#The Heat Haze Shadow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedreamlessnights · 7 months

Text

Fervency

Non-Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: After falling into mysterious spores in the Underdark, you start to experience some... strange side effects. Astarion is more than happy to assist.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac/glorified sex pollen, established relationship, discussions of consent, fingering, oral sex (both giving and receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms. Takes place post-game and includes mild spoilers.

Word Count: 5.7k

There’s not much that surprises you anymore.

It’s true - being kidnapped by illithids, having a tadpole implanted behind your eyes, facing the gods themselves - all of that does make it difficult for mundane life to come anywhere close enough to truly shock you. Your days aren’t necessarily peaceful, but they never seem quite as exciting as that blind haze of companionship in the aftermath of the nautiloid, trekking through the wilderness and shadow-cursed lands and the city, finding yourself in the company of strangers but soon-to-be family.

Still, these days, there’s something every now and then that catches you off guard. The trouble is, you’re never quite left in a space to know how to handle it. Unlike your earlier adventures, things are rarely solved with a dagger in your hand or a dash of flattery in your words. No, the burdens of day-to-day life are much more complicated than that.

Falling into a patch of mysterious spores, for one.

The Underdark is full of various mushrooms. Poisonous. Explosive. Befuddling. You could go on and on. You’ve had your number of close calls with them, but the sensation coursing over your skin feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced - and it doesn’t help that you’ve never seen spores like this.

Hells. Of course this is where your day would end up.

Just a little stroll, you’d told yourself. It’ll be harmless. And it had been, for the most part. There’s an unearthly beauty to the Underdark that you’ve never encountered anywhere else, one you’ve come to appreciate just as much as the upper surface. But halfway through your usual route, your feet had snagged on a branch and you’d gone tumbling, and now - now you’re in a patch of glowing, red spores, feeling like…

Gods, what do you feel?

Hot. You feel very, very hot. Sweat trickles down your back. Warmth blooms like poppies in a number of strange places - your cheeks, your lips, your neck. The feeling is spreading fast, bleeding through your ribs as you get to your feet.

Alright, you think to yourself, ignoring the sharp, bleeding panic in your throat that’s threatening to take over. Situations like this call for a sense of rationality. You’re going to get out.

It takes much longer than it should for you to slowly stumble back to familiar ground. Your movements are jerky, as if you’re being puppeted around, and it’s getting harder to think straight when you’re feeling as if - whatever this is - is slowly consuming you. The heat is in your lungs, coursing fire near your pounding heart, raging with every inhale.

You need to get this off of you, and as quickly as possible. After that, maybe it will fade and maybe it won’t. You’ll… you’ll figure it out.

By the time you make it to the river, your knees are trembling so much that you nearly fall in. The water barely scratches the surface of the fire when you splash it over your skin, but the coolness of it is euphoric. You go as quickly as you can, covering area by area - your clothing, your arms, your face and neck - until most of the spores are off, but the feeling pulses and throbs in you all the same. Whatever it is, it isn’t killing you, but it certainly isn’t pleasant.

You could tell Astarion. He’d tease you a little, but he’d also be certain to search endlessly to find something to stop your discomfort. And you ache for him. His touch, his voice, the fondness in his eyes when he looks at you.

Had it really been just this morning when you’d last seen him? It seems like lifetimes away - lost to a very, very different type of ache in your veins that won’t seem to fade. You’ve just made up your mind to go find him, rising to your feet again, when the heat rushes to a very specific place between your legs and all thoughts of looking for Astarion are instantly cast out.

Oh, you think, somewhere between dizzy, needy, and utterly humiliated. So that’s what this is.

You’ve read about things like this - plants, pollen, potions - but most of them had been in bad romance novels, and none of them had ever come with any mention of an antidote. And, needless to say, you won’t be making your way to the Myconid Sovereign to learn more. It’ll have to be handled on your own.

You could risk going home and pretending to be ill, but Astarion is far too perceptive for that. He’d see through your ruse immediately. Which leaves the only option: hiding in a cave and waiting this out, praying he won’t notice you’re gone and come searching for you before you’re back.

And really, how bad can it be?

Bad. It can be very, very bad.

You’ve been sitting in this cave for who knows how long, and your sanity is fading more and more by the minute.

It had been manageable at first. The heat spread through you like warm cider on a cold night - a slow, steady increase, the way a candle gradually burns down to the wick. You’d thought it would stop at a certain point (it had to, didn’t it?), but no. It just… kept going.

Now, every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire, and it’s not slow, or steady, or even remotely bearable. It’s a strange, pleasurable flame, but a flame nonetheless. You can’t even decide whether touching yourself would even help at this point. Even just grazing your hand along the length of your thigh sends the fire rising, and you’re not keen on experimenting at the moment.

Your hands have gone stiff from balling your fists. Your mouth keeps switching between being as dry as sand and overly salivating. Each breath ignites more warmth, and you’ve been trembling for so long that you don’t remember how it feels to be still.

Gods. If you trusted yourself to get to your feet, you’d go see the Sovereign - a lifetime’s worth of humiliation or not. You don’t have any clue what time it is. There’s no sun or moon down here to guide you, no mechanism to spell out the hour. Has Astarion noticed your absence? How long until he’s concerned?

You know enough to know that you should have been back by now - that it’ll be unusual for you to have been gone so long. At least this spot you’ve found for yourself is relatively private. A dark, dry little place with a stone floor; fluorescent ivy in shades of lavender and coral; remote enough that, if your willpower fails and you end up making some noise, no one will be around to hear.

You attempt to swallow, but the action dies on your tongue. You attempt to breathe, but you can’t seem to suck in any air. You’re just thinking you really might die in this painful, mortified state when the pad of footsteps on stone hits your ears, and your whole body pulls as taut as a rope.

Oh, gods. Please not him. Anyone else. The Sovereign. The Society of Brilliance. Anyone.

But it’s him, because of course it is. He slowly makes his way inside, pressing through the narrow entrance and around the corner, and when he sees you curled against the cave wall, his brows rise - alarm.

“Wait,” you blurt out, determined to speak before he can. “Don’t come any closer. Please.”

Astarion stays where he is, but his eyes start instinctively scanning you over, searching for ailment or injury. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, even though you’re anything but. You want to say more, but your thoughts trail off as another wave of heat flares inside of you. You’ve started trembling again. Your fingers accidentally graze against your thigh, and you let out a small, involuntary noise.

Astarion hesitates, then takes a step closer. “Darling,” he starts, raising a brow, “you make a terrible liar.”

Of course you can’t fool him. Not even a little. You let out a laugh, but the sound hitches into a strange, choked sob. You pull your knees to your chest and let out a long, shaking breath, trying to get a grip. “I know,” you say softly. “Gods. I’m sorry.”

He takes another step closer, and concern writes itself into his expression. “Gods below,” he exclaims. “Er - my sweet, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look...”

“Horrible?” you finish for him. “I know.”

“I… was going to say ill, actually,” Astarion replies, laughing a little. “This dark cave lighting looks beautiful on you, my dear.”

You can’t resist another laugh. It’s less burdened this time, but it fades away as you hesitate, very pointedly gazing down at your fingernails instead of meeting his eyes. “I may or may not have fallen into a patch of mysterious spores.”

“And?” Astarion says, lifting a hand into the air and giving a small, contemplative gesture. “Go on, darling. Seeing as you aren’t dead - I’m assuming they weren’t poisonous?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. How the hells are you going to phrase this? “No,” you answer. “I just feel… hot. Not like the explosive ones, just… hot.”

“Well,” Astarion says, “That’s… interesting. Alright - let me take a look at you.”

Half of you wants to protest, but what’s the point? He’ll find out the truth sooner or later. So, instead, you nod.

He steps closer, kneeling down at your side, and you have to ball your fists to keep from doing something stupid. You’re expecting more flame at his touch - a painful flare, like when you’d grazed your thigh - but when the back of his hand meets your forehead, his touch is like a salve. Soothing, cool, sweet. It mellows out the fire, makes you feel sane again.

You shut your eyes in relief, staying as still as you can, and when you open them, you find him giving you a look you know all too well. Smug. Affectionate. A glint in his eye that can only mean trouble.

“My, my,” he purrs. “Darling, I’m no healer, but… a racing pulse, dilated pupils, feverish to the touch? That, I know.” He leans in, his voice low in your ear. “And I can smell how much you want me.”

A shudder runs down your back, betraying you. Astarion leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours - soft and gentle and perfect - and it takes everything in you to pull away.

“Wait,” you protest.

He instantly halts, pulling away from you and scanning over your expression. “What is it?” he asks. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” you say quickly. “But you don’t… I mean - I can manage this on my own, you know.”

His brows rise. “My dear, you do realize I am very capable of helping you in this situation?”

“Gods, Astarion,” you say, biting back a delirious sort of laughter. “Believe me, I’m well aware. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I can manage this.”

A fondness enters his expression - the rare kind, reserved for the most meaningful of moments. He leans closer, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I know,” he says softly, the words tender and delicate. “Trust me. I want to do this.” He trails a finger along your thigh, and you shiver again. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. “And, unless I’m wrong, you’ve missed me, too.”

After searching his gaze and finding him entirely present, you let yourself relax into his touch. “I’ve missed you more than anything.”

“Good,” he says. “I was almost worried.”

He skims his knuckles over your jaw, leaning in to kiss you once more, and the flame in you seems to bend to his touch. It rages in you like a furnace, bellowing and cruel, but with every frigid brush of his fingers, the feeling subsides. Even the feel of his lips on yours seeps away the discomfort.

He’s slow with his actions, but he doesn’t tease, even though you can see the amusement in his eyes when he pulls away to look at you. He’s enjoying this, and if you’re honest with yourself, you are, too. If only it didn’t come at the price of your dignity - but if it’s going to fall away in front of anyone, it might as well be him.

His hands slide down to your thighs, and your whole body pulls tight, torn between wanting him to touch you now and not wanting him to stop what he’s doing.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against your ear. “I’ve got you, darling.”

You let out a shaky breath and try to coax your body into cooperating, shutting your eyes and letting the feel of him drown out the path of your thoughts. The sensation of his mouth, trailing down your neck, ranging between feather-light kisses and the barely-there sting of his teeth against the skin, making every inch of you melt into his touch like clay. His hands, sliding to the front of your top, deftly unlacing it and pulling it away from your skin.

Thank the gods no one is anywhere around this area - if anyone were to interrupt you, you’re sure you’d die right here and now. The simmering need that lies under your skin is bordering on painful, a white-hot delirium of impatience that will not be ignored any longer.

Astarion’s fingers skim across your sternum, further soothing the burning inside your chest, and his lips soon follow downward. You let out a soft noise from the back of your throat, something choked and desperate, and he hums against your skin in response.

When your eyes flutter open again, you find that he’s staring up at you as he kisses down your abdomen, eyes dark and hands curled lightly around your ribs, ardor and affection both palpable in the heat of his gaze.

Your instinct is to shut your eyes again - to shut out the intimacy and vulnerability that comes from holding his stare - but you don’t. Instead, you move the stiff muscle of your arm and coax your hand into working again, gently tangling your fingers into the silky-smooth, silvery curls in your lap.

He gives you a roguish grin, tugging on your bottoms until they finally, mercifully, pull away from your skin, leaving you in nothing but your smallclothes.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words dark and heavy on his tongue, but they feel more for him than for you. His brows crease together and his actions turn sure and firm and quickened - as if he can’t wait to have his mouth on you.

Beautiful. It’s the second time he’s called you that word tonight, but it doesn’t stop the heat from rising back into your cheeks, and that feeling of the warmth seems to spark a chain reaction.

It’s as if his voice is stoking the fire - more heat, all rushing to the very place his lips are heading to now, only to be soothed by his touch. He gently pulls at your thighs, coaxing you to lay on your back, and you’re so desperate that you nearly knock your head against the hard floor laid out beneath you in your effort to obey.

Your mind isn’t processing things the way it usually does: in an even, progressing line of events, every moment spread out from one to the next. Rather, everything comes in bursts of feeling, flashing between being a thousand miles away and all too close, all too present. You barely feel the graze of fabric when he removes your smallclothes and leaves you entirely bare, but the gentle, wet press of his tongue against you feels amplified a thousand times over.

“Astarion,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair.

He hums again, and the feeling of it has you shivering, muscles going slack in pleasure. Short, soft flicks of his tongue over your clit and you’re left a shuddering mess, not thinking to try to be quiet - not really thinking at all, anymore. He grips at one of your thighs, looping it over his shoulder as he pulls away for a moment, nipping at the tender flesh there. Soothing it with a gentle kiss, then returning to his work.

You’re a walking - or perhaps laying - contradiction. Your arousal is lava hot, but your pleasure is cold as ice. You can’t decide if you’re cold or hot or both or neither. You’re not in a place to think, not as blinding bursts of pleasure course up your spine, rendering you a lump of skin and bones and not much more. His mouth is nothing if not fervent.

You aren’t sure how long it lasts - your hand in his hair, his mouth against you, writhing in dizzying pleasure against the hard, stone floor and barely feeling the discomfort. It might not be very long at all - but it feels like hours before his fingers enter you.

You’re soaking wet. If you weren’t so focused on, well, everything else, it’d be humiliating. Still, when two fingers slip into you and meet no resistance whatsoever, Astarion groans. The pace he’s setting with both hand and tongue is torturous, slow and even, and it takes everything in you not to beg him for more.

But when he goes a little faster, a moan pulls from your throat, and you look down to find him grinning as he pulls away, fingers still at work. “Look at you,” he says, praise lilting the words as he curls his fingers - sending your hips rolling. “You’ll come for me, won’t you, darling?”

And as if he’s flicked a switch in your mind, you’re coming around his fingers, gasping and shuddering and clenching. Electricity seems to coarse through your veins, hot and sharp, flaming and radiant, and when it’s gone, there’s only the slickness between your thighs, a slight breathless laughter that escapes from you without a thought, and the fading warmth of the spores.

For a moment, it seems as though there might be relief. Your thoughts clear and the heat wanes, but after a sparse second or two of relief, it comes back as strong as ever.

You’d be disappointed at its reappearance, but then Astarion is crawling over you, using his knee to coax your legs apart for him, so how could you ever be disappointed? Everything else slips away except for him. His eyes, dark with want, his lips, molding against yours, his tongue, gently pressing into your mouth as he buries a hand in your hair.

He’s hard for you. You can feel it, and that realization has you grinding against him. He groans, cursing under his breath, then reaches down to undo his trousers. “Are you ready for me, love?” he asks, his voice half-broken with want.

You laugh, still trembling from your climax. “You know I am.”

“Mm,” he hums, his eyes glimmering in the dark. “But maybe I wanted to hear you say it for me, darling.”

Gods. He’s beautiful - always so beautiful - even here, in this dark, cold cave you’ve found. A work of art down to the dark circles under his eyes, the crow’s feet around his eyes, his smile lines.

You could spend a thousand years studying the art of him and never, ever get bored; not of his voice, and the way his confidence sometimes, ever so rarely, breaks into something real and raw. Not of his hands: nimble fingers and the calluses from his blade and soft skin - and not of his eyes, which seem both dark and light depending on his mood, and which can seem so sharp and severe at times, but sometimes soften into something soft and round. Sometimes. When they’re looking at you.

You could spend a thousand years admiring him and never, ever get tired of him, and never, ever deserve him. And he’d never believe it.

He’s noticed you staring, because of course he has, and he tilts his head. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?”

You can only smile, deliriously happy and wanting and both hot and cold - hot where the warmth burns uncontained, and cold everywhere his skin meets yours. “I love you.”

Your words must catch him by surprise, because it’s shock that meets his expression first. It fades away into affection, placing itself on his lips in a soft smile. “I - I love you too,” he answers, brushing a stray strand of your hair out of your face. “More than anything.”

He clears his throat and shifts, and as you feel his erection brush against you, only then do you remember the conversation you two had been having. Him between your legs. You, still needing him inside of you.

“I’m ready for you,” you breathe. “Please. I want you.”

“How could I say no?” he asks, leaning in and biting at the lobe of your ear.

He presses into you slowly, even though you don’t need it - not after the effects of the spores and your first climax still evident on your thighs. Only when he once again begins a slow, torturous pace do you realize that he’s doing it to tease you, and when you look up and find a certain amount of devious intent in his eyes, a shudder runs down your back.

He’s always seemed to enjoy watching you fall apart. How many times have you looked up in the middle of one of your late-night trysts to find his eyes on you, the darkened ruby gaze that seems as starved for you as his hunger for blood?

How many times has he eased your arm away from your face when you felt the need to hide yourself, and how many times has he gently pulled your hand away from your mouth so he could hear the noises you made for him?

There’s never really been a question about it; Astarion gets off on your pleasure, and the feeling is very, very mutual. Vulnerability aside, it does something beyond words to you to know how much he enjoys giving you pleasure. And, sure as the hells, you like to give it right back to him. So, keeping your gaze locked on his, you grind your hips down to meet him and let out a moan.

His jaw clenches and he swallows hard, his thrusts deepening as he props himself over you. You watch the lovely path of the action over the bob of his Adam’s apple, then flit your eyes back to his, letting out another noise.

“Gods,” he says, and his pace quickens. His hands wrap around your shoulders and he groans, panting as he rocks into you, his grip turning into something almost bruising.

Part of you desperately wants him to keep going - but the other part of you wants to give him something, and now seems the proper time for it. So you tilt your head to give him access to your neck and murmur a few, soft words, and he slowly comes to a halt: breathing heavily, nails digging into your skin as he tries to regain some semblance of composure.

He kisses down your jaw, slowly drags his teeth along the skin, then sinks his fangs into your neck. You’re used to the sharp pain of his bite, but it’s different today. Intensified. It’s as if his mouth on your skin, the barely-there pain, is salving through that fire and every single limb of yours goes slack with…

What is it? Pleasure? Affection? Relief? It’s something in between, something warm but not scorching, something sweet but not overly-saccharine. He starts moving his hips again and you’re instantly on the edge, planting your hands on his lower back underneath his scars and resisting the urge to dig your nails into the skin.

He’s drunk from you enough times since you met to know where the limit lies, even on the cusp of his climax. He drains you until you’re sufficiently lightheaded, but not enough to harm you, then pulls away, planting a messy kiss on your mouth.

Messy. It’s how you know he’s close. His actions are usually so graceful, his movements lithe and calculated. Only on the edge of orgasm do the pretenses fall away - his shaking thighs, soft moans into your lips, panting, blood smeared across his lips and almost certainly yours.

