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bumblequinn · 7 months

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hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

#adhd #advice #asks #from #sourpatchsquids

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anguis-sapphire · 1 year

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I really wish that “nausea that eating will make worse” and “nausea that eating will help alleviate” were easier to tell apart

#I don’t feel *hungry* necessarily but I also haven’t eaten for quite some time #however because of how I feel I am very hesitant to #a call from the void #posts made by me #unfortunate echoes #I am also tired.. which doesn’t help..

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storiumemporium · 7 months

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Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 month

Text

Sugar Fix

Summary: Your poor attempt at a joke lands you in hot water with your man. Takes place directly after the events in Sweet Tooth and Sweet Tooth Deluxe.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Discussions of Poor Body Image, Arguing, Manhandling, Mentions of Punishment, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Spanking, Oral Sex (fem rec), Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @writer84. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“God, that was good.” You lean back in your seat, lazily stretching your arms over your head. Your man smiles as he dutifully picks up your plate before briefly giving into temptation long enough to press a tender kiss against your lips.

“Mm.” Ari hums low in his throat as he repeats the action once more. “Glad you enjoyed it, baby. Still find it hard to believe that you’d never had chocolate chip pancakes before today.”

“Hey! You promised you wouldn’t make fun of me.” You pout, reaching out to swat his perfectly sculpted ass, which was now unfortunately hiding beneath a pair of black sweatpants. At least he’d forgotten to put on a shirt.

Mostly because you were wearing it.

“And I’m not.” Your man chuckles while adding your dishes to the growing pile in your sink. “I’d never do something so foolish. Especially since we only just made up.” He tosses a wink at you over his shoulder.

Yeah, and that was mostly your fault.

“I am really sorry about that.” You murmur, feeling a twinge of regret over having subjected your man to several days of the silent treatment. “I should’ve talked to you about that whole business with Charline.”

“Water under the bridge, baby.”

Resting your chin on your hand, you watch as your bounty hunter busies himself with filling the sink with hot water and dish soap. Some days it still floored you that you were seeing a man who didn’t put up a fuss about cooking. Or cleaning for that matter.

“I just meant that I’m in no hurry to have you toss me out on my ass again just yet.” He continues while sudsing up one of the new sponges you’d left laying on the counter. “That’s all I was saying, little Bird.”

“Well that wouldn’t be very hospitable of me, now would it?” You’re quick to counter, allowing your gaze to drop to your bare knees. “Seeing as you were kind enough to break into my home and cook me breakfast.”

“I had a key.” He snorts dismissively.

“Yeah, one that you stole!” You fire back, doing your best to hide your grin. “From me!”

“What the hell does any of that matter if you were already gonna–” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head before deciding to change tactics. “Look sweetheart, if you wanna argue about semantics can you at least wait until we’re both naked?”

“I guess so.” Comes your breezy reply as you fiddle with the hem of Ari’s t-shirt. Granted the fit was much too big for you, but it didn’t change the fact that you loved how wearing it made you feel. There really was something to be said for being surrounded by the heady scent of your man.

“Thank you.” Ari grunts before returning his attention to the stack of dishes in need of a good scrub. “Did you have enough to eat? Can’t have you wastin’ away on me.”

“Sure did.” You beam at him, content to sit back and enjoy the view. No man should be allowed to look that flippin’ sexy while doing simple household chores.

“Good.”

“To be honest, I didn’t even realize I was that hungry until I took that first bite. I suppose that’s what I get for not really eating…” You trail off when Ari turns toward you, his piercing blue eyes locking with yours. “...much over the last couple days.”

Your pulse speeds up as you watch your Bounty Hunter brace his still-wet hands on the edge of the counter. Which is when you belatedly realize that you probably should’ve kept that tidbit of information to yourself.

“Little Bird?”

“Yes, sugar?” You can’t help but wince at the way he says your name. Even still, you decide to stand up, hoping to distract him from the direction his thoughts were taking. “Want some help drying those plates? Because I don’t mind–”

“When was the last time you ate something?” He cocks his head to the side, almost like he’s studying you while he waits for your answer. “And before you get cute on me, baby, I’m talkin’ about before today.”

You can feel yourself physically wilt as you weigh your options. While you tended to believe that honesty was the best policy, sometimes being too honest had the tendency to get you in trouble with your man.

“I had some toast the other–”

“A full meal.” Ari swiftly interrupts, clearly not in the mood to mince words.

“Well, if you really must know…” Crossing your arms over your chest, you prepare to stand your ground. “I haven’t found myself with much of an appetite lately.” You sniff, ignoring the way his nostrils flare. “Probably on account of our tiff.”

Okay, now that was absolutely true. Because whether this man realized it or not, he had a knack for always making sure you ate at least one proper meal before the day’s end. With him out of the picture, you hadn’t really had any desire to eat.

Instead of responding, Ari turns to stare out the window, quietly sucking on his teeth as he does. You knew without asking that he was working to rein in his temper before he spoke again, lest he say the wrong thing and start another fight.

“C’mon Beast, it’s really not a big deal.” You shrug, biting your thumb as will him to cast a glance your way. “Besides, I’m pretty sure these hips could stand to miss a meal or two.”

While it was certainly a poor attempt at levity, you felt that one of you had to do something to lighten the mood. You startle when Ari suddenly throws down the sponge into the sink, sending water splashing everywhere.

You watch him slowly dry his hands with a nearby towel before tossing it aside in favor of bridging the distance between you. Good sense and the need for self-preservation has you backing up; however, you scarcely make it two steps before you feel your butt collide with your kitchen table. But your bounty hunter doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing directly in front of you.

