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osarina · 1 month

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ᡣ𐭩 MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE NEVER BEFORE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your patience is thinning. despite having a conversation with dazai and being led to believe everything is okay, he's suddenly avoiding you again. luckily, or maybe unluckily, his hand is forced when he realizes that you're not waiting for him this time. whether he likes it or not, this confrontation is happening—except you slowly realize as it goes on that dazai's definition of intimacy is dreadfully different from yours.

{wordcount: 10.4k; ņsfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i wouldn't say this is angst but it does deal with some references to heavy topics; jealous!dazai, depictions of dissociation (dazai), dazai's on the brink of a mental breakdown for a bit in the beginning, references to abuse (dazai. no actual depictions), references to dubcon (dazai. no actual depictions), dazai is wildly intelligent but not so much when it comes to sex & other forms of intimacy (he is quite uneducated in fact), slight oral (male rec), unprotected sex, sub!dazai, dazai and reader argue for a bit (he calls her a whore - doesn't mean it but still says it)}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 😒i hope you guys know im sitting here glaring at my computer because i did not want to post this fic. it's been sitting in my google drive for like AGES and im literally having to physically force myself into formatting this post because i wanted to keep it hoarded forever. anyway, read the warnings for this one pretty pls, this fic is a bit loaded—not exactly angst, but it references some heavy topics. let me know if any warnings are missing as always!

“I’m so sick and tired of him.”

You listen as Chuuya lets out another heavy sigh next to you, pointedly taking a sip of his wine, but you don’t even bother to glance at him as you glare down at your phone. Left on read, again, Dazai ignores your message asking him to meet you and Chuuya at the bar. You slam your phone down on the dark wood of the bar top before reaching for your own glass, taking a large gulp of it before opening your mouth to continue complaining, much to Chuuya’s displeasure.

“I thought things would be different after we talked. He moved back into my apartment but he’s still avoiding me like the fucking plague. I mean Christ, I broke up with my boyfriend, came crawling back to him because I knew he was pissed even though he’d rather kill himself—literally—than admit he likes me. Why the fuck can’t he even given an inch? Meet me halfway?”

“Because he’s Dazai,” Chuuya says dryly. “What did you expect from him, honestly? … And we all know you weren’t going to stick with that civilian.”

“Oh, shut up,” you tell him bitterly. “That’s not the point. The point is I did, and I went right to him, and we talked, and he acted like everything was fine, and now he’s pulling this shit. How is he going to live in my fucking apartment and avoid me at every corner? And whenever I do manage to catch him, he makes up some bullshit excuse about a mission I know he doesn’t have and disappears.”

You lean back in your chair, brows furrowed and fingers curled around your glass. By now, all of the people that had been sitting near the two of you at the bar have dispersed to the dancefloor—if your arrival with Chuuya hadn’t been enough to send them scattering, your foul mood was more than enough to make them give you a wide berth.

“I’m frustrated,” you finally hiss. “I’m just frustrated, am I allowed to be frustrated, Chuuya?”

Chuuya side-eyes you. “Stop fuckin’ complaining to me about it and do something about it, jeez,” he says, hand sliding into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, holding it between his lips as he fumbles for a lighter to light it.

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” you ask, becoming increasingly more irritated as you pull out your own lighter to light it for him. “I tried talking to him, now he’s ignoring me.”

Chuuya has the audacity to roll his eyes, looking at you with an unimpressed expression that makes you want to pluck his cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on his skin. As if he can hear your thoughts, he leans back, giving you a suspicious look.

“I’m not talking about that shithead,” Chuuya drawls. “If you’re so frustrated, go find some sorry bastard to fuck it out of you. We both know that’s all it takes to get you to settle down.”

“Fuck you,” you say instantly, not appreciating how he acts like you’re a nympho. But already, your gaze is carding across the room, trying to see if someone catches your eye. When you find yourself disappointed, you look back at him and ask, “You offering yourself up?”

Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Fuck no,” he tells you instantly. “No way. Don’t even say that shit to me.”

You’re almost offended, squinting at him and leaning back in your seat. “Why not? Like old times. You know what I like, I know what you like, we can make a good night out of it,” you propose as you lean your elbow on the bartop and observe him.

“Because shitty Dazai will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out,” Chuuya says pointedly, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Bastard is annoying as is, if he finds out I’ve slept with you? It’d be the end of the world.”

“You have slept with me though, Chuuya,” you taunt. “Who’s to say I won’t tell him anyway?”

You won’t, but you like the way Chuuya’s lip curls up in irritation around his cigarette.

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll tell him all about that time in Osaka.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Chuuya,” you hiss. “You would not. You swore.”

“Try me,” Chuuya says, raising his eyebrows at you, looking all too smug as you flounder for a response.

Humbled, and a bit mortified, you return to looking around the club, lowering your standards this time. You spot a blonde standing in the corner of the club, eyes flitting around curiously as he observes the people on the dancefloor, and a redhead laughing wildly as she spins with a drink in hand, teetering off to the edge of the floor. You purse your lips.

“No one is catching my attention,” you complain, sinking back down in your seat.

You decidedly don’t like the smirk that edges onto his lips as he looks at you, and it’s for good reason, because the next words out of his mouth have your eye twitching: “You’re that down bad for him already? Jesus.”

“I am not,” you spit out, glaring at him before pointedly returning to your hunt, looking around more intensely this time.

But even as you do that, you start to wonder if that’s why no one is standing out to you tonight. How the fuck is anyone supposed to compare to Dazai Osamu? The thought is ridiculous—you don’t want to tug at blonde hair to pull someone down into a kiss, you don’t want a head of tousled red locks buried between your thighs, there’s only one person you actually want in your bed and he’s been avoiding you since you talked things out with him.

You let out a heavy sigh, considering just admitting defeat, but then your eyes drift to a tall, dark haired man entering the club, making his way over to the bar; his hair is a bit too long and a bit too straight, and his eyes aren’t the right shade, but they’re sharp enough and you’re tipsy enough to willfully confuse them for the familiar brown you desire.

“Nevermind,” you breathe out. Chuuya doesn’t even spare you a goodbye as you slip from your seat to make your way over to the man, lifting his hand in a lazy wave. “I found someone.”

Chuuya was right.

You think maybe you should stop doubting him as much as you do. This is not the first time that you’ve fought him tooth and nail about something only for him to be proven right in the end. But you’re not going to tell him that because he has a big enough ego and you’re not going to feed into it.

Dealing with Dazai’s fickleness the past two weeks has been much easier now that you’re fucking out your frustrations with strangers as soon as he’s gone for the night on whatever mission Mori assigns him. You take his aloofness in stride, ignoring the way he blows you off and avoids you in your own home. You think it’s bothering him, actually, because now when you walk past him without a second glance, you can see the way he hesitates from the corner of your eye, an indecipherable expression crossing over his face.

Good, you think. You hope he feels like shit.

You let out a soft breath as you tilt your head to the side, giving the man you’re with better access. From the corner of your eye, with the tousled brown hair, you can almost pretend it’s him, but you know it’s not. His hair isn’t as soft as Dazai’s, who all but hijacked your expensive shampoos and conditioners, and you can’t feel the bandages that should be tucked beneath the tufts of hair. Your mind starts to drift, comparing how you think Dazai’s touch would be to this man’s. When you first kissed him, he was unsure and hesitant, would he still be now? Or has he grown more confident? You think he must’ve, you’ve seen him with people during events, lips tilted up in a sensual smile, lashes fluttering as he leads them into one of the backrooms.

Sick and unfair, you think to yourself bitterly.

You let out a heavy, disappointed sigh.

“You good?” the man asks—you don’t remember his name, you don’t even know if you cared to ask. His voice is distinctly different from Dazai’s low hum whenever he teases you, a total immersion-break from your desired reality.

You roll your eyes, irritated. “Don’t speak.”

The man lets out a noise of agreement, fingers biting a bit harder into your waist as he continues kissing down your neck. You don’t really mind, the sting is nice, just enough force to draw your mind away from Dazai. The sigh you let out is more pleased now, eyes slipping shut as his hands slide up your body, kisses trailing down your neck to your collarbone. His lips are too soft; Dazai’s are horribly chapped no matter how much chapstick you force on him.

Dazai is out on another “mission”. You don’t even know if it’s a real mission or if he’s just claiming it’s a mission so he doesn’t have to stick around the apartment while you’re there, lowering the chances of running into you. For all you know, he’s just going back to that shitty shipping container he spent a year in and hanging out there until you leave for one of your own missions or a meeting. He looked particularly sullen as he left earlier, casting looks back to where you’d disappeared into the kitchen, not realizing you could still see him before he finally left your apartment.

He’s such a pain in the ass, you think, getting irate again as he drifts back into your thoughts. He makes everything so difficult, things would be so much easier he just admitted that he wanted to be with you. You really don’t know how much more of this back and forth, wishy-washy shit you can take from him. You care about Dazai. You do. Probably more than anyone else in your life and you’re sick of him taking it for granted.

You hum in approval when the man lifts his hands to your button-up, hesitating as he waits for your consent, and your gaze flicks up to the ceiling as he continues kissing down the revealed skin; from the crook of your neck to your collarbone, between your breasts, he unbuttons all the way to your navel.

You find yourself a bit bored, counting the specks on the ceiling, taking note of the crack that you’re sure is somehow Dazai’s fault. You think there must only be two more buttons left for him to undo before you can slide the shirt off of your shoulders but you start to feel uncomfortable under his touch, you feel prickly and his lips trailing down your body makes your skin crawl.

“Off,” you finally say, voice sharp. You press your hand against his shoulder to push him off of you, sitting up straight to sit properly on the couch. You scowl as you fumble through your pants pockets to find a cigarette.

This is Dazai’s fault somehow.

“Did I do something wrong?” the man asks hesitantly, trying to shift closer to you again. “I-”

“No,” you say bluntly, lighting the cigarette and lifting it to your lips. “Get out of my apartment.”

The man hesitates, you can feel his eyes lingering on you and you’re becoming increasingly more irritated, shooting him a glare from the corner of your eye until he finally rises to his feet, buttoning his shirt as he makes his way over to the elevator. You slump back against the couch, sighing as you look up at the ceiling and take a long drag from your cigarette.

Dazai’s fault. As soon as he crossed your mind, your whole demeanor had changed and you try to convince yourself that it’s because you just don’t know what his issue is. You don’t know why he’s avoiding you, you don’t know what changed after you met with him at the bar; you thought things would be good between the two of you. You thought you’d be able to be with him now that nothing’s left in your way but evidently there still is something preventing the two of you from being together and it’s something that Dazai is not sharing with you.

Bastard, you think bitterly, about to pull out your phone to send Chuuya a very irritated and very foul message about Dazai but before you can, the elevator leading up to your floor bings and you look up to watch the man you’d invited over leave.

Except as the doors slide open, you realize that someone is already standing in there.

You sit up straight when you see Dazai standing in the elevator, black gaze trained right on the man leaving your apartment. His movements are almost robotic as he steps out of the elevator, his head twisting to follow the man as he steps in the elevator. He looks distinctly unnerved as Dazai’s soulless gaze tracking him until the elevator doors slide back shut.

It’s only then that Dazai only turns to look at you. His face is eerily void of emotion as he looks at you, gaze dipping down to your unbuttoned shirt and the light bruises blooming on your neck and collarbone. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, wondering if he’s going to say something, but he only stands there staring at you.

“I thought you had a mission,” you finally say, leaning forward to put your cigarette out on the ashtray on the coffee table to button up your shirt half way so you’re not nearly undressed. When you finish, you pick up your glass of wine and take a sip. “You’re back early.”

“I finished early,” Dazai replies, monotonic.

He doesn’t budge from where he’s standing, limbs stiff and face blank. You glance down, noticing that he’s holding something in his right hand—a bag, takeout, maybe? Looks like it’s from that place in Hodogaya-ku that you like.

“What’s that?” you ask, nodding toward the bag. Dazai follows your gaze down to it, staring at it as if he doesn’t even know what it is. You frown, becoming a bit concerned as you rise to your feet. “Dazai, you good?”

Dazai’s gaze doesn’t leave the bag for a second; after what feels like an eternity, he finally looks back up at you but he doesn’t even seem to be looking at you, rather it feels like he’s looking through you like you’re not even there.

“I got food,” he says blankly.

Your eyes widen a bit, wondering if this is meant to be his apology for being an asshole the past few weeks. Dazai never apologizes—he disappears until he can act like nothing happened or he does something to make up for what he did, but he doesn’t ever acknowledge what he did. It’s frustrating, but you’ve gotten used to his quirks over the years. You’d been wondering why he seemed so melancholic before he left.

You nod at the spot next to you on the couch, accepting the apology and sitting back down. “I’ll put on a movie.”

Dazai looks at the spot like it’s been poisoned, expression finally twisting from the emptiness into one of disgust.

“What?” you demand, offended.

Dazai doesn’t even respond to you; you can only stare in disbelief as he turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the kitchen. You don’t budge for a second, staring in shock to where he disappeared to, but after a few moments, you force yourself up to your feet and follow after him.

Your mind races as you make your way down the short hall into the kitchen, standing in the door frame as you watch him put the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter, pulling the different containers out of the bag and then opening the fridge. His movements are stiff and abrupt, almost robotic, and your irritation slips away when you see the expression on his face.

Closed-off. Withdrawn. Very reminiscent of the look on his face from that time he came back to your apartment after a mission that went wrong post-Dragon’s head Conflict, right before he had his first breakdown in front of you. He’d been trying to hold it all back, desperate to not lose control in front of you, but it was to no avail because it only made it worse.

“Dazai, what’s wrong?” you ask carefully as he stuffs another container into the fridge, so roughly that the plastic almost snaps. “Dazai-”

“Nothing,” Dazai responds sharply, voice cold and cutting but the way he takes in a sharp, shaky breath betrays him. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing.”

“Okay, that’s a lie,” you say flatly, sighing to yourself. “Can you just-”

“You’re the liar,” Dazai cuts you off, voice shrill and defensive in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Something crosses his face: a weird mixture of panic, anger and distress, like he knows he’s losing control of his emotions but he can’t stop himself. You don’t usually have such a hard time reading Dazai—it’s difficult, yes, but not as impossible as it currently is. It’s stressing you out because you don’t know what’s wrong and he’s clearly working himself up more over it. “You’re the liar. You’re the liar.”

Your eye twitches. Three breaths in and three breaths out. Now’s really not the time for you to lose your temper on him considering he’s on the brink of a mental breakdown for whatever reason. But you’re pissed, you don’t know why he’s calling you a liar and you don’t know what is going on, and you don’t want to deal with this especially after he just spent weeks ignoring and avoiding you.

“What did I lie about, Dazai?” you ask tightly, nails digging into your palms as you wait for a response. “Please, enlighten me.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tightening as he resumes tossing the food into the fridge.

“Dazai, stop,” you tell him, taking a step forward when he finally gets to the bottom of the takeout bag and slams the fridge shut so hard that it rattles. He grabs the empty bag and is about to storm over to the garbage can but before he can, you reach forward and grab his wrist, stopping him. “Will you fucking talk to me?”

“Let go,” Dazai hisses, trying to rip his arm from your hold but your fingers are too tight around his wrist, his bandages rough against the pads of your fingers—you don’t know why he’s still using those old scratchy ones when you stocked up with the softer ones but it only serves to irritate you more because why are you going out of your way to do nice things for him if he’s just going to toss it to the side? “Let go of me.”

“Tell me what your issue is,” you demand. “I’m done playing games with you, Dazai. Grow the fuck up and communicate.”

Dazai’s eye is wide and wild, looking far too much like a cornered animal as he bares his teeth at you and tries to yank out of your hold on him again. “My issue is that you’re a whore,” he spits out. “Let go of me. Now.”

You let go of him.

Instantly, the anger in Dazai’s face fizzles away. His eye is just as wide but his expression is lax, lips parted as if he’s only now just registering what he said. And you know he regrets it, you know that Dazai lashes out when he feels cornered; he becomes cruel and vicious, desperate in his attempts to protect himself when he feels vulnerable and since Dazai is Dazai, he knows how to hurt people. Knows exactly where the chinks in your armor are, drives the dagger in deep and twists it.

But even knowing this, it still hurts hearing that from him of all people.

“Okay.”

Your voice is quiet, you don’t even waste a second before turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen.

“Wait,” Dazai calls after you, voice wavering. “Wait, I didn’t…”

He can’t even finish the sentence because Dazai is Dazai and he doesn’t apologize and he doesn’t admit his wrongs. Doesn’t admit that he lost control and said something he didn’t mean to say. Would rather preserve his false visage of control than do anything like that.

“Where are you going?” Dazai asks and you can hear him trailing after you, words drawn long and shaky. “Hey, wait-”

You don’t know where you’re going. Leaving your apartment, you think, considering your feet are moving right to the elevator, but once you leave the building? You’re not sure. Maybe you’ll head over to Chuuya’s and crash at his apartment for the night, maybe you’ll go get shit-faced at a bar. You don’t really care, you just don’t want to be anywhere near Dazai right now. He’s put you through enough the past few weeks for you to stand here and take this shit from him.

“I don’t know, Dazai,” you say, voice cold and sharp. “Maybe I’ll go find that guy I kicked out and finish the job if I’m such a whore.”

Dazai inhales sharply from behind you. “What?” he breathes out. “No. No. I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” you scoff, not even looking back at him. “Didn’t mean it? You can’t even bring yourself to say it, Dazai. Clearly you did.”

That’s not true, you know it’s only Dazai’s pride that prevents him from forcing those words out, but you know it makes him flinch and you know it makes him hesitate. You also know how to target chinks in armor.

“No,” Dazai tries again, more insistent this time. You can hear him speeding up behind you when he realizes you’re going for the elevator. “No, you don’t need to do that. I don’t-I don’t get you. I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.”

He sounds confused, borderline distressed—you don’t even know what he’s talking about, what he’s so confused and distressed about. How could you? He never explains anything to you, never communicates.

“You don’t get what?” you demand, reaching out for the button of the elevator but Dazai lunges forward to grab your wrist before you can. You finally turn to look at him, catching the way his jaw is tight and the strange emotion swimming in his eye. “You don’t get what, Dazai? Spit it out.”

