I'm sure that Astarion is sincere but before he professes that to Tav, I can completely see him getting reamed by the rest of the camp for not appreciating Tav enough.
"That man/woman looks at you as if you cup the very stars in your hand an open your fingers just for them to see the light that shines from between them. Astarion, there's a hell of a lot of people that would kill for a fraction of that admiration, you're very lucky man that they'd sooner beg for it from the wrong people, than realize the gold that entertains your company."
Trying to get a feel for his character and gather inspo for him. Idk that I did him any justice but at least it's sweet.
George never really stopped to admire men that were short of stunning. Something plastard on billboards with perfectly sculpted chests or soft lips with chiseled jaws might catch his eye but that was only nature to some degree, no one confident in themselves would care to deny the beauty standard.Ā
But there was something to you specifically, as if he'd been struck in the face. You were attractive, to an average standard, yes, but something about what struck him would make your deepened, somber voice, warm the skin of his ears.
He found out you were trans, mostly by his own ignorant attempt to justify his attraction but there was nothing effeminate about you. Shaking, scarred and dry hands handled guns with the skill of breathing, nails beds warped and filthy of grease, teeth crooked by where you'd once chewed those same nails down to the nerve. Your story was nothing compared to the villains whose names were cemented and customized in Arkham prison building. Just some simple goon with too much luck but you knew enough to help and we're dangerous enough to plant a bomb in.Ā
And though you are a man, who's name and mannerisms echo in masculinity, Harkness began to find himself softened by the tilt in your smile and the lines it made at the corner of your eyes.
He could warm a small room with the heat that burned in his face when you stared George in his eyes and rumbled how they looked like gems.
āWhat?ā He asked incredulously, not quite hearing that careful voice above the ringing in his ears
And you'd clarify āYou got eyes like emeraldsā¦ real pretty.ā
the awkward silence that followed his āoh..ā before Waller had bellowed her commands, would have been enough to make either man shrivel up and die where they stood. Despite the stumbling between the both of you, The Captain sought more of that timid attention you shared to him.Ā
Ā This was a new development for him, he was no stranger to finding a man attractive but to crave him was foreign.Ā
High key thinking about Boomer falling in love with a Transman and being flustered constantly around him, bc Boomer can't place when or why he started being attracted to men, but by god the man's got pecs so tight it looks like cleavage and an ass that sits too good to be ignored.
i'm sure it's known that havik experiences pleasure instead of pain so that just has me thinking very icky thoughts. imagine leaving small cuts on him at first, making him whimper out; this is basically the equivalent to teasing his cock through his pants. he takes it so well, pleading for you to injure him more. soon enough, wherever you guys are becomes a bloody mess, with him moaning so loud that it's causing an echo in the room.
slice him down the middle of his torso and peek into his insides, he's begging you to just put your hand inside. asks you if you could cut off limbs, when you hesitantly oblige you already know he's crying and moaning. cut off his fingers, listen to the sound when they fall to the floor with a 'plop' in the puddle of blood.
@boomclowntown as I told you I would. Part two of two @mammaonii @mangos-other-corner
Imagine teasing rain all day on to pin him down and out a vibrating cock ring on him and then loving fucking his cute ass till he practically begs to cum, tears running down his face, cock angry and red from being denied that lovely high, only to pull his hair and snatch his head back and tell him to beg hard. Unfortunately you break a table but my gods when you do let him cum it thick and theres so much of it. Even better is you used the cock ring to tease him thought out the day before bending him over the table. Even better if he reminds you once he's collected and after care has happened that this is a two way street. Your turn next, round 2? Fight.
Also don't imagine biting his shoulders, making hand prints on his ass or biting his back just to hear him actually moan and not hide his voice. "say it louder zef~fee~ro, I can't hear you darling. Stop hiding that pretty little face sweetheart in want you to see your own face and hear the wonderful voice." It just a mirror in front of whatever you decide to fuck him on so he can see how fucked out he looks, at just black pupils staring, now brown in sight, he might have just cum from your teasing just now but he's no less hard then when you started this game.
