#just all the little things that culminate into a breaking point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

setsugekka · 1 year

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❥déjà rêvé (m)

↳ When your best friend marries her stuffy, stuck-up, long-time boyfriend, you swallow your feelings and put your reservations aside to support her...

...and when your erotic imagination takes hold of you one night in relation to him, you’re thankful for the fact that your friend is able to laugh it off.

Unfortunately, you’re not able to let it go as easily.

kim doyoung x fem!reader — enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [17.7k wc] cws: open relationship, alcohol consumption, social smoking. sexual content: bdsm-heavy!! dominant doyoung, submissive reader, unprotected penetrative sex (v+a), oral sex (m+f), gratuitous dirty talk/degradation/humiliation, cum play/facials/wet&messy, deep throating, safe word usage, ravishment play, infidelity play, spit play, doyoung has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar.

Seven years.

Watching as your best friend now sat in glee as hired hair and makeup help dart around her to make sure that every strand, every eyelash be perfectly in place for her big day, you realize that now, after so long, it's difficult to even really recall the first few times that she started bringing him around. You remember the first night she mentioned him — a careful slide of a photo of him into the group chat, followed by the usual 'he looks better in person' commentary — although hilariously unnecessary given that the man stunning even back then.

You did, however, wish that his looks had translated more into his personality.

Unfortunately, it was no mystery the way that you and Doyoung did not get on. Never culminating into blow-out fights, or a need to pick sides, or even the ruining of an evening or vacation: But it was there. Petty jabs and comments slung about, backhanded slips of the tongue coming from either side at a moments notice — something that, earlier on, came to be of much contention between you, Mina, and her now husband-to-be. Over time, however, with the relationship growing, evolving, and coming to terms with the fact that this man most likely to remain in your life for as long as Mina would be, you decide on doing the only thing that a good, supportive, friend can do in such circumstances.

After all, you weren't the one marrying him, and thank fuck for that.

"How do I look?"

Nearly tear-filled eyes looking up at you through the reflection of the mirror as you stand behind your best friend of a decade and more, you offer a tight-lipped smile back to her — in an effort to keep it together, really, you'd rather not cry your makeup off, as well.

"You look amazing, he's lucky," you begin genuinely before switching to a more playful tone. "And he better remember that, because I'll be watching."

With a sway of her hand, Mina shoos you away equally playfully and laughing through the fact that she was surely just about to start crying. "This long and you guys are still like this, are you ever going to get over it?"

"Is he ever going to stop being a pretentious douche? Because all signs point to 'no.'"

Cocking her head as if to say 'give me a break,' your bestie sighs audibly at the much anticipated response from you in regards to the matter.

"He's a good man."

You nod. "I know. He's good to you and, well — good enough to me, so I'll allow it, I suppose."

Would you choose to spend time with Doyoung if not for Mina; if not for the fact that he be obviously and irrevocably in love with her and treat her as such every moment of everyday? No.

But the rest of it sort of makes up for that fact.

One of the perks of having Kim Doyoung around is the money.

Of course, Mina doing well enough for herself that she need not rest on the laurels of a man, but marrying this one be far from a bad choice as far as financials go. A hard worker all through high school and college and landing a fancy, high-paying career gig straight out — only a few weeks after the wedding, the two bought a house together — an expensive, modern home a little bit on the outskirts of the city but not too far away as to make it inconvenient, glass paneling, black marble, and perfectly shined platinum stainless steel; the first time entering it, you can't help but think how it's precisely what one would expect upon being informed of the kind of money and stature that Doyoung has.

'New money,' they call it, and with it comes a certain expectation of being a prick, apparently.

The positives of all of this, of course, include that the man work long hours, and thus, you're free to be over without having to see much of him.

And thank God for that.

"Drink?"

Already reaching up and into one of the white and glass cupboards just above as she calls out the question, you answer back a simple "sure" as she continues bringing down two, large, red wine glasses that you're almost certain cost far more than any reasonable person would pay for cups.

"Doie brought these back from Portugal the last time he went on business, apparently they're one of a kind, handmade."

"I swear to God every time you call him that I get the most intense case of sudden indigestion. No relation, though. I'm sure."

The same playfully annoyed cock of her head that you're used to seeing every time the man comes up into conversation, the both of you chuckle as she sets two glasses down onto perfectly shined marble countertops in front of you.

"There's like, thirty bottles of wine down here and I don't know what's fancy or not," Mina begins, already squatting down in front of the wine storage just beneath (and of course, something that Doyoung personally had built into the kitchen during renovations). Popping back up and grabbing her phone from across the shining table, "Let me ask him."

Only a few seconds of the phone ringing, the line is answered and you hear that all too familiar and also irritating voice come through. "On a work call, what's up, babe?"

You roll your eyes, it's nearly automatic. Mina slaps the marble in front of you like she's trying to dissuade a cat from something.

"We want to open a bottle of wine but I don't know what we can and can't have, so give me a name of something, quick."

"You can have anything you want," The man on the other end coos back. You sort of wish this conversation wasn't happening on speaker phone.

Rolling her eyes, Mina chuckles back at him. "You said some of these bottles are like, three hundred dollars."

"And? Let me know how it is, gotta-go-love-you-bye—" Doyoung sing-song's into the phone before cutting the line completely. You watch the way a grin takes your best friends face at the short but sweet conversation that has only just transpired and it reminds you that all things considered, and all personal feelings about the man aside, they're absolutely, remarkably in love with one another.

As if momentarily forgetting the fact that you're even there, in favor of daydreaming about her husband, Mina finally comes back down to the expensive kitchen with you. "He's so annoying."

"Yeah, I can tell that's totally how you feel about him right now," You respond with obvious sarcasm.

About an hour and a half later and two glasses of whatever accidentally expensive wine your friend has chosen, you're a little disappointed when you hear the familiar voice of The Husband coming down the stairs and slowly making his way into the kitchen.

Of course, and again: You don't hate him, but he always has some shit to say.

Finishing up a work call as he comes around the corner — gray sweatpants and a black, oversized sweatshirt with hair only a tiny bit disheveled and probably due to it being the end of the night for him finally, you watch intently as he leans against the large, stainless steel refrigerator — briefly making eye contact with you as he says goodbye to whatever late night client happens to be on the other end of the line.

With a heavy sigh, Doyoung outstretches his arms. "Finally, freedom."

"Until tomorrow—" Mina adds with a quick peck to his cheek as she hands him a glass of wine as well. The reminder unfortunate, wiping any joy from the mans features in an instant. "—Yes, until tomorrow."

Then, his eyes catch towards you. Bringing the rim of the glass to his lips, the words slip out just before he takes a sip. "And what about you? Do you work?"

Always something to say.

"I do!" You quickly quip back. "I work normal people hours, like most people do."

"I don't think hanging out with my wife is a job."

"Doie!" Mina huffs with a playful slap to his chest.

"I assure you, you don't have to be concerned about my working hours," you begin, taking another sip from your glass before setting it down onto the counter next to you. "At least I won't look seventy years old when I'm thirty, like some people."

"Ooh—" he plays along, eyes narrow as if you've almost got him on the losing side of the banter. "That may be true, but I'll still be rich, and I'll still have a sexy wife."

"Please spare me, I choose not to acknowledge that there is any sexual relationship between the two of you at any given moment in time."

Finishing off his glass and taking a step forward to set it down next to yours, he offers you a thin-lipped grin, as if accompanying it with his sympathies. "And I'm sure that's not a result of projection, at all. Anyway, have a good night, you two, I'm off to bed."

With a quick kiss to Mina and another tip of his head towards you, the man is off and back up the stairs.

Well enough out of earshot, your eyes shoot back to your friend. "Did he just imply I'm not getting fucked?"

She shrugs. "Are you?"

Scoff falling from your lips, you press the point of your index finger out and towards your bestie. "I was just out with that guy last week, remember?"

"And how did that go?"

"It was terrible, but that's not the point—" you answer dryly, as if it be the simplest thing in the world. "—The point is, I get dick, regardless of how questionable the quality may be."

Chuckling, Mina comes around to pick up the glasses and set them next to the sink. "I'll be sure to let him know, then."

"Please don't," You groan in response.

Long, thin, fingers wrapped around your wrist as you're quickly shuffled down the familiar, dimly lit hallway of their shared marital home before your back suddenly finds pressure against the cool wall — legs pulled apart to make room for his hips as you feel the all too familiar burn of being pried apart with not enough prep for such endeavors — enveloped suddenly by broad shoulders and a hard chest held firm against your own as you bite back the moan that threatens to echo down and against the walls, your fingers finding purchase in the fabric of such shoulders as they dig in to match the feeling of being taken so thoughtlessly, relentlessly.

"How do I feel?"

A rhetorical question of sorts, knowing that he can hear and feel the way you fall apart beneath him already and with such little effort on his end — one hand coming up between the wall and the back of your head to curl fingers into you hair and tug roughly on the strands as you hiss into a mouth just centimeters away but not quite touching your own. "God, how long have you wanted this?"

Waking up in the morning, you don't recall many of the details — instead, living now with the irritating knowledge that you've had a sex dream about one man in particular that you wouldn't wish sex with onto your worst enemy.

Of course, it will pass — as things like this always do. It's just a dream, after all.

Right?

Wrong, regrettably.

Worse than having the dream itself, you think over the next few days, is the way that it simply won't leave you alone. Any moment of downtime in your thoughts now plagued by the memory of a certain best friends husband fucking you against the wall of their newlywed home — it's far from ideal, and for a plethora of reasons that don't necessarily need to be explained. And yet.

But, you know enough about Mina, and your friendship with her, that if you can confide in anyone about having a sex dream about their husband to get it off of your chest, it's her.

Sitting outside of a bougie cafe just down the street from Mina's work building as you wait for her to join you with legs crossed and a mimosa on the table in front of you, as you stare at the menu in an attempt to focus on what it is that you'll be ordering for lunch once your friend arrives, the words still find their way floating through your mind with no prompting, and a little bit too much ease.

"God, how long have you wanted this?"

"So long!" The familiar voice of your friend from just behind you pipes up and jars you from your thinking — and thank fuck for that, because any excuse not to be brought to that place is a good one, as far as you're concerned. "Took me so long to find parking here, I don't know why we always insist on coming to this place."

"Because it's central to both of us," you answer with a tone that says that this should be obvious. "Besides, you're always the one that wants to come here."

"What can I say, hot sandwiches here are amazing—" pausing the thought to flag down the wait staff, you place the menu down on the table and rub your eyes with the flat of your fingertips as her attention falls back to you. "—Do you know what you want to order? Wait, what's wrong with you?"

"Yes," you reply to the first question, only to hesitate on the second. "Nothing, tired. Work's been killing me."

"Aw, and Doie said that you don't work," She offers, a comforting tone that only offers the opposite with the addition of the pet name to her lover. Her husband.

"Can we not talk about that man?"

A questioning cock of her head and curiosity piqued, Mina smiles with narrowed eyes. "...Why? Did he say something else? You know, he's only joking—"

"No," you firmly cut her off with a wave of a hand as the waiter returns with a drink for her and an exasperated sigh from you. "He didn't say anything else. He's just...exhausting."

"You don't even know the half of it. I live with him," Mina cheerfully retorts as she takes her drink into hand.

No, you don't even know the half of it.

Allowing your friend to do a good bit of the rambling through lunch as you slowly make your way through your salad — you try to put it out of your mind just as much now as you have since that night — unfortunately, the very presence of the woman married to said man in question causing the thoughts to be just that much more at the forefront of your memory.

With a fork between teeth, Mina finally stills mid-sentence and glares at you through perfectly made up, long, eyelashes. "Alright, what the hell is up with you today?"

Yes, you were busted, but if you were honest, you had every intention of telling her about it, anyway.

With a groan and a roll of your eyes, you finish chewing through your lettuce before setting your own utensils down at the edge of the plate and dramatically falling back into your chair — a reluctant acceptance of defeat at the hands of your best friend. All perfectly pressed business suit and perfectly structured black hair that her ever so doting husband no doubt pays for to have her take care of.

This is so annoying.

"Well!?"

"Okay, okay, don't rush me, geez—" you cut her off with palms in the air. Allowing silence to once again fall between you — nothing more than the busy bustling of the street nearby and the other patrons of the restaurant around you — you sniffle sharply, now having accepted that this is a conversation that's definitely going to happen.

Her being upset, or angry, not something you're concerned about — rather, just the humiliation of having to admit it (and the way that it's lived in your mind ever since.)

"Have you ever — had a dream about someone else's partner?"

Visibly taken aback, and physically so as Mina jolts into her chair at the question, a chuckle falls from her lips as she just as quickly takes a sip from her tall glass again. "Are you kidding? I've banged Karina's man like, three times unconsciously."

The fast and honest reply has you nearly choking on the sip of drink you had mirrored her in taking.

"It's just a dream, it's not like we have any control over it. Why? Whose man dug you out?"

Silence.

Mina's eyes glued to your face as you bring your glass up to your lips again and pull your own line of vision as far from hers as you can manage without actually turning physically — you hate the way you can literally see as the knowledge finally dawns on her with how her teeth quickly begin to peer through the grin that plasters across her face.

"Stop—" she first says.

"Don't—" you respond just as quickly.

"—No way." She finishes with a gasp.

You immediately plant your face into the flat of your palms with an affirming groan.

And thus, your best friend does what anyone would do upon finding out that her friend had a sex dream about her husband: Let out the most annoying, boisterous witch-cackle that a single woman could possibly muster.

When her laughter finally dies down enough to manage in some breaths for an attempt at speaking, Mina takes another sip of her drink through tight lips that are quite evidently still trying to pull back the smile that she wants so badly to let pull across her features. "Well," she quietly begins. "How was it?"

"Really?"

"Just curious how fantasy matches up with reality, that's all."

Rolling your eyes at her curiosity, you can't help but make an attempt to pull the embarrassment from you, and onto the man in question. "I'm sure I was doing him the favor. It wasn't thirty seconds of missionary while he told me about finances so he should be thankful for that much."

Snorting through her nose, Mina's eyes drop down to her mostly-eaten sandwich before her. "Is that what you think it's like?"

"I simply do not think about it at all, actually."

"Evidently, that's not the case."

With more silence coming between the two of you, now Mina is the one that cuts through it with an all too pointed, proverbial knife.

"Do you want to fuck him?"

Sputtering through more salad as the words enter your line of hearing, before you have a chance to answer, Mina amends the statement — as if she can read your mind. "Before you say 'no,' really think about it."

And so, you do. Quietly mulling over all of the possibilities, the thoughts that this bring to your mind — not limited to and especially the recollection of the dream — more than anything, it's a reminder that you don't actually even really like this man. You don't enjoy his company, and you don't particularly enjoy conversing with him. The purpose that Doyoung serve in your life be uniquely in relation to him being the perfect, most amazing husband to Mina.

And how this might be precisely how you ended up here to begin with.

But what this really brings to question is one very pointed, very particular thing:

"A-are you asking me if I want to have sex with your husband...with intention of granting me permission to do so?"

The woman across from you shrugs, calling the wait staff over again for another drink. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, one thing at a time. So, do you?"

Feeling a bit like a taboo, kinky carrot being dangled in front of your face — you know Mina well enough to know that she wouldn't be asking this in an attempt to set you up — to get upset with you, to drive a wedge between your friendship.

If she's asking, it's because she's genuinely curious, and has other such genuine intentions, as well.

Clearing your throat and blinking away the awkwardness in the fact that you're really about to answer this honestly: You could lie — pretend that it hasn't been stuck on your mind ever since, pretend that you haven't been fantasizing about him, and in a particularly low moment, cumming to the thought of him — but really, what good will that do you, now?

In fact, even just the conversation now bringing back the dull ache between your legs. Humiliating the power the subconscious can have over us.

"I mean," you quietly start with a shaky, unsure tone. "Yeah. Yes, I guess."

"I know, he's sexy, right? You wouldn't expect it but there's something about him—"

Your best friend regrettably far too accepting of this conversation topic.

"Look, it's not a big deal, I'm not like — dying for it," you cut her off suddenly, mostly in an attempt to deter the conversation from any more detail about that something about the man. "It's just like...in theory, you know, something about that angry, 'I don't like you, you don't like me' type of arrangement makes for a good fantasy but of course, it's just that."

"Right," she snorts again and into the glass pressed to her mouth. "Just that."

Ten minutes later and with the check for lunch paid by the credit card of a particular husband, with Mina hurrying to gather her things on account of being late back to work — she hugs you quickly with one arm slung around you before rushing off the other way — but not before turning just as suddenly and whispering a little too loudly for your comfort given the people around.

"Look, obviously I can't make him fuck you, but I'll run it by him. I'll let you know. Cheers, babe!"

Great.

"Babe, come to bed!"

Tone whiny and pleading as she kicks her feet from beneath the covers of their shared, King sized bed, Mina groans into the pillow expectantly in anticipation of her husband joining her for a cuddle and a conversation.

Although, mostly the conversation, this time.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Doyoung chimes back from their white and gold accented bedroom, toothbrush shoved into his mouth as he peeks his head out through the doorway just before spitting into the sink. "Pushy, aren't you?"

"One of the many things you love about me."

As he saunters towards the side of the bed, all too aware of his surroundings and even more than that, the mischievous grin pulled across the lips of his beloved wife — eyes narrowing with suspicion, he slows his movements just ever so slightly before finally crawling into bed next to her and meeting beneath the sheets. "Why do I have a feeling you're not just looking to snuggle up with your wonderful husband, tonight?"

"Aw, Doie, don't be like that—" Mina whines, wrapping her arms around his and pulling her body against his as he flips through channels on the television against the wall in front of them. "—I had lunch with my bestie today."

Glancing out of his peripheral towards her, Doyoung hums inquisitively, as if unsure of what this has to do with him but anticipating that he's going to find out. "That's good. How is she?"

"She's good," every word coming out like she's singing a song — one made up of no-good and trouble — charming in her tone. "Although, she's had a lot on her mind, lately — so to say."

Pausing, the man shifts just slightly in place as he finally settles on a channel and sets the remote control down between the two of them. "And why do I have a bad feeling about what that means?"

Lips gently beginning to decorate the exposed skin of his shoulder and arm, Mina smiles into them just before the words finally leave her. "She had a dream about you."

"Okay?"

Slow on the pick-up.

This time, she delivers the information a bit more pointedly. "She had a dream about you."

"Oh," he says quietly at first, until the fact of the matter finally, truly, dawns on him. "Oh."

A squint and a frown now, Doyoung's head turns quickly towards his wife.

"And she told you this?"

Mina nods.

"You both are a little too close."

"Well?" She finally offers up the question at hand, lips still innocently peppering across her lovers skin. "What do you think?"

"Are you asking me if I want to fuck your best friend? How would this work, anyway? It's not as if we even get on all that well—"

"I think that's part of it for her."

"—Kinky minx."

Slowly pulling from Doyoung and groaning into a long stretch of her limbs as if settling in for slumber, she smiles again. "It wouldn't be the first time, anyways."

"Yeah, but never friends," he says, rubbing his palms over his face as if a little taken aback by the topic of conversation as a whole. "—I mean, I'm down, you know her better than I do — if you think she can handle it."

"We'll have the discussion later, I wanted to run it by you, first."

Reaching a hand over to his wife, Doyoung pulls her by the arm back over and against his torso with a kiss to the top of her head as she settles her face into the crook of his neck.

"My little liaison," the man chuckles into her hair lovingly. "You just wanna hear about all the dirty little details after the fact, don't you?"

Pulling back to meet eyes with him, a scrunch of her nose and a giggle gives Doyoung all of the answer he would ever really need.

"What can I say? Everyone wins."

Two glasses of wine poured and the both of you sat next to one another on the large and undoubtedly far too expensive plush couch of the living room — a certain comfort of being only in the company of your best friend — it brings you back to so many other instances like this through the years of your friendship, curled up on far less luxury items but sharing all of the intimate details of your loves and lives, as the closest of friends tend to do.

Tonight, however, would offer a bit of a different experience. You're prepared for it, suppose, as much as you possibly can be, given the circumstances at play.

"He's not home, is he?" You question suddenly, Mina tucking her legs under the rest of her with glass in hand as she situates herself to be facing you. A smile and a chuckle, she shakes her head. "No, it's just us."

Exhaling a sigh of relief at the option of being walked in on by the very topic of conversation not being on the table, you allow yourself at least a tiny bit more of comfort with the affirmation.

"You're going to have to be honest with me," Mina begins, one corner of her lips tugging upwards. "I can only relay to him what you tell me, and he's not going to freestyle it, either, so—"

You take a much larger swig from your glass than previously had, nearly finishing off the contents of it.

"—Tell me what you want."

"Another glass of wine, for starters."

Snorting, your best friend leans towards the table to grab the bottle into hand, tilting it towards your glass and filling it all over again. "You don't have to be uncomfortable, like I said, it's not really the first time we've done this."

"Yeah, news to me," you sigh with a bit of shock cutting through it. "All these years and I never knew."

Shrugging, Mina sets the bottle down again before settling into place all over. "People tend to assume monogamy among couples, we just allowed them to do so. Not as much of a stick in the mud as you thought he is, huh?"

Choosing not to acknowledge that fact, you take another sip of your wine, waiting for the topic of conversation to shift to something that is — effectively the same topic, but more in pertinence to you, specifically.

"So, tell me."

A sharp inhale, you know that you don't have to go through with this: You can just as easily call the whole thing off and pretend that none of this has ever happened — and that the both of them would happily carry on with their lifestyle all the same — but the unshakable lust for the man now deeply imbedded within you, like an itch that's otherwise impossible to scratch — an offering to have it when under most other circumstances it would have to remain as a dull, silent ache only left to you and your own devices, as it were.

A little too sweet of a deal to turn down, you find. Not God's strongest soldier, it seems.

"I don't — I don't want him to all of a sudden pretend like we're best friends and that we get along perfectly," you begin cautiously and with eyes darting up towards your friend with every passing of every word. "I want it to feel natural, to feel real, so—"

"You want him to fuck you like he hates you?"

Laid out so simply, the idea of it makes your throat dry, but you nod all the same. "Yeah, yeah I guess so."

"Let me tell you something," your friend begins as she shifts into a more comfortable position with one leg out and over the side of the couch. "What's always been a little funny to me with your preconceived notions about how Doyoung is in bed — he's actually quite...intense."

"What does that mean?"

"He likes to be in control, there's a bit of a dominant streak in him."

Hearing the words, the math starts coming together in your head about the way the man carries himself, the way he works, and just the way he is in general — you're not quite sure how the idea never dawned on you, perhaps too wrapped up in all of the ways that you find him insufferable and a bore, it only natural to assume the same of his abilities.

Before you have a moment to focus on the ache between your thighs, your friend continues on.

"Does that...sound like something that would interest you?"

Swallowing down your pride along with your arousal, you nod until the rim of your wine glass.

"Well, that's easy enough, then," Mina scoffs with a casual roll of her eyes, as if she had almost been hoping for it to be a bit more of a challenge for him to fulfill the role asked of him. "In that case, what's off limits?"

For some reason, you hadn't bothered to think that far ahead. Your friend notices as much.

"For what it's worth, there will be a safe word, so even if you agree to anything now or later or any time, really, you don't have to go through with anything if you're no longer having a good time."

Eyes widening at the concept of needing a safe word, you swallow hard. "That intense, huh?"

"It's up to you," she continues on. "It's not just for when things get wild or out of hand, hell, you can use it if you're just in the same room as him. Have you—" She pauses inquisitively, suddenly questioning whether or not this is a good idea at all. "—Done anything like this before?"

But hearing the reluctance in her tone, you nod quickly. "Yeah! Yes, not with...my best friends husband, though."

A cute grin across her face, Mina laughs with a coy flick of her wrist. "Don't get so caught up on that. He's my husband, yes, and for all intents and purposes very much still will be for the sake of the scene, but even more than that, he's here to fill a role — he knows that very well."

"Are you going to be involved?" You ask suddenly, the question only now popping into your mind. Your friend laughs.

"No, I mean, he'll tell me about it afterwards but I won't be like...planning scenes with him, or anything. Whatever he has in store for you — well, that's between the two of you, until after it happens, of course."

"Okay."

Taking a sip of her glass and glancing up at you through eyelashes, she brings the topic back around again. "So, no hard limits?"

"Piss play, shit play—" you quietly begin to list off before Mina stops you. "Okay, he's not into any of that either. I mean more along the lines of; name calling, degradation, humiliation, general rough-housing."

Even just thinking about partaking in half of those things with the man in passing sending a shiver down your spine, you shake your head. "I—I don't think so, maybe start slow, though."

"I'll let him know, again, don't be afraid to tell him to stop in the moment if he gets a little too carried away. He's a good dom."

'He's a good dom.'

What an absolutely perplexingly arousing set of words in succession.

Leaning back finally with your shoulders pressed to the couch, you exhale heavily with eyes high to the ceiling above as your friend mirrors your movement — but instead, with a bright smile pulling across her red, wine-stained lips.

"This is going to be so fun."

Part of the fun, you come to find, is the not knowing.

Even with rules, and safe words, and all of the parties involved very much having come to an understanding of the ins and outs of such an endeavor, the truth of the matter was this: You had no way of knowing when, or what, Doyoung has in store for you.

It's a little bit of risky play, too, at the core level. The fact that the two of you not be explicitly exchanging words among yourselves in order to maintain a certain sense of authenticity to the scene (far from unusual, in the kink world), but new to you, and most definitely requiring a level of trust among all people involved. Far from your favorite person, sure, but you trusted him — and that's far and away what a scenario like this require in order to make it run without a hitch.

And so the question runs constant at the forefront of your mind as you stand in front of your mirror, getting ready for the couples housewarming party: Are you going to fuck your best friends husband tonight?

Stemming from that very simple question, of course, comes a plethora of others: What should one wear? Is it too presumptuous to assume as much? What if it's just a normal evening party and you're completely out of your element in thinking he would fuck you tonight? Do you want to fuck him tonight?

Unfortunately, the answer to that one is an easy yes.

One of the rules being simple enough: The arrangement ends once you and Doyoung have penis in vagina sex — that considered to be the 'goal,' which then only begs the question of how much is the man intending to put you through before even getting to that point?

Or is he to get it done and over with as quickly as possible, instead?

Glancing into the reflection of the mirror and towards a simple, three-quarter sleeve black dress that hands down fitted to the knees, you think it sexy but not too sexy. Just sexy enough. The right amount of sexy.

Let's not appear too excited, after all.

"Darling, you made it!"

Mina's voice ringing through the kitchen in a faux-french accent as she pours wine for a couple of friends — handing you a glass, she kisses your cheek before pulling away to look you up and down. "You look ravishing, my dear."

God, you hope so.

You find, however, that now that you're here, it's a bit more awkward than anticipated. Man of the hour no where to be found just yet, but unable to stop looking over your shoulder in an attempt to locate him — you sort of hope that your friend be all too preoccupied with the other guests to catch wind of just how hungry for this you may actually be.

Side pressed against the cupboard, you feel the nudge of someone attempting to open it, and turning in an instant to move yourself from out of the way, you're not at all prepared to meet the narrow, dark eyes of the man you're meant to — whatever, with — at some point in time.

You think that your stomach falls out of your ass right then and there.

