#needle precision pricks

[artcalledwrap]

Sometimes

Sum x ‘s

[talesofesther]

when the world sleeps | the stitches

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Small tales of private and precious moments shared with Astarion, when the world still sleeps.

Today's tale: You're trying to stitch back together your shirt, Astarion must intervene to save the day.

A/N: A collection of little stories that will be released sporadically, in no particular order. A place for me to store all the sweet little ideas that lurk in my mind about this darling pale elf. Feel free to send requests for any moments you'd like to see. <3

Masterlist

It was an accident. A split second of distraction that got the blade of your enemy slashing into you. It cut through more cloth than skin, you didn't even need a healing potion. But it was your favorite shirt.

You've never been very adept with the needle and thread. Having lived your whole life with the privileges that rested inside your family's estate back in the city, you didn't have much need to mend your own clothes back together whenever they tore apart.

And now you were paying the price for the unlearned skill.

The night was quiet, most of your companions had already retired for the night. Yet you sat crosslegged on a large pillow in your tent, soft candlelight illuminating just enough so you wouldn't prick your fingers.

Scratch insisted on laying beside you, his soft white fur warm as it rested against your leg.

The silence of the night was most welcome, when the days were as hectic as they have been lately.

As you passed the thread through the fabric of your shirt, needle piercing it quite clumsily, you couldn't help but think the stitches looked too far from each other. Or could it be too close? Should it vary depending on the thickness of the fabric?

"Darling?"

You jumped at the sudden voice—soft as it may have been—yanking the needle back and not piercing your thumb only by an inch. You cursed under your breath.

"What in the hells are you doing?" Astarion's choice of words sounded strange in the tender tone of voice he used.

You looked up to see him staring down at you with a confused frown on his eyebrows. The flickering fire of the candles coming from beside you kissed his features ever so faintly, making him seem like the remains of a dream. Dark red eyes, silver hair that reminded you of stardust. What a goner you were. And to think he chose you, too; if anything to warm his bed on cold nights.

"I'm… mending my shirt," you shrugged, with a sheepish smile on your lips, briefly lifting the shirt and needle in your hands.

Astarion opened his mouth only to close it again. He blinked, and shook his head. "You're doing anything but that." He stated, a little exasperated. "Have you ever done this before?"

You shifted your gaze from him, to the shirt on your hands, and back to him. "… Not really, no."

Astarion scoffed, "Well, clearly not."

"Come on it's not that bad." You raised a brow, finding his indignation at your lack of skills rather amusing.

"Not that bad? That thing is gonna tear itself apart with the first movement of your arms." Astarion gestured wildly as if you'd personally offended him, and started walking to the other side of you that wasn't occupied by Scratch. "Move over," he simply said.

You shuffled to the side a little, giving him space on the fluffy pillow beneath you. It was a tight fit as he sat down, his thigh flush with yours.

"Hand it over." Astarion wiggled his fingers and you did so quietly, handing him your shirt along with the needle and thread.

He mumbled something about basic skills and how you'd be lost without him. You didn't pay much mind to it, instead, you were rather enraptured by the way his fingers worked; precise, gentle, and deftly, with not a single wrong movement as the fabric of your shirt molded between the digits. He sews the pieces together from the inside, the needle hardly piercing, more like caressing its way through. It was evident he had done it many, many times before.

You inched closer, and you only realized you had done so when Astarion's movements halted. Needle hovering in the air as his shoulders tensed. His lips pursed when his throat worked through a gulp. You followed the motion, breath fanning over the skin of his neck, you were almost certain you'd seen goosebumps there.

It was a beat, and then Astarion was back to his work. But it was enough to bloom a warmth to your chest, that maybe you had the same effect on him that he had on you.

Leaning your cheek against his shoulder, you asked; "where did you learn to do it so perfectly?"

A quiet chuckle fell past the elf's lips, though it held no amusement. "The clothes we wore were hardly a concern for Cazador, as long as we looked presentable enough to lure people back for him." He frowned, a bitterness flashing through his eyes as his knuckles grew even paler with the way he gripped your shirt, "If we showed up with a torn shirt or ragged pants, that was on us. Even if it were his orders that caused it." The last words were low and forced out, as if the mere thought of them had thrown Astarion back into those dark streets and into the arms of people who didn't care if they ripped him apart.

You wished there was any amount of comfort or honeyed words that you could tell him that would erase the memories altogether. But there wasn't. All you could do was kiss his shoulder and brush your fingers over his arm until his grip relaxed again. Hoping that your love would seep through your pores and melt into his skin.

Astarion leaned the tiniest bit towards you, his lips brushing your hairline in a silent thank you. It felt… strange, how you were able to bring him back from the depths of his mind so easily.

Moments were spent in silence, until the pad of his thumb brushed over the freshly mended corner of your shirt, admiring his work; it was barely perceptive. If you didn't look too closely, you wouldn't even say it had been slashed through with a sword at all.

"Wow, you're good," you whispered, following the same path he had traced with your own fingers. Feeling over the fabric.

A low hum came from the vampire beside you, "I know."

You bit onto your lower lip. Your fingers tangled with his when he didn't pull away, all timid and tentative yet brimming with affection. "Maybe you could teach me someday, and I could mend your clothes for you, too." It went beyond just torn fabric, he knew it, you knew it.

Astarion ducked his head, he hesitated, yet he squeezed your hand quite tightly. "I would like that."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

[lokisgoodgirl]

Come After Dark [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You swallow your nerves and take Loki up on his seductive invitation. (w/c 3.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Mild somnophillia. Language. Mild angst to fluff. Sub(ish) Loki.

The hair on your arms felt like needles, every ghostlike pricking shiver vibrating invisible strands. Was it cold tonight? You couldn’t tell. Heat thumping low in your belly blossomed as you made your way through the midnight gloom of the tower. Shadows danced the walls, stretching and fading in haunting rhythm. Come after dark, he’d said.

You shivered again, recalling the way his breath had caressed your jaw, a palm spread on his chest against porcelain shirt buttons. His questioning stare had moved from your hand to your eyes, his brows a line of reluctant, smouldering resignation. He had left you in that hallway, music beating a solid bass through the wall against your spine. The words that had circled in your mind ever since fluttered back around the endless loop.

I will cease my wooing of you, since that is what you wish, he had murmured, as he unfurled your fingers from his chest. Loki then raised your knuckles to his lips. Parted, only slightly. But if you decide you want this, whenever you want this, he’d whispered against the skin. Come after dark.

That had been days ago. A week? Time had slowed and sped up in frightening synchronicity since that brief conversation. You and he had been dancing around your flirtations for months, but in each moment when he swooped gently to kiss you, to let his hands wander to your own, to break the seal of workplace propriety – you bailed.

His absence made everything come in bright clarity. In deepest reds and brightest blues you saw for the first time how much more he was than a distraction, than something to be feared in awe from a distance. Like a predator behind glass. Fear. What was it you were afraid of? Of how much you want him. Of how how has the power to elevate or decimate in the palm of his-

You shook the thought away, seeing the potted plant that signalled the end of the corridor come into view. One more turn.

Silent breaths rose and fell as his door suddenly loomed. It stretched up into nothingness, its out of place mahogany intricacies making you smile in the eerie darkness. Lifting a fist to knock, you paused. A feeling rose that was difficult to place. The ornate brass knob was cool to the touch, but even from one small twist it was easy to tell it was - Come after dark, -unlocked.

You held your breath, twisting on the exhale. There was a soft click as the mechanism relented, a cool brush of air wafting against heated cheeks. The goosebumps on your forearms bristled.

A feeling of dread suddenly descended, sinking through the excited trepidation. What if he didn’t mean it? What if, I’m just breaking into his room-

You recalled the gleam of his darkened eyes, the blue of his irises barely visible at the rims of wide pupils. The hum of his voice as he enunciated each word with painfully laden precision, as thick as double cream; Come after dark,

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. As your eyes adjusted to a deeper darkness, the room’s layout came into view. A short corridor which was the mark of all your accommodations led into a living area. You could see the elegant curves of an ostentatious sofa, the rise of a fireplace and the shadowy reflection of a mirror glinting above. Floor length curtains swept around the corner windows. Of course Loki has the corner apartment, you mulled, noticing dinner-plate sized vegetation poked around the corner from some kind of plant. Your fingers reaching to absent-mindedly rub the waxy leaves as you padded over luxurious carpet. White carpet. Your bare feet sank into the pile, each cushioned step landing on the heel making your breaths quicken as you worked closer to the bedroom. The door was open, just a crack. After this, there was no turning back. You would never be the same. You could tell. Good, you thought; feeling your heart thunder. Like an astral projection, you felt your fingers slide around the edge of the door, peeking inside. A wave of adrenaline soared up your body like a tide; animalistic energy bursting new heat from every pore. There he was.

Spread like a sculpture; a living Bernini glowing in soft cracks of moonlight glistening on his skin. One long thigh rested open atop twisted sheets, an arm outstretched on the empty side of the bed reaching for an invisible lover. The curves of his muscles rose and fell along each line of his body, white sheets painted teasingly across the sharp dents of his hips. His obliques clenched with each soft breath, perfect face turned towards the shards of moonbeam bathing him in ethereal light. Dark curls lay spread against the pillow, like splatters of oil on canvas, winding across the cotton and the broad flat of his pale shoulders. Your mouth felt dry, and your eyes. You realised you hadn’t blinked in about thirty seconds. He looked so peaceful, it would be a shame to- Oh-

Your eyes fell on his crotch as he sifted within dreams, something long and thick nudging horizontal upwards against the sheets.

Your breath hitched as a well of saliva rose in your mouth, moistening your lips. You would be lying if you hadn’t imagined him thrusting his fist against that huge cock in these very rooms while he moaned your name, fuelling your forbidden fantasies. On the edge of this very bed, by all accounts. He was always a gentleman in your presence, something you had wished many times he would abandon to urge you to take the leap.

But after all, here you were. Here I am. His brow furrowed, a light moan snaking from his slumbering throat. Beneath your pyjama shorts, the slick of arousal that had been growing since you had left your own apartment warmed. Slipping.

You squeezed around the door, tentatively making your way to the empty side of the bed. Now what, you thought, letting your eyes roam over his sprawled form as you resisted the urge to jump on him...do I wake him, should I- “-Loki?” you whispered, voice shaking. Your fingertips traced the thick cotton rumpled at the bed’s edge. His breaths continued to slowly rise and fall, the erotically devastating fan of dark lashes against his skin, undisturbed. “Loki?” you repeated, resting on the side of the mattress, “Mmm...” he mumbled groggily, frowning in his slumber. He sighed, outstretched fingers twitching. You smiled, watching the strong veins in his forearms tense before relaxing into smooth surrender.

Following the delicate lines of the summer duvet draped lazily across his torso, you let your eyes track down the folds. It ran diagonal, exposing the taut carving of violent muscle rippling down his chest, his stomach. The duvet rested teasingly over his hips, an exposed leg hanging open sluttishly as the other stretched down to the end of the ornate bed-frame. “Lo-kii…” you cooed seductively, shuffling closer.

You waited. He didn’t stir. You frowned.

Beneath the duvet, the god’s swollen cock twitched against the cotton.

Your eyes ran up the lines of muscle contoured in the moonlight, up the shadow of his cheekbones to his peaceful brow. A thin line formed between his eyebrows, softening. Without realising it, your outstretched fingers ghosted down the centre of his abdomen, cool skin making heated tips tingle. You edged closer on your knees, making the firm mattress bounce slightly. But still, he did not stir. Nerves burst in stars deep in your belly, the gravity of your audacity making you dizzy as you fought to hold your nerve.

Cautiously, you lowered to his flat stomach, placing a kiss just above his naval. A shaking gasp escaped your nostrils, the electric eroticism of his energy humming from every inch of his skin as you moved lower. Fine hair coating down from his naval grazed your chin, its feathery softness a stark reminder of the warm heart beating beneath his stoic exterior. You paused on the dip of his adonis belt, frozen hunched in place as he stirred. The pillows rustled, followed by a soft thump as his cheek fell to the other side.

“Don’t s-stop…” he softly slurred, hips nudging upwards beneath the sheet. Outstretched fingers gripped the sheet to your side in a loose fist, the fingernails catching on cotton before relaxing.

Oh, god.

Your trembling digits wrapped around the blanket’s tip, pulling down. And all the time, your eyes never left his moon-drunk face. Tentatively you ran your fingernails lightly over the taut skin of his ribs. Shivers rose in the muscle beneath your careful touch as the sheet was brushed aside below. You let the heel of your palm search in half-darkness for the root of his subconscious desire.

