#i have kept the blood in someone’s head with this man

[aetherrx]

Goo Kim x Reader | The Forgotten

Disclaimer | fem!reader | Angst | Lots of Angst | Death wc|1.2k Note: I did not expect that I'd be gone for so long so sorry lmao. I don't know if this is a come back, but if I have the time to write I will :)

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I'd say 14+ as death and kind of torture...| •─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You weren’t a hateful person. You’d like to think you were the type of person who’d give anybody the benefit of the doubt.

That was the reason you didn’t mind Ria at first. She was smart, headstrong; something Goo’s group of misfits lacked. Even if she hung at his every word, every move. Even when the sparkling look in her eye became something deeper than just simple admiration for a leader.

You would have liked to think the reason Goo kept you around was because of the contrast between your characters. You were silent, but not shy, strong but not boastful. You’d fed into the delusion of him seeing his long-lost friend, Gun, inside of you.

That must have been the reason he’d forgotten about you, the reason she became the apple of his eye. You’d simply become too complacent, too boring. He bored of your attitude, your exciting spark dwindling behind hers, until it’d been completely snuffed out, outshined in its dull glow.

You wouldn’t deny your feelings for Goo, your utmost admiration for the strongest man you knew. You knew you’d be able to support him from the back, from the sidelines, even if he relied more on her strategies, her ideas and her warnings.

Even when it started to hurt, when your days distorted into one blurry glow of nothingness, passing by like a muffled videotape.  Only then, when your days became bleak and rainy, even when the starry sun shone in the sky, did you truly look at yourself.

Your gaunt face, sunken eyes, brittle bones; you were nothing but a corpse, waiting for one final push before you tripped and fell off that sparkly, golden bridge. It was no wonder he couldn’t bare to look at you.

You were no longer perfect, no longer strong.

You were a miserable, conniving beast; rotting from the inside as your organs decayed alongside your worthless heart. You’d be happy to be rid of the useless, betraying organ.

You’d have escaped this predicament if you’d been smarter, stronger. Like Ria.

Though, it seemed she wasn’t very smart after all.

She’d gotten herself caught, before you, nonetheless.

You’d have laughed if you weren’t nailed to the wall by chains. Though, it wasn’t really a wall, no, it was the mesh of a rickety plane, gliding a couple one-hundred feet over the ocean.

Ria wasn’t in any better state, purple and blue bruises marring her prefect skin. Though, you supposed, she didn’t have little chains shoved through the holes in her wrists. You flinched, shoving the thought of the dagger digging between your wrists, the harsh, grisly slide of metal heaving through your insides.

“Quiet, you shit,” one of the males snarled down at Ria, who’d been sobbing uncontrollably on the floor. You’d miscalculated her personality, it seemed. She was a weak bitch. A little punch and she’d started screaming her head off.

You’d barely made a wince when the daggers had pierced your veins, not making a sound as you felt the blood trickle down your palms, your life force along with it.

You could feel your consciousness fading with the lack of blood. Funnily enough, the chains shoved through your wounds were the only things currently stopping you from completely bleeding to death.

“Goo’s here,” one of the goons snickered, clutching his Glock like he would his shrivelled cock, which you’d make sure to rip off before you got out of here.

Unless the blood loss kicked in first.

Only someone like Goo would be able to infiltrate an aircraft hundreds of feet above ground with little detection. We all know he’s not here for you.

Of course he wasn’t here for you. He was here for his Ria, his light, his entertainment. As long as he got you out of the plane, you didn’t care what he did.

This was the final, pivotal moment, you told yourself to get over him. After this, you’d move on from him completely, find your own way in the world. You’d squash those feelings into oblivion and never think of them again.

“You know,” a snarky voice crooned from the side entrance of the plane. “I really hate it when lackeys touch my property.” His lips screwed into that familiar smirk as he looked over the masked men surrounding you and Ria.

That final look, now only a shard of a mirror of memories entwined like the ribbons of fate, was when you knew.

You knew it would come eventually, knowing Goo’s personality.

He glanced at your mauled wrists for barely a moment, no wince, not even pity or anger crossed his gaze. His eyes flickered to Ria’s bruised skin, and that when you knew.

He didn’t just find her entertaining. He loved her. The unemotional, murdering weapons genius was in love with Ria. Not as a fleeting, amusing conquest, he actually loved her.

He never even liked you, don’t be so naïve.

You watched in silence as one of the Goon’s snatched open the hatch of the back of the planes opening. You watched in silence as Goo jumped at Ria, wrapping her protectively in his arms without a second thought, not even throwing you a single glance.

You’d laugh if you had the energy for it, laugh at your heart being your own demise.

Your body scraped across the harsh metal floor, chains clanking against the ground, every nick and crack catching and grating against your wrists’ insides, carving away at the bone. You slid against the suction of air, it’s current pushing you closer and closer to the gaping opening, miles of blue sea expanding as far as your eye’s could see.

You glanced over shoulder, peering as far as your vision enabled. A deep, crooked part of you wished you’d never bothered to look.

In Goo’s strong, warm arms, Ria was wrapped in a safe cocoon, passed out in a heavenly embrace while her very own guardian angel peered over her with adoring eyes. He didn’t shed a single glance towards you, as you slid further and further away from them, shackles scraping like knives on a chalkboard.

Further and further, you slid away from the only man you’d ever… loved.

That man would never love you.

That man would never think of you.

That man would never spare you even a first glance.

And, predictably, you slid over the edge, body flailing about as the wind ruffled and ripped at your hair. Your body spun and spun, twirling lovingly with the punishing breeze as you hurtled closer and closer into the punishing blue.

As your body slammed into the unbreaking waves, neck snapping at the force of your unwanted body; your dying eyes gazed up at the cloudless sky; the grey that’d been clouding you dispersed into an array of azure blues.

Birds flittered and wound around each other, dancing and singing in harmony. A single, browning plane tittered into the distance, leaving not even a trace of its existence.

Maybe dying isn’t so bad after all.

But, as you slipped lower and lower into the depths of the blue sea, the new colour vanished, turning black before your body drummed across the seabed.

Your body floated aimlessly along the sand as your empty soul withered into nothingness, and before long, creatures and critters tore at your flesh as you decayed, rotting into nothing, as you had been when you were alive.

Forgotten.

[voltrons]

.

[camping-with-monsters]

Listened to The Stupendium’s “Neath!” enough to say “ah fuck it. Let’s make an oc out of this song.”

His name’s Cyrmic. Sometimes people just call him Ol’ Danderdilly. A bit of a curious existence— one that was believed to have such low odds that it was almost considered impossible, as he is half human and half cryptid!

In Bliss (which he’s debatably canon to it, not a whole lot of development has gone into his relevance, but he wouldn’t even be a considered character in the first act(??) but likely in a later act.), as long as both parties can consent and the cryptid is sentient (because it’s likely that there are cryptids that have mindsets closer to humans and others closer to animals) than a human and a cryptid can peruse a relationship. By default, humans and cryptids are not compatible to reproduce— but the gene for cryptids does in fact exist. It’s just a rarity. Most who do bare the gene usually don’t end up courting with a human for either the obvious reasons, don’t even end up with a human (which is more common than not) or just decide not to have a relationship at all. It’s a mixed bag.

However, in Cyrmic’s case, his cryptic parent did in fact bare the gene when courting with a human— and learned that the hard way. What kept them optimistic about it, we don’t know. Regardless, Cyrmic exists now. Not much going back on that.

Known to be kind of a peculiar character, Cyrmic plays the role of an oddball with a fascination for all things old-timey. He leaves a questionable taste in other’s mouths with his somewhat intimidating demeanor that’s both charming and suspicious which is reflected on his gestures and dignified dialect. Some people are led to believe he might be plotting something. But maybe they’re just not used to seeing something considerable as an eighth wonder. He’s not really trying to scare people. He’s just like that in general, and he genuinely means well!

But all in all, he’s looking for someone to love. Someone he can settle down with that can humor his curious point of view.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw) 

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you. 

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always. 

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion. 

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger? 

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.” 

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation. 

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you. 

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held. 

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all. 

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation: 

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you. 

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

[shotmrmiller]

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

-

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

-

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

[shellshocklove]

snapshot | old man!logan

pairing/AU: old man!logan howlett x female!reader

summary: short on money for rent, your joke about starting an only fans account, to earn some extra cash, goes over logan's head. but when an accident with charles puts your life in danger, logan takes you up on your offer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! friends with benefits vibes who are also idiots in love, implied age gap, swearing, mentions and drinking of alcohol, use of pet names, logan's a bit of a grumpy dick, sex work, logan can't use a phone, logan can carry reader but he's also extremely strong, smut, praise kink, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), dom!logan, logan's got a dirty mouth, a little dacryphilia, sloppy blow job, facial, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: a little disclaimer. i actually have no idea how OF work i only read the wikipedia page, so i've taken some liberties with it to fit it with the plot lol. the idea for the reader as charles' caretaker is inspired by @joelsgoldrush's fic never is a promise <- incredible fic that everyone should read! and also a big thank you to @guiltyasdave for all the encouragement on this fic!! <333 happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The coffee tasted sour on his tongue as he waited, engine running on empty, but the whiskey kept his throat warm. Behind the apartment complex the sun crawled up the horizon and split the the dark asphalt in pieces with streaks of blinding sunlight. The street lights shut off just as you walked out, the rickety door slamming shut behind you.

Watching you round the front of the limousine Logan pulled his seat forward, his rough hand grabbing the wheel as his left foot tapped impatiently on the footrest. A tickle in his throat had him greet you with a cough, and he brought his fist to his mouth.

"Morning to you too," you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't fuckin' slam the door like that– I've told you a thousand times," Logan grunted back and put the car in drive.

This was routine at this point. He picked you up in the morning after driving all night, and dropped you off again in the evening before he started his shift. Employing you took a large wad of cash out of his pocket, but at least he didn't have to worry about Charles being taken care of. You weren't a registered nurse or anything, not someone who'd had all the right references and education, but you needed money and didn't ask questions, and that had been perfect for Logan. He'd hired you about a year ago, and everything after had been routine.

When you didn't say anything back, only shifted your weight in the seat and leaned your head against the window, it pulled at something inside Logan. He couldn't deny you were a beautiful woman. He liked the way your nose curved, how soft your skin felt against his cheek every time you'd given him a reluctant hug, and he liked the way you smelled. It was primal, and in another life Logan would've had you in his bed already, but in this life, Logan was done with beautiful women.

Still early enough for the roads to be empty, Logan pushed the speed limit as he waited for you to speak – to finally say something trivial like you did every morning – some song you'd just discovered, or the plot twist in the reality program you watched every night, or how they were out of your favorite yogurt at the grocery store. He'd reply with a grunt, or with nothing at all, just letting you talk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan noticed how you picked at the skin around your nails, and when the sharp metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, he heaved a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong with you?" he grumbled. A lilt of annoyance coated the words, and Logan hated how your silence had affected him. His harsh tone didn't seem to bother you, and the realization cut like a knife; biting down, Logan's jaw clenched.

"It's nothing."

Logan had to hold back the scoff he wanted to let out, "Clearly it's somethin', kid."

Finally, a reaction out of you. Pushing yourself to sit up straight, you let out a sigh as you turned your head to look at him. "My landlord raised my rent again… I'm thinking about how I'm gonna pay rent this month. I'm gonna be a few hundred bucks short," you told him.

Oh.

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, Logan couldn't help himself from asking, "You tellin' me you're quittin'?"

He couldn't blame you, he thought he paid you a fair wage, but it seemed that everything had gotten more and more expensive lately. The rides had been few and far between and the tank of gas didn't take him as far anymore. The weekends kept him afloat, along with bachelor and bachelorette parties, prom nights, and knuckleheaded business men too fancy to drive a regular cab to the airport. Had it not been for Charles' medication he'd give you a raise. Logan wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't do this without you.

"No," you shook your head, "I wouldn't do that to Charles."

But you'd do it to me, Logan thought and let the words unsaid hang in the air between you as he pulled onto the dirt road leading to the smelting plant.

"I'll figure something out," you said, before a smirk teased over your face, that smile breaking forth the old you hidden behind this morning's melancholia. "Maybe I should start an Only Fans or something," you laughed.

"What's that?" Logan grunted, too focused on keeping his foot soft on the brake and avoiding the potholes to hear your joking lilt.

"Only Fans?" you questioned, one eyebrow raised in surprise before your eyes softened at the corners. "It's a social media platform for porn," you explained, "It's subscription based so you make an account and people pay a monthly subscription to see your content."

Porn?

Slowing down to a stop outside the gate, Logan put the limousine in park, the engine still humming.

"And how's that gonna help you pay rent?" Logan wondered, turning slightly in his seat to finally get a good look at you.

You were quiet for a second, eyes searching his face before the sound of a distant train had you looking away, almost bashful. "It's ridiculous," you muttered, "I don't have anyone to do it with anyway."

Before Logan could cough up an answer your hand found the passenger door, and a gust of sharp desert air seeped in. "I'll figure out the rent somehow… Sleep well, Logan," you told him, a wistful smile coating your features, before you climbed out the limousine and opened the gate. His eyes stayed glued to you as he drove past you, flicking to watch you close the gate after him in the rearview mirror. When you headed for the tank without your usual wave, a frown pulled at his face.

Stepping out of the limousine, Logan watched you leave, watched the way your hips swayed with new interest. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he found his flask – desperate to quench this fresh thirst with the last sip of burning alcohol, smoothing his dry throat. 

The cold coffee left a brown splatter as he discarded it; the coffee seeped into the sand. Inside the steeled walls he now called 'home' reeked of dust, like stepping into an antique shop, and Logan couldn't hold back his cough. Walking deeper into the plant with heavy steps, the old trinkets and equipment told a story of time passed.

So much time had passed.

Hanging his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs Logan started working the small buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before tossing it gently over the ironing board. Food would have to wait, he already knew the fridge wasn't stocked. Instead, he found the bottle of whiskey he'd left on the table, grabbing it by the neck before he took a large swig.

The whiskey helped, at least that's what he told himself, but his senses never dulled enough and the weight never got any easier. Sitting down heavy on the bed, Logan drank long and hard, but he couldn't keep his thoughts from trailing to you and what you’d muttered. I don't have anyone to do it with anyway.

What was it you'd called it? Just Fans? No, that wasn't right… Only Fans.

Logan remembered the first tape he ever saw; it had been the 70s, a summer in California, at some party he'd been forced to by a beautiful woman. The tape had been projected onto a wall in the living room, like background noise no one paid attention to. It had been lewd and obnoxious, but no one had seemed to mind, high as kites and drunk as skunks. Soon, Logan hadn't minded either, whisking away the woman to make his own private porn in one of the bedrooms.

Behind the woven fabric of his slacks, his cock twitched at the thought, but it wasn't the porn playing at the party, or the memory of the woman he'd fucked that filled his mind, it was you. 

