#the soul has bandaged moments | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mistiell · 8 months

Note

If you’re doing requests and it’s not too much trouble what about Astarion and getting patched up and taken care of by mc

Here you go babes <33 (Also, if he's a little out of character, I apoligize, I really did try my best lol) WC: 1k

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“Ow! Gods, could you at least try to be gentle?” Astarion hisses at the sting of the salve you’ve concocted, startling you into jerking the cloth you’re using away.

You huff and drop your hands into your lap, brows furrowed in very clear annoyance, “I am trying. If you’d stop squirming, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Well, if it didn’t hurt so much, I wouldn’t be squirming, would I?” He quips. You roll your eyes.

Taking his wrist ever so gently, you turn it so you can see the gash on his forearm, fingers deft and kind even despite his whining. He’s being difficult; unreasonable. You’d be justified in being cruel with him.

You’re careful not to press so hard as you swipe the cloth over the jagged edge of his wound, blood seeping into the fabric and staining the off-white linen a dark crimson. Mouth quirked down, your face is drawn tight with a frustration he’s never seen on you before.

He hates it.

The fabric catches with a jolt of pain and he flinches more than he would normally, startling you away again.

You tut at him, stern, “Astarion.”

Sighing, he returns his arm to you wordlessly and glances away with a small, “Sorry.”

“You should have been more careful.” You chastise as you press the cloth against his wound; firm, but not harsh. Never harsh.

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, “So you're saying this is my fault.”

He wasn’t being serious, but it seems you take it as such. Your nose scrunches, and for a split second, you look properly upset with him. He’s expecting you to snap at him, maybe shout and finally leave him to tend to his wounds alone as he usually would.

You don’t. Instead, you take a breath and sigh, looking rather disappointed.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Contrary to what you may believe, I do actually care about you and your wellbeing.” Your voice is void of any sort of humour as you look back at his arm. Swapping the soiled cloth for a smaller, cleaner one, you fold it in half and press it to his arm, not sparing him a glance as you instruct him, “Hold this.”

He does as you’ve asked, and a stifling silence engulfs his tent. As you rifle through some healing supplies, he tries to come up with a way to get you talking again.

“Why-,” His voice doesn’t come out right and he clears his throat to fix it. It comes out wrong anyway, “Why are you helping me? This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve dressed a wound on my own, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to.” You reply as you begin securing the cloth to his arm with bandages, “No one deserves to suffer alone.”

The sentiment makes his stomach twist. “No one?” He huffs a wry puff of laughter, “Not even someone like Cazador?”

Your face contorts in abhorrence, “I meant good people don’t deserve to suffer alone. That bastard deserves every bit of suffering he has coming to him.”

He barely even registers the second part of what you’ve said, too busy reeling from the first.

Good people don’t deserve to suffer alone.

Good people.

“You... think I’m good?” He asks far too softly.

Finally looking back up at him, you look utterly confused as you nod, “Of course I do.”

He opens his mouth only to find he’s seemingly lost his voice. His gaze flits over just about every inch of your face, searching for any sign that you’re lying; a glance away, a twitch of your mouth. Anything.

He doesn’t find one. His heart sinks and sings simultaneously and suddenly, he can barely breathe.

“Why?” He murmurs. Part of him thinks he’s not equipped to cope with your answer.

There’s a moment where you just... look at him. He’d say staring, but he doesn’t think that’s quite what this is. What you’re doing would be better described as seeing him; all of him. His heart, his soul. Everything.

“Good people can do bad things and still be good, Astarion. And being good doesn’t always mean being a saint.” Your voice is kind; tender. Maybe a little joking towards the end. He guesses you’ve seen the apprehension on his face when your hands slide down his arm to cradle his own. Dipping to catch his gaze, your own is suddenly serious; unwavering, “What happened to you, the things you did. None of that was your fault. You told me what Cazador did to you when you disobeyed him. I’d be just as terrible to deem you a monster for going along with it knowing what would have happened to you if you didn’t.”

Your words strike him like a hard blow to the chest. Perhaps he’s not all that concerned with being a good person, but he’s never truly wanted to be evil, either.

Eyes stinging, he lets out a shaky breath through his nose as he cups the nape of your neck to guide your forehead to his lips. He lingers there for a moment before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight, mumbling against your hairline, “Thank you.”

Snaking your arms around his waist, you squeeze him just as fiercely, “Of course, my love.”

The laugh that escapes him comes out too watery for his liking, but he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much when its only you around to hear, “‘My love’? Isn’t that my line?”

You snort, and he feels you smile against his collar, “Perhaps.” “You do know that reusing material that isn’t yours is in poor taste, don’t you, darling?”

“Hush.” You pull back smiling, shaking your head as you ask in faux exasperation, “Now, will you please let me finish bandaging this?”

He follows your gaze to his arm and huffs dramatically, “I suppose.” “Oh, you suppose, do you?” You sass as you take hold of his wrist again, careful not to wrap the bandages too tight, “Do you also suppose you’ll sit still for me this time?”

“I do.” He grins.

And he does.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x mc #hurt/comfort

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 7 months

Text

❝ I WANT THE YOU WHO WANTS ME AGAIN ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, some comfort, in the end, | wc: 4.5 K | not proofread

warnings: death of a parent through sickness (unspecified), cheating (gojo with geto), r! goes through it (lmao), megumi is rooting for r!

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

Perhaps at one point in your arranged marriage, you had loved Satoru but that’s all but vanished away when you see how he looked at Geto. Still, you provide comfort to your husband when he seeks you even if his six eyes (and soul) all bear to you that he does not see you. Satoru realizes too late that he cares for you - that he loves you. He despises your empty stare, he wants you back. He desperately wants you back.

authors note: i know i said i was taking a break but writing this made me feel a little bit better — cathartic almost. it's been in the drafts since last year anyways so might as well. (autumn leaves by bts inspired fic)

It seemed as though even the clouds were pitying the sight before it. Grey and darkened, they gathered to block the sun as whispers of doubt combed through the trees surrounding the temple — they reach your ears despite the attempts of your mother. "Now, don't you look handsome". She tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, pursing her lips at the look in your eyes. "(Y/N)". Her hands grasp at your face. The warmth of someone's hands on your cheek jitters your brain awake, and your pupils contract back into focus. "Have you been eating well, darling?" For a moment, your heart squeezes at her kind words. It's been so long since another had asked you that question so sincerely. The tears well but your hair sways as you shake your head, urging your cheeks to form a smile. "I'm alright, mom. Just getting over a cold". She brushes her thumb over your cheek then presses a kiss to your forehead. "My son". You're pulled into an embrace and suddenly you're little again — clinging to her after she had bandaged you up from your training session. Your eyelashes darkened as tears slip past them, hands trembling as you grip her tightly. "My beautiful son". Eventually, the sun sets but the rain continues to pour. The sounds of the raindrops are violent, accompanied by flashes of lightning and thunder it seemed as though the Gods were angry. Angry Gods do little to scare your father. He gazes at you coldly from where your head is laid upon your mother's lap. Defiantly, you avoid meeting his eyes as you relish in the fingers smoothing out your hair. "Your husband will not be pleased with this," your mother's glare is reproachful. "Our son has come to pay us a visit, his husband needn't worry about him," his nostrils flare and he looks as though he's about to go on another rant about image, expectations, manners, servitude. But before he could, the shoji door slides open. It's one of the servant girls, her bow immaculate you could see the swirl pattern of her hair growth. "Gojo Satoru has arrived, Master (L/N)" She's addressing your father, you know because you are now Master Gojo. The air is filled with expectations. The rain does little to muffle it. Pitying her back, you rise from your mother's lap. "Inform my husband I'll be out in a moment" She bows deeper and straightens her composure to slide the door close but freezes as you address her. "Is my husband alone?" When her mouth opens to form the syllables of Geto Suguru your eyes turn to the floor. You're unsure if she's finished her sentence but find very little fucks to give as you silence her with raise of your hand. Wordlessly, she bows and closes the door.

"Ah, husband!" he slings his arm around your shoulder. His weight, his warmth, his presence — too casual it's an insult. You cared little for tradition, scoffing at it sometimes, but the way Satoru displays himself in front of your parents causes you to grit your teeth. Suguru shoes are in the peripheral of your vision, you will your gaze to the side.

Once upon a time, the four of you were friends. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko and you.

Those blue summers and warm winters as first-year sorcerers. Memories so bright and heartfelt others probably only see on movie screens. Then you were betrothed to Gojo Satoru, family stuff, expectations and duty, and everything the both of you roll your eyes at. A part of you had been elated. Blinded by the idea of marrying the boy your heart beats for. Sure, falling in love would have been preferred but despite the arranged marriage, you were thick as thieves. So, in your foolish daydreams, you'd sigh at the idea of you two falling in love. Shoko could only watch as your dreams crumble before you. She tried her best to be some sort of support — shocked when she spotted you smoking her cigarettes after a year into the marriage. "I never noticed the way they look at each other". Your words follow the stream of smoke and Shoko settles next to you with her elbows placed on the railings. "I mean, I knew but I just thought...I just thought he'd look at me the same one day". She is silent as you curl over the railing, shoulders jerking with silent sobs. "How foolish, huh?" She places a hand on your back, saying nothing as you wept.

Suguru greets your parents with more tact than your husband who is smiling ear-to-ear. "How was your mission, Gojo, Geto?" the way their surnames sounded made your jaw ache as you continued locking your jaw. Your husband is squeezing you to his side, like a friend. Satoru feels your shoulders stiffening and he loosens his grip to look down at you but you slip out from under him and hastily walk towards the car. "Young Master —" a servant gasps as he attempts to match your pace, the umbrella he holds barely shielding you as you feel your tears mix with the rain. "(Y/N)!" Suguru calls, catching up to you with his own umbrella and you feel searing guilt stab at your chest. Suguru had never been mean to you — he's been there for you through the years and despite your sudden avoidance of him here he was trying to ensure you remained dry. A clap of thunder muffles your sob, the only mercy the Gods are giving you, and you will yourself to pass Suguru. The car door is slammed shut in Suguru's face and before he can wonder the driver is driving off. He stands in shock, the servant that had been chasing you sharing his expression. Satoru tilts his head, hands in his pockets as he Suguru gives him a look of apprehension once he reaches him. Your parents — his in-laws — are apologizing. More so your mother. Your father's anger is palpable despite his puckering lips. "We'll get you another car, Gojo, Geto" your father calls for his personal driver

Satoru’s eyes — with that bright, heavenly, blue that put the sky to shame — linger on the fading signature of your aura. Suguru’s bangs stick to his forehead due to the rain and the sight of him alone has Satoru tear his gaze away. They land on Suguru who offers a furrow of his brows and so Satoru reaches to wipe the wetness away.

“Hey!” the action is rough, anything but romantic. Suguru feels like a cat being pet too roughly — with their skin stretching back and eyes growing wide — and so he smacks Satoru's hands away.

Friendly. Playful. Banter. Boys being boys.

Your mother squints her eyes nonetheless. She had heard that Satoru had been less than willing to marry. Her husband had thought it was his hubris but bowed until his forehead met the floor of the Gojo clan’s home. Their name was no laughing matter — a strong line of curse users much like the Zenin’s.

But Gojo Satoru was sought after by many the second he turned 16 — the marriage proposals flooded in like a tsunami.

He refused them all. Except the (L/N)'s.

She had thought it was the dowery. Perhaps, even the fact that an alliance would soothe whatever ill tides their clans had once had. Or maybe it really was just a stroke of luck her son got along so well with Satoru while attending Jujutsu High (her husband had enrolled (Y/N) only when he heard whispers of Satoru attending).

But fear gripped her heart as Suguru tugged on Satoru’s ear.

Had he accepted...just so he could remain close to his true love?

“I’m sorry”. You pause the wiping motion, delicately lifting your head as your mother’s cloudy gaze floats aimlessly in the room. You were used to her nonsensical speeches, her random bursts of conversations and weepy apologies. It's been a year since the sickness unexpectedly came over her and you suppose that is what most people do when they’re close to death's door. Confessions of this and that just shooting out in a weak attempt to right old wrongs.

“Nothing to be sorry for, mother”. She places a hand over yours and squeezes. How frail. When has your mother looked so frail?

“Come home, be a (L/N) again”, confusion contorts your face. “Mother, whatever you’ve heard is all unfounded. Rumours. Father has dealt with them”, despite her fragility her fingers squeeze your wrists so tightly it forces your own to release the damp cloth.

“Then say that to me. Look into my eyes and tell me that bastard husband of yours is better than mine, that he’s not off loving another while you rot here”.

Colour bleeds into those lifeless eyes. She feels that same squeeze she felt when she saw Satoru wipe away the rain from Suguru’s skin rather than your tears just a year ago.

Just as quickly as they appear, that dullness returns in your eyes and she reaches to hold your face but you stand.

“Father is cheating on you?”

She’s lost you.

You walk to dip the cloth into the bowl, and your shoulders are too heavy for a 17-year-old boy. Her precious son, so forlorn and withdrawn; humiliated by the society he was in for being inadequate and unworthy.

Perhaps she deserved those titles, sick and bedridden and dying, it was no surprise that her husband is seen courting younger ladies. But not you, not her son.

“He’s no shame, you know your father. His pride comes before all”. It elicits a dry chuckle from you.

Then you suppose Satoru had more in common with your father than you knew.

The Star Plasma vessel incident, you can't believe it's been a year.

A year after that man that killed that Amanai and Kuroi and Satoru.

You remembered dropping to your knees as he admitted it out loud with such an ugly smile, shaking your head in disbelief as anger swelled within you.

Before you could even think, even grieve and rage, Geto had beaten you to it. As you looked at him with his anger so visceral it came off of him in waves you felt your torn heart crumble into pieces. It felt good to dish out that anguish on Fushiguro Toji even if you ended up eating dirt.

“Wasn’t he your husband?” Toji placed his foot on your neck. “Damn, he treats you that badly or something? This freak put up a better fight”, that day you had surprised Toji by smiling with your teeth all bloody.

“He did, didn’t he?” Your laughter bubbles and you choke on your own blood.

Toji knocked you out after a scoff.

That still wouldn’t have killed you as much. The torn pieces of your heart were still salvageable.

But then.

Then.

As Satoru came back. Warm and alive. Bloody but grinning. He did not race to you, he did not even look at you. To his credit, he simply stood there with his arms wide open.

But then.

Then.

Geto’s the one to race into them.

Ah.

Right.

Shoko was shocked to see you in her smoking spot. She hadn’t even seen you as Satoru was whisked away by the Gojo clan, only spotting Suguru following along. None had wondered where Satoru's husband was; Suguru was always next to him, so there was no void that one could spot.

“Are you alright?”

The darkness in your eyes makes her flinch.

You were dead.

