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pursuitseternal · 11 months

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“Master me:” the Sub!Ascended Astarion x F!Reader fic of your nsfw dreams, update to “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.1 K of Sub!Vampire Lord

Summary: It’s all yours, the power, the wealth. But your Vampire Lord wishes to give you something he’s never given willingly before… his submission.

CW: NSFW, Dom/Sub Dynamics, soft!dom for his trauma healing, ThroneSex ™️, body worship, oral s3x, orgasm denial, orgasm control, “only come when you’re told,” begging, pleading, whimpering Astarion, praise kink…

Read here if you prefer AO3

For @marimosalad and @anaisbaillon

Continue and accept the gift of his submission…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

He has summoned you, his lady, his bride, his beloved. The right hand and consort to the Vampire Lord. Of course, you didn’t come right away when the servant knocked on your door. He had been attending business all day. So many deals and promises and threats and examples to be made, he’s been attending from his throne all day. Yes. He held his court from his magnificent chair, staring down from his mighty gilded seat of power, glaring with vermillion eyes at anyone who entered the presence of the Ascendant Lord.

Now he calls for you, after hours behind closed doors. You give it… a little time. Not so much as to try his patience, but enough that you don’t go running into his arms in front of all of Baldur’s Gate. A delicate balance, one you can excuse by flouncing your dress, changing the jewels around your neck. You settled on something dark and sheer and elegant, nearly see-through in places, enough to catch the eye and make the mouth water.

Make his mouth water. That’s all you cared for anyway.

Leaving your chambers, you sweep through the halls, every servant, every guest, or Patriar, or merchant in your palace stops to bow and curtesy. Careful not to disrespect you. For you are his.

You arrive at last to the large, thick doors to his great hall. You can feel his eyes on you before you even turn the corner and breach the room. Astarion sits, reclined. Bored. Distant. But the moment you sweep into his presence, he claps his hands.

Silence falls on the crowd. “Leave,” he hisses quietly. It slices through the din. People retreat in an instant. They cleave around you, separating around where you stand just inside the grand chamber, distances away from your lover, enthroned, and yet you can almost feel his breath on your skin. Even from here.

It takes but a moment for you to finally be alone. His eyes rake over you, his back reclining in his throne, his knee crossed over his leg. But his gaze is only on you. He crooks a finger at you as the doors close, pushed by his magic and sealed by his power.

It is just him now. And he wants you to come… closer.

You obey, feeling more than seeing as his smirk curls his lips and skews his brows. One step, then another, you climb the dais. Then, you stop. Waiting. Eyes locked into one another, his breathing is rapid and shallow. And you furrow, sensing something swirling beneath that cold exterior. You see it then, a slight tweak at the corner of his eyes, a clench of his jaw. And then he lets out a muffled, half-swallowed sob.

“Everything, my love, it’s all ours. Sovereigns of Baldur’s Gate. King and queen in all but name…” his chest shakes. His eyes, wide and wet, look up at you. “It feels… wonderful… horrible… I- I don’t know…”

Without another thought, you hurry to his side, wrapping your arms around his head, cradling him into your breast. His tears are wet on your chest. You can almost feel it, that facade of his power and callous attitude crumbling in your arms. He takes a breath, inhaling your scent, his arms clutching hard around your waist.

“I thought you wouldn’t come, when you were late. For a moment… I thought you had…” he swallows the rest of his fears.

“I would never leave you,” you whisper, warming your words with all the feeling in your heart, running your hand through those silken, silver, unruly curls.

“I… I want to give you something, my love,” he steadies his voice, pulling back from your embrace, arms tugging you into his lap.

“Name it, and I will gladly accept, Astarion,” you smile, gently, settling yourself on the spread of his thighs.

“I want…” he swallows again, his face so close to yours. Haunted, troubled. Something is gnawing at him. “I want to give you everything…”

“You already have,” you smile sweetly, palming his cheek.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don’t mean…” he clears his throat, eyes scanning the room around you as the shadows begin to lengthen, the colors of sunset pouring in through the arched and vaulted windows. “I… we have won. I have power; influence, riches, comfort…” his brow arches a bit rakishly, “…love. I have everything that Cazador deprived me of for centuries. More than he ever did. I am the most powerful vampire in the realms.”

You pause. Waiting. Watching those eyes flickering with the embers of his power. His voice rings with his pride, those traces of shattered confidence evaporated. But then he looks square in your eyes again.

And all that pride and power disappear.

“And I want you to have me submit to you, my love,” he breathed, his voice hissing between his teeth. As if he is in pain. In agony. “I want to give you my submission.”

“Submit to me?” you drop your hand from his face, letting it rest on his chest.

“You are the one thing that grounds me, you know, that pulls me back from becoming a… the very thing I once feared. I want… I want to give you… everything,” he leans in to place a shaking, hesitant kiss on your lips, “I want to grant you even this favor, darling.”

“If you wish,” you reply, tapping your hand on his heaving chest. “I do not require it of you.”

“I know,” he smiles so, so slightly, “that’s why I can give it to you. That's why I can… trust you.”

Your breath catches. The need in his eyes bores into you. He’s waiting. Waiting for you. For your command. “Very well, if it would please you.”

“Greatly, but you’ll have to be harsher than that to make me submit.” He flashes his teeth, a bit of that wicked, cheeky flare you know and love in him.

“I don’t want to be too harsh, I don’t want to hurt you…” you bite your lip, careful how you mention your worry. You can almost hear the ghosts of Cazador’s voice from… you shudder to remember.

He purses his lips, thinking. “Don’t call me boy, or belittle me, don’t starve me, just be the decent person I know and love, and I’m sure this will be pleasurable for both of us…”

You nod, gently. “Then kneel,” you whisper. Sweetly. Too sweetly. He raises a brow at your tone.

“No,” he pushes, that irascible smirk teasing and twitching the corner of his mouth.

You fight the foolish grin that your mouth aches to show. But you keep yourself stern. Commanding. “On… your… knees… Astarion,” you order, warmth in your voice even as you bite at your words.

He moves you by your waist, reverently sliding you off his lap to make his way to the steps of the dais.

“Too far, my love,” you chuckle, savoring his quick little turn as you settle yourself in his throne. “There…” you give a sigh for affect, nestling yourself in the gilded confines of this chair, running your fingers over the gold filigree arms. “Kneel at my feet, lover, and take that doublet off while you’re at it. It’s far too expensive to be ruined by the things I am about to have you do….”

Oh, how he obeys. Shivering and shuddering in delight. A coy, contented smile on his face as he slinks off the heavy- embroidered jacket to leave in a pile on his floor.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees at the top of the dais, close to you. So close, you can see his nostrils flare with every breath, you can watch the muscles of his bare chest clenching as he sits back on his heels. He places his palms on his thighs, one on each, eyes looking right into yours.

Waiting. And eager.

You smile, ready to lavish him with praise. “What a good darling,” you purr. “Quite the sight, the most powerful vampire in all the realms… kneeling before me. It can make a consort quite heated…” you fan your face. “Perhaps I need to remove some of these trappings,” you pluck the black fabric between your fingers. Slowly, you slink the hem of your dress higher. Higher. His crimson eyes darting to watch your unfolding display.

“Might I be of… assistance?” He offers, honeyed tone even as he remains perfectly still.

A laugh leaks from your throat. “You may, only, don’t touch my skin just yet, Astarion. Soon you can, but not… now…”

You watch him rise slowly, licking his lips as you lean forward in the throne. His hands are slow, reverent as they catch up your hair to part it over one shoulder. The lacings at the back of your dress bared for him to attend. It’s deliberate, filled with care, his long fingers deftly pulling the bindings out, lace by lace. His touch is heavy, making certain you feel his every ministration through the fabric of your dress. His hands skate lower, ghosting over the silk to your waist, bunching the fabric to reveal your skin, to expose your shoulders and arms.

You turn your head to look at him, rising to your feet. “Finish the job, my love,” you order, keeping that edge to your voice. Hand raising to his cheek, you caress him, softly, slowly, running your hand down the column of his neck to press on his shoulder. He smiles at your touch, slinking back to his knees… looking up into your face as his hands ruck your skirts in his fists. Pulling, shimmying your skirts to reveal the bare pale flesh of your belly, your thighs.

You step from the puddle of fabric at your feet, closing right into the distance between you where he kneels. Your hands bury in his hair, pressing his eager face into your embrace. His lips caress you, sucking and licking into the soft center of your stomach. His voice hums low, reverberating into your flesh. “Such a reward for so little,” he whispers against your skin, “you can push me harder than that, darling…”

“Really…?” You purr, canting a brow, mischief rising within you. “You just be sure, my love to say when it is too much.”

“Like too much sugar in my tea, I’ll say when, I promise,” he chuckles, slow and languorous, his face creeping lower and lower until his tongue barely laps between your folds. His breath stirring in the soft curls of your mound.

“Then, darling, you can touch,” you step away, seating yourself back in his throne. The velvet lining cushions your bare skin, the metal cold and shocking to the touch. But you recline, the same posture he had assumed at your arrival. “Come and give me your worship, my love,” you toss at him, hearing his steps slowly round on you. His eyes glow with hunger, his teeth glinting as he smiles. He laughs, eyeing you as your thighs part for him to give you more.