“Why are you still sleeping with other people?” he asks, voice hitching. “You have me. You don’t need anyone else.”

You can’t help yourself—you laugh in Dazai’s face.

“No way,” you say immediately.

You don’t mean it in the way it comes out. You know it comes out as if you’re saying you’d never sleep with him, but you’re more so saying no way because you can’t believe he has the audacity to say this to you after he just spent weeks avoiding and ignoring you.

Is this what his issue is? He doesn’t know how to cope with emotions so he evades and lashes out and just expects you to stick around waiting until he grows up? Fuck him. You deserve better than that, you waited long enough, you thought you were done with these games with him.

You don’t miss the way Dazai’s expression crumbles at your words, the way he stares at you, lips parted in disbelief. You don’t correct yourself, a part of you is happy that you can get your own knife in even if you do know you’ll regret it later.

“What do you mean no?” Dazai’s voice wobbles a bit before he takes half a step back. His fingers are weak around your wrist but he doesn’t let go, feels a lot like a child clinging to their parent’s shirt. “What-I-I’m here. You want it, you were just going to-”

Not that that’s even the issue anymore, but you’re definitely not in the mood now. Honestly, you just want to go to bed. Your head hurts and Dazai is stressing you out and pissing you off all at the same time, plus you have no interest in fucking him when he seems like he’s on the verge of a mental break anyway.

“No, I don’t. I changed my mind,” you say, frustrated. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai replies, voice pitched and tinged with something too close to desperation. “No. You want me and I’m here, so you should-”

God, what the fuck is your life? You’re so frustrated that you want to pull your hair out and scream at him.

“Enough, Dazai.” You raise your voice at him. “Enough. I don’t want you. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai insists and your eyes widen when you feel his grip tighten on your wrist.

“Daz-” You start to say but you can’t even finish his name, cut off by his other hand finding its way to your hip, pressing you back against the closed doors of the elevator as he dips his head down to capture your lips with his own, swallowing your protest before you can even get it out.

You think absently that you were right earlier when you were letting your thoughts wander to what kissing Dazai would be like. He’s no longer unsure and hesitant with his touches, his lips slide against yours with the expertise of someone who’s spent a lifetime kissing. The hand on your hip slides up your body so that he can hold your jaw, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. And you shouldn’t be indulging this, you know that—Dazai pissed you off, he has some nerve calling you a whore and then whoring himself out to you—but his lips are intoxicating, you can hardly think straight with them pressed against yours.

He has your right hand pinned to the metal behind you, fingers curled tight around your wrist as he holds you in place. The way he kisses you is familiar, almost, and your brows furrow as you try to figure out why until feel his fingers brush through your hair, slow and lingering, dizzying, right before his tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip—a pattern of actions that you usually take to make your partners more malleable.

Did he teach himself this just by observing the way you act with people at events?

You don’t fall for your own tricks though, so instead, your free hand drops to his waist, fingers slipping through his belt loops as you press into him, pushing off the elevator to walk him backwards down the hall to his bedroom. He lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat, letting you walk him back; his fingers fall from where they’d been around your wrist and you take the opportunity to hook yours around his other belt loop, keeping his body flush to yours until you have his back pressed against his bedroom door.

You notice, a bit absently, that Dazai is a lot more pliant now with you in control. His hands are loose at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them—much like when you shared his first kiss with him—and he still kisses you back, lips moving slowly against yours, but it’s not with the intensity he had when you were pinned to the elevator door.

Strange.

You think kissing Dazai is a lot like a drug, one that you got your first hit of two years ago when you offered to be his first kiss but then never had another chance to get another taste of. You were bitter when he first started following in yours and Chuuya’s footsteps in taking people to bed to unwittingly ease information out of them—you’d find yourself watching him like a hawk as he drew people into secluded corners, as he pressed his lips against theirs and let their hands explore his body. You’d hardly be able to draw your eyes away once, not until he eventually led them out of the area to a bedroom.

You hated it. Truly. You like to tell yourself that you’re not jealous but you know it’s a blatant lie. As much as people would sell their souls to spend a night with you, they’d be just as desperate for one with Dazai because Dazai is Dazai. He’s untouchable. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. The youngest executive in history. He can be smooth and charming, yes, and he’s undoubtedly handsome. But more than that, he’s dark and unfathomable in a way that piques peoples’ interest in a sick and perverted fashion—they want to know what he’s like behind closed doors, they’re terrified of him but they want him, be it because of morbid curiosity or sheer lust.

And you hated that other people got to be with him in ways you couldn’t. Your only consolation seems to be that he had his eyes on you as much as you had yours on him, seeing how he’s pretty much perfectly mimicking the way you kiss and touch people, but you don’t know if that’s just because he was trying to learn through observing you—as he does with everyone—or if he hated watching you with other people just as much-

Oh.

Oh, you’re so stupid.

“You were jealous,” you realize, understanding what had triggered Dazai’s meltdown with the takeout food and insults toward you. Dazai stiffens against the door and you take the opportunity to trail your lips from his down to his jaw. “You were jealous over the guy I had over.”

“No-”

“You were.” You don’t even let him finish the protest, nipping at the spot beneath his ear gently and watching how he shudders. “How cute.”

“It’s not cute.” Dazai bristles. “You-you weren’t supposed-you’re not supposed to keep seeing people. I thought you were done with that. I thought we were-”

“We were what?” you ask coolly. “You avoided me for weeks after we talked, Dazai. Whatever we may or may not have been after we talked at the bar, it’s nothing when you start actively ignoring me for weeks after that.”

“But-”

You’re getting irritated again. “Dazai, you ignored me for weeks. I was pissed off and frustrated. And when I’m pissed off and frustrated, if I don’t have some way to relieve my stress, I do something stupid. Something stupid like putting a bullet in you the next time you stepped into my apartment after actively going out of your way to avoid me.”

“I was going out to get food,” Dazai says sullenly as if you were supposed to know that. “So we could watch a movie.”

“Last I recall, telepathy isn’t exactly part of my ability, Dazai,” you say dryly, calming yourself down by leaning in to brush your lips against his again.

A drug, you think again as the anger melts away when you feel his breath hitch against your lips. You reach behind him to open his bedroom door, guiding him in as you kiss him slowly. He’s fumbling again, unsure what to do with his fingers, clumsily moving his lips against yours until the back of his knees hits the bed, and he goes flopping down back on it.

You snort at the surprised look on his face, joining him on the bed as you straddle his hips. You hover over him for a second before leaning down to give him another chaste kiss, enjoying the way he tries to chase your lips when you pull away.

“Tell me why you were avoiding me,” you say quietly as you lift a hand to cup his cheek.

A foul move, you know. Dazai is always weak to gentle touches as much as he tries to pretend otherwise. You’ve noticed it when you watch movies with him and when he curls into bed with you on nights he can’t sleep. Just as you expect, he leans into your touch, lashes fluttering.

“Dazai,” you urge, “tell me why. What did I do?”

You didn’t do anything, you think bitterly, but you figure taking responsibility will be the easiest way to get him talking. You’ll fight about it later.

Dazai, to your surprise, turns his face away from you and your touch, a faraway look in his eye as he stares at the wall.

“You didn’t do anything,” he says. “I just didn’t-”

He cuts himself as if he can’t even bring himself to say it, and you know you have to do something because he seems to be withdrawing even more into his own head, eyes growing more distant with each passing second. You turn his head so that he’s facing you again and you lean down to press your lips briefly against his.

“You didn’t what?” you ask him.

Dazai still looks like he doesn’t want to answer, conflict spreading across his face as he stares up at you before he sighs and averts his gaze. “I don’t understand any of this. I didn’t want to disappoint,” he says so quietly that you barely hear him.

Your brows furrow.

“Disappoint?” you question, a bit baffled. Dazai has a complex about failure. You know that too, have known it since you were sixteen. He can’t handle it, nothing makes him spiral quite like the idea of failure—you and he are quite similar in that regard—but you don’t understand what he means in this context. “Disappoint with what?”

Dazai doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet your eyes either, and your mind races to figure out what he might be referring to. You recall how he became hesitant and unsure when you finally took control, fingers twitching at his sides, body pliant as you moved him around, almost like a doll for you to maneuver as you pleased.

“Disappoint with this?” you finally realize, watching as he grimaces, confirming your suspicions. Your chest drops. “You avoided me because… you didn’t want to have sex?”

That makes you feel a bit sick to your stomach because what does he think of you if he went to this length to avoid you just because… Dazai’s entire body jolts at your words as if realizing how they came across.

“No,” he pushes out instantly. His hands dart out to cling to your shirt as if he’s worried you’re going to leave. “No, no. I want to. I do. Not just this… just in general. Everything. Me… This is just one part of it… the easiest to make mistakes with. I don’t like making mistakes.”

It’s only mildly reassuring.

“Dazai…” You start to say, pulling away, but his hands dart up to grab your waist so he can hold you in place on top of him. You think maybe the two of you need to talk. Again. “I just, I don’t understand.”

“I want this,” he repeats again, hands sliding down from your waist to curl his fingers around the hem of your shirt. He sees that you’re not convinced by his words so he pushes out a “Please” that nearly stops you in your tracks because you don’t think Dazai Osamu has ever begged for anything in his life.

You lean down to press your lips against his again. You set the pace this time, lifting your hand to cup his cheek—you pull the same move that he tried with you, nails gently scraping his scalp as you brush your fingers through his hair. Dazai melts into it in a way that you didn’t, lashes fluttering and lips parting instinctively, letting you deepen the kiss. Dazai’s breath catches as you push your tongue into his mouth, shivering when you trace the back of his teeth.

Too pliant. All of the confidence he had earlier when he had you pinned to the elevator is gone. His breath wavers against your lips, and his fingers tremble as he grips at the hem of your button-up. Not a firm grip like you’d have anticipated, with his fingers digging into the plush skin of your hips as he grinds you down on his cock; instead, his fingers are clinging to the fabric as if he’s too overwhelmed to even think of grabbing your body.

“Tell me what you like,” you say quietly, fingers still absently carding through his dark locks as you kiss down his neck. Your other hand slips beneath his dress shirt, smoothing out over the bandages wrapped around his torso. “I want to know, wanna make you feel good.”

Dazai’s lips part to respond to you, but the only thing that escapes them is a pitched gasp—high and cracking in desperation, grip on your shirt so tight that you think he might rip it. He’s already hard, can feel his cock straining against his black pants, pressed against your thigh.

“I don’t-” Dazai’s voice is ragged; he sounds overwhelmed, almost confused. “I don’t know.”

“Hm?” you prod, nipping his neck and relishing in the way his whole body shudders at the feeling. “C’mon, Dazai, you’ve done this before. Tell me what you like.”

His gasp is choked when your hand tightens on his slim waist, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back. More pliant and more sensitive, you note curiously, kissing back up his neck to tug at his earlobe with your teeth, a shiver running down your spine at the broken moan Dazai lets out into your ear. He jolts, eyes widening and face flushing—he looks as if he’s startled himself by the noise that escaped his lips, and you start to become a bit suspicious.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, sounding confused and frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s never felt like this before. How are you doing that?”

You pause.

You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, pulling your face back from his ear to look at him carefully because why is he acting like he’s never done this before? You know he’s slept around a lot. He picked it up over half a year ago when he got tired of hearing you and Chuuya brag about how easy it is to get things out of people like this. Made a point of making sure you knew about it when you had your boyfriend.

It’s never felt like this before.

Your chest swirls, and you feel a bit disconcerted as his words finally process. It’s never felt like what? Dazai doesn’t know why you’ve stopped, you can feel him tugging at your shirt, hazy eyes trying to focus on you. You wonder if the gears in his head are turning, realizing something might be wrong but unable to pinpoint what.

You kiss him to distract him, deeper this time. You press his head back against the soft pillow, one hand sliding to cradle the back of it as you try to break all of the quick-moving cogs in his brain so you can think in peace, cursing the fact that his mind has always been quicker and sharper than yours.

Dazai is Dazai. He’s smooth, charming—when he wants to, he could seduce anyone into his bed. You’ve watched him do it at events, sidling up close and leaning in to speak to people, dark eye lidded and voice low, a slow smirk curling at his lip as he brushes his finger lightly against the target’s lower back before guiding them out of the room. Christ, he’s nearly flustered you on more than one account. You want to say that he’s not the same kid who was nervous to kiss you two years ago, but he clearly is with how he’s reacting to your kisses and touches right now. But he shouldn’t be—maybe it’s because it’s you he’s with, maybe he’s just nervous because it’s you and not some random person he’s seducing for information.

But that doesn't explain the comment. Doesn’t explain it’s never felt like this before.

“Never felt like what?” you ask as you kiss the corner of his lips and down his jaw again, all the way to the line of bandages peeking out from his dress shirt. You undo the first few buttons, watching the way his chest rapidly rises and falls under your touch as you smooth your hands over his chest. “Hm?”

“I-I don’t know,” Dazai says, voice cracking and another breathy sound spilling from his lips as you kiss the underside of his jaw. “It’s just-it’s usually just-it’s not this.”

That doesn’t help you at all, you think. You’re about to press, but your lips on his skin have evidently made Dazai’s lips looser than they typically are because you don’t even have to voice a clarifying question to get him talking again.

“The way you’re touching me. Kissing me. It’s not like this, doesn’t feel so good,” he continues and you can hear the whine building in the back of his throat as he speaks. “It’s just sex.”

You slide his button-up off of his shoulders, revealing his bandaged body to you. You don’t make any move to remove them, but now you stare down at him, a bit perplexed. “This is sex,” you say, voice a bit stunted because you didn’t expect him to say that.

“No,” Dazai says, seemingly equally perplexed by your words, drawn out of the haze of pleasure into a more confused state. “Sex is sex. It’s penetrative.”

“... Sex isn’t just penetrative, Dazai,” you say, baffled. “This is sex. It’s foreplay.”

Dazai stares at you like he doesn’t even know what that word means.

Oh, you realize, heart sinking as you realize why Dazai is so thrown off by all of this. How has he had sex without foreplay? Sex without foreplay is… it’s boring, not enjoyable at all. More animalistic than anything, borderline painful half of the time. Is that what he’s been doing with all of the people he seduces for information? The thought is a bit jarring, but the more you think about it, the more you think it might make sense.

Dazai is prodigious when he’s given something that he can study and mimic; can execute flawless imitations of the behaviors he’s trying to learn. He learned the art of leadership from observing Mori. The art of war from observing the Colonel’s operations before his death. Adaptability from observing Kouyou during missions. Business from observing Ace’s meetings and transactions. Seduction from observing you interacting with people during events. Dazai is as terrifying as he is because he’s a perfect amalgamation of the entire upper echelon’s best skill sets. He’s adopted Mori’s mannerisms, the Colonel's strategic capability, Kouyou’s ability to adapt to any situation, Ace’s shrewdness with yen, and your charisma.

If there’s something he can observe, he can mirror it to near perfection.

So, is it really that surprising to you that the front he puts up during events is just an imitation of how you act with people? That it doesn’t translate behind closed doors? That he had nothing to study and nothing to mimic once seduction progressed to the bedroom, so he let whoever he was with take the lead to try to learn from them in the moment?

That maybe someone would use his ignorance on the subject against him?

Dazai is Dazai, you think, for the fifth time tonight. He doesn’t watch porn, he doesn’t ask people for help, and this isn’t something Mori would have ever taught him—you know that better than anyone. Mori sheltered Dazai from everything, even tried to keep you away from him; he didn’t want anything or anyone to taint the control he had over his precious Demon Prodigy. While you and Chuuya have had the chance to live, experiencing life and the outside world, Dazai’s been stuck under the watchful eye of the boss, hardly ever out of arm’s reach, caged like a circus animal to be put on display whenever Mori sees fit.

Of course, Dazai would only see it as another way to get the job done, disregarding his own comfort and pleasure—because when does Dazai Osamu ever care for his own comfort and pleasure? He lived in a fucking shipping container until you dragged him out of it. It’s not a thought that casually crosses his mind, and he wouldn’t think twice once he thinks he has an idea of what’s going on. He doesn’t see things the way you do, was never given the opportunity to understand, taught by Mori to see things as tools and means to an end, even himself.

Dazai can see your mind racing. You know he’s going to put together that something is wrong soon if you don’t move on from this. But it’s hard—it’s a bit fucking jarring to realize that Dazai’s so overwhelmed by your touch because every other time he’s had sex, he’s probably been uncomfortable or even in pain.

You lean down to kiss him again, halting his thoughts. You place two chaste kisses on his lips, sucking his bottom lip gently before kissing his cheek down to his jaw.

“What all have you done with people?” you ask him, sitting back on his thighs, lacing your fingers with his as you look down at him.

Instantly, his face is on fire. “What does it matter?” he demands, but you can feel his fingers tightening around yours.

You roll your eyes at his obstinateness. “Humor me,” you say dryly. “Are you usually the one leading, or is your partner? Are you the one penetrating or-”

Dazai’s grip on your hands becomes almost painful, so you quiet down, giving him an amused look. Maybe it's an awkward subject, but you want to have a vague idea of what he’s been doing before you do anything.

“... partner is,” he finally tells you, hardly looking you in the eye. It’s kind of cute. “... and only when it’s a woman, but she still takes the lead.”

“Do you want to take the lead tonight?” you ask him, running your thumb over his knuckles to try to get him to loosen his grip.

He does, but only barely.

“Not tonight,” he says after a few moments.

“Not tonight,” you agree. “Did you prefer topping or bottoming?”

Dazai thinks for a moment and then says, “Topping. Bottoming was…”

You force yourself not to wince, suspicions confirmed by the way he trails off.

You hum, sliding your hands up and down his bandaged sides soothingly, enjoying the way he slowly relaxes beneath your touch. “That can feel good, too,” you tell him. “I can show you that one day if you’d like.”

Dazai’s brows furrow, pointedly looking down at your clothed lower half as if trying to see through them. Your lips quirk up as he says, “But you don’t have a-”

“There are ways to work around that,” you snort, hands finally resting at his hips, drawing circles over his protruding hip bones.

