongue as shadows curiously play beneath your skirts, a single tendril sneaking beneath the band of your underwear, snapping it against your abdomen. His jaw ticks at the sound, knowing exactly what the darkness is doing to you. Right before his eyes.

“Will you…” Mother above, it’s much more difficult than he anticipated. With almost any other female, he would have no concerns at all. Shakes his head, straight to the point. “You enjoyed that.” He’s rewarded with the sound of you softly cursing, heat warming your skin, enough for him to shift with pleasure at the thought of sinking into you. How wet you must be from your scent.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I can’t help it.”

Azriel swallows thickly. “Act on it.”

Eyes lock, breath catches in your lungs. “What?” The male shifts, wings twitching as he rearranges them. “I know you want to,” he breathes, eyes fluttering slightly as he pulls your scent into him. “So I’m giving you the okay.” Shadows flick against your inner thighs, making your head dip. He’s saying it’s fine…and Gods you want him so badly.

Azriel nearly sighs with relief when you hesitantly settle your palms on his shoulders, nearly groans with delight as you fully put yourself over his lap, thighs either side of his hips. For so long he’s been waiting for you to open yourself up to him, gently plying you apart with incessant determination. And now here you are at last, crawling into his lap, ready to take him. Sends a quiet prayer to the Mother, thankful for the relief sweeping in.

Pleasure builds beneath his skin as you pull your skirts up, inadvertently displaying yourself to his hungry eyes. How the cotton is suctioned to your heat, undoubtedly a patch of darkened fabric at your entrance. He can scent your arousal; guess at how wet you are.

Fingers dip between your legs, shadows pulling your skirts taut against your pretty hips, allowing you to push the cotton aside, letting his tip slot against the soft dip between your thighs. He exhales a shaky breath, chest rising and falling heavily, attention glued to your cunt, watching as you brace both hands on his shoulders, heart spiking at the contact. Feel as you try to slide down, taking him slowly, swallowing his head.

Teeth bite into your lip as you begin to settle your weight over him, already feeling how big he is. Suck your lower lip in, spine curving as you rise up, then settle down, repeating the actions until you can fully sit yourself in his lap. Hips pressed tight against the backs of your thighs. Mouth opens in pleasure, eyes fluttering as you clamp down around him.

“You okay?” He breathes softly, feeling how tight you are around him, despite the wetness that’s dripping down onto him. Nod your head, though your eyes are still slightly rolled. You look numb with pleasure, and he needs to grip your hips, be in control so he can slam you down onto his cock. Abuse the spots inside of you he has yet to discover.

Azriel calls your name softly; you try to blink away your stupor. Straighten your spine, weight shifting over him, moans pouring from your lips as he grazes a part of you that—fuck.

Shadows twine around your back, letting you rest against the tops of his thighs as you pant heavily, heat buzzing beneath your skin—clothes need to come off. “Azriel…” you whimper. “Azriel, can you…?” Darkness flicks over your hips, skating up your stomach, pulling loose strings and dragging the fabric away almost in the blink of an eye. Lips part in pleasure as you slump a little in relief, cock pressing deeper.

“I need you to untie me,” he whispers gently, colour flushing his cheeks. “Can you do that for me?”

Peek your eyes open enough to latch onto hazel, pupils blown out. Moans softly whine from your chest—how intimate he looks. Swallow, then lips part. Shake your head, smiling softly. Azriel’s hip buck with need, urging you to rethink your decision. Back arches, a louder moan bursting from your chest. Forcing him to watch as you come apart while his shadows slink across your skin. Tongue flicks out to wet his lips as darkness plays with your perky nipples. Pinching. Biting.

“Azriel…” you moan. He growls in frustration, tugging on the self-inflicted restraints, begging for them to magically undo. Furious with his shadows for daring to put him through this kind of torture.

“I need you to untie me, pretty thing,” he groans, watching as you swirl your hips, exploring how his cock can make you feel. “Untie me, then we can have some fun. Wouldn’t you like that?” Lips part as your eyes lift into a smile, a mix between a moan and a laugh bubbling out. Shift so your full weight is over his hips, forcing his head to tip back against the headboard, eyes squeezing together as he tries to keep his sanity.

“You’re the one who tied yourself up,” you purr drowsily, arms gliding over the broad expanse of his shoulders, briefly attaching your mouth to one of the many paths of ink trailing across his chest. Teeth drag across hot, tan skin, tongue flicking over his nipple, hips bucking sharply, a quiet gasp huffing from his nipped-raw lips. Again, canines dig into the skin, attempting to quiet himself, but he has neither his hands nor his shadows to aid him this time.

You lean forward, mouth opening over his own, taking his lower lip between your teeth, tugging lightly. Hazel locks onto you; you purr. Spine curving, breasts softly pressing against him, almost aching with pleasure. Roll your hips.

He gives you a dark glance, peering at you from beneath a narrowed brow, dark locks of hair curling. You moan, hands greedily exploring the muscle of his shoulders, dipping down his back. Hazel widens as you brush his wings. Lips slant against his own, tongue flicking against him, and he opens eagerly. Unable to form a defence against you now the soft pads of your fingertips are stimulating him in such an intimate way.

“Like that, Azzie?” You ask lazily, rolling your hips onto him. Mind numbing from pleasure. Cock nestled so deep inside of you. “You like this sort of thing, don’t you?” Pull away to peer at him, moving with lethargic grace. A mix between a groan and a whimper hums at the back of his throat, and you grind against him in response.

“Please…” he breathes, “untie me, torturous thing.”