She’s been around enough of death and you were dead.

Your once warm, cheerful, eyes now devoid of anything.

She held you as you cried, not knowing what more she could say to help you.

“Leave me alone”, Satoru is under the covers. He has been for days now.

Grieving.

Grieving Geto.

“Husband”, you coax. It was once a funny joke. The laughter you shared as the both of you exchanged formal titles of your marriage. It hurt to know that it truly was a joke for Satoru - not for you.

Satoru grits his teeth. His eyes were rimmed red, he himself was surprised they weren’t swelled up. His throat was scratchy, his skin uncomfortable and untended from his refusal to get up. His hair was tousled, unkept and disarrayed. It's been a week since Geto's betrayal and Satoru had been laid in your bed, burying himself under the blankets and deeper into the mattress; as if determined to be buried with his sadness and anger.

“Husband," he feels your hands on his shoulder. You know him by his shape alone. If you closed your eyes you could trace the curves that made up Satoru; even if it killed you slowly, your love was a loyal curse.

“Don’t call me that!” he raises in a grand move. The covers flew and his voice was in a yell. His glare was spine-chilling but they faltered as he saw the outfit you were.

“What should I call you then, Satoru?”

He takes you in, frowns deepening at the awful way his name sounds as you call for him. Not like his Suguru; his one and only.

“What the hell are you wearing, (Y/N)?”

He feels awful as you answer: “Funeral garbs. My mother has passed”.

There’s some satisfaction that paints your features as he is rendered speechless.

“What? How?”

“She was sick”. As he sits there with nothing to say you move to kneel in front of him. Your touch shocks him to reality. He pulls his shirt down, hoping you haven’t seen the hickeys Suguru had left on him before he decided to massacre that village.

You had. You’ve seen all of it. The lingering scent of Geto on his clothes, the hair ties on his wrist, the love bites that mottle his pale skin. Satoru may have those six heavenly eyes but he seemed so blind when it came to you.

The way he grimaces each time you’ve said his name now.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll help you wash up, Gojo”. He’d be an idiot to have not noticed that switch. Guilt is seeded into him. He stops your hands but you move them with a robotic stubbornness.

“Stop — Wait —”

“I know, Gojo.”

Silence drapes the room.

Your hands carefully thumb into his heart and cover the seed of guilt with such care Satoru’s pulse doubles its speed.

“I know you love him. So very much. I know, because when I go to clan meetings, my cousins whisper behind my back of the two of you holding hands and going on dates. When you come back late after a mission to go to Geto’s room. Or when you suddenly have Geto’s marks on you and yours on him”.

“(Y/N) — ”

“But this is my mother, Gojo”.

Your voice wavers just as he clutches your wrists in his hands. Your head hangs as your shoulders jerk up and down, twisting and squirming so you can help Satoru clean and dressed.

You know he was in pain and your heart feels for him. He needs your help. You were willing to strip down so you could wash him, and get back into this disgustingly heavy robe all over again despite how nauseating it was to do it the first time.

Funny. You can’t recall ever being one with Satoru. Your marriage was never consummated — he told you that there was no rush, you were still kids. What did he tell Geto then? Did he tell him that he had never taken you in bed? Was he fervent in his worship of him? Was their love akin to a religion? Did they worship each others temples like devout monks? How funny. The first time you’d get to see him naked and him you would be the day of your mothers funeral.

“She was my mother, Satoru!”

He has never heard you yell before. Satoru is struck by the that revelation.

It’s been a year since he was officially titled your husband and he knew you longer than that. But this was the first time he’s seen you in despair. Heard your yell.

Seen you cry.

“Please, I know he was your one and only but she was my mother. Please, please, don’t let me face this alone, Gojo”

“(Y/N)...”

“Please, Gojo...”

Your wrists slip away from his loosened grip. Crumpling onto the floor, your forehead meets the floor and his feet as your beg.

"(Y/N)". How long had your mother been sick? Why didn't you tell him — or did you? Why couldn't he remember? As his mind races to collect any memory of this past year, your tears that wet his feet water that guilt.

Satoru says nothing as the both of you appear at the funeral. The haughty eyebrows and curled lips sting more when he's there — was it shame? This burning feeling in your chest? Had you said too much to Satoru? Now he was acutely aware of how others looked at you, at your marriage. How awful.

Satoru is not used to this feeling. As a child, the eyes that lingered on him were hungry for the prize of beheading him. That had been more comfortable than this.

This was scrutinizing. They gazed on you with pity, even with his body attempting to shield you, the whispers reach your ears anyways. Have you been doing this all alone? All those clan meetings that you went to alone, the ones he'd excuse himself from saying he had a mission while he spent the day with Suguru to make him eat more and attempt to nurse him back to his side from the Star Plasma vessel incident.

Suguru had wept to him, telling him how terrified he'd been at the thought of Satoru leaving him. Why didn't you come to him? No. Why hadn't he noticed you?

The ride back home was silent. Satoru couldn't believe your father had brought his bride-to-be to the ceremony, you quelled his anger by muttering that your mother had given her blessing for their marriage.

You're staring out the window. Had those bags always been under your eyes? When did your cheeks get so sunken in? Had you...had you lost weight? He ignores the way your fingers twitch as he places his hand over yours. Your skin feels foreign — so does his. He offers a purse of his lips, sliding his hand up your arm and leaning in to embrace you.

But freezes as you pull your hand away.

"Don't force it upon yourself, Gojo". "Husband —" his smile falls as your shoulders tighten, lower lip quivering. "Please don't make me beg again, Gojo."

"What do you think, beloved?" Gojo grins brightly, bouncing his brow up and down. You were seated across from him in some cafe — he had been telling you all about how good the crepes here was a week before. "About...?" He pouts and places his elbows on the table. "My theory?" He watches as you blink, once, twice, then a faux smile climbs on your face. You turn your attention back to the melting ice cream. "Your theory about Okkotsu cursing Rika because of his love for her?" He nods vigorously. "It makes sense, right? His curse technique activating after seeing that brutal sight, it binding Rika to him". "Afterall, love is the most powerful curse", you said. Gojo's animated hand motions pause. He places his hand back onto the table. He reaches for your hand and you squeeze your eyes shut but allow it. He hates this.

Not you — He doesn't hate you. But he hates this.

After your mothers funeral, he looked through pictures. As first year students, all sunny smiles and bright eyed. The smiles got more tame as the four of you aged. His hands slung around Suguru's more tightly — even after they bared matching rings.

Satoru's never seen you smile like that anymore.

He brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Your jaw clenches.

"I love you, my beloved".

"...Thank you, Gojo".

"It's been awhile, Satoru".

No. No, no, no.

Nononononononnonononononononononononono —

Gojo can't take his eyes away from Suguru.

He tries and tries and tries but he can't. Pinned by his onyx gaze alone.

Satoru's ring burns viciously and he curls his fingers into fists.

Meanwhile, your dead-eyed gaze seemed to intensify. Everything is muffled, it felt like you were underwater. It felt like you were 17 years old again.

Abandoned. Unworthy. Unloveable. In love. Always have been. Always will be. In love with a man that was never yours.

"(Y/N), you look pale", Suguru condenscends. At least, that's what it sounds like.

Hah. Was he envious? Did he think that in the years he's been gone, you've filled the void he left? Or did he know that you never did but he was jealous anyways?

Fuck, Satoru thinks. His temples feel taut as his teeth grit together.

Kento steps infront of you and your eyes widen by an inch.

How pathetic, Gojo (Y/N). An underclassmen protecting you from your husbands ex-lover's gaze.

Why couldn't Geto Suguru just die already.

"What are you doing?" Gojo is grieving again. You should be elated but you're not. It feels too cruel. It wasn't your doing, you hadn't had any hand in killing Geto Suguru but a part of you wondered if your inner thoughts had been a wish you put out to the world. Now, Gojo was without Geto and Geto's daughters were without their father.

So you felt guilt anyways.

It was more feasible competing for Satoru's affections when his lover was simply exiled. How could you compete with a ghost?

"I'm praying for him", you replied. Gojo watches as you prepare to do so, kneeled on the floor. His eyes are rimmed with red again and he knows you've heard his cries; so here you are, sacrificing your happiness again for him.

"You don't have to do that, beloved". You say nothing as your eyes are closed in prayer. Satoru kneels behind you, his guilt had 10 years to grow and now it was a willow tree, with its leaves sweeping the lake of tears it grew from. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder; he fit so perfectly there, just like you knew he would. He's crying into your shoulder and your hand reaches back to card through the shaved sides of his hair. Your fingers lightly brushing the shell of his ear makes him shudder and he circles your waist to pull you against him. "Don't pity me, Gojo". He says nothing and neither do you.

"Say my name". His voice so close to your ear has you shivering.

"Gojo".

He shakes his head.

"My name, please, please, just say it".

Your heart clenches and as you close your eyes a tear slips past.

"I can't replace him, Gojo". He squeezes you tighter.

"I'm not asking you to replace him. No one can replace Suguru. I don't want them too, I don't want you too; I want you".

"I don't believe you".

He laughs, the slightest brush of his teeth on your skin has your stomach twisting into knots. Your breath trembles and you squirm in his hold, twisting away and getting onto your feet to get away from him. He doesn't allow you to. He blocks your way, shaking his head as he holds your shoulders next.

"I want you, (Y/N). I love you —"

How long have you wanted to hear those words. Your heart wants nothing more than to soar. But your brain knows better. "No, no, no, let me go". He doesn't let you. Satoru wraps his arms around you and your mouth opens to let out yells, fists pounding onto his chest as you try to get away from him.

"I hate you! You fucking bastard! I hate you, I loathe you!"

Satoru holds you firmly agaisnt him. Holding the back of your head preciously as he finally hears your voice raised above that whispering tone. "I hate you! I hate you so much! Why do you keep doing this to me!? I — I just wanted you, Satoru!" Your voice breaks and your sobbing turns into wailing. His heart squeezes, chest physically hurting as you sob and yell.

"I wanted you, Satoru! I just wanted you!" "Why didn't you love me, Satoru!?" Thunder rumbles and as your yells quiet down into hiccups, rain muffles it.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)". He feels your knees give out and he holds you, making you lean against him for support. "I'm so sorry, my beloved. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, (Y/N)".

When he tucks you in to rest, he isn't surprised Megumi is standing in the doorway with his eyes set into a glare. Satoru wipes your tears away, sweeping some of your hair away before placing a kiss on your forehead. He raises to answer Megumi's burning questions.

"You heard?"

"I'm not deaf".

Megumi has his arms crossed. He was an observant boy. Being raised by both Satoru and you — he notices the overexuberant Satoru's confidence wavering every time you give him smiles that never reach your eyes. Tsumiki even told him once that she finds it sad, how you both seem to be so familiar but foreign to each other.

"But one time I did see (Y/N) get flustered because of Satoru", she told Megumi whilst on their way back from school. He looked ahead, sipping on his drink as a prompt for Tsumiki to continue. "It was during breakfast. (Y/N) woke up a little late because he was traveling around for clan meetings and missions. So he was panicking so much, he burnt our rice and stuff! But then, Satoru walks in and tells him he prepared our bento. He kept it in the fridge. All that was needed to do was heat it up, he helped (Y/N) the entire time and then he just — "

Tsumiki kisses the air with a loud 'mwah!'

"He plants a kiss right on (Y/N)'s forehead. (Y/N) was so flustered he just stared down at the sink. It was cute, he's definitely still in love, they both are!"

Megumi peeks into the room. The sliver of light on your peaceful expression highlights the content curl of your lips despite the swollen eyes you bore.

"...Don't mess up this second chance", Megumi warns. He turns and marches away while Satoru huffs, scratching the back of his head as he sighs. "I wasn't planning to". He really does love you. He does. He loves you, from the ends of your hair to the tip of your fucking toes; he loves —loved, Suguru too. But this is different, you're different. But his love isn't any less or more.

He loves you.

Whatever it takes, he'll make sure you know it until his last breath.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #gay reader #male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #satoru gojo angst #satoru gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x male reader

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generalsmemories · 4 months

Text

Unwanted reunion

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts: “catching the other one crying shortly after an argument and immediately feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt crash onto you.” + "it's okay, we can fix this..." + “playing with their hair until they fall asleep”|| 1k event

✧ contents: hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, implied character death

✧ a/n: if u wonder how in the world i came up with the scenario below. i genuinely don't know either it's a mystery to even me. CREATIVE LIBERTY WINS AGAIN THE PROMPTS WERE LITERALLY INSPO AND NOT WRITTEN DIRECTLY INTO THE SCENARIO. also implied that this took place after the battle with phantylia so keep that in mind.

NOT BETA-READ AS USUAL FELLAS I WANTED TO HAND THIS OVER TO YA'LL ASAP AS AN APOLOGY FOR STARVING YOU ALL FOR SO LONG!! it's mild angst though, so sorry.

Jing Yuan's can feel a familiar heaviness weigh on his body as well as the feeling of someone wrapping a roll of gauze on his arm. However opening his eyes proved to be a challenge in itself and it's only with great struggle that he can manage to force them slightly open to the bright light.

The first thing he notices is the familiar ceiling of your shared home. A bit weird since whenever he did get injured he would immediately be rushed towards a private room by the Seat of Divine Foresight - which was the safest place for him to stay. Perhaps you had gotten your will again to take care of him - seeing as you're a high ranking healer yourself and quite a stubborn soul.

But his eyes still widen a tiny bit when he sees you sitting by the edge of the bed, one hand gripping his gauzed wound while your other hand is busy trying to find something to keep your hard work in place. You're humming a soft tune again, he never knows what sort of melody you're humming, only that it had become a habit for you after the amount of years you had spent by his side bandaging his battle wounds. Something about helping your mood and staying positive.

"Your recklessness knows no bounds, Jing Yuan." the sternness of your voice snaps him out of the daze he's in, immediately rising up from the bed only to groan in pain when the wounds that you had just wrapped up react to his body folding, "... And still don't know when to rest - even when I'm in the middle of treating you."

"...How much time has passed?" he asks, voice hoarse after having slept for who knows how long. You only hum, setting the bandages aside - the gesture causing Jing Yuan to follow your hand movements which makes him notice the bloodied bandages inside the trash by your legs.

"A couple of days, I was just finishing changing your bandages when you finally woke up. Here, some water." you inform, raising a glass towards his lips, patiently waiting for him to move closer.

You only start to speak again after he's taken several gulps, placing the cup of water back on the nightstand beside his bed. "Why are you so willing to throw your life away?" you ask after a moment of silence, helping Jing Yuan rest against the headboard, eyes never leaving his own that don't dare to even look into your own.

"It's my duty-"

"Your duty is to make sure as many of the Cloud Knights survive a battle. Not gamble your life on a piece that you weren't sure had the capabilities to help."