“What was that?” He asks without an ounce of friendliness in his tone. In fact, his question comes out sounding more like a dare than anything else. “I reckon I’m a little hard of hearing these days.”

Later, you would kick yourself for taking the bait.

“Ahem.” Clearing your throat, you can’t help but notice the clench of his jaw. “I said that these hips – my hips – could probably stand to miss a meal.” You repeat, giving him your best prim and proper tone.

Sometimes the facts weren’t up for discussion.

Moving with a speed that belies his size, Ari manages to wrap one brawny arm around your waist before using his considerable strength to pin you face down against the kitchen table. Shocked by this sudden mistreatment, you open your mouth fully prepared to protest, only to snap it shut the moment you feel a cool breeze ghost across your bare backside.

“Try again, sweetheart.” The lawman grunts before delivering a hearty smack to your ass, eliciting a rather undignified screech from you. “Oh? I’m afraid I still didn’t quite catch that.”

“There’s no need to act like a brute!” You cry as you struggle against his impossible hold. “It’s not right for you to–ahh fuck!” You damn near lose it when his heavy palm connects with your traitorous cunt, the sound of the wet slap echoing throughout the room.

In that very moment, that sweet bite of pain had never felt so good.

“Ah, sweetness.” Ari coos, a hint of mocking laughter curling around his tone. “Could’ve sworn I’d fucked some sense into you earlier this morning. Are you tellin’ me my work still isn’t done?”

You think back to something he’d said when he was busy fucking you senseless. He’d said, or snarled as it were, that you needed a Sir or a Daddy to help keep you in line. At the time you’d assumed that he’d simply got caught up in the heat of the moment. But now…

Apparently it takes you too long to answer because his next smack has you rising on your toes. You clench your thighs together, desperate to ignore your body’s response. Although it does little to stop your man from wedging a proprietary hand between them anyway.

“Now is not the time to go quiet on me, little Bird.”

He gently cups your most intimate flesh before expertly parting your messy folds with his thick fingers. A soft cry escapes when he lightly pinches your swollen clit, making your hips buck.

Sweet Christ! You honestly had no idea just how much you actually enjoyed being manhandled until you crossed paths with this guy.

“All I was trying to do was answer your question!” You grit out, doing your best to ignore the filthy wet squelch of his palm colliding against your core once more, causing a fresh wave of arousal to dampen your thighs.

“And I didn’t much care for your answer.” Ari hums, taking a moment to lazily pet your now glistening cunt.

And who’s fault was that? Just because the man thought he owned the rights to your body didn’t give him the authority to…to…punish you like this. But when you inform him of that, the only response you get comes in the form of an annoying chuckle.

“I was joking, damn you – ooh!” You whine, stomping your foot for good measure – both of which manages to earn you another spank.

“But that’s just it, baby.” He rumbles, taking a break from further abusing your poor, overworked flesh. “Last I checked, jokes were supposed to be funny.” You press your face against the cool surface of the table as two sinful fingers playfully tease your entrance. “And talking shit about these curves ain’t funny, right?”

“Y-yes! I mean right.” In need of a little relief, you attempt to entice your man by wiggling your ass. But instead of doing as you bid, those same fingers soon find their way back to your swollen bundle of nerves, pinching just hard enough to get and hold your attention.

“Glad you think so.” He murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips along the sensitive shell of your ear as his free hand moves to rub soothing circles along your lower back. “And since I’ve finally got you in the mood to listen, how about we talk about something else?”

Instead of responding, you merely nod – giving him leave to get whatever the hell he wanted off of his perfectly sculpted chest.

“The next time you get the bright idea to shut me out without givin’ me a chance to plead my case, you had better do a damned good job respecting this gorgeous body while I’m on ice.” The air of danger in Ari’s husky purr has goosebumps rippling along your heated flesh. “Because if you don’t, I swear to God the moment you let me back in, I’m gonna do a lot more than spank this pretty pussy. You get me?”

Still unable to form words, you decide to let your body do the talking. Groaning low in your throat, you arch your hips and wiggle your ass, purposely grinding your cunt against his now drenched palm.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He rasps in approval, gently nipping your earlobe with his sharp teeth. “You get me. Yeah, you do.”

As a reward for your submission, Ari takes pity on you by slowly spearing his fingers inside your sopping wet core. Now it’s his turn to groan when he feels your velvety walls flutter around him, eagerly sucking him back in when he tries to pull out.

“Fuck if my girl ain’t got a greedy fucking pussy.” Your bounty hunter muses, more to himself than to you. “Are you sore? Need me to let you rest some more?”

In all reality, what he really wanted to do was splay you out on the table and kiss your puffy pussy lips until you were a sobbing, trembling mess. But he’d also settle for burying himself balls deep inside of you too.

Regardless of which one he chose, they both all but guaranteed that you’d remember this particular lesson for days to come. Because no one was allowed to talk shit about his beautiful Bird – not even you.

“Want you to fill me up again.” You tell him, meaning every word even as his expert touch threatens to rob you of breath. “Help me work up an appetite. Please, Sir.” You tack on the last bit, hoping that might be enough to tip your man over the edge.

Your now frantic pulse sings to new heights when you’re treated to the sound of Ari’s sweatpants hitting the floor behind you. Apparently he felt that you’d been punished long enough – something for which you were grateful.

You can’t help but whine when he finally removes his fingers, leaving your empty walls clenching around nothing but air. Anticipation fills you while you wait, expecting to feel the bulbous head of his cock glide its way through your slippery folds.

However, you’re surprised when he drops to his knees instead. His large, slightly calloused hands grip the backs of your thighs, forcing your legs apart just enough to make his intentions clear.