"Look who showed up! You do take your job of being my wife's friend very seriously, after all."

"Doie! Don't start, it's not even ten o-clock yet!"

It's almost bizarre to you the way that things carry on with such normalcy, given all of the ways in which the goings on between the three of you now be anything but. Reaching up and towards a bag of chips, with the mans eyes turned towards the subject, you allow yourself the greedy view of his fitted, navy blue button down tucked perfectly into black slacks, with a belt that you're sure costs more than your car payment, accenting it.

Sleeves pushed up and off of his forearms, you take in the way that the muscles and veins flex and move as he does.

Seeing Kim Doyoung in a whole new light — and more than that, you're allowed to do so.

How can a man this fucking insufferable look like this.

"I'll have you know, I can't be out late tonight," you bite back, a good effort in pretending that you hadn't just been eye-fucking him only seconds earlier. "Early morning in the office, tomorrow."

"What a shame," he exasperates sarcastically, settling back down to his heels and handing off the bag to Mina as she walks by with a carefully placed elbow into his side for...being the way that he is. "Don't let us keep you."

"Be nice." You hear your friend groan from just down the hall.

Everything the same as it always is.

Shrugging and reaching to his other side, the man grabs a single popcorn — tossing it into his mouth with a quirk of his eyebrows. "Don't worry, I was just leaving. Some of us still have work to do."

You have really got to get this out of your system.

"Mina!"

Shouting through the open flooring of the living space towards your friend, you don't bother waiting to hear back a response before you carry on with the thought.

"Is the downstairs bathroom working yet?"

"No, you have to use our bathroom. Upstairs, to the right, all the way down."

With a quick yell back, you hurry yourself up the while, marbled staircase — not having to go particularly badly yet but mostly instead wishing to get away from the volume of the crowd downstairs for a bit — you realize it's your first time having been on the second floor of the home. Still so new and unexplored, you can't help but take in the sight in a way that feels akin to sight-seeing.

The two certainly did not do badly for themselves.

Slowly making your way down the hallway, your attention is instead drawn to a single room to the left and just before the end of the hall — the tiniest bit of flickering, blue light spilling out from the open doorway — simply enough, you know who reside inside.

Carefully sneaking past in an attempt not to disturb him as he works, you can't help but turn your head to peek at the man inside: head cocked to the side to hold his phone there as his hands work busily at a keyboard on the desk in front of him — but you should really know better than to think that you can get away that easily.

Eyes picking up and towards you, one hand pulling upwards and pushing out his index finger towards you. That silent motion that we all know.

The 'come hither.'

Glancing back down the hall from the direction in which you came, you slowly step towards the doorway, palms nervously pressed to either side before slipping past as quietly as can be — then, with the flick of his wrist, Doyoung motions for you to shut the door behind you.

Your heart rate spikes so hard you feel dizzy.

Hand shaking as you reach out and toward the door, you carefully pull it closed behind you — not all of the way, still sitting ajar just behind you — but seemingly good enough for the man and with eyes glued to you all the while, it's then that he motions once again with his finger for you to come to him.

A slow saunter, feeling the way that your heart beats so hard and fast against your chest you're certain that the people on the other end of the phone can hear it, once you reach just beside him, it's then that he finally swivels his chair around and to the side to face you.

Along with issuing another command: To get on your knees.

The truth of it is that it's humiliating how aroused you already are by it all: A quiet, drowning culmination of so many things happening all at once. The fact that it's so wrong to be doing at all, the fact that you had only an hour ago been downstairs reconsidering if it was worth it entirely given how horrible he is, and beyond all of that — the unknown.

A dull thrum between your legs as you slowly kneel down and between his, thankful at least for the friction that that provides.

Legs spread wide before you, you watch as Doyoung slowly slips one hand down the front of his pants to settle over the growing bulge beneath. Barely noticeable strokes over himself and only inches from your face — remaining calm and collected on the work call in his ear as he does so, you slowly bring a hand up to unfasten his belt as the heady desire of watching him work himself begins to course through even pump of your veins.

Catching your wrist in his other hand just as quickly to stop you from touching him, the two of you make eye contact: a look in his features of displeasure and disapproval.

You're not allowed to touch him.

Watching in silence as Doyoung's head falls back against the office chair, barely able to make out the strands of black hair sticking to his slicked forehead — you can't hear him, on account of the call, but the visual enough to drive you mad, and probably even worse than the dream had ever done — pressing your thighs together as tightly as you can manage as you eye the movement of his fist beneath the fabric of his slacks. Growing faster, using his free hand to pull his shirt up and out of the way so that you can watch the way the muscles of his abdomen move with every tug of his hand against his cock — it's truly the most excruciating and simultaneously intoxicatingly arousing thing you've ever watched.

Internally begging for the request that you climb up and onto his lap to take him, or at the very least taste him, you realize all too suddenly that you might really be in over your head this time as you watch him come in his pants for your viewing pleasure, only.

Completely silent, heavy breaths as his chest rises and falls with each one, Doyoung brings his head back up from the back of the chair to tentatively meet your eyes once again as he pulls his dirtied fingers from the inside of his pants.

Playing with the way that his cum coats his fingers for a brief moment, he motions for you one last time — but this time, a much different meaning to that single, cum-covered digit.

You waste no time leaning toward him, and for a moment, it's like you don't even recognize yourself, anymore; long past the realm of the kind of lust-drunken stupor you've ever experienced before — and as the man shoves long, sullied fingers into your mouth, it's an automatic response the way you suck and swirl your tongue around them, as if wishing them to be the cock you would be more than willing to beg for any moment now.

When finished, Doyoung frees his hands from your lips, only to motion you away from him just as simply as he had beckoned you.

Stumbling down the hall towards the bathroom in which you had originally intended to find, panties slick and soiled with nothing besides your own desire — the words from your bestie ring loud through your memory in a horny daze.

'Intense' might have been the understatement of the year.

When Mina invites you to a work party for her husband, all that you can think about is the night of their housewarming: sucking his cum off of his fingers in the dull, blueish glow of a computer monitor.

You wonder if she knows. Surely, she knows.

Similarly, modestly dressed as that night — this time in a nice blouse and a fitted pair of dress pants, your friend praises your attire as you enter the busy conference room, shoving a tall glass of bubbly into your hands just as quickly as you're able to greet her back.

"Thank you for coming," she sighs in relief. "I was so fucking bored."

You can't help but wonder what this evening has in store for you now.

Now that you've gotten a taste...no pun intended.

"Sure, I didn't have anything better to do."

"Unsurprising, stuff like this is your job, after all, isn't it?"

Slipping up from the side of the both of you with a proud smirk — hair slicked back and off of his forehead to accompany the the just as put together look of his freshly pressed suit, Doyoung comes up to settle next to his wife, hand settling just at the curve of her hip.

You sort of wonder what it feels like to so easily be touched by him before shaking the thought from your mind entirely.

"Are you ever going to let that joke go?" You ask with a roll of the eyes. "It wasn't funny the first time, promise it's not getting funnier the more mileage it gets."

"I'll stop making it when you stop showing up everywhere, maybe."

"She invited me!" You scoff, only to watch the man bend over to whisper the response into Mina's ear. "Don't worry, I'll handle her for that later."

Out loud, your response is of feigned disgust at the sight, but inside, the visual of the man so vividly offering himself to someone once again reigniting the lust in your gut.

It's a deep, untamed need to have him, now. Part of you hopes that tonight will be the night that he finally puts you out of your misery. Get it out of your system, and move on with your life. Go back to nothing but pointed distaste for the man that your best friend chose to marry.

"Well, I'm off, got to make the rounds," The man finally says with a kiss to the top of his wife’s head before gifting you nothing but a raise of the eyebrows in acknowledge of your existence. "Have fun."

It's funny, because it's precisely what you had requested. For him not to pretend. To not act differently in any other circumstances — for everything to carry on as it normally would. You wonder if it's a conscious effort on his part to do so, or if it simply comes that easy to the man.

Quarter past eleven, you make your way out and onto the balcony by yourself — Mina off enjoying herself with a couple of the other work wives — weaving your away around a handful of folded and tucked umbrellas, tables and chairs for outdoor dining — you manage to find yourself a comfortable little nook of privacy off and to the side, and far from the line of sight of any prying eyes.

Thankfully, as it not be much of a habit you wish to be caught partaking in.

Digging into your bag to drag out the long, white stick from its box along with a lighter and sandwiching it between gently parted, red-stained lips, you light the cigarette and inhale with a feeling of relief washing over you — no, not a habit that you find yourself indulging in often, but perhaps after a few drinks on a particular night, you'd be known to have a bit of crumble to your resolve.

You know that Mina would have a thing or two to say, so best that she not know at all.

"Look at you—"

Not just the sound of a voice, but a mans voice at that being the thing to startle you, swinging around to find the visage only slightly more comforting than that of a strangers.

"—Don't you have secrets."

Strolling towards you with hands in pockets, you watch as Doyoung closes the distance between the two of you with a toothpick between teeth, and feeling like a child caught red-handed, the lump in your throat catches any chance you have at swallowing down the obvious nervousness carried through your body at his discovery.

Turning away and facing out towards the railing of the balcony, you choose instead not to give power to his overwhelming presence as you inhale another puff of the stick.

"It's just a social thing when I drink."

A quick, careful shift of his body and Doyoung just as easily has you caged in with arms on either side and chest pressed to your back.

It's not the only thing pressed to your back side, either.

Mouth dipping down into the crook of your neck as you carry on your desperate attempt to ignore him, he never kisses you — never actually makes contact of his lips to your skin — but the feathering of warm breath that smells of expensive scotch all the same kind of intoxicating, as if having drank the liquor yourself.

"Have you thought about the other night?"

The first, verbal acknowledgement of this between the two of you. Suppose, it always was just a matter of time before actual words had to be spoken in relation to it, but with one hand sliding closer to your own along the guard rail as the warmth of the words linger against your skin, you swallow dryly at the question before attempting an answer.

"Y-yeah."

"Did you like how I tasted?"

Doyoung answers back to you much too quickly for your liking, obviously far more comfortable and in control of this interaction than you find yourself to be — by design, based on Mina's run down of the man and his sexual preferences — but more surprisingly than that is the way that it doesn't feel alarming, or discomforting, but rather, pools the arousal between your legs faster than you think anyone or anything else ever has.

It's humiliating, and unfortunately, that sort of adds to it, as well.

Fingers around your wrist, the man pulls you around and back towards one of the tables just behind where the both of you stand — a small, couch-like set up with a cloth awning that doesn't allow for a visual inside of it unless you be directly in the front of it — Doyoung drags you gently towards it before seating himself down with legs spread, and this time, hands busily working at his belt as he stares up at you.

"Knees."

If someone had asked you why you simply obey the commands, you wouldn't even really be able to tell them outside of the throbbing, painful need to find out what obeying may get you in the end.

Taking your place between his legs, you dare not attempt to reach out and touch him this time, figure, you learned your lesson from the first encounter enough — watching instead as his fingers pull the leather from it's loops, then work at the button just beneath — a quick lift of his hips to press his dress slacks down only enough to expose himself as necessary, but with the added coverage of his briefs, as well.

You realize now, in this moment, that you'll do just about anything to fucking see it.

Same hand as before sliding down his stomach and gripping his cock from under the remaining fabric, you watch with lewd attentiveness as the man strokes himself in front of your face all over again, just as before.

"Want another taste?" He says, words airy and lustful. Nodding your head in affirmation like a dog begging for a treat, Doyoung chuckles under his breath. "Are you wet?"

The question excites you more than anything else, because surely, he's asking for one reason and one reason, alone.

Quickly darting your hand down and between your legs, the man shoots up and off of the back of the seat with a sudden urgency. "Don't. Don't touch yourself. Surely you know without checking."

Nodding again, you try to say "yes," but the words barely escape through the dryness of your mouth.

"Good girl," he answers, leaning against the seat again and slipping thumbs into the sides of the fabric remaining at his hips to pull it down only a few more inches from where it currently lie. Watching intently as his cock springs free from the confines — finally in full view for you — long and perfectly curved, not too thin but not enough thickness to him that taking him would be troublesome, suddenly, it's as if the problem of your mouth being too dry be replaced now by one of being too wet — watering at the sight of something you want to feel inside of you so desperately that by the second you find yourself losing the ability to feign disinterest in him.

Dominant hand snaking around his length again, Doyoung brings his other hand forward and towards you — wrapping around to the back of your head and fingers curling into the strands of hair there. It stings, but nothing too bad, and instead you find the pain only amplify the throb between your legs now as he dangle precisely what it is that you want just out of reach and in front of your face with every slow, gentle stroke of his hand along his cock.

"You want another taste, yeah?" He whispers this time as he tightens his grip into your hair and tilts your head back — perfect angle for the wet, head of his cock to rub just at your chin and bottom of your lip.

It's exciting, painfully so, as the untouched arousal coiling within you threatens. For a second, you really wonder if you can cum from this alone.

"If I cum for you will you be a good girl and swallow it for me?" He says then as the movement of his hand begins to pick up just that much more. "I come a lot, can you handle that?"

For some reason, the thought of the man having full, heavy loads of cum makes you even hotter for him. Something so primal and lewd about the idea of it — but perhaps you're too fucked out on not being fucked by now that you can't tell what's sexy and what's not, anymore.

Either are possible.

"Y-yes," you huff out, darting your tongue out to lick at the bottom of your lip and not-so-accidentally meeting with the tip of his length. Devilish grin taking his features, Doyoung stills his actions just as easily — an impressive amount of self-control. "Uh-uh, that's cheating."

Pulling you up and higher from your knees so that you gain more height above him, with the way that you're positioned over his cock, you think that he may threaten to impale your throat on him in one, smooth go. Deep down, you sort of hope he does.

"Spit."

The command comes through so strong in tone that you quickly answer to it, collecting enough saliva in your mouth to dribble down and onto the already plenty wet shaft of his cock as he continues to stroke himself through it with a low, throaty groan that makes you want nothing more than to swallow him whole with how close you are to it.

"Wanna suck my cock, baby?"

You nod wildly.

Hissing through his teeth at the sight of your neediness, he picks up the pace of his fist along his shaft as he settles you back down to your original position between his knees — tip of himself pressed along your lip. "How bad do you want it? Will you beg to have me in your mouth?"

"Yes, please—"

"I didn't say to beg, I just asked if you would," he amends with a patronizing cock of his head. "Want me to fuck your throat? Choke down my cum for me like a good girl?"

The throb nearly unbearable now, you can only whine at the words as he gets closer and closer to his own completion.

"Why don't you open that pretty little mouth for me so I can give you what you came here for?"

The words coming out in a deep, throaty groan as he teeters on the edge of completion, you allow your jaw to fall slack as he fucks himself with his hand a few more times before moaning out through gritted teeth at the feeling of his release — ropes of warm, wet cum painting your cheek and lips despite mostly being caught on your tongue as he comes in waves with every pull of his fingers along his length until finally stilling — leaning forward only to gaze upon his artistic handy work before telling you to swallow it all as previously instructed.

On the way home that night, only ten, simple words lingering on your mind as you make peace with the discomfort of your arousal along the way.

'so I can give you what you came here for.'

"Mina! I'm—"

Turning the corner and into the kitchen to find the door to fridge open — this is all well and good, except for, of course, once it closes and you're forced into contact with the same man who just came in your mouth unceremoniously a week prior.

Expressionless otherwise, Doyoung raises an eyebrow at the sight of you in his home before closing the stainless steel door and walking the other way.

"Guess my lovely wife forgot to inform her employee about the schedule change!" He says with a huff.

"You have got to let that joke go."

Right back to the usual. You wonder what sort of cruel games God plays when granting such a horrible man such a beautiful cock.

Shrugging and turning to look back at you from over his shoulder, the man takes a pitcher of water from the counter; pouring himself a glass before taking another one down from the cupboard and filling that, as well. Slowly carrying on towards you, he hands you the perfect crystal before nodding towards the marble island sitting in the middle of the kitchen for you both to take seats at.

Watching him move, it's such a different feeling from the one that intimately, you've grown a bit accustomed to. You know well enough that people involved in kink and alternate lifestyles are just regular people, but suppose you find yourself never having been so involved with one.

Or rather, fooling around with one who also happens to be married to your best friend.

Oversized, brown sweater hanging off of broad shoulders and thin, round framed glasses, Doyoung perches himself onto one of the stools with a gentle clank of his glass against the cool marble beneath — elbow snug against the hard material and hand serving as a means to lean his temple against as he looks upon you.

It's a little bizarre, feeling him watch you in a way that doesn't feel sexual at all. In a way, you find, it might be the first time Doyoung has really paid you any attention at all beyond the irritating banter of your joint, non-intimate involvement.

Looking charmingly soft and domestic, it's hard to make sense of the man seated in front of you, and the man who asked you to spit on his dick a week ago.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

Taking a small sip from your glass, you try to drink down with it the nervousness of being in his presence, but suppose, maybe just a normal conversation will help alleviate that much.

"Have you...told her?"

Stilling, as if not quite sure what it is that you're asking, Doyoung's eyes first pull away from you in some attempt to gather knowledge from elsewhere that he not quite have in front of him. "Yeah, she told you I would."

Thumbing at the rim of your glass, intentionally avoiding any and all eye contact with the man, you hum in response. "What does she think?"

Glancing up, you catch the sight of a grin taking the mans lips, tongue darting across his lower lip like he's finally cracked the case of what all of this is about — settling back into his position from just before with a wide, gummy smile that you're not all that used to seeing.

"She thinks it's hot, is that what you want to hear?"

Snorting at the reply, you shrug. "I don't know. I guess."

"If this is some juvenile way of asking if everyone on our end is okay with the way things are taking place thus far, then the answer is 'yes,'" he says with an annoyingly judgmental tone to his voice. "Everything good on your end?" He adds much to your surprise, popping your head up suddenly at the question.

"Uh," you begin, bashful at the thought of further acknowledging the goings on between the two of them at this current point in time. "Y-yeah, everything is good."

Answering you first with a nod as he sets the glass into the sink, the man carries on down the short hallway and out of the kitchen entirely.

"Well, I've got work to do. Mina'll be home in about a half an hour. Make yourself comfortable, you apparently live here, after all."

Frown on your face at the words and tightening the grip on the set of keys that most definitely go to this home — suppose it's a fair enough assessment.

After a much later night than usual, with Mina in bed and keys of your own, it's simple enough to let yourself out.

Dimly lit hallways all of the way into the kitchen, it's on your way to sneaking out that you recall having left your dirty glass on the counter — and without giving Doyoung any more reasons to be a thorn in your side, obviously, it easier to be dealt with now. Easy enough.

Except that apparently this guy fucking lives in the kitchen.

Laptop propped up onto the same counter that the two of you shared your small chat earlier, the man watches you move slowly through the area — carefully reaching towards your glass and taking it into your hand as you slide it towards yourself and turn to set it precisely where it is that it belongs.

"Sorry," you whisper on your way past him again and towards the kitchen exit, before that familiar, strong hand finds itself looping around your wrist all over again.

You don't know if you can handle another night like the other two, however.

Pulling you into him with your back to his chest and still seated in place, you think it perhaps a good idea to have worn a cute little sun dress today.

That's not the only surprise you have in waiting, either.

One arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other slinks down to the inside of your thigh — you delight in the feeling of the man touching you, really touching you, for the first time. Delicate pads of his fingers feathering up slowly to the apex of your thighs, it's only due to the position of you against him in such a way that he feels the knocking of something hard against his wrist as he attempts to move closer to your vulva.

And it causes him to still completely.

Seconds of silence passing between you, nearly holding your breath at the anticipation of what's to come — you wonder if he'll choose to punish you for daring to go out on a limb and do such a thing, if punishment is even really something he would do — so many questions and possibilities, all more exciting than the last.

Slowly, you feel him lower his head down, mouth just next to your ear as the very same traveling hand pulls back to your behind and presses a finger right up against the exact thing causing the intrusion.

"Well, well, well," he whispers teasingly against your flesh. "Someone came over with expectations."

Already having opted out of verbally replying to him, he makes it easy with the ease in which he pushes you forward to give him space to stand — fingers pressed into the side of your neck from behind as he hurriedly urges you towards the darkened, least lit countertop in the kitchen.

It's a nice attention to detail: Not that the two of you have to sneak around, but pretending to makes it all that much more worth it.

Forcing your face and chest down and folding you over, Doyoung bunches the fabric of your dress up and over your ass just before diving by hand into the back of your panties for precisely the device that has him in such a mood.

"Who told you to wear this?" He asks with a gentle press against it. One finger extending down, he dips into your folds just ever so lightly before pulling back up with a chuckle under his breath. "You're so wet. Aren't you a little cockslut?"

The shift in Doyoung's demeanor this time hard to ignore, like a little bit of him lost in some sort of primal, animalistic lust to have you — it's precisely what you had been going for, after all.

Distinct sound of him hurriedly trying to pull himself from his jeans, met then with the feeling of long, deft fingers gently tugging your underwear down your legs — Doyoung pulls your hips up and out just enough before pressing your thighs closed together with his cock sandwiched in between and the plug in your ass on display for him as he continues gently pushing and pulling on it with ever shallow thrust of his hips against you.

It's excruciating, the promise of feeling him snug between your walls in only an inch or so of adjustment — head of his cock rutting gently against your swollen clit as he aimlessly fucks the wetness of your pussy from the outside — you regret the way that the quake of your thighs give away the fact that you may be able to come from this contact alone.

Slowing his movements against you with hands firmly pressed into the dip of your hips, Doyoung leans down and against you to whisper more torment into your ears.

"So close, baby," he huffs out. "You're so wet, could slide inside of you so easily — fuck you raw right here, would you like that?"

As if the knowing and the wanting wasn't enough, the talking always ending up as your ultimate downfall with the man.

You nod despite the way in which the side of your face lie against cold, unforgiving marble — looking back at him as he administers this particular punishment of the night. You're not sure if it's intended to be a punishment — of if any of it really is, but it certainly does feel that way.

Perhaps you're just a little bit too used to getting what you desire, with ease.

"Sort of want to," he says through gritted teeth, a certain tonal anger that you don't think you've heard from the man in your encounters before but that causes you to clench hard around nothing all the same. The promise of finally getting what you want to bad — the taking of what he wants and needs of you even in spite of himself. One hand sliding up your back and setting on the back of your neck again, he pulls his hips back just enough to position the tip of his length perfectly at your entrance — threatening all the while with shallow pokes to sheath himself inside of you once and for all.

"Fuck you stupid, have you babbling my name while I fuck you full of my load like the cum-hungry bitch that you are, that's what you want me to do, right?" Without giving you time to respond, you feel him pull hard enough on the plug embedded in your ass to remove it, tossing it into the sink only a little bit away. "Come over here with this in makes me act a little fucking crazy — but you haven't earned having me in your cunt just yet."

Hand swooping down from the small of your back and cradling instead his length as he positions the tip of himself at your well-prepped asshole — well enough lubricated from topically fucking your pussy, Doyoung presses himself inside of the tight cavern slowly with a bitten bottom lip and a forced back groan from his chest as he sinks inside of you as delicately as he can muster.

You're thankful enough for his attention, but it's not your first rodeo, and you prepped for a reason — pushing your hips back and against him as signal to carry on, he brings the hand back up and to your shoulder, leverage to pull you back with force and onto his cock with every following snap of his hips.

Truthfully, he feels fucking exquisite inside of you.

"Fuck, Doyoung—" you whine, only for one hand to swing around and over your mouth just as quickly as the words exit.

"Don't address me," he grits through drives of his hips into you — moans spilling out through his fingers all the same as if no hand there at all. "Don't talk, just take my cock like you're supposed to."

Nodding, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to come so badly and not knowing if you can get there untouched — tears threatening the corners of your eyes with every relentless yet heavenly drag of the mans cock inside of your ass — it's then that you feel the ghosting of fingers over your clit. A feeling so exciting to you now that you nearly bear down against them, to which, Doyoung chuckles at your neediness.

"Can't just come from my cock in your ass?" He whispers, the lewd sound of his hips meeting the flesh of your behind echoing through the otherwise empty bottom floor of the home. "How much do you think I'd have to rub you before you came all over my hand? Ten seconds?—"

The light, feathering of the tip of his fingering feeling nearly electric over your clit now, you moan out into the palm of his hand with eyes clamped shut. "—Five seconds?"

Breathing heavily through his hand as he continues his relentless drive into you from behind, pulling his hand away from between your legs you whine loudly against the flesh of him at the loss of yet another release, but instead, the hand around your mouth curling fingers between your lips as you happily and seductively suck around them like cock presented. Groaning at the sight, his other free hand traveling up the length of your torso and finding purchase against your breast as his thumb gently circles around the bud there — Doyoung leans down to curl his lips into a smile against your back at the sight of all of the ways that you're willing to fall apart for him.

"I think you can come without it."

Gently fucking his fingers into your mouth — simulating the presence of his length currently buried in your ass, also buried down your throat, with the additional stimulation of gentle tugs and flicks of his thumb against your nipple, pressing your thighs together tightly — you suspect that he might be right.

"God, look at you," he groans, slowing his hips to focus elsewhere as he watches the way you hungrily lap at his fingers. "You want to suck my cock so bad — have you always wanted it, baby?"

It's nearly involuntary, the moan that rips through you as the words leave his mouth.

Just shy of baby talking, condescending certainly, Doyoung pressing the pads of his fingers harder against your tongue as he shoves all of the way into your mouth to the best of his ability given the angle. "That why you act like that? Need me to fuck your face open, make you gag on it a little bit so you shut up?"

The words, with a particularly sharp snap of his hips, has your legs pressing in on themselves in just a way that you know with a little bit more movement, you can get there. Through tears brimming in your eyes, you manage out a desperate plea past the mans fingers — met with such a familiar sinister grin, Doyoung picks up the pace of his hips — harder and fuller with length against you as you nearly cry out around the fingers still dug in between your lips.

Digging a hand up from your chest and in your hair again, knuckles twisting into it hard as he chases his high, with a bit back groan he gazes down at you — standing tall and firm from behind you as you barely manage to meet eyes with him from your twisted position.

"Gonna come, baby?" He whispers through labored breaths as he teeters on the edge of release. "Want me to fuck my cum in your ass, don't you?"

"Yes, yes—" You chant at the promise of finally being able to come in the presence of the man. You're thankful when it's only two or three more stutters of his hips into you from behind before he releases into you — hot cum spilling into your hole as he shoves the full length of himself inside as he finishes. It's enough for you, thankfully, enough friction from the movement of him against you to have you barreling over the edge along with him with a shriek and a whine through his fingers as you come hard and long for the first time since you two have begun your rendezvous.

Chests heaving as the man gently pulls himself from you, you quickly bend down to pull your panties up to catch the mess of cum already immediately making its exit from your used, stretched open hole. Turning back around to face him as he effectively cages you in with arms on either side of the counter — the two of you make eye contact briefly before a gentle flushing of embarrassment washes over you and you're forced to pull away from the man that only seconds ago was inside of you.

"Try to remember to wash your dishes, would you? I can't do this every time."

Turning back suddenly, you playfully slap at his arm as he shimmies his jeans back up and around his hips.