There’s a blinding moment of pleasure as he thrusts harder, deeper, neither of you caring about the level of noise you’re making, and your nails dig into his back. He lets out a groan of approval, then - gods, you’re climaxing again, your whole body trembling with the waves of pleasure that crash over you. Overwhelming at first, then receding into the brief moment of clarity that lasts a minute or two this time.

Then the spores start their work again.

The heat isn’t nearly as intense this time, but it’s still there. Part of you wonders if it’ll ever really fade. You lay still, gasping, as Astarion slowly pulls out of you. Then he brushes the damp hair out of your face and kisses you again.

“Darling,” he starts breathlessly, flashing a mischievous grin at you, “if this is where we’ll end up, you should fall into mysterious spores more often.”

You laugh, sending a playful, light hit toward his shoulder. He catches your hand mid-action, pressing a kiss to your palm, holding your gaze the entire time. “You’re not the one who feels like they’re on fire, Astarion.”

He hums, kissing back down your neck, cleaning up the remnants of blood from his bite. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says, his voice gravelly with want.

That gives you pause. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says with some effort, propping himself above you, “whatever those spores were - they seem to have entered your bloodstream, my dear. It’s - an interesting sensation, I’ll admit.”

You’re searching his face for a tell that he’s not being serious, but instead you find wide, blown out pupils, flushed cheeks, and nothing beside his usual mischievousness. Any blood left in your face quickly exits. “Gods, I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you see a small smear of your blood on his lips. When you lick your lips, you can taste the iron of it on your tongue.

Astarion is watching you. His gaze darkens, and he lets out another thin, broken groan. “Darling. At this rate, we’ll be going the whole night.”

And, honestly? With the rate the heat is returning - you don’t doubt it.

Still, you gently ease him off of you to sit up, then make your way into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

There’s something addictive about Astarion - there always has been. From the moment he’d had you against the dirt, a dagger to your neck, he’s been your fix.

In those first days when you’d had to hide your want for him - not even lust or sheer desire, but want; the ache to run your finger through silver curls, the warmth in your cheeks when he held your gaze just a moment too long, and the rare moments of vulnerability that came more and more as you’d gotten to know him - it had been torture.

And then he’d propositioned you. And all at once, you’d found yourself in a clearing under silver moonlight, alone with him, long before you ever knew the extent of what had been done to him - and after all this time, the craving for him, the need to lay beside him in the long nights and find him there come morning, has only ever gotten so much stronger.

The heat is somewhat bearable now. Enough to take a moment to admire him, head tilted as he gazes up at you, pure need simmering in his eyes. Dark, glinting rubies. His fangs, barely visible under parted lips. Flushed cheeks. That will fade before long; the rosiness of drinking never lasts more than a few minutes, but you admire it all the same.

“You’re beautiful.” The words are hushed. You hadn’t even meant to speak them, but your mind isn’t really yours at the moment, not wholly, not as firm as it should be. You feel half-drunk, half-needy.

The corners of his lips flick into a smile, and he raises a brow. “Oh?” he asks, clearly stealing for more flattery. “Do you think so?”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know I do.”

You gather a single, loose curl in your fingertips and gently roll it between your thumb and index finger, admiring the softness of it. You could use the same soaps, wash your hair with the same things he uses a thousand times over, and it’d never matter. It’d never be as soft as his.

“Anything in particular?” he asks. His voice is particularly airy; he’s battling between begging you for what he needs, and the compliments he likes so much.

You think back to when you’d first described him - that night beneath the stars, when he’d tossed the mirror aside and asked how you viewed him. Words hadn’t been enough then, and they still aren’t, but you’ll try.

“Your eyes,” you start, running your finger over his crow’s feet. “They change color in the light. Right now, they’re dark. Hungry. I can tell you want me, and I like that.”

His hands, which have strayed to the back of your thighs, tighten against your skin. “And? What else?”

The heat’s strength is back, clawing its way up your abdomen. “The way your hair curls around your ears,” you murmur.

He frowns, and you know you’ve gone too poetic. To distract him, you lean in and nip at the lobe of one, and any of his upset disintegrates.

“Gods,” he murmurs, bringing his hands up to your waist. “Darling, I can’t wait much longer-”

You’ve trailed down to his jaw, alternating between kisses and sharp little nips just like the ones he likes to give you, and the words die in his mouth in favor of a sharp inhale.

You won’t keep him waiting much longer. In fact, you have a plan. A plan that’d hatched from the moment you’d realized that the spores were in his system, too. Since you’d seen the hungry look in his eyes - every inch a predator circling around its prey.

Only, you’re not content to be the prey. You want to disarm him, and if any of the time you’ve spent together means anything, you’ve gotten very, very good at that.

His shirt is still on, so your hands are quick to remove it, tugging it away from cooling porcelain skin, silky under your fingers as you drag them down his sternum. He shudders, and you remember how it’d felt when he’d first touched you. If it’s anything like that, he’s probably dying to beg you for more.

Your lips soon follow the path your hands are sitting, taking your time with the softness of his abdomen before you pull his trousers away. He’s panting now, and a frenzied sort of desperation lies in his gaze when you look up at him.

And he’s hard again. Leaking.

You lightly trace your nails down his thighs, silently relishing in the way his breath hitches - the way his hips unconsciously buck toward you.

“Gods,” he says again, and though it isn’t a direct request, with the broken way it falls off his tongue, this time it is every bit a plea.

And you’re in a mood to please.

You take his cock in hand, swiping your thumb over the head, where precum is slowly leaking, and he lets out a long, breathy noise. You hum in response, taking his length between your lips, and the sound becomes strained, more needy. His hand gently makes its way into your hair, very lightly guiding you where he wants, but not forcefully.

You alternate between things: long, even movements of your mouth as you drag your tongue down the shaft, swirling your tongue around the head, then sucking him hard and slow. Eventually, simply following the guidance of his hand. His grip tightens in your hair - not painful, just encouraging - and his noises become more drawn out, less coherent.

When you pull away for a moment, using your hand to continue what your mouth had just been doing, you find him dangerously close. You press a kiss to the head and take him in again, increasing pace, accommodating him as you take him in as far as you possibly can, and he starts whimpering.

“Please,” he says, and if that isn’t a rare word to hear from him.

On another day, you might tease him, but you don’t want to. Not now, while he’s begging to have you. Instead, you take him as deep as you can again and suck harder. Astarion tugs at your hair and his thighs shudder and you know he’s close.

“Please,” he says again. “Gods, don’t stop.”

And you wouldn’t dream of it. What you can’t take into your mouth, you use your hand to stroke, and that’s it. He’s coming.

There’s something artful about it - the tremor that runs through him, the salty taste of him in your mouth, and those seeking, breathless sounds that come out of him as he spills onto your tongue. A long, shaky inhale as he pumps his hips, still chasing out his pleasure, then the trembling exhale as his mind starts to come back to him.

He doesn’t soften, and you don’t take your mouth off him. Not yet.

Usually, Astarion can be counted on for two orgasms, but if those spores are doing anything remotely like what they were doing to you, there’s certain to be much, much more than that.

“By the hells,” he murmurs airily, running a hand down your back. “You’re going to kill me, darling.”

You pull away for a moment, kissing at his abdomen, keeping his eyes locked on his as you do. “Does that mean you want me to stop?” you ask sweetly, trailing your nails along the skin of his thigh.

He swallows hard. “Gods, don’t,” he pleads.

And you don’t.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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tojigasm · 4 months

Note

do you know what i wanna do? fuck felix in those gold wings. and like FUCK him. he jst looks so prettyyyyyy 😭😭😭

It's intoxicating. The way the gold and glittery wings flex and pulse under the warm light of the small room Felix has crammed the two of you into – they seemingly breathe back against him when he thrusts into you.

"Stop staring at 'em." Felix presses a sloppy kiss against the collum of your neck, and you moan.

"They're pretty though," you pout, and a hand comes up to turn your head towards him.

"You're pretty." He places a peck to the corner of your lips, making his way to meet your own.

You both smile into the kiss, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, and the speed of his thrusts become quicker when you bite at his bottom lip.

Felix sighs against your lips, groaning when your gummy walls tighten around the girth of him.

The shimmer of the gold wings catches your eyes again, and you shiver beneath him.

"Fucking got you up against a wall and all you can think about is those damn wings." He pulls back to nip at your jaw.

"Haa, Lex," your head falls back to rest against the wall and you feel like you could fucking sink into the drywall and drown.

He whispers something against the hot skin of your neck, something you can't quite make out.

"Lex," you grip at the bands connecting the wings over his shoulders, cunt quivering and pulsing around him.

"Y'gonna cum, baby?" He deepens his thrusts, adjusting you around his hips as the length of him strokes a new angle within you.

You nod feebly, watching the tilt and shift of shiny wings. A soft whine falls from your lips, and Felix groans.

"Look at the wings, baby." His grip on your hips, bruise your soft skin, welting in the rough heat of him. "Y'feel good?"

Sobbing, your cunt spasms around him and you let out a choked moan – pulling tighter at the bands of the wings.

Felix cums with a broken groan, thrusting into you and holding himself there with his forehead tucked to your shoulder in soft pants.

When he pulls out of you, it's nearly enough to make you cum again with the warm glow of the lamp shadowing his features.

He towers over you, the shadow of his costume's wings flutter out as if they're a part of him.

And for a moment, in your fucked out haze, you question whether or not he actually fucked you to death.

"Lex," you mumble, and he's quick to ease with a thumb pressing past your swollen lips.

"Mhm," he hums, still hidden by the shadow of his height.

The sight is biblical in every sense of the word.

You mumble something you can't quite catch as it falls from your brain and tumbles past your lips.

Felix chuckles, though, and you're half aware of the way he gathers you in his arms and makes his way back to his room.

#felix catton #jacob elordi #felix catton x reader #saltburn #jacob elordi x reader #felix catton smut #jacob elordi smut

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 12 days

Text

SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other.

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant.

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids.

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting.

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after.

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either.

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for.

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men.

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company.

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it.

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North.

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.”

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl.

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more.

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders.

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks.

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said.

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move.

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words.

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room.

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground.

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss.

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips.

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence.

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you.

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown.

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately.

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders.

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet.

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one.

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing.

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame.

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him.

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat.

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs.

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin.

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady.

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you.

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact.

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl.

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss.

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him.

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time.

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion.

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination.

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back.

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood.

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead.

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you.

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting.

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame.

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans.

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.”

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you.

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more.

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him.

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping.

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return.

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice.

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you.

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face.

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence.

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

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cheollipop · 1 year

Text

like a dream

navi | taglist

pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader x song mingi

w.c.: 2.7k

tags: smut, fluff, newly-established poly relationship

with only the orange hues of the lamp illuminating the room, they have you for the first time, and it feels just like a dream.

warnings: dom!yungi, sub!reader, fingering (f), unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink (of course), some begging, drooling, sloppy kisses, nicknames (baby, darling, sweetheart, good girl, sweet girl), yunho's a little mean, and a tease, mingi is whipped, WHIPPED, some L bombs were dropped at the end, this is just straight up smut so don't come at me for the lack of an intro (￢_￢;)

A/N: thank you so much for the request!! this was my first time writing mingi and I enjoyed every second of it ^^ this fic made me experience every emotion known to man-- I was screaming, crying, debating with myself in the mirror, howling at the moon- ahem. anyway. happy reading!! (´ ∀ ` *)

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

➽────────────────────────❥

“Yunho, please,” you whined, voice breathy.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He whispered back.

The lamp in the corner of the living room cast warm hues over Mingi’s face, creating angular shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. His lips were parted, shallow breaths blowing against your heated skin, moving closer to press feathery kisses to your jawline. Your palm glided over his toned torso, down his chest and over his perked-up nipples to reach the prominent tent in his sweatpants. A wave of warmth rushed to your core upon hearing Mingi’s choked moan when you cupped his bulge, squeezing your palm around the outline of his cock to revel in the sound again.

Yunho pressed himself to your back, his long fingers curling deliciously into your g-spot. Your thighs shook where they straddled Mingi’s, your hips pushing back to meet Yunho’s insistent thrusts. His other hand wrapped around you to grab your jaw, twisting your face until he could meet your eyes.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

You shuddered as his husky tone reverberated in your ear, closing your eyes for a few seconds to take in the pleasure his fingers were sending up your spine before he gave your head a firm shake. You blinked your eyes open, working your palm harder over Mingi’s hard length as you answered Yunho’s question.

“Want Mingi to fuck me,” you whispered. “please, Yunho, can he?”

“I don’t know, sweet girl...” a smirk tugged at Yunho’s lips and he stared at the man slumped against the backrest under you, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth and his eyebrows knitted while you gave his clothed bulge the attention he desperately wanted. Mingi looked up at the older man and tried to make sense of his words through the haze of pleasure fogging up his brain. “What do you say, Mingi? Do you think you can fit in this tight cunt?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck. Please, Yunho,” Mingi looked up at the other man, his eyes teary and glazed over with lust while his cock throbbed under your palm. “She can take it. Right, jagi?”

You nodded desperately, scrambling to undo the drawstrings on Mingi’s sweatpants before tugging on the waistband. Yunho scissored his fingers inside you, once, twice, before pulling out completely and swatting your hands away, pulling down Mingi’s bottoms himself until his cock sprung out and slapped against his lower belly.

You gawked at the length, the tip red and angry, leaking translucent precum over his smooth skin.

“Intimidated?” Yunho whispered into your ear, to which you gave a slight nod. “I wanna watch Mingi fill up this pretty pussy,” he gave your clit a firm tap. “can you do that for me?”

You nodded again, sliding your folds up his length until you reached the tip, watching as Mingi held himself up by the base and helped you position yourself over him. Yunho stood back, taking in the sight of you sliding down Mingi’s cock, taking him inside your fluttering heat – inch by inch – until he was fully sheathed within your walls. It burned, but Mingi’s head rolled back against the cushion and his mouth parted to allow a hearty moan exit, the sound gravelly and erotic. His eyes were scrunched shut, the hands gripping your hips promising blossoming bruises the next day. A string of drool streamed from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, and you leaned forward to lick it off his face.

You ground your hips experimentally, Mingi’s cockhead brushing over the spot that made your eyes roll back. “Mingi-”

“Fuck, (y/n), if you move I’ll cum,” he warned, lifting his head up to gaze at you through lidded eyes. But you rolled your hips again, a sly smile playing at your lips for a few seconds as you watched Mingi struggle – his eyes fluttered shut once again and a shiver shook his body, his hands digging into your hips in a failed attempt to keep you still.

Slender fingers wrapped around your waist, warm lips pressing against the shell of your ear and Yunho’s voice took over your senses once again. “Enough, sweetheart. We’ve waited far too long for this for it to end so soon,” he muttered, pressing a tender kiss to your jawline.

You looked down at Mingi guiltily, but the eyes that stared back at you were brimming with fondness. “Come here,” he cupped the back of your neck and lowered your head to press his lips to yours, keeping them there for a few seconds before poking his tongue out to taste you. You felt the fingers holding your waist slip away and a body plop down on the couch beside you, but Mingi finally thrusted up into your aching cunt and your mind turned to jelly.

He patted your hip before squeezing it, urging you to move at your desired pace. With your hands flat against his chest, you lifted your hips until only his cockhead remained encased within your tight heat before slamming back down, swallowing the whispered string of curses Mingi expelled into your mouth. Leaning back, you cupped the side of his face, running your thumb over his plush bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, grunting when you teasingly clenched around him, sensing him adjust his position.

With another squeeze to your hips, Mingi began thrusting up into you, sucking your thumb into his mouth for a few seconds before letting it go, panting heavily while relentlessly driving his cock into your sopping heat.

“How does she feel, Mingi-ah?” Yunho’s voice wavered, his hand palming over the obvious tent in his pants.

“Fucking amazing,” a groan vibrated past Mingi’s parted lips as he pumped his cock into you, angling his thrusts directly into your g-spot and occasionally licking over the pad of your thumb that was slowly straying out of his mouth, smearing saliva down the side of his face.

Yunho reached out a hand to flick your nipple, pinching it between two fingers then soothing it with gentle back-and-forth strokes of his thumb. “Mm,” he hummed. “Make sure to get her all nice and wet for me. Fill her all the way up, yeah?”

Mingi made a sound of approval and your eyes rolled to the back of your head – something about the way they talked about you as though you weren’t present made the pleasure building up in your lower belly even more mind-numbing. But when you peeked at their faces, they looked back at you with stars in their eyes, awestruck as they watched you bounce on Mingi’s cock. The succession of breathy ah’s escaping your lips, the sheen of sweat reflecting the orange hues of the lamp, the way your nails left red streaks over Mingi’s chest; your very being weaved itself into their psyche, as though you had placed a spell on them, forever tying their souls to you.

“Gonna cum,” Mingi mumbled, sliding his hand down to your drenched folds and circling two fingers around your clit.

He pulled your hips down until you were stuffed full of his cock, your body locking up as he painted your walls white, Mingi’s warmth paired with his insistent fingers over your clit sending over the edge with him. The dim room darkened further, your features contorting when your orgasm finally washed over you. Mingi’s lips pressed against yours to swallow up your broken moans, expelling his own into your mouth when you clenched around him, trapping his cock inside as it spurt out the last of his load, leaving him a twitching mess between your walls.

The kiss turned soft – the slow dancing of lips while a ballad played in your head, tender touches grazing each other’s skin while heaving chests met and parted between your bodies. You missed the hurried shuffling beside you followed by the muted thuds of clothes hitting the floor, too entranced by the plushness of Mingi’s mouth moulding against your own, his palm rubbing soothing lines over the length of your spine.

Hasty fingers gripped your hips, startling you away from Mingi’s touch as Yunho pulled you off the man and lifted your hips, disregarding the whine you emitted when cum began to seep out of your fluttering hole. He pressed his cock between your folds, sliding it through the sticky mess and groaning as his neglected cock finally got some attention. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

It took you a few seconds to process what was happening, still dazed by the force of your first orgasm. “One second,” you whispered while adjusting your position, digging your knees into the couch cushions and grabbing onto Mingi’s shoulders. The man under you held your waist, staring up at you with so much fondness it made you blush. You quickly looked back at Yunho, hoping the younger man didn’t notice the heat tinting your cheeks. “Please,” you wiggled your hips back at him.

Yunho breathed out a laugh, positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re killing me,” he muttered as he pushed in, the blend of Mingi’s cum and your arousal making the slide easy.

You slumped down against Mingi while your walls worked to accommodate Yunho’s cock, squeezing around him as he bottomed-out inside you. He bent at the waist to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades, his hot breath blowing against the slick skin. “Fuck, (y/n), I’m not gonna last,” you felt his lips move over your spine. “You have to relax, baby.”

