#all bleeding stops eventually

[imdoingwhateverisnext]

"All Bleeding Stops...Eventually"

(probably needs further editing)

I don't remember the first time I heard this said in the Emergency Department, but as a young person, I thought it was cold, harsh, and rather insensitive. After a decade or two of seeing the most horrific things, working through them, and "processing" them all, I absolutely LOVE this quote.

As an analogy, I might say, imagine spending a perceived near eternity on a tiny boat, ALONE with a large hole in it. You may have a radio that works sometimes, but no one you can really talk to. You have a Dixie cup, a mason jar, or coffee mug. Maybe all you have is your balled up shirt, bra or pants, and you are constantly emptying the water out of the boat in the best way you possibly can. Maybe there is a person that was in your boat but is no longer there, and you are grieving the loss of him or her. The water is always too deep for your boat to stay safely afloat and you are wet, exhausted and without anyone to talk to about it; every day. Ultimately this will stop. It has to, and on some level you know this. I have heard of similar less detailed analogies, like putting band-aids on arterial bleeds. It is a similar concept. If you don't have the proper equipment, knowledge or resources, you are basically screwed. You will either come up with some better idea on how to stay afloat, get rescued, or you will exhaust yourself to the point of letting go. When your boat sinks, you are left floating and treading until you can no longer. Maybe it will be the sharks that relieve you from your suffering (I have heard the bites are nearly painless initially as they happen so fast). Either way, "something has to give", so to speak. After an exhausting battle, sometimes it may be better to float and tread gently than spend every waking moment emptying water from your sinking boat.

One evening early in my (so called) career, I worked on a trauma victim, a 72 year old man with no lower face from a shotgun blast. He survived despite the fact that all of the tools we needed to keep him alive were absent. Everything we did took too long. He seemed like a lost cause by all accounts. He lost so much blood it smelled throughout the hospital, and he probably should have been dead. No matter what we did wrong, he was going to live. For whatever reason I cannot explain this fully.

I worked on a trauma case of a 27 year old girl who was hit by a truck while walking at dusk (near dark) with her friend. When she arrived to us by ambulance, she had no large intact bones. This was at first obvious during the multiple attempts to intubate her, because the entire front of her face moved in and out during the process (which is not supposed to happen). Attempts to start IV's were unsuccessful; her arms and legs had no firmness or skeletal structure. We were left with just basically boneless skin and muscle.

She had left an imprint of her face in the front of the truck that impacted her (according to accounts from the paramedics). She appeared to be bruised, yet fully pristine and intact from the outside, generally speaking. Our equipment was working, we had all of the tools we needed. We were all working as best as we could and we had adequate staffing for the situation.

Though there was so much emotion and obvious trauma on that night, what sticks out in my mind to this day, was the feeling that it seemed the only person in peace, was the accident victim. She was the only person going to rest, for a long time. Nearly everyone else would be scarred from this situation. She just looked like a sleeping angel with soft rubber-like arms and a broken/bruised face.

Of the traumatized others left behind, was the completely sober man who hit her. He was driving the speed limit at night on his way to work and rounded a curve. She was in the road slightly and her friend was in the grass. He didn't see her until it was too late. The friend with whom she was walking and talking recalled how she looked beside her and was suddenly was walking alone, just after a truck passed by. She was confused. It happened that fast, and she didn't know for a few minutes where her friend was. The remainder of the traumatized were (I am certain her family), paramedics, emergency workers, firemen, police, doctors, nurses, and ER staff. For all of the work that was done, that we did, it was heartbreaking and devastating that we could not save this young woman.

I still know exactly where she was hit, the spray paint in the road lasted for months after the investigation. I never pass this part of town without thinking about her. I have several places in this town like this. I don't know if paramedics and EMS workers feel the same about scenes they work, but after many years, I realize how many traumatic memories I drive around to avoid on a daily basis; the day care fire, my aunt's apartment, the scene of the crash of my friend from high school. The list is almost limitless. Avoidance and compartmentalization have helped me. Although some days it is just easier not to leave the house at all.

Feeling out of control and unable to help or save someone is the most helpless of all feelings. I have been somehow involved in enough tragic scenarios in which I finally ultimately realized, the outcome of this situation is out of my hands. I was fighting against something or someone I could not and still cannot fully explain. It is a feeling I have gotten a lot in my life. Most of the time the feeling was of peaceful acceptance after a long and frustrating fight. It was as if someone said to me internally, "It's okay, no matter what you do, this one is mine. Feel free to fight more if you want." It was as if the chaos of life, God or the Universe dictated who lived and who died, and that was it. I had no choice in the matter, which felt futile and pointless at times. In some ways though, it was like a kind, "throwing in of the towel" from a manager/coach who knows you did your best.

This is not a kind of thing easily accepted by some trained medical professionals, when saving lives is part of your job description. If a person dies on "your watch", it is your fault. You did something wrong, you didn't do enough, there wasn't enough staff, the staff were not properly trained, or there wasn't enough ancillary support. Maybe patient transport was delayed, or maybe it was a political or funding issue. For someone like me, it was always my fault. I didn't do a good enough job. Those feelings linger, sometimes for years. Sometimes for decades. However, every now and then I would get that welcomed feeling of peaceful acceptance.

Performing CPR on a friend who doesn't survive is a terrible situation that would wreck some people. One incident like this could destroy the mind of a person. I have detailed this particular story in another one of my writings so I won't describe it here just now, but it is ONE trauma that hasn't left my mind yet. I doubt it ever will.

The losses in these cases are heartbreaking, horrific and catastrophic. The effects of even one of these types of incidents can be mentally, emotionally and sometimes even physically devastating. These events are often not even recognized as trauma until the "adrenaline" wears off. It took me years to realize after seeing and dealing with so many traumas, that they can leave permanent wounds.

In all of the departments I have worked in, emotional or psychological trauma to workers from patient incidents was not something ever really spoken of. There was always another bloody, sometimes gross, possibly life threatening thing waiting in the waiting room, or rolling in on the next ambulance. We had rooms to clean, supplies to restock, and we had to be ready for the next one. We didn't have time to mentally deal with any one case. It was always on to the next thing, every time. I suppose this is how I deal with things now. I do whatever is next.

We were the ones who ran towards disaster, blood, gore, and trauma. It was almost an unspoken rule, we couldn't complain about any of it. We were ALL dealing with the sight and experience of terrible things. Not all of us the same incidents, but all terrible at some point. So we would tell jokes, prank each other, and compartmentalize the trauma. I personally still love dark humor. We ignored, suppressed and did other types of (often unhealthy) things in our spare time to deflect, negate, or drown the unwanted feelings and memories.

Laughter, to this day is my favorite coping mechanism. People wonder how I can just shut a part of my brain down and watch stand up comedy. I don't have a good answer for this; except I have been doing it for so many years. It has helped me through a lot of ugly thoughts and kept me "mostly normal", considering the circumstances.

I am just one individual with some skills, but so much of life, I have learned, is out of my control. Some days it felt as though the harder I fought, the harder life has kicked me right in my ass! Fighting alone indefinitely is not reasonable, apparently. So, I fight less now, but I can still scrap with the best of them (occasionally).

I look back on everything and think to myself, how did I even do it? Could I do it again? Would I ever want to? What could I do differently that might have made things better? Honestly, I don't even have answers for these questions. I am slowly coming to terms with memories, traumas, and negativity from all of these things. Mild changes in my mindset and philosophy over the years has helped me somewhat.

It is good to know that all bleeding stops eventually. It is a comfortable thought and fact that gives me peace when I am struggling (too hard or for too long).

***PROBABLY NEEDS MORE EDITING***

[neobisexual]

had a very intense semi lucid dream last night where i was the daughter/acolyte of an insane cult leader/my dad who performed non consenual surgery on me and molested and raped me. it inspired me to start writing a lil sci fi novella but also to clean out my closet and find my vibrator cuz i was desperate for it after waking up lmfao

[pithyorangecurd]

Least interesting person in the world im afraid

[skeletonmaster69]

man u know what. if im gonna be a worthless loser i can atleast try to be a worthless loser that looks hot and has fun before he dies

[this-doesnt-endd]

I need to start doing my physical therapy exercises again

[redhotarsenic]

Valantinez having to pin J’ihwu down cuz he got Impaled somewhere and they need to take out the object to get him fixed up and he’s trying to wriggle away. Cuz he likes it and he wants to enjoy the sensation a little longer

[sluttywonwoo]

fuck the neighbors

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f reader

summary: curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back- at least, that's what they say.

warnings: swearing, blood, asshole!wonwoo, mingyu is canonically a whore, light blasphemy, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: hard dom!wonwoo, allusions to voyeurism, degradation, oral (f receiving), blood play?!?!? (just a little bit!!!), wap!reader, massive cock!wonwoo, choking, protected sex

word count: 3.3k

reader notes: reader is significantly shorter than ww + described to have long-ish hair

You’ve never felt as small as you do right now. Wonwoo looms over you, smirking. He isn’t even that much taller than you, you just seem to shrink into yourself when you’re around him, which seems to be happening more and more often lately. 

“Found you,” he whispers. 

“I... wasn’t hiding,” you say, your voice coming out in a squeak. 

“You know it isn’t nice to lie,” he chides, taking a step closer to you. You take a step backward in kind, only to be met with the cool concrete wall against your back. “It also isn’t nice to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to,” you insist. 

Wonwoo tsks. “I don’t believe you. What did I just say about lying?”

“Well, it isn’t nice to be super loud all the time either!” you scoff. “You have neighbors, you know.”

The overhead light flickers. You and Wonwoo both stare at it, the inconsistent hum of electricity filling the silence before the light eventually decides to stay lit. You breathe a sigh of relief. You really needed to stop overlooking sketchy apartments for the sake of the rent, especially if you were going to have to deal with people like... him. 

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about? Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you could be just a little quieter-”

Wonwoo cuts you off with a laugh. “That’s what this is about? That’s why you were snooping outside my apartment? What, were you hoping to catch a glimpse of her leaving or something?”

So you had been right... you’re not sure whether or not you’re happy about that. What you are sure of, though, is that you’re offended that you’re being accused of snooping. You open your mouth to defend yourself but stop short. 

“You’re bleeding,” is what you say instead. 

Wonwoo touches his lip, thumb brushing across the cut he must not have noticed until you mentioned it. He looks down at his fingers briefly then back up at you. 

“Come with me.”

“Wha- huh?”

“You want to know what’s so loud, right? So come on.”

You follow him blindly back down the hall to his apartment, the one right next to yours. You’re doing everything a final girl in a horror movie shouldn’t do, but you’re dying to know what’s been keeping you up at night. 

Wonwoo unlocks the door and stands aside to let you in first. With a gulp, you cross the threshold and slip off your shoes.  He does the same. 

The apartment is quiet, for once. It looks a lot like yours but mirrored. The kitchen is off to the right instead of the left. The half bathroom is on the wall opposite to yours, likely connected via plumbing.

The place is a lot cleaner than you expected too. It’s sparse, typical for a single guy, but still relatively well decorated. 

