#they are mostly just exploring voice and tone

[ehlnofay]

wip wsunday (night)

tagged by @wispstalk (thank you kindly!) tagging back @ervona and @everybodyknows-everybodydies if you so please.

I put my long-ish tes piece on the backburner to take a break and write shorter things featuring my best friends elder scrolls characters from my mind and then I put THAT on the backburner because my very sweet grandmother paid for me to buy bg3 and. alas. look I can't play a game of this nature without fleshing out my player character far more than necessary and then I get curious. so here's a very shoddily scribbled bit from my very first playing-around piece (a rambling description of my character's extremely abandoned house)

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

First Kiss

Mostly fluffy stuff with the best boys. Probably PG-13 at worst.

LA Shanks X FemReader, LA Sanji X FemReader, LA Zoro X FemReader, LA Mihawk X FemReader.

First time doing the whole headcannon bullet format thing. I'm super open to suggestions for more!

Shanks

• He and his crew came into your tavern a few hours ago. They're a pretty rowdy bunch but they're respectful and they tip well, so you don't mind.

• He's a huge flirt the whole time. Crooked little grins, his hand brushing yours whenever you bring him abother drink.

• Calling you "princess" or "sweetheart" and asking when your shift ends.

• Leaning his chair back on two legs so he can get a good look at your ass while you're making your rounds.

• Sweet-talking you into joining him for a few drinks when your shift is over.

• Getting bolder when you decide to flirt back, light touches at your waist and hips, leaning in closer to speak in a more intimate tone.

• Pulls you down by the arm to sit on his lap when you get off work and come back to his table.

• His fingers in your hair and his palm cupping your cheek to pull your face down to his so your foreheads touch.

• Another one of his crooked little grins. "Glad I could talk you into it, princess."

• No hesitation, just rubs the tips of your noses together before his lips brush yours playfully.

• Brief, playful kisses, with soft bites and tugging at your bottom lip, his tongue flicking at your top lip and coxing you to open your mouth.

• Soft little purr or murmur when the kiss gets deeper, his tongue swirling around yours.

• Breaking away very briefly to praise you in a low, playful voice, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Mmm, good girl..."

• Lets you set the pace, but keeps control over everything else.

• No concern at all that you're in public, his hand exploring your body, slipping under your skirt to squeeze your ass and pull you closer, so your legs are straddling his.

• Pushing his hips up against yours, parting his lips from yours with a devilish grin. "We're gonna have a lot of fun tonight, sweetheart."

Sanji

• You asked him for cooking lessons as an excuse to get closer to him and he positively jumped at the opportunity.

• "I promise you're in good hands, my dear."

• Stands behind you to demonstrate cutting techniques, his voice low and intimate in your ear as he leans over you.

• Brushes your hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your neck.

• Pulls your hand up to brush his lips to it before helping you grip the knife properly.

• You didn't object to him kissing your hand, so now his lips brush your neck just below your ear.

• "You didn’t just want cooking lessons, did you?"

• Low and playful voice in your ear, pulling the knife away from your hand and lacing his fingers through yours.

• Touching your waist and pulling you gently back against him to close the distance between your bodies.

• Lifting his hand to curl it under your chin, his thumb brushing slow cirles at your cheek as he turns your head to gaze into your eyes.

• Flashes his most charming smile, his forehead touching yours.

• "All you had to do was ask, darling."

• Presses his lips gently to yours, taking the lead.

• Slow and romantic, like he's savoring every second of tasting you.

• Rubbing his hands up and down your waist slowly, breathing deeply and steadily and tugging you closer.

• Hands exploring your body, his touches and caresses gentle and loving, one hand cupping your breast through your shirt and squeezing it lightly.

• Moaning quietly against your lips in response to your moan.

• Parting his lips away with a charming smile.

• "You, my love, have just made me the happiest man in the entirety of the East Blue."

• Spins you around by your hips, lifts you up and places you on the counter beside his cutting board, your thighs spread around him as his lips meet yours again in a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Zoro

• For a few weeks you've noticed him looking your way when he thinks you're not paying attention, but he hasn't said much of anything.

• You get tasked with waking him up from his nap at dinner time, which you don't really like doing because he can get pretty grumpy about it.

• When you reach the hammock, he cracks one eye open. You tell him that dinner is ready.

• Rubbing at his eyes. "Uh-huh...."

• Tucks a hand behind his neck, his eyes scanning over you for a moment.

• Suddenly wraps a hand around your wrist and pulls you up into the hammock with him, on top of him, startling you immensely.

• Keeps a hand tucked behind his neck, his other moving to cup your chin and pull your head down.

• Smirking a little. "I think I'll just skip to dessert."

• Tilts his head a little to capture your lips.

• Leads you into a slow, lazy kiss, his hand trailing down your back...and then back up, pushing under your shirt to graze across your bare skin.

• His rough calloused fingers and palms break you out almost immediately into goosebumps.

• Not shy about cutting straight to the chase, tugging your shirt off and tossing it aside.

• Leaves your lips to trail kisses down the column of your throat, hands moving up your waist, his fingers curling around the cups of your bra.

• A knock the door breaks your lips apart—Luffy shouting at the other side that dinner's on.

• Rolls his eyes and shouts back, "I'll eat later!"

• Looks up at you, his expression lightening into an amused grin.

• "What about you, (y/n)? You gonna go now?"

• When you shake your head no, he chuckles, his grin growing broader.

• "Yeah, I didn't think so. Now..."

• Suddenly, and with ease, he grips your hip and your waist and flips you onto your back in the hammock, reversing your positions.

• Lays one of his hands flat over your stomach, the other trailing his fingers down the side of your neck, pulling your bra strap down your shoulder.

• "Where were we?"

• And his lips crush against yours in a fierce, possessive kiss.

Mihawk

• It's been over a month since he took you under his wing, and the sexual tension between you is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

• But he won't make a damned move, just keeps teasing at it with subtle soft touches, low and intimate words, shared gazes of desire.

• Just today when you and him made port a few hours ago, he stopped you on the docks before you went your separate ways to resupply.

• Moved in close, his yellow eyes boring into yours with their usual intensity, lowered his head until his forehead touched yours.

• Curled a hand in your hair and murmured with his lips barely an inch away from yours:

• "Be careful, my little bird."

• Dropped his gaze briefly to your lips.

• Brushed his thumb gently over your bottom lip...and then parted from you, disappearing down the crowded street.

• He is driving you absolutely insane and you aren't going to be able to hold out much longer before you just throw yourself at him.

• After resupplying you make your way toward the tavern where you agreed to meet...but you're caught from behind by your arms, a pair of strong hands wrapped around them and pulling you down a dark, empty alley.

• You're shoved against a stone wall and turned around...to face Mihawk, his hands still wrapped around your arms.

• He bores his gaze into yours again.

• Doesn't loosen his grip on your arms.

• "You aren't being vigilant. Anyone could have grabbed you."

• Takes a step closer, your bodies nearly touching.

• Lowers his head, his lips so close they brush across yours as he speaks in a low, intimate tone.

• "I'd rather not lose you, little one."

• Holds your gaze with his own for what feels like hours.

• Trails his fingers down your arms slowly, sending a shiver through your whole body.

• Lets his hands linger at your hips.

• Tightens his grip suddenly, taking a swift step forward so your body is pinned between his and the wall completely.

• In the same motion, tilts his head and crushes his lips against yours in a bruising, passionate kiss.

• Finally.

• His kiss is firm and unyeilding, slow and intense, and he has you trembling against the wall in an instant.

• Parts your lips with his tongue, sighing slowly as you meet it with your own. 

• Grabs your hands and pins them over your head in a show of pure dominance—your pleasure is completely at his whim.

• Drifts his lips across your cheek and your neck, his breath hot against your ear.

• "We will stay in town tonight. I want you in bed with me before sundown."

• Chuckles lightly when you can do nothing but nod fervently.

• "Such a good little bird."

• Kisses your neck, sucking at the tender skin and leaving behind a small bruise.

• He brushes his lips to the mark once more.

• "In case it wasn’t already clear that you belong to me."

[rene-darling]

EXPLORING- him

In which you find yourself being able to closely touch and see your boyfriend's body..aka body hcs, and you examine their scars...im not sure if this is the original artist but I found the pic on scara.meowing insta

...Wanderer...xiao...kazuha...

Wanderer

The wanderer isn't one to let just anyone see his body,

Even thinking about being so vulnerable in front of someone leaves his head aching and sends a weird feeling up his spine

Letting someone see the scars he has obtained from throughout his life is something he won't ever agree to doing,

So if you wish to be able to see him, you'll have to find a roundabout way to do so,

Luckily for you, for the past few days, he's been complaining about back aches from being hunched over all day trying to complete his assignments from being a vahumana student

You offered a massage which after much pain and annoyance he agreed to.

After he agreed he turned around from you and took off his kimono, slipping it off with ease as he moved to remove the top half of his black body suit as well, cheeks slightly flushed as he was basically stripping in front of you.

He laid on his stomach starting forward, his usual snappy self is a bit quiet, it isn't every day he's laid bare in front of you for you to touch without engaging in promiscuous activities.

"hurry up what are you starin-" Suddenly the boy goes quiet as you run your hand down his spine, chuckling to yourself at his immediate quietness

Imprints of big circles are left on his back, most likely from the tubes that once connected him to his shouki no kami, large red indents are all that's left on his puppet body, and his back tenses once your fingers trace the circle following it's track.

Your fingers trace his skin where forgotten scars lay healed, scars mostly gained by cruel experiments at the hands of the doctor, his face sours when you touch them, constricting in...annoyance? Sadness? Or perhaps at the reminder of bad memories.

And when your hand traces up his spine to a strange purple symbol on the back of his neck, one that represents the electro symbol but not quite.

And as your hand touches it, it's as if a bolt of lightning is sent through his body, his hand immediately reacting to slap away your hand from it, quickly getting up and backing away from your touch his panicked eyes look into yours his breathing ragged for a moment before calming down

"I'm...im sorry" his voice comes out in a whisper, as if that's all he could manage..

Xiao

If you thought getting the wanderer to show himself to you was hard think again.

In no circumstance will he ever allow you to massage him just because his muscles feel sore

He's too proud as an Adeptus and as a Yaksha to allow that.

No matter how many long nights he's fought allowing himself relief in this form is out of the question.

It's not just his pride speaking though, he's far too selfless to allow himself rest.

Only when his karmic dept clings to him and dark miasma swirls in the air that surrounds him does he agree to allow you to touch him, albeit very reluctantly.

Only after being pushed to his physical limit does he allow you to touch his bare body, his bare body that he despises so much.

Your hands, which remain untainted by the dark miasma that surrounds him, untainted by the blood of thousands of innocents, he isn't deserving of your touch.

But he holds his tongue, letting your hands roam over his toned back without arguing, not so much as a pip is heard from the man,

He has a small frame, and an even smaller waist but the muscles he's trained from over a millennia are quite clear and pronounced

Your hands ghost over healed scars that he's long forgotten the stories too, claw marks which indicated a time his very flesh was punctured and bleeding.

Those scars he had gained admits battle, those roughly edged scars that you touched oh so very sweetly. He doesn't deserve this. In his mind he doesn't even deserve you but this especially.

He breathes deeply, it's okay, it's fine, he doesn't mind as you touch the scars he obtained during wartime, a time when he used to fight with his brothers and sisters

But his breath does hitch when you touch a scar that...even after thousands of years is stuck deep into his skin, a scar he received long before being rescued by Rex lapis.

His fists clenched as the memories flashed before his eyes,, the memories of him..his breathing increased almost to the point of him having a mini panic attack..

He only calmed himself once your hand moved away from there and to his arm as you traced the tattoo on it, gently tracing its edges as you reassured him that it would be alright.

Kazuha

Kazuha does not mind one bit if you want to see his body

He'll make a sly remark about your request of course

But he'll never deny nor say no to you

He doesn't have any insecurities regarding his body

He's confident in them and the scars he has obtained over the years of being a samurai

He'll raise an eyebrow at your request and give you a sly smile, yet when you explain your reasoning he'll smile gently and he chuckles nodding to your request set

Taking off his shirt for you and laying on his stomach, you can see his arms wrapped in bandages and some freshly obtained scars on his back are too.

Most though, are healed each one having a story behind it,

Whatever scar you trace he'll have the story behind it, from the smallest of cuts to the deepest of gashes he'll tell you, in depth how, where, and when he got it

Scars trace throughout his body down his arms that are wrapped in bandages, perhaps this day, he'll let you redo them for him,

Other than his scars his skin is soft and smooth, it's quite fair and he definitely has a tan line, his face is a bit darker than the rest of his body due to him always being out in the sun

He sometimes likes going into gruesome details about how he got a specific scar, but when you asked him about one he got on the day tomo was killed, he hesitates.

Going quiet for a moment, thinking deeply about what to say or tell, but unlike the other boys, he's more open with you and he'll tilt his head back as he recounts the story of that scar.