It didn’t need to search far. Loki moaned softly, his lips parting with a puff of air. A rogue strand of hair buffeted from his face as you clenched around nothing, the wetness between your legs wild and unstoppable, his gentle whoreish sounds making your inner-beast writhe. The god’s breaths were a roar in the suffocating silence. “Please,” he breathed in dreams. It floated, lingering like perfume. Or maybe it was your imagination. Reluctantly, your palm left the velvet skin of his cock and planted on the farthest side of his body. You loomed over him. He’s like my prey, thought reverently; holding back a giggle. Like a virgin and a vampire, about to be sucked dr-

The smile faded, replaced by something stronger than the fear of him waking and recoiling in disgust. That this had all been a misunderstanding. That his sultry flirtations and invitations and unlocked door were just coincidences. Nothing more. Tilting your head, you bit your bottom lip and watched as his light frown returned. He squirmed in slumber, ropes of shoulder muscle shifting against the pillows. You allowed yourself to finish the thought, -Sucked dry.

Taking a deep breath, you dipped down and covered the head of his majestic cock carefully with your mouth. It was warm, the round tip resting on your tongue, the jolt of his thigh splayed to the side not going unnoticed as you let your slick lips slide against him. He’s been hard for a while, you pondered, savouring the settling of his sex inside your mouth. Where he belongs. A thick vein pulsed against your tongue. Your mind crackled with energy, every nerve screaming to shake him awake and fuck him into the headboard between messy kisses and half-formed words. “Mmmm...ye-shs, p-please -m-more…” Loki exhaled groggily. You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Muffled, his lashes fluttered with pleasure beneath shuttered lids. The thump of your heart was deafening as you focused on the taste of him filling your mouth. The sweetness of his velvet skin stretched over unforgiving muscle, fresh and deep like autumn pine. Plump veins slid further down the flat of your tongue as you grew braver, each ridge that bumped against the muscle lovingly caressed. The creases of your mouth cracked slowly as you slid him further inside. And it suddenly dawned on you, how large he truly was. The scent of his shaft filled your nostrils as you lapped softly at the tip, enjoying each stolen moment of second-hand pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, blood pumping and heating the mess between your legs. Loki whined softly, hips beginning to roll in dream-soaked waves. You wrapped your fingers one by one around the thickness of him, brow furrowing as you felt the weight of his cock twitch in your grip. Slowly, you drew your tongue over the sensitive frenulum, feeling his hips shudder as you licked to the leaking tip.

“You came…” a gravelled voice shifted in the darkness, making you jump. Your head snapped towards him, fearful eyes wide. A mischievous smile tugged at his beautiful lips, shadows cast by the moonlight carving deep grooves beneath his cheekbones. “Quite the one for drama after all, aren’t we, little fox?” The words were mumbled coyly, raising an eyebrow as you sat upright. Loki’s voice was husky with something, but it wasn’t sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to dramatically whip the remaining duvet from his body and letting it sprawl to the floor.

“I thought you might enjoy the illusion of voyeurism,” he smiled, rubbing a flat palm on the mattress beside him. “As usual, it seems, I was correct.” “You were awake?” you scoffed, admitting to yourself that the desired effect was likely lost by the wandering of your hungry eyes over his unbearably naked form. With sudden clarity, you realised his hard manhood was still wrapped in the punishing grip of your fingers. “Mmmm,” he hummed, smile wider now with the mocking echo of his slumbering moans. His stare dropped in stages down your body, across every line of your form kneeling on his bed in the moonslick gloom. If he was searching for resistance, he would find none. “I’m sorry if I-”

Before the final words could form on your tongue, Loki was kneeling in front of you. His hips pressed flush to your stomach, those long fingers that had brushed your own so many times beneath the conference table digging into the small of your back. They sank lower, cupping your ass with a ragged groan from his throat. “Enough,” he growled. But it wasn’t a threat. It was a plea. Loki buried his face in your neck, kissing ravenously up the curve towards the angle of your jaw as your nails dragged down his chiselled abdomen. The god’s breath was hot, decadent.

Both of you raised on your knees, a tangled primal mess of hair and fingers and teeth and tongue as the past burned. Whispers of desire fluttered in the sliver of air between you as Loki’s hands spread against your ass-cheeks, down the backs your thighs. He rested back on the bed, letting you fall over him in a flood of pure need, straddling him immediately. “I’m going to fuck you into this headboard, Laufeyson” you heard yourself mutter as you stooped to place wet kisses on his collarbone. Loki chuckled. “Oh I do hope so,” he rumbled under his breath. “I’ve thought about it enough.”

His eyes tracked over your loose pyjama top like a hunter, running his hands up the curve of your waist until your vision blurred. With a soft pop, you were free. Loki groaned. The flat of his cock lay nestled between your legs, pressed tight against your wet cunt. Pleasure fired with every frustrated rock of his hips, seeking salvation. His palms cupped your breasts, burying his face forwards as your wound your fingers in his hair. “Fuck me,” he gasped desperately against your chest. The skin was moist with moans and sucks and kisses as he pushed your breasts together, his proud features absorbing all you had to give. “Fuck me, please.”

You held your breath as you rose up, hand feeling between his legs and lining him up. The tip of his manhood brushed against your aching heat, a premature moan of anticipation filling the air from you both. “There’s no going back after this,” you said; voice trembling over shaky breaths. The god’s eyes rose from the sight of his cock hovering at your entrance, the same determined look of intent curtaining his features as had in the hallway. “You shall not want to go back, darling,” he murmured, a familiar smirk curling his lip in the gloom. A dimple flashed. “Believe me.”

The words made you clench just as you sank onto his cock, his sheer size making you choke on air as a strangled gasp erupted. Loki’s hands guided your hips, rocking you gently down his length. His eye twitched, brows slanted as his chin tilted to the ceiling. But still, he kept his gaze on you. “Loki-” you whined, feeling each ridge and vein of his shaft press and drag against your little cunt. Nothing was supposed to feel this good.

Loki let out a ragged exhale he’d been holding, whole body shuddering as he filled you to the hilt. Careful fingers rested on your hips, pulling you gently back and forth. You could feel your walls begin to stretch, the sopping stickiness of arousal coating his cock with each gyration. “Good?” he grunted, concern lacing his voice. You nodded mutely, strands of hair sticking to your parted lips as you moaned obscenities above him. How fucked-out you must look, and you’d barely started. One of your hands gripped his headboard, the other steadying on his chest as Loki let you take him. All of him.

With every roll of your hips, your clit pressed against his pelvis; sparks of pleasure setting your belly alight with new desires. Every soft sigh of your name, good girl, that’s it, pushed you higher; confidence building. You started to bounce, thighs tensing with every slam to the root of his shaft. The desire to close your eyes and let yourself drown in ecstasy was overwhelming, but the urge to watch the god you had craved writhe beneath you was stronger.

“G-gods, my sweet little f-fuck...f-ox…” Loki growled, giving into himself and making you fly into the air with a targeted thrust. He caught your waist, sinking you down with merciless precision, “you’re even more d-deadly than I expected.” The headboard slapped against the wall, each ca-lunk of wood on plaster making you tighten. Fingernails sank into the leather covering as the beat grew louder with every synchronised groan from your throats, of every squelching slap of your bodies moving as one. You didn’t stop to wonder who was on the other side. You didn’t care. Loki grit his teeth, the veins in his neck straining as his hair mussed against the pillow. He slipped a hand behind your head as you leant towards him, sucking the pleasure point of his neck with moans so dirty you surprised yourself. “My patient god,” you grunted wetly against his skin, tightening your cunt around his throbbing sex, “I want your cum covering every inch of me when tonight is over.” The noises he was making were filth. Every curse and uhhhhh and sluttish moan driving you feral as you shook the walls with all your might. Loki was nearing his limit. Men and gods, you surmised, were not so different in some respects.

His eyes rolled back, a hiss filling the hair as his jaw set in smouldering intent. You smiled, placing both hands firmly over the leather seal of his headboard. The flutter of his thumb against your swollen clit was all it took to push you over the edge, tumbling with a strangled cry of his name into an abyss of pleasure. Moonlight shattered around his tense body, cutting in shards where each bladed muscle of his godly formed tightened and bulged beneath the grip of your thighs.

Syllables of your name exploded one after another as he let himself come undone, arching up to catch your open mouth in a filthy kiss. The pressure of his cum swelled inside your slit, leaking against his shuddering thrusts as his whole body trembled. Your cries intertwined the air like wafts of smoke, rising and ebbing before with a final broken sigh, you collapsed on top of him. Your fingertips followed at a snails pace, scratching down the skin of the leather headboard. Seconds passed, before Loki’s nose nestled beside your ear. “Worth the wait,” he murmured against your hair. “Mmm-hmmm,” you confirmed groggily, deep in the pillow. Words were too much. “It wasn’t a question,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You managed to raise your head, seeing the crescent fan of his lashes rise to reveal eyes sparkling with something new. “You,” he whispered, knuckles trailing lovingly down the curve of your damp neck, “however long it took. You were always worth the wait.”

Tags

@meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @sebstanwhore @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @littlespaceyelf @arch-venus25 @liminalpebble

[selarina]

Bleeding Heart Dove

-> Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: In the quiet routine of a strained marriage, a simple proposal for a trip offers a glimpse of hope.

Tags: angst, slow burn, marriage au, marital strain, emotional hurt/comfort, implied emotional neglect, second chance au, rainy day, fluff, suggestive, mention of reader having boobs, unresolved tension (they need to fuck nasty), unedited

Word Count: 970 words

Author's Note: it's raining and I finally got a surge to write something <3 anyway, bleeding heart dovessssssss have my heart

Read on AO3 | Part 2

Today had been sad and gloomy, the rain pouring relentlessly as the clouds had been crying since noon.

He tried to make his entrance small, creeping in like a nimble thief in the night. Slowly, he removed his sodden shoes and coat, hanging them up to dry. His umbrella he placed on the ground, even more slowly. See, it was an old one, and tended to spring up and about with sudden movement.

He stepped inside the kitchen now. There was food on the table, just as always. He uncovered the plastic wrapping and placed it in the oven, not even bothering to check what was for dinner. Hunger was gnawing at him and he would eat a human hand if you let him.

"Hello," a voice cut through.

"Oh," he turned, startled. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"I was up anyway," you replied. Your business clothes clung to you like the remnants of a very weary day. You must have returned late as well. "Let me help, Nanami."

He didn't say anything, simply stepping aside to let you tend to his plate and yours. He had assumed he'd have the whole meal for himself, a strange notion given the portion size. But given that he hadn't eaten all day, he didn't question the rationality at first. Now, it made sense — you hadn't eaten either.

He started setting up the glasses, placing two for wine and two for water, movements mechanical and jittery.

"Here," you said, appearing before him with a corkscrew in hand, as if conjured by some quiet magic.

Your hands looked tired. Lagging. Your eyes bleary. An impulse stirred within him, as though a needle had pricked at his heart, he felt the urge to swipe his hands over your eyes, to wipe away the weariness. But he withheld.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking the corkscrew and setting to work on the bottle.

Your gaze lingered for a mere second on his hands, watching the way they flexed with the way he handled the bottle. Precise. Gentle.

"How was work?" you asked, turning to the oven.

He wonders if you actually cared about what he said. “Horrible,” he answered.

"Oh," you replied. Neutral. "Okay." Neutral again. It drove him a bit insane every time. But he was a calm man.

"And your work?" he asked.

"Oh, quite lovely," you replied, a soft, dove-like smile gracing your lips. It was a smile that brought a sting of sadness to his heart, for he knew you would not elaborate. Not for him.

"That's nice," he said, his voice hollow. He poured the wine into the glasses, filling yours to three-quarters and his to a scant half.

And then the two of you sat, on opposite ends of your teak dinner table. Eating and swallowing in silence. The clanking of the forks being the only music that filled the room. He thought about getting up to play set the record, playing some of those old jazz tunes you were quite fond of. But the record was likely dusty. It was much too much work.

So he remained seated, the silence between you so vast and impenetrable, it made you conscious about how loud you were chewing your food.

—

"Well," you returned from the bathroom. now clad in delicate sleep shorts and a camisole, applying your usual moisturizer to your elbows. "The water's cold," you commented.

"Yeah," he responded, glancing up from his spot on the bed. "Sorry, I prefer it cold so I didn't notice. I think it's the rain."

You chuckled, a sound that seemed almost out of place. "I know you prefer it cold, Nanami. We've been married for practically a millennium, for God's sake."

An exaggeration, of course. It had been six years. You did this a lot.

He offered a faint smile in response, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. "Right," he said.

He felt the bed dip slightly under your weight as you sat. "Will you get my back?" You asked, holding out the moisturiser as you turned to present your back.

He took it, as his hands lifted your camisole, all the way up. He poured some of the white lotion onto his hand as his eyes flickered up, only momentarily, to see your reflection in the mirror. The front half of your top had risen as well, cinching up your breasts.

His eyes trained back to your back, and he began to rub the cream in. Up and down. And up and down. And up and down. When he was finished, he smoothed down your top. He rubbed his hands over your shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze to let you know he was finished.

