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yandere-daydreams · 4 months

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Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #childe x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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pin-k-ink · 9 days

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trespass // sakusa kiyoomi

tw ⇢ non-con, somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampie, grinding, public sex, implied voyeurism, getting caught, minor manga spoilers, sakusa is lowkey delulu

wc ⇢ 2.5k

a/n: this was heavily inspired by a mista fic i read

Sakusa's skin crawled as he stared at the bus, a sense of dread rising in his throat. The vehicle loomed before him, its doors open like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow him whole. Inside, two full teams from Itachiyama awaited, their bodies packed together in a claustrophobic nightmare due to a last-minute transportation issue.

As he stepped onto the bus, Sakusa's mind reeled at the thought of being trapped in such close quarters with so many people, each one a potential vector for illness. He had always prized his personal space, a carefully maintained barrier against the chaos of the outside world. Now, that barrier was about to be breached.

He should've just taken the train to their away games without batting an eye. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be crammed into another vehicle with strangers, which seemed slightly worse than getting on a bus with people he actually knew. Or maybe a tiny part of him felt uneasy about leaving you, his precious little manager, in a bus full of hormonal and sweaty teenage boys.

Sakusa had sucked it up and gotten up extra early to secure a spot in the back of the bus, already claiming the corner seat as his own. By sunrise, the bus was filled to capacity, the vehicle swaying precariously from side to side. He was sure that the tires were probably inflated to their limits, ready to burst at any moment.

As the rest of the team filed in, Sakusa curled into himself, but you were nowhere to be seen. Were you not coming? Or were you sensible enough to find another way there instead of willingly entering this lion's den?

No, apparently not. You were just as reckless as always. Sakusa jolted slightly in his seat as you suddenly emerged from between two burly basketball players, yelping softly as the imbalance in your overloaded duffel bag caused you to stumble and fall.

Iizuna, ever the attentive captain, quickly helped you to your feet. He dusted you off and checked for any injuries, keeping you close by his side, practically nestled between his legs as everyone finally settled into their seats. It was going to be a long six-hour ride, and there was no way anyone would be left standing, no matter how cramped it got.

Iizuna glanced apologetically at Sakusa as he asked you to sit next to him, closer to the window. But upon realizing there was no space, Iizuna suggested you sit on his lap instead. In a flash, Sakusa reached out and pulled you in, his hands almost aggressively wrapping around your waist as he tugged you onto his own lap, leaving a dumbfounded Iizuna and the other third years staring in shock.

Beside him, Komori snickered, watching in amusement as you awkwardly adjusted yourself on Sakusa's lap, apologizing profusely as if you had committed some grave offense. Sakusa offered no verbal reassurance, instead silently guiding you to sit more comfortably between his legs as he spread them slightly to accommodate you.

Just as Sakusa was about to ask if you were comfortable, the bus lurched forward and began moving. At that moment, he heard the familiar chime of an incoming text message.

Pulling out his phone, Sakusa saw that Komori had sent him a single line: "Make a move on her."

Rolling his eyes, Sakusa shot his cousin a pointed glare before pocketing his phone again. Of course Komori would be aware of his not-so-subtle crush on their manager. After all, you were the only person aside from Komori that Sakusa allowed to touch him freely. He had even permitted you to feed him once, using the very same chopsticks you had just eaten with yourself.

Sakusa's mind wandered to the time he had gotten injured during practice. The team nurse had already gone home for the day, but luckily, you had the knowledge to tend to his type of injury. He vividly remembered how you looked kneeling between his legs, gently hiking up his shorts to press your fingers against the taut, sinewy muscles of his inner thigh.

He had felt his breath catch as you unknowingly leaned in closer, your exhales ghosting over his sensitive skin. Sakusa had to forcibly banish the less-than-pure thoughts from his mind, knowing that any physical reaction would be glaringly obvious given your proximity.

All the moments he had spent alone with you were precious to him. He treasured each and every one, locking them safely away in his heart. So of course he wanted to make a move, to let you know how much you meant to him.

But as he looked down at your peaceful, sleeping face, Sakusa had to stifle a sigh. Somehow, you had already dozed off, a cute habit of yours whenever you were in a moving vehicle with hours to go before reaching your destination. It was adorable, but at this particular moment, rather frustrating.

Gently tugging his mask down to rest below his nose, Sakusa leaned closer and protectively wrapped his arms around your middle. He held you securely against his chest, ensuring you wouldn't slip off as the bus jostled along the highway. Burying his nose in your hair, he breathed in deeply, the soft scent of lavender from your shampoo flooding his senses and awakening a primal urge deep within him.

Almost unconsciously, Sakusa's hands tightened their grip on you as he nuzzled further into your silky locks. His fingertips skimmed teasingly along the hem of your shirt, dancing just underneath the edge of your jacket. He knew that with the slightest movement, he could brush against the bare skin of your stomach.

The thought alone sent a thrill down his spine. Sakusa couldn't help but wonder if your skin was as soft and smooth as it looked. It had to be. Throwing caution to the wind, he finally slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, grazing them ever so lightly over the warm, supple flesh of your belly.

You shivered slightly in your sleep, your stomach dipping at the barest touch. So you were ticklish. That knowledge made Sakusa's heart swell with adoration. Fuck, could you be any cuter?

Emboldened, Sakusa continued to gently rub your lower abdomen, reveling in the velvety softness. As you relaxed further into his embrace, a hum of contentment rumbled deep in his chest.

Tightening his thighs on either side of you, Sakusa held you firmly in place, determined to savor this fleeting moment of intimacy. His fingers ceased their exploration, now simply brushing lazy circles over the enticing curves of your hips.

As the bus rolled on, Sakusa let himself get lost in the feeling of you in his arms. He knew he should probably feel guilty for indulging in this intimate touch without your knowledge, but the temptation was too great to resist. He had waited so long for a chance like this, to feel your softness under his hands, to breathe in your scent until it filled his lungs.

He promised himself that this stolen moment would be the catalyst he needed to finally confess his feelings for you. He would do it right, court you properly until you understood the depth of his affection. But for now, he would allow himself this one transgression, this fleeting glimpse of what could be.

As he held you close, your gentle exhales tickling his collarbone, Sakusa let himself dream of a future where you were his. His to hold, his to cherish, his to love. And with that sweet fantasy playing behind his closed eyelids, he drifted off to sleep, your name a whispered prayer on his lips.

The glaring sun pierced through the window beside him, rousing Sakusa from his slumber. Sweat drenched his body, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably to his skin. A soft groan of annoyance escaped his lips as he registered the weight on his lap, only for his eyes to flutter open and realize it was you. With a gentle sigh, Sakusa attempted to adjust your position, but a sudden, muffled moan slipped out as he became acutely aware that something was terribly amiss.

Sakusa froze, his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage as the realization dawned on him - the incessant vibrations of the bus, combined with your warm, pliant body pressed intimately against his lap, had coaxed his treacherous body to stir in a most inconvenient manner.

Sakusa's breath caught in his throat, a heated flush creeping up his neck as he desperately willed his body to behave. The last thing he needed was for you to wake up and feel his shameful arousal pressing insistently against your ass.

Clenching his jaw, Sakusa tried to focus on anything else - the passing scenery, the low hum of the engine, the quiet chatter of his teammates. But every subtle shift of your weight, every gentle exhale that tickled his skin, only served to further stoke the embers of his desire.

He cursed silently, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to maintain control. It was torture of the sweetest kind, having you so close, yet being unable to act on his longing. Sakusa knew he should wake you, put some distance between your bodies before the situation escalated, but a selfish part of him wanted to bask in your warmth just a little longer.

As if sensing his internal struggle, you stirred slightly, your head lolling to the side to rest in the crook of his neck. Your lips brushed against his heated skin, eliciting a shuddering gasp from Sakusa. He bit back a groan, his resolve crumbling with each passing second.

Sakusa swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing against the shell of your ear. He couldn't take it anymore, his cock throbbing painfully in the confines of his pants. If he didn't do something soon, he was going to lose his mind.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sakusa reluctantly untangled his fingers from your hips. He hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before carefully sliding his hand over your clothed pussy.

Sakusa's breath hitched as his fingers brushed over the damp material, his eyes widening in shock. Was this... for him?

Heat coursed through his veins, his head swimming with lust as he dared to apply a little more pressure. The lewd sound of his fingers dragging against your slick panties elicited a choked whimper from him, his cock twitching impatiently beneath you.

Sakusa couldn't believe what he was doing.

Touching you like this, even if you were asleep, was completely unacceptable. He should stop while he still could.

But when his fingers found your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with agonizing precision, you arched into him, your ass grinding down on his cock and sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his veins.

With a low growl, Sakusa tightened his hold on you, his other hand fumbling to reach his zipper. The metal teeth gave way easily, allowing him to tug the stiff material down, his leaking cock finally springing free.

A shuddering sigh of relief escaped his lips, the cool air of the bus doing little to quell the heat raging within him. He was painfully hard, the head of his cock already leaking precum.

With one final glance at your blissful, sleeping face, Sakusa lifted his hips, nudging his cock against your panty-clad core. His pulse was racing, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants as he teased the soaked fabric.

Unable to resist any longer, Sakusa pushed the soaked panties aside, the swollen head of his cock rubbing tortuously against your aching clit. You moaned softly, arching into him, your body instinctively seeking the pleasure he was so willing to give.

His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Sakusa's cock throbbed insistently, his hips rocking slowly against your dripping cunt. The need to bury himself inside you, to feel your velvety walls clenching around him, was almost overwhelming.

He was so close, the tip of his cock poised at your entrance, ready to claim you as his. Just one push and he would be sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt. All he had to do was thrust his hips and you would finally be his.

The bus jerked, throwing you back against him, his cock sliding into your soaked cunt, and Sakusa groaned, his eyes rolling back as he felt your warm walls flutter around him. Fuck, you felt better than he had ever imagined.

With a shaky exhale, he sank deeper into your heat, his cock throbbing as you stretched to accommodate him. You felt like heaven, and Sakusa couldn't stop himself from thrusting his hips, his cock sliding in and out of your tight pussy.

Sakusa knew he should be gentle, take his time and savor every delicious inch of you. But the overwhelming desire to claim you, to mark you as his, overpowered any sense of restraint he may have had.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he rutted into you, his cock massaging your aching cunt.

The air was thick with the heady scent of your arousal, the soft, subtle sound of your slick pussy being stretched by his cock filling the space between your bodies.

Sakusa's head fell back against the seat, his jaw clenched as he fucked into you, the coil of pleasure tightening in his gut. He was close, his balls tightening as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Just as he was about to pull out, his cock twitching with the promise of release, you came with a soft moan, your walls clamping down on him. With a strangled cry, Sakusa buried his face in your neck, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside you, painting your walls with his cum.

As the last waves of his orgasm washed over him, Sakusa let out a satisfied sigh, his body slumping against yours. You were still asleep, your soft breaths tickling his skin, and Sakusa couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling with affection.

He knew it was wrong, taking advantage of you like this. But the feeling of euphoria that came from being inside you, knowing that he had claimed you as his own, was worth any guilt that may come later.

As he basked in the afterglow of his release, Sakusa vowed to confess his feelings once he returned home. No matter what, he would make sure you were his, and his alone.

Sakusa's phone chimed again, abruptly pulling him from his reverie. Glancing down, he saw a new message from Komori: "That is not what I meant by making a move." Confused, Sakusa quirked an eyebrow and turned to his side, only to be met with Komori's appalled expression, though that did nothing to deter him from noticing the very prominent hard-on his cousin was sporting.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa smut #sakusa x reader smut

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chaethewriter · 1 year

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You're dead to me [2]

dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

warning: english isn't my first language, daddy issues, idk how one lives with zero gravity, barely proofread

Word count: 2,3k

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What actually took six years didn't feel like that to you at all. One moment you closed your eyes as you were put into cryosleep and after what felt like one second passed, you got woken up from your deep slumber. The claustrophobic space you are in makes something inside of you itch. Good thing you were into cryosleep, you couldn't have survived sleeping in this tube every night for six years in a row. Once your tube was pulled out of the wall, you immediately feel yourself floating. So this is what space felt like.

"Drink and eat lots, since you will feel very weak!", a loud voice echoes through the room as one by one everyone left their cryosleep. You float through the room with a smile on your face as you hold onto handles, lockers, anything to keep your balance. An excited scream could be heard from behind you, it was your friend Raja. "You are not dead I see," she jokes as she floats towards you, her arms wide open to invite you in a hug, "this is honestly insane, I can't believe that we are actually doing this!" You wrap your arms around you as you share her excitement, "I know right? We worked so hard for this, I can't believe this is happening." You met Raja on your first day being at the resistance base. She shared her passion for nature with pride and you always admired her for this. A cough is heard behind your back and Raja looks over your shoulder to see who it was, "Seb!" she squeals as she carefully gets out of your hug, floating towards their other friend to engulf him in a hug. You watch as Raja and Seb share their excitement with each other. They really didn't age at all while being in cryosleep, such an interestingly concept it was. You float towards them, holding onto Seb's shoulder to keep your balance and not pass out, because damn they were right. You feel so tired and weak. If you weren't in space right now you probably would have fallen to the floor. Your limbs felt like cooked noodles, you really needed to eat. "The trio is back at it again to cause havoc!!" Seb ruffles your head, your hair tangling in between his fingers as he did so. The three of you were the inseparable trio. While you had a group of friends you hung out with, you three always just stuck together like glue. It may have been the fact you bonded over being reckless warriors, thriving on the thrill and action, or the fact all three of you were top students, but that doesn't matter. Raja and Seb are your partners in crime til death do you all part. The two are engaged in a deep conversation, but you didn't bother to listen or chime in. You wanted to explore, and see what you worked your entire teenagehood for. Grabbing onto the handle against the walls, you made your way towards the huge window, were also most of the crew was floating around. You had to see this for yourself, you had to believe it with your own eyes. What if you were still dreaming?

"Excuse me, Pardon me!", still not used to not having any gravity, you keep bumping into other warriors. A 'watch where you're going!' was screamed your way, but you paid no mind to it as you had more important things to do. Floating past the last person that kept you from seeing outside, your eyes immediately widen at the beauty that lay in front of you. A planet, looking exactly like earth, right in front of you. It was beautiful, the true meaning behind mother nature. You bring your hand towards your cheek to pinch yourself, was this real? Were you truly experiencing this? When you pinched yourself so hard, leaving a red mark on your skin, and you didn't wake up you knew this was real. You were knocked out of your senses pretty quickly, as everyone was told to dress up, eat and get together in the common area. Where that was? No idea, but what you knew is that you were excited as hell. You basically swam through the air towards the lockers, where your supposed gear would be. The sight was probably incredibly silly, you thought, you probably looked like a swimming frog. Yet you didn't care about the stares that were given you. The only thing on your mind was to see Pandora with your own eyes— not out of books, notes you had to read, or drawings. You left without telling Seb or Raja, but you would probably find them, considering you're going to the same destination and those two definitely weren't to miss.

You float past all the lockers with nameplates, looking for your name. You were told that they were in alphabetic order. Last name. You could never escape him, could you? You proceed to float, using the lockers to pull yourself up and speed up towards the lockers that start with 'S'. Upon floating in front of the name that haunted you every day, you sigh and slam the locker open. Clothes sealed in recycled plastic, a pair of shoes, and an oxygen mask. Fortunately, it wasn't those old aquarium-like masks. When you learned about those you thought they were ugly as hell: a head in an aquarium. Those were designed like gas masks. Was that the best way to explain them? They only covered the mouth and nose part to breathe properly, it didn't cover the entire face anymore. You flash a skeptical expression towards the clothes in your arms. They were dark colors, dark colors in a hot amazon-like forest? If it were up to you, you wouldn't have chosen a little more, bare, clothes. For the sweat to at least dry up and not soak in the clothes. "Weird choice of clothes, right?", Raja appeared next to you, out of the blue, making you flinch. You quickly managed to cover it up and compose yourself, "I'm gonna end up looking like a crab while fighting a villain, kind of embarrassing." she laughs at your reply and grabs a hold of your forearm, "come on let's go change. Seb already went to change!" And with that, your friend pulls you with her. Changing your clothes was kind of awkward. The room was a big space where all women changed next to one another. It gave PE class vibes. You felt sticky and disgusting as you changed out of the clothes you wore for six years. Wearing fresh, clean clothes is always better than nothing. The material feels nice against your skin, and very cooling. As you look in the mirror, fixing every detail to look as neat as possible. You roll your sleeves up just a tad bit and tried to loosen the corset-like clothing piece around your upper body. It doesn't look exactly like a corset, but it's one of those clothing pieces that have a corset built into it. The mask is hanging against your hip, ready to be used 24/7 once you stepped foot on Pandora. The pants were a little wide thankfully, enough space to move into. "What is it with the corset though? Who wears a corset while fighting?" "Maybe it's bulletbroof or something?"

After this whole ordeal in the dressing room with some people whining about the clothes being too hot, while others were second guessing if the outfit was nice to fight in, you finally made your way towards this common area. There everyone was awkwardly sitting, what one could call sitting in space. Everyone was given a granola bar to snack on and a sealed bag with a sweet drink in it. You leaned against Seb, as you were too tired to use your strength to hold onto anything. Eating the bar and sipping from the overly-sweetened drink, you listened to the peptalk your superiors were giving you all. It was something about protecting Pandora, RDA and the forest Na'vi, but you really were too tired to listen. It was most likely the talk they did every time before you went into cryosleep. If you missed anything you could just ask Raja or Seb about it.

What almost felt like a decade to you, actually took just a few hours before you finally landed on Pandora. During the landing all, maybe twenty of you in total, were seated as you braced for impact. It wasn't too bad, it was like a plane landing. Before the doors opened, the duffel bags you took with you were placed on your laps. For your instance, the bag with the wrapped katana you got from your lieutenant was handed to you. You put your mask against your face, pressing it down and securing it as you breathe in the oxygen from the earth. Red lights flash through the area you're in with the others as the secured door lowers to the Pandorean ground, revealing the beauty of mother nature. You rise from your seat as your seat belt was already unclasped. Without waiting any longer, you rushed to the outside world in a heartbeat. Watching your surroundings, it seems like you landed on the resistance base. Unlike the RDA base, which you saw during your learning process, this one was more integrated with mother nature rather than destroying it to make space. It was so organic, so natural. A team was already waiting for your arrival, all standing in a row as you lock gazes with a Na'vi. Unlike the things you were taught about Na'vi clothing, this one was wearing human clothes. Could this be what one would call an avatar? The same situation your dad was also in? You start thinking he was your dad, but it didn't look like him at all. You knew avatars were supposed to look like their 'owners'. Even though it was supposed to be your dad's brother's avatar, they were twins. One would ask 'you don't know what your dad's avatar body looks like?', but honestly as you said many times you tried to pull away from the hauntings Jake Sully got you. The insecurities, and issues you got from his betrayal, his departure. It truly hit you like a truck. Questions would pop up like:

Were you enough?

Was there something wrong with you?

Why didn't he come back to you?

You couldn't take talking about your dad's new life. Selfish one may call it, then you were selfish in their eyes. You didn't care. Wanting your dad, is that selfish? Missing your dad, is that selfish? Angry because your dad wanted a new life without you, is that selfish? You yearned for him, yet despised talking about him. That's why you don't know what he looks like, what he is up to. You just know his history: put into the avatar body from his brother to follow military orders. From only caring about getting a paycheck to protecting the natives. He was crowned with the name Toruk Makto as you were taught. Mated to Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'Ite, daughter of the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik. When you first heard about this, you felt sick to your stomach. Reality hitting you even harder at age thirteen. It was already bad enough to know your dad left you, but also getting to know that he settled down while you spent your time waiting for him? You remember running out of the classroom when a superior taught you this information. This was also how you got in contact with Raja and Seb. They comforted you while everyone else thought of you as weird, weak. They were the first people, besides the superiors that came in contact with you, that came to know about your dad being Jake Sully, about the struggles you got after he left. Yet, they didn't laugh at what you thought was exaggerating. They listened carefully to your words as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

'We were attached to the hip, what went wrong?'

'Did I make him unhappy?'

'Was I too much for him?'

'Was he looking for something more rather than being a single dad?'

You spilled your insecurities to them and they never uttered a word about it to someone else. You will be forever grateful for them. You were so lost in thoughts, getting slightly emotional at all these thoughts about your dad, until a hand rested on your shoulder, "and last but not least, you must take her with you. She's our best warrior, Norm. She will need to stay on the battlefield, closest to the war." So Norm was his name. A pretty goofy one if you had to be honest. The avatar named Norm stood at least 10 feet tall as he looked down at you, literally. You just reached around his crotch area, which is kinda embarrassing because imagining running into his front. Hopefully, he likes to travel in his human body more. "Then that's settled, Oel Ngati Kameie." His hand rested against his forehead, slowly bringing it down to his chest. You flashed him a kind smile in return, ready for whatever adventure you will come across, "Oel Ngati Kameie."

But only if you knew.

"They have arrived, they will help us."

"They're sky demons! All the same!"

"I used to be one as well, yet I had a change of heart. Please accept the help they will offer us, for our people, for our family, our fortress." his hands grip hers, intertwining their fingers as he spoke to her in private, away from the children. He opened his mouth again, pressing his forehead against hers, "please, Ma Neytiri."

A/N: first of all, thank you all so much for the positive feedback. I honestly didn't expect it I'm gonna be fr😭 it gave me enough motivation to write part 2, so here it is, earlier than expected. I hope you enjoyed <3

also i hope no one noticed me accidentally posting the draft cause that was silly

Taglist (I couldn't find everyone):

@hoodiepandaninja16 @l0v3e1i @neteyamforlife @noname2246 @bunnyrose01 @littlelia007 @j0551 @navs-bhat @fyfy-world @hellok1ttycake @coterami @lwozy @erenjaegerwifee @n1ght5h4d3-24 @kahlowy @iloveavatar @farleyis @reguluscrystals @inomoikawa @bobojojoba69 @m3ll0n1xx @eternallyvenus @shyskybbb @imakms @keira7664 @alice121804 @aimsro @carollise @jjkclub @onlytays @wolfiealina @guska0 @yeosxxx @dakotali @destinylb @degenweeb @sunshinewwx @alohastitch0626

#jake sully #dad!jake sully x reader #dad!jake sully #dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad! jake sully #jake sully x human!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully x human!daughter!reader #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #sully family x reader #spider sully

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roosterforme · 17 days

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In the Line of Duty | Rooster x Reader

Summary: During preparations for a dangerous mission, Bradley finds comfort in writing his thoughts down for his unborn child to eventually read. There's always a chance that he won't make it back, and his final plans involve safeguarding the most important item he brought on his deployment with him.

Warnings: Angst, deployment, pregnancy topics

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was in the same tiny room with the same seven people for the nineteenth day in a row. He was sweating, too aware of his surroundings. He could hear Reuben breathing next to him. He could hear Admiral Turner's wristwatch counting off every second. He could hear the plans being laid out, but he could barely focus on them.

"The political climate is rapidly changing," the admiral said. "This bombing run is essential, however it will undoubtedly lead to a hostile environment for our allies. Getting the timing just right is essential to a successful mission."

He'd been telling the aviators the same things for days, and while Bradley knew somebody's best interest was at heart, he wasn't really sure it was his. Or Reuben's. Or anybody's in this fucking claustrophobic room. But what choice did he have but to sit here in his flight suit, reeking of jet fuel until he was released?

"Also," Admiral Turner said, his voice laced with exhaustion, "we'll be keeping a close watch on the weather. If you fly this mission, it's going to be a rough takeoff and an even rougher landing. And that's not even mentioning the elements you'll encounter in the air."

Bradley could feel it. The aircraft carrier was a massive vessel, nothing like a cruise ship or anything smaller. It was built to withstand typhoons and hurricanes, but he could still feel it. The movement was getting worse by the hour now. There were deckhands and petty officers walking around with seasickness bags. People were running from the mess hall left and right. The only thing that could be said of this small group of aviators in this tiny ass room was that professional fighter pilots had all traces of motion sickness eliminated from their bodies during flight training, never to be heard from again. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he could still feel it.

"And with that final precaution, I've made my selection for the three pilots who will fly when I say it's time to go." Bradley knew it in his bones even before he heard the admiral say, "Vandal. Patches. Rooster. Everyone else will remain on standby. You're all dismissed."

As he stood, Reuben stuck his fist out. "Congrats, man," he said, and Bradley reached out as well to bump fists. Being chosen was an accomplishment; Bradley always wanted to be chosen. He always wanted to perform to the best of his ability. But his thoughts were so heavy now, filled with new hopes and fears.

"Thanks, Payback," he replied, following his friend from the room and into the noisy reprieve of the cool hallway. There were people rushing around as the two of them made their way to the mess hall. "But if I have to sit in that room for another day, I'm going to lose my mind."

Reuben laughed as he started to load a tray with food. "I love how the weather is too bad for us to do any training runs, but in the same sentence, we're told to be ready to fly a mission in this. It's like they're steering us right into the worst of the storm."

They were. Bradley could tell they were. There was something strategic about the open water location, but they were absolutely heading into the worst of it. He just hoped it would clear up before he was called out on deck to fly.

"It's a good thing I haven't barfed in a Super Hornet since that very first time," he said, also piling food that he knew would taste like cardboard onto a plate.

"This shit sucks," Reuben muttered, biting into a roll once they reached an empty table. "We got any more of your wife's cookies back in the bunk?"

Bradley smiled as he looked at the questionable meal in front of him. "A few." He bit into the steak and grimaced. Everything you cooked at home was better than this. He'd trade his whole plate of food right now for half of a grilled cheese sandwich made by your hands. Just thinking about it had his stomach growling louder. "You already ate most of them."

Reuben popped another roll into his mouth and chewed it up before saying, "Rooster, you've got a hot lieutenant commander who can cook for a wife. And a baby on the way. Come on, man. The least you can do is spare some more of those cookies."

Once he let his thoughts drift, Bradley knew it would take hours to get focused on his job again, but he couldn't help it. When he left home, you looked the same as you always did. You'd been complaining about your weight gain and bloating for weeks, but you looked just perfect to him. He wanted to get back home to see if you had a bump yet. He wanted to get home and talk to the Nugget. But he'd already been gone for three weeks, and he hadn't been given a single chance to call or FaceTime with you.

He hated having no idea how your most recent doctor's appointment went. There were probably new ultrasound photos sitting right on the kitchen counter, but it could be weeks before he got to see how much the Nugget grew since last time. He should be a home, catering to your every whim and building the massive jungle gym for the backyard.

"Are you excited?" Reuben asked, breaking through his thoughts. "You've got what, like five more months to go before you're a dad?"

"One hundred and eighty-six days until the due date," Bradley replied with a grin. "And yeah, I'm pretty fucking excited. It's all I can think about." He tried to finish all of the food, but he set his plate aside and said, "Let's go eat some of those cookies."

An hour later, Bradley was sitting in his bunk, nibbling on the rationed baked goods while Reuben snored across the room. He took this opportunity to get out the pink and blue striped notebook which he affectionately referred to as the Nugget notebook. He'd filled half of it with his musings, and he figured it would be full by your due date. It was silly, just his random thoughts and some sporadic story telling, but he liked the idea of his kid having all of this to look at later. He uncapped his pen, jotted down the date, and started writing what was on his mind.

You'll never guess where I am right now. No really. It would be impossible, because even I don't really know where I am! But it's somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, I know that for sure. And while I'm really, really far away from you and your mom right now, the two of you are all I can think about....

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

The weather was so bad a few days later that the gym was closed. Bradley and Reuben stood in front of the locked door in their gym clothes looking at each other.

"This is fucking wild," Bradley muttered, deprived of the only activity he could think of to keep himself busy. The hallways were pretty empty at this time of night, but everything still felt more deserted than usual. The dining menus had been pared down, presumably because half of the kitchen staff was too seasick to make everything. He was starting to feel anxious. "Let's go workout in the bunk and then finish the cookies."