He won't tell you the whole story but...little by little he'll start mentioning little details here and there, leaving you some empty spots for you to figure out.

[knavves]

˖ ࣪ ꒷ ONLY YOU, MY GIRL ꒦

꒰੭ featuring — michael kaiser.

synopsis : kaiser thinks you look so cute resting beside him, he can't help but stuff you full of his fingers.

wc: 1.2k ノ cw + tw: nsfw (18+). fem reader. somnophilia. groping. fingering. use of pet names. nipple play. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms.

his knuckle glides across your cheekbone, hand morphing to cup your cheek. the rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains perfectly illuminate the features he traces over with his thumb.

you're still sleeping, chest rising with even breaths and the occasional soft snores sounding from you. waking up to you sprawled out so prettily beside him every morning was a blessing in his eyes. everything about you is so captivating to him, you had such control over him even while you were in a deep slumber. his hand barely grazes your skin, drawing over the remnants from last night that were scattered all over your neck and collarbone.

he explores your body further, following the curve of your body and squeezing at the plush of your ass, parts of you he's roamed with his rough hands time and time again. touches that were seemingly pure quickly formed into something much more sinful as he moved lower.

slender fingers hook on either side of your panties, making quick work as he slipped off the fabric and carelessly tossed them to some corner of the room. they only served to hinder him anyway. he doesn't waste a second before the pad of his thumb is reaching over to press into your clit, rubbing soft circles onto the bud. his eyes scanned you for any reactions, a smirk tugging at the end of his lips seeing your body twitch at his ministrations.

the slick pooling in between your legs was increasing by the minute, your arousal coating him as he ran a finger over your folds. one of his fingers eases into your hole causing your sleeping body to jerk slightly at the intrusion, he gently shushes you and strokes the back of your head until your breathing relaxes again. he didn't want to rouse you just yet.

his teeth catch his bottom lip to bite back the groan that's bubbling in his chest watching your cunt greedily suck in a second one of his fingers. his cock is swelling in his pants at your soft whimpers as he pistons his fingers in and out of your cunt, uncaring of your juices cascading down the rose thorns etched into his pale skin. you grind your hips to meet each movement of his fingers, so desperate even though you were asleep.

"so needy.." he mutters but mostly to himself as you can't hear him anyway. loud squelching noises echo in his ears as he picks up the pace, fingers reaching places you could never yourself. you gasp as you near your high and your thighs tremble, threatening to trap his hand where its nestled between them. he doesn't let up, though, only pressing his palm into your sensitive bud, curling his fingers deep inside your sopping pussy.

your eyes flutter open when you gush all over his hand, the lingering effects of your slumber still weary on you as you focus your gaze on your lover. "michael?" you say almost breathlessly, tone drowsy which he lightly chuckles at.

"good morning, angel. look so beautiful." he whispers, deep blue orbs boring into you. you teasingly pout at him, "don't i always?" you quire as your arms slither around his neck, pulling him into a needy kiss. his hands find their way to your waist as smiles against your lips, muttering a quick 'of course'.

"gonna let me fuck this pussy, right? m gonna make you feel so good." he babbles, voice cracking slightly as he ruts his aching bulge against your thigh which he had been neglecting up until now. your head bobs up and down as you quickly nod, whimpering small 'yes's and 'please's. he's clumsy with the way he's fumbling with the waistband of his boxers, letting his cock spring out from it's constraints. he's almost painfully hard, tip flushed a dark red and oozing precum, begging to be buried inside you. he slings one of your legs to dangle around his waist, lining himself up with your eager hole, your simultaneous groans ringing through the room as he pushes his girth into you. he can't wait a moment longer before he's needily rocking his hips against yours. tears glaze over your eyes at the sharp sting through your lower half as he stretches you out, spasming and clenching around him as you struggle to adjust. "s too big.." you whimper but he only wipes away your tears. "you've taken me before, love, be my good girl, yeah?"

these moments with him were so rare. he hates spending time away from you. he's always so busy, only quick sessions before he was off, barely being able to bask in each other's presence in the morning. his teasing and playful persona is less prominent, he's unusually sweet and his words don't have that condescending undertone. he's soaking it all in, dreading when the time comes where he'll have to leave you again.

he grips the end of your shirt and hikes it up, allowing your breasts to spill out. big hands reaching up to knead the soft flesh, rolling your hardened bud in between his fingers. he can't help but to pinch your nipple, adoring the cute squeals that escaped your lips.

his pace is much different from his usual near animalistic thrusts accompanied with a bruising grip. he pulls out, leaving just the tip in before swiftly pushing all of his length back into you, stuffing you to the hilt. your mouth hangs open in a silent moan, the drag of his cock against your walls intoxicating. he's reaching so deep inside you. his cock repeatedly kissing your g-spot with each lazy thrust of his hips.

"feels good, yeah? squeezing me so tight." he grunts, slightly picking up his pace and rubbing figures onto your messy clit in efforts to push you over the edge before he did. it was embarrassing how quickly he could feel his high approaching, you just felt so good. squeezing his cock so tightly fuck he wish he could pound load after load into you but he knew his time was running thin.

"m close! fuck i'm gonna cum!" you're writhing, shaking with the intense sensation building up in your lower region. "go ahead, sweetheart, cum with me." he groans, grabbing hold of your chin to clash your lips together, tongues tangling and dancing with one another's. you clamp down on him, arching into his chest as you release all over his cock that's unrelenting inside you. "that's it, my sweet girl. i got you." the white ring forming around his length and your high pitched moans is enough to send him barreling over the edge, snapping his hips against yours once more before coating your walls with his cum.

the bed dips beside him as he pulls out from your spent cunt, flopping onto his back with his chest still heaving. strong arms pull you into his muscular chest, heart swelling when you giggle at the chaste kisses being littered all over your face. he shivers slightly when your nails rake and trace over the rose chiseled into his neck, "why don't you stay home today, michael?" you purr from where you're cuddled up into him.

"i guess i can make an exception. missed me so much, huh?" he teases, flashing you a chesire grin making you roll your eyes, but you know he's right. "yeah, yeah. i love you, michael." you whisper, barely audible from where your cheek is smooshed against the heated skin of his chest. the arm around your waist tightens as he swoops down to place a kiss to the crown of your head, muttering "i love you too."

it couldn't hurt to miss one day of practice, especially if it was for you.

© knavves : reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

[fayes-fics]

Impertinent

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sneaking around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night brings you right into the path of one Viscount...

Warnings: very suggestive content, nudity, teasing and touching, Viscount being a total menace but mostly a gentleman.

Word Count: 1.4k (250-word drabbles... I'm HILARIOUS)

Authors Note: Seventh in my 2k follower celebration drabble request fills for @colettebronte with the prompt “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” (ask here). This ended up quite tame, but I enjoyed writing him as a tease. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3,

You know it's not the right thing to do. To be snooping around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night. But you cannot resist it. As everyone sleeps, you wander silently, tiptoeing around in just your nightgown, the light of the moon streaming through the large windows to guide you. It feels elicit, exciting even. Exploring the home of the man you hope to marry, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You have danced and promenaded a few times; this early invitation to spend time with his family ahead of the rest of the Ton bodes well.

You pause at the door of his private study, then, with a fortifying breath, turn the handle and slip into the room. Warm embers glow in the fireplace, and the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey hangs in the air. It is so masculine and so Anthony you can't help but drift to the sizeable imposing desk and take a seat, fingers running over the wood, picturing him sitting right where you are, working hard on something important or other. It makes you lean back, something stirring in your body, just the thought of him arousing.

It's then you notice there is material draped around the back of the large leather chair—one of his velvet, tailed jackets. It smells of spicy cologne, and before you know it, your nose is buried in the material, drawing deep breaths, the scent making your thighs rub together. Something compels you to want to wear it, to feel it against your skin. 

With a boldness you thought yourself scarcely capable of, you stand up and whip off your nightgown, reaching to slip on the jacket. You luxuriate in the feeling of the luxury satin liner against your bare flesh, how it cools your back, snags your pebbled nipples, and how the velvet collar tickles your neck. The front may sit at waist height on him, but on you, the material skims the apex of your thighs, catching deliciously in the patch of hair you have there.

So wrapped up in the sensation of being surrounded by him, by his scent, you don’t hear the door open until it's too late.

“What in the…?” 

You startle and spin around to see there in the doorway is the man himself, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, casual in just a loose white shirt and his britches with braces slung around his legs. You are caught, red-handed. The power of speech has abandoned you, so you just stand there, a rabbit caught in his crosshairs, guilt, fear and shame flooding your system.

He stalks into the room further now and inhales sharply when he rounds a chair to see an unencumbered view of you, entirely nude except for his jacket. His gaze is heavy, sliding down your body sweeping your bare legs, then fixing on where the fabric only just covers you.

“Take it off,” he orders. 

You almost jump out of your skin at the tone and the gruffness. Your arms and hands incapable of moving; there are few charged moments when Anthony just stares at you.

 “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” This time it's even lower, a growl, predatory, enthralling.

And you scramble to obey, shucking the jacket from around your shoulders and letting it hit the floor with an audible thump. Entirely naked now, his responding noise has your thighs instantly damp.

“How impertinent to let yourself into my private study,” his voice surly as he prowls towards you. You freeze to the spot, your hands flying to protect your modesty. “Oh, it’s a little late for that now,” he chuckles darkly, “put your hands back at your sides right now.”

And you do. Casting your gaze to the floor as your cheeks heat. His stare is so heavy it feels like a robe you wear. Soon he is so close you can smell the same cologne that clung to his jacket but this time from his skin.

He circles behind you, and you gasp as he crouches down; it takes you a second to realise he is picking up his jacket, where you carelessly disposed of it onto the floor.

“Tell me, why would you put on my jacket while nude?” he queries, lingering there, and you shudder as his hot breath glances over your bare bottom cheeks as he does so, still behind you.

“I…I… I wanted to try it on,” you stumble, your voice far too quiet.

“And you had to take off your nightgown to do so?” he snarks, and both of your eyes cut to the side where your gown lays in a heap.

“It seemed like luxurious material,”  you confess, head still bowed, starting at the rug as if it fascinates you. “I wanted it against my skin,” those last few words are barely audible.

“You do not have velvet clothes of your own you could try this with?” he throws out, still behind you, that breath still hot over your cheeks; in fact, you swear it’s closer now.

“Yes, but…” you trail off, having no good excuse. Unable to think of a lie, you screw your eyes shut and decide on the truth “... they do not smell like you.”

You jolt and make a noise of sheer surprise as he pitches forward, and his teeth land on your cheek, inhaling deeply.

“At last…” he growls, scraping his canine over the globe of your bottom, “she admits to it.”

“To what?” you murmur as his wet tongue pokes out, soothing the spot he had touched with his teeth as you tremble.

“That you want me just as much as I want you.”

Your whole body shudders as he runs his tongue up the length of your spine, climbing to his feet, your toes curling, scrunching into the thick wool pile, as he unfurls to his full height behind you. You wish you had something nearby to grab onto; it feels as if you could topple over, the rush of blood to your head so intense.

“Are you a maiden?” his mouth is now hot on your ear.

“Yes.”

“And you have never had a man run his tongue over your body like that before, have you?” his voice dark and laced with bemusement.

“No,” you admit.

A warm hand lands on your shoulder as he stands behind you, and again you jump—your body aflame, your nipples pebbling hard, goosebumps breaking out down your arms.

“And I presume no man has touched your naked body?” 

“No, my lord,” your addition of his title makes him take a sharp breath.

“Good,” he snarls, sounding possessive,

His hand rounds your shoulder and starts to sink lower, mapping over the outer end of your clavicle as you try to school your body, trying to stay still, so completely overwhelmed by what is happening. When warm fingertips brush the top of your breast, you begin to tremble.

“Do you know what could happen to mischievous young maidens who break into men’s offices?” It's just a deadly rumble now while his fingers inch fractionally lower, so close to your nipple that it aches to be touched.

You are incapable of answering, so you shake your head a little, his nose bumping your ear.

“You are lucky, Miss y/l/n, that I am mostly a gentleman,” he purrs, “mostly.” 

You shiver as he circles your areola with featherlight touch but never crosses onto it, your heart pounding from the tease.

“I suggest you grab your nightgown and run now,” he advises, sounding like he is fighting his urges, his hand stilling in its motion.

“What if that is the opposite of what I wish?” you can barely believe you found the gall to utter your thought aloud, staring straight ahead at the bookcase, not daring to look down at his hand on your body.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, and it's like being struck by lightning.

“Leave now,” he whispers, “you may return tomorrow evening. Exactly as you are.”

“Why then?” you frown, disappointed as his hand drops from your flesh.

“Because then we shall be publically betrothed… and nothing should stop us.”

Your world spins, and you have to lock your knees to stop your swoon. “What…?”