And then the two of you slept, side by side, waiting for sleep to come find you in the dark. And just then, he doesn't know how or why this happened so don't ask him. All he knew was that somewhere in those first twenty minutes, he had gotten up, his hands reaching for the night lamp to turn it on, leaving you sat up, surprised.

"What is it?" You had asked.

"We should go on a trip," he proposed, calmly.

"A trip," you squinted, your eyes adjusting to the sudden assault of light.

"Yes, we could go to Okinawa," he suggested.

You paused for a moment. "It's storming these days. The weather will be horrible."

"You pick," he said. "Wherever you want to go. We can go."

And then, you thought about it. For a few seconds, he was almost afraid you'd call him a foolish old man and fall back onto your pillow. But instead, you smiled—an earnest smile, outside of your usual politeness. And he felt his heart beating fresh blood.

"Okay, old man," you said. "I'll think of a place."

He smiled.

[paleepeaches]

John Wick Yandere Headcanons

Never done this before so be kind to me! But anyway I just had these thoughts and needed to word vomit them up!

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, ddlg,

A/N: Wouldn't a fic be cute?

Okay so I know I'm not the first to say this and won't be the last but John is a fucking Yandere.

He's a full-blown stalker who probably sees you at a bar or even something so normal as a grocery store.

This man is LONELY af. Since Helen passed he can not find someone else for the life of him.

That's until you come along with your pretty doe eyes and sweet nature.

You can be younger than him and he'll be fine with it. John doesn't mind babysitting a cute bimbo like you

You'll catch his eye with your soft voice and sweet smile. Most people his age have a smoker's voice or are married.

He becomes OBSESSED with you quickly. I mean very swift like within 2 days of seeing you not even talking.

He'll just stalk tf out of you probably at your work. He'll see you bagging groceries or serving drinks and just observe you with customers.

He'll take note of what days you work and don't. He'll mark it on his calendar, and circle it in red like the old man he is.

Once he figures out your schedule and what time you get off, what route you take, if you drive or walk he'll follow you.

He's a skilled hitman so he knows how to disappear and follow someone without them noticing.

He'll stalk you all the way to your apartment and once he's sure you're asleep he'll break in.

He's scoped out your place enough to deduct that you have no pets. Even if you did he'd know how to handle a dog.

John is precise and determined which is why he'd be so keen on placing hidden cameras all over your house.

He'd position them in the living room, kitchen, shower, and even your bedroom.

He'd want to see your most intimate and private moments but not totally invade it.

Of course, you wouldn't find out. Your head is too stuffed in your phone scrolling through social media or online shopping. You got an addiction but it's okay once you're his he'll spoil you! John has a lot of pocket money from all his jobs!

How will he get you?

John doesn't half-ass anything. He's learned to see through tough missions. Even ones he didn't enjoy. Capturing you though...? He would enjoy it.

He'd enjoy setting a date, waiting outside your apartment with his car off.

He'd prepared all the necessary equipment such as ropes, duct tape, and a gun if he needed to threaten you but he'd find that would only scare you more and he didn't want his little girl frightened of him.

He'd go about it more skillfully, more stealthy.

John entered your home after he was sure you entered the deepest REM cycle. He snuck in the window you often left open. Poor forgetful you, always leaving windows unlocked.

One time he found your door unlocked which was a dreadful surprise for him. He locked it right after he watched you sleep for a whole two hours.

See? You needed him to look after you. He'd try to justify his insane actions with that.

With a completely guilt-free head, he'd enter your home, make his way into your bedroom, and see you asleep all cuddled up in your pink plush covers.

You'd look so cute and docile breathing softly.

He'd smile, admiring you before pulling out a clean needled from his jacket pocket. John pricked the needle into a vial of clear liquid, sucking up the fluid before administrating it to you.

Your eyes didn't even flutter open as he injected it.

"Such a good girl." John would speak softly to you, smoothing down your hair and kissing your forehead.

He'd pack your favorite stuffed animal, clothes, and even your cute collections of calico critters or sonny angels, whatever cute trinkets you collected.

He'd want you to feel comfortable at his home. Y'all's home.

[slutforitoshi]

rin itoshi - ink *:･ﾟ✧

ft. tattoo artist!rin x f!reader, 18+ minors dni

cw: unprotected sex, fingering, oral m!receiving, head pushing, nipple play, choking

synopsis: you intend to get a tattoo on your rib cage, but your tattoo artist is eager to see more skin

wc: 2.3k

A/N: kicking screaming crying at the idea of tattoo artist rin also ty for 500 followers!

you swallow hard as you come face to face with your tattoo artist. rin itoshi was the one of the executive artists at blue lock arts and was usually booked for months in advance. your friend isagi had managed to squeeze you in since he knew him personally. 

“it’s nice to finally meet you,” he extends a hand, and you shake it lightly, hoping your own palm wasn’t clammy from nerves. 

you didn’t know if you wanted to thank isagi or punch him. he warned you rin might be a ‘cold prick’, but what isagi failed to mention was that he was panty-dropping hot. and you were expected to keep still while his hands traversed your body for the next 2 hours. 

rin reaches for his tablet before handing it to you, “so i took a look at your ideas and this is what i came up with, let me know what you think” 

it’s gorgeous. it wasn’t for no reason that he had become so well-known despite only entering the industry a few years back. the strokes were drawn with precision, and it encapsulated your vision so perfectly he might as well have read your mind.

“rin it’s perfect” you look at him in awe, and it sends a wave of heat to his face. 

he turns away to hide the unfamiliar pink color on his cheeks and murmurs a “thanks, it’s my job to.” he was usually nonchalant about his work, but something about your starry gaze made him lose composure.

you’re guided to his tattoo table and ordered to lay down, lifting your shirt to reveal your right rib that you intended to ink up. 

“this your first tat?” he asks, noticing the how bare your skin was. something impure crosses his mind thinking how he’d be the first one to leave a mark. 

“yup first one” you laugh nervously, “unless you count the failed stick and poke i did myself back in high school”  

your anecdote earns an amused scoff from rin, “don’t tell me you used pen ink?”

“yeah and an unsanitized sewing needle, too. the thing got so infected and left a nasty scar,” you replied, lifting your leg to reveal the raised skin on your ankle. 

“don’t worry, i’ll make sure this one stays” he’s approaching you now with the tattoo gun, “you’re in good hands here”

his words fill you with warmth, and you wonder why you were ever nervous in the first place.

you both settle into a comfortable silence, with only the slight buzz of the gun to be heard. the lack of conversation allows you to focus your thoughts to another subject: rin. 

the view of rin tapped into his artistic zone was comparable to the work he was currently imprinting on your body. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, lips pursed in concentration. piercing teal orbs would switch their gaze between the reference work and your skin, unnerved by any other environmental stimulus. 

another thing that caught your attention was the lack of tattoos he had on him considering his profession. many artists you knew of were covered and had no intention of hiding them, but you couldn’t spot a single spot of ink on rin. 

“is there something on my face?” he asks, still not sparing you a glance. 

“n-no. just didn’t know where else to look…” you stammer, embarrassed from being caught. you could’ve sworn his lips quirked upwards for a second, but he’s back to being expressionless within a blink. 

“well we’re about 75% finished here so let’s take a 10 minute break and then come back to it” he wipes off the excess ink and discards of his gloves. 

before he can retreat to his desk you ask, “so how do you and isagi know each other?”

“that bastard and i used to be rivals in high school soccer. he used to be real annoying you know, always talking about ‘devouring’ his opponents” he rolls his eyes, remembering old matches. 

“honestly not surprising. i remember he threw a fit when he lost our class’s dance dance revolution tournament,” you laugh reminiscing on your own college memories, “i don’t even know why he tried so hard the prize was a fucking $5 gift card to McDonald’s and he hated that place.”

“apparently gives him debilitating shits” you two finish in unison before bursting into laughter. rin’s laughter is rich and deep, and you try to ignore the shiver it sends down your spine. 

“so how are you unfortunately acquaintanced with isagi?” rin settles into a nearby seat, forgoing his intention to leave.

“we actually used to be coworkers at our college part-time job. and we were the only ones willing to do the night shifts so we got pretty close” 

rin chuckles, “you must be pretty patient to be able to spend so many hours alone with him.”

“oh trust me he definitely drove me insane. he’s a good friend though, and i got an appointment with you through him so i’m definitely thankful for that” you give a warm smile. 

“well, i guess i can thank isagi for introducing us too” he reciprocates your smile, which is quickly interrupted by his manager.

“my ears must be failing me because there’s no way rin is conversing with a customer for once.” 

the manager then looks to you and adds, “well i guess it makes sense that he would open up to a pretty thing like you”

the new presence instantly wipes the smile from rin’s face, and he retorts “what do you want otoya?”

“just wanted to let you know that i’m heading out. make sure to lock up when you’re done” he instructs. he’s about to leave before he turns to look at you again, “hey if rin doesn’t end up asking you out i’d be more than happy to-”

“LEAVE OTOYA”

otoya’s hands go up in surrender, but he makes sure to shoot you a wink before turning the corner. 

“well he is certainly um interesting” you laugh nervously, surprised at the scowl etched onto rin’s face. 

“if you’re interested in him i should warn you that he’s a serial cheater” he mutters, but it only envokes laughter from you. 

“trust me i can sense a sleaze from a mile away” 

your response softens his gaze a little and he signals for you to lay back down on the tattoo bed to start the final session. you couldn’t help but notice that now that you two were the only ones in the building, the space felt a little more intimate.

as the needle presses into you again, you find the pain to be a hundred times more unbearable as a result of your inflamed skin. 

the sensation has you forming tight fists, pressing crescent indents into your palm. and if that wasn’t enough your vocal cords started to betray you, with small whines escaping your lips. unbeknownst to you, those same noises are eating away at rin’s focus. blood is rushing to his head, and not the large one.

“you’re being so good for me, i’m almost done” he whispers in reassurance, rubbing his thumb lightly against your ribcage. his touch effectively distracts you from the pain, sending heat to your lower abdomen. 

it’s not much longer before he’s sitting back, announcing that the piece is finished, and encouraging you to sit up and look in the mirror. what’s reflected back at you leaves your mouth agape. 

“rin, it’s beautiful” 

“yeah, it really is” he agrees, although his gaze never once shifted away from your face.

after a few photos, he’s wrapping up the new ink and getting ready to send you out. as you’re packing up however, you notice a dark trail at the edge of rin’s sleeve. 

“what’s your tattoo of?” you ask, catching his attention. 

he ponders for a moment before replying, “do you want to see it?” 

you nod eagerly, expecting him to roll up his sleeve. however, he opts to discard of his top completely, revealing what could only be deemed as a masterpiece. between that and his incredibly toned body, you were mesmerized.

before your consciousness could stop your instincts, your hand is reaching out to trace over the ink. rin doesn’t stop you, though his skin is burning up from your light fingertips. 

“i drew it myself back when i was an apprentice. my boss at the time did it for me.” 

his voice snaps you back to reality and you quickly withdraw your hand, cheeks flushed. before you could issue an apology though, his own hands are wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back in towards his chest. 

“the things you do drive me fucking crazy” he mutters before colliding his lips into yours. the built up tension over the past few hours is cut so suddenly it leaves both of you desperate to get a taste. 

your hands wrap around rin’s neck, pressing yourself deeper into his warmth. his fingers are tugging at the underside of your shirt now, itching to feel more of your skin. 

he disconnects contact only for a moment to hoist you back up onto the tattoo bed again, lifting your shirt over your head soon after. 

“you’re perfection” he growls at the sight of you before diving into capture your beaded nipple between his lips. the other one isn’t neglected either, finding solace between his fingers, rolling back and forth. 

“a-ah. it’s sensitive rin” you whine at the sensation, which does nothing to halt his ministrations. 

“take them off.” he whispers against your skin, and you need no clarification to know what he means. you kick off your shorts, leaving only your panties stuck against your soaked core. 

rin peels them back, marveling at the slick gathered between your thighs. he quickly pushes you back until you’re rested against the bed, and aligns his fingers to your entrance, eager to be intruded. 

he doesn’t give you the satisfaction immediately however, circling slowly around where you needed him most.

“rin, please,” you beg, “need you inside”

and how could he deny such an earnest request? two fingers push into you at once with little resistance, but it has you rolling your eyes back, leaning further into the firm leather beneath you.

“looks like you need more” he smirked before a third finger made its entrance. a long drawn out rinnn from your lips has his cock painfully straining against his jeans, but he still remained relentless in his pace. 

his digits pumped with such vigor it was impossible to slow down the coil building in your abdomen. his lips attaching to your still-sensitive nipple is what makes you come undone though, and your back is arching against the bed as he’s muttering a, “that’s right, go ahead and cum for me”

with barely a second to recover, you’re ordered to go on your knees as he unzips his jeans to reveal a length you couldn’t fathom fitting within you. the way your mouth watered overrode any fear though and you lean forward to wrap your lips around his tip. 

his hand goes flying to your hair, coiling it around his fist tight. he guides you deeper, inch by inch until tears are pricking at the corner of your lashes. 