It was innocent at first; the way your front teeth nibbled on your bottom lip as you pondered your next move in a game of chess opposite Charles, how your eyes sparkled under the low streetlights as he drove you home at the end of the day, and how your perfume had filled the limousine and clung to his skin that one time you'd left your jacket in the passenger seat. His hand came down to rub over the growing bulge in his pants, soothing the growing ache with a hard press, pulling a rumbling moan from his chest. 

Soon the innocent memories of you turned to filth. Logan's mind filled with images of you underneath him, his cock buried balls deep in your wet cunt as you withered for him. Then, as quickly as the first image had come, another took its place: of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed with his cock, gagging around him and swallowing him down like a good girl.

With each rubbing press to his cock, Logan couldn't shake the rolling images of you. It was wrong, never had he thought about you like that, never had he wanted to think of you like that, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

Working his fingers, it was almost instinctual as they moved to undo the button of his pants. His hand dug into his front, large hand palming himself with hard presses, as his cock hardened. Trailing his fingers upwards, stopping right above the elastic band of his underwear, his hand so close to wrapping around himself, a hint of shame pulled him out of the gutter.

He shouldn’t think about you like that.

Pulling away, like he'd burnt his hand, Logan let out a deep grumbling sigh. Leaning back on both hands, he let his head fall back as he squeezed his eyes shut. In his pants his cock throbbed with need. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, so long since he'd felt the velvet walls of a tight cunt wrapped around him, too long since he'd felt like he wasn't a monster, if only for a few blissful seconds.

Bringing the neck of the whiskey bottle to his mouth, Logan drowned his need in  temporary numbness, focusing instead on how the warmth filled his chest and dulled every ache. Falling back with a heavy bounce, he nursed the bottle in the crook of his thick arm, letting his eyes fall shut.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he wasn't tired, couldn't remember when his body didn't ache with every move. His veins bled through with rust and alcohol, and he hoped the latter made the corrosion run smoother.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the same flashing images filled the darkness. Years of fighting, years of killing, all the people he'd lost. It was the same show every night, and every night it tore a piece of him away, of his joy.

The bottom of the whiskey bottle clanked sharply as it hit the floor and a cough got stuck in his throat. It ripped and jerked in his chest, and he keeled over himself, fighting against it. When his head hit the pillow again, his eyes didn't fall shut, they trailed the walls, found the holes of blinding daylight seeping in through the holes in the corrugated metal sheets, and his thoughts found you again.

Curiosity got the best of him, and a hand dug into the back pocket of his pants for his phone. The small icons and text blended together as the screen lit up his face. When Logan held the phone a little further away the screen only got blurrier. With an exasperated sigh, he sat up, his body protesting as he grabbed his suit jacket off the dining chair, digging into the inner pocket for his new glasses.

Slumping down in the chair, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose, he tapped at his phone. He rarely used the thing outside of work, but suddenly he tapped at something that made it speak to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite get that," his phone said.

"Hello?" Logan spoke back.

Again his phone lit up and the voice answered. "Hello, what can I help you with?"

"What is Only Fans?"

……..

Fitting a brittle leaf between your thumb and pointer finger, you studied Charles' plants. The table always looked a mess after he'd tended to them, dirt spilled onto the table and tools thrown haphazardly about. Cupping your hand, you brushed the dirt into your hand, and discarded it into a pot you thought needed it.

Flicking your wrist, you looked at the time again. It was getting late. Usually by this time, Logan would have you halfway home already. Resorting to cleaning up the tools, you decided to give him half an hour before you'd start looking for him. He never slept in, although you could clearly see he needed it. 

Logan wasn't a man to show weakness, not to anybody, rather, he showed his teeth, barking and fighting against you or anyone who dared speak to him. It had intimidated you at first, and you'd held your tongue, afraid he'd bite your head off, but in time you'd come to realize that his gruff demeanor was just that, a façade. 

Charles on the other hand, senile and more and more forgetful, was the opposite of his son. On good days he beat you at chess while he told you stories about 'the good ol' days'. His imagination was vast, telling stories about the X-Men like he knew them, like he'd been a part of them, and especially by nightfall his stories would become even wilder. He'd tell you about his 'abilities', how he could read minds. He'd tell stories about Logan too, tragic ones, that if it hadn't been for the stack of comics you'd found, you would've almost said they were true.

Finding the chair by Charles' bed, you watched him deep in sleep. A heaviness could be felt in your chest as you thought about how his good and lucid days had seemed to get fewer and fewer lately. You found yourself having the same conversations with him, and once again today, he didn't want to get out of bed, telling you his head hurt. 

You wished you knew more of his condition, but Logan wouldn't tell you anything other than that Charles suffered from seizures, and if he didn't get his medication the consequences would be great. The way Logan had said it to you, his voice sharp and strict, it sounded serious, and in the year you'd taken care of Charles, you'd been diligent with his medication. Not once had you experienced a seizure with him.

Reaching over him, your palm found Charles' cheek. Stroking your hand lightly over his face, you felt the prickling stubble against your skin. His comment earlier about his head, had you worried. Logan usually supplied you with Charles' medication – from where you didn't know – there hadn't been any doctor's visits or health checks from what you could recall.

Maybe Logan didn't have insurance? It was your only explanation, a reason for why he'd found a more creative way of caring for his father. 

In a way you respected it, hacked an unknowing crack in Logan’s harsh façade– he cared. Only respect didn’t keep you from wanting Logan to tell you more, to open up, but wringing out more than a grunt from him was difficult. Instead, you made sure to let him know when you were running low on the pills and injections, and usually by the next day he'd hand over a new bottle. 

Stroking over Charles’ cheek, another chill of nervousness ran up your back where a worry tugged at your neck. 

Yesterday, after a week had passed since you'd asked Logan for more medication. He’d told you not to worry, that he’d have the pills soon, but running so low you'd had to resort to rationing Charles' doses.

Pulling back your hand, your eyes found your watch again, but before you could register the time, Charles stirred beside you. Then, an excruciating blinding pain permeated through your body. It rang in your ears and had your body shaking in agony, but at the same time you couldn't move. You wanted to scream, let out the pain that froze you to the chair, but no noise came out. When your vision started to go foggy, you thought that this must be what dying was like, but never would you have thought dying would feel this painful.

Through the ringing in your ears, a heavy creak of the tank door could be heard– or was it a trick your brain played on you in your last moments? Like the broad figure moving closer, slowly, too slowly, like it walked through water. You couldn't see who it was, but you didn't have too. Surely, your brain showing you Logan in your last moments, must've been a trick. The figure hovered over Charles, maybe it feasted on him first, reaped his soul as an appetizer before it would have you.

And just as quickly as the pain had taken you, the pain stopped.

Heaving for breath, your body fell forward, it was like the air couldn't fill your lungs quick enough. Two large palms cupped your cheek, tilting your head to Logan's frowning face. If you didn't know better you thought he looked scared.

"You okay?" he barked, your head rolling in his hands, "Hey! Bub, look at me."

You found the strength to nod your head, but Logan seemed far from convinced. He swiped his thumb over your cupid's bow, a flash of red coating his thumb and his face turned to stone, his frown so deep it looked chiseled.

Then he moved with an uncharacteristic haste, hiking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the tank. Closing your eyes, you tried to put your brain back together the way it used to be, but everything felt scrambled. When your back hit the soft mattress of a bed, you finally opened them.

Over you, Logan's large form hovered. He said something to you, but you only registered his mouth moving, your eyes glued to his pink soft lips, and your vision cleared completely.

"Drink this," he ordered, shoving a glass of water in your hands, and just like that your hearing had snapped back. "'m gonna go check on Charles– don't fucking move."

With no energy left in your body, you wouldn't dream of it. Logan watched you take a careful sip, the water lukewarm, before he left you in what you finally realized was his bed. The first sip nourished your dry throat, like you’d walked for miles in the desert without tasting as much as a drop. Surging forward, you chugged the rest of the water before you fell back against his pillow, clutching the glass in the crook of your elbow.

The smell of him on his sheets overwhelmed your weakened mind; a deep heady smell with a warmth to it, woven through with the heaviness of man. It soothed your mushy muscles, helping release the tension in your body.

The time passed differently now, fast and slow at the same time, and after an eternity and a second Logan was back. The weight of him where he sat down at the edge of the bed, had your whole body tipping towards him. His large palm found your cheek again, the rough pads of his fingers soothing over the skin.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, his deep voice filtering through a hint of worry.

"W-what happened to him– to m-me?" you managed to croak out.

Logan's heavy hand didn't move away when the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, the one that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face.

"He had a seizure," he told you, like it was obvious, taking the glass of water from your hands,

He must've caught the way your face turned, the confusion that flitted across it, one that spelled 'seizures don't affect other people'.

"Listen," he started, drawing back his hand, "There’s no other way of explainin' it to you other than tellin' you that all those stories he's told you about him– about me… they're all true."

The frown that deepened over your face at his words, must've challenged the permanent one over Logan's face. "W-what? The stories about the X-Men?"

"Yes, the X-Men– Is he talkin' a hole through your head about anything else?"

"No, but… there aren't any more mutants."

"Not new ones,” he sighed, “But we're old, sweetheart– the last there is." His voice went quieter and quieter as he spoke, a hint of sadness eating the words, before his palm found your cheek again. "You see… Charles he's a very powerful mutant, and years ago he started a school for mutants–"

"–I know all of that already Logan– he told me," you cut him off, "I never believed him, I thought he was just confused– the stories they–"

"–I know, bub," this time he cut you off, but he let the next words linger on his tongue. Drawing back his hand, his eyes found the wall behind the bed. "I never meant for you to get hurt– it's my fault. If he gets his medication he's fine, but… you ain't the only one who's a few hundred dollars short– it's been a slow month."

Before you had a chance to reply, Logan rose on his feet. "The seizures messes with your brain, so get some rest. I'm gonna get his medication, and I'll wake ya in the mornin'." Logan didn't wait for you to protest before he grabbed the car keys off the table, and left you alone in his bed. 

Outside the moon climbed the sky, and the new darkness, along with your scrambled brain, had your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

……..

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Logan's gruff voice pulled you from a dreamless sleep; a sleep like you'd just closed your eyes. Blinking, your heavy eyelids pulled shut just as quickly as you'd opened them, leaving you with a snapshot of Logan's body hovering over you. You hummed, sleep coating your brain, while your body felt like you'd put it through the wringer at the gym.

"It's mornin'."

You tried again, blinking your eyes open with more success. Logan's black suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, instead he adorned a white tank top. Letting your gaze roll over him, you noticed the scars etched into his skin, so many scattered up and down his strong arms, and suddenly the memories of last night filtered back into your brain.

"Logan," you whispered so low even you weren't sure you’d heard it.

"I'm takin' you home, alright? I'll watch him today," he told you.

When Logan told you something, he meant it. Leaving you in his bed, it was like a replay of last night as he grabbed the car keys and black suit jacket off the table. 

Slowly, you sat up and leaned on your elbows, letting the world spin for a minute. Your clothes from yesterday clung to your skin, and you felt both cold and sweaty as you got out of bed.

With each step you took every muscle ached, but somehow you managed to walk out the door. The burning light of the morning sun blinded you, and with one hand raised you shielded your eyes from the harshness while you walked closer to the humming impatient motor of Logan's limousine. Just as you'd sunk into the leather seat and managed to shut the door behind you, Logan stepped on the gas, and the smelting plant vanished in the rearview window. 

When you'd finally left the dirt road behind and hit the highway, you cracked the window ever so slightly – the morning air blowing away the last of your tiredness. The closer you got to the city, the more your stomach growled. You hadn't had a thing to eat since lunch yesterday, the aftermath of Charles’ seizure knocking you out before dinner– you needed something to eat.

"Can we stop here?" you asked and pointed at a sign advertising a diner off the next exit.

"I'm drivin' you home," Logan replied, his eyes glued to the road.

"Logan, please, I'm starving," you begged with a pout.

A beat passed, his fingers tapping over the wheel as he weighed his options, then his eyes found yours where they lingered. Staring back, you didn't know what to do. Logan wasn't a man that said yes, he liked things done his way. You bit down on your bottom lip, showing off your front teeth like a silent 'please' written over your face, and Logan huffed.

The loud buzz of conversation hit you first when you stepped into the packed diner, Logan in tow. Waiters ran back and forth between the booths lining the windows, taking breakfast orders and pouring coffee, and at the sound of the bell as the door swung shut behind you, one of them looked up at you.

"Seat yourselves," she said with a smile as golden as the syrup poured over hotcakes, "I'll be with you in a jiffy."

Walking deeper into the diner, you found an empty booth in a quiet corner. Logan seemed pleased, never too keen on people, and after what you'd come to know after last night, you could understand his hesitation.

Logan. The Wolverine.

You remembered the comics from when you were a kid, remembered this one kid in your class in elementary school that had been obsessed with them, reading every issue and Wolverine had been his favorite. He was a scientist now, last you heard, and here you sat opposite the comic character himself.

"Mornin', what can I get you guys?" the waitress asked, pulling up to your table.

"Um," you grabbed at the laminated menu in front of you, your eyes scanning over the breakfast items. Everything looked good, your stomach growling loud as you took in the pictures, but then again you didn't think you'd ever been this hungry before.

"Just coffee f'me, ma'am," Logan grunted.

"Could I get a stack of the blueberry pancakes… and a coffee for me too, please?" you ordered, watching the waitress with the name tag 'Stacy' write down your order.

"That'll be all for you guys this morning?" she smiled.

"Yes, thank you," you returned her smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second with your coffees."

While you waited for your pancakes, Logan wasn't much company. He sipped his coffee, black and piping hot, as he leaned against the corner of the booth, legs spread wide, watching the people coming and going. In the silence between you, you decided to study him while you sipped your own coffee. He must've felt your gaze over him, from the way he clenched his jaw, but he never turned his head to look at you, instead he let you look.

When your pancakes finally arrived, you dug in immediately. Fresh, hot and deliciously pillow-y and soft, it was the best thing you'd had in a while. The blueberries weren't too sweet, cutting through the sweetness of the pancakes with a tangy taste, while the bitter taste of your coffee woke you up and filled you with new energy.

"So," Logan suddenly spoke up, almost making the piece of pancake you were chewing on go down the wrong pipe. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I'm having the worst hangover in human history," you joked, "But better now after some food and caffeine."

Logan only hummed, turning his head back to people watching as you ate your pancakes. His silence had a frown work over your features when you placed your knife and fork down to sip on your coffee. He'd been so quiet all morning, which in truth wasn't new, but there was something about him now, something about the way his scowl dug a little deeper into his skin that had you asking:

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," he answered, curt and to the point.

"Clearly it's something," you pried with a tilt of your head.

Another beat passed, before he leaned forward, a cough getting stuck in his throat. It sounded worse than it was, he'd told you once. So, you sipped your coffee, your eyes flitting away like you needed to give him privacy.

"I've been thinkin' about your proposal," he finally said, and you felt your eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"Wait?" your eyes found his, "What proposal?"

"About that subscription thing– the porn," he waved his hand, and leaned back again.

"Only Fans?" you asked, keeping your voice low, "It was just a joke, Logan."