“You heard me,” he says for the second time tonight, this time with a smug tone, stepping away and handing you your nightgown over your shoulder.

You take a faltering step forward and quickly pull on your nightgown, finally turning to face him again, and it steals your breath. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks flushed, his mouth damp and open.

“Until tomorrow, Miss y/l/n….” he gestures to the door and still utterly dumbfounded, you stumble towards it.

You cannot wait for tomorrow. 

Anthony Taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies

[gloomwitchwrites]

By the Belt (3 of 4)

Mechanic John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: married couple, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Soap needs a distraction, and you’re going to give it to him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // by the belt masterlist

It’s Sunday. John’s shop is closed on Sunday.

Even so, he’s always working on something, his hands unable to lean into idleness for a moment. They desire something to hold, to tinker and learn and explore.

It’s the late afternoon, and you stand in John’s personal garage located at the back of your shared property. His actual shop is nearby, just a mile or so down the road. This is sacred space. The place he goes to work on all sorts of personal projects. You are off to the right of him beside his knees. John is on his back, partially submerged beneath a lifted car.

That always makes you nervous, even though you know he’s careful about his safety. You always imagine the machine keeping the car aloft breaking, sending the vehicle down to crush him. The car itself is vintage, a special project that John has been working on for months. The paint is stripped and its mostly bare bones.

Beneath the car, you hear John sigh heavily. He rolls out from under the car, the wheels on the rolling bed squeaking as he does so. When he notices you standing there, he immediately grins.

“Hello, wife,” he croons, sitting up and draping his forearms over his bent knees.

“Hello, husband,” you reply, matching his tone. His smile widens and a warmth blooms in your cheeks. “Thought you could use a break.”

Grinning, he pushes up to standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What kind of break?”

With boldness in your blood, you reach out and slide your fingers in the belt loops of his dirty jeans. John stumbles forward, nearly knocking into you. That grin briefly transforms into surprise before settling into a sultry smirk.

“Oh, aye. I could use a break.” He leans in, your mouths meeting in a lovingly gentle kiss that warms you right down to your toes. When he breaks apart, that lovely grin is back. “But I’d hate to dirty your pretty skin with my hands.”

You tug on his belt again, smiling. “What if I want to get dirty?”

John laughs, his stained, oiled fingers hovering just shy of your skin. “You sure, love? Because I can do that.” Your answer is a brief yank on his belt. John shakes his head. “I warned you.”

You unthread your fingers and John makes a turn-around gesture. You comply, eagerness in your bones.

“Bend yourself over that table.” John points directly in front of you. It’s a workbench. There are a few tools but they’re off to the side, leaving the middle completely open.

Stepping up to it, you place your hands flat on the surface, bending forward, the angle forcing you up on your toes. John leaves you there. Lingering. Hanging. You have no idea if he’s watching you and enjoying the sight, or if he’s simply turned around and walked right out of the garage.

But you have your answer when John’s voice floats toward you.

“Lift up your dress,” he instructs, some rasp in his tone. He does not touch you, but you feel his presence. He’s close. You swear that you can feel his heat of the backs of your thighs as you reach back with both hands and lift your sundress up to your hips.

You are exposed to him. Utterly bare.

“Fuck. You dirty girl,” croons John, and you know exactly what he sees—or rather, what he doesn’t. “All bare under there. You knew what you were doing. Didn’t you?”

You did. You absolutely did.

Still, John does not touch. You hear the soft crinkle of his jeans as he goes down on his knees behind you, his warm breath brushing lightly against your pussy as he exhales.

“Spread for me a bit.” You shift your legs apart slightly. “Good,” he praises. “Like that.”

The moment you’re in position, John’s tongue parts your pussy with a slow stroke. He begins at your clit, moves upward, dipping the tip of his tongue into your sex before retreating. His hands rest on the table on either side of you, unmoving. Staying true to his word, John isn’t dirtying your pretty skin, but doesn’t mean he might not lose some control and touch you anyway.

Really, that’s what you want after all.

Using just his tongue, John traces circles, swirls up and down your sex, moves in languid motions that have you guessing. Every nerve is burning up like a sparkler. Your husband is teasing you, and fucking enjoying that he’s doing so.

He leaves nothing untouched, nothing untasted. Whimpering, John lightly kisses your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It’s not nearly enough.

“Stay still,” he chuckles, when your hips buck with wanton irritation. “Let me finish my meal.”

John’s mouth promptly returns, and you know you’re done. Utterly done. Brain dead. Air rapidly leaving a balloon. He sucks on your clit, then penetrates you with his tongue, only to do it all again. With each, he sucks just a bit harder, bordering on painful pleasure.

The next one has you nearly coming off the table.

“I’m gonna fuck you after this, love,” groans John. “Bloody hell, you’re sweet.”

He dives in and your nails dig into the tabletop, your voice cracking as you orgasm. You feel his smile against your flesh before his mouth disappears from it, only to be replaced by the familiar sound of unzipping jeans.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance but doesn’t penetrate. John lightly guides the head back and forth through your slickness, the sound of it echoing loudly in the garage.”

“Will you be a good girl and take it?”

You nod enthusiastically, strands of your hair shifting to stick against the back of your neck. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

With a low moan, John starts to press in, your body not resisting, only wanting him inside. You both groan loudly as he bottoms out. Adjusting, John places his hands firmly above your head, anchoring himself.

He breathes deep, and reaches for your wrists, one at a time, trapping them against the table. John rolls his hips, thrusts lightly against you. It’s the perfect angle. You feel everything.

John increases the pace. Those light, almost shallow thrusts become languid and long, hitting deep when your bodies come together. From there, his thrusts turn sharp, a smacking pace that stings your flesh. You hardly care. John’s cock inside you is heaven, the thing just to ease the lust in your bones.

Every stroke is lovely, sending shivers of pleasure through your limbs. Your little moans become breathy exhales, your words leaving your lips silently, delivered only to the quietness of the air.

John’s head dips, his lips brushes over your exposed shoulder as he continues to thrust. “Gonna come inside you, love.”

It is not a question, and you will always say yes even if he asks.

His last few thrusts shake the table, the legs scaping against the concrete just before John holds his hips flush to yours. The groan as he finishes comes from deep within his throat. It’s a primal sound.

Glancing up, you watch as his grip on your wrists shift. He’s left some of that grease behind from working on the car on your skin. He said he wouldn’t mar it, but he couldn’t resist, and that feels like a victory.

John presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you tilt your head in his direction, seeking his gaze, even as he keeps himself inside you.

“Good break?” you murmur.

John chuckles. “Oh, aye.” He shrugs, nods toward your wrists. “But we need to get clean.”

taglist:

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[itsclydebitches]

Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #11

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, mature content

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

"What the hell are you doing there? We're gonna be late!"

Jungkook's muffled voice reaches your ears, settling an irritation inside of you as you adjust your breasts in the red dress for the last time. He's been whining outside of the bathroom door for the past twenty minutes, mostly complaining about time and how much it's taking you to get ready.

It's easy for him, he just put on his suit and styled his hair – that's it.

You've been struggling to make a perfect eyeliner, making sure there are no smudges underneath your eyes from mascara and your concealer doesn't move, covering any skin blemishes. The real fight was with your hair, trying to style it in a proper hairstyle but you ended up straightening it into a sleek one instead. Throwing one side behind your shoulder, enough to show a glimpse of your collarbones and shining silver choker which is just imitation of diamonds, looks good enough.

"Seriously--"

Opening the door, you arch your brow in annoyance at your best friend who's pacing in front of his bathroom door. He stops, eyes trailing down your figure as you do the same with him.

You shouldn't be surprised when you're flashed with the sight in front of you. He's wearing a casual black suit, nothing special about it, but he looks fucking good. Those damn biceps bulge as his hands are tucked in the pockets of his slacks and you're trying not to stare too much at his puffed out chest and broad shoulders. The red tie matches with your dress, the one he bought for himself after you showed him the dress, making sure you both match together.

His sleek black hair is thrown back, exposing his forehead – a complete opposite of the boy with the coconut hairstyle you remember from four years ago.

"You look... good." he says, eyeing you down again as you chuckle.

"Wow, that sounded believable." you laugh at his tone, trying not to focus on the shock decorating that handsome face.

"No! I mean.. you look fucking gorgeous," he says right away, shaking his head as he finally meets your eyes with darkened gaze. "It makes me want to fuck you." he admits shamelessly, causing you to gasp in shock before a laugh erupts in your throat.

Jungkook always knew how to compliment people, he used to compliment you a lot. But with recent events and the deal you both made, he became more blunt and explicit. Is he saying that just because you started exploring each other sexually? Or he always thought of you that way? 

"Jungkook, you can't say stuff like that." you giggle, slapping his chest playfully as he grins down at you, licking those damn pink lips.

"I can," he shrugs, still grinning at you. "I'm your boyfriend."

Your heart jumps at that almost immediately. "Fake boyfriend." you remind him.

"Whatever," he rolls his eyes, arm wrapping around your waist before he dives in.

"What are you doing?" you stop him, chuckling when he frowns at your dismissal.

"I was going to kiss you." he pouts, arms slowly sliding down from your waist in disappointment.

"You're going to ruin my lipstick," you chuckle, pinching his cheek while he grunts in annoyance at you. "Now let's go. I believe you said something about being late."

Turning around, you leave him standing there but still hear faint curses thrown at your dismissal that makes you laugh. You're trying to put the heels on, glancing at Jungkook that stands there with a solid frown settled on his brows and lips.

"Don't sulk there, big boy. Come help me." you call out to him, a grin of amusement tracing your lips at the way he huffs out and makes his way to you.

You sit on the bench that serves as a shoe rack as well, before he kneels on his one knee in front of you. He delicately touches your ankle, making sure he puts the stripe around it the right way.

"Is that okay?" he asks you, eyeing your ankle to see if it's not too tight or too loose.

"Yeah," you breathe out, eyes focused on his black sleek hair meanwhile his scent causes you to mentally hum in praise. It's not too strong, but just enough for you to smell it and appreciate the expensive scent.

He does the same thing with your other leg, and when he's done you expect him to just stand up. Instead, his fingers meet your skin as he trails them up your leg, before he stops at your calf. Closely, you watch his every move while your body shivers at the feeling of his fingertips caressing your skin. He raises your leg as it becomes more visible through the cut, the dress slipping between your legs. Your breath hitches when you see him dipping down, kissing your leg as he makes his way up. He makes sure to kiss almost every inch on the way, before he stops at the top of your knee.

Deviously, he looks up, enough to show you a little smirk lingering on his lips before he stands up. He offers you his hand, enjoying how shocked with a lust in your eyes you look. You take it, not prepared to utter a single word as you let yourself be led out of Jungkook's apartment.

++

The place of Seokjin's wedding is beautiful. As expected, there's a white color everywhere although, it's matched with soft purplish color as well, creating a soft looking environment. There are flowers everywhere, making it seem like you're in one of those fairytales' forests. Even the room is huge, making you wonder how many people have been invited. Such a wedding must cost a fortune but then you remember, he owns a restaurant.

With Jungkook's hand on your lower back, he guides you through the crowd of people, greeting most of them that seem to be closer to your age with a brief greeting. You're busy looking around, barely noticing Jungkook is walking straight to Taehyung and Jimin who are already waiting for your arrival. You notice them when you hear their voices, greeting the both of you with whistles that make you roll your eyes at them.

"Yo! You guys look hot!" Taehyung calls out, hand covering his mouth to mimic his shock.

"Hey!" Jimin says right away, hugging you before he hugs Jungkook in a brief one. The same thing Taehyung does, before they start to talk about how it should start any second.

Just as they start chatting, about something you're not paying attention to, your eyes catch Kiko in the end of the room, talking with some other woman. They're all wearing pastel purple dresses, meaning they're bridesmaids. There's no doubt she's outstanding in all of them, even though their dresses are exactly the same. She looks beautiful even from a distance, and just as you look at Jungkook, you find him already looking at her.

He feels your eyes on him, but he lets his own linger on his ex-girlfriend for a few seconds before he looks at you. He gives you a weak attempt to smile, placing his hand on your lower back.

"Come on, it's about to start." he mutters gently, following Jimin and Taehyung who keep laughing about something, looking far more comfortable than you and Jungkook.

The wedding ceremony is beautiful, bringing you to the tears that you desperately try to blink away. You don't even know them personally, yet Seokjin's tears when he first sees his future wife makes you so emotional that you nibble on your bottom lip.

Surprisingly, Jungkook doesn't notice nor cares about your sniffling state, his eyes watching the ceremony the whole time. He barely budges, and when you glance at him, you know. He's low-key staring at Kiko, averting his eyes every now and then, a smart move not to look too obvious. Still, you catch him and push the urge to roll your eyes at him.