“How ‘bout you feed me first, greedy girl?” He growls, possessively nuzzling his nose along the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need all my strength to help your stubborn ass work up a proper appetite.”

“Oo-okaay!” Your legs threaten to give out when Ari’s wide, flat tongue begins lapping at your damp flesh, making a show of savoring your sweet honey. He holds you in place while he feasts, his subtle use of strength letting you know that your only job was to keep still and submit to his sensual assault.

“Mm...” Ari rumbles, enjoying every desperate little whine and whimper that makes its way past your lips. "Best meal I've had in days." Forgoing his need to breathe, he fully buries his head between your thighs, content to eat you from the back as if he had all the time in the world.

Which he did, especially now that make-up sex was once again back on the menu.

END

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just-another-author-i-guess · 1 year

Note

so like, I don't know the extent of what you write, but if you're ok with it, smutty/spicy head canons for Marshall x Reader? or, alternatively, if you don't write that stuff, first date HC? 💛

Anything for you <3 I’ve been wanting to make a smut for him for soooo long so dw about it

Tags: fem! Reader, smut, obviously, blood, general vampire stuff?, semi-public sex, also they do it unprotected, don’t do that irl pls, Marshall has a big dick 😊✋, this is not nearly as bad as my Judd smuts dw, I wanted to write minors dni but who am I kidding they’re gonna read this anyways 🧍🏻

Summary: idk, porn?

Author’s note: I have returned! Ngl I’ve been thinking of this request for so long, I was so giddy to write it lol 🤭🤭 I hope it’s okay, I feel like I need to work more with Marshall as a character lol but nonetheless I really enjoyed writing this. Eat up, children!

Marshall smut headcannons

Word count; 2,6K

Smut under the cut!

He is SUCH a tease, omg

Will tease you for hours, days if he’s in the right mood for it

(which is most of the time, because he’s a little shit)

He will act so coy about it as well; getting you to the brim of an orgasm MULTIPLE times or touching you in a way that he knows will turn you on and then just,,, get up and leave

Oh, just a moment ago he was grinding you on his thigh and whispering the lewdest of lewd things into your ear? Too bad, now he’s up and going to get ice cream from the mart

He loves to tease you in public too, more than anything in fact

You’re drinking tea with Prince Gumball? Marshall got bored and thought it was funny to shove his hand under your skirt and into your panties, only to loudly point out how flustered you are

Would go; “Oh, jeez. Y/n you don’t look so fresh, you okay there, babe?”

If his cold fingers gently rubbing your clit didn’t feel so damn good, you’d definitely have kicked him

Instead, though, you clasp a hand over your mouth and nod vigorously

“Y-yes! Marshall, I’m just fine. Thanks,” You’d grit out, but the rest of your audience would find it hard to believe

Gumball, bless the man, would insist you lay down for a while and grant you a guest room in the castle

Bingo. Marshall’s plan fell through exactly how he wanted it to

The Prince would quickly find out you’re fine, though, when the both of you return like 20 minutes later with mussed hair and you sporting a few bite marks that definitely weren’t present before

Gumball would scold Marshall more than you, calling him something along the lines of “a hungry wild beast” while just telling you he thought you were better at controlling your urges lmfao

Marshall is definitely quite the exhibitionist, however

The two of you have fucked everywhere, all places in Aaa you could think off

Unfortunately for Gumball, that means his castle has been subject to this quite a lot since he’s got A TON of secret rooms

Marshall is more respectful at Fionna and Cake’s house though, he only convinced you to do it so much at the Candy Kingdom because he likes pissing Gumball off

But on the topic of Marshall’s exhibitionism, he really likes getting you to be loud too

It’s almost like he wants to be caught 😀✋

He’ll drag you around a corner or to the bathroom of a dingy bar or something and make you scream louder than you ever have in your life

This is not so much a problem in the Nightosphere (yes, you have fucked there too) because I imagine there’s a lot of screaming sounds going on there anyways

And either way, no one would dare disturb their Prince in his,, private activities

He’d also really like to drink your blood while fucking

Usually, he barely asks for it, only if he’s very sick or wounded because otherwise he just drinks the color of red

But when he’s buried inside you and your nails are scratching up his back, he feels just that tad bit more animalistic

Sometimes he won’t even ask ):

Only because he knows you know he would never genuinely hurt you

But if he’s already kissing and lapping at your neck, it’s soooo hard not to go that extra mile and sink his teeth in

And your blood is heavenly to him

Much better than drinking colours all the time fr

Ngl, your period would be love making season for him

Sometimes, just the faintest smell of your blood is enough to get him sporting a boner

But when it’s coming from you so steadily and from a place he already loves burying his face and nose in? Man’s a goner

Please just,,, let him eat you out 🙏

He doesn’t even understand how you could find it gross, when it’s literally free blood he can drink from you without puncturing your skin

He also LOVES making you cum, and get that taste of your blood mixed with cum.. mmm delicious 🤭🤭

Honestly, he kinda acts like he’s in heat on the week of your period

But yk, orgasms makes the cramps go away, or so they say

So take it like a champ lol

He’ll fuck you in his bed, mostly

His couch is kinda stuffy and hard bc he never uses it, only you and sometimes your friends when they come over does

His bed is also nice and large, very good for violent vampire sex

But let me present to you, an even better option; his bed in the Nightosphere

Idc his mom tries ok, and has a bedroom set up for him there

And it’s decorated very posh and such, but the bed is even better for a good round of fucking

No okay but he rarely takes you there because when he does his mom is bugging the two of you for grandkids so hard—

I’m honestly not sure if it’s even physically possible, but hey, his mom just wants a cute little grand baby 🫶🫶

Anyways

As I stated before, Marshall is a man who thoroughly enjoys foreplay

He’ll have you writhing and gasping before even filling you with his dick;

His head was hung low, eyes focused on the spot where your bare pussy was dragging against the denim of his jeans. He tensed his thigh, corners of his mouth quirking up as he caught sound of your breath hitching.