Wonwoo heads straight to the kitchen and turns on the sink. He wets a paper towel and dabs at his bottom lip, wincing as he cleans the wound.

“Why am I here?” you ask when he doesn’t offer an explanation. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Granted, the man was still bleeding but he’d dragged you here for a reason and now you were just standing in his kitchen. 

Eventually, he disposes of the paper towel, washes his hands, and walks across the living room without saying a word. You know he expects you to follow him but you almost don’t want to. You do follow him, you want to leave as fast as possible, but you consider it. 

He opens the door to what you know is a bedroom and points inside. You stare at him blankly. 

“What am I looking at?” 

“This isn’t my room,” he says. 

“What?”

“It’s my roommate’s.”

“You have a roommate?”

“I do. I have a roommate. He’s the one you share a wall with. He’s the one banging a different girl every night. Your issues are with him, not me.”

Now that you were thinking about it, you have seen a slightly taller, beefier man around the building. That must be who Wonwoo’s roommate is. He definitely had the face to pull all the girls Wonwoo was referring to. Not that Wonwoo didn’t-

“So take it up with him.”

You shake your head and purse your lips. “No, that doesn’t explain everything. I’ve heard your voice too. Unless you’re the one he’s banging...” you trail off, letting the implication hang in the air. 

“He’s not my type,” Wonwoo says flatly. 

“Okay, then what is it?”

“C’mere,” he says, moving along the wall to what you use as a breakfast nook in your apartment. 

In his, the space is empty save for a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. 

“You box?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Is that why you were bleeding?”

“Yeah, I just got back from the gym.”

“And that’s what I’ve been hearing?”

“That’s what you’ve been hearing.”

You nod but don’t say anything else, half waiting for an apology that he doesn’t offer. He just leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well, do you think you could practice your hobby before midnight? Or at least try to keep it down when you do?” you huff in annoyance.

He sighs like what you’re asking is the biggest inconvenience he’s ever been posed with but concedes.

 “I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to talk to Mingyu about his... hobby, though. Or get noise canceling headphones. That’s what I did.”

“Oh, okay.”

Silence stretches between you again, heightening the tension in the room. You don’t know what to do. Were you supposed to show yourself out now that you had your answers? Wonwoo isn’t giving you any indication that he wants you to leave but he isn't giving any indication that he wants you to stay either. 

You don’t have the time or energy to deal with this. You can’t read the man’s mind. No matter how hard he stares at you from across a room. With a definitive breath, you turn on your heel to head for the door just to be stopped by Wonwoo’s voice echoing behind you. 

“Are you disappointed?” 

You stop but don’t turn around. “What?”

“Are you disappointed that it isn’t me you’ve been hearing?” he clarifies. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “Wh-what do you mean? Why would I be?”

You feel him approach from behind, his shadow closing in on you before he does. 

“Because it isn’t my voice you’ve been touching yourself to.”

“What?!” You do turn around this time, whipping around so fast your ponytail almost whacks Wonwoo in the face. 

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when I pass you in the hallway?”

You scoff, breathing a subtle sigh of relief. All he had to go off of was a look but if he had heard you through the wall, if he had that irrefutable evidence, it would definitely be over for you. “If that’s what you think lust looks like, I feel bad for all the girls you have slept with.”

“Resentment and lust have a very long history together,” he whispers. 

“You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

You feign ignorance. “About what?”

“About you.” He measures you up with his gaze, something triumphant flashing behind his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he presses. “Tell me you’ve never gotten off to the thought of me and I’ll drop it.”

You weigh your options. You could lie. You could save yourself the embarrassment and lie right to his face, although given your track record thus far he’d see right through it. Or, you could tell him the truth. You could admit to wishing you were the one in what you thought had been his bed all this time. 

You settle on silence and let him draw his own conclusion. A smirk tugs at one side of Wonwoo’s mouth. So he did think highly of himself. 

“I fucking knew it,” he murmurs. 

Before you can deny it, he straightens back up and starts walking toward the back of the apartment. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces. 

You don’t move from where you’re standing, unsure of what he wants you to do. Was he hinting at you to leave? Was it an invitation? 

Wonwoo looks back over his shoulder at you. “Are you coming?” 

“Hopefully,” you mutter.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

-

The water is already running by the time you slip into the bathroom after Wonwoo. You watch quietly as he undresses, letting the door click shut gently behind you. It occurs to you that you should be taking your clothes off too but you can’t look away. 

Wonwoo’s kind enough to snap you out of it. “I didn’t ask you in here just to watch me.”

“You didn’t ask me in here at all,” you point out, “you just expected me to follow you.”

“And you did.”

Damn, he had you there. 

With a noise of indignation, you pop the button on your jeans and start to wiggle out of them, unable to bring yourself to look at him again now that you’re also exposed. You can feel his eyes on you, though. It has the same effect his presence always has on you, and you attempt to cover yourself with your hands.

“Shy?” he muses. “Cute.”

“Shut up,” you sputter.

You don’t think you’ve felt this self conscious since college and then he laughs at your response which does nothing to help.

“I can’t call you cute?”

“Not if you’re patronizing me.”

“How do you want me to say it, then?” he asks, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. You stare at him in disbelief. “You want me to say it like this? Want me to tell you how cute, how pretty, I think you are, from down here? How pretty I think this pussy is?” Wonwoo leans forward as he talks, further and further until his hair is tickling your tummy and his lips are moving against your skin. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmurs. 

You do, taking hold of the countertop so that you won’t fall as Wonwoo slots himself between your thighs. You take a deep breath to brace yourself for the feeling of his mouth but absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the way he presses a gentle kiss to your pussy before diving in. The softness of the action compared to everything that led up to this moment, compared to the way he was now drowning himself in you, is enough to make your knees threaten to give. Your grip on the counter tightens and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, though you’re sure he already knows he’s got you right where he wants you.  

Wonwoo hitches one of your knees over his shoulder so that he can get even deeper inside of you with his tongue. He drinks you in, breathes you in, douses himself in you like he’s trying to baptize himself in order to atone for his sins.  

If this was his apology for all the noise, he’s forgiven ten times over. 

You can feel callouses on the palms of his hands as he traces them up your legs and over your ass, pulling you even further into him. The force of his grip causes you to stumble but he catches you before you can fall and helps you to regain your balance. 

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, backing you up into the sink. “Here, hop up on the counter.”

“What about the shower?” you ask, suddenly remembering that the water had been running this whole time. 

“Oh shit-”

Wonwoo turns around and reaches to turn it off, drying both his hand and his face with a towel that had been hanging on the wall. 

“Now, hop up on the counter.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, glancing at all of the skin and hair care products scattered across it. 

Wonwoo pushes them out of the way then nods. 

“I’m sure. Mingyu won’t care, trust me. He’d be a hypocrite to.” 

You sigh but hoist yourself onto the counter anyway, too horny to worry about it any longer. Wonwoo steps in between your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. He leans down, you think he’s going to kiss you, but he goes for your neck and kisses you there instead. 

“Why are you pouting?” he asks, voice muffled and vibrating against your throat. 

“Want you to fuck me,” you lie. 

It’s not a complete lie, you do want him to fuck you, but it certainly isn’t the full truth either. You’re afraid that if you’re honest with Wonwoo about wanting him to kiss you it’ll turn him off. He’s not about to make love to you, that much is clear, so was kissing off the table? Was that too intimate for a hookup like this? Would he think you wanted something more if you asked?

“I was getting to that,” he insists lowly. “So impatient.”

“You’re the one who ate me out as soon as you got me alone. You haven’t even kissed me yet.” 

There. Maybe if you challenged him he’d give you what you wanted. 

“Oh, you want me to kiss you, huh?”

He wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you in, finally pressing his lips to yours. Men were so easy. 

He tastes like you imbued with unfamiliarity. Blood, you realize when you pull back and see the cut on his lip had reopened. It isn’t much, just enough to make him look vaguely vampiric. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip and push it into his mouth for him to suck on. 

He does, but he has the audacity to pretend not to like it.  

“You’re sick,” Wonwoo scoffs. 

“And you’re still hard.”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

He kisses you again before you can get another word in, dropping his free hand between your legs to ensure you're truly unable to talk back. 

He uses his fingers to tease you for a moment or two and then he teases you with the head of his cock, pressing it right up against you and making you whimper into his mouth. 

“Tell me, what have you been thinking about all these months,” he murmurs, “when you’re in your bed all alone listening through the wall?”

“I- it’s embarrassing...” you protest. 

Wonwoo draws back, tonguing his cheek as he gazes down at you. “Tell me or we’re done here.” 

You’re not sure whether or not he’ll make good on his threat but you don’t want to call his bluff and risk blowing your chance to actually live out the fantasies you were too embarrassed to share. 

“I thought about... this,” you say hesitantly. 

“This? You thought about me fucking you here?”

“No...”

“You’re going to have to be more specific then, angel.”

“It was, um, in your bed.”

“You mean Mingyu’s bed.”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” you whine.

He smiles. “I know. You know, if you had just paid a little closer attention you would have realized he sounds nothing like me.”

“I was a little distracted at the time,” you whisper.

“Yeah? Distracted pretending it was you in those girls’ positions?”

You nod reluctantly. 

“Poor baby,” he pouts, “must’ve been so jealous but so wet you just had to touch yourself, huh?”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that the condescension turns you on even more. 

While he’s talking, Wonwoo snakes an arm behind you and grabs a condom from a jar on the counter. Did he and Mingyu just keep them out for guests like they were cotton swabs or something? Did they get laid that often? 

He tears the foil packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on as you watch and unconsciously spread your legs even wider for him. 

“Ready?” he asks, holding your face with both hands. 

It’s probably the first earnest interaction you’ve had with him. His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation and even when he finds none, he waits for you to answer.

“Go ahead.”

You keep your eyes trained on his face as he guides himself inside of you, watching the way his eyelashes flutter and his breath hitches when he feels the heat of you around him. He pushes himself in slowly but the stretch still knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping for air.   

“Breathe, baby, breathe. You’re okay.”

You can hardly hear him over the roaring in your ears but you do your best to listen, chest heaving as you desperately try to anchor yourself to him. 

Wonwoo doesn’t move until you urge him to by wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing his hips with your thighs. It isn’t easy at first, despite how wet you are for him. He’s that huge. 

You almost wish he wasn’t just because you don’t think it’s fair for any man’s ego to be warranted, especially one as big as his. Though you suppose it’s fitting. 

 After a few rough strokes, he starts to play with your clit again to get you to relax a little. It works, your eyes roll and your head falls back against the mirror as the tension eases from your muscles. 

“Does it feel as good as you thought it would?” he presses. 

“B-better,” you admit.

“That’s because it wasn’t me you were hearing.”

You groan, annoyed that he still hasn’t let it go. You doubt he ever will. 

“It’s okay. I’ve thought about this too,” he confesses.

“You have?”

“Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs, “Don’t sound so surprised. I’d s-see you in the hallways, see the way you’d glare at me- fuck... who knew all this time you were right next door fantasizing about me while I fantasized about you. We could’ve been doing this so much sooner.”

You want to tell him that you have all the time in the world to make up for it now but you can’t find the words. They’ve dissolved on your tongue and left you with only his name to repeat over and over like you’re in a trance.