"Well, maybe it's an idea for the both of us. I need money for Charles' medication, and you need money for rent– it'll just be us earnin' a little extra on the side, a win-win situation."

Letting his words sink in, you mulled over his idea in your brain. It wasn't like you weren't attracted to Logan, in truth, you'd wanted him to fuck you for a while now, but it had only been a fantasy, one to conjure forth late at night when you slipped your hand into your panties. To have it become a reality, served up by Logan himself on a silver platter, you'd never imagined.

How could you say no?

"Okay," you said, your voice breathy as what you'd just agreed to settled in your stomach. Having a little more cash in your account every month wouldn't hurt, and getting dick regularly sounded just as nice, it had been too long. "I'm in."

Logan only replied with a curt nod accompanied by an approving grunt, "Now eat your pancakes so we can get goin'."

………

"Cold feet?"

With the limousine parked outside your apartment building, a week's worth of anticipation came to a head. You and Logan hadn't really talked much in the days passed since the diner; Logan's main interest more in you feeling better after experiencing Charles' powers for the first time. He'd let you have a few days off, to heal up, to which you'd taken the opportunity to do some research and set up an Only Fans profile. Currently it was blank, but tonight that would change.

"No," you shook your head, telling true. "You?" you asked, turning in your seat to face Logan.

Logan eyes darted across your face. He never looked at you like that, and for a moment the oddity of the situation, of what you were about to do, settled in your stomach.

"No," Logan finally decided, and reached for the door handle, “Let’s get it over with before it gets too late.”

At his movement, you reached forward and grabbed his forearm, "Wait!"

With a grunt, Logan turned. "What?" he asked, his eyes settling on you with an eyebrow raised.

"I-I have an idea," you told him, and you didn't know why you stumbled over your words. With your hand still wrapped around his arm, his eyes fell to your touch, lingering before they found yours again.

"I was thinking–" you started, retracing your hand, "Well actually… I just restarted taking birth control and I wanted to settle into it before we have sex, so I thought maybe– if you want to of course," you rambled.

"Spit it out, bub, I ain't got all night," Logan cut you off.

"I thought maybe I could suck you off– here in the limo," you 'spat' out your suggestion, your front teeth immediately coming down to bully your bottom lip.

"You want to suck my cock… here?" he repeated. Leaning back in his seat, you didn't know if he spread his legs on purpose, or if he unconsciously drew your eyes to the bulge hidden behind his slacks.

"Yeah, I mean…" you shrugged, "I thought it could be hot? Like something that people would want to see?"

"Right," Logan hummed, reminded of the invisible audience, and reached for the key in the ignition.

Leaving your apartment building in the rearview mirror, Logan searched for a more secluded place to park. The windows in the back of the limousine were tinted, impossible to look into, but you didn't want to take the risk of getting caught. After finding an empty parking lot, backing up and occupying a more private space in the back corner, Logan guided you around the limousine with a hand resting gently over the small of your back. Climbing into the back with you, his broad form filled the space.

Inside, he'd turned on the lights, the colors slowly fading in and out and casting soft shadows across his features. The leather creaked as he sat down, his spread legs already inviting you to slot between. A fleeting feeling of nervousness tickled in your tummy, the reality of what you were about to do washing over you like a wave on a stormy ocean.

Logan watched you from his seat, a picture of sin in his suit, as he slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and fished out his glasses. His jacket fit snugly over his wide shoulders and he'd undone the top buttons where you could glimpse curling chest hair. The way he looked at you through the glasses, eyes dark and curious, had a warmth of arousal starting to pool in the core of yourself.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, "I was thinking I could set my phone up here–" you pointed to the space between the leather seats and the window. "And then you could use your phone and film me?"

After a little bit of fiddling to get your phone to stay upright, you turned to Logan, your phone capturing your slow walk towards him. He sat with his legs spread wide, his large palms resting on either side of his thighs. When you reached for the hem of your shirt, his finger twitched, digging into the leather, and a toothy smile spread over your features.

Tossing your shirt you sunk to your knees and slotted between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you held his gaze as you sat pretty for him, fanning out the skirt you'd worn specifically for today. He reached for his phone and pressed record when you curled your hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra, capturing your bare chest.

The air nipped at your exposed skin, making goosebumps ripple over your skin. Looking up at Logan, his eyes burned against your skin where he took in your breasts, his eyes glided over your bare skin for the first time and soothed out the bubbling nerves that had been brewing. When your eyes caught on the tent growing in his pants, you had to restrain yourself from surging forward, your mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him for the first time – of your wet dreams becoming a reality.

"S'pretty," he murmured, voice deep and guttural, soaked in arousal.

He cupped your cheek gently, the rough pad of his thumb skating over your skin bringing with it a calming safety. Your eyelashes fluttered as you tilted your head into his hand, desperate to feel more of the weathered skin of his hand against your body.

"Y'sure you want this, sweetheart?" he asked.

Opening your eyes, you held his gaze. "Yes, please," you nodded in his large palm, "It's the only thing I've thought about all day." And it was the truth.

"Shit, baby," he groaned in response, dragging his hand down your neck to rest heavy over the top of your breasts. "S'that so?"

Gathering your hands in your lap, you nodded slowly, your teeth caught on your bottom lip as his hand brushed over your right breast. "Thought of how you'd taste," you confessed, the phone in his hand forgotten as you focused entirely on Logan.

"Yeah?" he prompted. One knuckle brushed over your hardened nipples, pulling a quiet whimper from you– pleased he leaned back, "Take off my belt, then."

Bouncing on your knees, you leaned forward on his command, and pulled the leather belt from its loops. You did it slowly, tilting your head upwards to catch his eyes through the glasses. He helped you with the zipper, making you watch as he dragged it down.

With your eyes fixed on his hand you noticed three barely healed scars between every knuckle, and you remembered who Logan really was. The Wolverine. He caught you looking, and his hand tightened into a fist, tightening it for a beat before he relaxed it over his thigh. Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss over his knuckles, and his hand dug into his thigh.

"Sweetheart," he breathed out, his voice strained.

In the depths of your chest you felt a pinch, a tiny stab in your heart that felt too real, too personal for what you were about to do. Willing it away, you leaned back on your ankles instead, your hands dipping into the waistband of his pants to pull down his slacks. Lifting his hips to help you ease them down, a quiet grunt escaped him, a deep sound that traveled down your spine and pooled in your core.

Behind the soft cotton of his underwear the firm hard line of his cock strained against the fabric. The sight of him, large and heavy, and hidden, had your eyes widening with lust, and a slickness soiling the gusset of your panties.

"You want my cock, don't you sweetheart?" he coaxed, his free hand finding your jaw where he cupped it, squeezing your cheeks together.

"Y-yes," you breathed out, your smile straining against his grip before you dropped your mouth open, showing him your tongue.

"There you go, baby– good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and rubbing the saliva around. A soft moan caught in your throat at the praise, and behind the camera Logan's eyes darkened at his new discovery.

Wrapping both your hands around his wrist, you held his hand in place as you closed your lips around him. Slowly, you moved your head, up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on his thumb like you would his cock. Logan's eyes were intense behind his glasses, his jaw clenching tight while he stared into your own.

"Such a filthy little thing f'me– so desperate for my cock down your throat you'll suck anything, ain't that right?"

A choked moan escaped you; they way he talked to you adding fuel to the fire in your core. Between the seam of your cunt you ached, wet arousal dripping into your soiled panties. He must've watched the way you melted for him, your brain turning to mush in front of him, because when he pulled his hand away, he laughed. A deep guttural thing from the depth of his chest.

"C'mon little angel," he tapped at your cheek, "Let's put you out of your misery."

Clouded in arousal, your brain stalled at the nickname, and you felt a new gush of arousal spill between the seam of your cunt. Logan's nostrils flared and a wild darkness settled over his face.

Shifting on your knees, you leaned forward to palm him through his underwear. Making sure to flick your eyes up at him (and the camera), you dragged your finger up and down gently, seductively, before you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his clothed length. Above you, Logan sucked in a breath, his free hand coming down to pet your head and press your face firmly against his bulge.

You couldn't help but breathe him in. Breathe in the heady deep scent of man, cheap whiskey and cigars – the unique scent of Logan. When you let out the softest little sigh, you felt him twitch against you, and quickly his hand on your head traveled down to the back of your neck where he pulled you back with a harsh yank.

You yelped.

"No more teasin'–" he reprimanded and let go of you, "Be a good little angel and make me come."

Logan leaned back into the leather, his body relaxed and inviting with one hand still occupied with filming you. Watching the deep furrow forming between his brows, and the way his eyes burned your face through his glasses, you could tell he wanted to take control, make you do what he wanted.

With a curling smile, knowing full and well you had the upper hand with one of his hands occupied, you slipped your eager hands into the elastic waistband of his underwear and tugged.

A wild and wiry patch of graying hair met you first, and you felt a flock of eagerness flutter in your stomach. Tugging the fabric down slowly, you made a show of revealing just an inch at a time. When you finally reached the end of him, you felt the wet head of him graze your cheek, leaving a streak of precum, as it sprung free.

His hard cock bopped heavily in front your face, and you felt your eyes widen at his size. He was big. The hefty length of him cushioned against his balls hanging heavy over the band of his underwear. Reaching a shaky hand forward you took him in your hand for the first time and familiarized yourself with the thick weight of him. With your other hand you traced the thick veins that lined the girth of him, memorizing every ridge and freckle before coming up to thumb at the fat tip where a pearl of wetness beaded.

A mix of awe and uncertainty pooled in your chest. How in the hell were you gonna fit all of him down your throat?

"'s okay, angel," he cooed, his heavy hand back to stroke over your head. His touch soothed you, a rhythmic warmth that shed all your insecurities.

With a content sigh you leaned forward and parted your lips to press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, pulling a "There you go, good girl, open your mouth f'me," from Logan. Urged on by his praise, you got a little braver. Flattening your tongue against him you started with a few gentle, teasing licks to the tip, your tongue dipping into the slit to taste him in earnest.

Above you, a groan rumbled in Logan's chest, a sound that had you eagerly taking more of him in your mouth. Suckling carefully on the fat tip, you let your tongue tease the underside of him, humming in content when you felt him harden even more in your hands.

Letting the excess spit run down the length of him, it pooled over your hands where they struggled to wrap around the thick girth. Slick sounds came from your hands when you started to move them over the soft skin, coating him fully in your saliva with every tug.

"Shit, bub, y'look so fuckin' good around my cock," Logan's voice vibrated from his chest, "But y'can take it deeper, can't you? Take that big cock down your throat?"

Well, you would certainly try.

Your knees dug into the carpeted floor of the limousine, pressing a deep pattern into your skin. Popping off his cock, you sat up a little more and shifted your weight. Looking up at him through your lashes, you were reminded of the camera pointed at you. Looking straight down the barrel of his phone you sunk down further on his cock.

Dropping your jaw, you felt your lips stretch as his hefty cock filled your throat. All too quickly the head of him kissed the back of your throat and you had to fight your gag reflex. Pulling off with a gasp, your eyes widened as you looked up at him.

"It's so big," you told him, both of your slicked hands jerking him in a slow rhythm.

"I know, angel," he cooed, his thumb running over your cheek. Leaning forward again, you placed a soft kiss to the fat head, and he hissed, "Too big f'you?"

"No," you shook your head, smearing the head from one corner of your mouth to the other, spreading the precum leaking onto your lips, and humming at the taste of him. "It's perfect– taste so perfect," you said through a pillowy kiss to the head.

With a buck of his hips, he pushed back into your eager mouth, slipping the fat head through your swollen lips and into your flexed throat, "That's it– right where it belongs, huh?"

Fitting him as deep as you could down your throat you felt dizzy with desire, an almost overwhelming feeling; the smell of him so close, how he filled your mouth and made your jaw ache. When your nose pressed into the grayed patch of wiry hair at the base of his cock, you spluttered with need, spit soaking the length of him as you came off him with a cough.

In an instance, Logan was on you, his free hand petting your cheek as he searched your eyes, "You okay?" I wouldn't be until after, when you edited the video that you'd realize he'd dropped the phone, focusing only on you in that moment.

"Yes," you replied, looking into his eyes with a toothy smile, "I want more– I want your cum."

"Fuck," he hissed, letting go of your cheek and leaning back into the leather seat, pointing his phone at you, "Go on."

Fitting him back down your throat again, you got lost in it as you found a rhythm. With a hand stationed at the base, you bobbed your head, letting your tongue dance over the length. More saliva dripped down and pooled over your hand, slicking up his pubes. It was messy, and hot, sticky and wet. Above you, Logan muttered praises between grunts and moans, encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper.

Feeling your throat loosen with every bob of your head, you pushed down and swallowed around him. Your eyelashes fluttered as you gagged and coughed, tears starting to prickle from your eyes, but you were determined to please him– to make him feel good.

When his hand came down to wrap around your throat, his thumb skating over your neck to feel himself, your eyes rolled back in your head in pleasure – the sight of you making Logan let out a deep growl. He kept the hand clasped around your throat as he started to buck his hips, feeding you his cock in small lazy thrusts.

"Right there, angel, so fuckin' good f'me… my good girl– choke on it," he mumbled.

You hummed around him at the praise, the vibrations pulling another deep moan from him. Fucking your face, bubbling spit trickled out the corner of your lips, soaking him and the coarse hair on his balls where they slapped heavy against your chin. Slipping a hand between your thighs, you couldn't help but touch yourself through your underwear – the white cotton translucent and drenched with your arousal.

Chasing his high, Logan's thrusts started to come quicker. More and more saliva overflowed, dripping down your bare chest and slicking you up in depravity. The grip Logan had around his phone was lazy, but he made sure to capture the way the shifting colors of the low limousine light gleamed over your slicked up chest.

"Such a good fuckin' throat–" he growled, squeezing around your throat as he pushed himself as deep as he could. Your nose brushed the wiry patch of his pubic hair, and you felt yourself start to gag around him as your lungs squeezed and throat tightened. He kept you down as you spluttered and swallowed around the length of him, and when the edges of the world started to blur he pulled you off with a jerk.

Gasping for air and filling your lungs with lost breaths, the hand Logan had wrapped around your neck was now pushing your own hand away to wrap around himself. The tears on your cheek mixed with the strings of saliva on your chin, as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. Watching him stroke his cock, your eyes widened with interest as you shifted on your knees to sit up straighter.

His hard cock pulsated and throbbed with need as he stroked. Up and down you watched his hand; watched how beads of precum drooled over his fingers, mixing with your saliva before it dripped down onto your chest. A primal feeling came over you – an urge so strong to taste him come undone and claim you as his.

"Please," you begged, the fat head ghosting against your lips with every jerk, "come for me, please– wanna taste you so badly."

Logan's grunts and growls grew deeper and wilder as he stroked himself faster. "Look at me, angel," he ordered, and when your eyes locked with his, combined with a final hard stroke, he aimed the wet tip towards your face and came hard.

The first pump of his sticky warm seed, made you flinch before a smile widened and you leaned closer. Dropping your mouth open, he came all over your face, coating your cheeks, your nose, and forehead. Thumbing at the tip, he aimed at your waiting mouth to squeeze out the last few drops, and he finally let you taste him.