“… Not tonight,” he finally repeats.

“Not tonight,” you agree again.

You lift your hands back to his cheeks, holding his face between them as you kiss him again. You kiss him deeper this time, rolling your hips against his to make his breath hitch. You drag the tip of your tongue against the roof of his mouth—he tastes like cigarettes and faintly of whiskey. Tastes familiar. Like home.

You think you could kiss Dazai forever and never find yourself sick of it. Kissing him is like a drug, you think again. Kissing him gives you butterflies in a way that you’ve only ever experienced with him when you were sixteen, and giving him his first kiss.

Kissing him is like coming home after being away for years.

He kisses you back clumsily, all of the finesse he had earlier in the night long gone. His teeth nearly knock against yours, it’s a bit too wet and a bit too messy, but you think it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. You smile against his lips before pulling away to kiss the corner of his lips, nipping his skin when he lets out a shaky breath against your ear.

Your hands slide down his body to the waistband of his pants, fingers slipping beneath before you look up at him questioningly. “Can I?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side.

“How else are we going to do this?” Dazai counters petulantly.

Brat, you think to yourself, a bit fondly. Thoughts race through your mind but you push them away—maybe another night. You don’t respond to him, raising your eyebrows and waiting for a verbal response.

His cheeks dust pink as he says, “Yes.”

You work quickly to unbutton his pants, patting his thigh so he lifts his hips. You trail kisses down his bandaged chest as you slide off his pants. He’s very responsive to your touch, each kiss makes his breath stutter, you can feel it in the way his chest rises and falls and it only makes you want to watch him fall apart more.

“Are the bandages okay?” Dazai asks after a few moments when you kiss down to his navel. You look up at him, brows furrowed, catching the hesitant expression on his face, dark eye trained on you. “Do you want them off?”

“Do you want them off?” you throw back at him, squinting up at him.

Dazai stares at you for a moment before he shakes his head, a strange expression on his face—you wonder if he was worried you’d ask him to take them off, wonder if his other partners made comments about it, pushed him to remove them.

You wonder if it’s part of the reason why he avoided you for so long: he wasn’t ready for you to see him without them but thought you would ask him to take them off.

You leave it at that though, returning to kissing down to his hip bone, nipping the skin there and watching how his body jerks a bit in surprise. You let out a puff of laughter against his skin before you ease his briefs off, freeing his cock from where it was straining against the cloth—the soft ones you’d bought him when you’d found his rough, tattered ones in your washing machine a few months after he first moved into your apartment.

You don’t usually find cocks pretty—they all mostly look the same—but Dazai’s is. Long, not too thick, his tip is flushed a pretty pink color and a vein runs along the underside. He’s leaky too, precum drips down from his tip, right along that vein and you want to taste him, so you do.

You lean in to press your lips against his length, sucking gently on the vein before kissing up to his tip. A bit too salty for your taste, probably because of his shitty diet, but you don’t mind because the pitched moan that tumbles from his lips makes up for the taste entirely. You peek up, breath catching at the sight of his head tossed back against the pillow, swollen lips parted in a pretty moan and long lashes fluttering. He looks stunning, you wish you could take a picture—maybe another night.

You think all of his previous partners have severely missed out.

“Ah,” he gasps. “Shit, shit-”

Even with just your lips wrapped around his tip, you can feel Dazai’s cock twitching in your mouth—you wonder if he’s already on the edge. You can see the way his abdomen is spasming beneath the bandages, how his fingers are curling around the soft sheets beneath him. You don’t want him to finish yet, you want him inside you when he cums, so you only spare a few chaste kisses trailing up and down his length before sitting up straight again.

Immediately, he tosses you an accusing look. Bottom lip pushed out, cheeks flushed the same pretty pink as his tip. “Why-”

You silence him by pressing your lips against his. This kiss is lewder than your last, you push the bit of precum you’d gathered on your tongue into his mouth as you unbutton your own slacks. He makes a noise into your mouth but you don’t pull away until you feel him swallow. You smile against his lips before you pull back to slip off your own pants, watching his face twist.

“Yuck,” he says, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Tastes bad.”

“Have been telling you to start eating more fruits and vegetables,” you tell him, flicking his thigh as you shimmy out of your slacks and toss them to the side. “You don’t listen.”

The smile he tosses up at you is familiar, a welcome change from the distress and confusion that’s been plaguing him most of the night. “You’ve been thinking about what my cum tastes like for that long? Pervert.”

“More like I’ve been thinking about how high your cholesterol must be with how much canned crab and buttered bread you eat,” you say dryly, returning to where you’d been straddling his waist.

You lift your hands up, beckoning him to take them. He does, reaching up to lace his fingers with yours. A smile curves at your lips as you lean over him, pinning his hands to the mattress on either side of his head as you kiss him again.

Your chest feels light in a way that it hardly ever does when you’re fucking someone, fluttering in the same way it was when you first kissed him two years ago. Usually when you’re sleeping with someone, it’s all about keeping up appearances. Flirty, sensual, seductive, you’re always more focused on the task at hand than you are enjoying yourself, this is… different. You mean, it always feels good—you know how to make sure it feels good for you while getting the job done—but this…

Feels like home, you think again. Being with Dazai feels like home and it scares you a bit because he’s so flighty and unpredictable but you push away the fear to kiss him harder. You have him now, that’s what matters.

“I like canned crab and buttered bread.” Dazai pouts as he mumbles against your lips.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

You feel him smile and you know you’re not going to like what he’s about to say so you cut him off by reaching down to position his cock at your entrance. Instantly, he chokes over a moan and your lashes flutter, feeling him slide between your folds.

Shit, you hadn’t even realized how wet you were, too caught up in trying to make sure Dazai was feeling good, but now with the feeling of the tip of his cock pressed against your clit and his length firm against your core, your abdomen feels all hot and tight, head fuzzy.

You keep your forehead pressed to his, noses nudging, sharing the same sliver of air as you roll your hips, letting out a soft moan against his lips when his tip presses against your hole. Each breath he lets out hitches into a soft whine at the end, a glassy look to his eye. You don’t sink down on him yet, feeling how his grip on your hands tightens, how his breath becomes shuddered and his gaze becomes lidded.

You wonder maybe if he can cum just from the feeling of his tip pushing inside you—maybe another night.

“Please,” he breathes out for the second time tonight and who are you to deny him?

You don’t kiss him as you sink down on his cock, eyes fluttering shut when you feel how his cock stretches your walls—you want to hear him, hear the way he gasps, the way his breath catches, you want to hear his moans and whimpers. He tries to chase your lips but you keep them just out of reach until he gives up, fingers tightening around yours and hips jerking up.

“‘s so tight,” Dazai gasps as you rock your hips slowly against his. “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” you press, breathless.

You distract yourself from the rapidly spreading heat by kissing his neck, letting go of one of his hands to bring it to his cheek, watching as he instinctively leans into your touch, hardly able to hold his eye open. He presses a sloppy kiss to your palm, hand coming up to hold yours to his face.

“Yeah,” he says shakily, lashes drooping and lips parting in another silent moan. “Feels…”

“Feels what?” you ask him, kissing the other side of his neck before trailing wet kisses up to his opposite cheek, feeling him shudder as you tug his earlobe.

“Right,” Dazai tells you, dark eye glazed over as he looks at you, lips wet and swollen and so entirely kissable that you can’t help yourself from leaning down to steal another from him. “Feels right.”

You wonder if Dazai feels just as at home with you as you do with him and that thought is enough to make you rock your hips.

The noise that Dazai lets out is obscene and pornographic, pitched and breathy. You can hardly appreciate the lewd expression on his face—his hair matted to his forehead, eyes half-rolled back and lips parted in a pretty ‘o’—because the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls nearly has you tumbling over the edge.

Shit, you think to yourself, desperately trying to rein in the rapidly building pleasure. Shit, what the fuck?

You never cum this quickly—usually you have to slip your hand between the sweat slicked bodies of you and your partner to rub circles around your clit so you can bring yourself over the edge at the same time as him. You don’t think you’ve ever come from penetration alone—but the stretch of Dazai’s cock, the feeling of his tip bullying deep into your cunt, the sound of skin on skin and his pretty moans, it all goes right to your head and to your pussy, the telltale signs of your thighs tensing and your abdomen tightening warning you that you’re close already.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, voice shaky. “You’re so…”

You don’t even know what you're trying to say, mind becoming increasingly more empty of thought as you rock your hips again, setting a steady pace. Dazai chokes over air beneath you, the hand still intertwined with yours squeezing hard while the other one drops from the hand you have on his face to claw the bed sheets.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, the way his moans are becoming louder and lewder, the way his head falls to the side, face half pressed into the pillow, eyes knocked back, body arched. Dazai’s already so gone that you think any second he’ll cum deep inside of you and that thought alone makes your body shudder.

You grab the hand clawing at the bed sheets, guiding it between your bodies as you bounce on his cock. You can feel his hazy gaze trying to figure out what you’re doing but you’re more focused on guiding his finger to rub circles around your clit.

As soon as the pressure is placed on the sensitive nub, your hips are stuttering and a gasp is tearing from your lips. Dazai’s choking when he feels your walls spasm around him, hips thrusting up erratically to meet each of your rocks, but he’s just barely coherent enough to keep his finger rubbing circles on your clit.

Your breath becomes heavy and shaky, the pace of your hips quickening, fire spreads through you so rapidly that it’s impossible to control.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp when you feel yourself tipping over the edge, eyes trying to focus on Dazai’s face and the sight you’re met with is enough to push you over the edge.

Dazai’s jaw is slack, drool pooling at the corner of his lips, the white of his eye just barely visible, cheeks flushed a deep red. He's babbling out incoherent words: you can just barely make out your name, s’good, too tight, too much, and I’m gonna-

And then you’re choking over your own moan when you feel Dazai finish inside of you, cum warm and heavy as he fucks it deep in your cunt. His lithe body trembles beneath you, tense and arched, holding your hand so tight that you think he might break it, and your vision goes white as you cum on his cock, mind blank when the taut cord snaps within you, nails digging into Dazai’s skin.

Dazai’s cock is still twitching inside of you when you slump onto his chest, tremors still spreading through his body. You tilt your head up to ghost your lips against his jaw before sliding off of him, laying on the bed next to him. You feel empty without him inside you but you distract yourself by lifting your hand to his cheek again, tilting it to the side and forcing him to look at you.

More emotion swims in Dazai’s eye than you’ve seen him express in the entire two years you’ve known him, he looks at you so reverently that you can almost imagine three words spilling from his lips, breathy and adoring. You know he won’t say them, but it’s a nice thought, you think. You lean in to ghost your lips against his briefly, the tips of your fingers carding through his dark curls. You want to say something but you don’t know what.

Well. You do know what but you can’t say it.

“You wanted me soooooo bad,” Dazai finally says, a bit more clarity returning to his eye as his lips curl up. “I knew it, you wanted me so bad.”

“You’re so annoying,” you tell him but your voice is fond and you can’t help yourself from shifting forward to press your lips against his. You feel him smile against your lips and that warm, fluttery feeling returns.

Home.

“You love it,” Dazai sings, nipping your cheek.

A bit longingly, you think, I do.

Instead, you roll on top of him to straddle his hips, pressing your lips against his again.

“You wish.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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cowboygenesis · 19 days

Text

18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

pairing: astarion ancunin x afab!bard!reader tags: 18+, smut, fluff, switch dynamics, m/f, fingering, unprotected sex, resolved tension, playfighting, sex after training session. word count: 7.8k notes: this fic was SO fun to write even if im a gale girlie myself. this is my first attempt at writing ANY bg3 character, so i really hope i did okay. if not, let me know! comments help me improve my writing (and warm my heart, seriously, thanks to anyone taking the time out of their day to comment). anyways gang, no beta as ALWAYS, you know how we roll. ENJOY! masterlist.

It still made little sense to you.

You had honed your skills at the most prestigious music schools in Faerûn for years, pouring your heart into every note, every chord, only to find yourself shamelessly ridiculed for an entirely different kind of performance. And by a man you’d grown to like, no less.

"Get up, darling," Astarion’s voice drips with amusement, the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips with infuriating smugness. His crimson eyes watch you with a predatory glint, locking onto your vulnerable form sprawled in the dirt—a definitive result of his frustratingly agile moves.

You groan lowly, propping yourself up on bruised elbows, wincing as a dull ache pulses through your body. A stray lock of hair falls in front of your face, and you blow it away in frustration.

"I’m starting to think this isn’t educational at all." You glare at him with all the venom you can muster, eyebrows furrowed as his arms cross.

Your eyes absentmindedly scan down his body, taking note of his slightly disheveled shirt and tousled hair. He looks… good. Beautiful, even. Basking in the soft moonlight seeping through the vast greenery above, he stands there like he’s in his element.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by your vapid tone. "Oh, but it is, my dear. Think of it as a new, humbling experience. Valuable in its own right."

You bite back a retort as he offers you a hand, his expression making your eye twitch. You never thought you’d fall for arrogance, yet ironically it’s your own conceit that might have brewed your upcoming downfall.

After a particularly boisterous night of drinking in camp—brought on by the recent victory over a pack of gnolls—you foolishly accepted Astarion’s challenge to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Your alcohol-addled brain had been more confident than your body, and now, after a series of harsh jabs and sidesteps, you were being taught the harsh reality of “real” combat.

Defeated, you eventually obliged a quick lesson from the master himself, which he had (admittedly suspiciously) made you take after losing your bet.

At the very least, the bruising would rid you of your lingering hangover once you were done taking the thrashing. Plus, you hoped it would bring you two closer. Figuratively and physically.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your hesitation. "Come now, my dear, don’t be so stubborn. You seemed so eager at first,"

"You told me you’d teach me to fight, not fall on my damn face," you lament, but begrudgingly accept his help, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

His grip is firm, and the coolness of his skin sends a small jolt of electricity down your spine. You had often imagined what holding his hand would feel like during the colder nights alone in your tent, and while the circumstances ended up being less than ideal, it was good enough for you. For now.

You rub at your sore arm with a frown and catch that Astarion, unmistakably, stands completely unscathed, his pale complexion almost glowing in the ambient light.

"I’m thinking…” he muses, glancing at the weathered lyre resting peacefully by the roots of a tree. His lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the teasing jab sting your pride. “Perhaps you’re better suited to the more... delicate aspects of life,"

Your jaw clenches. While bards famously went underestimated— a fact you were reminded of frequently— it hurt more coming from someone you so badly wanted to fuck.

"Oh, I don’t know," you say with a saccharine tone, brushing the residual dirt from your pants; your favorite pair, yet you’d probably end up having to toss them out after your poor performance today. "I think a harp string could make a fine garrote in the right hands."

Astarion’s laughter rings out clearly, and your heart skips a beat unbeknownst to you. "Dully noted. Fortunately for the both of us, we’re stripped of any weaponry in our current pinnacle."

Your eyes roll, running a hand through your disheveled, sweat-slick hair and adjusting your posture to the one he had taught you: one foot forward, back straight.

"Again," you demand, squaring your shoulders. If he wanted to mock you, fine— but you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight.

Astarion’s eyes widen, but his smirk never falters. He sighs in faux exasperation but quickly matches your posture. "So eager to be tossed into the dirt again, darling."

Your face flashes with heat at his painfully languid remark, your mind going places it probably shouldn’t. You knew the pet names were simply an inherent part of his vocabulary and that he used them generously, with everyone, yet a part of you liked to imagine they were reserved for you, and you only.

“Try me again,” you reply curtly, lowering your gaze as you feel the tension sprawling through your aching body.

He shoots you an arrogant smirk, his gaze penetrating your soul with an intensity you didn’t think possible. He bares his fangs, licking over his bottom lip lazily. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion approaches, but this time, you’re ready. As he moves to close the distance, you anticipate the first jab, ducking low before he can catch you off-guard. You dart to the side, aiming a swift thrust toward his midsection. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but it seems to work.

Your fist connects with his toned stomach. He topples off-balance, but only for a fleeting second. His reflexes are too sharp, too honed through his century-long life for you to overcome with your pitiful attempt.

He catches himself with a graceful pivot, turning the stumble into a curt spin that has him facing you once more.

"Fast learner, are we?" he muses, watching you closely through his fists. "I might actually have to try now."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shoot back, heart racing. At that moment, you recognize you can’t win. Not this time, probably not the next. But you don’t want to forfeit, even if it means enduring a day or two of terrible muscle soreness.

Every sidestep, every deflected blow, brings you closer, the air between you growing heavy with static. You aren’t sure if it’s the heat of the fight or the dangerous proximity, but you can feel it—an irresistible, undeniable pull.

"Careful now," Astarion purrs as you barely miss his face with a rugged swing. He catches your wrist, holding it tight as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear. "You wouldn’t want to harm me, would you?"

You swallow hard, your body tensing under his tight grip. The closeness is intoxicating, but you force yourself to stay focused, pushing back against the growing heat in your chest.

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

For a moment, neither of you move. The world seems to narrow, the charged atmosphere thick with tacit suspense. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, senses sharp, attuned to every breath he takes as they intermingle with yours.

"Darling," a dramatic pout creeps onto his lips, only to be replaced by a sly grin seconds later. You feel his grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to slip free. It’s a calculated move, once he grants you himself. "You wound me with your words."

You take a step back, breathless. This isn’t over, not by a long shot, yet your muscles fight against that thought. They scream at you with pain, worn and stretched by what feels like hours of sparring.

“Sounds like you’re the one trying to wound me,” you taunt, shooting him a lowered gaze. “Why’d you take me out here? Trying to make your next kill less obvious?”

The vampire had insisted you two train away from the bustle of camp, even if it meant missing out on tonight’s feast. While the rest of your companions enjoyed the finest ale Baldur’s Gate could offer, you were stuck trying to prove something to your crush.

Astarion's grin widens, his eyes flashing with amusement as he takes a slow, calculated step forward. “Now, now,” he purrs, voice dripping with mock innocence. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming— no need for childish theatrics.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight tremble in your legs from the strain of the sparring—or maybe it’s from something else entirely, you can’t be sure. You know he’s dangerous, that this game you’ve been playing with him has always had its sharp edges. But there’s something about that edge, about the way he dances so easily between teasing and threatening, that weakens your knees and makes you breathless every damn time.