“Louder,” he pleads as fucks you even faster.

“But our neighbors-”

“Fuck them,” he spits. “They already hate us because of Mingyu, let them know my name too.”

Apparently you aren’t the only jealous one between the two of you. You want to laugh but you physically can’t, too caught up in the incandescent feeling in your stomach that threatens to engulf you entirely. 

“Fuck, are you about to cum?” Wonwoo gasps, lips parting in concentration. 

You nod. “Just a little more,” you beg, “yeah, exactly like that... oh fuck-”  

“I’ve got you,” he assures you. “Let go, I’m right there with you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet of him and you think he might realize it too because he grabs your jaw and pulls you in to kiss you as you fall apart together so that he can’t say anything else. 

Once you come down, he’s the first to start putting you both back together. 

“Wanna actually take a shower now?” he asks, holding out a hand to help you down from the counter. 

Your knees wobble on your landing but Wonwoo’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders wounded-soldier style and sit you on the closed lid of the toilet.  

“Take your time,” he tells you, kneeling on the tile in front of you. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to stay the night? I mean you can hardly walk. There’s no way you’ll make it all the way home.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “All the way next door?” 

“Exactly! It’s better not to risk it, right?”

You chuckle. “I guess.”

Wonwoo grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home myself in the morning. I’m a gentleman, after all. And then we can piss off your neighbors.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

The idea of being fucked by ghosts ngh

Imagine you just moved into a new house. The AC is busted which sucks when it's hot as fuck out but hey who are you to complain when it was so suspiciously cheap?

Because of aforementioned heat, the only way you can comfortably fall asleep is naked. As you lay down for bed that night, you get an odd feeling. Too exhausted from the big move, you chalk it up to the anxiety of sleeping in a new home and go to sleep.

You're having a wonderful dream about your favorite fantasy when suddenly you're awoken by the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced. You have no time to acclimate to what's going on- you're immediately made aware of how your body is being violently bounced- no, fucked against the headboard of your bed.

Your legs are being held up by god knows what- something you try to discern when your gaze snaps to between your legs only to see nothing there except your embarrassingly wet cunt. The mirror at the foot of the bed, which you never got around to moving, confirms what you're trying to wrap your mind around in a mix of both fear and arousal: you're being fucked by something invisible.

A few more thrusts of the massive force inside of you has you crying out, the pleasure overwhelming- but your moans are cut short by another invisible presence forcing itself into your open mouth.

Drool and tears stream down your face as you gag and get pounded between two beings you can't see. You're quickly brought to the edge of another orgasm when suddenly both invisible masses rip free of you, leaving you coughing and gaped.

You're about to whine until you're manhandled into a new position. Your ghostly assailants waste no time, stuffing you full once more- except this time there's a third in your ass now, too. Your new otherworldly friends use you over and over all night, until you reach an orgasm so good that you pass out.

When you wake up in the morning, there's no evidence that the events of last night were anything more than the most erotic dream you've ever dreamt- though it is quite embarrassing to have squirted in your sleep..

Later that day, you're just out and about running a few necessary errands when you feel something prodding at your clothed cunt. You freeze, looking around only to find you're seated in the back of the bus alone. You brush it off as just your body being weird and readjust how you're sitting.

A few minutes go by, and the prodding is back- albeit more insistent. You're just about to get up and check under you to see if you're sitting on anything when you feel something slam into your defenseless cunt.

Involuntarily, you let out a moan. Your gratitude for the bus being empty doesnt last long, however- as it reaches the next stop and a dozen or so people flood in. All the while, your ghost is still fucking up into you with the force of a freight train.

It's a Herculean task to pretend as if your pussy isn't being ruthlessly pounded into oblivion. You're biting your lip so hard you've made it bleed- and you're gripping the seat besides you so tightly that your knuckles have turned white.

At one point, you try pressing all your weight down in order to stop yourself from bouncing on the massive cock inside of you, but the phantom grip on your hips just tightens and begins using you as a fleshlight.

The ghosts don't care if you're embarrassed, or overstimulated. They're going to fuck you wherever they want, whenever they want, for as long as it takes to satisfy them. You'll accept the job of being their free use slut, eventually. You know you love it.

.

[lovelybluebirdie]

The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

[AO3]

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish. 

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you. 

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama. 

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles. 

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.  

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you. 

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you. 

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see. 

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him. 

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness. 

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust. 

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities. 

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.  

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side. 

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known. 

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.  

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you. 

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late. 

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels. 

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult. 

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium. 

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen. “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you. 

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted. 

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face. 

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins. 

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing. 

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again. 

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need. 

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now. 

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him. 

What if you would die right now – just like that? 

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered. 

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze. 

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way. 

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice. “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain. 

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you. 

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally. 

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you. 

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat. 

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment. 

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder. 

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound. 

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh. “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently. “Her body will do the rest.” 

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.  

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition. 

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent. 

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

*

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again. 

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow. “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some  beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster. “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle. “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

*

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him. 

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain. 

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot. 

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin. 

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you. 

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real. 

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts. 

“Asta...rion?” 

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?” 

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice. 

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings. 

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat. “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

Masterlist

[bluetimeombre]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either part 2

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[thank you for the love on part one, I’m so happy Azriel is getting the love he deserves!!!! This is another long one, another 6k. But I’ve learnt a new love for writing about him and i have so many ideas. This is a continuation and final part, part one here. Enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

The third time Azriel almost lost you, he was pretty sure he lost a part of himself.

They'd all gone into battle, knowing that Hybern had the numbers to match and the advantage. But they'd all gone to fight in spite of that.

It had took some time for you to get the boys to agree to let you fight- you'd trained and grew up with all three of them but this was fighting on another scale. Although, if they were going, there really wasn't much they could say to get you to stay.

You were clad in Illyrian leathers just like them, armed with weapons and power.

The first battle was over quicker than you'd anticipated. Hybern soldiers surrendered, Tarquin drowned them on land. You'd suffered little, only falling on bed exhausted by the end of the day. Sadly, you were sharing a tent with Cassian and Azriel. It was like you were young again, all sleeping in the same room. It was a habit you'd done when you were young- all looking out and protecting each other.

The only difference was that Cassian snored as he got older.

But the next battle was worse.

It was bigger than last. Hybern's forces had doubled, seemingly at of nowhere, cutting their forces apart.

It was chaos, everywhere. Every corner there was fighting and bleeding and dying. There was pain all around you. Pain you felt like it was your own.

You used all your power, as much as you could to kill and protect. From the corner of your eyes you could see Azriel fight. Your Azriel, weaving in and out of people. Your mate. He was alive. And that was all you cared about.

But you didn't realise how much you'd been pushing herself and draining your power. Every time you stopped, you swayed on your feet, stumbling.

One of Hyberns men came for you as you were crouched and you barley blocked with your sword, rolling onto your back and slashing his arm off.

Not before he landed a sword in your thigh.

It had been deep burning and you yelled, yanking it out. Even with the wound, you kept fighting and fighting your way through until you saw a blaze of red and a familiar cry.

Cassian.

He'd been run through.

It was easy to push past exhaustion and winnow to his side, killing the man who'd been near him and any others that had been close enough. You fall to your knees next to him. 'Cassian, you prick.'

'You kiss your mate with that mouth,' he gasped. He was the only one who knew about Az and the bond. The only one you'd allow to make jokes.

You look down to his wound and gaged. Mother above, his guts were hanging out. 'No, no, no, come on, big guy, you have to stand.'

He groaned. 'Yea, don't think I can do that, sweetheart,' his eyes, lulled back.

You slap him in the face. Perhaps you wouldn't have felt guilt if it weren't for the way his eyes widened. 'You know I hate being called that.'

He laughed as his stomach and all its contents heaved out. Ignoring the pain in you, you hold his stomach, keeping him together. 'I promised Nesta i'd look after her,' he said. 'Please look after her.'

'Do it yourself,' you groaned.

Finally, Azriel came to your side and picked Cassian up like it was nothing, flying him to the tents. If only you still had your wings, you could have done it, saved him quicker.

Then, you were thrown back into the battle. Covered in his blood and yours, you fought through them all, slashing and killing like it was nothing. Like you had no reason to bat an eyelash at anything happening.

Eventually, it ended, but you couldn't even concentrate on who won or how much you'd lost. Your head ached, your leg was tied up in a bloody bandage ripped from your clothes. But none of that mattered.

Cassian was in bed, healing slowly. But he would live, everyone could tell. Especially with the way he picked fights. He argued with Rhys about throwing himself into danger, him and Nesta appeared to be having words with their eyes. Even Mor and Feyre argued. You were the only one silent with Azriel in the back. Too exhausted to even open your mouth.

That night, you tied up your wounds and fell asleep without changing.

It only got worse.

Elain- Feyre's sister and the most precious- was stolen from Hybern. You had only agreed to go and save her with a few selected others because your mate was in that few selective others.

It hadn't escaped your notice how he looked at her, was watchful over her like he once was with you. You saw the tick in his jaw at the news she was gone. You knew that this was the reason you hadn't told him. Knowing that he deserved someone like her, better than you. Kind and hopeful. You weren't. So the only thing you could do was watch your mate find love in someone else.

And you'd do it grudgingly but happy for him.

Azriel had took of with her. You and your high lady fought, fought through ash arrows and everything.

'You should get out of her, y/n,' said Feyre.

You groaned as an arrow skimmed your shoulder. Another had already got your hip. 'If you try to order me out of here, i'll be really pissed off at you.'

'I don't care if it gets you out!' she snapped, arguing like a real sister would.

'Yea, well- I was never one to listen to Rhys either.'

And Azriel was gone. Everything was fine.

You and Feyre ran, ran even as Tamlin defended you, ran until-

An arrow hit you in the back, straight to one of your old wing scars.

You tumbled, rolling on the ground as it broke and imbedded in your back. You screamed, in spite of yourself.

'You have to fly,' someone was telling you. Or saying it in general, frankly you had no idea what was going on. 'You have to take her.'

You rolled onto your stomach, groaning and trying to get yourself up. There was blood running down your arm, how did that get there?

'Y'n.'

You groaned, 'Azriel. I can't fly.'

'I know, I know- i've got you.' He picked you up, arm under your legs and around your shoulders.

'Elian, Azriel-'

'Feyre has her,' he told you. He sounded angry. Or afraid. Somehow his emotions were very easy to mix up.

'Feyre isn't strong enough.'

'She'll have to be.'

'You should take them, Elian-'

'I don't give a fuck about Elian right now, y'n.'

Just like that, he took off with you in his arms and your blood raining down on the camp of Hybern. You could barley hear anything over the wind... but you could feel it.

Something had tugged painfully at the bond, throwing you into a scream. Something had happened to Azriel. You twisted in his arms, finding gashing claw marks in his back from one of the hounds that had chased them down. His face was bleached white in pain, his hold on you tight.

Glancing around, you could just see Feyre in a blur of people.

'Azriel-' you gasped. He was in pain, so much pain.