You sniffled, softly whining his name and trying to rut yourself faster against him.

He looked up fully, fangs escaping his complacent smile and gently resting on his lower lip

“Wow. You’re so greedy, baby,” He ‘tsked’, playfully scolding you.

His hands kept their iron grip on your hips, rocking you back and forth slowly and dictating exactly how much pressure you got to feel on your throbbing clit each time

You tried to glare at him, but then suddenly he was bouncing his leg and your glare became a sultry pout as you cried out for him

Unusually, you were sitting on his couch this time around

He had started by tricking you into watching a movie, clearly with other intentions in mind, but you fell right into his trap and happily obliged when he pulled you to his lap

Cold breath ghosted over your neck as he had slowly inched his fingers into your sleeping shorts, edging you until you were completely cross eyed and just about to cum only to pull away and situate you on his thigh instead

He had turned you around to face him, so he could observe your pitiful expressions as he kept giving you more but never enough

He thoroughly enjoyed it, and now you had been subject to his cruel torture for nearly two hours

He continued bouncing you, leaning in to get a long sniff of your neck

You felt his long, wet tongue lap up and down right in the crook of your neck and his already tight grip on your hips became bruising

He groaned softly, fangs lightly scraping your soft skin

“Not fair,” he slurred. “You smell so fucking good.”

You pushed yourself more into him, hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his head to cradle him against your neck

With your fingers gently treading through his black hair, you barely managed to whisper; “T-take what you need, then.”

Well aware that Marshall had now also fallen for his own trap, he complied easily

He lifted you slightly with his arm around your waist, settling you to now grind on the bulge in his pants instead as his two fangs pierced your skin

The feeling of his straining, but clothed, cock against your core was enough to momentarily distract you from the warm pain and pinch of Marshall’s bite

With one hand locked around your waist, the other came to the back of your head to angle you to his liking, leaving your lower half to its own devices

Maybe he was right when calling you greedy, because you instantly took the opportunity to sit down on his crotch

His clothed dick spread your folds slightly, the zipper of his pants pressing on your clit and you moaned loudly— finally getting enough stimulation

Marshall’s pupils were blown wide as he lapped up your blood, clutching you to him as tightly as he could without breaking your back as he started rutting his own ups up into you

If felt heavenly, you quickly got used to his fangs in your skin and the full throb became somewhat of a pleasant ache in your neck

Too caught up in his meal, he barely noticed when you came all over his pants, slick coating your inner thighs and now spilling over his crotch as well

You whined loudly as you came, panting out a never ending mantra of your boyfriends name and shuddering all over from the intense fell of it all

You clawed at his scalp, desperate for some kind of stability as you finally came down a bit

However, Marshall was still rutting into you, with no intention of stopping, keeping the fire in your belly raging even though you just came

When he finally managed to pull away from your neck, lower face and cheeks smeared with blood, he wasted no time unbuckling his jeans

You cried out in relief when he lifted you again, lining you up with his long, pale cock, completely stiff and leaking

The drunkenly satisfied meal that escaped you when he finally nudged into you was music to his ears

After hours of waiting, you ached to feel him stretching your walls

He shuddered at the feeling, too, your gummy walls always fit him so snuggly he was surprised he could even fit inside

Your previous orgasm along with the drawn out teasing had made you beyond sensitive, your head was spinning, mouth parting in delirious moans as you finally, finally felt the fullness of his dick inside you

He hissed when you gently rocked yourself against him, walls fluttering around his cock. “Easy there,” he breathed, mouth returning to that smug smile he bore before, this time coated in blood. “Aren’t you gonna be a good girl?”

You whined helplessly, hugging him to you and burrowing your face in the crook of his neck

He felt you nod against him in confirmation, gently licking at his skin and biting at his shirt to keep yourself sane

He leaned back on the couch, cradling you to his chest and starting a slow and torturous pace of his hips

You moaned each time he buckled upwards, meeting his thrust with a desperate one of your own

He breathed out a laugh. “You’re so goddamn wet, it’s all over my pants, sweetheart.” He commented condescendingly, nuzzling your hair with his bloodied face

It got in your hair, it was also still leaking from your neck but you didn’t care

All you could manage was a small huff in response against Marshall’s collarbone, clutching his T-shirt in your hands

His statement was true, though

You were absolutely leaking on his cock, it dribbled down his shaft, creating a small puddle underneath you on his pants and the couch

Gently, you lifted your head to mouth at his neck, then his jaw

“More.” You muttered, your voice cracked slightly and it came as a whisper, but you knew Marshall’s supernatural senses would pick up on it anyways

He cackled in response. “You can handle more?”