Wrapping your lips around the head, you suckled around him through content hums. You were covered in his cum, claimed, feeling the sticky seed drip down the bridge of your nose. You loved the way he tasted, salty and bitter, like Logan.

When the feeling of your tongue dancing over his sensitive head became too much, he pulled away with a hiss. His phone was still aimed at your face, and a little more clear-headed he filmed the aftermath of his orgasm closer.

"Even prettier with my cum on your face, angel," he said, letting his finger drag over your skin to collect his cum.

Pretty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat hoarse as he fed you his cum.

You hummed around his finger as he cleaned you up, making sure not a single drop would go to waste, and when he was pleased with his work after you'd shown him your empty tongue, he cupped your cheek.

"Good little angel," he told you with a pad, and pressed the stop button on his phone.

Back at your apartment the buzz of the excitement of the night lingered as you replayed the scene on your computer. You thought about Logan, about where he was and who might sit in the seat where you'd sucked him off only hours earlier. You thought about how filthy his mouth had been, and how much it had turned you on. And lastly, you thought about how you couldn't wait to see him again, and for him to finally fuck you.

Editing the video together, the last thing you did before you fell asleep was upload. Logan had taken a photo of your hand over his clothed cock before he'd left you, a picture that was now set as your profile picture. All tuckered out, you closed your computer and fell back against your pillows, dreaming of the smell of leather and cheap whiskey.

James & Angel ✨👼 📍 Texas subscribers: 15,478

1 post: "cute girl gives older limousine driver a sloppy blowjob"

..................

hopefully this was okay? i have concepts of a part 2 lol so please don't ask for it. instead, a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and/or tell me what you'd comment under james' & angel's first video! my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[postmortemnivis]

nobody knew simon’s name, his cold glances penetrating souls whenever someone on the force even dared to call him by his first name. he preferred it this way. he wasn’t the kind to blend personal life and work, he didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror without his mask and still see a murderer. his hands were clean, protected by the gloves ghost slipped on each time he reached base. it was soon that the other soldiers almost forgot his name, agreeing that their lieutenant was indeed a ghost.

that was until your worried voice called for him.

you didn’t know of the ghost identity, it had never even crossed your mind that your simon, your sweet and caring boyfriend’s personality would switch into a cold blooded killer as soon as he set foot at base or in the field. of course he never mentioned it with you, he sporadically talked about his job and his missions. you knew he was a strict lieutenant, but you had been kept away from more by the person with the skull mask and balaclava.

“simon?” you asked for the third time the receptionist. she apologetically looked up at you and shrugged. “oh cmon, simon riley. i know for a fact that he’s here. please, i need to see him.”

“i’m very sorry miss but…” the woman shook her head again, “let me call the captain.”

you sighed and sat down by the waiting area until a man walked in and talked to the woman.

“who’re you looking for?”

you stood up. “simon. simon riley.”

“ghost?”

you shook your head, almost clueless. “no, simon riley.”

“yeah, that’s him…” he said, “he’s training the recruits now. shall i deliver a message?”

“no, i need to see him personally. i wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important, captain.”

you'd seen price a few times, simon's loyalty to the man was almost like a dog's one, always following orders and rarely complaining. he often talked about him when he was at home, all he shared with you about his threatening job was the friends he made along the way: johnny, kyle, price, gary, nikolai. he'd often go out for a pint—or two—with johnny and kyle, who also occasionally would come to your shared apartment for dinner with their temporary girlfriends.

"follow me." price sighed. you eagerly followed him, as close as his shadow, and the courtyard came into sight. dozens and dozens of soldiers in scarlet training uniforms were running laps of the immense open space under the pale sun, and that's when you spotted a tall and muscular man in black tactical gear. hell, he was hard to miss.

"another lap, smith!" his mancunian accent was stronger than his will to neutralise it. "if my gran was alive she'd be faster than ya."

you'd recognised the voice, of course, even if it was much harsher than usual, but you couldn't recognise him.

you realised, that was ghost. his cold eyes were studying each of the recruit's tired and red faces, his arms behind his back as he barked for five more laps for the ones who didn't look sweaty enough. even his voice was different, but what shocked you was the black balaclava with the white skull drawn on top.

you'd seen the mask once or twice over the years, shoved on the bottom of his duffle bag or drying on a windowsill, but you've never given it much thought, why would you?

"si?" you asked, standing directly behind him as price stood a few feet from you.

his head snapped in your direction at a worryingly fast speed, his eyes immediately becoming soft, then confused.

"what're you doin' here?" his voice spoke, much sweeter.

you kept staring at him, not recognising the man you loved.

he immediately grabbed the crown of the balaclava and yanked it off without a second though. holding the black piece of clothing in his hand, both of them came to cup your elbows, drawing you closer to him.

"love?" he called you.

still at loss of words, you reached to the balaclava and twirled it between your fingers.

"love, talk to me." his voice sounded worried.

"ghost?"

he shook his head. "simon, love."

"we'll talk about that at home." you raised your eyebrows, attempting a smile.

he looked at you impatiently, his fingers brushing up and down your forearms.

you fished in your bag a small plastic bag and gave it to him.

this wasn't like one of the times when he'd forget his lunch at home so you'd drop by and give it to johnny so he'd give it to an always so busy simon ghost; he could see it in your eyes that this was something more.

he unwrapped the plastic bag that you had rolled up on itself. his eyes looked brighter than ever when he took with shaky fingers the finally positive pregnancy test.

[selineram3421]

Lovesick Alastor Headcanon

Alastor X Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ deer man is possessive/obsessive over you, hides it somewhat, very yandere coded but doesn't force you to do anything you don't like, suggestive/implied, hint at cannibalism, blood, ☺🔪 ⚠

This goes for almost all versions of the Reader. Child reader/platonic relationships excluded.

He's had his eye on you for a while now. Of course you didn't know since he always kept his composure.

You were a jewel among rocks to him.

Will do anything to make you fall in love with him. Not make but persuade.

Uses Vox as a dummy whenever he can to make himself look good.

Waits for you to approach him.

And when you do he's the happiest demon in Hell.

He likes when you wear red. Especially if you are covered in blood.

Its not yours, no. He'd never let that happen.

Literally crazy about you.

He doesn't do PDA but behind closed doors is a different story.

Alastor is a gentleman! He won't do anything unless you ask him to. Kisses, cuddles, hand holding, biting-

*cough*

Depending on what you like of course.

Only spills your blood with your permission. Fully consensual.

Likes holding you close or having you nearby. It calms him down when he's upset or too peppy.

When you are at the hotel, he likes whisking you away to his office for kisses.

Buys you jewelry, food, clothes. A lot of gifts that are in his colors. Maybe one thing you'll wear everyday with a microphone on it.

Everyone knows to STAY AWAY.

Of course Vox is an idiot and tries to woo you but fails miserably.

"You know how much I adore you my dearest.", Alastor caresses your face. "Jusqu'à la fin des temps ou jusqu'à ce qu'il n'y ait plus que nous." (Until the end of time, or until it's just us.)

Makes sure you're content and well taken care of.

Of course there are times when he does too much and you get upset.

"Alastor, please let me do this for myself.", you'll say with a pout.

"Forgive me my darling.", he kisses the top of your head. "You know I like taking care of you, but as you wish."

He shows off his demon form because he knows you like it.

Teases you about it later in your shared hotel room, until you're hiding your blushing face.

"I thought you liked my radio dial eyes?", he leans closer, purposefully turning them into radio dials. "￦as ¡ wr¤Ω&?", he asks, static more noticeable in his voice.

"D-don't!", you'll stutter and shiver, peeking through your fingers.

His smile widens and he'll continue transforming. "What's the matter my love?", he chuckles as he looms over you. "Trouble holding back?"

Falls in love all over again when you get pissed at someone.

Watches as you tear up said demon and cheers for you. "Save me a piece or two darling!"

Man worships and adores you.

No one will ever see you make the Radio Demon blush, but you don't mind. That's only for you to see.

He's yours after all.

Thank you to @the-friend-lol for making me the gif.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[ozzgin]

I'm so sorry but I'm back with another one after the 'Affair with Death' job on Crime Scene Cleaner...This one's gory. Maybe romantic? In a very messed up way. Content: gender neutral reader, morally grey reader, violence, gore!!, murder, obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy

Yandere!Crime Boss is easy to anger. Thankfully you've never had the "luck" of experiencing his wrath, but even witnessing the outcome leaves you with an upside-down stomach.

Tonight, you're the direct cause of this mess.

Despite being in the early stages of dating, you've decided to continue your bizarre agreement. He does need someone to erase his tracks, and you've gotten used to this grimy job. You get to relax most days, and you earn so much you'll never have to worry about your finances ever again.

Additionally, being involved with the most relevant criminal in town comes with surprisingly many benefits. And, as you have just learned, the occasional trouble.

"Hey, uh...Remember that guy who kept getting flirty with you?" he probes sheepishly over the phone.

"...Yeah?"

"I might've killed him and his whole family. Can you take care of it? There's some surveillance files you should also delete."

You sigh, parking the car at the given address and twisting the keys. Somehow, being the cause of the disaster you're about to encounter makes it particularly grim.

Dear God. The stench of the dried-up blood and viscera is burning your nostrils. You pass by the unfortunate wife, suspended over the balcony rail with multiple bullet holes in her back.

You follow the deep crimson trails all the way to the basement. There's your guy. The same man who smirked down at you, insisting that you drop your attitude and give him your number, is now lying cold and stiff in a chair, hands held in place by kitchen knives. You wonder how his innards ended up mangled in his lap, then you notice the power drill neatly propped on the table nearby. You swallow and prepare the trash bag.

"Sorry for the extra work", your partner apologizes upon your return. "I've been thinking of a proper reward."

"If you want to discuss work details, it'll have to wait. I need to scrub the death off of me", you whine, heading towards the shower.

He blocks your path with a smirk.

"I'm not talking about money."

[Part 1] | [More Yandere Stories]

[rafey-baby]

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

18+ mdni!

c/w: outlaw!rafe being mean and manipulative, mentions of murder, violence & other dark themes, he’s also weirdly soft in the end?

wc: 2k

he's been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the oak door at 3 am— revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his big hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.  

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving as he stares down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg.  

At first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.  

She’s about to open her mouth and she’s not sure whether she was going to scream for help or simply stare at him with her mouth hung open in shock but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting a massive palm over her mouth.  

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine. 

And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to even move a muscle; the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose, making her face scrunch up. And she doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blaming it on the fact that half of her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland; soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars. 

And he’s just so mean, ordering her around with a gun to her head, manhandling her around to his liking, grumbling about needing to stay at her house for a bit since he needs a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught. Apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.  

“I didn’t even mean to kill the guy, alright. He just kept pissing me off on purpose and I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?” He offers as an explanation that seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage. It’s loud enough for him to hear; almost as if she’s a terrified rabbit and he’s a big bad wolf, hunting down his prey.  

“I’m taking a shower now, and you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do, I’m gonna have to hurt you, and I really don’t wanna do that, okay?” 

She nods her head, unable to form any coherent sentences. 

He takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he steps closer to her, inquiring whether she lives alone or not, to which she just nods her head again.  

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knocking on your door in the middle of the night you don’t fucking open, alright?”  

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.  

The second he’s in her bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think; quickly coming up with a rickety plan as she listens to the water streaming down from behind the door. She waits for a moment, making sure the coast is clear before she bolts towards her bedroom, trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.  

However, her shaky hands don’t help her one bit when they drop the phone; the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room.  

She can’t breathe, her brain short-circuits as she bends down, reaching for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off; an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she fruitlessly tries to turn it back on and call for help but it’s proving to be harder than she thought when her lungs decide to stop working, her respiration shallow and her heartbeat ringing in her ears.  

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her blood run cold; a shiver traveling down her spine as she slightly jumps, a faint gasp leaving her.  

“Why did you just do that, huh? Told you, didn’t wanna fucking hurt you and then you go and pull this shit,” a strong hand is gripping her by her throat as he turns her around to face him.  

“I’m sorry, I...I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, unable to move.  

“You don’t what, huh?” He stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seemingly entirely indifferent to her torment.  

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible, making a grim chuckle bubble out of his chest.  

“Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” He scoffs, cruel words mocking her.  

“You’re so fucking stupid, want me to kill you, is that what you want?” He grits out as he squeezes at her neck, making her feel dizzy; gasping for air.  

“No! No, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages to force out as he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.  

“Anything, huh? That’s real tempting and all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you understand?”  

“I won’t, I promise. You can...stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s gonna pass out soon, stars peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs starting to feel heavy. His coarse panting fills her eardrums as he seems to contemplate her offer for a moment.  

“If you even think about running to the cops tonight, I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” 

She’s frantically nodding her head and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back, trying to even out her respiration.  

He doesn’t say anything, silently observing her as she clears her throat, swallowing a few times as she tries to pacify her racing heart and calm the thoughts running around her head; trying to reassure herself that she’s still alive and she will stay that way if she just doesn’t rile him up anymore.  

He notices how her rounded eyes look up at him as he stands before her, smelling like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo, nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.  

“What’s— um…what’s your name?” Her voice is creaky when she tries a different approach once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, a nervous hesitation overlaying her precarious question.  

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply dismisses her, but a small pout molds her mouth as she stares at him and he lets out a discontented sigh, rolling his eyes.  

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless and he laughs at her priorities. A literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.  

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?” She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she supposes if she gets him to talk about something, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.  

“You seriously wanna know?” He raises his brows. 

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on shaking her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling out from his sturdy chest.  

“So, uh— what is it that you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” She tries once more.  

“Look, the less you know, the better, alright?” He simply states, making her let out a soft sigh in defeat.  

All of a sudden, a vigorous thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.  

She flinches at the sound and the sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.  

“You scared of a little storm?” He feigns concern as he peers down at her.  

“N— no,” she lies, forcing her face to stay neutral, hesitant about him finding out her weaknesses.  

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” The mocking grin on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows, wishing this was all just a nightmare she could wake up from.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

After that little incident, he thinks that she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch.  

He can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered, doted on; to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. Makes him figure he's gonna enjoy his stay just fine.  

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to his own tired form, pointing his gun at him.  

His softened bones feel mellow from the sleep and he lets out a sigh, rubbing at his sleepy eyes and shifts to sit on the couch cushions; teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender. 

“Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Trying to be all tough now, are we?” There’s a lazy smile on his face.  

“I— I want you to…leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.  

And he’s trying to take her serious, he really is, but it’s proving to be a little difficult since she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.  

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should work on your pitch, I’m not very convinced, you know?” The exasperating smirk plastered on his face makes her brows crease.  

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face and he thinks she looks rather adorable.  

“Come on, Puppy. You’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” His voice is even; she hesitates. 

“Well, it can’t be that…complicated?” It’s more of a question than a statement and he really can’t keep the chuckle from bubbling out of his throat. Her frown deepens.  

“Why don’t you give it to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience. Would break you, you’re too soft for that shit.”  