His hands rest upon the tops of your legs, settled on his heels before your seat.

“Tch, tch,” you tut at him, brushing his palms from your skin. “Your tongue alone, darling,” you smirk, watching your command making him fairly salivate. “Since you insist on using it, it seems,” you feign disgust, wiping the trails of his saliva from your belly.

He laughs, lowering his kisses to where your hand just touched. “Yes, my love,” he clasps his hands behind his back, glancing up with eyes of red fire, making certain you saw his obedience. “It would be my… pleasure,” he growls, nose pressing into where you ache. You gasp, the demanding dart of his tongue between your folds sending an instant curl of heat in your belly. Attentive, aggressive, he growls into your thighs, and you watch the muscles of his forearms clenching behind his back.

With every lick, he pushes hard, struggling to get just where he wants.

“Something the matter?” you coo, sliding your hips closer to the edge of the chair.

“You could be helpful and master me, you know darling? Give me a little to gain a lot…”

Your hand slips between your legs, fingers spreading yourself wide after a few caresses of your own fingers deep into your channel. You hear his breathing heavy in his chest, watching every muscle in his body wind tight like a spring.

A predator who would love nothing more than to pounce and devour you to his satisfaction. But you pat him on the head, throwing one leg over the cool metal arm of the seat.

“Better?” you dare, your answer is nothing more than his tongue diving with all his hunger deep into your channel, lapping and circling your clit, fangs catching the edges of your folds. You feel it creeping up with each pass and swirl of his tongue. So close, that wave of heat. You can hear his voice rasping, breath heavy as he works inside you. “Touch me,” you order. “Do it, Astarion.”

Released, his hands are on you, everywhere all at once. His fingers claw into your sides, tugging your hips closer. You slide on the velvet aimed right for his hungry, devouring mouth. Long, strong, his fingers delve hard and fast into you as he sucks on your clit. He groans to feel you tighten on his hand, to feel your juices flowing, your back arching and hips bucking on the seat of his throne.

Your hands fist into his hair, pushing him away as he insists on lapping you through the very last wave of your orgasm. He trails his drenched tongue to the delicate inside of your thigh, tracing a circle over the spot he loves most. “Just a bite, darling? May I have some reward?”

“Just a bite,” you pant, still easing down from the writhing muscles, warmth releasing through you.

His fangs pierce your thigh, a moment of pain, quickly masked as he slips his fingers into you again, crooking and stroking your channel.

“That’s enough I think, for now,” you hum, gripping gently into his hair to lift his face. “I said a bite and just a bite it will be.”

He bares his teeth at you, the points of his fangs barely dipped in red. “Darling…” he pushes, voice barely more than a growl.

“Just for now…” you softly stroke his cheek, running the pad of your thumb over his trembling lower lip as he sneers. “Just until you make me come again…”

His lips sneer wider, twisting into a barely contained feral smirk. “As you wish,” he croons, “may I use all the… tools at hand?” His eyes glance down his own body, his hips shoving against the bottom of the chair.

You tilt your head, feigning consideration. “Not yet,” you sigh. “But you may kiss me, my love.”

The last thing you see before he pounces on you is that smirk that makes your heart rap against your ribs and sucks your breath from your lungs at its beauty. His knee shoves in beside you, his lips dancing and plying yours. The tip of his tongue darts between your lips, salt and tang from your blood, your cum, a heady concoction as he tangles it with yours.

One hand claws into your neck, trapping you, pinning you to his ravenous mouth.

Those fingers conjure magic inside you. Twisting and thrusting, sweeping through every ridge inside you just the way you like. It’s a dance, the darting of tongue timed in perfect rhythm with the pumping of his fingers and the scoring of his thumb on your clit. His humming, growling into your mouth. “Oh, so wet and tight, if only I could feel that same release…”

You smile into his kiss, your hand grazing lightly against the cool, clenching muscles of his chest. Stroking, scratching your nails down to the edge of his trousers, you barely brush over where his erection stretches against the straining fabric. Those hips buck into your palm, making you press against as much of his length as you can hold. He grinds into you, his breath heavier than ever, you can almost feel his cock hardening, tightening, his every movement chasing his own release. You ease your fingers away, stroking just a single finger over the edge of his waistband, feeling the soft skin of his seeping head bursting out the top.

“Me first, darling,” you breathe between his fangs. “Then, you’ll have to choose…” you graze your hand down your neck, “…feed…” You grab that bulging cock, gripping it between your thumb and finger to run hard over. He grunts, fingers stilling inside you at the delicious, painful pleasure, “…or fuck, my love.”

“But first,” he hums, fingers renewed as he lightly tugs you clit, “you come.” It isn’t an observation. It’s an order. He pinches you, hand gripped into your neck, holding you fast as you do rip in two, rent apart to shatter in his hand.

You gasp, panting, trying to strain and arch as you writhe in exquisite bliss. His hand stays you, pressing you to his shoulder, savoring the way you clutch your hands around his side, letting you shudder and clench until you are still at last. His breath rattles in your ear, for as relaxed and limp as you feel, his body writhes with his fervent need, bound and cramping with his unsated hunger. “Is it… my turn?” he hisses, teeth already scraping your neck, hands pawing your hair back to reveal that pale flesh he craves.

“Say please,” you give a single laugh, one you swallow the instant you feel his hands raking up your body, palming your breasts and plucking your straining nipples.

He swirls his tongue, bringing your breast into his mouth, one hard suck makes you instantly flush and writhing again. “Please,” he purrs around your nipple. Fire floods your veins, his lips and hands kneading you, molding you as he waits for your command.

All you can do is clutch your hands into those locks, cradling him softly, moaning your assent. “Yes, my good, good darling, yes.” You tilt your head again, waiting for his fangs to mark you, to claim his well-earned reward.

But the second you feel his low-throated chuckle on the top of your breast, you gasp, your breath burning in your lungs. Fangs slice into the sensitive softness, his fingers plucking and twirling your nipples even as he feeds from the blood that runs down into the valley of your chest.

He laps at you, greedily, famished, growling with little noises as he drinks from you, his consort. His love.

But you feel that power begin to shift, that possessive edge crawling under his skin with every suck of his lips and every clasp of his fingers around the fullness he caresses.

“Enough,” you whimper, hands pushing at the broadness of his shoulders. He resists, another long suck on your breast, licking at the blood that bathes it. “Don’t be greedy,” you hiss, finally getting him to raise his face from your skin, his eyes glowing, insufferable and provoking as he licks his bloodied lips with a smile.

“Yes… my treasure,” he fights to reply, struggling to find that restraint. You can see him gritting his teeth, concentrating on moving his body off of yours. His eyes spark, barely bridled power almost tickling your skin, but he manages to stand before you. Before where you sit, naked on his throne. He lets the sight fill him, his chest rising and falling as he breathes in your scent.

“You’re so good,” you purr, slowly rising to your feet, feeling that surge of desire, of power swirling under his skin, as you stand just an inch away from him. “And if you stay good, I might even let you free this…” You clutch at his erection, palming it with a twisted smirk. Savoring the grunt he makes as you run that grip over his confined length. “Yes, that’s it, my sweet, sweet lover…” You stand on the tips of your toes, craning to whisper right in his ear. “How badly do you want to come, my love?”

“More than anything,” he growls, turning his face sharply towards you. “I’d give anything for you…”

“Anything is a lot, you know…” You smile, running your hand over his cock until you feel him shiver under your touch. That’s when the thrill hits you, the control, the power he has given you. It’s… intoxicating, that restraint he gives only for you. That trust he shares only in you. The weight of that responsibility sobers you for a moment, and you break, reaching for his neck encircled in your arms, pulling him down into your lips for a kiss. “And I’d give anything for you too,” you breathe into your hungry mouth.

“Not getting soft on me, are you?” he growls into your mouth, hips bucking into your waist. But the slight softness in his eyes makes your heart thrill, a look of total affection. Of love, swirling behind that veil of domineering power.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, not when you’re as hard as you are, my love,” you purr arching against his body. He’s rigid, careful. Watching your every little movement as he breathes heavily under your touch. You stroke him, that soft fabric of his breeches straining at the seams to be released. Fingers slowly draw the laces out, one by one, your nails dragging sharply over his skin, as inch by inch, you let out that straining cock. As inch by inch, he grows harder, more ravenous, under your featherlight, scoring touch. You finally let him out, making him shuffle off the rest of his clothing until he’s nothing but skin and fangs and a ravenous smirk before you.

“Sit,” you grip him by his arms, spinning his frame as you shove him into his own throne. His eyes flicker in delighted surprise, shifting his body in anticipation for yours to join him.

“Yes, darling,” he croons, giving his ass a clench that makes his cock twitch and pulse. And you can’t look away. You want this, so badly, your entire body trembles for him inside you, that heady concoction of your lust for him and his unwavering trust in you goes right to your head, and to your loins.