You feel a bitter taste on your tongue, mad and annoyed at your best friend for being so whipped for her. She broke up with him, broke his heart and he's still here trying to win her over. He deserves better and you wish he could see that. He's too blind in love to notice anything else. There's someone waiting out there for him, someone who will cherish him and not dump him over a dumb reason that doesn't even make sense.

The bride's vows are touching, and understandably, her long white wedding dress catches everyone's attention right away. The last wedding you've been to was when you were six years old, so you barely remember anything about it. But this wedding is one of the most beautiful weddings for sure, even though you haven't experienced that many of them.

The bride – Kiko's best friend – says her vows with a shaky voice, causing her best friend to wipe her tears as other bridesmaids try to cheer her up.

Noticing Jungkook's twitching hands, it's almost as if he wants to run towards her and be the one who embraces her shaky and emotional form.

You hate how bitter it makes you, but you swallow that feeling and clench your jaw instead.

As much as beautiful this wedding is, you can't wait for it to be over.

After you congratulate the newlyweds, it's time for the fun part – as most people call it – but you find yourself fake smiling at everyone Jungkook introduces to you.

However, your whole body stiffens when you see Hoseok walking up to you, to the group of people that Jungkook talks with. You saw him standing beside Seokjin at the ceremony, being his best man, but you avoided even looking his way. There's just something about him – like he can see right through you and the web of lies you and Jungkook created.

"Hey, everyone. Having fun?" he cheerfully calls out, arm slinging around Jimin's shoulder as he smiles at everyone.

A bunch of cheerful greetings can be heard from Jungkook's friends and Jungkook himself, luckily your lack of response to him is blending with others' voices. Everyone seems to be in a great mood, which is understandable, something that can't be said about you. You're standing next to Jungkook's side, a glass of wine in one hand as you silently sip from it every few seconds, with unbothered gaze.

Even though you appear to be unbothered, you're glad that you've blended with the crowd and nobody directly talks to you. Well, that's until Hoseok's voice resounds, shutting up everyone in the circle as they look at you.

"What about you, Y/N? Are you having fun?"

He smiles at you, silently taking a sip from his own wine, as his eyes stay glued to you.

Devil.

He looks innocent but you notice the glint in his dark eyes as he stares at you. What's his problem?

Jungkook glances at you, his shoulder brushing against yours and if there weren't so many eyes on you, he'd probably nudge you from your frozen state. Mustering one of your fake smiles, you smile at the man in black suit.

"I do, the ceremony was beautiful."

At least half of it is true.

You glance at Seokjin who gives you an appreciative smile your way, and you return it.

"Jungkook's next." he jokes, making you widen your eyes as Jungkookś choking fills the silence.

"What?" he manages to croak out, mouth widening at his friend that smirks.

"Well, you're the only one with a girlfriend," he says, pointing with a glass of wine towards you as you look at Jungkook. Your eyes meet before Seokjin adds; "When's the wedding?"

You hear the teasing in his voice, erupting an automatic reaction from you and Jungkook as you look at each other. One look into his eyes, and the both of you snort and start to laugh at the silly idea. Jungkook's scrunched nose and crinkled eyes with his bubbly voice, mixed with your laugh and hand clutching his shoulder for support, is enough to leave the whole group of Jungkook's friends speechless. They stare at you as if you were crazy, eyeing the both of you and nothing clicks inside your head, not until you see Hoseok.

He raises his brow at you with a total straight face, almost staring at you with an attitude that makes your laugh die down.

Oh, shit.

You're supposed to look like you're in love, not snorting and laughing right into their faces at the mention of the wedding. You know Seokjin was just teasing – however, you're not sure the same thing can be said about Hoseok – but that's what made your reaction even more weird.

Whipping your head in Jungkook's direction, your eyes meet and even though he looks completely neutral, you know he caught onto their stares as well. How could he not? They're literally staring at you with confused expressions, wondering what the hell just happened.

"Hyung," Jungkook chuckles, but you can tell it's strained and not natural. "We just started dating. Slow steps, right, baby?"

Staring into his crinkled eyes, you hide the shock when he pulls you closer, his arms securely wrapped around your hips as you bump into his side.

"Jin, look at her. You scared the poor woman." One of their friends snickers, jokingly poking Seokjin's shoulder as he grins but looks at you with apologetic eyes.

"Sorry, it was supposed to be a joke." he says, but you wave your hand.

"It just shocked me, it's okay. We haven't got to the point of discussing wedding plans yet, even though he was on his knees today." you let out a mere chuckle, trying to joke which proves to be successful when you hear their laughter.

"Well, excuse us," Jungkook says, hand delicately placed against your lower back. "I need a dance with my woman."

My woman. Oh my--

Giving your empty glass to the waiter that passes by, he leads you towards the dance floor, hand still pressed against your lower back making you shiver. His chest is almost pressed against your back, you can feel him just behind you, and when he finally stops you turn around. Taking your hand with the same gentleness like when he had led you to the dance floor, he places the other one against your hip. Your body reacts automatically, you place your hand against his shoulder, appreciating how soft his suit jacket feels.

But that's not what makes your heartbeat echo in your ears.

It's his dark eyes that stare right back into yours, a softest smile adoring his lips. The weirdest warm feeling fills your chest and you almost panic, wondering why the fuck he affects you so much. There is a need to know what he's thinking right now, if he can feel the same thing or something similar to it.

You watch him lick his bottom lip, smirking down at you – almost as if he could read your mind.

A low chuckle leaves his mouth, before he opens his mouth and you wonder what he's about to say.

"Almost got caught, huh?" he chuckles, talking about what just happened.

And you can feel it. The way your heart flutters, but not with the same warm feeling, but met with coldness instead. Not realizing your deadpan expression, you see Jungkook cocking his head to the side, swaying his body along with yours.

Mustering the best smile, you let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, imagine that."

Before he can study your weird expression and non-verbal response, you lean your cheek against his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He doesn't question it, but you feel him pressing a soft kiss into your hair.

The gentle piano music is calm, contrasting with your beating heart, but you let yourself relax in his hold.

Eyes dancing at the guests, your breath is almost knocked out of your chest. Hoseok sits on one of the bar stools, his body turned to the dance floor as he takes a glass of wine from the bar. Looking right back at you, he raises his brow along with the glass, smirking before he gulps it down.

You've no idea why, but you feel like the two of you are utterly fucked.

[bandgie]

Hey I saw your requests were open so I figured I’d shoot my shot. Can I request a fic Where Hyunjin really needs to pee and reader is joking around with him while straddling his lap and he keeps warning her that he needs to go but she thinks he’s kidding and he ends up peeing a bit and he feels kinda shy about it so reader tells him it’s okay to just let go while she’s on his lap. Then she starts grinding on him and he gets turned on and they fuck raw for the first time 😁

a/n: oh you're siicckk I love it

warnings: just read the ask man, MDNI 18+, established relationship, under the influence, fem!reader, dom-ish reader, soft dick hyunjin (lets fucken go), fluff mostly, PIV, no protection, come on you should know me by now!

1.4k words

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Maybe drinking wasn't the best idea. You could only imagine the pounding headache that would come in the morning. However, you couldn't manage to care enough as you sat on Hyunjin's warm lap. His hands were lazily placed on your hips, softly rocking them against his crotch.

Another bad idea in getting wasted was that neither you nor Hyunjin had explored each other much. The relationship was still new, but that didn't stop either of you from grinding up against each other late into the night. 

Hyunjin could feel the excitement bubbling in his stomach. The feeling of your plush thighs on his, how your chest was pressed in his face. It sent a thrill down his spine to be this close to you, but there was a familiar pressure in his bladder that ruined the mood.

"Babe," his voice was velvety soft as he spoke. "I gotta piss."

You looked down at your lover. A confused look on your face as you replied, "Now?" He nods, looking at you like a dog who got his bone taken away. "Yes, now."

Rather than getting up, you grab the back of his head and force him between your breasts. He makes a mmf! sound then giggles at your behavior. "Babbeee," he drawls. "I really need to go." His hands tap your ass as an encouragement to get up, but you aren't having it.

"You just don't want to touch me," you pout. The alcohol must be getting to your head. You're not one to deny someone of relieving their bladder. Hyunjin, however, is too drunk to catch onto the playfulness of your tone. "Of course I want to touch you! I'll just go to the bathroom real quick and-"

Hyujin's cut off with a moan as you grind your hips down on him. You rock back and forth, trying to create some friction between the layers of clothes. "You can hold it." It's not a request, but a demand from you. 

He shakes his head, "I really can't. We drank a lot. I'mma piss myself."

This makes you giggle, "Big boys don't pee their pants." You ignore Hyunjin's whines as you lift your hips just enough to remove your skirt. With your white underwear exposed, he can see the small patch of wetness that's accumulated. 

"If you do wanna piss that bad, you can go here," you look down to your bare thighs. Your hands move from the back of his head to the front of his pants. He doesn't protest when you unbuckle his belt, zip down his zipper to pull out his soft cock.

You coo at the sight, grabbing ahold of his dick and running your thumb along the slight. "You really are drunk," you mumble. "Can't even get hard." Hyunjin looks both horrified and aroused. It's your first time seeing his cock, and he's flaccid. You, on the other hand, are beyond ecstatic to see it. 

The warmth of your hand makes his hips jerk upwards. He groans. "Fuck, I'm gonna pee on you."

No matter how many times Hyunjin's warned you, you're still shocked to see a yellow stream emit from his tip. He tried to cover his cock, but you quickly slap his hands away. His piss lands on his jeans, leaking into the material. The warmth seeps onto your thighs, all the way down until your white underwear is stained with a yellow hue.

He moans. Moans when he sees you covered in his pee, his fifth. Hyunjin expects you to jump off his lap and run to the bathroom. He's waiting for your disgusted expression, but he's surprised to see a wide smile on your face. 

You pump his wet cock, drooling. "Fuck it's everywhere. Peed on me like a dog, you're so hot." Some piss leaks from his cock as you stroke him faster. Your underwear sticks to your cunt, but you're certain it's more of his own fluid than yours.

Hyunjin whimpers, "I...You think it's hot?"

The uncertainty in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. Your boyfriend could do anything, and you'd find it endearing. He has you wrapped around his finger, and he doesn't even know it. "I think you're hot," you emphasize. "I need you in me now. I really wanna fuck you."

If Hyunjin was more sober, he would be horrified at the thought of having sex with you like this. He wanted your first time to be romantic. He wanted to take things slow and feel your body on his, completely nude. Still, he can't ignore the delight in how you pull your soaked underwear to the side.

His cock twitches in your hand. After his tinkle, Hyunjin feels himself getting hard in your soft palms. He helps you over his dick with his hands on your waist, slowly lowering you to his length. 

Everything is so easy, so perfect when his tip breaches your walls. There's not an ounce of pain as he fills you up. You shiver and place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. "Mmm so good," you moan. "Deeper."

Hyunjin complies eagerly, shoving the remaining inches of his cock. It nestles snugly in your cunt, the head kissing your cervix. As much as you would like to bounce on him, you stay sitting fully on his dick. You want to feel how the curve of him hits every spot within you. How your walls tighten and squeeze around his unfamiliar girth.

It's only when you've begun dripping that you move upwards. A few inches of Hyunjin's length slip out before you slide back down. He slides effortlessly in you, stretching you wonderfully. 

Hyunjin can't decide whether he wants to look at your face or where your bodies connect. He loves watching his cock disappear in you as you ride him, but he also loves your fucked out expression. How your mouth hangs open to moan uncontrollably, the way your nose scrunches when he thrusts his hips upwards, how your eyes look into his so dreamily. 

"Fuck," Hyunjin groans. This might not have been the ideal way he wanted to make love, but he'll forever save the image in his mind. Imprint the feeling of your body on his. He'll immortalize this moment in a painting.

Both of you are too tipsy to properly fuck into each other. Your thrusts are sloppy and they don't match. Sometimes you have to stay hovering while he grinds upwards to you. The sounds of his thighs clapping against the back of yours echo in the house.

You throw back your head when he decides to use you to his liking. He bounces you on his cock like a fleshlight, eyes crazed. With your throat exposed to him, he can't help but lean forward to bury his face into your neck. 

Without warning, he bites down. You cry out from the sensation, feeling his teeth pierce your flesh. The saltiness of your skin settles on his tongue and the primal taste makes his hips move rougher.

A warm sensation builds quickly in your stomach, and you find yourself flooding before you can comprehend it. The familiar pale yellow liquid spurt from your cunt, and sprays all over his lower stomach. 

Hyunjin laughs tiredly upon feeling the liquid stream out of you. He pulls his head back and looks down, seeing the mess. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who needed to go."

You babble incoherently, jumble 'sorrys' and 'don't stop.'

He chuckles again and focuses his attention back on your dripping cunt. The extra warmth and wetness only push Hyunjin closer to the edge. His grip tightens on your hips and he drives into you. His balls tense and his cock twitches, and for a moment he thinks about pulling out. 

But the way you're helplessly letting him use you and looking at him so endearing makes it seem as though you might get upset if he pulls out. So he doesn't, and he buries his cock to the base as he cums inside. 