“You don’t— know me.” 

“I know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet. He takes a slow step towards her and she squeezes the gun tighter in her trembling fingers.  

“If I give it to you, you’re gonna— you’re gonna…kill me. I don’t wanna die,” her words are hysterical, rushed.  

“Now who said anything about killing you? Look, if you give me the gun right now, I’m not gonna do anything. I give you my word, alright?” He’s towering over her, solid chest nearly grazing the barrel.  

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.  

“I know, Pup. But I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a contrast to her own precarious ones when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.  

“There we go, no need to be so fucking theatrical, yeah?” He lowers his head in order to lock his eyes with her frenzied ones.  

“See? Not hurting you, am I?”  

She manages out a hum of agreement and then her waterline is brimming with water, salty droplets trickling down her cheeks as she chokes out a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”  

“Hey, hey it’s all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” He says and then his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster and for some reason that makes her weep harder.  

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind, big paw rubbing against her back. And it’s almost…comforting, she thinks as he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child.  

“There you go, just let it all out and maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You Pogues can be so fucking dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.  

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form, pushing her back to stumble on her feet; setting the gun back on the coffee table with a clank. 

[bunnis-monsters]

Experimenting

Male!Vampire Scientist x Fem!Experiment Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 18th

Oct 17

Oct 19

summary: when a vampire needs a source of unlimited blood, he turns to science. You’re his experiment, and a bit spoiled…

warnings: blood drinking, cock warming, male lead is a bit manipulative

a/n: shut up if I have any spelling mistakes 🙏 I’m trying to catch up

You let out an annoyed whine as he poked his head into your room. You were in the middle of a movie, eating a snack.

“Darling~”

He walked in, throwing his lab coat aside and jumping into your bed. The man had a habit of coming to you after a long day in the lab, being clingy and over baring.

“H-hey, don’t jump in my bed before you wash up!”

You pouted, squirming as he pulled you on his lap and rubbed his cheek against your neck.

“Oh, don’t fuss my dear… you know I just adore you, it’s hard to stay away for long.”

Before you could whine anymore, he moved his hand between your thighs, pressing against your wet panties.

“Don’t you remember who saved you? Who’s spoiled you rotten?”

You did remember.

Before you had been living on the street, hungry and barely hanging on. One night you were caught in the middle of a shoot out, and nearly died from blood loss,

He found you curled up in an alleyway, buried beneath trash and filth. You had already died, not even turning you into a vampire could bring you back…

So he used the knowledge he had gained from his research so far from both science and witchcraft to give you life.

One of the side effects was that you overproduce blood, and had to be drained daily. It was a happy surprise, and he decided to keep you for himself as his blood bag.

You were kept in a sterile section of his lap, your bed a plain cot and your food some sort of nutritional mush.

It was hardly the place for a girl… but it would do. You were just an experiment, after all.

That had been his idea at first, to keep you in his laboratory and feed from you every once in a while… but he grew fond of you quickly.

A room was decorated with your interests in mind, and he made sure you were comfortable and had everything you could ever want.

You were almost like his doll, something he could play with when he was bored. He dressed you up, kept you in a pretty room… you were his perfect, pretty little doll.

That’s what he told himself. In all reality, he truly cared for you. Once you bring someone back from death and care for them for months while they recover, you become fond of that person and want to see them thrive.

As he thought this over, your memory was a bit different.

You reached out for him to help you, and he carried you back to his lab himself, not caring that you were dirty and smelled of decay.

Your spirit watched as he carefully cleaned and stitched up your broken body, his hands gentle and caring. Even though you were simply a corpse, he still dressed you and placed a pillow under your head while he researched ways to save you at his desk.

When you woke up in your body, you were in something much softer than the ground you slept on every night. Every day you ate until you were full, and always had energy to walk around.

You weren’t hungry or cold or dirty anymore… that was enough for you, but he gave you even more! A room just for you, dressed and games and books and all the attention and love you could ever ask for…

But it was so hard to accept all of this, to really give in to being spoiled. Especially when you were crushing this hard on him…

His fangs brushed against your neck as he slipped the silk panties he bought for you aside. Lately his affections had turned from platonic to sexual, and he had been toying with you a lot.

Experimenting.

“I see… this is how wet you get when I rub here, hmm?”

He licked along your neck, eyes on your fat cunt as he flicked your clit, causing you to yelp and your hips to buck.

“H-hey…”

His cock hardened when you squirmed, your plump ass moving against his hard on. “That hurts…”

You were pouting, your face warm and flustered.

“So cute…”

He lifted your hips with ease, his cock rubbing against your cunt before he slowly lowered you into it.

Though you’d never taken cock before, he had been slowly stretching you out for weeks now, pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting you ready to take him.

You could only whine and whimper, embarrassed that it felt so good. You attempted to move, but he kept you still, his fingers toying with your clit.

“Relax, love…”

His fangs sunk into your neck, causing you to wiggle and writhe in mild discomfort, which made his cock twitch inside of you. The man continued to stimulate your clit as he fed from you.

Your soft body felt warm against him, and having your blood flowing through his felt intimate. You were connected in a way no one else could be.

As he finished up his feeding, he began lightly bouncing you, letting you ride out your orgasm as his cum spurted into your womb.

Afterwards you were tired and a bit cranky from the blood loss, so he carried you to a bath and washed you up before tucking you into bed.

Why did he do so much for you? He wasn’t sure… but you knew.

He loved you, his little experiment had become his mate and he hadn’t even noticed yet.

want more of this? my commissions and kofi are open!

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[whokilledsamara]

HEYY POOKIE!!! I was wondering if you could do a Mr. Crawling from homicipher x a fem reader smut.(idk if you do fem reader if you don't feel comfortable just do gn)

THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU DO THIS!!! ♡♡♡ I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!!

ENDLESS

a Mr. Crawling {homicipher} x reader fic. {an: hi friend!! ofc! i actually prefer writing fem {afab} because it is what i am and i find it easier to write for. you have a good day aswell :)}

warnings! : not too much for this one, hes a friendly boy. smut, blood mention, claustrophobia, size difference, switch!reader, afab, female genitalia described, mr. crawling has no idea what hes doing, language border. sorry there isnt TOO much plot on this one, i need to study more on the game and plus i didnt really know how to write his character.

{an : this takes place in the part where Mr. Scarletella walks past the room, and Mr. Crawling has to protect/shield you. my apologies if it isnt completely accurate, i have yet to watch a full playthrough.}

theres.. blood on the floor. you make a mental note of as you walk down the eerie hallway, "Mr. Crawling" or so you called him, close behind you. he muttered the same word over and over to you, in a hushed yet worried voice. with not a single understanding of what he was saying, you took his facial expressions as a better way to figure it out. your best guess was that he was attempting to say "unsafe." as his veiny hand kept pointing down the hallway. "unsafe?" you ask in a curious tone. he pauses for a second before nodding.

halting your movements, you stare at him nervously, your eyes darting from him to down the hallway. "i have too.." you say softly as you look at him. he tilts his head in lack of understanding but allows you to continue walking, close behind you on his knees.

turning the corner, there is more blood and chains on the wall. gross. you think to yourself. your head snaps up as you hear footsteps seemingly getting closer to you, and before you can react, you are jerked into the closest room and underneath the usually crawling man. "w-wha... what are you doing..?" you whisper up at him, his worried expression flicking from you to the door.

he lets out a hushed whine, and again, in a language you cant understand, he huffs out panicked words. from your previous understanding with the others, you get the words "someone else, near"

you instantly shut your mouth, his body hovering over you in attempt to shield you from whatever was walking past. thats when you see it. a tall, slender man with red hair, covered in red clothing, and a.. red umbrella for some reason, walking past. the man pauses, static around him, before he continues walking as if he didn't notice you. your body instinctively huddles closer to Mr. Crawling, wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your body against his. after a few minutes, and after both of you are sure the tall man is gone, he starts to whimper, his forearms holding him above you, and his knee so perfectly placed in between your legs. what you thought was chaste, was him feeling an unknown desire for something he had never felt before.

his whimpers turn into almost desperate whines, and you finally look up at him. while you cant see his eyes, his face is a deep red and light pants leave his mouth. "a-are you okay..?" you ask in a hushed voice. while he doesnt understand you, he understands your body language. he presses his knee further into your clothed core, your body instantly reacting and jerking. "a-oh.." you flinch, hands sliding down his cloth clad chest. his hands make their way up your body, testing the waters and curiously grabbing your plush skin. the cold concrete floor wasnt making it easier to stay focused, along with his cold hands grabbing anything he could. "fuck.. i cant believe this is happening.." you mutter more to yourself than anything. his knee still pressed in between your legs. grabbing his hand, you trail it up under your shirt and place it on your heavy breast. allowing him to explore. he begins kneeding it, with an unknown curiosity. your breathing come out in short huffs and gentle moans, moans that he seems to enjoy hearing. "do you even... have the equipment to be doing this..?" you ask, motioning to his groin. his eyes follow your hand, and he tilts his head while staring at it. he pulls his hands out from under your shirt and slips down the cloth covering his groin. fuck hes big.. his heavy and semi-hard appendage springs out, a slight throb to it. your hand experimentally reaches out to touch it, its hot and leaking. his body instinctively jerks as your hand grazes it, a needy plea in his sounds.

well.. if im gonna die here i might aswell..

you slowly begin stroking it, his mouth agape and hips jerking towards your hand. he gently reaches for your clothing, quick yet gentle as he slides down your pants. you involuntarily squeak, but dont make a move to stop him as his hand curiously grazes your folds. with a swift motion, he pushes a finger inside your entrance, tilting his head with confusion as you moan heavily. wetness grows on his hand, leaking down his forearm. "oh fuck..." you breath shakily, pumping him faster. his face scrunches up and he lets out a cute noise, moving his finger faster. after a hot minute of this, you pull your hand off much to his dismay, and you gently remove his hand from you. as you position yourself in a slightly different way under him, you make a 'come here' motion with your finger. he obediently complies, above you once more.

teaching him what to do was kind of hard with the language barrier but you made it work. it wasnt long before he was slipping his length inside of you, stretching you as far as you could go. sure it hurt like hell, but you couldn't deny the pleasure that came with it. his thrusts were unpredictable, due to his lack of experience. he was good, really good in fact, and teaching him what to do was quite easy as a fast learner. you let out a harsh whine as his tip grazes your cervix, and his hips pause, eyes focused on your face. another word from that confusing language. "you, okay?" he asks. you nod hastily and reach out, grabbing his hip and pulling him back deeper. luckily he gets the hint, and starts moving again.

a white ring forms around the base of his length, his breathing heavy and hitching with each thrust. his long, skinny hand covers your mouth, preventing most of your noises from escaping your lips. no matter how much he wanted to hear them, he had to keep you safe. his thrusts became sloppier, signaling his upcoming orgasm. yours was approaching aswell, and quickly you reach your fingers down, rubbing in a rhythm he noticed. he looks from your face to your hand, shoving it out of the way and replacing it with his own, rubbing harsh circles on your bead. soon after, he had you coming undone on him, cunt clenching and unclenching around him. his whining hit a peak and his surprisingly cold seed shot through you. he came a lot, filling you to the brim and leaning over you.

his large form casted a shadow over your body, his hair falling on each side of your face as he desperately pressed his lips against yours, his cum seeping around him and out of you. harsh pants and whimpers fill the small room, as he pulls out and hurriedly pulls your clothing back on, not wanting to get caught.

he notices your struggle to stand, moving to his knees to help you up. after everything is stable, you and him make your way through the long corridors, hopefully finding an exit to this place.

maybe we can try again..

{an: this was so fun to make!! i kinda procrastinated a bit, so i apologize if it is sloppy. i don't know much about Homicipher other than my deep attraction to the characters XD}

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[reidsfilm]

UNDERCOVER — SPENCER REID

dividers credit: cafekitsune.

PARING: spencer reid x fem reader

WARNINGS: crime, blood, spencer being overprotective, (normal warnings in the series) innuendo to spicy time, physical fight, spencer from season 10, hotch and derek being cheeky fuckers, fluff, a bit of angst.

SUMMARY: SUMMARY: You and Spencer are undercover on a case, acting as a couple. When you stray from the original plan, it leads to danger and ends up with your friendship with Spencer being much more than just that.

WORD COUNT : 6,7k

Notes: English is not my first language, so bear with me. There might be spelling mistakes here and there. I need to start watching Criminal Minds. This isn't proofread!

It had started as a normal case. An unsub had been killing women, taking and leaving behind pieces of themselves. You and Reid had been assigned to go undercover in a bar at night to get any possible leads. You were a couple.

And now here you were, sitting at a table in the bar, your legs crossed and head resting gently in your hand. You weren't actually dating. Not at all. Just working together.

Spencer had a hand on your knee, gently tracing small circles with his thumb as he kept an eye on the patrons in the area.

You glanced around the bar, feeling Spencer's touch on your knee. You tried to remain in the undercover character you had created, sipping your drink and feigning being interested in the people around you. It was hard when Spencer was so close to you, but he made you feel protected, even if it was only for a case.

The bar was bustling around you, music playing in the background while people chatted, laughed, danced, and drank. Spencer’s thumb gently tracing circles on your thigh sent a flutter of butterflies to your stomach. It was always like this when the two of you were on a case. It was always so.. different, but no matter what, you trusted him, especially when he got to show his protective side.

You glanced sidelong at Spencer, noticing the small pout that had formed on his lips as he looked around the room. He always wore that expression when he was lost in thought. It was kind of adorable how focused he got. He didn't seem to notice that he was still tracing circles on your thigh, his hand resting there like it was natural. But to you, god it felt like your skin was on fire by his touch.

You continued to watch him, admiring the intensity of his gaze as his eyes scanned the room for any suspicious activity. You knew he was focusing on the case, that was obvious, but as his hand continued to caress your skin beneath the table.. it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the act. Why did he have to be so good with his hands?

Spencer suddenly tensed up, his grasp on your knee growing firmer as he spotted something on the other side of the room. He leaned a little closer to you, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke in a low voice. "Someone is watching us. Don't turn around."

Your heart skipped a beat. His closeness alone sent a shiver down your spine, but hearing his voice in your ear? It was almost too much. You struggled to keep your cool as you casually took another sip from your drink, resisting the urge to turn and see who was watching you.

He moves even closer to you, his hand still firmly on your knee. He was acting so casual as if he didn't notice the effect he was having on you. How unfair.

Spencer noticed the shudder that ran through you as he leaned closer. For a moment, he almost forgot about the case at hand as he took in the sight of you struggling to remain collected. He was tempted to tease you for it, but he knew there were more pressing matters. He let out a shaky breath before whispering to you again. "They're coming closer. Stay calm."

Spencer's hold on your knee tightened as he saw the figure approaching your table. You could feel him tense up beside you, his hand remaining a steady presence against your leg. As the person drew closer, you could see that it was a man, tall, with a sinister smile on his face.

He stopped at your table, his eyes flickering between you and Spencer. "Well, well, well. Aren't you two a lovely couple?"