"Sounds good," Reuben replied. They took turns churning out sets of fifty push ups while the other ate a cookie. They did this until they were both sweating and all of the cookies were officially gone.

"Now what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Bradley asked, but any response was cut off by a knocking on the door. He jumped up, glanced at Reuben, and then opened the door for a petty officer.

"Bradshaw?"

"Yeah?"

"You requested a FaceTime call? Report to the lounge in thirty minutes."

"Thanks," he said, heart beating wildly as he closed the door. He rushed around the room, grinning and grabbing everything he'd need to take a quick shower.

Reuben just laughed and said, "Please thank her again for the cookies."

"Will do," Bradley replied, making a mad dash for the showers. If he did the math correctly, he figured it was between four and five o'clock in the morning back home in San Diego. He hated calling you in the middle of the night, especially when you were pregnant and exhausted, but he knew you'd forgive him. And he desperately needed to see your face and hear your voice.

His hair was still damp when he jogged along the quiet corridors toward the lounge and took a seat in front of one of the computers. He quickly entered his credentials followed by your phone number, and then he waited and waited. "Shit," he muttered, gripping the edge of the table, afraid the call was going to ring through and then cut off. But then he heard you screech his name and saw you as you reached for your glasses while the light from the lamp on your nightstand illuminated your face.

"Bradley!" you practically screamed again, your voice scratchy from sleep. "Roo! Are you okay?"

"Hey, Baby Girl," he said, feeling calmer than he had in weeks as you juggled your phone around and tried to sit up fully in bed. "I'm fine. Sorry it's so late."

"No, no, no, this is perfect!" you insisted, rubbing your eye behind your glasses as you tried to stifle a yawn. "This is great."

Bradley laughed and said, "I miss you so fucking much. Wish I was in bed right there with you."

"Me too," you insisted, and he could see the sincerity on your face. "It got chilly here tonight, and Tramp isn't as snuggly as you are."

He wanted to kiss you. He wished he could somehow dive through the screen and end up next to you where you'd pull him right into your arms. His voice was just a whisper as he said, "Tell me about the Nugget."

Your smile was soft, and you bit your lip. "Dr. Morris said the Nugget looked great when I was there two weeks ago."

"Two weeks ago," he groaned, rubbing his rough hands along his face. "Sweetheart... I already missed so much." When he looked at the screen again, you were out of bed and on the move. "Where are you going?"

You flipped on the hallway light and said, "To get the ultrasounds to show you. I left them on the kitchen counter."

The fact that he knew that's where they would be made him smile. When you propped your phone up next to the stove and turned on the light, he felt tears stinging his eyes. You held up one of the photos so he could see the baby, and he had to blink past his blurry vision. "There's my Nugget," he said, voice thick with emotion as you held up a second image. "Fucking cutest baby I've ever seen."

Your laughter sounded beautiful as you showed him a third one. "I liked this one the best. I think it looks like the baby is waving hello."

"Shit," he gasped. "You're right. I can't wait to wallpaper our bedroom with copies of these."

You pulled the baby picture away, and he could see your face again as you said, "You're probably not even joking."

"I'm definitely not even joking."

You leaned on the counter and got a little closer to your phone as you said, "Another week or so, and I can go in for an anatomy scan."

Now Bradley felt like crying for a totally different reason. "You get to find out if the Nugget is a boy or a girl."

"Yeah," you said with a nod. "But I don't really want to do that without you there too."

Bradley looked at your beautiful face and the perfect curve of your cheek. He imagined a little baby in your arms with the same flawless features. "I wish I could get home in time to hold your hand and find out in person. But you know I don't care one way or the other. The only nice thing is that we can start narrowing down baby names soon. I actually wrote down a few that I kind of like in the Nugget notebook earlier."

Your smile was brilliant as you told him, "I can't wait to read all of your notebook entries. And if you're not home for my next appointment, I'll be practically vibrating with anticipation until I get to tell you if it's a boy Nugget or a girl Nugget."

Bradley opened his mouth to say he couldn't wait to come home and spend a full day curled up with both of you. He was about to ask you to pull his UVA shirt up and let him see what your belly looked like now. But the lounge door swung open so hard, it sounded like it was going to fall off the hinges.

"Bradshaw!" barked Admiral Turner. "It's time. Get into your flight suit."

"Yes, Sir," he said before glancing back down to see your face as you started to cry.

"You have to go," you sobbed.

"I do," he said quickly. "Right now. Listen, I love you. More than anything. You and the baby both, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too," you sobbed as your lips trembled. "So much."

"I'll be home soon," he promised, even though he knew he couldn't guarantee anything of the sort. "I love you."

After he ended the call, he ran back to the bunk where Reuben was already in his flight suit and pulling on his boots. It was late enough now that it had to be dark outside, so he was either about to fly another mission without the use of one of his senses, or they were sending him out at first light. Either way, he knew what he had to do, so he pulled his own flight suit on with shaky hands.

The call with you had calmed his nerves right up until the point when he had to abruptly end it. What he wouldn't give to be back home within a week. He'd drive you to the appointment in his Bronco and hold your hand the whole time. Dr. Morris would let you know if he was going to be the dad to a daughter or a son. His little Nugget.

"You ready?" Reuben asked as Bradley finished lacing up his boots.

He looked up at his friend as he stood. "Actually, no," he said, pulling his duffle out from under his bed. He started rooting through it as he said, "I need you to potentially do me a favor."

"Sure," Reuben replied, "but we gotta get to the meeting room now, Rooster."

"I know," he mumbled in response as his hands connected with the most important thing he had with him. He held up the pink and blue notebook, his voice calm in spite of his nerves as he said, "Just real quick, you see this? I need you to take this back to my wife if anything happens to me."

His friend was silent for a beat before he said, "Alright. I can do that."

Bradley's fingers tightened around the spiral binding holding together all of his thoughts about fatherhood and how much he loved his unborn child. And now his voice shook a bit as he said, "This is very important to me."

Reuben nodded and said, "Understood. I promise I'll take care of it if the need arises."

"Thank you." Bradley kissed the striped cover and propped the notebook up against his pillow, giving it one last look before he followed Reuben from the bunk.

At first light, Bradley made his way out onto the carrier deck through the rain and whistling wind. The mission was on. The weather was miserable, but the plethora of Naval officers deemed this the best opportunity they were going to get to help their allies.

It was time. Time for Bradley to trust himself. And if he failed, he trusted Reuben to take the notebook back to San Diego and get it into the hands of his wife. Then you'd take care of the notebook for the Nugget. Because if there was one person who was never going to let him down, it was you.

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I can't deal with how much I've been hurting my own feelings with these two. Should we start a new series? Would that be okay? A tragic, new series? Thank you for reading about and loving them! Please stay tuned. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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qtboni · 10 months

Text

╰﹒ 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 !

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: After an argument with you, Simon feels a deep sense of remorse for the pain he caused and the distance he has created between himself and you. He proposes watching a movie together as a way to reconcile however, during the movie, Simon notices that you were zoning out. And when confronted, you burst into tears and reveal deep-seated emotions that you have been keeping to yourself.

C/W: Angst + hurt w/ comfort !! mentions of alcohol (drinking), offensive languages, mentions of overthinking for reader, both parties are hurt 'nd crying

W/C: 3.5k bubs

The silence was almost unbearable as you sat alone in the dimly lit living room, feeling increasingly claustrophobic. The weight of Simon's words hung in the air, making you feel like you couldn't catch your breath.

The room felt cold, the air thick with your tension. You tried to breathe deeply, filling your lungs with oxygen in hopes that it would calm the pounding of your heart. But it was no use.

You were trapped. Trapped in the silence, trapped in the aftermath of the argument.

You couldn't shake the feeling that this was all your fault. Maybe if you hadn't said anything, or if you had just kept your mouth shut, things wouldn't have escalated like they did.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you fought back the urge to cry again.

This wasn't how your night was supposed to go.

The pain in your heart was all too real, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. You wanted to scream, to cry, to let go of the emotions, but you couldn't.

Instead, you lay on the couch, your body motionless except for the tears running down your face.

"Can you just stop being a bother?"

Exhaused. You felt so exhausted that you find that sleeping right now would've sufficed your hurt. Even if the tears would have left dry tear marks in the early morning when you get up.

Your thoughts raced, your mind filled with the sound of Simon's words, replaying over and over again like a broken record.

"I didn't even ask for any of these."

You couldn't stop obsessing over what he'd said, what he'd meant, whether or not he meant it. All you knew was that the hurt was too much to bear.

Until your body had enough.

After taking a moment to process what had just happened, you felt... numb. Your breaths came slowly and evenly, your eyes no longer brimming with tears, and your hiccups no longer piercing the silence of the room.

You sighed and sat up properly on the couch, rubbing your eyes as you tried to banish the images of Simon's anger from your mind.

You decided to distract yourself by focusing on the task at hand: cleaning up the living room from the party's remnants. You made your way over to the coffee table, picking up the empty plates, the two drinks for you and Simon, and the now cold popcorn.

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar scent of butter and salt waft up from the table, and started to gather everything up.

As you worked, you couldn't help but think about what Simon was up to in the bedroom. You didn't want to know, but the silence was deafening, and you couldn't help but wonder.

'Maybe he's finally sleeping...' you sincerely thought.

After cleaning up the living room, you made your way to the kitchen, your feet dragging against the hardwood floor with each step. You opened the fridge and grabbed a light alcohol, pouring yourself a glass as you made your way to the countertop.

You sat down, swirling the liquid around in the glass, then taking a slow sip. The familiar taste of alcohol burned in your throat, sending a shiver down your spine.

You closed your eyes, feeling the headache coming on, and massaged your temples. Your mind felt tired, your body felt heavy, and all you wanted to do was slip into bed and sleep.

You took another small sip and sighed, feeling a little bit better as the alcohol began to take effect.

Suddenly, a hand gently touched your arm, making you jump. "What-" you muttered to yourself.

You turned to face Simon, who was standing behind you. He looked exhausted, with red eyes and bags under them. He couldn't look at you in your eyes after that and so he resorted to lean himself closer to you when he noticed that you eased your body to him, obviously calm with him touching you after the argument you guys had.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to say those things. I was just so angry, and I didn't think about how much they would hurt you."

His voice cracked as he spoke, and you could feel the sincerity in his words. You could also feel your heart breaking all over again at the thought of the things he had said, even though it was clear that he was truly sorry.

"I know it doesn't make it right, but I just wanted to apologize," he continued, his tone softer than you've ever heard before. "I shouldn't have let my anger get the better of me like that."

Despite your hurt, you found yourself nodding. "It's alright, Si'." You replied, eyes averting away from him. With a sigh, you took a sip from your glass. "Everyone has their moments, hun."

"Can we just start over?" he asked gently, reaching out to touch your hand. "I'm sorry, I... I just want us to be happy..."

Your gaze met his, and even though it was filled with regret and remorse, you could still see the love and care in his eyes. You knew that he meant every word he said, and that he would do anything to make things right between the two of you.

"I'm..." You said softly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "willing to try, sweetheart..."

As you sat beside Simon, taking in his words of apology, you felt a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. You had wanted to hear those words from him for so long, to know that he was truly remorseful for the pain he had caused you.

But as you looked into his eyes, you couldn't quite escape the feeling of hurt that still lingered.

"I'm willing to try, for us." You continued so softly, your voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. "I know it takes a lot to admit when you're wrong, and I appreciate you doing that."

You reached out, taking hold of his hand in yours, trying to convince yourself that everything was going to be okay. But deep down, you still felt the pain of his words, and you weren't sure if you could ever truly forgive him.

"I can't deal with this right now."

You had buried your true feelings deep inside, hiding them in the dark, just for his comfort. And in that moment, you didn't know which way was up.

Just for his comfort? What about yours?

The silence stretched between you and Simon, a small part of you wanting him to say something to make it better, to make it all go away. But he merely looked at you, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice filled with sincerity. "I know it won't be easy, but I'm ready to do whatever it takes to make things right between us over and over again."

You wanted to believe him, to feel the hope and love that you had once shared. You really do.

But the pain still lingered, a constant reminder of the broken promises and the tears that had come before.

You sat in silence for a few moments, processing Simon's phrases. His words sounded sincere, and you wanted to believe that he was genuinely sorry for the hurt he caused you.

But you can't shake the feeling that you may never be able to fully forgive him.

Simon reached out and took your hand in his, and you couldn't help but notice the warmth in his touch. His voice was steady, soft, with a hint of tenderness that sent shivers down your shoulders.

"Say, love?" He called out to you. "Do you want to go and have that movie night again? 2.0?"

You were caught off guard by the proposal, and your eyes widened in surprise. "I..."

You had been expecting to spend the evening alone, nursing your wounds and attempting to forget the hurt in your heart. The thought of going back to that place was excruciating, but the look on Simon's face was one of pure determination.

He wanted to make it up to you, and he was willing to do whatever it took. You hesitated before speaking, not wanting to give in to the emotions that were racing through your mind.

"Do you really want to?" You asked, turning your face away from him as tears began to form at the corners of your eyes.

You had been trying so hard to stay strong, but your heart ached with the realization that you still loved him, despite the hurt and betrayal.

'God, were you just so pathetic.' A voice in your head echoed.

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied, his tone gentle and full of affection. "I want to make it up to you. Please, let me prove it to you."

Despite your doubts and insecurities, you nodded slowly, allowing yourself to be overcome by the overwhelming love you felt for him.

"Let's do it," You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

You can't believe it, can't believe that you would really put him first than yourself. You can't believe that you considered the proposal just because Simon's words and actions spoke volumes to you.

You could see the determination in his eyes, and the way he looked at you made your heart ache. You had been so torn apart by his previous actions, the thought of him trying to make it up to you and showing he cared about you brought you even more glumness.

You watch as Simon's face broke into a wide smile, and he reached out to take your hand again, exclaiming, "Fantastic! You won't regret it, love. Let's make it the best movie night we've ever had!"

The movie became a haze, and you barely spoke a word, lost in the emotions that were running through you as you sought out comfort in the awkward room.

Save from Simon's often comments about the movie, it was just your thoughts swimming around. It was quiet. It was making you feel self-conscious.

But you wouldn't want to upset him, god, was it so wholesome trying his best to make it up to you. You couldn't afford to do something that might impact this negatively. So you stayed quiet, only answering in small replies to his comments about the movie.

Even though you were with Simon, you felt like you were alone. You were battling thoughts and feelings that would take over if you let them. But you were holding on for Simon, not wanting to break what you guys have in this moment.

You appreciated his efforts but it was hard to forget what happened. You wanted to let it go but it was still so fresh and raw.

The silence was deafening but you didn't want to break it with how you were feeling. You were still processing what happened and didn't want to burden Simon anymore than he already was. So you stayed quiet, watching the movie with Simon and trying to distract yourself from your thoughts.

So you sat silently next to Simon, watching the movie in front of you as he blabbered on and on about the movie. At this point, you don't even give a shit at watching it anymore.

You tried not to let your thoughts wander to the things that were weighing on your mind, not wanting to ruin the peaceful moment. It was so hard to keep up the façade, though.

You knew that if you let even a little of the sadness seep through, it would be so hard to keep it all contained in the face of his concern. It was so nice to have him by your side, but the thought of him seeing how much you were hurting just made everything worse.

So you stayed quiet, trying to keep your emotions in check. Then, you felt a lump forming in your throat. You were unsure of how to move forward from here.

And what will happen onwards? Like nothing had happened?

Suddenly, the silence was broken by Simon's voice. "Hey," he muttered, his eyes fixed on you now. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your emotions welling up inside. "It's nothing," You dryly replied. "I just zoned out is all."

You wanted to tell him how much his words had hurt, but the words refused to come. Instead, you just sat there in silence, staring at the floor, your heart pounding in your chest.

Simon seemed to sense your discomfort, and his expression softened. "I know I have a lot of things to work on," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I promise I'm going to do better. For you."

His words seemed to fall flat against your ears, almost lost in the overwhelming pain you felt. You wanted to believe him, to believe that things could get better, but a part of you was still unsure.

The silence filled the room again, thick with the weight of your emotions. You wanted to say something, to tell him how you felt, but you just couldn't. Instead, you remained there, silent, feeling the loneliness settle around you like a blanket.

Tears started to well up in your eyes as the words and emotions started to bubble up from inside you. You tried to hold back the tears, but they just kept overflowing, streaming down your face.

"Simon," you managed to say through choked sobs, the words barely intelligible. "I don't know how to say this, but I just can't keep it all inside any longer. You've hurt me so much earlier, over and over again. And I know I've probably hurt you too, but it's just that I can't seem to fix it. I feel like I've tried everything, but nothing works."

Your voice was shaking with emotion as you spoke, the words coming out like a river. You weren't sure if Simon was listening, but you kept talking anyway, the tears streaming down your face.

"I feel so hopeless," you managed to utter, the words catching in your throat. "I don't know if we can ever make this work. But I love you so much, Simon, and I want to try. I want to try so hard, because I know there's something between us that's worth fighting for. I just don't know what to do. I don't know anymore."

The silence filled the room again, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You were left feeling vulnerable and exposed, with nowhere to hide.

You continued to say how you felt, the pain in your heart pouring out with every word.

You told Simon about how much his words had hurt you, how his refusal to listen to your thoughts and feelings made you feel like a burden to him. You couldn't help but wonder what you had done wrong to deserve such treatment.

As you talked, the tears fell from your eyes, each one representing the pain that you had been holding inside for so long. As you cried, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, a weight that had been dragging you down for far too long.

"I've been trying so hard to show you how much I care," you sobbed. "I don't know why it's not enough. What else can I do to make you see me? To make you understand that I love you, and that I'll do anything to make this work?"

As you finished speaking, you fell silent, the tears still streaming down your face. The room was filled with a heavy silence, the only sound the soft sob of your breath. You felt a sense of exhaustion wash over you, as if all the emotions you had been holding back had finally been released.

The silence continued to fill the room, and for a moment it seemed as though time itself had stopped. Neither of you spoke, and it was as though the weight of your words hung in the air between you.

After what felt like an eternity, Simon reached out and took your hand. His touch was warm and comforting, and it seemed as though some part of him understood the pain that you were feeling.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I just got caught up in my own thoughts, forgetting how important you are to me- which is a pretty damn shit move. I'm really sorry, darlin'."

You looked up at him, tears still streaming down your face. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he truly understood the pain that you were feeling. But you couldn't shake the fear that it was all just a temporary moment of kindness, and that soon enough he would go back to treating you the way he had before.

You didn't want to get hurt again, but you couldn't help but hope that this time might be different.

Maybe this time, he truly did understand...

Simon reached out and gently wiped away your tears, his touch providing a small measure of comfort.

You watch as tears pooled into his eyes too, but he still continued, "You're not a burden, my love, and you never have been. Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'm the fucking asshole here. I want to show you that.. that I can make things right."

Simon's voice was hoarse with emotion as he spoke, his words barely above a whisper. He couldn't believe what he'd done to you, how he'd hurt the person he loved the most. He hated himself for the pain he'd caused, and he cursed himself out for not being able to do better.

As you watched, tears pooled into his eyes as well, his emotions rising to the surface. But despite the pain he was feeling, he was determined to make things right. His love for you was stronger than any mistake he could make.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "You deserve so much more than what I've given you. I want to make things right, to show you that I love you, more than anything else."

His words seemed to echo in the room, filling the space between you with all the love and guilt that Simon was feeling in that moment. You watched as he wiped away his own tears, his determination burning bright in his eyes.

For a moment, there was silence, as you both stared at each other, overwhelmed with the weight of everything that had been said and done. But then, slowly, you reached out and took his hand in yours, and you knew that despite everything, you were both willing to fight for your love, to make things work.

You felt a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did mean it this time. Maybe, despite the hurt and disappointment of the past, there was a chance for something better.

"I believe you," you said softly. "But I need you to show me. I need you to put in the effort... to try."

As you finished speaking, Simon could only watch as tears continued to stream down your face. The guilt and remorse weighing heavily on his shoulders was almost too much to bear.

How could he have let you down like this, after all you had done for him? After everything you guys had been through together?

He wanted nothing more than to turn back the clock and make everything right, to show you that you meant more to him than anything else in the world. But he knew that it would take more than just words to convince you that he was telling the truth.

Simon would have to show you with his actions, prove to you that he truly was committed to making this relationship work.

"I promise," He said through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promise to do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you that I love you no matter what. I'm sorry, my love, sorry for all the pain I've caused you. Fuckin' hell... I'm going to make things right, I promise you."

As he spoke, his resolve only grew stronger, his determination stronger than ever.

"Don't cry anymore, pretty girl."

He might not deserve your forgiveness, but he was going to do damn everything to earn it. Even if it meant fighting tooth and nail, even if meant facing his greatest fears and demons.

Because in the end, you were all that mattered to him. And Simon would do whatever it took to mend this relationship.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight of the world lift off your shoulders.

A/N: now that we've made up, i can now sleep peacefully 🙏🙏 i hope you’ve all been enjoying the second part of this. i have to say though,, your support and enthusiasm has been overwhelming, and it means the world to me to know that you’re all enjoying my work <//3 this has been the heaviest fic ive ever written holy shit. listening to nbhd songs to this, esp this playlist, is such a vibe !! i couldnt stop rereading all this and crying my ass off on repeat 😘😘

special mentions <//3 . @mockerycrow @pandoramyst @monanight @casualunknownrunaway @invaderzim13 @xsoftdead18 @colorfulbanditempathhero-blog @aliilium @rhyanna6012 @ghostlythots @duskwo0d @b1rds3ye [ thank you guys for loving this lil silly fic of mine and for the supports, really, i am like so over the moon that y'all liked it ! thank you so much for your patience and support while waiting for the p2. i'm so grateful that you've been willing to stick with it, and i really appreciate all the comments you've given me along the way. i rlly hope this brings you all the comfort you guys were looking <3 ]

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 3 months

Text

❤ Yandere Step-Brother ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Stepcest; Creepy/Obsession; Mild Manipulation.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother who makes you feel unsafe in your own house. The same place that used to be a beacon of comfort and protection now turned into a den of insecurity and fear.

Each moment that you spend in your own house makes you feel trapped, stress and caution pinning at your mind.

Ever since he and his dad moved into your house, it feels less like a house.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother who always wears an ignorant, indifferent facade as if he isn’t bothered by you.

But the thing is… you know he likes to stare at you.

It’s somewhat obvious - maybe because you’re on the receiving end - but the fixed way he looks at you is downright terrifying, as if he’s planning to eat you alive.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother who is not nearly as discreet as he believes himself to be - or does he even care about hiding his weird fixation with you.

You’re highly aware of his shadow looming as he peaks through the bathroom door when you shower. The key going missing exactly at the day you’re going to shower is a doubtful coincidence and you can’t avoid feeling so damn exposed in the transparent glass-box, shame and dread having you tear up a few times.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother whose stare feels utterly creepy on the rare occasions you dare to wear shorts or skirts. His unabashed staring has you regretting the clothes when you notice his eyes sizing you up, trailing after the exposed flesh.

Despite your anxiety and discomfort, you refuse to confess your step-brother’s creepiness to your mom.

The thought of being the reason your mom becomes unhappy kills you inside, so you opt to endure whatever awkward interactions you’ll have to deal with, refusing to say a single word about it to your mom.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother whose presence alone is enough to make you weary and claustrophobic. To be in the same division as him is something you go out of your way to avoid, knowing that nothing good comes out of it.

The reason?

He always finds some shabby excuse to feel you up. It’s either his hand pressing against your chest as he reaches for the TV remote or maybe it’s his crotch rubbing grossly on your ass/back (depending on your height) as he pretends to reach for something.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother who is muscular and intimidating enough to keep boys away from you. He owns this fairly frightening glare that warns people not to defy him, his tall muscled figure imposing over other people.

And if you think that it’ll all get better when you leave for college, you may rethink that plan of yours cause he’s going to apply for the exact same colleges.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother who’s given you plenty of heart-attacks in the middle of the night as he tries to invade the privacy of your room. The fear that clings to you as the door handle shakes and twists is unbelievable, before he finally relents and leaves you be.

Although that doesn’t stop you from shaking for the rest of night, only able to slightly doze off before waking up in high alert, because you’re paranoid about him getting in.

◾ Yandere! Step-Brother who gets bolder with time.

Leaving you cum-dripping panties he stole from you on your bed.

Stealing your phone in return for a few touches.

Wrestling you into letting him dry-hump you.

He won’t stop. Not until he gets you.

-> A little goodie: Drabble (Noncon)

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #yandere concept #female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines

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idesofrevolution · 6 months

Text

Sweat and Polyester

Siyu Jiang was in love. After moving to the United States from Guangzhou to get his degree in Software Engineering, it was a hard pill to swallow that he was less than stellar at mingling with his peers. Guangzhou was a mega city, easy for him to blend in and mind his own business, busy enough for him to get a contact-high of sorts to feed his need for socialization. New Orleans on the other hand, while not a small town per se, felt tiny and almost claustrophobic to him. Everyone knew eachother, and everyone took the time to chat, go out, have a drink or a blunt, 'fraternize' if you catch my drift... and Siyu quietly observed from a distance, watching the world bustle by.

That is, until he saw Eduardo. In China, he had never felt attracted to men. Perhaps it was the somewhat hostile environment for queer folks, or perhaps it was New Orleans' more laissez-faire attitude about stuff like that, but when the new semester started and he walked into that chemistry class, it was like fireworks erupted from his eyes. Eduardo was on the basketball team, pretty great at it too. He was tall, he was fit, he had those big brown eyes that made Siyu see sideways. When he plopped down in his seat next to Siyu, still in the gym clothes he'd worn to practice an hour or so before and wafting the subtle scent of salty musk from his tattooed body, their eyes met for the first time. A simple smile and a gentle introduction made Siyu's heart flutter, he was laid back and spoke effortlessly with a relaxed and friendly demeanor. Over the first two weeks or so sitting next to him, Eduardo had really helped Siyu feel less alone and less isolated, simply by being kind and taking the time to strike up a conversation with him.

It wasn't long before Siyu was beneath the bleachers in the basketball court, watching a sweaty, jovial Eduardo shoot hoops and practice with the team. It was no secret around campus that Eduardo was bisexual, having streams of girls as well as several teammates going in and out of his dorm room all the time. As mentioned before, the people around there talk, and from what Siyu had overhead, he was a giver and one of the best beds in town. This only added fuel to his fire, as his obsessive love for this sweet, oblivious jock boy grew stronger with each whisper of his name and bounce of the orange ball.

Thus it came to be on that Tuesday evening on a cold November night that Siyu decided to make Eduardo love him. Though, there was a problem. Outside of the obvious signs: him being on the basketball team, him fucking anything that moved, him always have the subtle whiff of reefer about him, and some of the company he'd keep, Siyu really knew nothing of Eduardo's interests. Worse even, the ones he did know about were far outside of his own. Siyu was simply too different of a person to snag his crush's attention. Thus, he focused on who did catch his eye.

Enter Ethan Lafferty. Ethan was everything Siyu wasn't: muscular, tall (even more than the 6'2 Eduardo), confident, cocky even. He was point guard on the team, and Eduardo's best friend. The two couldn't have been more different. Eduardo was sweet, kind, relaxed, a flirt, everyone's favorite guy. Ethan on the other hand, was brash, loud, dumb as a box of rocks, stank of a locker room at high noon, and spent most of his time either banging the entire cheerleading squad on a livestream or downing bottles of Jameson and snorting mountains of cocaine at some hole in the wall bar in the French Quarter. Despite their completely polar personalities, the two were nearly inseparable. It always came off as peculiar that such a stereotypical straight alpha dude bro would be best friends with a queer guy, even if they were teammates.