You calculate your every move, every sway of your hips, the way you let your hands caress your curves, tracing your fingers into your folds. And you savor that way he licks his lips, his eyes glossy with his need, his hands clenched into the arms of his throne. “You’re trying so hard to be good,” you purr, tossing your hair down your back, crossing to slowly straddle him. You wrap your hands around his length, so hard, pale marble beneath your fingers. You give it a slow stroke, his lips twitching as he gives a groan of pleasure. “You deserve some pleasure for all you’ve done for me,” you lean against his chest, catching his lips in a shallow kiss. “But you’ll have to ask me nicely before you come… darling.”

Astarion whimpers, his lips baring his fangs as you raise your folds above that seeping head of his. Letting your slick just barely graze over him. “Please,” he groans, a swiveling thrust of his hips into you, one you avoid as he tries to sheath into your wetness.

“Not yet,” you tutt, teasing that blunted tip over your clit as you moan, eyes shutting as you make yourself the perfect picture of reckless abandon. A swivel of your hips, a nibble of your lip, as you tear his cock between your thighs. So silken and so hard, you groan with each sweep of him you make down your seam, each tantilizingly shallow dip you give of it into the clenching walls of your channel.

“Darling,” he groans, thrusting up into you, claiming just a little more traction into your cunt, “please… can’t I at least touch you?”

His eyes are wide, hands still clutching at the golden filigree of his throne. You can see every muscle in his neck taught and straining, balancing on the edge of his submission and his overwhelming need to fuck you.

“You may,” you moan, cupping his cheek, “but remember… you only come when I say… darling…”

His brows tweak, pained, but his hands rake up your arms, ghosting over your shoulders to cup your breasts. Even where your blood is drying yet.

You moan, the little teasing of his fingers making your honey drip even more over his shaft. It’s too much for you. So you sink onto that stiff and pulsing member. He bites his lip, clawing his fingers into your flesh, eyes half-lidded as he gives a muffled groan. His breathing is harsh. Unsteady. And you flash him a devious smile, just sitting on his lap, letting your belly stretch to fit that long length of his. “Shhh,” you wipe the sweat that’s formed on his pale brow, “wouldn’t want to have anything this sweet end so quickly.”

“Of course,” he pants. “Not when it’s so deliciously painful…” his brows furrow in agony.

“Oh, the pleasure will be…” you sigh heavily, “far greater than the pain…” his lips smirk as he hears his own words thrown back at him in your lustful voice. “Once I let you have that pleasure, of course…”

His hands tingle, featherlight as they skate up and and down your sides, he softly holds your arms, bringing them to his neck. Reverent, gentle, despite the inferno that rages behind his eyes. He places a kiss against your arm as you brace yourself on his shoulders. “Take your time, my treasure,” he groans as you treat him to a canting of your hips on his lap, “just don’t forget about me…”

“Never,” you groan, not at the way he fills you, but at how his arms wrap snugly around your waist. As if he can’t bring you any closer to him. You move, grinding up and down on him, riding that length as you look him square in the eyes. At how they glow, how they brim with unshed tears, so dilated and dark with his desire for you. At how the sweat begins to drip down his brows, his thin creases at the corners of his eyes deepening their grooves as he twists his face in relief. In the anticipation of his building pleasure.

But he barely blinks, that intensity boring into your soul. You bite your lips, riding the ridges of his cock through you, every sense of your body uniting with his as he gives you his everything. You can almost feel his ascended heart in his chest beating in yours.

Your fingers lock at the base of his neck, clawing into the silver tangles of his hair, even as it dampens with his sweat. You grind on him, keeping your pace agonizingly slow, his poor, neglected cock so hard and so thick, you know he’s not going to last long after what you’ve put him through.

But that only makes you smile harder, your breathing heavy between your grinning, slack lips.

“Hngf,” he groans as you give an extra hard slap of your cunt on him. “Please, my love,” he pants, nearly drooling with his unquenched lust. “You’ve had some fun…”

“Oh, just a little more,” you moan, “you wouldn’t deny me a little more fun, would you, my love?” You give a breathless laugh, reaching your hand around beneath you to grip those smooth, tight balls of his in your palm.

You feel him twitching inside you, his manhood in your palm so hard and tight. Ready to burst. After all, he has been good.

You look at his face, strained and red and sweating. You watch the way he can’t control his mouth, his tongue darting haphazardly over his teeth to lick his lips. His hips beneath you buck at random, hitching out of rhythm with how you ride his shaft. He has never been more handsome, your pleasure wave cresting at the mere sight of his unraveling.

“Please, please darling,” he’s panting, hand gripping so hard on your hips as you gyrate, you know he’s drawn blood. “You’re so good, so tight and wet. Please, let me come…”

You say nothing for a moment, letting your ears fill with the wet slap of your cunt on him. He begs you again, louder, his groans hurtling you into your own climax. You writhe. “Yes, darling,” you moan arching away from his chest. “Yes you may.”

His eyes go wide with your release, the centers so wide, so feral and unbridled. He shifts his ass to the edge, legs braced on the floor. Bouncing you, spearing you. Just that wild, growling, snapping desire is enough to shove you into orgasm. Every muscle grips around him deep inside you. You scream, pleasure tearing through you, but he doesn’t ease his pace.

No you’ve released him from his binds, set him free to fuck until he’s done. So you ride, you jounce, as he begins to hitch his pace. Arms clutch around your body, trapping you, supporting you as your own frame threatens to go limp in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Astarion careens into you. “Thank you,” he moans, over and over again. His breathing rasps, fast and hot in your ear. Deafening you. Overstimulating you, making your neck and spine twitch as he slams into you over again. With one last grunt, the loudest of all, he fills you, the heat of his cum spurting and slipping out from your folds. “Thank you, darling…” he rests his head on your shoulder, an edge within him easing, slipping away.

Dissipating.

Dulling.

And then you feel him breathe. You can feel his heart beating into you as he holds you so tight.

Nothing but his absolute love, his submission, a pulsing rhythm between you. “That was…” he sighs, his breath cascading down your front.

“Delicious?” you offer, stroking your fingers through the damp curls of his silver hair.

He looks up slowly, eyes soft, that same subtle smile that you would see from before, the one that would play around his lips when it was just you two in those fleeting moments on the road. Those moments that made you both who you were. Just you and your rogue. “Precisely,” he purrs, catching your lips delicately in a kiss. “So delicious, I’m sure I’ll need another sampling…”

His kiss turns on the edge of a knife, consuming, tearing. All fangs and tongue in your mouth.

“Tut, tut,” you press your hands against his chest. “If you insist, then at least let me take you somewhere more.. comfortable. Somewhere I might spread you out… tie you up, for once.”

“Oh, darling,” he pouts his swollen lips with a langurous lick, “how could I say no?”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Thank you for the reblogs, likes, kudos, and comments 🥰. You are truly all darlings!

My Master List for more Astarion naughtiness

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lizzy019 · 2 months

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𝑀𝓎 𝐵𝒾𝑔 𝐵𝑒𝒶𝓇!

Switch!König x Switch!Fem!Reader

cw -> insecurities, orgasm denial, cum licking?

Word Count -> 1.8K

AHHH I LOVE HAIRY KÖNIG! No because be for real, the hairier, the better 😭😭

König was folding the clothes you washed, his big hands gently maneuvering the flimsy cloth as he began to stack them piece by piece. He’d always smile when he stumbled upon a garment of yours, folding it and placing it into a separate pile.

König was simply waiting for you to come home from work, he missed you so dearly and he wanted to surprise you. He’d come home from his job unexpectedly, so he wanted you to be ecstatic seeing him again.

Walking down the eerily silent halls of the condo building to your home, you find yourself lamenting briefly about your dearest boyfriend who was on his mission still in the most rural part of some distant country.

The soft clinking of your keys in your hand as you approached the door had König stiffen, and the rigid rattling sounds of your key unlocking the hefty door had him frozen. You were here, he was so excited to see you! Any more excited and he’d be bouncing off the walls.

The door of your condo swung open, your shoes kicked off in mild discomfort from them digging at your heels, but once the shoes came off, the pain eased instantly. Your work items were placed down, your hair tied up from the heat, and your jacket was hung up.

König watched all of it, trying not to chuckle when he saw that you hadn’t noticed him yet. You seemed too tired. He used this to his advantage and creeped up behind you, watching you swivel around when you sensed someone behind you.

Seeing your whole expression change from worry to absolute joyousness had his heart thumping violently within his hulking chest, and he finally laughed out of glee when your arms secured themselves around his midsection.

“König! I’m so happy you’re back safe!” You exclaimed with utter relief.

König blushed under his mask, keeping you in the hug for a bit longer before pulling away. He was so happy to see you, it made every nerve in his body twitch and tingle out of appreciation for his efforts on coming back home. Even if he worked himself to the bone just to come home, he was so happy he did it all.

“Mein Liebling, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you sorely,” He hummed out in a thoughtful tone.

“I folded our clothes, Liebe. You don’t have to worry about doing it now, if it helps you at all.”

To your surprise, looking at where he folded all of your laundry had you smiling ear to ear. König’s kindness was simply amazing, and you tippy-toed up to kiss his masked cheek out of gratitude and appreciation.