"Then why are we here?" you challenge, taking a step back to match his forward one. Your voice is steady, but your pulse is hammering in your throat. The woods feel like a world apart from camp, the sounds of chatter distant as you sit in your isolated little bubble of the world. “It’s a little… intimate, don’t you think?”

Astarion tilts his head, studying you with a curious twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That sharp tongue again,” he says quietly, “Do you truly believe I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you out here just to end you? If I wanted your death, I’d make it enjoyable for both of us.”

Your breath catches at his words. His words drip with venom, but somewhere deep down, in the depths of his blackened heart, you swear you feel an instance of temptation.

“What’s the game then?” you ask, holding his gaze despite the anxiety twisting in your chest. “Because by the Gods, I know you love those.”

Astarion’s smirk softens, but the intensity in his eyes never falters. He steps closer again, until there’s barely any space between you, his presence intoxicating. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re capable of,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d let me push you before you push back.”

His hand hovers near yours, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, but he doesn’t make full contact.

“And maybe,” he continues, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your cheek, “I’m curious what could happen once we both stop playing.”

Your heart is racing now, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the sparring or the charged air between you that’s making your head spin a hundred miles an hour.

“You’ll never know,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Because I’m not backing down from this.”

His grin widens at your rebellion, and with a swift, fluid motion, the man’s playful smirk turns into a vicious one. Before you can react, he spins you around, movements smooth and practiced, making you lose your balance.

Your back hits his chest, and within seconds he wraps one arm around your neck in a tight headlock— his grip is firm, but not painful. Your mind strays to his other arm, feeling it press against your waist to keep you securely against him.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he purrs into your ear, his breath warm against your sweat-slick skin.

You struggle against his hold, trying to twist free, but his grip is relentless. “Fuck you,” you manage to scowl, though the words are strained by the pressure on your throat.

Astarion chuckles softly, and you feel it reverberate through your body. “Oh, she bites back,” he teases, his voice a dark, seductive buzz. “Are you taunting me, darling?”

You try to shift your weight, to find a way out of the headlock, but his grip doesn’t waver. “You’re projecting,” you growl breathlessly.

“And you’re persistent,” he replies, “Suits you well.”

You feel a warmth spread through your belly, tickling your nerve endings and making your thighs squeeze. You thank the Gods he can’t see your flustered face right now.

And suddenly, he releases. Not fully, but his grip weakens enough to allow you a moment to slip out again, stumbling over your own feet as you face him.

“Here’s your second freebie,” he chuckles, getting into position again. “Careful, next one might come at a price.”

“Like I need a third one,”

You recalibrate, then in the spur of the moment, pounce. Your arms extend as they barrel toward him. His eyes widen, but he manages to catch them mid-air; his hands clasping into yours and pushing against you.

“Fair strategy,” he commends, and you sense it might at least be partially earnest. “Desperate, but fair.”

You strain against him, breath hitching when he periodically pushes back. Whenever he does, you feel his gaze boring into you with a crazed intensity.

Then, you try not to think about the fact your digits fit together really damn well— and fail. Take what you can get, right?

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he sneers, slender fingers tightening around your palm. He leans in, your chests threatening to collide. “Getting distracted?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in with your full body weight, but he barely budges. “You wish,” you shoot back breathlessly.

“I feel it,” he corrects in a whisper, leaning in just enough that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. “It’s in your eyes. You’re not even thinking about our little lesson anymore, are you?”

Your breath hitches at his words, the undoubted truth in them cutting through the haze in your mind. He’s right. The bet, your lesson —somewhere along the lines, your sparring posture went lax. All that matters to you now is the palpable closeness, your hands in his, and his hot, idle breath on your neck. Your throat threatens to cast a strained groan, but you withhold.

“I—” you start to protest, but your voice falters. His chest is now pressed flush against yours, pushing you forward.

“Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive. “And I’ll let you win.”

Your hands tremble in the small space they lock with his, the smoldering red of his gaze telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing—how his actions leave you a mess in body and soul.

“I won’t, I— I can’t,” you manage to stutter, but the words sound weak and unconvincing even to your own weary ears.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through you like a slow current. “Liar,” he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly fangs in your hazed peripherals. “Not a good one, either. Another thing I should school you on.”

Your eyes roll, but the implication accelerates the growing tension within your guts. “Just how generous you are.”

His head tilts gradually, and you go pale as you catch his tongue running along the length of his bottom lip.

“No, darling,” he purrs, “I haven’t shown you generous just yet.”

And then, you catch his eyes darkening. There’s a certain mania to them when they widen, pupils blown out like a cat’s when he suddenly pushes firmly against you. Your feet stumble backward, staring into him as a wild grin plasters on his face.

You yelp when you lose balance, lips ajar and eyes closed shut as you feel your back crash into something soft, or at least, soft enough to leave you un-bruised.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s on top of you. You study his broad shoulders, the pale neck between them, and finally let your half-lidded gazes connect in a silent, tension-filled juncture.

The ambiance of dusk quiets down to a soft murmur, crickets chirping in the distance as his strong body hovers inches above you, hands placed firmly around your wrists to successfully lock you in place.

“Seems to me you’ve lost our little bet,” he purrs out, and your breath hitches as one of his legs slides between yours, slowly inching to put a distance between your knees.

All you can do is stare up at him hungrily, desperately, drinking in his weathered features and pray he’d let you run your fingers through his flaxen locks at some point in the night.

“No clever retort? That’s not the little bard I know and love,” he teases, and your hips almost buck into him at that one word. You know he doesn’t mean it, yet your teeth still clench when your body jolts in response to his familiar lilt.

“You’re playing dirty,” you finally breathe out, cringing at how strained your voice sounds as you lie under his weight.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” he retorts, his crimson gaze boring into you before gradually disappearing into your neck.

His lips hover over your skin, hot breath tickling the soft spot near your pulse point as you gasp quietly. You feel him hesitate, arms tensing and releasing over your own as if soaked in apprehension. You strain your muscles, eyes shutting in preparation for the inevitable, sharp bite coming onto your poor vein. Gods, was this his plan all along?

But then, you feel the grip on your wrists loosen.

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly catch the tousled white locks in your neck as the vampire looms over you.

“Here’s your chance to run,” he hitches, and somehow he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You lie on the blanket of moss, chest heaving and gaze tracing languidly over the treeline as you feel your body go limp. He’s giving you one last opt-out before… before something happens, be it a bloody massacre or... Or?

Your mind shrieks at you: take advantage, prove yourself on top in this stupid bet— but the little voice in your heart urges you to stay under his firm body; find out if your instincts rang true after all.

You stay. Not only that, but you let your hands slip out of his, one of them snaking down his shoulder while the other runs through his waves. They’re silky, and soft, and when you catch a whiff of rosemary in the air, your grip tightens.

“Astarion,” you whisper, voice surprisingly steady as your heart beats a constant rhythm into the space between you.

His body jerks abruptly, albeit subtly, and you feel him smirking— smiling— into the soft flesh of your neck. “So I was right, after all.”

His face withdraws from you slightly, the residual condensation of his warm breath leaving you shivering. You catch his gaze, half-lidded and scanning your expression with apt concentration.

“Feisty, spirited little thing,” he continues, inching towards you again.

Your stiff body jerks, grazing against him as your shaky hand snakes to his cheek. You cradle it gently but with urgency, and there’s a beat of silence before you finally understand what to do.

You inhale softly, catch his questioning gaze, and crash your lips onto his.

He groans softly when you meet in the middle, lowering himself with his arms. Your chest thrums with the beat of your heart, shooting waves of dopamine down your worn spine.

When you feel his nimble hand on your jaw, your lips part with a sigh. He matches your buzz with his own self-satisfied murmur, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You smile. He’s sweet and bitter, and you whine gently into the kiss when you recognize brandy on his tongue.

This is what you’ve been waiting for all these lonesome months.

The culmination dawns on you like a powerful current, making your eyes squeeze and your hands tremble in his waves.

He seems to notice your tremor, but instead of slowing down or (Gods forbid) stopping, he dives deeper. You moan into his mouth as he wriggles a hand around your waist, holding you close to his hips and suddenly, you feel a steady pressure grinding into your crotch.

The movement is slow, precise, practiced. His hips buff into yours in a controlled rhythm, making you sense his already taut erection through the thick material of his linen pants.

“Do you get it now, darling?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to stare lazily into your glassy eyes. “Look what you do to me.”

His hand snakes to your blouse, and before you can register what’s happening, you hear three ivory buttons pop off followed by the cool, evening breeze tickling your heated skin. You don’t need to open your eyes to know your nipples are standing taut in the chilly air, yet the image makes you redden.

“How— how unceremonious,” you croak out, moaning softly when his large hand begins palming at your right breast.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze at your erect nipple, toying with it in smooth, tactile movements and relishing the way his name sounds coming out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Mm, forgive me,” he chuckles darkly, planting a quick, ardent kiss on your lips before lowering his face to your chest. His tongue licks a slow, tender strip up your sternum before he looks up to smile at you; it’s a genuine look of satisfaction, untouched by the plague that is his faux arrogance. “I’ll make sure to be good next time.”

’Next time?’

You look at him lazily, gaze puzzled and lips ajar to ask but he doesn’t even offer you the chance. His hand dips from your tits to the band of your pants, sliding underneath it with his finger, the coolness of his skin making you gasp.

His mouth assaults your other nipple with sucks, nibbles, and gentle bites, making you mewl under him as his hand continues to travel down the soft flesh of your thigh. He rubs it gently, lovingly, starting under your hip and slowly stroking his way toward the inner region, where you’re most sensitive.

“Divine,” he mumbles against your chest, pressing a kiss to your rib. “So divine.”

His free palm moves to your exposed belly, massaging it gently. You sigh at the slow, consistent pressure, moving your trembling hand to the back of his neck.

When your one eye pops open in curiosity, you see him snug against your body, face contorted with empathic fixation as he labors down your body. It’s intimate, yes, but also… loving. His tongue is warm against your breast, and his palms caress your skin with slow, delicate strokes; the same hands you’ve seen wield blood-soaked daggers and longbows.

He runs two digits along the stretchy fabric of your bottoms, lip caught between his teeth. He catches you staring and smirks up at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he husks out, and you’re desperate enough to nod wordlessly.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, hand smoothing down the waistband of your panties that peers from behind your bottoms. Not even your cutest pair, but oh well. He doesn’t even seem to notice, as his digits play with the elastic.

You’re already so exposed, but nothing can prepare you for what he does next.

With a few more kisses to your breasts, he tugs at the two waistbands, pulling down your pants and panties in one go.

The material slides off your legs and you hiss out, feeling the coolness caress your slick core. Your hands instinctively reach to cover up, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a strong grasp around your wrist.

“Oh no, no,” He looks up at you with an arched eyebrow, and somehow, despite his collected mien, you catch a soft dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare deny me this view. Not after I’ve waited for so long.”

Your face heats up at the brazen comment, but that only seems to draw him closer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and he takes the hint immediately.

You connect in a heated kiss, and this time, Astarion is the one groaning against you. You work in tandem, like a gentle, effortless dance, heavy breaths intermingling in a sweet symphony of hums and sighs when…

You feel a touch against your heat. The contact is almost impalpable, yet your eyes flutter open in shock as the man’s fingers trace over your slit.

He withdraws from your kiss, hovering inches from your lips with a soft smile.

“S’unfair,” you slur, gazing up at him with a pleasure-drunken gaze. He exhales loudly, and you gasp. His fingers dip in, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “You— Gods—”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he taunts lowly, continuing his torturously languid movements with a devious smirk plastered on his perfect face. “What’s got you so bothered, my sweet?”

He dips down, teasing your entrance with his index. You pant softly at the prolonged stimulation, trying your damn best to stay focused on furrowing your eyebrows in mock anger.

“Got me so exposed and—” you trail tensely as his finger probes your entrance. “—And you’re still in your damn clothes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but you doubt he’s even listening to you by how he surveys your body, bottom lip caught between his fangs. “I’m about to show you ‘generous’, like I promised.”

And then, he bottoms out. You moan, feeling two of his digits sliding into you, the slickness of your opening making it an easy feat.

You squeeze around him, and he pumps into you once, then twice for good measure. The sound of his movements is unbelievably and utterly obscene, making your stomach knot in delight.

“So wet already,” he purrs through a smirk, watching you writhe under him, “Don’t tell me our little sparring session got you this bothered.”

You roll your eyes, thighs squeezed tight around his wrist as you move your hips in tandem with his rhythm.

“Come on, talk to me,” he taunts again, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and letting his fingers fuck you in a steady, purposeful rhythm. “Now’s not the time to get coy.”

He switches gears, stopping his movement so he can curl his fingers inside you. He presses against the sweet spot, his thumb reaching to simultaneously rub slow circles against your swollen clit.

You cry out at the newfound pressure, the warmth in your belly twisting into a vortex of fiery delight.

“I—” you mewl against him, wrapping your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna— c-cum—”

His movements quicken at your desperate words, digits working hard against your favorite spot.

“Cum then, my darling,” he taunts firmly, his free hand roaming under your jaw and holding it in place. “Cum for me. Let me— let me look at you, sweet thing.”

Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but once they do, he hits something white-hot inside you.

His lips crash desperately onto yours, but you struggle to kiss him back through the blinding pleasure of your climax. It thunders down your legs, up your belly, making you cry out against his mouth as everything melts away into a wonderful oblivion.

The last thing you see before your muscles go lax is red.

He rubs your clit methodically through your high, letting you ride it out peacefully as he burrows into your neck again.

When your breath steadies, you feel his fingers slowly withdraw. The emptiness that follows makes you cry out softly, helplessly watching as the man runs his palms up and down your sides.

He presses a soft, soothing kiss against your swollen lips, and you can’t help but glare when you see that he’s still fully dressed, even after your heated orgasm.

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?” he purrs, pulling away to take you all in. You’re caught speechless when his hungry gaze scans down your nude body; starting at your smitten face and ending with a lingering glimpse at your spent pussy.

“Please,” you mewl out, raking your hands down his clothed abs. “Gods— Please take these off, I can’t—”

He does.

His hands momentarily withdraw from around you, and with a swift, deft move, he tosses his shirt off.

The silken cloth comes flying into the night like a phantasmal figure, and you watch it catch onto a stray branch to your right.

Your gaze skims hungrily down his sculpted body, watching his muscles tense and release with every little movement. Yes, you’ve seen him shirtless before, yet the context of your current predicament somehow makes it feel like it’s the first time all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, his hands work at his bottoms, swiftly unbuttoning the waistband and letting it sit loose against his hips. You catch a soft, white trail against the edge of his undergarments, leading down to a straining, tented mess below.

Your hand reaches out absent-mindedly, still drunk off the high of your climax and so, so desperate to finally feel him for yourself.

“Not so fast, darling,” he scolds, gently slapping your hand away and letting it wither at your side.

“Let me touch you,” you retort desperately, but he only chuckles as his fingers begin working at his waistband.

“You lost our bet,” he explains, sliding a thumb under the elastic and letting it lower. You catch the very base of his straining erection, and that taunting alone makes you gasp. “Gives me the upper hand.”

“Says who?” you hiss under your breath, failing to give him the glare he deserves as your eyes bore into his.

He gives you a once over, gaze drawing languidly over your exposed body, and only then does the extent of your nudity finally dawn on you.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You shift under him, shimmying within the small space he allows, and he takes your brief distraction as a moment to unravel his pants completely. They drop to the ground behind you, leaving him in his undergarments, and you bite your lip at how dangerously lax they sit around his hips.

“I think I’ve left you waiting long enough,” he mutters, and your lips go ajar.

The thumb hooked into his briefs starts sliding down his waist, lower and lower until you’re finally even in terms of undress— and you’re ever so starstruck by the sight of his bulging cock hovering over your belly. It stands thick and taut within arm’s reach and you find the fact makes your mouth water.

Then, before you can think of touching him, you feel him place either hand below your knees. He looks up at you with a sly smirk, and you gasp softly when he pushes your thighs flat against your torso, feet in the air and scandalously exposed in front of him.

“You’re playing with me,” you mutter breathlessly, hissing as you feel his length stroking against your inner thigh.

His arms compress you tighter as you feel him lowering, the underside of his cock slapping against your tummy. The gasp that leaves your throat at the sudden contact widens your eyes, and he catches your gaze with his self-satisfied one.

“Do you like that I’m playing with you?” he follows up without a beat, his hips rutting forward. The movement is gentle, yet the pressure is enough to make you whine out in desperation— it’s also the only answer you manage to choke up for him before his cock slides between your wet folds.

“A-Ah— you fucking— fucking prick,” you hiss at the vampire, and so he bears his fangs at you through a wide grin. You find that it makes your breath hitch even amidst your despair.

“Now, now,” he reprimands, words syrupy, “bold words coming from someone so vulnerable.”

His nails dig into the soft flesh of your legs as he slides back and forth, taking meticulous care so that the head of his cock butts against your clit with every dip. The stimulation feels electric, and soon enough, you feel your still-sensitive body ramp up with heated energy for a second time this night.

A minute passes, yet it feels like an eternity. The air between you is thick with tension and the soft, repetitive harmony of your strained moans and his little gasps. You watch his eyes close in concentration, and despite his otherwise relaxed facade, you can tell he’s struggling to resist you by the way his eyebrows knit in the middle.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out, one of your hands extending to claw at his withholding forearm.

When your gazes meet, he looks surprisingly spent; eyes glassed-over, mouth ajar, and the slightest hint of sweat glazing his pale forehead. You realize that his domineering act seemed to come at the expense of his stamina: a resource you had slowly replenished in your comfortable position.

“Not— not yet, darling,” he hitches out, but the words appear tender and helpless to your trained ears. “I— I want to enjoy this— enjoy you—”

Your grip on his forearm tightens, making the bucking of his hips stutter. His eyebrow raises at your touch, but before he can shoot you a witty comment, you’re pushing him forward.

It happens within seconds.