Siyu began to frequent the duo's hoop sessions, masked in darkness beneath the cavernous space beneath the seats, taking notes on his phone of what he could observe. In his mind, he saw himself as a horny, gay Jane Goodall: observing the hot boys in their natural habitat, and how they interact. Their relationship became clearer over time. Eduardo would be the first to arrive, sitting on the bench and scrolling through his phone until Ethan would burst through the gymnasium door, holding his smelly red shoes and making a loud fuss about whatever girl he'd 'bedded' the night before. The two would sit on the bench, side by side, laughing at Ethan's shitty and demeaning jokes while he threw his arm around Eduardo's neck and ruffled his hair. Even from the clandestine cave he'd hidden away in, he could see Eduardo blush just at Ethan's touch. It was beyond him what a brute like Ethan brought to the table, but Siyu realized whatever it was, Eduardo was into it. If being like that mouthbreathing, smelly dumbass was what would make Eduardo love him, then so be it.

He started to wear a gold chain and earrings, just like Ethan. Sure, the earring was a clip on, and the necklace was cheap plate, but Eduardo quickly complimented him once he'd noticed a few days into it. He started to wear athletic shirts and shorts, some that he'd stolen from the dormitory laundry bin of course, but he'd hoped the effect would sink in. Eduardo didn't take as much of a notice of this, and thus began the diminishing returns of Siyu's efforts. He stopped wearing deodorant, thinking his own pheromones would compete, which they didn't. Not even an acknowledgement. He sketched marker tattoos on his arm, saying he was trying out designs to see what worked. He received a raised eyebrow and silence. The more he tried desperately to impress Eduardo, the less and less it seemed to make a difference. Frankly, he noticed Eduardo pulling away. Their nice little chats before lecture started to disappear, the friendly knuckle bump he would get as they ran into each other in the quad quickly followed suit. The more he tried to be Ethan, telling oddly misogynistic jokes and sipping whiskey from his water bottle in class... the more Eduardo wanted nothing to do with him.

It made no sense to him. He was doing everything right. When Ethan did it on the court, or in the dining hall, or in the library, or even in his dorm room as Siyu had his ear pressed against the door; Eduardo ate it up, his big brown eyes looked at him like he was the most lovely creature on earth. When Siyu tried it, it was met with an awkward glance and a miserable nod. He was losing him. All the work was for naught. It was time to take drastic measures.

Siyu searched high and low through every academic paper he could find in that library to find a way to make someone love him. When that came up with dead ends, he searched how to change your personality, which supplied an equal amount of nothing. Psychology, philosophy, sociology, anthropology, neuroscience, even religion... nothing he found seemed to address his quandary. That's when he dug into the dark corners of the library itself: the occult, cults, mysticism, mythology, demonology... That's when he finally came across it. The key. The knight in shining armor. The solution to his problem.

Siyu was absent from class that Friday, the only day he'd ever missed in Chemistry. He was far too busy preparing for what was to go down that evening in the gym. From sun up to sun down, he was squirreled away in his dark dorm room, a single light on his desk illuminating the old archaic book. To his left, the culmination of his research, a small spray bottle filled with a strange yellow liquid. His trash bin was filled with empty envelopes from Indonesia, Mozambique, Paraguay, Lesotho, Norway, and Russia. Remnants of a shopping spree of esoteric ingredients so outlined in the ancient texts, all of which were less than simple and far beyond illegal to obtain. Though, to Siyu, it mattered not. This was to be his final act, there were no consequences that would matter after it was all over.

As 7:30 struck, as expected, Eduardo entered the gym, setting his bag onto the shining wooden floor and scrolling through his socials. Siyu crouched in his standard spot in the shadows, watching Eduardo's feet bounce absentmindedly mere inches from him as he waited for his friend. It didn't take long, as Ethan kicked open the door, shouting his typical "Bruh! You're not gonna believe what happened last night." Siyu turned off his ears, uninterested in hearing yet another story about ecstasy, booze, and his weird thing for Charlize Theron's legs. Instead, he took the little plastic cap off the spray bottle, and sat silently beneath Ethan as he put on his stinking shoes. As he sat there, talking about absolutely nothing of substance, Siyu spritzed his feet gently with the concoction. He didn't notice a thing, continuing to chide and play around with Eduardo as Siyu sprayed the back of his legs and shorts, then his shirt and finally the back of his neck through the holes in the bleachers. By the time they got up and began to play their game, Ethan was entirely unaware he was coated with the elixir.

Ethan and Eduardo had a particularly impressive match between them. Eduardo had to keep up with Ethan's frantic energy, which he'd never had a problem with before. Hoop after hoop, he would scream and shout, rubbing it in his friend's laughing face. It was their best hoop sesh yet, fitting it would be their last. Go out on a bang, thought Siyu, as that energy quickly began to deplete. Before long, Ethan had complained about his knee giving out before he could dunk.

"Fuck, bruh. I guess kicking your ass tired me the fuck out!" Eduardo laughed at his friend, pushing his head down as he walked past.

"Your coke is wearing off I bet. I haven't seen you play like that in a long time, man! What the fuck did you take?" Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, a subtle ache beginning to radiate at the base of his skull.

"I didn't take anything, fucktard! I'm just that good, and you needed a reminder." The two laughed like morphine-riddled hyenas, before plopping back down on the bench above Siyu. Their delectable scent washed down atop him like a waterfall of pheromones. "But I may need a minute, huhu."

"Yeah man, take a breather. Wouldn't want you to get too exhausted before tomorrow's game." Eduardo winked as he picked up his bag, saying his goodbye before walking out the side door, leaving Ethan massaging his aching wet feet on the bench. It was time. Siyu slowly made his way out from beneath the bleachers, his cheap shoes squeaking on the court as he approached Ethan.

"What does he see in you?" Siyu strolled over to Ethan, who chuckled to himself as he put his socked foot back into his shoe.

"Ahh fuck, man. What the fuck are you doing here?" Ethan was panting. To him, he had a hard workout. To Siyu, the elixir was working.

"You are awful, Ethan. You're rude, you're crass, you treat others like shit, and you smell. You're a real keeper, aren't you?" Ethan turned to Siyu, his indifferent expression melting away to indignancy. He jumped from his seat, ready to pound this 5 foot nerd into oblivion, until that damned knee gave out again, toppling him back onto the bench.

"Fuck. You better be thankful I'm tapped after that workout, fucker. You should thank me really, you'd be in the ground by now." Siyu stared with absolute apathy, knowing fully well he would not be brutalized by this waning star.

"You're scum, but he would do anything for you. I can't figure out why, trust me I've tried. But you have something going on in that empty brain of yours that he can't get over." Ethan turned and snickered under his breath.

"I know you. You're that little fuckin' cocksucker who's stalking Eddy, aren't you? See-who or whatever your fuckin' name is. Listen, buddy, I'll just tell you. He's not interested, alright? You have nothing he's looking for, so just leave him the fuck alo..." Ethan tried once more to stand, only for his legs to once again give out. "Fuck! What the fuck is going on?" Siyu smirked.

"I know. I'm not what he's looking for, again: I have tried. But you are what he's looking for, and you don't even see it." Siyu walked closer to the sweating jock, dripping from every pore as if he were in the throws of scarlet fever. "I've decided to do something about that, Ethan. You're no good for a guy that's as incredible and lovely and glorious as Eduardo, and I'm going to make sure that whatever it is you have that I don't gets put to good use." Ethan looked down at his legs, growing smaller and frail by the second. It looked as if he were melting, his skin sagging, his muscles deflating, his body just sinking into a puddle of sweat on the floorboards. Whatever slurs he wished he could launch at Siyu were caught in his collapsing throat as he gurgled and bubbled. Siyu watched with a gleeful malice, watching the top competitor sink into a puddle of his own fetid sweat. There was but one single glance of abject rage from Ethan's face before it too had plummeted to the ground, leaving behind his sopping wet clothes and a silent gymnasium. Siyu took a couple of seconds to just breathe and bask in his success. He looked down at the clothes and shoes, wafting his enemy's pungent scent, imbued by the puddle of his own essence he'd become.

Now full of excitement, with a pep in his step, he gathered the dripping clothes and shoes, slipping them into Ethan's gym bag before stealing away into the night. He quickly found himself bolting across the quad, hoping and praying no one saw him with another student's bag in his possession. Bursting into the dormitory, he ran up the stairs to his floor, taking a moment to breathe before he gingerly opened the hall door. Tip toeing ever so quietly down the carpeted hallway, praying at the last minute he wouldn't be caught by a languid R.A. or a drunk neighbor. The universe, it seems, was on his side that evening, as he unlocked his door and slipped in entirely unseen. Collapsing onto his bed, the heavy and damp bag sat next to him, radiating heat from within it's shiny plastic confines. It was time to finish this.

He turned to the bag, slowly unzipping it, allowing the dank, wet air within to rush out into his room. Ethan must have lived out of this bag, as it was filled with basketball shorts, sweatshirts, socks, shoes, blender bottles filled with protein shakes, and of course the lone sweat-soaked joint at the bottom. Siyu began shucking the wayward clothes onto his chair across the room, pleased to know he would have a couple of outfits that would fit him once this was all over. He emptied out the bag until the Ethan-infused clothes were all that was left in the bottom of the bag, swimming in a puddle of musky liquid.

Siyu smirked as he took out each piece, laying them out on the ground one by one. Tee shirt. Shorts. Disgusting jock strap. Ripe socks. Even riper sneakers. Finishing it off with the gold chain and single earring. It was all there. Rushing to his desk, Siyu grabbed the very last component to his plan: two facemasks, one white and one black. These two would be the final inoculation that would keep his changes permanent over time. Two weeks of breathing it in, letting it merge with his own essence, he would ensure that the new Siyu would be around long enough to ensnare his sweetheart. He bent down, picking up the jockstrap and a sock, both still dripping, and wringing out a sizeable amount of the stinking sweat to fall onto each mask. The stage was set, the materials were prepped, and it was time to make himself the perfect soulmate for Eduardo.

He started with the jockstrap. Even post-wringing, it still sat warm and damp, yellowed with the sweat and cum that had long sunk into it's fibers. Putting his two lithe feet into the straps, he nervously pulled up, droplets of the sweat rolling down his hairless legs before it fit loosely on his skinny waist. The change was immediate. There was no momentary ounce of silence and some slow change. No, his groin immediately ballooned out, the pouch quickly filling and pushing out tout against the wet fabric. His ass inflated loudly, the sounds of stretching and creaking rubber marked the expansion of his flat rear into two round and hairy orbs like basketballs on a shelf. Siyu gingerly groped his ass, dripping in sweat from the wiry hairs he'd never before had sprout out of his smooth skin. He cackled loudly, pulling the front strap forward, and peering into his hammock. He was met with a long, uncut python and two egg sized balls wafting out his new masculine cocksmell.

Now entirely intrigued, blinded by a sense of foreign hubris he'd long suppressed, he grabbed the shirt, slipping it over his head in one quick motion. The shirt quickly started to quake, turning from white to black, before his arms dropped like sacks of potatoes. Two firm pecs burst out from beneath the slick fabric, followed by his shoulders widening to twice it's former length. Siyu continued his moans of hedonistic pleasure, while his arms bulked up: firm but lean biceps and forest of hair growing from his forearms down to his wrists, before tattoos sprouted down his tan skin. He held out his hands, raucously laughing as his fingers lengthened, callouses appearing on his sweaty palms, and veins snaking wildly all the way up his arms.

"Interesting." Siyu's insane laughter ceased immediately. His eyes darted around the dark room, searching for the voice which had loudly billowed out of the shadows. "Fuck, bruh I thought I was dead fucking meat back there. But shit, it looks like you fucked up your little recipe didn't you?" Siyu's hands began to slowly clap, not at all under his full control.

"What the fuck? Where are you? How are you here?" His sweaty hand clasped over his mouth, sticking his middle finger into his mouth like gag.

"Aww, Siyu. What's wrong, buddy? You didn't wanna get rid of me, did ya? Nahhh. You wanted to BE me." His left hand grasped the shorts, slowly pulling them up his legs while his calves and quads burst out, covered in a thick carpet of black hairs. He shot up in height, easily breaking 6' 3" in seconds. He looked down, the height disorienting him as he gagged himself. "You got your wish, fucker. Kind of, at least. See, you thought you could turn me into a puddle and wear my shit, get all swole and dope as fuck, and what... He'd fall in love with you?" Siyu's eyes widened in terror. "Yeah, fucker I can see it all! I'm in here with you now. I can see how you jacked off to the idea of him plowing your ass after a long game. I can see how you followed him all over fucking town all the time. I can see how you thought some fuckin' magic bullshit would make you like me so you could force him to love you. Gotta say, that's some fucked up shit killing off your crush's best friend so you have no competition." Siyu's body bent over, picking up the socks, before plopping down onto the chair, surrounded by Ethan's clothes.

"See, you think I didn't know Eddy was into me? You think we didn't jack off together in our rooms when we needed a release? You think I wasn't into him too?" The hands slipped on the sopping wet socks, as his feet started soak up Ethan's sweaty essence, quickly followed by the nasty red shoes. As the laces were tied snug, his feet began to crack and swell, his arch growing tall and his toes lengthening out. Tattoos sprawled over the tops of his stinking feet and ankles, as the red fabric quickly turned orange, widening and lengthening even larger than Ethan's, until they were two massive size 15's. "Heheh, he likes feet, just so you know. Right when we get home after a long day, he loves it when I peel off my shoe and shove his face in it." Siyu felt his hand pinch his cheeks, and his middle finger caress his tongue in his mouth. "Thing is, Siyu, I was straight. I only had eyes for pussy, and fuck bruh, I knew how to stick my dick in it. I liked it when he sucked my nasty cock clean, but you know, it was just something between bros, you know?" Siyu slapped his meaty thighs, standing up tall and picking up the white facemask there on the ground. Tears ran down his terrified face as his own hands drew it closer.

"But now that I'm here, now that you and I are one, I think you may be right, dude." Siyu moaned against the hand over his mouth, just before it slipped out and grasped the other side of the mask. "I think we and Eddy are gonna be soulmates." He shrieked as the mask adhered over his nose and chin, and around his ears. Siyu could do nothing as he felt his brows lowering, his greasy hair falling out of his chiseled skull, quickly replaced by a sweaty black fade. His lips pillowed out as his long, meaty tongue licked them as he smirked with his pearly white teeth. Siyu could feel Ethan's consciousness wrap around him, like a tight latex suit compressing him tighter and tighter and tighter, until he visualize Ethan finally penetrating him. He pulled down his shorts and began to pump his greasy dick, while Ethan made himself at home inside of Siyu. Their traits intermingling with eachother- merging everything between them that would have made them distinct, now creating an amalgamation of both. As his balls began to shudder, pre cum dripping from his hooded cockhead, there was no more Ethan, and there was no more Siyu.

The first volley of spunk shot from his dick, memories of fucking gals on the weekends and guys on the weekdays solidified in his mind. Second volley of spunk, a sense of cocky self assurance swelled within him, though washed with a sense of empathy and camaraderie to mellow him out. Third volley of spunk, he was booksmart in his IT classes, but dumb as a box of rocks, choosing to funnel his free time out of class into the team and chilling out with his bros. Fourth volley of spunk, he loved Eduardo. That sweet, adorable, kinky little fuck was the apple of his eye, and he'd do anything for him. Though, he couldn't get too lovey dovey, he knew all too well that being chased and obsessed over was the quickest way to turn him off. He would happily tease, flirt, kiss, suck and fuck him, but he would let Eddy come to him. Fifth and final volley, his identity now centralized and firm: he was Shan Eoyang, a Chinese exchange student on scholarship for basketball. He was cool, he was hot, he was the golden hearted bad boy that made everyone around him go wild. The world was his oyster, and he would be there with his man by his side, and the various others who would worship at their sweaty masculine feet. He opened his eyes, and Shan took his first deep breath, taking in his own scent embedded into his mask.

"Fuuuuuuuck dude, that's good." He slipped his cock back into his dirty jockstrap, knowing all too well that Eddy would be into it when they finally met up. Bringing his fingers to his ears, he came perilously close to prying off his mask, though something in the back of his mind told him it probably wasn't the best idea. He pulled out his phone, not recognizing it whatsoever. It had his boyfriend's face as the screensaver, but it wouldn't take his password or fingerprint. Must be the previous tenant's phone, he thought to himself, as he opened the window and chucked it from the building. He'd run out and get one in the morning before class, as he had a bunch of scholarship money to burn.

---

Eduardo waited outside the basketball court, wondering where Ethan was. It was almost 8, and while he was never particularly adept at being on time, he would have at least texted. He looked down at his phone, scrolling through his Grindr, looking for whoever was available after hoops. Ethan would definitely let him suck him off in the locker room, but meh, that wasn't really going anywhere anyway. Thankfully, Siyu wasn't in class, apparently he'd dropped out from what the professor had said. At minimum he was relieved that the creepy little guy wasn't going to be following him home at night anymore.

Just as he was preparing to call it a night, the door burst open at the end of the hall. He turned to give Ethan a hard time for being so late, but the man before him was not Ethan. He was the tall, dark, and handsome archetype personified. He sauntered over to him with a confident stride, oozing a sense of pride and sexual energy.

"Oh... shit man. You uh, you caught me off guard. I was just waiting for my friend." The man approached Eduardo with smiling eyes behind the black facemask on his chin.

"You're Eddy, right? I'm a new student, just got on the basketball team. Coach says you might be able to show me around the place, if you're down of course? Name's Shan." Shan leaned against the wall, letting his hand rest on his neck, and smirking beneath the fabric as his sharp pit musk wafted at his gorgeous new teammate. Eduardo, happily letting in the stud's scent, lapped it up and shuddered.

"Yeah, man. I'm so down, I'm Eduardo. Friends call me Eddy." Shan leaned in close, their noses now inches from eachother.

"Eddy, then. Sounds like a good time, someone like you would probably be able to show me a lot." Shan winked, and Eddy blushed a bright red, nodding gingerly. "Well shit, how's about we shoot a couple hoops, we go back to my room and we show eachother around, what do you say?" Eduardo looked down, seeing Shan's massive well worn sneakers, which had inched their way to his own until they were firmly touching. Oh shit yeah, this guy was perfect.

"I say fuck yeah, man. Show me what you're made of." Eddy made the move, letting his fingers slowly touch Shan's forearm. Happily received, Shan ruffled his soon-to-be boyfriend's hair, as if it were second nature.

"Oh I'm gonna kick your ass on the court. We'll see what I do with it when we're done." He slapped Eddy's back, tossing his sweaty arm around his shoulder as the two walked into the court. They would be inseparable once again, and yet inseparable for the first time.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #musk #body possession #musky #gay transformation #male tf #bisexual transformation #basketball #jockification #clothing tf #college #merging #body merging

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nakama-narratives · 3 months

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Headcanon: Cuddling

Characters: Doflamingo, Law

AN: This is the last part of the cuddling headcanons. Feel free to write me suggestions for more headcanons or stories ^-^

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Doflamingo

- You would never have believed how affectionate Doflamingo can be if you didn't experience it. Despite his otherwise rotten personality, Doflamingo has a soft heart for his family - as long as said family doesn't betray him.

He loves to hold you in his arms and cuddle with you, loves the warm and cozy feeling that your closeness triggers in him. Whenever he can, he seeks you out, pulls you close, caresses you and kisses you gently.

He gives you everything that is left of his heart after all the traumas he has suffered - and for which he is largely responsible himself. But it has been a long and rocky road for you to get to this position.

- For Doflamingo, cuddling is an important part of a relationship. He sees it as a great way to express his affection and be close to you. So expect that he won't be able to keep his hands off you - not even in public. Doflamingo has given you his heart and he wants everyone to see that you are his queen, his one and only.

- At night, when all his duties for the day are done and he falls tired into your bed, he has only you on his mind. When you snuggle up to him, he strokes you gently and you talk about your day, Doflamingo begins to relax. This is also the only time when you can see his true, vulnerable self.

Law

- The always serious and grumpy Law will always say that he hates cuddling, but secretly he loves it. He listens to your steady breaths, takes in your pleasantly sweet scent and feels your warmth. Law is completely focused on you as soon as you snuggle up to him and he loves every second of your time together.

- Law is a quiet connoisseur and dislikes public displays of romance, but when you sit together in the Polar Tang's mess hall, in the company of his crew, and then you snuggle up to him, the usually serious Law turns into a flustered mess. He'll put his arm around you and try to play down his nervousness, but a silly giggle from his friends is enough for Law to shamble you both into his room immediately.

- His childhood trauma is still gnawing at Law. His insecurity comes out at night in particular and nightmares plague him. But since you've been in his life, he's feeling better. The nightmares have almost completely disappeared, but the insecurity remains. As soon as you lie in bed with him at night, he instantly clings to you. He holds you tightly in his arms and won't let you go all night, his unconscious fear that he could lose someone he loves again is too great.

You almost had to fight with him often enough when you had to go to the bathroom at night or wanted a drink and Law didn't want to wake up.

When you sleep in his tight embrace, you better not be claustrophobic.

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#donquixote doflamingo #trafalgar law #doflamingo #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece fluff #one piece #doflamingo x reader #trafalgar law x reader #headcanon #trafalgar law headcanons

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whaledenwtf · 4 months

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Professor!Gale x Reader - Extra Credit

Oh yeah, its all coming together. I really like the idea of Professor Dekarios and I find teachers really hot (and so is Gale). Also, since this is a student teacher scenario, I imagine the age difference to be about 10 years, with you being around 25 and Gale being 35. Both legal and consenting adults. So many people have already contributed to this scenario and I decided to try!! Hope I do this hot wizard justice. :)

AO3 LINK: Here

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: Here (MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN PLEASE REQUEST STUFF)

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Body Worship ( Female Receiving), Squirting (hehe), Creampie, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex on a desk (you're welcome), Praise Kink, Power Imbalance, CONSENSUAL Teacher and Student Dynamic, Slight Angst, Speaks of Academic Anxiety and Fear of Failure

My priority is always trying to keep the characters as close to their in-game personality as possible!!

WORD COUNT: 6892

You have been attending Blackstaff for the last couple of years. Nothing was truly noteworthy in that time, until your last semester of your last year. You were a flourishing wizard, excelling in every class. Until you were seated in his class.

In your first day of class with Professor Dekarios, you were taken aback by his good looks. You were so used to old stuffy wizards for professors that you could never fathom them to be young, and attractive. You were distracted by his looks, and then his knowledge. He's well-read, and holds the interest of all his students. You knew that most of your classmates were attracted to the wizard, but you felt so incredibly awkward sitting in his class spending the majority of it fantasizing about him.

"Here are your current marks in my course. Most of you are excelling-" He gives a pointed glare to the backrow of the class, who are all giggling at his attention. "But for those who find their grades are... less than subpar, you can speak to me after class or in my office hours." Your hands brush when he hands you your grade, and your heart speeds up a bit. After everyone has received their grade, you hear groans of exasperation and gasps of elation. Flipping over the paper, your eyes widen.

A-

This can't be right you think to yourself, questioning what you have done to slip from your perfect A+ average. Logically speaking, you knew this wouldn't kill you outright, but it sure felt like it would.

"Now, we will continue today's lesson with the history of the evocation spell Green-Flame Blade. Interestingly, the spell's origins come from-" His voice drowns out. Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. You felt... anxious; confined and claustrophobic. You feel a minor tremor go through your body. You snap out of it, and look up to see everyone packing up to leave. How long was I not listening? You ask yourself. You felt guilty, your wandering mind has allowed you to lose track on your priorities. You couldn't fail. You had to succeed, and push yourself further than you have ever had in your life. The line to speak to Professor Dekarios was not as long as you expected, but your anxiety had slowly increased with every second you were left waiting. Once the person in front of you had left, you step closer to his desk, shy and nervous.

"Ah, Miss (Y/N)! How can I help you today?" He is standing behind his desk, slightly bent over so he could lean over it.

"I wanted to speak to you about my grade, Professor Dekarios." He furrows his brows.

"You're grade? I'm surprised, considering you are my best student-" He shuffles closer to you, conspiratorially. "Between me and you, the entire class has an average of C+. You're the student who I see the most potential in." You blush at the words. You were surprised that you were his best student, considering the many talented and intelligent peers you were surrounded with. You find it difficult to believe the course average is a C+.

"I want to know if there is anything to raise my grade. I find this to be unacceptable, and wish to boost my grade." You whisper quietly. He hums.

"You remind me of myself when I was a young wizard. Despite the fact I excelled, I felt the need to better... the best." You've heard the rumours about your professor. He was once Mystra's Chosen, and the whirlwind romance was all anyone could talk about. One doesn't simply get chosen without reason; you had to have unimaginable potential and have such an understanding of the Weave that Mystra herself would welcome you.

"I remind you of yourself?" He hums in affirmation. He begins packing his things, before glancing up at you.

"You think that this grade is the end of your world. That the universe itself will implode around you." He states it as though he read your mind, and you wonder if he casted detect thoughts on your mind. "I see no issue with your grade, (Y/N). In all my years of teaching, you're the first student who even reached an A grade in any of my courses. You're an intelligent, talented wizard." You shake your head, frowning.

"Please, Professor Dekarios. Let me prove myself to you." He finishes packing up, before standing at full height and rubbing his beard.

"Well, perhaps I can find something that would be stimulating enough for your caliber." You smile wide then, and squeal.

"Oh thank you! Thank you! I won't let you down." He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

"Come to my office hours later tonight and we can further discuss what can be done." You nod, your cheeks straining from how wide your smile was.

"I'll see you then." You begin to walk away from his desk, picking up your things. As you walk out of his class, you turn around to look at him again. He is turned away from you, and you admire him from a distance. You cross the threshold of the door, head held high. You will prove yourself.

You were grateful that you could change out of the Blackstaff uniform you were forced to wear. You were in a blouse and skirt, with your Blackstaff cloak around your shoulders. You knock on the door of his office, nervous and excited.

"Come in." Despite being muffled, you could tell it was him. You open the door slowly, before walking in and closing the door behind you.

"Hi Professor Dekarios." He smiles up at you from his seat, waving over to the two armchairs infront of his desk.

"Take a seat, Miss (Y/N)." You go to sit down.

"You can just call me (Y/N)." You tell him, biting your lip. His eyes glance to your lips for a moment before connecting your gazes.

"Alright, (Y/N). I went ahead and took the liberty of getting your transcript and I must say I am truly impressed." You glance down to his hands to see him holding a piece of parchment. "I had not realized I had such a prodigal individual in my class, though I am not surprised. You have exceeded my expectations for what I see in students. I can say with certainty that we are more alike than I originally thought." You blush at his words, the praise from his lips making your heart flutter in your chest.

"Thank you, Professor." He leans forward, to once again look over your transcript.

"That being said, imagine my surprise in seeing your transcript! Your grades are extraordinary. In both theory and practical courses you've achieved top grades." You hum as a response, nodding. His eyes snap up to yours, and you get struck by his beauty. In the light of his office, his eyes are a chocolate-brown. Despite having the most common eye colour, on him they seem well-placed. Perfect.

"Is there anything that may be affecting you outside of your studies? You may be my best student but I can tell your mind wanders elsewhere during my course." You blush and look down.

"My mind often wanders, and I am sorry about that." He hums, rubbing his beard in thought.

"Is there any issues at home? A particularly distracting significant other?" Your head snaps up at his words. He is watching you intently, his attention on you completely.

"Oh- um. No. No family to have issues with, and no relationship to be distracted by. Just me and my wandering mind." You see him exhale, and the tension in his shoulders leaves.

"Alright." He sounds pleased at the information. "Well, there isn't anything I can do regarding previous grades as they are already in the system-" You whimper, eyes watering. He stands to crouch next to where you are seated. He places a hand on your arm, rubbing it in a comforting matter.

"Please don't cry. I'm not particularly good at handling beautiful crying women. " You turn to look at him in shock.

"I'm sorry professor-" He cuts you off, still rubbing your arm.

"Please call me Gale." You nod, looking down. He goes to stand, knees cracking.

"However-" Your eyes snap up. "I may be able to give you an additional assignment that can boost your grade. Like I said, you're my top student and you don't need much to boost such a grade." In your excitement, you jumped up and hugged him.

"Oh thank you Gale! I won't let you down." His arms wrap around you as he chuckles.

"You can't disappoint me." He says with certainty. You look up at him blushing. His eyes glance down at your lips. After a breathe, you move away from him, biting your lip. He coughs, trying to clear the atmosphere.