The grin that spreads across your mouth has hope vanishing, forced to watch as you lean back onto him, weight again shifting. Forced to watch as you ride him to your own pleasure, unable to move you how he wants, watch as your eyes roll back. Nails dig into him, lightly catching the edge of his wing as you retreat, and he nearly reaches his high right then and there. But you retract, chasing your own orgasm, and then you’re fluttering around his cock, cunt spasming as pleasure concentrates in your veins.

It’s only once you’ve slumped back against his thighs that shadows click the key in the lock. And all at once, he’s free. Free to touch you, to grip and grope. Unchained.

A high-pitched moan spills from your mouth into his as he flips you onto your back, hungrily devouring you as you’re pressed into the bed. Hands grip your wrists tight, simulating the torture of his own experiences, pinning you to his bed as he cages you in. Hips drawing back, then slamming in. Tears spill from your eyes, running back into your hair as he fucks you within an inch of a second orgasm.

“Azriel!” You gasp, breath having trouble entering and exiting your lungs from sheer pleasure. Slams in to the hilt, hips grinding against you as he halts his movements. Back arches, bowing off the bed, baring your chest for him to put his teeth over. Canines close around one nipple, pulling and tugging while keeping himself nestled deep in your wet cunt. Tongue circles and flicks over the sensitive peak, suckling lightly before giving his attention to your other.

“Azriel, please…!” You pant, crying out for him to continue, attempting to buck your hips. Trying to stimulate some friction. Pulls away from your breasts, gleaming from attention of his hot, wet mouth. “What do you want?” He growls, hissing from the way you clamp around him at the deep, syrupy pour of his voice, how it licks between your thighs, zaps pleasure to your clit.

Eyes lock together, your own set bright and gleaming from tears. “Move…please. Go harder.” A rough chuckles drags from the back of his throat, carnal and animalistic. Spawning butterflies in your abdomen, fluttering wildly at this untamed side of him. Canines push into the supple skin of your neck, stamping in his mark, printing his ownership onto your body.

Hips drag back. Then slam in.

Mouth parts in pleasure, muscles trembling as the second wave crashes over you, eyes rolling back as he pounds into you. Overstimulation breaks across your skin, the same time you feel him twitch, hot spurts of cum spilling into you. Pumping you full as he continues to abuse you over and over, causing you to shake and tremble while he keeps you pinned to his bed.

It’s only when the last aftershock of pleasure has subsided that he allows you reprieve. Rolling you over so you’re atop him, lazing together in the aftermath of pleasure. The tangle of limbs you’ve created, the mess sticking you together. Shadows lick and flick over your skin, wanting to play. Wanting another turn.

Azriel’s tempted to let them, after the torture you put him through.

Let them return the favour.

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#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel smut #Azriel x reader smut #Shadowsinger #Azriel shadowsinger #October #shadows #shadow play

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kpopnstarwars · 2 months

Text

Upon the Sands of the Arena: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: basically reader fights feyd in the arena, my apologies if there are any inaccuracies, i'm dUmB

tw: 18+, smut YAAA, fighting, swearing, i use fire metaphors too much, blood, violence and death (it's in a a gladiatorial arena ffs), creampie, one ass spank, fingering + oral (f receiveing) hella lot of sexual tension, Fighting as Foreplay, feyd sorta has a blood kink but he's just freaky like that, sort of fluffy at the end, hint of voyeurism if you squint really hard, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 4.1k

part 2

The Bene Gesserit are distracted.

If the Kwisatz Haderach was not so near, they would have disposed of you properly. Instead, they sucked you back into their dark web of deceit and occulted plans only to spit you out just as fast, leaving your fate to the blood soaked sands of Giedi Prime’s arenas. You believe that if it were not for the actions of Lady Jessica Atreides and her defiance of the order, they’d pay you more attention.

Not that you’re complaining.

You were trained to flourish in the dark, lurking in the shadows of the deepest of nights, awaiting a time to strike. However, you are not like your mentors, you do not believe in the hoping, the weaving of bloodlines for the production of a distant messiah, nor do you dirty your hands to obey an imperious Reverend Mother.

Truly, you admire Lady Jessica for doing the same as you did - defying the order and thereby splintering from it; all the same, you do not desire what she wants. For she wants power for her son and her unborn daughter, and you want nothing but to be left alone.

In a universe full of yearning for a greater purpose, you want the opposite. Often, you find yourself wishing you were something of nature: not mundane, by any means, but uncontrollable, like the desert winds that sift through the sands of Arrakis simply because. To be like them, without a master, without the endless search for purpose, is freedom.

Instead, you have been branded with the title Bene Gesserit - ex Bene Gesserit now - and you wield too much power for the order to ignore you, even alone. Hence why they incorporated your capture into their plans, engineering it so that you face the Baron’s brutal, bloodthirsty nephew in the arena.

They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill you.

You think they forget that you once were as good as the rest of them. They forget that you still possess the ability to alter the molecules in your blood to resist the drugs they pump into the arena prisoners, and they forget that you trained beside the best in combat.

The arena is where you thrive.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. It excites you, the swell of noise that is thousands of harsh Harkonnen tongues heckling for blood; the stamp of their feet as they cry their na-Baron’s name vibrates through the arena, through the grains of sand beneath your feet, deep and heady like burgundy wine.

Your fingers tighten around the blade given to you, barely sharpened and made of unsanded wood, but solid all the same. It’s all you’ll need against the na-Baron. He is but a cruel man set on fire with exterminable blue flames, and you are Bene Gesserit: defiant of the order or not, it is who and what you are, and it is pure power coursing through your veins - power that answers to you and you only.