Sucking in a deep breath, you did as he said, rocking your hips back against him experimentally, the soft moan that echoed from behind you spurring you into repeating the motion. Yunho was in heaven, the woman he’d wanted for so long was finally his – his to love, his to touch, his to hold. He ground his hips into yours, pulling out halfway before slamming back in, watching how your back tensed and relaxed as pleasure seared through your veins every time his cock split you open. You reached for Mingi, pushing your parted lips together while Yunho straightened up to watch his cock enter you.

Fingers tangled into the hair at your crown and pulled you off Mingi, pressing you flush against Yunho’s chest and securing you there with an arm around your waist. He adjusted his arm to grab a fistful of your breast, brushing his finger over the perked-up nipple while he pistoned his cock into your dripping cunt.

“I didn’t wait this long to have you so you could slobber over Mingi while I fuck you,” he growled in your ear, lifting a knee up onto the couch next to Mingi’s thigh. “Now be a good girl and show him how you’re gonna cum on my cock, yeah?”

You nodded desperately, locking eyes with the man under you while Yunho sped up his thrusts, the lewd melody of skin-on-skin resounding between the four walls. Mingi’s palms glided over your thighs, from your knees to your hips then back down, subtly squeezing the soft flesh along the way before repeating the routine. His fingers dipped between your legs, cupping your cunt to feel Yunho’s length stretching you open.

“Fuck, she’s taking you so well,” he cursed, flicking your clit with his thumb to the rhythm of Yunho’s thrusts, whining pathetically at the praise.

“Do you like it when we tell you what a good girl you are?” Yunho purred, untangling his fingers from your hair to grab your jaw. He twisted your face to look at you, leaning forward to slot his lips against yours before dipping his tongue inside to lick over the roof of your mouth. Your whimpers and moans came out muffled, Yunho’s lips pressing harshly against your own as he neared his release, his cock hammering into you until the room around you blurred. “I’ve thought about having you like this for so long, (y/n). Come on, sweetheart, give it to me,” he whispered against your lips.

Your thighs shook violently, and you would’ve fallen over Mingi if it weren’t for Yunho’s secure hold on your waist. Compared to your first high – Mingi guiding you over the edge and into a warm field of ecstasy – your second was more like a shockwave, curling your body as painful pleasure sent your nerves into overdrive, beads of sweat trickling down your temples and a blazing flush spreading over your skin. You shook in Yunho’s arms, a staccato of moans – broken and high-pitched – ripping through your chest as he continued his brutal pace, chasing his own high while elongating yours. A string of curses followed by a succession of your name sounded behind you, and warmth expanded through your belly. Grinding his hips into yours, Yunho milked himself of every last drop before finally pulling out, fixing his gaze on your core as a mix of his cum and Mingi’s streamed out of your gaping hole.

It took him a few seconds to pry his eyes off you, bringing his free arm under your thighs to lift you off the couch. Mingi moved to the side, allowing Yunho to lay you down on the cushions with your sore legs resting over the younger man’s thighs. He tugged the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covered you with it then kneeled on the floor beside you to press a kiss to your forehead. Mingi’s hands massaged your aching muscles under the fluffy blanket, a pleased hum vibrating in your chest at the gesture.

“Are you okay?” Yunho sounded nervous. “It wasn’t too much?”

You shook your head, an easy smile stretching your lips. “It was perfect,” you could hear the next question at the tip of his tongue, hesitance and worry painting his features, “I’m sure. I promise.”

The wrinkles between his eyebrows smoothed and he leaned in to place another kiss to the corner of your lips. Mingi watched from the side as the woman he was so infatuated with glanced between him and Yunho with hearts in her eyes, his chest bubbling with warmth and adoration.

“(Y/n),” he spoke, the rasp in his voice making the hair on your arms stand. “I love you.”

Your eyebrows raised and you paused for a few seconds, tears welling up in your eyes at the heartfelt confession. His eyes, so soft and loving, took in your features, down to the faintest mole painting your skin while his mouth curved into a smile that made your heart race. He didn’t seem alarmed at your sudden tears, the sparkle in his eyes glimmering brighter while he studied your face as though you were Aphrodite herself.

“I love you too,” you muttered, your bottom lip wobbling. Mingi’s hand found yours under the blanket, holding it firmly and giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. After a few seconds of wordless communication, you turned you head to the man beside you, gazing into his doe eyes that spoke aphonic words of poetry whenever they admired you, his smile colouring the world with vivid markers and crayons. “And you,” you reached your other hand to cup Yunho’s jaw. “I love you.”

You noted the subtle shaking of his bottom lip, his eyes glassy as he leaned down to pepper your face with kisses, whispered I love you’s tickling your skin as he dragged his lips from your forehead to your nose, then over your cheeks and jawline until he reached your lips. “This feels like a dream,” he whispered before tucking his face into the crook of your neck, hearing Mingi make a sound of agreement.

You giggled, carding your fingers through Yunho’s soft locks. Looking over at Mingi, his fingers rubbing comforting shapes into your skin, you wondered if it was a dream. The two men you yearned for, cried over, and thought you could never have, now surrounded you with their comforting warmth – Yunho’s steady breath blowing against your neck, his lips pressing feathery kisses to the delicate skin, and Mingi, eyes lidded with unending admiration and touch so soft it made you shiver all over.

Squeezing Mingi’s hand once more, you fluttered your eyes shut and allowed the two men to smother your senses, relaxing into the cushions as the love they so generously gave you seeped into your very soul.

“If it is… then I hope we never wake up.”

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amuromi · 5 months

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ, 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.8k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! college!au, minor illness/sickness (heatstroke), semi-established relationship (poly), hurt-comfort, feelings of inadequacy, pet names (baby, baby girl, honey), fingering, oral (m & f!receiving), safe word (not used, just mentioned)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ It’s kinda crazy that Gojo, Geto, and Shoko ended up in the same class because how did jujutsu tech manage to find two special grade sorcerers and a reversed curse technique user all at once. Being in their class would’ve been like Destiny’s Child except everyone but you is Beyoncé.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

A bird swoops lazily overhead. A black dot silhouetted against the white flame of the sun burning overhead. Sheets of heat shimmer off the pavement, tracing out rippling waves in the humid air that wane only in the shade of the trees. Still, spears of sunlight pierce through the leaves, each wavering beam feeling hot as cigarette burns even in the small halo of shadows cast by the outstretched branches. A breeze meanders through the courtyard, doing little to stave off the midsummer heat. Like tossing a single cup of water on a blazing inferno, the reprieve from the heat is only momentary.

If the oppressive heat bothers Shoko, she doesn’t show it. Her face is veiled in a grayish haze as she takes a drag of her cigarette, sinuous threads of smoke curling through the sweltering air. Another breeze limps past with a bit more force, enough to knock the smoldering ash from the end of Shoko’s butt. It lands in her lap, eating a black hole through the cloth of her skirt before she can dust the mess away. A dot of pale skin beams through the deep blue fabric, too big to be salvaged. Shoko gives you an unamused glower when she catches the edge of your stifled laughter, tossing away the remnants of her cigarette to look closely at the damage. She brushes away the last bits of ash before clicking her tongue, sulking over the destruction of a recent purchase.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking on campus…” you hum with just enough amusement to earn you another side-eyed glare. Despite the heat you lean in closer, until your shoulders are touching, so you can whisper in her ear. “Do you want me to buy you a new skirt, honey?”

Shoko matches your sardonic tone, eyes curved into half moons as she mockingly hums. “Fuck off.”

She smells like cigarettes and melon shampoo as another gust of muggy air wafts past, stirring up sparkling particles of pollen that cling to the sheen of sweat shining on your skin. Everything is sticky and overwhelming, but the world shrinks to something more manageable as you tilt your head back, eyes closed to the pinholes of sunlight twinkling through the treetops. Bursts of red play behind your eyelids, vision going bright and hazy when your eyes finally open.

“I’m assuming you’re done for the day?” Shoko asks, nodding to your abandoned weapon as she fishes in her pocket for another cigarette. Yaga-sensei had recently granted you stewardship over a cursed tool from Jujutsu Tech’s extensive armory with explicit instructions to practice before taking the bow on any field missions. Gaudy and ornamental as it is–clearly a show of some past sorcerer’s craftsmanship–the bow carries the ability to hit any target the wielder can imagine. It’s why Yaga-sensei entrusted the weapon to you to begin with. Your infallible memory makes you the perfect user of such a cursed tool. Given enough practice.

It’s been a strenuous task and the courtyard is littered with the fruits of your labor, arrows imbued with trace amounts of cursed energy strewn across the ground.

“It’s better to start small,” is all the advice Yaga-sensei had to give on the matter. Practice, as per his instructions, has been little more than standing in one spot while Shoko went around campus naming off landmarks and collecting the arrows as they hit their target. The torii gate near the dorms, the old well behind the cafeteria, the broken statue near the track field. Your phone battery is nearly depleted from how long she’s been going around the school grounds, giving you new targets through the speaker. The soreness in your arm had been expected given that the bow was sized to someone larger than you, making the draw strength something difficult to contend with on the first few shots. It’s simmered to something tolerable but that still leaves the mental strain it takes to perfectly visualize each location. It’s taxing on the mind, and the beginnings of a headache that could be attributed to heat exhaustion is starting to drum up behind your eyes.

When you don’t offer an answer Shoko brushes her fingers across your forehead, outwardly it seems like she might be brushing the stray hair from your forehead but you recognize the trained calculation behind the simple touch. She wipes your sweat on her ruined skirt and purses her lips. No verbal admonishment comes, but you can tell by her expression exactly what she’s thinking. Estimations of your temperature as it correlates to your current state surely running through her head, but she’s never been one to nag you into submission. Shoko is nothing if not a watchful entity. Simply standing idly while people make decisions, only giving input when asked. Which you haven’t because you can expect a barrage of “I told you so’s” for straining yourself to this point of exhaustion over simple practice. Not a mission, not even a precursor to an aptitude test. Just practice for the sake of honing your skills.

It’s that gnawing sense of perfectionism that has you standing despite Shoko’s skeptical glare. She won’t say it but the medical training in her is clearly showing on her face, frowning as she watches you collect your arrows. They’re still imbued with trace levels of your cursed energy but without the bow they’re only going as far as a normal arrow. The sun beats down on your back, singeing your skin even through the fabric of your shirt every time you stoop over to pick up another arrow. Shoko sighs, muttering something about “always so damn stubborn.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to take a break.” She says. More directly this time. Combat has never been Shoko’s strong suit. Her reversed cursed technique being far more suited to the walls of an infirmary than any active battle. Practice for her is suturing and sterilizing. Nothing like the grueling physical feats you’re expected to endure for the sake of honing your craft. But even still she’s one of the few marvels attending Jujutsu Tech because no one seems to have a stronger aptitude for reversed curse techniques than Shoko. It’s truly unfair that of your four-student class, you’re the least remarkable. It makes you want to work harder, twice as hard as anyone else, to prove you deserve your place here. So instead of slowing down and taking that recommended break, you roll your shoulders and force yourself to focus.

“I took a break.” You did. Because why else would you have been sitting around underneath a tree if not to take a break from the boiling heat that’s melting you down to a paste with the way you’re sweating. Your skin and brain feel like they’re about to liquify and evaporate. But you can’t relax. Even when you sat beside Shoko the feeling of peace was only momentary. The silence brought on by exhaustion only lasted until you gained a second wind strong enough to get you back on your feet, bow in hand despite the way your shooting arm is really starting to ache from the heavy draw weight. You had some experience with using a bow and arrow but it didn’t mean the strength needed to shoot such a massive weapon wasn’t laborious. Still, the dull throb in your arm gives you something to think about that isn’t them. The other two members of Yaga-sensei’s second year class.

Flashes of white and black cross your mind. Abstract, undefined. Not enough to draw your mind away from your next target: the dead tree in the far corner of the courtyard. Should you shoot facing away or try aiming upwards, towards the sky? An ordinary arrow would fly straight up, perhaps get snatched off course by the wind, but no matter the direction you shoot, an arrow shot from this bow will always hit its mark. You feel the cursed energy singing through your hand as you nock your arrow.

“That wasn’t a break. You sat down for two seconds.” Shoko rolls her eyes as she watches you draw the bow. “I know you said you’re fine, but–”

“I am!” You say too quickly. Shoko frowns at your insistence. “I just…” You struggle to come up with an explanation for your erratic behavior that doesn’t start and end with the anxiety burning like acid in your stomach. Stinging and simmering as it spreads through your nerves, leaving you with nothing to say in your defense. You hazard a shrug, hoping your indecision will mollify Shoko. It doesn’t and she levels you with an expectant tilt of her head.

“It’s stupid.” And it is. Because how can you explain that you feel like an imposter in a school with such a rigorous entrance exam? They wouldn’t have let you in if you weren’t worth the trouble of teaching and you know that, yet you still can’t shake the feelings of inadequacy. Not when you’re learning in the shadow of the two most promising sorcerers of the modern era. And it doesn’t help that in your bid to be more like them, you’ve gone and gotten yourself far too involved. What started out as you probably being a bit of a nuisance–always close, underfoot like a puppy–turned into them seeking out your company once you realized the desperation could be dialed back a bit. In trying to seem uninteresting after following them for so long, you made yourself easy to miss. Because, of course, they’d notice if the person always standing in their shadow up and disappeared.

Now, you’re tangled in a web of their making. A fly struggling beneath the watchful eyes of those spiders keeping you close. It feels suffocating, like chains tightening around you every moment you let yourself slip deeper into the oddity that is your relationship with the Special Grade sorcerers. Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Even thinking of their names has started to spike your pulse with anxiety. And “relationship” is too charitable a word for the arrangement you have with them, seeing as you’re little more than an accessory, something to be added and removed at a whim. A cage of your own making. It’s what you get for always trailing after them like their talents would pass through their air and cling to you, make you worth more than you are. Now you’re here. Always at an arm’s length. Never closer and never further, held firmly in a place they can always reach you regardless of your own conflicting feelings.

It had been fun at first, to know they wanted you in their lives, in their bed. Although, the newness of the physical arrangement wore off quickly. Now it feels like the tenuous bond has degraded beyond what it had been even when you were nothing more than a tenacious classmate. Before you’d been acquaintances, maybe even friends, but now it feels like you’re something less than even that. A person to pass in the halls and accompany on missions. It stings at your pride to know you only lasted a year. Chewed up and spit out now that your second year classes have reached the halfway mark, a break between semesters fast approaching.

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s bothering you,” Shoko says patiently, lighting up another cigarette. She takes a deep drag as she waits for you to shuffle through your thoughts, landing on the least offensive truth you can offer.

“I want to break up with Gojo and Geto.” It’s hard to break something that was built on shaky foundations to begin with, but it’s the best you can come up with without explaining the winding ins and outs of your strange situationship with the men in question. Because Shoko–hell, everyone–thinks the three of you are dating. Like a proper relationship. A happy crowd of three. Shoko blinks through the haze of smoke streaming from between her lips before nodding pensively.

“You can try.”

It’s something ominous, though Shoko looks a bit miffed about having to be the one to tell you. Like you should know better than to even consider something like that. The words settle like cold stones in your chest. Heavy and shivering despite the heat still bearing down through the clouds. She goes to sit back in the shade, pulling out her phone to text someone. You ignore the tap-tap-tapping of her keyboard in favor of pulling back your bow string again, aiming at a cloud passing overhead. The arrow shoots up, before winking out of sight with a faint glittering burst, like a flash of light off the edge of a blade. It lands in the trunk of the dead tree with a dull thud. And because you can and it’s something to cut through the cluttered thoughts, you keep shooting. Landing arrows around the courtyard because you’re too tired to go through the ordeal of hunting up every arrow if you go back to shooting them around campus.

“I think that’s enough for today.” A new voice rings through the courtyard, distinct enough to distract you. A face cropping up unbidden in your mind’s eye, thoughts of the people you’ve been spending your afternoon avoiding springing up like weeds in a garden. Blue eyes and dark bangs invade your thoughts and you lower the bow before you can send an arrow into someone’s head. If you lacked discipline, were more easily startled, you might’ve shot before your reflexes caught the mistake in your mental visualization. Gojo would be fine with his infinity but Geto has no such barriers protecting him from unforeseen projectiles. Red covers white and black as you imagine the arrow piercing through his skull.

“I’m fine.” It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Now that Geto is standing in front of you, your mind has turned to tangles once more. Your usually calm and collected thoughts knotting up on themselves. He and Gojo scramble your brain in a way no one should be able to, like a radio losing signal and turning to static. It makes you want to give up on the endeavor of loosening the mess with slow, careful consideration. Quicker to cut out the tangles and be done with it. White threads. Black threads. Snip them all and watch the tension unravel.

“You shouldn’t be practicing outside like this when it’s so hot. When’s the last time you took a break?”

“I took a break!” Shoko doesn’t offer support when you look to her to corroborate the half-truth. Instead the fledgling doctor shoves her phone in her bag and you realize the betrayal. It must’ve been Geto she was texting. Shoko isn’t the type to share anything she’s told in confidence, so there’s no worry that she mentioned anything you said to him, but she must’ve said something to raise a flag in his mind if he showed up so quickly. Shoko dusts the dirt from the back of her skirt before drifting past the two of you, murmuring about going home as she leaves you alone with your not-boyfriend.

For all her nonchalance, Shoko is quite perceptive. A trail of smoke follows after her as she retreats, effectively extracting herself from the equation before she becomes a factor in a fight. Because that’s all you and the boys seem to do anymore. Over nonsense. About you training too hard and them treating you like something that needs protection. Or perhaps it’s just you fighting. Spitting and clawing like a caged animal because that’s how they make you feel. Small and weak and trapped.

Even from a distance, Geto is overwhelming and it has your hackles raising before he says anything more.

“I took a break.” You bite out, hoping your attitude will ward him off. “Now let me practice.” Unfortunately, Geto won’t give you the satisfaction of being done with the conversation just because you’re feeling a bit angry.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” There’s that edge of concern you’ve come to know so well. That softness in his voice that sounds almost patronizing, like you’re not aware of your own body’s limits. It makes you sink deeper into your irritation.

“Yeah,” you scoff, “because I’m some weak Grade One sorcerer.”

“I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth.” Quieter, to himself, he mutters about how you and Satoru are just alike, “so fucking stubborn.”