Vigorously you nodded and before you could even register it, Marshall had you on your back on the couch

You looked up at him hazily, fingers trailing the few marks you had left on his neck, all of which was already beginning to heal

He leaned down to kiss you as he started pounding into you, making the couch shake and knock against the table besides it with each movement

He hoisted your leg up, bringing the left one over his shoulder and dove into you deeper, enough to make you feel him all the way in your lower belly

When he was done kissing you, leaving you breathless and your lips swollen, he nosed down your neck until he found his bite marks and resumed his feasting

You tightened and fluttered around him, flailing as the liquid flames in your belly grew until they became almost unbearable

You tried pleading with Marshall, but all that came out of your mouth was incoherent mewls of his name or loud moans

He was close too, you could tell by the way he was clutching you, his demon-like nails had grown and was leaving small cuts and indents where he was holding you

He groaned into you, deeply and animalistic and it vibrated through your whole body in the most pleasant of tingling sensations

That was enough to tip you over the edge, and without warning you creamed on his dick, walls fluttering and constricting so tightly around him he almost found it hard to pull back out

He took a sharp intake of air, departing from your neck for only a moment to glance down and watch the way your pussy was milking him

He moaned a little at the sight, licking his lips and picking up speed

You could only just lay there as his thrust became inhumane, you knew he was holding back when you two fucked, but it never failed to surprise you when he took use of some of his actual strength

Something in the sofa cracked, the sound of wood splitting barely reaching your sex-drunk mind as Marshall fucked you rough and fast

His own thrusts became somewhat sloppy as he used you to chase his end, he watched your face intently, eyebrows knitted in concentration

When you finally opened your eyes, locking eyes with him and presenting him with the most fucked-out expression he had ever seen you hold, he came

He didn’t bother to pull out, instead he held your hips tightly to his, releasing his load inside you

You softly sighed in delight, body numb and heavy

It took a while for him to pull out, but when he finally did, he went straight to nuzzling into you again

He hugged you closely, supporting you against his chest as he sat up, lifted his hips and pulled his pants back up

Marshall is surprisingly good at aftercare, I mean, after all that teasing he better be treating you right after

He’s always very cuddly, and makes sure to clean you up properly after

He starts with you always, his own needs come in seconds after he’s done with you

He’s looking at you all lovestruck and starry eyed too, with a goofy lil smile on his face, adorable

He tugs you against him, preferably in his bed, and helps you clean up the puncture wounds with his tongue and a wet towel

Awe, he’s so cute (,:

He just wants to make you feel loved 🥰🥰

Especially cause he knows humans are not build for the kinda sex he’s build for, he’s always a bit scared he’s breached your limits too much or exhausted too much

And I mean, yes, he has, but you thoroughly enjoy it so..

No okay I know I just said he’s soft in the post-but clarity, but sometimes he can also be a teasing little shit

Depending on how loud he made you moan or how much he got you to embarrass yourself

In the instance above, he’s pretty soft, but don’t be fooled, man’s is a demon after all 🫢

He’s so hot pls 🥲✋

He’s been needing his own smut for so long too oml,,, I hope you enjoyed it.

Sorry this is also not as fluffy as a first date thing would be, but if it’s something y’all want I could write something about that too. Thanks for the read! 🙏

#marshall lee x reader #marshall lee #marshall lee hc #smut hcs #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake #adventure time #help this is a kids show why am I writing smut about it

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sunkendreams · 5 months

Note

Dwayne or David facesitting. Period. Like, vampires don't need to breathe! Hell, let em stay down there for hours. Also, am I too gross or crazy to think about having fun during that time of the month? 🩸

blood moon.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | dwayne (the lost boys) x fem!reader

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | drabble — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 3.7K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT (mdni), dubious consent (mild coercion) cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), reader is on their period, bloodplay (lots of it, he’s a vampire), facesitting, biting, hair-pulling, pet names (mama, girl, sweet girl), dwayne is hungry and he’s nasty, kissing, vampire antics, possessive dwayne, Dwayne is a little selfish in this

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | wow ,,, a fic three days in a row ??? you can tell I’m hyperfixated because I’ll produce a ton of content very rapidly. Also, I love dwayne so much, he’s my daddy. ALSO — please keep sending me horny requests for the lost boys, I’m being fed !!! also, hello to all of my new followers & tlb fellows :)) love y’all and hope you enjoy!

A blood moon — it was a humorous term that your mother used to use for your menstrual cycle, something that you’d grown to despise with every fiber of your being. It was another unfortunate shackle of humanity, a reminder that you were still flesh and blood. Whenever your time of the month came about, you were always tempted to beg David for a sip of that forbidden wine.

The oppressive heat of the cavernous labyrinth that the boys dwelled within had felt somewhat comforting to you as you curled up on Dwayne’s makeshift bed, form contorted into the fetal position. A slow, agonizing pain spread throughout your lower abdomen, making your muscles feel weak and useless.

Sunset was just upon the horizon as you struggled to endure the suffering that you were forced into with each passing month. The mattress felt cool and smooth underneath your cheek, having abandoned the scattered pillows in favor of awaiting your demise. You wanted to sob, biting at the inside of your cheek, teeth scraping against flesh as your fists balled into the blanket.

Everything hurt — what began as a dull ache soon manifested into a pain that gripped your entire body. Your back was sore, head throbbing, and your insides felt as if they were being stirred around by the hand of another. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to move from your spot, anchored to your slice of space.

Once dusk fell, the vampires you’d been living with came to life, no longer hanging from the rafters of some dark, damp alcove. You could heat Marko and Paul’s guffaws and laughter, accompanied by David’s stern, tempered remarks. It all served as idle background noise, prompting you to close your eyes.

The noise dissipated — it was too quick for your liking. Silence settled in, save for the faint rustling of ambience within the cave, combined with something rattling around out in the remnants of the old lobby.

As much as you didn’t want to move, you sluggishly rolled out of bed, discomforted by the sensation of sloshing liquid rushing between your legs. It was the worst part of your cycle — the unpleasant sensations, the feeling of being wholly unclean. You draped a blanket around you, hobbling from Dwayne’s roost.