Imagine adding someone else to amp it up.
"look at you all you had to do was behave, now you get to watch as I fuck the good boy over there. Now stay still and keep this warm for me."
He would try to behave but he just can't seem to. Acting out for your attention. Even if that means your strap/cock is in his throat most of the time. He knows he needs to keep it in his mouth but sometimes he's a brat the keeps only the smallest bit in cause technically it's still in there.
Better yet when you treat him to body worship and force him to look you in the eyes as you kiss, nip and bite every part of him, just to hear him hold back his whimpers and moans. You could break him doing this till he's a begging mess for you to just touch his cock or something then the little kisses he's receiving. "Darling please I... Need more, anything please, I can't take much more." His cock would be leaking something fierce. If you do give in and end up jacking him off it doesn't take long for him to cum, it will spill everywhere, if you blow him, its gonna leak out the sides. No joke his hands will be gripping the sheets, not your head cause he knows you don't like that but it'll be tempting.
This man imo is a switch, that being said he would look so damn good riding your strap as you lay back and guide his hips up and down, possibly in a circular motion just so it hits different points. Honestly might be the loudest you'll ever hear him is when he gives in and up to your will and accepts all the love you have for him. Bonus points if you have one of the one that do fake cum son you can fill him too. Maybe asking to keep all inside him as he goes about his day.
That is all for now I'll add more later reblog it with more spicy.
He/him R pronouns used/fluff/cliffhanger?/slowburn/ send asks for more hcs about this story's development if you want. I likely won't be finishing it.
You're a loyal painter for Sindel's court, company and family; and have made Rain a muse over the years you've worked for them.
Dinner was dimly lit, you admired each champion from a distance; the sound of your brush smoothing across one of hundreds of canvases you'd primed and had delivered to you from palace storage. Your work was very shortly unnoticed, those who fought too busy trying to maintain their head in the ring of Sindel's home. You'd the pleasure of painting Raiden an earth champion who shared a brief, confused appreciation of your work.
"I don't think I could ever understand the need but it's beautiful." He admitted to you, seeing the ways in which you stilled his movement onto a single canvas.
" You don't have to understand the need," you assured "you just have to enjoy it, that's the best part."
Raiden asks "enjoying the art?"
And you specify "enjoying the results, much like your fighting."
You could've dedicated a canvas to the shape of his smile in that moment, the brief and beautiful understanding of your passion before he walked away.
As of now, however, you're dedicating the canvas to an array of people, washed in a light of blue and gold. Horns decorated in beautiful metals and heads blanketed with stunning robes. You watched carefully how the shadow played on their features from a distance while they sat at dinner, heads bobbing amongst each other as they spoke; struggling to match the colors suddenly on a single person. His robes of purple reacted to the light like camouflage, had it not been for the gold detailing, perhaps you wouldn't have noticed him. How you wished you wouldn't have noticed him, of course. In your eyes, he became plain, you've studied this man and his features from afar for so long, painting them had become second nature.
"Purple bastard" you'd seethe, feeling as though his presence made it easy to see who was centered in your work, his visage was the smoothest and most natural feeling in the dinner piece, at least to your eyes, the details of his robes glowed compared to those around it and it didn't help that the entire painting started with his silhouette.
You always felt rather naked in a room with him, he stared through people, as if they were made of a sheer tulle but something always felt quite strange when he stared in your direction. remembering once, how his deep brown eyes scanned the final details of his portrait, you'd reflected the color of his robes in his skin, and the golden hour of the sun in his eyes. When you first began painting, Rain reminded you the joys of painting the valleys of the kingdom with the shape of his nose; the way his skin sparkled like the sand by sea, and how his hair flowed like a river just under his hood. Despite the obvious effort made in the painting, that you felt would pale the portrait of even the queen, Rain noticed your hands first. How they held the brush, how your nails slightly warped from over working and your fingers just the same.