“If you overwork yourself you’ll get hurt. I’m just worried about you.” And there it is. He’s worried. Thinking about you in a way you’ve never had to think about them. As something weak and needing a watchful eye to keep them safe. Gojo and Geto are literally the strongest sorcerers of the new generation. No one has ever had to worry about them. And if they have–you have, though you’ll never admit it–it’s a wasted effort. They return from every mission almost completely unscathed. Only as ruffled as a few hairs out of place because Geto is lethal without having to manifest his collection of curses, and nothing can touch Gojo without his permission. The memories of him letting you go beyond that barrier of infinity crop up unbidden in your mind and it makes you fit another arrow on your bowstring. Burns are starting to form where the bow chafes at your fingers but you pull back the string again, deciding to shoot another arrow dead ahead with no other target in mind.

“Don’t worry about me.” The words sound empty even to your own ears. Because as much as you crave your own type of recognition, want to prove that you’re not the weakest–most useless–second year student, you like knowing that you have their attention. Something like if you can’t beat them, join them. You’ll never surpass Gojo or Geto’s abilities but you’ve still earned their approval in a way no one else has. Even if it’s all balanced on a precarious edge. So close but so far. They have each other, and then you. They could take it all away in a second and sometimes you wish they would. It would save you the ordeal of being seen as the bad guy for cutting ties with them when everyone knows how attached the three of you are. If you aren’t with Shoko you’re with them and seeing any of you alone is a rare occurrence. It’s something you’ll have to get used to because losing them might mean losing everyone. Shoko doesn’t seem to think it’s possible but what if you prove her wrong?

Another shot hits its target. What if you’re wrong?

Geto sighs, real loud like he has a right to be upset. Like his mind is anywhere near as hoarded yet empty as yours. The thought of leaving makes you feel light with released anxiety and heavy with the guilt of betrayal. All at once. Too many knots. Too many thoughts. The bow falls to the wayside as you press your hands to your head, trying to will away the pain stabbing behind your eyes. Headache–maybe heatstroke–made worse by all the stress Geto’s caused just by existing near you. You lean down, hands grabbing vaguely at the ground, smacking blindly across the pavement until you find your bow.

The sun is bleaching everything bright white and it’s hard to see even with your eyes squinted against the throbbing pain and stabbing light. The arrows are abandoned, far too many strewn about to be of concern at the moment. Right now, all you want to do is get away from Geto. Go somewhere where he isn’t and recollect your thoughts. Somewhere inside, with water and air conditioning. Your footsteps are staggered, legs feeling more like melting wax than anything solid beneath you.

Move, you try to say, go away. It’s a slurred groan but you shoulder past Geto anyway. Or, at least, you try to. Instead you bounce off of the solid planes of his body. It sends you stumbling in another direction, so quick that your vision begins to dip and swirl like looking through water. There’s the vague sound of something warped and panicked but mostly it sounds like you’re underwater. Everything is shimmering black and blue for a moment before even that fades to nothing.

It’s cold. Not a bitter kind of cold but something chilled and pleasant, made less frigid by a vague sort of warmth wrapped around you to stave off the biting edge of the water. Everything is tepid and dim as goosebumps prickle up your arms. The budding shivers are chased away by gentle hands soothing over your damp skin. It’s enough to shock you to full attention after lingering in the soft ether between sleep and wakefulness. Water sloshes around you, splashing over the side of the tub as you bolt upright, hands gripping the edge of the porcelain as you struggle to make sense of your surroundings. The last memories you have are steeped in searing heat and blinding light, pinched with pain as the sun leached away at you. The sun is gone now, replaced with the milky white light of the moon. It spills through the open window, highlighting the sharp edges of marble and chrome; the expensive appliances of a luxury apartment.

Hands tease at your waist, pulling softly to coax you back to where you’d been laying against their chest. You know Gojo just by touch. It’s a privilege few are afforded now that he’s developed a mastery of his infinity, yet here he is wrapping his arms over your stomach to keep you close to his chest. His heart beats steadily against your spine, a consistent metronome that clashes with the anxious skipping of your own pulse. The headache that had been pounding away at your skull like a hammer and chisel is gone, replaced with the sound of your blood rushing in your ear as each subtle touch of Gojo’s fingers tracing against your skin sends you reeling.

Lips find the tip of your ear, then the edge of your jaw before settling against your pulse fluttering in your throat. His silence is nearly as deafening as your racing heart. It’s so strange to find Gojo so quiet as he presses feather-light kisses into your skin. A damp hand presses into your forehead. There’s a faint hum and then a sigh before his slender fingers drift over your eyes. His lips are at your ear again, the feeling of his breath rushing over your skin making you shiver in his arms.

“Stop thinking.” His voice is unexpectedly harsh, like he’s angry with you, and it only makes you think harder. It’s obvious you’re in his apartment but the spaces in between point A and point B are blurred, a staccato rush of images flickering in and out of focus. You were at school and then suddenly you weren’t. Last you remember, you were with Geto. Near Geto. Trying to get away from him. And now you’re naked in a tub with Gojo, and he’s upset with you. He says it again, “Stop. Thinking.”

Because you value your sanity, or what little shred of it you have left, you really do try to calm your racing thoughts but it’s so hard with him so close. And he won’t let you go. His hand stays over your eyes, pinning your focus on him and him alone. His voice. His skin. His anger. Because no matter how much Gojo tries to mask his emotions with a veneer of humor it’s always painfully clear when he’s upset. At least to you. His voice gets lower and his smiles get tighter. Every word that comes off his tongue now is graveled with restraint and it only works to further scramble your mind. Makes you anxious at the unknown. The feeling of being caught in a web springs to life again as his fingertips dance over your stomach, slender fingers feeling like the legs of a spider tying you up in its web. It gets your breaths quickening until you can’t fill your lungs fast enough, heaving and gasping as you grab at the edge of the tub, trying to pull yourself away from him again.

Let go. Let go. Let. Go!

It’s a mantra marching through your head until he lets you free at last, so quickly that you go spilling over the side of the bathtub. The tiles are cold and unsympathetic and you yelp as your knees land hard against the marble. Gojo watches you, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimness of the moonlight. You scramble gracelessly to your feet, snatching up the first towel your hand touches as you rush to be away from him. Today was meant to be spent in seclusion. Away from Gojo. Away from Geto. Yet you’ve been pushed towards both of them like a compass leading you north because Geto is just beyond the bathroom door, on Gojo’s bed.

It’s brighter in the bedroom, lit by the bedside lamp as Geto looks up from his book. It’s set aside quickly in favor of moving towards you. With each step he takes you find yourself drifting towards the door. Your clothes are nowhere in sight and the towel you grabbed hardly offers enough coverage for you to flee back to your dorm in, but the alternative of staying here, with them, is wholly unappealing. Just the thought of spending another moment with them ties knots in your stomach.

Nervous. They make you so nervous. So anxious about every facet of your existence. They won’t say it but you can see it in the way they treat you like something left over. Something to dote on when they’re done focusing on each other. It was nice at the start because you could pretend you weren’t bothered, but now it’s all you see. A divided front. You. And them. With such an obvious split, it’s only fair that you should have the choice to break free completely. Screw what Shoko said. Of course, they’d let you go. They hardly have you to begin with. But all that bravery evaporates the second your back hits the wall, cornered under Geto’s watchful eyes.

“Back up,” you breathe, not daring to look him in the eyes. His hair is loose, sweeping over his shoulders to curtain your face as he leans his head against yours. All he says is, “no.”

“Please, back up, Geto.” He’s always preferred manners and you try to sound docile even as your voice starts to shake. You feel him shake his head. No, again.

“S’not my name.” His hands trace up your shoulders, thumbs brushing against your neck before hooking under your jaw to make you look at him. Slowly he asks, “What’s my name?”

“Suguru.” It’s something weak and scratchy as your throat tries to close around each syllable but he hums like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. The meager croak is echoed as Gojo emerges from the bathroom with Geto’s name on his tongue. There’s a dozen unspoken thoughts in that single word, all of which Geto seems to recognize in an instant.

“She’s fine, I got her. Always.” Geto says like you’re a dog that tried to bolt the moment the front door was left open. And despite how insistent you’d been earlier, and how easily Geto said it now, you’re not fine. Truly, you’re the farthest thing from it, and their hovering is making it worse. They usher you towards the bed and you’re perched on the edge as they crowd in around you.

There’s too much skin involved. With your clothes missing you’re left in a towel, clutching it to your chest to lessen even a modicum of the vulnerability you feel with both men staring down at you. Geto reaches to brush a strand of hair away from your face and you shrink back. His hand falls away but it only leaves space for Gojo to come closer.

“Stop touching me.” Gojo hums like he didn’t hear you even as his lips find the furrowed space between your brows, lined taut with tension beneath the softness of his mouth.

“Stop touching me!” Your voice is cracked and edged with hysteria but it works well enough to get them to give you even just a moment to think. Steadying breaths rattle in your chest as you try to pluck up the courage to look at them. Geto catches your eye first because he’s the easiest to look at. His face has always been more guarded, more neutral, than the telegraphing billboard that is Gojo and his big blue eyes. Your thoughts are already so scattered and looking at him will only make it worse. Geto tilts his head as if he’s weighing each thought in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” His tone is cold. Stripped of that usual affection drawl, Geto’s voice sounds almost angry. Somehow it’s everything and nothing that you wanted to hear. Anger will make this easier. If they’re frustrated and bitter it will be easier to cut ties. Still, hearing how detached he sounds makes something inside you crack.

“Let’s break up.” In all your imaginings there was anger. Shouting and fighting, though never begging. You couldn’t imagine you’d be worth the loss of even a shred of dignity to them. Why would they lower themselves to beg you to stay? But instead of anger, your words are met with laughter.

Quiet at first and then louder as Gojo nearly doubles over with how hard he’s laughing. As if you weren’t even worth the effort to get upset. He couldn’t even muster a single harsh word. Instead he’s laughing and the familiar sound is like salt over soil, withering your resolve. The heat of your desperation simmers to something cold and shriveled in the wake of his poorly stifled amusement.

“Stop it!” It’s small and petulant but he quiets down almost instantly, as if he hadn’t been giggling just a moment before. All the mirth drains from his face and turns to something blank and menacing, blue eyes flashing in the low light. You say his name hesitantly, suddenly unsure of yourself, and his eyes narrow.

“Try again.” He’s as insistent as Geto that you call him by his given name. You’re far too close to be playing at calling them by their surnames, as if they’re just passing acquaintances and not your supposed partners.

Softly, you say his name, “Satoru.”

“That’s right, baby. You know my name. Tell me again. Say my name.” He’s getting in close again, face so close to yours that you can’t see anything but him. Pure white hair, clear blue eyes. He’s smiling again. Something coy and teasing as he waits for you to say what he wants to hear. He hears it once then says, “Again.” And again and again as he leans in closer with each murmur of his name until his lips are sealed over yours and his name is only a breath shared between shallow kisses.

“You know my name, baby,”–he spares another kiss–“so call me by it. I’m not some random guy for you to be calling Gojo. Never have been. Never will be.” The latter declaration sounds almost threatening, and it reminds you that you just tried to sever this bond of familiarity between the three of you. Yet here he is telling you it will never be that easy. Why can’t it be? How entrenched are you in their lives that you can’t walk out just as quickly as you came? Time spent with them is sparing between missions. Today has been a seldom quiet moment to yourself between field work and neither of them had come to see you until Shoko went and planted that seed of doubt with Geto.

“We’re not together now,” you try to insist upon your previous request. “It would be strange to call you by your name. We hardly see each other. Wouldn’t people think it’s weird if I addressed you so casually?”

“You know that’s not true.” Geto says, thumb pressed against his brow. A habit of his that spells out his frustration as clearly as any words could.

“Majority rules.” Gojo teases. “You’re not leaving us so you better quit bringing it up before we think you’re serious.”

“I am serious!” You feel Gojo laughing at you more than you hear it. The steady rumbling in his chest as he pulls you to lay beside him on the rumpled sheets. He kisses the tip of your nose and chuffs out an amused “nah,” as if his words are enough to void your own.

“What’s your safeword, baby?” Geto asks from the foot of the bed. The suddenness prompts you to answer quickly, an ingrained instinct drawing the word “cloudy” off your tongue. Geto hums and touches your ankle. His fingers aren’t as delicate as Gojo’s. There’s more weight behind even the lightest touch as his fingertips find the jut of your bone before drifting higher, raising goosebumps on your exposed legs. He climbs onto the bed, hand lingering on your skin as he looks down at you.

“What’s wrong, baby? The truth this time.”

“I want to break up. That’s all.” It feels like a lie when you’re confronted with Geto’s piercing gaze. Gojo scoffs from his place nuzzled against the column of your neck, lips pressing hot kisses against your fluttering pulse.

Geto presses further. “Why?”

Why? As if you had to justify your desire for distance when it’s all they’ve been treating you with. A constant reminder that you’re different, separate. They’re doing it even now, minimizing your words to nothing even as you try desperately to get them to understand that you’re serious. It’s like they’re keeping you on a leash and you’re tugging at your lead, begging to be set free.

“It’ll be easier for all of us.”

“Easier, how?” Gojo asks as he traces over the shape of your collarbones above the cover of your towel.

“No one will have to pretend anymore.”

“Who’s pretending? ’Cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” Gojo snaps, arms cinching tighter around your waist.

“You been lying to us, baby, is that it?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Our girl’s been playing with our feelings, huh, Suguru?”

“That’s what I’m hearing.” Geto agrees.

That’s not true. If anyone’s been lying, it’s them. Treating you so sweet when it’s plain to see the only people that matter to them is each other. They’ve always been together until you stumbled along, weak and starry-eyed. Wholly intent on earning your place in a group of such skilled sorcerers. They doted on you, taught you, loved you, but how truthful can a love borne of pity be. You’re a kicked puppy limping along behind them and it’s taken you this long to realize how truly pathetic you’ve been. Training makes a sorcerer, not trailing behind in a race you’ll never win. Chasing the backs of two people you can never hope to reach. It’s cruel of them to pretend you were ever someone worthy of being beside them. It was never going to be you and it makes you wonder how long they planned to let you live in this delusion.

“I’m not the one lying.” It’s quiet, barely the wisp of a sound, but they hear it. Gojo sits up quickly, pulling you with him so that he and Geto can pin you between them once more.

“So it’s us?” Gojo bites, voice grated with anger. “You think we’re lying about our feelings. You think we don’t love you?” It’s better that you can’t see him as he kneels behind you, chin hooked over your shoulder, but there’s nothing shielding you from Geto’s endlessly dark glare. His head tilts, bangs sweeping over his eyes as he stares down at you with a harsh set to his lips.

“Who said that, baby? Who told you we didn’t love you?” When you shake your head, Geto scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you made up that lie yourself.” Gojo grunts. “You got lost in that pretty little head of yours and decided we don’t love you anymore, is that it?” His hand is over your eyes again, turning the world dark. It’s something he’s always done, covering your eyes like putting a blanket over a cage. It forces your mind to quiet, to focus on less. A habit you assume he developed as an extension of his own.

He dampens his Six Eyes with blindfolds and tinted glasses, so of course he’d know exactly how to quiet your mind when it starts to race out of control. Your hands lift towards your face, uncertain if you want to move his hand or hold it closer. Your fingertips rest against his skin, not pushing, not pulling, but without your arms against your sides the towel slowly comes loose to pool around your waist. Warm hands are quick to chase away the chill of the room as Geto’s fingers brush against your ribs, Gojo’s free hand settling lower on your waist. They both move in closer until you’re locked between their bodies. Gojo at your back and Geto against your chest. The latter lifts your hips, pushing the towel aside completely as he pulls you into his lap. You can’t see him through Gojo’s hand, but you’re sure Geto is staring at you, gaze likely steeped in disappointment.

It reminds you of what Shoko had said, “You can try.” And this is your reward for the effort. Trying suggests a margin of error for failure, and you’ve failed spectacularly. Undressed and caught between the two of them, feeling their hands against your naked body as they try to convince you to stay.

“You’re wrong, pretty girl,” Gojo hums, cheek pressed up against your ear as he leans over your shoulder. His voice comes from all around you. Humming through your spine and over your shoulders as the soft timbre comes up from his chest and settles as a low draw in his throat. You hear it nearly echoing in your ear as his mouth ghosts over your skin. He’s so close, hand still guarding your eyes from seeing anything beyond his skin. He’s got you surrounded and it’s only made more overwhelming as Geto moves in closer until you can feel his breath against your lips. His face is different from Gojo’s as he nuzzles against you. The white haired man is made up of straighter edges–a slim jaw and sharp nose–to match the deceptive softness he presents to the world, like a blade hidden in a sleeve. Geto is comparatively more broad, all brute strength and heavy hands as he presses his nose against yours.

They’re being gentle. You can feel it in the way their muscles move beneath their skin, tensing and curling with controlled strength. They’re so strong and you feel like a feather caught between two rocks as they press against you, woefully inferior and easily brushed aside. Still they don’t allow you to float away. Both of them press close to keep you exactly where they want you. Lips find your skin. Warmth blooms across the curve of your shoulders and up the column of your neck as soft pecks graze your parted lips. There’s nothing heady or frenzied about this moment. It’s less feverish than you’re used to, yet there’s no absence of emotion because being between them has always been fraught with passion. A hand trails across your chest, settling over the steadying thrum of your heartbeat, and you realize belatedly that they’re going slow for your sake. Just a moment ago you’d been overwrought with panic and each of their glancing touches works to bleed the tension out of your body.

“Still with us?” Geto asks. He and Gojo always seem to move in tandem. Geto’s hand has only just started to tip your head up to meet his gaze when Gojo’s hand finally slips away from your eyes. You must say something in the affirmative because Geto hums, thumb brushing over your lips before he looks over your shoulder at Gojo. Something unspoken passes between them in the briefest glance and then you’re moving, getting dragged into Gojo’s chest as he sits up against the headboard with you between his legs. His towel has been brushed aside as well, leaving only Geto clothed. He evens the odds a fraction by pulling his shirt off, ruffling his hair so it falls messily around his face. Pretty.

Geto scoff, “Now you have something nice to say, baby?” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud but they both seem amused if not a bit mollified by the slip of your tongue.

“Our boy is pretty, isn’t he?” Gojo asks, shifting his hips until you can feel the length of his approval pressed against the small of your back. Wet and hot, leaking and throbbing against the base of your spine as his hands press against your stomach to pull you impossibly closer.

“Gentle.” Geto reminds him, eyes fixed on the way Gojo’s fingers are making impressions in the softness of your skin. Any harder and he’d start to leave bruises but Gojo knows better. Geto wouldn’t let him hold you hard enough to break and Gojo himself is far too aware of his own strength to ever lose control like that.

“M’always gentle,” he says against the nape of your neck, the sentiment nearly lost as his teeth scrape across the sensitive skin. A shiver skitters down your spine, skin dotted with goosebumps as his tongue soothes the faint sting his teeth left behind.