You thought it was impossible for you to feel wetter, but you're proven wrong. Hyunjin's cum shoots itself deep inside to claim you. You feel gravity pull his arousal down and out of your pussy, dripping onto his thighs and the couch. 

Tiredly, you collapse on his chest. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, peppering your neck and cheek with kisses. Both of you find solace in each other's embrace, giggling and giving open mouth kisses carelessly. It doesn't take long for the cum and piss to get uncomfortable.

Both of you decide a thorough shower is much needed... and maybe another round.

a/n: this was pretty fun to write! little secret for ya'll, men can't piss during sex (unless they have a medical condition) so that's why I had him soft to pee. but tbh we need more skz soft penis appreciation. if you're with me say 'i'

[blogwithlani]

Jealousy, Jealousy.

☁️ neteyam x fem! Omaticaya Reader

🧷 warning: angst, jealousy, fluff.

📑Neteyam is giving you the silent treatment and you have no idea why.

He shrugged you off again, with no reasoning— no explanation, he wordlessly ignored the way you had waved out to him from the water. He just scoffed and continued walking toward the marui pods. You huff, barely hiding how it’s ruined your mood by the slight frown that now graces your features.

“What’s his problem?” Ao’nung tuts as his ilu nudges yours. You shrug, lost as to why he was acting so cold toward you. You had fled the forest with the Sully family almost two months ago now, seeking refuge in the reefs with the na’vi of the sea— you had finally begun to settle in with the people, started to make friends with the locals.

Despite his faults and bitter treatment toward your friends, you had grown closest to Ao’nung. He mentored you the most when you had first arrived so naturally you two grew close. Swimming after training had concluded, sharing dinner with him even if it were just the two of you— exploring other parts of the village with him. He stopped mostly being an ass to the others because of you but he still had his moments.

“I’ll go check on him. I’ll be back” You hum before you swim toward the shore with your Ilu. You try and think of what to approach him with, you figured he wouldn’t just straight up tell you why he was upset but you hoped he would.

You find him in his family’s marui pod, his back turned to the entrance as he occupies himself with something. You greet Neytiri who gives you a knowing look— one that tells you her son is upset before she nods and leaves the pod.

“Nete” You say lowly, cursing silently at yourself for sounding so nervous. Your voice didn’t come out as loud as you wanted it to and you were glued to the spot you were standing on.

“Neteyam” You call for him again when he makes no movement— no effort to acknowledge your presence. He spares you a glance, turning his head slightly he scoffs at the sight of you.

“Stop doing that” You huff, stepping closer into the pod. You still kept your distance though, you didn’t want to overstep your boundaries— especially when he seemed this upset with you.

“Just leave me alone” He mutters, barely audible but you manage to catch the sentence. You sigh heavily, fiddling with your fingers nervously as you try to reason with him.

“Please don’t be like this, Nete. I’m sorry for…” Before you can even finish your sentence he stands and turns to face you. A warning look on his face— eyes dark and jaw tense as he shakes his head.

“Save your apologies. Just get out” He demands, his tone starkly different to the soft one you’re used to. He’s a sweet boy who’s never raised his voice at you— not even when you were kids, seeing him like this made your chest ache. You hesitate, silently staring at him with a saddened look on your face before you turn to leave.

His silence toward you continues over the next few days. He won’t even let you get a word in before he storms off to ‘train’. He’s even started to ignore you in front of his family now, during dinner he’ll purposely sit away from you and won’t bother passing the bowls of food to you. You two would be inseparable at dinner time, he’d always make sure he was seated next to you even if Tuk begged him to move. Now he couldn’t stand to be anywhere near you and you have no idea why.

You’re training with Tsireya and Ao’nung as a whole group when you finally decide you’ve had enough of his bitter treatment. You’re all working on your breathing techniques offshore— sitting in a circle whilst facing each other, you try to keep your eyes off of Neteyam who’s yet again sitting as far away as possible.

“Neteyam, when will you start talking to y/n again?” Tuk whispers to her older brother, you smile to yourself at how innocent she is. She doesn’t realise you’ve over heard her but you pretend you don’t notice, continuing to work on your breathing.

“When she stops talking to Ao’nung” Neteyam mutters back, this time you can’t play dumb— his words cause you to look at him. So that’s what this is about, Ao’nung. You should’ve figured earlier from the way Neteyam would grow cold every time you’d mention the chief’s son in conversations. You hardly missed the way Neteyam would look at him in an irritated way.

When training finishes for the day and you all make your way back to the marui— you hang back to trail behind with Neteyam. When he tries to speed up and lose you, you grab ahold of his hand and pull him back.

“Stop, we’re talking, right now” You seethe, frustrated with the way he’s been carelessly shrugging you off. You’ve had enough of it and now that you knew why he’d been acting this way, you could confront him.

“But..”

“Now, Neteyam” You demand, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise at your tone. You let go of his hand and allow him to follow you further away from the others.

“You’ve been ignoring me because you’re jealous of Ao’nung” You confront him, watching as a look of denial grows on his face.

“Seriously, why would I be jealous of fish lips?”

“Don’t play stupid. I heard what you said to Tuk” You hear him exhale heavily before he nods wordlessly, trying to form a sentence to explain himself. He seems to be struggling, his face warm at the thought of confessing such a big secret to you, so you grasp ahold of his hands.

“It’s just me, Nete. You can tell me anything, I’ll understand” You reassure him, feeling him squeeze your hands before he nods.

“Seeing you grow closer with Ao’nung hurt me. I see the way he touches you, smiles and looks at you. He doesn’t just see you as a friend. You spend so much time with him now, I’m scared he’ll take you away from me. That you won’t need me anymore” He speaks so softly and looks so vulnerable you feel your heart ache for him. You didn’t like seeing him so pained and you feel guilty you’re the reason for it.

“Oh, Nete. He may be my friend but he could never replace you, i’ll always need you” You murmur, before allowing him to continue.

“I love you, y/n. More than a friend, than family. There’s a reason why I’ve never called you my sister like the others have— I want you to be more than that” Neteyam leans forward, placing a kiss on your cheek— allowing it to linger before he pulls away.

“I see you” He whispers, closing his eyes to lean his forehead against yours— your hands automatically moving to rest against his chest. You lean into him, sighing heavily as you feel your heart pound in your chest. You feel relieved as you recite the same words back to him.

“I see you” You hum before gently pressing your lips against his, he reacts instantly— his hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the skin beneath it. Before you get too carried away, you pull away and place a quick peck on his cheek before leading him back to the marui pods.

“You had to cut that off short?” He groans as his arm wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him. You let out a laugh as you nudge him.

“Sorry, you’ll get more later”

—

a/n: idk about the ending it’s giving corny but i’m still grieving Neteyam so I need this 🤲🏼

[averageallogene]

Zhongli with a s/o who is a half dragon hybrid? Nsfw and sfw if that's okay!

Hi dear ♡ Your wish is my command!

Zhongli is a wise gentleman through and through, and that only amps it up upon making it official with his significant other. Regardless of species that is written in the stars, Zhongli will absolutely treat them with the utmost respect! Yet, there seems to be a deeper connection and a sense of devotion to his half dragon lover. It gives him a sense of solace he'd not felt in a long while, one of... Familiarity. Of warmth. And of fondness. Just warm and lovely feelings deep in his chest as his golden eyes gaze upon them with an enormous amount of love. ♡

Zhongli will be much more relaxed and open around his beloved, showcasing his more dragonesque side (and figure!) without fearing much of anything. Now, I'm assuming that even if half hybrid, his lover would be able to shift between fully human and half dragon, mostly out of convenience and to not scare others. This is pointed out simply because Zhongli will take this initiative to show himself mostly out of it being his own way of reassuring them he's more than supportive to explore their dragon side, to let loose every once in a while. Around their humble abode they will shift to their half forms after a long day's work, and despite the broken fine ceramics during the few weeks, they've adapted pretty well to the point of it becoming part of their routine!

Zhongli loves sharing advice on how to deal with any urges his lover might suddenly feel due to their more primal instincts, or how to take care of their horns and what specific food items might help in reinforcing them to a much healthier state! He absolutely adores to remark on how gorgeous they look, too! "You look positively radiant, my love. Your form glows brighter than the finest noctilucous jade cut." ♡

Occasional swatting with one another's tails is bound to occur, but laughter is soon to follow. It mostly is out of instinct or on accident, but they've grown quite used to it. Around their home, Zhongli will even have his own tail linger around his lover's waist or legs, wrapping occasionally if they cease to move around. He's overall very inclined to be close to them, his soft expression reflecting just how deep his love and devotion is. He truly feels blessed to have found someone who shares such similarities with him, especially after such a life as his own. ♡

NSFW under the cut! Beware!

Making love with Zhongli is all about letting their bodies tell just how much they love one another. Deep, sensual reassurances are a common thing to leave his beautiful lips, golden stare always worshipping his beloved as he pleasures them to another realm. He loves feeling their hands intertwined with his own, the sensation of their claws gripping onto his own flesh causing a sinful shiver to run down his spine. Zhongli loves his baby in all forms, human or fully hybrid, and his praises won't be cut short as he thrusts slowly, sensually.

Despite this, every now and then... He will be rougher, more... Possessive. His words are still full of passion, yet his hips snap more wildly, the rhythm flailing more as his sharp teeth explore their neck, marking them, claiming them. Imprinting on them. Whenever this kind of intimacy occurs, nine out of ten times they are both in their hybrid forms, tails rubbing against naked skin as Zhongli cages them against his toned body. Together they search for the nth zenith, their stamina seemingly neverending, another plus of their species, he remarks.

His love and passion is unmatched, and even when bursting with his own lust, Zhongli will always put his partner's needs before his own. He relishes on their fucked out expression, though he of course shall voice their loveliness in a much more soft manner, a manner that is simply silken smooth whenever leaving his tongue. He will watch their beloved cum once, twice, perhaps even thrice long before they move on to the main event, their bed rocking before threatening to even break under their force. Zhongli never quite minds it, a mere bed is nothing compared to the way he watches his baby reach their high, secretly relishing on how he is the only one to be credited for it. Ah, goodness, he's feeling possessive again... Better to let it out and not cram it in now. After all, they enjoy it so much~

[another-lost-mc]

Hellooooo first time requesting on your blog!

So for a long time I've wondered what it would be like if NB Satan & OG Satan were to meet & converse with each other. How would they react to each other? What questions would they ask? How would they respond? Etc. I was wondering how you would imagine this interaction would work?

Also, is it okay if I claim 🦄 anon?

A/N: Ooh that's such a neat idea. You know those “talk to your past/future self" tropes? I almost see OG Satan leading NB Satan through the present timeline version of House of Lamentation. It gives him a glimpse of what life will be like later, how things will change and what will still be the same. I kept this mostly wholesome because NB has enough angst potential without me adding to it. lol

SATAN x gn!Reader, 0.5k words, SFW.

Content: implied established relationship with gn!Reader.

The house itself is obviously a bit different. It’s older but also newer in some ways—updates and renovations over time, that sort of thing. It’s endured years of the siblings living there and all that entails. Their home is obviously loved and well-cared for, despite the little dents in the wall from their squabbles and the occasional scorched marks from some accidental fires. Those lingering remnants of the past each tell a story, and OG Satan offers to share them all.

I think NB Satan is just confused by everything he sees. There are portraits of himself on the walls, and there's lots of family photos where OG Satan looks so happy. OG Satan talks about his brothers while they walk slowly through the halls together. His voice is laced with fondness, especially even when he talks about Lucifer. He reminisces about pranks he attempted with Belphie that Lucifer managed to thwart somehow, but there’s no real bite in his tone. He can look back fondly on those memories and cherish them all, the good and the bad.

By the time they get to his bedroom, NB Satan has no idea what to think. He explores the familiar space but notices all the subtle differences: there are a lot of human world literature and movies strewn about, and he notices a jar of cat treats near the door so it's easy to grab a handful before going out to feed the strays. This bedroom feels less like a prison of his own making because it's comfortable and uniquely him and surprisingly warm.

OG Satan just kind of watches his other self with something like amusement, and NB Satan gets fed up feeling like the punchline to someone's idea of a joke.

"I don't get it. We're the same, aren't we? So why aren't you—how are you not—?"

"How am I not what?"

"How are you not angry all the time? Why are you so happy? Especially talking about him."

"Oh, I'm angry," OG Satan says, picking up a framed photo from his bedside table. He runs his fingers over the glass as he looks at the picture in his hands. "You know what it feels like, how it festers deep inside us. We're always looking for reasons to let our rage loose on the world so everyone else hurts as much as we do. But we both had to learn that there's more to life than that, didn't we?"

OG Satan hands him the photo, and NB Satan takes the frame carefully. It's a a photo of him and his family at a beach somewhere, and right there in the middle with their arms wrapped around his waist is—

"Our attendant?" he asks, eyes lingering on a familiar smile before reluctantly handing the photo back.