Jing Yuan bites his tongue at your immediate rebuttal, you were right after all. "The Master Diviner was right there by you. A troop was enough to guard the entrance, you didn't need to leave the master diviner with them to go on this-"

"... Can't you be happy for once whenever we meet like this?" he asks quietly, effectively stopped you from saying anything more. His gaze is cast downwards whenever he mutters the same question to you whilst shrinking a bit after asking. There's no sign of the proud general in your presence - in front of you is just Jing Yuan asking a supposedly harmless question.

Perhaps that's the reason why you can never shove him away immediately.

"... You know what my answer is."

Jing Yuan was no crier. In fact, you think he stopped crying or showing any visible sign of discomfort or uneasiness the day he got the title as General. You're pretty sure you can count the amount of times you've seen Jing Yuan cry on one hand.

Perhaps his ability to hide his own needs and wants so often day by day for the past centuries makes your dismissal of his simple wishes that more gut-wrenching for you. You try to ignore the overwhelming guilt that washes over you every time you have to say the same thing to him.

"... You have a lot of things that you want to get done on the Luofu, Jing Yuan." you murmur softly, extending a hand to run your fingers through his locks, breaking apart any knots that may have formed in his sleep.

"You know we can meet again, but now is not the time - especially now," you gently remind with a sombre smile, your hand moving from his hair to rest against his chin to make him face you.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" he scoffs at your reassurance, finally coming to terms with your conditions once again like always, wrapping his arms around your waist to fall down back on the bed with you on top.

"Remember the last time you said those words to me?" he says, almost sounding offended at your choice of words to which you only smile against his skin in guilt.

"It was the first time I saw you cry so hard," you try to joke, pressing your hands against the mattress to push yourself off of Jing Yuan, choosing to hover above him instead.

"... I'm sorry," you decide to say in the end after a moment of silence, once again threading your fingers through his hair - an act you knew used to calm him before. At this moment though, you're not so sure.

"Why? Shouldn't I be sorry?" he asks in return, a small yawn leaving his lips as his eyes struggle to stay open. You smile bitterly as you shake your head, still threading your fingers through his hair.

"No, none of it was your fault - what happened back then was out of your control. But this time it isn't. I can wait for a long time, Jing Yuan. I know you're aware of that so don't try to rush anything to meet me again." you tell him, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead.

"So it's time to wake up, dear. Luofu is waiting for you."

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #star rail x you #hsr x you #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #star rail imagines #jing yuan x reader

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

Text

The Scars On His Back

Just going to slowly reupload my fics...two at a time...

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and goes out to the forest for a breather when he runs into you.

He’s back there again, with the feeling of a knife tearing into his back, carving up his flesh. Blood runs down his body, creating rivers of crimson on his pale skin and drips onto the floor, pooling between his feet. He can feel the stickiness of the liquid penetrating the gaps between his toes, the feeling sending shivers up his spine. His lifeblood drains with each moment, the pain overwhelms what is left of his soul and tears his body apart, sending screams ripping from his throat until his voice is hoarse but it never stops. The knife digs in again and again, the pain harshly dragging him back into reality each time he drifts off too far into the black void.

And then he wakes up with a start to the mess that is his tent, chest heaving out of habit and a sting in his eyes. His hands tremble as they reach up to wipe his weakness away, nearly causing him to nick himself. He presses his hands against his face, shakily drawing deep breaths.

He’s far far away from there now. He’s safe from him , with the tadpole in his head. He won’t have to bow and scrape to him as long as the tadpole remains. As long as you shelter him.

Hastily throwing on a tunic to cover up the scars, he heads outside his tent for some fresh air, to be away from the stuffiness that his tent brings tonight. The night air is cooling, a gentle breeze whistling through the still camp. Moonlight spills through the tree canopy, shining beams of silvery light upon the various tents pitched around the once burning campfire.

Quiet trills of nighttime creatures fill the silence, the smell of your blood wafting from…hold on. The smell of your blood? Ruby eyes widen and his feet move in the direction his nose is picking the scent up from before his mind can register anything. You are injured , his half-awake mind processes, a small pool of panic bubbling within his chest as he quickens his pace. How bad are your wounds? Have you been attacked? Will he make it in time?

He bursts through the trees, gaze frantically searching for any signs of an attack but all he sees was you. There is no sign or scent of enemies, only your lonesome figure sitting sheepishly on a rock, crimson liquid seeping through your fingers.

“Hi Astarion,” you smile, waving awkwardly.

“Y/N!” He hurries over to your side. “You’re bleeding.”

“So it seems,” you chuckle. “A small accident, really. I merely slipped on some wet grass and cut myself on the sharp edges of the stones.”

“You really are the clumsiest person I know, darling,” he shakes his head with a sigh, taking out some bandages and ointment. “Let’s treat this wound of yours before it gets infected. Wouldn’t want a small accident to turn into a big mess now, would we?”

You nod, biting your tongue before words that will ruin the mood slip past your lips. It’s better to keep to yourself how prepared he was to treat your injuries, and especially the fact that you could tell he was worried about you. Then an idea hits you.

“Since I’m already bleeding, do you want to feed on me?” The question sends his head shooting upwards, a quizzical look on his face.

“Feed…on you?”

“Yeah, like drink my blood since it’s leaking out of my body anyways, would be a shame if so much of it went to waste,” you can’t help but grin, “I can see your fangs peeking out, you know. Go ahead and drink, I don’t mind.”

He opens his mouth, moving it closer to your wound. The sweet scent of your blood hits his nostrils hard and they flare in response, hunger gnawing in his chest. You had offered your blood to him, what did you want in return? His body? His services?

Ruby red eyes search your face, waiting for you to lay down your conditions but you simply press your bleeding arm to his lips with a small smile, dabbing a sliver of blood on his lips.

“I mean it, Astarion. And no, I don’t want anything in return. I promise.”

A small puff of breath leaves his lips at your words and his tongue darts out, gently licking a stripe up your arm. When you don’t pull away, he gets a little bolder, sucking blood from the open wound. You hiss softly when his fangs dig in, drawing more blood from your body but keep your arm steady. He hungrily drinks it all in, the sweet flavour bursting in his mouth.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but your other hand moves towards his hair, gently running your fingers through his silver curls, twirling the longer strands around your index finger. You carefully avoid touching his ears, knowing how sensitive they are and instead tangle your fingers in the hair at the top of his head.

He quietly purrs against your arm, pressing his tongue against the wound to staunch what bleeding he can before cleaning the wound thoroughly with a damp cloth, sending vibrations running up your arm. Gently dabbing the ointment on your arm, he wraps a bandage around the wound, pressing one last kiss to it before standing back up, offering a hand.

“Shall we return to camp before the others begin panicking? I doubt they can function without the both of us.” The smile on his face is filled with apprehension, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Astarion –”

“Don’t you worry, my sweet. I’ll repay this debt of yours as soon as possible,” he winks, pulling you to your feet. “You won’t regret it in the slightest.”

As he turns to leave, you shout.

“Astarion!”

He stops in his tracks, turning around. Muscles tensed, he tries to cover up the fear that is thrumming through his veins with a feigned smile, hoping it’d mellow out your anger. After all, you could neve resist his smile…right?

You see the way fear flashes in his eyes and immediately regret raising your voice, even if it was out of frustration directed at yourself. Taking a deep breath to clear away your anger, you hold out a hand in peace offering.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” Your voice trails off. How do you even justify what you just did? You know of the horrors Cazador inflicted on him, and yet you still lash out.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N,” he chuckles nervously.

You vigorously shake your head, “I really am sorry about it. There’s no way I can justify raising my voice at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was really frustrated at myself for not being able to convince you I didn’t want anything in return, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Astarion searches for any sign of a lie in your words but finds nothing. You really meant it. Every word you said. Your apology, your insistence on needing nothing from him after he had just fed on you, all of it was sincere and genuine. His undead heart skips a beat and suddenly the night doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

You care about him.

Before he knows it, his feet carry him over to you once more, his hand sliding into your outstretched one. The warmth blooms from your palm and winds around his cold one as your fingers intertwine with his.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

“Will you accept my apology?” You ask softly, eyes downcast.

“Of course, dearest. I always will,” he leans in, lips hovering over your forehead. Can he kiss you? Will he taint you if he does?

You tilt your head upwards, meeting his lips with yours and he immediately melts into the kiss. Unlike his previous kisses, this one is filled with care and love, not the usual lust and passion he’s used to receiving. Your arms wrap around him, hands resting on his back where scars tell of his past and he reflexively tenses. But this time, the hands on his back mean him no harm. They lie there to pull him closer into your warm embrace, to protect him from those who seek to harm him. So he lets them rest on his vulnerable back, soaking in the strange warmness that the simple action brings.

Astarion closes his eyes, putting his own arms around you. It’s weird, hugging someone for the first time. You don’t mind his cold dead fingers resting on your back and even press closer against him, enveloping him in your warmth.

When your lips part ways, he doesn’t say a word lest his voice wavers and betrays him. He lets you do the talking, relishing in the way you hold onto his hand tightly. Not a single move is made when you lead him into his tent, only letting go of his hand to help him tidy up his bedroll. You make sure he’s comfortable before turning to leave, pausing when he calls out your name in such a gentle manner.

“Stay…with me?” He begs. Your heart aches from his tone and once more you’re reminded of how much he hurts on the inside, so you backtrack and wrap your arms around him.

“Always.”

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion angst

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colourstreakgryffin · 4 months

Note

Teen!Reader finding Alastor all beaten and bruised after the finale and getting worried, insisting in patching him up, etc, while Alastor during the entire time is having a moment of realization like "oh, this kid ACTUALLY cares about me"

(This is platonic obviously, reader sees him like a weird older brother/father figure and looks up to him idk)

I love it. Simple, enjoyable and to be honest, we’ll just pretend Alastor had his sick solo in the finale before we showed up and I suppose Al will be quite unhinged and aggressive in this state so goddamn. Also, my second time writing about the finale

Platonic! Alastor- Reaching Out

“You son of a bitch, I am trying to help you!” You growl out, now half-wrestling with the Radio Demon himself, after his lose battle against Adam. Whilst Adam has been finally defeated at Lucifer’s hand then killed at Niffty’s knife. It’s clear as crystal that Alastor isn’t taking his own defeat well at all. He’s aggressive, completely lost his usual charismatic, well-mannered demeanour, he’s breaking down and barking at you to back off as you’re still trying to pry his own hands off the visible red bleeding wound over his chest

You’ve found this retreating deer out of pure luck and now, you’re acting on your compassion for him to try make the process of healing less painful for him

You’re the only Hazbin Hotel staff member that actually treated Alastor more than an annoyance standing there. He isn’t the best guy at there, never. No, but he isn’t as bad as Vaggie or Husk claim he is. However, right now, he’s boiling your blood with how much he is refusing to let you even touch him, despite the fact he needs to be patched up. He’s low on power, his cane is snapped in half, he’s limited and requires help

“I don’t need your help, Leitora!” Alastor barks back in possibly the most unhinged way you’ve ever seen, basically backing into a wall. He can’t even notice how worried you actually are, how you’re getting frustrated because you’re worried and you’re the only one who has been looking for and have found Alastor whilst everybody else is celebrating the victory over Adam. You’re the one looking for and now looking out for the man you actually find quite nice. He isn’t as patronising to you, for whatever reason, Alastor’s decent and it’s almost like he wants to be some type of figure in your life with how he behaves

“Stay still before you bleed yourself to unconsciousness, you narcissistic edible piece of shit!” You only say this so cruelly, sharp and half loud as to put Alastor into his place, prove to him you’re not backing down whilst you finally win the half wrestling session you have with the weakened and distressed Overlord, already beginning to check around for the entire length of the wound and use what little excess fabric your current clothing has to make a makeshift bandage for this wound

This is surprising, you’re possibly two times his age. A teenager, if not 15-16 at the oldest upon your human death and you’re acting more mature than the biologically 34 year old. Alastor just stayed quiet, tall fluffy deer-like ears still pinned back and suffering through the intense pain. He wouldn’t admit that he is quite grateful that somebody is around but at the same time, he doesn’t want to get attached to any soul

It took him a proper glance at the cute young sinner he found it fun to playfully tease, mock and behave like a clingy overprotective big brother to piss off, that they genuinely care for him. That they aren’t lying or pretending as to get something out of him like he suspects everybody in the Hotel, including Charlie, is

This is so much different than he suspected, he was believing he’d be going back to his radio tower to vent out his rage at being smacked in the face of such a pathetic opponent

Ending up being the pathetic opponent. He hates showing his weakness and he can barely keep himself from snapping but he also can feel his racking nerves ease up a bit at this strong, confident yet sweet and compassionate kid trying to take care of him when they have no actual requirement to do so

Alastor takes a few more seconds to think and speak, not even realising he was sat down by you as he was thinking frantically about how his own mischievous and mocking behaviour as some type of surrogate brother for you was more than just something down to see your reactions for his own amusement, he does feel some type of family-based affections for you

Now, that affection has been bumped up even more. He definitely owns you a lot for caring about him like some surrogate little sibling when all he does for you is annoy you. He doesn’t even know that you actually look up to him like some type of family figure… so, the familiar feelings are mutual

“Fuck… can you just be careful with the coat? This is my treasure”

(A/N: Real quick. Leitora means ‘Reader’ in Portuguese, this’ll be our name for any none anime posts. There’s two versions; Leitora as the feminine version and Leitor as the masculine version. You can use either for us! I got this from Google Translate)

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tb3ih · 3 months

Text

APOCALYPSE ⨳ satoru gojo

[ the world is caving in for EX-BOYFRIEND!SATORU--he thinks ]

⨳ word count: 2.7k !

⨳ warnings. post-breakup, non-sorcerer!au, "treating wounds tension" + underlying notes of unfinished love. contains nsfw (MDNI) — oral & fingering (f!receiving), cunnilingus, missionary, creampie & aftercare (?)

⨳ notes, happy love day to the satoru enjoyers. everyone else... well, maybe you'll learn to enjoy him after this. ( thank you to @ktsumu & @difficultdomains for mothering this fic, i appreciate you both sm <3 )

there is nothing quite like the loneliness of being the strongest. GOJO SATORU doesn't allow himself to pay any mind to the void which separates him from the rest of his kind, though at times he wished he could rid himself of it entirely.

his pace is slow and lacking in rhythm, tall frame swaying and trying to keep him from planting face first into the pavement as his body carries him down the familiar path. the metal in his mouth has yet to subside and the male is nearly on the edge of consciousness until he recognizes the entrance to your apartment building.

he does not knock, simply entering the code at your door knob and praying it hasn't changed since the last time he's been there. and it hasn't, because no sooner after he presses the enter button, the lock clicks and a small chime resonates from the door, allowing him in.

the door doesn't creak, so he swings it open just slightly to allow himself in, but one step into the living room and suddenly he's forced into the wall of the hallway behind him, something cold and sharp pressed against his throat.

gojo satoru has never feared for his life, but the glow in your narrowed eyes as you hold him in place and press the knife against his throat has his soul threatening to escape through his throat. and then something shifts, your eyes changing in emotion and just as fast as you appeared because you're no longer against him, tucking the knife away in its holster and standing before him.