Spencer forced a polite smile, his grip on your knee growing tighter. He could practically feel your anxiety radiating off you, matching his own. This wasn't good. The man's comment had set off alarm bells in his mind. This guy was definitely the unsub.

"Thanks," he replied, feigning nonchalance. "We like to think we make a good pair."

The unsub's gaze lingered on you, his eyes roaming over your body in a way that made Spencer's blood boil. But he kept his cool, knowing that any overt display of jealousy might give away your cover. He leaned slightly in front of you, almost as if he was trying to shield you from the unsub's leering eyes.

The unsub chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation. "You two look so cozy together. How long have you been a couple?"

Spencer's jaw clenched, but he managed to maintain his facade of calmness. He wanted nothing more than to deck this guy, but instead, he chose his words carefully. "Oh, we've been together for a few months now," he said smoothly, his hand rubbing small circles on your leg again.

The unsub's smile widened, clearly finding some sick amusement in this situation. "Well, isn't that just adorable," he cooed, taking a step closer. "You seem very much.. in love."

Spencer suppressed a scoff, his hand clenching into a fist under the table. He would have liked nothing more than to wipe that smug look off the man's face.

You did your best to maintain a calm and cool demeanor despite the growing sense of unease. The unsub's presence was making your skin crawl, but with Spencer's hand resting on your leg and his protective stance, you remained collected.

"He makes me very happy," you said in a soft voice, glancing at Spencer with a smile that was half-genuine, half-act. "I'm a lucky girl."

The unsub's expression turned almost predatory at your comment. "Oh, I bet he does."

Spencer's eyes narrowed as the unsub leered at you, his grip on your leg growing firmer. He forced himself to remain civil, knowing that one wrong move could compromise the entire operation. But it was difficult, especially when he could see how uncomfortable and uneasy this whole situation was making you.

The unsub leaned closer, eyeing you up and down like you were a piece of meat. "He better treat you right," he almost purred. "A pretty thing like you deserves it."

Spencer bristled beside you, his jaw clenching as he bit back a scathing remark. The unsub's leering made him sick, and knowing he couldn't confront the guy outright drove him crazy. He wanted to punch the bastard's lights out, but that would definitely blow your cover.

The unsub smirked, clearly noticing the change in Spencer's demeanor. "Oh, don't like me commenting on your girl." He chuckled. "A little possessive, are we?"

Spencer couldn't hold back any longer.

"Yeah, I am." The words came out through gritted teeth, his hand instinctively rubbing your leg in a possessive gesture. He knew he was letting his emotions get the better of him, but he couldn't help it. Seeing this creep ogling you was driving him mad.

The unsub chuckled again, clearly amused by Spencer's reaction. "Careful now, pretty boy. Wouldn't want to do something you'll regret."

Spencer clenched his jaw tighter, his knuckles turning white as he held back a torrent of profanities. Seeing the unsub taunt him and openly flirt with you was pushing him to the edge. He was about to snap.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Hotch's voice came through your earpieces. "Keep it cool, guys. We've got eyes on you. Don't let him get to you."

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, slow breath to try and regain control. Listening to Hotch's calm but stern voice cut through the tension, reminding him that they needed to keep their cover intact.

Knowing that the team was watching and they had your backs helped to settle the nerves, but the unsub's unsettling presence was still making your skin crawl. And Spencer's obvious tension only heightened the situation.

Meanwhile, the unsub continued to leer at you and Spencer, enjoying the way he was clearly getting to him.

Spencer was trying to regain his composure. He let out a slow breath, his hand still gripping your knee like a vice, but he was clearly struggling to rein in his emotions. Despite his efforts to appear calm, it was obvious to everyone listening through the earpiece that he was on the verge of exploding.

The unsub, of course, noticed this and seemed to relish the power he had over Spencer. He chuckled again, relishing in his ability to provoke a reaction. "Looks like I hit a nerve."

You did your best to maintain a cool facade, plastering on a polite smile as you spoke. "Yeah, my man can get a little overprotective," you said with a laugh, trying to keep your voice light and casual. "It's kind of sweet, really."

You cast a glance at Spencer, hoping he would pick up the hint and reign in his emotions a bit. But with the way his jaw was clenched, it was like trying to tame a lion with a collar.

The unsub snorted, clearly not buying your attempts to downplay the situation. "Overprotective, huh?"

Spencer's grip on your knee grew even tighter, his knuckles white as he tried not to snap. But the unsub's words and the way he was still eyeing you were only fueling the fire.

A thought suddenly flashed through your mind. An idea. A dangerous one, and definitely against protocol, but you were certain you could handle it. You had to let Spencer know, somehow.

You reached down and gently placed your hand over his, giving it a subtle squeeze, hoping he'd pick up on the cue. Then, as casually as possible, you turned to glance at him. "Baby, I need to use the ladies' room, I'll be right back."

Spencer tensed up even more as you spoke, his eyes flicking to you with a mixture of disbelief and concern. He knew you well enough to know when you had a plan. And Spencer had a bad feeling about this one.

He caught the subtle squeeze of your hand, and the tone in your voice when you spoke to him. Danger, danger, danger. He wanted to protest, to tell you not to go alone, not to put yourself in danger, but you were already standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

You could feel Spencer's eyes on you as you made your way towards the bathroom, the unsub also watching you leave with a leering gaze. You maintained your calm demeanor, but your heart was racing inside. This was dangerous and stupid, but you were certain you could handle it. Hell, Spencer would probably kick your ass after this, but as long as it got the job done...

You reached the restroom door and pushed it open, stepping inside the dimly lit space.

As the door closed behind you, the sound seemed to echo in your ears. You took a deep breath, pushing aside the nerves and reminding yourself that you were trained for this. You could do this.

You glanced at the mirror above the sink, taking a moment to check your reflection. It was still you, same facade, same expression. But there was a flicker of determination in your eyes, something that hadn't been there before. You were ready.

"What are you doing?"

Damn, you'd almost forgotten about the earpiece. But Hotch's voice snapped you back to reality. He'd seen you stand up and walk to the bathroom, and you could sense his concern through the comm link.

"I have a plan." You muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you stepped further into the bathroom.

There was a brief pause before Hotch's response came through the earpiece. "What kind of plan?"

You could practically feel the disapproval in his voice. But you'd already made up your mind.

"I'm going to try and detain him."

Another pause, longer this time, as Hotch processed what you'd just said. You could almost see the disapproving look on his face. "That's not within protocol," he replied, his tone stern. You know you should wait for further instructions, for backup. But you were set on your plan, no matter how much trouble it would end up getting you in.

"I know," you admitted, your voice still hushed. You stepped over to the sink, pretending to fix your hair in the mirror as you continued your conversation. "But it's the best shot we have at him without causing a scene."

"You're putting yourself in danger," Hotch protested, his voice tight with concern. "We can't risk-"

You interrupted him, your voice firm. "I can handle myself. Just trust me, okay?"

The comm line fell silent for a moment as Hotch considered your request. Trust was a big thing in the BAU, and he knew you well enough to know that you weren't one to take unnecessary risks. But you were determined, and he wasn't about to stop you.

"Be careful," he said after a moment, the hint of reluctance still present in his tone.

"Always am," you replied with a hint of a smirk, your voice regaining some of its usual confidence. The nerves were still there, but you pushed them aside. Time to focus.

"Keep an eye on Spencer, would you? I don't want him charging in here like a bull."

You could hear a huff of amusement through the earpiece as Hotch replied, "I'll try. You know how he is."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, knowing full well how protective Spencer could be. But you had a job to do, and you needed to remain focused.

"I'll report in once I got him cornered. Wish me luck."

With that, you pulled off the earpiece, not wanting to draw attention to yourself with any potential noises. This was it. Time to see if your plan would work or blow up in your face.

You took one last deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. You'd taken care of dangerous suspects before, this was no different. At least, that's what you told yourself.

You reached a hand down to your hip, making sure the small handgun was still secure in its holster. Just in case. Now, all that was left to do was wait and see if the unsub would take the bait.

You stood at the sink for a few moments, fidgeting with your makeup and waiting for any sound that would indicate the unsub was coming. Your heart beat anxiously in your chest, the anticipation growing with each passing second.

Then, you heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and the scrape of shoes on the tiled floor. It was him.

You turned around slowly, forcing a casual expression onto your face. He stood a few feet away, a smirk on his lips as he regarded you. He looked more sinister now, without the cover of the restaurant between you.

"Well, look who we have here," he drawled, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He took a step closer, his gaze roaming over your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

"Just needing a little touch-up time," you replied, trying to keep your voice light and unbothered. You leaned back against the sink, trying not to flinch as he closed the distance between you.

"Yeah? I think you look perfect to me." He was standing way too close now, his body practically pressed against yours. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and it took everything you had to maintain your composure.

You tried to subtly shift away from him, your heart racing as your back pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink. Your hand casually reached back, fingers inching closer to the gun hidden at your hip.

He seemed to notice your subtle movement and leaned in closer, his gaze flickering down to your hip. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, his voice a low, mocking whisper.

Your heart was hammering against your ribs now, but you tried to keep your voice steady. "What do you mean?" you feigned ignorance, hoping he wouldn't notice the way your palm was slowly closing around the grip of the handgun.

He leaned in even closer, his face just inches from yours. "Don't play dumb. I know you're hiding something." he reached out, his fingers ghosting along the edge of your hip, dangerously close to your gun.

You froze as his fingers brushed against your hip, adrenaline coursing through your veins. It was now or never. You had to act fast.

In a swift, fluid motion, you grabbed his hand and spun him around, pinning his arm behind his back and pushing him against the wall. The sudden movement surprised him, and he let out a grunt of surprise as his face pressed against the cold tiles.

The element of surprise gave you the upper hand for now, but you knew he was still dangerous. "You've got some skills," he grunted, a hint of anger in his voice as he tried to twist out of your grip.

You pushed him harder against the wall, applying even more pressure to his arm. He grunted again, unable to move. "And you talk too much," you retorted, keeping your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

You could hear his breathing getting faster, his body tense as he tried to break free. "You think you've got me cornered, huh?" he spat. "You're not the first agent to underestimate me."

"I think I've got you right where I want you," you replied, your grip on his arm tightening. You could feel his muscles straining under your grasp, but he was still pinned against the wall.

Suddenly, he let out a dark chuckle, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "And what makes you think I'm alone?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "What do you mean?" You demanded, your voice steady but your mind racing with the implications of his words. Was he implying that there were more people involved? People who were never mentioned in the case?

"Oh, you really think it's just me in on this?" He twisted his head to look at you, a sly smile on his lips. Despite the situation, he seemed to be enjoying this. "You've been too busy watching me, you didn't even spot the two guys outside."

Your fingers closed around the familiar grip of your gun, heart thundering in your chest as the man advanced towards you. You could hear more gunshots and commotion coming from outside, but that didn't matter right now. You had to focus on staying alive.

And take this man down.

You tried to back away, your back hitting the wall behind you as the unsub stepped closer to you, his gaze locked on yours. "Think you can shoot me, sweetheart?"

Your finger rests on the trigger, ready to shoot if needed. But the unsub is faster than you, managing to grab your gun, and it goes off, sending a bullet into the mirror by the sink, shattering it.

he sudden sound of the gunshot and shattering mirror jarred you, but you fought back against him, your adrenaline kicking into overdrive. You cursed the fact that you were wearing heels, the thin stilettos making it difficult to keep your balance.

You threw a punch, aiming for his face, but he caught your wrist, and the fight turned into a grappling struggle for the gun.

You could feel your heart sink as the gun skidded away from you, the sound of it hitting the tiled floor echoing in your ears like a bad omen. The unsub noticed it too, a victorious glint in his eyes as he took a step back from you.

"Looks like you're out of weapons," he jeered, his voice low and mocking.

You looked around, trying to think quickly. You were outnumbered, unarmed, and trapped in a confined space. The odds were not in your favor, but you refused to give up.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and the unsub as you scanned the small bathroom for anything that could be used as a weapon. There wasn't much – a few toiletries, a paper towel dispenser, nothing that would be much use against a man twice your size.

The unsub's gaze was on you like a hawk, following your every movement. "Where you think you're going, pretty girl?" he taunted, moving forward slowly, his footsteps echoing loudly in the small space. "You're not gonna get away that easily."

With no chance of running or finding another weapon, you were left with no choice. You clenched your fists, readying yourself for a physical confrontation. You hated hand-to-hand combat, it was never your strong suit, but you had to make do.

"Bring it, buddy," you taunted, trying to sound braver than you felt.

The unsub chuckled at your challenge, stepping closer again. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that," he said, his eyes scanning your form up and down. "But you're way in over your head."

He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab you. You managed to dodge the first attempt, twisting your body away from his reach, but he was quick and relentless. He kept coming at you, his movements swift and fluid, like a snake.

You threw a punch, aiming for his face, but he dodged it with ease, his hand catching your wrist and yanking you to the side. You stumbled, the heel of your shoe catching on the edge of a tile. You barely managed to keep your balance, your heart hammering in your chest.

You gasped as he grabbed a handful of your hair and slammed you into the edge of the sink. The impact sent a sharp pain through your skull, making your vision swim for a moment. You tried to fight him off, but he had an iron grip on your hair, keeping you pinned.

The sudden sound of the door crashing open and the sight of your teammates appearing in the doorway sent a wave of relief through you. Hotch, Derek, and even Spencer, all holding their service weapons at the ready.

The unsub's grip on your hair loosened slightly, his eyes wide with surprise at the unexpected arrival. For a moment, it seemed like the tables had turned.

Derek quickly assessed the situation, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him – you, pinned against the sink, the unsub's hand in your hair, the shattered mirror, and the gun lying just out of reach on the floor.

"You wanna let her go, pal?" he barked, his voice hard and unwavering.

Hotch's gaze fell on you, his eyes instantly locking onto the blood dripping down your face. Concern flashed across his features for a brief moment before he schooled his expression back into his usual stoic demeanor.

"Let go of her," he repeated Derek's command, his voice firm and commanding. "Now."

The unsub didn't move, his eyes darting around the room, calculating his options. But his grip on you loosened as he realized he was outnumbered. He released your hair, his hand dropping away from your scalp.

"Hands on your head," Hotch barked, stepping forward. Derek moved in as well, his gun still raised and aimed directly at the unsub.

Spencer lingered by the doorway, eyes wide and worried as he took in your injured state.

The unsub complied, raising his hands slowly and placing them on the back of his head. He looked resigned, his earlier bravado replaced with a resigned acceptance that he was outnumbered and outgunned.

"Turn around slowly," Hotch instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument. The unsub obeyed, turning slowly to face the wall, his hands still on his head.

Within seconds, Derek had him restrained, his hands cuffed behind his back. Hotch holstered his gun and moved swiftly towards you, Spencer right behind him.

Hotch stepped closer, his eyes scanning over you. His hand reached up to gently cup your chin, tilting your face to the side to examine your face, and the blood trickling down the side.

"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Spencer, lingering at Hotch's side, leaned in closer, concern etched in his features. "Does it feel swollen? Are you dizzy?" he rattled off, his usual rambling coming in rapid-fire.