OG Satan nods. "If anything, you're the lucky one," he says, returning the picture to its proper place beside his bed. "I had to wait a lot longer to meet them than you did. I was lost just as you were, but then they came here and—well, I have a feeling you know how the rest of that story goes," he says, clearing his throat as a pink blush dusts his cheeks.

For the first time since they met, it feels like they finally understand each other. "...Yeah, I think I do."

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Phantom of the Night

Phantom! Eddie x Fem! Reader Smut Blurb

AN: Hello! I am a huge POTO fan, and obsessed with men in masks. I wanted to write this for fun and for spooky season. It's a length and smut filled blurb. I'm sorry about the college of pictures not being as inclusive as I'd like (it's hard asf to find POTO aesthetic in varying body types :/ ) but promise that the description is vague and meant for anyone AFAB or feminine leaning :) (psst: this ones for my ghouls @eddies-house @xxhellfiregirlxx @ghost-proofbaby who I adore and feed my delusions lol)

Warnings: MDNI! mature themes, dubcon, vouyerism, somnophilia, mentions of exhibitionism, corruption kink, bondage, biting, oral, penetration, virginity, loss of innocence, masks, dom! Eddie, posessive, body worship, stalking and obsession, kidnapping, etc.

As a child, you had been brought up in the exquisite opera house that your town boasted of, your father taking you often to see the shows and ballets performed there. He was a violinist, a talented one at that, and had many close friends who performed at the opera. Growing up, it was just the two of you. Your mother had grown deathly ill when you were five. She passed there soon after, leaving you and your father alone. In womanhood now, you sensed that he brought you to the opera so often rather than get you a nanny to distract you with elaborate performances in order to hide your fearful loneliness that a young girl got with losing her mother. 

But now you were a woman, a member of the opera yourself in the corps de ballet, your years of training under Karen, your father’s old friend, finally coming into play. You took the job soon after your father's death when you turned 20, desperate to keep the estate he left you and not leave the home and comfort of the opera house. Besides, you loved ballet and the elegance it left you feeling, despite the pain. But it was nothing compared to your true love. Singing. Music. 

Your father had you take singing lessons as a young girl, but those lessons were now lost in years of memories. You tried to practice alone but felt off-pitch. It was disheartening. You mostly had done so as a hobby rather than a real-life pursuit of the stage, not believing yourself to be skilled enough. You kept it hidden from the rest of the troupe, embarrassed over what they would say about a grown woman attempting to learn to sing and having daydreams of the stage. 

Which is what led you to this point. You had found a few places to practice in the opera house, the building so old that there were many hidden passageways and nooks and crannies. You often tried to use these locations in order to practice. Your betrothed, Steven, constantly scolded you and claimed one day you would get lost and no one would be able to find you in the maze that was the opera house. (Steven meant well, but could sometimes be more like a mother hen.) Still, you found yourself overwhelmed by curiosity and in need to explore more and more of the building. 

You looked around, curious to see if anyone was nearby. You had found this entrance behind a mirror in a makeup room, the dark and almost damp hallway confusing you. You walked on further, the long skirts of your white gown brushing the cold stone floor, probably dirtying the edges. You held the candle you used as a light in a shaky hand, goosebumps erupting on your skin at the chill. This place reminded you of dreams you so often had involving a dark dim cave, some mysterious yet enchanting man…no, creature…whisking you away with his lulling voice and seductive tones. You felt your heart race and your thighs squeeze together at the thought. 

You were ashamed of these dark desires. You were always told that women weren’t meant to feel lust. Ballerinas were not meant to daydream about dark and haunting shadowy figures whisking them away into the night against their will. That was why you were so passive in your arranged engagement with Steven. What did it matter that you felt not a bit of swirling desire for the man if you were not meant to? He had good money and was kind and treated you well, despite your less-than-normal childhood. Maybe after the wedding, you could squash all these horrid and sinful feelings in your belly. 

While lost in thoughts, you heard a gust of wind brush by you, the sudden draft blowing out your candle. You gasped, your heart racing as you caught the sudden flash of movement by you, fear squeezing up your throat. The figure moved in a flash, clearly tall and lean. 

“Hello? Who goes there?” You called out, willing yourself to swallow down the frightful feelings in your belly. 

Nothing could be heard but the faint drip of aging pipes and the rustle of the wind in the ancient hallways. You sighed, turning back to where you came from. Perhaps Nancy was correct and you could stand to stop reading things filling your head with the idea of monsters lurking in the night. 

You laid on the gaudy chaise lounge, restless and unable to sleep. Karen, in an attempt to be motherly with you, was earlier discussing ‘wifely duties’ with you, well aware that your education on the matter was crude at best from the words you heard other girls in the corps giggle over. Or occasionally, the male singers would boast of their escapades. She filled you with this idea that women were to lay there to be for their husbands and bear children. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting more. For the past few months, you had been…exploring your own desires. You found you couldn’t sleep without it. And yet…

Tonight you were staying at the opera in an attempt to curb the dark desires in your belly. You knew nothing of a man’s touch but did not want to sully Steven with your lustful and seductive thoughts. You hoped staying in a room not your own would discourage your brain from such thoughts.

You agreed with Karen to stay in the private dressing room, despite the fluttering gasps of your peers in the corps. There were rumors of a dark figure that haunted the opera house, always causing mischief, running around and stealing props, leaving notes on the music sheets, and even occasionally harassing the singers by wrecking their rooms. You weren’t one for superstition, but felt also that perhaps the girls had a point. You had felt a presence near you often, something lingering but still there. 

Just as you did lying there. You were only in your nightgown, the fabric thin and not modest at all. You could feel a presence despite the room being empty. You stared at the ceiling, your heart racing and an even more sinful thought entering your head. 

What if you touched yourself with that presence watching? 

You felt the heat creep from your neck to the tips of your ears, clearly embarrassed despite the lack of company. The thought excited you, the heat growing between your legs and your nipples pebbling at the thought. You sighed, cursing yourself but knowing you could not rest without the feeling of release. 

You shakily grabbed at your skirt, pulling it up while turning to look at your reflection in the mirror. The mirror faced the chaise lounge. You felt a gasp escape your mouth as you looked at yourself. You looked…delectable. Absolutely depraved. Your eyes were dark with lust and your nightgown revealed most of your bare legs, part of it tugged down to reveal cleavage as your hardened nipples poked through the delicate white fabric. 

You began to rub at the wetness between your legs, mewling pathetically at the friction and staring at yourself losing control. You felt your mind go foggy, your wetness growing as your moans became more desperate. You felt your eyes flutter, feeling as if the presence was staring at you. And whether it was the small sip you had of wine earlier you had with Karen or the lust clouding your thoughts, you swore you could see a shadow within the mirror, a pair of warm and sultry brown eyes slightly visible. The sight of the shadow caused you to reveal more of yourself, feeling the need to put on a winning show. You threw your head back, pulling the nightgown down more to free your breasts to the chilly air as you rubbed at your clit more ferociously, your moans and whimpers growing in desperation. You felt the tension in the room grow as the feeling grew before the tension snapped, leaving you shattering to pieces.  

You panted as you came down from your high, letting yourself catch a breath and trying to fix your appearance. You turned towards the mirror slowly, your body heavy and worn. You saw only yourself. No warm or sultry eyes. No shadowy figure. Just you. You let your eyelids flutter as you head off to sleep, sure to dream of the dark presence once again. And just before you do…you swear you see the shadow flash across the mirror. But maybe it was just your tiredness affecting your sight. 

The second time you experienced the presence was another night sleeping at the opera house in order to assist Nancy with her duties in the morning, since her mother, Karen, had left her in charge of the duties this time around, scolding her about needing to be responsible. You were asleep, dreaming and tossing while imagining that dark presence looming over you, your lust creeping in. In the dream, the dark shadow was looming over you, kissing up and down you, as silent as possible. You watched as the shape kissed its way down, growling hungrily at your entrance. You couldn’t see much but felt, almost as if it were real, lapping at your sensitive clit. You woke dazed, lust pooling between your thighs as you tried to sit up, sure you were feeling something licking and sucking on the swollen bud between your thighs. A gloved hand clamped down on your eyes and prevented you from seeing who the culprit was, your heart racing. You smelled the familiar mix of cinnamon and orange peel, along with sharp notes of rum and ginger, a tonic you knew as familiar among the singers in the opera to keep their vocals sharp. You felt your thighs shake, and moans leaving your mouth despite your brain's conflicting thoughts. 

This is wrong. I don’t know this person. But…the pleasure…they are so skilled with their mouth…I’m so close.

You writhed, whimpering and attempting to escape the mouth to discover who was there, only to feel the other hand hold you tightly in place, a deep and fearful voice growling lowly. 

“Stop your infernal movement, little angel. I would like to worship this beautiful cunt to the best of my ability,” The masculine voice ground out in agitation, the words sending chills up your spine and desire to build to the breaking point. Worshiping you?��Men in high society didn’t worship working women like you. You were lucky to even find a betrothal while most dancers were considered ‘low and loose’ women who needed to work in order to gain money. This man was odd and…so very skilled at making you unravel. 

You were drunk on the eroticism of it all. A stranger licking at you like a man starved of a month’s worth of meals, the inability to see his appearance, his demanding tone and forceful hand. You saw stars and felt your pleasure overcome you, your body shaking at your release that he seemed to slurp up, the noises so vulgar they would make a lady of the night blush. You lay there, eyes closed, catching your breath slowly. When your eyes finally fluttered open, you sat up, hoping to get to know the man behind your most recent confession in church, only to be met with silence, not a soul in the room. You felt your heart sink as you tried to fall back asleep, your mind swimming with thoughts of the mysterious voice and the warm, strong hands. It seemed the ghost of the opera might have been real after all. 

Nancy and the other girls in the corps began to notice your distracted gaze, your prolonged nights at the opera, and your skittishness, trying to catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure when people claimed he zipped past. You felt a strange obsession, a need to follow the dark shadow and discover who was consuming your dreams. 

You heard him at night occasionally, humming or singing. Or at least you thought it was him. It was a low and chilling sound. Your body thrummed with excitement anytime you thought you saw a flash of him in the rafters or heard a stair creak. You began to notice little gifts waiting for you in the dressing room, in your favorite nooks and crannies in the opera. Red roses and small notes in the messy script, usually referring to you as Little Angel. Nancy was worried about you, trying to escort you home often and getting Steven to dote on you more. But you were done. Corrupted. Filthy. And you wanted nothing more than to be in the Phantom’s embrace once more. You wanted him to explore you. Ruin you. Your mind was riddled with him day and night. 

You kept it hidden from everyone, but you often explored the ancient passageways now with the intention of finding him. Occasionally you left gifts. Your most used lipstick, a snippet of a poem, a book you had just read. You would come back to the spots to find the items gone, occasionally a rose left in their place. You felt giddy, like a schoolgirl. Your ghost…your Phantom… seemed to acknowledge you. 

If only you could catch him…

It was a few months after weeks of giddy gift exchanges and running after shadows. The notes and roses stopped. The flashes of a dark figure ended. Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe you were just a fool who imagined or dreamed of the interactions. 

On a dark night, you were aimlessly wandering the halls, singing to yourself a song you remembered your father singing. You had abandoned all hope of your dear ghost coming to capture you. Free you from a loveless marriage. You were set to marry Steven next week. Abandon the opera. Become a proper lady in society. At least Steven would not be disappointed when you laid there and bled for him, giving him a child 9 months later. You sighed to yourself, twisting your engagement ring, displeased with the thing. You wandered the underground tunnels, the candlelight dim in the dark halls. You felt your heart pick up as you heard a soft yet low voice, singing aloud. Your skin erupted in goosebumps, and your heart was racing. 

“Phantom?,” You called out sheepishly. 

The singing stopped. A deep voice coming from a direction you couldn’t discern. 

“Little Angel. What is a lamb like you doing in a dangerous place like this?” called the voice, rough and cold. Was he upset with you? You were unsure. 

You felt a tug at your heart, looking around and trying to find him. “Please, Phantom. I have only one week more at the opera. I cannot bear to not feel your touch another second,” you whimpered out. 

“Ah, so you can crawl back to that insolent boy who does not deserve your glory? My heart cannot bear the rejection, Little Angel. Leave this monster be,” He growled out, still within the shadows. 

Your heart leaped in your throat as tears entered your eyes, feeling your knees wobble as you crumbled to the ground. “Please, Phantom. I cannot bear to be without you. I do not want Steven. Forgive me, please…,” You sobbed softly, your emotions in a tangled mess. 

You heard a sigh and felt yourself get grabbed from behind swiftly, a soft yelp about to leave your throat. That familiar gloved hand snuck over your eyes. 

“Alright, Little Angel. On one condition…You mustn’t, under any circumstances, remove my mask,” He warned, his tone stern. 