Your knees straighten, feet slamming into his abdomen. He coughs at the sudden, unexpected impact, and you take the opportunity to grab tight onto his forearms. He falls backward, and just before his spine hits the soil beneath, you use the momentum to push yourself onto him.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re straddling his waist.

He blinks in brief confusion, surveying his surroundings before the crimson gaze finally turns to you.

He surveys your face, and you let him. The moment is like a silent meditation, heavy breaths intermingling as he takes your raw beauty in; the longing in your eyes, the soft dusting of pink across your nose, and ultimately, the plush of your lips he had ravaged mere moments ago.

Next, he moves to your body. His eyes scan down your taut nipples, down your tummy, and to the softness of your thighs squeezing his midriff to the ground. When he reaches the junction between your bodies, your hips buck as if on instinct.

“My, just how courageous we are,” he purrs under you, hands reaching to rub down the outside of your thighs. “I wouldn’t be so nice about your dirty tricks if I didn’t find this view thoroughly delectable.”

You shiver at his honeyed words, yet your gaze stays determined on him. Your palms go to rest atop his, marveling at the eccentric softness of his knuckles and the polarizing edge of the nails.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” you grin playfully, rocking your hips back to feel his hard length against the curve of your ass. When a soft hiss escapes his lips, you feel your ego inflate. “Sound familiar?”

His eyes roll, but the grin creeping onto his lips deceives him immediately.

His head tilts at you, fangs bearing in the soft moonlight. “You’re trouble.”

The mischief of your smile spins into a warm fondness. Your cheeks warm, and your heart swells, but you don’t quite understand why. “Oh how rich that is coming from you.”

And then you’re rising on your knees, hips hovering over his throbbing erection. Your palms connect, digits intertwining with his as you lower yourself onto him.

You test the waters first, letting his tip brush over your slit with feather-like touches. You hum gently at the teasing pleasure, and so does Astarion.

When you feel your tummy tightening with anticipation, you dive in. With a light shimmy, you line your hips with his, and with more desperation than you planned, you slide down.

You both hiss as the head of his cock penetrates you, the stretch making your palm tighten against his. You bend at the knees, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim after such a long, lonesome time.

Finally, you let your hips slam against his. The sudden, harsh movement makes you gasp out into the tantric air as his tip pokes against your womb. The dull pain quickly shifts into a flat, resonant pleasure, and you waste no time.

Your hips begin to buck against his, building a slow, steady rhythm until you’re confidently riding your vampire lover with a self-satisfied smirk on your lips.

Each thrust makes you mewl, moan, and cry out into the night, that pleasant angle of his cock hitting that same spot his fingers did just minutes ago.

His head rolls back into the ground, and with the remnants of his energy, he issues an occasional, quick rut into you. As it’s rare, you decide to savor it. You squeeze around him with the thrusts, and soon, you feel yourself running out of breath.

“I— I could let you do this for—hells— forever,” he hisses out, and suddenly, you feel his hands unclasp from yours and snake around your waist. “Where have you been all these centuries?”

Your upper body is dragged forward, your tits colliding with his toned chest when he pulls you into a tight, possessive embrace.

You gasp at the warmth between you, and your eyebrows soon furrow when you realize the position limits your hip movement. As you’re forced into a pause from your delirious riding, his lips crash onto yours.

Your tongues share a private, slack dance, heads tilting to adjust as you both hum and groan into the fiery kiss. You attempt to rut into him, and soon enough he gets the hint.

Keeping you immobilized against his chest, his hips pound up into you. The first few smacks are scandalously loud, and you revel in the newfound angle.

You’re lost in him, completely and utterly. When he moans, you respond with a hum— when his embrace tightens around you, you kiss him harder.

The familiar, fiery heat in your tummy bubbles up again. You feel it amp up, grow, and send jolts up your spine when suddenly, you’re being pushed up. When your eyes flutter open, you catch his still closed.

His chest stays firm against yours as he positions you upright, letting you straddle his hips as you’re both left sitting in the soft patch of grass and wildflowers.

With your body regaining its mobility, you start grinding against him again. The position allows for a deliciously intimate closeness, his cock burrowing deep into you as you resume riding him.

The pressure within you grows, emerging as a knot— threatening to unravel with every other thrust. Your clit rubs against the base of his groin, amplifying the pleasure into a sensation you’ve long forgotten about.

“A-Astarion—” you mewl out between kisses, and his hot breath tickles your face when he chuckles.

“Cum for me,” he sighs out, and the assertion comes off soft and pleading as it settles into the groves of your heart.

“O-Okay— I… I—”

He tightens his hold on your waist with one hand, as the other moves to cradle your cheek. His touch is unbelievably delicate and affectionate, and out of all the stimulation he had so graciously provided you this night, it’s that soft touch that sends you over the edge.

Your lips connect in one last kiss, and you moan throatily into his mouth. Your hips still, thighs squeezing as your pussy tightens around his cock in a moment of pure bliss. The steadily rising pressure in your belly finally tips over, sending a wave of bliss down your entire being.

Still, he keeps moving. You almost want to scream against him as his hips begin pounding into you again, the soft slaps quickening as he slowly peaks with you.

Withdrawing from the kiss to lean against your neck, he cums. Hard.

Your slowly declining climax seems to slam the gas pedal as you feel him release deep into you, the warmth spreading through your body like a genial embrace, a fact that makes him groan loudly against your mouth. Your breath stills in your throat, before finally releasing into a long, guttural moan— it echoes into the night, and your vision blurs.

White-hot bliss envelops your body, and you melt into Astarion’s for solace. You feel him grip you, caress your face, kiss away your adrenaline-fueled tears, and pant softly against your lips as your pussy spasms again.

Your orgasm envelops you in slow, pulsating waves as it withdraws, and you’re soon left huffing into the vampire’s flaxen locks. You think you hear him speak, but the ringing in your ears is too potent to know for certain.

Then, as the ringing finally retires, you hear him whisper your name. It’s a soft, patient call against the burning skin of your neck, one you commit to memory as you’re finally awarded your senses back— if only partially.

The forest feels exceptionally silent as you fall into his arms. You recognize the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, perhaps a distant hoot of owls, but it all seems to blend into an indecipherable blur as exhaustion floods your system.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck, and your mind sinks into the soft, languid thumps of his heart. His hand caresses your back, and you sigh deeply.

You sit there for what feels like hours, drinking each other in. You’ve waited so long, and finally, you’re at ease— it’s a feeling you wish to cherish, and if it wasn’t for the pesky passage of time, you’d choose to stay in this damned forest for eons; with him.

You feel him shift against you. His hands withdraw from your waist, and he whispers softly against you. “Come, my love.”

You hum in disagreement, face burrowing deeper into him. Yes, rosemary and brandy— now it’s clear to you.

He exhales sharply, and you smile into his neck. He waits for a beat, before placing a soft kiss to your temple. “Wait here.”

You nod gently and finally allow him to withdraw. The separation makes you sigh, your body shivering in the newfound cold of the night, but you persevere. In the longing to hold on to the moment for a little longer, you keep your eyes closed and hope he’ll return before you open them again.

You hear him shuffle around, walking from left to right, before finally returning to face you. “Hands up,” he mutters softly, and you do as you’re told in your pleasure-drunken stupor.

You feel him drape something silken over your sweat-slick body, the soft material draping your hips before coming to a stop at your thighs. When you breathe in, you immediately realize it’s not your shirt, so you grin.

When you’re comfortably wrapped up, he leans in. Once you finally sense the familiar warmth of his chest, you lean against his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

You’re surprised he does this for you. Tenderness is not exactly something you’d connect with a man of his past, of his skill. Yet, when his hands move to rest under your knees and back, you don’t resist.

He lifts you off the ground, letting your fatigued frame rest against him. He takes it upon himself to get you back to camp, safe and sound, and only slightly perturbed.

You drink in everything you can, letting yourself be greedy for once. The steadiness of his breath, his warm chest, the crinkling of leaves under his feet— it’s an image you swear to place, no matter what difficulties might threaten to befall you in the future.

And he’s silent up until you reach the campgrounds. The chatter of dinnertime has long died down, and when you open your eyes, you spot the crackling embers of firelight flickering away among a circle of stones. The flames cast a soft, warm light onto the closed tents, and you revel in the intimacy of the moment.

“Everyone met their bedtime while we’ve been naughty sneaking out,” he murmurs with a chuckle, and you close your eyes hurriedly in hopes of feigning slumber. Still, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face at his brazen comment.

You reach the outskirts and finally spot his tent just below an old, sturdy oak tree. You recall the talks you had out front so many times before, back when your feelings were just sparks of something much stronger and much, much warmer.

He crouches down and with an unsurprising agility climbs into the little shelter with you still in his arms. You lie slack against him, letting his arms lay you gently onto his woolen mat. You melt into the warmth almost immediately, sighing out dreamily when you feel his presence beside you.

It’s silent for a moment, and when your eyes finally flutter open, you catch him staring at you. His gaze is thoughtful but warm, lingering over your form with a certain glimmer.

“I guess it’s official, then,” you sigh out, closing your eyes again and letting a lazy smile drift over your features.

He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “What… what is?”

You chuckle softly at his awkward tone, shifting to the side and letting one of your eyes pop open to glance at him.

“My victory,” you state matter-of-factly before quickly shifting to your other side, facing away from him just to let a satisfied grin creep onto your face.

You don’t witness it, but his expression goes from tense, to disconcerted, to irritated in a matter of seconds. His eyes roll, and you suddenly feel a flat slap against your ass.

“Woah there, hey!” you gasp, followed by a cheeky giggle. Your head turns to face him from your comfortable position, and you catch him mirroring your grin.

“Quiet, now,” he commands softly, pivoting to lie beside you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Bet’s over, darling. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve not proven yourself capable. Shame, really.”

You blow a raspberry through your smile and shimmy closer to him, your body melting perfectly into his— a fact that has you near to falling asleep.

“Shame indeed. The look on your face was priceless when you ate dirt,” you shrug nonchalantly, “At least that’s the version I’ll be telling everyone come morning.”

He scoffs, the low rumble of it vibrating against your back, but his arm only tightens around you. You feel his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“If you do that, I might just have to kill you,” he mutters, but despite the intensity of the words, his voice is soft and loving against your head. His hand drifts to your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there.

“You would never.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your lips open to build on your clever retort before you feel his sharp exhale on your neck.

“Sleep, darling,” he reprimands, squeezing your midriff gently.

You sigh contentedly, your lips brushing against the pillow as you settle deeper into his embrace. The tent is cocooned in warmth, but you feel the cool kiss of the evening breeze filtering in through the small opening at the entrance. Outside, the campfire crackles faintly, the last embers glowing like distant stars before fading into fine ash.

As you drift closer to sleep, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the world around you blurs into the peaceful haze of near-dreams.

Just as the veil of slumber begins to pull you under, you feel his lips press against your hair, a soft whisper brushing against your skin.

“As long as I'll live, I never could.”

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fun-loving-peach · 4 months

Text

Soft Intimate Moments with Satoru Gojo

a/n: Hi guys I’m back :3, I’ve kinda been procrastinating on writing so took time for myself but now I’m back with more soft fluff (cause I miss my babygirl, the manga has me on my knees) love y’all my little peaches hope you enjoy 😚

Divider by lovely @plutism 🤍

Satoru always has to touch you. Whether it’s always holding your hand or on the small of your back. He always has to be touching in a way so he doesn’t feel you drifting off.

Satoru always holds your stare. He’s always looking at you even if you two aren’t talking. He enjoys being with you and looking at all your perfections and imperfections he wants to memorize them all.

Satoru always hugs you from behind when he sees you have your back turned to him. He hugs your waist as he gives you a kiss on your nape. A sweet soft kiss as he enjoys the warmth radiating from you.

Satoru holds your thigh whenever he’s driving. It’s a slight comfort to have you close to him. He definitely loves thick thighs because he can squeeze them whenever he feels off, more room for his hands to reach. (As a thick thigh girly I need this so bad 😭)

Satoru always shares his sweets with you. He wants to see if you like something as much as he does so he can buy more of it next time he brings you out for a date. Like imagine sitting in a cafe ordering the newest sweet he had in mind for weeks as he shares it with you. Seeing you like it makes him light up with joy as he orders another one.

Satoru takes your make up off whenever you fall asleep with it on. He knows how you get in the morning when your face is smudge with make up or staining the pillows with it. So he always makes sure to grab a tissue that he found in your bag of make up and wipe your face. You might still have a little liner or sparkles im your face the next morning but he definitely tried his best.

Satoru loves showering you and not like in a sexual way (at least not all the time) he loves being so close and intimate with you. Washing your hair and body with the softest touch. He loves being so vulnerable with you. Might also do funny hairstyles with you whenever he washes your hair. Sometimes it’s a Mohawk other times it’s Elvis.

Satoru loved talking about your guys future together. Where’d it be moving in together permanently or wanting to marry you. It’s always at the back of his head and he loves talking about it with you, knowing you feel the same and want to build a future together like you both deserve.

Satoru always wipes your tears when you cry. He can’t stand seeing your pretty face all upset. Thumbs rubbing your cheeks as he presses a small kiss to your forehead. Even when you guys argue he hates seeing you cry and immediately apologizes so he can stop you from crying to comfort you.

Tag’s: @ladythornofrivia

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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s0ulsniper · 9 months

Text

im yours. bucky barnes x afab!reader || b.b.

pairings: bucky barnes x afab!reader

synopsis: the power goes off in the tower, leaving you to try to stumble down to the living room where everyone was told to meet.

warnings: she/her pronouns used, cursing, both reader and bucky are teases.

tonight had been more than amusing, but also tiring. leaving your saturday night to tony's plans was definitely a choice that you cannot stop making. to give him some credit, his parties are definitely fun, and hanging out with everyone on top of that, too.

but- it always leaves you sprawled out on your bed with the dimly lit television the only thing lighting up your room, other than the obvious street lights.

your head was pounding and your body ached, nothing could quite help that especially with how little you care to help yourself.

that's when the tv shutoff. at first you suspected it was just a glitch of some sort and your groaned as your reached for the remote.

it didn't turn on, even after the 42nd time of pressing it. you took it upon yourself to glance out of the window, moving your curtain slightly to peer out.

none of the city had any sort of power outage.

weird.

the next thing that came to mind is one of the idiots are pranking you.

your eyes roll at the thought. how selfish could they be knowing that you were trying to rest? maybe tony got too drunk and decided to fuck around.

you settled on just going to find out for yourself.

wow, gotta thank tony for not giving out any sort of flashlights.

you use any force you have left to rise yourself from bed. your muscles ache and you wish this didn't ever happen.

the pitch black darkness didn't help you either, everything you knew was there you bumped into causing you to let out a string of curses and you were sure anyone in a 30 foot radius could hear it.

you eventually find your way into the hallway, thankful for some sort of light from the windows.

you get a text, feeling your phone buzz in your pocket.

you open it to read Tony announcing that he had infact overloaded some sort of something and he's going to have to fix it, so everyone was to meet in the living room.

"perfect." you sigh out, annoyed.

not only is that the furthest from you but you knew it would be at least a few hours until it's fixed.

you turn around to the opposite direction, failing to notice the plant at your feet.

"fuck." you grumble when your foot makes contact with the pot.

you whince, trying to walk on it but failing miserably.

"seriously? you’ve lived here for how many years, and you still can’t find your way around with the lights off?” you hear someone laugh behind you.

"don't wanna hear it right now, bucky." you mumble.

his demeanor changes and he pushes himself off the wall to catch up with you.

"what's wrong, doll?"

"oh nothing, just having an amazing night." you retort, sarcastically.

he almost audibly cringes at that, first no nickname, then the sarcasm? something is definitely wrong.

he grabs your wrist to stop you from walking and pulls you towards him, embracing you in a tight hug.

" 'm not letting go till you tell me what's wrong, doll." he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

you relax at his touch and he notices, rubbing incoherent shapes into the dip if your back.

"just real tired, buck. went too hard on myself during training today 'n partied a little too hard."

you loved it when he hugged you like this, the contrast of the cold metal and warm body was only something he would let you know of, well and Steve.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. you really gotta tell me when you feel like this. coulda been helping you." he whispers, rubbing your back and hips. " 'specially since I know how you are. always neglecting yourself. doll, you need a break."

and before you know it he picks you up. on instinct you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his arms hold your thighs.

"what are you doing?" you quiz as you feel him start to walk, not fast but enough to get you guys going to the living room a couple stories down and on the opposite side of the building.

" 'm not letting you walk, just go to sleep doll."

you don't push it more than that, dropping your head to his shoulder with your arms loosely above his, feeling yourself drift to sleep.

you wakeup from the ambiance of your friends talking, feeling yourself slouched against someone on the couch. the lights were still well off, and you were sure it had only been maybe 30 minutes.

you raise your head to see a couple of candles lit here and there. it was enough to see everyone scattered across the living room, Bruce and Nat were chatting on the opposite end of the couch, Steve and Sam sound asleep on the floor, Thor was also sound asleep on the recliner, Pietro, vision and Wanda were sat on another couch watching something on their phone, and you suspected Bruce, Tony, pepper, and rhodey were trying to fix the power somewhere around the tower.

that's when you panicked to look around for bucky, eyes darting around the living room.

"right here, sweetheart." he chuckles.

you turn too see that you were definitely straddling him as you had been when he picked you up.

your lips quirk up trying not to laugh at yourself. instead you slump back against him, hiding your face in his neck.

"embarrassing." you mumble.

"it was cute." you can practically hear him smiling.

"you think so?" you tease, bringing your face up just a few inches from his.

his face flushes and you smile.

"sure know how to shut me up." he whispers not to bother the others. "be mine."

it was unexpected, although it's the only thing that's been on both of your minds for awhile.

"sure know how to shut me up." you whisper back with reddened cheeks.

he nudges your face up with his pointer finger, his face even closer than before.

his eyes dart from yours to your lips.

"say the word and I'll stop."

his hand doesn't leave your chin, but instead slides to the nape of your neck to draw you closer until you feel his lips on yours.

your lips move together like puzzle pieces and it's something you two have been waiting for and dreaming about for eternity it felt like.

you pull away despite you both not wanting to, either way you two are still around the rest and it cannot get further than that.

your foreheads rest together, both regaining the breaths you lost.