Mixed drink and a slightly over-cooked quesadilla in front of you on the table of a busy, evening restaurant on your side of town — in the company of a handful of shared friends, Mina and her miserable husband, you can't help the pique in curiosity about the ins and outs of such an arrangement from inside of the marital home.

How much their relationship benefits from the retelling of such engagements with your best friends husband. How much their sex life benefits from it.

Watching from your peripheral — an attempt to not make it so obvious, how interested you are in the dichotomy of it — Mina and Doyoung playfully flirting and touching each other from across the table as if the man hadn't just sodomized you in their kitchen only a few days prior.

It turns you on even that much more. The mystery behind it.

"God—" An exasperated sigh from the man; black turtle neck and fitted black jeans just under the table as he sets his glass back down onto the table with a disgruntled scrunch of facial features adorning his face. "—This drink is terrible, I should say something."

Squinting, the pointless complaint pulls something from you. Such a typical, stuck up, rich guy thing to say.

"Drinks are two dollars here, what did you expect?"

"I don't care if it's two or twenty dollars, if I'm paying for it then it should at least be drinkable."

Eyes turning towards your friend seated next to you as she meets your gaze just the same, a swift kick across the way to her husbands shin has him rolling his eyes and jolting back in his chair. "Be good, Doie."

"Yes, dear."

"Can't take him anywhere," You whisper to your friend, well within earshot of the man, which of course only causes him to lean in and towards the both of you with an irritated frown. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

"Better than talking to you."

"Trust me," he sighs, leaning back into his seat again. "The feeling is more than mutual. I wonder everyday how you ended up with a key to our place."

For whatever reason, that one stings in particular.

Normally, dealing with Doyoung is something that you're used to — but tonight, there's a certain tone to him that you find hitting somewhere in your chest in a much different way. Not just banter, but perhaps a deeply personal disapproval of not only you, but your friendship with his wife.

It's not that you anticipated starting a sexual relationship with him to have fixed your dealings outside of it — quite the contrary, actually — but maybe enough was enough, now.

You've cum on my face, the least you could do is treat me with a basic level of respect.

Napkin out of your hand and onto the table in a way that it's obvious of your displeasure, you stand suddenly and inform Mina of your departure to the bathroom. "Do you want me to come with you?" She of course offers, only for you to quickly dismiss it and assure her that you're fine as you carry yourself off and down the short hallway to the small, two-stall ladies room.

Leaned over the dirty, wet, black granite counter with both hands pressed into the edge, you look at yourself in the reflection — needing a moment to cool off, you're still relatively unsurprised when you don't receive it.

Cracking the door open, you watch from in front of you as the most insufferable man you've ever known slips inside to join you.

"You having fun?" He starts, already with intent to have a fight with you. "Have fun causing a scene?"

"Oh, I'm causing a scene!" You chime sarcastically, "not the guy who wants to complain about a two dollar drink not being up to par. Does it ever get exhausting? Being so fucking far up your own ass?"

Rushing towards you in an instant, Doyoung wraps a hand in your hair from behind — first pushing you forward with the momentum of it but just as quickly ripping you backwards and towards one of the empty stalls. Door slamming shut behind the both of you and just as quickly allowing the back of his shoulders fall to the wall, he works quickly at his belt as the sinister look in his eyes never once leaves your own.

You wonder how he has this kind of power — only seconds ago the most horrible man you could ever imagine being around, but now, watching him stare you down as he works to free his cock for you in this public bathroom — you realize that it's that precise mixture of things that makes his desirability so strong. Painfully so, as the throb between your legs already finds itself stirring up once again.

Barely pushed down his hips and freeing his hardening length, languid strokes over himself as he stands in front of you never once breaking eye contact for a second, you realize in humiliating silence that you're waiting for his command.

Of which, he quickly grants you: "Why don't you put that mouth to good use, for once."

Maybe if you hadn't been wanting it for so long already you'd be more willing to put up a bit of a fight, but finally being granted one of the things you've been dying for since the beginning of this endeavor with him — falling to your knees in the filth of this bathroom stall and immediately taking him into your hand with a long, enthusiastic swipe of your tongue up the bottom of his shaft — the low, breathy groan that it grants you reason enough to pull forward to take the head of his cock between your lips and swirl your tongue there, only to press down along his length for as far as you can before the tip of him threatens the back of your throat.

Unfortunately, it's not much of him that you can take before that happens.

Hand in your hair again as you've grown so familiar, you hear the sound of his head falling back against the granite before parting his lips to speak. "Gonna have to do a better job than that. How good can you be?"

You know what he's really asking.

Pulling you forward by your hair harder along his length, you struggle to accommodate him in your mouth, but it's not the first time you've done something like this — he's not asking too much of you — but it's sudden, and the burn against your throat something you're not used to feeling as your gag reflex begins to trigger and tears well up in your eyes at the struggle.

Doyoung pulls you back only slightly so that you can take a deep breath before bringing your mouth back along him. "Come on, you're gonna have to take it all, baby."

The words 'have to' immediately pooling between your legs, especially.

Gagging around him, the man moans through the sounds of you struggling to take his cock into your throat, he begins shallow, short thrusts against your mouth in an attempt to bring your nose flush with the skin of his pubic area, but with this not being something you've done often enough — there's part of you that wants to fight through it, because frankly, you've been fantasizing about this very moment since the very first night you tasted his cum from his fingers, anyways — but perhaps you should have practiced a bit more (or at all) at home in anticipation for this night.

You don't want to, but everyone has limits.

Three fast taps of your hand against his thigh, Doyoung immediately removes himself from your hair, allowing you to pull off from him just as quickly — coughing into the crook of your elbow as you attempt to regain oxygen into your lungs, you can't see much through the wetness gathered in your eyelashes, but you do hear the sound of him tucking himself away again before kneeling down to meet you on the floor.

"Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

"No," you rasp out, sounding far more fucked and broken than you actually are, but rather, a physical result of the assault on your throat. Really, you're fine, just too much, too fast. "I'm okay, seriously, just couldn't yet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Concern dripping from his voice — he's not touching you, purposely as to give you enough space from him, you shake your head with a chuckle as you bring your hand up to wipe the tears away from your eyes before making eye contact with him again.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong, I was a little too enthusiastic, I think."

"Is it okay if I touch you?"

Chuckling again at the way that the man almost insists on handling you with kid gloves, you roll your eyes. "Yes, I'm not broken, I just can't deep throat seven inches of dick on a whim without a bit of practice."

"Aw," Doyoung coos, running a hand gently through your hair, before standing himself and helping you to your feet. "You think I'm seven inches. That's sweet."

Sniffling hard and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before straightening your clothing and dusting off your knees, you shoot the man a confused frown. "Bigger or smaller?"

Unlocking the stall door and motioning for you to exit, Doyoung offers you a simple wag of his index finger and a pompous grin before answering.

"A lady never tells. After you."

With weeks of fooling around with Kim Doyoung under your belt now, you find a certain level of trust and comfort established. Exemplified by his adhesion to boundaries and safe words at the drop of a hat, you can't help but recall the words that Mina had offered you so early on in the initial discussions of this foray into ethical non-monogamy.

'He's a good dom.'

Sure, you have a lot of criticisms of the man: That he's brash, boring, conceited, self-important and a whole other mess of ways to say that he's far from the kind of man you'd like to see yourself with at the end of the day, but one thing is for sure — safety, respect and trust are of the utmost importance to him.

Thinking back to that time in the bathroom — immediately unconcerned with the state of his erection in favor of the state of your well-being — sure, it sort of is the bare minimum when it comes to this sort of sexual play, but something to be celebrated, all the same.

So now, you may have an interest in rearranging some of the terms of your agreement.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Annoyingly sing-song in a way that you know will irritate the man of the house but be effortlessly charming to the person that you're there to see — when met with silence, you're a bit disappointed. After all, playing house in spite of Doyoung's clear distaste for it has turned into one of your favorite past times.

Both the playing house, and the irritating him parts.

"Hello?" You ask again, listening to the way the words echo through the empty, lower-level of the home, only to eventually be met regretfully by the husband — apron-clad and wooden spoon in hand as he settles a straight-faced look upon you without offering anything for words.

Then, he turns back and into the kitchen from which he came.

A roll of the eyes, you set your bag down on a chair near the door, kicking your shoes off and following after him — eyes pulling towards the familiar countertop that you've more than become acquainted with as you circle around to the other side of the kitchen island to sit in the very same chair that the man had been seated in the last time that the two of you had your...engagements, here.

"So," you sigh. "When's Mina coming home?"

"She's not."

The words sort of send a chill down your spine, because the first thing that comes to mind is that the things that the two of you have been engaging in have now torn their relationship apart.

But, Mina was the one that told you to come over.

Glancing over his shoulder while perched over the stove — obvious horror splashed across your face, Doyoung laughs at the obvious line of thought in your mind. "She's on a business trip."

"Then, why did she tell me to come over?"

Halfway into turning his attention back to his cooking, he brings his head all the way back to look at you again: It's a look that says, "you know why, don't play dumb now."

He doesn't offer verbal confirmation, but you understand the jist of it well enough with just that. "Have you eaten?" He asks instead, to which you nod. "Yeah, had something on the way over."

It's sort of perfect, the way that the pieces fall together as Doyoung stands across from you at the very same island — a small bowl of soup being shoveled into his mouth with no particular haste as you watch him — gray sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, it's a cozy look that you're not all that used to seeing from him considering the majority of your involvement with him has been out and about.

You've been meaning to bring this up, anyways.

"I think—" you start quietly, picking at the skin around your fingernails lightly. The nervousness being the first thing that Doyoung notice as his eyes travel up from his empty bowl and towards your own, waiting for you to finish the thought.

"—I don't want to do this anymore. With you. It feels wrong. I can't do it anymore."

The layer of silence that falls across the atmosphere of the kitchen feeling so suffocatingly thick as you wait for his response — the man simply staring at you quietly through his eyelashes without even the slightest bit of movement until his lips part ever so lightly to speak.

"Color?"

And with confidence, you whisper back "green."

Squinting at you, you recall back having mentioned this to Mina in passing: the resistance kink. The desire to be 'taken,' to have a complete loss of control over the situation — participating in something so dirty, so wrong, and loving every second of it so much that you desperately wish for the morality of it to be out of your hands entirely. 'I want it, but wanting it is wrong. Only when stripped of the choice entirely is there true freedom to desire.'

And obviously, she passed it along to him, but the discussion not having happened in full means that now it's up to you to take matters of consent into your own hands.

But slowly raising from his slightly folded position, Doyoung brings his bowl to the sink, rinsing it out, and coming back to you in silence. The discomfort is poignant, so, now you have to ask.

"Color?" You slowly drop from dry lips, and without breaking his suffocating gaze on you, he whispers back pointedly "yellow."

The word exits his mouth quietly, smoothly, as if really trying to drive home to you how much this is not the way these things are supposed to work: Truth of the matter is that you know that, and this should have been discussed at length long before tonight — but you trust him to be able to make the adjustments, and worst case, to stop if you should need him to.

You're hopeful that he trusts you to do all of the same.

Then, he parts his lips to speak again. "—But, green."

It's his way of letting you know that you've gone about this all wrong, but all things considered, he's willing to roll with the punches, anyway. Jutting towards you, Doyoung wraps long fingers around your wrist, ripping you off of the stool and nearly knocking it to the floor as a result; tearing the apron from his waist as he roughly tugs you out of the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs and swings you around to press your back against the shining, platinum railing of the banister in the hallway.

"Why did you wear jeans?" He grunts as he drops to his knees in front of you, quickly pulling apart the button and zipper to roughly drag the tight fabric down your legs.

Frankly, you didn't know that you'd be doing this tonight.

Stepping out of them and shoved down the hallway to be sufficiently out of the way, the man hoists one of your legs up and over his shoulder — one hand digging fingers into the side of the crotch of your panties to grant him quick access to your already anticipatory pussy.

However, him being eye level with your cunt not particularly how you had expected this to go — ever, really.

Looking up at you from between your legs and through devilishly narrow eyes, the man makes one, simple, request: "Tell me about the dream."

Diving into your folds as his tongue presses flat and firm against your clit — the sudden feeling of him having you like this making you dizzy with want, you find yourself entirely unsure how you're expected to recount much of anything to him like this — and especially once he begins unrelenting suction to you that threatens to make you cum almost immediately.

Attempting to bite back your moan, and instead opting for a breathy 'fuck,' you know well enough that if you don't adhere to the command, he'll most definitely stop.

"Y-you—" there's an attempt to speak at least, until two long, thin fingers bury into you to the last knuckles.

Pulling his mouth away from you and licking at his lips lewdly, he cocks his head to the side playfully. "Better start talking or I'll stop."

"God, okay," you exasperate as he dives back in. "Was...against the wall, you fucked me against the wall — we weren't—"

"Allowed?" He pauses again only long enough to finish your thought with a grin. Nodding quickly, Doyoung still slowly fucking into you with his fingers as he watches you fall apart from above him, he coos at the look and sound of you — perhaps finally coming to an understanding of what all of this is about.

"Good girl," he hums gently, lips brushing against your wet folds without much intent behind the contact. "Can you do me another favor?"

Breathy and already a little fucked out, you whisper out a "yes."

"Come on my mouth."

Leaning up and into you again, tongue firm into your clit with tight, intensive swirls — it doesn't take long for you to follow through as one hand falls down and wraps into his hair — holding him firm in place as you involuntarily grind down against his mouth as you come blindingly hard onto him. Long since needed and the orgasm from the night in the kitchen hardly offering the release you had been looking for — Doyoung lending his face to you in such a lewd, particularly out of character act of a blending of roles — as you come down slowly from your high, you watch the man pull away and out of you with a gentle ease, sucking his fingers clean of you before wiping his face with the back of his hand and standing tall in front of you.

"Want to fuck your best friends husband, but don't want to be responsible for the repercussions of it, huh?"

You just came, but the promise of getting exactly the fantasy that you wish for out of this throbbing between your legs pooling just as if you hadn't.

You don't even get to answer before the same, dominant hand is wrapped up in the hair at the back of your head and pushing you down the hallway, towards the bedroom.

Stumbling inside as he roughly pulls you around, once the both of you reach the edge of the bed, Doyoung sits you down just in front of him — not letting you free of his grasp, but instead with his other hand, freeing his growing erection from his pants and pulling your mouth against him harshly.

Of course, you take him in with ease.

"You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth like this," he groans from above you, eyes glued to the place where he disappears inside of you. "Always knew you wanted me, that's why you always act like that, just need me to put you in your place, don't you?"

Moaning at the words and around his dick as he shallowly presses inside of your wet mouth, speed slowly picking up with each passing moment as he continues to talk you through it. "What are we going to do if my wife finds out? Suppose we just can't let that happen, can we?"

You hate the way the thought has you clenching down hard.

"That's why you're over here so much, isn't it?" Doyoung asks through gritted teeth as he continues fucking into your mouth, gently prodding at the back of your throat with each thrust. "Just begging for me to fuck your mouth? You love my cock, don't you?"

Pulling his length from you only long enough for you to answer back and breathy 'yes,' he sheaths himself inside all over again

Only a few more thrusts before grunting, Doyoung pulling himself from your mouth to fist over his cock and lined up with your face — you display your mouth open with tongue flat as he comes over your flesh again — warm, heavy ropes of himself painting your face and mouth before quickly angling your head down again to place his length between your lips for you to suck him clean, as well.

Holding your head back again and bringing his other hand up, thumb spreading the wetness of the act across your lips, chin and cheeks before shoveling most of it into your mouth as your lips close around his thumb to suck the digit clean just as you have with his cock — groaning into the look and sensation of it, Doyoung gently taps the inside of his fingers against your jaw, signaling for you to open your mouth all over again as he shoves two fingers in to swirl around the mixture of cum and spit collected there.

Slipping back and away from you, the command comes through simply. "Swallow."

You do so without question.

Wiping your mouth with your shoulder and taking in a heavy breath, you sigh out while looking up at him. "We can't ever let her find out about this?"

But glancing down at you with the most evil look in his eye, you watch as a single corner of his mouth gently pulls up,

"You think I'm done with you?"

It sends a tingle down your spine and straight to your pussy, Doyoung suddenly reaching forward to turn you around and bent over the bed as he pulls your soiled panties roughly to the side with a tear. Rubbing the head of his cock through your soaking slit and against your still sensitive clit, you grip hard into the sheets beneath you, attempting to pull away from him but to no avail as he grips fingers roughly into your hips to keep you precisely in place and displayed before him.

"Think you can take it all, baby?" He sighs, leisurely stroking himself back to full hardness as his tip slowly begins to split your pussy open from behind. "Can you be a good girl for me, take the whole thing?"

Whimpering against the mattress at the desperate, delicious burn of his cock finally entering you after so long — what feels like a lifetime of desiring having him buried inside of your walls, finally being granted to you with slow, almost delirious ease as he sinks into you from the back, you answer him honestly. "N-no."

"I don't think so, either," he responds with a comfortable ease as he continues with his initial stroke. "But you're going to try, aren't you? Not used to taking such a big dick?"

"No, fuck, Doyoung—"

"God you want this so bad, already so fucked out on my dick and I'm not even inside all of the way," gently pulling his hips back only to rock back inside, even such a simple movement granting him a cry out from between your dry lips. Leaning forward and over your back to plant a hand down between your shoulders and holding you in place, Doyoung repeats the action again to elicit the same response from you all over again.

"Oh, you love a big cock," he grits out through his teeth as he finally settles into a rhythmic pace against your behind. "You love my cock. Say you didn't want to do this, didn't want to go through with this, but I don't think that's true at all, is it?"

Pulling out far enough for only the tip of him to remain inside of you before drilling back hard into your cunt, you nearly cry at the unrelenting pressure of him against your walls, and in particular, against your g-spot. Thighs trembling and stomach tightening with every full, hard drive of himself into you, it's an attempt to form a full thought but instead, the words come out as only babbled sobs as he drives hard and firm into you.

"Do-Doyoung, fuck, 'm gonna, 'm—p-please, please, fuck—"

"You gonna come, baby?" The question comes through with hastened, airy breaths as if close himself. "Come around my dick for me? Wanna earn my cum?"

Nodding fast against the mattress, he grunts into a particularly hard thrust against you. "Make your lil cunt so messy."

Pulling himself back up into a straighter, standing position at the edge of the bed, fingers firmly dug into the flesh of your waist as he pulls you back hard onto his cock — the sudden angle change toppling you over into your orgasm unexpectedly as you cry out for him and curl your own nails into the sheets beneath you as your release rips through your body — simultaneously, Doyoung falling victim to the way your pussy clenches down around his length, fucking you roughly through your orgasm as he reaches his own with bit back, throaty moan at the way your cunt nearly milks his cum from him with little movement and so much ease — burying himself so deep into your guts that it threatens to hurt and whining at the near pain of having him so fully inside of you as he coats your walls.

Chests rising and falling, Doyoung pulls from you and falling next to you, it's much to your surprise when familiar hands tug you to the side and seated over his hips.

"Split yourself open on my cock and come again."

The words themselves nearly enough to do you in, but with the unrelenting throb of your untouched clit impossible to ignore, you follow the command as you position your hips over his impressively hard length and wasting no time burying him inside of your messy, cummed-in cunt all over again.

Leaning back ever so slightly and quickly rubbing circles into your clit for his viewing pleasure as he pulls the sweatshirt still clinging to his chest up to expose more skin of his abs and chest — reaching your free hand down, you touch over the skin there, feeling more of him and the way his abs reach to not only your touch, but the visual just in front of him.

"Fuck," you whimper, already feeling the threat of another orgasm building as your walls squeeze tightly around his seated shaft. "Fuck, Doie—"

The pet name.

"God, don't call me that, I'll come in your little pussy all over again," he nearly whines through an exhausted chuckle. It's a sort of endearing, almost break in character that you're not used to seeing from the man.

"Come on baby, be a good girl and come for me," he starts again with a fucked out whisper as he watches you twist circles into your pussy just above where his length disappears inside of you. "Show me just how bad you wanted me inside of you."

Toes curling and teeth gritting as it washes over you all over again — a nearly silent scream of an orgasm as your mouth hangs open through your release — a similar, quiet groan from the man beneath you as he watches and feels you come on him for the third time tonight.

He takes his jobs very seriously.

Giving you a moment to calm before heaving you off of him and standing in front of you again, as you sit up to meet his dick with your lips just as before, you can't help but be seriously impressed by his ability to maintain an erection.

You're beginning to understand why Mina married him, after all.

"Clean me up," he commands, hand gently weaved into the back of your head in such a familiar way. "Enjoy it while you can, it's the last time you'll get to taste me."

True as it is, you find yourself surprisingly somber at the thought of this being the end of the arrangement, as agreed upon. Far from an emotional connection, but rather, a mental one — a mutual understanding between physical lovers. The trust, the communication, and safety inherent in this particular pairing of people.

Plus, his cock is perfect and he fucks like a pornstar.

Licking up the length of his shaft, truly savoring the taste of his cum and your own mixed along it before taking him deep into your mouth and bobbing slowly, carefully, full of intent along his cock — partially for the show of it, and partially because yes, it's the last time, and you'll miss this more than you might have thought you would going in.

"You're amazing," Doyoung sighs, gently pulling his length from between your lips and folding over just enough to be only a few centimeters off from your own face with his. "Open."

Obeying the command and jaw falling slack, the man allowing the collection of saliva from his mouth to drip lewdly into your own — missing direction ever so slightly and catching partially at the corner of your mouth — Doyoung brings a hand up to thumb at the messy corner before finally closing the distance between both of your mouths and pulling you into a full, intense, passionate kiss — tongue immediately pushing forward to lick at the inside of your mouth — it's breathtaking and intimate in a way that nothing else thus far has been.

And pulling away with a single, thin, string of saliva connecting the two of you by mouth yet, Doyoung's lips curl into a sinister grin as his eyes pull from your own, to your lips, then back up to meet your vision again.

"Happy to help."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—part 2!

#doyoung smut #nct smut #doyoung x you #doyoung x reader #doyoung x y/n #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct xyou #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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depravitycentral · 1 year

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Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer NSFW Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, non/dub-con, manipulation, I know I might break some hearts but I actually think Chrollo is very vanilla, loud sex, begging, h*nd holding, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unethical usage of a copying nen ability, masturbation, stalking, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

HABITS:

Generally speaking, sex hasn’t been a huge part of Chrollo’s life. Of course, being a man with charisma and questionable goals, he’s had his fair share of partners to woo and use for information, sneakily extracting names and facts from them as he kisses and touches them, a husky, whispered question of and where might those gemstones be exactly against his temporary lover’s lips seeming strangely erotic, though the intent is anything but.

He’s never really viewed sex as something meaningful; rather, it’s simply a tool, a means to an end for whatever it is that he wants to steal next, and thus it’s never been much of a concern. Why should it be, when Chrollo finds connections and genuine human interaction something of a chore, unless it’s towards his own Troupe members?

Sex is a means to an end, and while there’s something strangely alluring about the idea of having sex for pleasure, he’s not one to simply go out and find a hookup to relieve himself. He likes to think he’s more refined than that – besides, while he isn’t especially wearing of intimacy or touching others, he doesn’t want to touch anyone he isn’t at least needing to, for some job or another. Casual sex just isn’t his thing.

Of course, then you come along, and just with everything else in his life, you’re to blame for his sudden change in opinion, his sudden changing belief that maybe, just maybe, sexual desire and intimacy has more of a purpose than he originally believed.

It’s not instantaneous, his desires to be touching you and making you moan so prettily and feel your skin against his. He doesn’t see you and immediately imagine bending you over and fucking you until you’re sweating and panting and spent. He doesn’t immediately imagine spreading your legs and getting you gripping at his hair, your pretty slick smeared all over his lips.

It’s not immediate, but rather a culmination of his obsession with you deepening over time. It takes him a long time to develop his feelings for you, and even longer to make sense of them – he’s not particularly hostile towards them, but it takes a while for his obsession to fully set in, for him to realize that he wants you in a romantic, genuine way. It will be a solid few weeks after his obsession form for him to get to the point where he’s fantasizing not only about the way you’d smile at him and softly sigh as he reads passages of his favorite gothic poems to you, but also about the way you’d quote certain stanzas as you kiss his neck, run your fingernails against his back, tug at his hair and keen his name.

It’s slow going, and to be honest Chrollo doesn’t even really notice that it’s happening until he’s suddenly so pent up that he just can’t take it, his hand itching to reach down and quell the dull throbbing coming from between his legs.

He’s never been one to masturbate much, the act seeming tiresome and without little reward, and as a result he’s more curious than anything that you’ve managed to inspire within him such primal urges, animalistic desires to see you stuffed full of his cock, cum leaking from your spent, sore pussy, your eyes dazed and hazy as he kisses you breathlessly.

He’s impressed, more than anything, but Chrollo isn’t too surprised once he thinks about it – you’re something of a breath of fresh air to him, someone real and interesting and oh so intriguing, so why wouldn’t he want to fuck you until you’re crying?

Why wouldn’t he want to map every inch of your skin out with his lips, feel your muscles clench and stiffen up under his fingertips?

He’s mildly surprised by your ability to essentially get him horny, and while it doesn’t happen too often (maybe two or three times per week), it’s still sizeable – and so is the amount of time that he begins spending in the company of a candle, a novel, and symphonic music in the background, blending in with the airy gasps and groans of the evening.

When it comes to actually touching himself, Chrollo has a bit of a dirty secret; his nen ability (and its extensions, of course) comes in handy to the extreme in a lot of ways regarding you, but as soon as his more sexual desires towards you begin emerging, he’s suddenly so grateful for the sheer amount of nen abilities that he’s accumulated over the years.

That is, he’s particularly grateful for a certain one he picked up towards the beginning of the Phantom Troupe’s existence: an ability allowing partial recreation of an individual’s body parts, up to the whim of the wielder.

Guilt has never been something he’s given too much thought to, and so as he lights the few candles surrounding his place at the edge of the queen sized bed he's used the last few evenings, he merely closes his eyes and smiles, the aroma of a blissful, peaceful evening settling around him, the feeling of moonlight hitting his pale features and the crackling of the flames relaxing his body and preparing him for the next few events.

Chrollo is nothing if not a man of culture, and so as he carefully removes his jacket (folding it on top of the Victorian style chair in the corner of the room) along with his pants, he lets out a small sigh and grabs the book laying atop his nightstand, the golden cover with its black lettering making a small shiver run down his spine.

The book is, admittedly, a bit more graphic than his normal tastes, but there’s something about the way the narrator describes the female lead that makes his mind immediately shoot to you – something about the description of her hair, her body, her mannerisms, her everything, though Chrollo could say without a hint of hesitation that you were still better in every possible way. He’s read the novel dozens of times; it’s a classic, cliché love story of a dashing, mysterious man who swoons a sweet, traditional daughter of some nobleman, their romance dark and swift and taboo.

It reminds him a lot of his situation with you, really – he’s the handsome, dark man who comes and sweeps you off your feet, tempting you into leaving your good-girl, righteous persona and instead letting him taint you. Just the thought gets him throbbing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and wills himself to calm down, to not ruin the ambiance he’s diligently set up for the night.