You nodded wordlessly, allowing him to pick you up, dropping your lit candle onto the damp floor. The light went out, but as he picked you up in his arms, you caught a brief glance of him. He was a tall and lean figure, his hair a long and curly mess, his face halfway covered by a mask. You could see his plush pink lips and long lashes, warm and enticing brown eyes. 

He was beautiful.

You were tempted to remove the mask, curious as to why such an enticing man would haunt the opera. You refrained, however, out of respect. He tied a loose piece of fabric around your eyes, shielding your vision. 

You were enthralled and scared. 

You were laid down gently on a plush cushion and fabric, the cover softly removed from your eyes. You slowly opened your eyes in a dim and candlelit room, surrounded by aging theatrical props and the most plush velvet fabrics. You were on what appeared to be a bed, the dark figure standing before you. He wore a dark and long cloak, the hood down. His shirt underneath was a silky black shirt with a wide opening, displaying his chest. He wore dark pants and what seemed to be dress shoes. The items were all of high quality but it seemed they were at least a decade old. Upon looking up at his face, you saw he wore a white mask on half of it, his lips and half of his nose visible. His features were mostly soft, though he appeared worn from the years of seclusion and hiding. 

You reached out to touch his cheek, only to have him grip your wrists. His hands were shaking. His dark eyes were swirling with desire and sorrow. Was he shaken because he needed you so fervently? 

“You cannot touch me. I cannot bear it. If you were to touch me only to marry that…that damned fool later. My heart could not take it,” He growled out, his face twisted in sorrow and pain. 

You felt a tug at your heart, your hands aching to touch him but deciding to respect his wishes. 

“Alright.” 

He got up, running over to a pile of old props from past shows, grabbing at one, and walking over to you, grabbing at your wrists before tying them quickly to the frame of the bed. Your heart began to race as your body heated up, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you bit softly at your lips. Phantom groaned softly, looming over you, his warm brown eyes stirring desire in your belly. 

“Do not make such faces, Little Angel. You are so delicate, and I fear I will become without reason,” He groaned out, his eyes intense in their desire, his expression clear that it was hurtful to hold back. 

You could feel your back arch, his stiffening member brushing against you, causing you to whimper. “Please Phantom…Abandon reason…ravage me,” You mewled, writhing under the dark figure. 

His eyes became dark, his snarl deepening as he leaned in, his expression both terrifying and enthralling. “Be careful what you wish for, Little Angel. I am not too short of becoming a monster, devouring you.” 

You whimpered, desire pooling as your eyelashes fluttered, and your body leaned towards him. Two could play at that game. “Please…I’m frightened. R-release me, monster,” You whined, writhing under the Phantom’s dark gaze. A smirk fell upon his lips, dimples evident as the smirk broke into a villainous grin. 

“Oh, you should not have wandered into my lair, Little Angel. Now I must have you,” He growled lowly, taking his gloved hands and ripping open your corset before tearing at the chemise, the fabric pooling in shreds around you, your chest heaving in fear and excitement. 

Your body was bared save for the underpants that exposed your ever-wet entrance, your legs shutting in embarrassment. The Phantom growled, kissing at your lips with hunger and desperation, moans lost on his lips. He kissed you until you gasped for air before biting, nipping, and kissing his way down, focusing on your breasts. You pinched and sucked upon your nipples, heightening your pleasure and making you writhe more under him, whimpers echoing in the cold and dim room. He bit and marked you, his movements like that of a wild beast. 

“Ph-Phantom…Master… Devour me as you have before,” You whined out, meeting his wild brown eyes behind the mask as he looked up, snarling. 

“Beg. Beg for it,” He snarled, hands continuing their tortuous teasing on your breasts. 

“P-please… Master… Dev-devour me…I beg of y-you! I beg of you. I beg of you. I beg of you…,” You babbled, brain foggy with lust and his touch. 

He grinned devilishly, his white smile making your heart race. “As you wish, Little Angel.” 

He slowly made his way down, sure to kiss and mutter praises over you the entire time, letting you know how divine you were, leaving marks with sharp bites here and there. Finally, he reached your entrance, diving in as if it were his last supper. He flicked his tongue across your clit before sucking on it, alternating that and nibbling at your inner thighs, your body writhing like a woman possessed, your eyes rolling in pleasure. 

He truly was wicked, worshiping you beyond your wildest dreams, his words meeting your ears and deepening the carnality within you. You were gone. Lost to this bodily sin. 

“So divine. I do not deserve this beautiful cunt, these heavenly breasts, your godless moans… If this is the price I pay to become Lucifer’s lackey, I will happily pay the toll,” He babbled, fingers curling up into your entrance, his mouth still latching onto your clit. 

You felt your back arch and felt a ripple through your body. You shattered around his finger, your orgasm taking over your mind. You whimpered as he continued to touch you past your high, your nerves so sensitive you felt tears come to your eyes. He stopped short, growling lowly. 

“I’m going to condemn you, Little Angel. Fill you full of my cum. Mark you as mine and mine alone. You are my pet. My divine creature,” He snarled, his face twisted as you felt a shock of fear and lust overtake you. He could have you. You were his. 

“P-please Phantom…Pl-please,” You whimpered, lip trembling in longing as your body shook with terror. 

You suddenly felt a slow thrust into your entrance, the fullness causing a sharp pain, your head thrown back in a silent cry, eyes watering. The thrusting continued at a slow pace, the Phantom’s arms shaking as he appeared to hold back. You looked up at him, the desire growing sharper in you, your dull pain now adding to the pleasure, your legs slightly writhing. You fought against the ropes, whimpering. Phantom seemed to catch on as his brown eyes met yours, something in him snapping. He began snapping his hips at a ferocious pace, making you cry out as he continued to growl but also began to whimper and moan. 

“Such a perfect cunt. A vision. They don’t deserve you. So flawless…Cannot wait to fill your belly with my seed…Corrupt and condemn such a goddess…Ravaged by a monster…What would Steven think…?”

You moaned at the suggestion, thinking of how scandalous the situation would be. Your high was coming along a lot faster as the Phantom growled in your ear, hand at your throat while squeezing the sides and cutting off air. You felt your mind panic suddenly as you writhed but moaned louder, the lightheadedness causing immense pleasure. You were so close. 

“Oh, does my Little Angel enjoy that? Would you like to put on a show for the opera? Singing that beautiful song of pleasure?” He moaned out, his thrusts getting sloppier. 

You felt yourself climb higher and higher towards release, reaching it finally when Phantom growled in your ear making you grow with a child, making everyone know you were his. You saw stars behind your eyes, your heart bursting from your chest as you panted. The Phantom chased his own high, filling you up shortly after, making you moan softly. 

You attempted to catch your breath as the Phantom went to grab you a washcloth, wiping away at the spilling fluid. He released your wrists allowing you to rub at them. You flushed, your body limp and warm, worn out by the activity. You lay beside Phantom who held you to his chest, singing softly as you drifted off. 

You woke up once in the middle of the night, Phantom asleep. You stared at his face, only noticing how much more peaceful he looked in his sleep. You bit your lip, wondering why a man would wear a mask, even during sexual activities. Curiosity always got the better of you. You reached out softly, peeling away the mask, being careful to make sure he didn’t stir. You gasped softly at the reveal. The man's half of his face seemed to have large scars as if someone had taken a chunk of flesh in a bite, perhaps an animal. His cheeks were riddled with them, and half of the tip of his nose also with a chunk missing. 

You frowned, cocking your head. Sure he wasn’t gorgeous on that side but why was he here. He just seemed a little scarred. You softly touched the scars, the Phantom twitching at the touches in his sleep. You stop for a moment but again, only to have the mysterious man's eyes flutter open and horror and realization cross his face and he shoots up and snarls at you. 

“You broke the one rule?” He growled, his eyes dark and anger-filled. 

“I didn’t mean-” 

You felt a quick hand tie you up again, the ropes had been on his side of the bed, You tugged against them, feeling panic come up your throat as he tilted your head up, eyes gleaming with villainy. 

“From now on Angel, you belong to the Phantom of the Hawkins Opera. Edward Munson. But you may call me Master,” He growled out, his eyes swimming with possession, desire, and fury, your mouth opening to let out protests and failing to make a sound. There was no escape. No way to save yourself. You were his. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

THE END?

[heartcereql]

tommy shelby x finn's teacher!reader pt.2 || read pt.1 here

the sun was supposed to be setting at this time of the day. but, as you outstared at the skyline, you saw nothing but a silvery sky only getting darker.

usually, after a long day at school, exhausted by your students' behaviour, you went to an abandoned dock on the canal to watch the day fade into the night, hoping to relieve the tension of the day and to diminish the headache in your temple.

but it didn't seem like you were very lucky today, as the landscape was an ash-colored blur, clouds heavy. you turned your head to both sides, chasing sunlight, stars, anything. and that's when you saw a figure approaching.

dark coat, cigarette's smoke surrounding the shilouette, flat cap, confident stride. he was unmistakeable.

"mr shelby" you greeted. he shot you a glare and you remembered. "right- tommy."

he acknowledged you with a nod of his head, a cigarette dangling from his lips, icy blue eyes staring ahead at the horizon as he arrived by your side. you directed your eyes at the sun setting, too.

"i have seen the results of you staying true to your word and giving my suggestion a try", you hummed. "thank you"

you turned your body to face him, watching him exhale a cloud of smoke.

"turns out you were right, eh" he shrugged, taking a drag of smoke and exhaling it.

you gave him a small grin.

"but you still have to fulfill your part of the deal"

you tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words, as you remembered what you had promised him. you had agreed to go for a drink with him.

"well, i am waiting for a proper invitation" you remarked, your tone playful.

"as the lady wishes. miss y/n, will you join me in this-" he paused, looking at the sky for a second. it was painted with dark clouds, auguring storm. "- in this bleak and unsurprisingly grey afternoon for a drink at the garrison?"

you smiled at his words, having to bite your lip, preventing yourself to smile any wider.

"it'll be my pleasure" you replied, watching him drop the cigarette to the ground and stomp on it. "care to lead the way, mr shelby?"

he was about to correct you when he noticed the mocking tone in your voice and the grin on your lips. he started walking, -

"what will it be?" tommy inquired.

the two of you had taken a seat besides the bar almost immediatly. the people had appeared to go silent for the slightest second, observing you, but then had quickly returned to their affairs.

your eyes explored the pub, resting delightfully on the golden details, scanning every detail. quite nice for the reputation that preceded it.

"whatever you're having" you answered, finally directing your gaze to him.

he raised his brows, not quite impressed but amused.

"it's strong"

"oh i'll be able to handle it"

he just gave you a smug smirk before ordering the barmaid another drink for you.

"so what is it?" you wondered as you stared curiously at the amberine drink.

"whisky. scotch." he sipped his drink as if it was water.

you copied his action, putting on your best efforts to suppress a face as you swallowed the stinging alcohol.

very soon, you were caught in the joyous mood of the garrison, establishing light conversation with tommy, mostly exchanging courtesy questions, drinking and sharing some laughs.

"i understand you own this pub" you brought up, voice louder than usual so tommy was able to hear you above all the noisy chattering and giddiness from the garrison.

"my brother. arthur."

"well it's a beautiful place. he must be proud." you complimented, downing the rest of your drink, trying not to grimace as it burnt down your throat. it sure was strong.

"aye, that he is" tommy took a swig of his drink as well. "how's it going with the kids?"

you frowned in confusion for an instant before realising he meant your students.

"they're alright. they get introuble, make fuss about everything, but then again, they're children. they're actually sweet when they want to."

"and how's finn doing?" his eyes locked on yours, unable to escape the others'.

"he's a bright kid, he really is. but he loses focus more often than not. he gets carried away. and then it's even more difficult to help him back on track. but i think he can do it." you informed, sending a sympathetic smile his way.

he only hummed, his reaction to your comment unreadable.

you decided not to ask how his own business was, knowing better than to pry on affairs that didn't concern you. instead you asked something else, something that would make him warm inside.

"finn mentioned you have horses. you race 'em, right? how're they?"

tommy's gaze immediately softened. though only the corners of his lips seemed to curl into a smile, he was beaming inside. you actually asked about his horses. not many people did. it was something he appreciated.

"alright, yeah. we got a new addition a couple of weeks back." he answered as he grabbed the bottle and refilled the glasses for the third time. "she's being trained now. great promise, that one. she's got a resistance quite difficult to find, an endurance rather auspicious. lot of potential."

he handed you the drink. you thanked him, head a bit fuzzy. but there was something about the way he spoke about horses. passion. you would've never guessed, not before getting to know the man, he could speak so fondly, so committed. you sipped the whisky, listening to tommy attentively.

the pub was cleared out by the time you two decided to leave. your head was spinning, groggy from the alcohol. you could barely contain your smile anymore.

but as you stepped outside, birmingham's weather hit you like a splash of cold water. literally.