"You've the hands of a working man" Zefeero wondered out loud "the scars that luxury leaves behindā¦"
These words shook you, so accustomed to the praise your work received, to hear what might have been concern for your well-being confused you, haunted you and soon, reflected that haunting in the ways you painted and repainted him.
As the brush strokes through the memories of your yearning, you hardly noticed what new attention you'd drawn. Shao, had his dramatics before being dismissed, and so guests were made to entertain themselves amongst each other once again. The very same robes of royal purple that haunted your heart ghosted across marble floors to find their way toward you with a small gathering, curious of your work.
You could feel a familiar set of eyes on your hands again.
ā--
It stands on a third floor, an empty attic with glassless windows. A space where many beautiful pieces came to rest as they hung dry, strung up by their handles and dripping onto the window pain.
It was planned to be a guest room, so Sindel once told you, āIt was planned to be a sunroom before father died.ā Kitana admitted to you, as was proven by the array of once dusty curtains, when you were first introduced to it. It looked past the valleys of the kingdom and straight onto its beaches, every morning your paintings would meet the glare of the sun while they dried. Despite every wet drop that might color the once, very tediously decorated tiles, you were careful to never color the bench. It laid close by a window and when you had once sat on it, you noticed that it pointed towards the very spot of the beach where the king and queen had wed. you wondered how long She might have sat here after her husband died and even longer, if she had ever waited up here while you finished painting his memorial. It's a strange guilt that plagues you every so often but the queen insisted you let your work stay here to dry, until something is chosen and something is gifted. It's connected to the castle, of course, so two guards stay just outside the doors and wait on the work. It's not uncommon to hear a respectful rapping at its wood for you to finish lamenting your pieces but there was a new, echoed sound, just outside its carved surface from where you stood.
Then, the door creaks open āPortrator?ā The Umgadi calls āRain is interested in seeing your work here, may he enter?ā The question caught you by surprise, his connection to Sindel made him your superior, so the consideration to ask never once came to you.
āOf courseā
Never seen without his staff, the sorcerer stepped into the room, the fabric of his slipper barely making a sound in the tile. He nodded to the Umgadi to close the door and then looked toward you and smiled. You couldn't help but return it
āCurious that you come up here so late.ā
ā I had the privilege of seeing your progress but hardly ever your finished pieces, I suppose I remembered to take the opportunity nowā Rain explained, āI always hope to meet you before you leave but my workā¦ it often precedes meā
A specific feeling of joy filled your lungs, as if breathing in the cool air at the cusp of autumn, in silvery voice you welcomed him āThen please, take the opportunityā
Zefeero had turned his back toward you, to look upon the pieces surrounding the very walls of the room. Some leaned against each other on the floor, others somewhat unfinished. Sindel would sometimes scrap the work for you when she found herself unsatisfied with the progress āThe Queen makes her tastes knownā Rain shushed
āA trait I curse sometimesā you admit, much to your chagrin.
As he circled the windows, passing each piece made tonight and many nights before it, his face scrunched so slightly in thought āis all your work like this?ā
you look where he had and shrugged āI have more creative freedom when not on commissionā you explain āno, not every piece is made from lifeā
The sorcerer looked toward you with real interest now āI would like to see that, then.ā
Confidence washed over your mind like a strong liquor, words slipping off your tongue sooner than you'd thought of them
āThen you must make a date for itā
Zefeeros eyes brightened at your words as you then began to stutter
āIn an accommodating sense, you said your work precedes you and my work never leaves my homeā
And there it was again, that small talent of observing everything past your words. You'd dedicated more pages in your sketchbook to that unique glare than you had anything else for sometime, deep brown eyes that seem to strip your resolve naked as you waited on him to bolster your approval with his own.