"please be mine." he whispers just so you could hear.

you lay back against him to fall back asleep.

"I'm yours." you whisper back.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes

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redr0sewrites · 6 months

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SITTING ON ADAMS FACE HC’S? God I’m telling you that man eats pussy like it’s his last meal, HES GOOD AND HE KNOWS IT.

YESSSSS ANON UR LITERALLY ME I JUST KNOW HE EATS GOOD, TRUST

🥀Cw: smut, oral sex (reader recieving), facesitting, afab!reader

🥀minors dni

there is no way that adam has not tried every position under the sun, and he has absolutely tried facesitting before. there is not a doubt in my mind that this man eats puss good, and he would fucking LOVE the opportunity to have you sit on his face

absolutely brags about his oral skills to the point where you almost don't believe he's as good as he claims. so, of course, you tell adam to prove it. to your shock, its adam who offers for you to sit on his face

adam is a strong man, he wants you to SIT on your throne. he wants all of your weight on him, no matter your size he can take it. he has a firm hold on your thighs, he genuinely wants to be smothered by your aching cunt as he eats you out

i def hc that adam eats pussy very sloppily- not in the sense that it doesn't feel good, no, but in the sense that it feels too good. he wants you to squirt, by the end of the night he needs you to be whimpering as he wears your thighs like earmuffs

not even joking it's actually almost disgustingly hot how messy he is when he eats you out. cum will be covering his entire face and lips, he's actually so addicted to eating you out its insane and he loooves your taste. he doesn't need to breathe, he just needs to keep fucking you silly and holding you down against his face as his tongue works wonders against your aching clit

adam definitely gets hard from eating you out and has came untouched before while your sitting on his face. in his defense, you're just too undeniable to resist! honestly though, its the hottest thing in the world to watch his hips jerk upwards, humping up against nothing as he groans beneath you, absolutely drunk of your pussy

he adores 69'ing as well, the added stimulation of you sucking his cock while he eats you out? fuck, he's reached heaven again and absolutely cums in your mouth or sprays over your chest

his moans send vibrations against your cunt and only makes the entire situation 10x more pleasurable for you

honestly facesitting pretty much becomes a typical part of u and adams foreplay

"c'mon babes, i want ya t' sit," adam murmured, his large hands gripping into the soft flesh of your thigh. "none 'f that hovering shit, i can take ya," his hot breath fanned over your aching cunt as your knuckles gripped the headboard. "are you sure?" you ask shakily, his thumb running soothing circles on your thigh as you clit pulses with need. fuck, you wanted to just sit, but what if you hurt him? what if you were too heavy?

"course im sure," adam rasps, licking a stripe through your folds. "fuuuck baby, y'need to sit on my face, or i'm gonna pull you down myself." your face flushes at his warning, and you slowly lower yourself until your perched on his face. his tongue circles your clit, sucking and slurping with noises so lewd that your head begins to spin. it wasn't just the embarrassment of the entire situation that made your head fuzzy, no, it was the mind blowing pleasure you were receiving from adams skilled tongue.

a sudden jerk of adams' hips below you makes you shiver, and you realize he's grinding up into thin air. his cock is already hard, and a low groan vibrates against your cunt. adam does something especially sinful with his tongue and you let out a wanton moan, thighs shaking with pleasure. "c'mon hon, give it t'me" adam groans, his voice muffled by your needy cunt. your juices spill over his face, and precum pearls at the tip of his cock. his tongue swirls around your aching pearl before traveling back down to your slit, paying special attention to your folds and making you whimper.

your hips rock against his face as you start to chase your own orgasm. one of your hands travels down to grab a fistful of his hair, his firm hands assisting you in grinding against his face. the tip of his nose keeps brushing against your pulsing clit, and you can feel yourself reaching the edge. adam lets out a moan, and with one last roll of your hips, your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. adam helps you ride out your high as your cum spurts, coating his face. he doesn't hesitate to swallow it all as he milks you dry, you entire body shaking from the mind blowing orgasm.

"did you just squirt?" adam smirks, gasping for breath as you pull away to lay down beside him. "did you just come? i didn't even touch you~" you retort, your voice falsely sweet. adam scowls, and you giggle, moving to straddle him again. you grind your cunt against his aching cock, and he lets out a strained groan. "you up for round two, or has the original dick already given up?" large hands come to rest on your waist and adam smirks up at you with his usual gloating nature. "im just getting started sugar tits~"

this is not the fic that got deleted (that fic is some vox hcs im currently rewriting) but this is just some fun hcs ab one of my favs to make me feel better after the literal hell that was today 😭😭😭 anyways yall hope u enjoyed!!!! i actually need to write more for adam, especially smut this is not a drill.

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bruhnze · 2 months

Text

Feeling 22 - Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Written for this ask and this ask xx. Didn't know if you wanted a smutty story but i just took the liberty to fill in you did, bcs in my polls its always about a 70-80% that does :). (for future asks u guys should totally specify, bcs i'll just do whatever haha).

Warning: 18+ smut, minors dni.

Summary: Lucy shows up at the match with Ona's 2 on her and tells Ona she'll have the same number for club as her aswell. Ona is sleepy but demands Lucy to come to her hotel, as she can't sleep knowing Lucy could be in her arms. Sleepy Ona x sleepy Lucy.

Wordcount: a small one: 1,8k

New title: Feeling 22

Lucy had been able to get a shirt to wear for her girlfriends Olympic game through Ona's manager.

Ona had known she would come but Lucy had asked the manager not to tell her she would be wearing her shirt to the match, that would be a surprise.

The match against Japan had ended well, with a 2-1 win, and Lucy couldn't wait to congratulate Ona.

After Ona had showered she walked back into the stadium, she looked for Lucy and saw her talking to a family member of another player, Carmona.

She was standing against a fence and Ona walked over to it.

The person walked away when she saw Olga and she said goodbye to Lucy, but Lucy was no longer really paying attention.

Ona and Lucy only had eyes for each other, Ona pressed herself against her and caught Lucy between the fence and herself.

After a hug -that was far too short for their liking-, they looked at each other.

"Hey, bub," Lucy said softly as she turned the pendant of Ona's necklace, which she had given her, right,''congrats on your win''.

"You are wearing my shirt!" Ona giggled happily as she grabbed the fabric.

''of course, you're a WAG or you're not'' Lucy said shrugging ''i do everything with a 100 percent effort''.

''i love you'' Ona sighed.

Lucy smiled ''i love you too''.

Ona traced the two on the shirt and smiled at Lucy ''i love you two'' she joked as she poked Lucy's stomach.

''i have some more fun news'' Lucy said laughing.

''yes?''

''For club im also taking the same number as you, it just got confirmed''.

''22?''

''yeah''

''2 and 22'' Ona said to let it sink in and finally said ''cute''.

''you are cute'' Lucy said ''but now you know what awaits you hm''.

''no?''

''i want you in my shirt at a match''.

''i am definitely not going to wear a Chelsea shirt and i have matches to play myself'' Ona giggled teasingly.

Lucy grinned ''hmm, we'll see, maybe an opportunity will present itself''.

Ona pushed herself a bit closer to Lucy and said happily ''then of course i will grab it with both hands''.

After the formalities in the team hotel, such as recovery and eating, and Ona was supposed to be in bed sleeping, she texted Lucy, even though she wasn't supposed to leave the hotel or invite Lucy to come to hers, she couldn't help but want to hold Lucy, especially now that she knew Lucy was literally a street away in a hotel.

They were supposed to see each other again that next morning, when Ona had a moment of free time to explore Nantes, but she couldn't wait.

Lucy had been reluctant and had called Ona after she'd read the texts and told her to rest, ''playing a game every 3 days takes a toll on your body, especially for a player like you, who plays every game and especially as you're going to win so you've got a lot of games to play'' Lucy had said.

“I know sleep is important Luce,” Ona had whined, “but I can't sleep without you when I know there's only a street between us.”

Lucy thought about it ''Just sleeping?'' she had asked in a stern voice.

''Yes I promise Luce'' Ona said sincerely ''if you are here I will sleep in 2 minutes''.

Lucy sighed, knowing she literally was not capable of saying no to her little Catalan ''mkay, I will be there in 10 minutes''.

As a soft knock sounded on Ona's hotel door, she shot out of bed and opened the door.

''Hi princess'' Lucy said softly.

''Has anyone seen you?'' Ona asked as she closed the door behind her friend.

''No'' Lucy said giggling ''everyone is sleeping, something you should do too''.

Ona hugged Lucy ''yes we are going to sleep, but first un beso, I haven't kissed you in so long''.

''You are incorrigible, I said, only sleeping'' Lucy said rolling her eyes.

''I said it would take 2 minutes for me to go to sleep, 2 minutes to kiss you'' she looked up at Lucy ''you are wasting my kiss time with stupid talking''.

Lucy wanted to kiss her just as much and quickly took off her clothes until she was in her underwear and got into bed ''come let's kiss here so you can leave your eyes closed and let your legs rest''.

She laughed as Ona climbed into bed to her left yawning, "aw you're so tired baby, c'm here."

Lucy herself was also very tired, between all the hustle and bustle of the end of the season and the signing at her new club and other things she had to arrange for England, she had arranged to be able to come to Ona's match. It was very important to her and she was happy that it had all worked out.

Facing each other they layed in bed, Lucy smiled tiredly and stroked Ona's cheek with her thumb ''you are so beautiful, I missed you''.

Ona leaned towards her ''still talking?'' she sighed laughing against Lucy's lips.

Lucy was quiet and kissed her lover back.

Both content with feeling of each other's soft lips again, after not having seen each other for a while, they relaxed.

Soft kisses were shared and hands caressed the places they had longed for.

When Lucy noticed that Ona was -waking up- a bit more she gently pushed her onto her back and broke the kiss ''you're tired''.

Ona groaned in dissatisfaction ''we still have a minute left''.

Lucy leaned over Ona ''no way, we're already overdue''.

The short Catalan pouted ''i won the match''.

''the match you played all the way through'' Lucy said tiredly ''you need to rest''.

''Okay, I'll stay laying down like this and you kiss me'' Ona said stubbornly and determined ''or do you think I don't deserve it?'' she said with puppy-dog eyes.

''argghh'' Lucy sighed ''you know I can't deny you anything, I just want you to recover well baby''.

Ona smiled and reached her hand up to guide Lucy's face back to hers ''being loved is a scientifically proven recovery''.

''No it's not'' Lucy chuckled as she pressed some kisses to Ona's face.

''You don't know that''.

''Is it?''. Lucy chuckled against Ona.

''Could be''. Ona groaned as Lucy kissed her neck.

Lucy pulled back and made herself comfortable on her side next to Ona, one arm under Ona's neck and one draped over her. After lazily placing a few more kisses on the bare skin of the woman who was only in her panties, unlike herself who was also wearing a sports bra, she whispered "goodnight bonita".

Ona snuggled further into her but couldn't ignore the way her skin tingled under Lucy's hand on her hip, she may have been tired but now that she could feel and smell Lucy, a fire had been lit inside her, a small fire perhaps, but heat was definitely there.

Just as Ona was about to do something, Lucy shifted and crossed her leg over one of hers and moved her hand from Ona's hip to her lower ribs, gently stroking the skin with her thumb.

A tiny groan escaped Lucy's throat when Ona intertwined her fingers with hers and brought her hand up to her chest.

"Ona," Lucy sighed sternly, even though her fingers found their way to Ona's nipple.

Ona turned her head so she could kiss Lucy into silence.

Never before had they made out with so little effort like this, but they were both very sleepy.

Lucy couldn't contain her urge to feel Ona on her fingers as Ona gently rocked back and forth against her leg.

Her hand travelled south between their bodies and Ona broke their slow kiss to lean her forhead against Lucy's.

Fingertips caressed the edge of the piece of cloth covering Ona and when she laid back on the bed on her back with her eyes closed, Lucy reached inside.

Lucy's two fingers were welcomed by a warm wetness, making her lips curl up into a lazy grin.

Ona mumbled Lucy's name quietly as the English defender gently shifted for a better reach.

The Catalans body melted into the mattress with Lucy's undemanding touches.

Sluggishly she traced her fingers up and down Ona's centre, coating them in her slick.

The shorter woman sighed a dull moan as she tried to tell Lucy what she needed.

''shh i got you'' Lucy whispered ''my sleepy girl'' and slowly pushed two digits passed Ona's entrance.

Lucy littered her with languorous kisses and soft praises as her plodding fingers kept working Ona.

As Ona's breathing became deeper she pulled Lucy closer for a peck on her lips, the soft kiss turned into a lazy and slow make-out again.

Ona stopped kissing and her breath caught in her throat as she felt Lucy gently stimulate her with her thumb.

Lucy grinned tiredly and continued as she buried her face in the Catalans neck.

The smaller woman closed her eyes again as her walls started clenching around Lucy's thick fingers "me voy .. " she cried out quietly ''a c-correr Luce''. (im gonna cum)

Lucy grunted as she kept her pace ''come for me baby'' she kissed her ''just let it go'' she purred as she felt Ona tense.

The Catalans hands found their way in to the sheets and she held on for the release she felt coming.

With a faint moan Ona came, the ball of sensation in her lower stomach exploded and the pleasant, familiar sensation travelled through her whole body, making her toes curl.

After Lucy had helped her through her high she slowly opened her eyes again.

Lucy smiled as she looked at her girlfriends face and saw her dazed expression, the flushed cheeks, the slightly parted and puffy lips and drowsy eyes, ''my perfect girl'' she cooed.

Ona didn't respond, the release had launched her into the clouds, she was sleepy and felt like she was floating. Her last energy had been used up by the orgasm.

With a few more soft kisses, Lucy got out of bed to clean Ona up and put a new pair of panties on her.

When that was all done she layed back in bed and pulled Ona against her in a spooning position.

''i love you'' she mumbled against Ona's bare shoulders ''sleep well''.

''mhmm'' Ona sighed happily ''i will''.

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the end, but not theirs :)

lemme know what u think about this one if you like :)

#woso smut #lucy bronze smut #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze x ona batlle #woso #woso imagine #ona batlle smut #ona batlle

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dreamofjoys · 1 year

Text

— CHARGES

Synopsis: The Chief Justice of Fontaine would like to press charges against you for making him break his own principles

C/W: afab, smut, 4.0 archon quest spoilers, public sex, unprotected sex, spanking, you call him your honour, begging, he calls you doll, fingering

A/N: I told myself not to write genshin fics but this man just took my whole breath away

"Do you know why you are here?" Neuvillette's mint breath fan over your ear, hips bucking up to push his lengthy girth back into your hole. "N-no, your honour." You couldn't stop the string of wanton moans that fell out of your lips as Neuvillette fucks you roughly, folding you into half just to get better access to your pussy. You nearly screamed when his dick hits on a spongy soft spot in your pussy that has you seeing stars.

Sensing that it was your weak spot, the chief judge continues to abuse that spot, punctuating each thrust in a slow yet hard manner. "I am pressing charges against you," the judge finally speaks, flipping you onto your back with his dick still rock hard inside you. "for making me break my own principles." You yelped when you felt a sharp vertical pain on your butt. Looking back at Neuvillette with teary eyes, you realised that he was spanking you with the cane that he carries around whenever he holds trials to establish order.

"Neuvi, it hurts." A tear fell from your eye as your butt burns in pain. Neuvillette's heart swooned when he hears the nickname. "Oh, but does this hurt?" you moaned when his dick moves again to kiss your cervix. "I-I like this one more, Neuvi. Pl-please don't hit me with that." You tried your very best to give a pitiful puppy dog eye, even pushing your lower lips out to look more pitiful. However, such mere tricks does not work on the judge who has been delivering sentence on a daily basis, especially if it's one that is of high status.

"Doll, didn't you hear what I say just now?" One of his hand reaches down to rub circles on your clit, playing with the bundles of nerves like a fidget toy. "I am going to press charge against you. Reason being? You made me break my own principles." His slim yet long fingers join his member in to stretch your pussy hole, making you moan in delight at the feeling of being stuffed full. You move your hips up and down, bouncing on his cock and fingers to chase your high.

Neuvillette could feel his usually composed aura falling down. He grabs you by your breast, lifting you up so that your back is finally pressed against his front.

"I am not like this," His dick now drills into your hole at an immensed speed while both of his hands has switched to fondle your breast. "We are in the High Court of Fontaine, where trials are held everyday. And yet here I am, ruining you on the very own chair that I sit to deliver those trials." You didn't care what he was saying, choosing to bounce on his dick like a slut, chasing after the high.

"Look at the scale, it's tipping towards my favour." Neuvillette grabs you by the chin to look at the large scale, the main source of power for delivering the final verdicts in all trials at Fontaine. "It's all because of you, that I have desires to take you on my seat, " you suck onto the fingers that Neuvillette had inserted into your mouth. " It's all because of you, that I am fucking you in this empty court," You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, your gonna-

"It's all because I like you, that's why Im losing my composure everyday. The desire to claim you is greater than the desire to act like the proper Chief Judge."

You let out the sinnest mewl when the knot releases, milking the judge's coat like a waterfall. It wasn't long before you feel warm ropes of cum painting your walls, filling your womb with his seeds.

"You are definitely guilty, Y/N."