“How do you say it? Danke, right?” You inquired softly, giving his pecs a playful honk before taking your folded laundry into your arms to put away.

“Ja, your pronunciation is good, Schatz.” He smiled, giving your ass a firm pat before taking his own clothes to put them away.

You reacted with a pouty expression when he gave your rear a small slap, and you laughed a little, skipping away to go and put your clothes he folded so kindly for you away for later use.

König followed along, tagging along behind you as you both hurried to your shared bedroom. Your clothes were stuffed into the closet properly, and after that was done, you scurried over to the mattress that was custom-made for König’s size to fit atop it.

He followed suit, smiling as he threw his mask to the side, designating it as a problem he could deal with later as he pressed kisses all over your face, neck, and collarbone.

You loved it, the soft stubble on his face grazing your skin, tickling you more than his pretty pink lips ever could. You sighed out into the bedroom, a hand coming to his shoulder as you relished in the feeling.

His hands meticulously grabbed at your soft, supple breasts, tweaking your nipples just right so a moan elicts from your throat. König was loving this.

A hand of his came down to play with your pussy, rubbing it from the exterior as your pants covered your little gateway to his ecstasy. With gentle rubs, he found a movement that had you growing wet, a puddle forming in your underwear and soaking through to become visible even through your joggers.

This had König’s cock growing hard in his pants, he loved knowing you felt good because of him, and it was really doing wonders to his soft and mouldable ego.

“Take my pants off, please. Want you to finger me, Kö..” You murmured with an attached moan, looking into his lovely blue eyes with pure enjoyment.

At your request, König didn’t hesitate to please you, and your request was fulfilled in a matter of seconds. His hands untied your joggers’ string, fiddling with the small piece of fabric before it finally came undone. His hands slid off your pants alongside your panties, watching your pussy ooze out for him and beg for his attention.

Oh lord, he’d give it to you.

This needy body he loved so much.

His thick digits, middle and ring, plunged themselves deep into your aching core, which pulled a loud moan from you as your hips desperately tried to thrust into his hands, pining for release.

König took this as a sign to get his weeping cock free from the confines of his jeans and cotton underwear, letting his hardened rod slip free and into the cool air of the bedroom.

His fingers had you walking on heaven, but you felt a sudden emptiness that had you rejogging back down to the moment and you whined in disbelief.

König was looking at his fingers which he used on you, licking them kitten-ishly as he tasted you like an ice lolly. It was simply the most heavenly taste.

“Liebling, you taste tangy. I like it very much, so süß.” He murmured, smiling softly.

You smiled as well, his expression making your heart warm. His smile was so contagious, you wouldn't expect it from such a hardworking and courageous soldier.

With needy hands, you pawed at his shirt, wanting to take it off. His expression shifted to worry, but he loved you, you were his kleines Liebe, you wouldn’t judge him, surely!

His hands nervously slipped the fabric of his shirt off for you to see. His torso covered in a lovely poof of hair, auburn and gray hairs speckled only on his stomach while his chest was more thickly covered.

König’s expression was soft and worrisome, and he waited so pitifully for your reaction towards it.

You could only smile widely, your hands coming to twirl the soft hair in your fingers, lovingly touching it and accepting it wholly. It was so cute, you couldn’t understand why he disliked it so much.

“Cute little curls, yeah? No reason to be all shy because of them, they’re cute! You’re worrying far too much, König. Now,” You hummed out, placing a kiss to the crook of his neck and smiling.

“No more sad stuff, hm? Let’s have a proper reunion, one with nothing but love.”

König nodded, that idea sounded heavenly at best. He laid you on your back and stripped your shirt off, smiling softly as he pressed a kiss to your cleavage.

“You’re so pretty, mein Liebe. So gorgeous.” He hummed, giving his weepy cock a slow stroke to start himself.

He was nothing short of average. An 8 incher hiding in his pants, lengthy and veiny with the cutest pink, uncut tip. It stretched you wide open, hit your cervix without a doubt, and had your mouth hanging open every time he used his weapon on you.

So when he pressed his tip to your pretty folds, you gave a soft whimper before it turned into a shriek when all his length was sheathed in your walls.

Maybe it was the way he looked so desperate while beginning to let you adjust to his girth, or maybe it was the way he whispered words of praise and love to you while he thanked you for your acceptance.

He was such a sweetheart.

König gave you a few breathing seconds before thrusting his lovely lengthy rod into your sweet tight cunny. This was heavenly to him, the way your pussy walls clamped around him so tight that it was hard to move, the way he had to apply lube almost every minute or two because the constant suction of your pussy to him made the lube spurt out. König was so happy he came home to you.

“Liebling! I wanna cum, can I cum?” He begged, shoving his head into your neck and thrusting into you like a fleshlight.

You were moaning and squirming so helplessly, against your dignity, the ecstasy was simply too great. But his submission woke your trance, and you knew what was happening.

He needed you to be the harsh one now.

“No, not yet. Fuck me until I cum first, fuck me hard- oh God!” You maintained composure for a bit, only losing it when his thrusts became rabid and harsh.

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, raking his back to create red streaks. The congenial pleasure was hiking up, your release too close as you shuddered on him.

“König! Oh..” You yelped, sighing shortly after as he stopped for you to release on him.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, giving you a second or two as to not overstimulate your poor cunt before thrusting again to chase his own pleasure. The gates to heaven on Earth were so close, just a few more.

“Liebe, scheiße, I’m going to cum.. please let me cum!” He whined out, clutching your tender body.

You nodded, too tired to form proper sentences or even speak properly. You just wanted him to give you his seed, to finally complete the ceremony of his arrival home from his year at war.

So he moaned out a long cry before his hips stuttered to release his thick, creamy seed into your welcoming womb, his weight collapsing on top of you as he let that ecstasy burn every nerve in his body.

“Oh Liebling..” He whispered, his mind too tired from such an intense orgasm.

You smiled, gently rubbing his back and grabbing the blanket to cover the both of you with. Soon enough, König was knocked out, falling askeep on you with zero hesitation, and soon you fell asleep as well, basking in the warmth of the afterglow and the warmth of his big body atop yours.

#könig x reader #könig smut #konig x reader #konig smut #konig call of duty #smut #x reader #call of duty #cod x reader

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skywalker1dream · 4 months

Text

Obsession in Overdrive

Jenson Button x journalist!reader

note: so I was writing part 2 of web of obsession and I accidentally deleted it, I really don't know how I did it (I want to bang my head to something like dobby banged his head with lamp)

Summary:You are a dedicated and ambitious journalist covering the world of Formula 1. Your latest assignment brings you face-to-face with Jenson Button, a charismatic and skilled driver. However, beneath his charming exterior lies a dark and obsessive personality. As Jenson becomes fixated on you, what starts as innocent professional admiration quickly spirals into a dangerous obsession, leading you into a web of passion, control, and peril. (you will find out that in part two)

Warnings: Im not good with warnings T_T sorry....

The roar of engines and the scent of burning rubber filled the air, the unmistakable ambiance of a Grand Prix weekend. You adjusted your press pass, the laminated card dangling from a lanyard around your neck. This assignment was a dream come true covering the world of Formula 1, where speed and glamour intertwined.

The paddock was alive with activity. Engineers tweaked car settings, team members rushed about with tools and equipment, and the drivers, the stars of this high-octane circus, moved with an air of focused determination. You had been following the sport for years, but being here, amidst the chaos and excitement, was a different experience altogether.

You were here for one reason: an exclusive interview with Jenson Button, the seasoned driver known not just for his skill on the track, but for his charm and charisma off it. He was a favorite among fans and media alike, and getting time with him was a coup for any journalist.

You arrived at the McLaren team’s hospitality suite, a sleek and modern area buzzing with activity. The room was filled with a mix of team personnel, sponsors, and a few journalists, all engaged in animated conversation. The decor was elegant but functional, with the team’s colors prominently displayed.

You spotted Jenson almost immediately. He was deep in conversation with a team engineer, but as soon as he saw you, his face lit up with a smile. He excused himself and walked over, his stride confident and relaxed.

“Ah, you must be [your name]” he greeted, extending a hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, his touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary.

“Yes, thank you for taking the time to speak with me,” you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite the fluttering in your stomach. He was even more handsome in person, his blue eyes sparkling with a mix of intelligence and mischief.

“Anything for a lovely journalist,” he said, his tone smooth as silk. “Shall we?”

He led you to a quieter corner of the suite, where a small table and two chairs had been set up for the interview. As you settled into your seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his presence seemed to command the space around him. He was effortlessly charming, his smile warm and inviting.

The interview began with the usual pleasantries. Jenson answered your questions with ease, his responses peppered with humor and insight. He spoke about his passion for racing, the challenges of the season, and his hopes for the future. His answers were thoughtful and articulate, revealing a depth of character that went beyond his public persona.

Yet, as the conversation progressed, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze lingered on you, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of your face. His eyes would occasionally flicker down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You shifted in your seat, trying to maintain your composure. This was just another interview, you told yourself, albeit with one of the most charming men you’d ever met. But there was something about the way he looked at you that made your pulse quicken.

“So, [your name],” Jenson said, leaning forward slightly, “what got you into journalism? And more specifically, why Formula 1?”