Strong, veined hands were buried within the grease-laden guts of a motorcycle, dismantling a variety of components. The vehicle was partially dismantled, stripped down to the metal underbelly. Dwayne’s dark tresses were disheveled from slumber, parts of scrap scattered around him. An elongated, metal screw was lodged between his teeth as he concentrated on his work.

He could smell you long before you’d crept into the lobby, but he hadn’t expected to see you in such a downtrodden state. Dwayne was often respectful of your space, especially during your cycle. It wasn’t something he would ever endure, but watching you writhe and suffer wasn’t entirely enjoyable, either.

“Dwayne?” You croaked, awkwardly shuffling across outcroppings of debris and dirt, draped in your shoddy sheet as you spotted your boyfriend. There was something beautiful about him, particularly when he practiced his hobby of playing mechanic. Specks of black oil lined his forearms and fingertips.

Without missing a beat, Dwayne turned to look at you, hazel hues drinking you in with reverence and concern. Dark brows furrowed together as he abandoned his current project, grabbing at the tattered, red cloth that rode around within his back pocket. “Hey,” That familiar baritone held a subtle warmth to it. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

You knew that he knew, but he still asked you nonetheless. As he swiped away at the oil and pungent grease, Dwayne stepped closer toward you, stooping down to press a kiss against the top of your head. You smelled wonderful, natural sweetness intermingled with that of your menses.

“Everything,” You exhaled, shuddering when his large palm splayed out across your back, rubbing soothing circles into your sore flesh. “Where are the others?” Admittedly, it was a bit unusual to see Dwayne alone without the company of the pack.

“Hunting,” Dwayne confirmed, and without hesitation, he hooked a strong, taut arm underneath your legs, hoisting you up as he carried you like a blushing bride. Cradling you against his chiseled chest, he made sure you were back in bed, where you belonged. “I was worried about you.” He confessed, laying you back against the mattress.

His throat was burning — a fire so intense that he wanted to scream, but Dwayne was rather talented at smothering his hunger for the good of another. His thirst would be extinguished soon enough, whenever he could leave the cave to find unsuspecting tourists. He sat down along the edge of the bed, hand massaging into your thigh.

Guilt rippled through you, knowing that Dwayne had abandoned the hunt to tend to you, this fragile human. His brows furrowed together — he must’ve been reading your thoughts. “I’m sorry. You should go feed.” You encouraged him, despite keening into the comforting chill of his hand.

Dwayne’s mind had gone elsewhere — there was a way that he could feed without having to abandon you. Of course, it was purely self-gratifying and your best interests were secondary to his starvation, which crawled across his stomach, burning a hole through him. He kept quiet, gingerly massaging your leg with his hand, which drifted towards the swell of your hips.

He didn’t like seeing you this way, agonized and letting yourself sit in the suffering. “If there was something that I could do to help, would you let me?” Dwayne asked, gazing down at you with an incendiary look. It was distinct, reminding you of the plethora of times he’d seduced you. Your stomach lurched, insides feeling as if they were withering away.

Your expression was somewhat quizzical, lips parting slightly as you reached for his arm. He was so much bigger than you — the strongest of the pack, urging you closer until his fingers could sweep away the hair framing your visage. That thick, coppery swarm of blood invaded his nostrils, singing his throat yet again.

“What do you have in-mind?” You asked, somewhat hesitant as he caged you in between his arms, bending down to press a hungry kiss to your lips. Sex was the furthest thing on your mind, but you relented, moaning into his mouth as you reached for his dark tresses.

Dwayne was a phenomenal kisser — passionate and slow, as if he were savoring every second of it. Though, he had a tendency to let it whirlwind into something ravenous and primal, fitting for the quiet, stoic vampire. He exhaled, kissing you with a thinly-veiled desire, hand moving to cup your jaw.

“Could take the pain away.” He uttered, withdrawing from your lips with an indiscernible expression. Dwayne was always difficult to read — endlessly complex, an enigma that you wanted to unravel. His mystique was always present, but you knew him better than most.

To you, it was an act of generosity — you were gullible, naive to Dwayne’s true intentions of feeding from you whilst making the ache fade away. Your heart fluttered within your chest, causing you to wet your lower lip. Dwayne’s thumb rubbed along your jawline.

“How?” With a soft gulp, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, feeling his lips graze your jugular. His natural musk was enticing, often intermingled with the twang of stale copper and machinery oil. Dwayne shrugged his jacket off, bulky musculature engulfing you.

His shadow eclipsed any sliver of torchlight as he bathed you in darkness, gaze dusky as he gave you another deliberate kiss. Dwayne was silent, adjusting himself until he knelt at the foot of the bed, partially on top of you. His hand pushed against the inside of your knee, and that’s when you stopped him.

“N—No,” Your protest was weak, embarrassment rippling through your voice. There was something that felt inherently dirty to you, if Dwayne intended to follow through on whatever it was he planned on doing. “Dwayne, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” A shrewdness crept into your tone.

He read your mind — you thought he wanted sex. If you weren’t in so much pain, he would’ve been fucking you within an inch of your life by now. Dwayne’s chest rumbled with a brief chuckle, lips curling into a faint smile, pearlescent teeth glimmering against his caramel skin and stubble-coated visage. “Not like that,” He exhaled. “Something else. Help us both.” He murmured, stroking along your leg.

So that’s what he wanted.

Admittedly, you were a little nervous about the idea. He’d never insisted on feeding from you before, and certainly not in this manner. It sounded so crude and messy in your head. He’d bitten you, but never enough to cause any lasting harm. “I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling another sharp, dagger-like jolt course through the pit of your stomach.