He didn't say anything, just squeezed you tighter and looking ahead, barking orders as Feyre flew for the first time in need, in desperation. You remembered what that was like, trusting your life in them. But Azriel's wings, they were bleeding out. You remembered the pain. You'd go through it every day to spare him a minute of it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You and Azriel landed back in the camp in a blur of pain.

Even with him leaving a trail of blood, he managed to set you down like you were porcelain. You didn't cry out. You didn't yell for help. You threw his arm over your shoulder and supported him.

Nesta and Rhys rushed to Feyre.

You hated your brother for a long moment.

Elain wondered over, chained but whole.

Azriel moved from you, checking on Elian. You only managed to watch them as she kissed his cheek.

The pain came to you then. Your head, shoulder, back. You turned from the crowd of family. Elain moved to hug her sister, Rhys stayed at Feyre's side.

Thesan, someone you barley knew as more than a healer, came to you first but you pushed him away, pushed him to Azriel. 'His wings. Heal him, or i'll rip you to pieces.'

He didn't have to be told twice.

You stumbled your way to camp, to your little tent. You didn't share it with Cassian anymore as he was still healing and Azriel would be a while- needing healing of your own.

You collapsed on the bed, promising to look after yourself- just after your nap.

You were so fast asleep you didn’t even hear Azriel come in and sigh at the sight of you…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel was fighting when it happened. Specifically, when it snapped.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

No, he wasn't completely healed. But he had to fight. He wouldn't push himself, he knew that would be stupid. But he wouldn't watch as everyone fought. As you fought. He'd hardly seen you. He knew your back would be in pain. He knew you'd be in pain and you were still fighting, so far from him and out of reach.

He was thinking of you when it snapped.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

His soul sang it, his heart rose with it.

His shadows whispered it.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

y/n.

And the first thing he felt over the bond wasn't happiness or love. It was pain. It was death.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

In spite of the pain in his wings, how he'd been told not to fly, he did. He jumped into the skies, soaring over armies and dead to find you. He followed that pain, he followed the bond until he found you.

You, lying in your own blood. Again.

He fell next to you, his power eradicating anywhere near you. They dissovled, the ground cracked under him and his syphons shone in raw power.

'y/n?' he held your body, shaking you. Blood, so much. A sword had torn through your gut. 'Don't do this to me.'

Mate. Mate. Mate.

You cough, a thin stream of blood rolling from your lips. 'Azriel?'

'You're mine,' it was the first thing he could bring himself to say. 'You're my mate. Y/n. You have to hold on, ok? I'm gonna-gonna get you to safety.'

Something like a laugh escaped you, your body wracking with it. 'Of course, finally snaps for you as i'm dying.'

Snaps for you. Mate. Mate.

She knows, his shadows sung. She's known.

Azriel called out to Rhys in every way he could. 'We're gonna be fine. We're gonna be mates, y/n. You have to live, you understand?'

'Not really.' your eyes flutter shut.

'No!' he yelled, shaking you again.

'What's happened?' Rhysand landed next to him, blanking when he saw you in Azriel's arms, bleeding to death. How many times did this have to happen? How many times would you throw yourself into danger?

'She's my mate,' Azriel repeated. He tested it out loud, speaking it to the mother. How cruel was she? to give him this then try to take her away. Well, the mother wouldn't get that chance. Azriel would fight her if she tried to lay a hand on your life.

'What?' said Rhys.

'My mate,' he all but growled as Rhys got closer.

He put a hand on the back of Azriels neck, a hand on your head. 'We have to save her, Az.' he knew all about mating of course, knew that Azriel wanted nobody around her. But this was too save her. 'She's my sister too, the last sister I have. I care about her to.'

Azriel wanted to throw a thousand insults his way but refrained. If not because he was high lord, but also because you were dying.

They got you to safety, Azriel carrying you through to a tent.

'Y/n?!' Cassian rushed over, seeing you in his brothers arms, bleeding out and unresponsive.

Azriel pushed past him, setting you down on the bed. 'Get everyone, every healer now.' He had no idea who he was trying to demand, but he couldn’t watch this, couldn’t see you in.

You were still in your bed. Behind him, Feyre rushed to her mate, wrapping her arms around his torso as your brother stared at you in muted horror.

Azriel was leaning over you, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘She’s my mate.'

'What?' Said Cassian, ‘She told you?'

Azriel felt the world stop around him. Not did you know about the bond and hadn’t told him, you’d told someone else? Cassian? His hand stilled in brushing your hair back, his shadows coaxing you instead.

Rhysand spoke what Azriel wanted to scream. 'You knew?'

'She-She told me,'

Azriel had always had an iron fist control on his emotions, as relied on to be spy master, he had to. But his patience was hanging on by a thread. You were still bleeding out and nobody had come and Cassian knew. Cassian knew about his mate before he did.

His shadows caressed you and, leaving you in the coolness of their touch, he leapt up, marching around the bed toward him.

Rhys was quicker, a hand on Azriels chest to stop him. 'Calm, brother.'

'Calm?' He seethed. 'When-how long have you known?' He shouted.

Cassian breathed out, pushing his hair back . His wings were tucked in behind him. 'She told me, before she went under the mountain.'

Even Rhysand let him go, blowing out air and throwing his arms over his head as Feyre gasped.

Azriel stumbled, a hand to his chest. His shadows were divided between him and caring for you. 'Fifty years,' he gasped.

You’d known for fifty years- possibly longer and hadn’t said a word.

He was panicking, his breath escaping him. His shadows settled uneasy around him. And the only person who was capable of calming him was laying unconscious.

Thesan burst in, knowing the injured already and working on you quickly.

Azriel almost launched at him, just for touching you. The reasonable part of him knew he needed to touch to heal, but the part that was your mate wanted him dead.

Cassian held him back, physically.

Azriel glowered at him. 'I wouldn’t touch me if i were you, brother,' he practically spat the words.

Rhysand left Feyre with a kiss on her cheek, coming to Azriel who was looking over you on the other side. 'Az, you need to rest-you’re hurt, too, remember?'

He shook his head, staring down at you. Mother above you were pale, so pale. 'I-I can’t feel anything Rhys, I can’t feel her through the bond.'

'My sister is a fighter, she’ll make it through.'

Azriel scoffed. His shadows were caressing up and down your arm. ‘Don’t pretend you’ve ever cared about her like a brother.'

Rhysand inhaled sharply. This was just fear, he told himself. 'Azriel.'

'No,' he said, his finger brushing back your hair. 'You only care about her when she’s dying and all y/n does is worship you- ever since you were children.'

Cassian tried to advance, 'Azriel, you wouldn’t be saying any of this if y/n wasn’t hurt.'

He laughed, bitterly. 'No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have to. I’d bite my tongue. But your sister is dying and the last time you cared was the last time she almost died- it killed her to lose her wings and you were never there! And you teach your mate to fly right in front of her!'

Rhys growled. ‘Don’t bring my mate into this!'

‘You’ve brought mine into this!' He yelled. 'Everything she does is for you. Working for you. My mate followed you down to the mountain even when you didn’t care.'

'Of course I cared.'

'Then why did she feel so alone down there!'

‘How would you know, Azriel? You weren’t there!'

'Because I know her, bond or not. And you’ve been otherwise occupied.'

Cassian moved between the two, holding them apart. 'None of this matters to y/n does it.'

Azriel blankes them all, settling next to you. He vaguely heard Cassian send Rhysand and Feyre away. He felt him longer before he felt him leave.

And then all Azriel could feel, was you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You felt pain first. The steady thumping of it through your body. It started in your leg, numbing it. Then, her back ached- a familiar pain you'd felt before. It sent panic through you before you realised they can't take your wings twice.

Then, it was in your gut, stinging. Just the thought of moving was hurting- aching.

There was a coldness around you, draped over like shadows. Shadows...

That's when you felt the tug that you'd neglected to feel for more than half a century.

The bond. There was finally something tied to the other end.

The shadows around you must've known you were awake as they grew frantic around you.

You opened your eyes, slowly, afraid to what you may see. Afraid to the eyes you'll have to meet.

Azriel was sat on a chair next to you, bare chested with only bandages around him. Immediately, you were at a disadvantage. He was looking at you, dark eyes pouring into yours as his hands curled around shadows.

'What happened?' you asked.

'You were run through,' he said, voice wavering.

'Oh.'

'You're my mate.'

Your eyes flickered away, staring at your tent. 'Oh.'

'That's it?' he whispered. There was some heart-break tainting his voice. 'You're not gonna say something?'

You pulled the blanket over you, daring to move to sit up. He shifted, but his shadows helped you. 'What do you want me to say, Az?'

'Why did you tell Cassian and not me?' he asked. 'Why didn't you tell me, for fifty years?'

'It's-it's not a big deal.'

'Not a big deal?' he all but seethed. 'I'd say finding your mate is a pretty big thing, y/n. It's the person to spend the rest of your life with.'

'Can we not, do this now?' you winced, as the words left your mouth.

'You're right, maybe we should wait another fifty years to bring it up when you're dying.' you've never heard him be so cruel, you'd never even argued with him before this.

'I wasn't dying,' you mumbled.

He scoffed. 'You had an infected wound in your leg that you didn't tell anyone about. An ash arrow was imbedded in your back. Imbedded! You didn't see anyone about it and then- you run into battle and get yourself stabbed.'

'I didn't get myself stabbed!' you argued, your temper rising above all other judgment. 'I didn't rush out in there, wanting to die!'

'I held you as you bled out!' he yelled, standing up from his seat. You were swinging your legs over the bed, ignoring every twinge in your body. 'Do you have any idea what that's like? Not even to hold you as you die in my arms the first time but the second. And to know this time, I was holding my mate?'

You bit down on your lip. He had to use the word with such care and love even when angry. You could feel it. For once, guessing his emotions wasn't needed as you felt it all. The taunt anger in him, the pull of anxiety and above all else, the weight of his love.

Azriel walked around you. 'Please, you have to tell me. Why didn't you say something to me? Why wouldn't you tell me you're my mate? Am I that repulsive to you?'

'What?'

He gulped.

You shook your head as he knelt in front of you, shadows pooled around the two of you, as if they were trying to hold the two of you together. You took his hands, holding them and let something like love flow down the bond. 'You are the most beautiful thing in this world. Something better than me. I wouldn't burden you with that.'

He rose his gaze to you. 'Burden me?'

'Do you think i've enjoyed lying to you?' you ask, finally finding your words. 'Do you think I've liked being your mate and never being with you? That I left you for fifty years and thought of you every moment of every day, all day long. That when I come back I wonder if you or Mor had grown closer? Or if Elian would finally tell you how much she loves you? It's been eating me alive. But it's a small price to pay.'

Azriel grasped at his words, chocking on them. 'Elian is nothing to me, nothing.'

You pushed yourself up, using his shoulder to steady yourself before you move around him. 'Why? Have you only just decided that because I’m your mate? That’s not how it should go, Azriel.'

He was following you around your tent as you slipped on armour and leathers over your night dress. ‘I want you, only you.'

'Because of the bond?'

'Because I’ve always only wanted you!'

You laugh. 'No, you haven’t.'