“come on baby, i know you can take more” he encourages, and you relax your throat to take an additional 1-2 inches. the pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that ran through you hearing the gutteral moan that escaped rin’s lips. 

you built a rhythm going in and out, making sure to circle your tongue at his tip to feel the shudder that ran through him every time. your hair was still gripped between his fingers, so tight his knuckles were turning white. he was getting dangerously close to finishing, and as tempting as that was he wasn’t quite finished with you yet.

“that’s enough,” he orders, pulling you to your feet. before you could process the new emptiness, he’s flipped you around, pushing your chest forward into the leather bed. 

his guides his tip between your dripping folds, and then pushing once he felt the catch of your entrance. the stretch has you letting out a sigh, and it isn’t long before he’s pulling strings and strings of moans out of you.

one hand is firmly placed at your waist, pulling you against the snap of his own hips. the other is fondling your breasts again, addicted to the plush spilling against his fingers.

“more rin” you plead, and his fingers travel up to your throat, wrapping them tighter until you’re lightheaded. the feeling was intoxicating, clearing your mind of everything but the pleasure.

“so fucking good for me, taking it all” he groans, and his own mind is going to a haze at the squeezes your walls kept inflicting on him. he wouldn’t last much longer at this pace, and it would be such a shame not to cum to such a pretty face. 

he quickly pulls out of you, turning you over to face his piercing teal eyes. barely a second passes before he’s entering you again, thrusting with intensity that threatened the bed to tip over. 

“want you to fill me up” you moan, sensing that he was close. the request has him releasing any restraint he once held, painting your walls with strips of white. the sight of it leaking past your folds once he pulled out had his cock twitching in pride. 

the contrast between rin’s behavior within a span of but 2 minutes was stark, as he took a towel to gently wipe up the mess he left behind.

he places a kiss on your temple, “wait for me in the front ok?”, and turns to start clearing up his work station.

once you had finished trying to make yourself look like you hadn’t just been fucked silly, you waited for rin in the lobby to pay the cost of your tattoo. he simply shut off the register though, leaving you all the more confused. 

“wait i still need to pay the rest of-”

“the deposit was plenty,” he shrugs off your concern, “and if you want to tip…you can do it in the form of dinner next week.”

little did you know that he had no intention of letting you pay for that either.

[stxrborne]

PRECISION

|| Feitan x neutral! Reader ||

|| dt to @after-witch @ddarker-dreams @depravitycentral for inspiring me to finally get off my ass and write, and also for their amazing works ofc! check them out! ||

It’s ironic, Feitan thinks, to sew up the wounds of his victims. But they can’t die just yet.

His thin, long fingers push the needle through the victims skin of their inner thigh, and he gives out a light scoff in mockery when they whimper. Little rich boy can’t handle a little pain? He hates these rich types that think they can pull one over on the troupe. They were fun to interrogate, they always worked up his temper where taking it out on them was something he looked forward to. Due punishment, not only for their bratty, pretentious attitude, but their lucky pull in birth circumstances. Feitan acts as their comeuppance.

He’ll give it to this victim, however, still holding on to the information despite it all. Usually his male victims would start spilling whatever they knew when Feitan picked up a hammer and pushed their thighs apart. But here his victim was, crying and whimpering, and now a eunuch, and still not speaking.

Feitan finishes his stitches with a clean knot, and sets the needle and thread aside on his medical tool tables. He likes to pride himself in his efficiency and perfection. After all, torture required just as much knowledge of the human body as a surgeon. The image of Feitan as a doctor, in a different life, flashed in his mind and he laughed aloud. Maybe. Maybe if he was born lucky. Maybe if he didn’t have to learn surgery and amputations from the cruelty of his home.

After all, doctors can’t save everyone. And he didn’t see the point in willingly putting that responsibility and burden on yourself. Especially for ungrateful rich brats.

No, it was much easier to take life than to protect it. Much more fulfilling too. Other people aren’t your responsibility.

How funny though, Feitan thought. To now have something to willingly burden yourself with.

His ears pricked up to his victim shuffling in his chains, and he turned to them. The man wasn’t remarkable, only one person really was in Feitan’s eyes. The only thing noticeable now was the man’s family crest Feitan had carved on the skin above his heart.

How can you claim to belong to something, if you can’t even mark yourself with it? When you die, how will people know where you belonged to?

Feitan takes the man’s face in between his hand, and moves his head around to inspect his work. He debated between leaving the cut next to eye, dropping a few drops of an infectious bacteria into it so the eye would eventually eat itself. It’d take about a week, and then another for the infection to spread to the rest of the body.

Feitan couldn’t help but smile at the image. He gripped his victims face with his nails, and told him so.

“It’d be funny to see you swell up with blood and pus. I wonder if you’d get fat like an ugly cyst, but you already don’t look all that different from one.”

He let him go unceremoniously, and watched as his head fell forward. Feitan will grant him the mercy of sleep. After all, a dog will still endure abuse if you feed it often enough.

“Feitan?”

He heard you before you reached the basement door of course. He knew where you were in the house at all times after all.

You knew you weren’t allowed to open the door. If you needed him, just knock or call his name. You think it’s because he’d have to kill you if you saw what he was doing.

He knows that, and thinks you’re silly. He wipes his bloodied hands with a clean cloth as he walks to the door. His eyes meet yours when he opens the door, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he closes it. You don’t even know what color the walls of the basement are.

Feitan looks you over, with the same precision he gives to everything. You’ve been picking at your hangnails again and for some reason you didn’t bother bandaging your thumb, where you had ripped and tore at the skin enough for it to bleed. Another thing is that you’re wearing nothing but a towel, which means one thing.

“I want to take a bath,” you say, your clasped hands nervously squeezing themselves. It was another thing you weren’t allowed to do on your own. You didn’t understand why, and you didn’t understand why he did the things he did. He’d set the water the way you like it, even though you don’t remember telling him. He scents it with fragrances and oils that you can tell are expensive, in your favorite scents too. He helps you in and then holds out your towel so he doesn’t see your naked body, and he swiftly turns and closes the curtain. He does the same when you’re ready to come out.

He has a chair he sits on, quietly and unmoving as he watches your silhouette. Maybe it’s a kink or fetish of some kind, you think. It had taken you a while to get use to. But something tells you it wasn’t that exactly. One time you had slipped when washing your body, and before you could fully gasp out in surprise, you were in his arms with his face to the side.

He didn’t act the way you expected a kidnapper would. But it still didn’t explain why you were here at all.

Feitan nods at you, and you lead the way. You’ve learned he preferred to be your second shadow than to be your leading light.

Your large bathroom was attached to your equally large room. Funny how you’ve started to refer to them as ‘yours’. It’s difficult not to, when he is somehow able to let you decorate it the way you want. Feitan does that often, you’ve found. No matter how expensive your request, and you have tested that, he will get it for you. You’re scared to ask how.

He begins his routine when you both step into the bathroom. He gets the water to the temperature you like and let the bath tub fill. The sound of the tub jets fill the air, and you watch as he drips expensive oils into the water. His movements are methodical, and somehow he’s figured out the ratio of water to oil that’s right for your skin.

Feitan doesn’t dare mix the water with his hand.

Your nose is soon filled with the scent, and you feel your tense shoulders slowly let go and relax. He’s watching you, you know that. He stops the faucet when the tub fills up, and you walk up the small steps and stand in front of him.

A part of you is always tempted to touch. His pale skin is smooth and such a contrast to his dark hair. This close, you can see just a hint of green in his black eyes, the way they don’t seem to blink. You wonder if he is even human.

You nod softly and he moves behind you. You can’t even feel his presence, hear his breath, and you slightly jump when he reaches to gently clasp the small fold that holds your towel up.

Feitan waits until you calm again to continue. He never touches you directly, not even a stray touch from any finger. He takes off your towel and spreads it as a barrier between you and him.

But then you do something that has his heart beating and stopping erratically. His breath catches in his throat, your gaze turning to him and he feels trapped beneath it. How do you not know how much power you have over him?

His eyes instantly move to the way you nervously bite at your lip. Somehow he can know everything about you, how you think, how you word those thoughts, and yet now, he can’t believe what he thinks you’re going to say.

“…help me?” You say slowly, so quietly that a normal person wouldn’t have heard you.

But you know he did. And you don’t drop your eyes from him.

Feitan, in return, lets the towel drop.

[antoncore]

thinking about tattoo artist riize ..

— 🎀

like a tattoo | p.wb

a/n: went so overboard that this is a fic…oops

word count: 2k

smut 18+ mdni

everything about wonbin, your tattoo artist, was so so pretty, black tank top with jeans with tattoos covering his arms, his big eyes and his pink lips that were simply kissable. you wanted a cleavage tattoo and was kind of nervous to take off your shirt but you felt comfortable with wonbin as you’d gotten your other tattoos done with him. his voice and overall demeanour helped you feel relaxed as you prepared for the tattoo. you slowly took off your shirt, wonbin looking over as he tried to hide how turned on he was by your big tits, noticing that your nipples were pierced too.

wonbin maintained his composure with a warm smile, his voice soothing as he said, “alright, let’s start. just relax for me, alright angel?” you nodded, feeling reassured by his presence. wonbin prepared his tools, his focus shifting entirely to the task at hand. he began outlining the design with gentle precision, his hands steady and skilled. the initial prick of the needle made you tense up slightly making wonbin say softly, “it’s okay, angel, just relax. that’s it, you’re all good.” you couldn’t help but blush at the way he spoke to you, starting to get wet in your panties, not that you could do anything about it right now.

as he continued, wonbin couldn’t hold himself back from getting hard at the sight of your pretty tits. close to losing focus at the thought of having them in his mouth, playing with your nipples as you moaned his name. but he kept going, paying attention to every detail of your tattoo. after finishing the tattoo and filling in all the details, he leaned back, admiring his work. “all done, angel. looks pretty on you, hm?” you looked down at the fresh ink, smiling with satisfaction. the tattoo was exactly what you had envisioned, intricate and beautifully placed. you smiled up at wonbin, who was still admiring his work, his eyes lingering on your cleavage.

“thank you, wonbin. it looks perfect," you said, your voice genuinely appreciative. wonbin smiled back, his eyes finally meeting yours. "i'm glad you like it, angel, really suits you." his voice was soft, almost intimate, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks again. he found himself looking at your chest again for a moment too long before he snapped back to reality. "i, uh, should get you cleaned up," he said, his voice slightly huskier than before. wonbin reached for a cloth and some antiseptic, gently dabbing around the fresh tattoo. his touch was soft and careful, but you could feel the tension in the air. you bit your lip, trying to suppress the flutter of excitement in your stomach.

"hold still for me, angel," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned closer, the closeness making your heart race. as he finished cleaning the tattoo, his fingers brushed against the underside of your breast, you couldn't help but let out a small gasp, your eyes meeting his. you saw the way wonbin's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as he looked at you, quickly taking his hand away. “touch me wonbin, please,” you said breathily, feeling yourself getting even wetter. “you sound so cute like that, how can i say no?” he replied, before getting on top of you, his hand cupping your tit now which made you whine. he played around with your piercing gently, his thumb brushing over the sensitive metal and sending shivers down your spine. wonbin's eyes were locked on yours, the tension between you almost tangible.

wonbin leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "i was thinking about touching you like this the whole time, angel." you moaned softly in response, your body arching into his touch. "bin, please... don't stop," you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. “bin? aww, what a cute nickname, angel. must be so needy, hm?” he teased, his voice low and clearly running out of patience before he kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with an eagerness that left you breathless. his other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you even closer. you could feel his hardness pressing against you, and it only fueled your desperation for him further.

wonbin broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck to your chest. he took your nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the piercing and making you gasp. he took the other nipple between his fingers, gently tugging and rolling it. the sensation was almost too much to bear, your hands tangling in his hair as you held him close. “so beautiful, my angel," he murmured against your skin. "can't get enough of you." you could hardly think straight, your mind clouded with pleasure. "bin, i need you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “patience, y/n, just wanna focus on these pretty tits for a bit,” he said, his voice teasing.

wonbin continued paying attention to your tits, alternating between sucking on your pierced nipples and gently kneading them. with every touch, you squirmed, making it harder to stay still. his hands eventually began to wonder, sliding down your sides and grazing the hem of your skirt. he glanced up at you, watching the way your face flushed, his eyes darkening with lust. “can i?” he asked, his voice anticipating. you nodded eagerly, unable to form words as your breath hitched in your throat. his fingers slid under your skirt, caressing the sensitive skin of your thighs. he teased you, his fingers brushing against your panties but not quite touching where you needed him so desperately. you squirmed on the tattoo chair, a desperate whine escaping your lips. “please, bin," you begged.

he smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. "such a good girl, asking so nicely," he murmured, finally slipping his fingers past the waistband of your panties. his touch felt so good that you couldn't help but arch into him as he found your wetness. “so wet for me, angel," he whispered, his fingers sliding easily inside your slick folds. he found your clit, circling it with gentle pressure that made you gasp. "feels good, doesn't it, angel?" “yes, so good," you moaned, your hips bucking pathetically against his hand. the pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every stroke of his fingers.