You smiled, appreciating his genuine interest. “I’ve always loved writing, and I’ve been a fan of motorsports since I was a kid. There’s something about the combination of speed, skill, and strategy that fascinates me. Plus, the stories behind the drivers and teams are incredibly compelling.”

Jenson nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s true, there’s a lot more to this sport than just racing. The dedication, the sacrifices... it’s a whole world unto itself.”

You continued talking, sharing stories and laughing together. Despite the professional nature of the interview, it felt more like a conversation between friends. Jenson had a way of making you feel at ease, his genuine interest and warm demeanor drawing you in.

As the interview came to an end, you thanked Jenson and began to gather your things. “This was great, Jenson. Thank you so much for your time.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied, standing up and extending his hand once more. “I hope we get to do this again soon.”

His hand was warm around yours, and as he held your gaze, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of something more than professional admiration. You quickly pushed the thought aside, reminding yourself of your role and responsibilities.

“Take care, love,” Jenson said, his smile lingering as he watched you leave.

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your encounter with Jenson Button was just the beginning of something much more complex and intense than a simple interview.

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

Later that evening, you returned to your hotel room, still buzzing from the excitement of the day. You had a lot of work to do transcribing the interview, writing up your notes, and preparing your article. But before you could get started, a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

You opened it to find a hotel staff member holding a small, beautifully wrapped box. “Miss [your name] this was left for you at the front desk.”

Surprised, you took the box and thanked him. As you closed the door, curiosity got the better of you. You carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a charm in the shape of a racing car. It was exquisite, and clearly expensive.

There was a card inside, written in elegant script: “A token of appreciation. – Jenson.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was a thoughtful gift, but also oddly personal for someone you’d just met. You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, admiring how it caught the light. It was beautiful, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something more.

Pushing aside your unease, you sat down at your laptop and began to write. Yet, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back toJenson his smile, his charm, and the intensity in his eyes. This was supposed to be just another assignment, but you had a feeling that it was going to be anything but ordinary.

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

Over the next few weeks, you found yourself running into Jenson more frequently. At first, it seemed like coincidence, he’d be at the coffee shop you frequented, or passing by the media center just as you were leaving. Each time, he’d greet you warmly, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“You again,” you joked one afternoon, unable to hide your smile. “Are you following me, Mr. Button?”

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Just lucky, I guess. Besides, I enjoy our little chats.”

His attention was flattering, and you couldn’t deny the growing attraction. Yet, beneath the surface, there was something unsettling about his constant presence. It was as if he always knew where you’d be.

One evening, as you left the paddock, you found Jenson waiting by your car. “Let me take you to dinner,” he offered, his tone more commanding than requesting.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a lot of work to do,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

His smile faltered, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Another time then,” he said, but his tone suggested it wasn’t really a question.

_______

The next morning, you received a text from an unknown number: Good morning, [your name]. Hope you have a great day. – Jenson. (-sent from my iphoen) (iykyk)

You stared at the message, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. You hadn’t given him your number, which meant he must have gone out of his way to get it. Part of you was flattered by his persistence, but another part couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort.

As the days passed, Jenson’s presence in your life grew. He sent you flowers, left small gifts at your hotel, and always seemed to be around. It was becoming harder to focus on your work with him constantly on your mind.

During a press conference, you caught Jenson’s eye from across the room. He was surrounded by reporters, but his gaze was fixed on you. He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes that made your heart race. After the conference, he made his way over to you.

“Can I steal you away for a bit?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

You hesitated, glancing around at your colleagues who were busy typing up their notes. “I really should finish my article.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he promised, his hand gently guiding you towards a more secluded area. “I wanted to give you something.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small, wrapped box. “Another gift?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and caution.

“Just a little something to remind you of me,” he said with a smile.

You unwrapped the box to find a delicate necklace with a pendant shaped like a steering wheel. It was beautiful, but the personal nature of the gift sent a shiver down your spine.

“Jenson, this is lovely, but you really don’t have to keep giving me things,” you said, trying to sound gracious.

“I want to,” he insisted, his eyes intense. “You’re special, love. I feel a connection with you.”

His words made your heart flutter, but also triggered a warning bell in your mind. “Thank you, Jenson. I appreciate it, really. But I.....I have to get back to work now.”

He nodded, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t giving up. As you walked away, you felt his gaze lingering on you, a constant, almost tangible presence.

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

Later that week, you were sitting in your hotel room, working on your latest article, when your phone buzzed. It was a call from Jenson. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?”

“[your name], I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, his voice smooth and reassuring.

“Not at all. What’s up?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner tonight. There’s a great restaurant not far from your hotel.”

You bit your lip, considering his offer. Part of you wanted to say yes, to enjoy an evening with this captivating man. But another part of you was wary of how quickly things were progressing.

“I don’t know, Jenson. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Come on, just one dinner,” he coaxed. “You have to eat, right? Consider it a break.”

His persistence was hard to resist, and before you knew it, you found yourself agreeing. “Okay, fine. One dinner.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, a note of triumph in his voice.

That evening, Jenson arrived at your hotel right on time. He looked impeccable, dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his athletic build. As you walked to the restaurant, he kept the conversation light and engaging, his charm easing some of your apprehension.

The restaurant was elegant and intimate, with soft lighting and a view of the city skyline. Jenson had reserved a private table, away from prying eyes. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Throughout dinner, Jenson was the perfect gentleman. He listened attentively as you talked about your career and passions, sharing stories from his own life that made you laugh and feel at ease. Yet, beneath his charm, there was an intensity in his gaze that made your heart race.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #jenson button x you #jenson button x reader #f1 fic #fanfic #f1 #jenson button

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bunniekittiee · 11 months

Text

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader (as well as general headcanons)

Alright alright the Bi-Han headcanons was a success so ykw I’ll bless you all again. Also this is my depiction of Bi-Han so if you think I can tweak it and make it better then by all means let me know!

CW: mentions of eating problems, anxiety, illness, chronic illness, a little nsfw, nothing too crazy

Hair combing is an intimate ordeal.

He does not let anyone else touch his hair besides himself and you. He trusts you completely to comb his hair and even put it up for him.

He thinks you do it better than him, but he can manage it himself if needed.

He sighs with relief when his hair is let down, feeling his s/o’s fingers gently massage his aching scalp. It feels so good to him, he loves it.

Bi-Han does like the quietness. Especially after a long day of Grandmaster duties and irritation.

So if it is quiet during this time, he can close his eyes and almost fall asleep as you caress his hair and take care of him.

Sometimes he has fallen asleep when you are doing this.

If you were to ask Bi-Han to bathe together, he would silently go insane for a second and then agree.

Despite seeing you naked more than often, it still gives him butterflies in different scenarios that isn’t inherently sexual. Such as bathing.

He thinks you are beautiful, do not ever be negative about yourself around Bi-Han because he will immediately worry.

If you are worried about gaining weight, he is already overthinking that you will stop eating.

So instead, Bi-Han gently encourages you to train with the other Lin Kuei if you feel that you want to lose weight or prevent yourself from gaining weight.

No, he does not think you are fat at all, do not twist his words.

But Bi-Han is the type of man to give you solutions to help you but not in a rude way.

He just tries to encourage and give you options.

He will also suggest yoga with Kuai Liang. Kuai Liang usually meditates, but he will divulge himself in yoga for you if you are interested.

He does not like to see you sad or upset about your self image. It makes him feel helpless.

Bi-Han can handle a physical threat because he can eliminate it, but when it is a mental threat such as self image issues, depression, etc., Bi-Han finds himself unable to see straight.

Out of his brothers, I see Bi-Han struggling with some anxiety.

Like I said in my previous headcanons, Bi-Han worries for his s/o because she is his weakness. If anyone were to take her away from him, he would practically engulf everything in a blizzard.

I see Bi-Han having anxiety about his brothers as well, whether they are safe or going to be okay.

As much as Bi-Han shuns Smoke, he still worries for him. Smoke is the ‘baby’ of them all, and if he were to see him in any form of pain, he is already wanting to murder the person who inflicted it upon him.

That being said, if you have any sort of health issues that will literally send Bi-Han over the edge.

He is constantly having the medics check you over and he will be riddled with so much anxiety he will stop eating and sleeping well.

God forbid you have a chronic illness or anything at all, at that point Bi-Han will just have an aneurysm.

As tough as his exterior is, Bi-Han can be sensitive.

Please do not call him names, he doesn’t even do that to you and it will hurt his feelings.

He will distance himself and feel melancholy until you apologize. He doesn’t like it when you are rude or mean to him.

As I mentioned in my other previous headcanons, he does get snappy himself so he knows that he is a bit of a hypocrite.

If you were to communicate your feelings to him, whether it is your frustrations, sadness, or anger, he will understand and try his best to relax you and make you feel better.

You do the same for him, so it’s time that he repays that favor.

Bi-Han can be extremely busy with his duties and he knows you hate being cooped up for so long.

So he will allow Smoke and Kuai Liang to take you out, whether that’s for a walk or to Madame Bo’s, Bi-Han just wants to make sure you are happy.