“I know you are,” Geto agrees, reaching past your shoulder to touch Gojo. The man nearly purrs, a soft chuckling noise vibrating against your skin as his tongue tastes where your pulse is rushing in your throat.

“We’re always gentle with you, aren’t we, baby girl?” Geto’s eyes are on you now. The pitiful little “yeah,” you manage to squeeze out around the lump in your throat hardly qualifies as an answer. But they are, and isn’t that the worst part? They’re so gentle with you like they know you’re too weak to handle them unbridled, like you’re wrapped in caution tape and stamped with stickers marking you as fragile. Weak. It’s embarrassing that even in their most vulnerable state they’re more than you could ever hope to handle.

“Our girl.” Gojo sighs. The strongest sorcerer of the new generation and yet his touch is so gentle it seems almost hesitant as one hand moves away from your waist to dip between your legs. He echoes the whimpering sound you make as the pads of his fingers brush against your clit, seemingly reveling in the way your body tenses as he traces gentle shapes against the sensitive bud. His touches are fleeting, teasing, hardly enough as he pants against your shoulder. Geto’s hands smooth up the inside of your thighs, thumbing against the muscles as he spreads your legs wider for Gojo to touch. His second hand comes away from your waist to join the first, teasing at your fluttering heat before sinking a singular finger inside. He groans louder than you do, mumbling against your dampening skin about “so wet, baby,” as he works his finger inside you, adding another and another as he stretches you out with each curling thrust of his fingers.

Geto seems content to watch, thumbing soft circles against the shaking muscles of your thighs as Gojo takes his time loosening you around his fingers.

“You’re making a mess, baby girl.” Geto teases. You can feel it. Gojo is frustratingly good at everything he does and this is no exception. He’s winding you up tight as he hooks his fingers against that spot inside you that has you keening and arching away from his chest. There’s the faint sound of a protest, a groaning “no!” as Gojo’s body follows yours, not letting you put any distance between you.

“Be nice,” Geto laughs, pushing against your sternum until your back is against Gojo’s chest once more. Once you’re settled his hand trails to your nipple, brushing against the pert bud before the heat of his mouth swallows your breast. His tongue laves over your skin, leaving a glossy wet trail across your chest as he nips and licks at your breasts. It’s all overwhelming. The heat of two bodies against yours, reflecting the warmth of your own. Sweat gathers where Gojo is panting against your neck, lashes tickling your cheek as he looks down as where Geto is leaving faint marks against your skin. Your hips shift, trying to shy away from the mounting pleasure but Geto’s hold on your thigh is unflinching and only works to push you further into Gojo’s lap. You can feel the latter grinding against you, cock drooling against your skin as he grinds against your ass.

“Fuck, baby,” Gojo’s whining now, in that same breathy way he does whenever he’s at the edge of cumming. “You close, baby, gonna cum for me?” His fingers work faster inside you, rubbing real nice against your clit as he babbles a mantra of “cum, baby, please, please, cum,” in your ear. You do because they don’t give you much of a choice with the way they’re hitting all your weak spots at once. Just one of them is enough to override your senses, but together they all but melt your brain until your thighs are shaking and you’re staining the sheets with how hard you’re cumming. Gojo doesn’t let up on your clit but he pulls his fingers out of you with an embarrassingly slick sound to fumble for his cock. Geto helps, lifting you higher so Gojo can slot his cock against your pussy. He leans forward like he’s trying to wrap himself around you, rutting feverishly against your wet heat and whining when he doesn’t end up inside you. Geto seems to take pity on him, brushing Gojo’s hand aside to stroke his flushed cock soaked with a mix of both of you.

“I got you, baby.” Geto hums, leaning over to kiss Gojo. With the way they’re meeting in the middle, just over your shoulder, you can hear every sound they make with frustrating clarity. Every little groan Gojo makes as Geto kisses him. It’s loud and sloppy and you feel spit dappling your shoulder when they pull apart, joining the sweat already beading on your skin.

Geto murmurs, “You too, baby girl,” before enveloping you in a kiss of your own. His tongue finds yours easily, coaxing you into a deeper kiss as he groans against your mouth. He kisses you like he’s trying to swallow you whole, to consume every part of you. It’s startling and grounding all at once. A kiss like that can’t be fake. It eases a bit of tension from your body and Geto feels it, humming against your mouth as he pulls away, a faint smile on his lips. He kisses you again only briefly before moving lower, dappling your skin in warm kisses before he settles on his stomach with his head between your legs. He gives Gojo’s cock a few more teasing strokes before wrapping his lips around his swollen length. Behind you, Gojo keens, wrapping his arms tight around you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. Geto’s eyes are on you as he swallows Gojo’s dick.

“Fuck,” Gojo shivers against your back. “Wish I could see him. Tell me what he looks like, baby. What does our boy look like between our legs?” It’s an odd request if only because Gojo can see so much. Yet here he is relying on your vision to tell him what he can’t see.

“S’pretty,” you tell him, “so pretty.”

“Yeah,” Gojo agrees instantly. “Yeah, our boy is so pretty. Fuck, Suguru!”

“He’s taking you so well.” Geto hums at the praise and Gojo whines behind you, hips jerking up. Geto’s hands settle on your thighs once more, gripping like he needs something to focus on while he’s taking Gojo’s cock to the hilt. You lay a shaking hand on his head, fingers carding through his soft hair, pulling it away from his face as he blinks up at you.

“So pretty, Suguru.” He pops off of Gojo’s dick at the sound of his name on your tongue, shifting forward until his lips are wrapped around your clit. Your hand tightens in his hair, unsure if you want to pull him away or guide him closer as the simmering sting of overstimulation slowly bleeds through your body. He decides for you, pulling away far too soon and dragging you up with him. You fall against his chest as he nods for Gojo to move. You’re laid out in the space he leaves as Geto shoves his pants down his thighs.

There’s a wet spot on the fabric from where his cock has been leaking in its confines, precum beading on the flushed head. Gojo is quick to clean up the mess, kissing the tip of Geto’s cock and taking him halfway down his throat. Geto groans, tossing his head back in a wave of glossy black hair as he takes Gojo’s mouth with a few short thrusts before pulling the blue eyed man off of him. He keeps his hand in Gojo’s hair, guiding him up to his knees to kiss him again. There’s a peek of tongue between their mouths and it has your thighs pressing together just watching them kneeling over you.

“Want you,” Geto breathes against Gojo’s lips, hardly parted from their kiss. “I don’t care how, jus’ want you.” An approving hum follows as Gojo lays himself on top of you, hips slotted against your.

“Lift up,” he murmurs, sliding a pillow under your hips as he grinds his throbbing cock against you. “Feels so good, baby.” He whines. When he leans in to kiss you, there’s desperation sparkling in his eyes. He’s kissing you hard enough to push your head back into the mattress, nipping and licking like he’s trying to pour everything he can into the press of your mouths. His body is pressed against yours in every way he can manage. Fingers threaded with yours as your hearts beat in feverish tandem, hips pressed flush as Gojo grinds against you. There’s the vague sound of a cap popping then a pitiful whine against your mouth as Geto’s hand finds Gojo’s hip, holding him still as he presses a lubed finger inside Gojo. He melts in an instant, squirming and whining as Geto keeps him steady with a hand on the small of his back. He takes his time with Gojo, letting him relax into the feeling and stalling when he whines about it being too much. By the time Geto is satisfied with how prepared Gojo is, the latter is stumbling over his words, babbling about “please, I want it, please, please!” with his hips caught between you and Geto. He can’t seem to decide exactly what he wants but Geto does it for him, leaning against his back as he strokes his dick.

“You want it?” Geto teases, nosing at the hollow behind Gojo’s ear. The white hair man nods, face drawn in desperation as he ruts into Geto’s fist. “What do you want, baby boy?” Geto asks as he drags the head of Gojo’s throbbing cock through your wet folds.

“Inside!” Gojo’s voice cracks with the volume of his desperation. Geto chuckles and kisses his shoulder.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He hums, guiding Gojo inside you. His shaking stills in an instant as he melts against you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. “It’s so warm inside. Squeezing me so tight, fuck!” His babbling only devolves further as Geto presses inside him, nearly incoherent as he writhes between your bodies. The strongest sorcerer reduced to a whimpering mess before you, because of you. There’s something reassuring about it as you brush Gojo’s damp hair away from his eyes, tasting the salt of his sweat as you kiss his forehead. He can barely return the affection, nuzzling against your cheek as Geto pulls back to start fucking him in earnest. Gojo finds his rhythm pinned between the two of you, rutting into you whenever Geto pulls away. His fingers are back on your clit, making a mess between your prone bodies as he tries to rush you towards the edge. He’s already shaking and whining, teetering on the edge of pleasure from all of Geto’s attention.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Geto huffs. There’s a nod and a litany of words spilling from Gojo’s lips that sound like “m’close,” as his hand grabs Geto’s thigh to pull him closer. Gojo grinds against his cock, fingers not letting up on your clit as he makes himself cum on Geto’s dick.

“Good boy.” Geto coos, hands soothing against Gojo’s waist as he shivers. He’s close, you can tell by the way his hips are stuttering, balls tightening as they smack against your skin. He cums hard, body going rigid as he spills inside you. Still, even when he’s finished he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Bright blue eyes stay locked on the frothy mess seeping out around his cock until Geto gets him to pull away. His cock is soft and flushed between his legs, strings of your shared arousal staining his skin as Geto lays him down beside you. Gojo is quick to cling, slinging an arm across your waist as his head settles against your shoulder like he can’t bear to part from you for even a moment. His hand seeks out yours, twining your fingers as Geto fills the space Gojo left inside you. He chuckles at the wet sound it makes as he sinks inside you, hair curtaining your face as he leans down to kiss you.

“Feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Can’t believe you wanted to take this away from us.” He groans as he sinks into your heat. Gojo had gotten you to the edge, wound you up near to snapping, and Geto doesn’t seem keen on giving you a moment to relax. His hips grind against yours with startling intensity, like he’s fucking all his anger into you.

“Tryin’ to leave us like we don’t fucking adore you. You don’t even realize how much we need you, do you?” He grits out. They need you? It sounds inconceivable, and yet here you are. In Gojo’s bed, with Geto losing himself inside you. Who else has been allowed to see them like this?

“You’re good, baby.” Gojo whispers. “So strong and so kind. We gotta be gentle with you, can’t let you get tarnished and jaded the way we have. Gotta keep our girl protected and happy for as long as we can.” He kisses your ear.

“We’ve seen so much,” Geto pants. “Can’t let you end up like us.” Somewhere in his soft groans there’s a promise, a vow to keep you away from the things they’ve seen. It makes something come loose in your chest, a tension unraveling at last as tears prick at the edge of your vision. It’s a sorcerer’s job to protect and they were protecting you. All this distance and turmoil you’ve been suffering because they want to protect you. Not because you’re weak but because they’re strong. You’ve heard whispers of the things that happened while they were in high school, things you’d never wish on your worst enemy. Gojo had died somewhere in their second year. Of course they want to keep you behind them, a wall between you and the cruelness of their world as Special Grades. Your vision swims with tears as you pull Geto into a kiss, mumbling out sniffling apologies.

“M’sorry, m’sorry! I just wanted you to take me seriously. It always feels like I’m an afterthought when it comes to missions.”

“Baby, you’re the only thought.” Gojo sighs. “You’re our soft place to land and we’d like to keep it that way. We like you soft. You can be strong all you want but when you’re with us, you gotta let us treat you nice, yeah?” You think you nod, babbling back an affirmative, but it’s hard to know as the head of Geto’s cock grinds against your sweet spot, his fingers rubbing over your messy clit. Gojo thumbs at your nipple and it’s the last bit you need to send you over the edge with a cracked shout.

“That’s right, baby, shit.” Geto groans as you clench around him. He presses in close, forehead against yours as he works himself to the edge. Each panting breath is shared between you as you rest the hand Gojo isn’t holding against the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly in his hair.

“Please, wanna feel you. Please cum, Suguru,” you whisper against his lips. He returns the coaxing with a soft “fuck,” pressing his weight against you as he cums with a graveled grunt of your name. You feel the mess leaking down your thighs, a mix of Gojo and Geto dripping out of your cunt as Geto pulls away with a few fluttering kisses.

“Thank you,” he says between each press of your lips. “Thank you for trusting us.” Belatedly, you realize you had trusted them. Implicitly. Geto had even gone as far as reminding you that you had an out, asking for your safe word even when you could tell he didn’t want you walking away from them. Even in your anger and panic you’d trusted them to treat you carefully, and they had. Gojo is still pressing soft kisses into your skin as he clings to you. His leg has found the space Geto left between yours, hooked over your thigh to keep you from squirming away from his sweaty embrace.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Geto says as he runs his hand up Gojo’s thigh. “We all need a bath and I’ve gotta feed you two.”

“M’not hungry.” Gojo grouses, burying his face further in your neck.

“Don’t be a brat.” Geto groans. “And we definitely need to get some fluids in this one.” He says, wiping the sweat from your brow. “She was already dehydrated. We shouldn’t have tired her out like this.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, really meaning it this time, but Geto brushes you off.

“You probably feel fine but you’ll be complaining about a headache in an hour tops, so up you go. Shower, then food. You can whine about how mean I’m being once you’ve gotten something to drink.” Gojo grumbles something that sounds faintly like “I’ll hold you to that,” as he gathers you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. They argue about who gets to wash you and what food to order, falling into the familiar rhythm of push and pull between them with you as the mediator, gently guiding their petty arguments with a soft laugh. It’s a comfortable place to be, just one step behind them.

#gojo ★#geto ★#gojo smut #geto smut #gojo x reader smut #geto x reader smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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ronjunnie · 1 month

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JENO FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

SERIES

arcane

case oasis

ONESHOTS

my first and last (m) (37k)

picture perfect image (35k)

i suddenly realize my archnemesis is hot (during a battle to the death) (22.5k)

sunshine (21.3k)

shadows in the snow (m) (20k)

ready for love (19.5k)

tongue-tied (17.4k)

summer of love (15.2k)

kitchen frolics (14.8k)

the perks of having a hot best friend (14.3k)

Stepping Into The Moonlight (m) (13.3k)

wicked games (m) (12.8k)

nothing in return (12k)

fight club (m) (11.9k)

pupsick (11.8k) sequel (8.8k)

home (m) (11.6k)

hold fast (11.1k)

summer lovin (9.8k)

midnight moon (9k)

it's yours (m) (6k)

the element of substance (5.2k)

lavender haze (3.4k)

summer heat and summer swims (m) (3.4k)

for real love (3.1k)

searching for sun, water, and attention (2k)

sleepy kisses

get smart (m) (1.8k)

drunken guest and a tail (1.6k)

you wounds wrapped with my love (1.5k)

rainfall

all night long

TIMESTAMPS

1:34

1:37 am

1:48 am

2:03 am

2:54 am

3:00

3:16 pm

3:38 am

6:44 pm

7:02 pm

7:17 am

9:08 am

8:57 pm

10:27 pm

11:27

11:38 pm (m)

12:23

12:40 am

12:51 am

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hihomeghere · 2 months

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Fishing in the dark | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word Count : 1.3k (a little guy) Summary : You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota River. Warnings/tags : Cursing, unprotected piv, talk of nudity (both male and female), cursing, reader can swim, s3x in the river, established relationship, set in chapter 3

The Dakota River was now your favorite place to be at sunset. The cool breeze coming off the sparkling water, your body cushioned by the bed of grass. The way the setting sun cast a golden light over everything it touched.

Getting away from the gang for a while had been Arthur’s greatest idea yet. After all that mess in Valentine had led you to Clemens point. Sat on the east coast of Flat Iron lake, near the town of Rhodes. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos while the heat of the Scarlett Meadows sun beat down on you.

And although you thought maybe a room in Rhodes would have been a better way to keep each other company, you couldn’t beat this view.

Arthur stood on the shore, fishing pole in hand. His tall silhouette dark against the golden light, his shadow growing longer on the rocks. What a sight, every subtle flick of his wrist, his bicep tensing and he pulled on the pole. You didn’t even know why he was still fishing so late. He had already caught dinner, which you had prepared over a small fire. While along the shore you had picked some burdock root and common bulrush for camp, knowing that Miss Grimshaw could find some use for the plants. At long last the sun fell below the horizon, a sliver of burnt amber spreading across the sky before being enveloped by a dark blue. The moon slowly rose above you. A beautiful yellow spotlight peeking through the trees.

Arthur stood, still as a statue, as though he was carved of marble. A wicked thought entered your head, slowly you moved to unlace your boots. Pulling them off until you could dig your toes into the grassy floor beneath you. Then you untied the strings to your skirt. Letting the fabric fall, along with your shirt. Leaving you standing in only your chemise, and it wasn’t long before that was discarded as well.

Arthur had heard the slight rustling of fabric behind him, but he was honestly too preoccupied with the pole in his hands. Enjoying the quiet serenity of the river. That was until you ran butt ass naked into it.

“Darlin!” He yelled his eyes widening in shock as your laughter joined the sound of water splashing.

“Come on cowboy!” You called submerged to your waist, your breasts above the water for any passersby to see. Maybe it wasn’t your best idea yet, the freezing water chilling your bones.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled, unfortunately amused by your actions even though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You called back, teeth chattering by the sudden drop in temperature.

“It looks like you’re giving anyone that passes through a free peep show.” He called his hand resting on his gun belt as he not so casually adjusted himself. You stepped back further into the dark water until only your shoulders and up were visible.

“When did you become such a prude?” You chided a teasing smile on your lips.

“When someone could lay eyes on my woman.” He said laying down his pole, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt a shiver run down your spine, whether it was from his words or the cold water you couldn’t tell.

“Well get in here and claim your woman before someone else does!” You called, a shit eating grin spreading across your face.

Arthur sighed, looking down as the brim of his hat shielded most of his face from you. Your grin only grew as he unbuckled his gun belt, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled his suspenders off his broad shoulders. He shook his head, his own grin growing on his face as he began to pull off his clothes.

“You’re gonna get it girl.” He warned, his eyes taking on a dark haze. His lips pulling back into a smirk, looking down at you like prey. An electric shock of anticipation ran up your body as he finally pulled off the last layer, his cock springing up against his stomach. He stepped forward, wading into the water. “Jesus!” He yelped, a shiver running through him.

“It’s not that bad!” You called with a laugh.

“Not that-“ He shook his head, “Christ I can’t feel my toes.” He muttered swimming over to you, his arm wrapping around you pulling you close. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you held onto his shoulders

“Hey there.” You grin, watching the water droplets run down his face.

“Howdy.” He muses, you place your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat against your palm.