"What do you need for the assignment?" He ponders this for a moment.

"As an exception, I'll accept anything. Whether that be a written assignment, practical application or otherwise." You smile.

"I can do that." He smiles at you, and you blush at his radiance.

"Perfect! As long as it is done before the final grades are processed the grade will be adjusted and your transcript unaffected." You nod excitedly.

"I'm forever in your debt, Gale." He waves you off.

"Pish-posh. Just trying to help." You turn to walk to the door, but before you can step further he grabs your hand gently. Your head snaps back to him.

"Please do not hesitate to speak to me if you need anything else." He squeezes your hand before letting go, and you've never felt such an acute sense of loss.

"Thank you. I may take you up on that offer." He smiles down at you.

"Take care of yourself (Y/N)." You nod, before leaving his office. You felt a sense of excitement, and were grateful for Gale's ability to bend the rules for you. You will not let him down.

The next time you see Gale was in class the next week. You decided to apply yourself further, and made it a personal goal to answer more questions and be part of more discussions. You can feel the ire from your classmates, but you ignore them in favour of basking in the validation and praise from Gale. "Very good, (Y/N)! The application of Mage Hand can be used only outside of combat! However, it can be used to pick up weapons. I remember once when-" He cuts himself off when a student raises their hand. You turn to look at the student, who you remember was one of the girls who usually interrupts class.

"So can we use it in the bedroom?" She asks flirtatiously. Her friends all giggle around her. You roll your eyes and look at Gale. He coughs to cover his shock.

"I-um. It can be." You smirk at his reply. His eyes glance at you and the side of his lips quirk up.

"Do you have any experience using it, professor?" He blushes.

"I don't think that's an appropriate question regarding the lesson." She sighs. Before anyone can speak up, the bell rings and people get up from their desks and leave. You walk up to Gale, holding your notebook. There are still some people in the class, wandering and speaking to eachother

"Hi Ga-Professor." He smiles at you.

"Hi (Y/N). How can I help?" He asks as he packs up his things.

"I have decided on what to do for the assignment." He perks up at your words.

"Wonderful! May I ask what you plan on doing?" You grin.

"It will be a surprise, but I will be casting a spell! No written assignment." He closes his bag and stands to his full height.

"I'm excited for your practical prowess. When do you plan on showing me this incredible act?" You think for a moment.

"Anytime that works with you." He nods to the door, silently asking you to follow him. You follow next to him as he speaks.

"I do not have any other commitments today." You bite your lip.

"Me neither." He opens the door for you, waving you to walk in front of him. You bow jokingly, before walking ahead of him. You both laugh as you walk out.

The walk to his office is filled with varying topics of conversation. From his Tressym, Tara, to topics regarding spells and their origins. You were slightly disappointed when you arrive to his office door, saddened by the end of your conversation. Once again, he opens the door and lets you in first.

"Let's get started! You are keeping me at the edge of my seat." He lays his things down before standing next to you.

"I've decided that I will be casting a spell above what you have taught us." His eyebrows jump up his forehead.

"Which spell?" He asks, curiously. You lay your things down, and raise your hands into position.

"Astral Projection." You tell him confidently. His jaw drops.

"Holy hells. Are you sure you will be able to cast it? What about the hour long casting time? Have you considered-" You cut him off as you begin the hand gestures.

"I've been concentrating for the last hour. I've also successfully casted this spell multiple times." You tell him. He leans forward on his desk, watching you intently. You begin to mutter the cast, the Weave flowing through you like water in a river. You look directly in his eyes as you mutter the last word, and then you feel yourself floating. Once you feel the ground under your feet, you look next to you and see Gale in awe.

"Phenomenal! You executed the spell perfectly- furthermore you concentrated during our conversation. I've never been so impressed by such a feat!" He tells you, his voice echoing in the astral plane. You grin at him.

"Did I pass?" You ask coquettishly. He laughs out loud, looking at the outline of his body.

"Pass? I'm considering sending a strongly worded letter to the Dean to have you graduate right away!" You laugh out loud. He walks forward, looking at the area in interest.

"Are you able to transport us into a different realm?" He asks excitedly. You giggle at his enthusiasm. He smiles at you.

"Of course. I have a place in mind!" You close your eyes, casting a silent spell. When you open them, you find yourself in your bedroom.

"Is this your bedroom?" He asks curiously. You nod, smiling.

"It is my safe haven. It's where I first casted most of my spells, and successfully astral projected for the first time." He walks around, looking at the stacks of books and trinkets with interest.

"It suits your style." He says gently. You blush at his words. He sits down on your bed, taking a book into his hands.

"Death and Divinity: A Godly Guide. Interesting tome." He tells you. You sit next to him, taking the tome in your hand.

"I was curious about death. It takes so much from us, and will take us too, one day." You tell him quietly, explaining how the tome got into your possession. He hums, placing a hand on yours.

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." He says sadly. You turn to look at his profile, and see a sadness that seems exhaustive.

"Life gives us a lot. But it can also take. You're stronger than I am, especially after all you dealt with." You tell him as you squeeze his hand. His thumb caresses your hand gently.

"I am no stronger than any other man." He replies, looking at you.

"I find it difficult to believe that." You whisper to him. His eyes glance at your lips again.

"I'm afraid I am no different than any other. Quite ordinary." You glance at his lips, leaning closer.

"Nothing about you is ordinary, Gale Dekarios." He leans closer, and his lips graze yours. You drop the tome on the floor and grip him closer to you, basking in the comfort and warmth of his kiss. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands moving to grip your face as his tongue explores your mouth. You moan, leaning further into him. After a moment you separate, gasping out.

"I am so sorry." Gale apologizes profusely, standing. You stand with him, smoothing your hands down your clothes.

"Do not apologize. It's my fault." You tell him, embarrassed.

"I am the one who went further. I will be honest, (Y/N). You've captivated me. You are a constant in my thoughts. I apologize for being so unprofessional." Your heart sings at his words. You take his face into your hands and pull him into a kiss.

"The only reason I was distracted in your course was because I think of you. You occupy my thoughts- and I cannot stop." You tell him earnestly. His eyes widen.

"O-oh." You pull away to grip his hands.

"I'm sorry Gale. I understand this will only cause you problems. I can transfer course-"

"Absolutely not. Despite the fact that I am your professor, I can not imagine you removing yourself from my course. I- I do not want to let you go now that you are in my reach, and in my grasp." He tells you as he leans in, his breath fanning across your lips. He kisses you again, passionately. The back of your knees hit your bed, and you fall over. He climbs over you, still kissing you. As his hands begin to roam, your concentration snaps, and you find yourselves in his office.

The fantasy was ripped from you both. You are panting, eyes wide as you stared at your professor.

"I-" You start, breathless. He takes two steps forward, pupils blown wide.

"Please." He whispers. You wait for a moment, before the urge is too strong. You pull him down to kiss you, moaning and gasping into his lips. You open your mouth, and he spares no time in exploring it. Your tongues dance around each other, exploring and absorbing the other. You pull away when you hear footsteps outside the door. You jump from him as they get closer. You rush to hide under his desk, grateful that nobody could see you from the other side. The doorknob shifts, and someone walks in.

"Hi Professor Dekarios~" You frown as you hear the voice of that student who interrupted class today.

"To what do I owe the-" he harrumphs. "pleasure?" the way he said it with such disdain makes you smile.

"I heard another student speaking about an extra assignment and was wondering if it would be possible for me to have one as well?" You don't hear anything for a moment, but you assume Gale waved her over to the chair in front of his desk as you see his feet shuffle closer to you.

"I suppose I can do so. What did you have in mind?" He asks her as he sits down, trying to not kick you.

"I can think of a couple of things I can do to boost my grade." She says huskily. You bite your tongue, trying not to groan at her words.

"Well I am all ears." Gale tells her. You smile at his inability to understand her intentions.

"Well... We are here, in your office... alone." You can hear her lean forward by the way the chair creaks.

"Yes?" He asks her unsure. You stifle a giggle in your hand, which she didn't hear. He had heard your giggle, and nudged you with the toe of his shoe.

"I can do anything you like. Some have said I'm good with my mouth." He coughs out, and from your angle you see his eyes are wide like saucers.

"A-are you insinuating that- Absolutely not! I will have to send a letter to the Dean of the academy to have you cease your studies immediately-"

"B-but Professor-" She squeals out. He goes to stand.

"Not only is that incredibly disrespectful and unprofessional, but you make a mockery of wizardry itself. Leave now-" He says angrily, before pausing. "please." He ends softly. You hear her sobs as she runs out, the door slamming behind her. He sighs as he goes to lock the door. Once you hear the click of the lock, you make your way out from under his desk.

"I am sorry you had to hear that-" You wave him off.

"Do not apologize to me." He exhales loudly, rubbing a hand over his face which looked tired all of a sudden. You pick up your things which were hidden in the corner of the room.

"Are you leaving?" He asked sadly. You turn to him, biting your lip.

"I understand you have a lot on your plate, Gale. I do not want to add to it-" You walk towards him, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But I also do not want to overstay my welcome after such a situation. It doesn't change what I said and how I feel." You reassure him. He closes his eyes, running his fingers through his hair.

"I feel the need to apologize for ruining the moment-" You cut him off, taking his face into your hand and caressing it with your thumb. His eyes flutter open, eyes gazing into you with tenderness.

"There will be many more moments. If you'd like-" You take a random sheet of paper from your notebook and scribble on it before tearing it off and giving it to him. "Here is my address. Send me a pigeon or come visit me." You graze his lips once more, before pulling away and unlocking the door. You turn to glance at him once more, and see he is holding the paper, rubbing his lips softly. You blush and turn away, heading home for the day.

That night, as you are sitting on your couch and reading a novel you hear a knock at the door. Your bare feet patter against the hardwood of your floors. You open the door to see Gale standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a bag full of books.

"Oh! Hi Gale." You usher him in, closing the door behind him as he toes off his shoes.

"I understand you probably did not mean I could come over tonight, but I had to see you again." He tells you. You blush at his words, before taking the items from his hands.

"You are welcome any time. Please, take a seat. I was just reading." You usher him to the couch, where he takes a seat and looks around your home, interested.

"I brought a bottle of wine and some literature. I thought you would enjoy it." He tells you shyly. You grin at him, and he is struck by your beauty.

"I don't need anything to enjoy your presence, Gale. The thought is appreciated regardless. Let me get us some glasses so we can enjoy it together." He nods at you, smiling. As you walk to the kitchen, you ponder the day over in your head. You were in awe of what transpired today; between you admitting your feelings for your professor, to him reciprocating those feelings! From the student who over imposed, to your perfect cast of Astral Projection. It was a taxing day, and you are glad you could relax before tomorrow's sun rose.

As you walk back to your living room, you see Gale has stood and looked over your bookshelves.

"Are you impressed?" He jumps at your words, before turning around and smirking.

"Many of these tomes I have at home. Quite a collection you have here." You smile, putting down the two glasses on an end table next to the couch.

"Not as extensive as I wish, but I will hope to get there." He turns around to look further, before chuckling. He pulls out a slim novel, grinning.

"The Tale of Tadpoles and Illithids; Saving Baldur's Gate-" He smirks at you, as you blush. "Didn't think you were such a fan. Want an autograph?" He teases you. You snatch the book out of his hand, sticking your tongue out.

"Not my fault you are an accomplished wizard and author. I happen to enjoy reading all sorts of topics and... well... I was interested." You admit to him. He puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in, before kissing the top of your head.

"I am interested too- in you, of course." He says confidently, before rushing in to add that last part. You laugh at his fumble, leaning your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"Is that so?" You ask him lowly, biting your lip. His eyes follow the movement, and he exhales softly. Now in the privacy of your home, in your space, you feel confident and sure of your actions and words.

"I do." He whispers. You pull away from him, taking his hand in your own and tugging him to the couch.

"Let us enjoy good wine and great company." You tell him, smiling as he gets comfortable.

"Thank you for-" He harrumphs, blushing. "-for letting me in." You pour the wine into the glasses, handing him one. You edge yourself closer to him, the heat of his body warming you in different ways.

"Of course. I won't leave you outside. I extended an invitation for a reason." You lean against your hand, taking a sip of wine. You moan at the taste, your tongue swiping across your lips to catch any stray drops. He blushes into his glass, all of a sudden bashful.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to speak about?" You ask him curiously, after a minute of silence. He looks down at the glass in his hand, swirling it around.

"I just wanted- no needed- to see you. I do not know how to traverse this path we laid out for ourselves... I mean, I am your professor! I cannot help wanting you in every way, and any way. Intellectually, spiritually, physically-" He ends huskily. You gulp a sip of wine, blushing into the glass. "You have taken my thoughts hostage, and I cannot help but be gravitated to you. You are phenomenal in ways I admire, and like a moth to a flame, I am magnetized." Your thigh bumps into his as you pull your legs up onto the couch.

"I am honoured that you think so highly of me. I can't help but feel concerned that you will realize I am not much. You've experienced so much, and I feel- no; I know- that I will come short of your expectations." You tell him honestly, sighing. His hand makes itself known on your thigh, his thumb caressing circles into the thin fabric of your lounge clothes.

"I cannot let you think for a moment that you will come short of any expectations I have. You've exceeded any and all expectations I have had in others for the longest time. You're absolutely radiant. Let me show you." His hand begins to move upwards. You bite your lip as your gaze trails from his hand, to his face. He was already watching you intently, looking for any sign of denial.

"Please." You whisper, echoing his words from earlier today. He stands to take both your glasses and sets them down, before crouching down in front of where you are seated on the couch.

"May I?" He whispers, looking up at you. You can't help but feel as though he was a worshipper, and you, his goddess. You felt a pang of adoration for him, and cannot help but understand what enthralled Mystra when she came upon him. He was utterly irresistible, and you were tired of resisting against him and his charm. You nod, swallowing in excitement. His hands caress your calves, going up and massaging your thighs. He takes his time, even laying soft kisses on the top of the fabric covering your thighs. His eyes glance up as he does so, taking in the small gasps and sighs of pleasure coming from your lips. He slowly tugs the fabric of your pants down, pulling them off your feet and folding it with a gentleness you admire.

You are already buzzing in excitement, pupils blown wide and hands gripping the fabric of your couch. When he looks up from his task, he is aroused at the fact you were parading around without any undergarments.

"You little minx. I cannot wait to devour you. Would you like that?" You moan, your hand going to his hair and tugging as you nod excitedly. He chuckles at your enthusiasm, before his hands go to your knees to spread you open. You whimper as he does so, and the groan he lets out when he sees you spread open for him is whorish.

"Look at the mess you have made for me. Such a good girl for me." He whispers into the skin of your inner thigh, his beard scratching you deliciously. You whimper at his words, one of your hands going up to your top to pull it up over your breasts so you could play with them.

"J-just for you." He moans as you speak, inhaling your scent. Your core pulsates at the action, your cunt tightening around nothing as your slick leaks out.

"You smell delicious. I know I will get drunk off the taste of you." He tells you before kissing your clit. You arch off the couch, your foot sliding up and finding purchase on his back. He curls his forearms under your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge of the couch, and the show of his strength makes you moan out his name. He begins to lick your lower lips, moaning into you at your taste.

"Gods, I have dreamt of this for months. I will make sure you cum on my tongue more than once tonight. Consider that a promise, sweetheart." He says into your core, eyes looking up at you.

The picture you painted was gorgeous, with blushing skin and half-lidded eyes. Your hand is holding your breast in your hand, playing and tugging with its peak. He keeps his gaze on you as he expertly explores your inner sanctum. You gasp, moan and whimper at every flick and swipe of his dexterous tongue, his name a prayer on your lips. His tongue prods at your entrance, as one of his hands spreads you open further. He thrusts into you with the appendage, as his nose bumps into your clit. He pulls away to suck the pearl, groaning at the sight of you arching painfully off the couch in pleasure. Your other hand finds itself in his hair, tugging on it and pushing him further into your cunt. You feel the coil in your lower belly snap, and you shout, your body almost split in half from the way you arch. You can feel your spend rush out of you, squirting and coating Gale's lower half of his face; you think even his shirt is drenched. You have minor convulsions of oversensitivity and Gale continues to lick you, groaning at your taste.

"O-oh. P-please ah. I'm sensitive." You whimper into the air, body hunched over. You felt like jelly. As your eyes come into focus, you see Gale looking at you with a dark look in his eyes.

"I promised more than once. I will deliver through with that promise. Be a good girl and hold your legs for me." You whimper, your arms limply moving to hold them up for him. His arms uncoil from your thighs to gather some of your slick from the inside of your thighs. He looks directly into your eyes as he licks up the spend, his tongue weaving through his digits. You whine, gyrating your hips. He chuckles at the movement, before taking two of his spit-riddled fingers and thrusting them into you. He groans at your tightness, scissoring his fingers to spread you open.

"You are so good for me. Want me to make you feel good?-" You nod, whimpering. "Such a good girl. Can't wait to make you scream my name again. This time I'll make you cum on my fingers." You never expected Gale to be so forward and... dirty. Hearing those words come from lips that brought you to another dimension of pleasure was nothing short of thrilling, and your body was already begging him for more. You nod, tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming need you felt for the man who spent the last twenty minutes worshipping your figure. He begins to thrust his fingers as his tongue laps up at your still sensitive clit. You knew you wouldn't last long with the way his tongue and fingers worked together to make you come apart for him.

Your hand finds itself back at the roots of his hair, tugging the strands. He groans at the action, kissing the side of your inner thigh as his eyes glitter with adoration.

"Gods. I do not know how I could ever let you go after tonight." He whispers. You suppose he was speaking to himself, but you heard him and you felt an overwhelming sense that your heart felt... full. You're not sure if it's the arousal, the adrenaline from the mind-blowing orgasm or something that is just Gale Dekarios, but you decided it was a dangerous feeling. Those three words made your tongue feel like lead, and his touch was distracting enough for you to only let out sounds rather than words. He started tracing letters on your clit, and you begin gyrating on his face again, his beard burning you slightly.

"That's it, sweetheart. Take what you need from me. Gods you are beautiful. I love seeing you like this." You gasp out when you hit your peak again, explosions behind your eyelids. You tightened around his fingers, whimpering and mumbling nonsense in your deliriousness. Your ears are ringing, and you just babble words. For a moment, he looks at you with shock before he gazes at you with adoration, petting your hair and kissing random parts of your body as you come down from your high. Once the last tremor goes through you and you can hear the world again, you look around and realize he is laying down under you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you struggle with the loss of time you faced.

"I-I never experienced... What happened?" You ask him, turning over so you were chest to chest. He chuckles at your questions, his hands caressing your back and arms.

"Not to toot my own horn, but you seemed very adamant in not coming back down from your high. Said such nonsensical things..." He whispered, kissing your lips. You fidget on his chest. your thigh bumping into his bulge as he groans.

"What did I say?" You whispered worriedly.

"You said you loved me-" You groan, hiding your face in his chest, which you now notice is shirtless. Just how much did you miss? "Now don't hide such a beautiful face-" His hand finds itself at the back of your neck, positioning you to look up at him. "I love you too, you know." He whispers, the hand at the nape of your neck pulling you forward into a passionate kiss. You felt overstimulated, between the kiss, your heightened adrenaline and the fact he laid his heart bare- you wanted to give yourself to him wholly. You pull away from his lips, hands on his chest so you could look down at him.

"I need you." You tell him blankly. His eyes widened.

"Do not feel the need to please me. What I did, I wanted to. I will never ask you to reciprocate." He tells you, his hand pushing away stray hairs and tucking them behind your ear.

"I don't remember stuttering, Professor Dekarios." In a sudden show of strength, he picks you up and lays you on the closest flat surface - your desk.

"Such a naughty girl." He tells you, groaning. As your back is laid flat on the desk, you spread your legs, biting your lip.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Your foot nudges the seam of his pants, toeing the button holding them up. He closes his eyes, biting his lip.

"If you continue that I will not last as long as I'd like." He tells you honestly, groaning. You pull your foot away, but he grabs it to kiss your calf. You smile up at him, as he gazes into your eyes adoringly.

"Gods. How lucky am I?" He whispers into your skin. You giggle, running a hand through his hair sweetly.

"I feel as though I'm the lucky one." You tell him, smile widening. His hand goes to the button of his pants, pulling it out of the loop. His pants fall, leaving him in his undergarments. He pulls those off too, leaving him completely bare. You raise yourself onto your elbows to admire him.

His physique was exquisite, with defined muscle and the perfect amount of hair. His chest had a light scattering of it, which then trailed down to his belly button before becoming coarser and showing a darkened happy trail, which was accentuated by his v-line. His trail goes lower until it reaches the base of his cock, as trimmed as the rest of him. What excited you, though, was his cock; it was like the rest of him- perfect. He was above average in length and girth, and the tip was flushed with pearls of precum leaking from his slit. He pumps himself once, then twice, before smirking down at you.

"Admiring what you see?" He asks cheekily. You bite your lip as your eyes trail back up to his face.

"I'd like a taste." You whisper sensually. He gulps loudly, before his hand goes to the back of his neck.

"Ah-That won't be necessary. I'd much rather bring you to the planes of ecstacy." You pout at his words.

"Next time I want to please you. Bring you passion." You respond. He smiles.

"Next time?" He's being cheeky again. You hum, taking your legs into your hand and bending in half to present yourself to him. Your hands are on the insides of your knees, and this angle shows your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He groans at the sight, and another pearl of precum leaks from his cock.

"Please... Gale. No more teasing." You whimper, watching as his hand strokes himself again. He nods, shuffling closer to you. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, bumping into your clit. You jump at the touch, gasping. You then feel the tip of him go to your entrance, entering it slightly before pulling away.

"GA-" You couldn't even finish saying his name, as he bottoms out in one thrust, both of you moaning in unison. His thrusts are slow but deep, his girth stretching you to your max; and his length poking at your cervix. He thrusts slowly, his eyes gauging your reactions and what you like.

"M-more." You whisper. He begins to speed up, the friction between you both making lewd noises that fill the space. All you can hear in your living room is the slapping sounds of him thrusting into you, your pussy's wetness and the joined whimpers. He leans in closer to kiss you, his chest rubbing against your nipples. The change in angle also leads him to go deeper, his tip kissing your cervix much more roughly. You feel your end coming closer, your moans loud against his lips. He pulls away, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"Give it to me. Cum on my cock." He tells you roughly. You feel his fingers begin to rub tight circles around your clit. The coil snaps, and you cum around him, gasping his name repeatedly. As you ascend, Gale groans into your neck, your tightening walls bringing him to his end quickly. He stills, filling you with his seed. You both stay there, panting. As you descend from your highs, you feel yourself be lifted by Gale, who brings you to your bedroom.

He lays you on the bed, before going into multiple rooms. You hear him go aha! from your position on the bed. Lifting yourself onto your forearms, you see him walk back in with a cloth. He wipes you down gently, one hand on task and the other carding itself in your hair. Once he deems you clean enough, he lies next to you and pulls you into his arms. He kisses your forehead and sighs.

"Thank you." You tell him, curling into his embrace as you lay your head on his chest.

"For what?" He asks you curiously. You lean your head up to look into his eyes.

"For allowing me extra credit." He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back sweetly, excited for what your future will look like now that he is in your life.

#fanfic #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [Epilogue]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 12.9k

Summary: Slay the dragon? Nah, man. Lay the dragon. Or, Dragon Courting traditions are actually very sweet, and they are going to kill you.

A/N: This is the epilogue for Donkeys & Dragons, but it can also more or less be read on its own as well! If you'd like to read only the 7k+ words of fluffier bits and not the spicier, please stop at the section that begins with '“Tell me more about your human courting traditions."'

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

If Tsunotarou—Malleus, you reminded yourself with a fizzy feeling like soda pop bubbling in your tummy—if Malleus had been sticky before the whole ‘held hostage by dragon slayers’ incident, then now he was the clingiest monstrosity to have ever existed in all four realms.

“What can you do?” Lilia had hummed indulgently upon seeing you struggle under the weight of an entire ass dragon head. (You had lied down, and then Malleus had lied down. And now his giant, frilled, maw was no better than a paperweight. With you of course being relegated to the role of some very flattened paper). “It’s the honeymoon phase.”

“There is no honeymoon to phase,” you spluttered out, as if that made even a lick of sense.

The demon? Fae? Monster? Horror beyond your comprehension? dainty gentleman just shrugged. He wasn’t always around—only occasionally slipping out of shadows like some creeping wraith. But when he was, he seemed incredibly fond of just propping his pointy chin against his palm and watching the pair of you. Like it was his favorite play, or some gaudy theater production he just couldn’t get enough of.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he cooed, crimson eyes soft and smitten. “What a time to be alive, hmm?”

The Gargoyles, as silent or huffy respectively as they often were, seemed to rumble their agreement.

“I won’t be alive for much longer if he keeps squashing me,” you threatened.

“Nonsense,” Lilia chirped from somewhere overhead. He dipped close enough for a moment that you were able to catch a brief flash of pink out of the corner of your eye, but little else. As much as the little monster enjoyed basking in his ward’s romantic endeavors, he seemed particularly cautious about maintaining his physical distance—especially when it came to the towering nest that had long since swallowed up most of the grand ballroom. “I’m sure all his coddling is doing wonders for your constitution.”

Despite his guardian’s cheery reassurances, Malleus rumbled low in his throat at your complaints, and you felt the vibrations of it all the way from your head to your toes. He lifted his huge head, instead plucking you from the hoard of bedding by the scruff of your collar and depositing you into the warm hollow beneath his wing. He curled his head around to tuck up against you—burrowing his scaly cheek against your outstretched legs like a cat making itself comfortable in the sunny spot on a windowsill. A compromise to your aching bones, at least. Even if it was really no less claustrophobic than being used as a chin pillow.

You sighed, hoping it sounded far more put upon than you were sure it actually did, and reached out to trace the grooves in his horns.

“You’re lucky you’re comfortable,” you grouched with no real heat, and he warbled contentedly as he settled in to continue his afternoon nap.

When your next mealtime rolled around (breakfast, lunch, dinner? Who had a concept of time anymore? Not you, that’s for sure), you plopped yourself at the little, makeshift, table you’d managed to construct out of some debris, and waited patiently for whatever culinary monstrosity was about to grace your palette this fine day.

Malleus claiming that he’d been going to see Lilia to ask after your ‘delicate, human, diet’ because the little demon ‘knew what he was doing,’ had turned out to be the worst joke ever put into existence. Made worse yet by the fact that he didn’t even realize it until one of his Pseudo-Parent’s oozing, tar-like, dishes had brought literal tears to your eyes. From the smell the alone.

So now, the quieter and more sensible of the Gargoyles—‘Silver,’ as the Angry One had called him—would duck out on occasion and return with something more or less edible. Fruits budded off near mystical plants that would glow ominously in the soft gloom of the castle’s interior. Strange roots and herbs that sometimes danced on your plate, like them waving around their little, planty, arms would make you not want to immediately murder them in coldblooded terror. The freshly carved meat off of animals you’d never even heard of before.

It was all certainly An Experience, but none of it had poisoned you yet. So you’d make do with what you had. Plus, a little sprinkle of Prestidigitation did wonders for making it all a bit more edible.

Malleus stepped forward, a suspicious lack of trays, or bowls, or anything else in his hands. Your brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before you shrugged—unbothered—and moved to lean your weight back on your elbows. Because Mister Clingy, Clingy, Clingy very much enjoyed using your mealtimes as an excuse to drape himself across your legs like an overgrown cat, and it was easier to just invite him in at this point than it was to wait for him to find a way to curl himself into your personal space.

But then, rather than plopping himself across your lap, Malleus knelt down and very pointedly swept you up into his. You definitely did not squeak, or flail around, or lose face in any sort of way. Nope. Not you. And when he settled back against the stone floor with a low hum and began to contentedly rub lazy circles into your hips, you most definitely did not melt.