“It’ll make the pain go away,” Dwayne was gorgeous — like a chiseled god, crouched between your legs as he sought your consent. Of course, it was somewhat swayed through consistent persuasion, but there was something mutually beneficial to be found in this. “Let me.” His voice dropped to a husked octave, dripping with something amorous.

You were still hesitant, heart beating like a fluttering of a hummingbird, swift and constant, pounding just above your breast. Goosebumps coalesced along the length of your spine, crawling across your flesh like a tidal wave as he pressed a series of kisses against the inside of your thigh, face dangerously close to swarming forward.

“Okay, just — Just go slow.” Molten heat sloshed within your belly as Dwayne stalked forward, musculature parting your legs. He was so broad and strong, smooth underneath your fingertips as they brushed against his taut, veined forearms. He bracketed you in, arms like a cage as he kept you close.

Dwayne felt that blistering itch within his throat, the urge to feed, to savor the sanguine heat between your legs. He had no intention of being slow. Once the feeding commenced, it was difficult to stop. “‘Course, girl.” He nodded, dark eyes glued to your features as he flattened down against the mattress.

Sinewy hands curled into the waistband of your panties, slipping beneath the shirt you wore, one that didn’t happen to be covered in age-old blood. You were flustered, beginning to squirm as Dwayne peeled it all aside, menstrual pad included.

He rucked your shirt up, propped up on his elbows as his palms gripped at your hips so hard that it was sure to leave bruises. That smell of blood hit him immediately, scorching his throat and insides until it was all ash and dust. Dwayne was silent, broad tongue parting past until it drew along the length of your cunt.

Blood wept from your core, which felt uncomfortable for you, initially. You huffed, nearly sinking down into the mattress in a heap as Dwayne began to openly lap at your slit, drinking you in as if you were the most delicious thing he’d tasted. Your cunt clenched, nerves set ablaze as his nose bumped against your clit.

You tasted saccharine — coppery and vitriolic, but it was his sort of feast. Dwayne let out a grunt, lapping at the blood that oozed from your cunt, letting it linger upon his lips, invading his senses. Once he heard your sweet moans from above, he tugged you forward, a growl ripping through his chest.

Those aches and pains were sluggishly beginning to ebb away, soothed by the vampire who drank from between your thighs. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, but it was enough, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt as the pleasure unfurled within your stomach.

“Dwayne,” A blissful sigh escaped you, back beginning to arch off of the bed and toward his mouth. Your fingers clamored to hold on, finding their purchase amongst his tousled mane of jet-black hair. He’d eaten you out before, but not like this. There was the added element of blood involved. “D—Dwayne, don’t stop.” You whimpered.

Within the dim light of the alcove, those orange flickers of light from the small array of candles made his skin look like velvet. Those dark eyes never left you, pinning you in-place as he drank freely from your cunt. Your menses stained his mouth with red, tongue occasionally drifting from your entrance to your clit.

A burnished, golden sheen glistened within his eyes, hunger somewhat dissipating. He wasn’t satisfied nor satiated, intending to drink his fill — as for you, he suspected you’d have to endure his constant lapping and sucking until you were nothing more than a sobbing mess.

Your poor legs were quivering, wobbling on either side of his face as he steadied you, hands clamping down to keep you still. He idly massaged into the pliant flesh of your thighs, tongue assaulting your cunt with a viciousness to it. Crimson dribbled down his chin, but your flow was beginning to taper off from your prone state.

A myriad of throaty, wanton mewls escaped you, toes curling in delight as he gingerly suckled at your clit. The sensation was temporary, fleeting as his attention drifted elsewhere, tongue lapping at another slow-trickling rivulet of blood. Dwayne hummed, deep and gravelly, stubble tickling the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

It was only when he withdrew that you were babbling and stammering, wanting to know why he’d suddenly stopped. “W—Wait,” You whimpered, pitiful as ever, cunt aching something awful as he licked at his lips. Seeing Dwayne’s mouth and chin drenched in a darker shade of scarlet made you feel hot, heat creeping through your belly. “Please.”

His hearty chuckle made you irritated, but it was short-lived. You watched as Dwayne settled himself onto the mattress beside you, hues a vibrant gold, his countenance stained in your menstrual gore. “I’m not finished, pretty girl. Still hungry.” He reassured you, and plucked you up with two strong hands.

You were eternally grateful for Dwayne in that moment, who placed you on his chest. Without missing a beat, he bumped you forward, and you were gazing down at Santa Carla’s most stoic, vicious predator. An endless hunger danced within his eyes, soon to be quelled by the delicious blood that pooled between your legs.

Dwayne could tell that you weren’t expecting this, and it certainly made it all the more enticing for him. You were so smitten, his sweet little human. He’d fantasized about having you sit on his face until you were nearly unconscious, but this was all the more sweeter. Embarrassment flooded through you, but Dwayne seemed entirely unphased.

Initially, you were scared of hurting him, a notion that Dwayne found to be a little too innocuous. He could hear your heartbeat pounding away beneath your collarbone, thrumming like the beat of a drum as he lowered you back onto his mouth.

Your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, dark tresses splayed out like a halo. With this newfound angle, you were staring at Dwayne — or more like, he was gazing at you. His tongue quickly invaded your throbbing cunt, blood catching on his lips. It was messier this time, making you tremble beneath his hold.

A liquid heat coursed throughout your body, pooling heavy within your stomach. Cruor oozed from your throbbing cunt, and now that you weren’t lying on your back, Dwayne was getting another taste. He continued to dutifully lap at your slit, ensuring that he didn’t miss a single drop of blood.