He flips to the marked section towards the middle of the book, the chapter detailing the night of passion and romance that ensues between the two characters. He’s quick to begin pouring over the words, and though he’s read this multiple page passage easily hundreds of times, the image still comes together in his head as if it’s fresh – the woman pinned below the man, the collar of her silky, white nightdress pushed down to just above her breasts, collarbone exposed along with her neck, half lidded eyes staring up at the lead while she gulps and breaths a bit raggedly.

Her wrists are beside her head, her whole body open and exposed for his future pleasure, and immediately he’s imagining you in a frilly, white nightgown, the material short and sheer and making you look angelic, like something for him to ruin.

Chrollo licks his lips, eyes still rapidly scanning the page as a hand snakes down to the slowly stiffening length resting against his thigh, the tip turning a deep shade of red, the trimmed forest of black hair standing out against the pale skin surrounding. A brush of his fingertips against the sensitive base has him exhaling slowly, the fantasy of the heroine’s knee slightly rising to brush against the lead’s clothed cock making a blush rise to the back of his neck, images of the way you’d bite your lip and whisper his name making him feel hot, every nerve on fire as the excitement and anticipation of pleasure – of you – rolls through him.

He knows the passage by heart, knowing every event taking place between what he pretends to be you and himself, his own imagination even filling in the details, imagining little additions to the plot that the book doesn’t even mention – you whispering his name and tracing the tattoo across his forehead, the feeling of your soft fingers against his skin making him groan ever so lightly. And with that thought in mind, he’s gently bookmarking and placing the book back on the stand, instead taking a deep breath, black eyes appraising his throbbing cock desperate for attention and stimulation, your attention and stimulation.

He spends a moment stroking himself, the pulls of his wrist languid and slow, just barely enough stimulation to feel good – hesitant, almost, like he imagines you being. Would you be nervous, the first time you see him naked? He likes to imagine you’ve never been with a man before (though he knows it’s likely untrue), or at least that you’ve never cared so much about pleasing one, about making him feel good and pleasured and satisfied.

(He decides you would be a bit anxious – your touches small, unsure, your pretty eyes always flicking back up to his, your soft lip caught between your teeth, your thumb just barely brushing over his tip and making him murmur your name with a slightly strained voice.)

He’s quick to pull up his book of nen abilities, flipping through the pages until he finds the correct one, the familiar black lettering describing the ability making him shiver in anticipation. It’s easy to conjure up the familiar image of your face in his mind, the corresponding physical image appearing before him immediately, and as he opens his previously closed eyes, he sucks in a sharp breath at the image of you, your lashes and cheeks and pretty eyes staring up at him.

It’s perfect – a complete replica of you, down to every last mole, hair, and scar decorating your face. It’s a bit disorienting to see a version of just your head and hair floating, your eyes gorgeous yet lifeless, muscles unable to move freely on their own, but Chrollo moves past it quickly – how can he not, when you’re right there, so pliable and beautiful and for his use?

He swallows harshly as his free hand comes down to lightly run over your strands of hair, the texture familiar and pleasing to the touch, and he watches with unblinking eyes as he slowly pushes your head down, further until your unfocused eyes are level with the now pulsing erection sitting between his legs.

He bites his lip as he recalls the words of the passage, the eloquent language not diminishing the meaning behind the words. She kneeled before him, a servant to her master, lips parted and eyes appraising him as if he were a work of art, the single most valuable thing to have graced her gaze.

He imagines the way you’d stare at him, your eyes raking over his sculpted chest, the ‘v’ of his navel, your tongue flicking out over your lips as you appraise the pale length of his cock, the soft, smooth set of balls attached.

He hopes you’d be impressed, but impatience gets the better of him as he once again moves your head further forward, so that his tip brushes against your lifeless lips.

They’re cold, a stark difference to what he’s sure is an inviting, riveting, and wet mouth you possess, but he’s in no position to complain – certainly not when he remembers how the woman swallows him as if he were the most divine, succulent meal, savoring his taste as if it were her last.

It’s difficult to recreate the scene with your unresponsive mouth, but he’s carefully pulling your lower jaw down, your lips parted and tongue lolling out as he slowly, ever so fucking slowly, pushes inside, the small groan fighting its way up his throat telling of how even your cold mouth can affect him.

He shivers, the sensation climbing up his spine, and his fingers gently scrape your scalp as he gets a good grip, his head lolling back slightly and his eyes closing as he begins moving your head up and down, up and down, your cold saliva coating his length as he sighs and whispers your name under his breath.

The music in the background is soft, romantic, orchestral and something Chrollo very much imagines fucking you to. He likes to imagine the way your moans and breaths would blend in with the melodies and crescendos – though, the sounds you’d make when he’s got you creaming all over his fingers and cock would drown out any sort of background music, he’s sure.

Once again musters up more aura, conjuring up a replica of your hand that he quickly intertwines with his own, his fingers joining yours in shakily holding up his nen book. The pace is slow, soft, the moment feeling sweet yet erotic, and as he opens his eyes and stares half liddedly down at your unseeing eyes and unresponsive mouth, Chrollo curses, a small l-love, you’re so beautiful…

His fingers tighten around your hair as he comes closer, the book’s scenes flashing through his eyes as he picks up the pace of his wrist, your head coming down over his throbbing, sensitive skin quicker, the sensation climbing and climbing as his breath steadily gets harsher, soft groans tumbling past his now puffy and overbitten lips, the light flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose almost endearing.

He’s fairly quiet, only the occasional deep groan or murmur of your name, and as he gets closer, his grip around your fingers tightens, his breathing getting more ragged and uneven. His complexion reddens, his skin shining with a light sheen of sweat, abs clenching and twitching as the pleasure grows stronger, more acute, the feeling of you and your spit and your soft skin only spurring on the twitching of his cock.

The music climbs to a crescendo, his eyes peeling open to see the way your lips suck him in again and again and again, his cock glistening with spit and his hips bucking to get even deeper inside you, the visual of him fucking your face just too much too much –

He’s coming with a strangled gasp of your name, dark eyes blowing wide as his hips start thrusting on their own, plunging forward and down your throat, untimed and uneven.

He imagines the way you’d gag, your throat tightening up and your pretty eyes dotting with tears as he shoots load after load of watery, semi-bitter cum down your throat, the thought only making his hips jerk harder, his body spurred forward by the motivation to get as much of his cum as deeply down your throat as possible, to claim you as his in the most carnal, natural way.

He’s panting by the time the feeling dies down, a few strands of his carefully gelled back hair loose and framing the pale skin of his forehead and the tattoo decorating it. Beads of sweat frame his temples, his chest heaving still, his nipples hard and pebbled in the cool air of the bedroom.

It takes a moment for him to slowly regain his composure, giving your floating facial replica a gentle, long kiss on the forehead, his eyes fluttering closed and eyebrows scrunching up as he kisses you harder, more fervently, more desperately, trying to express every ounce of love and appreciation and want he has for you, even if it’s merely a cold, carbon copy of you that he’s kissing.

Then, he’s shutting the book and watching you disappear, a cold, familiar sense of loneliness settling into his chest.

The music is still on in the background, lulling him into a relaxed state as he lays on his back, body nude while he thinks back to the way the novel describes the post-sex cuddling, soft touches and sweet, affectionate words, lulled promises of loving each other forever, claims of ownership and commitments to stay together.

He sighs softly, the faintest smile gracing his lips as he imagines the way he’d hold you, your sweaty bodies pressed against one another, cum seeping from your cunt as you clutch onto him, your hair tickling his chin and neck, your soft breaths as you drift into sleep, feeling safe and protected by him…

Occasionally, on nights where he feels particularly restless for you, where the stress of running a wanted criminal group begins to get to him, he’ll conjure up your full body, and while it’s cold, unresponsive and unable to speak or look at him, it’s enough. Cuddling you, kissing your freezing skin and running his fingers over your jawline, collarbone, your supple curves is enough to have him slowly drifting to sleep, secure in your arms and dreaming of the day when you’re finally there to enact the scenes of his romantic, smutty novels with him in person, just as you should be.

(He’ll never actually fuck your nen-conjured self, however. He feels it would be crossing the line – as if fucking your mouth isn’t – and although it wouldn’t feel nearly as good as the real you, he wants your first time together to be special, to be a true exploration of each other’s bodies and genuine reactions. So, rest assured, he doesn’t use the fuck doll he makes of you as a stand in for actual sex – he’ll just use your hand, or your mouth, or your breasts, or your thighs. Never that perfect cunt between your legs, the one that makes his mouth water and his fingers twitch.)

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Collarbone

In a lot of ways, Chrollo is a traditional man. Surely not with his profession, nor the company he keeps, and certainly not the way he feels for you – but still, some aspects of how he views intimacy are very classical.

That is, while he adores the sight of you in revealing, slutty clothing, with your tits nearly bursting out of the pathetic, stringy bralette and your pretty, puffy lips clearly visible through the sheer thong, there’s an appeal to the more sensual parts of your body that aren’t as oversexualized.

Specifically, Chrollo finds himself drawn to your chest – of course, your breasts are alluring and wonderful and fit in his hands so very perfectly, but his favorite spot of all is right above them.

The expanse of your collarbone is a sight that always manages to catch his eye, his dark gaze lingering on the symmetrical, pretty bones. He likes to trace them with his finger, his touch light and soft but insistent, running over the lines and pressing his thumb into the dip in the center.

It doesn’t matter if your collarbone is prominent or not – there’s just something about the intimacy of it all that makes him giddy, the fact that no one except him gets to feel this part of you making his possessiveness flare up and shivers race up his spine.

When he’s kissing you, his lips always find purchase there, traveling down your neck and the juncture of your shoulder, before settling heavily against your collarbone, soft lips pressing kisses and hickeys and biting against the skin.

When he’s pressed you up against the wall, his figure looming over you and his presence making you feel small and weak, he’ll leave a hand at the base of your throat, the heel of his palm pressing against your collarbone so that he can feel your pulse, feel the way you breath, feel you you you.

You’ll often wake up after nights of long, passionate fucking (love-making, he likes to say, though the way he loses control after his first orgasm and fucks you so hard it nearly hurts really only resembles an animal, not a man) with dark marks all over your collarbone, the entire area bruised and swollen and aching, a constant reminder of Chrollo’s presence.

When he kidnapped you, it was a very spur of the moment, rushed affair, and as a result you weren’t able to bring any of your own clothing – which means, outside of just roaming around naked (something that Chrollo certainly wouldn’t argue against), you’ll be left to dress with whatever he deems appropriate.

More often than not, that means shirts with very low necklines, off the shoulders, or with wide necks that show off your collarbone.

(It also means skirts and dresses, sheer tights or thin materials, things that show off your thighs and the curves of your legs – Chrollo’s second favorite spot on your body.)

You’ll catch him staring idly, his eyes hyperfocused on the area even when you’re speaking to him, and sometimes you can even actually see the way he zones out ever so slightly, an internal war taking place inside him because he wants to hear what you’re saying and watch your lips as you speak to him, but he just can’t stop staring at where he’d left a large, prominent hickey on the right side of your collarbone, feeling your pulse under his lips while he made you cream and squeeze and come all over his fingers, just for him.

He thinks you’re beautiful, and even if you aren’t, Chrollo finds your body to be elegant, truly a work of art, and your collarbone is the crowning jewel of said art.

So don’t be surprised when he’s forcing you to wear chokers and tight necklaces, the combination of the jewelry and the sleeveless top leaving the expanse between them open and vulnerable, perfect to suck on and kiss.

He’s just in love, and is it so wrong to find your body perfect, wonderful, so damn alluring that it drives him insane?

His fingers

From the moment his sexual urges towards you begin, his fantasies tend to revolve mostly around using his hands to please you.

Of course, he likes the idea of using his mouth on you or stuffing you full of his cock, and those fantasies are most definitely present, too.

(As are the ones where you’re pleasing him – he has to be careful with these fantasies, though, because if he’s in public, any thought of you dropping to your knees for him or pressing your pretty tits together and moving them up and down his cock gets him hard immediately, his orgasm already halfway there from just the thought of you wanting him to feel good.)

The majority of what he imagines in detail is really just him working at your body with his hands. They aren’t too terribly veiny, but they’re the perfect amount, just enough to get your gaze lingering on them, and seeing the way the tendons and muscles flex when he moves will make your throat feel dry.

Even the way his hands are connected to his forearms, veins dancing up the expanse of his pale arms can get you staring, embarrassment making your neck feel hot when he catches your gaping with a knowing look, that prideful, cocky smirk on his face making you feel hot in anger and a bit of excitement.

(He’s noticed your staring, and makes it a point to roll up the sleeves of his shirts to expose his wrists and forearms, even purposefully flexing the muscles when he sees your eyes on them, his own gaze eagerly examining your face for even a hint of awe, or attraction, or enjoyment.)

But the real draw of his hands are his fingers; they’re pale, nimble and surprisingly smooth, given his past and occupation, and they’re long. They’re always cold, the feeling making you shiver, and Chrollo has them pressed against you as often as possible.

He’s touchy, really, and while this often manifests as his hand sitting on the small of your back or your shoulder or brushing against your cheek, this habit certainly doesn’t change in the context of intimacy and sex.

When he’s got you underneath him, staring up at him with wide eyes and your lips all swollen and bruised from his harsh kisses, he’s immediately touching you, his hands coming up to rip off the shirt he’d picked out for you this morning, tearing the flouncy skirt he’d helped zip you into cleanly in half in his desperation.

He can’t control himself, really – he’s gripping at your thighs and the fat of your stomach, squeezing and kneading and wanting, and while that entertains him for a while, eventually he’ll be nudging your legs apart, fingers immediately tracing up the insides of your thigh, tickling you and making you suck in a breath as he gets closer and closer to where you need him. (Or, at least, where he thinks you need him.

He’s convinced he knows your body better than you do, though, so any amount of denying this claim will result in that same, familiar patronizing smile and a soft murmur of it’s okay, darling, your body says what your mind won’t.)

He likes to tease you, even though it ends up teasing him too, by pressing feather-light touches against your folds and sensitive clit, dark eyes flicking between your cunt and your face, eagerly taking in every expression and sound you give him.

He’ll ask you if you want more, for you articulate what you want, all because he needs to hear you say please Chrollo, I need your fingers inside, I want to feel you fuck me with your fingers! Eventually, though, his patience will snap, and he’ll push them inside, listening to your little gasps and moans as he immediately curls them, rubbing and pressing against the spots he knows make you moan and writhe.

He’s unfairly good with his fingers – he’s got the pacing and motions down perfectly, his stamina high enough to keep going throughout the entire night.

He’s always got a finger steadily working at your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles against the sensitive area until you’re coming for him, and while a lot of his desire to make you feel good genuinely comes from the place of wanting to please you, a lot of it is selfish, too.

By constantly stimulating your clit or loosening you up with his fingers, he’s making sure you’ll enjoy him, that when he’s fucking you and stuffing you with his cum, you’re wet enough and receptive enough, and god, the feeling of you coming on his cock, the constant pressure against your clit tipping you over the edge?

Well, don’t blame him when he’s gasping into your ear, a strangled sort of noise that almost sounds like your name, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you, before you feel warmth spilling into you, his black hair tickling your cheeks as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

DRIVE:

In general, Chrollo’s libido isn’t the highest. Obviously, he desires you sexually and loves to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, make you scream his name and clutch onto him like you’ll otherwise die, but he doesn’t need to be in bed with you at all times. He doesn’t have to be making you cream and stuffing you full of his cock, fingers and cum every day.

(Every other day is ideal, or – if he’s particularly stressed or busy – maybe every two days, but that’s pushing it.)

No, Chrollo isn’t that sexually driven – though, he is that clingy, even if he’s good at not showing it. In general, there’s something about you that makes Chrollo feel, and he’s found that any sort of physical contact brings this strange, fluttering emotion in his chest, one he’s fairly sure is love – which ultimately results in the conclusion that in order to feel good, wanted, loved, touching you is something that he must do often.

The reality is that he’s never really had a partner, someone to give and receive genuine love and affection with, and the moment that he realizes how wonderful a hug can feel or how good of an experience simply locking pinkies can be, he’s hooked. Suddenly, those cliché, overt couple actions that used to intrigue him in a clinical way are much, much more interesting, the idea of wrapping his arms around your waist enticing in a way he can’t quite describe.

From pretty much the beginning of your time as his captive, Chrollo will be forcing affection onto you. It’s little things, mostly – things that make your skin crawl because they’re so innocent and sweet and pure that it makes you sick.

He’ll gently intertwine your hands with his, staring down and marveling at the sight of your fingers wrapped around his own, your smaller hand looking perfect against his.

He’ll press a kiss to your cheek or forehead after he compliments you (though, the compliments are always a bit strange – slightly threatening, or too specific, or just weird).

Of course, while this affection and surplus of physical contact is generally innocent, slowly Chrollo’s tastes and urges begin to change slightly, going from wholesome, sweet acts to more questionable touches, actions that have you slightly cocking a brow, slightly not comfortable with the implications of his behavior.

Because really, while you’ll likely be just fine with him lacing his fingers with yours (though, it’s likely that you’ll be less happy with it and more just complacent, figuring that with his criminal status and abilities, there’s far worse he could do to you), things will get a bit complicated when his hands start resting at your waist, dipping ever so slightly lower to your hip, his fingers pressing just a bit tighter against your skin than you’re comfortable with.

What starts out with a mostly tolerable chaste kiss to the cheek will turn into his lips against yours, his tongue running along your lower lip, a small groan tumbling into your mouth as he forces his tongue inside, running it along your teeth and coaxing your own tongue to participate.

What begins as a simple pair of hands resting against your shoulders will become him running them down the length of your sides, thumbs pressing circles against the area right underneath your breasts, those dark eyes seeming to shine with something that makes your breath hitch.

Because really, while Chrollo does absolutely bask in the innocent affection he can garner from you, there’s just something about you that makes his more natural urges kick into gear, the area between his legs feeling warmer, more insistent, more desperate the more he kisses you, the more he holds you and whispers to you that he loves you so much my dear, won’t you let me show you the extent of my feelings?

However, Chrollo is a smart man – when it comes to actually having sex or any sort of intimacy on the same level with you, he’s willing to be patient.

He doesn’t want to force you into anything, to make you uncomfortable or dislike him, to reverse any progress he’s made in getting you to fall utterly, completely in love with him, so he steels himself, mentally reminding himself every time he sees your plush thighs that he must wait.

He’ll chastise himself for almost losing control when you stretch, the sliver of exposed skin of your stomach and your cute little grunt nearly making him throw caution to the wind.

He has remarkable self control, and while you likely won’t know it, you’ll be seeing it in action nearly every moment he’s around you, especially when you’re already doing something affectionate, like hugging or sitting in his lap.

(He’s the one that’s forced you into these things, of course, but it doesn’t matter – if you make any sort of movement that isn’t prying him off or swatting his hands away, Chrollo considers you as being willing, happy, enjoying touching him, and the thought makes this pleasant, warm feeling bloom in his chest.)

He’s working incredibly hard to not push too far, but after some time of you not seeming to come around, not voicing any desire to go further, Chrollo decides he must resort to certain measures in order to speed up your progress.

Thus, he begins subtly trying to plant the idea in your mind, trying to tempt you into admitting that yes, you want him to reach underneath the frilly, white shirt he provided to you and cup your breasts, to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, to feel you shiver and hear you sigh against his lips.

He wants to lay seeds in your mind so that you’ll come to the conclusion sooner that you want him to rest between your legs and use that talented, smooth talking mouth to make you talk, to hear you babble and cry out his name.

He’s talented at being discreet, and so as he moves his hands to rest closer to your ass, squeezing the plush of your thighs, leaving fluttering kisses against your neck, he’s hoping you’ll slowly come to the conclusion on your own, your own body and desires betraying you.

And quite honestly, while you’ll likely be uncomfortable at first, confused and a bit scared, eventually it’ll work – after all, charisma is something Chrollo possesses in mass quantities, and while you’re obviously not happy that you’ve been kidnapped, that the leader of a mass group of international criminals is holding you in his lap and nuzzling against your mouth, whispering to you that you’re so lovely, won’t you say my name darling, it’s difficult to not let the ideas form, the lack of human contact forcing you to imagine paths you rationally have no desire to.

It’ll make you feel dirty, like you’re betraying yourself and letting Chrollo win, but he’ll ultimately get exactly what he wants – he’s observant to a tee, and so once he notices the way you start clenching your thighs together ever so slightly as he tells you that he’d love to take care of you tonight, he’s inwardly smiling, pride swimming in his chest because finally, finally you’re beginning to be affected by the subtle touches and words, things that could leave you second guessing, the possibility that maybe he wants to go further unrelenting in that sweet little head of yours.

And so, as he begins probing you, asking you how you’re feeling, if you’re satisfied, if you’re feeling like I give you everything you desire, he’s waiting with baited breath for you to embarrassedly admit that you want more, that you want something only Chrollo can give to you.

He’ll goat you into admitting it, telling you to be more specific, to tell him exactly what you want, because otherwise he won’t know, and then he can’t improve, now can he?

He’s calculating, smart, analytical and damn good at getting what he wants, and so ultimately you’ll cave, admitting that you want him to fuck me please, I just – just please…

He won’t outwardly be affected, but just know that the speed with which his erection makes itself known is directly tied to you, the eagerness of his body and his movements to undress you betraying him.

And as he starts breathing a little heavier, stripping you of your clothing and his as well, it becomes hard to miss the way he’s eager, anxious, frantic to touch you.

You’ll see the signs of months of repressed sexual tension, months of desiring you but needing you to consent first, even as pressured as your admittance may be.

But in the end, does it matter?

Because when Chrollo’s hovering over you, those dark eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that’ll make you shiver, you’ll feel oh so taken care of, the small signs and subtle pushes making you insatiable for something you didn’t even know you desired.

And Chrollo will be happy to keep providing for you – what kind of lover would he be if he didn’t? Besides, no one else canmake you feel like he does – not even you – he’ll make sure of it.

You only need him.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Loud Sex

Generally speaking, Chrollo is a quiet man. He’s polite and personable, yes, but he doesn’t bother with unnecessary chatter – when he speaks it’s purposeful, calculated, commanding, and this is true even when it comes to you.

You make him feel the closest he’s ever felt to being nervous, but he’s still not especially loud around you. He never shuts up, that’s true, always asking you questions and telling you about his day, about a flower that reminds him of you (a petal or two was missing, making him think of how you aren’t truly complete unless he’s with you), or even, on rare occasions, telling you a reason why he’s in love with you.

(It’s not as romantic as it sounds – the way he speaks about romance is too clinical, and the reasons he’ll give you are far too specific and detailed to really make you feel good.)

So yes, he speaks often, but he’s not loud.

And during sex, this stays true – the most you’ll get out of him is a low groan and a few heavy, drawn out sighs, or a few chants of your name when he’s getting close and he’s particularly pent up. He’s still not quiet though – he’s talking the whole time, dirty talk spilling from his lips about how you’re so beautiful, especially when you’re falling apart around my cock or that he loves when you moan, can you feel how I’m throbbing inside of you? It’s all for you, does it feel good to know you’re affecting me like this?

His voice is always sultry, always whispered directly into your ear, and while his particular brand of dirty talk is, more or less, mediocre (it’s always too long and makes you think too much; you’d prefer something shorter, something more explicit, something coming from anyone aside from him), Chrollo likes the concept of sex not being quiet. Specifically, he likes when you fill in the silence.

There’s something about the noises you make that make him absolutely feral – similarly to his curiosity about you in everyday life, he wants to understand you sexually. He wants to hear every sound you have to offer – he needs to understand what’s causing you to make that noise and how to keep you making it. He needs to hear every little thing, to have a mental catalogue of the different noises and cries he can pull from your pliable body.

It doesn’t matter if you’re naturally loud or quiet – he will be expecting you to put on a show for him, your body a canvas for him to create a masterpiece on, your every gasp, moan, and sigh a paint stroke that eventually comes together to form you, a piece of art Chrollo wants to keep stolen away from the world forever.

He’s not particularly shy about this desire of his, either – it’s very easy to tell that he’s striving to get you to moan for him, because you’ll feel his fingers work in that certain way, grinding and rubbing in that particular spot, those dark eyes wavering in excitement because he absolutely loves the way you sound gasping his name.

You can tell he’s aiming to get you vocal when he’s pressing his face between your legs, dark hairs tickling your thighs as he diligently works his tongue against your clit, the sensation partnered with the insistent thrusting of his fingers inside you not stopping until you groan his name, and then only getting harder, that same motion being repeated over and over because he needs to hear it again.

He’s like an addict, really – once he hears a noise he finds pleasant (every noise you make, really), he’s trying everything in his power to get you to make it again, wanting to have auditory evidence (to match the slick coating his fingers and the smell of your arousal) that you’re enjoying this, that you’re enjoying him and the way he’s touching you. It’s selfish, really, because while giving you pleasure is great and brings you a step closer to desiring him as he desires you, it quells his possessiveness.

It makes him feel good because it’s proof that he’s affecting you, that the motions and pleasure his body is bringing you is making you feel good, that your brain is mush because of him. It’s proof that your thighs are trembling and shaking because of the way he’s massaging and toying with your clit.

It’s proof that your lips are swollen and puffy and parted because of the way he’s kissing your neck and kneading at your breasts. It’s proof that he’s the only one on your mind, that your every thought is revolving around him him him, that your body and brain can only focus on Chrollo alone.

It makes him feel good, knowing that no other man could possibly be in your thoughts in moments like these, and the more he can get you moaning and screaming and sobbing in pleasure, the higher the likelihood of you focusing solely on him. So really, any time the two of you are intimate, expect your voice to be hoarse the next day – he needs you to be making noise, and he’ll even tell you as much.

He’ll tell you to show me how badly you need me inside you, moan my name and cream on my fingers and I might consider adhering to your wishes.

He’ll tell you to say his name, to tell him that he feels good, and even to narrate exactly what you’re feeling.

(That last one is a favorite of his – it’s so dirty, and it fills him with pride and arousal to hear you say that he feels s’good, your fingers are so big and it’s making me feel so full and good and fuck, Chrollo, please let me come!)

It’s an obsession, truly, one that rivals the one he holds for you – so really, just give him what he wants.

Fake the moans (but be careful, because he can normally tell – though, as he gets closer to his own orgasm, his façade slips and the true lustful, crazed man underneath his carefully constructed exterior rears its head, his snapping hips and messy hair evidence of just how much you affect him. He’s less able to tell apart your fake moans from real ones in these moments, and when he’s right on the edge, any noise from you will have him toppling over, gripping onto you and coming, filling you so fully that it leaks out, white spilling all over your thighs and dripping down his balls.)

He just wants you to be vocal, and it’s in your best interest to meet his demands – the night will be long and very, very painful if you don’t; Chrollo knows your body well enough to overstimulate you past your threshold, the pleasure melting into pain with each orgasm he tears from your body.

Begging

While Chrollo is a difficult man to decipher, one thing you’ll learn about him is that he’s very, very susceptible to your begging.

Of course, he doesn’t always give in to what you want – your escape and freedom, for example, are things he’ll never grant you, no matter how incessantly and long you beg. (And no matter how you offer your body or your fake affections or any number of things.)

He’s stringent about many things, but in the bedroom he’s more or less easy to win over – you just have to know how to do it correctly.