Sure, it was a bit of a deviation from his usual brand of smothering, but it was far from unpleasant. And really, it would have been perfectly sweet and all. Except for that teensy, tiny (but not really ‘tiny’ at all, and holy fuck you were not going to let your brain go there), totally not something to immediately freak out about, problem. Which was, of course—

“You’re not wearing pants,” you entreated. “Or anything.” But the pants. The pants were the big issue at the moment. Because yeah. His chest was all fine sculpted planes of ivory and natural, aesthetic, perfection that would make the most accomplished artists weep with envy. And as distracting as all that normally was, the area below said spread of chiseled, lithe, muscle was what was setting off sirens in your brain.

His chin dug into your shoulder and you felt his cheek rub along yours as he ducked in closer to make eye contact.

“I am aware,” he said, arching a brow. “We’ve discussed the matter extensively.” And then a pout. “You told me to do what I found to be most comfortable.”

“This is comfortable?” You managed to squeak, incredulous. Because you knew that there were parts of you touching parts of him that surely could not have been—have been—

He hummed and tugged you closer.

“Of course,” he rumbled on the tail end of a contented sigh. “You’re so wonderfully warm. And besides, how else should I feed you? I doubt you’d appreciate me kneeling after you like a child.”

What.

“Feed me?” you spluttered.

“Of course,” he continued, nonplussed—like the idea of pressing dainty, bitesize, treats to your lips while you were stretched out across his very naked thighs was not a setup straight out of some terrible, trashy, erotica. “And while I admit the concept on its own is a temptingly enjoyable one, I’m only trying to maintain decorum.”

“What decorum?!” you wailed.

Tsunotarou went quiet then, almost like he was hesitant. Or… no—like he was preparing himself to launch into one of those grand, immortal, monologues of his. Usually they were about architecture, or the strange difficulties of tending to rose bushes. He took a soft, low, breath that whistled past your ear, and then his lips quirked back into a smile.

“Unique circumstances of our meeting and your species aside, I have decided that you deserve a proper courtship nonetheless,” he responded merrily, in the tone of someone who very much believed such a declaration deserved all the head pats. “I spoke with Lilia about the matter, of course, because while I am well aware of the concepts of such an endeavor, actually putting the ideas into practice is… unfamiliar to me,” he huffed, almost embarrassed. “And I wanted to ensure that despite our differences in culture and ancestry, that I could find a way to ensure you would enjoy our draconic customs as well.”

Which was—was—

It was certainly one thing to hear Tsunotarou make casual declarations of ‘bestowing titles’ and whatever other romantically archaic gibberish made it past his fangs, but to just sort of BAM. Lay it all out. Right there. With a ‘you deserve a proper courtship’ and everything. It had heat rising high along your cheeks and something light and bubbly dancing through your stomach.

“…That’s sweet of you,” you managed to get out, so thoroughly twitterpated that for half a second you even managed to forgot that you were having this whole conversation while you were sitting in his very, very, naked lap.

“Sweet?” he repeated, so openly bewildered it made you laugh.

“Yes,” you hummed, regaining a teeny bit of your courage, and let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder with an affectionate lil’ bonk. “Very sweet. The sweetest.”

“…I do not think I have ever been referred to as such,” he mumbled, sounding torn between being content at the compliment, and baffled over its existence in the first place. And yeah, objectively speaking, there were plenty of more fitting, much grander, descriptors you could attach to such an ancient, all-powerful, creature. Majestic, incredible, intelligent, awe-inspiring, handsome—

Tsunotarou made a strange sort of strangled sound from behind you, and you realized in horror that you’d been rambling all that out loud.

That brief spark of courage vanished even faster than it’d come, and you dropped your head forward to hide in your hands.

“I did not realize you regarded me so highly, Child of Man,” he crooned, puffing up in pride at your back.

You buried even further into your palms. Maybe if you pressed hard enough, you’d manage to lobotomize yourself. And then you’d never have to worry about being embarrassed ever again.

“How could I not?” you complained, sounding smooshed and pathetic behind your fingers.

“In my experience, most creatures tend to feel quite the opposite when I am involved,” Malleus mused, sounding far too soft. “But I suppose you have always proved to be the exception in many things.”

You could feel the familiar, firm, warmth of his fingers curling along your wrists as he gently tugged you out of your impromptu hidey hole.

“Humans are many things, and you certainly continue to surprise me. But I don’t think you’ve yet discovered how to eat without using your mouth.” He gave your palm a light squeeze before letting it drop back to your side. “So unfortunately, trying to hide your face away in shame isn’t productive at the moment,” Malleus grinned, sharp with humor. “But perhaps later, if you are still feeling too overwhelmed by your sentiments.”

“I’m not overwhelmed by my sentiment,” you grumped.

He hummed, low in his chest and terribly fond. And clearly not buying your bullshit for a second.

“And there’s not even any food for my dumb, human, mouth to eat,” you continued petulantly.

“Is that so?” he mused.

“Yes. Is so,” you snipped.

That little, happy, grin of his grew a bit too wide, a bit too pointy at the edges. And then he was reaching up with one hand to cup your chin and hold your jaw in place. Softly, carefully, in a way that certainly wasn’t uncomfortable, but with a firmness to it that definitely made it feel like you weren’t going anywhere.

“Open,” he ordered—kind as always, but with a haughty sort of authority that had heat rushing to your cheeks so quickly you realized that hyperbole of your earlier ramblings aside, you may actually be having a fucking stroke.

The dragon pinched his fingers at the corner of your lips, the sharp tips of his blackened nails bumping up along your canines, and your mouth fell open like your jaw had unhinged itself from your face. His other hand reached around you deftly in a grand show of ridiculous sparks and mist. And then there was something small, and warm, and mouth-wateringly savory pulled from thin air and tucked up between his fingers. He leaned over your shoulder to take a pointed bite out of the creation, chewing slowly and exaggeratedly, before moving to hold the remaining piece up to your parted lips.

Your mouth was more or less hanging open like you were trying to make a career out of catching flies, so he didn’t have much trouble setting the delicate, little, morsel atop your tongue. The burst of flavor was instantaneous, intense, and part of you wished that your brain wasn’t so high on its ‘what is HAPPENING?! AHHHH!’ madness so that you could better appreciate the taste of the ethereal treat. But it was. And your head was broken. So here you were—sitting in a handsome dragon’s naked lap, with some kind of mystical food in your mouth, and your tongue practically lolling out of it like you had brain damage.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Malleus asked, brow furrowing at your continued paralysis. Like you refusing to do anymore than sit there like a human vegetable was another one of your attempts at petty resistance.

And okay. Really. You weren’t trying to be a little brat. Your brain had genuinely fled the building—packed its bags, flipped your empty skull the bird, and sailed off into the sunset to find someone who might actually try and make use of it. There wasn’t enough ‘rational thought’ left for you tomake the decision to be a sassy little shit.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed at your completely unintentional obstinance and the pointed ends of his claws flexed against your cheeks.

“Swallow.”

You gulped, out of habit if nothing else—the rest of you spiraling away in a long line of holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck—

“There,” he purred, and you were having a heart attack. “Was that so difficult?”

He loosened his grip enough for you to softly shake your head back and forth, and his countenance brightened once again at your assent.

“Excellent!” he beamed, and conjured up another one of those tiny bits of ambrosia. “What is that expression humans are always using…” he mumbled to himself, brow furrowed as he pondered. “Oh—that’s right.” He cleared his throat and pressed the next morsel back up your mouth. “Say ‘Aaah.’”

The choked off, gurgling, noise that tore out of your throat must have been an acceptable substitute, because he nodded and pushed the treat past your lips.

“Good,” he hummed, low, and rubbed more of those little circles into your hip with the clawed fingers that weren’t busy feeding you all kinds of magical nonsense. “Lilia did mention you might be adverse to this for some reason,” he muttered to himself, dragging his cheek along yours like an overgrown cat, before turning that indulgent, deadly, smile back on you with all the cutting efficiency of an assassin’s blade. “But I knew you’d do well.”

You were going to die.

“This food is made with my own magic,” he explained, proud, and definitely at least partially oblivious to the fact that you were one-hundred-percent having an aneurism. “And I would love to feed you nothing but these creations of mine, but unfortunately, Lilia was not entirely certain how much sustenance it would actually provide to a human body,” he sighed, practically pouty.

“Is that so…” you wheezed.

“Hmm,” he rumbled, and snapped another mouthful of arcane wonders into existence. “Would you like some more?”

You looked up towards the grey ceiling and the infinite, uncaring, void of space somewhere beyond. You prayed to every God, Demon, Deity, and half-baked Patron that you could think of for mercy.

“What did you tell him?!”

“Oh?” Lilia hummed, lazily glancing over his sharpened nails. You’d found him dangling upside down from a banister in one of the sparser hallways, like that was a perfectly pleasant place to relax for the afternoon. “Did you not enjoy it?”

You squawked like the world’s most indignant chicken, and Lilia had the absolute fucking gall to laugh at you.

“That’s not the point!”

“Is it not?” he chirped, looking beyond pleased with himself.

“NO!”

He trilled merrily nonetheless and floated down to stand before you.

“I’m sure this is all still a bit confusing to you, little one. But,” he smiled, positively doting, “a smidgen of embarrassment is certainly a fair price to pay for so many future years of happiness, don’t you agree?”

“That’s not—I’m not embarrassed,” you settled on, which was a lie.

Lilia grinned at you like you were something fascinating. Or like he was a cat, and you were a very funny little mouse who’d managed to trap itself under one of his paws. After a moment, he chuckled softly under his breath and reached down to fish about in the pockets of his robes.

“Perhaps this will help bolster you courage, hmm?” he hummed and slid a strange, glass, flask into your hands.

You glared at him cautiously for a moment before uncorking the potion and taking a swig. It settled along your tongue, heavy and fruity, with a soft, herby, aftertaste. Grandiose nature of its presentation aside, the concoction was actually pretty familiar.

“This is just wine!” you complained, and Lilia laughed harder.

When you ate your (assumed) dinner for the evening, Malleus took his usual spot draped across your lap and seemed happy to let you feed yourself. You stared down at the dragon cautiously, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.

“Lilia said it would be best not to overwhelm you with too much too quickly,” he said after a few long moments of your apprehensive silence, burrowing his nose against your thigh.

“I see,” you droned, still more than a little irritated at the tiny man’s meddling, but thankful enough that he at least seemed to understand that your fair constitution was not built to survive an onslaught of draconic ‘courting.’

“Unless you would prefer that I—”

“No!”

That night you collapsed atop your blanket nest like a log—physically and emotionally wrecked from trying to survive your first ever encounter with Seduction. (And wasn’t that a trip? A fully fledged Bard, stumbling over their own tongue and shriveling up like a pious little maiden at the first inklings of Romantic Intent. What a failure you were. ‘Fuck around and find out?’ Ace used to mock. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out, am I right, Bardy?’ And you’d laugh. Like you were some suave, sexy, master of love. And not just some moron who could sometimes talk their way in circles well enough to get their friends out of a tavern brawl.)

You squeaked out a yawn—some lazy, tired, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you burrowed deeper into your plush fortress. You were going to go to sleep and stay asleep for hours. Days. Months. You were going to make that ‘Sleeping Beauty’ chick look like an insomniac.

The blankets cocooning you dipped with extra weight, and you blinked your eyes back open to see Malleus looming over you, his neon eyes illuminating the dark and casting odd shadows over his cheeks.

“Are you cold, Child of Man?”

Huh. Weird. But whatever.

You hummed and burrowed deeper into the blankets. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Sure, the castle was gloomy and dank even when the sun was at its highest, let alone in the black of night. But you had a literal furnace camped out next to you, and no natural chill was breaking past that space heater. You yawned again and rolled back onto your side with a comfy little stretch. You were just about to sink back into the soft, foggy, cloud of sleep when—

“Are you certain?”

You sighed and scrunched your nose irritably. “Yes, Tsunotarou.”

A pause.

“Are you… too warm, then?”

You groaned.

“I’m fine.” And then, pointed. “Just tired.”

“I see.”

You waited, frowning sleepily into your pillow pile. When after a solid two minutes the dragon had made no further comments, you let your eyes slip back closed.

“But are you positive?” he asked again, and you wanted to scream. “There’s nothing troubling you about our nest? Nothing at all?” You smashed your face into a duvet and felt a panicked set of claws flutter along your shoulders. “I would only hope that you’d feel comfortable enough to inform me if there is anything amiss. If there is anything that I might do, to correct any inadequacies—”

“Malleus,” you interrupted, and you felt him freeze. Perhaps using his True Name out loud for the first time in a fit of overtired petulance was low, but come on. What else were you supposed to do? “The nest is perfect. You’re perfect. Can we please just—go to sleep?”

“Oh,” he breathed, and you watched the soft, emerald, glow around him pop in and out of existence as he blinked his wide eyes at you. The sharp, reptilian, lines of his pupils shrank to pinpricks—swallowed in a sea of green. “I see.”

You weren’t sure exactly what this great, eldritch, monster was ‘seeing,’ but he did shut his mouth with a content little rumble and haul you up against his chest to finally settle in for the night, so you couldn’t really find it in you to care about the particulars.

The next morning, when Malleus tried to feed you breakfast, you had prepared yourself enough to not keel over on the spot. You very respectably accepted his tasty treats and only thought you were about to pass out, like, three times. So overall, an improvement.

That is, until you dutifully swallowed the last of the tiny morsels he’d pressed to your lips, and he smiled at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky.

“You really are such a good little thing, aren’t you?” he sighed, and you had to bury yourself in your blanket nest like an ostrich with its head in the sand for a solid half hour before you were ready to be a functional person again.

But other than that brush with near death, you were doing great! Great enough that you were even willing to indulge the angrier Gargoyle as it huffed and puffed about whatever had managed to ruffle its feathers that day.

“I still cannot believe you thought to steal from my master! TO STEAL!” he repeated. “FROM HIM!”

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “To be fair, we didn’t exactly know anyone was living here. It’s not like we intentionally tried to tangle with a dragon.”

“Well, you would have lost,” Sebek sniffed, indignant.

“We did lose,” you huffed, amused, and Lilia’s snicker echoed from some shadowed corner of the hall. “But I promise, if we’d known that we would be trespassing into someone’s actual home instead of just breaking and entering an abandoned castle, I never would have come.”

Malleus warbled out an unsettled sort of sound from his place resting at your back, his snout bumping up against your shoulder in an inquisitive little thump.

You reached out to give his giant, scaled, nose a pat.

“But I’m glad I did,” you promised. “My friends’ idiocy worked in all our favors, I guess.”

“You ought to thank them when they return next month, your grace,” Lilia called to his ward, still too entrenched within the darkness to be visible as anything other than a glinting, halfmoon, smile. “For ensuring your lovely human’s arrival.”

Malleus hummed and shifted his wings to settle back more fully once again—whatever unpleasant sort of discontentment brewing about him having clearly been assuaged.

“THOSE WHO WOULD ATTEMPT TO BURGLE MY MASTER DO NOT DESERVE GRATITUDE!” Sebek yowled, arching up like a pissy street cat.

“To be fair,” you said, “there ended up not being much actual theft involved.”

Sebek gasped and ducked in to complain straight to your face, like that extra foot and a half of distance would somehow make all the difference in his lecturing. But then, as he swung in closer, his stone talons brushed up against the edge of your mattress-nest. It was just a little thing, barely even enough to put a nick in the rippled corners of the more delicate fabrics. But with that movement, the atmosphere of the chamber melted from its usual pleasant haze into something cold, and dark, and heavy that pressed down on your shoulders like a tangible thing. Within the next moment, Sebek was falling back in a panic to avoid the set of massive, black, jaws closing around him.

Malleus reared forward with an absolutely blood curdling snarl—curling down from his perch at your hind to spit and lunge at his servant with all the terrible ferocity of the ancient beast that so many accused him of being.

Sebek reeled away in an absolutely manic frenzy, twisting from death’s maw with a slew of panicked squawking-slash-sobbing that sounded an awful lot like he was begging for forgiveness amidst his harried attempts at escape.

And as much as you certainly hadn’t wanted to be lectured for the umpteenth time about some trivial garbage, the blind rage twisting your dragon’s face was… definitely unfamiliar.

You reached out nervously to rest a hand against his flank, and instantly Malleus was back at your side—curling the entirety of his bulk around you and only unfurling the long, slim, stretch of his neck to hiss a low, threatening, sound in the direction Sebek had fled.

“Tsunotarou…?” you called hesitantly, letting your fingers twist against the slippery smooth surface of his scales.

He lowered his head, and you could see each and every one of those sharp teeth of his glinting in the lowlight. He kept his neon-green glare locked at the corner of the hall with that same, startling, intensity, but the simmering rage that had been sparking along his canines dropped into a softer, more reassuring, rumble.

“MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES, MY LORD!” Sebek wailed, popping up stupidly from behind the pillar he was using as a shield. “I NEVER MEANT TO—”

Malleus snapped at him again—his teeth closing around empty air with an echoing clack. The Gargoyle ducked back down with an ‘EEP!’ and the dragon curled his lips in distaste. The heavy scent of smoke and sulfurpooled from his maw, and emerald sparks danced dangerously up from his throat.

Lilia materialized then from the shadows, slipping forward from the darkness with a deep bow that nearly had his nose pressed to his knees. He hovered over the pair of them—the cowering, stone, monster and the fire spitting dragon that was seemingly determined to rend his faithful servant into pebbles.

“My Prince,” Lilia coaxed, composed and crisp in the face of his hissing ward. He started to straighten himself again cautiously, only to freeze half-way when Malleus started up his grumbling again. “Malleus,” he tried instead, voice stern and gentling. “It’s alright. I’m sure it was only an accident.” Crimson eyes flicked pointedly to the rafters. “Wasn’t it, Sebek?”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Sebek absolutely sobbed. “I WOULD NEVER DISRESPECT THE YOUNG MASTER SO!”

“What the fuck is even happening?!” you gaped, beyond confused.

“Little one,” Lilia began, only to pause when Malleus curled his lip threateningly at him. “If you wouldn’t mind, please inform your dearest companion that you’re perfectly well and unharmed.”

“What?” you frowned. “Of course I’m unharmed!”

“Once more,” Lilia chirped, without any warmth to it. “If you’d please.”

Your brow tugged together tight in bewilderment, but you turned back to face the heaving hide of the dragon that was currently wound around you tighter than a bow string.

“Malleus,” you tried, perhaps far too quietly all things considered. But that terrible, earthquake of a snarl of his broke off all at once—like you’d dropped a cone of Silence over the whole of him. His great, green, glare cut down to you and instantly he was lowering his sneering maw to blow misty smoke rings over your head. “Malleus,” you said again, running a hand along his scales. “It’s alright. I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.”

Tsunotarou blinked at you, tight and fast. And then after a very, very, long moment of that sneer twitching on and off his face like a flickering light, his pricked pupils relaxed back into something curved and long—still thin, but no longer constricted to the point of near absence. He lowered his head to crash into the heap of comforters, and pillows, and soft, cozy, things. The sigh that blew past his fangs was all kinds of exhausted—sounding like it’d clawed its way out from the very marrow of his bones. The little lick of green flames that accompanied it was a teeny, bright, thing—lacking that sharp bite of heat and sulfur.

Lilia sighed too, like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Silver relaxed from the perch where he’d tucked himself away at the start of it all (high enough to be out of range, but close enough to dive in if needed), and Sebek nearly doubled over in hysterical tears.

The strange, little, demon turned then on the spiked Gargoyle with an unhappy click of his tongue.

“Sebek,” he huffed. “You should know better.”

“I know,” the Gargoyle hiccupped, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Would someone please tell me what that was,” you begged, running nervous hands along Tsunotarou’s purple crests like they were a giant, wavy, set of stress balls.

“Drakes are naturally protective creatures. There’s certainly a reason that so many tales of our Lord’s ancestors stalwartly guarding their hoards have passed into legend,” Lilia explained, some of that black severity finally seeming to fade from his soured expression. “And, of course, when one is partaking in an event as monumental as the courtship of a perspective mate, they can understandably be… particularly tetchy about their territory being disturbed.”

“But it’s not like you’re intruders or anything! He’s known you all for ages,” you frowned. “And this is just—you’ve all been in here plenty of times before. It’s just a pile of pillows.”

“Not to him it’s not,” Lilia mused, soft.

You worried at your lower lip, and your gaze slipped back to the dragon pressed up against your side. He was busy fanning his tail out, carefully smoothing the fabrics that had been disturbed in his upset—fluffing up the blankets that had fallen out of place and rucking all those comforters up around the both of you.

‘A perfect nest,’ you had called it. For a perfect dragon.

Oh.

You cleared your sticky throat and patted reassuringly at the softer, more delicate skin at the base of Malleus’s horns. He paused his fretting to glance back down at you.

“Why don’t we hit the hay early today, yeah?” you offered, and he let out a relieved sort of huff as he settled more heavily at your side. His eyes slipped closed like they were physically weighted down, and his tail whipped up and around to encircle the two of you in a set of soft loops. Lilia sent you a look that was half-appreciative, half-outright fond.

“We’ll leave you both be for the next few days,” he said, before gesturing for the pair of Gargoyles to follow him out the door.

You nodded, and then called out just as the more haggard of the duo was about to slip past the threshold.

“He probably didn’t mean to get so mad,” you offered as kindly as you could, and you weren’t sure if a Gargoyle could actually get misty-eyed (what with the whole ‘entirely constructed of stone’ thing being a bit of hindrance), but Sebek was certainly putting the effort in to try.

Not that this whole thing had been entirely one-sided, but as you laid there in your nest with your dragon—carefully carding your fingers through his black hair and along the divots in his horns—you couldn’t help but feel like he’d been putting a whole lot more effort into this ‘fairytale romance’ of yours than you had.

Okay, granted, you were apparently the one being courted in this whole situation. Which theoretically meant that you were also the one who was supposed to be getting spoiled with attention, and food, and… whatever that whole territory debacle had been. But still… It felt a bit selfish not to be doing something for Malleus in return. Particularly seeing how much of himself he was putting into all of this. And again, sure, you were technically originally a hostage or whatever. Sure, not a few weeks ago you would have laughed off this entire thing like it was a bad joke. But now you were… sort of in it for the long haul, weren’t you?

Because Malleus was kind and startling intelligent, even if that big ol’ brain of his sometimes stumbled over the silliest things. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and an inquisitiveness that was entirely endearing. And on top of it all, he was ungodly attractive and a motherfucking dragon. What sort of fool would turn that down? Idiot you may be, but man, even you weren’t that stupid. Deuce, maybe. But not you.

So you sighed, feeling very much like a haggard old maid doing their best to walk some moron through their own burgeoning romance—except in this case you were both the old crone and the idiot, and—Ugh. This metaphor was too much for your brain. You carefully slipped out from beneath Malleus’s arm, and man, if it didn’t say all the more about just how much he’d exhausted himself the other day that he didn’t immediately spring awake to demand to know where you were sneaking off to. You patted his silky hair and tucked him in a bit tighter before carefully making your way over to the corner of the nest where you’d stashed your travel pack.

You knew better than to try and start your own fire at this point, and while heating a kettle with the lingering, wispy, sparks of Prestidigitation was a bitch and half, you did it. Because you were—ugh—in love. Or at least getting there. And people who were (maybe) in love did all sorts of ridiculous, taxing, nonsense for the sake of making their Person (dragon) happy. You brewed a pot of warm tea, tossing in all the fancy, dried, leaves that you kept bundled in the little side pockets of your bag. Chamomile as a base, to settle his nerves. A pinch of lavender to aid that calm. A sprig of lemon balm for tartness and… also calm. Everything you had for relaxation. Just. Dumping it in the pot. You were halfway through debating if adding a bit of Passionflower would just make your already questionable concoction taste absolutely vile when a sleepy grumble dragged you out of your musings.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Tsunotarou complained, head only just poking out from the mound of blankets you’d buried him in. And, wow, he must have been… He hadn’t even scuttled his way down to latch onto you like the leech he normally was.

You gingerly climbed your way back up the pile, balancing the mug of tea in your hands so, so, carefully—making sure not to spill a single drop.

Malleus had sat up fully by the time you arrived, and he was busying himself with rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He still looked a bit woozy—a bit out-of-body. You leaned forward and pressed the warm cup into his clawed hands, only pulling back once you were certain he had a good grip on it.

“I made tea,” you said lamely. “To, uh, help with… To help. Tea helps,” you finished, more lamely.

And then, because you never knew how to stop when you were ahead (and to be fair, you were never really ‘ahead.’ And your dumbass bumbling certainly didn’t land you anywhere near that), you leaned forward, valiantly fighting the butterflies having an all out rave in your fucking intestines, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Erhm,” you mumbled as he stared up at you with wide, wide eyes. “Feel better.”

Malleus gaped at you, and then slowly—like his limbs were moving through a vat of honey—he reached up to rub at the skin you’d just pecked.

“What was that?” he asked, bewildered but not… unhappy. No. Definitely not unhappy.

“A kiss?” you squeaked, warring with all Seven Levels of Hell that were fighting for real estate in your cheeks. “It’s… uh. It’s something humans do to… show our affection?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but the statement twisted up high-pitched and thready at the end either way.

“I see,” he murmured, gaze still a bit distant. Though perhaps not for the same reason anymore. He blinked a few times, as if to clear away that cloudy haze, and then smiled one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “May I have another?”

You spluttered, and fought the urge to bap him over the top of the head like an unruly bar patron.

“After you finish your tea,” you managed to squawk. “Maybe.”

And so he went about sipping at the concoction you’d brewed for him with all the steadfast determination of a good student. By the time he reached the bottom of the cup, his eyes were drooping all over again and he was stretching out to lounge back against the pillows with a sleepy little sigh. He slipped back off to sleep quickly enough, but you leaned forward anyways to give him a peck on the cheek—as promised.

“Tell me more about your human courting traditions,” Malleus demanded the next morning, clearly feeling well enough again to be back to his usual, sticky, habits. He had situated himself with his head in your lap—bumping his forehead up pointedly against your navel until you sunk your hands into his hair.

“I thought Lilia told you plenty,” you grumbled. “You just want me to kiss you again.”

His eyes sparkled with mischievous mirth. “Perhaps.”

You sighed and fought the urge to titter into your palms in embarrassment. You were a bard, goddamn it! And you would not shame your profession further!

“Well, from what I understand, one doesn’t exactly see their intended in your sort of state until much later in the proceedings,” you sniffed petulantly.

“My sort of state?” he repeated, canting his head.

“Naked.”

He laughed, sharp and loud.

“Of course,” he trilled, twisting to bury his nose into the seam of your thigh and sending shivers all along your spine. “I always forget about your antiquated sense of modesty.”

“My antiquated—?!You’re thousands of years old!”

“And yet, you are always the one so caught up in the notion of my propriety,” he sighed, that clever smirk still tugging at his lips. “Trying to defend my honor, perhaps?”

“My honor,” you hissed, giving into the urge to burry your head in your hands. “What do you do then, huh? What do dragons do if they don’t kiss each other?”

“Bite,” he shrugged, and the spark of something that shot through your gut like the first sparks off a campfire was entirely fucking unfair.

You swallowed.

“Like—erhm. When you’re like this?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly to his human-fied form.

“I suppose some must,” he hummed, eyes going lidded and dark as he pondered your inquiry. “But most prefer their scales, I’m told. Mating bites are a fairly universal practice—both in their practically of providing a physical telltale for differentiating those who have been claimed from those who have not, and also as a… more romantic overture.”

“How is biting romantic?” you huffed, only to immediately regret the question when the dragon’s eyes lit like firebugs.

Tsunotarou sat back on his haunches, dislodging your hand from his hair in the process.

“It’s all very poetic,” he enthused, face awash with genuine fascination. The same sort of way he got when he was talking about his precious gargoyles or the wonderful uniqueness in flavor of the different variations of frost giants. “It leaves the impression of a mortal wound that was, of course, in reality anything but. The careful curation of allowing one’s life to fall so easily into the hands of another. It really is all very lovely.”

“But dragon teeth are…” you trailed off, debating if you were just regurgitating the obvious. “It must leave some pretty nasty scars, at least.”

“Of course it does,” Malleus hummed. “That’s certainly the point of it. And usually, the goal is to bite deep enough that the scales can never regrow.”