“n-need you inside me,” you stuttered, longing for wonbin’s cock. he gave a low appreciative hum, eyes darkening at your words. “what did i say, angel? patience, i know what i’m doing,” wonbin whispered as his fingers continued working you open. the anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you could feel yourself trembling with need. his thumb pressed firmly against your clit while his fingers curled to hit that perfect spot that made you see stars. “oh god, bin," you moaned, your head falling back. "’m so close." “cum for me, angel," he commanded softly, his lips brushing against your ear. “wanna feel you fall apart for me." the combination of his voice and the skill of his fingers sent you over the edge. you cried out his name, your body arching off the chair as you came all over his fingers. he didn't stop though, coaxing every last bit of your orgasm out of you until you were left panting and spent.

wonbin finally withdrew his hand, his eyes full of admiration and lust as he looked at you. "you're so beautiful, angel," he said, his voice filled with affection. you reached for him, pulling him close and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. "fuck me," you whispered against his mouth. "please." he didn't need any more encouragement, standing up and quickly unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off, leaving him in just his boxers. you couldn't help but admire his body, the way his tattoos covered him so flawlessly. he pulled you to the edge of the tattoo chair, lifting your skirt and sliding your panties down your legs. his eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

"you're so fucking perfect," wonbin whispered, smirking as he positioned himself between your legs, his hardness pressing against your entrance. you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer. "please, bin. fuck me," you begged, needing to feel him inside you. with one swift motion, he buried his cock inside you, filling you perfectly. both of you moaned at the sensation, loving the way the other felt. his movements were slow and deliberate at first, letting you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his hands returning to your breasts, playing with your nipples which he knew would make you feel even more pleasure.

"god, you feel so good, angel," wonbin groaned, his voice thick with desire as he began to move, his thrusts becoming more insistent. he thrusted so deeply that it had you whimpering and clinging to him. “yes, binnie, yes," you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you matched his pace. the sensation of him filling you, combined with the way he was teasing your nipples had your head going insane. "please, more." "such a good girl for me," he muttered against your skin, his breath hot on your neck. he shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit the perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "tell me how much you want it." “i want it so bad," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. "need you, need you to fuck me harder."

wonbin obliged, unable to deny you of what you wanted, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, making you cry out his name over and over. wonbin's hands roamed your body, one hand gripping your hip while the other continued to play with your breasts, his thumb brushing over your pierced nipple in a way that made you shiver. “so beautiful, fuck,” he groaned, his pace relentless. “wish i could stay like this all day and all night.” you gradually felt yourself getting closer and closer to cumming, his thrusts so fast and deep, hitting every spot inside you just like you wanted.

“bin, i’m gonna cum,” you whined, voice barely above a whisper. “that’s it, angel. cum for me,” wonbin commanded. “wanna feel you cum on my cock, ok?” his words had you spiralling again, crying out as you came. he didn’t stop, thrusting deep inside of you to prolong your orgasm. he felt himself getting close, trying to pull out but you tightened your legs around his waist despite feeling overstimulated. “no, please,” you pleaded, your voice breathless. “want you to cum inside me.” he couldn’t resist, his thrusts growing erratic, each one more desperate than the last. “didn’t wanna pull out anyway, wanna fill you up angel,” he confessed in a broken moan, the words making you gasp. with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself as deeply inside you as he could, his body tensing as he came inside you. the feeling of his cum inside you and the way you clenched around his cock had the two of you breathless and trembling.

you stayed as you were for a moment, wrapped around each other and heavily breathing. wonbin slowly pulled back, looking down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and affection. "i could stay like this forever,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. you smiled up at him as you replied with, “me too,” reaching to kiss him softly. he helped you clean up, his touch gentle and attentive. once you were both dressed again, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “thank you, wonbin," you said softly. “no, thank you, my pretty y/n,” he replied, kissing your forehead.

“want me to take you home, angel? i wanna take care of you,” wonbin continued, smiling softly, slighting giggling. you nodded, grateful for his offer. you looked down at the fresh ink on your chest once again, now carrying a dual meaning, a tattoo that would make you remember what just happened.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

I love reading kidnapping whump. However, the thing I really enjoy is reading the process of being kidnapped. Like, I enjoy the chase just before whumpee gets dragged away.

I really dislike when the story doesn’t describe how the whumpee gets captured or even “whumpee felt a prick and felt their eyes close”. I feel like a good kidnapping story needs to make my heart sink.. I guess I just like the juicy details 🥰🥰

Just something I wanted to share. Haha

Yes! YES! Honestly all whump is in the details; you just gotta find people that appreciate the same details as you. I 100000% agree that the process of kidnapping is overlooked all too often. 

We need more whumpers that are sadistic during the kidnapping, not just afterwards. Whumpers that like the chase and the power trip that comes with catching whumpee, not just owning them. 

They could make it quick. Stick them with something fast acting, manhandle them into place while the drug kicks in. They'd be done in minutes, no fuss or issue. 

 But what would be the fun in that?

So they don’t. When they finally get ahold on Whumpee, easily pinning their flailing limbs to the side, Whumper only injects them with a half dose. Not enough for them to escape, mind you, but enough for them to think they have a chance.

And then Whumper let’s go. And then they watch.

What does Whumpee do? From the moment the needle enters their body, they’re on a timer. Every beat of their terrified heart is bringing them closer to oblivion, makes the distance between danger and safety seem so much wider. There's nobody to help them, nobody in sight but their attacker. What can they do?

Does Whumpee try to fight back? 

They send an elbow back into Whumper as soon as the arms around them give way, whirling around with angry, terrified eyes. Fear sends their heart pounding as their gaze locks onto Whumper. They see those cunning eyes and lean muscles, see the shine of something metallic in their attacker’s hand.

Wumpee sees the emptiness around them, both vast yet horrible claustrophobic. There’s nowhere to run.

They’re terrified, they’re helpless. And in that moment, anger worms its way into Whumpee’s heart. It’s fueled by panic, a sort of prey rage bred from true helplessness, but it’s enough to spring Whumpee into action. In that moment, they realize the only way out is through Whumper. 

So they rush forward, lashing out like a cornered animal. There’s nothing graceful about their attacks. Each push does more damage to themselves than their target, most kicks don’t even land at all. Every swing is a flailing, pathetic thing, fueled by nothing but blind panic. 

And Whumper isn’t even fighting back. They block each blow with expert precision, not even bothering to restrain Whumpee’s movements. Whumpee’s putting everything, everything into their struggle, and Whumper isn’t even breaking a sweat. There’s no sign of effort or strain in Whumper’s movements, none of the desperate urgency Whumpee feels. There’s only that grin on Whumper’s face, cruel and mocking, like they’re enjoying it

A scream tears its way from Whumpee's throat. It’s full of frustration and terror,  a high pitched whine that comes out like a half sob. They keep fighting, trying to knock down the unmovable wall in front of them. 

But Whumpee can’t keep it up forever. They’re slowing by the second; with each beat of their heart, the sedative is spreading throughout their bloodstream. Each swing is weaker than the last, sloppier. They’re swaying on their feet within minutes, barely standing against the growing static in their mind. They can’t stop the world from tilting around them.

It only sends another wave of terror through Whumpee. They keep pushing. 

But terror can only take them so far. Whumpee’s heart freezes in their chest as Whumper effortlessly grabs one of their weakly swinging fits. They don’t let go. Whumpee pulls, and they don’t let go. They kick and whine, too exhausted to even properly scream, and Whumper’s hold stays firm. Each effort to escape only sends another wave of unnatural exhaustion through their body. 

The sensation of the drug working into their system is suffocating. It forces their pounding heart to slow, smothering their terror under a thick haze, sapping the energy from their limbs. The fear is still there, still overwhelming, but they just can’t react to it anymore. 

Swaying on their feet, all they can do is stare into the triumphant, predatory eyes of their captor.

Finally, they drop. Whumpee’s body tilts forward without their control, slumping into Whumper’s chest. They're caught effortlessly as their legs finally give out, pulled into a half-hug as Whumper supports their weight. Everything in Whumpee tells them to pull away, to bite or scream or anything. But they can't force their body to respond. But they can't form a plan, can't think beyond the haze clouding their mind.

The last thing Whumpee feels as their vision fades is their body being lifted into someone's arms.  They don't have the strength left to fight it.

Or maybe Whumpee runs?

They push away from Whumper the moment they’re free, taking a stumbling step away from their attacker. Before terror can kick in, there’s only surprise, maybe even anger. They turn to face Whumper on instinct, some angry rebuke already on their lips. 

Whatever they’d been about to say died in their throat the moment they look back. Whumper is simply standing there, as if they were waiting for something. There is no explanation in their expression. Not the anger of some scorned lover, not the frustration of a failed mugging. Whumper just stands there. Eyes sharp, eyes focused squarely on Whumpee, ready to strike at any moment. 

There’s something inhuman about it, about the absence if all expression but an animalistic intensity. It calls to something animalistic in Whumpee as well. Something that screams that Whumpee is staring down a predator ready to eat them whole. 

Terror comes to Whumpee slowly, like a pressure laying itself against their chest. As their expression morphs into terror, a grin splits Whumper’s face.

Whumpee’s running before they even realize it. Shoes slamming against the sidewalk, heart pounding in their chest in their mad dash to just get away. They don’t know where they’ll go, don’t know where they’d be safe. But anywhere, anywhere is better than with that monster. 

Their escape is graceless. They run half blind in the darkness, stumbling over obstacles in their mad dash. Tears are streaming from their wide eyes, mouth wide as they pull in desperate lungfuls of air. 

They can’t hear anything beyond their own ragged breathing. They don’t dare slow down, don’t dare turn around. They don’t know if they’d managed to escape or not, and so they keep running. 

The first wave of dizziness hits them like a truck, nearly sending them tumbling to the ground. It feels like the ground is shifting underneath them, tilting side to side like a boat in the ocean. 

They stop, not because they want to, but because they have to if they want to stay upright. Whumpee leans against the nearest wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths in hopes of chasing away the disorientation. 

It doesn’t help. With each inhale, it feels like their vision is growing dimmer, their body growing heavier. It’s not long until Whumpee is resting their full weight against the wall, barely remaining upright. Their attempts to collect their thoughts crumble as their mind wanders. Each wave of dizziness breaks their concentration, and it’s becoming harder by the moment to recollect themselves.

They’re exhausted. It creeps into them like a chill, and now that they’ve stopped moving the feeling is near overwhelming. 

Panic still flows through their mind, demanding that they move. But their body won’t listen. Whumpee’s limbs won’t move despite their fear. Their heartbeat has slowed despite their terror, a relaxed, sedated beating in their chest instead of the panicked drumming from moments before. Whumpee can feel their eyes closing without their consent, and it terrifies them. 

Whumpee can’t stop themselves as their legs give out on them. They fall like dead weight, head smacking against the sidewalk. All they can do is groan, a low pathetic keening that barely manages to creep past their lips. 

The pain is just enough to bring a spark of alertness back to their eyes. Just enough to bring back the memory of their attacker. The look in their eye, the expression that gave away no motivation but malice. The gleeful smile full of a hunger Whumpee couldn’t explain. 

The glint of something sharp and metallic on Whumper’s hands. The sharp pain in Whumpee’s neck seconds before they managed to pull away. 

The revelation makes Whumpee’s throat go dry. And suddenly that pain is the only thing they can feel, a pulsing ache from where they’d been stabbed. No, injected. They’d been drugged, and it’d taken them this long to realize it. 

In that moment, as Whumpee’s eyes finally slip shut, the faintest of smiles crosses their lips. It’s mirthless, almost angry. The broken smile of someone who's just realized all their effort was utterly pointless.

Whumpee’s not awake to hear the sound of even, confident footsteps approaching them. 

It doesn’t really matter what they do. Stay and fight, run and hide, it’s futile.

And that’s the point. The point is the struggle, the desperation that can only exist when there’s a sliver of hope left. Even when that hope is an illusion, even when that hope only exists to be mercilessly crushed.

[moonxytcn]

Hiya, I have a billie eilish request. Fem reader cuts the palm of her hand open while trying go cut something. Billie takes us to the hospital and we end up having stitches!