"satoru? what are you doin--satoru!" satoru doesn't remember your embrace being this warm when you catch his collapsed body, but then again he hardly remembers anything at all these days. "oh my god--is that blood? jesus, satoru!"

he hums out a reply, vision a little fuzzy around the edges as he tries to register the dimly lit living room of your apartment. he hears you curse out, muttering about how heavy the male was before setting him gently down on the couch. gojo's vision is going in and out, his consciousness indecisive because one moment, you're gone and the next you're standing over him, brows pinched in concentration as you clean something off his face.

"hold still," you say quietly when you feel him try to move from his position. you're seating next to him on the couch, tying off the stitches at his brow. putting your tools down, you wipe the bit of crimson from his pale face before covering it with a bandage. his cerulean eyes watch you unwaveringly, but you refuse to return his stare.

you may have only one life, but there were things better left untouched.

the rest of his bloodstained clothes remain in a heap on the floor near the couch, revealing that most of the blood you had previously witnessed was not his. you stand, grabbing your first aid materials and putting them on the counter. when you come back, you hold a glass of water in one hand and some painkillers in another.

you set them on the coffee table, sitting down next to him once more to adjust one of the bandages you notice has come loose around his shoulder. "y/n..."

you pause your movements, eyes carefully meeting his. you regret your decision the moment you see the way his irises spill with an emotion you wish you could get rid of as easily as you did your assignments.

"why are you here, satoru?" your voice is so quiet, you almost don't hear yourself. why did you come back? is what you wished you said, but you can't risk reopening a wound you've stitched up too many times.

the male purses his lips for a second, racking his mind for an answer that won't push you even further away from him. "i... didn't know where else to go..." he brings his other hand up to your face, fingertips ghosting your cheek out of fear he might break you if he does make contact. "please, you’re… all i have left…"

you inhale sharply, something forming in the back of your throat. "please, don't look at me like that," you beg, but you don't move an inch as he starts to move closer to you, his hand coming to gently hold your face.

"why?" it is quiet in the room and his face is only a breath away. he is close, too close, but you can't bring yourself to pull away.

something hot escapes your eye, the pain in your chest flaring up again and causing the nerves on your skin to ignite. "because," you start, voice breaking off a little before continuing in a whisper. "i might actually believe that you love me this time."

his thumb catches another tear before it can make it all the way down your cheek. "and what if i said i did?"

"you are a cruel man," you reply, never breaking eye contact with him.

something glints in those beautiful blue eyes of his at your words and you know you'd never be able to get rid of him even if you tried. "then maybe you can teach me a thing or two about being good."

silence settles around the both of you, neither of you wanting to say something that might unravel whatever it is that's built up in these few fleeting moments.

“oh, satoru,” you finally say, a bit of sad amusement tugging at the corner of your lip, “not even hell would be enough punishment for you.”

when his fingers go grab your chin gently and pull your lips closer to his, you can’t even find the strength in you to fight it. gojo pauses, lips moving from your eyes to your lips that are nearly touching his.

he licks his lips. “then why don’t you show me what is?”

[n]sfw under the cut!

and you’re not breathing anymore. because in that instant you are telling yourself you loathe the man before you as you bring both of your hands to his face and finally push your lips onto his, all the oxygen in your lungs no sooner chased out by everything that is gojo satoru.

though, you can’t say your partner is any better, because he’s pushing back with just as much force, lips molding against your fervently as his hands move to trail to your waist, lifting you with no effort to make you straddle his waist. you gasp, his fingers digging in just enough for the pain to be delicious as he holds you down against his clothed dick. you can feel the way gojo’s lips twist into a smirk that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, though you didn’t mind one bit.

when was the last time you’d done anything like this? your hips move off muscle memory, grinding down hard against him at a slow, but steady pace that has gojo groaning into your mouth. your fingers find his hair, combing, tangling, and pulling his soft locks while he breaks the kiss to let his lips travel from your jaw, down your neck, and to the sensitive spot of your collarbone.

“fuck, y/n,” gojo curses, pulling away to watch you pull off your shirt, lips swollen and pink while his eyes watch you behind a veil of something almost soft. you aren’t a fool though, you’re just as hungry as him.

his lips attach almost immediately to your chest when you fall back into him, a combination of his incisors and tongue leaving hues of scarlet as his mouth dances across your bare skin. you can feel how painfully hard he is through his pants, the moan that escapes his lips almost making you chuckle when you drag your hand from his face to his chest and finally to the waistband of his pants, palming his length through the material.

“damn couch is too fuckin’ small,” he growls against your skin, to which you respond by guiding him down to the plush carpet on the floor, the soft material on your skin not nearly as cruel as the leather of your couch.

he takes your nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before swirling around it with his tongue, causing you to mewl out at the pleasure. “well, i’ve never actually tried to get dicked down on it before, but i appreciate the criticism,” you breathe out, the snarkiness in your reply inciting amusement in gojo as he sees you’ve gone back to your original self.

“i was wondering when you’d gotten so soft,” he taunts, “thought i’d lost you forever.”

you scoff, “as if i’d let you think you’re the best in the business.”

he switches the two of you, toned arms caging your head in where you now lay on the floor. “prove me wrong then, gorgeous,” gojo says lowly. his eyes look as if they’re trying to devour you in the way that they trail down from your lips to your heaving chest, bite marks and hickies blossoming in reds and bruising purples all over.

he keeps his eyes on yours when his hand finds the drawstring of your pants, undoing them in the blink of an eyes before hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling them off entirely. his hand comes to your panties, fingertips ghosting over the already-wet patch of fabric.

“you know, for a professional,” gojo starts, lips pulling into a mean grin, “you sure do let yourself get riled up easily.”

with one hand you pull his face down to yours by the back of his neck and with your other hand you grab the wrist of his hand pushing it against your aching cunt. “for a professional, you sure like to run your mouth,” you retort, continuing with a bit of impatience in your voice, “if you don’t shut up and fuck me, i’m going to have to ask you kindly to leave.”

at that, he chuckles, pulling your panties to the side to pressing a finger to your bundle of nerves. you shudder at the sudden contact, back arching involuntarily off the carpet as he starts to move. “well i guess i better get to it, then,” gojo chuckles lowly, dipping a finger into your soaking entrance. shifting his position, he moves down so that his head is in between your thighs before bringing his mouth to your clit.

you hear him curse against you and you sigh, thighs closing in on his head as he starts to working his fingers in and out of you. curling his fingers, gojo relishes the way you shudder involuntarily, walls clenching around his fingers as he speeds up his brutal pace. there’s a familiar tightening in the pit of your stomach and the pleasure flooding your head has the edges of your vision looking fuzzy.

“satoru…hngh–!” you’re a mess underneath him, hands shaking when they move to tug his hair harder. “s-slow down–please!”

the white-haired male hums against you in reply, detaching his lips from your clit to meet your eyes. “funny how you’re asking me to slow down, but this pussy’s beggin’ to be fucked,” he coos, watching the way you’re swallowing his fingers knuckles deep.

and you feel as if the world is a little off-kilter, the trembling in your thighs intensifying as your orgasm teeters on the edge of crashing down. and it’s just as you’re about to cum that he pulls his fingers from your aching cunt, leaving you gasping and sensitive from the sudden loss of contact. “satoru…?”

and that’s when you feel it, his tip prodding between your soaked folds, dragging against your entrance with a pace that can only be described as teasing. gojo’s face comes to settling in your neck, one hand pressed on the carpet beside your head to support him while the other continues pressing his cock against you. “‘m still here, gorgeous,” he murmurs into your neck, voice low and a little strained.

it’s taking everything in him to keep from pushing in and throwing every boundary between you two to hell. the lilt of your voice when you whined his name, the twist of your fingers through his hair, god, even just the taste of you on his tongue–it was driving him mad.

if this was heaven, gojo would willingly repent if it meant he could devour you.

and when you curse out, calling his name like a mantra, only then does he snap back to reality, your teeth finding his neck when he finally does push in, your gummy walls giving him nothing short of a warm welcome as you swallow him whole. gojo pulls out till it’s just the tip teasing your walls before slamming his hips back in, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with just enough force to have stars dancing in your vision.

“holy shit,” he breathes, groaning out at the feeling of your nails raking down his back. you feel his muscles flex as he adjusts above you, “i’m going to eat you alive.”

you place a feather-light kiss where you had just been biting down, whispering in reply, “so do it.”

and he’s smiling against your neck when he starts his brutal pace, grinding his hips into yours in a way that has a scream trying to claw its way from your throat. gojo is a muttering mess of moans and curses, the drag of his veins against your fluttering walls sending him into a state of euphoria.

you feel that familiar tightening in your core, the continuous teasing of his tip against your cervix making you arching into the white-haired male above you, your nails drawing uncertain and indecisive shapes into the contours of his back. “satoru… i think i’m–oh god, please…”

gojo is definitely not thinking straight. from ecstasy washing through his veins to the faint stinging of your nails carving into his back, he wasn’t sure if there was any going back. he can feel the way you clench around him, pushing him closer and closer to his edge by the second.

“y/n,” he rasps, unable to stop the stutter in his pace of his hips against yours. “...god, you–you’re everything…” this, here–the moment–is everything.

you almost don’t catch what he says solely out of doubt that he even said what he did. you don’t respond, only biting his shoulder to muffle the sound of his name as it comes tumbling off your lips in a scream. your orgasm washes over you and you let yourself go under, body shaking as gojo comes to finish following you.

and when he does, it comes crashing. hips slowing to a halt against you, you hear him groan, frame shuddering as he empties himself into you. you feel the warm flood your walls, both of your frames heaving for air as you come down from your highs. when he finally does calm down, you’re already fading in and out of consciousness.

you’re half-awake when gojo rolls off of you, taking his weight and his warmth with him when he gets up and collects himself. you don’t have time to actually feel the difference in temperature because only a few moments after he’s gone, he’s back again, arms locking your tired body against his chest as you’re lifted from the carpet.

you’re barely hanging on to reality when you feel like you’re being embraced again, only this time it’s a blanketing kind of warmth. “satoru…”

the male lays perfectly still against you, allowing you to adjust yourself and get as comfortable as possible. the moon peeks in from the sun window in your bedroom ceiling and gojo finds himself staring up at the distant twinkling of young stars galaxies away.

none of the stars have exploded and the moon appears to have stayed on its course. when he looks back at you, you’ve already drifted to rest, breaths rhythmic and nearly silent as you remain cuddled against him.

silly of him to think that the world was ending.

after all, you were right here.

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soulprompts · 11 months

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋.

basically i got thinking abt like. you know when you watch a movie, or read a book, and characters go into a room or they do a particular thing together, and you just KNOW it’s building up to something, and it could be literally anything, from a kiss to a murder, but SOMETHING will DEFINITELY happen??? yeah. this is a love-letter to those glorious scenes! i hope you all enjoy!

[ ROAD TRIP ]: the sender and receiver embark on a road trip together; the purpose could be anything at all, but what’s important is that the journey lasts at least several hours. additionally, the sender and receiver are the only people in the car!

[ BARED SOULS ]: the sender and receiver spontaneously go skinny dipping together in the middle of the night while visiting an isolated lake. go wild! maybe the sender finds the receiver already skinny dipping, maybe it’s the other way round, who knows! you do! maybe.

[ NIGHT-TIME STROLLS ]: the sender decides to walk the receiver home from an event late one night. and it’s very late; so late that they might as well be the only people left in the world. it’s just them and the quiet night sky, and conversations of all kinds are easy to come by.

[ TOP OF THE WORLD ]: one of the muses finds the other on the roof-top in the middle of the night. neither of them want to sleep, and so they sit together for the remainder of the night until the sun comes up, content to sit and talk and exist with each other.

[ STEPPING BACK ]: while they’re both attending a particularly lively and crowded party, both muses, craving a moment of peace and fresh air, accidentally go to the same balcony. unwilling to leave, they sit together, and begin to talk as the party spins on behind their backs.

[ NO VACANCIES ]: both characters are in a position where they must share a hotel room together; not so bad, until they realize the only room left has one bed and no sofa in it. paired with a carpet that not even a worst enemy would be subjected to, the two must share the bed.

[ WRONG ROOM ]: after a long day, and a hotel with many vacancies, the two muses part ways to go to bed. only, one of them ends up waking in the middle of the night, and shows up at the other’s doorstep, knocking and asking to come in, for reasons unknown to the other muse.

[ NIGHT-INGALE ]: after being badly beaten, one muse shows up on the other muse’s doorstep, pleading for help. the other obliges, brings them in and gently cleans their wounds, bandaging them up, helping them as much as they can while quiet confessions and gentle pleas happen. basically, angst and emotion and hurt and comfort, and it’s DELICIOUS--

[ VISITING HOURS ]: upon waking in a hospital bed, one of the muses turns their head, and finds the other sleeping in an uncomfortable chair by their bedside.

#rp meme #ask meme #roleplay meme #rp memes #writing prompt #writing prompts #rp prompt #ask prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #roleplay starters #rp starters #dialogue starters #( if y'all like this one i might make a part 2! )

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written-with-blue-ink · 3 months

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Hey, what are your thoughts on how Zagreus would gain a crush on the reader? Just pure fluff please

Yeah, no prob hon! Since you didn't specify, I'm gonna do headcanons!

Zagreus X GN!Reader

He probably first saw you right before he went on his killing spree throughout the Greek Underworld, like every other shade who entered the House of Hades: waiting for a decree from his father.

I love Zag but he isn't the perceptive type. Many souls come through the Throne Room daily, an uncountable number that has to go through admissions, paperwork, etc.

The first time he ran into you though, he caught sight of someone at the entrance struggling to get used to the fire and smoke that Asphodel is engulfed in.

Being the gentleman his father didn't raise him to be, he offered to help you find a better place to make your space.

Taking one of the rafts together was weird for you to say the least. There is really only space for one so he pulled you close, making both of you blush in embarrassment.

I mean, a mortal soul holding onto the chest of the God of Blood and Rebirth? How sweet!

You have to admit, him fighting was brilliant and attractive. He was strong, graceful, and tried his damnedest to protect you (even though you are already dead and can't really get hurt)

About two stops later he introduces you to Euridyce, who is more than happy to take you in like a mother bird protecting her nest.