“But, that’s—!” Again you tapered yourself into silence. He wasn’t saying that like it was bad thing. In fact, he sounded a bit dreamy. “Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked instead, quiet. “To lose some of your armor like that?”

“Oh, certainly,” he crooned, reaching out with one, clawed, finger to trail the tip of a blackened nail along the hollow of your throat. “The most common sites are here.” You gulped, and he dragged that talon of his down to rest at the center of your chest. He tapped at the skin there slowly, lightly, like the rhythm of a ticking clock. “And here.”

“I—uhm.” You swallowed. “That just seems more dangerous.”

“The hope behind it is to show your unwavering conviction—your faith,” he explained, his nail still tap-tap-tapping just above your heart. “That the one you’ve chosen to entrust yourself to will be the one willing to protect those delicate places instead.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, eyes wide. Because… alright. That was a bit—It was at least a little…

The hand lingering over your ribs reached out to tangle with your own, and he brought your palm up to rest against the soft, alabaster, curve of his neck. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingers.

“I know your teeth aren’t quite strong enough to scar a dragon’s hide, but I’d be happy to gift you my scales, if you asked them of me,” he sighed, content. And woah. Holy fuck. Holy fuck— “Perhaps you could fashion your own armor from them,” he mused, looking far too invested with that burgeoning idea for it to be something he’d just magically thought up on the spot.

“I’d rather not do anything to hurt you at all,” you rambled, because your brain had evaporated.

“Oh?” he droned. “Even if I asked you to?”

And fwoosh went the ashy remnants of your intellect, completely blown out of your head.

Malleus leaned forward into your little bubble of space—the one that had more or less popped out of existence the moment he’d decided that he would very much like to keep you at his side. But somehow, despite all the times he’d crowded in on you before, this time felt… more significant. He kept your palm pressed into the hollow of his throat and ducked down to press his nose into the sensitive nook of your own. You could feel the whistle of his breath against the thin skin there—warm, and slow, and with just the slightest bit of humidity that pulled goosebumps up all along your shoulders.

“Of course I would never mark you while in my scales,” he assured, like that was even an option to begin with. “Your flesh is far too delicate. And while I know I could heal the damage, it’s not something I’m keen to inflict in the first place.”

You shivered and tilted your chin—away (exposed), not down. Not into the protective little bow you ought to have.

“H-Hypocrite,” you spluttered, and Malleus chuckled, delighted.

“I suppose so,” he hummed. “But it does make me wonder, what could we do, hmm? In these forms?”

You could bite me like this, you almost said. Like an absolute, suicidal, maniac.

“Oh?” he trilled, enthusiastic. “I could, couldn’t I?”

Holy fuck you needed to get your rambling under control before it killed you.

“I do hope you keep at it,” he mused, tilting forward so that you could feel the brush of his bangs tickling along the back of your neck. “You say the loveliest things when you’re not burdened with those poor attempts at filtering yourself.” His lips curled up into a smile and you could feel it pressing into your throat like a brand. “Incredible, you called me. Do you remember? Majestic. Handsome—”

“Yes, yes,” you spluttered, head still tilted way too far back for someone putting up any kind of token protest. “Mock the afflicted.”

“Afflicted?” He grinned. The points of his canines dipped past his lips to skim along your skin and leave the teeniest, little, divots in their wake. Never pushing forward, never breaking that soft barrier at your throat. But there. “With what, dearest?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you begged. Because you were already likely to keel over twitching from a stroke at any moment now, let alone if you tried to say—if you actually admitted out loud that you—you were—

“Should I, then?” he asked, a streak of something stalwart and genuine mixed in with the teasing.

And then, like a horribly unwanted Divine Intervention, Ace’s voice flicked through your thoughts with all of the stereotypical ridiculousness of a beam of sunshine parting a cloud covered sky.

‘Fuck around and find out?’ he’d laughed. And then you’d laughed. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out.’

And goddamn it all, you would never, ever give that smarmy, ginger, bastard credit for anything—let alone bestowing you with sage life advice. But, well—

“Fuck it,” you gasped and you threw yourself forward to tangle your arms around Malleus’s neck and pull him into a kiss.

It was perhaps the most inelegant smashing of lips ever put to record, and you immediately nicked yourself on one of his fangs. But after a moment of working past that driving ‘get as close as you can, get so, so, so close—’ you managed to maneuver things into something that was more a wave of particularly enthusiastic kisses than just outright gnawing at each other. Malleus didn’t seem particularly put off at your messy attempt to jump his bones, and leaned into whatever you were throwing at him with ardor.

You parted your lips and Malleus’s own opened immediately beneath yours. His tongue flicked out and you felt it run along the fresh cut there—tracing the little, red, graze and soothing the sting. It was a little longer than you were expecting, a tad thinner. Not quite reptilian, but different enough that you recognized it as something alien. But if there was any apprehension to begin with (hint: probably not. You were too far gone on this idiot), it was wiped clear when he tilted his chin forward to harshen the angle and attempted to plunder your mouth in earnest.

There was still all a bit more teeth and biting than the glorious romances heralded in all those garbage tavern songs, but for someone who’d only just yesterday been asking you ‘what’s a kiss?’ this felt like great progress. And honestly, there was something better about this too. Maybe because the feel of his sharp canines dancing so perilously close to your sensitive skin was a bit thrilling. Maybe the mess, and the heat, and that ‘closer, closer, closer’ made it feel more real. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that this was your Tsunotarou.

Eventually the kisses tapered off to dot along your cheek—with another long, slow, lick along the barely-bloodied nick in your lip for good measure—and then down the curve of your jaw. Malleus pressed forward, and you could feel the sharp intent there as he meticulously began to cover every available inch of your throat in little, stinging, love bites. His clawed hands began to work their way under the hem of your shirt, rucking it up along your abdomen until the fabric caught just beneath your ribs. He dug his thumbs into the newly exposed skin, and you fought through a wave of shivers to reach down to help him pull it the rest of the way off you.

The brief barrier of your shifting clothes cut you off from the world like a blindfold, and when you were back again, facing the softly lit gloom of the familiar cavern, you realized that you were staring down a fully naked dragon. Who, yes, was technically always running around in his birthday suit. But now—I mean—if you were doing this sort of thing with him, and he was really courting you and all… You could look now, couldn’t you?

So many painful hours you had spent counting pebble piles, and reciting mostly made-up religious verses, and smacking your cheeks like a school matron threatening rowdy teens. So ceaselessly hard had your poor eyes worked to never just look down.

And finally, you let yourself take in the entirety of him.

Woah.

And thank fuck he didn’t lurch forward with that wide, self-satisfied grin of his, because at least that meant you’d managed to keep your internal ‘!!!’ to yourself for once.

Malleus had always been unfairly pretty. Because naturally, if you were one of the most powerful creatures to ever walk this planet, you also had to be one of the most beautiful. It was the logic of fairytales and mythos only, and now all that ethereal allure was staring you down almost like a challenge. Like, ‘see? You thought people this stupidly hot could only exist in your dreams? Hardy, har, har. Have fun with your hypertension and newfound inability to feel anything below your navel.’

And now he was just there. All sculpted planes of white marble that cut sharp angles at the jut of his hips, and then the rest of him. Which was equally as well cast and pale, with just enough of a pink flush to look like something alive rather than some untouchable statue in a museum.

You averted your gaze with a self-conscious little ‘eep!’ Because surely being leered at like a slab of meat had to be all sorts of unpleasant. I mean, if Tsunotarou had been looking at you like that, you’d—Well. Actually. Maybe it wouldn’tbe that bad. But either way, you were practically drooling over the guy, and that self-indulgent ogling had to be at least a teensy bit embarrassing.

Instead, when you finally managed to lock gazes again, the dragon was practically preening.

“Do you find me pleasing, Child of Man?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and dark.

You looked back up at the ceiling and cursed all those stupid deities that had never deigned to grant you even a single sliver of that mercy you’d ask for.

“You know I do,” you finally said, fighting a losing battle against the rampant heat overtaking your entire face.

Malleus leaned back in to press a drawn-out peck to that same little cut, letting that thin tongue of his peek out to clean around your swollen lip one more time. You could see his pupils jumping within his irises—shrinking to tight, tiny, pinpricks before rounding out into something nearly human. The gaping black there practically swallowed the neon, green, sea of his eyes whole.

“You can take from me whatever you’d like,” he hummed, reaching out to drag the hand that had caught at his ribs down to rest along the sharp dip of his hipbones.

“You are literally going to kill me,” you hiccupped, cheeks burning like you’d just taken a merry jaunt through all Seven Halls.

His brow furrowed loosely in the familiar start of that ‘I am an Immortal Drake King and Have No Real Concept of Over Exaggeration as Comedy’ bewilderment of his, and you leaned forward to press a kiss against that little crease.

“In a euphemism sort of way,” you clarified with a flustered grumble. “I promise.”

“Of course,” he nodded, in a fashion that made it very obvious that he didn’t really get it, but also easily acknowledged that now was neither the time nor place for a lesson on human vernacular.

Instead of focusing on your so-claimed impending demise, Malleus leaned forward and picked up exactly where he had left off—even taking the time to pause over the last of his little love bites to soothe at it with his tongue and get it darkening up all over again. As he trailed those sharp, sticky, kisses down your front, you felt your own fingers begin to slip further south—naturally skating down deeper along the slope where he’d placed them.

Your knuckles brushed against sleek, near silky, skin and the shudder that worked its way up the dragon’s back had the teeth he’d buried at your collarbone near vibrating into your skin. Which was… probably good, right? Actually, you know what? If anything, it was a hell of a lot better than good. So you reached forward with a bit more confidence to twine your fingers around him in earnest, and the groan that rumbled out from Malleus’s chest was deep enough to rattle your bones.

The first few strokes were a bit clumsy as you tried to feel out what he enjoyed best. There was something not quite human about it all—just like how even though he had two legs, two arms, and a perfectly lovely face, there had always still been something just a smidge off about this form of his. A little too ethereal to be real.

Though he certainly felt real now—with the way his hips were rising in short, sharp, jerks against your sliding palm, and in how his breath was beating a brisk tempo against your throat.

“You know,” you admitted a bit shakily. “Do you realize how hard it was to just not stare at you every freaking hour of the day when you were waltzing all over the place with—with this,” you complained, giving the aforementioned ‘this’ a pointed squeeze. Malleus made a punched-out sort of noise that tapered into a growl, and he rutted back against your grip hard enough to nearly topple you over.

And then he kept pushing forward until you did fall backwards into the nest of blankets at your back. You landed with a breathy little ‘oof’ and he crowded over you immediately—bracketing you in between his knees. The clawed hand that had been playing along your waist shifted to better mimic the position of your own busy digits. He ran a blackened nail sluggishly along the inseam of your trousers before flicking it back up to undo the button there with a pop.

“You were always more than welcome to partake,” he beamed, sounding far too delighted for his own good. “I’d hoped my parading around was obvious.”

Well now it was!

“I was trying to be polite—” you cut off on a gasp as he pressed his own hand past the waistband of your pants andspread his fingers out like a fan, searching. “You—You were the one who said clothes weren’t—weren’t—” His skin was cold, smooth, and when he found what he was looking for, he pressed down so, so, carefully. You bit back an absolutely obscene gasp and managed to spit out, “—weren’t comfortable.”

“Of course they aren’t,” he sniffed, and took a long moment to lay another sucking mark at the bridge of your shoulder. “But I don’t make a habit of crawling into the lap of every adventurer who wanders through my home.” All at once his hand stilled against you and you fought the godawful impulse to whine. “Am I welcome as well?”

It took your scattered thoughts far too long to process that he’d been asking you a question.

“Are you welcome to what?” you breathed.

“To partake?”

Fucking hell in a handbasket—

“Yes,” you wheezed, squirming up against the wide, flat, surface of his palm. “Of course you are. Just—"

Malleus surged forward to capture your lips once more and immediately licked his way into your mouth—intent and probing. His fingers matched the pace, and he swallowed each of your squeaks, and squawks, and unintelligible nonsense enthusiastically.

It should have come as absolutely no shock just how attentive he was to… everything. Malleus always seemed so eager to soak up new information like the gigantic, draconic, sponge he was. Always so excited to learn. And he approached this new venture with all that usual enthusiasm and more. Like the terrible, embarrassing, noises pouring out of your throat were a symphony that he could not only learn to conduct, but fine tune to his liking.

Oh, he was happy to venture forth and explore the entirety of this unfamiliar territory, but he was conscientious to circle back to the softest, most sensitive, bits of you again, and again, and again. The parts that made you buck back against him and burry your nose in the crook of your arm like ‘hiding’ from your buzzing nerves was an option at all at this point.

Your pants were worked down to your knees before you’d even realized they were gone, and you kicked awkwardly out a few times to try and untangle yourself from the remainder of them. And then it was just you—laid out atop all those blankets and as bare as he was.

His bitey little kisses kept with their descent, until he’d slid himself far enough down that you couldn’t keep your grip on him anymore. He slipped out of your hand and you made a little grumbly noise of protest that only cut off when he dropped a particularly harsh nip at the inseam of your thigh. He nosed along the delicate skin there, laving his tongue indulgently over the teeny wound he’d left, and you gulped when his nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. His fingers were still tracing along the core of you, but slower now—steadied. Like his once rapt attention had clearly been snagged by other prospects.

Malleus’s neon leer ticked back up to lock with your own, and he rested his pointed chin atop your inner thigh with enough weighted intent to have you nearly leaping out of your skin.

“Is something the matter, dearest Child of Man?” he asked, brows jumping a bit in a way that gave away the fact that his polite, little, inquiry was far from the innocent fair he was putting on.

“You know,” you laughed, breathless and dazed. “When I first came here, before I actually got to know you, I was always so worried that you were going to eat me alive.”

“Is that so,” Malleus mused, pointed nails tracing the shivers that were dancing up your legs. “And now?”

Another startled laugh, and you hid your flaming cheeks behind the cage of your fingers. “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you insist,” he hummed, perfectly unruffled, before ducking forward to bury his face in the heart of you.

Your head fell back with a frankly startling yelp, and your hands immediately moved to twist into his hair. The inky strands melted like the finest silk through your fingers, and you had to take a moment to physically ground yourself to keep from yanking on him—only for one of Malleus’s own hands to reach up and tangle your fingers up all the tighter. He ran his tongue along the entirety of you, and you dug your nails into the soft skin where his horns met his skull. He rumbled out a moan, and that naturally vibrated all the way up from where his mouth was currently very busy devouring every part of you that he could reach.

It was messy, and wet, and occasionally you could feel the razor-sharp tip of a fang dance too close to things that were already far too sensitive. But maiden clumsiness aside, there was certainly something to be said for his enthusiasm. Soon enough, that embarrassing keening of yours was even starting to make your own ears ring, and it only got worse when he shifted his grip on you to maneuver your calves over his shoulders and lock your ankles behind the curl of his horns.

His mouth left you with a soft pop, and he looked up at you with eyes that were shot through with so much black that you could hardly make out anything else. His too-long tongue poked out to trace along his wet lips and you absolutely did not let out the most embarrassing whimper known to man.

“Do you remember the story you told me, about the Cheshire Cat and the Man with the mad hats?”

You blinked, not even sure if you were coordinated enough to manage that right. Your melted mind tried its best to put meaning to words, and then words to context. Eventually you managed to muddle through something that felt half-familiar.

“I think so,” you said, still not entirely cognizant.

“Hmm,” he hummed, and nuzzled his nose back against you. “I remember lying in your lap that day. And that was the first time I could really smell you.”

Oh fucking hell—

“And you felt so wonderfully warm,” he sighed, like your absolute mortification was one of his most pleasant memories. “I would have loved to savor you then as well, but you hadn’t entirely seemed amenable.” He burrowed deeper and gave one, last, long, lick that had you nearly shivering out of your skin. “And either way, that tall tale of yours was too compelling to speak over.”

“It was a children’s story about an acid trip,” you complained. “You are more than welcome to interrupt any of my godawful retellings of penny novels to—”

You cut off with another wholly undignified noise when Malleus surged back up to kiss you fully on the mouth. His tongue coiled around yours and you could, you could taste—

“But I do so love hearing your voice,” he sighed, pulling away again with a little rumbly purr that was far too besotted. “And, actually, I find it to be quite a shame. And perhaps one of my many failings,” he drawled, that teasing, spiked, smirk of his curling across his mouth and doing terrible things to the butterflies trapped in your stomach.

“What?” you managed to eek out as he pulled you back flush up against him.

“You’re a traveling minstrel, are you not?” he hummed, rubbing his cheek along yours as he had so many times before. “And yet, I’ve never quite managed to make you sing.”

You gasped into the next kiss and let him maneuver you so that you were pressed back-to-front, with his looming horns casting shadows over the both of you. And gods above, you knew you’d promised that the whole ‘killing you’ comment had just been a playful euphemism, but even you weren’t really sure about that anymore. Your heart certainly seemed determined to beat its way out of your chest, and you did probably need that to go on living. Not that you could find it in you to care even a lick. If you collapsed after all this and never woke up again, you would have at least died happier than most.

Malleus pushed forward, draping his bulk across your back, and you wound up on your knees—collapsed forward on your elbows and cushioned by the soft piles of blankets, and pillows, and every other comfy treasure that the pair of you had worked to find together.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, trailing wet, openmouthed, kisses across your shoulder blades.

“What did I say?” you mumbled, arching up under his mouth like a cat being stroked along its spine.

“That you would let me mark you like this,” he said, closing the last of the kisses off with a gentle nip.

Your head lolled to the side as if of its own accord, bearing your throat in a way that had the dragon flat out groaning from above you.

“My fangs are sharp,” he rumbled, rolling his hips down against yours and letting his lips pull back over his canines in an expression that in any other situation you would have called a snarl. “So sharp you might not even feel it. But,” he continued, with another languid grind, “I think I would prefer that you do.”

And how on Earth would you ever have been able to say no to that?

One of the hands ensnaring your waist slid back down south, trailing over the areas he’d already well acquainted himself with. You rolled your hips back into his palm, and something not unlike a hiss ripped its way out of his throat. And then he was pushing forward again with that same, near agonizingly gentle, probing. Even if this time there was a great deal more intent behind it than just feeling around for all the best spots to have you shaking out of your skin.

The glide of his fingers was smoother than you’d been expecting without the aid of oil, or, well, whatever. But then you remembered that magic was a thing, and briefly thanked all those gods you’d been cursing, because at least that was something. And also the fact that this gloriously wonderful dragon had only literally just eaten you out like his fucking immortal existence depended on it, and that’d probably helped quite a lot with the whole ‘making things a bit more slippery’ logic.

That same desperate call of ‘closer, closer, closer’was singing in your blood again, and by the time he’d worked up to two fingers, then three, you were writhing around like all the most ridiculous, overblown, Bard Stereotypes that you’d always hated. Because no one was really that wanton or clingy—it was just shitty, tavern, gossip that Ace liked to use to get a rile out of you. But man alive, if all those busybody bargoers who’d had to sit through your staunch ‘Bard’s Aren’t Actually Like That!’ speeches could see you now.

(Not that you had any delusions about Malleus letting anyone see you like this—what with the way his guttural growls were rolling through your bones like a tangible thing with teeth, and claws, and fire.)

“You look a bit flustered, darling,” he mused, the words a muddied kiss against the hollow of your throat. You couldn’t see his expression past your own, squinting, ridiculousness, but you had a feeling he was teasing you. Or at least really fucking good at ripping the thoughts out of your brain to comment on at his leisure.

“Really?” you gasped, hoping it sounded more annoyed than it probably did. “Why ever might that be?”

You managed to drill enough focus back into your brain to will your eyes to turn and glare up at your enchanting, wonderful, perfect tormentor. And didn’t someone have a lot of nerve trying to poke fun at you when he looked half-a-step away from feral—a fevered red stained high across his cheekbones and mouth parted with a perpetual sort of panting that had thin trails of grey smoke seeping past his fangs to swirl in the air around you.

You breathed in that heady fog and put every last remaining thread of your Bardic Charisma on the attack.

“Well?” you demanded, swaying your hips back against the pulsing heat of his own. “Was all this courtship stuff to make me your mate or wasn’t it?

The sound that punched out of Malleus’s gut was nearly wounded in its intensity, and then he was bullying his way as close into your space as was physically possible—latching onto your mouth from over your shoulder with something that was far more ‘bite’ than ‘kiss,’ and sinking all the way in to the root of him with one, long, push.

Your toes curled on a yelp and you just barely managed to swallow a noise that was even more humiliating than that. It took a few, solid, thrusts for him to figure out how to settle himself inside you without just shoving the both you forward at the hips—skidding through the unstable surface of the fluffy blankets pooled beneath your knees. His clawed fingers came down to dig into the pillows by your head, bracketing you in and creating a point of stabilization amidst all the senseless heat. And with that, your brain had officially abandoned the building. Malleus dipped his hips forward in a particularly sharp roll that had something inside you twitching and tightening on a gasp. You could see the muscles cord along his lower arms, how the tendons of his wrist stood out taught against all the smooth, sculpted, white of him.

Your elbows shook and your shoulders curved forward as you tried to steady yourself. Malleus slipped one of the hands that had bracketed itself by your head to instead curl into the space beneath your chin and help keep you propped upright. The support had your back arching into something new, and his hips rolled down against that fresh angle like it was a challenge. You squeaked, and that horribly embarrassing noise twisted up into something long, and high, and thready when he ground down hard.

“Ah,” he trilled, all animal satisfaction. “There’s that song of yours.”

Whatever sort of obligatory, whining, protest you were about to make was overridden by a hiccupping gasp when he dragged you back against him only to shove forward with enough force that you wound up with your face buried in fabric and your back aching. In a pleasant sort of way—not the ‘he may have literally just fractured my fucking spine’ way. Which, who knew? Maybe that was a possibility here. You were human, and small, and mortal. And he was a beast that sat only a ladder rung down from godhood. But with the heavy, hot, push push push drumming away at your core, you couldn’t find it in you to care if you never walked again.

You’d been prepared for a build—because that’s how it went, right? The slow, romantic, cresting of sparks that would eventually unfurl through the rest of you like a dream. But instead, one moment you were gasping like a damn asthmatic against the strong arm keeping you upright, and the next your gut was snapped tight, and sharp, and hot, and you were wailing into your pillows as a dam you didn’t realize was wearing away broke. You shuddered through the electricity searing your veins, and Malleus snarled over your shoulder.

He bit down into your neck with something that was practically a roar, and you felt your own teeth sink less impressively into the arm that he’d propped beneath your head. He was right—his fangs were sharp. And you were left less feeling like you’d had a chunk of your shoulder chewed into bits, and more like there was just a heavy, hot, pressure burrowing its way into your skin as far as it could go.

You gasped through the lingering, jerky, sparks zipping along your spine, before eventually that endless grinding, and fullness, and the new and very obvious flood of liquid warmth became too much, and you slumped fully on your front to pant into the blankets. Malleus collapsed at your back not long after, and immediately moved to curve himself against you like a pair of foxes in a den—entwined from head to toe. You could feel the snuffle of his breath as he sighed against you, his hands kneading almost absentmindedly into the sore flesh at your hips.

It took a great deal of time for your heartrate to settle back into a semi-stable rhythm, rather than continue its valiant attempt to gallop straight out of your chest. And you could feel the dragon’s own great pulse slowly gentling into a low thump-thump, thump-thump against your hide.

Once you’d melted into something a little less shivery and fucked-out-of-body, Malleus shuffled himself forward and began to drag his tongue in soft strokes against the weeping mark he’d left at the junction of your neck. That weighted pressure had faded into a tempered throb—nothing more sore than the rest of you, to be perfectly honest. Even if you could feel the beginnings of tacky blood trailing down your front. He cleaned you diligently, delicately. Like this new wound of yours was a treasure that rivaled those he kept hoarded away in the cavernous rooms beneath your feet.

“Is it what you expected?” you asked softly, mostly referring to the stark mark now stamped into your skin like a brand, but also too swirled up in contentment to differentiate too much from the pleasant ache burning through your hips. Through your everywhere.

“Better,” he trilled, chest rumbling with something that was too deep to be a purr, but was certainly something like it. He lifted his arm to observe the faint impressions your own teeth had left against the pale skin there. “Though this one will certainly need refreshing.”

“My teeth aren’t as sharp as yours,” you lamented, and he raised a lazy thumb to trail the pad of his finger along your blunted canines. “It’d probably hurt a lot if I tried to leave something more permanent.”

“You speak as if that’s any sort of deterrent.”

You huffed in fond amusement before rolling onto your back to give your muscles a good stretch. With all that jostling around, the sticky sort of wetness beginning to seep along the inside of your thighs became much more obvious. Malleus stared down at the mess between your legs with an expression that was half fascination, half frustration. He reached out with a stern sort of pout on his lips to run a finger through his cooling spend and press what he could back inside you. The sharp, hot, tug that yanked from below your navel was so much worse than any kind of wincing oversensitivity.

His petulant leer shifted back up to your own, uh, not entirely composed expression, and he huffed softly—sending a puff of warm, smoky, breath along your cheeks.

“I’d prefer for you to keep as much of it as possible,” he rumbled, like that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally debauched things you’d ever heard come out of another living being’s mouth. “Your human nose may not be able to discern the difference, but for us drakes, the change in scent is certainly a strong indicator that a mate has been properly claimed and is no longer free for the taking.”

You sniffed pointedly, and all that swam through your head was the heady, musky, perfume of sex—all underlaid by that familiar smoke and petrichor smell of his. Heavier now, maybe. Like the charred remnants of a forest fire being doused beneath the fat drops of spring rain for the first time.

“What?” you giggled good naturedly. “In case some other immortal, all powerful, dragon comes along to steal me away?”

He rumbled under his breath, and the claws at your hips flexed into pinpricks against your skin. Lightly enough to let you know he understood it was only a joke, but probably one that he wasn’t overly fond of nonetheless.

“You are certainly a worthy enough prize,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” you lamented. “With my spindly spells and impeccable ability to regurgitate the most garbage fairytales in existence. You’d have to go to war for my hand.”

“Of course I would,” Malleus said, with such quick certainty it had your heart kicking up a fit all over again.

“Well, if it’s that much of a concern, we can always just keep working at it,” you hummed, a little of that cheekiness tapering off into genuine fondness at the end. “You know, like a layering process.”

“Is that so?” he droned, a lazy, satisfied, grin working its way across his mouth. It was crooked and a little odd on his face—just like the lopsided smile he’d gifted you after you’d handed him a bundle of cheap fabric and stuffing and called it a friend.

“I mean, I still have a whole side of my neck with no teeth marks or anything, Tsunotarou,” you pointed out, and the bark of laughter that erupted from his throat was all dark, velvety, warmth.

“Oh, my dearest little human,” he sighed, far too besotted for a creature that could likely rend the world in two if he so wished. Instead, Malleus Draconia—last of the Great Briar Beasts of Old and Master of the Castle within the Lava Lakes—just tucked his silly, little, bard up tight into his chest, like he could crack open his ribs and hold you there forever. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

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stevenose · 7 months

Text

𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖊𝖞 (18+)

kinktober: incubus!steve edition

summary: there’s something alluring about this stranger, especially when you stare into his eyes….

contains: gender unspecified reader; hypnosis (therefore, this fic is dubcon); oral (reader receiving); body worship; possessiveness; overstimulation; mind break; unprotected sex/coming inside + breeding kink; talk of somno

word count: 4.7k

a/n: hope you enjoy <3 title is from the mitski song of the same name :)

The lights in the gas station sound like they’re screaming overhead. It’s another dead shift. You occasionally glance up from your book - a collection of poems by Charles Bukowski - to scan the parking lot. The last time a car rolled up to the pumps was 12:32. Now, it’s 1:27. Your shift ends in a little over half an hour.

You sigh, humming. The room around you feels claustrophobic, filled with bright packages of candy and soda bottles. Behind you, stacks of cigarettes tower over the register. If your boss decided to add any other thing to the store, it’d be impossible to walk through. You contemplate yet again why you’re here before remembering your insomnia and night terrors, and you go back to your book.