Thank you ❤️

dinner night goes wrong

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

summary – you cut yourself while preparing dinner

warnings – a little cute, blood, accidental knife cut

a/n – Thanks for the request anon, I hope you like it!

English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

–––

You breathe in deeply, taking in the delicious scents of the kitchen. The herbs, the garlic, the freshly chopped vegetables—all of it mingles in the air, creating a symphony of aromas that makes your mouth water. You hum to yourself, feeling accomplished as you move to the next step of your dinner preparations.

Billie is lounging on the couch, strumming her guitar absently, filling the apartment with a soft, soothing melody. Her presence is a comforting backdrop to your culinary efforts, and you find yourself smiling as you reach for the sharp knife.

With a practiced hand, you begin slicing the vegetables on the cutting board. The carrots and bell peppers are vibrant under the kitchen light, their colors popping against the wooden board. You grip the knife handle firmly, focusing on making even, precise cuts. It’s a rhythm you know well, a dance between blade and produce that you’ve perfected over many dinners.

But tonight, something goes wrong.

As you move to cut through a particularly stubborn carrot, your grip slips. The knife veers off course, and before you can react, a sharp, searing pain shoots through your hand. You gasp, dropping the knife onto the counter with a clatter. Blood wells up from a deep gash in your palm, and you stare at it, stunned, for a moment too long.

"Billie!" You call out, your voice shaky with a mix of pain and panic.

The music stops abruptly, and Billie is by your side in an instant, her guitar abandoned on the couch. Her eyes widen when she sees the blood, and she quickly wraps a towel around your hand, applying pressure to slow the bleeding.

"Are you okay?" She asks, her voice tight with concern.

You try to nod, but the pain is overwhelming, making it hard to think clearly. "I—I think I need stitches." You manage to say through gritted teeth.

Billie’s face hardens with determination. "We’re going to the hospital. Now."

With surprising efficiency, she helps you to your feet and guides you out the door. The towel around your hand is quickly turning crimson, and each step sends a fresh wave of pain through your arm. But Billie’s presence is a balm, her calm, steady demeanor a lifeline you cling to as she leads you to the car.

The drive to the hospital is a blur. Billie keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your uninjured hand, squeezing it reassuringly. She murmurs soothing words, trying to keep you focused and calm. You lean back in the seat, your eyes closed, focusing on her voice and the sound of the engine.

When you arrive at the emergency room, Billie helps you inside, her arm around your shoulders. A nurse quickly takes you back to an examination room, and the next hour is a whirlwind of antiseptic smells, bright lights, and the cool touch of medical instruments. Billie never leaves your side, holding your hand and whispering encouragement as the doctor examines your wound.

"You’re going to need stitches." The doctor says, confirming what you already knew. He cleans the cut thoroughly, explaining each step of the procedure as he works. Billie watches closely, her expression a mix of concern and fascination.

The needle’s first prick makes you wince, but Billie squeezes your hand tighter, grounding you. The doctor works quickly, his hands steady and sure, and soon enough, the wound is closed, the ugly gash now a neat line of sutures.

"All done." The doctor says, securing the final stitch. He gives you instructions for care and pain management, then leaves you with a sympathetic smile.

You look down at your bandaged hand, feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion. Billie helps you off the examination table, her touch gentle. "Let’s get you home." She says softly.

The drive back is quieter, the urgency of the situation replaced by a calm, almost serene atmosphere. Billie holds your hand the entire way, her thumb tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You find yourself leaning into her, the pain in your hand now a dull throb overshadowed by the warmth of her presence.

Back at the apartment, Billie insists on making the rest of dinner herself, despite your protests. She’s not the best cook, but you don’t care. You sit at the kitchen table, watching her fumble with the vegetables and smile at her determined expression.

"You know, you don’t have to do this." You say, feeling a wave of affection for her.

She glances at you over her shoulder, a teasing glint in her eye. "I think I owe you, considering you almost sliced your hand off making me dinner."

You laugh, the sound lightening the tension in the room. "Fair enough. But I’m not cleaning up if you burn anything."

Billie laughs too, the sound filling the kitchen with warmth. "Deal."

As you watch her, you realize how lucky you are to have someone like her in your life. Someone who rushes to your side when you’re hurt, who stays with you through the scary moments, and who can make you laugh even when you’re in pain. The cut on your hand will heal, but the bond between you and Billie feels stronger than ever.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Caught

Yandere!Demon x Gn!HauntedReader

warnings: mentions of bullying, sleep paralysis, mentions of hallucinations, paranoia, drugging, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, murder, gore, death

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Slender gnarly hands slithered over your exposed skin, curling around your throat, squeezing so tightly that black spots floated around your vision.

You were being chocked.

A silent scream was caged in your throat, while your eyes ripped wide open and death was awaiting you, and you couldn't do a single thing other than stare into two large orbs of never ending black depth.

This was your final moment, the last seconds on earth, you had to do something, anything or else you were going to die—

Or were you?

Hiccuping and gasping you awoke to your sheets drenched in sweat, trembling all over with the sensations of needles pricking your limps, all of them heavy and uncomfortable.

You were always a weird kid, since childhood to be precise. You see things that are not there, feel things that shouldn't be able to be felt and hear whispers in the dead of night. You know of things that you should not know of, things that no one else has discovered yet.

Groaning you drag yourself up, swinging one leg over the other, ascending to your numb feet, barely catching yourself before you fall down again. It's horrible, each morning you awake to a body exhausted and aged, as if you were never granted rest.

Another day of your boring job, simmering away in an office, an occupation you loathe, with coworkers regarding you with the same disturbed glances and hushed whispers that have haunted you your whole life.

Perhaps you may feel strongly, stronger than any other person in the room, but they can sense it, the air of animosity around you. That cursed energy emitting from you.

Maybe that's why every single man you were interested in, killed himself after the very first date.

The hours in the office rolled around painstakingly slowly, yet somehow the seconds faded into minutes and then into hours. You were used to the lingering judgement around you, that none of your colleagues meant it when they smiled at you waving you goodbye as you finished for the day, yet what you weren't used to was for him.

He, your office crush, to approach you.

“Good work today.” he mentioned casually, dropping praises onto you as if you were a golden hen instead of the mascot for all things depressing. You knew what they whispered behind your back, how unbearably edgy you were.

“Uh, Thanks.” you sputtered overwhelmed by the sudden attention, which wasn't unwelcomed by any means but definitely alarming. Alarming in that sense that you now feared for this man’s life.

“Would you like to join us? We’re going out to eat at the new Italian. Might be fun.” he offered lightheartedly with the same picture perfect smile that you fell for.

Instead of joy, you felt your fear now unfolding infront of your very eyes. You just couldn't allow him to also commit the same mistake as all the others. So you flashed him an anxious smile, acting as if you were oh-so busy, apologizing profusely and thanking him.

Yet he was more stubborn than you initially assumed.

“It's really not that expensive if that's what you're worried about! And the food is great. Besides I think it wouldn't be so bad if you opened up more, would make you certainly more popular among our colleagues!” he exclaimed energetically, overly confident, with such a glimmer in his eyes as if he knew, knew about those gnarly fingers that kept trying to choke you. You shook your head at yourself, you were succumbing to paranoia again, this had to stop besides he was right though, you needed to at least try to make this better for you, and it wasn't a date anyways.

So it was win-win, right?

That's at least what you had hoped for. And yet it turned out yo be a disaster. Their burning gazes never leaving you, so penetrating with unfiltered judgement bordering on almost hatred, you couldn't stand it.

Admittedly as the night progressed and you after you managed to pull yourself together after a mini meltdown in the bathroom did things starten to loosen up, well your colleagues certainly did through the help of alcohol. So you started to be drowned in the mass of boisterous laughter and messy gossiping, making you finally stop sticking out like a sore thumb.

Perfect that's what he wanted.

While everyone was too occupied, it was easy to watch you in silence, face a perfect facade, he knew you, that knew the moment you staggered, blinking slowly.

“Hey—everything okay?” asked one of your colleagues who was intimidated by you, yes, but not heartless enough to not notice the odd way your eyes moved, pupils dilating and shrinking, while you felt fuzzy all over, as if you were the one that chugged two beers instead of her.

Before you could even answer, your colleague who had been so kind to invite you jumped up in concern. Worry lacing his tone as he suddenly laid his palm flat against your forehead, startling you with the sudden intimate gesture.

“Are you sick? I wouldn't have suggested you join us if I knew you were sick.” he muttered seemingly more to himself than you, while all you could do was watch in silence, your voice refusing to work no matter how hard you tried.

From then on it was all a blur, you heard all of the noise at once, everything overwhelming and overly stimulating your senses as a arm was draped over your waist, squeezing your midrift slightly as the restaurant faded into nothingness.

There was something like a breeze softly tickling your nape, no, it was someone breathing down your back—it was him, you made out, the colleague who was guiding you to his car.

“Don't worry.” you felt something wet against your neck, body so numb you were uncertain how you were even able to walk. “I will be gentle.” he breathed into your ear, reminding you of same haunting voices that whispered into your ear every night.

You didn't even understand what was happening, his words failing to properly register into your mind, as he dragged you into his car, placing you in the passenger seat like a ragdoll while you couldn't even keep your head upright.

There was only this silent scream deeply plunged in your chest, some sort of instinctive panic, that tried to wake your body up, but nothing, you could only sit there trying to fight off sleep as the engine started.

“Took some time.” he groaned, starting to laugh. It wasn't a laugh you ever heard from him before. That laugh was unhinged, squeaky and something you would hear from a killer in a horror movie.

“Y’know how hard it was to get my fingers on that drug? Phew! Took ages to be discreet! But it worked! God it worked!” he laughed, his tone starting to sound like nails scratching against those green boards you saw in school.

“Fuck—you’re a real weirdo but so hot, god! No one would miss you anyways—easy. And you're just so dumb too! You didn't even think twice about trusting me—or well you didn't have another choice with how drugged you are right now!” you felt your chest tighten, thoughts muddled yet one was clear, concreted in the forefront of your mind—that you had to find a way to escape.

And that opportunity presented itself to you so swiftly, so brashly and so painfully you regretted wishing for it.

You couldn't even make out what occurred, only the sudden flickering of lights, something indescribably loud ringing in your ears, making you want to claw your eardrums out and before you realized it the car tumbled over and crashed.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in Breathe out—

For a moment there was only this ringing, similar to that of a buzzing of a phone, before you glanced over at what remained of you colleague; a pulp of red, raw flesh.

You gagged, but before you could lose yourself in a sea of despair you felt slender, gnarly, icy cold fingers caress your cheek.

“You're mine, human.”

it was an omnipresent voice, words not uttered but received by you nevertheless.

Cursed with the gift of knowing things others couldn't, you were also cursed with living with the owner of those gnarly fingers that gently wrapped around your throat squeezing so tightly until peace crept inside every nook and cranny of your brain, lulling your eyes back into your skull.

[hotmentransformed]

Hollywood Magic

In the bustling backstage of the prestigious Oscars ceremony, nerves were running high. Among the frenzy of stagehands, makeup artists, and celebrities, stood Alex, a wide-eyed production assistant fresh out of film school. It was his first gig at such a grand event, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had bought a fresh tuxedo for the event and felt professional and ready to start his new career.

Throughout the evening, Alex darted from one task to another, ensuring everything ran like clockwork. He meticulously checked seating arrangements, coordinated with the stage crew, and even fetched coffee for the stars. Despite the chaos around him, Alex felt a surge of exhilaration with each passing moment, relishing the special opportunity to be a part of Hollywood's biggest night.

But as the ceremony progressed smoothly, tension began to mount backstage when one of the scheduled presenters failed to show up for their award presentation. Panic swept through the crowded corridors as frantic whispers filled the air. Producers frantically made calls to find a replacement, but everyone was either unavailable or unwilling to present. With no one else available at such short notice, all eyes turned to Alex.

Without warning, an envelope was thrust into his hands, and he was ushered onto the stage. His heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. This was his moment—a chance to step onto the grand stage of the Oscars and make his mark in the entertainment industry. Usually, the honor was only reserved for the most iconic of stars: how lucky he was to be just an average Joe, given an opportunity rarely afforded to even some of the most famous celebrities. As Alex approached the microphone, the weight of the moment bore down on him like a heavy cloak. The sea of faces in the audience blurred as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest as he felt an inexplicable surge of warmth coursing through his body. At first, he thought it must be from the stage lights, but it grew stronger and more electrifying. It started as a subtle tingling but soon evolved into an intense sensation, like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

His muscles tensed and bulged beneath his clothes, a strange pressure building within him. Alex's eyes widened in shock as he felt the fabric of his brand-new suit strain against his expanding frame. The audience's murmurs of anticipation turned into gasps of surprise as they witnessed the spectacle unfolding before them. First, it was his arms, as if sculpted from marble, that began to swell with newfound strength. His biceps and triceps rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt, stretching it to its limits, and eventually ripping his sleeves. Then, his chest expanded, pushing against the material as if eager to break free. Each breath seemed to inflate his torso further, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

As Alex's transformation continued, his shoulders broadened, each muscle defined with chiseled precision. His back rippled with power, the fabric of his shirt straining against the force of his expanding physique. Even his legs, once hidden beneath his trousers, began to bulge with raw strength, threatening to burst through the fabric at any moment.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Alex couldn't help but flex his muscles, which expanded and tore free from the confines of his shirt and jacket, a mixture of embarrassment and pride washing over him as he unwittingly showed off his newfound form to the world. The audience's laughter only fueled his humiliation, but still, he couldn't stop himself.