The roar of the na-Baron soars over the crowd’s cheering, animalistic and full of fury that makes you wonder what incenses him so much. Something in his past, maybe, something that he only acknowledges in the inner machinations of his cunning mind.

The grate in front of you opens, and you allow yourself a smile as you step out into Giedi Prime’s tortorous ebony sun. High above, you spot the slit of a balcony where the Baron himself reclines, watching his nephew with a benevolent smile and a pipe in his hand, flanked by subservient concubines with bowed heads. All around, the crowd shouts, thunderous, urging their na-Baron to spill blood on the sand, to paint the arena red. It swirls around you like a washed out dream, black and white but simultaneously vivid, the stink of rotting bodies and sun bleached white sand pungent in your nostrils, the occasional pop from the fireworks overhead heavy in your ears.

Rolling your shoulders, you pace a few steps in before sitting down in the sand, cross legged, the backs of your hands against your knees with your blade flat against one of your palms. Pitiless, you watch as the na-Baron slices the throat of the first prisoner that staggers his way, throwing him an enigmatic smile when he glances towards you.

His eyes are cold; calculating. They’re dark, striking against his pale skin as they suck in the light, and hungry too, as if he strives for something he does not quite know, always reaching, always burning for more.

Intriguing.

He circles in on the next prisoner, who meets his end by the same savage knife work as the first, his guts spilled out onto the greedy sand. Insatiable, chest heaving with excitement more than fatigue, the na-Baron turns to you, his final prey - his black teeth are bared in a magnificent, maniacal grin, his footsteps silent as he approaches.

Facing him now, you understand why the Bene Gesserit believed that by crossing the Atreides’ meant-to-be daughter with the Harkonnen’s na-Baron, they would make the Kwisatz Haderach. There’s no doubt in this man’s genetics, in the solid lines of his strength sheathed bones and the sheer virility and ferocity that permeates the air around him - it’s almost elegant, the way he prowls towards you, his stride lilting and laced with power. They picked him well.

Too bad you’ll have to kill him.

If he proves to be obtuse, you’ll have no choice but to slay him in order to save yourself. If he is, however, as cunning as they say, you’ll give him a chance to live - it’d be a shame to end him, actually: something draws you to the rawness of his nature, to the frigidity of the ire in his eyes.

The na-Baron circles closer, his skin like moonlight. He watches you like a hawk, as if he’s the one who’s hunting, ready for his next meal; his eyes flash in the sun, studying you, watching for your tells even as you identify his. Smiling, you drop into a crouch, knife outstretched like a twisted mockery of a peace offering, waiting for him to take the bait and strike.

He cocks his head. ‘It’s rare that I face a woman in the arena.’

‘I’m sure it will still be of pleasure to you, Feyd-Rautha.’

‘I believe it will increase it tenfold, little witch.’

You don’t have time to figure out how he knows you’re Bene Gesserit, because he slashes at you, once down towards your ribs and once back up at your throat. His knife flashes in the sun, reflecting the bloodlust in his eyes as it arcs towards you; light on your feet, you parry both of his blows, dipping in to land your own. He’s strong, which is of less concern to you than his speed. Feyd-Rautha fights as if he’s dancing: not in the aspect that there’s flourish in his bladework - quite the opposite, he keeps his strikes efficient and tight - but in the smooth, hypnotic way that the movements of his body blend seamlessly together.

The crowd screams as he forces you into defence. It’s temporary, though, because he gets reckless, both driven and blinded by his hunger for blood - enough so that you can dart your foot out, hooking it around his ankles and overbalancing him. Sprays of sand are kicked up as he tries to steady himself, and you force him down with the tip of your blade to his pale throat.

A single, sleek drop of scarlet slides down his skin. Unhurriedly, he brings a hand up to catch it before it leaks onto his black armour, lifting it so he can see the blood your knife has shed. His gaze flicks up to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

‘Huh,’ he remarks, pleasantly surprised.

And then he lashes out, bringing you down into the sand beside him. With the hilt of his knife, he knocks your own out of your hand, and it’s catapulted into the air, spinning end over end and catching the light before it somersaults into the ground a few feet away. The grit plumes up at your face as you scuffle with him, and you hiss, frustrated that the sand does not lend you any more traction.

Rolling you over so fast your head spins, Feyd-Rautha drives his knife down towards your exposed neck. It makes a bolt of panic shoot through you, followed by the deep seated, survival impelled instinct to use the Voice on him, but like hell you’re doing that; honour prevents you, as well as the desire to finish this fight properly. You have no choice but to grab his forearm, slowing his blade’s descent, and a mirthful, rasping noise leaves his chest - a laugh that sets his eyes alight.

And then, the pressure dissolves, falling away. He stands, smirking down at you, the sun like a damning halo around his head. Silence falls over the arena, the anticipation thick in the air as he raises his hand, gesturing somewhere over your shoulder.

‘Go on, little witch, get your knife.’

You sneer, seeing the greed in his eyes, the misguided belief that he’s got you where he wants you. He wants to play, and it delights you.

Taking a few steps in the direction of the knife, you feign acquiescence. You can feel his eyes on your back, can sense the triumph oozing off him, and you let the adrenaline coursing through your veins guide your limbs, twisting you around so you can lunge at him, one hand wrapping around his bare forearm and bending it backwards as you spin him sharply until his back meets your chest. Viciously, you yank his arm further back, and the pain of that combined with your elbow tight around his throat, constricting his airways, is enough to loosen his grip.