“Hi.”

You jump. No more than five seconds have passed since you looked around. You look up from your book to find a slender, toned man standing in front of you. The fluorescents, which typically make your stomach turn, seem warm on his highlighted brunette hair. It falls in messy strands over his forehead. Thick brows quirk ever so slightly, an amused grin tugging at his plush lips. He has a straight, strong nose and freckles forming constellations over the skin of his neck. He wears all black, golden flesh peaking out here and there, toned biceps almost menacing as they strain in his t-shirt.

He’s familiar, but you’re not sure how. You know he’s never been in before. If he had, you’d have been hoping he’d come in again. You have vague recollections of him, like he’s from a dream or something just as distant and untouchable. Your eyes land on his. They resemble melted chocolate and you swear they’re swirling. You instantly feel relaxed, your hand’s grip on your book slipping.

“Hi,” he says again. His voice is smooth and calm.

You lick your lips. “Hi.”

His eyes flit down to your book, and you’re quick to catch it. “Bukowski?”

“I’m sorry?”

He nods down. “Bukowski?” he repeats.

“Oh.” You run your hands over the hard canvas cover of the book. “Y- yeah. For - for class.”

“You don’t just read him for fun?”

You lick your lips, suddenly self-conscious of them. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

His shoulders move like he’s chuckling, but no sound comes out.

“Could I get a pack of Marlboro?”

You keep staring into his eyes. They’re so warm and inviting - so is he. A welcome reprieve from your snack-filled prison. You slowly nod, and the man grins prettily as he watches you force your eyes away to search behind you for the red and white box. Your fingers shake, mind spinning. Who is he? How do I know him?

“Hard, isn’t it?”

You pause. “I’m sorry?”

“Finding the right pack,” he says. “Look to your left, two rows down. See ‘em?”

You’re still trembling when you find them. You turn around with a nod, heart hammering. “Th- thank you.”

“Thank you,” he counters, reaching forward to take them from your hands. His own are warm and soft, and they linger while your eyes get caught on his again. “I love seeing you get empty-headed like this.”

You barely understand what he’s said. “Huh?”

The man chuckles, slipping his fingers and the pack of Marlboros away from yours. He taps them on the old wooden countertop and looks you up and down. If you weren’t so enchanted, you’d realize he’s looking at you funny. Not very warm. He’s looking at you like you’re prey.

“You got a light you could lend me there, sweet thing?”

It’s harder to pull away from him this time. As you force yourself to dig through the register for your small red Bic lighter, the man frowns. He smiles again when you look back at him, wonder in your eyes. You try to hand it to him, but he shakes his head as he unwraps his cigarettes and places one between his straight white teeth.

He talks through the filter. “Be good and light it for me.”

You don’t even think about it. Your thumb quickly flicks the wheel and an orange flame lights on the other side. He raises his brows, making you lean forward to catch the end of the stick on it. You leave it there while he puffs in, eyes trained intensely on yours. You’re so sure they’re moving, the more you look. And you’re so sure you can trust this man, your body relaxed, your mind at ease. You don’t even notice the flame burning you until he takes the lighter from you.

You wince, swearing under your breath as you examine your thumb. The man reaches for it, brows knitting together in concern as he looks at the flame-licked flesh. “Poor baby,” he coos. “Pretty things like you don’t know how to be careful, huh?” His other hand, big and calloused, smooths up and down your forearm. His touch feels electric, making your hair stand up on end. “Pretty things like you need to be taken care of. Isn’t that right?”

You’re inclined to agree with everything he says. “Yes.”

He hums, looking at you through thick lashes. Then he brings your thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. You watch with wide-eyed bewilderment as he sucks on it. His tongue circles it, moving slow and wet, and you notice now how much you ache between your legs. Your knees shake, his tongue hot and smooth on your burnt skin. It makes it hurt more, but you don’t pull away. You let him have his way until your thumb audibly pops out of his mouth and he grins.

“You taste just as good as I remember.”

You blink, chest heaving. You feel the strong urge to climb over the counter and into his arms. But he backs away, doesn’t pay before turning on his heel and heading back to the door. He opens it slightly, before looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Find what you love and let it kill you.”

The door shuts. The bell doesn’t jingle.

You’re confused and so insatiably horny that you could hump the countertop right now. A deep, shuddering breath makes your chest rise and fall as you rip your eyes from the door and try to calm down. The exchange felt like no time had passed, but when you glance back at the digital numbers of your clock, twenty minutes had. Your shift is almost over.

You’ll deal with the ache at home.

You’re stupefied as you drive to your apartment once your coworker relieves you. It takes five minutes to get home but it feels like eternity. You’re exhausted down to your bones. You drag your feet to the door and click the lock back into place once you’re inside. Your neediness is nonexistent now as you trudge to the fridge for a drink of water. You leave the apartment dark, intent on climbing into bed and trying to sleep. You’re well aware it may not happen. Even when you’re tired like this, sometimes you still can’t.

You move to your bedroom in silence. You’re quick to strip your shirt off, throwing it towards the hamper and missing before stepping out of your pants. You hum softly as you reach for the waistband of your underwear.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your torso.

Soft lips are pressed against the shell of your ear.

“Hi.”

A body presses against yours, something hard pressing into your ass as you’re bent forward. You feel stuck, and yet your arousal has come back tenfold in the span of a single second. You whimper, uncertain and confused and a little scared.

“It’s just me,” he says. “You know me, don’t you?”

In the dark of your bedroom, it clicks. You’ve dreamed of him, the man from the gas station. Ever present and mostly comforting after sleepless nights. You remember his body on yours, shushing you, promising nothing but pleasure. You never felt very rested after these dreams. And sometimes, they weren’t dreams, but nightmares. You felt protected by him, but sometimes, his body would grow heavier on yours - lips biting at you, pain searing through your body while he moaned that you’d stay there with him. You always woke up.

But now….

“You do remember, huh?” he says, pulling you upwards against his chest. One of his large hands wraps around your neck and his fingers lock gently around your jaw. He presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ve missed you. Always coming home from your long shifts when I had to return to my realm.” He chuckles and nuzzles his nose behind your ear. “Missed you so much I decided I’d come visit you when you were awake instead.”

You’re suddenly flipped around, your bare chest pressed against his. The man is just as handsome as ever, now naked, the only thing separating you from him a thin pair of underwear. You’re able to see the toned muscles of his biceps and, faintly in the dark, you can see the curvature of what looks like two wings on his back. His eyes capture yours again. Warm, dark and honey-like, thick and syrupy. They are swirling. You feel relaxed, heavy - but you fight it, even more uncertain than before.

He scoffs and cups your cheek with one hand while the other slides down your torso. He keeps your eyes locked on his, watching your brows connect and disconnect in amusement. “Lean into it, sweetheart. Let it take care of you. Let me take care of you. I’ve done it before.”

You aren’t expecting his nimble fingers to tuck between your thighs, but it shocks you enough that your resolve diminishes. Your body is anchored to the floor before him and ready and willing to take anything he gives you. Right now, that’s his digits, sliding along your perspiring skin. “See how aroused you are? Your body remembers me. It remembers who you belong to, doesn’t it?”

You nod, mouth falling open slowly as the ecstasy of his fingers and swirling eyes lull you deeper.

How did you ever think you didn’t belong to him? How could you forget him?

“There you are,” he beams. “There’s that pretty submission. You’ll do anything I ask.”

“Anything,” you repeat softly.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Who am I?”

You have to search for it. You know it, somewhere, somehow.

“Come on,” he coos. His fingers touch a particularly sensitive spot, forcing your knees to buckle. He catches you, smiling still. Predatory, amused with you. “It’s in that pretty head of yours.”

“Steve.”

“Mhm,” he praises. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say it.”

You’re wrapped up under him with nowhere to go. You don’t have to look into his eyes anymore to be his. He claims you, lips pressing against yours, kissing you heavy and hot and desperate. He holds you up with an arm wrapped around you while the other stays firm between your legs, making you quiver and shake. Your mind is a blank slate every time his tongue laps across yours, or when his teeth pierce the flesh of your lip.

He talks to you between kisses. “I’m. Not ever. Letting you get away from me. Again.”

You gasp, arch, and keen in his arms, closer and closer to tumbling, to your stomach snapping. Your fingernails dig into his biceps, pinching the skin, and he groans happily.

“You’ve never felt me like this before,” he smiles. “Not while you’re awake.”

You shake your head, lips quivering, eyes hazy with tears and pleasure.

“Hmm.” Steve rests his forehead against yours. “Cum.”

Your back arches into him and you cry as you do, legs shaking, mind lost. A little drop of drool sneaks past your kiss-bitten lips. Steve licks it up happily, feeding off of everything you give him and everything he gives you. The hand buried inside of your ruined underwear finally pulls them down around your ankles.

“Bed.”

You move quickly, letting your back hit the cool sheets. It warms up quickly with your burning skin on it. He doesn’t follow, however. He’s imposing as his shadowed figure watches you from afar, strong arms folded across his hair dusted chest. Soft, dark wings protrude above his shoulders. Anxiety creeps into you and sits heavy in your stomach with your want until he speaks.

“Spread your legs and touch yourself.”

You do. Shaking legs part and your hand creeps downwards. You don’t have the headspace to protest the slight pain that accompanies your touch, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. The pleasure seems to take over, anyway. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before - a thick, viscous feeling that settles bone-deep in every part of you. You sigh and shiver, skin prickling as you continue.

Steve’s eyes are darker now. He watches you intensely. “I know you haven’t had the time to do this for a while. You’re so sensitive and eager - you crave cumming, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you moan, already feeling the intensity growing in your lower stomach.

“Your fingers are nothing compared to mine, though, huh? Nothing will ever be like my cock fucking deep inside of you, stretching you to bursting, will it?”

“No!” You want it so bad. You have a vague memory of it, of his cock making you cry in pain and pleasure, his big hands pinning you down. It makes you ache deeply, but you’re in no position to beg. Not unless he instructs you to.

“Try. Use your stupid fingers and fuck yourself.”

They slide in easily, to your surprise. You gasp and keen, back arching off the soft mattress below and into the cold air of the room. You’re quick to slide three fingers inside of you, something that would usually hurt but just feels like nothing now. You whine, frustrated, your impending orgasm slowly drifting away from you. You shut your eyes so tight they hurt, trying to get it back, and when you open them Steve is on top of you.

“You can’t make yourself cum anymore.” His voice drops with fake pity, looking at you with an entertained pout. “Only I can give that to you. You belong to me.”

He takes your wrist and pulls your hand away, quirking his head as he examines it. Then he slides your fingers into his mouth, tasting you, as a single finger replaces them inside of you. Steve moans, black eyes drifting shut, wet tongue swirling around your fingers as he crooks his. You wail, so full on just one of his digits - and how does he know exactly where to push and press? You’re arching up again, ripping your fingers from his lips to grip the sheets.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he coos, sliding a second finger in. It stretches you so much your eyes cross. “I can’t wait to see your face when I get my cock inside of you. Only ever saw it when you were dreaming….”

Steve kisses you. His lips are a sharp contrast to his touch and demeanor. He kisses you like he loves you. So slow and methodical, leaving you breathless and needy and clenching hard around his fingers. You can’t think of anything other than him. His lips taste like vanilla, so sweet, addictive. You chase them, whimpering into his mouth every time his fingers brush across your most sensitive spots. He chuckles as he pulls his head back slightly just to watch you follow him.

“Good pet,” he beams, proud. But instead of rewarding you he slides his fingers away, leaving you perpetually on the cusp of pleasure. Your eyes well with tears and he gently pats your cheek, marking it with your arousal. “Don’t cry. Be good for me, be patient. I need to take my time with you.”

Endearingly, he rubs his nose against yours. You relax and let your eyes fall shut, though they don’t want to. You’d like to drink him in.

“You are going to be good for me, aren’t you? Just like you always were?” he asks, hands moving to softly cup your chest. He laughs suddenly. “Of course you are. I’ve already marked you as mine, haven’t I?”

Your head nods in its own accord. It's a fact. You’re his.

“I’m your guardian angel,” he continues, hands exploring your body. They’re calloused and cruel and yet so welcome against your skin. “‘m always watching you, darling. Here to save you from a life of nothing. From all those sick men that tried to have their way with you. Did you know they couldn’t have you? That my cum’s already marked you? Would you have given yourself to them?”

“No,” you whisper. “Never.”

He moans and finally kisses your neck, directly on a sensitive spot. You moan and reach for him, splaying your hands out on his back. It tickles, supernaturally so, a shiver creeping slowly down your spine. The pleasure makes your mind blank again, sends your legs upwards to wrap around his waist. You feel his hard cock press against your own arousal and you gasp - he’s freezing. You moan, high-pitched and needy.

“There we go,” Steve grins, kissing across your throat. His fingers pinch at your nipples. “Missed that sound so much, makes my cock so hard, honey. You feel it?” He pushes his hips forward, knocking his cock against you. Not only is he cold, he’s thick and long. You moan a little louder, hips bucking upwards towards him. “Uh-huh, still so drunk on my cock after a few weeks, aren’t you? Can’t believe I fell for such an angel.”

Your nails dig into his back, just by his wings, as he sucks a harsh hickey into your neck. You shudder and keen, the overwhelming horniness hitting you again like a freight train. You fuck yourself against his cock, shivering at the cold. Steve’s lips find your nipples as he kisses downwards and he takes a chance to worship them. His tongue swirls around the peaks and you cry out desperately. Your hands move up to his hair, tangling and tugging in the thick brown locks. Steve groans and ruts his cock against you again. The feeling is overwhelming, like you could lose yourself just from this, from being played with. A bruise blooms across your pec as Steve pulls away, immediately attaching his mouth to the other.

“Steve,” you whimper, tugging his hair harshly. You’re under his spell, but your frustration has grown to an imperceivable level. He growls, reaching up to pull your hands from his hair and pin them beside your head. The impatient evil is clear in his eyes when he looks at you now, and you’re quick to shy away from him.

“You’ll be good for me,” he says sternly. “You’ll lay here and take what I give you and do as I ask.”

You nod, lips parted in ecstasy as he grinds his cock against you again.

“Shouldn’t have waited so long, huh? Knew you’d get so fucking needy,” he mumbles, pulling back to examine your sweat-slick skin. “You’re too goddamn pretty when you’re under me like this.”

Suddenly, he slides downwards, until he’s facing your arousal. You’re obedient and still, eyes focused up on the ceiling. To your surprise, he presses his nose against you and inhales deeply. Even his nose against you makes your hips jerk and a moan tumble from your lips.

“Y’smell incredible,” he murmurs. “And you taste so sweet.”

His tongue licks a broad stripe upwards. Your eyes roll back and you grind against his nose, shouting with a weak cry. Steve laughs. Your desperation heightens with each little kitten-lick he gives you. You keep still this time, though.

“I’ve been waiting to worship this,” he mutters. He lifts your legs to settle the backs of your knees over his shoulders. The leathery softness of his wings tickles the back of your calves. “Should be in my mouth all the fuckin’ time.”

You cry when his wet tongue engulfs you. There’s no gentle build-up. He eats you like he’s starved for it, which he has been. No other victim has ever been as addictive and sweet as you. He’s chased it for nights on end before realizing that you’re made for him. The universe invented you for him. And he won’t let it take you away from him, not again.

“I’m never letting you leave,” he says between broad licks. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You moan, whine, beg for him while his mouth continues to lick and suck. He’s making a mess on the bed beneath you. Steve’s hands grip at your thighs harshly, nails biting into them. It’s hardly been two minutes and you’re ready to cum again.

You’re a vessel for pleasure and you’ll take what he gives you greedily.

“You’re close, huh?” he asks, sliding his hands up to lace your fingers through his. “Want you to cum in my mouth - gotta taste you.”

You nod as your chest heaves and hips twitch. Your mouth falls open and your thighs squeeze around his head, but he never stops his ministrations. If anything he tries harder. His tongue fucks you, feeling much longer than it did when it was buried in your mouth. And when he isn’t licking, he’s sucking, with such perfect pressure that he keeps you on the precipice of cumming. The pleasure tightens in your abdomen but it never fully snaps. You’re about to hyperventilate, tears pricking your eyes, completely at his mercy.

Just when you think your brain will snap, he commands, mouth full of you, “Cum.”

And you do.

You cry out until your voice is hoarse, fingers squeezing Steve’s, body rigid and eyes rolling back. He stares up at you with those pretty eyes, watching and feeling you convulse on him. But he doesn’t stop. Even when you’ve come down and start whining from the constant stimulation. It’s only when tears start streaming down your cheeks and you sob loudly that he stops. Steve climbs over you quickly and catches your tears on his tongue. He groans lowly at the taste.

“Always been so pretty when you cry,” he muses, his wet tongue licking up your cheek. It tickles and if you weren’t under a trance you’d probably think it was gross. “Need to be inside you, I can’t wait anymore.”

You spread your legs wide for him to nestle in between them. “Look at me,” he instructs, so you prop yourself up onto your elbows to look down at him. You watch in wonder while he jerks his cock. It’s thicker and longer than you’d initially thought just by feeling him. Precum pools down his pale shaft. A little mole offsets a thick vein sprawling up the underside. His balls are heavy - your body craves the cum inside of them. You’ve surely never taken something so thick and big - or, not while awake, at least.

“It’ll fit,” Steve promises, as if he can read your mind. “I’ve made it fit before. Spread your legs real wide for me, let me see the mess I made.”

You spread your legs a little wider. Steve pushes you gently back down onto your back and towers over you. He’s handsome in the soft moonlight, streaming through a thin curtain. His eyes seem to glow.

“Relax,” he commands, and you do. Every muscle in your body goes lax. He smiles and kisses your forehead. “Good pet,” he laments, lining the tip of his cock up with your hole. It’s still freezing. You shiver and he smiles in sympathy. “I know, you’ve never liked it. It’s going to hurt at first, but you’ll love it soon. I know you will.”

You nod and let him maneuver your legs up over his shoulders again. You’re forced in half. It makes it a little hard to breathe, but Steve still commands, “Take a deep breath for me.”

Your breath shudders as air fills your lungs. It’s quickly punched out of you when he sheathes his cock inside in one fluid shove.

The memory of him fucking you comes back so clearly. The stretch. The feeling of him in your lungs. The plushness of his balls resting against your ass. The sharp pain deep inside of you. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whine, throwing your head to the side.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “You’re going to take it.”

His hips roll out, granting you temporary relief, before driving back in. Your eyes fly open, mouth dropping, brows furrowing. Steve nods, swirling eyes excited. “Fuck,” he groans lowly, pushing in harder as if he could get any deeper. “Squeezin’ the shit out of me, pretty baby, look - look at that, knew you could take me. You open right up for me, don’t you?”

Your chin meets your chest as you look down to where you’re connected. You can see how tight your walls hug him.

“Look how you’re suckin’ me in,” he growls. “Fuck, my cock missed stretching this hole open.”

You nod wordlessly. You’re starting to drool on yourself. Steve grins and surges forward to kiss you again. It’s much different from the soft gentleness he gave before. His lips overtake yours, moving faster than yours can keep up with, enveloping your mouth and licking into it. It temporarily distracts you as his cock drills you, forcing out moans from you. Steve licks them up, tongue massaging yours sloppily. You taste yourself on him. The position he’s fucking you in makes his cock hit so deep - it feels so good. So good that you start crying and writhing under him.

“Uh-huh,” he grits, biting your bottom lip harshly and tugging it towards him before letting it go. “Be good, be my little fucktoy, honey, let me ruin this hole again - m-make you mine forever.”

“Yours forever,” you cry, breathless.

Steve growls. His black eyes stare at the side of your face, your head thrown to the side again in bliss. “You aren’t going anywhere,” he promises. “Gonna stay here on my fat cock all fucked out f-for the rest of eternity. All mine, fuckin’ bred up - oh, fuck - gonna breed you.”

A part of you is terrified of this, but a much louder part of you needs it. Your head straightens and you stare at him wide eyed and needy, pouting. He bites your lip again, fucks the breath out of you until you feel like you’re suffocating.

“Tell me,” he urges, fucking you deep and slow. “Tell me you’ll build a world with me.”

You nod, lost in his eyes. “I’ll build with you.”

Steve reaches down to play with you, forcing you closer to your third orgasm. “I love you,” he moans. “Love you, never gonna l-let you go, gonna keep you nice and f-full and happy.”

“I love you,” you sob.

Steve shivers. “Only me?”

You nod, tightening around him. “Only you, only you, only you!”

“Cum,” he moans, and you do again, just as he presses his lips to yours. With a groan, he shoves himself all the way inside of you and cums in thick, sticky, hot ropes. His balls contract against your ass as he fills you up. You throw your head back, biting down on your tongue while he strokes you through it. “Yes, yes, take it, so fucking good and pretty, I - mmmmph!”

You’re desperate to catch your breath as you settle. Steve lets your legs fall from his shoulders gently. He eyes you hungrily as he slowly withdraws his cock. He’s cum so far inside of you that none of it leaks out - not yet, at least. You’re fucked stupid under him, eyes crossed, drool at the corner of your mouth. He kisses it away.

“Just rest,” he whispers, pulling your sheets over your body. “Let it take, sweetheart. Keep those legs closed for me now. And when you wake up, I need you to quit your job for me. Got it? Can’t have them taking you away from me again.”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he promises, kissing your forehead as you begin to doze off.

#steve harrington smut #stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober 23

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tripleyeeet · 7 months

Text

GUARD DOG (11)

SUMMARY: During the aftermath of your confession, you and Astarion navigate your feelings.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,982

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, canon typical violence, brief mentions of past abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I made my Saturday schedule with a few hours to spare. :') Also, update: I'm going to be closing my tag list on Monday. I have a lot of people signed up and it's becoming a bit overwhelming to keep track of over time so if you've been thinking about joining do it while you still can!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

You feel like a ghost, drifting from one experience to the next —your body moving as needed while your mind wanders, failing to grasp the fact that you’re already rooted inside of Moonrise Towers.

Blinking hard at such a realization, you find yourself scanning the secluded office you and the party suddenly occupy, feeling the fog of your mind slowly begin to lift, remembering why you’re here. Why Ketheric Thorm has somehow allowed you to explore the contents of his subject’s office.

He needs you to get the relic. Not that you know exactly what that is. Considering he doesn’t trust you yet, all you know is that after you’ve gathered supplies you’re meant to go to the mausoleum to find it. Along with a man named Balthazar who’s gone missing. The same man whose office you now find yourself looting.

Moving through the space as quietly as possible, you notice quickly that all around there are stacks of books, creating this sort of claustrophobic space you have to steady your breath against. Deep within your chest, you can feel the past anxiety of the day bubbling up within your throat as you take it all in, threatening to spill just as Wyll clears his throat, telling you to hurry up so that Z’rell doesn’t get suspicious.

At the mention of Ketheric’s disciple —an orc woman you met earlier— you swallow hard and nod, allowing the fog to resurface as you wander towards a nearby desk, exploring the contents of the tabletop with narrowed eyes. Across it, all the usual items sit: various notebooks, an ink bottle with a well-used quill, a couple of decorative knick knacks here and there. However, there’s also a skull that sits at the top right edge, piquing your interest enough to reach out and grab it, testing out the weight.

“Death enthusiast or necromancer?”

As if on cue, Astarion slithers up to your side, pulling out various tools from his pocket before kneeling on the ground, turning his attention to the desk drawer.

Almost immediately you reply with necromancer, but unlike him, there isn’t a flirtatious tone that coats your words. Instead, there’s just exhaustive sadness, prompting his eyes to flicker up momentarily as he pushes the hook into the keyhole.

“Care to elaborate?”

You shrug and run your finger around the eye socket of the skull, tracing the edge with distraction —feeling your mind continue to distance itself from the task at hand as your gaze grows fuzzy.

It’s a sensation that suddenly makes you remember the events of earlier. The ones where you foolishly confessed your feelings only to receive no such reciprocation. A feeling that weighs you down without warning, covering you in a layer of anxious smog that sticks to your skin, reminding you that you’re mad at him. Frustrated and disappointed —a version of yourself that makes you wish you could be anywhere else so that you could process your feelings.

Because you haven’t had time to, yet. Thanks to Shadowheart’s interruption, all you’ve been left with is questions. Inquiries so intense that between fighting the convoy for the lantern and arriving at the steps of Moonrise, you’ve managed to drive yourself over the edge.

Breathing in, you can feel how heavy it’s made you. How, as Astarion remains knelt beside you, trying his best to avoid your gaze but ultimately failing to do so, makes you want to plummet into the earth in a heap of tears.

“I’m going to take a look in the other room,” you tell him then, giving yourself a moment of reprieve as you place the skull back onto the desk and make your way to the door. Once there, you reach for the handle and freeze in place, releasing a shaky plume of air before you swallow hard and push it open, allowing it to close until Astarion’s hand shoots out to grab it.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Standing near the entrance, you open your mouth to respond but ultimately fail to come up with anything that isn’t mean-spirited, prompting you to instead frown and turn on your heel, moving towards the farthest bookcase you can find. Immediately after that, you attempt to tune out his presence completely, opting to sift through the catalogue of books before you, searching for some sort of clue. Perhaps a book on the Shadowlands themselves or something to do with the undead —anything to distract your mind from Astarion’s movements as he explores the room, eventually turning to face you.

“I assume you want to talk about earlier.”

You do but not right now, so instead of responding you roll your eyes and grab the first book you see, opening it up to find a series of familiar-looking symbols gracing the page.

At first, they merely look like some sort of intricate design. The way each figure curls in odd ways, drawing your eye to the complicated graph in the centre. Then your mind clicks into place and you’re suddenly blinking back the fog, forcing your mind to focus on the translations written below each image, realizing what they are.

They’re Infernal letters. The language of the Hells clearly displayed in front of you, reminding you of Astarion’s scars as you look up to scan him, watching him reach for a nearby book.

“Listen, darling, I know you’re angry with me but—“

Without even thinking, you shush him loudly, moving towards his frame. “Take off your shirt.”

He drops his jaw open in shock, laughing in slight confusion. “I beg your pardon? Take off my shirt?” His eyes are wide as he continues to stare, quickly discovering that you’re serious as he tosses the aforementioned book aside. “You’re aware our compatriots are just beyond this door, correct? Or have you suddenly gone mad with lust and failed to remember?”

You scrunch up your face, shaking your head. “Ew, Astarion. No, not like that.”

He shoots you a look of relief before quickly backtracking and narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry —what d’you mean ew?”

His sudden offence makes you scoff and motion to the open page in front of you, forcing him to notice the symbols. “These look like your scars, don’t they? The ones on your back.”

There’s a moment of silence that stirs between you then. As Astarion reaches for the page, gently brushing his fingers over yours while leaning in, you swallow hard and try not to think of before. Of the unrequited statement that still lingers between you, ripping you apart while he somehow remains fine.

Standing there, drinking in the great interest that befalls his face, you find it incredibly hard not to reach out and shake him in that moment. To grip him by the collar and demand answers despite knowing there are far more important things at hand. For example, the fact that, on top of the already complicated infiltration mission, you’re now required to go on this little treasure hunt. One that will most likely have dangerous consequences if you manage to fail.

Meaning, the last thing you should be thinking about is how Astarion still hasn’t bothered to respond to your confession.

“Did that bastard seriously carve Infernal into my flesh?” He looks disgusted as he glances up at you, his brows knitted towards the centre of his face while you offer your sympathies.

“I guess so.”

Swearing under his breath, he takes a step back, immediately moving his hands to pop open the leathers of his armour, ignoring the way you press your lips together nervously.

“You know he spent the entire night doing it,” he says then, moving his hands across the many fastenings, shaking his head at the memory. “For hours I laid bare beneath him, enduring the pain of his blasted knife —and for what? So he could further brand me as his own? Make even more claim to a helpless slave.”

You frown at his words, hearing the ache of his voice crack inside your ears as you take a step forward, listening to him huff and toss his leathers onto the floor before taking off his undershirt.