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader smut #smut #fontaine #neuvillette #genshin fontaine #dreamofjoysgenshin

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dumbseee · 1 year

Text

bro code. pt3.

part 1. part 2.

carlos sainz jr x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

note: sorry for the mistakes this might have, english isn’t my first language and this is the longest fic i’ve ever written :) btw this will be the last part.

liked by landonorris, y/n, charles_leclerc and 1 589 008 others.

carlossainz55: happy birthday to the person who owns my heart. you helped me experience true love, and for that i’ll forever be grateful. your heart is pure and you always want the best for people, i love every little detail about you, like the way you always count to three before jumping into the pool because you were afraid of it when you were younger, or the way you always kiss my forehead before every race because you say it’s my lucky charm. you are my lucky charm, mi cielito. i love you so much y/n, thank you for giving me the chance to show you how you deserved to be loved.

y/n: how dare you making me cry on my birthday carlos sainz :( i love you more <3

carlossainz55: @.y/n not possible, i’m bigger than you so i can hold more love for you.

fan1: I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

fan2: WHEN IS IT MY DAMN TURN

fan3: god it’s me again…

fan4: im going to kms in front of them to change the trajectory of their lives istg

fan5: GOOOOOOSH CARLOS IS ABISDODLLD

landonorris: damn sainz, even i am tearing up

fan6: just get married already

fan7: after n*ymar, y/n deserved a man like that

liked by marquinhosm5, carolcabrino, neymarpai_ and 3 788 082 others.

neymarjr: my heart is empty without you, you’ve blocked me so i can’t wish you a happy birthday privately but please y/n come back to me. you succeeded, that stunt you pulled with that random driver hurt me, you can stop now. i know that you miss me and want to comeback so please y/n be reasonable. i made a huge mistake and i’ll never forgive myself for what i did to us.

comments have been restricted.

your day went terribly, it was your birthday and you were excited for it but your day was completely ruined with neymar’s post. because of course, you saw it the second he posted it. your agent called you, panicked and told you to avoid social media, but it was too late. you were home when you saw it and had a huge panic attack. you didn’t tell carlos and you prayed that he didn’t see the post which was very unlikely since neymar mentioned him. you were more mad at the fact that he disrespected carlos because he didn’t deserve it. even if your relationship was fake to the world, carlos was nothing but a sweetheart to you. you even hoped that the moments you shared with him were true.

carlos texted you to come at his house to have a small party with some friends but you almost had a heart attack when you entered the house and saw all those people screaming "happy birthday!" filming you to have your reaction. carlos had a very different definition of « small party ». you saw him walk towards you with a huge smile, he was breathtaking, wearing nude pants and a blue shirt, letting the top buttons open, showing a bit of his torso. you were completely mesmerised by him, that was the effect carlos had on you.

"surprise cielito." he said after kissing your cheek, he wrapped his arm around your waist and gave you a hug. you melted in his touch and smiled at him. "you didn’t need to do all that, carlos." you said. "nonsense, it’s your birthday after all." you smiled at him and kissed his cheek before some friends of yours came to greet you and wish you a happy birthday. carlos’ purpose was to make your birthday special, especially with what happened earlier with your ex. he knew how this whole situation affected you deeply, even if you tried to hide it from him, carlos saw right through you. he could tell if you were upset just by looking at your face.

"umm, carlos?" lando’s voice took him out of his thoughts, he looked at his friend but frowned when he saw the look on his face. "look who showed up." lando whispered as if the whole room didn’t see who came uninvited. you gotta be kidding me. carlos turned around to see where you were and his heart tightened when he saw the look on your face, pure sadness. anger took over him immediately, that son of a bitch made you sad on your special day. carlos wasn’t going to let that slide. the spaniard quickly made his way to neymar who was asking people about where you were. the driver roughly turned the brazilian around so he could face him. neymar was about to say something to the person who just interrupted him but he only rolled his eyes when he saw carlos.

"what do you want sainz? where is my girl?" he asked, looking over carlos’ shoulder. neymar looked very drunk. carlos could feel anger buildup inside of him. how dare he? "you’re in my house so, i’ll ask you once and once only, leave before i make you leave." carlos said through gritted teeth. neymar scoffed before taking a step closer to the spaniard, being almost forehead against forehead. "are you threatening me, hijo da puta?" carlos was about to respond when charles and lando quickly appeared to separate the two of them. "okay, it’s enough now boys." charles said trying to lighten the mood. "move! i’m not done with him!" neymar pushed charles away which made carlos even more mad. "listen here, little boy. first you steal my woman and then you disrespect me in front of all these people. you think i’ll let that slide, coño?" the brazilian added while pushing carlos with his finger. at this point there was nothing charles or lando could do to stop them. "let me clarify one thing, junior, she was never yours to begin with. and trust that now that she has tasted true love, she’s never leaving." carlos said with a smile, which made neymar go crazy. the footballer grabbed carlos’ collar. "you made her cry for weeks, you destroyed her completely, and now you dare to show your face and claiming her as your woman? how dare you call yourself a man and make the woman you’re supposed to love and cherish, cry?" the spaniard said before getting closer to neymar’s ear. "if you dare to even whisper her name in your sleep, i’ll come for you, neymar da silva santos junior."

neymar finally let go of carlos before leaving quickly. the driver was now concerned about where you were hiding. as he was looking at the crowd of people, who were still talking about what just happened, lando approached his friend. "she’s with luisa and charlotte, they’re on the balcony." carlos nodded before patting his friend’s shoulder as a thank you. he quickly made it to his balcony where the girls were talking, luisa noticed him and patted charlotte’s shoulder to tell her that they needed to go. carlos sent them a thankful smile before walking towards you. your back was facing him and you were too lost in your thoughts to even notice his presence. he gently hugged you from behind which made you jump before you recognised his fragrance. "carlos." you simply said. "yes, cielito, are you okay?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder. you sighed before looking up at the moon, shining on the both of you. "i guess? is he gone?" you asked with a small voice, feeling the tears threatening to fall again. "yes, for real this time." you frowned before turning around to face carlos.

you were still extremely close as his hands were on your waist and your hands on his chest. he looked ethereal under the moonlight. "carlos, what am i to you?" you finally asked the question you were scared to even ask yourself. carlos smiled before moving his face closer to you. "you’re the love of my life." and then he kissed your lips. he kissed you like you’ve always dreamed to be kissed. with love, respect and passion. carlos was the first one to break the kiss, he looked at you and replaced a wild strand of hair behind your ear. "none of this was fake to me, every word, every attention, everything was real to me."

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, charlottesiine and 1 789 007 others.

y/n: thank you everyone for all the birthdays wishes! and thanks to my amazing boyfriend for throwing this party for me. i love you to the moon and back, handsome and i thank god everyday for giving me the chance to be your girlfriend.

comments have been disabled.

taglist: @mjaudrey @champomiel @lorarri @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ndunad @shrimpyshrimp @gaviypedrisbride @little-angel-07 @ironmaiden1313 @leclerc16s @xjval @elijahslover @hearts4esmee @love4lando

thanks for the support 🤍🥹

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nouvxllev · 7 months

Text

how would you spend your valentines?

Pairing: J.O Characters x Fem!Reader

Summary: in which jo characters spend valentines with you

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: just fluff honestly

a/n: holy shit febs ending and im only posting this now. mb yall!!

masterlist

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horrid day

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.0k

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"Thing."

A loud thud was made from across the appendages cabinet, accompanied by a more louder door-slam and the menacing steps of combat boots that's probably worn from someone who looks too big for them came after.

Light appeared from his sight and it'd be much better if he died suffocated inside this damn cabinet rather than being forced to look at something, someone rather, being the next satan in line.

Wednesday stared at the hand, her grip on the knob tight as she watched Thing lie flat on the wooden surface, looking like he just got stabbed with something invisible.

"Accompany me to this ludicrous trip I have no idea why I planned for myself." Her tone was calm but it seemed like she was about to subtract one of his digits if he didn't comply.

'Why should I--'

The phrase 'seeing life flash before my eyes' would be an understatement for Thing when he was met with possibly the sharpest blade on earth crossing one of his thumbs.

"Thing you will accompany me or I swear to deities, I will force you to crawl to the depths of hell and its rings back and forth until you've reach exhaustion and blisters on your skin."

Her voice cut through his confidence, her blade almost puncturing a hole.

So slowly, he nodded. If he even can. He just nodded with his palm up straight and his fingers curled.

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And that's how Wednesday ended up on the busiest day on the street of Jericho, a hand not attached to her arm but walking on the damn sidewalk with a damn leash and a damned thought in her head.

If only it didn't seem like it was the day of giving every flower and chocolate someone could ever possibly find in a 10-mile vicinity of this horrid town then give it to you as some gift or whatever you called it, maybe she wouldn't be roughhoused more times than she could count by too many people on too many stores.

Wednesday scowled at everyone, even more at the couples who strolled in hand in hand, her fingers firmly gripping the leash that was attached to Thing.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath, shooting an irritated glance at Thing, who looked like he was trampled and being trampled to death. "Why did I even decide to follow through with this."

'Because you saw y/n holding a bunch of bouquets and you wanted to out-do everyone who ever gave her a flower because of some reason you don't know but it gives you a weird tingling sensation in your head to the point you want to be ranked first on the lists of serial killers,' Thing signed.

Wednesday kept walking, tugging at the leash. "Nonsense." She whispered to herself. Her voice softened a little bit, more vulnerable even as she looked forward. It didn't matter, nor did she care whether you got flowers, even the most extravagant ones didn't bother her. It didn't. It definitely did not.

But why did she even go here if it didn't?

"I am not trying to out-do anyone. I simply… want to make a statement." She stopped, her steps coming to a close while Thing raised what passed for eyebrows in his form.

Every shop inventory was sold out, even the shops that sold the flowers at an extremely high rate it'd be better if you bought a house at that point and crowds seem to lessen by the time Wednesday reached the last flower shop.

She could get chocolates, but why give you more chances of dying of diabetes?

'Wednesday, you know what you have to do.'

"Thing, please, do not." The grip on the leash explicitly tightened, almost as if she was going to rip the entire thing apart. She was standing strong with her shoulders still, but her mind was only one sign away to break down.

'You have to crochet a bouquet for y/n.'

She bent down and grabbed Thing by his wrists, clutching his body like it was the last thing on earth that was going to make her problems of a slight romantic gesture go away, her perfectly manicured nails digging onto his skin.

"I will find the nearest laboratory and pray to God there's an abundance of Promethium to douse you into," Wednesday hissed between clenched teeth. The tips of her fingers turned white as she paced back and forth, keeping Thing within sight, his body slumping from the lack of oxygen.

Thing repeatedly tapped on her thumb, his own nails scratching Wednesday's skin as a plead for mercy, his complexion turning white under Wednesday's firm grip. 'I'll help you! I'll help you,' he tapped, desperately.

Thing bounced to the floor after a suffocating release, extending his fingers out, noticing the young Addams' nails leaving faint imprints on his skin, even little cuts starting to form around them.

"Fine. I'll..." she stammered, her words drawing out as if she was disgusted by the mere thought and weighed down by hesitation, "I'll crochet a bouquet for y/n."

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You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you opened your locker to see probably a hundred polaroids of you drop to the floor and a hand-written letter laying flat on the surface with dried flowers.

It was safe to conclude that you were either, a, being stalked or, b, someone was planning your death and this was just a cute little 'one day notice' from the murderer.

But you knew it was from Wednesday. No sane person that wasn't an Addams wont write their letters so terrifyingly romantic and then send it in blood with their favorite flower species being black dahlia and probably a hex written to curse all your past and future generations if you don't comply.

You can handle a fuck ton of flowers to save a closing flower shop and a shit ton of chocolates to outdo Willy Wonka's own chocolate factory, but you definitely can not handle a possible fight between Wednesday Addams.

And that's why you're here now, at Wednesday's doorstep, your hand trembling against the doorknob, and your feet ready to bolt out of Nevermore and probably book a flight to whatever country you needed to escape her wrath.

"Wednesday, look, I don't know what I did to you or your family but I'm really so so so sorry!" You rambled, eyes closed as your voice trembled, turning the door just slightly until it fully opened.

The creak of the door echoed throughout the room and your mind, like it was playing tricks with you or something to amp up your fear.

You opened your eyes to find not a thousand knives surrounding you and a bomb threat immediately attached to a chair but rather Wednesday standing there with something wrapped around her fingers. Her expression was unreadable unlike the many times it wasn't to you.

"What are you apologizing for?" she finally spoke, her voice monotone as she walked up to you. She looked... almost nervous? You didn't know if it was a ruse or she was actually nervous.

"I... I don't know exactly," you stammered, "I just thought, you know, I might've done something to upset you, and I really didn't mean to."

Wednesday's eyebrows arched slightly, a crease forming in her forehead.

"Okay, look, if someone writes 'meet me where satan sits or I will cover your flesh in slits' in, what seems to be, their blood I can't really help it but apologize and be so damn terrified you know?!'"

Wednesday's expression softened slightly at your explanation, "Ah, yes, I can see how that might be… alarming to most people like you."

She held out what she had been clutching in her fingers, a crocheted small bouquet of flowers all tied together by a ribbon "I do sincerely apologize for the… slightly murderous approach." Wednesday Addams, apologizing? "I intended it a like to a gesture of affection people seem to be giving out these days, though I may have overdone it."

What is happening to the world?

You blinked. Blinked more than a hundred of times now ever since you entered the room. You were unsure if you were dreaming or Wednesday Addams was actually showing the tiniest bit of softness towards you. On valentines.

Mouth hung open, you took the bouquet from her hands, your skin grazing hers as she lowered her arms back to her sides. You knew Wednesday wouldn't be the one to crochet, let alone to any of this, but there was so much detail and effort put into the bouquet, it's hard to believe she did it all alone.

"Thank… thank you, Wends!" You smiled, beaming even, "kinda unexpected of you." You turned the bouquet over in your hands, examining every thread, "didn't know you were joining in this Valentines."

This would be fine. Just fine. Just two friends greeting eachother on Valentines, and giving flowers to them.

If you didn't have the biggest crush on Wednesday Addams yet.

You couldn't contain the grin that spread across your face till you actually looked at the bouquet in your hands, gripping it with such excitement. It was real. This moment was real, and you weren't stuck in a daydream you're having in class. This was actually happening.

"Why'd you do all of this?"

You looked at Wednesday who seemed to have her own confused expression, as if you caught her off guard.

"I don't... I don't know."

Maybe you'd take a risk after all this valentines.

You took a step forward, letting the bouquet drop to the ground where Thing was standing the whole time, assuming a companion of some sorts for Wednesday.

"Do you allow me to touch you?"

She nodded, you inched a little closer.

"Allow me to hold you?"

She nodded, her eyes furrowing and her body almost hesitating, you hold her as if she was something fragile given to you.

"Allow me to talk to you as such?"

She nodded, you whispered to her. Your tone was soft, yet it was filled with hesitation and fear of being pushed away.

"Allow me to hold your hand?"

She nodded, you reached out for her hand, intertwining your fingers with her own as if it was your own soul you were protecting from ivy.

"Allow me to say something I never think I'd say?"

She nodded, you tightened your grip on her, letting your thumb graze over her cold skin in contrast of your warmth.

"Allow me to love you so, so, dearly?"

She nodded, slowly. It wasn't a question, it was something more than that. An oath.

"And for you to love me back?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible if the both of you weren't so close enough already.

With your trembling hands holding Wednesday's palm, you cupped her face gently.

You allowed your eyes to cross every feature she had, your fingertips memorizing every contour of her face, allow them to be recognized to only you who seemed invested and let the world overlook her beauty, her soul through her dark eyes. As if you were seeing true beauty for the first time.

"May I?"

She was hesitating, she is hesitating. And, fuck, do you want to curse yourself for that.

"It doesn't have to be a kiss on the lips, Wednesday," you murmured softly, letting your words carry out with your actions, "We can take it slow at your pace. Whatever you're comfortable with, I'll do it."

You expected her to pull away, to maintain her usual stoic expression and distance. Yet, she didn't.

She leaned into your touch, her head finding a comfortable spot on your neck. Letting her eyes close, her breath going to your ears like a soft melody on a guitar, your worries slowly going away.

You stood there, holding Wednesday in an embrace you sure you wouldn't let go even if there was a force stretching you apart. Her heartbeat against yours, her arms slowly reciprocating the tightening grip you had on her, the faint smile that slowly graced her ever cold lips, it was nothing yet it was everything.

"I tolerate you." She muttered, her voice mumbled by your shirt yet somehow you heard everything.

A gentle chuckle escaped your lips, your other hand going above her head as you ran your fingers through her hair, "I tolerate you too, Wednesday."

It truly was a horrid day.

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cupid sucks so why not do the job for them?

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.0k

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You hear a door swing open, then a earsplitting slam echoed throughout the whole apartment, hell it even drowned the scream of some horror movie you were watching. Sounds of grumbling and loud stomping made it's way to you, an eerie aura you felt behind your back.

It's concerning how you almost immediately know it's Tara Carpenter.

"Welcome back I guess?" you greeted, a crease in your eyebrows as you turned to look at her, her back being the only thing you see. The potato chips you were about to eat stuck in the air for a moment of time.

The hell is that?

"Looks like cupid shot the wrong person," you chuckled, leaping over the couch to tug at a small arrow lodged behind her, a pop being heard as it came loose. "Why do you have this in your back?"

You hear Tara groan for the millionth time ever since she darkened her own doorstep, "Stupid fucks trying to get me into valentines when I'm clearly stressed about exams!" She turned around, snatching the arrow from your hands and snapping it in half without hesitation.

You flinched, "Aren't your exams not until March?" You jumped back into the couch, the soft cushion dipping as you laid down, your head turning back to the horror movie.

"Ugh, Tara, just tell her the truth," Mindy approached both of you from the kitchen, making her way to the you. "Have a little mercy and don't subject y/n to your lame excuses." She crossed her arms.

"What truth?" You sat up almost immediately, your head snapping to look at Tara with horrified eyes. "Is there something you've been keeping from me, Tara!? I thought we were best friends!" you shrieked.

Tara rolled her eyes, reaching out for your forehead and tipping it back down to the couch, "Dramatic."

Mindy excused herself, your legs retracting as you gave her space to sit beside you, "She's a little miserable because of a certain someone not giving her any valentines gift."

"Oh my God."

"You have a crush!?" You screamed. Almost happy, but then again, you were not. Definitely not happy. When the hell did this happen!?

"Please," Tara groaned, her eyes wrinkling as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "don't call it a crush."

"What the hell am I supposed to call it then?"

"Call it someone I admire," she made her way across the couch, her arms gesturing the both of you to move, "A little."

You hear Mindy give out a little scoff and chuckle, "You've been screaming into your pillow for the past four months of crushing on them."

"Why am I only hearing about this now!?" You exclaimed, a little hurt, yes, or it was more than a little hurt–finding out that the not-really-love-of-your-life-but-she-is-kinda is in love with another person was the type of blow on valentines day that made you want to reach up in the sky and strangle cupid.