With each involuntary flex, Alex's body seemed to take on a life of its own, moving with a grace and power that he had never known. His embarrassment gave way to a sense of awe as he marveled at the sheer magnitude of his transformation. But just as he began to revel in his newfound strength, disaster struck. With a sudden rip, the fabric of his pants gave way, leaving him standing on stage in the nude. His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as he hastily covered himself with the envelope he had been given to present the award.

Standing there dumbfounded and twice his previous size, he heard an announcer on the speakers: “And now, presenting the Academy Award for Best Costume Design, the one, the only: John Cena!”

[pastel0rchid]

A Gift from the Gods (3)

Hiccup x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K (Sorry it's short, this was a bit of a filler chapter)

Warnings: Descriptions of stitching wounds

A/N: 'Amma' means Grandmother in Old Norse. I searched this up on Google, so if somehow anybody knows Old Norse and it's incorrect, please tell me XD

Previous Chapter .~.~. Next Chapter

Stab, tug, pull.

Stab, tug, pull.

Stab, tug, pull.

These movements had become monotonous after the first few stitches. A scrap of leather placed between your gritted teeth as a muffled grunt of pain occasionally breaks the silence of the hut you had been dragged to.

Throughout the fiery agony that licks up your arm, your eyes remain squinted into a glare at the blond Viking tasked with keeping tabs on you. The rope, thankfully, remains in his hands instead of around your wrists. The elder, who you are guessing was Gothi after remembering Hiccup’s earlier conversation, would shake her staff at him when he tried walking close to you.

So now you sat in the middle of the hut, Gothi by your right side stitching up the cut while the Viking stood watch.

Her movements were precise like she had done this plenty of times to others in the village, gaze focused while she stopped stitching to wipe away the blood that flowed from the wound with each stab of the needle.

The needle had been hot when it was first stabbed into the sensitive skin around the open wound, having been held over the open flame crackling behind Gothi in the assurance of sterilizing it. The searing sting had caused a scream to be muffled by the leather clenched tightly in your mouth, a line of sweat instantly appearing on your forehead as tears prick at your lash line.

With each impale of the needle, the sharp pain slowly devolves into a dull throbbing, your cheeks having long since been dried with salty tears.

Gothi soon ties off the final stitch, lathering on that orange paste Hiccup had applied earlier, before wrapping it with a scrap of cloth.

You take a shaky breath of relief, thankful that the pain is finally over.

While Gothi turns to put away the materials she used, your eyes glance towards the hut entrance, reaching a hand up to swipe the excess moisture from your previous crying. If you could just be fast enough in spreading your wings, you could avoid the Viking and-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, lass.”

The gruff voice of the blond Viking causes your gaze to snap over to him. He knew what you were thinking, had you truly been so obvious? You keep your eyes squinted into a glare as you look up at him from where you remain seated on the floor, your wings slowly lowering back into a relaxed position from where they had opened ever so slightly.

So that’s how he knew, you didn’t even realize that your wings had responded to your thoughts, too focused on planning your escape… which quickly slipped from your fingers like every other attempt.

“Do what?”

You snapped at him through gritted teeth, annoyance clear in your voice at every attempt to escape being thwarted by some Viking. Your voice sounded foreign to you though, hoarse from the misuse of it over the past few days and the lack of water to moisten your throat.

The Viking doesn’t seem to get angered at your irritation, he only laughs while leaning against the wall, the rope remaining in a loose grip in his hands. His dismissal of you and his relaxation show he doesn’t see you as a threat, only annoying you further.

You could feel the thrumming of your heart, displeasure flowing through your veins like molten lava, as the Viking continued to laugh like you had said the best joke he’d ever heard.

“You wouldn’t get very far,” He says with a lopsided grin under his mustache, revealing a silver tooth that glistened in the sun, “Stoick already has others waiting outside with weapons ready.”

Gothi walks back towards you, waving a dismissive hand towards the blond Viking before grabbing the elbow of your uninjured arm and tugging it to signal that she wants you to stand. Your gaze turns from the Viking to Gothi, you can’t help the way your eyes soften as you follow her orders, getting to your feet.

She reminded you of your grandmother on your mother’s side, who used to be the village elder like Gothi is.

Your thoughts are filled with memories of your grandmother.

The times she would help clean your wings when you would play too much outside with the other children. The way she always smelt of the freshly baked bread she would bring over in the mornings. Her gentle voice while she told stories of your ancestors as you sat by the fire under the starry night.

~~~

“Do you see the stars, my little spitfire?”

Your grandmother looks down at you as you sit beside her on a log by the freshly lit fire, warmth surrounding your little body as the fire pops and crackles. It was the end of a wonderful birthday, having turned five and taking your first full flight above the village with your parents.

“I do, Amma. They twinkle so prettily.”

Smiling up at your grandmother, she smiles back while her right-wing wraps around your form, a comforting move she would always do when sitting with you. Her gaze goes to the sky as she begins speaking, telling you your ancestors’ story like she would do every year on your birthday.

“Just like the gods gave us the stars, so did they give us this wonderful gift of flight.”

The story begins and ends the same every year she would tell it, but you would always listen to it with as much intent as a young girl could. This was your history, your reason for being.

She recounts how your ancestors were held captive by neighboring villages and details their nightly pleas to the gods for salvation. The night before they were going to be executed, your ancestors awoke with great pains in their backs. From the oldest of the captives to the youngest, everyone endured this quick suffering.

The gods had answered in an unexpected way, wings sprouting from their backs to aid in their escape. The captors had no idea until in the morning when they opened the cells to drag them toward their end, only to be shoved aside as they all flew off. Women carried the children that were too young while the men helped keep the elders afloat.

They flew over forests and oceans until they found a clearing surrounded by thick woods that would need an axe just to get through the bushes. It was perfect, so they set up camp and never left.

Generations go by.

Buildings get built, families get made, lives get lived.

The story ends with your grandmother looking back down at you with a smile on her lips, just like you loved listening to the story, she loved telling it.

“Our wings are a gift, my little star. We must cherish them like we do each other.”

Your mother walking over signals the end of storytime, her arms gracefully picking you up as she nuzzles her nose against your cheek. A greeting done for generations, learned from the dragons that inhabit the surrounding forest.

As your mother carries you back to the hut to sleep, you look over her shoulder towards your grandmother, waving your goodbyes as a yawn leaves your lips. Exhausted from celebrating your birthday and experiencing your first full flight, you lay your head on your mother’s shoulder, taking in her soothing scent of lavender as you drift off in her arms.

Unbeknownst to you, this would be your last birthday celebrated with your family, for a few months later, the village was attacked.

~~~

You rip yourself from the memory with quick blinks of your watery eyes. Your heart feels like it is slowly squeezed by a fist in your chest.

Why did it have to happen? Why was your family ripped from you when everyone was finally happy?

Why were you the sole survivor? Forced to be left alone.

A small tug to your elbow brings you back to the present, Gothi and the blond Viking staring at you after you had planted yourself to where you stood. Gothi watches you with a calculating gaze as you swipe your thumb against your eyes, gathering the unshed tears and flicking them away as if nothing had happened.

The blond Viking pushes himself off the wall as you begin to be dragged out of the hut by Gothi, the older woman having a surprising amount of strength for such a small physic.

“Come on, lass. It’s dinner time and Stoick is expecting your presence.”

Taglist: @spiderlily-w1tch-blog @millie--billie @persipeoni @honethatty12 @oscarissac2099 @up-l4te-4t-n1ght @morishitoshi @nctikki @vexis-world @fries11 @ddamm @ok-boke @moejoeflow

[stuffeddeer]

y!dazai buying plushies and clothes for you :) but since he’s a massive douchebag he ended making you cry about it (probably didn’t feel bad either bleh)

he feels like he need to coddle you every single minute of the day or else he’ll go batshit crazy

anon i thought this said MAKING clothes for u i was about to cheer imagine dazai with his precise and nimble fingers hand sewing clothing for himself during the two years he spent underground, patching holes in his jacket and such ouughhh.. his darling gifts him a sewing machine after seeing his dodgy sewing set up utilizing a single bent needle and a lot of patience that he doesn’t normally have… ARE YOU ALL SEEING THIS TOO…… tbh tho he’d prick himself one (1) time with the needle and never pick one up again he’s such a baby or he’d swallow one

Kidnapper!Dazai who drones on and on about how hard he works to provide for the two of you, the least you can do is cuddle the plushies he got you if not him. That’s money that could have gone towards the betterment of your forcibly shared apartment, rather than some childish plushies just to keep you placated. Stop crying, that’s why he got them for you, remember?

wait hold on

He tries and be all sweet and doting, dropping the plush on top of some cozy pajamas he’d purchased for you that day. With a delusional smile he’d pull you into a hug, tugging at the hem of your pants claiming he wants a fashion show. At least the pajamas are modest — long pant legs and sleeves that at least cover your shoulders. The worst offender has a low neckline, but he’s sure you’ll appreciate that he didn’t go for anything too crazy. You’ll gently push him away, picking up the stuffed plush from the thick paper bags instead: It looks just like the one you had as a child. Dazai knows this, of course, like he knows everything else about you. He sits back with a smug grin, watching as you gently push it from one hand to the other.

The difference between this plush and the one sitting in storage at your parents’ home is the life brought into it: fur that is no longer matted from love and eyes that aren’t scuffed and scraped from kicking it off your bed at night… Wow, you missed those days. You missed your mom. A frown crosses your face as you turn towards your shared bedroom, deciding to spend sometime on your own. Before you can enact these plans, however, Dazai plucks the stuffie from your gentle grip, holding him high above your head. Your eyes widen and your face immediately drops. Hadn’t he already taken so much from you? Tears begin falling before you can even register it, too caught up in the sudden fear that you’d lose another part of yourself. Your parents, your friends, your life before this: it was all imprinted onto that stupid stuffed toy Dazai had gotten as an afterthought.

Yet, he continued to dangle it over your head. “You’ll get this little fella back when you answer me. Don’t you wanna make me as happy as I’ve made you?”

Happy? You couldn’t help but feel sick. With how long you’ve been in Dazai’s home, you knew expressing that wouldn’t get you the plushie back. The sleeve of your current outfit helps to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. “Fa-fashion show, right? Okay, okay,” you mutter while dropping to your knees, digging through the bag of clothing for the first set.

This is not your prompt but Dazai who bought a cam stuffie. Unbeknownst to you, the eye of the cute little teddy your dear friend gifted you fed video straight to his laptop at all hours of the day. He spends his nights watching you sleep peacefully; the rise and fall of your chest soothing him and giving him something to focus on other than the negative thoughts on his mind. Something about the way you’d pat the little bear on the head every morning had him swooning, as though you were doing the action to him. Weirdly enough, you always seemed to turn the little teddy away before changing… Oh well — Dazai would have plenty of time to see everything he wants to once you’re finally together: something he envisions happening soon.

this is not proofread bc i have soo much due rn... classes are kicking my ass!!! hope you like it anon :)

[dontnoticemelol]

Tsu'tey x reader | Oneshot

Word Count– 2429

Summary: Reader decides to surprise her darling mate– Tsu'tey.

______________________

You never thought you would ever fall in love. It sounded to you as a bogus experience when described by lovebirds. Giving off the impression of a singular occurrence, in which only distinct individuals could revel in.

Though, as you hooked the needle-and-thread into the beads, your mind couldn't help but get distracted. All you could think about was his alluring face. The face your eyes had recently become accustomed to seeing, every morning.

It belonged to the one being you could truly call your true love, or more desirably– your soulmate.

The thoughts diverted your observation of your surroundings. The clan alternating from a noisy chatter to a muffled background sound. The late afternoon sun shone bright in the sky, glaring at the foliage from an angle.

Next to you, sat Neytiri and Jake, each holding roasted meat that was gathered in the hunt from earlier. Their back-and-forth responses suggested that they were deep in a conversation which you didn't bother paying much attention to.

A loss of focus overwhelmed you soon. Before you knew it, a mild stinging sensation traveled across your finger tip.

Your eyebrows furrowed in pain as you flinched. The necklace fell to the ground with a faint thud. Courtesy to her heightened senses, Neytiri caught the sound, turning to you. Jake was all too busy enjoying the roast to be as attentive.