A gasp ripples through the crowd as Feyd-Rautha drops his knife. It lodges in the ground beside your foot, and you flick it up with the toe of your boot, your hand darting out to snatch it from the air. The man in your arms bucks and writhes, but you keep your hold on him as you bring the knife to his neck for the second time.

‘Uh oh,’ you sing-song into his ear. ‘What’s happened here?’

He stills in your arms a little. ‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘I fear I’ve grown attached to you during our little fight,’ you hum. ‘It would be a shame to end a specimen like yourself.’

‘You are Bene Gesserit, I’m sure that you have arrangements - ’

‘I may be one, but I do not follow the order,’ you snarl. ‘I spare you because I wish to. Now, Harkonnen, knock the knife from my hand.’

You feel his muscles tense, the hesitation coursing through his body as he determines whether your bid is a trick or not, and then he does as you say, catching it smoothly and spinning to bring it to your throat. Calmly, you stare into his narrowed eyes, the cold caress of the blade harsh against your exposed skin.

‘What’s stopping me from killing you now, little witch?’

You laugh. ‘I trust I’ve piqued your interest sufficiently, na-Baron.’

‘Just Feyd is fine.’

You open your mouth to mock him, but he slices the blade away from your neck, very purposefully nicking you. Blood beads at the seam of the cut, hot and vengeful; he grips the back of your neck, exposing your throat to him, and prickles of pain shoot through you as the wound stretches. Frozen, you wait to see what he’ll do next, heart fluttering in your chest in a way that you know is not fear.

Insouciantly, he licks a long stripe up your skin, his scorching tongue following the trail of crimson his blade left behind. All consuming heat wells up in your stomach when he grins at you, displaying the hint of red coating his obsidian teeth, his eyes igniting the air between you as they dip down to survey your body, your heaving chest.

And then he releases you. You find your knees have gone weak, and you stumble as the guards close around you, grabbing you roughly under the armpits and dragging you out of the arena, your knees making twin tracks in the sand.

Managing a glance behind you, you catch sight of Feyd, his fist held triumphantly in the air as the crowd roars for their na-Baron.

Unsurprisingly, they throw you into a cell. Its walls are made of smooth, dark metal which seem to swallow up any sound that you make - it doesn’t surprise you that Vladimir Harkonnen has a Bene Gesserit proof cell - and the only thing furnishing it is a black blanket on the ground. A servant comes in and treats the shallow cut on your neck, but he refuses to meet your eyes and scurries off as fast as he can, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

You estimate two hours, maybe three, before Feyd appears in the doorway. His silhouette appears in the small glass window set in the door and pauses; you wonder if he’s considering leaving you there for a little longer, but then the lock disengages with a whoosh and the door slides open.

The air is immediately charged as he strides down the steps, eyes locked on you. With the smooth hiss of hydraulics, the door closes behind him, and he prowls forward, not quite smiling yet - you sense that he’s here to continue what you didn’t finish in the arena, and your back straightens a little as his gaze rakes over your body. He’s taken off his armour, leaving him in the thin black underclothes beneath, and he too has had someone treat the wound in his neck.

‘Your resistance to the drugs is remarkable, little witch. My blade was laced too.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘I find that matter quite disappointing, actually, that you must face your opponents in the arena when they are half sedated in order to best them.’

He smiles, stepping closer to you until you share air. ‘It’s not just the winning I seek.’

‘Oh, what is it then?’ You ask. ‘Pain?’

Quick as a snake, you strike, letting the thrill of the fight shoot through you yet again as he matches you blow for blow. He looks at you as if he wants to eat you, to taste you - not just your lips or your tongue, but the defiant burn of your lifeblood too, and it makes you want to sink your teeth into him.

Slipping past his guard to catch the front of his shirt, you bunch the material in your hand and tear, baring his well muscled chest to you. The sight of it makes your lips quirk upwards, further so at the sound he makes: a half growl and a half groan as he lunges for you, wonderfully infuriated by the way you dance just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers like water. His eyes are kindled with ardour - for both your blood and your flesh - and when they meet yours, shivers snap down your spine and tug at your stomach.

Feinting to the left, you jab at his neck. Like a scorpion waiting to strike, he grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him; you glance down at his feet, easily predicting that he’s going to sweep your legs out from under you if you let him bring you any closer. Yanking your hand back, you attempt to shake his grip on you, but he refuses to let go.

You slap him across the face.

Hard.

His fingers loosen on you as his head snaps to the side, the noise your palm makes against his chiselled cheek sharp and ringing in the cell. A soft, animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, and when he lifts his chin, his jaw clenched to perfection, the pure lust in his eyes makes you stumble back a step.

Rushing at you, he takes advantage of the heady swoop of desire that messes with your head, slowly backing you against the wall with each punch and kick he throws. Heat roils in his gaze, so intense that when he slams you against the wall, you don’t know whether he’s going to kill you or kiss you - the not-knowing thrills you, sets your bones and soul on fire. One of his hands comes up, his fingertips caressing your throat before he pounces, mercilessly cutting off your air supply.

Leaning into your space, he brings his lips up to your ear. ‘If I’d had my way, little witch, I’d have fucked you right there on the sand, with all of them watching.’

Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs or the feeling of his strong thigh pressing between your legs, relentless as he grinds it against your clit. You allow yourself a second to enjoy it before you retaliate, adrenaline seething in your blood.