It takes a very specific methodology to get him to listen to your wishes, to have him do exactly what you need in order to feel good. And that methodology is mostly rooted in begging him to do what you want, what you need in order to seek the pleasure you’re wanting.

And frankly, just hearing you say his name and beg him for literally anything has his hips stuttering, arousal spiking through him because god, you must really want him, huh?

There’s something so riveting and right about the power imbalance that you begging him for pleasure sets up; he’s the one in control, giving you what he deems as the right amount of pleasure, controlling your orgasm and deciding when – and if – you’ll be allowed to come.

It’s a power trip that gets his heart racing and his cock flushing bright red, his chest swelling with pride and greed because god, every fucking inch of you belongs to him, and when you acknowledge that it makes him want to fuck you hard enough to make you scream his name.

You’ll need to beg, but even more than that, you’ll need to mix the begging with some sort of compliment. He’s good at telling when you’re lying, though, so the compliment must be somewhat genuine – tell him his fingers feel so good, oh Chrollo you’re gonna make me come, don’t stop! Tell him that he’s so big, you feel so – so big inside me, oh god, please harder, I need you harder!

If you intermix the compliments in with your begs, Chrollo is almost certain to at least consider your wishes, fucking you harder or deeper or angling his fingers just right, anything and everything to get you to keep talking, to keep paying attention to him and telling him how much you need him.

He may not show it, but he really, really wants you to enjoy sex with him, both because seeing you writhe in pleasure gives him pleasure, and also because it means you’re giving him all your focus and attention. So really, if things aren’t going quite as they should to really get you off or to make you feel good, using this master formula will often yield the results you desire – he’s a sap, even if he doesn’t show it, even if he’s not fully aware of it himself.

What he is aware of, though, is this little strategy of yours.

He’s figured it out; you’re not as smooth as you think, and although it boosts his ego and makes his heart race when you compliment him, Chrollo knows there’s an ulterior motive behind your words. And so begins a game of cat and mouse – he likes the way you beg for him, and he doesn’t want you to stop, so he’ll only slightly give in to your request.

This will, in turn, make you beg for more, a new compliment and moans slipping from your lips that get Chrollo gulping and steeling his resolve, his fingers moving slightly to the spot you want them, his pace getting slightly faster, only half-assedly doing what you’d begged for.

The cycle repeats, Chrollo managing to milk you for every last possible bit of praise and desperation for his touch, until he’s eventually giving in, doing things just as you ask for so that you’re a shaking, moaning mess for him, completely falling apart on his fingers. He’s aware of the game you’re playing, and frankly, as time passes Chrollo will begin purposefully not touching you like how he knows you like.

You like to be fingered quickly, with a certain angle and a certain rhythm? Well, he’s finger fucking you at a moderate pace, aiming for a certain spot an inch or so away from your sweet spot, the rhythm just slightly off.

It’ll be enough to get you squirming, your face scrunching up in pleasure and need, your eyes teary and watery as you beg him to go just a hair faster, because it always feels so good when you go fast, please make me feel good, Chrollo!

You’ll go through the cycle three or four times, but he’ll almost always eventually give in – with one big, glaring exception.

Chrollo really likes to bring you to orgasm, it’s true – however, he really, really likes when you beg for permission to orgasm, waiting to fully let go until he’s given you the okay to make a mess all for him.

He wants you to beg him to please let me come, please Chrollo I wanna come for you, all the while he’s holding off just a bit, not quite pushing you over the edge with his thrusts or flicks of his tongue.

He knows your body so well that he’s able to hold you right where he wants you, right on the brink of coming but not quite, just so that you’re unbearably close but needing that one final push. And he’ll milk this out of you, too – he’s unashamed with how he asks you to repeat yourself, to tell him exactly what you need, to moan his name and show him just how badly you want to come for him.

He wants you to be prickling with embarrassment at how unabashedly you shame, loving the way you get all shy and bashful when he tells you to beg me to fuck you into an orgasm, love, and then you’ll get it.

It makes him giddy to see the way you writhe and cry out his name so wantonly, your desperation to find your high trumping over any bit of self-respect you pretend to have, because ultimately you’re choosing him and the pleasure he can give you over this stupid, rebellious side of yourself that’s unwilling to accept his love.

It’s good, a step in the right direction, and by forcing you to beg him permission to orgasm (an orgasm caused by him, no less), Chrollo simultaneously gets to push you a smidge closer to willingly being his, and he also gets to feel you come for him.

(A sight that normally pushes him unbearably close to his own orgasm – just a few thrusts inside you and he’s blowing his load, cum spurting inside you as he gasps your name under his breath, the warmth settling into his stomach both a result of his orgasm and giddiness that you’re starting to come around, aren’t you?)

He just loves when you beg, and although you think you have the power in the situation, thinking you’ve got him figured out, you really, really don’t. You never do, after all, and Chrollo will always outsmart you.

So just tell him you want his cock, beg him to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, and he’ll give you just that – not without a few caveats, though.

Oral Fixation

While your collarbone may be his favorite part of your body, Chrollo really, really grows to love your mouth.

He’s always been entranced by the gentle curve of your lips, the shape playing behind his eyelids as he sleeps at night, driving him crazy when you aren’t yet by his side, making sleep – already elusive enough for him – nearly impossible to find.

(You’ll never know, but on nights where he can’t stop thinking of your lovely lips and how soft and warm and bitable they’d be, he’ll begrudgingly turn to his pillow, his own pale pink lips pressing against the silk, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses hesitant kisses against the material. As he gets more comfortable, he’ll move towards using his tongue; letting it flick out against the pillowcase, imagining it’s actually pressing into your mouth, brushing against your own and coaxing it to rub against his, to suck, his own tongue running along your teeth and reaching deeper and deeper into you until there’s not an inch of space he hasn’t touched and licked and tasted -)

He’s thought endlessly of how you might taste; would your saliva be sweet, or perhaps a nice, neutral taste? He’ll lick his lips while he contemplates, unconsciously salivating himself as he imagines how you’d taste as he kisses you, your scent and feel and everything else about you overwhelming him and making him dizzy in the best possible way.

He’s thought of the way you’d place kisses against his skin, how soft your lips would feel against the hard planes of his chest, against the firm, defined muscles of his thighs, against his neck.

He’s spent many, many nights imagining the way your mouth and lips would worship his body; he imagines you’d start with his own lips, kissing him and moaning into his mouth with fervor, your tongue slipping out to meet his, saliva and spit getting all over your chins because every time he imagines kissing you it’s messy, sloppy and earnest and dirty.

He likes to think you’d move onto his jawline next, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line, tracing it from his chin all the way back to the juncture of his jaw, leading up to kiss and lightly suck at his ear.

You’d take his lobe gently between your teeth, lightly pulling and tugging just to hear him harshly exhale, your tongue even coming up to lick at the shell of his ear, your breath warm and sensual as you breath and whisper his name.

You’d move onto his neck, next, sucking kisses and hickies against the pale skin, the perfect canvas for you to leave your artwork against. He wants you to mark him up – he may be the dominant one in the relationship, sure, and he may the one indisputably in charge of everything, but there’s something endearing about wanting to stake your claim on him. It makes him feel good, desired, possessive over you, and he’ll proudly don his coat with the dark marks all along his neck, perhaps even pulling the collar to the side a bit so that others can see that he’s yours.

Then you’ll move down to his chest; he wants to feel you press fast, quick kisses all over the plain of his chest and abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs and making him shiver. He wants to feel your lips wrapped around his nipples, sucking and running your tongue over the sensitive skin, leaving a wet pop noise as you pull back.

He wants you to kiss along his thighs, the kisses here more harsh and demanding, maybe even sinking your teeth into his skin just to get his eyes rolling to the back of his head, your sudden display of dominance (or brattiness, rather) making something primal sound from the back of his throat.

And of course, Chrollo’s fixation with your mouth extends towards your ability to suck – before you two reach a point of sexual contact, he’ll firmly trace your lips with his fingertips, only to push past them and situate his fingers against your tongue, a small smile on his lips as he sighs softly and tells you to suck, my love, I’m sure you know how.

He’ll watch with wide eyes and baited breath as you work your tongue along his digits, slipping between them and letting your lips suction, the warmth and wetness making his pants tight and his cock ache, desperation nearly sending him over the edge as precum drools from his tip. And god, when you use your mouth on his cock?

Chrollo is a fairly composed man, yes, but even he can’t keep up that image when you’re sucking on him like you’re trying to suck out his soul, your lips gliding up and down his length, the suction and feel of your tongue rubbing against that sensitive spot on the underside of his tip making his abs clench and contract, his hips getting a mind of their own as they thrust and buck and hump.

He loves when you use your mouth on him, and although he tries to let you set the pace yourself and do things at your own leisure and speed (mostly because he likes seeing what you come up with, how you think he’ll be pleased), he’ll reach a point as he nears his orgasm where he takes over, his hands grasping onto your head and physically moving it up and down, controlling the depth and pace as he groans lowly, his orgasm powerful and heady and numbing as he comes, cum spilling down your throat as he holds you tightly against his pelvis, the short black hairs sitting at his navel ticking your nose.

Another spot that makes him melt when you lick and touch is his balls.

They’re always full, heavy, swollen, aching and begging to be fondled and licked and emptied, and what better way than with your soft, pretty lips and your nimble tongue? He likes to watch the way you stroke at his shaft and move your attention to each sack, tongue coming out to lick and tease, the sensation making him suck in a shaky breath – the sound so quiet you very nearly miss it.

He wants you to take on in your mouth, the warmth making his knees feel weak, the feeling of you lightly sucking making him have to clutch onto whatever surface is nearest just to steady himself.

It’s so dirty – seeing the way your lips stretch to accommodate something so big, and by the time you’re through with them he wants his balls to be positively smothered in your spit, glistening in the light and sensitive to the touch because you’ve worked him up so well.

Of course, Chrollo enjoys when you touch him in pretty much any way, but there’s just something about your mouth that he finds himself gravitating towards, because while it’s intimate and wonderful to fuck you, when you use your mouth – something that feels more taboo, more personal, more sacred – well, that’s a different thing, isn’t it? It means you want him, you want to taste him, that you like his aftertaste of musk and cum to linger in your mouth long after you’ve finished him off.

Chrollo just likes the implications of it all – and seeing you on your knees or feeling your lips against his neck will just make him shiver, excitement and lust and love pooling in his gut, all directly at sweet, perfectly little you.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Holding your hand

It’s not really a kink, but you’ll notice quite quickly into your sexual relationship with Chrollo that he has a habit of always managing to interlock your fingers when he’s fucking you.

The first few times you’ll think it’s sweet, deciding that although it seems out of character for a mass murderer to want to hold you hand when he’s already stuffed as deeply inside of you as possible, it’s kind of endearing.

It seems like a manipulation tactic at first, honestly – you don’t trust Chrollo, not at all, and despite the fact that you’ve caved and given into your bodily desires to have him touch you and pleasure you, you don’t like him. Maybe this is some ploy to get you to fall for him – you’ve seen him reading articles and researching on ways to make women feel loved and valued during sex, his dark eyes diligently and eagerly scanning the words.

(You didn’t bring this up to him, however – the conversation that would’ve ensued would’ve been unbearable, and what would you even say? Chrollo, why do you want me to feel wanted during sex? What are you playing at? Is it not enough for you that I’ve already admitted I want you to touch me?)

The truth, actually, is none of those things – of course, he does view sex as a way to bring you closer to him and get you closer and closer to returning his feelings, but the hand holding actually isn’t something he’s meticulously planned.

The constant stimulation and attention to your clit, he’d known from the beginning – making you come feels good, yes, but he needs you to enjoy it, to realize that he can give you pleasure consistently, that he knows his way around your body. But the hand holding?

Well, the first time he fucks you, he’s genuinely gone – you can’t tell, not really, but from the moment he slips inside of you, he’s fighting to keep his composure, his hips begging him to just ruin you, to fuck into you as hard and fast as he can – even if it means spilling himself inside of you in as little as two minutes. He finds himself drifting away and getting lost in the pleasure that first time, and subconsciously his hand is finding yours, needing something to grip onto, something to ground him and keep him from coming much too early.

His cold fingers lace with your own, pressing your hand against the mattress as he continues humping his hips into yours, and he’ll squeeze your hand when the pleasure gets especially strong, his grip so tight it nearly bruises you.

He needs to hold your hand – it’s comforting, but more than that it keeps him connected to you.

It feels intimate, like something reserved only for you, because even though he’s slept with other women before, never has it been like this. Never has he actively been trying to make them feel good, and never has he actively been hoping they’ll want to fuck him again and again and again, something that he ardently, feverishly hopes you feel.

Holding your hand becomes something of a tradition; it gets easier to not immediately orgasm when he slips inside you, but still his hand moves on its own, capturing yours and squeezing, his dark eyes boring into yours and the veins on his hand standing out.

It’s romantic, he thinks, and even when he’s kissing you and throwing your legs over his shoulders, balls clapping loudly against your ass as he pants and whispers your name under his breath, his hand will stay in yours.

And his grip is tight – you can’t pull your hand out, he won’t let you. You’re not allowed to, because this makes the sex special, intimate, meaningful – it makes the two of you closer, your bodies truly united in more ways than one.

He loves you, he promises, and frankly, it’s best if you don’t mention this habit – he won’t tell you the truth, instead letting a small smile flit his lips and telling you cryptically that it helps me know if you’re feeling good.

That’s bullshit – it’s all for him, but you don’t need to know that gripping your hand like its his lifeline is the only thing keeping him sane when he fucks you – it’s the only thing keeping him from bucking into you like a wild animal, filling you full of cum like some sort of predator.

Voyeurism

Chrollo has a rather nasty habit of watching you. He’s not quite as overt as some other members of the Troupe, but it’s not hard to notice the way those dark eyes are always trained on your figure, observing, scrutinizing, staring with an intensity that makes you feel like a bug under a microscope.

He just finds you utterly fascinating, and he honestly finds himself unable to look away from you. You’re captivating in every sense of the word, and his feelings don’t change when it comes to the bedroom – he’s constantly, constantly looking at you.

The eye contact can be sexy, sometimes, in the right circumstance, but most of the time the intensity makes you nervous, embarrassment settling in your gut because you feel like he can see every inch of you, every imperfection and flaw.

He’s always looking at you while he’s fucking you, those eyes boring into yours as his hips snap into you, faster and faster and harder and harder, watching your face as you get close to coming, seeing how you fall apart for him and cry out his name.

He’s staring and breathing a bit harshly when you’re taking him down your throat, mesmerized by the way your lips slot around him, how his cock appears and disappears again and again, your little gagging noises when you take just a bit too far down making him near feral.

He’s even staring at you while he sucks on your clit, fingers curling inside you as he looks up at you from under his lashes, the eye contact making you shy away and close your thighs around his head, just wishing he'd stop staring at you like you’re some slab of meat for him to devour.

But more than anything, Chrollo likes to observe the way you look when you’re feeling good – pleasure looks good on you, and especially before you allow him to touch you in an overtly sexual way, Chrollo will have you touch yourself for him, all the while he gets a front row seat.

It’s thrilling, the way you spread yourself open on your fingers, tugging your lip between your teeth as you rub small, tight circles against your clit, your thighs trembling from both the pleasure and the weight of his gaze.

He’ll settle himself into a chair at the end of the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his fingers digging into the armrests, his eyes trained directly on you. He’ll alternate between staring at your face and staring at your cunt, too entranced by it all to fully commit to one or the other.

He likes seeing the way you work yourself, how you flick your fingers or turn your wrist, the pace and tempo and precision of your movements.

He likes to stare at your breasts, watching them heave in time with your chest, seeing your nipples perk up and pebble up, looking hard and pinchable and suckable, like the perfect spot to rest his lips.

He’ll stare at the way your thighs tremble and jerk together occasionally, the pleasure and risqué of being Chrollo’s entertainment making everything feel heavier, stronger, more intense.

He’ll request that you finger yourself or play with your clit or touch your tits, anything and everything because he wants to see everything.

Of course, it’s nothing new to him – he’d watched you masturbate countless times before he stole you away, enjoying the vulnerability of it all, your weak, alluring form totally unaware of the eyes watching your most intimate moments.

But now, now, it’s different – you know you’re being watched now, and that adds a certain layer to your actions that makes Chrollo lick his lips, because while seeing your naked body and hearing your barely contained moans has his cock standing at attention in mere seconds, the fact that you’re reacting so strongly to knowledge that it’s Chrollo staring gets his ears feeling hot and his hands twitching, aching to reach out and touch you.

There’s something alluring about the fact that you’re acting all shy and bashful because it’s him that’s watching you like a hawk, his cock clearly hard against his stomach as he stares, obviously enjoying the sight.

He likes to know that he’s affecting you, that you’re thinking of him, that he’s on your mind as you play with yourself and make yourself come – it’s hot, frankly, and although it’s a test of his self control (one he struggles with far more than you’ll ever know), watching you bring yourself to orgasm is the best foreplay he can imagine.

Because then, he can watch himself bring you to orgasm, and isn’t that just the prettiest, loveliest sight?

Isn’t you falling apart for him, moaning and writhing and scratching down his back, the single most valuable thing on this Earth?

He’s a thief, after all, and anything valuable is his for the taking – including you.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Chrollo is, without a doubt, extraordinarily possessive. You’re completely and utterly his, his property and under his ownership, to the point where he’ll often refer to you as such in passing with another Troupe member, no matter how demeaning and belittling his hummed response of yes, she’s my most prized possession may be.

You’re the only thing he’s ever wanted this badly, the only thing he’s ever wanted so much that it physically hurts, and he has no qualms with acting on these possessive urges, claiming you as his and only his.

However, Chrollo presents an odd juxtaposition in bed – while he absolutely does not want anyone else to ever see you in such a vulnerable, intimate position, there’s a certain allure to the idea of fucking you in public that he simply can’t shake off.

Of course, he’s thoroughly unwilling to allow you to be seen by other people, for your perfect, lovely body to be ogled by other human beings, those who are completely unworthy of being graced by your soft curves, your pretty moans, your twitching thighs and dripping hole.

You’re his to ogle and play with and make a mess of, and although the idea of another man watching you fall apart for Chrollo is appealing in its own right, he’d never be willing to stomach the idea of you seeing another man – or another man seeing you – when you’re in your most vulnerable, intimate position.

And these conflicting desires lead him to a sort of problem. On the one hand, he wants more than anything to fuck you in front of an audience, because what signifies ownership more than claiming you publicly, and what more can he do to show the world that you’re his, that he’s made his mark on you and you’ll never be loved by another?

But on the other, he can’t stand the thought of actually fucking you in public, which leads to a compromise – that is, it’s just so easy to spend a night in a bedroom high, high above the streets, the city skyline out the window and from the balcony mesmerizing, the dark night making the lights shine and the people they illuminate shine as well.

It’s not ideal, but Chrollo has found that the only way he can think of to satisfy this intense sexual fantasy with you is to simply fuck you in a space where no one can see you, but you can see everyone – thus, the window of some fancy, swanky hotel should do the trick, right?

Then everyone, whether knowingly or not, will be witnessing Chrollo claim every fucking inch of you, right?

It’s perfect, and something he’s so, so desperate to try out with you – just the thought gets his body feeling hot, his pants uncomfortably tight, and this strong, dizzying excitement brewing in his chest.

“The room is really lovely, Chrollo.” You compliment, appraising the room bathed in maroon and gold, the intricacies of the wallpaper and bed sheets catching your eye. It’s a simple one bed room, an adjoining bathroom to the side, but the real showstopping aspect of the horribly overpriced room is the set of floor to ceiling, pristine glass windows facing the night city, the various buildings too far to truly make out any specifics. It’s situated downtown, but Chrollo has made sure to secure a room on the fiftieth floor – towering above any nearby skyscrapers, thus giving him the privacy he’s been fantasizing of.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Comes his response, smooth and suave, though you think you can hear the smallest smidge of pride.

Making your way towards the windows, you stare across the sleeping city skyline, trying to memorize every detail you can, while Chrollo watches you from across the room, excitement swirling in his chest at the prospect of what’s to come.

He’s quick to join you, standing beside you and glancing towards your awed face, chuckling softly and using his thumb to trace the line of your cheekbone. “You’re staring, love.”

You blink a few times, before throwing him a playful glare. “And so are you.”

He’s silent for a moment, before he leans down to press his lips against your own, his dark eyes fluttering closed. “How could I not, when something so beautiful is standing before me?”

His words are sweet, and they have you bashful despite yourself – something Chrollo doesn’t hesitate to exploit, as he pulls you in deeper to the kiss. His hand rests snugly at your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck, his lips working faster against your own, though the kiss is still softer, less insistent.

That changes quickly though, as your hand reaches out to brush against the growing bulge resting in his black slacks, a small hum pressed against your lips as Chrollo unconsciously moves closer to the action. Soon you’re unabashedly groping him, fingers idly squeezing and lightly pressing against him as he deepens the kiss, lips getting needier as the minutes fly by, small gasps and breaks for air the only sounds reverberating through the night air of the hotel room.

Insistent hands grasp onto the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards and exposing the expanse of your stomach, the soft skin immediately felt and caressed by the man before you, his fingertips oddly soft for his line of work. He pulls back slightly from the kiss, dark eyes slowly opening to meet your hazy gaze, a small smile quirking on his lips as he moves forward to your ear, breath ghosting against the sensitive skin.

“Undress for me, darling.” His words are sin, his voice smoother than silk, the timbre making a shiver race up your spine as you gulp and follow his instructions, peeling each layer of cloth separating your body from his wandering touch. Chrollo’s dark eyes take every movement in, excitement burning in his chest as your body is slowly revealed to him, your skin soft and supple and touchable.

His fingers twitch.

He’s quick to follow suit, sliding off his jacket, pants and undergarments, leaving him nude in all his glory, prompting you to rake your eyes across his sculpted chest, the lines of his biceps, the sharp ‘v’ of his navel, and of course, the eager, flushed cock pressing harshly against his lower stomach, practically begging for your attention and touch.

“You’re beautiful, my dear,” He starts, approaching you and bringing a thumb up to trace your cheekbone, that same small smile decorating his lips. His lashes are long, easy to see from this distance, and as your lips part to respond, he cuts you off with his thumb placed against your tongue, his eyes shining brighter.

“Why don’t we show the world just how beautiful you really are?” His voice is oddly uneven, the excitement dancing in those dark depths of his gaze making you arch your brows slightly, confusion lacing your features as Chrollo gently pushes your shoulders. The glass hitting your backside is cold, the smooth surface alien against you as you squeak slightly.

“What – what do you mean?” You ask, voice small as he sharply inhales, his other hand coming down to run along your side as his eyes trail along your lips and down to your breasts. He smiles as he takes in your nipples, the skin puckering.

“Wouldn’t it be such a shame to keep a beauty like you hidden from the world? Don’t you want everyone to know,” he starts, leaning into your neck before kissing down until he reaches the juncture of your shoulder. “That you belong to me?”

He bites down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to get you gasping out and throwing your head back slightly, the glass cold against your scalp.

“Would you like that? Do you want the world to know how much you crave me?” He asks, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip and nod, murmuring out an agreement.

“Can’t hear you darling, try again.”

Embarrassment creeps up your neck as you tell him in a louder voice, “Yes Chrollo, please, want everyone to know that my body was made for you, please!”

He shivers against you, his bare skin against yours making your head spin. His eyes are wide as he stares down at you. “Good, because I’m going to fuck you hard enough that no one will question who owns you.”

And with that, he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face with the glass. The material is cold, your nipples rubbing against it and making your thighs rub together at the strange sensation. A sea of lights fall before you, the city glowing from so many meters in the air.

His hands settle at your waist, squeezing slightly before sliding down over your hips, the smooth breath he exhales by your air making you shiver. Every sense feels heightened, and although you know no one can see you from so far below, it still sends a thrill through you at the idea that someone could, if they tried hard enough. Eventually his hands lightly pull at your hips, pulling your ass back towards his pelvis and making you bend over slightly, so that your cunt is poised out for him while your breasts still press against the cold glass.

Chrollo hums from behind you, a finger tracing down your spine and ending up right over your fluttering hole, slipping inside carefully and feeling the way you clench down on him, the sharp little gasp you give him only making another bead of precum drool from his tip, his groin throbbing and pulsing with the need to bury himself inside you, to thoroughly fuck the tight, warm cunt he’s feeling around his fingers.

He pulls them out abruptdly, making you whine a bit and wiggle your hips, the sight forcing Chrollo to tightly shut his eyes, grappling for control over himself. “Now love, in order to let everyone know just who you belong to, you’ll have to be loud enough to hear, yes?”

You nod, muttering something in agreement, but Chrollo cuts you off with a wide smile, his eyes flashing as he grips his cock and lines himself up. “Scream for me.”

And with that he’s pushing himself inside, not pausing for a moment to let you adjust. He’s thrusting into you with force, the sheer strength making you rock forward with each pulse of his hips. Your hands press against the glass, your cheek smooshed against the cold material as you moan and cry out his name, the angle hitting you deep and the eroticism of the whole situation making your head swim.

Chrollo leans in close behind you, his breath already a bit heavy and ragged. “Do you like – ngh, do you like this love? Getting fucked while so many people could be watching?”

You moan out a yes in response, gasping and feeling your whole body shake as his fingers snake between your legs and begin working at your clit.

He laughs breathlessly behind you, his chest pressing against your back. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot and heavy, and you feel him twitch inside you, his orgasm looming near.

“Let’s give them a good show, yes?”

And when he pulls out a few minutes later, turning you around and letting his cum spraying from his tip and landing on your chest and stomach in ropes, he can only flutter his eyes closed and mutter your name, before peeling them open and exhaling shakily.

He’ll push you right back up against the window, a knee forcing itself between your legs to open you back up again, his cock still hard and insistent and aching to finish inside you this time. Meanwhile, his cum smears against your skin and the glass, leaving a film that makes you shiver – the glass is cold but his cum is hot. You moan as he forces himself back inside you, immediately continuing with the brutal, rough pace he’d taken earlier, determined to let the whole city see how prettily you take his cum inside you this time.

And when you’re done, some forty five minutes later, with two loads of warm, runny cum spilling from between your legs, the smears of his first orgasm all over the glass and your tits will only make him lick his lips, arousal once again simmering in his gut.

Maybe this time the city would like to see how pretty you look when you squirt.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #_chrollo lucilfer #_lee's profiles #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #hxh smut #_hxh

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vpgoldenrod · 11 months

Text

Aziraphale's Haunted Look: On Being Forcibly Outed and Exiled From The Garden

While we're all talking about Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss, I'm surprised by those who thought Aziraphale looked disgusted because that's not an emotion I'd seen in him at all. There's sadness, and confusion, and anger, but I couldn't remember seeing disgust. When I watched the scene again I realized there's something else going on that really struck a chord with me. It's an uncomfortably familiar look.

He feels exposed. And I know what it feels like to be exposed in such a violent and intimate way.

Stay with me, I promise this is relevant to my analysis.

I didn't know what being transgender meant when I was a kid. Being raised in a fundamentalist Christian house meant that I wasn't exposed to those ideas, so I lived my life feeling like something was always just kind of broken. It was like I was looking right through the problem at other things, trying to alleviate symptoms without understanding why they existed in the first place. I eventually met other trans people, who gently nudged me in the direction of my truth. I even became aware that I had experienced some minor dysphoria. Every time I came close to acknowledging the truth however, my eyes would once again begin to glaze over the problem. I always managed to subconsciously shove it back into a little box and move on with my life. It was like I accidentally “did a big miracle” and hid this truth from myself so well that I continually forgot it was there.