Zagreus' affection for you mostly grew over time with consistent visits to Euridyce's humble abode

The little things that came out of the three of you talking, you break out of your shell really.

Your laughter and wittiness with both him and Euridyce are major things.

Bandaging up a wound or giving some small drachma to help afford items at Charon's shop.

Your pep-talks and advice when it comes to strategy in the upper levels.

These small gestures of kindness mean the world to someone like Zagreus who didn't have a caring parent or many friends.

He brings little gifts for you too, especially when Persephone returns

Pressed flowers or little things he knicked from the palace for you to use.

He's not ready to tell his feelings yet but he just enjoys the moments he spends with you.

#zagreus x reader #hades supergiant #zagreus #zagreus hades #hades zagreus #hades game x reader #hades game #zagreus x gn reader

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kenananamin · 7 months

Text

All I ask, All I want

SHIBUYA SPOILERS... KINDA.

*This story will slightly alter the events during and after Shibuya.

Summary: Nanami makes his way to you after Shibuya in a delirious state and crashes into your apartment with severe injuries. He cannot process his current state and shows you what he was always worried you would see. You question everything you thought you knew about him and you're anxious to ask him for the truth but worried if he'll even survive. post-shibuya angst, worried nanami and reader, angst, pain... i'm sorry. happy ending ~2.7k words

I'm almost there, she's right past this alleyway.

Nanami slowly walks to your apartment and leans on a parked car for support. He can't hold his head up for longer than a few seconds at a time, but he's memorized your neighborhood after patrolling it so often for any curses that might hurt you as a non-sorcerer. I'm almost there, she's waiting for me...

———

You hear your door handle clanking and slowly get up from your bed without making any extra unnecessary noise. You grab your phone and open Nanami's contact just in case you need to call and lower your head to the door's peep hole. You smile as you see the very top of a familiar blonde head and open your door, "Oh gosh, I was about to panic call you until I — "

Nanami crashes into your entryway and you fall back to the floor when you see him. You're in shock and it takes you a moment to realize there was a bleeding man with severe burns in your entryway... and that man was Nanami Kento. Your brain catches up with the scene in front of you and you let out a blood-curling scream as you crawl towards your boyfriend. He's laying flat on the floor by now and the rug underneath him starts to soak up the blood from his shredded and burned skin.

"Nanami! Fuck, what do I do?! Kento!! Oh my god, oh my god," you reach for your phone but pause as you're about to call for an ambulance. Nanami had mentioned weeks ago that you should call his... friend if he ever had an emergency. You didn't understand at the time but Nanami said it was just a precaution he wanted to take early on. You look for the contact and find 'G.S. Emergency'. No answer. You look for the second emergency contact 'K.I. Emergency'. No answer.

You look at Ken who's shallow breathing has filled every corner of your apartment and soul. You place the call on speaker and start to ramble to the operator while hiding the cleaver knife-like object in his hand.

———

You thought something was off when Nanami would look behind the both of you and excuse himself for a second in the middle of your dates. Or when he'd tell you to stand still and close your eyes. Or when he told you to get inside first and you heard light grunting and his fast steps outside your door before he breathlessly entered the apartment.

You thought something was off, but you could have never imagined this. Nanami lay in a hospital bed, wrapped in special bandages, but you guys weren't in a hospital. It was a clean and sterile room, but you could open the large window and see a horizon of lined traditional temples.

You push any other thoughts away and return to your spot next to Nanami and clasp your hands together. You weren't sure who you were praying to this whole time, but you hoped that someone out there, anyone, was listening and taking pity on you.

———

Nanami wakes up and feels like he's floating. He can't feel the bandages he clearly sees on himself and especially — you. You were sitting on a chair near the foot of his bed with your arms crossed on the bed, sleeping peacefully. This must be heaven. There was no other reason why you'd be in this room with him, in Jujutsu Tech. No wonder he felt like he was floating, this was the afterlife that was being blessed upon him to spend another moment with you. Fleeting moment or a permanent heaven, Nanami wanted to touch you again, hear your voice, and look into his favorite pair of eyes.

"y/n," Nanami squeezes out your name from his dry throat. He doesn't have the strength to move his leg and try to shift your arms so he keeps repeating your name and nicknames to wake you up.

You had fallen asleep for the first time in a while but you hear your name very very softly. You open your eyes and see half of Nanami's face moving. You sit up and see him smile, "y/n. Hi baby."

You shove the chair back and stand up to touch what you can of his face while repeatedly pushing the button on the side of the bed, "Hi Ken, don't move too much, ok? You need to rest first."

He lazily smiles, looks at you with a half-closed eye and slowly says, "Thank you for seeing me off. I love you, y/n." Nanami gently closes his eyes right as Shoko comes in and you see him drift off.

"I love you, Kento," you whisper and kiss his knuckles as you feel the tears prickling your eyes again.

———

Nanami was finally awake. He woke up to see you sleeping on a small couch by the window where the sunset lightly reflected off your skin. He thought he was dead and he'd spend the rest of eternity with you in that room and right as he was finding peace and comfort with the idea, his student walked into the room with a tray of food and water.

"Na— Nanamin?" Yuji stared at his teacher and leaned out the door to scream for Shoko to hurry in.

Nanami starts to shush him and his previous thoughts of being in the afterlife shattered. There was relief to know he was alive, but his panic slowly started setting in when he wondered why you were in the room and just how much you knew.

Yuji and Shoko rush in and he can hear questions being asked and hands touching him to check on him, but he interrupts them without looking away from your sleeping figure, "Why is she here?" Nanami looks at them both, "What does she know?"

Yuji sits on the chair that Nanami had seen you in before and quietly starts to explain that he had left Shibuya after fighting Jogo. Nobody knew where Nanami was and some people believed they should look for his body only instead, predicting he'd be dead. Yuji shares that everything was shattered and hectic but they received a call to rush to a local hospital.

Shoko continues as Yuji grabs some new bandages, "Our van got to the hospital at the same time as the ambulance. y/n told them she was your wife to avoid any resistance in going with you and started fighting us when we wanted to take you. That was when I realized that she didn't know anything about us, about this world. She cried and begged to let the hospital take care of you, that only they would know what to do."

Nanami looks over to you and wishes your back was not turned to him so that he could see your face.

"We brought her with us too and let her stay in the room for everything so that she could see we would not hurt you," Shoko pauses in removing Nanami's bandage and whispers, "Nanami, you should tell her. Everything or just something — anything. She has not left the room since we brought you and she won't listen to any explanation from anyone. y/n said she'll wait for you and will only listen to your explanation."

Nanami rubs his eye and begins to wonder how to even start the conversation with you. This, this was exactly what he wanted to prevent. He tried to stay away from you so that you'd never find out about anything he did, he covered his tracks and continued his cover-story of being a salaryman. But even with all his efforts, he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame and was prepared to let himself drown in everything about you.

Nanami glances to his student who's sadly looking at your sleeping figure before turning to nod to Shoko.

"You know Shoko," Nanami takes a deep breath and turns back to you, "she was the only thing on my mind after Jogo. I walked passed some of the most gruesome scenes I have ever seen in my time as a sorcerer, but I could only think about how much longer I had, about how long I could extend my final breaths to see her one last time. I wanted her face to be the last thing I saw."

———

It's nighttime when you stir awake. The couch was too small to comfortably sleep but your exhausted body was willing to pass out anywhere. You shift to look towards the hospital bed to check on Nanami but you find an empty bed with the covers neatly organized. You start to kick your blanket off to hurry out and quietly whisper no, no, no, please, no when you feel a hand on your foot.

You flinch at the touch but squint your eyes to see Nanami sitting on a chair next to the couch and looking out the window. You look over his body to check that he's still wrapped in his bandages. Nanami sees your eyes travel over his body and moves his hand from your foot to pull the robe over his chest to cover what has begun to scar.

Your eyes well up with tears to see him sitting next to you — alive. You move to the edge of the couch closest to Nanami and hold his hand. "Everything," you move one hand to his chest, touching the part he just tried to cover and leaving your hand over his heart to feel the beating. "You tell me everything right now."

Nanami starts from the beginning. He explains what it was like being born to a non-sorcerer family and the fear he would feel as a child when he'd see things no one else could. He describes what it was like to find out there were more like him and being admitted to Jujutsu High. He talks about his classmates, the work that's required, how the curses look and what the process is to exorcise them, a young man named Haibara, a sister school in Kyoto, the levels to the curses and sorcerers, and the weapons sometimes used.

The last part reminds you of the cleaver-like object and you tell Nanami you hid what he was holding. "I wasn't sure what it was, but whatever it was, I felt like nobody else should see it to avoid more questions to the already suspicious scene. The paramedics already thought I was crazy once they got there and saw your body.."

Nanami nods and let's you ask any questions you have about the Jujutsu world. You both lose track of the time and Nanami notices the sky start to turn into different shades of blue with an orange strip on the horizon by the time you ask what you've been holding all night, "Are... will you.... do you have to go back?"

Nanami looks back at you but you're holding his hand with your head down, waiting, perhaps dreading, his answer. "With how things are now, I think I might. I'm not much help right now but with time I ca—"

Your sob interrupts him and you lean your head down further to cry. He tries to scoot closer to you but a sharp pain in his torso stops him. He rubs your hand with his thumb instead and gently shushes you not to cry.

You stand from the couch, right in front of Nanami and start to fall to your knees. He realizes what you are about to do and leans forward to grab your arm to stop you, but you swat his weak grip away and continue into a deep bow.

"y/n, please. Baby, please stand up, please don't."

You cry and let your forehead touch the floor, "Nanami Kento, I am begging you to stop. Please stop being a sorcerer and please leave this world with me. You have taken enough punches and bruises, you don't have to stay in the ring. Tap out and let someone else tap in." Your quiet tears turn into sobs towards the end of your pleading.

You hear Nanami's voice start to shake above you, "Darling, please —"

You interrupt him and sit up to scoot to hold his knees close to your chest, "Tap me in, let me help you, Ken please. Let me protect you, I swear that I will protect you now."

You feel guilty bowing as you are. You are asking this man to leave what he knows, but you don't know what else to do. You have never felt such fear after seeing so much of his body burnt and his breath so shallow. You would bow to anyone for a chance to save his life. You would bow to him and plead him to save himself with this second chance.

"Don't fight anymore. Stay only as a teacher if you want but put that blade away. Don't leave these walls and the protection they offer. This is as much as I will compromise. I do not want you out there regardless of the danger levels. But better yet — please, let me take care of you. Stop fighting and working, follow me out of these halls and I'll do anything for you, I swear it."

Nanami's tears start to fall and he looks down at you gripping at his thighs in desperation.

"Kids..." you continue to ramble, "We can have kids if you want, we can move somewhere far and finally have our kids. You can convert a whole room into your library, you'll have an infinite amount of books and time to yourself to do anything you'd like. I'll make you all your favorite meals and listen to everything you have to say, even open a bakery if you want to try! I'll wear that wedding dress you have a photo saved of on your phone, even do a traditional wedding if you want to. I'll do it all and more, Ken, just please —" You knew your face was drenched and contorting to match your desperate pleas. "I'm begging you, please.."

Nanami reaches out to touch your cheek and a sob escapes his lips. It's the only time you've both cried this way in front of each other.

Yuji is sitting in the hallway by the room door and listens to the desperate rambling. He had been sitting there since he passed by and heard Nanami talking about his adolescence. He knew it wasn't right, but he just wanted to listen to Nanami speak for a while after the overwhelming anxiety of thinking he was dead and possibly not hearing him again.

Yuji stands, steps inside the room and clears his throat, "Nanamin? I — I think she's right. You should go. I can find you if we need help, but we'll be ok," he pauses to walk halfway into the room, "I think you should step out... and maybe have those kids?" the young boy smiles a bit at the thought of young kids running around his usually stoic teacher and calling him dad.

"Nanamin, Jujutsu High will be ok. And you have someone else to worry about now." Yuuji looks down to Nanami's lap where your head is laying on his thighs, weeping and thinking of more ways to beg him. The young boy smiles, "I've got it from here."

Nanami believes his student... and nods. He looks down at the crying woman whose sobs have their whole body shaking. He fights against the sharp pains around his body and leans down as far as he can to hug you. It is not the strong embrace you are used to from Nanami, but a light envelop that warms and calms your deepest fears.

———

Walking out of Jujutsu Tech, Nanami stops and introduces a few of the people he mentioned in his life story to you. He does not introduce you as his girlfriend (which was technically your title at that moment) but as his wife. You widen your eyes the first time he says it but he just smiles down at you and says, "You started using it first, now it's my turn. But I promise to properly ask you soon."

Yuji, Shoko, and Ino follow you both to the bottom of the stairs to say goodbye. You give them your number so that they have another place to reach Nanami and Yuji gladly takes the number with the promise of checking in soon. Nanami lightly pulls you away to finally leave but pauses before taking another step.

You hold Nanami's hand as he looks back to the school one last time. The place that showed him real pain and heartbreak, but also gave him a place to feel like he was making a difference. The place that held so many memories as both a student and teacher. The place that nearly broke him, but gave him the space to heal to return back to you. You rub his hand with both of yours and say, "All I ask is that you are happy, alive, and safe."

Nanami looks back at you with relief covering his features and guilt covering yours while you keep your head down. He gently rubs his thumb on your hand, "All I want is to follow you." You look up and he moves his hand to your face, "I promise, all I want is you."

You nod and lean to kiss him once softly. You wrap your arm around Nanami's torso and he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You motion for him to lean on you as he walks and for the first time in a long long time, he takes the offer to lean on someone else.

Yuji watches from the entrance path of the school as you both turn to leave the premises. He cups his hands around his mouth and yells, "Nanamin, y/n! I'll visit when I can! Read a few mangas for meeee!"

a/n: I saw paramore this summer and their music has been on repeat the whole year. 'all i wanted' is def gonna be in my top wrapped songs and it def reminds me of nanami every. single. time.

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sorcerous-caress · 7 months

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Can you do an aftercare breakdown of how all the dommy mommies might treat Reader post-fuck/kink session? This is Mintharaheart anon, I’m baptizing myself.

After care | bg3 women

[ Fluff, smut, nb!reader, blood in Orin's part ]

[Karlach, Minthara, Shadowheart, Laezel, Orin ]

Karlach

You're out of breath, as if you've ran a long tiring marathon. The ache in your bones pleaded for you to lay down on something soft, something warm, something-

"I've got you, soldier, just relax."

Karlach is very warm to the touch, a comforting embrace that washes away all the aftermath of the adrenaline pumping in your veins. Her large fingers slowly caress your body, making you melt against her touch and relax all of your muscles.

It's only when she speaks again, do you realise you were falling asleep. "Awh man, i really wore you out, huh?" Your eyes open up, you don't remember closing them, attempting to meet her flaming eyes but it's being proven a struggle as of now.