'If we’d talked about this maybe fifty years ago you’d know that!'

You shook your head. Perhaps a part of you didn't want to believe him and all those wasted years at your fault, but you didn't want to believe his words either. Because what did that mean? That he loved you and wanted you. But that seemed just as impossible to you. How could he want someone so wrecked who'd done nothing but run away from her feelings and does nothing to make anyone happy?

'I don't want you to feel like that,' said Azriel, approaching her. She thought she'd spoken aloud before she realised he could feel everything that was hers. She'd only ever had to shield her thoughts from her brother- and he rarely sort her thoughts. 'Please, please-' he took your shoulders, turning you around and gently resting his head on yours.

You could feel his warm breath over your lips. You almost lost all resolve, with him that close. You'd never been so close to him, close enough to touch. To kiss. To know finally what it mean to have that deep connection that everyone was meant for.

One person in the whole world to belong to.

And he was stuck with her.

'Azriel-'

'Whatever you're thinking about yourself, i've thought about me a thousand times. And ever since we were kids you've always stopped me from thinking that. You've always told me what I was worth,' he whispered. His hands were wondering down your arms, sending shivers down you. He could've been doing it on purpose, distracting you. 'Why won't you accept it for yourself?'

You gulped down every uneasy thought. 'Because you're good, Az and i'm-'

'You're everything.'

'I'm not,' you look up at him, his own face blurry from your tears unwilling to fall. 'I'm not a fighter, i'm afraid of pain. And I could never be a leader, because i'm scared of losing people. I'm terrified about it half the time. Why do you think I followed Rhys down to that stupid party that I knew I wouldn't come back from? Because he'd do the same for me? We both know he wouldn't. But what would losing him mean for you? or Cass, or Mor? I was a coward and I wanted to hide from all the pain his leaving would have caused.'

Azriel shook his head, words sinking in. You were comparing yourself, to warriors like him and Cass, to the high lord- your own brother. 'It was unbearable without you. Maybe if it was just Rhysand i'd have still been able to be spymaster, because that's what he needed. But when I realised you'd gone to, it ruined me,' he admitted. 'I didn't care what you would've wanted, because you weren't here to tell me.'

You rub at your forehead, the tension creating a pain in your already aching body.

'And to anyone who made you feel inferior or worthless, i'll kill them,' he said. It was a shine of the real Azriel. The one who made a promise and never broke it.

You smirk. 'Can't kill the high lord.'

'No,' huffed Azriel, like it was a mild inconvenience. 'But I sure can punch him in the face.'

You laughed at that and Azriel smiled. He'd cracked you.

But your amusement dropped quickly, he felt it like a penny dropping. He let go of you as you turned away, wiping at your eyes. He didn't want to see you cry, didn't want to be the one to make you upset. He only wanted to make you feel loved.

'This isn't how I wanted this to go.'

Azriel suddenly felt conscious of himself. Maybe this wasn't so much about what you felt, maybe it was more about what you felt toward him. 'You really hate the mating bond that much?'

You look over to him. 'Being your mate is my greatest honour. But I don't want you to love me just because you have to.'

'It's not that-'

'And I know you're gonna keep saying that.'

'Until you believe me,' he assured her. 'Even if I have to tell you every day until I die.'

'I can't ask you to do that.'

He smiled at you, a heart-breaking smile of love. 'You haven't.'

You open your mouth to say something, but you're interrupted by Cassain poking his head through the tent flaps. The rest of his whole body was hidden, only showing his bronze face and hair framing him. There was a sheepish smile on his lips.

Azriel huffed. 'Cassian.'

'What? It didn't sound like much love making going on.'

'Mother above,' you sighed.

'What?' whined Cassian. 'I'm just saying, didn't sound like I was interrupting anything.'

'Personally I didn't know he was capable of saying that many words,' said another voice, familiar and dull. Nesta.

You frown. 'I'm sorry, is the whole camp out there.' You storm out, without Azriel to stop you.

He let you get away, again, and now there was no way he'd get you to accept the bond until the battle was done.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next time you and Azriel spoke, the war was over.

Elian had stabbed Hybern, Nesta had delivered the killing blow, to the head. And your brother had died.

For those few minutes of his death you wanted Feyre weep for him as you stood paralyzed, unable to move. This was the brother you worshiped, the one you’d follow to the end of the world. Did he know that when he went where you could not follow?

Feyre had done everything she could, she begged for his life back. And when her wish was granted, you were collapsing on his other side. Tears of joy in your eyes that Rhys wiped away.

Your family, safe.

Everyone seemed happy to return to Velaris. Home. Scars were left over everyone, fears and pains. Some wore them better than others.

You'd thrown yourself into life. And avoiding Azriel. Suddenly there were many friends you'd neglected that you needed to take dinner with, or so many spontaneous Rita nights with Nesta.

And none of it escaped his notice. The steady thump of the bond still thrived inside of you, his shadows followed everywhere you went, even loitering in your room.

If he was doing it in an attempt to annoy you, then you weren't gonna break first.

After a particularly harrowing Rita's night, the only thing you wanted to do was sleep in for the rest of the day, hide away from everyone and everything. Call it your coping mechanism.

Alas, there was no peace as your curtains were thrown open, light spilling in and burning through your eyelids.

'Knock it off!' the shadows had never bothered with waking you up before- it seemed they'd picked the worst time to start.

'We need to talk,' said a voice that certainly wasn't a shadow.

Rhysand.

You groan, rolling over. 'Can't you talk to me when i'm not hungover.'

'And when would that be, sister? you're getting as bad as Nesta.'

You throw your pillow off and at him, but he dodged it easily and with a smug smile. 'I hate it when you call me that.'

'What? When I compare you to Nesta? Clean up your act then.' He stood over your bed, his arms folded over his chest.

You glare at him. 'I meant sister.' You shuffled up, brushing your hair back.

Rhysand frowned and perched himself on the edge of your bed. There was something he wasn't saying, and you watched it weight heavy on his shoulders. 'You know the last time I was in your room you were throwing glasses at me and yelling at me to get out.'

'Well, don't give me ideas.'

His lips curled into a smile of amusement before he turned solemn again. 'Do you love me, y/n?'

You hadn't expected that. Your hangover could only get worse, your head swimming with possibilities as to why he was asking. And nervous, you were nervous. Maybe you'd never said you loved him out loud but surely your actions were enough of a tell. 'You're my high lord and my brother, of course.' you shrug it off, as if it was nothing.

The shadows trailed up the bed, as if sensing your anxiety.

Rhysand glanced over at you. 'Do you think I don't love you?'

You hesitate, chewing at the skin of your gum.

'Because I do. I do love you. You're my little sister, how can I not?' he muttered. 'And I didn't know you felt like that.'

'It was just sort of... obvious,' you said. 'I was never your sister, not really. I always knew that. You'd never see me like that so, I gave up thinking you would. But you're the only family I have.'

'No, I'm not,' he denied. 'Y/n, everyone in this house loves you. They're your family. And i'm sorry- i'm so sorry if my actions have ever made you think different.'

'Why now?' you ask, eyes screwed up looking at him. 'Why are you saying all this now, what's changed?'

He shook his head, strands of his hair- the same as yours- falling over his eyes. 'You almost died, died on that battlefield and I-I wasn't the first one there. Granted, it was your mate that reached you first but I, I wasn't there quick enough.'

You meet his gaze, his purple eyes sad in a way you'd only ever seen under the mountain. 'You died.'

'And as I was dying one of my deepest regrets was not calling you sister enough,' he shifted closer, taking your head in his hands as if you were a little kid. 'You are my sister. Full flesh and blood. Full love of mine. You are my family. After everything you've done for me. You were right, I needed you under there, when there was nothing good to keep me grounded, but you. My little sister.'

You were sure you were tearing up in front of him.

'You'll always be my sister.'

You laugh. 'Maybe I should get stabbed more often.'

'No,' he said seriously. 'I don't think Azriel would like that very much.'

The mention of him changed the tone in conversation, changed the very beating of your heart.

'What's going on with you two?'

'Oh, I see,' you tease, 'talk to me above sister and brotherly relations just to get in my love life. Not a good look on you high lord.'

He laughed. 'No, it's not that. I just care about the two of you, a lot. And you both deserve to be happy. And I think you'd be happiest with each other.'

You look down, twirling the rings on your fingers.

'Would it be so bad to try to love him?'

You shake your head, smiling as a tear rolls down your cheek. 'I don't even have to try. Feels like i've loved him forever.' his shadows climbed up your arm, leaving Rhysand to smile at the affection.

'You'll work it out,' said Rhys, leaning over and kissing the crown of your head.

Your door was thrown open, startling the two of you.

Azriel stood there. For his entrance, he didn't at all seem that confident when he stood in front of the two of you. His hands didn't know how to hold themselves in front of him.

Your brows rose. 'Were you listening at the door?'

'Azriel,' scolded Rhysand with a stupid grin.

'Get dressed,' he said simply to you. 'There's something you need to see.'

Without much room for argument, you kicked them both out and dressed.

You'd grudgingly let Azriel hold your hand as he led you through the woods. You'd winnowed in at an illyrian camp before he took you through it and into the woods close by.

It was the same camp you'd first met Azriel in. The oldest where you'd all become friends. You'd asked what you were doing there, but he was quiet as he led you through, helping you over roots or breaking twigs from the trees so they didn't hit you.

'Azriel, to any other girl, you leading her silently through a woods without saying anything would be a bit suspicious,' you tell him. His shadows trailed behind the two of you and his hand was secure in yours. You knew not to be scared, but you were still cautious.

'I wouldn't show any girl this,' he said.

After another half hour of walking, the two of you stumbled across a small hut. It was a tiny thing really, made out of twigs and sticks, hay and mud. It looked like something a child was capable of making.

Azriel paused in front of it. He let go of you hand and reached for the door. He was as tall as it and his wings had to tuck in tightly behind him.

Hesitantly, you followed in.

It was just as small as it looked and dirty, like it hadn't been touched in years. Cobwebs hung low (his shadows quickly tried to bat them all away for you) there was dirt and hay all over the floor. Glasses were dust filled and left around with a hundred other things. Some looked new, others old.

And yet, strangely familiar.

'I made this place,' said Azriel.

You looked back at him. He was hunched over a large box that was overflowing with things. 'You?'

'The first time my brothers picked on me, I came to these woods, working on this for days. Every time things got too much back then, i'd come here. I've been coming back for years.' he glanced at you, a sheepish look on his face. 'I've never showed anyone this before.'

You look around the place in new perspectives. The shadows settled around the place. You pictured a little Az, running here and hiding from his brothers. Did he feel alone? Did he feel un-loved? You were so enamoured by it you didn't realise he'd settled on the ground, pulling out things from his box.

'This is your glove, the one's you were wearing when we first met. You took them off to beat up some kid who was being mean to me. You didn't go back for them, you didn't even care.'

He said, pulling out a pair of red wool gloves. In spite of the hut, they were in perfect condition. Pristine. You remembered first meeting him, remembered the little soldier who'd been horrible. Those gloves wouldn't go anywhere near your hand now.