"I'm okay," you assured them, though you leaned slightly into Hotch's touch. Your head throbbed, the adrenaline from the fight starting to wear off.

Hotch gently released your chin, his fingers still lingering near your injury for a moment longer. "We need to get that cleaned up," he said, gesturing to your temple.

Spencer had already taken a handkerchief out of his pocket, gently dabbing at the blood The white cotton quickly stained red as he cleaned the blood away.

"You'll probably need stitches," he commented, his fingers gently prodding the edges of the wound.

The sounds of your teammates clearing the scene faded into the background, leaving you alone with Spencer in the now-silent bathroom. The adrenaline was quickly being replaced by the pain from your injuries, but it was his silence that was unnerving you more than anything

Spencer was focused on cleaning the blood from your face, his touch gentle but his expression unreadable. He didn't say a word, just continued his work silently, but you could tell he was tense, his jaw set in a firm line.

Once he was satisfied that the wound was clean, he finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. "You should've waited for backup," he said, his voice cold and clipped.

He kept his gaze focused on the cut, refusing to meet your eyes. "We could've taken care of this without you getting hurt," he added, his tone bordering on accusation.

"I had it under control," you protested, but even as you said the words, you knew they weren't entirely true. You'd acted impulsively, putting yourself in danger just to prove a point.

Spencer's hands stilled, finally meeting your eyes, his gaze burning with a mix of anger and worry. "Under control? You're bleeding. You could've been killed." His voice was a growl, his frustration palpable.

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face, as if he was trying to see past your bravado and into your true state of mind.

"You can't just throw yourself into danger like that," he said, his voice softer now but firm. "We have protocols for a reason."

"I know we have rules and protocols, but sometimes situations don't allow us the luxury of following them," you muttered, your stubbornness rearing its head even in your injured state. "I didn't feel like I had a choice."

Spencer's grip on your head tightened for a moment, his jaw clenching as he fought back a more heated retort. He exhaled through his nostrils, his frustration clear.

"There's always a choice," he argued, his voice a low growl. "You just took the most reckless one."

Spencer's eyes flicked over your face, lingering on the gash on your temple for a moment before moving down to your lips. The atmosphere was thick with the kind of tension familiar to both of you, leading to late nights and whispered secrets.

"You don't get to throw yourself into danger like that and expect me not to worry," he nearly hissed.

He was standing close, his body practically leaning over you as he tended to your wound. His hands were still on your face, one gently holding the side of your head while the other held the handkerchief against your skin.

As he spoke, you could feel his breath, warm against your cheek. "Don't do that again," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't make me worry like that."

"I can't promise that I won't get myself into dangerous situations," you said quietly, your eyes meeting his stare. "It's part of the job."

There was a pause, the tension thick between you. His hands were still gently cradling your head, but his touch felt more possessive now, like he was silently claiming you as his.

"Just promise me you'll be more careful," he said, his voice pleading.

His fingers trembled slightly against your skin, the vulnerability in his voice only increasing your desire to comfort him. You reached up and gently laid your hand over his, silently reassuring him that you were okay.

"I will," you whispered. "I promise."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, an idea forming in your mind. You knew that one way to get past Spencer's stubborn facade was through bribery, particularly with his sweet tooth.

"How about this," you began, your voice taking on a slightly teasing tone. "I'll be more careful, and I'll buy you some donuts as an apology for worrying you

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise flashing through them. It was almost comical how quickly you saw him crumble, his resolve melting under the suggestion of donuts.

"You're bribing me with sugar," he stated, sounding almost offended, yet the corners of his mouth were twitching upwards.

"Is it working?" you asked, grinning up at him. You could practically see his weak willpower crumbling away. Donuts were his kryptonite.

Spencer tried to maintain his stoic exterior, but the way his eyes lit up betrayed his true feelings. He was a sucker for donuts, and you knew it.

"I mean, it's not the worst bribe," he admitted, his voice laced with resignation but also with a hint of playfulness.

You let out a soft laugh, his feigned resistance amusing you. He could pretend to be mad all he wanted, but you knew he was already imagining the taste of those sugary treats.

"I'll even get the ones with sprinkles," you promised, knowing that would practically seal the deal.

"Sprinkles?" he repeated, his voice a little too eager to be convincing. "You know me so well."

He tried to play it cool, but his eyes betrayed his excitement. It was almost endearing how easily the idea of donuts broke down his defensive walls.

"Of course I do," you said, a hint of satisfaction in your voice. "I know exactly how to get you to forgive me."

You knew that donuts were his weakness, and you were more than willing to exploit it when necessary. After all, it was a small price to pay for Spencer's forgiveness.

He looked down at you, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his expression. He was fully aware of his sweet tooth and the power it held.

"You're not playing fair," he muttered, but there was no real heat behind his words.

He knew he was defeated, and deep down, he was probably already planning which donuts he wanted.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his response. He was adorable when he was trying to resist, even though you both knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"I never said I would play fair," you teased, a cheeky smile on your face. "I play to win, and this time, winning means getting you a dozen donuts."

Spencer flushed, his cheeks coloring slightly under your touch. He hadn't expected the gentle gesture, and his usually stoic demeanor faltered for a moment.

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours. He looked a little flustered, his usual controlled expression replaced with a hint of vulnerability.

"That's...that's a good start," he murmured, his voice a little shaky.

He swallowed, trying to regain his composure but failing. The simple act of you kissing his cheek had thrown him off balance.

"But it's going to take more than that to truly make it up to me," he said, his voice regaining a bit of its usual teasing tone.

He leaned in a little closer, the air between you growing more charged. His eyes held a hint of mischief, his smile growing wider.

"I mean, I do like donuts, but I think I'm going to need something a little more substantial as a true apology," he whispered, his voice low and suggestive.

His hand lightly rested on your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle path over your skin. He was being playful now, his usual serious demeanor giving way to his more flirtatious side.

His hand moved down to your chin, his touch light but deliberate. He tilted your face up to meet his gaze, his eyes darkened with desire.

"Can you think of anything more substantial that might serve as an adequate apology?" he murmured, his voice dripping with suggestion.

You felt yourself shiver under his touch, your body responding to his proximity and his words. There was a hint of hunger in his eyes, and it sent a thrill through you.

"Maybe," you replied, your voice a little breathless. "But I think I'll need a hint first. I wouldn't want to disappoint my favorite genius."

Spencer's smile widened, his fingers tracing a slow path down your jawline. He leaned in, his mouth close to your ear.

"Hmm," he pretended to think, his hot breath against your skin sending another shiver down your spine. "Perhaps the apology should be a little more... physical."

His hand moved from your chin down to your neck, his fingers lightly tracing the sensitive skin there. He was so close to you now, his body almost pressed against yours.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath growing a bit heavier as he continued to toy with you.

"Something that involves a lot of... touching," he whispered, his voice low and seductive.

His hand moved lower, his fingers tracing a path down your collarbone, down your arm, and finally settling on your hip. His grip was firm but gentle, his touch possessive.

He stepped even closer, his body flush against yours now. You could feel the heat of his chest against yours, his heart beating a little quicker.

"That's the kind of apology I might forgive," he murmured, his mouth hovering just above yours.

He was so close, his eyes locked with yours. His thumb continued to trail patterns on your hip, his touch both maddening and exhilarating.

His hand slid around to the small of your back, pulling you even closer. He leaned down, his mouth now just a whisper away from yours.

"I'm a very tactile person," he whispered, his voice dripping with implication. "I need to feel my apologies, not just hear them."

Your pulse quickened at his words, his proximity and his touch sending a wave of heat through you.

You reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth close to yours. "Then I guess I'll just have to make sure my apology is extra convincing," you whispered, your voice husky with desire.

You closed the remaining distance between your lips, kissing him hard.

Spencer let out a soft groan at the contact, his hand on your back tightening as he pulled you close. He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that caught you off guard.

He tasted like coffee and some lingering sweetness, a combination that was irresistibly addictive. He nipped at your lips, his hands roaming over your body, touching and caressing with an increasing hunger.

The sound of the bathroom door made you both pull away. You looked past Spencer to see Hotch and Derek.

Derek's smirk widened as he saw the two of you quickly pull away from one another.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. "Looks like we've interrupted something."

Hotch couldn't help but chuckle, his gaze flickering between you and Spencer. Hotch pulled out his wallet, handing Derek a 50$ bill.

You looked between Hotch and Derek, your confusion deepening at the sight of the fifties changing hands.

"What are you two doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of amusement and bemusement.

"Oh, we just had a little bet going," Derek explained, his smirk widening.

Hotch nodded in agreement, his expression still one of mild amusement. "We bet on when you two would finally stop dancing around each other and just admit your feelings," he explained.

Your confusion slowly turned to embarrassment at their words. They had been betting on your relationship?

You shot a glance over at Spencer, who was looking just as flustered as you were. He was clearly still a little worked up from your earlier encounter, his cheeks slightly flushed and his hair a little disheveled.

"You two bet money on our love life?" you exclaimed, your voice a mix of amusement and indignation.

Derek chuckled, pocketing the money Hotch had handed over. "Guilty as charged," he said, his grin unapologetic.

Hotch shrugged, his expression still mild but with a hint of amusement. "Consider it a friendly wager," he said.

"Friendly wager or not, you two are unbelievable," you muttered, still a little flustered but trying to play it off with a laugh.

Spencer, on the other hand, was trying to regain his composure. He ran a hand through his hair, fixing his disheveled locks and trying to look unfazed.

"It's not like we were the only ones making bets," Derek pointed out, his gaze flickering over to Spencer. "JJ and Penelope have had a bet going on for months."

Spencer's face flushed even deeper at Derek's words. JJ and Penelope had been betting on your relationship too?

You couldn't help but laugh at Spencer's reaction to Derek's revelation. His expression was a mix of mortification and resignation, as if he had known deep down that the rest of the team was watching the slow burn between you two.

You turned to him, nudging him playfully. "Looks like we're the talk of the office, genius."

Spencer let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit at your comment. "Great," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair again. "Just what I need, the whole team betting on our relationship."

He looked down at you, his expression a mix of resignation and fondness. "But I guess it was only a matter of time before we gave them something to talk about."

You gave him a reassuring smile, reaching up to touch his arm. "Hey, at least they seem to think we're a good match," you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Hotch and Derek chuckled again at your comment, their grins still just as knowing.

Spencer let out another sigh, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. "Yeah, and they're enjoying our... progression a little too much," he grumbled, his voice still a little flustered.

Derek let out a bark of laughter at Spencer's tone. "Oh, come on, Reid. Lighten up. We're just happy you two finally got your act together."

Hotch nodded in agreement. "And I have to say, I've never seen you quite so worked up over someone before," he observed, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Spencer's cheeks colored again at Hotch's remark. He shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best.

"Can we please stop discussing my love life," he muttered, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Derek and Hotch exchanged another smirk, obviously enjoying their ability to embarrass him.

You guys left the restroom and the bar all together. The unsub as and the two others had been detained and taken to interrogation. The EMTs had just finished tending to your injured head the wound was cleaned and plastered but thankfully did not require stitches. You were sitting on the edge of the ambulance, a blanket draped around you

Spencer hovered over you, his expression one of concern. He had been by your side the whole time, watching as the EMTs cleaned and bandaged your wound.

Now, he was sitting next to you on the edge of the ambulance, his hand resting on your leg. He was silent for a moment, his eyes focused on your face, taking in the sight of the bandaid plastered against your forehead.

"About earlier...in the bathroom..." you began, your voice soft.

Spencer's hand stiffened a little on your leg at your sudden mention of the kiss.

He swallowed, his gaze flickering away from yours for a moment before coming back to meet your eyes. "It...it meant something," he said, his voice hesitant. His eyes searched your face as if looking for some sort of confirmation. "At least, it did to me."

You smiled at his words, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. "Good," you said, your voice soft. "Because it meant a lot to me too."

You reached up, your hand gently tracing the line of his jaw. You could see the emotions flickering across his face, his usual stoic veneer cracked just a bit.

"I still owe you a dozen donuts," you reminded him, your voice light.

Yeah," he mumbled, his eyes flickering with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "But I think I'd rather have another kiss than a dozen donuts."

He looked down, his expression a little contrite. "Not that I don't still want the donuts," he added quickly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You leaned forward, your hand still tangled in his hair, pulling his face down to meet yours.

The kiss was soft, a gentle press of lips against yours, filled with tenderness and sweetness. It was different from the urgent, passionate kiss you had shared in the bathroom, this one slow and deliberate.

You thought back to how it all started - how you had both agreed to pretend to be a couple to gain information during the case.

And now, here you were, sitting in the back of an ambulance, your lips still tingling from the kiss you had shared with Spencer. You never could have predicted that this charade would lead to something real, but it did.

Somehow, the lines between acting and reality had blurred, turning your pretend relationship into something completely genuine.

I don't know a lot about Criminal Minds and the characters, so I'm sorry if this is completely different than what the characters would say or do. I haven't watched the series, but I know the basic things.

So I apologize to anyone who's watched the series and that it doesn't match their personality!!!

[yandere-writer-momo]

Inspiration: “Don't love me. I've survived this long without it, and if you try, I will collapse under the weight of my loneliness and desire. Start running, please."

I couldn’t help myself and I had to write a Yandere Jason Todd when I saw this quote. Put a poll up for this and then I wrote it anyways. Oops. Enjoy!

Yandere Batman Shorts:

The Wolf and The Lamb

Yandere Jason Todd x Fem Roommate Reader

All his life Jason Todd lived for revenge. He had slaughtered so many that his hands were permanently stained with blood. He was violent and unpredictable like a wild animal… a starving wolf. One that was a lone wolf rejected by its pack.

His volatile temper controlled most of his actions and decisions. Decisions that severed ties with anyone who dared to get close to him… so why was it different with (your name)?

(Your name) was a pretty, young woman he moved in with when she posted a listing. Jason didn’t expect much but she had somehow became a constant in his life. A balm to his wounded soul. One who didn’t judge him no matter what insults her hurled… a lamb in a sea of predators.

Jason would explode and burn down everything in his path yet she hardly batted her eyelashes at his outbursts… she’d just patiently wait for him to cool off before she’d ask him if he needed to talk. Why did she even want to waste her precious time to listen to him? He was a mess… a broken man that had experienced unspeakable trauma. Why didn’t (your name) treat him like everyone else did? Like she… like she cared about him. (Your name) was the only one who didn’t look at him like he was a monster. (Your name) looked at him like he deserved love and care… how could he have stopped himself from completely falling for her warmth? His fate was sealed the moment they moved in together.

(Your name) was patient, warm, and kind… an anomaly in a place like Gotham city. Jason was terrified that one day she wouldn’t be here when he came back to the apartment early in the morning… she was too trusting. Too soft. Too precious to be in a hellhole like this.

Jason hated himself for feeling so protective of a woman who was simply his roommate. She had never given any indication that she even wanted to be with him romantically or even sexually… yet the thought of her secretly pining for him kept him awake. Those delusional thoughts slipped its fingers into his mind until she was all he ever thought about anymore. That woman had driven him insane with yearning.