I don’t know where people got the “jealous of my brothers being around my s/o” belief from, but Bi-Han trusts his brothers completely.

He has to, they go into battle and on quests together, they have to deeply trust each other and have a strong bond with one another.

So he lets his brothers take you out, he does not get jealous of that. They would never do anything to you, and Bi-Han knows it is completely out of character for them to do anything in the first place.

So yes, he lets you go out with his brothers and enjoy your time together when he is busy.

Again, he knows you get cooped up and he wants you to have some freedom.

His brothers love that you have somewhat changed Bi-Han but in a good way.

He is somewhat nicer to Smoke and refrains from telling him he is not part of their family. Last time he did, you gave him the absolute worst glare that even Kuai Liang felt his stomach turn.

Bi-Han is gentle as possible with you. His hands have killed and hurt many, he would hate to inflict the same pain on you.

You are like a flower to him, a delicate and precious lively being.

You have softened Bi-Han in many ways, and many appreciate what you have done.

#mk bi han #bi han #bi han x reader #bi han x you #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mk1 #mk sub zero #mk smoke #mk scorpion #bi han headcanon #bi han sub zero #bi han mk #bi han x y/n

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xx-lemon-drop-xx · 7 months

Note

Hello! This is my first time requesting something! It's fine if you delete it, but could I please request a Rook x insecure reader? Maybe with mirror sex and body worship. Also GN! (AFAB) reader please.

Also could I be 🌹 anon please?

Hey! Of course you can be 🌹anon! I'm so sorry this took so long to come out, I was on a hiatus for a little while; a lot of personal things went down. Anyways, here's your request!

Warnings: gn reader, afab, terms "pussy, clit," Slutty is used once, French words, heavy praise, body worship, insecure reader.

Request: Yes.

Words: 484.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

"You look beautiful, amour."

He whispered praise and sweet nothings into your ears all while his hands touched you in such intimate places, cracking open the soft shell of an exterior you put up in a hope to protect yourself.

Rooks fingers swirled and dipped into your core, his other hand groping your chest and tweaking the nipple in gentle motions until they where peaked. When your head dropped back on his shoulder, eyes fluttering in ecstasy a low rumble reverberated from his chest.

"Chère, Look here." He guided your head back up to look at yourself in the mirror, legs spread over his thighs and cunt eagerly sucking in his fingers with every dip he allowed them into your sloppy heat. "Magnificent, (Y/n).." He murmured, lips pressing against the inside of your ear. Rook's tongue flicked out, running across the shell of your ear.

He knew how embarrassing this must've been for you. But he was proud. You'd always been an insecure person. Shamed over your weight, height, the way your facial features accentuated your face, the pudge on your belly.

Rook saw an angel.

An Angel bathed in sweet elixir, waiting for every drop to be savored and worshiped. His for the taking.

And by the seven he was going to take everything. Rook was going to take and take and take until his darling's lovely body could only squirm and writhe under him in pure and unfiltered ecstasy. He was going to break you thoroughly. Until the only thing you could think of was about how his cock was claiming that slutty little hole of yours. He was going to sear his name so far into the depths of your brain it's the only thing you can think of.

Rook felt your walls flexing and clamping down around his fingers and thrusted them faster, his thumb coming up to roll circles around your puffy little clit. His free hand caressed across your body, landing back on your chest to flick a reddened nipple while he had you falling apart on his fingers. It was only when you twitched and tried to wiggle away did he pull out his fingers, dripping with your essence.

“Merveilleux, you did so well, amour. Vraiment magnifique!”

Your panting gasps were a delight for Rook's ears, his hands rubbing up and down your hips in the meantime, before coming down to circle your dripping pussy.

“So pretty for me, tell me, do you wish for more?” He pressed a soft kiss against the back of your neck.

#x reader #twisted wonderland #gn reader #afab terms #twisted wonderland rook #twst rook #rook hunt #twist smut #twisted wonderland smut

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notiddygxthgf · 8 months

Text

prologue

★ pairings: choso x f!reader

★ synopsis: World famous rock star Choso Kamo’s new live-in assistant is convinced that she can fix him – substance abuse issues and all. Tensions ensue, and as new feelings rise to the surface, the two find it difficult to maintain an appropriate workplace relationship (or; the one where an unstable musician struggles to keep it friendly with his assistant).

★ c.w.: none (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: don't be a stranger! leave some comments for me to read teehee

★ w.c.; 2.8k

smoke and mirrors; chapter index

THE MUSIC INDUSTRY BLEEDS YOU DRY. That’s just the truth. It takes every ounce of your creative passion and tramples on it. It takes everything from you, and then it takes more. I find myself reconsidering my career path on a daily basis. There’s only one thing, in fact, that keeps me grounded.

“Choso! Choso! Choso! Choso!”

That. The chant of the crowd. The endless bodies waving their hands over the venue, reaching for me, singing for me.

I leaned my head back, feeling the cool breeze of the backstage air against my neck, against my trembling skin. Crewmembers swarmed around me like gnats, tweaking little details of my outfit – one had a black eyeshadow palette up to my eyelid and another was messing with my hair. She had said something about needing to look intentionally messy.

The low hum of their conversation was only background noise to me. I blew a bubble with the wad of gum in my mouth – a nervous tic that clearly betrayed the calm exterior I was trying so hard to maintain.

The girl who was touching my eyeliner up snapped the palette shut. My mind was elsewhere – it was out there.

“Choso! Choso! Choso!”

I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. The chant of my name reverberated through the walls, a frightening reminder of what lay just beyond the curtain.

People. Thousands of them.

“Choso! Choso! Choso!” The chorus of voices seemed to grow louder. I shut my eyes, visualizing the sea of faces, the outstretched hands, the passion in their voices. The crowd– my fans; they were my lifeline.

Another crew member informed me, “You’re on.”

I nodded solemnly, feeling that strange pit in my stomach. It was terrifying, it was familiar, it was… exciting.

I took another breath, then I stepped forward. With each step towards the stage, the chanting intensified. The noise was like this strange, palpable force, urging me onward. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins the moment I reached the edge of the stage. The anticipation was almost… suffocating.

I stepped out. Then, for a blissful moment, it all seemed to go quiet.

I took a moment to look at them, really look at them. All of them. The mass of humanity blurred into one collective wave of joy. From here, I couldn’t even make out faces. Only smiles, flashing lights, and limbs flailing. Signs with my name on it. People with love in their hearts.

Nothing but them and me, hearts beating in tandem. I wondered how nervous they felt – if they knew how nervous I felt standing here before them. If they knew I had been nervously chewing on a piece of gum only moments prior.

Thousands of people who all came together for one purpose – to see me. A mosaic of adoration.

I glanced down at my trembling hands, fingers clutching the edge of my guitar. The weight of the crowd’s expectations pressed down on me. The realization hit me a second time – they were all here for me. That both terrified and humbled me.

I licked my lips, gave my old guitar a strum, feeling those familiar vibrations amplified a hundred fold. It was loud, so loud that I could still hear it reverberating throughout the venue when I reached for the microphone.

I stole another glance at the crowd as a smile broke across my face.

Deep breaths.

I shouted, “What the fuck is up, Paris?”

The response was deafening. The crowd erupted in cheers. I could feel their energy merging with mine – the lights, the love, the screams. In that moment, I remembered why I endured the trials of my industry. I remembered why I was still living – what I was fighting for. It was all for them, the countless faces who found solace and inspiration in my music.

And with that realization, I felt my heart begin to race.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” I asked.

They screamed back at me in response. I grinned.

“God, I love you guys,” I laughed. Strummed my guitar a second time. Looked at them. “I got a special show for you tonight!”

It was all for them. I do it all for them.

Life on the road was pretty crazy. I wish I could say that I had family to miss back home, but that wasn’t the case. I had been in and out of foster care for most of my life; had to grow up pretty fast so my brothers and I could stay off the streets. Other than the three of them, I never really had a family.

I turned to music as a crutch. I bought my first guitar with the first paycheck I earned – I was 16. I bandhopped for a while, alternating between the roles of lead singer, bassist, and rhythm guitarist. I found a passion for writing lyrics somewhere along the way. It felt nice, being able to put pen to paper and make my fucked up life sound appealing.

It was great.

I did basement shows right up until I turned 21. I would have been more than happy to keep on doing them – hell, sometimes I found myself wishing I could still fit those small, shitty little venues – but some big, music industry talent hotshot came and found me at one of my shows. He handed me a card. Told me he liked my sound, that I could be famous.

Who could have refused?

I never anticipated hitting it this big. Not that I’m complaining. It keeps a roof over me and my brother’s head – to say the least. I have more than enough money to live lavishly for the rest of my days. I found my new family in my music team: my manager, my coordinators, my publicist. All of them.

The music industry is notoriously blood-sucking. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I realized that rather quickly, though by the time I was hot enough to hire a whole team, I was in too deep. It all seemed so… superficial.

I grew to hate it.

My hatred only grew when I lost two of my beloved brothers – Eso and Kechizu. There was a shootout at the mall. They found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remember rushing to the hospital as soon as I heard the news.

It was too late by that point, though. They had bled out long before I was able to see them.