Azriel went in again. 'This is the empty glass jar of the cream you used to help my burns. Here's a book you read to me when I couldn't flip the pages myself. The notes you'd leave when you had to go back to camp. The flowers you picked for me and gave me for my birthday. Dried and stamped from every time you gave them to me.'

You stood, in shock as he kept taking things out.

'A terrible drawing I did of you when I was young. A locket of yours that broke and you never wore again. Stamps from our first theatre trip. Empty bottles from our first night together in Rita's- and Cassian's too. A letter you wrote to me when I was on a mission. A black ribbon from your hair, you used to always wear it with these things. Honestly, the amount I have in here,' and he pulled out several, of varying shades. Black, white, grey, red, dark green. All yours.

Azriel wasn't done. 'A page of annotations you did in one of Rhysand's books. A copy of your favourite poems. A coaster from the first time just you and I went to dinner. Here's some stones from when I first taught you to skim them. A quill that I used to use to write you letters. An old ring of yours is here too. Here's the first dagger you got me. It's too precious to me to be used to kill.'

Tears were falling down your cheeks as you watched him pull them all out and explain them in depth. There was more but the sight of it all was becoming blurred through your tears. The bond felt heavy and beautiful in you.

Azriel finally put the box down and fell to his knees in front of you. His hands came around the back of your thighs, holding you there as his eyes looked up into yours. 'Don't you ever think I don't love you, when I have loved you since we were eleven years old.'

You stutter on you breath. 'H-how?'

He rests his head on your stomach, looking utterly at your will and completely in love. 'How could I not?'

Slowly, as you could not move too fast, you settled down on your knees across from him. His hands moved up to your arms as yours went to his cheeks, brushing back his hair.

'It was always going to be you, wasn't it?' you mumbled. 'How could it be anyone else?'

Azriel kissed you then, finally. His lips were as soft as they'd looked, as you'd always imagined. His hands drifted to your waist, finger tips digging into to hold you close. His hands were strong, but his lips were gentle. He pulled away, only to groan in need before reaching for your lips again, harder, desperate.

His teeth bit down on your bottom lip, tongue sliding in to feel every corner of your mouth as his hands wondered around you, trying to grip onto any bit of you he could. Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer. Close enough to consume, to breath in.

You pulled back enough to catch your breath, arms still around his shoulders. 'Mother above, am I gonna make you the best meal of your life.'

But that could wait. For now, you'd settle for a dusty floor in the little house in the woods.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Taglist: @tothestarsandwhateverend @darlingbravebelle @lil-lupa @haileycannotcometothephantom @fairywriter-oracle @isa1b2h3 @tele86 @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @unleashthelion @naturakaashi @aurora1115 @sirens-and-moonflowers @azriels-shadowsinger @willowpains @crazylokonugget @abysshaven @anuttellaa @wishfulwithwine @one-big-fangirl @harrystylesfan2686 @charlotteintumbleland @mellowarcadefun @starseedsamurai

[gas-station-trackphone]

ftm trans Eddie Munson gets turned into a chew toy for hell bats and rescued in the 11th hour by his friends who don't know he's trans, who have to run some triage first aid and can hardly make sense of the blood and gore that used to be his body as they cut off his shirt and pants to get access to the worst of the wounds, who definitely aren't in their right minds well enough anyway to think of anything other than stopping the bleeding and getting him to a hospital, which they do, and miraculously Eddie finds himself blinking awake in a bright, fluorescent room feeling exactly like he imagines a chew toy for hell bats would feel in the aftermath which is to say: like shit. Even more miraculously, he finds hometown hero Steve Harrington posted up at his bedside with greasy hair (!!! Eddie never thought he'd see the day) and bags under his eyes.

The overwhelming relief on Steve's face when he sees Eddie is awake is touching, the misty eyes and cracking voice when he says god, i thought you were toast, man are downright flattering and, let's face it, giving Eddie all the wrong ideas that he figures he has an I-almost-died pass for at the moment so he rocks with it, let's himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. Then, gradually, Steve's relief becomes more and more obviously some brand of deeply felt pity (or sympathy, but Eddie's never been good at distinguishing the two), which bursts his bubble enough to call him out.

"I know I look like what comes out the business end of a meat grinder, but I swear I'm good, dude. They definitely have me on the good shit, I hardly feel it. I'll be good as new in no time." Big fat fucking lie, by the way, but he'll say whatever if it gets that wounded puppy look out of Harrington's eyes.

"I...yeah, Eddie, I'm glad." And whatever it is he doesn't want to say, whatever is putting that you poor motherfucker look on his face, he's absolutely the opposite of subtle about it.

Eddie can hear the manifestation of his panic on the heart monitor.

"What? What is it? Is everyone- is Dustin-?" He can't say it, can't even think it, would rather be slowly torn to shreds all over again than know he failed at his one fucking task to keep the kid safe.

"No! I mean, yes, he's fine, they're all fine. Henderson's got a broken ankle and both of Max's arms are broken but the docs say they'll be fine in a few months with physical therapy."

The release of tension in Eddie's body hurts almost as much as the relief soothes him. "Okay then, what the fuck are you not telling me? It's fine, I'm a big boy, Harrington, I can take it."

He sighs, looking sick with it. "Eds...I don't know how to tell you this."

Oh god, what the fuck. Eddie's right back to freaking out because Steve looks inexplicably guilty, pained in the face like he's about to deliver the worst news he could imagine but if everyone's fine then-

"It's your dick, man. It's- it's gone. The bats-"

And Eddie laughs so hard he tears about a dozen stitches, immediately stops laughing, and throws up over the side of the bed and thankfully not all over his freshly reopened wounds as Steve shouts for help.

Eventually, when he's all stitched up again and barely hanging on to his hard earned lesson to not literally bust his gut laughing about the look on Steve's face (he has to force himself not to tell Wayne the specifics of how he ended up back in the OR, because he's absolutely gonna crack up and Eddie will definitely be unable to help himself from laughing with him), he realizes he's going to come out to all his friends in the very near future because holy shit, he has to tell everyone about Steve's utterly devastated expression at the news of Eddie's Ken doll-ification by way of demobat.

[frogb0nez]

Some facts/statements I use to remind myself that a day or two eating above your calorie limit is not going to reverse all your progress, even if it feels like it has 💕

-You would have to consume roughly 3500 cal above your bmr to put on 1 lbs/0.5kg. The extra few hundred won't have as drastic an effect as your brain believes.

-The weight you think you've put on so quickly is water retention and if you drink enough water it usually goes away.

-The extra calories sometimes help some people with keeping their metabolism high, meaning more weight loss in the long run.

-I know the extra weight in your stomach feels awful but it will pass eventually. Everything passes eventually.

-You can always exercise some/all of the extra calories off for peace of mind if you can't cope.

-Progress never looks like a straight line. Whether you've binged or not your body is still going to have ups and downs. This is just an up wave you need to try and ride.

-Do your best not to let it tear you apart. Try to distract yourself with something for the rest of the day to keep your head above water. If your head does sink under, on the plus side, crying burns a decent amount of calories.

-You are not a robot. Slip ups happen and they're probably happening because you're lacking vital nutrition. Allow your body a break sometimes even if your mind isn't happy about it. A few hundred extra calories may stop you from passing out and bashing your head on the wall.

-Tomorrow is a new day. If no coping mechanisms are helping, sleep it off the best you can. Sleep burns a surprising amount of calories and you can always start fresh the next day.

-You are not a failure. Just because your mind keeps telling you that you are doesn't mean it's true. It's your survival instincts bleeding through the disorder. It's a reminder that the you from before this is still in there somewhere and you'll find them one day. A reminder that deep down you're still capable of finding enjoyment and happiness in something other than watching numbers fall.

-If you've read this far tysm for taking the time to do so and I wish you the best in this crappy life. Stay safe and remember to be smart about your health through this journey💕

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.  

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation. 

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges. 

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice. 

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.  

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled. 

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages. 

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.” 

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.  

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story. 

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after.  You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him. 

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.  

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt. 

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags. 

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her. 

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee. 

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.” 

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”  

“No.” 

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.” 

“So why can’t I see him?”  

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.” 

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-” 

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate. 

 You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently. 

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing. 

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you. 

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.” 

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?” 

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity. 

“Wait for what?” 

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek. 

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.” 

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.  

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes. 

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.  

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding. 

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-” 

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint. 

“I’m hungry now.” 

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-” 

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees. 

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg. 

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand. 

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.” 

“But-” 

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops. 

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps. 

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away. 

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.  

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while. 

“Tell me when to move” he soothes. 

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.  

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance. 

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release. 

“I’m gonna come!” 

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face. 

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down. 

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy. 

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel Having A Crush On You Would Include…

Warnings: Implications of Smut, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Yandere Miguel, Miguel in Love, Vampire Marking, Marking (Kind Of), Fluff, Typical Crush Behaviour, Petnames/Nicknames, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Him being absolutely OBSESSED with you.

Literally completely feral, down bad, infatuated, etc.

Initially, when he realised he’d started liking you in a romantic sense, he tried pushing you away; tried drowning his feelings in work, missions, Hell – even resolving petty spats between the Spiderpeople at the base. Anything to exorcise this rising feeling of butterflies in his chest whenever you were around. Vulnerability.

However, you were persistent.

You’d bring him lunch whenever you knew it would be a long day in the office for him, telling him that “Even the best superhero needs a sandwich every now and then!”

And by God were your sandwiches phenomenal.

Though he’d never admit it, his heart would skip a beat whenever the door to his office opened, knowing that it could be you paying him a visit with your delectable lunchables, or even just to check in on him. Make him feel special in ways nobody else had or could in years.

Eventually, this turned into a daily affair; one Miguel would watch the clock for, wait for. Long for.

Miguel also tried hiding his feelings when you brought him hand-crafted, love-filled desserts that he just couldn’t bring himself to ignore or throw away. Or, when Miles offered to take them off his hands, let anyone else have.

Eventually, there isn’t a day that goes by where you aren’t with him in some capacity. And it shows.

Whenever you’re late, even only by a few minutes, Miguel can feel his heart spike, asking Lyla where you are, if she can track you, etc.

“Sounds like you liiiike (Y/N)~” Lyla gives Miguel a knowing smile.

Miguel just grunts, ignores her. Though, he can feel the corners of his lips turning up, and hides them behind a well-placed hand, rubbing his temples.

Soft glances whenever you’re in the room, all his attention turning to you and you alone.

He just loves to stare at you. You’re so beautiful that he can’t understand why nobody else passing you has to stitch their dropped jaw back onto their face.

Then again, he is grateful. The fury that bubbles inside him whenever he catches someone glancing at you, gaze lustful, is all-consuming, enough to make his teeth grind, his eyes bleed a light rouge hue, piercing. He makes sure they’ll never cross paths with you again.

Gradually, your warmth and kindness thaws his walls, and, once the floodgates are open, neither you nor he can predict the dark ocean that is to flood your lives.

He doesn’t mean to throw himself full-force into his feelings, but after being so guarded for so long, he just can’t help it.

Becomes overly-concerned with every facet of your life. More so than he already was.