You sucked your finger tip in your mouth with swiftness, the metallic taste of the crimson liquid filling your tastebuds.

"Are you okay?" She asked, taking in the scene that lay in front of her.

You removed the finger from your mouth to assess the puncture. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just pricked myself, that's all." You reassured her, flashing a small smile. You pressed your thumb over the puncture wound, to discern whether it was still painful.

She nodded, giving her own warm smile.

Luckily, pain did not plague you any further. On other matters however, with the necklace having been dropped, you hoped it wasn't broken.

Not so luckily– the bowl they were in got knocked over by the necklace as it fell. She offered to help you clean up the mess, then crouched down to pick up the beads that littered the floor.

You followed suit and also crouched down. Once you lifted the necklace into your right hand, you inspected it. A soft sigh of relief left your lips, the necklace was still in one piece.

You placed it on top of the log, and turned back in front of you to help Neytiri. The beads filled your hand as you scooped them up.

"How's the necklace coming along?" She asked, curiously and scooped up the last of the beads.

Clanking sounded as beads rolled from your hands into the bowl.

"It's great– In fact, I just finished sewing it together" you replied cheerfully, glancing up at her face. You rose up while dusting your hands off.

She too, dusted off her hands. "That's great– see, I told you it wouldn't take that long." She spoke, enunciating the verb.

You laughed and shook you head lightly after you registered the teasing tone that lingered in her voice.

The semi-smooth texture of the log met the underside of your thighs when you lowered yourself down. You took the necklace back into your hands, with a newfound fear for it's safety.

You realised only after you had sat back down that Jake had long disappeared– 'probably getting more arrow deer roast', you thought to yourself. You found this thought quite funny since he had previously hated the texture of the meat, when the clan first welcomed the both of you.

Neytiri sat down, and you passed the necklace to her, asking for her opinion. She turned it over and around, eyeing the intricate precision of it.

"Y/n it's beautifully made." She commented and smiled in the process, then handed it back to you.

"Thank you, Neytiri." You said, smiling appreciatively, and placed it against your lap, still holding it.

She proceeded to look around– understandably searching for Jake. Still, all she could see were the other na'vi, enjoying the food as well.

As sweet as Neytiri's comment on the necklace was, you looked down at it in doubt. Your doubts being that Tsu'tey would even want it.

"Do you think he'll like it?" You asked her. "I've tried giving him gifts before, and he seemed... uncomfortable." You recounted the only other time you had given him something.

Right at the start of you relationship, you thought giving your boyfriend a sweet present would be a good idea. The intent was to show him how much you appreciated his presence in your new life, on Pandora. However, it didn't go quite as planned.

When he saw the gift, he looked uncomfortable, to say the least— almost annoyed. You figured perhaps, he wasn't used to receiving things from others. Which would explain his behaviour, but it still made you feel angry.

You had worked hard on figuring out what he would value as special, only to have him be annoyed with you— for giving him a gift. Although he apologised about his reaction the next day, you still felt a bit pissed.

Your heavy heart was then put at ease, when he promised to never react like that again. He would work on acknowledging things in a different view. Instead of thinking that as the gift-recipient, it indicated that he was weak– he would instead think of it as an indication that he was dearly loved.

Neytiri looked over at you and understood what you meant. "I– Honestly, I'm not sure." She replied, chastising the cold nature of Tsu'tey she knew all too well.

She briefly placed her hand over yours. "But, don't worry– I think he'll love it. You put a lot of effort into it and you mean well." She said as she gave you a reassuring smile.

The more you thought about this, the more dejected you felt.

You quietly cleared your throat. "How are things going with you and Jake?" You asked her. Changing the subject would help your mind in drifting away from unwanted thoughts.

Her lips curled into a bashful smile as she thought of her answer.

"Our relationship is lovely. In fact I feel as though I am falling in love with him more, everyday—" She said before Jake cut her off with his booming voice.

"Can you guys believe the arrow deer is finished?!" He complained shamelessly, his mate simply chuckled to herself. He trudged over to stand infront of you, looking defeated. Walking proudly next to him, was Tsu'tey.

You shuffled to hide the necklace in your bag before he could see it. Thankfully, he seemed to be oblivious to it.

You smiled at each other and shared a short kiss on the lips. He and Neytiri acknowledged each other with a brief nod. His warm body touched yours when he sat down, igniting a flame within you that you had first felt when you mated. You did your best to not dwell in it, because you didn't want to think about this around your friends.

You shifted your gaze up towards Jake. "Ah, speak of the devil."  You commented.

His face frowned in puzzlement. "Were you guys talking about me?" He questioned, dramatically putting his hand on his chest.

You let out a small breathy laugh. Neytiri on the hand, brought her hand up to her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Tsu'tey simply tried to keep his cold demeanor, but he gave in and laughed to himself as well.

"Ma'Jake, if you want more meat, then catch it yourself–" She remarked, and moved her hand away from her mouth. Still harbouring a smile on her lips.

You were able to calm down from laughing, but watching this interaction between the pair still made you chuckle a bit.

You and your mate decided to move away so you could spend time together as a couple. You strolled away from the duo, choosing a patch of grass further away from the other na'vi.

Sitting down beside each other, you made yourselves comfortable. With him leaning back on his arms, which were planted slightly behind him, while you opted for a side-sitting position. Soon you indulged into a familiar conversation that still managed to fill you both with joy.

"How was your day?" He shifted to sit more comfortably, in the midst of asking. An affectionate smile was displayed on his features.

In addition to sighing, you massaged your right temple softly. "Tiring, but it was fine." You replied, turning slightly to get a better view of your beloved.

"Yours?" You inquired softly.

A small grin spread across your lips as the next sentence came out. "I hope you haven't been too hard on those warriors." You teased him blatantly.

You had heard the other warriors and warriors - in-training grumbling about the difficult nature surrounding the training that Tsu'tey regularly assigned.

He directed a face of disbelief your way. "I'm not too hard on them. My training only works for those who are serious." He retorted in sass mixed with a tone of assertiveness.

As scary as his assertive side was, you had to admit— you also found it enthralling and seductive. However, you still didn't like how harsh he was towards them. You brought your hand up to his right cheek, cupping it.

"Tsu'tey— just don't exhaust them too much." You said, feeling rather sympathetic for them.

You could see the conflict in his eyes as he thought of what to say. On one hand, he didn't want to agree to this– but he always gave in when you asked him of something. And just like all the other times, he caved in.

He smiled reassuringly at you, "Okay– I promise I will give them easier exercises." He agreed, leaning fondly into your warm touch.

Your heart fluttered at the basis that he only agreed because it was you who asked.

You nodded lightly in response– just as you remembered something important.

You lowered your hand, and then swiftly moved up to sit on your knees, placing your hands on your laps. He raised one eyebrow trying to understand what you were doing. Not even the beaming smile on your face revealed anything. If he had to guess, however, he would have said you were most likely planning something.

His confusion only grew more as you motioned for him to also sit up.

"So... Guess what! " You blurted out excitedly.

"What?" He asked.

You jokingly scoffed at him. "You're supposed to actually guess." You remarked.

He tilted his head slightly, "How am I supposed to guess when I do not know what it is?" He asked genuinely, reminding you that this was not a common practice amongst his people.

You lowered your head slightly and chuckled to yourself. It was always adorable seeing Tsu'tey being perplexed by Earth's traditions and norms.

"Okay, just– close your eyes." You gestured around his face.

He stared at you for a good few seconds, curiosity eating him up, but in the end he complied and closed his enticing eyes.

You struggled a bit in pulling out the necklace from the bag, given the risk of potentially breaking it.

"Surprise!" You called out happily.

He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw were your hands waving about in front of him. But, there  was something held in them that he didn't recognise– a necklace. It hosted a beautiful variety of his favourite beads.

Although he would never admit this, he enjoyed collecting beads with intricate designs and colours. As a matter of fact, you were the sole person who came to know of this.

You stopped waving the necklace near his line of sight when you noticed he hadn't said anything– only staring blankly at it.

You waved your hand in front of his face, "Tsu'tey?" You called out to him.

He blinked twice. You regained his attention as he looked at you.

"I made you this necklace— to show the love and appreciation I hold for you." You said, professing your love for him and held it out to him.

He took it into his hands, and caressed the beads, admiring the beautiful colours and designs. Although his head was a bit down turned, you were still able to catch the shimmering glint in his eyes.

You allowed your weight to sink down, pressing your shins flat against the ground. Your face turned into that of concern. 'Did he hate it? Did you make him uncomfortable again?' All questions that raced through your mind in those seconds.

He looked at you and gave a smile of appreciation. Something you hadn't expected– given his past reaction.

"Thank you—" He said, placing the necklace onto his lap. He took your hands in his.

You were quite astounded at the man that sat in front of you right that moment. You knew his affectionate side all too well, but he had never lowered his walls enough for you to see his vulnerable side.

However, seeing it only made you fall deeper in love with him. He had finally showed you all of him– flaws and everything. It symbolised the strengthening of your relationship, progressing into a bond as formidable as steel.

He released your hands to wipe the tears from his eyes, and spoke again,  "This necklace is stunning, I love it." He said, smiling sweetly– expression filled with warmth and love.

"I'm happy you like it." You enthusiastically replied.

"Should I help put it on?" You offered.

You took his nod as a yes, and moved to tie it around his neck. Once it was safely secured, you backed away from him to get a good look.

"You look handsome in it." You complimented him confidently. He guided you towards him, to sit on his lap. You entetwined your hands behind his neck.

He turned his head upwards, a smile etching itself into his features.

"Thank you." He responded shyly– an emotion you didn't think he was capable of.

"I love you." He gently uttered. Those three words brought a flush of heat that rose up the pointed ends of your ears, although you were used to them.

You smiled down at him tenderly, your hand slowly caressed his cheek. "And I love you." You said softly, and hooked your index finger underneath his chin.

You shifted closer towards his face, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss.

______________________

Thank you for reading!❤️

[undiscovered-horizon]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

[Astarion fixes your torn shirt because he'd hate to go in public next to a fashion catastrophe... Or so he tells himself.]

You're not entirely sure what you're doing. Granted, the technicalities are known to you but it's the details, the swiftness of motion, that escapes you.

Stab, thread, stab, pull

What should be a basic, not complicated life skill, turns into fighting against the inanimate in your hands. The stitching is uneven and doesn't match the original pattern. Neither does the colour of the thread you're using but that is the last of your worries. As long as the hole in your shirt is gone and the garment is wearable again, you're fine with the outcome. Even if it looks... not exactly presentable.

Astarion, however, has a quite different opinion:

"By the Hells, what is that?" he asks with a gasp, a hand flying to cover his mouth. The look of horror on his face would be comical if it wasn't so genuine.

He's standing above you as you sit in front of the campfire in hopes of the light aiding you in your battle against cotton. But no amount of light can cure your inexperienced hands. "Um... my shirt?" you answer hesitantly. What is he going on about?

From a look of shock, his face contorted into a grimace of disgust. Red eyes look between you and the cotton garment lying in your lap. Thankfully, he's able to control his expression as his thoughts begin to wander, picturing himself on top of your thighs instead of the torn shirt. Still appearing unbothered, Astarion manages to shake those fantasies away.

"With that horrendous stitching, it's more of a crime, darling," he continues. Despite his words serving as more of a facade for his vulnerable desires, there's a lot of truth in them: both the colour and the stitching pattern you've chosen are vastly different from the original seams. At least it keeps the material together?

Astarion's strong opinions are the last thing you need right now. You're tired, sore and frustrated to no end. And the whole shirt fiasco is definitely not helping as well as the numerous painful pricks to your fingers. It's hard to keep steady, careful hands when you're exhausted physically and mentally.

"This horrendous stitching, as you called it," you say with a despondent sigh, "is better than having a gaping hole in my clothes. Look, if you're not going to help, just-"

"Help?" he interjects. "My dear, you need a miracle to salvage this." Astarion graces you with a smug chuckle. "Fortunately, I am nothing if not a virtuoso with my hands," he drones his words. The allusion is not lost on you but you're really not in the mood to humour his antics. "Give it to me."

"Suit yourself," you mumble as you hand him the shirt.

"Oh, I will."

And with those words, he leaves for his tent. Still sitting by the fire, you carefully watch Astarion from afar. His thin hands wave the needle with impressive grace and precision. It doesn't seem that he's stitching the garment to just be done with it. The movements of his hands have a certain sense of caring to them.

If you were a little less tired and emotionally spent, you'd probably question his motives - after all, why would he strangely selflessly fix the shirt you wear mostly around camp? Little do you know, Astarion himself is having these very doubts. Maybe one day he'll accept that his concern for your fashion is just a convenient excuse to worm his way into every aspect of your person and life.