“Still cold?” You ask sweetly.

“Very.” He chuckles.

“I think I could warm you up.” You say biting your lip.

“Please do.” He says softly as you lean forward. Your nose bumping against his as you stare him down. He leans forward pressing his lips against yours. His tongue swiping along your lower lip as he pressed you down onto his pelvis. Clenching around nothing as his cock bumped against the nub of your clit, a soft moan leaving your throat.

“I can feel that.” You said softly, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure you can.” His chest rumbling as he chuckled. He moved his hand from your waist and reached down between your legs. The tip of his length catching against your entrance. “Think you’re wet enough?” He teases, his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he smirks.

You bite back a rebuttal as he slips inside you with ease, he swallows your gasp as his mouth covers yours. Groaning into your mouth, a deep almost primal noise. One that sends pleasure shooting through your body. You whine as he pulls out slightly, only to press your body down onto his pelvis. His cock rubbing against that spot inside you.

He knows this dance like the back of his hand, how to make you tick, more specifically how to make you scream. The hand that’s not holding your hip with a vice like grip moves up your body, his hands splayed against your stomach. Before reaching up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple.

“Arthur.” You gasp, feeling him rut against you, growling against your neck like a wild animal.

“Feel so good darlin’.” He huffs against your neck, nipping and kissing as he continues his attack on your pussy. His cock thrusting deep strokes against your walls. Your body is buzzing, your toes curling as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He can feel you flutter around him, his lips quirk up. He moves his hand down to between your legs, rubbing your clit.

You cry out, a pitiful noise as you cum around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows knit together as your jaw hangs open. He smirks, tilting his head back as a low, shit, leaves his mouth.

His hips start to stutter as he pounds into you, trying to reach his orgasm while you’re still working through yours. He’s quick behind you, his hands holding you so close against him you’re sure you’ll have bruises. He thrusts into you one last time, a choked groan rumbling in his chest. You hold onto him as his dick twitches inside of you. Painting your insides with his seed. You smile up at him lazily, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit darlin’.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your own. The bite of the water is no longer a thought as his warm body presses against yours.

“You warm now, cowboy?” You tease brushing your nose against this neck, pressing a kiss over his pulse point.

“Very.” He chuckles, “But I’d like to get my beautiful girl out of these waters now.” He says grabbing a handful of your ass before throwing you over his shoulder. “I ain’t done with you yet.”

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snailpaste · 5 months

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CROCODILE x MALE! READER

IN THE LOW LAMPLIGHT

Content: Male AMAB Reader, bottom reader, top Crocodile, cockwarming, office sex, lap sex, light overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, NSFW 18+ MDNI

Synopsis: Cockwarming Crocodile in his office and reaping the rewards

Word Count: 1428

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You had no idea how long you’d been sitting like this for – sat in your lover's lap, bare front pressed against his clothed chest and face tucked into the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Bergamot, cardamom, the sweet smoke of his cigars. You’d lost track of time like this, speared open on Crocodile’s thick, throbbing cock, lulled into a haze by the scribbles of his pen on paper and the rhythmic tics of the grandfather clock.

You let out a content sigh, stretching your back and subtly shifting your hips back onto the cock filling you up so good-

“Patience.” Crocodile’s gruff voice cut through the silence of his office, cold metal hook digging warningly into your hip.

Reluctantly settling back into his lap you wrap your arms around his muscled waist, easily slipping back into a state of mindlessness, knowing only the stretch of his member and the occasional soft kisses pressed to your temple.

Through your haze you watch the light from the large arched windows dim, the water growing darker and bananawani growing lazy outside as dawn came and went.

Lazily, you tilt your head to get a better look at your lover, the sharp contours of his face illuminated by the warm amber desk lamp, wavy strands falling in front of his eyes, brow pinched in concentration. He’d always scoff when you told him he was beautiful, but god if it wasn’t true.

Every now and then Crocodile grinds lazily up into your wet heat, groaning at the snug fit of your walls. He chuckles darkly at your mewls as he teases your rim with his hook, nipping at your ear– “Easy now, darling,” his breath hot against your neck, hand coming up to tug at your hair and expose the marked column of your neck, “You’re doing so well for me. Hang on a little while longer.”

Soon only the hanging mosaic lamps illuminated the room, casting soft shadows across the velvet drapes and tome-filled shelves that stretched towards the domed ceiling. And still, the only sound in the room came from the clock, and the scratches on -what had to be- the final sheets of paper.

Suddenly you feel cool metal run up the dip of your spine, ripping a whimper from your lips, your back arching and cock throbbing. Crocodile hums in appreciation, snapping the pen cap with a satisfying click. He was silent for a while, but you could feel his hungry gaze lingering over your naked form.

Crocodile’s eyes raked over you: legs spread over his thick thighs, cock leaking and wetting his shirt, completely naked while his pants were open only enough to free his cock and heavy balls. He breathed deeply, huge hand coming up to the back of your head, tangling in your strands and easing back to look at you. And, oh, he had to bite back a moan, because he thought you looked divine looking up at him with flushed parted lips, and glassy blown eyes.

“God,” He breathes, suddenly a little too hot, opting to unbutton his shirt and shed the green cravat. You bite your lip at each inch of exposed muscle- something Crocodile doesn’t miss, smirking and soothing a thick finger over your lips, tapping for entrance– “Suck.”

Obediently, you wrap your mouth around the digit, curling your tongue and bobbing your head just the way he likes, and his hook digs deliciously into your hip in response. His throat bobs as you make eye contact, dragging your teeth teasingly and flicking against the tip.

“Fuck.” He growls. Pulling his spit-slicked fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, Crocodile reaches down and wipes them across your puffy rim, relishing the way you jump and instinctively tighten. “So fucking handsome.”

And finally, finally, he begins to grind lazily into your throbbing, aching hole.

“Croc-” you moan, voice hoarse and needy, rocking your hips in desperate need of “more!”

He grins softly, eyes darkening even more, “You need more? That so sweetheart?” Rings dig into your skin as he wraps a large hand around your waist, lifting you slowly up off his cock until only the tip was nestled inside. “How ‘bout this then?” And slowly, achingly, he drops you back down, pulling a wrecked gasp from your spit-slicked lips.

“I-” you gasp, the drag of his girth against your prostate setting your nerves on fire, “Please~”

And how could he ever refuse you? Crocodile grunts, biting his lip and starting to bounce you on his cock. He fills you up with deep, slow strokes, watching your eyes flutter and jaw slacken as his blunt tip bullies into your prostate.

A particularly harsh snap of his hips has you crying out, slick walls clenching tight and turning him feral. He starts fucking into you hard and fast and rough, gritting his teeth and groaning “Jesus fuck baby."

It was good. It was better than good. You could feel your orgasm coiling untouched, eyes rolling back each time his cock sunk deep inside. Your soft groans spurred Crocodile closer and closer to the edge, eyes flitting down to where your cock bobbed against his stomach, precum beading prettily at the tip and begging to be sucked.

It was almost too much, everything becoming too sensitive as your stomachs tightened and tightened.

The sound of skin slapping skin and the squelch of lube filled the room, Crocodile bringing you into a sloppy kiss, all tongue and nipping teeth, hot and fast and taking as he groaned into your mouth.

He knows you’re close, fuck, he’s close, but he likes drawing things out, loves the way your walls flutter at his sinful voice.

“You gonna come for me, beautiful?” He murmurs, deep and smooth, and all you can do is babble desperate pleas, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders and whining.

With each drag of his cock against your walls the coil in your groin winds tighter. You’re so close.

Crocodile laughs breathily, snapping his hips up into you hard and reaching down to grab hold of your leaky cock. “Then cum,” He strokes once, twice, and oh. Oh fuck–

Your body snaps taught, eyes rolling closed as your orgasm washes over you with a wave of white. And crocodile doesn’t stop, milking your cock and grinding against your prostate as you shudder and gasp in his grip, cum dribbling down his wrist.

“Close.” He groans, biting your neck.

You’re too fucked out to moan or whimper as he keeps thrusting into you, overstimulating you by rubbing his his palm around your tip.

It was all too much for him: your walls squeezing and pulsing over his aching cock, the cracked moan of his name as you shudder through your orgasm, the lewd sound of squelching as he fisted your spent cock to make your legs shake-

Crocodile cums with a deep, growling moan, cock throbbing in your tight slick walls, filling you up with his hot release. You whimper his name, tugging at his dark hair when he bites your neck, marking you as his. His hips still after giving a few soft thrusts, emptying himself entirely. You can feel each pulse of his hard cock, the wetness of his cum coating your walls.

Both of you pause, wrapped around each other, panting and trembling. The room is heavy with the smell of sex and sin, and cum dribbles down your thigh as his softening cock slips out.

“God.” With a tired groan Crocodile slumps in his seat, pulling you down against his chest, "God fuckin’ shit."

Crocodile forgoes his usual after-sex cigar in favour of whispering praise and drawing soothing patterns across your skin with his hook. His voice is breathless as he cards his fingers through your hair, “So good. So good for me. My good boy.”

After a while he tilts your head back by the chin, smiling down softly, “You alright?”

His voice is calm and soothing. You nod and press a chaste kiss to his lips, drawing a hum of acknowledgement from the other man.

“Good,” he breathes against your lips before meeting yours in a soft, passionate kiss.

He presses his forehead against your own and gently picks you up, cradling you to his chest. His heart fluttering obnoxiously as you stifle a yawn into his chest and nuzzle his neck.

Picking it up from where it was draped over the desk, Crocodile wraps his warm, fleece-lined coat around your shoulders, carrying you to the pre-prepared bath, “You were perfect, my love.”

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I couldn't think of a title, so I just settled on a phrase from one of Hozier's (many) slutty smutty songs- Work Song. First post on the new blog and the first actual fic I've enjoyed writing for literally over a year. Which is. Mind blowing, to say the least.

If you enjoyed this please do let me know! :D it means a lot to me and many other writers. Happy New Years!

#crocodile x male reader #one piece x male reader #crocodile x reader #snailpaste: writing #one piece x reader #bottom male reader #male reader #amab reader #op:crocodile #x reader

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scalproie · 2 years

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I need the song in the trailer to come out right fucking now

#ITS SOUNDS SO MUCH MORE. ATMOSPHERIC THAN HEAT HAZE SHADOW #tagging later

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diejager · 5 months

Note

I'm back with my guilty taste (not so guilty actually) stepdad! König and dbf! Horangi....I like to swim in deep and dangerous waters. I'm sorry.

¡Sí, padrastro! König hierve crudo cuando salimos con Horangi sin él... Lo puedo adivinar. Tenemos una pijamada/fiesta con un amigo, que realmente lo es, con el consentimiento de nuestra madre. Ella conoce a nuestro amigo, confía plenamente en él, sin ningún motivo para decir que no a querer pasar la noche en su casa. Incluso admite que con nuestro regreso haríamos una linda pareja, en comparación con König y Horangi.

I leave the idea there.

(Tiemblo de sólo imaginarlo, ¡Dam! No puedo tener suficiente, ayuda)

I’m gonna be honest with you, I had to use google translate for this and the translations were uh… going left and right, but I think I understood the gist of it. cw: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARKFIC, STEPCEST, rough sex, manhandling, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, blood kink, marking kink, wound, jealous stepdad!könig, tell me if I missed any.

König saw red when he heard that you were sleeping at a friend’s house, a boy’s house at that. Childhood friends, your mother told him, growing up together and having shared the same class until college when you went your separate ways while still keeping in touch since he lived right across the streets.

He knew the boy, he’d seen Kevin wave at your mother and you when he saw you, strutting up for a quick conversation; he’d heard Kevin talk to you on the phone and saw the smile growing on your lips and that bubbly laugh he wanted to own; and he’d seen you hang out with Kevin, waving him goodbye from your doorstep.

His blood boiled the whole night, making dinner with his wife awkward and his bedroom more heated, fucking up your mother with rough and mean sex, taking out a part of wrath on her until he had his hands on you.

He kissed his wife goodbye that morning, watching her limp out to her car and hiss as she sat down, but he didn’t feel guilty, anger still simmering under his skin. He waited for you in the living room, seating in the recliner that faced the door with his arms crossed and face scrunched up.

The moment he heard the knob turn, he surged forward, gripping you by the wrist and pulling you to your room, over the stairs and down the hall, shutting the door behind him loudly. He tore through the your clothes, ripping your panties with a shift of a hand and had you spread open for him. He was less than lenient with you, spitting on your hole and fingering you roughly, thick fingers pumping in and out of you and rolling your clit with his thumb.

He only did the minimum, stretching you out slightly so that you could feel every inch of him when he pushed in, wanting to hear whine and cry as he fucked you. He wasn’t teasing or playful like he usually was, in his haze of anger and jealousy, König was rough, domineering and mean. He split you in half on his cock, pounding into you with loud and hard thrusts, his balls slapping loudly against your slick-coated ass.

He had you folded in two, legs pressed to your chest, feet hanging off his shoulders as he towered you, his shadow looming menacingly over you. He bent forward, lips wrapping around your neck and shoulders, teeth biting into your skin, digging into your supple flesh and bleeding it, rivulets of ichor rolled down your fresh bite. He hissed and growled, spitting degrading insults, names, in your ear, relishing in the tears that fell from your lashes, sweet and salty drops that he lapped up with a bloody tongue.

He fucked you until he grew oversensitive, the leaky tip gushing ropes of cum inside you and his blood pumping through his bulging veins. He shuddered every time he came, watching your stomach bloat with his cock and cum, your pleasure painting a thick, white ring around the base of his shaft. Your room smelled of sex and sweat, your near unconscious form laying limp on the bed, fingers still grasping onto the sheets and legs spread over his elbow, eyes zoned to your heat.

“No more sleepovers, understood, Schatz?” Your stepfather growled, hand tilting your chin up to stare into his red-rimmed eyes.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

Text

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 4[*]

A/N: a truly beautiful friendship is always founded in chaos (it’s funny because of who Eris is in mythology)

Also, I would like to emphasise the bickering at the end is entirely whispered—enjoy

Warnings: Just general angst, sexual undertones, unjustly jealous!Azriel, swans (don’t even get me started on how scary they are, and don’t try to tell me otherwise if you haven’t been cornered by at least one)

Word Count: 6,618

-Part 3- -Part 5-

A voice is calling your name from somewhere: somewhere foggy, and distant.

A voice that really has no business interfering with the hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.

Large, playfully rough hands grip your hips, using his own to keep you pinned against the brickwork, groping your ass appreciatively.

You arch up into him, mouth opening over his own, tongue stroking and flicking. Fingers rake through his hair, turning it messy as you haul him closer. The lovely press of his cock against your abdomen, the ego-boosting sign of his appetite. He groans into your mouth, bucking his hips, and you drag the soft swell of your breasts over his chest. The cool night air scrambles beneath your skirts, making them flutter and billow, urging him closer.

The voice sounds again. Clearer; closer.

It’s strange how it sounds like—

The male body is forcibly torn off you, cold flushing your front, leaving the uncomfortable dig of brick into your backside. You blink away your haze, real world events crushing back down, slamming home when your eyes lock with sharp hazel. He’s clearly pissed. It’s probably the most emotion he’s ever shown to you.

How miserable.

“Did you forget we’re have dinner tonight?” He asks gruffly, hand still resting firmly over the male’s shoulder who’s looking warily between the two of you. It dawns on you what he’s just seen you doing, the position he’s caught you in; heat swallows your body whole. The shameful, humiliated type, and you force yourself to keep his gaze. Beg yourself not to hang your head.

“I’m not going,” you manage, eyes flicking away from his. “I already told Fey, and she said it was fine, so…” His brow narrows, attention piercing into you, judging. “They’re not compulsory, anyway,” you mumble, “so really I— there’s no reason for me to be at one.”

“It’s a family dinner. There’re plenty of reasons for you to be there.” His eyes flick to the male who just had you pressed between him and a wall, “unless something more important comes up.”

There’s no obvious sign, but he’s agitated. Irritated. Maybe a foul mood.

Azriel releases the male, eyes flicking over his shoulder—a sure dismissal. When the male refuses to leave, Azriel’s shadows thicken. Definitely a foul mood. “Is there something I can help you with?” He mutters sharply, piercing attention zeroing in on the male—Bas.

His golden eyes turn on you, peering warily, “who is this? You said you were on your own.” Heat washes down your spine, gaze flicking between them, wishing for the floor to open up under your feet. “He’s—nobody. Just a—…” You fumble, unsure what to say. “Acquaintance,” Azriel finishes for you, hairs rising at the back of your neck as he stares at you. “A friend of a friend.”

Bas’ lips lift into a smirk, and you pray he’s going to keep his mouth shut for once. But he turns to Azriel, standing less than an inch shorter than the shadowsinger, “I don’t see what business you have with a friend of a friend,” he drawls, making both of you stiffen.

The dim faelights gleam in his intelligent golden eyes, bringing out the rich darkness of his skin, the outcropping of his sharp jaw, the thickness of his hair that hangs in lovely, rough locks.

Azriel’s eyes narrow, shadows coiling at his back, peeking over menacingly large wings, “and what business do you have with her? She has plans for tonight.” One of Bas’ brows quirks in subtle challenge, and you brace yourself. “Considering she sought me out, I think her plans have changed,” he says, that provocative smirk still tipping his lips.

“Bas…” you murmur, stress tensing your muscles.

Both of their attention switches to you, and your mouth seals itself shut.

Azriel shakes his head, “she’s coming with me. Don’t bother her again, Bas.” The words are final, and you can tell the conversation is over. Bas doesn’t back down, though. Always ready for a bit of rough and tumble. Practically lives off the edge. “Now I didn’t realise she was your property, Az,” he drawls challengingly, his attention then settling over you. “And you should have told me who this other person was, sweetheart.”

They know one another?

“She’s not your anything,” Azriel says, a rough sharpness to his voice. “Back off, Bas.”

The male doesn’t budge. Instead his gleaming eyes fall on you.

Oh no…

“Sweetheart?”

Heat warms your skin, gaze darting anywhere but the two males before you. You really don’t want to go to the dinner. To see all of them so soon after the mess that happened precisely one week ago… And it would be weird to show up after having said you weren’t going. What if you went and there wasn’t enough food? She has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need to worry about extra dinner guests.

You’re staying with Bas.

Hazel meets your gaze, and words stumble. “I…” I’m not going to the dinner.

“You…?” Azriel repeats, jaw tightening.

You flush, eyes lowering, heat warming your cheeks against the cool night air.

You turn to Bas, and he frowns. “Sorry,” you say gently, “I should see my sister.”