āI will make it a date thenā
You wonder if the musical ringing in your ears was caused by blood rushing to your cheeks or some strange godliness adding a theme to the way your heart beat in that very moment, regardless;The sun room began to feel less like a guilty place.
ā
As you stayed in your home again, as you always had, waiting on the next commission call to fulfill your social needs and carve through the creative block; You had wondered what paintings to display to your strange friend. You should bare the very veins of your heart and feel less naked under his gaze, you think to show him those pieces you've made from the plights of your life and hide away the rest until your strength could bear the weight of being known in this way, that you'd promised him; āNot everything I create is from lifeā
You only hope the dust on these most delicate pieces disguise them.
The letter given to you, written by The Sorcerer's own, surely shaking hands, had scrolled the date that warped itself into the curls of your memory. You wonder how long you could be hosting him, planning the meal or snack you make with some care to impress but you knew better and you'd hope that he did too. There was no amount of sparkling light from your stained glass windows that could shine against the gall of a gold and white palace, eternally decorated in hues of pink and glittering blues. To a kingdom, in the ever changing height of fashion and design, your colors shined like the jester, made to entertain. But even comedy tastes change, if not in one person than in another.
Bread dough rolled across the countertop, the labor toned your arms and powdered your chest. A few pastries were broiled to life in the oven and the other ingredients would lay waiting the day of, for the sake of freshness. If nothing, then at least you have meals for yourself to enjoy later. If anything, then you'd get the joy of learning what else Zefeero may like about you and you could ask for nothing more than the privilege of just knowing.
ā--
The sorcerer's hands clasped together to conclude a newly insufferable spell, it was something concocted for show over functionality and he would lie of his new interest to impress you with it. his curiosity first simmered the moment you had painted his portrait for the halls. His skin still burned where you held his jaw carefully to pose him in the sunlight and that feeling arose again as he practiced this āparty-trickā, Zefeero believes what's stomping his progress, remembering how beautifully you remade him; Wordless compliments struck in oil paint.
He felt that if he were smarter, than Rain would know this wasn't a feat exceptionalizing him, he understood that the details of his portrait were not made to inflate what beauty he had or outshine the other portraits beside it. But a strong sense of knowing overcame him when he'd seen the results and that 'knowing' feeling felt a lot like the joys of being adored.
He began idly playing with the water heād strung into pearls from thin air, they bounced against each other as they danced between the paths of his fingers and as the moment passed he began to imagine those shaking pearls as the nails of your fingers. The light sparkled through a new waving shape of a hand, whose palm pressed against his and wet it cold before it warmed to his skin. The palm breaking into the warped shape of your fingers, how he remembered them, when he watched them work on the paintings that moved Raiden across the pathways where he fought. These fingers slipped between his own, in the shape Rain remembered, when they painted the skyline of his kingdom and the portrait of their deceased king. The skin of his cheeks became warm as he remembered the shape of your eyes and how he remembered them when they scanned his features to create a visage of himself worth looking at and his lips curled at the corners as his heart began to flutter with his imagination.
āZefeero?ā a soft voice came at his door, āZefeero, are you busy?ā
The sorcerer turned his head quickly, the hand he held splashing into his lap shortly before he could stand and he groaned in annoyance at the interruption. āYes!ā he seethed āWhat is it that you need, Kitana?ā
The princess stepped in to see what the ruckus was and then giggled childishly at her cousins stumbling, Rain groaned once more as he tried to pull the water from the lap of his robes āSeriously?ā he asks āwas the point to annoy me?ā
āOh no!ā she defended through veils of giggles āmother wants to see you.ā
Rain swatted at his now soaked robes and groaned, "I'll be there in a moment, let her now I'm... Ugh currently indisposed thanks to you."
But the princess does not leave, she instead closes the door behind her as her cousin begins to change. "Do you need something else?"
"I heard You've made friends with the portraitor" Kitana gossiped "you're seeing him for dinner?"