Burying your nails into his arm, you twist it to the side, unbalancing him and taking him to the floor - his fingers grip your shirt, bringing you down with him. You land on his torso, straddling his hips, and as you do, he snaps his wrists down and rips your shirt from top to bottom down your back. The cool air of the cell sends ripples of goosebumps up your skin, and Feyd’s wide, calloused palms follow their path, surprisingly warm, deceptively gentle.

Bucking his lower body, he flips you over, pinning your hands over head, his long fingers circling your wrists as his hips press heavily into yours. Your eyes flick down to his mouth as he dips his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek; the curve of his lips is soft and almost graceful compared to the rough way he grinds against you, eager for more, yet eager to torture himself with the wait.

Tipping your jaw up, you let your lower lip brush his before you turn your head to the side, denying him. Amusingly, he follows your touch, insistent that you kiss him, but you ease out of his grip and trap him between your arms when he gives chase - a growl sounds low in his chest, one of his hands gripping your thigh, futilely yanking at your trousers as you grapple, rolling over and over on the cell’s floor.

His hand slams down beside your head, stopping your course, his forearm flat against your throat - not quite choking you, but not letting your air supply run free. Feyd’s touch sears your skin in the best way, and you wish to be consumed by the flames.

‘Must I tie you up, little witch?’

His voice is low and rasping, sending shivers up your spine. You don’t answer, instead claiming his lips, welcoming the insistent press of his tongue as you thrust your hips against his, seeking that exquisite friction. Running your hands up his strong back, you hook your elbow around the nape of his neck, locking him to you as he explores the taste of you.

Abruptly, he pulls away, and you open your mouth, protest on your lips until he tugs down your trousers and underwear, tossing them somewhere to the side, his own garments following. You get one good look at him, at his powerful, muscle lined thighs framing your hips and the curve of his leaking cock against his stomach before he swipes his fingers between your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.

When he lowers his face to your heat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a breathless moan slips from you, loaded with anticipation. You can’t stop the louder echo that leaves you when he dips his fingers into cunt, curling them to hit your sweet spot, and your nails claw at his shoulder blades, leaving red trails behind them.

‘That’s it, little witch,’ he croons. ‘Sing for me.’

And sing you do, as he wrings the pleasure from you with his tongue and fingers until your legs tremble and close around his head. He pins your thighs to the floor, holding you open for him as he tastes you, insatiable, pushing you unrelentingly over the edge, again and again until hot tears slide down your cheeks and your voice breaks from crying his name.

Finally, he buries his length inside you. Your eyes roll back at the stretch of it, your pussy fluttering around him; you muffle the moan that rips itself from your chest by biting down on his shoulder. He chuckles as you mewl his name, your back arching as he pulls out, only sheathe himself up to the hilt when he thrusts back in - he’s as drunk on your sounds as you are on his cock: he needs more. More of you, of your delicious sounds and your intoxicating scent and that sweet, sweet cunt of yours.

Feyd fucks like he fights: ruthless, full of passion and lust, remorseless.

Just as you’re about to come around his cock, he pulls out, leaving you scrabbling against the floor, hips futile as they follow his, his name like a plea on your lips. He drinks in your desperation, flipping you over and cracking his palm down hard on your ass before slamming himself back into your weeping pussy, the ragged cry that escapes you like the nectar of the gods on his tongue as he swallows it with a kiss. Gathering your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back, pounding tirelessly into you as he pins you to his solid chest, mouthing at the skin behind your ear.

As Feyd spills his warm seed inside you, you wonder if the Bene Gesserit were actually distracted, or if that was what they wanted you to think as they crossed bloodlines, even despite your defiance of their order.

You flop onto the blanket as Feyd eases himself out of your spasming cunt. Your head is fuzzy, warm, and a dumb smile pulls at your lips.

Feyd chuckles. ‘I have not broken you, have I, little witch?’

You send him a look half as fierce as it should be. ‘Barely. You have merely sated me - for now.’

He laughs again, lying next to you on the blankets. His body is angled towards you, but he doesn’t reach out - that he lay down beside you is surprising to you in the first place, but you seize the opportunity and curl up in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Slowly, his fingers card through your hair, and you close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment of softness from the bloodthirsty na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Reaching out, you grab the blanket and fold it over the two of you - he rolls over so that he lies with his head resting on your chest. His lips brush the skin between your breasts, and you're struck by the glimpse of vulnerability that Feyd allows you to witness; this is not by accident, this is a gift from him, a way of silently telling you that he has come as close to trusting you as he could ever come to trusting someone.

Silent, you bask there in the afterglow, eyes half closed. At some point, you seek Feyd’s lips, and he obliges you, lazily exploring your mouth in a way he did not get a chance to do before, sighing contentedly as you trace the lines your nails carved along the grooves of his broad back. Eventually, you pull away, staring into his eyes where the embers of the fire that had blazed in them still glow with the heat of it. You need to go.

Gently, your breath mingling with his, you kiss his cheek, your lips gliding against his skin before you get up, briefly laughing at the wobbly nature of your legs before gathering your clothes and dressing as best as you can, considering he ripped your shirt all the way down the back.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s propped himself up on his elbows; the blanket has slipped down to reveal most of his moon coloured stomach, and he regards you with mirth mixed with something like respect.

You pause in the doorway. You can tell he’s letting you leave.

A smile plays on his lips.

‘We’ll meet again, little witch.’

It’s not a question, nor a whimsy. It’s a promise.

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klausysworld · 10 months

Note

Hear me out.....

I have this idea for you... hear me out.