"Shh it's alright" she cuddles more against you, her warmth becoming your whole world. And what a comfort inviting world it was. "I've got you" she repeats, "sweet dreams."

Minthara

Something you've noticed about her, is that her breathing always faded in with the background. No matter how many times you laid beside her with your eyes closed, it was hard to pick up on where the night started and where the Minthara ended.

She blended in too perfectly. If it wasn't for her head laying on your chest, then you might have suspected she wasn't breathing at all.

But you could feel it, her heartbeat, the one thing she couldn't silence away.

The way you held her, as if she could slip away from you, as if the wind might carry her off. You held her as if you could put her whole together again with your embrace alone in case she ever breaks.

Minthara rarely spoke during those times, the quiet, tender moments where she let herself be vulnerable. Bared weakness and tore her wall down for just a couple minutes before the harsh world pulled her back in the front lines of duty.

Shadowheart

Laying together on the soft covers, the two of you have been gazing into each other's eyes for a while. Memorising each other's faces and embedding the other's eye colour into your own souls.

Who knew green could look so beautiful, so mesmerising.

She'd normally tease you for this, call you a love struck puppy. But she can't manage to form any clever combacks now, not when your face was so close to her, your lips glistening and neck covered in all the marks she's left on you.

She swallows down, your eyes follow the movement of her throat.

"We should get cleaned up." she makes no point to move, "maybe a bath."

You nod.

Neither of you gets up just yet. She doesn't call you out on it, and you don't mention how it was her own idea.

Just a little bit more, a little time more for the both of you before you have to wake up from this dream.

Laezel

She doesn't see the point in cuddles, she made it clear to you long ago.

You wonder how would the old Laezel feel if she saw the current Laezel now, clinging to you with her head buried where your shoulder meets your neck.

In a way, you've also changed. You've gotten better at handling it, her intense raw emotional in bed. The ache in your body is much easier to manage now, even feels a little refreshing.

Both of you made space for the other, both of you adapted to be able to hold each other even closer now.

Her hair is very soft, brownish strands sliding through your fingers as you play with it. She makes no effort to stop you.

Orin

The smell of rubbing alcohol has stopped being so harsh to your nose long ago, it's more of the norm now. Although that might have been the light-headedness caused by the bloodloss doings.

Disinfect, dry, and then bandage the cuts. It was the usual routine.

Orin did most of the work. You could relay on her expertise to take care of your wounds, it even gave her a chance to admire her own work, she said.

It actually kinda grew on you, seeing her all giddy and giggling away at the sight of red in your veins. It was almost endearing in her own twisted way.

Her long hair swished behind her as she moved around you in excitement steps, tending to every wound that she was personally the cause of.

Being extra careful in getting in bed with you after, making sure not to press against any sore spots, for now, at least.

She always sang your praises afterwards, told you how simply ravishing you looked, truly a masterpiece of art.

You'd always drift off into slumber on her lap before she finished her speech, she never minded.

#♡shart #♡Karlach #♡Orin #♡Minthara #♡laezel #♡fluff #♡dom mommies #♡Mintharaheart anon #shadowheart x reader #karlach x reader #minthara x reader #laezel x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 fluff #nb!reader

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wri0thesley · 3 months

Note

Diluc and L, pretty please!

L - Lily (purity): “I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

cw: injury, dub-con, captive reader

You're trembling. Diluc is blood-stained, his jaw set stubbornly, his clothes a mess of blood and charred carbon and mud and Archon-knows what else. You shouldn't have done this, you think, as his hand grasps your chin in his, as his fingers sink into the soft flesh of your cheek. He takes a slow, shuddering breath.

"You want to clean me up?" He asks you again, and you curse yourself for your own stupidity. He is your captor, not your lover. It can be hard to remember, wrapped in luxury, brought breakfast in bed by maids and dressed in pretty morning gowns of fabric you could never have afforded before Diluc's attentions - those days when Diluc is not here, and you can imagine Dawn Winery is yours.

But you are, at the heart of it, his captive.

When he is at home, he broods through the house; tells you shortly that you're not to leave this room, you're not to go onto the balcony without anyone with you, you're not to eat that, or say this, or forget your manners again. He sleeps beside you, arms like vices around your waist.

But he has not been home for two weeks, and when you had seen him at the door to your shared chambers, his face bruised and his lip swollen and bloody and his entire body bowed with exhaustion . . . you had forgotten all of it in a moment of weakness, and the memory of who you were before Diluc had made this your life had come rushing to the forefront.

You had seen to plenty of men and women injured like this, when you were in the employ of the Church of Favonius, running their clinics. You had patched up children's knees and sewn shut the wounds of the Knights with the same sweet smile and gentle disposition. You had learnt what to say to men like Diluc, who gritted their teeth and insisted it did not hurt and they did not need your assistance even as they fell to their knees on the marble floor of the cathedral and you had to ask some of the sisters to help carry them into the infirmary room.

You could backtrack. Slink back into bed, shake your head, say something about the mess and the scent of the blood--

But you couldn't really, could you? Diluc had - at least, he says - fallen in love with you in those little backroom infirmaries, elbow deep in blood and medicines and bandages. He had looked at your soft smile and heard your gentle voice and, he says, thought you far too sweet and precious a thing to languish there, at the mercy of any rogue who could walk into the Cathedral and ask for sanctuary. He would know you were lying.

You give him a wordless little nod instead, your face still cradled in his gloved hand. A look flits across his own visage; something so sweet and adoring and disbelieving it makes your stomach twist.

"I don't deserve you," he rumbles, and truer words have never been spoken, as he lets you take him gently by the arm and tug him towards the adjoining bathroom. You ignore the muddy boot-prints on the floor; you try and will yourself to imagine the Cathedral around you. Nothing more than Master Diluc Ragnvindr, needing your aid - you think, as your fingers reach for the fastening of his shredded, tattered jacket and push it off the broadness of his shoulders.

He lets out a hot breath that reminds you that this is not just an ordinary day at the Cathedral; looks at you through half-lidded eyes as you busy yourself with running warm water into the basin, searching for cloths and sponges. There is nothing untoward kept in this bathroom - Diluc does not even shave in here, lest you get the wrong idea about something sharp - but there are, thankfully, enough cloths and a tiny bottle of antiseptic, so that you can clean the wounds on his already scarred chest even as he hisses.

He . . . isn't often undressed around you.

That, he tells you, he will wait for - big soulful crimson eyes trained on you. Until you're ready. Until you realise just how hard he is working to take care of you and you return to him the affection he knows you have in your heart. He would never, he promises, hand on his heart, force you to do anything--

He says, as if you are not forced to play house like a pretty little spouse in his luxurious winery already. He says, as if you are not forced to bite down your growls and hisses and sharp words about the life he has stolen you from. He says, as if you are not forced to pretend you are someone else lest you simply go mad.

His breath is coming out in pants as you work your fingers through the matted crimson strands of his hair. His cheeks have flushed beneath your careful, slow attempts to clean him and his wounds. He groans, chest-deep, as you swallow and reach for his trousers, where you can already see that a gash on his thigh has stuck the fabric to his skin.

"This is how I fell in love with you," he grunts, as you manage to undo it, as your cheeks burn with humiliation as you undress him and he sits there, placid and silent. "So . . . lovely. So . . . caring. Even to those who don't deserve it." You kneel before him, so you can check over the wound to make sure there is nothing stuck in it--

And your mouth goes dry and fear and disgust war in the pit of your stomach as you realise he's hard, the stiff outline of his cock pressing against his underwear. Diluc reaches out for you, one hand curling around your shoulder, another soft groan falling from his mouth as he looks down at you.

You freeze where you are. The moment shimmers between you, charged with possibility, and you find yourself reciting a prayer to Barbatos in your head over and over again, muddling over the words in a fever pitch that Diluc will keep his word--

But he's been off ever since he limped into the Winery. Muddled. A blow to the head? Whopperflower nectar? Some creature's venom, some spell from the Abyss? You don't know what it is, only that Diluc is looking down at you and there is a hot, burning kind of hunger that he usually tries to hide written clear in his crimson gaze.

"You're so pretty down there," He says, voice low and dark and husky. "I . . . I shouldn't taint you like this. Not when you're so pure."

"Diluc?" Your voice comes out thready and reedy, your body trembling like a harp-string. "Let me patch you up--"

"No," Diluc says, more to himself than to you. "I've waited so long--"

The hand on your shoulder curves upwards, thumb brushing your collarbone, your jawline. You curse the thin little morning gown you'd let Adelinde dress you in this morning, the square neckline a little risque - giving Diluc unfettered access to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat and your collar.

He's not interested in those, though. His thumb presses against the seam of your lips, instead. With a strength that an injured man should not possess, he uses his other hand to pull you closer at the same time as he hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it to open up.

Panic flaring in your mind. Diluc pulls your mouth open as wide as he can, uncaring that you're drooling - his eyes are somewhere far away now, as he mutters to himself--

"It's not so bad," he's saying, "I'm not . . . it's just your mouth, and I've been so calm, and you're so beautiful-- it won't . . . ruin you--"

"--'iluc--" You can't speak for his thumb in your mouth, for the saliva filling it, for the fear that runs through you as his other hand slowly goes to unbutton his placket as if in a trance.

"Shh," he says to you, and you have never heard a less reassuring hush. "It's alright, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. You offered, remember? I would never . . . force you to do anything--"

#ask game #drabble #yandere diluc #yandere for ts #not sfw text #dub con for ts #writing #genshin impact posting

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marvelmusing · 4 months

Text

Handle With Care

From the Our Souls AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

(His Dark Materials inspired AU)

Summary: Aleksander finds you in a vulnerable state and takes care of you and your dæmon after an altercation.

Warnings: mentions of violence and injury, hurt/comfort.

My Masterlist

Aleksander is drawn out of his study at the University of Ravka, by the sounds of a commotion further down the hallway. He steps outside, closing the door smoothly behind himself once Andromeda has followed him. It appears he isn’t the only one curious about the altercation. A few other people have gathered to watch the Master scold two people.

The sound of someone choking down a sob makes Aleksander’s stomach twist, because that someone sounds frighteningly like you. He increases the pace of his gait, striding down the corridor. His heart beats wildly in his chest when he sees your tearstained cheeks, clutching fiercely onto Fabian as you hold your dæmon close to your chest.

He barely hears what the Master says as he approaches. In the corner of his vision, he sees Zoya with a bruise forming on her cheek and there’s a twinge of pride in his chest at the thought of you defending yourself. He has no intention of listening to Nazyalensky’s side of the story.

“Come with me,” he murmurs softly against your ear.

Settling a gentle hand on your waist, he guides you towards his private quarters upstairs. He’s careful not to touch Fabian and keeps a close eye on you both. His heart aches as you continue crying quietly, your face almost hidden by Fabian’s fur.

Aleksander sets you down on his bed, and you curl in on yourself, keeping your dæmon tucked protectively against your chest. He retrieves a few medical supplies, bandages and ointments, from his bathroom in preparation. Then he sits down beside you. He strokes his hand down your side, attempting to soothe you before he speaks.

“Darling, I need to check Fabian over.”

A whimper catches in your throat, and he sees you shake your head weakly, burying your face into the red fur of your dæmon. Aleksander manages to get his hand underneath Fabian’s body, encouraging the two of you to let go of one another.

“Come here, sweet boy.”

A painful cry escapes you and Aleksander watches you press your arms tightly against your chest in an attempt at filling the space previously occupied by your soul.

“Faby,” you whine, distress choking you.

Aleksander hears your breathing shift into panicked gasps, seconds away from spiralling into another bout of uncontrollable emotion. He places his hand over your ribs, feeling the frantic rise and fall of your chest as your anxiety increases.

“I know, darling. I know it hurts, but he’s right here. Can you hold onto Andromeda for me?”

He feels you grasping at his dæmon, as she licks gently over your forehead, encouraging you to breathe in a soft voice. He hears her murmuring reassurances to you while you cry.

“Andromeda,” you whimper. She hushes you softly.

“It’s alright, dear girl. Aleksander will look after him.”

There are a few patches of fur missing from Fabian’s coat, clumps torn out during the fight, and a bite mark on his left shoulder. There isn’t too much damage, but the wound needs to be cleaned. The dæmon trembles in Aleksander’s lap as he dips a cloth into a dish of water, wringing out the excess.

Andromeda turns to look at him, eyeing the cloth in his hand.

“This is going to hurt them both,” he states.

She nods.

“Can you give him something for the pain?”

“I don’t know if he trusts me enough to drink it.”

“He will.”

Aleksander holds his dæmon’s gaze for a long moment. Then he nods. He pours a tonic into a small dish, placing in front of Fabian’s mouth.

“Drink as much as you can, Fabian.” When your dæmon begins to lick at the liquid, pink tongue darting out tentatively, Aleksander breathes out a sigh of relief. “There we go. Good boy.”

He strokes the back of Fabian’s head gently, encouraging to continue drinking. Once the dish has been licked clean, he turns his attention to the bite mark.

“Now let’s clean this up for you.”

Fabian only flinches slightly as the cloth meets his broken skin and a distant whimper catches in your throat and Aleksander hears you whisper his name weakly.

Whenever dæmon’s consume something, it affects their human counterpart tenfold. He suspects the tonic has made you disorientated, on the cusp of passing out. Aleksander’s dæmon continues talking to you, keeping you conscious and grounded as your fingers play absently with her fur.

Once Fabian’s wound has been cleaned, Aleksander carries him back over to you, placing him down on the bed. Instantly, your dæmon buries himself into your chest and you grasp hold of him tightly.

Andromeda licks your forehead affectionately, lying down beside Fabian. Aleksander drapes the covers over your body.

“The drink I gave him will make you both feel sleepy. Get some rest, darling.” As your mind seems to begin drifting off, your body tenses and Aleksander adds, “The door is locked. We are the only ones here, and I won’t touch Fabian again unless you ask me to.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, your breathing evens out.

»»---------------------►

“Aleksander?”

He turns quickly, neck twinging at the sudden movement. He must have fallen asleep in his armchair by the fireplace. His eyes scour over you, the exhaustion settled over your features, the way you keep your arms crossed protectively over yourself. Breathing out your name, he shuffles to the edge of his seat.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, your eyes lowered to the rug beneath your feet as you tuck his robe tighter around your body.

He frowns.

“Whatever for?”

“Last night. I- I acted like a child.”

His gaze flickers down to your hands as they fidget, wringing them briefly before you begin to scratch your thumbnail against your palm. Emotion fills your features, your throat bobbing as you appear to be holding back tears.

“Someone had hurt your soul,” he argues. “I think how you acted was justified.”

There’s a pause as you seems to consider something.

“Don’t you think I should be more mature - less reliant on him?”