The sorcerer looked back at her offendedly and demanded with his sputtering embarrassment "and who told you that!?" Kitana gleefully shined her teeth in the sourcerer's direction a shrill sound of excitement came out as she bounced over to take her cousins hands "Zefeero!" She cheered "everyone sees how you look at him, I never thought you would go for it!"
Inspite of his embarrassment the sourcerer scoffs, letting go of her hands and turning to his dresser
"I have no idea what this "it" would even be!" A futile argument against his cousins excitement, he knows "and we're having lunch, I asked to see his personal work." Kitana's excitement dampened, she still held a knowing smile on her face "oh of course!" She teased "nothing but professionalism when looking at an artists most personal work"
Her eyes narrowed mischievously "in his personal home-" Rain looked to his wardrobe desperately to quell his embarrassment
"-where he plans to feed and entertain you with his company-"
"oh that is enough!" Zefeero shouted, throwing his wet robes at his sibling "get out! Get out!"
It was easy for the princess to mock him out the door, she shouts back amidst her terrible giggles "Oh paint me like one of your Edinian Maids, Portraitor!"
Kitana slams the door shut behind her to shield herself from the weapons of Rain's wardrobe, leaving the Sorcerer alone with embarrassment stinging his cheeks and the fast beating of his heart.
He only hoped there were no more knowing eyes in the court he would see Sindel in.
Johnny makes fun of Kenshi having a "clown fetish" that he doesn't actually have. Kenshi decides to agree to shut him up.
Sento laid across Johnny's dresser, glowing vibrantly against the warm lighting of the room. In the mirror behind it, reflected a creaking bed of passion, towels that were laid to protect fine linens strewn into tangled rags under them from the very enthusiastic and abrasive thrusting from Kenshi. He didn't wear his mask, eyes a glow and smoking vibrantly, his lover trapped below his onslaught of arousal. Johnny was bent beneath him, whining into pillow cases, tossing care out the door for the dignity of his sheets now stained in black and white face paint. Specifically grease paint, that melted from his face and neck, his striped clothes barely covering him. Comically short overalls scrunched into the bend of one leg and his striped shirt tangled around his neck, his hand gripping the collar where he failed to take it off fast enough to soothe Kenshi's vengeful arousal.
How they got here doesn't really matter, say for Johnny ruthlessly teasing the swordsman about an interest in clowns, something Kenshi vehemently denied up until Johnny had decided it would be funny to set up some kind of anniversary gift around a mime theme to mock him. Nah.
What mattered now was how Johnny whined and cried at the painful, open handed slap across his ass. His dick jumped and he mewled at the reward of his once humiliated lover, slamming the head of his cock into the Star's prostate, slipping past it just slightly before pulling back and repeating the bruising cycle.
"Oh- oh god, please!" Johnny cried, legs shaking. where one hand was trapped in the tangle of his costume, the other arm was sore beneath him, where he supported the arch in his back. Johnny's dick was left with nothing in attention, dribbling uselessly into the muddied makeup staining the sheets beneath them. Kenshi knew this and reveled in the feeling of his partner's palpable desperation, the gross viscosity of precum and lube that turned on once cool friction into the squelching rhythm of his hips meeting Johnny's red ass.
"Kenshi, Kenshi-!" Johnny begged with nothing to barter with. Frustrated, the swordsman snaked his hand around Johnny's throat, his palm firmly pressing against the man's adam's apple, choking the cries of his lover when Ken pulled the entertainment back into his chest and forced him to look in the mirror of his dresser, Where sento glowed enthusiastically and his smoking eyes eerily trailed in the same aesthetics.
Johnny saw through the near blindness of his melted face paint, the black and white kiss marks he'd left on Kenshi's jaw and chest, he saw the lust in the smoke of his lovers' sockets and gulped anticipating some amazing finish to this rather cruel show. "Ugh, shit" Johnny shuddered, humiliated in the light of his attire and how it was being used "fucking christ, Kenshi!"