Reader is camping in mystic falls....klaus just broke his wolf curse. His first rut hits him and he runs into the woods. He gets a whiff of a very good smelling scent. He follows it. Turns out he has a mate and she is not a super creature but a human. Hear me out now.... she's his true mate...and he considers her his omega.

So when he approaches her she's like a tad bit freaked out but she feels that same pull to him he does with her. She sits down on the ground and klaus let's her pet him...

Let's just say this reader is into...werewolves cause she reads a lot of fanfiction so in her mind her wildest dreams are about to come true. And you can put two and two together.

Wolf!klaus fucking his human!reader as his mate. And after that moment they became inseparable. Your welcome. 😌

Dream or Reality?

Klaus ran far and fast, the pads of his paws thudding against the ground, wind blowing through his fur and that delightful rush of adrenaline had his undead heart pounding.

He dismissed Elijah’s annoyed callings for him and continued to enjoy the freedom he had longed for.

Everything was so intense now, even more that it already was. Every chirp of a cricket, every buzz of a bee, every crinkle of a leaf and every flap of a birds wings. He could hear for miles on end. As he looked around at his surroundings, the greens were brighter, the sky bluer. The the mud and blades of grass against his paws could each be individually felt and when he inhaled deeply, a wave of scents filled his lungs.

However one in particular stood out.

He made a sudden stop, his body skidding to a halt and his ears pointed straight up as he sniffed a few more times. His mouth watered and he pressed his snout down, following the delicious scent, chasing it as he heard the hum of a girl.

He slowed gradually and followed her as she weaves through the trees, a basket in hand which was filled with a range of wild berries. He sat down and watched as she picked from a large bush of blackberries, leaning a little closer to smell just how lovely she was. It had his claws digging into the ground and his tail beating the floor.

His eyes shone gold, bleeding into red as she bent right the way over to pick up her basket once she was finished picking from the high parts. Her short, flowy dress allowing him to see just about everything as her matching white thong left very little to the imagination.

Oh how he wanted to run up behind her and shove his mouth into her cunt. If she smelled this delicious, he could only dream of her taste.

But instead he decided to wait, follow her some more until it began to get dark and her stroll came to a stop. He looked around at the clearing she had chosen to rest at. Klaus kept low to the ground, the grass and flowers not hiding him as well as he might’ve hoped but enough.

He took a few tentative steps as she sat down against the grass, just watching the sun set. Her skin glowed under the golden hue and her hair lay beautifully against her skin. The white of her dress complimented her skin tone wonderfully, he could onto imagine how soft it would be against his tongue.

The thought alone had him walking straight to her, his muzzle brushing her shoulder making her freeze in place. Her head slowly turned to face him, wide eyes staring back at him and her breathing came to a stop.

He slowly sat before her, her lips parted slightly as he rolled his shoulders back and he sat tall before her. Her head tilted back to take in his height, a nervous breath leaving her as a soft growl rumbled through him.

She looked so weak in-front of him, so small and innocent. Oh how he knew he could just eat her up, in many ways.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, shock written all across her as maintained eye contact with him for as long as possible. He found it amusing how she tried to stand her ground by holding his stare, he allowed her to win this, allow her to feel as though she may have the upper hand.

Klaus brought himself down to lay on his forearms and back legs, his chest barely touching the grass below.

Her hand very slowly lifted, she held it out with fear flashing through her and a twinge of curiosity as he sniffed her hand. He groaned at the addictive scent of her blood underneath the surface and licked the soft skin of her palm. She giggled quietly at the tickle of his tongue as he dragged it up her arm and her other hand pet his head gently.

“Wow” she whispered under her breath and a smile tugged at her lips as he pulled his face away and looks down at her through hooded eyes. His head tilted when he caught the scent of something rather sweet. His tail whipped side to side when he realised the source of the delicious smell and lowered his head. Her eyes widened when his nose pressed to her lower belly and she gasped softly.

Her hands ran through his fur on his neck and down his back, well as far as her arms could reach from her seated position. When she leaned forward to touch his tail he took the opportunity to get his head under her skirt, the top of his snout pressed to her panties making her jolt and squeal.

“Shit” she whispered when she fell forward in surprise onto her hands and knees over the top of him. She kept still, unsure what her best move could be here, she couldn’t make any sudden movements, it might spook him and she didn’t exactly want to be with a violent wolf when it’s nose was rubbing against her panties.

An involuntary moan left her when his long, warm tongue pressed against her and she quickly rolled to her side and onto her back.

“Oh gods” she whispered when the wolf stood over her, licking his lips and sniffing her intently. She looked up wide eyed and even more so when he barked quietly at her before pressing his nose to the valley if her breasts.

Her mouth opened and closed as she stared into his eyes, a strange glint in them that told her he was definitely more than he looked.

Dear god she read too many werewolf fanfics. She was in a field with a fucking huge animal trying to feel her up and she liked it way more than she probably should.

“Okay, okay” she uttered to herself while slowly pushing herself up to be sitting again but he didn’t move, instead her face was hidden in his chest and his rustic scent was filling her head. She groaned softly at the addicting smell and found herself nuzzling her nose against his fur.

Klaus watched in both amusement and lust, his front leg lifted to wrap around her, his large paw holding the back of her head in encouragement as she huffed him in. Warmth spread through him, pooling at the pit of his stomach as her hands tugged his fur. God he needed to have her right now, make her his before anyone else could get even the slightest view of her.