“Wasn’t it enough to merely strip me of my rights? To starve me as I filled him up each night.”

A part of you wants to tell him no. That nothing Cazador did to him would ever be enough. But then you hear the breath that escapes his chest —the tremors of its wake hitting your fingers as you tentatively grip his shoulder, feeling the strain of his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” you tell him, forcing your thumb further into his flesh with careful precision, feeling him melt. “We can take the book and come back to it.”

Immediately, he scoffs in response, craning his neck towards you just as the door creaks open, revealing a very shocked looking Gale who freezes at the doorway.

“I uh… I recognize that I’m interrupting something. However, might I suggest the two of you perhaps don’t do this right now?”

Releasing Astarion from your grasp, you take a step back and close the book in your hand. “May I suggest knocking, maybe?”

Gale snorts and raises his hands in innocence. “Perhaps you’re right. My apologies. I promise I’m not here to make a fuss. Just here to remind you that while you’re attempting to bed one another in quite literally the worst location we’ve experienced thus far, the rest of us are out here dealing with the constant reminder of our impending doom.”

Smiling sarcastically, Gale then motions to Astarion who smiles back and reaches for his clothes. “And here I was thinking of inviting you to our little party.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll have to decline though on account of the fact that both of you frighten me and frankly, I’m not one for sharing.”

“Hm. Too bad.” Astarion pouts, prompting you to sigh in embarrassment, pressing the book in your hands against your forehead.

“Yes, well, anyway. The rest of us are going to split up and take a look around. Feel free to join us?”

His last sentence is phrased as a question but you know deep down it’s more of a command, telling you to stop, so you do. Nodding your head in response, the two of you then watch him leave before turning to the other, releasing shared heavy breaths as Astarion continues to redress.

“Stupid wizard.”

Despite the grin that erupts across your face, you realize then that focusing on anything other than the task at hand is dangerous. That, even though you want the answers to all the questions floating inside your head, the only thing you should be focusing on is Ketheric Thorm and the hidden relic that Balthazar failed to collect.

You shouldn’t be thinking of yourselves. At least, not in the way your mind wants to. Instead of emotions, it should be focused on survival. On the steps needed to ensure your safety to get to all the parts you actually want.

“He’s right you know —about doing this another time.” You tap the cover of the book and see Astarion roll his eyes, moving his hands to readjust the top layer of his armour with a sigh.

“I understand that but—“

Before he can finish, your hand finds his chest, pressing it softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise. Just give it time.”

Deep down you know it’s a difficult thing to ask. Considering Astarion’s spent the majority of his life waiting already, you’re well aware of the lack of patience he’s developed. How, his sliver of freedom thanks to the Illithid has granted him the ability to become easily irritated by time.

Unsurprisingly, since you’ve known him, he’s always been prone to bouts of restlessness. Whenever he’s forced to wait there’s often a scowl that presents itself across his face, growing with each passing moment until he eventually explodes. Because of this, when you look at him with desperate eyes, watching the way he twitches and shifts, you’re more than anxious. You’re downright terrified. Lost to a grouping of thoughts that tell you he most likely hates you for asking.

“I promise the moment we have time, I’ll spend every waking hour trying to translate this for you,” you tell him. Hoping and praying that just this once he’ll understand that waiting is the right thing to do and not a lie you tell him to gain his trust.

“Can we even afford to wait, though?”

You look at him like you don’t know the answer, sliding your hand upwards to play with his collar. “At this rate, we might just have to take that chance. You heard so yourself, Gale and the others are already planning to depart. We can’t fall behind and further risk our chance of surviving this.”

He knows you're right. You can tell by the way his jaw clenches and he looks away, trying to suppress the frustrations.

“I know I already said it before but I do love you. Truly. I’d do anything to make you happy but right now keeping you safe is my number one priority and if that means delaying said happiness, so be it.”

After that, there’s a moment of silence that hits. One that’s filled with avoided glances and heavy sighs —all of which come from Astarion as he struggles to accept your words.

At first, it fills you with regret, realizing the way you phrased yourself probably sounds a bit insensitive. But then you see that familiar smirk begin to curl across his lips, pulling upwards with a scoff as he playfully shoves you away.

“Fine. I’ll wait. But not because you told me to.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious. You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever I please. You just happen to make an effective argument. Plus, you’re rather convincing when you’re professing your undying love for me.”

“Shut up.” Pushing him back in annoyance, you shake your head and step through the doorway, moving through the office until you’re out in the hall again, glancing around as you pack away the book. “What supplies do we need anyway?”

“Potions, definitely. Perhaps some arrows or elixirs. I know Gale wanted some spell scrolls but after the stunt he pulled earlier I refuse to get him any.”

You fake pout in his direction as you both begin to walk with no destination in mind. “Aw, is somebody sad that the wizard didn’t accept his sexual invitation?”

“Hardly. That man wouldn’t know an orgasm from a sneeze.”

Suppressing the urge to laugh, you offer an unknowing shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t bed a goddess and not have the dexterity to please a woman.”

Scoffing, Astarion turns towards a random doorway, giving you a curious look before you nod your head, prompting him to open the door. “Please, the man pales in dexterous endeavours compared to me.”

“Hm. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll ask him for a hand one day. Maybe do a little experimentation?”

As you smirk in his direction there’s a feeling of normalcy that hits. Slowly but surely it fills you up with that familiar warmth, reminding you of the reason you first fell for Astarion in the first place. Somehow he has this unwavering ability to make you grin through the darkness. To distract you from the hellish fear that nips at your feet each time you step into dangerous territory.

Compared to everyone else he’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend. And now that you’re joking back and forth, grinning as he stares at you in fake shock thanks to your statement, you begin to accept that his response no longer matters. That you’ve made your peace with it, knowing he’s still there, comforting you in all the ways you need as you walk further into the room, noticing a white-haired woman standing in the corner.

Upon taking another step she turns from the worktable in front of her, raising a brow at the two of you before fully turning around with a grin. “Ah, the True Soul.” Moving forward, she then extends her hand towards you but fails to meet your gaze once she notices Astarion’s nose begin to turn up, causing you to frown. “I’m Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguineous arts.”

Taking her hand, you feel an unwanted heat hit your palm, making you look down as you peel away, offering your name before motioning to Astarion. “This is—“

“A vampire spawn,” she interrupts with interest, leaning towards him with crossed arms and curious eyes. “What an absolute pleasure.”

Both of you share an awkward glance that doesn’t go unnoticed. Despite that though, she barely bats an eye as she offers her hand again, this time to Astarion who clears his throat and shakes his head. “Astarion… sorry I don’t… touch.”

At first, she seems a bit disappointed but then such feelings are quickly erased when she turns her attention back to you, revealing another grin as she drops her hand. “I assume you’re faring well around Moonrise?”

“If by fairing you mean struggling to find a decent potion seller then yes.”

She clicks her tongue in understanding, turning towards the worktable behind her to grab a vial unprompted. “Perhaps I could be of service then? As long as you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing?” You raise your brow, watching her twist the vile between her fingers with a smirk.

“I happen to trade in blood,” she explains. “And the potions that can be wrung from it. Obviously considering such details it’s ideal that I earn the consent of my customers. Otherwise who knows what kind of havoc might occur. Hence the willingness.”

“Hm, now nice of you to offer the bare minimum,” Astarion comments, making you narrow your eyes in confusion, wondering what’s suddenly got him so on edge.

“Yes well, if you’d humour me with a drop or two of your blood I could whip up something truly potent for the both of us.”

Immediately there’s a wariness that sets in at the mention of sharing. Overall, it feels as if there’s something off about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself or the instant distrust you sense from Astarion as he stands beside you, tensing up with every passing moment you spend talking to her. Either or, you take both as a sign of caution, taking a moment to collect your thoughts as you glance around to view her workspace, noticing various needles and vials, haphazardly filled with liquids you can only assume to be her customer’s blood.

“Not sure I like the idea of weaponizing my blood, to be honest.” Offering her a polite smile, you see her kindness falter in response, replacing it with an air of curiosity.

“I can assure you it’s safe,” she says. “Nothing more than a pinprick but obviously if you aren’t keen perhaps we can discuss other matters.”

As she speaks her gaze focuses on Astarion once again, her lids half-closing in such a lusty way you find your chest brimming with something bordering between anger and jealousy —enveloping you in hatred.

“Your spawn, for example.”

The way she says it feels like she’s insinuating a sense of ownership. As if Astarion’s your pet or something equally disgusting. Angrily, it makes you scrunch up your face and turn towards him, sharing a look of displeasure before ultimately turning back to scowl. “You’re aware he’s his own person, right?”

She laughs dryly. “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Yes, he does. Because it’s true.”

After that she’s silent for a moment, taking in your words. Allowing them to sift within the air as each of you stare at one another, trying to figure out how to proceed even though you know you’re already done.

Unable to entertain the lack of sense, you move your hand to Astarion’s arm, feeling him tense beneath your grasp. Then you awaken your tadpole to contact his, feeling the creature shift against the corner of your eye.

Can we leave, please?

Before he can make the effort to listen to your words, Araj is already speaking again, telling you stories of her childhood and how, even then, she wished to be bitten by a vampire, prompting the two of you to stop.

“I’m sorry. You want to be bitten?” Astarion says in disbelief, watching her nod and take a step closer, sharing her interest further.

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?

She looks at him longingly as she speaks, telling him then that she’d want nothing more than to feel the icy sting of his teeth against her flesh, making you scoff in disgust even though you know all too well what it feels like. How addictive it can be to let your mind drift away as you're sucked dry.

“I’ll even compensate you if you like.”

“Compensate me?” Astarion laughs. “Darling, I’m sorry but my talents cannot be bought.”

“Not even for a potion of legendary power?” she muses.

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Hm, afraid not.”

Her tone shifts then, frustrations filling her every pore as she looks towards you but motions to him. “You might want to talk some sense into your spawn, you know. I don’t offer such rarities lightly.”

You catch Astarion open his mouth to respond, but before he can you’re already stepping forward, inserting yourself into Araj’s space with such powerful aggression, pressing your knife to her throat.

“Are you always this dense?”

Suddenly aware of the consequences of her actions, she lets out a shaky breath and eyes Astarion, her expression filling with desperation as you press the blade further into her flesh, using your other hand to force her to look at you. “You’re aware of the meaning, yes? Of the word no?”

Instead of answering she just groans at you, angling her head upwards to try and distance herself from the knife, forcing you to tighten your hold. “Oh, you don’t? Well, allow me to enlighten you then.”

For a moment you pause, grinning wickedly at the fear within her eyes. Taking in the change of demeanour as you twist the edge of your blade away, huffing as you release her all at once, watching her gasp.

“It means he doesn’t want to suck your fucking throat. Just as I don’t want to kill you… at least, not here.”

Sensing the truth within your words, Araj gives you a careful nod and retreats, reaching to grip her tender neck as you put away your blade and scowl one final time.

As you do Astarion looks at you with wide eyes, barely responding when you grab his arm and lead him back out of the room, swearing angrily under your breath when you slam the door behind you.

“Well, that was an eventual moment.”

You can’t help but laugh and lean forward once you realize you’re alone again, resting your forehead against his shoulder in slight embarrassment. “Sorry. I just…”

His hand loops around your shoulders before you can even think to pull away, forcing you into his chest as he laughs and kisses your head, granting you a moment of peace within his hold. “Don’t be. It’s quite enjoyable seeing you like that.”

“All deranged?” you mumble against his chest.

“Protective,” he corrects. “In fact, I find it quite flattering seeing you puffed up, ready to kill for me.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Like I said, it’s because I love you.”

“Yes, well…” Pausing to clear his throat, you feel his hand stroke the top of your head, slowly moving down towards the back of your neck before repeating the process —doing it several times before he ultimately releases a heavy breath. “I love you too, darling. Thank you.”

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eyesxxyou · 1 month

Text

❝ sunshine pt.2 ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. a little internalized homophobia. leg humping. handjob thru underwear. lots of kissing. hobie being a lil shut. weeks of avoiding hobie become moot when you and him find yourselves alone in a bathroom together.

wc: 3.6k

You wish you hated Hobie Brown.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? He kissed you, did unspeakable things to you in that closet. And you let him. You enjoyed even, you relished in the way his mouth felt, his lithe fingers sinking into your flesh. the way he cooed in your ear. It would be easy to write him off completely, hate him for the rest of your life, his smug face, his hooded eyes that gaze into yours and hold secrets only known between you, him, and God.

But you don't hate him. You can't. You hate yourself more than anything. You should have never indulged him, never let him put a single finger on you. Because now, when you lie in bed at night and close your eyes, all you can see is him on his knees, feel your cock sliding down the pocket of his throat while he looks up at you through his lashes with those dark eyes of his. You can't get it up any other way. Women don't do it for you anymore.

The moment the two of you left the closet you told everyone to leave. You picked up Hobie’s clothes and shoved them into his arms before sending him out the door with the rest of them. You never once looked him in the eye.

Your friends asked Hobie what had happened inside the hour you spent together and Hobie, being quite the convincing liar, simply shrugged as if he had no idea what had set you off. “Nothin’. Think ‘e migh’ be claustrophobic.” But he knew. You both would always know, no matter how hard you attempted to scrub it from your mind. He’d keep it a secret if you did. He might start shit from time to time but he wasn’t into outing people. He’d keep the secret for you if you didn't want it.

You know better. You know yourself. If you were alone with him, something like that would happen again and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.

So you avoided Hobie like the plague after that night. Every invitation to hang out was promptly turned down with an excuse that was only a thinly veiled lie, obvious to no one except for Hobie who knew better than to accept that you were sick 3 weeks in a row.

It was understandable. He had made you question everything you had known about yourself all within a matter of an hour. Why would you want to be around him? You feared him and everything he symbolized to you.

“It’s Hobie, isn't it?” Your friend, Riri, sighed. She had come in person to get you out of the house. There was no pretending to be sick, no feigning exhaustion. She came and she called you out so accurately you feared that Hobie might have told her what had happened in the closet. Your chest squeezed and you lost your breath, terrified that she may know.

You scoffed, anxiety swelling within your chest as you pretend to roll the question off your shoulders. “Hobie? Why would I care about Hobie?”

“Everyone knows you can't stand him. And you haven't been the same since we stuck y’all in the closet. Did he say somethin’ to you?” You looked into her eyes for any semblance of your secret and found nothing. You wished you could tell her, your shame, your pleasure, the absolute heaven you felt being in that closet with Hobie. You’d just embarrass yourself.

“No, that's ridiculous. I find him just as endlessly irritating as I always have.” You reach up, tug at your hair softly, and shift your gaze. You were telling on yourself. Fuck, if you didn't agree now, she’d definitely know that there was something up with you and Hobie. “I’ll go, it’s whatever. Just let me get ready.” Your voice was quick, snappy, you were definitely acting suspicious. But you hoped you conceding to going would distract her enough to forget.

It did. Your friends weren't the most aware bunch.

That's how you ended up here, standing in the midst of a true punk party. There was a mosh pit in the front, people inches away from getting punched in the face, starting an all-out brawl. Most were drunk or high off shitty beer and even shittier drugs.

Hobie was on stage performing. You heard his voice before you saw him, the way it echoed in your ears and left you delirious. Riri dragged you into the crowd, just far away from the mosh pit to not get trampled over, and you saw him. His dark skin glistening in a thin layer of sweat, fingers meticulously strumming at his guitar, lips pressed against the mesh of the microphone as if he were attempting to kiss it like he kissed you.

He wore a plaid skirt, his muscle shirt was just cropped enough to reveal the scant of his abdomen and the hair on his slender naval. You saw him and all you could think about was how you wanted to touch him. You wanted his black-painted lips on your neck, wanted to bury your fingers in the new growth of his hair, wanted your cock in his mouth once again and maybe to put his in yours.

The thoughts terrified you but what frightened you even more was that when you came to, Hobie was looking at you. Smug, careless, beautiful, like he knew just what you were thinking about and he was thinking the very same thing.

Face hot and embarrassed over being caught, you averted your gaze. You turned on your heels and swiftly left Riri to make your way to the bar. You needed a drink, or five, so that maybe your nausea could be attributed to something worthwhile. But no matter how far from the stage you found yourself, Hobie’s voice was still in your ear, teasing your senses, tempting your body. You felt hot and parched.

“Give me the strongest you have.” You asked the bartender and pressed your face into your hands.

Hobie played three of his songs before his time was over, the entire time you watched from the corner of your eye. Watched the way he swayed, jumped, wrecked the stage, a force to be reckoned with. You watched him and his bandmates, your friends, walk backstage and felt relief. You wouldn’t have to hear his voice everywhere you went. You hadn’t considered that meant that they would all gravitate over to you to have a chat over where you’ve been for nearly a month now.

They came over with Riri, the unknowing traitor, Hobie standing taller than everyone else in the back. They hugged you one by one, slapped your back, kissed your cheeks, told you they were happy you finally agreed to hang. You would have loved to see them if Hobie hadn’t tossed his arm over your shoulder and pulled you into him.

He smelled like musk and faint, fragrant cologne, your nose pressed to the side of his chest. You look up from where you sat on your barstool only to find him already smiling broadly down at you. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with they presence. Miss me, sunshine?” He was so smug, so proud. If only you could kiss that look from his stupid face and leave him breathless for once instead of the other way around.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, shrugging his arm from your shoulders. “Don’t get so full of yourself.” You downed the rest of your drink and requested another one. Hobie came, sat on the stool beside you, and told the barkeep to add all your drinks to his tab.

“Ya been avoidin’ me, sunshine?” Hobie only really seemed interested in talking to you. The others chatted aimlessly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to notice the way Hobie’s eyes glazed over you, the way his smile seemed a little different when it was directed at you. They also didn’t notice the way he placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing soft circles into your flesh, the way his digits fingered the rips at your jeans.

“Whyever would I be avoiding you, Hobie?” You grabbed his hand to stop his gentle assault on your thigh and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers in with yours.

“I don’ know. Why are you avoidin’ me?” His hand was hot and rough with callouses. If only he’d touch you a little more. Slide his hand up your arm, brush over your neck. You could feel your body growing warmer by the moment. You couldn’t be trusted with him, couldn’t trust yourself for that matter.

You tore your hand from his. “You know exactly why. I hate it when people play dumb.”

“Jus’ add i’ to the long list of all the reasons ya hate me.”

Oh, if only it were so easy to hate. You’d hate him till the day he died. You’d hate him beyond the grave. You’d hate him until the world combusted into flames and everyone burned with it. But it wasn’t so easy. It was actually quite hard to hate someone you longed so carnally for. If you could rid yourself of him for good, you would in a heartbeat.

Hobie ordered himself a nice large glass of beer and leaned in. “Was i’ so bad, what we did? Ya seemed to enjoy i’ in the moment.”

Your eyes grew wide, glancing about to ensure your friends hadn’t heard him.

Hobie scoffed. “Please, too loud in here. They all wrapped up in ‘emselves to pay attention t’us. Look here, sunshine.” He reached out and gently grasped your chin to make you look at him. His touch was like fire all throughout your body. Looking him in the eyes lit something in the pit of your stomach. "Ya look good t'nigh'."

His drink came and he took a sip of the froth at the top while looking at you, his gaze all affectionate and tender. The way one lover would look at another. He didn’t even have to touch you to get you riled up because you both knew him looking at you through his lashes like that was just the way he looked at you when he kissed the tip of your cock.

You needed air. It was suddenly so stuffy where you were, you felt like you were suffocating. The ache of your cock made your jeans tighten. You felt nauseous.

You must have looked crazy standing so abruptly. Your friends attempted to call your name as you pushed your way through them and searched wildly for the nearest exit. The best you could find was a bathroom sign. That would have to work.

The bathroom was grimy and covered in graffiti. Your boots suck to the floor when you walked and you’re sure you could see a leftover powdery substance on the side of the sink. You turned on the water and cupped your hands beneath it to gather some and splash it on your face.

Nothing between you and Hobie had to change. If he would simply stop provoking you, you could ignore everything else. The way your eyes lingered on his exposed body, the way his lingered on yours, the memory of your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking till he came on your tummy, the way you came in his mouth and he drank it all up.

You pressed your hand against the bulge in your jeans and moaned softly at the pressure. Then there was a knock at the door, startling you out of your momentary pleasure and reminding you that you were indeed in a public restroom.

“Oi, sunshine! Ya alrigh”?” Hobie. He just simply couldn’t let you have a moment of reprieve. Readjusting yourself in your pants so it's not so noticeable, you opened the door only to be met with Hobie leaning against the frame. He looked at you, questioning, before inviting himself right in. “Le’s talk.”

“Talk? You wanna talk?” You slammed the door shut and locked the door behind the two of you out of instinct. “We have nothing to talk about, Hobie. Absolutely nothing.” Your demeanor was cold, your lip curled. It all belied how much you needed him to stop looking at you that way. With heavy eyes and a touch of a smirk on his lips.

Hobie quirked a pierced brow at you. “Who’s playin’ dumb now? Ya tink I ‘aven’t noticed how you’ve been actin’? Yer meaner than usual.” He approached you. Slowly. He looked at you, watched to stand your ground. “God, yer down bad, aren’cha?”

Your face was hot, cock hard in your pants. You said not a word. Let him get close, really close, leaning into you while staring into your eyes.

“It's okay, though. I like ya mean.”

You grabbed him by the shirt, hands tight in the fabric as you turned him around and pushed him against the wall. “You think this is fucking funny, huh?” You shook him a little, pressed his thin body to the door, your eyes aflame with passion and anger. Hobie just looked at you, smiling, with his hands up as if to surrender to you, his eyes heavy with seduction.

You hated that look, so cocky and proud, fucking gorgeous.

You were rough when you kissed him. You knew you couldn't be trusted with yourself or with him. You knew it would all lead to this. And God if it didn't feel good. His lips were so soft, sweet, a little salty from his sweat. You held his shirt a little tighter, pulled him a little closer and his hands settled on your hips.

You let him slide his tongue into your mouth, let him slide his hands up and down the length of your body, slide beneath your shirt. His thumbs looked into your pants and tucked his knee between your legs to press against the growing bulge in your pants.

Just like that, he took control of you. You melted into him, licked into his mouth as you moaned, rutting yourself against his knee. You were desperate, panting, needy. You showed all your cards just as they were dealt and now you had nothing but an empty hand and a hard cock.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout'cha.” Hobie panted into your mouth, hands pawing at you. Your kiss was sloppy, filled with swapped saliva and sticky tongue. “Missed ya. Looks like ya missed me too.” He chuckled softly as you licked his bottom lip, sighing with pleasure when he pressed his knee harder into you.

You should stop this. You should be stopping yourself. But you simply couldn't control yourself and you didn't know if that said more about you or about him. You were insatiable. You were angry. You were horny out of your mind.

Hobie let you suck on his lip and tongue, chuckling the whole time. It made you stop, your hands tightening up in his shirt. “Is something funny?” You pushed him against the wall harder, your body pressed against his, your aching cock against his knee. You tried to play tough, your face firming up, but Hobie already witnessed how desperately you've been wanting him this entire time.

Hobie sighed softly, looking at you, smiling broadly. “Nah, nah, ‘m laughin’ ‘cause ya definitely like me, sunshine. Just as much as I like you.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to yours, and kissed you softly. Lips latching, tongue licking, teeth nipping, you didn't resist him as much as you thought you would. You hadn't imagined for it to feel so good the second time around.

“Lemme help ya out, sunshine.” Hobie pressed his knee harder into your crotch and you crumbled, panting into his mouth with your eyes squeezed shut. One of your hands unballed itself from his shirt and found itself settled against the apple of his throat, pressing and squeezing while you humped his leg into oblivion.

The friction was delicious. The pressing and grinding with his tongue down your throat left you a little delirious. You were lightheaded and feared you might faint if he kept holding your waist like he was, moving your hips for you, pressing you harder.

“Keep goin’, pretty boy. Ya got i'.” Hobie crooned into your mouth as your lips fiended for another kiss, a lick, something, anything to satiate the burning in your chest, the fire all over. His fingers sunk into the meat of your thighs with his soft grip that meant to gently coax you towards your climax.

How embarrassing. To cum in your jeans just from humping a leg. But God, if this didn't feel good, if Hobie wasn't doing you so right. You pushed him harder against the wall, squeezed his throat a little tighter as you ground yourself into him.

Your free hand slid down his front and beneath his skirt to feel the bulge of his erection through his underwear. You weighed him in the palm of your hand, clumsy massaging and fondling. You didn't know how to handle him. Attempting to conjure up the way you touched him the last time you two felt each other, you rubbed him, felt the wet patch where precum leaked and soaked into the fabric of his underwear and stroked his tip.

Hobie shuddered, one that rattled through his entire body. He gripped you harder, bruising your hips and thighs and he drove you further into his knee and left you shivering. You squeezed him in your palm and he moaned.

It was pathetic how easy it was to forget how much you wanted to hate him. Your brain was foggy with pleasure and need. Your hands groped at each other with a fiendish desire. Hobie nipped at your bottom lip. “Fuck, jus’ like tha’.”

You were so close. Your lips broke apart from his with a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Your head felt back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat which Hobie greedily attacked with lips and teeth and tongue. “Gonna cum f’me? Hmm, sunshine? Go ‘head ‘n make a mess f’me.”

You whined, your body rocking back and forth with the waves of your orgasm. You hadn't cum in your pants since you were a teen and never before because of another man. You felt as though you should be humiliated but you were so wrapped up in Hobie's sweet scent and the way he moaned into your neck as you pressed your hand into him and felt his cock twitch in your hold.

You rubbed him harder, faster, determined to get him to come undone the way he had your world falling apart. Hobie chuckled against your throat. “Tryna get me t’cum, pretty boy?” His lips peppered kisses to your lovely throat. You nodded, your hand stroking his throat with your thumb. “Give it to me, please.” Oh how the mighty fall.

Hobie faltered a bit when you squeezed his balls in your hand, whining into you like a puppy. “Beg.” He sighed softly against your neck. “Beg fo i'.”

"Please, please. Shit, Hobie, give it to me " Overstimulated, his knee still pressed into the wet spot in your sticky jeans, your hips still rutting into the mess you’ve made of yourself, you jerked him off through his underwear, stroking it rapid, blundering twists of your wrist. Hobie liked how inexperienced you seemed, he found it amusing how hard you tried to please him.

You knew he was just on the edge of an orgasm by the way his moan lowered an octave. He sang for you like he sang on stage, your own private show. His hands gripped you with an impossible strength, tongue lavishing over your throat. He nosed at the curve of your jaw and moaned into your ear as he came in your hand, leaking out into the cotton of his underwear.

You were left panting, stroking at each other in tender touches. You were uncharacteristically affectionate, desperate for it. You needed his hands, his lips, his soft chuckles, his pretty smile. God, you were losing it.

“Fuck-” You pulled away from Hobie, your entire body coiling away from him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It all came back to you like a tsunami. How did you let this happen? Again no less. What in the world were you thinking? What the hell has he done to you?

“Sunshine, calm down. It's okay.” Hobie reached out for you but you almost fell over trying to get away from him. Your hands gripped the sink for stability and in hopes to ground yourself in reality. “No, no, it’s not okay, Hobie! We need to stop this.”

“Whatever we have goin’ on between us-”

“There's nothing going on between us,” you insisted. “There should be nothing going on between us.” Hobie scoffed at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would’ja get ova y’self? We didn' make each other cum by accident. This keeps happenin’ fo’ a reason. We like each other.” He motioned between the two of you, his eyes softening.

“I can't do this, Hobie. I can't give you what you want.” You rushed past him and escaped out of the bathroom door before Hobie had a chance to catch you. It was a mistake to come out. You should have left the moment Hobie touched you.

It was just your luck to run into Riri on the way out the door. You bumped into her just as you neared the exit. She had whipped around, ready to let you have it until she saw that it was you and worse, when she saw the tears streaming down your face. As if this night couldn't get even more embarrassing.

You said nothing to her. You simply pushed past her and left the bar with her calling after you. Hobie approached behind her, watching you leave with sulken shoulders and smudged makeup.

“Shit.”

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