The swordsman chortled, pulling the star's head back into his shoulder and licking the paint off the pulse point of Johnny's neck, when the tip of his tongue reached his ear, Kenshi smacked his mouth closed and swallowed the paint he'd cleaned off. Quickly, Kenshi stilled Johnny's lips before it could shudder out more cries, aggressively palming his mouth and smearing whatever makeup was left there.
"You knowā¦-" Kenshi shushes, his breath terribly cold against the wet shell of Johnny's ear "-Mimes don't make any noise, I'm afraid we're gonna have to redo this scene, Johnny." Despite his wide eyed chagrin, Johnny's legs shook and his cock poured molten arousal at the rumbling sound of his lover's voice against his back.
"Take two?" Kenshi asked again, showing a brief softness in their play, Johnny shaking his head feverishly, gulping the uttered noises of approval before he was slammed back into his mattress. The hand that gripped his mouth, now dug through his hair and painfully grasped him at the scalp.
"Really know how to give a man a good time, Johnny boy!" Kenshi nearly laughed, his hips slamming back into his lover, who yelped at the sensation of Kenshi's sharp hips meeting his ass again.
"next time I see your circus make sure to bring a few more party tricks, you know I love a good laugh."
The underside of your nails become caked in dirt as your fingers dug into the soil you leaned against, the same mud staining the fabric at your knees. You anticipated this bizarre show when Havik offered to fight you, as a means to prepare you.
"For war" he says. "For revolution!"
As you stood, almost immediately you needed to dodge another swing, having pulled off his own arm to use as a weapon, he'd dramatically spin and fling blood from its draining arteries. The drops would hit your cheek feeling cold, it worried you but not as much as it addled you with adrenaline. Havik swung his arm back into his shredded socket and healed it over, as if such a talent wouldn't have consequences.
"You're too calculated!" He yelled, frustration painting an already callous voice "your fights would take too long, they'd know what you're doing and match it!"
The goal was to teach you something about fighting chaotically, to make it painful for āoppressorsā to fight you every second.
"Not like I can rip my hand off and slap them with it." You'd argue, but the Siadan just turned back to you from his wild pacing and chuckled "don't doubt yourself" he'd assure
"many beasts chew off the limb caught in the trap."
You would not find that in yourself, the stability that molded you, ingrains itself in the seams of your skin. You'd meet his hysteria with carefully tread kindness. Havik growled "if you're not with me, then you're against me!"
It was his only fall back argument, something to draw you back into a destructive trap he called freedom.
"Oh but that's not true!" You'd promise, though he knew your words, he cared little to hear them; "I want everything that you want. I just want it differently."
The chaos realmer pulled you in by the collar threateningly, he couldn't deny your loyalty, a consistency within you that was shared to Havik. It had filled him with a sense of security but anger lingered still where your warmth denied his martyrdom. Teeth would press against the skin of your face, his gums and scars cool with a damp stickiness, where his breath had clung to it from riotous anger and blood.
You awkwardly shuffled to find comfort in the tight embrace of his knuckles, the skin of your neck barely pinched between the twisted fabric of your collar. Your eyes then met, as you tried to focus on the color of his to ignore the pungent smell and wetness of his nose against your cheek, A deep rumbling could be heard from his chest. Your hands sliding up either of his arms to meet his neck, tenderly showing your promises through warm fingers tracing the scars that swirled there.
"You don't fear meā¦"
He says this solemnly, his tongue twisting in unique ways, just barely visible behind crooked teeth to make the words. If his voice didn't betray him, his brows surely did, deep wrinkles that scared his forehead unfolding when the gentleness of your hands stayed.
And then his grip; A vise that softened and rested at the traps of your shoulders when he pulled away slightly to hide there just the same, his lashes fluttering closed against the skin of your neck as relief weaved itself between the both of you.