Til one day I had an encounter that changed everything.

We're friends now but oddly enough, it was only meant to be a fling. I won't go into too many details because it's not just my story, but it was a lovely time that culminated with us meeting and doing what adults do. The person I was with, a cis man, silently clocked me the minute we were face to face. For reasons I now understand, without warning and in the middle of our shared intimate experience, he decided to talk dirty to me as if I were a gay man.

No one had ever spoken to me like that before. It had never occurred to me to ask anyone to do that, or that anyone would want to. I was in an intimate space and filled with the typical emotions and endorphins one has during sex, but it was a fling. I had walls up. So for the first time in my life, in this incredibly vulnerable position, someone grabbed me by my lapels and forced me to face a deep truth about myself that I'd spent decades silently dancing around. It was a blunt, irrefutable truth and it hit like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. He saw me when I was very much not trying to be seen, and there's few things more terrifying than that.

Even now, years later, I have such a hard time putting into words the overwhelming emotions I felt that night. There were so many, and yet somehow I can see every single one of the emotions I felt in Aziraphale's face when Crowley lets him go. My heart breaks all over again seeing how exposed he felt. He can barely make eye contact until he stumbles onto the one emotion that gives him his agency back: anger.

Gabriel shows up to the bookshop completely naked. When a bewildered Aziraphale points it out Gabriel says, “Who told you I was naked?”

But that's not how the story goes.

God looks for Adam in the garden, but he hides from her. He eventually tells God, “I heard your voice in the garden and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid myself.”

Then God asks Adam, “Who told you you were naked?” And of course Adam knows he is naked because he ate the apple.

I've made jokes about Crowley being the apple that bit Aziraphale, but I forgot the bit that happens afterwards. He is aware of his own nakedness. He is exposed. To God, to Crowley, and to himself. As a result he is exiled from the safety of his Eden. Man, if this isn't the perfect analogy for being forcibly outed I don't know what is.

This show is so gay you guys.

#michael sheen deserves an emmy and also a hug #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #do it again #neil gaiman #good omens analysis #amazon prime video #pay your actors #good omens spoilers #michael sheen #LGBT+

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anghraine · 1 month

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Disney-era Lucasfilm has given me essentially one film I adored (Rogue One, which also has my favorite SW ship and two of my favorite SW characters in Cassian and Jyn). It's also produced two more films that I very much liked (though only one of those still remains high in my estimation tbh), and a bunch of SW material that is not really the SW that plays in my mind, but at least fun and interesting to think about with the very glaring exception of TROS. I never had any investment in Legends, either, so for me the Disney era is not some huge loss.

I say all of this to emphasize that I'm not a kneejerk Disney SW hater. Nevertheless, I'm actually very disappointed with DLF's tendency to emphasize how ground-breaking and diverse and ~challenging some new SW media thing is without doing much to support the people involved or appearing to foresee that a fanbase prone to bigotry, nostalgia, and throwing screaming temper tantrums for decades on end is not going to react well. This is in no way an excuse for those fans, but DLF does not seem to ever predict how SW fans will respond despite their well-documented history of responding really badly to anything that remotely challenges them.

I love SW and I love my personal friends in SW fandom, but there have always been a significant number of vocally hateful and reactionary SW fans who manage to shape the discourse around basically everything in it. This is completely predictable. The fact that DLF seems completely unprepared for this reaction every time they give central roles behind and in front of the camera to women and/or POC, and also appears to do very little to support the actual RL marginalized people they hire when not just cravenly giving in to the worst elements of the SW fanbase (*cough*TROS*cough*) is incredibly frustrating.

Yeah, this is about DLF's poor handling of eminently predictable fan tantrums over The Acolyte which has just culminated in cancelling it after a bare eight episodes, but it's happened so many times at this point. The Acolyte was far from perfect but after how visibly unprepared DLF were for the raging bigotry directed at Kelly Marie Tran, John Boyega, and Daisy Ridley, or how weird people were about Solo, or the misogynoir surrounding the response to Reva in Obi-Wan Kenobi, or or or—they absolutely could and should have known that something like The Acolyte was going to need a lot of higher-level support to have any chance of success. At the very least there's no excuse for being surprised at this point.

And it feels a bit like it, and the actual people involved in it, were never really given a fair shot and the real higher investment is going to be in, like, Baby Yoda 4: Now With More Ewoks.

My friends and I just finished our first run of Jedi: Survivor, which we really, really liked, but there is definitely a tragic white boy protagonist propped up by POC and/or women (many now dead!) aspect to the whole thing that feels essential to its popularity. And it is frustrating and disappointing and all the more so because it's so eminently foreseeable at this point.

#a show centered on morally ambiguous women of color with two moms #who ultimately challenge the fandom's stoic jedi power fantasy ideal ... who could have expected fan outrage???#OH WAIT ANYONE literally anyone could have #anghraine babbles #anghraine rants #star wars #sw fanwank #cw racism #cw misogyny #long post #tv: the acolyte

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coraniaid · 1 year

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Jenny and Giles were only a couple for a total of sixteen episodes and still managed to have two awkward and emotionally devastating break-ups (even if the writers couldn’t quite explain why one of them was happening). And there were still one hundred and fifteen episodes left of the series to go when Jenny died! So simple arithmetic tells us that if Jenny had survived up to Chosen, we could have watched that happen at least fourteen more times.

Here are my candidates:

Season 3

Teenage Ripper and Janna do not get on at all, but this does not stop them awkwardly having sex on top of a police car. They’re both so embarrassed about it afterwards that they don’t talk to each other for a month.

Jenny breaks up with Giles for the second time this season when she finds out about his role in the Cruciamentum. Buffy’s attempt to persuade her that it was all fine really and she doesn’t have any hard feelings about it and that Giles is still the best father figure she’s ever had is, funnily enough, not quite as helpful as she thinks. (They get back together in The Zeppo but we don’t get to see how it happens, only that Xander walks in at a very awkward moment and leaves in a hurry.)

Jenny has not exchanged more than two sentences with Faith all season (because she’s somehow worked out that Faith thinks she’s cool and doesn’t want to shatter her illusions), which is why it’s only after Faith defects to the Mayor that she realizes Giles had let one of the Slayers he’d agreed to look after live out of a motel for half a year. They break up again.

Buffy and Angel break up for the last time in The Prom and the writers decide it would be a good thematic parallel to have Jenny and Giles break up again too. They can’t think of a good in-universe reason for this to happen, given that they’ve only just gotten back together again, but figure that: hey, that never stopped them before.

Season 4

Jenny breaks up with Giles five minutes into their Thanksgiving meal and walks right out of the house. It takes him a few months to work out why.

Giles breaks up with Jenny when she helps Ethan escape being captured by the US military. She’s outraged by this because it’s both obviously the right thing to do and something that she thought Giles himself was trying to signal her to do all episode.

Giles breaks up with Jenny again during The Yoko Factor. This does not have anything to do with Spike, who has been moderately terrified of Jenny all season ever since she threatened to give him a soul, but just something Giles does out of habit whenever he’s unduly stressed.

Season 5

While discussing how the monks changed everyone’s memories to fit Dawn in, Jenny and Giles remember an argument about books and computers they’d had back in Season 1. They both remember it very slightly differently and end up relitigating it all episode, eventually culminating in a fully-fledged row in which they both say things they can’t take back. (This memory wasn’t changed by the monks at all and doesn’t have anything to do with Dawn anyway.)

Technically Jenny and Giles co-own the magic shop, but somehow Anya still ends up doing all the work. Sometimes Anya offers them helpful relationship advice: this usually ends up with her being temporarily fired.

Jenny is a little bit too enthusiastic about agreeing to teach Dawn magic. When Giles warns her that Dawn might try to use her newfound magical knowledge to bring her recently dead mother back Jenny rolls her eyes and says yes, obviously, that’s the whole point. This doesn’t go well.

If Jenny finds out about Giles killing Ben she would not even think about breaking up with him over it, but rather view it as an entirely reasonable and pragmatic thing to do and something that Ben definitely had coming. That doesn’t stop Giles somehow talking himself into breaking up with Jenny so that she can never find out his terrible dark secret.

Season 6

Yeah, there’s no way Jenny’s voluntarily going to England (or that she’s on board with what Giles is proposing to do to Buffy). Guess what she does instead.

Not technically a break-up, but at some point after Xander and Anya’s wedding, Jenny lets slip that she’s been married to Giles since sometime in Season 3 and they never got around to divorcing at any point since. The idea simply didn’t occur to them. They just didn’t tell anyone about the marriage because they didn’t want to make a big scene. (They’re still not speaking at this point.)

Season 7

For some reason Jenny decides to prove that Giles is the First by punching him in the jaw as hard as she can. It’s the first time she’s seen him in over a year. When he regains consciousness she preemptively breaks up with him out of embarrassment even though technically they weren’t dating at this point.

Jenny fully agrees with and supports Robin Wood’s plan to take revenge on the vampire that killed a beloved family member, even if said vampire now has a soul, but breaks up with Giles about it anyway because he refuses to accept how hypocritical he’s being about the whole thing.

Everyone else is hooking up and tentatively rebuilding emotional connections ahead of the big apocalyptic final battle, but Giles and Jenny are mature adults, not silly fickle young people. They have another big argument and spend the rest of the episode refusing to speak to each other. Like grown-ups.

(Also Jenny saves Anya’s life in the final fight against the First Evil. This doesn’t have anything to do with her relationship with Giles, it’s just important to mention that Anya survives the episode. Also Tara and Cordelia are there too and they’re both doing fine. Why wouldn’t they be?)

#btvs

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buckevantommy · 4 months

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What fic tropes do you most want to see for bucktommy?

big fan of hurt/comfort and some angst, which i think we will get.

i want them to be settled in their relationship and be solid and be each other's home, and then comes the angst, but not in a way that threatens their relationship, more like: one of them gets hurt on the job for physical hurt/comfort - i would love to see tommy get hurt actually, and buck stays at his place to take care of him; proof that this capable brickhouse of a guy is not invincible. and he struggles to let himself be taken care of, and evan helps him realise that he has people who care about him - not just buck; maybe eddie visits! chim! hen! he's been on his own for so long he's quite self sufficient but buck isn't having it; this allows for some first fight potential, where tommy insists he can do it himself (bc he doesn't want to be a burden or seem weak) and buck being frustrated and a little hurt that tommy doesn't want him in his space or want his help, which makes buck feel like he's being too much and caring too much.. but they work it out! but maybe before they do we get chim/hen/eddie paying tommy a visit to check on him but moreover spend time with him and also talk things out a bit; tommy realising it's okay to let people in (chim would be perfect for this callback).

and tommy dealing with his asshole father for some emotional hurt/comfort - i just really want to see a less coolcalmcollected tommy, and i think buck seeing that and being there for him and tommy realising he has someone to lean on will strengthen their relationship.

and early season 8 with gerrard in charge is perfect for some emotional support and understanding: tommy being there for buck as he vents. and tommy confronting gerrard (not just about his treatment of evan and the 118 but about who he is and how he does not deserve to be a captain at all) which doesn't go well and brings up a lot of issues for tommy (his past self, his father and upbringing, etc) and results in him being riled and losing some of that cool calm composure buck is so used to - maybe we get buck finding tommy at the gym, or tommy and eddie doing muay thai because tommy needs the release. and eventually we get buck calming him down or tommy running out of steam and breaking down a little.

(this is all very tommy-centric i know, i just want more of him! more screentime! more emotional variation! more character and relationship growth!)

and as much as i want them to be a solid couple, i want there to be moments of uncertainty: jealous buck when he sees tommy is friendly with one of his exes or sees a guy flirting with tommy. tommy being so sure about a future with evan -has never been more sure of anyone in his life- but holding himself back because he doesn't want to move too fast for both their sakes - but he opens up by the end of the ep and it culminates in him asking evan to move in with him.

open and honest communication is integral to their relationship so i don't really want to see any secret keeping, but i could see one of them keeping a secret about the gerrard/ortiz drama to spare the other one worry or to keep them out of the crosshairs. but it won't be a lingering issue, preferably sorted in an ep or two.

also just: gimme friendship for tommy! gimme tommy and chim and hen and eddie hanging out (separately or together) because we know they're friends. gimme tommy and karen, tommy and maddie brunch dates - with jee! gimme tommy babysitting jee and the others! would also love to see some of tommy's coworkers and friends. basically let tommy have some platonic relationships because it's important to show he has a place in the 118 extended family even when evan isn't in the mix, and that he has a life outside the 118 too.

since tommy is a first responder i think it's a safe bet we'll see him working with the 118 at some point - lafd is linked from the streets to the skies - maybe buck doing a rope rescue out of the chopper or tommy rescuing buck and some civilians from a cliffside or highrise. maybe the 118 responding to a chopper crash. so many scenarios they could give us, and i want tommy working with the rest of the 118, too.

#the mind reels nonny i want so much..... 🤲🫠#bucktommy #evantommy #wishlist #911 abc #.txt #asks

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estapa-edwards · 6 months

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DRAFT DAY - A.FANTILLI

paring: adam fantilli x fem! reader

word count: 1.6k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n.

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The car was filled with a palpable tension as Adam and I made our way to the draft venue. The streets of Tennessee were bustling with activity, but inside the car, it felt like time had slowed down, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness.

Adam sat beside me, staring out the window with a look of deep concentration on his face. I reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey," I said softly, trying to break the silence. "Are you okay?"

Adam turned to look at me, his eyes meeting mine. He took a deep breath, his grip tightening around my hand. "Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, his voice tinged with nervousness. "Just trying to take it all in, you know? This is a big moment."

I nodded, squeezing his hand once more. "I know it is, Adam. But remember, no matter what happens today, I'm so proud of you. You've worked incredibly hard to get to this point, and no matter where you end up, you're going to do amazing things."

Adam smiled, his eyes softening. "Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot to me. I couldn't have done any of this without you by my side."

As the car continued to weave through the city streets, the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. The draft represented the culmination of years of hard work and dedication for Adam, and the weight of the moment was not lost on either of us.

"I'm really excited to see where you end up," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Any team would be lucky to have you."

Adam chuckled, his nerves slightly easing. "Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate that. Honestly, I'm just excited to finally know where I'll be playing and to start this new chapter in my life."

As we approached the venue, the excitement and energy of the event began to seep through the car windows. Fans dressed in team jerseys lined the streets, cheering and waving signs in support of their favorite teams. Reporters and camera crews were everywhere, capturing the anticipation and excitement of the day.

The car came to a stop in front of the venue, and for a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Adam turned to me, his eyes filled with determination and excitement.

"Here goes nothing," he said, leaning in to kiss me softly.

"Good luck, Adam," I whispered as he pulled away, my heart filled with pride and excitement for what the future held.

With one final reassuring squeeze of my hand, Adam opened the car door and stepped out, ready to face whatever the draft had in store for him.

As I watched him walk towards the entrance, a wave of emotions washed over me. Today was a big day for Adam, a day that would change the course of his life forever. And as nervous as I was for him, I knew that he was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the car door and followed Adam into the venue, ready to support him every step of the way on this incredible journey.

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The room was buzzing with excitement and tension. Everywhere I looked, people were chattering, cameras were flashing, and reporters were eagerly awaiting the moment. But amidst all the chaos, my eyes were fixed on one person—Adam.

We had been dating for a while now, and I couldn't be prouder of him. Today was the culmination of years of hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. Getting drafted into the NHL was a dream come true for him, and I was beyond thrilled to be by his side on this monumental day.

As the time neared for the draft to begin, Adam squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Are you nervous?" he asked, his eyes meeting mine.

"A little," I admitted, "but mostly excited. This is your day, Adam. I'm so proud of you."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. "Thanks, Y/N. Having you here means the world to me."

Before I could respond, the draft began, and the room fell into a hushed silence. Each team took their turn announcing their picks, and with every passing moment, the tension in the room grew.

Finally, it was the Columbus Blue Jackets' turn to announce their pick. My heart was pounding as I held Adam's hand tightly, waiting for his name to be called.

"With the third overall pick, the Columbus Blue Jackets are proud to select...Adam Fantilli!"

As his name echoed throughout the room, Adam turned to me with a beaming smile. Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed me passionately, the weight of the moment sinking in. The room erupted into applause and cheers, but in that moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. Pulling away, Adam looked at me with tears in his eyes. "We did it," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

"No, you did it" I replied, tears of joy streaming down my face. "I'm so proud of you, Adam. You deserve this more than anyone."

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of interviews, photo shoots, and celebrations. Adam was swarmed by reporters wanting to get his thoughts on being drafted and his plans for the future. Through it all, he remained humble and gracious, always taking the time to thank his family, teammates, and coaches for their support.

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Interviewer: "Congratulations, Adam, on being drafted third overall by the Columbus Blue Jackets! How are you feeling right now?"

Adam: "Thank you! I'm feeling incredibly excited and grateful for this opportunity. It's a dream come true for me."

Interviewer: "You've had an amazing journey to get to this point. Can you talk a bit about the support system you've had along the way?"

Adam: "Absolutely. My family has been my rock throughout this entire process. My older brother, Luca, has always been there for me, pushing me to be the best version of myself both on and off the ice. He's been a huge influence on my career, and I'm so grateful to have him in my life."

Interviewer: "That's wonderful to hear. And what about your girlfriend, Y/N? We saw her cheering for you in the audience. How important has she been in your journey to the NHL?"

Adam: "Y/N has been incredible. She's been with me through all the ups and downs, always supporting me and believing in me, even when I doubted myself. Having her by my side today was really special, and I can't thank her enough for everything she's done for me."

Interviewer: "It sounds like you have an amazing support system. What are you most looking forward to as you begin your career with the Columbus Blue Jackets?"

Adam: "I'm really excited to join such a great organization and to start this new chapter in my life. I'm looking forward to working hard, improving my game, and hopefully making a positive impact on the team. I can't wait to get started."

Interviewer: "Well, Adam, we're excited to see what the future holds for you. Congratulations again on being drafted, and best of luck in your NHL career!"

Adam: "Thank you so much!"

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The hotel room was a welcome sanctuary from the whirlwind of the day. As the door clicked shut behind us, the noise and excitement of the outside world seemed to fade away, leaving just Adam and me in our own little bubble.

Adam let out a long sigh, sinking down onto the plush sofa in the corner of the room. I followed suit, sitting beside him and taking a moment to catch my breath.

"What a day," Adam said, running a hand through his hair. His eyes still held the sparkle of excitement, but there was also a hint of exhaustion there.

"It was incredible," I agreed, leaning my head on his shoulder. "But also a bit overwhelming, don't you think?"

He chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around me. "Definitely. But having you by my side made it all worthwhile."

I smiled, looking up at him. "I'm so proud of you, Adam. You handled everything so gracefully today."

He smiled back, his eyes softening. "Thanks, Y/N. I couldn't have done it without you."

We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's company and the quietude of the room. The soft glow of the city lights streamed in through the window, casting a gentle ambiance over the space.

Finally, Adam broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "So, what's next for us? Any plans for celebrating?"

I grinned, leaning back to look at him. "Well, I thought we could order some room service, maybe watch a movie, and just relax. How does that sound?"

Adam's face lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect."

I picked up the phone and ordered some food, choosing a selection of our favorite dishes to indulge in. As we waited for our meal to arrive, Adam scrolled through the TV channels, eventually settling on a classic movie that we both loved.

When the food arrived, we made ourselves comfortable on the bed, digging into the delicious spread while watching the movie. The atmosphere was relaxed and cozy, a stark contrast to the excitement and chaos of the day.

As the movie played on, Adam pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly against him. I nestled into his embrace, feeling a sense of contentment and happiness wash over me.

"I love you, Y/N," Adam whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

"I love you too, Adam," I replied, smiling up at him.

We continued to watch the movie, our hearts full and our minds at ease. It had been an unforgettable day, filled with highs and lows, excitement and anticipation. But now, as we sat together in the comfort of our hotel room, all that mattered was the love we shared and the promise of a bright future ahead.

#adam fantilli #adam fantilli x reader #columbus blue jackets #nhl x reader #michigan

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l0v3tast3 · 2 years

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141 x young! Reader that can do the rock face and does it to them when they're in an argument.

Like shes on the counter, trying to reach for the cookies on the top shelf and someone walks in and sees her.

They tell her to get down and all they're met with is:

Sorry if this is a weird rq

✎ this is weird but in a wonderful way

✎ tags: gender neutral reader, young military reader, fluff, not proofread im too cool for that as usual

♡ the first time you do it is when you hear kyle say he just discovered a show or movie that you also like. you drawl an excited, "oh really?" and raise your eyebrow with a slight turn of your head.

♡ he starts laughing because he recognizes the meme, and you two go on further about your new shared interest. the other three men are left confused and a tiny bit disturbed.

♡ price, soap, and ghost break off into their own conversation, not really acknowledging it, brushing it off as another one of the little "things" you do. they had known you long enough at this point to know not to question you too much.

♡ you start doing it a lot more. price asks you what you think of the hat when soap is once again trying to get him to take it off, and you make the face. ghost actually lets you borrow one of his books, and you make the face (out of disbelief, he took the book back). soap says he wants to watch something you don't really want to watch on the tv when you two are hanging out on your off hours, and you make the face.

♡ when it's just the four men together and you're off doing something else, they ask kyle just what the hell is the deal with that face you make. kyle asks what they mean and soap tries to demonstrate (not very well). kyle shows them the video of the rock doing it. soap thinks it's hilarious while simon and price are just sitting there like "what... the fuck?"

♡ one day it culminates in the form of you climbing on the counters. simon had moved your hoard of snacks to the highest shelf, of course, and the nearest chair was way too far away (there was one close enough to turn around and grab without taking a step).

♡ in walks ghost and price while you're just about to go from kneeling on the counters to standing on them. ghost grunts out "i put 'em up there for a reason!" and you whip your head around, eyebrow already raised.

♡ your expression turns into one of anger as he picks you up under your arms and hauls you off of the counter. you're like a cat, practically bristling as you squirm around. he plops you down and very gently cuffs the back of your head. "you're fuckin' weird, kid," is all you get while he grabs one of your snacks and walks out. price snickers and follows him out.

♡ you make sure to only do it to simon from then on.

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helios-writings · 11 months

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There are some days when Shanks feels bad about not being able to give you the life he thinks you deserve. Days where you and he barely see each other because the pair of you are working overtime. Days where the two of you sit at the table, stressed about what bills you can cover and what you’ll have to live without.

Others days, he knows, are better. Curled up in each others arms on your days off, the smell of breakfast cooking even though its two in the afternoon. Still, he’d always dreamed about giving you a life of luxury, about spoiling you and making sure you didn’t have to work another shitty job if you didn’t want to. He’s not quite there yet, but he hopes one day he will be.

The two of you are walking hand in hand through the richer shopping district, windowshopping in all the pricier stores that give him hives just thinking about stopping in, but he loves the way you smile as you envision how you would decorate the foyer of your fictional mansion with a giant gold and crystal chandelier.

He laughs, not at you, but at the absurdity of it. “What would we need with something like that, huh?”

You shrug. “Sometimes things are just nice to have.”

He’d buy you a million of those ugly things if it meant making you happy.

Instead, Shanks points to something else. “And where would you put this?”

“Our living room, right next to the giant comfy couch, so I can admire it while I sit next to you.”

The two of you carry on like this, until you find a cozy old antique shop buried inbetween two high end boutiques.

“Lets go in here.” He tells you, stopping you with a gentle tug on your hand.

“Antiques? I didn’t know you liked old stuff like that.”

“I had a crush on our high school math teacher, didn’t I?”

You roll your eyes. “And yet, you’re here with me.”

He elbows you playfully in the side. “Well, she couldn’t compare to you.”

You just laugh and head inside the store.

The inside smells like dust and the culmination of other peoples belongings, but he’s drawn to the jewelry shelf towards the entrance, whilst you wander off by yourself down one of the countless aisles. The shelf holds many pieces of jewelry, but what catches his eye is a pair of wedding rings, obviously on the older side, but the feeling hits him so fast, it feels like his heart has fallen to his feet.

Shanks had never thought about proposing to you. Not in a “terrified of marriage” way, but to him you already were. But, standing in that store, the need had never been more apparent, and the rings were within his budget. It felt like a sign from on high, even if you were the one who believed in signs like that.

You both left the store half an hour later, his wallet a bit lighter, but pocket heavier.

You make dinner that night, something simple, but delicious and Shanks, never one to second guess himself, jumps right in.

“I want to marry you.”

Your eyes widen as you nearly spit out your drink. “Wh-“

He pulls the rings out and continues. “I know you didn’t dream about living in a one bedroom apartment with shitty heating and cooling, and that you deserve better than I can give you, but I promise you that you’ll have it one day. Whatever you want, a big house, dogs or cats, a huge ugly gold and crystal chandelier in the foyer. I want to give that all to you.”

You take his hand in yours. “Shanks, baby, we may not live the life you think we deserve, but I live the life I want with you every day. I don’t care about any of that stuff, not really. So what if our heating breaks in the middle of winter? So what if I can’t have a big yard or house? I’d rather have you.”

He feels his eyes get a little misty and he turns away. “I’m not the one who’s supposed to be crying here.”

You roll your eyes and slip one of the rings on. “I’ll marry you.”

He kisses you deep, a grin on his face that won’t go away no matter how hard he tries.

The wedding takes place in a court house, costing no more than 120 dollars and the two of you wearing the nicest clothes you can afford, but its perfect and neither of you would dream of anything else, not when you have each other. This is the life you deserve, and he can give it to you after all.