The wings at Azriel’s back loose a slight bit of their tension—still pulled taut. “Right, let’s go,” he says, cutting off any communication, “we’re already late.” You shoot Bas an apologetic look as you move to follow behind Azriel—keeping his gaze ahead. He merely shakes his head, giving you an easy smile, “find me after, okay?” A wave of gratefulness washes over you, and you push every drop of it into the thankful look you send him. Then you turn, hurrying down the uneven cobbles after the Shadowsinger.

He’s silent when you catch up, walking at his side, a pace behind. He doesn’t look at you once, continuing down the road that will lead to the River House. Fighting down the humiliation, you clear your throat. “Can you—” You nearly trip, righting yourself a second before your tipping point. Stumbling, you scoop the fabric of your long dress into your hands, raising it out of the way of your feet.

He continues walking, though slows a little as you scramble after him.

“Azriel,” you say, a little breathless. “Azriel, wait.”

He halts suddenly, making you flinch with the abrupt stop. Sharp hazel eyes press down on you, and you falter. “Yes?” He asks. Fumbling for words, your eyes flick out from under his, skipping over the shops in the darkening streets. “I—…” you begin, unsure what to say. “Can you…can you not mention any of that?” You request softly, embarrassing heat warming your cheeks.

“Who would tell?” He replies coldly.

Humiliation settles in the pit of your stomach. You lower your head a little. Nod. “I didn’t want you to think…”

“I don’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s business,” he says pointedly, watching you. Why does it feel like he’s scolding you?

Your lips press together, shoulders curving inward almost imperceptibly.

His eyes flick to your hair, and his hand raises, as if to shift a strand—tuck it away. But he stops, noting your gaze. “You need to fix your hair,” he says, a touch softer than before. “It’s obvious what you were doing.” Shame is like a deadweight in your gut, hands feeling dumb as they attempt to neaten out a mess you can’t see. His eyes narrow when you lower them, and you both know it would be easier if he was the one to right whatever’s wrong with you. He doesn’t, though.

“I’m not like Nesta,” you say softly, a little shakily.

His brow narrows slightly, “nobody said you were. There’s nothing wrong about being similar to her.” Heat warms your skin, and you stumble under the look.

“I mean, that—what you…saw—that’s not normal. It’s not a… I’m doing doing any of that…”

“Drinking and fucking?” You flinch at the crude wording, and a gleam of apology flashes in his hazel irises. He watches you quietly for a moment, and you shift under his gaze, hands moving to rest on your elbows, dress swishing close to the ground.

“You know it’s fine if you are,” he says, gently. “As long as you’re being sensible about it,” he adds, “there’s nothing wrong with doing that if it works.” Your lower lip wobbles at the implication—that he knows you’re doing this to try and get over him. How desperate you’ve become.

“But find someone other than Bas,” he says, making you furrow your brow.

“What’s wrong with Bas?” You ask. He’s been great. Azriel watches you silently again, hazel eyes piercing into you blankly. Has your lip-tint smudged?

“He’s not…” Azriel begins, as if debating how to frame what he wants to say. Make sure you’ll understand. “You shouldn’t spend your time with someone like him,” he settles on.

“‘Someone like him’?” You echo, looking back up the street to where the two of you had been. Heat crawls up your spine, and you hastily look away.

“He’s different from you,” Azriel says, bluntly.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you argue softly, peering at the cobbles. You hear him sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to do with you. “He can’t give you what you’re looking for. He’s the type to string you along until he’s bored, then never visit again. Stay away from him.”

“He hasn’t done anything bad…” you say quietly, shifting lightly from foot to foot. “He’s been…he’s been very nice.”

Azriel sighs again, and that funny feeling settles in your stomach. Disappointment tickling your insides. “That’s to draw you in. As soon as you try to bring him to a dinner, or to meet one of your sisters, he’ll bolt.”

“Why would I bring him to meet any of you?” You ask bitterly at the lack of confidence. “Do you plan to keep your partner a secret?” He counters with, tersely. “Maybe.” You reply defensively, still looking at the ground.

He’s quiet again, and you can almost feel the air shift. “Need I remind you of last week’s events,” he asks, quietly. “You’re not known for keeping your mouth shut.” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling, nails digging into your elbows. “And I thought you didn’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s relationships,” you murmur.

“I know they’ll make good decisions,” he counters. “You don’t have enough experience. To know what you’re doing.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” you whisper, head dipping. “I know what I’m—” you cut yourself off as a sob tries to work its way from your throat. Take a deep breath. Swallow. “I know what I’m doing,” you manage quietly.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he argues. “You don’t want to damage yourself like that.”

Your body stiffens at the words, then a breath eases from your chest. You nod. “Okay.” You begin walking again, one foot in front of the other. He sighs again. “I didn’t mean it like that.” You keep walking.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says flatly, falling into pace.

“Okay.”

“So you’ll stay away from him?” Azriel asks, eyes falling on your smaller frame.

“Okay.”

His brow narrows on you, watching intently. Then, “look at me.”

Look at me.

The feeling of his fingers inside of you, close enough to share breaths, yet you were the only vulnerable one. Not an ounce of intimacy to be exchanged. You keep walking toward the River House.

Azriel doesn’t say another word.

————

In the end, you’re somewhat glad you went to the dinner.

If you hadn’t, you would be back here, in the mortal lands.

Well, with no wall, you’re not sure what to call your previous homeland. But you’re here, nonetheless, and all thanks to Elain. She’d wished to see Lucien, who had near permanent residence in the mostly intact house, and had invited you along with her. Whether she knew you needed some time away, or simply offered, you don’t know.

You’d arrived most likely around an hour ago, Fey and Cassian departing soon after, leaving you and Elain to spend the day as you pleased. You’d opted to take a stroll around the gardens, walking alongside the river that was just beginning to refill after an apparently hot and dry summer.

That was your first encounter with Eris.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he winnows to the river bank mere feet to your left, stumbling backward a few steps in surprise. Cutting caramel eyes pierce into you with razor-sharp scrutiny, noting your pointed ears. His brow narrows as he takes you in; he doesn’t look pleased with what he finds.

Blinking, you mark the blazing colour of his hair, the beautifully tailored finery, the flicker of flame in his eyes—remarkably similar to Lucien. “What…who are you?” You manage, calming your heartbeat. It’s a nonsense question, you realise—it’s obvious who he is. Anyone could figure it out through simple deduction. So you shake your head, “why are you here?”

Eris’ eyes narrow on you, then he’s striding forward, moving up the river bank until he’s come to stop before you. You take a single step back—if you have to crane your neck to look at someone, you’re too close. He’s remarkably imposing with his height and muscle, despite the inherent beauty of the fae.

“Who are you?” The words are short and efficient in a sharp, brazen way, and you find yourself wondering if you should have just continued on your way. “I’m—” you open your mouth to give your name, then realise it would be rude to assume he knew who you were. There’s no reason for him to. “Feyre’s my younger sister,” you supply instead.

His brow narrows. “I didn’t know there were four of you.”

Heat flushes your skin, and you look away. It’s not an insult, yet you feel embarrassed.

“So, why are you here?” You repeat, a little quieter, trying to change the subject.

“I’m expected,” he replies shortly, turning to face the way you had come. “Why have you been kept a secret?” He asks. You mentally scramble for an excuse to continue on your walk. You don’t want to go back yet, and he’ll probably expect you to winnow, and you aren’t really in a talking mood at the moment. No excuse comes to mind.

“I haven’t been kept a secret,” you respond finally, falling into step a little behind him. “Not intentionally, anyway,” you add as an afterthought, frowning. He's walking fast, and you’d like more time to take in the scenery. At least he’s not winnowing.

“You haven’t been present at any meetings,” he counters, “I find it hard to believe that’s a coincidence.”

Your frown deepens, “why would I be at any of them? Elain hasn’t been to any, either. The only time you would have seen her is in the Hewn City.”

“Which you were kept away from, too.”

You come to a stop, watching him. His brow narrows as he’s forced to slow his pace, looking vaguely irritated. “I was there when you danced with Nesta,” you correct, “all of us were.”

Eris stares at you blankly and it’s an effort not to squirm. “I was there,” you insist, “behind Elain?”

He doesn’t remember you.

Well.

“So you’re good at remaining unseen,” he says, turning to set you into motion again. You hurry after him, a little taken aback at the compliment. It’s a nice way to think about it, a faint smile tipping your lips, “thank you.”

“It was a question.”

“Oh…” you say, smile vanishing. It hadn’t sounded like one. “I guess… I prefer it…”

“You and the Shadowsinger must get along swimmingly,” he mutters, continuing along the path, neatly avoiding muddied parts. Something you fail spectacularly at.

The comment registers in your mind and you stiffen, muscles contracting as you force yourself to continue moving. “Not particularly…” you hedge, uncertain what’s appropriate to tell him. You aren’t familiar with Court politics. “No more than anyone else, anyway,” you correct, soothing out the slight rumple.

“No? Not settling in well?” He asks. You could swear there’s some sort of mocking undertone to the question, but you can’t figure out what the taunt is for.

“I…I guess not?” You answer, slowly. “It’s not bad,” you add hastily, not wanting to talk negatively behind their backs. He might bring it up later. You repeat the thought in your head, then shake it, smiling faintly. He hadn’t even know you existed until a few minutes ago, yet you think he could be trying exploit you. How silly.

The result of an over-inflated ego. Maybe you really should stop fooling around with Bas—he’s giving you all sorts of ideas about the value of your person, and it probably isn’t healthy.

“I mean, it’s fine. Just…normal, I guess. Compared with the initial chaos,” you add, satisfied with the end result of your rambling. The house is in sight now. All you need to do is pass between the river and the pond, and—

You stumble.

Not literally—it’s more of a mental scramble. Because right there, where they weren’t mere minutes ago, are a pair of large, powerfully built swans.

Eris continues walking like the two beasts aren’t eyeing you up with those sharp, beady eyes. You can practically see the light catching on the small teeth hidden beneath the beak. Glittering with menace.

“Let’s go this way,” you say abruptly, pointing to the path that winds around the pond. He comes to stop, clearly irritated by the unnecessary hinderances you’re causing. “This way is perfectly usable. We go this way,” he turns, continuing forward, fear rising in y our throat.

You scramble forward, clutching the skirts of your dress, “Eris!”

His caramel eyes slice into you, piercing in their intensity, but you don’t buckle. “I understand that maybe they don’t seem as vicious as the creatures of Prythian,” you murmur, as if they can hear you, “but swans are still very dangerous. We should go around.” Again you point to the pathway, ears perked up for any signs the massive birds are approaching. “And I get that you have magic, but you can’t just go around butchering local animals if they get in your way. That’s not how things are done here.”

He stares at you, as if asking if you’re serious. You hold his gaze because yes, you’re completely serious.

“You know they won’t attack you,” he counters, “and you’re correct, they aren’t dangerous compared to the beasts in Prythian. So move aside.”

You shake your head, “they could break your arm,” you insist, refusing to budge. His brow narrows in a scathing scowl, “they could break a human’s arm. I am not human.” He walks around you.

“They’re still dangerous, Eris. We should really go around,” you urge, watching as he walks along the path, remaining rooted to the spot. “Just winnow,” he snaps, then looks over his shoulder. “Unless you aren’t strong enough.”

“I can winnow fine, but…” Even that’s too close to them. You firmly believe animals have a sixth sense humans do not—you wouldn’t put it past them to know they’ve been cheated. “Please, let’s just go around.”

He watches you with narrowed eyes, weighing; judging. You freeze beneath his gaze, refusing to even breathe in case it’s the wrong thing to do. He turns fully to you then, and you think he might listen to you. Relief washes over you, but—

“You’re scared of these creature?” He asks, amusement underlying his tone. You flush. “Like I said, they’re dangerous,” you defend, lowering your gaze a little.

“You know, you’re fae. They won’t attack you.”

Your eyes flick up, doubting. “Why would they act any differently?”

“We are creatures of magic. Greater than they are. They know it would be unwise to attempt anything.” You blink, having not thought of it like that. The fae had felt different when you were human, more intense, more concentrated in a way humans weren’t. You hadn’t considered maybe other animals would understand that primal difference, too.

Eris’ lips twitch, and he holds out his arm—you’re completely certain it’s a mocking gesture this time. But also a challenge.

It’s also a prompt to face your fears. It’s been long enough.

You can do this.

You can prove to yourself there’s no need to be afraid of them any longer.

You take some small steps forward. Then a few more. And a few more after that. And then your arm is overlapping with Eris’, feeling the hot strength of muscle cording his forearm. An odd feeling of security settles over you, as the two of you begin to move forward.

You’re unable to help tensing as you pass them, even if Eris is on the side closest to them. Then to your dismay, he stops. “You can pet them, if you want,” he says, lips still quirked in the corners. He’s enjoying watching you shake and tremble at something half your size. “Are you insane?” You mutter under your breath, staring at the white beasts that seem to be waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Eyes widen and you stare at him, “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean that.”

He watches you steadily, eyes gleaming as he turns toward the swans, forcibly dragging you with him, despite your protests. “Eris…” you mutter, digging your feet into the mud, but you nearly slip. “Eris, seriously, stop it.”

He stops; you sigh in relief, but the tension doesn’t leave your body—still much too close to the great birds.

“Go up to one,” he says, a smirk on his rosey lips. “Touch one, then you can go.” He’s enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“No way,” you hiss, trying to pull out of his hold. The swans shift at the jerky movement, and you still. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move. “They’ll definitely do something if I try to go up to one!” You argue, as softly as possible. He just hums, and you wish you had continued walking instead of addressing him. Then you could be looking for blackberries, enjoying the natural sounds of the outside.

But here you are.

“You’re fae,” he reminds, eyes gleaming as he watches you intently.

Muscles tremble, thoughts flash in and out of existence within your mind as you look at the swans, sat neatly on the river bank, just at the water’s edge. A few long steps there, then back, and it’ll be over.

He’s right—you’re fae. They won’t attack you.

Still.

His arm unlinks from your own, hand pressing gently against the base of your spine. Egging you on.

You exhale a heavy breath, then move forward. Silently cursing him—unkind as it is. One step at a time as you descend the bank. The wind seems to have picked up, and you’re grateful for your preternatural sense of balance as you move down the muddy slant, feet settling on the pebble-filled shore.

Just three more steps, and you can turn back.

Two more.

One more, and then you’ll be in reaching distance.

The beady eyes pierce into you, wings stiffening, and you force yourself to breathe deeply.

“Just tap one on the head, and it’ll be over,” he reminds from your back, a little too loudly for your liking. Like he’s trying to get them to startle.

You steady yourself, blocking him out.

Come on, you can do this. You’re twice it’s size, and have immortality on your side. You can do this.

Slowly, shakily, you take the last step forward, reaching out your hand.

Black eyes meet your own, and you falter.

The swan shrieks, the second one hissing viciously, wings flaring to strike. You jump away, feet landing on the slippery rocks of the river. The massive birds surge forward, beak opening to snap at you, and you stumble, yelping as you fall backward. Icy water soaks up to your waist, and the breath whooshes out of you, your arms covering your face as wings flap.

When you open your eyes, the swans have taken off, and you’re up to your ribs in freezing river water. Trembling and shaking, you ease yourself out, soaked from the waist down, clothes wet and icy against your skin as you shiver.

Up on the bank, Eris is grinning, eyes gleaming with mirth as he watches your soaked state shuffle from the river, barely keeping his laughter to himself.

“You said—” Your heart is still pounding, vision blurring a little as you fumble for words. “You said they— That they wouldn’t…” Your teeth are already chattering, and you have to get warm quickly. You know how deadly the cold can be. Even with a reinforced body, the cold is as vicious as you remember, softly sinking into your arms, numbing your lips.

“Every animal has a fight or flight response,” he replies, voice lilting with amusement at your terror. “It was foolish of you to think you were above that.”

“But you said—”

“If I told you to dip beneath the river for five minutes without coming up for air because fae lungs are larger, would you do it?” He counters.

“…I wouldn’t disbelieve you,” you stammer, lips numb from the cold, lumbering back toward the bank.

The water in your shoes makes it hard to climb the muddy slope, and you end up having to use your hands to keep yourself steady, gritty dirt sliding beneath your nails. “Why did you lie?” You manage, heart pounding from fear, blinking away tears. His lips are still quirked into a rueful smile, enjoying your terror.

Hateful, hateful, hateful male.

“Don’t blame your idiocy on me,” he says smoothly, offering you a viper’s smile as he turns to continue along the path, leaving you freezing and shivering, soaked in river water. “Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see through that,” he calls over his shoulder. Tears spill down your cheeks, and for once, you don’t think, or fret over the consequences.

You winnow, and land a smack square across his cheek. As hard as you can.

He blinks, startled.

Then flame ignites in his eyes, glittering ire blazing hot as a forge.

“Don’t you ever,” you snarl, “do something like that again.” Fury heats your body, and you feel like a physical warmth is wrapping around you, fingertips tingling as if glowing, skin itching just below the surface. “Do you hear me, Eris?” You repeat, rage sharpening your words as your lip pulls back from your teeth.

The flame banks in his caramel eyes, and he yields a step. It’s satisfying, until you realise why.

You are glowing. But it’s not the bright, warm golden of Feyre’s happiness.

It’s green, and vivid.

Hands the colour of radiant starfall.

————

The Mother seems to enjoy putting you through various trials.

You come to this conclusion as you resist the urge to press deeper into the firm heat of Azriel’s chest as he carries you through the air.

For reasons you can only guess at, Cassian was otherwise preoccupied, leaving the Shadowsinger to fill in. Now Elain understands your relationship with the male, Feyre can guess at the complexities, and Azriel is part of the mess, so it should be obvious you’ll fly with your younger sister, right?

Unfortunately, Lucien had to be accounted for.

He’s well aware of the history between the Spymaster and his mate, and while he would never ask Elain to avoid him, she can guess well enough it would make him unhappy. That’s how you end up in his arms, split between wishing to be anywhere else, and wishing to be able to bask in his touch without anyone questioning how close you would lean. As it is, you’re stuck between keeping your distance, and not leaning so far it looks like you’re attempting to plummet to the ground far below.

The group is moving in silence, passing over the final stretch, and you can make out the twinkle of lights in the distance—Velaris. They’d gotten caught up in—what sounded like—a rather heated conversation with the Autumn Court heir, while you had opted to wait outside. The hallway had seemed too cramped, and you weren’t sure if you could manage being pressed so close to him without making your discomfort obvious.

Azriel breaks the silence. “Was everything okay with Eris suddenly turning up?”

The question startles you from your inner thoughts, and you replay it to catch the beginning. “Yeah,” you reply, trying to keep your eyes off him. “He’s just a bit…” You fumble for words, but he’s already nodding, knowing what you’re getting at. “He’s a little intense,” you settle on, “but everything was fine. For the most part, anyway.” You’re rambling.