“it’s raining!” you laughed. “fucking storming”

“here”

tommy unfolded a black umbrella, holding it your way. you scooted closer, under the protection of the umbrella. for a moment, neither tommy nor you moved, both standing under the ubrella. droplets of water splashed lightly as they fiercely hit the ground and already formed puddles.

"care to lead the way, miss y/l/n?" he repeated your words from earlier.

"where to?"

"your residence, of course", he replied. seeing you were still as confused, he clarified "you're not going home alone, in the rain and certainly not tipsy as you are"

you were taken aback from his stern but concerned demeanour. and how come he was not affected in the slightest from the drinking? were you really such a lightweight?

"okay then" you smiled up at him as you started walking your way through the dark streets of small heath, praying the man wouldn't notice the way your skin heat up when your arms brushed.

after what seemed like an eternity, you reached the disheveled door, once white, that led to your house. stepping into the porch, you now stood in front of him.

"thank you, thomas. for the walk, for the drink, for the talk, for talking to finn. and" you smiled, mostly to yourself, before continuing, "i had a really good time."

he silently nodded, also smirking.

"stay safe, y/n"

"you too"

you watched as he turned and walked off into the night, under his umbrella, with the stride you were getting so used to.

"wednesday evening" he called out as he walked away.

"what?" you exclaimed in disbelief. was he asking to meet again? not that you were complaining, or that it wasn't thrilling and making your stomach churn with eagerness; but you knew it was risky.

"be there"

he disappeared around a corner, and you shut the door quietly, resting against it, smiling like a schoolgirl.

© heartcereql, 2023 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[radiantteacup]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍!

✧.*Slight m!sub, Slight dumbification (if you squint), Needy! Tighnari, Established Relationship, Biting/ Marking, Semi-public sex, getting caught.

༊*·˚ Handling needy Tighnari <3

˗ˏˋFeaturing ´ˎ˗ Tighnari

˗ˏˋAlso includes´ˎ˗ Established relationship, kisses, consent implied

Tighnari is really subby when he's needy, he'll whine for you, even beg you if that's what it takes. He completely loses his composure, throwing his pride out the window. Just an absolute mess of a man.

He won't even wait to you get home, he'll take you right where you stand. Doesn't matter to him, he'll fuck you on his bed, against a tree in the forest, even behind shrubbery just off the main path

When he finally gets inside of your tight pussy he'll be a panting mess, whimpering softly in your ear. His hips bucking against your own his face bright red.

A yelp escapes your lips as your back meets the pokey bark of a tree. The herbs you'd been gathering fell from your hands, littering the ground. When you notice the familiar boots of your boyfriend, Tighnari, your irritation grows, all those herbs you'd spent hours collecting were ruined now. Preparing to lecture him, you look up, only to be met with a sight that takes your breath away; standing in front of you is a red faced, panting Tighnari. His eyebrows were knitted together as he stares you down, pupils blown wide.

He dips down quickly capturing your lips with his own. The kiss was fast and hard, unlike any you'd shared before. You struggle to keep up with him as his tongue dips between your lips, exploring with vigor. And then as quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over, leaving you spiraling. Your breath was labored, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Tighnari was no better, dazed eyes looking up at you pleadingly. His expression alone was enough to make you press your thighs together, hoping to suppress the throbbing. Tighnari tucks his head into the crook of your neck, small whimpers escaping his soft, plump lips. He slides his hands beneath your shirt hands resting on top of your tummy. You jump at the feeling of his cold hands against your warm belly, caught off guard. " Fuck, I need...", he pauses placing a wet kiss to your neck, " ...you."

The desperate tone of his honeyed voice makes your head spin, all you're able to manage is a soft, " me too." As soon as he hears it he's quickly sliding his hands down to your shorts. Tighnari's nimble fingers make quick work of your bottoms, pushing them down your legs and letting you step out of them. He trips over himself a few times as he hurriedly attempts to get himself out of his own bottoms. Once they're off, he slides his hands over the back over your thighs, " jump", he commands softly. You feel goosebumps slowly begin to decorate your skin, the feeling of his soft skin against yours making your heart race. Never the less you obey, jumping up so he can catch you.

Once Tighnari has you in his arms he's quickly pushing his dripping cock into you. Euphoria hits you like a semi-truck, making your head spin like a carousel. The sweet drag of his plump cock against your tight walls was addicting, and never failed to make you go dumb. Soft whimpers slide from his tongue as your mouth hangs open in a silent moan. Tighnari's sharp nails dig into the plush skin of your thighs, leaving small, pretty, crescent shapes in their wake. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass echoed through the forest, you were glad that this part of the forest was mostly secluded. Porn-worthy moans escape your mouth, your hands finding purchase on his shoulder. You could feel the uncomfortable bark biting into your skin but you paid it no mind, too lost in your own pleasure to care.

You and Tighnari's mixed moans filled the rainforest creating a symphony with the sounds of birds singing and the rustling of the wind tickling the trees. You could feel the knot in your belly tightening and from the way his thrusts are growing sloppier you could tell he was close too. You grind your hips down in rhythm with his thrusts, trying desperately to bring both of you to your peak. His sharp teeth sink into your collarbone, a poor attempt to silence himself. The painfully delicious sensation only drug you closer the high you so desperately craved. " M' so close, fuck", you babbled mindlessly, " Tighnari, please", you whined needily. Your pussy clamps down against him, hurtling both of your into a euphoric high.

You can feel your walls pulsating around him as you slowly come back to your senses, panting like a dog. You look down to where Tighnari's head laid, still tucked away on your shoulder. You're about to ask what came over him but something else beats you to the punch. " Snap!", the sound of a branch breaking has both you and Tighnari's heads whirling in the direction of the noise. You can feel you heart drop as you see the pale face of a mortified looking at Amir.

[catscidr]

Imagine Yandere Dottore x puppet like reader 🤭

i got carried away (again) im sorry lmaogsnfs(ɾ⚈▿⚈)ɹ this isnt as yandere as u would expect it to be for a dottore post bc i love me some good slow burn and character development but its fine its still dottore ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore tinkers with reader's inner stuff (literally), he gets weird about it includes: gn!reader, dottore, pantalone and dottore's clones mentionned for like a second wc: 1,5k

You and Dottore had a simple routine; once a week, he would fix you up from whatever had happened to your body and mechanical system from adventuring in the past seven days and, in exchange, you would let him look and poke around your intricate mechanisms so he could learn more about machines and artificial life in Teyvat. He was, first and foremost, a scholar after all. 

However, he’s been getting a little more handsy and has seemed almost... worried the last two times you came back from your trips. 

...Worried in his own way, of course. 

The doctor wasn’t afraid to make you uncomfortable and, when he found a particularly harmful anomaly in your body, he could be even more insufferable. Nothing that you couldn’t handle- being mostly made up of elemental energy and cables gave you a pretty resistant body- so his change in attitude only irritated you more than it hurt. His hands, usually covered by surgical gloves, would lack the latex material to move aside your plates, leaving fingerprints all over the sides and corners. You voiced your annoyance with his behavior but, in normal Il Dottore fashion, he simply disregarded your complaints. 

Today was no exception; you had just come back from a trip in Liyue, exploring the depths of the Chasm and underground mines, and came back to his lab covered in that gross, dark goo. You weren’t experiencing any side effects from the substance thankfully, still, the doctor argued that there had to be something wrong somewhere. The dirt stuck to your clothes and had no intentions of coming off when you rubbed at it (you considered bugging the Regrator to pay for a new outfit because there was no way you were going to lose your hard-earned mora just because a hilichurl decided to fling a handful of that filthy mud at you), but that was the extent of your problems. You kept insisting to the doctor that you were fine, that you just needed a good, long, scalding hot shower to scrape the dirt off of your artificial skin, but he just wouldn’t let it go. 

You had taken off your overcoat, the extra layer being in the way of his handiwork and had tossed it somewhere on his desk in petty revenge. He paid no mind to the small mess you made of his workspace, his attention purely on you- or rather, his attention purely on a stubborn stain on the bottom of your neck, trickling down to your collarbone, stopping right before your inner layer of clothes. Right where that damn hilichurl had struck you. 

“Do I need to send a segment with you every time you go out or will you stop putting yourself in situations where you get all fucked up and have to crawl back to me?” he grumbles dramatically under his breath, loudly enough for you to hear. Purposely. 

With your head thrown back, tilted away from him to allow him the space to open up your neck panel to clean your inside system from the goo that had seeped through the cracks, you can do nothing but groan in annoyance, done with his passive aggressive comments demeaning your competency. 

“You keep saying that, but I doubt you or your clones would be able to keep up with me. All you ever do is stay holed up in your lab. How would a hermit possibly be of help to me?” you huff, staring up at the ceiling.  

Suddenly, you feel your hand clench and twitch repeatedly and you wince in discomfort. Glancing down, you see Dottore’s unamused and irritated gaze boring into you as he pinches the wire in your mechanism responsible for hand movement, a silent threat for you to tone down your attitude. 

“What? It’s true!” you double down stubbornly, smacking his fingers away from you with your free hand. He scoffs, irritated, but doesn’t respond. He had better things to do than to prove himself to you, anyways. While he sulks, you bring your (previously twitching) hand up to the light, rolling your wrist and wriggling your fingers to make sure he didn’t damage anything. 

“Next time I’ll just ask one of your clones to patch me up if you’re so pissed that I come see you when I get back from my trips,” you scoff, placing both hands flat on the vivisection table you were sitting on, leaning on them as you look at him with a raised brow. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, his jaw clenching as he straightens his back, looking (glaring) back at you. 

“Don't,” he says simply, taking a step towards you and bringing his hands back up to your throat to finish the job he had started earlier- getting rid of that pesky mud. 

You feel the atmosphere shift as clear as day. You may not be human, but you were pretty in-tune with emotions and how they worked; which was why you were even more confused as to why the Harbinger was acting this way. Tilting your head back to let him do what he was doing just a few minutes ago, you break the tense silence. 

“Then stop being on my case,” you huff, closing your eyes to let him do what he had to do. You hear him hum in response and hold back the urge to scoff at him and his childish antics. 

Dottore diligently and silently cleans the crevices of your neck and throat, nimble fingers fixing damaged wires and placing things back where they should be so everything is in order once more. With his usual mask absent, his face was impossibly close to your throat, almost inside of your puppet body as he studied how you worked. Instead of blood flowing through veins and creating a pulse, you had electro energy flowing through you, mimicking the veins you lacked. When you inhaled, a weak wave of energy would flow up the left side of your body, and when you exhaled it would go back down, and rinse and repeat. Dottore watched the process, pensive, while you stared at nothing, bored out of your mind. 

“Are you done yet?” you ask quietly, legs itching to hop off the metal table. Dottore stays quiet for longer than usual, lost in thought. 

In a flash, he puts his entire hand beneath your chest from the opening in your neck. His fingers brush something rubber-y in texture, digging deeper between your chest plate and the mess of cables mimicking a spine. You make a garbled noise of surprise, roughly pulled out of your thoughts and yank his hand out, face flushed with embarrassment and something akin to fury (but not quite). 

“What the fuck was that?!” you hiss, hand still holding his wrist firmly. Dottore watches the way his hand prickles with electro as it fades in the air, his eyebrows furrowed and expression indecipherable. Crimson eyes flicker back up to meet yours. You can't help the shudder that passes through your body, swallowing a lump in your throat nervously from the intensity of his gaze. 

“I wonder how your body would react if you were injected with hydro energy,” he murmurs to himself, still staring right at you. “Would you let me find out?” he asks, voice slightly louder than before. 

“Would you let me do more than just observe your inner machinery?” he asks. The Harbinger takes a step forward. 

“Would you let me toy with you?” 

Dottore, now staring down at your sat figure, carried an aura you couldn’t decipher. With his body blocking the overhead lighting, it almost looked like his hair was reflecting the buzzing fluorescent lights of his lab, icy hair surrounding his head like a gentle halo. You feel your mouth get dry, rendered unable to respond. 

“Only come to me. I’ll learn how your body works, inside and out. No one is to see you like this,” he whispers, face eerily still. “Not even my segments. I’ll behead them in front of you if need be.” 

Dottore held his face mere inches away from yours, his ragged breath tickling your cheeks as it made the stray strands of hair flutter. Your eyes never left his, not even when he brought one hand up to your face, sliding across your cheek to tangle itself into your hair while his other hand glid across the cables inside your chest cavity in uncharacteristic fondness. Though his fingers were gentle and soft, his eyes didn’t betray the flicker of something sinful. 

“Would you like that? To be able to study their innards,” he says in a sickly-sweet tone. You study his face; his eyes, usually swimming with irritation and contempt, held a hint of something akin to devotion. 

“Let me study yours. Let me pull you apart completely and then put you back together. I’m not satisfied with simply looking anymore,” he hisses, eyes widening. “I want to mark you from the inside. So let me.” 

You couldn’t find the will to protest.