#drabble #daylightarchive #fandom☀️: one piece #character☀️: shanks #shanks x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #sunbathing with: shanks

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omegalomania · 7 months

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What are some of your favorite aro-/ace-coded fob lyrics?

oh fuck yes a little bowl of seeds just for me

boycott love from disloyal order of water buffaloes is a personal favorite of mine. its a lyric i really really want tattooed at some point. that's not the only lyric i latch onto from an aro perspective but it's probably the biggest one

basically the entirety of it's hard to say "i do" when i don't but a special mention goes to you are appealing to emotions that i simply do not have as well as the only ring i want buried with me are the ones around my eyes

it's true romance is dead / i shot it in the chest and in the head from the music or the misery is also a favorite of mine, also just that whole song in general

i thought i loved you but it was just how you looked in the light in hum hallelujah resonates with a lot of queer folks i've found, and it's no different for me

same goes for it's a strange way of saying that i know i'm supposed to love you from g.i.n.a.s.f.s.

i'm outside the door, invite me in / so we can go back and play pretend from alone together brings me back to when i was trying to perform heteronormativity/amatonormativity even if it was making me miserable

i also hold to a very similar vibe with she said "i love you 'till i don't" / i am just playing house, no idea what i'm doing now from sunshine riptide and also most of burna boy's verse, frankly. i fell in love but i didn't fall down and feel like i'm bulletproof, baby in particular

american beauty/american psycho, particularly the first verse. i think i fell in love again / maybe i just took too much cough medicine

golden is a big one for queer folks in general i've found. the chorus especially hits hard from an aro and/or ace reading. and i saw god cry in the reflection of my enemies / and all the lovers with no time for me

i've got a dark alley and a bad idea that says you should shut your mouth is a heavy song no matter how you slice it. but that chorus gets to me in particular: we can fake it for the airwaves / force our smiles, baby, half-dead / from comparing myself to everyone else around me

the kids aren't alright reads to me as one big anthem for platonic love above anything romantic, which resonates super hard with me. the second verse has a lot of good lines that i latch onto from an aroace lens too. your love is anemic and i can't believe / that you couldn't see it coming from me

pretty much the whole chorus of HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON'T does it for me, and those verses have got some good aroallo vibes too! i never really feel a thing... confidants but never friends...

the whole of fake out is a gimme. that chorus rings real true. starts with love is in the air, i just gotta find a window to break out and finishing with but it was all a fake-out

i've got all this ringing in my ears and none on my fingers is one that has another highly applicable title but the whole refrain of the truth hurts worse / than anything i could bring myself to do to you paired with the one-two punch of that second verse REALLY gets under my skin

and of course, the culminating one: you are what you love, not who loves you from save rock and roll. obviously there are a LOT of ways to read that line

there are a couple other songs i latch onto - wilson (expensive mistakes); a little less "sixteen candles", a little more "touch me"; the (after) life of the party to name a few - but the ones listed above are the big lyrics that resonate with me on a personal level

just in general i have a shitton of fob over on my aro playlist (which doubles as a general aroace/queer playlist but has a lot of emphasis on aromanticism) in case i forgot to mention anything but like i said those are the big ones

#askin hours #anon #happy aro awareness week lol ive had this in my drafts for mONTHS and forgot about it #sorry it took so long to answer i have a million asks in my inbox and just do not have time most days #go listen to aromanticism by moses sumney for black history month and aro awareness week btw #now THAT there is an album that rewrote my neural chemistry

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thesherrinfordfacility · 1 year

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i did not break my own heart last night thinking about the missing 1941 scene and have it sat in my brain all of today spinning around like a fucking microwave in order to not make you lot suffer with me. and i somehow feel i may be right about this so buckle up and lets break it down.

so yes, following on from this post, i think that there is going to be a third 1941 scene. twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. it's been literally set up like that by even bringing back 1941 into s2 in the first place. but we're missing a crucial detail because it does not - at all, really - explain how they went from evading danger from hell and having a cosy candlelit bottle of red to celebrate, to the bastard 1967 scene. we all know this, this is nothing new.

the symbolism of nightingales is probably going to cast a shadow on this. these two excellent analyses look at the meaning of nightingales in the context of R&J, and the relation that the song has to this point in time, respectively. in summary; it's a song that should be around in 1941 courtesy of vera lynn and others, and the nightingale itself carries the meaning of love being hidden and forbidden by way of it singing under the cover of darkness, before being replaced with reality and soberness - represented by the lark. the Dinner of '41 scene is set in the bookshop at night; this would parallel - that they are safe and concealed, and truths can be shared, but the writing is on the wall that stepping outside would be to shatter the illusion, so to speak. it might be that the song itself gets miracled up onto the record player, or a wireless lying about - whatever. note: i don't think they'll dance though, not given crowley in ep5, "you don't dance"... but then again, if there ISNT a kiss in s3-1941, an aborted dance seems like the next best option... the cowardly one, but i'll take it

this would also track with aziraphale having his epiphany after the church in s1-1941; specifically, in my eyes, that he doesn't necessarily just realise he loves crowley, but that crowley by way of saving his books loves him too. this is only supported by the whole of the s2-1941 scene of trusting in each other as the only way to pull off the trick, the subterfuge. this is then, again, also important in the context of what i think happens in s3-1941.

i do think aziraphale is going to bring the books up again, and what crowley did, because it needs to be addressed. the Nazis/furfur confrontation has scared him, regardless of whether he saved them both, more than he realised. its put things into startling perspective. i think he's going to bring up the books, and actually question crowley a little more as to why he did it. the repeated use of, and subsequent weird reaction crowley has to, the use of the term "friend" in s2-1941 would indicate that this is going to be a focal point in s3-1941. are they just friends? is crowley disappointed that aziraphale is still referring to him as that, after what he did? 'saving' aziraphale in the church, and then saving his books? or is aziraphale just saying 'friends' so hesitantly in both instances because he's not completely sure where crowley stands?

we as the audience know the answer to this, but they obviously do not. if one of the crucial themes of s3 is going to be resolving miscommunication, it makes sense for this scene to be the first, and last, time they communicate properly... at least, until they sort out the issues that culminated in the Final Fifteen.

so let's say they start getting into a very roundabout way of discussing what they mean to each other. there will need to be the sobering, ice-water-over-the-head realisation however, as s2-1941 demonstrated, that they cannot belong to each other, because they manifestly belong to heaven and hell respectively. crowley is still being spied on, and it firmly places aziraphale in their line of sight too. it's going to bring up the holy water discussion; why crowley asked for it - to protect himself, whether by taking out demons or taking out himself, as long as it means he - and most importantly, aziraphale - does not get hurt.

they actively confess that they want to be together, in a way that is more than they are now. aziraphale wants to, but says that they can't, because it's too dangerous. crowley suggests that no one ever has to know, they can hide it (there, in the bookshop, whilst the nightingale is singing), and even if they are found out, they can run. "hell won't just be angry; they'll destroy you..." // "no one ever has to know".

aziraphale doesn't want to have to hide it, doesn't want a halfway measure- is still thinking in black and white. crowley however thinks that something is better than nothing - thinking in the grey. but ultimately, as long as they are still shackled, they cannot do what they want, and it puts the other in danger. "surely the great thing about being a demon is that you can do whatever you want" // "you sound jealous, angel...". instead, aziraphale promises that the day that they are no longer tied to heaven or hell, they can be together; crowley scoffs, thinking that that will never happen, so they will never happen, "you're so clever! how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!"

the reason they can't right now is because they could be caught. they would have to skulk around, be ashamed, feel guilty - and aziraphale is tired of feeling like that. because only having crowley in secret would hurt more. not being able hold his hand, or dance with him, or kiss him, unless it was in the bookshop. if hell were to find out, crowley would be killed, true, but if heaven were to find out, aziraphale could be cast out. and if crowley survived hell long enough to see aziraphale fall - he'd never forgive himself, and in a way, i don't think he'd ever forgive aziraphale either.

it's tearing them to pieces, but they have to stop whatever is happening between them in its tracks. it's acknowledged, but it's not named. this gives them plausible deniability; if they called it 'love', it would be undeniable. so, aziraphale asks for crowley to go; asks him to leave before they do something they can't come back from. crowley doesn't listen - crowds him, gets in close, and aziraphale is powerless to stop it. doesn't want to stop it. he's selfish by nature, a selfless kind of selfishness, but he wants this with all his being. and then - "this is too fast, crowley, please don't..." // "im sorry, angel. please... please, forgive me". aziraphale never gets to answer, to grant him that, because boom - the actual first kiss.

so. now that i've had to make you read that, i'm going in for the kill. let's look at everything that follows - and look at how the above might recontextualise it.

1967: the offer of the picnic, the Ritz? ie. the literal lyrics of berkeley square? aziraphale has caved in the interest of giving crowley a weapon to use if all else fails, to protect him, but that's as far as he's willing to progress. everything else is still too painful; he's on the brink of tears, promising that one day they'll be able to do what they want, to be open about how they feel, but not yet. they can't. crowley tries to push, "ill give you a lift, anywhere you want to go..." (him offering again to run away? a second chance to leg it?), and aziraphale reminding him that they can't, he can't... don't make him go too fast again, it's not fair. it also sets up perfectly that aziraphale and crowley don't speak for the next 40 or so years (as far as we're aware) until armageddon is threatened.

bandstand: mostly this is still centred around the apocalypse contextually, but i think with the above hypothetical scene in mind (the offer to hide, to run away, to be together), aziraphale is sent back to remembering their mutual confession that they've nonverbally agreed not to bring up, because it's not safe, and it's too painful. they've skirted around it, and returned instead to a tentative kind of friendship at the beginning of s1, but they're still not safe to address why seeing each other again, being so close to each other and not being able to touch is so painful. anyway - aziraphale refuses their side, but the above scene would re-view this as 'our side can't exist yet, you know this! you know why it can't!', and crowley leaves, again after pushing a bit more than aziraphale can stand.

alpha centauri: basically a facsimile of the above; same steps, same dance. but this time, crowley harks back to aziraphale's foolish (?) hope that they will be together, without having to run away, when the day comes that they don't have to answer to heaven or hell. and aziraphale smacks him right back, echoing crowley asking for aziraphale's forgiveness in kissing him, "i forgive you." crowley knows exactly what aziraphale is getting at, there - he's answering crowley's whispered plea to forgive him for pushing, for trying to force him, for acting in desperation. but he's also not answering that - he's skirting around that very thing, forgiving him like a knife would, slicing back at crowley for not only insulting aziraphale on something that is likely a genuine insecurity of his, but also putting him back in his place, for their safeties, because them being together just cannot happen. not yet.

and "please forgive me" in 1941 might seem out of character, but idk if it is; crowley knows that doing what he's about to do will hurt aziraphale, aziraphale has (hypothetically) told him as much, but he needs to do it - and seeks not benevolence or forgiveness as crowley-the-demon, but actually seems aziraphale's forgiveness, as crowley-the-person. the echo would certainly match the tone given here, in multiple ways:

the ritz: i mean, what is there to say? yes, their song is literally playing on the piano, and heralds the shift in their being out from heaven and hell, the day has finally come where they can - again, going by this entirely hypothetical scene that ive concocted - actually be together as they want to. and the nightingale literally singing outside, but as @shoemakerobstetrician beautifully pointed out, god remarks that it's covered up by traffic. so actually, if we again refer back to R&J interpretation of the nightingale, the love is still hidden, still somewhat under wraps, but can only just about be heard over the noise of the streets outside. the prohibition of them being together, of loving each other, is dwindling. and one day, it'll stop singing altogether. that day is coming, it will come, and then they can do what they please. so whilst the ritz scene may well be a mark of them starting the next chapter, it's slow to take hold, there's still hesitancy - which absolutely makes sense when we see that they are still very tentative with each other come the beginning of s2.

s2 general: aziraphale realises their freedom first; he gets excited by the dance, and being able to show his love to crowley, completely and without barriers, in the form of the ball - what he has read to be the best way to do so. he touches crowley more. he shares his bookshop with him, gifts it to crowley as being his as well as aziraphale's, this safe space that is so wholly theirs that crowley has the power to grant entry. the same with the bentley - aziraphale sees it as theirs, and crowley silently agrees, granting aziraphale the same power. crowley is comfortable in the bookshop to remove his glasses, has a place for them. the bookshop becomes tidier, more minimalist, to make crowley more comfortable in it (it is more cluttered in s1, im certain of it). it might just be the grading between s1 and s2, and lack of clutter, but the yellow is more prominent - his literal favourite colour. everything just screams that aziraphale is ready to make good on his promise from s3-1941.

crowley... for once, is the one not quite catching up. not realising the little dates here and there are literally poses them as a couple (although yes, the coffee shop one is to prep crowley for the goob jumpscare), that aziraphale has granted him the power to grant entry. aziraphale literally asking, practically begging, crowley to help him hide goob. the mf colour of the walls. the colour of the bentley. it's not until nina outright asks him if they are together that he realises how careless they've been - but wait, is it careless if they have nothing to be careful of? well, arguably crowley does, hell are still hanging around him like a bad smell... but this is what he wanted! this is what he was pushing aziraphale for! so, does he risk it? he's not sure, but he's certainly realising that aziraphale is ready, if nothing else. and by the time the ladies stage their little intervention, crowley finally realises that the confession he started in 1941 now can be fully aired, can come out into the open.

the Feral Domestic: *fingers at temples* i know i have been fairly vocal about my interpretation of this scene, and frankly - until we get this hypothetical s3-1941 scene, i stand by it - but let's say this speculation about the scene is true, and re-examine the key points in the Final Fifteen that would completely turn on their heads in terms of meaning:

literally, harking back full circle to what aziraphale promised in 1967 as what they would do when they could fully acknowledge their love, and what they did as soon as - on paper - they were free at the end of s1. this is however before he's spoken to by nina and maggie, so maybe this is what crowley was planning in terms of confessing fully to aziraphale, but after their meddling he realised that yes, they need to actually talk about it again. he doesn't understand why they're telling him what they are - because he's existed so long in gestures and gifts and not talking, literally dismissed it now as a viable option, that it doesn't even occur to him to try talking again.

which is why he does something brave, and tries to tell aziraphale instead (say it out loud, make it undeniable, put a name to it, "i love you", something that i think was crowley's actual intention before aziraphale interrupts him) when he comes back to the shop... he's so nervous, because it's vulnerable, and because the last time he did, they ended up hiding for 50-ish years.

next up:

now, im reluctant to think that aziraphale lied in the Feral Domestic, because i do think the key thing at work is his paramount need to do the Right Thing (ie. make a difference in heaven). whilst metatron obviously manipulates him, im not entirely convinced that aziraphale wholly sees through it. i don't think he knew that metatron was up to something, i think the shaking off of this naivety is going to be part of his s3 character development. but this sentence - again, especially in context of the hypothetical s3-1941 scene - must on some level frighten him. especially if you take this meta into account, aziraphale must realise at least that they were never safe, even when they were denying what they were and how they felt, it didn't make a bit of difference. now, metatron could have just been talking about the arrangement, not referring to any romantic elements of any kind, but the threat of it? no wonder he pushes for crowley to join him in heaven; he could keep crowley safe there. they could be together, and heaven - in his eyes - would be able to say a word against it.

then:

the fear sets in; crowley was too late in telling him, acknowledging that they could be together, realising what aziraphale was saying to him without words, and now heaven has come for him. plonked them right back where they were in s2-1941, but perversely mirrored; instead of hell coming for crowley with violence, heaven came for aziraphale with kindness. crowley doesn't have a magic trick he can just do on the fly, perform it perfectly when the need for it is greatest, and has to cling to the hope that aziraphale still sees them as the barrier to them, the reason they can't be together. and in true miscommunication fashion, i think aziraphale does see it, but what metatron said lingers, and in addition to being inside the institution, changing it from the inside out, in order to make a difference... he knows that whilst it's exactly the opposite of what they wanted, he needs to make them safe. better to be inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

but aziraphale doesn't tell crowley what metatron said, because instead he either deliberately tries to deny the implications of it (cognitive dissonance king behaviour), or he doesn't want to panic crowley and is trying to convey to crowley that he can't speak his concerns, not when the metatron could still be watching, and instead just needs crowley to trust him, take his hand, and join him in heaven where they can be safe. doesn't tell crowley that heaven hasn't captured him in shackles again, but he's willingly held out his wrists because it's the safest thing for him, and them, to do.

so it's one thing to look at what crowley's saying, but aziraphale's reaction? before, i just found it to be out of confusion, him not really understanding what crowley was saying, but tbh i never paid much attention to it (david stole this bit of the scene - not to put down my beloved michael here, but he did). and i know others have remarked here that aziraphale is flitting his eyes to the window and looks scared and stressed, but i don't completely think that its because he's scared that metatron is watching (although, now, i will accept with the rug thing and hypothetical s3-1941 in context it is definitely playing a part), but also because he's just starting to recognise that this is a repeat of the s3-1941 scene, "this sounds familiar, we've been here before... oh, we've definitely been here before... oh shit. i still can't do this, not unless he comes with me. we still can't be together, not in the way crowley wants. the way he's trying again, now, to ask for."

but the issue is: crowley wants to run away together. again. and i totally get why, but once again, going back to 1941: it's exactly the solution that will not work. they cannot run from this. heaven, and hell, will find them. they will come for them. it wasn't an option in 1941, it wasn't an option in 2019, and it isn't an option in 2023. aziraphale begins shaking his head - crowley is confessing, but a) aziraphale doesn't run from things, it isnt in his character, and b) it's just putting them back where they started - something that they have to hide. it defeats the purpose.

and this? yeah, im sure on neither side it was meant the way im about to interpret it, more of an unspoken thing, idk... but if the bookshop is indeed their place of safety, and is where they (as far as crowley sees it) can speak and keep their love, it makes sense that crowley is telling aziraphale he needs to stay. the bookshop can be interpreted so many ways - it represents their relationship, or that crowley means him, himself - but what if we looked at it like crowley is trying now to covet it, because it's protecting them? what if he's saying, "well, if you won't run away with me, we can't be free to have our relationship as we wanted it, not unless we stay here... heaven has come for you, has come for us, and whilst they're here we can't move. so what other option is left remain in this bookshop? to never leave it, and what we have inside it, because there's no other option in which we can be together if you won't run with me."

and what if aziraphale is saying, "no, i have an option, and that's to be together in heaven! they won't be able to do anything, not when im in the position the metatron has offered me, that can be our new bookshop... nothing lasts forever - this bookshop won't last forever, it's compromised, and we can't continue to secret away what we feel inside it, it's time to move forward."

welcome to the line that breaks my heart the most in this whole goddamn scene - and tbh i think is fairly self-explanatory in the hypothetical s3-1941 context. that aziraphale is trying, once again, to tell crowley that he is offering himself, letting them be an 'us', as crowley says shortly after - that before he couldnt do it, and these arent the best of circumstances, but they can finally do it and not have to hide in the bookshop. but crowley reminds him, "hey, i was in your shoes, remember. i wanted us to be together then, and you told me you couldn't, didn't want a halfway measure - well, now i don't either. and this will be a halfway measure, because i don't think us being together in heaven is going to go the way you hope it will. i understand a whole lot better than you do." in any case, it would explain why aziraphale choses this moment to look so devastated. this is what he promised crowley, but now crowley - to his mind, in the things left Unsaid - doesn't want it... him.

and then... back to the nightingales. they're not singing at all, not even under the rumble of traffic, like they were at the Ritz. they're completely absent - day has broken, the things unspoken have now been said, and there's no denying them anymore. from crowley's point of view, there was nothing to stop them this time, but if aziraphale won't run with him, then they have to go separate ways, because there is no other way. aziraphale knows there's the possibility that the only place they could actually be safe is heaven itself, that the bookshop was never as safe as they hoped it had been, but that crowley might actually come to see that. but the fact that crowley is resigned to just... returning to 'reality', to a world that's still turning where they aren't together? despite everything they've just said? "we could've been... us." well, that hurts.

and then... the kiss. now. im still of the mind that the kiss was an Issue. i definitely think it was meant out of love and desperation, and out of possibly being a goodbye. this would echo the hypothetical s3-1941 kiss... but it was hurtful. it was abrupt, and harsh, and not at all romantic (imo). it was possessive, and almost cruel. i do think still it was a last ditch attempt, a temptation, to get aziraphale to change his mind, before crowley leaves the shop and returns to the 'real world'. but it hurts aziraphale in many different ways - but with 1941 put in there, too? crowley is just testing his resolve, trying to push him, come around to giving in. crowley asked him to forgive him the last time he kissed aziraphale, and this time - this time, aziraphale is giving him what he asked for.

#did i just do a whole ass meta based off of a completely hypothetical non-existent hc of the third part of 1941?#yes - yes i did #but the Implications would not leave my brain #make of this what you will if you even got to the end and if you did frankly congratulations #good omens

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lilytii · 11 months

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My thoughts on Ascended vs. Non Ascended Astarion

HEAVY Spoiler Warnings ahead. If you've not completed the game, or if you do not want spoilers, do not read on!

Honestly, I was never planning on making a post like this, and generally I thought most people understood the differences between them. However, I’m seeing a bunch of people twist what both of these mean and are adamantly standing with these twisted meanings, which I feel does them both an injustice. This argument is addressing the romance with Astarion. If you’re just his ally/friend/colleague, most of this won’t matter much.

First and foremost, let me say this: If you like either of these endings, that’s great! I think they’re both tragic in their own right and indeed well written. I do not think anyone should be judged because of what they enjoy, from a fictitious game. I do not think that those who like Ascended need therapy, nor should they be shamed or judged in current relationships. I also do not believe that those who like non ascended route are weak hearted people who cannot handle a hot, evil romance. These are all personal preferences and you shouldn’t feel ashamed.

That being said, I think there are people who are misunderstanding, or refusing to accept what some of these endings mean for the character. I’m going to break things down, piece by piece and come to you with my conclusion. For this I’ll use a few different abbreviations to make things easier.

A.Astarion - Ascended Astarion

S.Astarion - Spawn Astarion

U/A- Unascended

Hopefully this will make things easier to understand and follow. Alright, let’s get into it, and apologies if this is long, this took me days to write and look over all the information I could culminate. I’ve seen many of the same points brought up over and over again, and some who argue various versions of the same argument. Instead of writing long winded responses to one response, I figure I’d write out all of my thoughts in one post and be done with it. There may be points that I miss, forget to address, and I apologize, there’s a lot of ground to cover.

First, let’s go over a few things about What we know about BG3 vampires, the Ascension ritual, and what all of this means.

I think it’s common that everyone knows BG3 is set in Faerun, which is a world setting for the game D&D. The game is running off 5E rules and guidelines, though there are many things that are changed to better suit a video game setting rather than table top. (i.e. short rests are instant, long rests are the only way time and events progress, etc.) That being said, 5e has a set of rules that exist more as guidelines. At the end of the day, everything is up to DM discretion. If the book says “ X works in X way” and the DM says “I don’t like that ruling, so I’m going to change it to work differently for my campaign,” that’s valid as long as everyone agrees and it remains consistent throughout.

That’s the beauty of this game, is everyone runs it a little differently, with their own set of understanding and rules. BG3 works the same, and as the player, you accept and acknowledge that and play to how it is.

The Vampires seem to be mostly following the lore and rule sets, but there are a few differences here and there. Mostly, the moment you turn into a spawn/vampire, you’re inherently evil. That’s it, end of story, alignment changed. It doesn’t seem to be the case in BG3 though, as you can see some of those who were spawns and recently changed, don’t seem to be fully evil. Astarion tells us of his past and it seemed he wasn’t entirely subscribed to the sudden alignment change. (Not to say that he doesn’t have evil tendencies, he’s very morally gray.) Even Cazador and the notes you find, in his earliest moments as a spawn, seemed to hold an ounce of who he was before he became a full fledged vampire. It seems that from what we see, the corruption is a slow burn, but inevitable, and Vampire spawns seem to have their souls. How do we know they have souls?

Astarion says that he might as well sell ‘what’s left of his soul’ to a devil, than to let Cazador have him again. The Ascension doesn’t just sacrifice these 7000 bodies, they don’t seem to be just ‘animated dead’, oddly enough they have souls that when they’re sacrificed, those souls go to hell to the demon that made the pact. Mephistopheles.

Raphael tells us all about it, and states it’s a rather grim tale, even for his tastes. This ritual is so foul, so diabolical, it has never been performed. The right of profane Ascension .Astarion’s soul, would be sacrificed. I Think, damning 7000 souls to hell in exchange for power, there’s no coming back from that. I mean, hell, Bhaal himself must be impressed, probably salivating at the amount of death and carnage in one go.

The Ascension gives Astarion a taste of power, he gets some boosts in combat, but the taint on him is already done. He was a pretty gray character before, now? Not so much. That ritual changes him deeply, and it is evident in how he presents himself and how he behaves. He is truly lost, and not a shadow of himself remains.

“He wants this, and he Approves when you let him ascend.”

Ah, Approval, the way to win the man’s heart! Yes, he approves in both scenarios, and he thanks you in both as well, however, context is Everything here.

Astarion, in that moment, is enticed by power and by the promise of safety. He acknowledges he was blinded by it, just as Cazador was. If you are romancing him, you must succeed a persuasion check that’s relatively low depending on your rating with him, and if he’s romanced.

A lot of people dismiss this and say the fact we have to talk him out of it, shows he did not want to stay a spawn and wanted to Ascend. He admits that he was blinded by his want in the moment. He may have wanted to ascend in that moment, because it promised him a life in which the world would bow to him. After all he’s been through, it’s not crazy to say that sure, he was blinded by the promise of now, not thinking of the consequences. How many times have you made an impulse decision because you wanted something now, because all you could see was the promise of a good time, without thinking of any repercussions? It’s human.

He goes on to say:

“But you saw something else in me- Someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago. You saved me back there. I may not have appreciated it at the time, but I do now. Thank you.”

I want to point out his body language. When Astarion is being serious, when he’s lowering the walls and the barriers to who he is, his movements are small. He smiles, his eyes soften, and he makes eye contact. When he says “but I do now,” he nods, affirming that he truly understands and appreciates what you did, stopping him from ascending. And then he gives a humble bow of his head saying ‘Thank you’.

“But Astarion thanks you on both occasions for giving him everything.”

As it was stated above, context is key. Yes, When he is turning you into a vampire spawn, A. Astarion does say “You’ve given me everything I ever wanted. Thank you.” I can see the case people would make to say this is what he wanted, and so he is sincerely thankful that we gave it to him. In either case, he’s happy.

I can understand the logic, but allow me to put it into a different perspective, if I may.

A drug addict is going through withdrawl and you have the drug they want. They crave it, they’re only focused on that drug and need the high to get through another day. They don’t address their addiction, they just need to score, so plead for you to give it to them. You cave in, give them their drug and they take it. They tell you “Thank you, this is what I wanted.” Is it sincere? Sure, they are really thankful for it, but did you help them? Was this really what was good for them?

Instead, when they beg you for the drug, you tell them ‘No, this is not the life you would be proud of and I want you to be proud of yourself.” Instead, you take them to rehab, they get clean and stay sober. They’re on the path to turning their lives around and say “You know what, I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but, you helped me. You saved me from going down a horrible path. Thank you.”

That thanks, is also sincere, but the outcomes are vastly different.

A.Astarion thanks you for giving him what he wants. S.Astarion thanks you for giving him what he needs.

Even in his graveyard scene, he says he’s not giving up, just “Reassessing what I want. What I really want.” And when you ask him later, at the graveyard what he wants, he says “you. I want you” I emphasize ‘really’ here because he does. This is Astarion being honest and telling you what he really wants.

He does not NEED power over others, he does not NEED to ascend, he needs to believe in himself, to choose a life he can be proud of, to do what he wants without being a slave to all the power that stood before him.

This is evident if you say “You saved yourself, I just gave you a push.”

And he responds with:

“You did more than that. You believed in me- believed I was enough just the way I am. When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now. And I get to share it with you, as a partner. An equal. You saved me from myself and let me walk a new path where I can be free. TRULY, HONESTLY, FREE. This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

There’s so much that this speaks to, and it’s so self explanatory, but so many people overlook that to say:

“S.Astarion is weak and is still unable to walk in the sunlight. At least Ascending him he’s free.”

I’ll agree and say his ending with him running away from the sun is tragic and painful, but I think that was the point. It’s gut wrenching. The worst part is honestly, most of the companion dialogue who treat him like ‘Oh well, fuck him I guess.” That, I think we can all be on board saying he did not deserve that. Turning away from power, helping you save the world, and all the companions say is like “welp, it was nice knowing you.” That was dirty.