I didn’t sleep for a week after that – I developed insomnia that would last for years to come. I spent my evenings curled up on my shower floor, sobbing into my own arms. It was the same after that, and then the day after that. I found myself spending all of my time replaying the memories in my head, thinking about where I went wrong.

It didn’t take long for me to find comfort in the lifestyle of the rich and famous – the drinking, the partying, the drugs. I would go on week-long benders, drinking myself into a sickened stupor, rolling up two joints a day, popping pills I didn’t know how to pronounce. Doping myself up so I couldn’t think about it.

Ecstasy, Molly, Coke, LSD, Acid – I’ve taken them all. Shit, you could probably find trace amounts of them in my blood at any given point in time.

Or… however the hell that shit works.

I took Adderall every day to keep me grounded. That’s what I told myself, at least. No doctor in his right mind would ever prescribe someone like me 80 milligrams on a daily basis. Good thing I paid mine enough to forget his hippocratic oath.

I wasn’t completely lost, though. I didn’t feel good about it. Yuuji, my only living brother, told me multiple times that I needed to cut down on my consumption. He wanted me to go to rehab. Shit, over my dead body.

He stopped bringing it up, but I could see it in his eyes – I was breaking his heart. I had to remind myself that he had lost his brothers, too, that day. Probably felt like he was losing the only one he had left.

I try not to dwell too hard on it, though. Got better shit to do.

Fucking hate the music industry most days. Everyone expects you to be all put-together, even though you wake up feeling like you dragged your feet through a field of broken glass shards. Even though you wake up every goddamn morning feeling you’re reliving the same day over and over again.

It’s like a painful reminder that the only people I have in my life are paid employees. I have no one – other than Yuuji – who I could confidently say would be there for me if I no longer had the funds to compensate them.

It fucking blows. I drink to forget about it. Drink and… well, everything else I put in my body.

Never put a needle in there, though… at least not for drugs. I’ve got more tattoos and piercings than I can count.

Enough about my unhealthy coping mechanisms, though.

My “family” never let me put out music I like making. They stripped my creativity from me. I lost all enjoyment in songwriting along the way. They turned me into a husk – a shell of the man I used to be.

I couldn’t recall the last time I felt real happiness. You know, the kind you got from taking a walk in nature and not from snorting and ingesting copious amounts of illicit substances. You would think that someone would see me greened out on the couch and know I was crying for help.

Nah. No one ever listens.

They never noticed. The only reason they cared about whether I was dead or alive was because I kept them well-fed and their pockets full.

That’s the fuckin’ music industry, baby. Nothing but a bunch of soulless, drugged-up puppets pumping out music they hate making. Begging for help.

But no one ever listens.

My head hung low as I snorted a line of powder off the tray my housemaid – or some other woman I didn’t know – had brought me. As quickly as she had appeared, she vanished. In her absence, I relished in the rush that hit me all too fast.

I sniffed and coughed, shaking my head with remnants of the powder clinging to my nose. I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

The studio’s walls were adorned with gold, platinum and silver records, a shark contrast to the disheveled state of the room. Empty liquor bottles littered the floor. The air hummed with companionable conversation and the distant echoes of a repetitive beat.

As I raised my head, the scene unfolded before me. Half-naked women, draped in a hazy glow from neon lights, raised their glasses in a toast. The shots went down smoothly, accompanied by the thumping bass of my latest creation, reverberating through the studio's speakers.

The instrumental was infectious, quick and catchy, resonating with a bass that seemed to throb in sync with the erratic pulse of the room. My eyes fell to the scattered papers on the coffee table in front of me – lyrics scribbled in messy script on lined paper that had been torn straight out of my composition notebook.

Cigarette smoke, a whiskey glass,

Fading memories, like shattered glass,

Every sunrise feels like the last,

Trapped in the echos of the past.

Stuck in the rhythm of a broken clock,

Every tick’s an echo, every tock’s a shock.

A carouse of monotony,

Lost in a loop, just try’na break free.

Guitar wails like a distant scream,

Reality blurs, just like a dream.

Drift through the hours, like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.

Pouting, I wiped my nose, feeling the dull burn of the coke as it tingled in the back of my throat. I was congested as all hell. Still, I tried to sing the bridge beneath my breath.

“Drift through the hours, like a ghost. In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost…” I hummed, pouting again when I realized I still didn’t like it.

The women in the back of the room continued their celebration, completely oblivious to my internal struggle. They were too busy shooting the shit with my friends.

More glasses were poured, and one was handed over to me. I took a sip without looking – because it honestly didn’t matter what was in the cup, could’ve been piss for all I knew. The familiar burn of bourbon warmed me momentarily. Humming in recognition, I traced my finger over the rim of the glass, lost momentarily in the verbiage of my own creation.

Something felt off.

Furrowing my brows, I stared down at the words on the page. I sniffled again. Then I downed about half of my glass of bourbon, standing up on unsteady feet. The room swayed slightly, especially when I walked over to the corner where the producer was set up – a lone figure surrounded by the chaos.

I nodded at him, muttering, “Play it again from the chorus. I’m try’na see somethin’.”

The producer – Chris, or some shit like that – nodded back. He pressed a button, and the beat started over. The room’s ambiance, fueled by laughter and friendly chatter, didn’t quiet down.

I tried my best to immerse myself in the rhythm, but the distractions were just… it was just too much.

‘Guitar wails like a distant scream,

Reality blurs, just like a dream.

Drift through the hours, like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.’

I hadn’t realized I had forgotten to actually sing the words until my producer looked over at me expectantly. I shook my head, huffing out an exasperated sigh.

“Shit, sorry, take it from… take it from the chorus again, please?” My voice cut through the noise – or tried to, at least.

The beat started over again, a few measures behind where I needed to be.

“Guitar wails like a distant scream…” I attempted once more. “Drift through the hours, like a lost– fuck, I fucked it up.”

The collective revelry around me was a wall – it fucked me up. I could feel a headache coming on.

“Can we pipe down a bit?” I groaned, massaging my temples. My ears began to ring a bit, growing louder with every passing second that the chatter continued. “Guys, shut the hell up.”

My pleas fell on deaf ears. The ringing persisted, drowning out everything else in the room.

“Yuki,” I directed at her, a little louder now. She seemed to have been leading the conversation. “Yuki, please.”

No one ever listens.

And they didn’t. They weren’t fucking listening. I tried to make eye contact with her, but I couldn’t seem to make out her face from the rest. The room was blurry, moving side to side, hazy around the edges. I held my forehead, groaning quietly.

They were so fucking loud.

No one ever listens.

Downing the rest of my bourbon in one go, I – in a fit of frustration – hurled the glass against the wall above the couch where my friends were comfortably seated. It shattered, sending shockwaves through the room as stunned silence replaced the previous chaos.

“Yuki,” I mumbled, swaying slightly on my feet. “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to.. Try’na fuckin’...”

“Choso,” She began quietly, her mouth slightly agape. Had she always had a twin sister, or was I dreaming? “Your… your nose– are you okay?”

I put a hand up to my nose, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. My fingers were red when I brought them back, painted with a viscous crimson fluid. Another fell from my nostril onto the pale skin of my wrist.

My nose is bleeding.

I wiped my nose, waving them off. “I’m fine,” I slurred – I wasn’t, least I don’t think I was, but the show must go on, or some shit like that. “Can we just… keep going, please?”

A thick, heavy silence enveloped the studio. With all of them finally keeping their mouths shut, I could hear myself think again. The ringing in my ears began to subside, and I, looking over my shoulder at Chuck– Chris, whatever the fuck– demanded, “Play that shit again.”

He swallowed nervously, clearly caught off guard by my outburst. Still, he pressed a button or two, and the song started all over again.

Drift through the hours like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.

a/n: hiiii! I hate the way this was written, but I always hate my first chaps hehe. NEXT ONE WILL BE SM BETTER I SWEAR!! this is gonna be a long, slow burn, smutty ass fanfic (loosely [very loosely] based on the show 'the idol'). and by based on ofc I mean I watched an ep and I was like damn I could make this better. Enter our beloved emo boy choso kamo. anyway!! comment your thoughts/wishes/etc!! I love an interactive community of loyal commenters and I loveee reading all of ur thoughts and lovely remarks!! keep them coming, and ill keep the chapters coming in retribution! love you bunches!

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

credits: @/2OARIN on twitter (cover art). If you know the other artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work! I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @ynjimenez , @soraya-daydreams , @nonksity , @hinata7346 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @sad-darksoul , @sasuke-slut , @yuunie135 , @bratkuna , @aydene , @mshope16 , @pretentiousteentrash , @galactict3a , @kokos-property , @moonriseoverkyoto , @lyn-soso , @arilostie , @violetmatcha , @markleeisdabestdrug , @erensdior , @hp-simp505 , @fushiguro-kyuuuuuu , @bontensbabygirl , @switch-godess , @honey-yuh , @ddotsie

wanna join the taglist? | smoke and mirrors; chapter index

#smoke and mirrors ☄. *. ⋆#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#choso kamo #choso #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x jjk #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso kamo jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso fluff #choso angst #choso smut #choso kamo fluff #choso kamo smut

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sav-not-tav · 4 months

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Okay but what about Rolan having a crush on Tav but he wants to figure out if they would ever be interested in him so he cast a spell to make him look like someone else to dig up information (I think he would embarrassedly as the companion and they would be on board)

But, turns out Tav clocked it was Rolan by things that he does and decides to mess with him. (Tav likes him but he should be messed with for being sneaky)

Thoughts?