"I'm afraid of what you'll do" you assured, "but not of you." As your hands spread over the back of his neck, fingers then played with fine dark hairs that grew there when you leaned into his melted ear and whispered in silvery voice
Listen up yāall. This is by far, without a doubt, the weirdest thing I have written for this blog. Havik is not for everyone. So please read the warnings before you decide to read.
I donāt know why Iām attracted to this damn zombie man. But goddamnit!
Let me know if yāall want a part 2 or have questions.
WARNINGS: Havik is his own warning, body horror, limb detachment, lots of blood, manic behavior, Havik saying absurd shit.
-At first, he hates your guts when he meets you. Heās not supposed to want you. Owning things and keeping them in line arenāt his philosophy. A relationship feels like confinement and ownership. There shouldnāt be ownership. And yet he wants to keep you to himself.
He hates it. You represent everything he is against and he hates that he wants you. But if you returned his affections, he would keep you close to him and act like a violent guard dog to anyone that gets close to you.
-Havik is a chest guy. Itās not so much for nipples/boobs, but he has an obsession with your heart. He wants to be able to physically touch it and it tortures him that he canāt. So he settles for being as close to it as possible.
Havik favors positions where he can see and feel your chest and salivate over it. His favorite pastime is to lay his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat like a thief trying to crack open a safe.
One thing about being with Havik, you need to get used to some of the absurd shit he says. During sex heāll comment: āJust one chomp. One good chomp and Iāll be eating your heart out of your body, and sip your lifeās blood.ā
āI can hear your blood singing to me.ā
āSo sweet. So forbidden. Please, let me just lick it?ā
Once Havik reaches a certain point in your relationship, he will let you physically touch his heart. He opens his chest to show you how fast it beats when youāre around. āOnly you can make my heart dance like this.ā
Even if you donāt want to touch it, he makes you. In his own delusional way, heās showing you he trusts you.
-Masochist. It should go without saying that Havik enjoys pain, specifically if youāre the one to inflict it. From simple things like nipple clamps and tight cock rings, to drawing patterns in his skin with a knife. He gets off on you hurting him.
And while he loves pain, Havik would never turn away any tenderness you give him. If you stroke his hair, heāll rub his head into your hand like a kitten. He will take any form of touch and affection you give. Gentle or cruel.
-Havik is proud of how absurdly flexible and detachable his body is. He can arch his body in different ways and put it in angles that arenāt humanly possible. Sometimes he detaches his head and will watch his body fuck you from across the room. There are times during sex where he has you hold his detached head to your chest while he fucks you, so he can listen to your heart beat.
-Licks your blood like itās a delicacy. If youāre ever injured in a fight or if you have a cut on your finger, Havik is quick to come lick it. Heāll moan in ecstacy tasting your blood and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Your blood is a shot of adrenaline to his system, and he gets more impatient than usual, and wants to drag you off to fuck you that instant.
-He is loud! Thereās no restraint with him. He growls, he moans, he screams, he talks. He can never be quiet. So if you donāt want to be caught in the act, make sure youāre not anywhere public.
-Oral sex can be tricky for him. Itās not that he lacks enthusiasm. Far from it. But with no lips heās relying heavily on his tongue and fingers to give you pleasure. For men, he circles his tongue around your cock and uses his hands to jerk you off.
-Love bites and nibbles replace all the kisses he couldāve left on your body. After his face got damaged, he realized he prefers it this way. Bite marks litter your skin and heās all too happy to run his tongue over them.
-Havik experiences bouts of mania after fighting and being covered in blood. When heās high in his mania, his masochistic tendencies get extreme. He wants you to slice him up, tie him down, pull his hair, torture him by making him cum multiple times so he gets overstimulated. He wants to feel pain.
Eventually, he will rip his arms off to get out of the restraints so he can take out his energy on you. And when heās in it deep, heās loud and sets a brutal pace.