It feels like so many people think giving up one's soul to walk in the sun is the best decision ever and so worth it. The point of his story feels like “Power, but at what cost?” Sure, he can have all these added benefits, if he just gives away his soul, does the most horrific, dastardly thing possible, and completes the ritual. He no longer is himself, and becomes a slave to power. Power will always be something he chases, so that he will never be used again. You basically tell him he’s weak the way he is and to steal the power he is owed.

Meanwhile in the U/A route, you tell him that he would not be proud of this life, that you want him to live a life he would be truly proud of. And he says “You’re right, I can be better than him.” But he is NOT above enjoying being the one to deal his death. We don’t even STOP him from Killing Cazador, we know he is owed that, he deserves that.

S.Astarion says he is free to walk a new path, whatever that path is. In his graveyard scene, he says he’s been dead in the ground long enough, it’s time to start living again. S.Astarion’s story is about finding his autonomy, finding his inner strength, accepting himself and making a new path for himself. Whatever this world has to offer, he’s going to take it and have fun.

When you Ascend him, and tell him that you miss the man he was, he seems actually taken back and says:

“What do you mean, I was pathetic back then, why would you say that?”

He sounds hurt. He sounds like maybe the tiniest bit, he regrets losing that man, like he can’t understand why someone would love who he was before he ascended.

He hasn’t gotten the affirmation that he’s enough, in fact, he’s more affirmed that he was weak, pathetic, and that power is what will make him strong. He is perfect now because he’s powerful. That’s such a tragic way of looking at him. By choosing this, he doesn’t accept how strong and capable he is as a spawn, he doesn’t heal and regain control of his life, he’s seen as lesser, as someone who needs an outside power to be strong. Love, belief in himself, it wasn’t enough to save him.

“There is no Equality in S.Astarion xTav/Durge. You have the upper hand, he does not. You will die of old age, he will not. That’s not a good romance at all.”

This complaint is one I see a lot, a LOT on people’s videos, blogs, reddit, etc. Just because he is back to being a spawn and does not have insane vampiric powers gifted by an evil, hellish ritual, does not make you his superior. It’s the way you two treat each other, the way you two view each other, that is what makes you an equal.

If you look at how A.Astarion talks to you, he talks down to you, looking down his nose, he believes you are beneath him. If he makes you a spawn, you are kept nicely under his thumb.

If you keep him as a spawn, he does not look at you as if you are his ruler, his master, you are his equal, his lover, his companion. He doesn’t look down at you, but eye to eye. Just because one has different abilities and strength does not mean inequality. Just because one has a longer/shorter life span, does not mean inequality. Look at Shadowheart’s parents, one is an elf, the other, human. Does that negate their love because of their lifespan? Are they doomed and have a terrible love story?

I’m sorry, but this argument doesn’t hold water to me.

A.Astarion fans love that they can choose to live with him in eternity, as his slave. So many people believe that is better than S. Astarion living his days freely with someone he loves, truly loves, as long as he can. I’ve seen people headcanon their Tav/Durge find a means to either cure Astarion of his Vampirism, or find ways to extend their lives. In one of my D&D games, we had collars that kept us from aging and dying prematurely. Granted, we had to agree to give up spell slots every year or so to a powerful mage so he can create magic items, but it pretty much allowed us to live forever. If Gale can ascend to godhood, I’m sure you can find a way to fix these small power issues.

“A.Astarion is the real Astarion, he goes back to his Act 1 self.”

I’ve seen this argument made to why people like A.Astarion, because they love the man he was in Act 1, and feels like this is who he is. There’s so many talking points here, so much to break down, and many arguments made to ‘affirm’ that this is the real Astarion, and this is where he is most himself. I’m going to break this down as best I can and do my best to be clear and easy to follow. There’s so much to go over and I don’t want to sound like I’m all over the place.

I gotta admit, I half agree with this. He does go back to his Act 1 self, but that's not the ‘true’ Astarion. Act 1. Astarion is the man who manipulated your feelings, who was playing an act. It isn’t until Act 2 that Astarion starts to come to terms with himself and becomes honest with you. Yes, he fell in love with you sometime between those moments, but after you ascend him, you can see that he goes back to those theatrics. All of the progress he made, all of the growth he made, when he ascends, that’s it, it just hard stops and reverses back to the start. He regresses so hard that he loses himself and becomes a shadow of the man he was, an echo of that man who manipulated his way to get what he wants.

Astarion admits in several ways in different dialogue options that the Ascension would have changed him, it would have made him lose himself, it would have made him different.

Tav: “The ritual would have changed you, I’m glad you resisted it.

S. Astarion: So am I. Fun as all that power would have been…this feels more me.

Tav: “Do you regret turning down all that power?”

S.Astarion: “Perhaps. It would have been terrible fun. But then again, I could feel something slipping away. I came so close to losing myself-to losing everything I’d learned since meeting you.”

He speaks so much about his growth, about his development thus far and if he ascended, he’d lose it all. This speaks volumes to his character and to how he holds himself now. We see Astarion start to believe in himself, knowing his worth, and his U/A route shows that he’s starting to understand that he can do the right thing.

“Astarion says he’s not happy.”

S.Astarion “I am- well, not happy. But this feels right.”

(Graveyard scene,)

Tav: “regretting your choice?”

S.Astarion: “No, I made the right choice. Although I do regret the options I had.”

Tav: “You did the right thing, stopping the Black mass.”

S.Astarion: “I know, that doesn’t mean it stings any less”

Tav: (when referring to never seeing the sun as the price of freedom) “Do you think you can live with that?”

S.Astarion: “I’ll have to, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

All the arguments I’ve seen for those who prefer A.Astarion use this to say he’s not happy, that he admits that he would have had more fun if he had power, and that’s what he wanted. He’s lamenting his lack of power and the fact that he’ll belong to the shadows, for sure, but he knows and understands that the decision he made was for the best. This is honestly such a relatable, and real emotion and thought. How many times do we as flawed humans know that doing the right thing, whether it’s for our own benefit or someone else’s, isn’t always the ‘fun’ option. He’s been on a quest for power, saw an ideal in his head, and now understands that going that route wasn’t the best for him, no matter how much fun it might have been in theory.

Astarion knew he made the best choice for him, the best choice to regain control, to be himself, his true self. His options were ‘sell your soul, lose yourself to have power and walk in the sun, or keep your soul, remain true to yourself and better your life, but be reserved to the life of a spawn, living in the shadows and with hunger.” There was no good options, but there was a good choice.

I want you to think about who Astarion is, what he’s been telling us this whole time.In the love test, we can choose silly, fun answers to gain his approval and keep things lighthearted, but the real answers exist, and he doesn’t exactly enjoy them being shared.

Astarion is afraid of being someone’s slave, he’s afraid of being helpless and not being able to keep his freedom. This whole time, 200 years he’s been shown that there’s no heroes, gods do not care for anyone, and the strong are the only ones who survive in this world. He’s afraid, he’s terrified but puts on this air of assertion. He stands behind those who are stronger than him and rides their coat tails till he can snatch power for himself. He’s not above backstabbing and manipulation if it gets him what he wants.

Astarion plays with power, as long as it doesn’t threaten to change him. He’s fine with abusing the tadpoles powers, but the moment he realizes that greater power can be unlocked by becoming a half illithid, he wants nothing to do with it. You can peer into his mind and use his fear against him to force him to do this, but thats manipulative in it’s own right. You don’t respect him or his want at that point, all in the name and sake of power.

Astarion’s first line to us is his disgust at the thought of being turned into a mindflayer. He laughs bitterly and says “Of course it would turn me into a monster…what else did I expect?” Power is good if it offers safety and protection, but not at the risk of his own skin. This is said so much throughout and is emphasized by him saying, he knows finishing the right would have ruined him, who he was, and everything he’s learned up to this point.

However, if throughout this game, you show him that there’s strength in one’s self, that there’s power to be had deep within, he starts to understand that and starts to see that he can be the break in the chain. He can be the difference he needs, alongside you.

This power hungry Astarion is the result of 200 years of abuse and suffering. Astarion starts to understand that there’s consequences to one’s actions, he starts to take responsibility for those actions and understands the difference between running away from it, and meeting them head on.

I’d say that’s a strength in it’s own. He’s finding himself and tackling the hardest things in his life that he turned a blind eye to. A.Astarion does not get that. He doesn’t care about anyone, anything, consequences be damned.

“Tav gaslights Astarion to change himself. Tav ‘knows what’s better’ and choosing not to ascend him not only makes him weak, but shows you don’t think he’s strong enough.” Tav forces Astarion to change.

This is paraphrased from a comment from a prominent A.Astarion fan. The entire comment was such a hot take, that they said, and I quote: Cazador did not inspire him that sex is power. Cazador didn't need sex to control people, he had other power.

I don’t know if they understand what Astartion was trying to say when he said that Cazador made Astarion use his body to lure things for him. That Cazador had full control over him and made him perform acts of sex against Astarion’s will, otherwise he’d get TORTURED. I could go ON about how disgusting the take is, but I won’t get into that. I’ll address their point and continue.

I believe I’m one of many who don’t like the option of “You don’t need to worry, I’ll protect you.” And Astarion’s own answer of “thanks, that’s sweet, but I don’t want to have to always rely on you.” (or something to that nature.) I refuse to choose it, I understand the sentiment, but that option didn’t feel good.

Still, despite that line, Astarion doesn’t get the all power he wanted, but that doesn’t make him weak. Tav shows that Astarion is weak in the ways of inner strength, the strength to take off his chains and be himself! He has the strength to choose his own destiny and take it by the hands. So many people look at ‘physical’ strength and weigh that higher over inner strength. Astarion in game, is not a weak fighter. I can tell you, rogues are fucking CRAZY strong! In many of my battles, he’d be the last one standing and has to sometimes be the one to save others.

Believing that there’s more to Astarion than power, revenge, and sex is NOT gaslighting him at all! Gaslighting someone is forcing another to believe that they’re wrong, despite the fact that they aren’t. It’s projecting onto them your wants and making them feel terrible for not seeing things your way.

You can gaslight Astarion, want to know how? By forcing him to have sex with you despite him saying it’s uncomfortable for him. By saying “You should enjoy it, and enjoy it with me.” And do you know what happens when you choose that? He ends things, and stands up for himself!

We aren’t manipulating him, changing him, forcing him to be someone he isn’t. He admits to it many times over after that we believed in him, we saved him and pulled him away from a path that would ruin him. To say that’s changing him, to say it’s gaslighting is absolutely bonkers! In fact, telling him to ascend is affirming that power is better than anything, even if it costs your soul. I don’t know why people refuse to believe that S.Astarion IS the REAL Astarion. And while he isn’t all powerful, he’s fully free to live his life the way he wants to, and intends on it.

“A.Astarion still loves us. Sure it’s not the ‘kind’ love you get with S.Astarion, but it is love and he does care for us. It’s perfect for an evil route”

This is the most common argument for what I’ve seen people saying they like A.Astarion. It’s a different kind of romance, a different kind of love that still has caring, but it isn’t ‘nice’. There’s so many different takes on this that usually accumulate to “He does care, he does love us! It’s a crazy toxic love, but it is still love.”

I get it, I totally understand why so many people are drawn to A.Astarion. The sex scene is spicy, he calls you pet names, and says “You’re mine” and things like “I’ll protect you” “Lovers forever”. At it’s core, it sounds like a crazy, possessive romance perfect for an evil Tav/Durge, especially a Bahhl accepting Durge. I can see the appeal, and really, for an evil character, ruling the world with the lord of vampires sounds amazing! Hell, even for a morally ambiguous or amoral character, this would be fun!

I know there are people who appreciate it for what it is, people who understand that they are A.Astarion’s favorite thing, they are his obedient pet who does his will. Some in their Durge games understand they are using each other, and it’s not a romantic relationship, but that of an evil companionship. “We are awful for each other and do awful things for each other!”

That being said, many people seem to be under the impression that A.Astarion truly cares about you, that he loves you.

“It’s a possessive love, but even then, that’s just a form of love.”

Look, I’ll be honest and be the first to say that a person, especially a hot vampire who calls me “MINE” with such virility, would instantly make me weak in the knees. I love me a strong lover who is a bit selfish in wanting me, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, who doesn’t want to feel coveted like that? (Ok, I know there are people out there who aren’t cool with that, I’m just saying for those of us who are thirsty! lol)

Still, I can’t say that this context is of that capacity. You’re his object, his favorite and obedient spawn, slave. He pretties it up and calls you consort, which makes you think some form of equal footing, that of a spouse. (Understandably, not all marriages have spouses who view their spouse as an ‘equal’. This is very much like that.) If you’re his spawn, you are surely his slave.

“He calls us Pet, my treasure, consort, lover. He stands up for us against Araj, he does indeed care for us.”

Pet names are cute, and he has used ‘pet’ for us before he ascended. The way he says “Yes my treasure?” Is very baby sweet talk, he even does the elaborate swinging of his shoulders. I don’t think Astarion’s descent to madness is immediate. I think there are still parts of him that is haunted by his trauma, but instead of being able to deal with it, he does the same things he’s always done. He disassociates, he falls back to bad patterns.

When meeting Araj again, both S. Astarion and A. Astarion have similar dialogues between each other, but also, there are some interesting differences as well. A. Astarion makes a note of ‘Who belongs to who this time’ referring back when she thought Astarion was your subordinate, your ‘obstinate charge’ and you could stick up for him and say he is his own person. Now, he means to correct that and explain that you belong to him, not in a romantic way, but in the way that you are under his charge, you are his spawn/slave.

I get that in that conversation he says “And don’t worry, if anything happens, I’ll protect you.” Can be sweet, if you look at that completely out of context, hell I’d think it’s sweet too. He does say this in a bit of a condescending way though. It’s not the “I love you and I’ll protect you,” it’s the “This is my thing, and I’ll protect it from getting being damaged.” The care that A. Astarion has for you isn’t one of honest love, it isn’t born of concern.

You can see that because S. Astarion has a dialogue that says “Say no, the only thing she is offering is pain, and…I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Astarion isn’t someone who knows how to express his true feelings, he’s expressed his inability to know how to truly be with someone, but he’s opening up. At this point, this is beyond his graveyard scene, so you’re seeing a man who is awkward when expressing his true feelings. Again, his body language says so much here. He gives a sigh right before saying he doesn’t want to see you hurt, he shies away from you just slightly and his expression grows softer. He’s being vulnerable and sincere, he truly does not want to see you hurt. Not because you’re an item of his that he doesn’t want damaged, but because he truly doesn’t want his lover to be hurt, that would pain him. There’s a lot of dialogue that’s similar for both, so, there’s not much to differentiate between them at that time.

Astarion’s trauma is still trauma, in both iterations. His understanding of consent seems to resonate with both versions at this point. So many people are taking that ‘consent’ is him caring. Just because he understands consent, and still asks you, that doesn’t quite mean a level of caring. Yes you can choose to be his spawn, or not. If you break up with him not as a spawn, he insults you and lets you be. Choose to be his spawn, and there is no getting out of it, you have no consent anymore. You’re his slave. Yes, he calls you his ‘consort’ because he wanted to dress up the word “spawn”. A slave is still a slave, no matter what other pretty title you want to give it. You have consent up until he turns you, then that’s out the window, you can’t leave ever. Hell, he even has a line that says “I should have turned you into a spawn, just to prove that I could.” Yeah, let that sink in.

“A.Astarion says ‘I love you, I’d never hurt you.’ He tells us he loves us on multiple occasions. Once more, he’s got a beating heart now, so he is fully capable of love.”

A beating heart, a living organ =/= love. I mean, if you break up with him he says “You brought my dead heart back to life, it will keep beating” That is metaphorical, it didn’t mean that he will be brought back to life. So no, having a living, beating heart does not make him more capable of love. He felt real love as a spawn, he sincerely fell for you.

Let’s also talk about Astarion saying “I love you.” He does say it at both routes, but the way he says it, and again, body language says it all.

I’ve seen this video going around about how he says he loves Tav/Durge, and how people claim this is love, that this is proof he cares. https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Bov4CwHLukc

Let’s talk about these, shall we?

First of all, notice how Astarion is acting here. This is back to theatrics, the wide arm movements, the flowery words and the poetic gestures. Does this look familiar? Ah yes, this looks very similar to when he used all his ‘favorite lines’ at us. Even when he says “I love you” it feels so practiced, so forced. He even looks down at you afterwards. But people are so convinced that this is romantic love. They are convinced he means this.

I am reminded back to that, force Astarion to sleep with you scene. You tell him “You seemed like you enjoyed it,” and he says he knows that song and dance better than anyone, it was an act. This? This is an act as well. But S.Astarion? Go look at the graveyard scene, go watch how he tells you he loves you.

He looks you directly in the eyes, taking your hand in his, and he’s smiling. That’s no forced smile, when does he ever smile that genuine and at peace? He looks down in thought for a moment and returns to your eyes and says “he loves ‘this’, and he wants it all, with you.” Look at those two “I love yous” side to side and tell me which one really, truly looks sincere. Which looks real.

In act 2, he says that he manipulated you into an alliance, so you’d never hurt him. He used sex to get you to love him so you won’t turn on him, but says you deserve something real, that he wants to be real with you. In his graveyard scene, he’s ready to be fully real with you. And if you do have sex with him, the dev. Notes says “Had_sex_as_equals. You are his equal, and he is yours. Whatever your powers and abilities are doesn’t matter, it’s how you treat each other, as equals.

Astarion’s first line in the video says he was offering you power, offer you to live as his spawn so he can own you, what’s that, if not love? Then says, if that’s not an offer, if you want more, perhaps this isn’t for you.

I’ve seen so many people say “A.Astarion is not for the weak hearted, his kind of love is intense, possessive and hot, not for those goody goodies! He says it himself.”

Nah, he’s telling you that love is a transaction. You gave me power, I’ll give you a bit of it. You become my spawn that will be obedient to me, who will bow to my every whim, and I’ll offer you protection. There, love. This is a man who used his body, who used everything as a transaction. If you get high approval before the party and allowed him to bite you, he offers you sex as thanks. It’s a transaction.

A.Astarion says “I did try with you, you know. In the only way I know how.” By using a transaction of offering you life of being a spawn.

And of course, how can we forget the famous line. “Of course I know about *love* (said with absolute disgust by the way) I know how to use it, manipulate it, and I can’t help playing the hand I know. I would have used your love, abused your trust until you were nothing.”

Every argument here says “You hurt his pride, he’s angry! He doesn’t mean that. He was upset and said a lie.” And I can say, ok, I hear you. There’s been times when people break up and say really hurtful things because they were hurt. Things they may not even mean. I’d be fully inclined to believe that if… well, if that were true. Instead, I fully, TRULY believe Astarion is being sincere with us here. I think he knows that we were smart enough to see through his BS, to see that in this state, he’s gone.

They also cut out parts where Astarion says “Oh that was completely different, I’d never hurt you, I love you.” Right after, in the same breath, he says “That’s what you’ve been waiting to hear, isn’t it?” Like, this man is telling you what you want to hear, it’s not the truth, it’s all a lie. He’s telling you to your face “I’m telling you what you want to hear.”

He doesn’t know what real love is, he is incapable of love, to him it’s just a game. You can tell this by the insight check you do before he turns you.

“The insight check really means that he doesn’t think highly of himself, that he values Tav/Durge’s opinion and thinks he’s not good enough to be with”

I can understand how this could be one interpretation, and I’d agree with you if this was Act 2. Astarion. I’d fully believe that’s how he thinks a continued romance would be with him, but that’s not what’s going on here.

A.Astarion thinks he’s all powerful and amazing. He’s not the weak man he was back then, he’s better. Knowing you want to be a slave to him, you’re degrading yourself to becoming his slave, his spawn, but…maybe you’re into that. Maybe you want to be his slave, to worship him and be manipulated. Hell, you’ve gone this far for him, he doesn’t seem to have to beg you, you’re willing to do what he wants.

That’s the implication here. Not that he’s not good enough for you, but that you no longer care about yourself, that you want to be stepped on by him.

A lot of people understand this concept as “Yeah, I made him worse, and I’m willing to throw everything in the trash to be with him! He can pull me by my leash and I will follow!” And then others misunderstand it to mean “Awww my poor boy thinks he’s not good enough for us and thinks we’re degrading ourselves to be his lover.” It’s definitely the former, not the later.

But this is a Sub/Dom relationship!

At the very base core of what that is, he is dominant over you, and you are serving him. To call this a sub/dom relationship is such a disservice to those real relationships out there that exist though!

I know someone close to me, who has been in a sub/dom relationship for 10+ years. She wears a collar with her partner’s name on it and he calls her pet names. This is something they do in their private time, and after all of it, there’s so much after care and tenderness involved to remind them both that they are partners who are equal. They are in a safe place, they have real, romantic love and understand if at any time there’s something they aren’t comfortable with, they can speak up.

A.Astarion just owns you. He doesn’t care, you are his property and that’s that. That’s like calling Cazador Astarion’s lover! The man favored Astarion, and when he disobeyed, he punished him. Granted, I’ll say that Astarion and his spawn’s relationship isn’t violent yet, but I don’t think it wouldn’t get to that point. He says he doesn’t have to, you’ll be wonderfully obedient.

…but what if you aren’t? Do you really think he’ll stand there and listen? If you push back, do you think he will understand? If you speak up and speak your mind, will he just lovingly accept your words? I’m afraid not. To those who think they can ‘change’ him or ‘keep him in line’, the time for that has passed and he’s not going back. I’m sorry.

The writer who spoke up is wrong about A.Astarion and is just one writer, not even the MAIN one! Take their words with a grain of salt.

The amount of people taking the salt out of what the writer said is crazy! I saw the reddit post and people were losing their minds, saying that this writer should have never said anything, that they stole the joy out of their A. Astarion romance, and that all is doomed!

Let me just say this. The writer, other people, no one can take your agency of enjoying a game. Take it for what it is, enjoy it. If you don’t agree, that’s fine, but it does not make the writer wrong.

The writer is one of many who worked and wrote for Astarion. Just as what happens with every character, what happens with comics, movies, games, etc. You have teams who all work on one part to make it a cohesive whole. Animators have writers, directors, lineart work, flat colors, shaders, sketchers, background artists, all of these different people work on different parts of the same product and at the end, you have a whole piece. They all have to be in sync with each other and understand the source material to make it all work here.

The writer who spoke out may have been one of many, but that does not mean their words were invalid. In fact, after taking their words into consideration and looking back at how the sex scene for A.Astarion and S.Astartion play out, I honestly sat back and thought “...wow, I actually completely understand what you mean!”

First of all, they call it a bad ending. That speaks enough to what has been said and stated over and over again. Astarion does not progress, he does not heal, he gives up his soul for power, losing himself, and becomes a slave to it. Secondly, they said that you failed to see him as anything more than a kink, and reduce your relationship to that. That explains his actions, the way he is back to manipulating you with pretty words of adoration. And so many people are literally falling for it all over again.

In the scene he makes you a spawn, it’s overly provocative (I’ll admit, it’s fucking hot! I mean, from an objective view at least. Knowing what I know, it’s sad, but taking out context and what I know, it’s a very sexy scene) it’s meant to be. This is what you wanted, this is what you think of him. The camera mod that allows you to see different angles is a GODSEND here! You can look into his eyes and they are devoid of life, of feeling. He’s going through the motions, but he’s not even there. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking away, his body is performing, and Tav/Durge is just moaning and enjoying themselves. You wanted this, you got it, and in the end, he delivers.

Vs. the graveyard. It’s so much more chaste since you have clothes on. He’s not biting you, but this is his most honest form. It’s pure love, this isn’t lust, this isn’t him ‘fucking’ you, but being one with you. He’s reclaiming what sex means to him. It’s not a means to an end, it’s not an exchange, it’s not forced, he wants to give you a night of passion because he loves you. This is him connecting sex to love, and not as an act of manipulation.

Again, the camera mod is everything!! He looks into your eyes, his features are genuine. He cups the side of your cheek and kisses you. Then, he pushes you down, and climbs over you, looking into your eyes before sinking into the kiss in a much deeper, passionate way.

I admit, I’m a degenerate. I can accept that Astarion is hot! I thought his turning scene was erotic, steamy, and I just couldn’t stop watching it. But knowing what I know, I can understand how, if what you’re looking for is real love, a real romantic relationship, that’s not the way to go. I think the camera angles of his graveyard scene show so much more to how passionate and hot that kiss is! Once I understood that this was Astarion, truly himself, taking back sex for himself and pushing Tav/Durge down in that swoop of a kiss, I completely did a 180 and preferred that!

That kiss is HOT! And it means so much more, which makes it all the more intense. This is Astarion, throwing down his walls, opening up to us, body, soul and heart. And seeing as the dev notes says they had sex, it leaves it to your imagination how that went down, but I am one to believe, it was incredible, earth shatteringly so.

Final thoughts

If you made it this far, Oh my GOD I’m so sorry! Honestly, I appreciate it and thank you all for the time and patience to read my ramblings. I’ve just been sitting here replying to so many others and said “Fuck it, I’ll make a post about my feelings.”

There’s so much I haven’t touched on, so many points that can still be made, and I’m sure I missed over some other parts. Because I’m a maladaptive daydreamer, these thoughts literally assaulted me every chance they got! I couldn’t cook, clean, or even shower without another full stream of ideas that invaded my brain. I had to stop now because I’ve been working on this for 4 days and if I kept going, this would be 30+ pages long and NO ONE wants that.

That being said, look, if you like Ascended, go for it! If you want your character to be degraded and live in that fantasy, that’s ok and you shouldn’t be shamed for it. You shouldn’t be bullied by anyone to think you’re real life relationships are awful, or that you need therapy. Please, have fun and remember to take some time away from it all every now and then.

If you like Spawn, that’s great too! You shouldn’t be made to feel like you’re weak, or you only think Astarion is some good boy. You shouldn’t be told that you’re gaslighting, or anything else that I’ve seen out there.

At the end of the day, these are games, escapism from reality. I encourage you all to write, or maybe play the character in a game, or do what you want to do as long as it brings joy to you.

The point of this post is not to shame anyone or to cause drama. The point of this was to show that the writers did an AMAZING job illustrating these character’s stories. They showed us how gray and lifelike they were, they made their flaws something relatable, but also showed us that there’s always two very different ways things can go.

I wanted to highlight the differences in Astarion’s endings. In his Ascended ending, he loses himself for the price of power. He fails to see that there’s more to himself than what power can give him. He fails to heal from his trauma, and instead, masks it behind power and control. He continues the cycle of abuse and becomes an entirely new monster. He fails to experience a true, romantic love that he never had and instead returns to using ‘love’ as a form of manipulation. He is deluding himself into what he thinks is happiness, and one day, will have nothing left inside of him. It’s so tragic and yet painfully, beautifully written.

In his spawn ending, he gets healing, he gets to choose his own way through life and live it being free. I wanted to show that while power was enticing, he learns that he’s enough the way he is, even if he won’t have the power of profane ascension (no matter how much terrible fun it would have been). And hey, if you want to play him in a solo campaign (that’s what I’m doing) and find ways for him to gain power without losing who he is, I’m sure that would be awesome! To see Astarion grow, and continue to take responsibility, to see him take back his sexuality, his honor, his autonomy is beautiful, even if it means he had to let go of the thing he thought he wanted, to take hold of the thing he truly wants.

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