Constantly trying to find out information about you, though being stumped as to how to do so without arousing your suspicion.

Asks Lyla to track you, see what you’re doing, who you’re with, their relation to you.

However, she begins to deny Miguel such luxuries, telling him to “Grow a pair and ask (Y/N) yourself!”

When he realises Lyla is steadfast in her resolve, he does so. Reluctantly.

Though, once he starts, he finds it difficult to stop.

“Where are you going after work?”, “Are you going out tonight with anyone?”, “Who?”

Eventually, you just look up at him, seemingly oblivious to his growing desperation, and say: “Gosh, Miguel, you’re starting to sound like you’re my boyfriend or something!”

His heart stops. His throat dries and he just looks at you, eyes wide.

One second passes. Then two. Then–

“Oh– uh– yeah... I mean, not that that’s weird, right? Unless you think it is weird, then–”

Lyla has to step in and save him from himself, telling him he has ‘urgent business’ in one of the other wings of the facility.

His suit suddenly feels too tight and too hot beneath the collar whenever he has to speak with you alone.

And tight in…other places when his mind wanders to the more intimate aspects of your hypothetical relationship.

Miguel likes to rationalise this as him preparing how best to please you when the time, inevitably, comes for him to claim you, make you his. At least, this staves off the post-nut clarity (guilt) just a little longer when he’s pursuing a release, blasphemous images of you running through his mind.

A good example of this occurs almost nightly, with Miguel thoroughly loving a pillow clad in a shirt he’d lent you once, your scent still woven, though faded, into the fabric.

Many nights, his face is pressed to the cotton of that shirt, muffling his lips and his moans as his teeth sink into your temporary body, extending, marking, hand moving fervently beneath the bed sheets, your name the chant of many a spell of ardour.

You might mistake that red glow on his cheeks for the illumination of the console screens, but anyone who looks close enough knows better.

He loves showing you around the facility. Especially when your eyes light up and you remark how intelligent he is for “Doing this all on your own,”

Any compliment from you makes his heart thrum and his cheeks burn with the urge to smile. And, if it’s only you in his company, he does so.

Maybe even give you a nervous laugh.

You’re the only one he feels comfortable with showing emotion to.

He hopes that his displays aren’t lost on you; that you know him well enough to know that every smile, every laugh, is for you and you only.

And he is determined to, one day, make that smile of yours for him. And only him.

But, for now, he will content himself with daydreams and night ventures into territory not yet known, all the while possessing a seat beside you, being a shoulder for you to cry on, an ear into which you may pour your worries, a hero on whom you can always depend in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[autumn-hiraeth]

WHERE'S MY LOVE (canon event)

Hobie brown x reader

ANGST. 1st part.

NEXT PART

a/n: many people asked for THE CANON EVENT so enjoy it! :)?

Guys! Last part is coming soon!

You and Hobie have been together for two years, it felt like a lifetime to your friends but to you it just felt like the beginning of your love story.

However, you can never have it all, right? A hero's life is as full of successes as it is failures..... and one of you two had to lose eventually.

Hobie kisses happily you when you meet him at HQ, he had left you asleep in his flat in the morning, you looked so pretty in his bed he didn't have the courage to wake you up.

That particular day Hobie had a nightmare, but when he woke up you were next to him, wrapping him in a warm hug and suddenly his fear was gone. He felt so lucky to have you by his side.

"I missed you in the morning" you whisper against his lips and Hobie smiles, pulling you closer to him.

"Sorry luv, Miguel needed help" he explains feeling you hum on his chest.

The moment was perfect; you and hobie hugging in the lobby like your lives depend on it.

Not knowing why Hobie murmurs softly "You're my home Y/n, you know that, right?"

Your heart melts, you also wanted to tell him the same thing but Jessica interrupted them.

"Hey lovebirds, Miguel needs you, you have a mission" Hobie rolls his eyes and you give him a kiss.

....

Hobie is upset 'cause he wanted to take you home, however, you two are swinging on the buildings of other universe to fight yet another enemy of Spider-Man.

It's the same old routine.

While you and him fight against the Green Goblin, Hobie wonders if maybe a stable life with you is the best.

And that thought makes him smile and feel so warm as he watches you fight on the roof of the tallest building he's ever seen.

Everything feels the same. So routine.

But suddenly not anymore, the Green Goblin blows up part of the building and all he sees is you falling.

Hobie isn't even listening his watch 'cause if that were the case then he would know what that means.

Your triggers have stopped working. You're so scared but soon you see Hobie and he's trying to catch you, he's going to save you, you can hear him yelling that you're going to be okay, you don't have to be scared, his hand is almost reaching for yours and when you feel the touch of his fingers both smile, but that touch doesn't last 'cause the Green Goblin knocks Hobie away from you.

And he can hear you calling him.

When Hobie finally manages to free himself from the Green Goblin, his watch has stopped chiming.

He doesn't get it, your lover sees you, you're lying on the floor, his brain still can't figure it out, Hobie takes off his mask and then he takes off your mask and his hands are stained with blood.

"Y/n.. luv.. wake up" your eyes are closed, Hobie brown is ignoring the blood, because you always bleed, but that doesn't mean NOTHING.

"hun'...please..don't leave me" his voice is broken and his tears are falling on your face.

He hugs you tightly as he sobs and something inside him breaks because your heart, your heart isn't beating at the same level as his… his sobs are so loud that he doesn't even hear a portal open behind him.

But Hobie Brown doesn't care that Miguel and Jessica are there, or that they see him cry, because he couldn't save you and now you're gone...

because..

You were his canon event.

[centaurisolarflare]

König NSFW Headcannons

It’s the quiet ones; it’s always the quiet ones. NSFW, obviously, minors DNI (SFW headcannons here). A lot of x reader babbling because I am down horrendous for this man. Again, this got incredibly out of hand, and I needed to just stop. Enjoy the filth, my loves.

- I wholeheartedly believe this man is amazing at foreplay. Maybe it’s inadvertent, but he wants to experience as much of you as he can for as long as he can. He loves just kissing you and feeling your body move against his, he wants the time to trace over every inch of you. He’s fascinated by the way your muscles and bones move under your skin and he loves mapping out any freckles/moles/marks/scars/etc you have.

- Treats sex like a skill, something he can hone, something he will make himself good at it for you. He catalogs your responses, memorizes your facial expressions, and takes careful note of how each touch affects you. He wants to be deliberate about how he makes you feel; he puts so much effort into learning how your body reacts to him until he’s an expert at taking you apart piece by piece.

- Praise this man. Do it. All the time. Tell him how good he’s doing, how sweet he is, how good he makes you feel, how beautiful he looks. He’ll blush and duck his head, but he thrives on your words.

        -- He’ll whine when you grab his jaw and make him look at you. Make him repeat your praise back to you, make him say that he’s so pretty, that he’s such a good boy, make him say he’s yours and yours alone. Make him stumble through the compliments and clench around him when he’s nearly got the words out properly; laugh when he cuts himself off with a gasp and moans and flexes his fingers into your skin, and make him say the praise again.

- Marks. He wants them and wants to give them. He wants dark bruises that are impossible for him to ignore with the way they ache every time he moves his neck. He wants bite marks everywhere and he wants scratches on his back and arms. He doesn’t mind if you make him bleed with your nails or teeth; he wants to keep the stinging feeling for as long as possible. Definitely the type to press his fingers hard against his bruises to feel them hurt and to make them stay longer. When they eventually do fade, he wants you to give him new ones immediately. If you want marks too, he’ll go just as feral on you.

        -- Can’t think straight when you unabashedly show off the marks he gave you. Because he knew he was doing then, he knew there’d be marks when he was sucking and biting at your skin again and again. He knew there’d be bruises where he held onto you a little too hard. But you’d moaned so sweet and told him to keep going, to cover you, and how could he have refused? Now, in the light of day, in public, with people around, he can’t help but flinch at the openness you share them with the world. Because people see. Fuck, people stare at the patchwork of mottled bruises and aggravated blood vessels on your neck, your chest, your collar bones. At the line of dark hickeys stretching from just below your ear, down the beautiful line of your throat, across your chest to where they disappear under your shirt. At the clear shape of his fingertips bruised into your hip when your shirt rides up as you reach for something – something you didn’t even have to reach for because he’s right here and the size of a fucking mountain. You just grin and wink when he puts a hand on your side and grabs the thing for you, and he goes beet red because that’s- that’s how you got that bruise in the first place, from his hand sprawled out against you, fingers gripping into your soft flesh, and his head is fuzzy with it as he snatches his hand back. And you go about your business cool as can be, as if you’re totally unaware of the people around and what you’re doing to him. You’re in a grocery store for fucks sake. It’s agonizing and he’s so conflicted because he’s so antsy about the attention, but he also just wants to mark you up even more. People see and they see you with him and they know. They know he did that to you; they know you let him do that to you. They know, and he feels half wild with it, a little drunk with how they know you’re his because you’re showing them you’re his.

        -- He likes giving you hickeys even in non-sexual situations too – for example, if you’re sitting in his lap reading, he’s got his nose pressed against your neck and he’s mouthing at the side of your throat and across your shoulders, and you just end up with several bruises sucked into your skin. He just really likes doing it.

- Before being involved with you he actively tried to ignore his body. Being so tall and imposing served him well for his jobs in the military, and his muscles were a product of maintaining that use, but outside of work his build was just something that drew more unwanted attention to him. The first time you got his shirt off you took a stunned moment to step back and sweep your eyes over him, and he was immediately on edge. The nervous feeling, the anticipation of your disapproval, half dissipated when you locked your bright eyes on his with a sharp grin and yanked him down into a hungry kiss.

        -- The first time you saw his cock he would have laughed – if he weren’t so nervous – at the wide-eyed, parted-lips look you gave him. He jumped in surprise when you took him in your hand and groaned at the feel of him. He timidly asked if you were alright and nearly laughed again when you rushed out a breathless string of “König there’s no fucking way you think this is average, I’m going to kill you if you think this is normal, I’m literally going to sue if you’re unaware of how fucking big you are, fuck”. He didn’t respond verbally, but shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “how should I have known?” and does start smiling at your incredulous grumbling. Nothing had prepared him for the dark stab of heat through his gut when you looked your pretty eyes up at him and said, with all the earnest sincerity in the world, “You’re gonna split me in half, big boy; I’m gonna feel you for days.”

        -- Now he can’t get enough of watching your face as he pushes his cock into you. The way you whine as he guides your hips down. He is mesmerized by the visible bulge in your stomach when he’s all the way inside of you, watching it reappear each time he sinks into you – he pressed his palm flat down on it for the first time and nearly came right then and there when you choked out the most pathetic, keening noise he’s ever heard and scrabbled to grab at his biceps.

        -- Fucks you against the wall, holding you up with his hands tight on your waist, sliding you down on his cock like you’re a fucking toy, listening to your punched out gasps each time he fills you.

        -- He loves how he has to take his time getting even his fingers inside you.