His nose sniffed at the top of her head, her hair freshly washed and soft. Her cheek pressed to his chest and a small moan left her as he stepped forward and pressed a paw to her now damp underwear. His tail wagged and he turned his head to lick the shell of her ear and make her squirm.

She fell back against the grass as he pressed his nose to her throat to gently push her downwards.

“Fuck fuck fuck” she chanted as she closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his tongue along her neck. His teeth caged her throat, the action should’ve made her reek with fear but a low growl erupted from his chest at the flow of arousal she released as he bit down gently. Her hands latched onto his fur tightly, keeping his teeth in her as he pierced past the skin to leave his mark. “Oh god” she breathed as he licked over the wounds more moving his snout further down her body.

“This can’t be happening” she whispered as his canines nibbled along the swell of her breasts and pushed the top of her dress down to have more access. Klaus tugged at the fabric but she didn’t move to take it off making him huff and bark at her.

She looked back at him confused and shook her head slowly making him grumble before grabbing the skirt of the sundress and pulling it up making her yelp as he exposed her thong. Her hand moved to cover herself and she groaned when she realised how wet she was, not noticing the way his tail wagged rapidly when she pushed them down off her legs. “What am I doing” she mumbled to herself before glancing to the wolf.

“Sit” she whispered unsure but he did so and her eyes widened. “Okay” she laughed slightly and stood up, entertained by the fact he followed her. “Go on, go home” she shooed him, but he kept his nose nice and close to the source of her scent and followed her until she stopped at a large teepee tent. She sighed and went inside, closing it up before Klaus could step in making him growl softly.

Not that it was an issue, he just powered his way through and drank in the sight before him. Seeing her pull off her dress and pull out a skimpy pair of pyjamas. Perfect for his eyes but he also hated that she would come to an open area, anyone could come by, and wear such lack of clothing.

She shrieked when she turned to see him stood before her and grabbed her sleeping bag to cover herself. It wasn’t appreciated apparently as he showed her by grabbing the end of it and pulling it roughly like a dog would a tug toy. Her hold on it was nothing compared to his and she ended up fully naked again for his eager eyes.

“What the actual fuck” she whispered looking back at him with a slightly fearful, slightly aroused look in her eyes while his shone with lust and hunger.

Her legs pressed together, her hands awkwardly hiding her sex from his view. She took a reluctant step back as he stalked toward her much like a predator does his prey before closing her eyes nervously and praying to god that this animal wouldn’t eat her.

Oh but he wanted to, just a little differently to the way she was thinking.

So when his tongue licked at her slightly shaky hands, she moved them slowly in anticipation. Her eyes flew open when he nuzzled his nose between her thighs, nudging them apart and locking his eyes on hers and his tongue curled between them. “Oh fuck” she breathed as it slid along her folds, then between them until the tip of his tongue stroked her clit.

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” She told herself “it’s just a dream” she whispered with a long breath, her hands moving to pet the top of his head. If it were a dream then she could do this, just live out her dirty fantasies and wake up in the morning all hot and sweaty.

Klaus chuckled in his head at her words and continued his actions. Her hands in his fur felt delightful, and her taste on his tongue was more than heavenly. Her body was so beautiful from where he was, looking straight up at her. Her face was looking up, avoiding his stare making his tail wag lowly as he buried his face further into her cunt, tongue deep inside her and the blunts of his teeth nibbling the hood of her clit to have her thighs trembling, legs struggling to keep her stood up. Her nails dug into his scruff and her knees went weak.

He let his eyes fall closed as he focused solely on her. She was overwhelming in every aspect but he couldn’t stop craving her. Such an addictive taste, smell, feel. Her slippery pink flesh was so incredibly soft, smooth like silk and he could only imagine how it will feel around his shaft as he slides in and out of her.

His tongue reached up into her, feeling for and finding that spongey little spot within her. One stroke of his tongue was all it took for her legs to give out, knees hitting the base of the tent as she moaned loudly. Her arms moved out to ease herself down as she laid on her back, thighs open for him to indulge between.

“Fucking hell” she uttered under her breath as her hands grabbed him tightly and kept his face right against her. Her fucks bucked and a sharp cry left her when his cold nose rubbed at her hot clit, his tongue continuously curling inside her until she was spilling her pleasure into his mouth. Moaning loudly with no control over herself as she came over his muzzle, she pushed herself up on her elbows to watch him tongue dart out to lap up every drop.

His dark, dangerous eyes gazed right into hers, hunger was all she could see as he licked his snout clean with a low rumble echoing through him.

Klaus couldn’t think about anything else. He needed to have her right now. He took a seat before her, he looked down between his legs to see he his long, thick cock stood in desperate need of attention. He glanced back to her, seeing her lips parted and eyes dark as she whimpered at the sight of it. He sat a little taller as she crawled forward, nervously looking up to him every few movements before she was right in-front of him. God she looked pathetically tiny compared to him like this, and he loved it.

Her small soft hands reached forward to get a gentle hold on his cock. A grunt instantly left his throat as she kept her eyes on his, waiting incase he reacted threateningly. Her eyes flickered between his face and his dick, her breathing getting heavier as both her hands slid up and down his length, his thickness filling both hands more and more as she stroked him.

“Jesus fucking Christ” she whispered when she looked at it a little too long, watching a spurt of pre-cum leak down him making her spread it all over his cock. A soft moan left her lips when his hips jerked forward and she glanced to him before slowly leaning down.

Klaus’ tail whipped side to side as her breath ghosted his tip, growl like groans leaving him before he choked on his breath as her plump lips pressed to his cock. A gasp left her and he looked down to see if something was wrong but he felt her suckling at the slit telling him everything was just perfect.