Tara sighed, "Because I don't want you teasing me, especially you."

"Then how come Mindy gets to know?" you questioned her, your head leaning back against the armchair while your legs were sprawled on Tara's lap. "It's Min-dy, Tara!"

"I bribed her into telling me," Mindy chimed in with a casual shrug.

You have nothing to do with it nor do you have any right to, but you couldn't help it but feel a tinge of jealousy. People have to feel that emotion some times, right? You were only human, and this was just one of those moments where you'd get jealous for a somehow valid thing.

I mean, you were there when Tara healed from all her scars, you were there when she finally really talked with Sam, you were there when she got accepted into her dream college and even threw a celebration, you were there for Tara through thick and thin, and you never missed a birthday or a special event she had ever since you met her.

To sum it up: you were there for everything! How could some guy, who probably didn't even try as hard as you did, get Tara to fall in love with them!?

Your eyes gazed down to the lower corner of the TV, no longer paying attention to Mia Goth's stunning performance. You've watched this movie a hundred of times if not more, it was one of your favorites that Tara introduced to you next to the Babadook, so it was always an opening for conversations with her.

Now you could only imagine Tara and that, whoever it was, sitting on the same damn couch and talking about some stupid damn conversation and you just have to deal with it.

But it was fine. Tara had someone, someone she truly cared about, and that was a good thing. You were fortunate enough to witness her happiness with that person and have them as a constant presence in her life without any danger, that was a plus.

"Who are they anyway?" you grumbled, the words slipping out almost involuntarily before you could catch yourself.

The couch shifted slightly, Tara and Mindy exchanging knowing glances as you eyed both of them.

"Oh my God," you whispered in horror, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach, trying to face the truth even if it was meant to kill you. "Is it Chad!?"

Tara's face contorted into pure disgust, more disgust than ever while Mindy burst into a hearty laughter, "that is one of the most vile and revolting thing you have ever said to me, what the actual fuck y/n!?"

"Oh, you are disgusting!" Mindy laughed, throwing her head back as Tara's constant "ew" and her laugh filled the room.

"So if it isn't Chad, then who is it!?" You exclaimed, a slight smile coming from your lips as you watched them both.

"No way you're serious." Mindy raised an eyebrow, jumping off the couch and walking to her own room in the apartment, "I'll let the two of you figure this out!" She called out before you hear the door slam shut.

The silence was deafening. More deafening than having noise cancelling headphones jammed into your ears 24/7; it can be relaxing but it also can be so damn nerveracking.

You and Tara were always joined at the hip, no matter the situation was, the both of you almost always seemed to know what was a good conversation for the two of you.

Yet nothing good crossed your mind at this moment. By nothing good you mean having Tara namedrop her crush and have your life crashing down before your eyes.

"It.. it doesn't matter who you love or who is that special someone for you." You stammered, your voice cracking just slightly, hoping Tara wouldn't notice. "I'm just happy you have someone you admire and someone thats so lovely you want to be with them forever." Your fists were clenched as you continued, a soft smile graced your lips, sure, but hurt overcame everything.

"So I really want to get to know the sad and poor victim who had cupid hit Tara Carpenter square in the back," you laugh, turning to her.

You were expecting Tara to just go all in and scream in the top of her lungs her own love of her life and that she doesn't like you (optional).

Instead, she shot you with the most confused and offended look ever as if you just cursed her whole family bloodline through the most foulest of witchcraft thats dated wayback the 15th century.

"Who..." she started, her eyebrows creasing and her face twisting as if she was so done with you, "who else could it be but you!?"

what.

what hte fuck?? is she seirlous??? whathwhawthwhatwhatwhatwhatwhattheactualfuckishappening.

It was safe to say that your world froze. The tilt of the earth became an even number, a fraction maybe, the globes gravitational force flipping and rotating, the world spinning yet it stops every few seconds while your brain tries to process what the fuck just came out of Tara's mouth.

"Me?" you echoed, pointing a hand at yourself, your voice barely a whisper at this point, "you're insane... You're actually crazy."

Tara's expression softened slightly as she turned her whole body to you, her legs crossing and her eyes staring dead center right at you. "I don't want to sit here and just pretend I'm fawning over some guy so that you'd be better off not knowing I love you." She explained, "and I don't want to watch you treat me like any other friend you have when all I ever wanted is to be more than that."

Your mind raced, what was she saying? It was valentines, right? It's February the 14th and not April 1st. Sure, you considered the possibility of Tara liking you, but it was just because one of those manifestation videos you kept seeing on your page and you were too delusional for your own good!

"You can't be serious..." You laughed, chuckled even, taking all of this as a joke, "me? You like like me? Of all people, you chose me?"

Tara crossed her arms, letting out an eye roll and a scoff, "Yes, you! Who else could it possibly be but you? Am I talking to you through them, is that what you think?"

You stayed silent, mouth hung open but words just decided that it wasn't a great time to spill out.

"I... I understand if you don't like me the same way," she started after a while, "I just thought it'd be a great idea to confess now rather than any other day so--"

Tara's words trailed off, voice shaky, and you couldn't bear the thought of letting her finish the sentence with her saying something so foolish. Without another word that came out of her mouth, you closed the distance between the both of you and leaned in, capturing her soft with yours.

You never knew how her lips could be so addicting until today.

She responded eagerly after processing for a bit, her hands finding their way to your waist as she pulled your closer while you raised your hands and cupped her cheeks.

You can feel yourself melting within her body. Her breath was warm against your skin sent shivers down your spine, a feeling that made you think you were everything to her as you felt a smile coming loose from her lips.

She tasted like her perfume, her scent, her chapstick, her clothes, her everything. Her lips were soft, welcoming, and lovely. Tara was everything beauty was under if not more.

The kiss was soft but it lasted longer than it should've. Her palm flat on your waist, only bringing you closer and closer, the heartbeat and rush you felt when your bodies were pressed together like glue, the way Tara's hands grabbed you so possessively as if she'd die if she ever looses another second on your lips, it was perfect. She was perfect.

People fall in love with everything, their first love was nature. You were the same with the majority, you fell in love with everything you see. Your first sunset and sunrise, the first butterfly you saw, your friends, even your first crush. Everything you caught with your very own eyes; you fell in love.

Yet, they weren't your first love. Tara was.

And even if you get to see her everyday, her presence gracing your eyes every time you breath, every time you come alive for another day, you always seem to fall in love with her again and again with no fail.

It only made you so obsessed with her soul.

Now, you finally get to kiss your first love on the day of hearts.

When you finally pulled away, you wished you hadn't.

You looked into Tara's eyes and she looked in yours as she brought her hands to her lips, touching it slightly.

"I never knew," she whispered, smiling.

"I never realized," you admitted, your voice equally as soft as hers while a smile reflected hers.

You would admit, Cupid sucks at their own game. So why not do it yourself?

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cheers to a broken heart

Pairing: Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.4k

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"Hhaaaapppyyy V day, bitches!"

Vada shouted across the heart-littered and Valentines-illed cafeteria, tray in her hands as she approached your table.

The 14th of February

The day where couples unfortunately couldn't get scolded by any passing teacher whenever they show any excessive public affection in the school.

Everyone was either singing a song to someone, couples weirdly somehow getting it on without a teacher scolding them, confessing their love to their crush and getting rejected (which was honestly Vada's favorite past time for Valentines), and everyone being in a lovesick haze that'll only last two days, give or take.

Nick dropped his food on his own tray, sprinkling off bread crumbs from his fingers as he looked up at Vada. "It's your birthday?"

"Vagina day?" You chewed on your food with your left cheek, leaving room for coherent sentences, "Seriously, Vada?"

"Okay, first of all," Vada sat down, her tray making a loud metallic slam as she sat in front if you, "you have to catch me on some next level shit to scream happy vagina day out loud." She held up her hand as she turned to it, "And second of all, come on Nick! We've been bestfriends for ages and you don't even know my birthday isn't until maybe a few months"

"If only I could forget, maybe my wallet wouldn't be in total wreck, and I wouldn't have the urge to start printing money."

Vada shot back, adjusting her chair, "Then who else is going to pay for my stuff on my birthday?"

"You?" Nick suggested, eyebrows knitting themselves together.

"Aren't you the joker?" Vada retorted, an innocent smile tugging on her lips while Nick playfully scowled

You only stared a them, giving a few huffs of a laugh here and there, your hand mindlessly toying with your food while your other arm rests on the table, holding up your slanted face.

You couldn't eat, you could only stare at it and maybe push some vegetables around to make it look like you're eating. You couldn't really be in the right mindset to eat, let alone have the energy to strike up a conversation not after what happened just a few hours ago.

"You good?" Vada looked up at you, concern tainting her face and voice as she stopped eating all together, "You don't really look good."

Nick raised his fork, pointing at you, "She broke up with her boyfriend."

"What!?"

It was wrong. Very, very wrong, but Vada couldn't help the smile that was fighting for dear life not to show.

Holy fuck, this was the best valentines gift ever!

Not that she was happy that you just ended an almost a year relationship with your partner that probably loved you dearly, she just... She just thinks she can love you 10 times as harder.

You put down your fork in defeat, covering you face in your hands, "I don't know what to do... It just—" you stammered, words faltering, "It just came out so suddenly when we were talking."

Vada raised an eyebrow, "you just don't break up with someone out of the blue on valentines. Come on, dude." She tried to sound emphatic, but she was covering her smile like the damn good friend she is.

"I know!" you exclaimed, "I know... I don't know." You picked up your fork once again, "I think I'm in love with someone new, maybe that's why I broke up with him."

Maybe she spoke too soon.

"Nick?" She turned to him, slowly, "Can you join me to get some food?"

Nick chewed, side-eying her, "Your tray isn't even half done—"

"Nick." She inhaled a little too hard, gripping his wrist, "For the love of fucking God, please."

Nick winced while nodding vigorously, "Alright, alright! I'm coming, damn." The both of you stood up, pushing back your chairs while Nick gestured for you to wait.

"Okay," Vada stood in line, glancing back at the table, "who do you think y/n is in love with!? I mean, yeah, we shouldn't probably pry, but Nick, you know better than anyone else that I would literally die for me to be her girlfriend and you know damn well how many sleepless nights I've stayed up to pray for her boyfriends downfall!"

Nick crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Are you actually getting food, or are we just—"

"Of course we're not getting food! I'll just get some water, now, answer my question."

"Vada," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I do not know. If I did, I probably would've told you my thoughts at this point. Y/n hasn't shown any interest in anybody."

Vada nodded, her hand resting on her chin as the line moved, "Yeah, I guess theres that. But y/n is so secretive at times!"

Nick sighed, grabbing Vada by the shoulders and excused people out of the way, "V, just ask her or maybe give her time. She's in a state of a break-up right now."

Vada and Nick returned to the table, Vada looking done as ever and Nick returning to eat his food.

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It was either Vada has gone insanely mad or she's just trying to do a friendly gesture by selling out every single flower and chocolate shop that Jericho has established and plans to give them all to you to cheer you up just a slight bit. And maybe let you see she was the one of you after all.

Friendly, maybe not so, but inane is on the mark. She just wants to make you happy!

It was already after class, an hour after to be precise, and she was waiting outside for you, phone in hand as she leaned against her car while a luggage—no—a semi-truck of bouquets and chocolates awaited for you in the back seat.

You exited the building, your own phone in your hand as you looked for Vada's bug-eyed car that she bought with her birthday money that Nick contributed atleast 70% of it, wind caught up in your hair as you finally see Vada in the distance, waving to you like she was just some idiot.

The very sight was a sight for sore eyes, endearing even. Her antics always brought a smile to your face at the end of the day, and her very person bringing unwanted butterflies in your stomach. But you wouldn't admit that. You wouldn't admit that Vada was the reason why you broke up with your boyfriend in the first place.

Vada's smile only widened more as you approached her, the small figure waving to you in the distance. You can practically feel her happiness. "I'm surprise you agreed so fast."

"Thought I needed some time to myself after a horrible breakup," you replied, walking over to the passenger seat right in the front while Vada got into the driver's seat.

"By time to myself do you mean time with the amazing and pretty cool Vada Cavell and her car?" She closed the door behind her, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips as she hooked her legs onto your lap once you were both seated.

You rolled your eyes playfully, letting out a slight scoff, "you're too insufferable for your own good."

Silence overtook her parked car, the outside wind being the only sounds that weren't drowned by the ringing in your ears, but it was the nice type of silence. It was the type of silence that made you feel like you were nothing, a spec of dust even, yet you were having the time of your life with the person you love the most beside you.

Your seat was adjusted to lay back while Vada leaned against the tinted windows with her legs sprawled on top of your lap, probably smoking a joint by the faint smell of weed and ashes filling her car.

You could feel her legs moving, her body sitting up and digging for something in her pockets.

"Vada, you know that I—"

"You don't smoke, yes," Vada's voice, surprisingly low and soft, cut you off. "I get that, I really, really do, and I am all for not breaking your lungs ahead of time." She pulled out a plastic ziplock bag that contained something… a bit more colorful than the regular blunts you'd see.

"…Buuuut," she continued, unlocking the zipper and pulling out the makeshift blunt by her two fingers, "I got you this blunt made up of fruit roll-ups! The inside of it is popping candy. Courtesy of yours truly." She grinned, passing you the candy, "Can't really puff, puff, pass that but it's something you gotta try."

"You're fucking insane, V," you laughed as you shook your head, taking the candy from her hands and putting it against your lips, "it's delicious anyway."

She shrugged, leaning back yet again, "told you so."

It didn't take long for the candy to disappear from your fingers almost immediately, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue, the candy still somehow popping in your ears.

"How do you cut a sandwhich, horizontally or diagonally?" Vada broke the profounding silence, exhaling a puff of smoke as she took the blunt off her lips.

You sat up immediately, a lift in your eyebrows as you looked at her with a concerned grin, "Oh, you are high high."

"Don't overthink it," She sat up, tapping off the ash into the nearby tray beside her floor console, remnants of smoke trailing upwards as she discarded the cig entirely, "Just say whatever comes to your mind."

She intertwined her legs with yours as you both sat up, her arms coming to her knees as she repeated, "Horizontally or diagonally?"

"Horizontally, of course, why would I—"

"Coke or pepsi?"

"Coke."

"Do you pour cereal or milk first?"

"Cereal."

"Why did you break up with your boyfriend?"

"Because I'm in love with you."

"Oh." Shit.

Your eyes widened, if only you were quick to shut your brain and mouth out, or maybe better yet, be both deaf and blind.

It was an understatement to say that panic replaced all your blood cells with the word itself, wishing so damn desperately to take back your words as if it would erase this moment in time and create a new one.

"Oh fuck," you whispered, your other hand ready to completely buck out of her car and sprint to no mans land, or maybe kill yourself. That seemed like the better option out of the others.

"Vada I—" You stammered. The car definitely felt smaller, heavier even. Like it was going to implode within a second. Your lips slightly parted as if you were about to say something, wanted to say something, but nothing came.

"Okay, look—" she gulped, raising her hands, the usual animated gesture while she explained herself.

"I'm… sad? Okay, not sad, that's the truth, you deserve to know it. But!" She exclaimed,, words coming out in a rush, "That's… okay? Not okay for you or for him but it's—" She paused to take a deep breath before continuing, taking your hand with hers, "I finally get to do something I've wanted to do for a very long time without some kind of big consequence."

Vada's fingers traced patterns on the back of your hand, a silent way of asking for permission, a way that made you felt important to the point you almost missed the glint in her soft eyes and a tug on her mouth.

She reached out and gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head a bit, the simple warmth from her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your breath catching in your throat as you looked at her with pure eyes, listening.

"Would it be okay?" She whispered, hesitance evident in her voice, "would it be alright if I…"

Before she could even finish her sentence, you brought your hand up to hers flat on your cheek. With a gentle tug, you pulled her closer with your free arm, the softness of her lips melting against yours as you met them in a gentle kiss.

Both of your hands move over to her shoulders, messaging them slightly as you welcomed Vada's tongue into your mouth, your body tensing almost immediately yet softening when she removed her hands from your face and dragged them down to your waist, pulling you impossibly close to her.

Her lips were gentle, soft, and tender, smiling under yours. She tasted like chapstick mixed with cigarettes, a faint smell of the joint she smoked yet she still smelled so enchanting. You don't know how she does it.

You almost whined when Vada pulled away, familiar eyes staring right back at you. But they looked new. It was filled with love, endearment even, or maybe fondness.

She never looked more beautiful.

It only took a minute of silence before Vada realized what happened. "Are we—are we girlfriends? Well, we just kissed, I mean, I know that, but are we girlfriends girlfriends? I never had a girlfriend before, have you? I mean I guess you did but never a girlfriend. Ohmygod, am I your first girlfriend, holy fuck this really means—"

You laughed before planting a simple kiss on her lips, "Vada, as much as I love your rambling, please don't ruin this moment." You cupped her cheeks, your eyes tracing every single feature she carried.

"Yeah," she nodded, another smile on her mouth, "yeah." She laughed as she shook her head.

"Wait," She stopped you, her hands doing a stop gesture, "but this just technically means that I'm just a rebound? Oh, God, I don't wanna be known as that girl who got with you just hours after you broke up with your boyfriend! What if everyone flames me for it!? Y/n, I love you but wouldn't this ruin your reputation too!? What if they say you cheated on your boyfriend, what if—"

You rolled her eyes and kissed her yet again, "I don't think having a fuck ton of chocolates and flowers stuck inside the backseat of your car and having me in the passenger seat would help your thinking."

"That doesn't really help my situation." She tilted her head, eyebrows creasing.

"I'm saying that we'll keep it hidden, even if you'd be one itch away from telling everyone we're together."

"I wont tell, I promise!" Vada saluted, she always does that. Even before a pinky promise, a salute is always needed.

Not that you didn't feel bad about breaking up with your boyfriend out of the blue, it's just a simple problem that'll lead to a celebration for a broken heart.

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a/n: this was long overdue, sorry i posted it so late!! just seemed like writers block missed me a little bit too much.

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x female reader #vada cavell x you #jenna ortega

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