Fabian looks half-asleep, still curled up against Andromeda on Aleksander’s bed. He lifts his head at the sound of your distress, though Aleksander can see his eyes are unfocused and he soon slumps back down into Andromeda’s side.

“Not at all. Come here.”

You shake your head.

“You can’t want me,” you insist, tears dripping down your face. “I still need to hold my dæmon to fall asleep at night.”

“Is that what Zoya said to you?”

There’s a moment of hesitation where you don’t meet his eyes. Then you nod. He beckons to you again, and this time you walk closer and allow him to pull you into his lap.

“The bond you share with Fabian is a gift. It is beautiful. Anyone who doesn’t see that is a fool.”

More tears trace down your cheeks, droplets falling onto Aleksander’s shirt as you lean your temple against his shoulder.

“When I was younger,” you begin quietly, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. “I used to play with the rest of the children who stayed at the Little Palace over the summer. We used to explore together. There wasn’t anywhere we didn’t go.”

He didn’t know you stayed at the Little Palace. He had always assumed you had a family, and a home, to go back to over the summer.

“Not long after Fabian settled, they started treating us differently. One day, they locked him in a pantry.”

Aleksander tilts his head at your admission, his eyes locked on your face as the memories turn your tears into soft sobs that have you trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on you, as you grip onto his shirt.

“I couldn’t get him out. If it had happened a few months earlier, he could have changed into a moth or a beetle and crawled out through the crack under the door. But because he had settled, because he was a fox, he couldn’t get out.”

“What happened?”

“A kitchen servant found us. She took one look at him, saw a fox dæmon, and thought we were stealing food. She told the master, and I was punished for it. I was too distraught to tell them the truth.”

He rests his chin on the crown of your head and you bury your face into his chest. Anger burns in his chest, and Andromeda’s eyes lock onto his from across the room. They will never let anyone hurt you like that again.

“Darling, I’m so sorry.” He presses the hint of a kiss to your hair and the two of you are quiet for a moment. Then he says, “That’s why you went into dæmonlogy, isn’t it?”

You nod.

“Just because my dæmon is a fox, does not mean I’m untrustworthy.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees. “Fabian is one of the most goodnatured dæmons I’ve ever known and you have a kind heart. Neither of you deserve such suspicion.”

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He gives your body a gentle squeeze, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. His chin grazes your forehead as his hands rub over your shoulders, up and down your arm. “Stay with us for the day.”

That makes you lift your head up, to look at him. He watches you blink in confusion at his offer.

“What?”

“Fabian won’t be feeling himself until around noon. I don’t like the thought of you being alone while he’s out of sorts.”

“Oh.”

“And, perhaps…” He smiles at you, tracing his fingertips over your cheek, along your jawline. “I want to spend time with you.” That draws a bashful smile to your lips, spreading over your features. He tilts his head at you, admiring you with a soft expression. “Shall I ring for some breakfast?”

You nod.

“Please.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Note

Astarion with Wood Elf!Tav headcanons, pls?

I decided to stick to the prompt and write about Wood Elves as promised, but let me know in the requests if you want Wild Elf!Tav as well!

Astarion x Wood Elf!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of suicide and PTSD

As a Wood Elf, you grew up deep in the woods in one of the many hidden villages of your people.

Since childhood, you learned to trust humans and dwarves and know how to survive in the forests.

You are good with animals and have your own familiar - a lynx called Mould (because of her weird patterns on the fur).

When you were sixteen, your woods were destroyed by orcs. You survived by hiding high in the trees, afraid of going down.

From now on, your path is the path of revenge.

To orcs, who destroyed your home. To humans who sicced them and solved the issues with Elves with their dirty hands. To dwarves who refused to help.

And to High Elves who didn't help a young orphan

You kill. You destroy. You are cruel and violent like a drow, not a Wood Elf.

Your rage and your blindness are used by the wrong people.

Your bow and your arrows become a weapon of destruction.

You leave a blood trace wherever you go.

Until you are kidnapped by mindflayers.

You aren't afraid. You want to die. You just wait until the cruel will of the Illithyds turns you into something monstrous.

But it doesn't happen. The tadpole blocks some of your most unpleasant memories and suppresses the bloodlust and disgust.

You've never felt so good!

As a leader, you gather your small company to get to Baldur's Gate.

You feel something is off with Astarion - Wood Elves have a good intuition concerning the Undead.

You feel compassion - you also left a trace of blood. You allow him to feed on you, and with every day you get closer.

He reconnects with the Elven culture through you, though Sylvan Elves and Moon Elves are different.

You braid his short hair and adorn it with little pieces of jewelry the same way men of your kin did.

On the other hand, he tells you about history and geography things that aren't known to isolated Or-tel-quessir.

You help Astarion to heal, and you feel like something is healing inside you. Your past, your sorrows.

But the moment the tadpole disappears...

It is all back.

The blood on your hands. The cries of your victims.

You want to die.

While the streets of Baldur's Gate are festive, you walk like a ghost.

You don't deserve to live. Not after everything you've done.

You want to end it all. You find a solitary place where no one will ever find you, and you take a dagger.

You faint as the blood leaves your body, and you feel like death lulls you to forever sleep.

You hope that your soul is too corrupt to be reincarnated.

But-

You wake up.

Alive.

Astarion has saved you.

He found you by the smell of blood and managed to find help before it was too late.

You remember his desperate cry for help, his attempts to stop the blood loss.

As you recover, he takes care of you. He spoon-feeds you, changes the bandages, and never ever says anything about your suicide attempt.

He knows why you did it. And he won't allow you to do that ever again.

Together, you leave the city and go into the wilderness.

You help each other heal. Astarion soothes your mental pain, and you help him with nightmares.

You have a few more attempts to off yourself, but Astarion always finds words to stop you.

With years, it gets easier. You redeemed yourself in your own eyes by helping people. You found the strength to keep living.

As for Astarion, he comes to terms with your mortality.

You will live for centuries, and you have a lot of time together.

And you will return. You will reincarnate and, if he is still alive, you shall meet again.

A century post-game, you find yourself in the familiar woods.

You know this place.

It is your destroyed home.

You cry and grieve while Astarion holds you, not letting you fall into the dark abyss of your sorrows.

He helps you build a small shrine, a reminder about people who used to live there.

And you feel good. You feel free.

Astarion suggests going to see more of this world. Other continents, maybe, other planes.

And you agree. You leave your past and go into the future with your Thiramin, once and forever love.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#spacebarbarian headcanon #dnd elves #high elves #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #astarion x f!tav #dnd elf #dnd wood elf

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alwaysmicado · 5 months

Text

in control

3.9k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader

Warnings: pwp, fingering, choking, unprotected p in v, rough sex, degradation, spitting, dacryphilia, breeding kink Summary: Nathan degrades you for being his desperate little toy A/N: This is straight up filth. Seriously. I’m so thirsty for this man it’s not even funny anymore. Stay hydrated y’all and enjoy my depravity! -> masterlist

“See, baby? You don’t like it when I treat you so nicely,” he murmurs, his smug tone and intense gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

- - -

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the expansive deck. The rhythmic thud of bandaged knuckles striking a bag punctuates the quiet air. Nathan, shirtless and drenched in sweat, throws precise punches, his movements a display of calculated power. As you approach, he doesn’t pause, acknowledging your presence only with a brief glance.

“Enjoying the view?” he scoffs breathlessly without looking your way.

“Just needed some fresh air,” you lie as your eyes wander from his shaved head to his glistening shoulders, following the path of his back muscles all the way down to the thin fabric of his gym shorts stretching over his shapely ass.

You involuntarily cross your legs, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress.

Nathan smirks, his dark eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before returning to the relentless assault on the punching bag. He sees right through you. He knows why you’re here.

“Desperate for some attention, are we?” he taunts you, practically smelling the raw need you exude. “Thought you were throwing a hissy fit ‘cause of Kyoko?”

He’s such an asshole.

Storming off into the night after finding him balls deep inside his android yesterday was not your proudest moment, sure. But fucking her on your desk after ignoring you all day was just unnecessarily cruel.

“It’s not a big deal,” was his annoyed answer when you attempted to confront him a few hours later.

Confronting a man incapable of admitting any wrongdoing proved to be futile, though, as usual. Half a bottle of vodka deep and barely able to keep his eyes open, he was in no mood for company, let alone to entertain your jealousy.

“Quit your whining and get the fuck outta here if you’re so over me,” he slurred before drifting off to sleep on the couch. You would get out, you really would. If only your craving for Nathan wasn’t an irresistible force that defies reason and prevails over all rationale.

“Fuck you, Nathan,” you spit, the missing bite in your words betraying you.

His chuckles ripple through the air as he brings the punching bag to a stop.

“Can’t do that anymore if you keep acting like a jealous brat, baby,” he says, shaking his head while unwrapping his knuckles, his glistening chest heaving with each controlled breath.

“I’m not–”

“You’re not what, hm?”

Lifting his eyebrows in mock intrigue, Nathan lets the bandages fall to the floor as he closes the distance between you two, his gaze fixed on yours like a tiger stalking its prey — penetrating your soul with an unwavering intensity.

His lips curl into a small, satisfied smile when he notices how dilated your pupils are and how your breathing has quickened. You’re convinced he can hear the pounding of your heart in your chest and feel your panties get wetter with every step he takes towards you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he cages you in by placing his hands next to your head, pressing your body against the cold glass panel with his. The heat radiating off his naked skin envelops you, his scent a heady combination of musk and sweat that lingers in the air. It’s a raw and masculine aroma, intensified by the heat of the moment, causing you to bite your lip in anticipation.

Nathan’s eyes bore into yours as he gently guides your hand to his cheek, the rough texture of his beard a familiar sensation against your palm. He searches your pleading eyes for a moment longer, the tension of unspoken truths palpable in the air as his fingers trace the soft contours of your thigh. Heat spreads under your skin as he gives the plush meat of your ass a rough squeeze, pulling apart your cheeks, before the tension snaps and his lips crash onto yours in a bruising kiss.

His lips, forceful and insistent, meet yours with an unrestrained urgency that borders on primal. You moan into his mouth as he grabs your ass harder, lifting your leg up to rub his hardening erection against your throbbing clit. You roll your hips in sync with his thrusts, pulling him closer by the back of his neck, your tongue swirling around his with an aggressive fervor that only Nathan brings out of you. His breathless groans spur you on, your fingernails digging into his back so hard you’re leaving marks.

You need him closer, harder — you need to feel him, need him to be yours.

When you slide your hand between your bodies to rub his cock over the fabric of his pants, impatient for him to fuck you senseless, he immediately grabs both of your wrists, pinning them next to your head against the glass.

“What happened to ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore, Nathan’?” he mockingly throws your own words back at you while sloppily kissing and biting at the delicate skin of your neck, leaving dark bruises behind. You can’t hold back the moans that escape your lips, the alternation between his soft and violent touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your whole body that pool in your core. Your nails dig into your own palms as the pain of Nathan’s canine teeth breaking your skin is almost too much to bear.

“Ow, fuck!” is the only thing you can get out, too caught up in the overload of sensations assaulting your body to process Nathan’s words.

“You know why it pisses me off when you say shit like that?” He releases your wrists and loses no time waiting for your answer, pressing his lips against yours again, nipping and biting as he pulls aside your panties and pushes three fingers inside your wet heat in one swift motion, the slightly painful intrusion knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“Because it’s a lie, baby,” Nathan growls as he expertly moves his fingers inside you, fast and rough, the obscene squelching sounds coming from your wet pussy emphasizing his point. “What we do, what we have is exactly what you want.”

“It’s no–,” you start before Nathan’s right hand wraps around your neck within a split second, knocking your head against the glass behind you and squeezing hard enough for you to become light-headed. His hard cock presses against your hip as he ups the pace of his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm putting delicious pressure on your clit. You’re this close to coming already, but you know that Nathan would never let you get off this easily.

“That’s right, baby,” he purrs with a tilt of his head, pulling away from you just enough to look into your glazed over eyes. “It’s so much nicer when you don’t have to use that dumb little brain of yours, hm?”

You furrow your brow and let out a strangled groan as Nathan brings you closer to your peak with every curl and pump of his fingers. You thrust your hips to meet his movements shamelessly, your carnal need for release more important than your dignity.

“Goddamn,” he chuckles into your cheek, his hot breath ghosting the shell of your ear. “I can never get the androids to grip me this hard.”

You immediately try to shove him away from you, but it’s useless, he’s too strong for you. He rolls his eyes at your pathetic attempt at defiance, pulls his fingers out of you, grabs your ass with both hands and lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. He holds you close, petting the back of your head in a deceptively soothing manner.

“If you insist on being a bitch, you can get yourself off on the dinner table again,” he coos into your ear, his cock twitching at the memory of you rubbing yourself on the hard edge for half an hour, whining and shaking, as your juices dripped down onto the floor. Of course he had you lick it all up while jerking off in front of you, adding more fluids for you to clean up with your tongue.

He did invite you to sleep in his bed with him for the first time that night, so there’s that.

“That what you want, hm?”

“No, I–I’m sorry,” you whimper into the crook of his neck, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

Nathan sighs deeply, like he isn’t turned on beyond belief by your whimpering, moves you away from the glass and carries you inside, heading for his bedroom.

“Aren’t you tired of trying to be in control, baby?” he asks as he fumbles with the key card in his pocket before opening the first door with it. “Of course you are,” he goes on as he carries you down the hallway, the soft thumping sound of his naked feet on the floor echoing in the empty space. “All those big thoughts can’t fit in that little brain of yours. You’re just not made for it.”

He presses the keycard to the sensor of his bedroom door and steps inside after it opens with a quiet whoosh. “But it’s okay,” he murmurs into your cheek as he lays you down on his bed, “now I’m here to take them all away.”

Nathan chuckles when you avert your gaze from your reflection staring back at you, finding it amusing how embarrassed you get sometimes. It’s genuinely intriguing to him how you can act so innocently when you both know what kind of fucked up shit gets you off.

“Take your clothes off and spread your legs,” he orders without looking at you, turning his back to you as he takes off his own pants, spits in his hand and starts stroking his length. You do as he says, your eyes locked on his fat cock in the mirror, your sopping wet panties clinging uncomfortably to the contours of your puffy folds before you finally pull them down your legs.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you,” Nathan scoffs as his eyes roam your naked body, imagining how good your warm cunt is gonna feel around his aching cock. He kneels between your spread legs and traces your inner thighs with his warm palm slowly while grabbing one of your breasts with the other. You moan at the feeling of his firm touch and tilt your pelvis to thrust against nothing, the muscles in your thighs and lower belly tensing.