It sat thick and heavy upon his tongue, beginning to bring some semblance of relief to that raging fire that scorched within his throat. His pain was relinquished, and so was yours — a mutual exchange. Even then, he wanted more, digits digging into your haunches as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again.

There was something disgustingly entrancing about the way he greedily lapped at your core, face buried deep within your cunt, hungry for your menses. If he wasn’t a creature of the night, you might’ve been somewhat indifferent to all of this, but he was bringing you such a wave of relief.

You wiggled your hips, accidentally grinding yourself onto his face, and Dwayne indulged you. As he lapped at another stream of crimson ichor, you moaned, chest heaving with heavy pants and wanton mewls, hands perched along the rickety, half-torn headboard.

“S—Shit,” You exhaled, tears stinging your eyes as you began to make that steady climb toward your climax. Dwayne didn’t stop, never relenting or slowing any movement as he lapped at your cunt, broad tongue swiping over every inch of your slit. The pleasure began to outweigh any pain you felt, muscles spasming. “Dwayne!” A whine left you, head rolling forward.

A deep, guttural growl emanated from Dwayne as it rumbled throughout his wide chest. It was mesmerizing to watch him from above, your hands splaying themselves along his bronze shoulders. His mouth drifted toward your inner thigh, and he looked to you, seeking approval before he bit you.

With a messy, lazy nod, your cunt throbbed and pulsated with molten heat, causing your nails to dig into Dwayne’s skin, hard enough to leave behind crescent-shaped imprints. Golden, crimson-ringed irises flashed in your direction as his countenance contorted into something inhuman, monstrously beautiful in your eyes.

Pearlescent fangs and pretty teeth sought out the pliant, soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he bit down — hard. It left behind the angry-red marks of unusual teeth as ringlets of a sanguine color trickled down your leg. Dwayne licked his lips, appraising you with an incendiary stare as he hastily collected every scrap of your lifeblood.

“M’close,” You whimpered, shuddering when he pressed a kiss atop the freshly-formed bite. His face promptly nestled back to the cleft between your legs, drawing another stream of your menses into his mouth before seeking your clit. “Close.” You said again, breathless and drunk with desire.

Dwayne felt his cock twitch within his jeans, able to smell your arousal through the haze of blood. The siren’s song of cruor was far more powerful, but even then, he could savor both with a feeling of sheer delight. His hunger steadily dwindled, fed by your saccharine cycle — if only you were like this all the time.

His lips formed a tight seal as he began to suck, causing you to nearly double over. “Don’t stop, Dwayne,” Perspiration began to break out along your body, coalescing along the length of your spine, dewy beneath the shirt you wore. “Please, please.” You were desperate, wanting to feel that white-hot explosion of a release.

Exhaustion settled in, your energy having been expended by keeping yourself aloft atop his face. Your cunt tasted sweeter than anything he’d had before in his centuries of existence. Dwayne considered you to be his fountain — a very captivating fountain. His touch screamed with amorousness as he rocked you into his tongue.

At last, your body began to quiver, muscles twitching and spasmodic as you climbed toward your orgasm. Dwayne could feel your weight fall a little heavier atop him, and he happily supported you, so long as you were bleeding. He added that edge of teeth, letting them graze over your clit with a feather-light pressure.

It sent you careening over the edge, cumming onto his mouth with enough mewls and moans to last him for days. It echoed throughout the alcove, and you were on the verge of sobbing, having gained some sliver of relief in the end.

Dwayne lapped at your cunt through it all, consumed by the shadow of greed and possessiveness. He could hear the rest of the boys clamoring throughout the cavern, which soured his mood just a little. They had a poor habit of acting up whenever you were enduring your menstrual cycle — understandable, of course, but an annoyance for Dwayne.

With a grunt, he gently nudged you back onto the taut, musculed expanse of his chest. His mesomorphic stature felt so solid underneath your pliant body, and your hands brazenly felt along his sternum. There was no heartbeat, forever frozen by immortality. His countenance was one of sheer satisfaction, lips and chin smattered in your blood as he licked at his mouth.

“Feel better, don’t you?” Dwayne mused, unable to withhold that little twinge of amusement in his voice. His large hand rubbed and massaged along your thigh, drifting up towards your hips, and then back down again on a continuous loop.

You nodded, feeling all warm when his body shook with a brief tremor of laughter. Dwayne sat up just a little bit, palm grasping at the back of your neck as he brought you forward for a very intimate kiss. A startled gasp tore through your throat, but he held you there, letting you taste yourself — ichor and all.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your entire physique hummed and buzzed with satisfaction. Of course, the ache of your cycle never fully dissipated, but Dwayne had certainly done his part in quelling the pain, for now.

Dwayne gingerly patted the swell of your ass, copping a feel in the process before pressing another string of kisses against your neck. He grabbed at the hem of your shirt, rucking it up a-ways. He was quiet, and you were fine with that, eyes widening as he wiped his mouth off with the remnants of your nightshirt.

Jesus — you knew better than to tempt fate, arousal stinging at your core again. You huffed, taking a moment to compose yourself as you attempted to reach for your panties. He intercepted you, snatching your wrist before your fingertips could even reach the lace trim.

“Not tonight, girl,” Dwayne uttered, placing you right beside him, bulky arm curling around your frame. He made you feel so safe — a glaring juxtaposition to his ravenous hunger and vampiric state.

You felt a pair of fangs tauntingly scrape over your jugular, able to feel the chill of his bare chest nudging into your back. “Might get hungry later.” He rumbled, pressing a chaste kiss against the back of your shoulder.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #dwayne tlb x reader #tlb dwayne x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher x y/n #the lost boys fanfiction #slasher fandom #sunkendreams masterlist

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