His hips jumped forward, his claws digging into the ground as he stretched her mouth open. She moaned in pain at the sting of her face but his taste was so rich and addicting that she just ignored it.

Klaus rose so he was stood up instead of sat, his hips rocking into her little mouth as she sent a flow of vibrations down him. She too was on all fours as she seemingly tried to swallow him down. His head leaned down to lick over the top of her ass, the softness of his tongue making her whimper around his succulent cock. His tongue dipped down between her cheeks to taste her once more, and of course to feel the moans she released around him again.

He listened as his little mate choked around him as his swollen tip knocked as far back as it could. Her poor throat contracted around it until she gagged and he stepped back to spare her. She coughed a little and sucked at his tip a little more before pulling back to catch her breath.

Klaus stood tall and turned around, still stood over her but now in a position ready to mouth her. Though she was so small infront of him he would be nearly lead down to fuck her.

He licked her back softly as her breathing sped up and her head looked over her shoulder to see his strong form over her. She let out a lengthy breath, a small nod to her head she she tried to mentally prepare herself for the step she was taking.

Klaus’s back legs bent to bring himself lower, his large cock going between her legs and sliding against her dripping cunt. He admired how soaked she was, he wondered how long she had fantasised of this position. To be fucked by a werewolf.

Though her loud moan told him it must’ve been a while as his tip pushed inside her. Her pussy clung to him tightly and her gasps for breath were obvious as her little body stretched for him. Klaus wouldn’t have been surprised if she came as soon as he thrust himself inside her from the way her body reacted.

Klaus wasn’t sure if this was exactly ethical but neither one of them seemed to exactly care very much about morals at that moment. She tilted her head back to look up at him, his tail wagged at the sight of her glossy eyes. Her mouth opened and a whimpered “Please” left her soft lips. He listened to her pleas, bucking his hips forward and listening to the scream that she released as her head fell back forward to look down. His front paws pushed against the tent floor to thrust himself back and forth slowly.

Her moans were melodic, her velvet walls tight. Klaus only wished he could whisper his filthy thoughts to her.

He shifted his from legs, his paws grabbing onto her hips and his claws digging into her skin making her hiss. Her pain only lasted a second as his hips began to abruptly thrust faster.

“Oh fuck” she yelled as he roughly humped into her. He stood strong on his back legs, lifting her lower region up as he pounded her from behind, quite literally like a wild animal. Her palms lay flat against the ground as her body jolted forward each time his swelled tip smacked her cervix.

His panted grunts filled the air as well as her rapid breaths and moans. The tent felt much smaller as the air got thicker. Hard thrusts knocked the air out of her every second, sharp breaths leaving her as she felt her cunt spasm around his dick. Klaus fucked her faster, harder at the feel of her slippery walls squeezing him desperately.

Klaus felt something extra sensitive growing at the base of his cock and hitting against her tight little hole. She let out a pleasant cry as she felt herself be stretched out further.

Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped open at the feel of his wolf’s knot shove in and out of her.

Klaus’s mind clouded over, he barely registered how her body shook and her screams got loud enough for the whole forest to hear. All he focused on was getting his knot so deep inside her that she was bound to him forever. His wolf clawed at her waist and hips as his hind legs steadied to fuck her as roughly as he could.

Her cunt clamped around him tightly, his knot locking inside her making her cry in pleasure when their orgasms mixed. His stuffing her full of his seed and hers exploding down her thighs. Her body fell exhausted immediately, the knotting taking its toll as it should for first time mates.

Klaus pulled out and whined as her arms gave out under her and she hit the ground with a thud. His tongue was on her face, trying to wake her up but she was barely conscious.

He circled her for a full minute before curling around her, wrapping her frame in his warmth.

His snout squeezed between her thighs which desperately tried to squeeze together. He lapped his tongue against her folds, cleaning her cunt and thighs so she wouldn’t feel sticky when she woke.

Klaus stayed awake while she slept. She slept for nearly 16 hours but he didn’t move. He abandoned any plans of hunting and terrorising civilians like he had originally wanted to when he released his wolf and instead smuggled his mate. He found himself with his muzzle in her pussy nearly every few hours no matter how hard he tried to resist, he knew it was making her sleepier but god he just couldn’t help himself. At least he managed to stop himself from fucking her again, he can only imagine how she would scream herself awake.

But he was able to hold some of his desires inside.

He kept her warm and safe for over half a day. Even when she woke, she was still drowsy and wasn‘y up to moving so he kept her comfy and pleased.

They both seemed to forget that the woods were open to anyone walking past. Elijah made the futile mistake of thinking his brother was killing the girl onto to find him with his furry face between her legs. Klaus nearly ripped his eyes out of his head.

Elijah left and returned a full day later with both men’s and women’s clothes, tossing them into the tent.

Klaus had turned back a few hours before and had to confirm the girls dreams, he was a werewolf.

“Hybrid actually” he told her and her eyes widened making him chuckle and kiss her lips softly. She wasn’t expecting such gentleness from the animal which had ruined her poor pussy but there he was, rubbing her skin to keep her warm and encouraging her to keep her eyes closed.

Klaus growled when Elijah threw the clothes in but somewhat appreciated it anyway.

He dressed y/n and then himself, scooping her into his arms and kissing her cheek.

“We’re going on a trip sweetheart, we’ll be finding many more werewolves and I’ll teach you everything you can know about the supernatural” he told her with a soft smile and slow strokes her hair as she nuzzled his chest.

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