“Stay still,” he grumbles, leaning in to suck your soft flesh into his mouth, pumping his length as he flicks your nipple with his tongue. You put your hands on the back of his head to pull him closer, the feeling of his teeth slightly grazing your nipple eliciting a breathy moan from you. He releases your wet tit with a loud plop, sits back on his heels between your spread legs and jerks off for a bit, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he watches your lip quiver in frustration.

“Always so dramatic,” he sighs with a roll of his eyes before spitting on your pussy and watching closely how his saliva runs down your wet folds, spreading it around with his fingers. Your eyes widen and your grip on the sheets intensifies in anticipation as Nathan leans over you and guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, swiping it through your combined wetness before pushing into you in one quick thrust.

“F-Fuuuck,” you moan, arching your back and furrowing your brow as the delicious stretch of his cock takes you by surprise.

He buries himself deep inside of you with a low groan, his forehead pressed against yours, his forearms planted on the bed next to you while his hands cradle the crown of your head.

You expect him to hold you down and immediately start rutting into you like he usually does, but instead, Nathan holds you gently, pressing soft kisses on your lips and the bruised skin of your neck while thrusting into you slowly.

You fucking hate how gentle he is with you, how he enjoys feeling you squirm under him, how he pins your hands next to your head when you try to make him move faster. He delights in the pathetic whines falling from your pretty plush lips, revels in every desperate thrust of your hips and every strained clenching of your walls.

“What’s the matter, hm?” Nathan whispers into your neck, trailing the soft skin with his lips. “Is this not enough for a dirty little slut like you? Look at me.”

You meet his gaze with watery eyes as he continues to fuck you at a pace that is just enough to keep you on the precipice of orgasm, but is not enough to push you over the edge. Every soft kiss he presses on your face and neck burns your skin, his unusually tender touch driving you crazy. But no matter how much you wriggle and writhe, no matter how many desperate pleas fall from your lips, and no matter how much you move your hips, he won’t up his pace or manhandle you in the slightest.

It’s torture.

“See, baby? You don’t like it when I treat you so nicely,” he murmurs, his smug tone and intense gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

“You like it when I tie you to the bed and fuck your holes until you’re a drooling, sobbing mess,” he says softly without breaking eye contact, the way your pussy is squeezing his cock in reponse telling him all he needs to know.

He grins and keeps rolling his hips at a slow pace as he goes on, “You like it when I shove my fist up your cunt and fuck you until you piss yourself. You like it when I make you drink my cum out of Kyoko’s pussy and keep your head in place until you’ve licked her clean. You like it when I–fuck–when I tie your hands to a tree and tell you to get yourself off on the rough bark until your pussy’s bleeding.”

“Please, Nathan, I–”

“You–you like it when I drug your drink and fuck your unconscious body, the cameras filming every sick thing I do to you, making sure I can watch–fuck, your pussy’s gripping me so hard–making sure I can watch it over and over again.”

He grabs your chin to force you to look at him when you dare to move your head away, hooking his thumb in the corner of your mouth and pulling it down so he can spit right onto the back of your tongue. When he’s sure you’ve swallowed it, he taps your cheek approvingly before cradling the crown of your head with his warm palms, making sure to not change the pace of his hips thrusting in and out of you.

“You like how I keep going when you cry and thrash about, begging me to stop. You like how I make you deepthroat a fat dildo on the wall while I’m fucking your ass, making you struggle to take both. You–oh shit–you like it when I use you like the desperate little toy you are.”

“Goddamnit, Nathan, just–”

He immediately pulls out of you and sits back on his heels, watching in awe how the mix of his precum, spit and your juices pools on his sheets, forming a big wet spot between your thighs. You throw your head back and grip your arms in frustration, pressing your legs together to alleviate some of the unbearable ache that’s causing tears to well up in your eyes. Your clit pulsates painfully and your walls clench around nothing as Nathan smirks and lines his cock up with your hole again.

“Only a desperate little whore like you would get off to someone doing such awful things to her,” he purrs, nudging your entrance with his fat tip as you lie there, limp yet tense, completely at his mercy. “And now you can’t even get close when I treat you so gently, can you?”

“Nathan,” you whimper, tears now spilling from your eyes, your whole body shaking from straining so hard. “Please.”

“Fuck, I love it when you cry,” he groans, his pupils blown. “Makes my dick so fucking hard.”

He pushes both your legs up and leans over you again, so your calves rest on his shoulders while your thighs are tightly pressed against your torso. You scratch his arms as hard as you can when he sinks his cock back inside your swollen cunt in one smooth thrust, giving you no time to adjust to the new angle as he sets a brutal pace, your pained sobs mixed with moans of pleasure spurring him on.

“Tell me you need me to fuck you like the whore you are,” Nathan pants breathlessly, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh snap of his hips, the sounds of smacking flesh and your combined moans echoing in the room. “It’s okay, baby,” he breathes, his brow furrowed, “it’s just how nature programmed you.”

The dark glint in his eyes returns when you don’t answer and turn your head away from him instead, concentrating every fiber of your being on your imminent orgasm. You’re so close you can taste it.

Nathan doesn’t like that one bit.

He pulls out of you again, but doesn’t leave you enough time to protest as he’s already maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, fucking you hard from behind, before you even realize what’s happening.

“Go on, then,” he growls through clenched teeth, his hips slamming against your ass with each powerful thrust. “Pretend you don’t want it.” He grabs your neck and shoves your head down into the mattress, forcing you to face your reflection in the mirror as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Scream for me while I fuck you. Beg me to stop.”

“Nathan, please, I can’t–,” you croak out, but your brain completely shuts off when he deliberately starts hitting your G-spot over and over again.

“What was that, baby?” he pants, letting go of your neck to spank your ass hard, the searing pain causing your walls to involuntarily flutter around his cock.

“Goddamn, you’re a depraved whore,” he groans before sending another blow to your sensitive, red cheek. Your pained sobs make his cock throb inside you, impatient to finally paint your walls with his cum.

“Admit what you are and I’ll give you what you want,” he reaches around your front to rub your clit roughly, immediately feeling your muscles tense and your walls constrict around him so tightly he can barely move. Your loud, uninhibited moans are music to his ears.

Nathan knows he’s the only man alive that could ever make you sound like this, and he fucking loves it — loves that he’s ruined you for anyone else.

“Say it.”

“I’m your filthy little whore,” you whine, your voice hoarse from all the crying and moaning you’ve done today. “Please let me come on your cock, Nathan, please. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it,” he rasps, abandoning your clit to grab your neck again, putting his weight on you as he picks up the pace and thrusts into you ruthlessly. “Come on my fucking cock.”

It only takes a few more of his calculated hits to your pleasure spot before you finally tip over the edge and come with a strangled moan, your walls spasming and contracting around his cock uncontrollably. Shockwaves of pleasure grip your body, as your orgasm hits you harder than ever before. Nathan fucks you through it, holding onto your waist with a bruising grip, not letting up until he comes himself, grunting and moaning for you to “take it, take all of it,” as he empties himself deep inside you. His hips jerk a few more times and his moans come out as ragged breaths while his cock pulses inside you, your wet heat eagerly swallowing every last drop.

“Fucking hell,” he pants breathlessly when he’s getting enough blood to his brain again, planting his hands on the bed behind him and leaning back as he slowly pulls out of you, watching your swollen cunt contract around nothing.

You collapse on the bed and let your body fall on your back, pulling up one knee and putting your arm over your eyes to have a moment to come down and gather yourself.

Nathan’s cum burns as it starts leaking out of your sore pussy and onto the mattress, your heart is pounding and your whole body is covered in sweat and bruises. You’re so out of it that you don’t even flinch when Nathan lies down between your legs and starts pushing as much cum as he can back inside you with his fingers.

“Don’t wanna waste that,” he murmurs more to himself than you, mesmerized by the way your puffy, wet pussy swallows the liquid gold that is his cum.

You’re exhausted. Satisfied, but exhausted — mentally and physically. So you let him be.

“Don’t move,” you hear his calm voice before you feel him get off the bed and hear water running in the bathroom. You wince when the warm washcloth makes contact with your sticky folds and thighs, but Nathan is gentle in his ministrations, making sure to clean you up thoroughly without applying too much pressure.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles into his beard as he concentrates on your neck next, carefully wiping away the minimal traces of dried blood, inspecting your skin closely to make sure he didn’t bite you too hard.

You observe him in silent curiosity, as aftercare is usually not something that Nathan is willing to give you. He would sometimes let you sleep in his bed after blowing his load, but that’s about all of the affection he’d grant you.

He sets aside the washcloth and dims the lights with a snap of his fingers before leaning against the headboard of his bed, propped up by a big pillow. “C’mere and drink this,” he says, draping his arm around your shoulder when you sit down next to him, handing you a cold glass of water.

You eye it suspiciously as the color is a faint pink and you can never know with Nathan. Sensing your thoughts, he shakes his head and lets you know that it’s a special vitamin drink he regularly uses after his workouts. “Good for muscle recovery and, uh, hematomas,” he murmurs, drawing circles on your arm with his fingertips and watching your reflection in the mirror.

You drink the whole glass in one go, only now realizing how dehydrated you are. A small, self-satisfied smile tugs at Nathan’s lips as he sees the bruises on your neck move with each gulp.

Right when you lean over to set the empty glass down on the nightstand, the automatic door to Nathan’s bedroom opens with a soft whoosh. The clicking sound of Kyoko’s high heels follows, sending a chill down your spine. The android places a neatly folded pile of towels on the chair next to the bed, keeping her head low, her movements measured and precise as always.

She’s gone again before you can even think to cover yourself up.

“No need to be jealous, baby,” Nathan murmurs, pulling your frozen body close and pressing a gentle kiss to your wet cheek.

“You’re my favorite toy.”

- - -

#nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman smut #mean!nathan bateman #oscar isaac characters #ex machina #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fanfiction #nathan bateman x you #ex machina fanfiction #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac #smut

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raz-writes-the-thing · 2 months

Text

Polish and Shine (Supernatural One-Shot)

Sam Winchester x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Sam chews on his nails a lot. Too much. You come up with a plan to break the habit.

Fic type: comfort, fluff

CW: this lil fic contains mentions of Sam wanting to explore his gender : ) not much, just mentions of him enjoying feeling feminine (please be gentle with me, this one has a lil piece of me in it).

SPN: @wereallbrokenangels @nervoussystemss (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's not something you noticed a lot at first. To be quite honest, your social awareness wasn't the best, and looking at people head-on was something you struggled with even after you got to know someone.

But you did start noticing it. It seemed that he did it more at night when it was just him and his thoughts and the big dark room lit up only by his laptop at the table. On a side note, he was going to ruin his eyesight if he kept that up.

But he also did it in the Impala, or after a disturbing interview, or even just when Dean was late back from some girl or guy's place he picked up at the bar.

Chewing his nails... Sam was always chewing on his nails. You understood why, of course. It was an anxiety thing. A stress thing. You'd be lying if you said you didn't fall victim to the same impulse sometimes, but the amount of nail-chewing was starting to worry you.

It had gotten so bad that Dean had started slapping at Sam's hand if he noticed him raising it towards his mouth, one hand on the wheel and his eyes piercing warning daggers into Sam's soul as he pointed at him accusatorially. A silent "stop it right now before I turn Baby around."

It only stopped him from doing it so much on the road. Less so anywhere else. You'd been keeping a quiet eye on Sam the last few days, watching him chew his nails back to the skin. Irritating the skin and the keratin so much that it was probably hurting him. You weren't even sure what was worrying him so much.

You'd been brainstorming ideas to help him with the impulse for a few days until it finally came to you one morning when you were making a med-kit run- stocking up on all the things you all would definitely need at one point or another.

Nail polish. Of course! You'd picked up a couple different colours- given they were all out of transparent along with your bandages, iodine and Betadine and headed back to the motel of the day.

Sam had looked at the bottles in your hand with a raised brow when you brandished them. He picked one up, twirled it around and set it down on the counter.

"Do you want me to paint your nails for you or something?" He asked. Now, you couldn't say that wasn't appealing and that you weren't keen on that idea, because you were, but that was not the purpose of this little exercise.

"Maybe later, Sam. I got them for you-"

"For me?" He cut you off with one of those little huffy laughs he was so good at. You pulled a chair out and sat down, setting the bag on the counter and grabbing one of the bottles.

"Yes, for you," you reiterated, reaching for one of his hands. Sam allowed you to take it and take a look at the abused fingers. "Look, I- I've noticed you chew your nails a lot- and this looks like it hurts. I know Dean wants you to stop, and I imagine you'd also like to break the habit, yes?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, averting his eyes from your warm gaze.

"Yes," was his soft reply. You nodded, giving his hand a squeeze.

"This might help you break the habit. Plus, you'll look super pretty."

Sam snorted. His eyes darted back to look at you, and you really saw how shy and vulnerable he was feeling at that moment. It made you want to wrap him up and keep him safe.

"So, they didn't have clear," you explained, voice soft as if trying not to spook a deer. Or a moose, you supposed, in this case. "But I got you a few colours to choose from. Which one takes your fancy?"

You know exactly what he's going to pick before he does it. The forest-green. He hands you the vial and you let go of his hand to shake it up and unscrew the cap.

Sam sits patiently for you while you work, occasionally clearing his throat or giving you a quick smile. It doesn't take long, only a few minutes. Let it dry, then another coat. Let that dry. Done.

"There, all done," you exclaim, leaning back and stretching your back so it pops nicely. "Very nice, very nice," you approve. Sam fans his fingers out and juts his lower lip out thoughtfully.

"You know- I kinda like it," he blinked as though the discovery shocked him. "Can I do yours next?"

And so began a tradition. Once a fortnight you'd both paint each other's nails. Dean even got into it after a few weeks, getting his own done, too. Sam had been worried at first that Dean would make fun of him for his nails, but the only thing Dean had said after he returned toting beer and Chinese food was "nice choice, Sammy" as he cracked a beer and propped his feet up.

Sam continued to chew on his nails for a bit. It was a learning curve, after all, but he did end up slowing down and eventually stopping completely. You hadn't mentioned to Sam that he'd stopped just in case he hadn't realised, but you and Dean had shared a beer over the silent victory. And when Sam brought the victory to you both a few days after that, all three of you shared a beer then, too.

You and Sam continued to wear different shades and Sam even learned to put the polish on himself, though he vastly preferred you to put it on for him. Considered a bonding moment, which was cute. Dean would participate occasionally, and eventually, Sam admitted that he liked how feminine the polish made him feel.

After that- things sort of migrated from just nail polish to brushing his hair and experimenting with colour in his wardrobe. That was all he was really comfortable with for now, but that wasn't a problem. You were just glad he felt comfortable enough to share such personal information with you.

You both loved each other so much, and one of the best things about found family was that you knew you would be pillars of support for each other.

No matter what.

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #spn x reader #spn x you #sam x reader #supernatural one shot #spn one shot

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