“For the most part,” he echoes, a soft question in his voice.

“Well, I ended up falling into the river, but you know how it is…” you mumble, suddenly finding the sky very interesting. More interesting than Azriel.

(Liar.)

“I don’t think I do,” he replies. “What does soaking yourself to the bone have to do with him?” He asks, grip tightening ever so slightly as you begin the descent. You really don’t want to tell him—it’s not going to win you any adult points. At best it’ll just show how emotional your are, and that means baggage.

“It’s a long story,” you hedge, trying not to cling too tight to him as your stomach lifts in your belly. “We’ve got a while left,” he replies, gazing ahead. He could definitely be going at a steeper angle.

You sigh softly, trying to figure out how to make it as quick and concise as possible. “Well…he kind of…appeared out of nowhere, and we ended walking back together.” Azriel’s fingers press into your skin lightly, slowly spiralling in wide circles, “and there was a river involved.”

You nod gently, “yeah.”

“How?”

Teeth worry your lower lip, mouth pursing.

He exhales quietly. “We’re in an alliance, but that doesn’t mean you should trust him. I need to know everything that happened so precautions can be made,” he explains firmly.

“Okay…”

“So tell me what happened when you were walking alone with him,” he prompts.

“There’s not much to say…” you try, but he gives you a look that tells you to quit lying. “I don’t know…we were walking past the river, and there were some swans, and he convinced me to touch one, and…well, I slipped and fell in.” You leave out the glowing hands part. If you mention it, you know they’ll pounce. You don’t want to go through what Nesta did. The things she had to endure just to activate her powers…

Granted, there’s no looming threat of the queen anymore, but still. You’d rather not.

“He convinced you,” Azriel mutters under his breath, “and how did he do that?” You flush with heat, and pray he can’t tell. “I didn’t want to walk past them, and he…encouraged me to tackle my fear.”

“Stop forcing a good narrative on that prick,” he says sharply. “He didn’t encourage you, he manipulated you.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, “but I’m a little less afraid of swans now.”

Azriel sucks in a steadying breath. “And what did you talk about?”

You cast your mind back to the conversation. “He said he hadn’t known there were four sisters,” you admit, quietly, “he thought there were only three, and that Rhys was hiding me, for some reason.” He hums, and your hairs stand on end, able to feel the resonance thrumming through you. You hurriedly shift your mind elsewhere before your scent changes. “What else?”

You put your teeth into the inside of your lower lip, “I…” said we weren’t on the best of terms. “He asked…how…I was settling in,” you manage to string the words together, selecting each one with great care. “And?” He prompts. Oh dear.

“I said it was fine,” you reply, purposely vaguely. His eyes flick to you, and your own snap away in response. “Just fine?” He questions, softly. You make to nod, but he mutters your name under his breath, a quiet reprimand on his tongue. Heat coils in the pit of your belly, making you shift uncomfortably in his arms, leaning away.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and he tightens his grip on you. “Stop doing that. You’ll fall.” You’re squeezed closer to him, and you squirm, the heat doubling. He mutters your name again, rougher.

“Stop doing that,” you hiss, sharply. You don’t have time to feel bad—it’s better to be rude than for him to realise the immense effect he has on you. “Stop leaning away from me,” he counters, “you’re being difficult.”

“I’m sorry my responses are an inconvenience for you,” you snap, quietly. No louder than a whisper.

“Don’t weaponise your emotions like that,” he murmurs back.

“I don’t see how I’d be able to when I don’t even know what that means,” you return, quietly. You feel his eyes press into you, and you look further away, inspecting the ground. “Don’t feign ignorance either,” he says sharply, “it’s immature.”

“Immature is making a problem out of something I can’t help,” you whisper back, snappily. His eyes narrow on you, and you shift again.

His hold tightens abruptly, fingers digging into you as he roughly readjusts his grip on your thighs and around your back. You squeak at the harsh treatment, heat bursting in your lower belly, and you squeeze your lips together, praying no sounds slip out. “It’s like you’re trying to get me to drop you,” he mutters beside your ear, “just keep still. We’re almost there.”

“Keep still?” You repeat incredulously, staring at him. “I don’t know if you’ve somehow forgotten, Azriel,” you hiss, emphasising his name. Hazel eyes flick down to you, and you gently push away the heat for a moment. “But I struggle to even think straight when you’re around. I can barely keep my head as it is, so forgive me if I’m a little shifty in a position like this,” you snap quietly. Probably the most aggressive you’ve ever been for a consistent time period.

“And I don’t know if you’ve forgotten,” he snipes back, eyes piercing into you, “but you managed to pull away on the brink of an orgasm.” Wild heat swallows you whole, and there’s no way your scent is remaining undetected now. “So you’re clearly more in control than you say you are.”

You stare at him, lips parted, skin flushed with heat.

“We are done with this conversation,” you hiss, breaking your gaze away. He doesn’t appreciate the verbal dismissal. “We’re done when I say we’re done,” he hisses in return. “Now what did you mean when you told Eris you were fine?”

You purse your lips, pointedly averting your eyes.

He mutters your name, grip tightening on you. You ignore him.

He repeats it, rougher this time, shadows twining around you.

“Cut it out,” you whisper, sharply.

“Expand on the fine comment,” he pushes, and you can physically feel the weight of his gaze upon your cheek. “Why are you so hung up on that one, tiny part?” You return, a sliver of irritation peeking through. “Because you’ve been acting strangely for a while now,” he hisses, “and if you’re starting to spiral like Nesta—”

“Do not threaten me, Azriel,” you snarl softly, skin heating—tingling. His eyes flicker, and his hold lessens on you a little, “it’s not a threat,” he soothes, “just an observation.” You narrow your brow as you watch him warily. “Like I said: you’ve been acting strange recently, and if you even gave the slightest hint that something’s off, Eris will exploit it.”

Your eyes flick away, slightly embarrassed by your tiny outburst. That wasn’t appropriate.

“So tell me, what happened when you said you were fine?” He repeats, gritting out the question.

“I…” You bite your lip, then give up. “He asked if I was settling in well, and I said I wasn’t.”

“Why did you tell him that?” He asks, gaze returning to pick out Velaris, much closer now. “Because it’s the truth,” you reply, a little weakly.

“I don’t care if it’s the truth, you shouldn’t have told him,” Azriel hisses. “He’ll give you the comfort you want, offer the reassurance, until you’re wrapped so tightly you choke on it.”

Hurt flickers in your eyes, vision blurring. “Maybe if I was better than fine I wouldn’t need the comforting,” you snap, turning your head and blinking away tears. His jaw tightens, “that’s not the point.” You stare at him. He stares back, features set in a stony line. “What is the point, then?” You ask weakly, the small spark of fight banking, beginning to flicker out beneath his oppressive gaze. “The point is,” he says, dragging out the words like he’s talking to a child. “You’re too naive.”

It’s like a smack to the face, your head reeling.

“You don’t know the dynamics between the courts. You don’t know about the feuds, or the history of Prythian. You don’t know enough to be trusted to act on your own,” he continues, oblivious to the number of scars he’s striking. “You’re a loose cannon, that I now have to compensate for.”

You stare up at him, hazel eyes glittering beneath the starlight.

“What’s worse—”

You put your hands over your ears. You can’t take anymore. If it was coming from someone else—fine. From anyone else it would be fine; understandable.

But not Azriel. That’s too much.

His brow furrows, lips moving, and you can guess he’s telling you to remove your hands.

You shake your head softly, unable to stand another word.

But his shadows contract around your wrists, tugging them away, and you hate the heat the bubbles in your lower belly at the roughness.

“You need to grow up,” he mutters, lowly. “You can’t just run away from something if you don’t want to hear it. You’re going to have to face it.”

A sob breaks from your chest, and your hands cover your face as the tears finally break, spilling down your cheeks. “Just leave me alone,” you cry, shoulders shaking as the tears continue streaming. “You find me irritating? fine. You find me annoying? Fine. You think I’m the worst, ugliest, most useless female in the world, fine,” you sob, unable to look at him. “But keep it to yourself, because every single word from your mouth holds more weight that you can probably even understand. And it is crushing me.”

You tremble in his arms, wishing they were there to offer comfort instead of being purely obligatory.

“You think Eris is the viper? You think he’s the one who’s bad for me? The one who’s trying to choke me?” You ask through your tears. “But you’re the one succeeding.”

Azriel’s eyes harden, and you feel the fractures growing larger. “I’m trying to keep you in line,” he replies, coldly. “For the sake of my Court, my High Lord and Lady, I am doing my best to keep people safe,” he emphasises. “And you are a proving to be a burden.”

You don’t know if he intentionally selected that word, burden.

You don’t know if he even realises which wound he’s targeted—so many have been picked open.

But you go quiet in his arms.

Docile.

The fight finally winking out.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd

#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel x Archeron sibling #Azriel angst #angst #CBMTHY #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You #Part 4 #CBMTHY Part 4 #Eris

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naomeii · 4 months

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Hello! Here's my request:

Modern au where Childe and reader get into a particularly heated argument because he always comes back bloody, battered and bruised from a fight. Unfortunately, Childe ends up telling her he liked it better when she was ignoring him instead of nagging all the time, which shatters her heart. He tries to apologize but she's already out the door and staying over at her mother's house. Even when her mother reassured her that Childe does love her, it did little to heal her heart.

On the other hand, Childe was in shambles. He kept on trying to call, email, and text her but she won't pick up. He was left alone at their shared house, the meal she made had gone cold but he still ate it and yet, he didn't feel full. He ends up crying himself to sleep on their entryway.

The next day, reader returns to their home with the intention of packing up her things and leaving but is stopped by an exhausted Childe who follows her even when she tells him not to touch her. He notices her missing engagement ring (she had left it in their bedroom) and is terrified; he begs her not to leave him while sobbing and holding her tight. Eventually, his pleas were heard when she finally forgives him after he apologizes for snapping at her.

Metamorphosis.

—Pairing: Childe x F!Reader

Content: Modern au, angst to fluff, arguments

Childe's entrance into your shared apartment was marked by the tired shuffle of his boots against the floor. The faint odor of blood mixed with the antiseptic scent of a healing agent lingered in the air. He looked up, eyes shadowed with weariness, as you confronted him in the doorway.

"What happened to you this time, Childe?" Your voice was a mix of concern and frustration, and your eyes scanned his battered form with a mix of anger and worry. This had become a routine – him coming back battered and bruised, and you, waiting to pick up the pieces.

Childe sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "It's part of the job, darling. You knew what you were getting into when we started dating."

Your jaw tightened at the dismissive response. "Part of the job doesn't mean you have to come back looking like you've been through a war every single time! Do you even care about how this affects me?"

Childe's tired eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of remorse. "I liked it better when you just ignored me, you know? Instead of nagging all the time."

As the weight of his words sank in, you couldn't help but recall the days when Childe was indeed all over you. His playful antics, the way he made you laugh until tears streamed down your face, and the warmth of his love enveloping you. It was a stark contrast to the current reality, where his flippant remark shattered the remnants of those precious moments.

"Childe, what happened to us?" The question slipped out, laced with a mixture of pain and confusion. "You used to care about us, about me."

He avoided your gaze, a hint of guilt crossing his features. "It's just the way things are now. We both knew my life was dangerous."

A bitter chuckle escaped you. "I knew, but I never thought you'd grow indifferent. I miss the Childe who used to come home to me, not this stranger who treats me like a burden."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The damage had been done. You turned away, tears threatening to spill. "I can't do this, Childe. Not if it means losing myself in the process."

As Childe desperately reached out for your hand, the door swung open, as you quickly left.

"Wait, please!" Childe's voice cracked with desperation, but you were out the door, oblivious to his pleas.

In your tear-streaked haze, you hailed a cab, directing it to your mother's house. The city lights blurred as you tried to make sense of the shattered fragments of your relationship. The cab's interior provided a temporary sanctuary, shielding you from the unresolved emotions that lingered at the doorstep of your shared home.

Arriving at your mother's house, the front door creaked open before you could even knock. Concern etched across her face, your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her worry palpable.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside.

Through choked sobs, you recounted the argument, the hurtful words, and the irreparable damage that had driven you away.

"Sweetheart, people say things they don't mean when emotions run high. Childe does love you; I'm sure of it. Relationships have their ups and downs, but love can overcome even the toughest moments."

Her words, meant to console, offered a lifeline in the storm of emotions. Yet, despite her reassurance, the ache in your heart persisted. The wounds were fresh, the echoes of Childe's indifferent words still reverberating within you.

"I know, Mom, but it just hurts so much," you whispered, tears welling up again.

She held you at arm's length, her gaze filled with concern. "Take your time, dear. Healing doesn't happen overnight. If he loves you, he'll realize the impact of his words and make amends."

On the other side, Childe's attempts to reach you knew no bounds. His phone buzzed with unanswered calls and texts, each message a desperate plea for forgiveness.

+𝟗𝟗 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐦 <𝟑 3:33 am Y/n, please, just pick up the phone. I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said. I love you more than anything. 4:32 am I'm an idiot, love. I messed up, and I need you to hear me out. Let's talk. Please. 4:45 am ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 (Hey, dummy. I know I screwed up. I didn't mean any of it. I miss you... Can we just talk?)

The echoes of your silence were deafening. Each attempt to reach you felt like shouting into the abyss, the void swallowing his words.

Returning to the shared house, the remnants of your presence lingered. The cold meal you had prepared sat untouched, a poignant reminder of a time when warmth filled the home. Childe mechanically picked at the food, each bite a tasteless reminder of the void that now enveloped him.

The once-familiar walls seemed to close in as he wandered through the silent rooms. The solitude amplified the weight of his regret, and a profound loneliness settled over him. Despite filling his stomach, an emptiness gnawed at his insides.

Tears welled up, and he crumpled to the entryway floor, the place where the love you both had built now reduced to a battleground of hurtful words. The cool surface provided little comfort as he cried himself into an exhausted slumber, the entryway serving as a painful witness to the wreckage of a love he feared might be irreparably broken.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, you cautiously returned to your shared home. The air hung heavy with the residue of the previous night's turmoil. With a determined resolve, you planned to pack your things and spend some time with your mother until the wounds of the argument had a chance to heal.

The moment you stepped into the entryway, you noticed a disheveled Childe, still draped in the shadows of sleep. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, widened in surprise at your presence.

"Y/n…" His voice wavered, a mix of regret and exhaustion lacing his words.

"I'm here to pack my things, Childe," you stated, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes pleaded with you, but you remained steadfast. "Please, love, let's talk. I need you to understand."

"No, Childe. We've said enough," you replied, your voice firm. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but you were determined not to let it sway your decision.

As you began gathering your belongings, Childe, propelled by a mixture of desperation and a genuine desire to make amends, rose from the floor. He moved closer, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

"Don't touch me, Childe," you warned, your eyes flashing hurt.

Childe's heart sank as he continued to trail behind you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and he winced at the palpable pain in your voice when you told him not to touch you.

His eyes were red and swollen from the tears that had stained the entryway floor the night before. Yet, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, fueled by the desperate need to salvage what was left of the love that once filled their home.

As he followed you through the house, his eyes caught sight of your left hand. The familiar glint of the engagement ring was conspicuously absent. Panic seized him as he realized its absence, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Y/n, where's the ring?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and desperation.

You glanced at him briefly, the weight of your gaze heavy with unspoken words. "It's in the bedroom. I left it."

Childe's heart raced as he hurried to the bedroom, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. The room, once a sanctuary of shared dreams, felt haunted by the shadows of fractured promises.

He found the ring on the dresser, its absence from your finger a stark reminder of the fragility of the bond they had built. The intricate design, a symbol of their commitment, now seemed like a fragile artifact of a love slipping through his fingers.

Fear gripped him, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a tidal wave. He returned to find you near the front door, the distance between you growing wider with each passing moment.

"Y/n, I—I can fix this. I'll do whatever it takes. Please, don't go," he pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice bared for you to see.

As you moved towards the door, a determined resolve etched across your face, Childe's hand shot out, instinctively reaching for you. He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. His eyes pleaded with yours, mirroring the desperate turmoil within him.

"Y/n, please, I beg you… don't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You paused, feeling the grip on your wrist, the pull of emotions warring within you. Childe's sobs echoed in the silent room, the raw vulnerability he displayed tearing down the walls you had erected around your wounded heart.

"Childe, you can't fix this with just words," you said, your own voice wavering with the weight of the situation.

His grip softened, fingers slipping from your wrist to intertwine with yours. "I know… I know, but let me try. I love you, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."

His tears fell freely, staining the floor beneath him. The vulnerability he exhibited, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, created a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I can't promise anything, Childe," you said, gently trying to disentangle your hand from his. "But I need time to think, away from this… chaos."

Childe, however, held on tighter, his sobs intensifying. "I messed up, Y/n. I don't want to lose you. Please, just stay. Let me try to make things right."

The conflicting emotions battled within you as Childe's sobs reverberated in the room. Despite the anger, hurt, and the shattered trust, a deep well of love still lingered within your heart. The sight of him crumbling before you, laid bare in vulnerability, tugged at those lingering threads of affection.

Taking a deep breath, you relented. Your free hand reached out, gently cupping Childe's tear-stained cheek. Your touch, though soft, held the weight of both love and reproach.

"Childe, stop crying," you whispered, your voice a delicate plea.

His tearful eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside their shared turmoil seemed to fade away. The touch of your hand, wiping away his tears, bridged the emotional chasm that had grown between you two.

"I love you, but this can't be fixed overnight," you admitted, your tone a delicate balance of firmness and compassion.

Childe nodded, his grip on your hand relaxing.

In the days that followed, the atmosphere in your shared home transformed. Childe, once a tempest of chaos and unpredictability, began to change. The realization of the pain he had caused you, coupled with the fear of losing the love he cherished, became a catalyst for a profound transformation.

His actions spoke louder than words. Childe started attending therapy, seeking guidance to navigate the complexities of his emotions and learn healthier ways to cope with the challenges that came with his role in the Fatui. The reckless impulsivity that once defined him began to give way to a more measured and thoughtful approach.

The wounds of the argument were still fresh, and trust needed time to mend, but Childe's commitment to change became evident in his actions. He took on a more active role in maintaining the home, shared responsibilities with newfound diligence, and made genuine efforts to communicate openly.

Gone were the days of recklessness overshadowing your relationship. Childe, now more attuned to your needs and the impact of his words, worked tirelessly to rebuild the connection that had weathered the storm.

While the scars of the past lingered, the metamorphosis within Childe created a sense of hope.

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