Oh, anon. This popped up on my phone while I was in the mountains and did not have enough signal to respond—so I have been stewing on it nonstop since then.

asdhbfzgld I love this. Rolan is definitely the type to try to be sneaky about his feelings and use magic to get his way. I also think he'd be so tunnel-visioned with his goal that he'd forget to ask the right questions or learn even the tiniest bits of context, such as if the companion he transforms into is already in a relationship ;)

I was so excited to answer this one! Ugh, what a cute prompt. This one got long.

Rolan’s nerves are on edge. After the fall of the Netherbrain, the city had been wrought with chaos, and he has not seen Tav since before the final battle. Now, a tenday later, the "Heroes of the Gate" have decided to celebrate their victory at the Elfsong Tavern. Rolan only knows due to Lakrissa sharing the details of the impending event with Lia. Though he feels a pang of disappointment at not receiving an invite, it seems the perfect opportunity for him to finally learn if Tav harbors any feelings for him. His crush has lingered since the events at Last Light Inn, only growing after they dealt with Lorroakan. He simply can’t bear the uncertainty any longer.

After an awkward conversation with Gale, who was surprisingly supportive, Rolan began working on tweaks to the Disguise Self spell. After many days of nonstop effort, Rolan finally successfully adjusts the spell to allow him control over how the transformation looks. The familiar form of Gale takes over his own in the mirror, and he practices Gale’s mannerisms, determined to pull off the deception.

Entering the bustling tavern, Rolan spots Tav by the bar. Taking a deep breath, he approaches with what he hopes is Gale’s calm, thoughtful demeanor. “Tav, may I have a word?”

Tav looks up with a friendly smile. “Of course, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

Sat in a private booth in the corner of the Elfsong, he manages polite conversation, dodging questions about the other companions he has had no way of answering. Tav asks about Tara’s whereabouts and Shadowheart’s health, and Rolan deflects with vague comments and nods, trying to maintain Gale’s composed exterior. After a believable amount of small talk, Rolan starts with subtle probing.

“That Rolan was a great help at the final battle. Have you spoken with him at all since then? I do wonder if we'll see him this evening.”

Tav’s responses are thoughtful, but their lips hold a playful twitch at the corners. “Rolan? Oh, yes. Very helpful." They lean in slightly, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Hmm. Maybe he’ll turn up eventually... he’s been quite busy, I'm sure.”

Rolan feels a growing unease, sensing they know something is off but not letting on. The way Tav’s gaze lingers on him makes his pulse quicken. Just as he is about to steer the conversation back to safer ground, suddenly too nervous to go through with his plans, Tav’s demeanor shifts.

“Gale, you seem different tonight. Nervous, almost. More... attentive.” Tav’s voice takes on a teasing lilt, their eyes narrowing playfully. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding something, would you?”

Rolan’s heart pounds and he finds himself unable to summon a response. He simply laughs off the accusation, folding his arms across his chest defensively. Then Tav starts flirting outright. They lean closer, their smile turning mischievous. “You know, Gale, if you keep showing me this extra attention... I might begin to think you have a crush on me.”

Rolan’s mind races as his heart pounds. “A crush? Of course not,” he stammers nervously, feeling his cheeks burn.

Tav’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, no? A shame, then...” They pout teasingly, their playful demeanor making Rolan’s stomach ache. As they reach under the booth and place a hand atop his knee, he feels suddenly both giddy and sick.

The teasing and flirtatious comments directed at "Gale" make Rolan's heart sink. Is Tav interested in Gale? How has he not realized that after all this time? He tries to keep his composure, but his discomfort grows with each passing second. Tav’s laughter, though light and pleasant, feels like a dagger twisting in his chest.

Feeling misunderstood and heartbroken, Rolan makes an excuse and leaves the Elfsong Tavern early. “I just remembered I have something to attend to. Please, excuse me.” He hurries out, his heart heavy with disappointment and confusion, convinced he has misread everything and that Tav’s affections lay elsewhere. He quickly finds himself back at Ramazith's Tower, head hung low as he dispels the transformation and makes his way to the wine cellar.

~~~

Tav arrives at the Elfsong Tavern, ready to celebrate their hard-fought victory alongside their companions. The atmosphere is lively, filled with laughter and music. As they make their way through the bustling crowd, Tav notices Shadowheart arriving with someone unfamiliar. Tav finds it odd, considering Shadowheart and Gale had become close at the end of their journey. Even though they aren’t publicly "together" yet, it seems strange for the cleric to show up with someone else.

As Tav approaches to greet them, Shadowheart’s behavior is even stranger. She avoids eye contact and offers short, evasive answers when asked for an introduction to the new man. This piques Tav’s curiosity even more.

Just as Tav gives up and leaves to get a drink, Gale appears, greeting them with a casual, “Tav, may I have a word?”

Tav turns, surprised to see him looking so content, given the unfamiliar man Shadowheart has arrived with. “Of course, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

They move to a private booth in the corner, and Tav can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Gale is evading their questions about Tara, and when they subtly probe about Shadowheart, he avoids the topic. Gale then begins asking odd questions, particularly about Rolan, of all people.

Tav’s responses are thoughtful, but they can’t hide their amusement. They know Gale well enough to sense that something is different. They watch closely as he picks at the hem of his tunic, bounces a leg nervously under the table, and chews on his lip. He displays clear signs of distress, nervous ticks Gale had never once shown on the road.

Tav watches as he laughs nervously, folding his arms across his chest. The discomfort is palpable. Deciding to push further, Tav leans closer, their smile turning mischievous. “You know, Gale, if you keep showing me this extra attention... I might begin to think you have a crush on me.”

Seeing “Gale” stammer and blush confirms Tav’s suspicions. “A crush? Of course not,” he manages nervously. Tav glances across the tavern, catching a glimpse of Shadowheart and her "new" beau laughing happily at the bar. Their body language is quite familiar as they lean into each other, and Tav realizes the same could be said of the man opposite them, just in a different way.

Tav and Gale had already been down this road, once. They'd agreed very early on that they were better only as friends, and as the rest of Tav's companions seemed to pair up and find love elsewhere, Tav had been left as the odd one out. Others, such as one particular Master of Ramazith's Tower, would not know this, however. The nervous movements and slight lisp that Tav has failed to notice until now give him away. They decide to play into this knowledge, seeing just how flustered "Gale" could get.

Tav’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, no? A shame, then...” They pout teasingly, enjoying his flushed reaction. As they reach under the booth and place a hand atop his knee, feeling him squirm, they feel a mix of giddiness and amusement at how easy it is to unravel the façade.

The act seems to have worked too well. He looks genuinely pained, and his discomfort visibly grows with each passing second. Tav’s playful teasing and laughter, meant to be light-hearted, seem to cut deeper than intended.

When “Gale” abruptly makes an excuse and leaves the Elfsong Tavern early, Tav feels a pang of guilt. They watch him hurry out, his posture defeated and his heart clearly heavy. Tav realizes they might have pushed too far. Determined to set things right, they decide to follow him.

Soon, they arrive at Ramazith’s Tower through the portal in Sorcerous Sundries. They are met by Rolan in the foyer, a bottle of Arabellan Dry in hand. The spell has dropped, and Rolan is back in his normal form, but he is still wearing the same clothes from the tavern. The sight of him, looking so dejected, tugs at Tav’s heart.

"Rolan," Tav says gently, approaching him. “I knew it was you.”

Rolan looks up, stunned. “The whole time?”

“Well, not the whole time.” Tav smiles softly. “But I figured it out pretty quickly. Gale and Shadowheart are... a bit of a thing.”

"Ah. He... did not share that with me." Rolan sighs, his face holding a mix of relief and embarrassment. He sucks in a deep breath before steadying himself, seeming resolute. “I just... Tav, I have not been able to stop thinking of you. Since Last Light, and then Lorroakan, you have plagued my thoughts. After... everything. I needed to know if you felt anything for me.”

Tav steps closer, their expression tender. “I’ve liked you for a while. You could have just asked.”

Rolan blinks, processing their words. “You mean... all this time, you...?”

Tav nods, a gentle smile playing on their lips. “Yes, Rolan. All this time. You didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

Rolan’s posture relaxes, the tension visibly leaving his body. He takes a tentative step closer, his eyes searching Tav’s, seeming to look for any sign of hesitation. Tav offers none, and he lets out a breath so shuddery it wracks his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for being so foolish,” he murmurs, his voice trembling slightly. “I just didn’t know how to approach you.”

Tav’s smile widens. “Well, now you know.” They close the remaining distance between them, their hand gently cupping Rolan’s cheek. “And next time, just be yourself.”

#i got carried away again #anon ask #thanks anon!#bg3 rolan #drabble #sav speaks

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