        -- Loves how he can easily hold both of your wrists in one hand and how large his hands look against your body

        -- Loves when you’re on top and you settle into his lap, gasping for air because you swear you can feel him in your fucking throat, panting against his neck about how big he is. When you push his shoulders down and splay your fingers out across his abdomen and bounce in his lap. When you make him hold his arms above his head – looking down at him as you take his cock again and again – telling him how good he is, how pretty he looks letting you use him, the stuttered “y-yes ma’am” he manages to choke out when you ask him point blank if he likes getting used like this, if he’d let you ride him until you’re satiated but he’s still hard and aching.

        -- Fucked you in front of a mirror – both of you on your knees, you in front of him between his thighs, with one of his arms banded across your stomach, his hand covering your hip, and the other up around your throat with his forearm pressed against your chest – and, fuck, it nearly ruined him to see how his body dwarfed yours. He held you tight against his chest, occasionally ducking his head down to suck busies into your throat and shoulders, but he mostly made you keep your eyes on him through the mirror. Watched the way your breath hitched as he fucked into you, the way you wanted to crumple forwards when he snaked his hand down between your legs but the other hand around your throat kept you upright, murmuring against your ear about how beautiful you are and how you take him so well.  

- All the above size kink shenanigans being said, he won’t fuck you until you’re ready for it. No matter how desperate you are, how much you beg him to just put his cock in you already, he won’t. Not until he’s worked you open with his fingers and tongue and he’s absolutely sure he won’t hurt you. He furrows his brows with this cute little frown when you beg him and promise you’ll be fine, like he can’t believe how desperate you are for his cock, and tells you how “no, you are not supposed to be this tight, it will not feel good for you, let me relax you, let me make you feel good”

        -- And on that note, he loves you absolutely dripping for him. Slick and hot and already sensitive. He wants you close to crying for it by the time he pushes his cock into you.

- He will shove his fingers in your mouth and press down on your tongue as he fucks you.

- He fucking loves eating you out. Like to an obsessive degree. He’s gotten so damn good at it that it’s impossible to say no. Sometimes when his mind is too busy and too fast, he just wants to lick into you until all he can focus on is how you taste, your hands tugging at his hair, and the sweet noises you make for him. He’s gotten off so many times rutting against the sheets just from having his head between your thighs; the first time it happened he was so embarrassed, and you were just stunned and amazed that he came practically untouched from how much he enjoyed pleasuring you like that, you had to reassure him that you weren’t mad or disappointed and he got so sheepish when you explained exactly how hot it was.

        -- This man wants you to sit on his face so fucking badly but he’s too shy to say anything. The moment you bring it up or ask him about it he is hauling you up his body, desperate to get his mouth on you. Doesn’t let you hover, he wraps his arms up around your legs, fingers digging into the soft flesh on the inside of your thighs, and pulls you down until you settle your full weight on him. Eats like he’s fucking starved, cannot get enough of the taste of you. He’ll watch you the whole time he does it, starring up at you with such a blaze in his eyes that it’s honestly a little frightening, he’s so intense about it but he just doesn’t want to miss any of how beautifully your body shakes for him. You’re reminded of his sheer strength when he won’t let you up; he doesn’t even bother with words, he just makes a dissatisfied noise against you and seals you down with an iron grip. You’ll literally have to be crying from overstimulation and yanking at his hair to get him to take his fucking mouth off you.

- I think he’d prefer to give you oral but of course he loves when you suck him off, seeing you look up at him through your lashes and wrap your pretty lips around his cock. Loves watching you struggle to take as much of him as you can.

        -- When you first started giving him blowjobs, he had no idea what to do with his hands and even when you told him he could touch and even pull your hair he was so afraid of hurting you.

        -- Holds your jaw/cheek and hair so gently, even when his hands are shaking and he’s fucking into your mouth. He’s downright ashamed of how much he likes it when you take him too far and gag, how he loves seeing the tears gather in your eyes when you try to take him in your throat.

        -- Loves when you’re mean about it – jerking him off and sucking the head of his cock until he can’t stand it but not letting him cum, popping off him with a filthy wet noise, asking him what’s wrong as he gasps and bucks his hips because you’re rubbing your thumb over his slit and it feels so good but he thinks he’s going to die from it.

- Along that topic, he loves edging and love-hates overstimulation. I think he’s got fantastic stamina so you’ve either got to have him fuck you several times or edge him within an inch of his life. Loves that desperate feeling when you bring him so close to cumming only to back off, over and over again until everything is hazy and all he knows how to do is beg you to let him finish. When you don’t stop after he cums he gets this quick sharp realization that he’s absolutely screwed because it’s too much and now he’s begging you to stop, whimpering and twitching his hips but it’s too much and he’s got tears running down his face and you’re telling him he can cum again.

        -- Overstimulates you all the time because, again, stamina, and because he just fundamentally can’t get enough of you. Loves when you’re shaking, clawing at him and sobbing with these little hiccup gasps, and can barely say anything except his name and “please”

- Okay, okay, I said about how he loves watching you put on makeup. So maybe, maybe, one day he’d let/ask you to put some on him. Just to see how it looks, how it feels to have on. He loves the look of concentration you fix on him the entire time, getting a little bashful when you hold his chin and appraise your work before grabbing something for the next step. When you’re done you sit with him as he looks in the mirror and he’s shocked. He wasn’t sure what he expected from this curiosity, but it isn’t heavy, and he doesn’t look like a clown. He looks… pretty. You’ve made him look soft and delicate, like he deserves the shimmer you’ve put at the corners of his eyes and the faint color on his lips. It twists something equal parts visceral and shameful in his gut, but his cock certainty takes interest in the proceedings when you tell him how beautiful he looks and how he’d look even better with the lip-gloss smeared and the mascara running down his cheeks.

- Another thing I alluded to in my last sfw headcannons list: he’s cum in his pants before. That specific time I was talking about I think would be the first time he ever did it and he was fucking mortified. Like, would have run out of the room had you not been literally in his lap. He’s blushing so badly you can practically feel the heat coming off his face. He’s not even trying to talk; he’s just got his head tilted back with his hands pressed to his face. Mortified. He didn’t mean to. Obviously, he didn’t mean to. But you were so close to him, and you smelled so good, and you were kissing him – licking into his mouth like you wanted to consume him, biting at his lower lip, pulling the collar of his shirt aside so you could mouth and nip at his throat, barely giving him time to breathe. He was so hard it was nearly painful and all any of his senses could pick up on was you and he just. He just came in his fucking pants. And now he feels like he’s going to cry. But you’re speaking to him softly and nudging his hands away from his bright red face and you’re smiling at him. Once he calms down enough for you to convince him that you don’t think he’s pathetic he watches, transfixed, as you skim your fingers over the wet patch on his pants and he full-body shivers at the way you’re looking at him – all heat and predatory intent – and he’s still just trying to wrap his head around the fact that you still want him even after he made such a fool out of himself. It’s definitely not the last time it happens, given how much you like to wind him up, and he gets a little more comfortable with the whole thing as you repeatedly tell him how much you like seeing him lose it.

- While we’re talking about cumming, he loves to cum inside you. He buries himself as deep as possible, which is pretty fuckin’ deep, and stays pressed as close as he can the entire time he cums. Then he pulls out and holds your thighs apart with bruising strength and just watches you twitch as his cum leaks out of you. He fucking groans at the sight like you’ve pulled the sound out of his lungs. He’ll push it back into you with his fingers just to watch it leak out again.

- Tall man. Well-muscled man. Hmm. He absolutely does the Knee Thing. If you’re making out laying down and he’s half-kneeling, leaning over you with his weight braced on his forearms, he’ll absolutely be slotting his leg between yours, pressing his thigh firmly against you. The first time he does it instinctively, just by nature of being as big as he is and trying to balance above you but also be as close as possible. He’s amazed that you feel so strongly about such a simple action but when you start to buck your hips against his leg, he vows to always do it. Which means he later figures out he can shove his thigh up between your legs while he’s got you backed against a wall; and because he’s so tall he can force you to drop almost all of your weight on him, your toes barely touching the floor as you squirm.

- So, I also think he’d really like thigh-riding. He loves seeing you so desperate and grinding against him, too needy and impatient to do anything else. He loves how you whine and grab his shoulders and try to get the perfect friction. He’ll move you himself, guiding you with his hands gripping your hips. Loves how you react when he flexes the thick, corded muscle against you. Seeing you fall apart like this kind of makes him understand why you like seeing him cum in his pants.

- He is so incredibly careful with you. The very last thing he wants to do is hurt you, he’d never forgive himself. I think one of his limits is he won’t hit/slap you in any form. Even if you’re into it, he can’t shake the sickening feeling that he’d be hurting you so it’s a go-no. He was shaky but vehement when he told you it was just something he couldn’t do.

- I also don’t think he be a fan of any sort of degradation – he wants to be praised and all he wants to do is praise you. He’d never call you any degrading names.

- Loves lazy morning sex and any instance where you two have time to be slow and he can just hold you and kiss you everywhere he can reach.

- He loves tying you up, loves the trust you place in him when you let him restrict your mobility. I think he’d really enjoy shibari (intricate rope bondage). He likes the artistic and technical aspect of the knots; it’s an almost therapeutic process to create different patterns and restraints across your body. He likes how relaxed and calm you get, pliant as he shifts you around, the dopey-eyed looks and lazy smiles and contented hums you give him. He loves the way the rope looks against your skin, and he loves the marks they leave after. He loves the intimacy of tying you up, the intensity of having you tied up, and the returning intimacy of untying you – he murmurs praise to you as he removes the rope, he presses kisses at each place he undoes a knot, rubbing your muscles and soothing the skin that has marks.

        -- I don’t think he’d be particularly into bondage on himself. The most he’d do is a pair of soft leather cuffs, but if he’s ever been captured and tied up or cuffed by an enemy then he will absolutely not like bondage on him.

        -- That being said, I think he absolutely fucking thrives with mental bondage. You tell him to keep his arms at his sides and he will not move them. You tell him to keep his wrists crossed above his head and that’s where they’ll stay until you tell him otherwise. You tell him not to move his hips, to keep his hands on the headboard, to keep his mouth open, you tell him anything and he will do it. It doesn’t matter that you don’t actually have the strength to physically hold him down. It doesn’t matter how needy and desperate he gets, how much he shakes and whines, it doesn’t even matter if he’s crying and begging. He’s disciplined and you told him not to move so he won’t move, not one single inch.

- Aftercare king when he’s the dominant one. At a minimum he makes sure you drink water, gets you your favorite snack, makes sure you communicate how you’re feeling, tells you how good you did and how much he enjoyed you, cleans you up, and will hold you for as long as you want. This man will do anything to make sure you’re comfortable and happy.

        -- When he needs aftercare, he’d particularly need lots of reassurance. He’s always worrying about whether or not he did well with regular sex so for more intense stuff he needs your soothing words even more. I think he’d really like to have you in his lap with his arms locked around your waist and his face buried in your neck, listening to your breathing or you humming, while you rub your hands up and down his back – the soft noise and the repetitive motion grounds him and he likes to be able to smell the lingering perfume and sweat-salt on your neck. He won’t talk right away but eventually you’ll get to verbally check in with him. No matter how long you stay with him he’s always going to be a little grumpy when you tell him you have to get up and get him hydrated and clean.