āYou feel so gooooood! I want to see your brains spill out of your head!ā
When he goes through these episodes, it seems like it lasts for hours before he finally stops. Once he comes down from his high, he is exhausted from the emotional overload. Heāll cling onto you, shaking and crying. Desperate for an anchor as he rides the waves of his mental crash, loving the feel of you petting his hair.
-After being together for a while, heāll break off one of his fingers and give it to you. Havik wonāt grow it back. He puts it on a cord for you to wear around your neck. Itās his way of proposing to you. No matter where you go, you always have a piece of him.
**** These last two headcanons are specifically for an AFAB reader, and may not be everyoneās cup of tea. So if you want to hope off the train and not read it, now would be the time. ****
You read the warning and youāre still here.
-Havik will go face first into your pussy when youāre on your period. Remember how we talked about how your blood is like an aphrodisiac to him? This is his favorite type of blood. Youāll notice heās a lot happier around this time of the month. And itās extremely difficult to get him away from between your legs than it normally is.
-Wildcard fact:
Havik would be fucking ecstatic if he took your virginity! To take your innocence and make you cum for the first time would be amazing. But when he pulls out and sees your cum and hymen blood on his dick, he froths at the mouth.
He starts jerking off, watching your cum and blood mix together on his cock and heās fucking mesmerized! Itās the most erotic thing in his mind, and jerking himself so hard you think he might rip it off.
He lets out the most obscene moans until he comes all over your deflowered pussy. And then he mixes the fluids on his dick with his cum.
Havik will lick it off his fingers and then dive his face between your legs to lick it all up until itās gone.
Can you be so easily plied with such small gifts? You arenāt sure anymore; you find yourself swayed by the smallest of gestures, your heart squeezing tight in your chest when he tilts your face up to his. He speaks to you in warm, gentle tones, coaxing your loyalty to the surface with little praises.
You wonder if heās charmed you somehow, if any of this is genuine or if youāve been scammed from the start, but the blooming heat in your body is very real. He revels in watching you destroy and rebuild yourself for him, rearranging your morals and all your deepest secrets, letting him dip his fingers beneath the surface of your skull and pry for more. Itās exhilarating, something akin to a rush of adrenaline when you realize how much youāve changed for him.
This is a reward, you tell yourself. It isn't love.
He kisses you with such reverence, cupping your face the way one might cradle priceless porcelain, and you find it hard to believe you could ever want more than this.
Isn't this love? In its own ugly way, maybe, warped between you like a spider's web drawn taught in the wind. You reason that if it isn't love, his kisses wouldn't taste so sweet. You know he's offering you this small vulnerability in exchange for your obedience, but his mouth is so soft and pleading against yours that you wonder why you ever questioned him.
If he doesn't feel the same, why do his hands remember where to roam? He knows every niche and fold of your body, every vein and every scar, catalogued in his mind for later use. He could dismantle you and rebuild you in a night, and youād thank him for it regardless of the outcome.
You were once such a kind, respectable soul, cherished by the Empress and her daughters. And yet here you are, letting Shang Tsung make maps of the back of your teeth with his tongue, swallowing his poison. You tremble at the thought of it.
He stains your soul with his venom and basks in your unraveling. Your downfall is a jewel in his crown of many achievements, something he treasures more than anything born of romance or lust. Heās simply indulging you when he pulls you into his lap, arms wound tight around you, whispering praises against your throat as you grind your hips into his.
He sleeps with a heavy arm draped over you, not for sweetness but for awareness; your warmth against him is a silent reminder that youāre still here, that you havenāt doubled back or wavered in your choices. His body spooned so close is a failsafe. You know you canāt leave without waking him, and you donāt want to.
This is a reward, you think. Transactional, conditional. Love that sets its fangs against your skin and waits for a glimmer of doubt, affection thatās pointed like a knife and held so close to your heart.
But on mornings like this, skin-to-skin with him in a warm expanse of satin sheets, you wonder which one of you holds the knife.