Jason often imagined her hands tangled through his hair as his lips pressed against her delicate throat. Of how he’d sink his teeth and leave a mark to show others he had claimed her- Jason was sick. He was sick in the head for his desires. For this all consuming fire of desire he had for her.

Jason put his face in his hands as he tried not to scream in frustration and wake up (your name) from her sleep. Gods he despised himself…

He had this new habit as of recently to watch her as she slept. In his sick, twisted mind, he kept her safe in a way. He made sure she didn’t have nightmares. That her dreams were only filled with the sweetness she selflessly shared with him. That she didn’t shiver or sweat in her sleep. That her expressions were always peaceful. It’s what he believed she deserved…

Jason didn’t know how to love. He’s never experienced it before… yet he didn’t want anyone else to have (your name). A selfish desire he had, but he was a selfish person. He knew she deserved softness. Someone who would be gentle and patient. Someone who wasn’t rough like he was…

But Jason didn’t care anymore. She had done something that no one else ever had… she had given him warmth. And jason would do anything to keep it as his forever. No matter who he had to eliminate out of his way.

Jason may be a wolf, but now he yearned for the lamb.

[bluebellhairpin]

Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north. 

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay. 

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less. 

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too. 

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.” 

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach. 

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?” 

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.” 

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone. 

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.” 

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.” 

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal. 

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.” 

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow. 

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers. 

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back. 

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over. 

“What is that?” you asked. 

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed. 

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be? 

“A direwolf?” 

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.” 

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good. 

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.” 

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was. 

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do. 

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker. 

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried. 

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close. 

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake. 

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned. 

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere. 

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge. 

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive. 

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds. 

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless. 

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder. 

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling. 

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease. 

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned. 

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck. 

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears. 

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.” 

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was. 

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned. 

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour. 

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach. 

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand. 

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms. 

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said. 

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway. 

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug. 

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?” 

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.” 

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.” 

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.” 

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his. 

“I love you.” he said. 

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek. 

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Burns Like Rum

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Word Count: 7,840 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+), menstruating reader, hungry Astarion, mutual pining, possibly OOC dialogue, vampire feeding, soft Astarion, no particular timeline but Astarion hasn't told you anything yet

18+ Warnings: period sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, bite kink, blood kink, aftercare, use of the words cunt & cock

Note: For my usual readers, more Stranger Things content is coming, I promise! But this bitey boy currently owns my heart so I'm gonna show him some love :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion was hungry, and it was entirely your fault, for more than one reason.

The first was that, almost a month ago now, you had let Astarion drink from you. He'd been starving, and it didn't help that the others had given him strict rules about feeding, so when he flashed those sad but gorgeous red eyes at you, complaining of hunger, you'd all but gifted him your neck.

He'd practically drained you that night. You had been weak for days. Of course, the others, namely Gale and Lae'zel, were furious with you for letting him drink from you, but the sated, content look on his face after feeding made it all worth it to you. He'd become more comfortable around you after that, too, and you'd considered that an improvement.

It hadn't been all that bad, really, for him to sink his teeth into you and drink until your grip on him had grown so weak that he'd let up to check on you. In fact, it had been...rather pleasant. He'd been gentle, careful, his bite sharp but considerate. You knew then that you'd risk becoming anemic for a week just to feel the pleasure of his hand cradling your neck and head, his mouth against your neck, his tongue soothing the bite he'd left when he'd had his fill.

But in the weeks that followed, his hunger gradually returned, and with a vengeance. It was as if he'd never fed from you at all, suffering hunger pangs he hid from the others—but you noticed, recognizing them from the night he'd begged you to let him drink from you.

You'd offered him more of your blood since then, but he'd refused you every time. He could smell your guilt, your need to make him feel better simply because you felt responsible for his current pain.

"I won't accept blood from someone who feels obligated to give it to me," he'd said, and his tone made it difficult to tell if he was being snide or kind.

Sometimes, you simply didn't understand that man.

And then three days ago, you'd been injured in a fight. It was nothing fatal, the gash in your midsection missing any major muscles and not deep enough to jeopardize your organs, but it was bloody. You'd limped your way back to camp, your head swimming, the world around you growing darker around the edges with every step.

You'd fainted in Astarion's arms—although collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlach—drenched in blood, some of which was yours and some of which that wasn't.

"You should have seen his face!" Karlach had laughed when you'd woken up the next morning, woozy but fine thanks to Shadowheart. The blood loss kept you off your feet for the day to recover, and Karlach had taken the time to visit you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, although you already had a good idea what might have happened after you passed out.

"You put him in a right pickle, collapsing on him like that, all covered in blood and losing more of it quickly," she said. "He didn't know what to do with you. It was— It was like he didn't want to drop you, but he really did want to drop you, because all he wanted to do was drink from you. Can't say as I blame him—he's not fed in weeks and you turn up with his next meal draining out of you." You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "Why'd you beeline for him anyway? Shadowheart's tent was just a few paces away!"

You glared at her through your fingers. "You know why I went to him, Karlach!" She, of all people, would understand. She had been the first person to find out that, as much as you flirted with them all, Astarion was the one you wanted.

"Well, obviously," she said, "but it didn't occur to you that he might...have an adverse reaction?"

Rolling your eyes, you snarked, "No, Karlach, it didn't, I was bleeding out and suffering from head trauma. I just...saw someone I trusted to keep me safe and ran to him."

She cocked her head to the side. "That's sweet, but stupid."

You snorted. "Yeah, I know—Shadowheart won't stop yelling at me for it."

You hadn't seen Astarion until that night, when the group of you had gathered at the campfire. It hadn't meant to be like that; you'd seen him and had wanted to talk to him, at least apologize for throwing your bloody body at him, but Shadowheart followed you closely to keep you safe and soon the others had gathered.

It had been like a very strange family dinner, made awkward by everyone dancing around exactly why you'd gone to Astarion, knowing a hungry vampire and fresh blood were not a good mix.

The final reason you were making his hunger unbearable made itself known at the end of the night, when it was just you, Astarion, and Shadowheart at the dying fire.

She must have caught sight of the way you kept looking at Astarion out of the corner of your eye, embarrassedly looking away or pretending to gaze into the trees behind him every time he caught you looking. She tapped your shoulder and told you she needed to get rest. The "you should, too" was implied, hanging in the air along with her worry about your healing.

"I'm fine, Shadowheart, really," you insisted. "I won't rip myself open again, I promise."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Astarion promised. "Nothing too...strenuous for her just yet." Something in his voice made you shiver.

She left the two of you alone. You looked first at the fire, then down at your hands, folded in your lap. Anywhere than at him.

You didn't even hear him move. You only knew he had when you felt him sit on the log beside you, one of his hands covering your own.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. "I...am sorry I didn't visit you, it's just—"

"It's just that I threw myself at you when it looked like I'd taken a shower in blood and that made things a wee bit difficult?" you interrupted, the words spilling out before you had time to process that you were speaking. Embarrassed heat flushed through you instantly.

But Astarion only gave you that soft, slightly toothy smile. You drank it in, relishing his smile lines and the brief contentment on his face. "Something like that, yes," he said. "I was...worried I might hurt you if I saw you again and you still smelled so deliciously of your blood. I'm so hungry, darling, it's unbearable. All I wanted was to feast until there was nothing left of you, and I'd never forgive myself if I—"

"Stop." You held up your hand. "Please. I don't... Don't be so nice to me, it makes me feel like I'm on my deathbed."

Astarion laughed, throwing his head back. "I'd hardly call wanting to drain you nice, my love." Almost unconsciously, your gaze dipped to his exposed neck and you wondered idly what he would do if you were to bite him back.

Probably the strenuous activity Astarion had promised Shadowheart you wouldn't be doing.

He met your gaze, a sudden depth and seriousness in his crimson stare. "Stick with me, and you might soon be on your deathbed." Pointedly, he broke eye contact with you, letting his eyes drop first to your neck and then further down your body. You tingled, the feeling reminiscent of the anemia that had possessed your body in the hours and days after he'd drank from you.

You realized Astarion was waiting for a reaction from you, hoping for something more than your stunned silence. So you let your eyes drift across his body, resting on his mouth as you said, "Doesn't sound like a bad way to go out."

From the back of his throat came a sound that wasn't quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between, just as needy as either sound. "Don't tempt me, darling," he whispered. "I promised Shadowheart I'd keep you safe, and you certainly wouldn't be if I did everything I want."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Astarion..."

He closed his eyes, leaning toward you, releasing a tense breath. "Darling..."

"What if I want to tempt you?" You put your hand on his leg, sliding closer to him.

"Cheeky thing," he said, eyes opening in small slits. "But only when you're healed. I can still smell the blood on you." He sighed. "You have no idea how much restraint it takes not sink my teeth into that pretty neck of yours."

You frowned. "But I am healed," you said. "Just tender. Shadowheart wouldn't have let me leave her tent otherwise."

"I can't blame you for wanting me," Astarion teased, that familiar charm honeying his words, "but I've never been wrong." He cupped your cheek, his touch taking the bite out of his words. He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.

You put your hand to your abdomen, half-expecting to find that your wound had ripped open of its own accord. Your shirt and the bandage beneath it was dry—but a sudden twinge of pain, appearing only once it had been acknowledged, came from lower. You hissed.

Astarion sat up straighter. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Shit. I think I've figured out why you still smell blood," you said through clenched teeth.

Astarion's eyes dipped to where your hand rested. "It's that time again already, is it?"

"It's early," you groaned. You stood slowly, regretting it instantly.

He tracked you as you moved, his gaze becoming dangerous and predatory. It was the look that had scared you when he drank from you, practically convincing you he wasn't going to stop. Still, his need for you burned through you like rum, its heat spreading through your belly.

"I didn't smell it before, not under all the blood you had on you," he said. His voice was deep, dark, dangerous. "But, oh, darling—I smell it now." He licked his lips and your stomach did flips that were neither pleasant or unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes was palpable

"I, ah, have to go. For your sake and mine. Um. So, uh, goodnight, Astarion. I...I'll see you when this is all over."

He stood up quickly. "Darling, do you need—" He cut himself off as you waved away his concern, crossing the camp to your own tent.

"No! Goodnight!" you called over your shoulder.

Astarion sighed. "...Night."

~❊~

You avoided Astarion like the plague. Well, perhaps not, because while you never wanted to see the disease, you were always on the lookout for your favorite vampire.

You caught glimpses of him through the open flaps of your tent, sauntering by with a swagger you found unfairly attractive. You saw him reading on his own when Shadowheart helped you changed your bandages, his handsome face fixed in concentration. A few hours later, you heard him arguing with Gale about the very same book, which had apparently gone missing, and you hated the flutter in your stomach at the growl in his angry voice.

"Stop that," Karlach said, glancing up at you as the pair of you cooked, Karlach helping you roast root vegetables evenly.

"Stop what?"

"Mooning over him," she said, jerking her head in Astarion's direction.

Your body flushed with heat. "I'm not—"

"You are, and we can all tell, and you should just get it over with, but only if you mean it."

You frowned, tearing your eyes away from the blessed sight that was Astarion basking in the sun. "Sorry, what?"

Karlach sighed. "If you sleep with him—" You spluttered. "—it had better be because you truly want him and not because you're bleeding."

You blinked at her. "Karlach, of course I want him, you've heard me talk about him before this!"

"I know, I know," she relented, "but I have a feeling there's more to our vampire than meets the eye." She glanced over at Astarion. "Just...be kind to him, dear. He's more fragile than he looks."

You followed her gaze over to him. He was stretching, his arms lifted high above his head, undoubtedly oblivious to the two of you watching him. Want and need bubbled up inside of you, both clamoring for Astarion, agreeing that he would fulfill them both. The deep-seated lust you'd had for him since he'd first put a knife to your neck burned even brighter as the breeze that had been kicking up dust all morning played with the silver hair curling around his ears.

His nostrils flared and you knew he'd smelled you. He looked over at you and Karlach and you froze. She waved cheerily, then frowned at you when you didn't move. You swallowed harshly and went back to removing the scales from the fish in your lap.

"He doesn't like not being around you either, you know," Karlach said, returning to the task at hand. "He's always looking at you when you're not looking. You're perfect for each other like that."

"I don't want to make this harder for him by being around him," you said, glancing back over at him. He was watching you as he poured himself a glass of wine. Had it been normal circumstances, when you weren't driving him insane simply by smelling like blood, you would have teased him for day-drinking. "He's already so hungry, I'd only make that worse. It was bad enough I threw myself at him covered in his favorite snack!"

Karlach snorted. The sound of a light laugh floated over to you and you looked up to find Astarion smirking into his goblet. He beckoned you over and your eyes grew wide.

"Excuse me for a moment, Karlach," you said, clearing your throat.

Karlach followed your gaze and giggled. "More than a moment, dear. I'll come back later to help you finish this." She left the log you'd been sharing and you waited until she was in her own tent again before you jumped to your feet and practically ran to Astarion.

"Hello, darling," he purred. "Care for a drink?"

"I could go for a little," you said.

Astarion smiled, that rakish charm summoning warmth that spread through your entire body. "I hope you like red," he said, and put his own goblet to your lips.

You held his gaze as you drank. You saw his nostrils flare, his pupils growing large. You knew he could hear how your heart was racing, could smell your arousal mixing with your blood.

He pulled the goblet away from your lips and took another swig. You licked the red wine off your lower lip and heard the breath catch in his chest.

"You're starving, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," he whispered.

"I might," you said. "Thought I'd say it's a hunger of a different kind."

Astarion's smirk was so wide you could see his fangs clearly. "Oh, really, darling?"

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. He breathed in deeply. "We could help each other, you know. Satiate our hungers."

His eyes grew dark, trained on yours. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, nearly brushing your cheek, but stopped himself just before he touched you. "You'd let me soothe your pain by..." His gaze dropped to your waistline. "...eating from you?"

A tremor passed through you at the sound of his voice, deeper than you'd ever heard it, laced with a danger and a seduction you were embarrassed to find attractive. Your body was tuned to it, his words seeming to drop like a stone from your ears to your core, spreading fire through your veins and melting your organs.

Astarion took a small step closer to you and took your chin in three gentle fingers, tilting your head up toward him. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you then and there. "I'm going to need an answer, darling."

"Yes." You couldn't get the word out fast enough. It came out breathy, nearly lost on the wind still swirling between you.

He chuckled. "Well, then. You asked for it." He dropped the hand on your chin back to his side. "Once everyone else is asleep, come find me. We'll find a quiet place and...have a little fun."

~❊~

Of all the nights, it had to be this one where everyone came to check on you before they went to sleep. Thanks to Astarion avoiding you like the plague when the two of you had become inseparable, your monthly bleed had become public knowledge. So practically everyone in camp came to you with solutions you declined, claiming to feel fine, even though your pain had worsened over the course of the day.

You watched Astarion slink off into the forest after the sun had gone down and waited until the others were sequestered in their tents, nearly an hour later, to pull your boots back on, stand on shaky feet, and follow the path you assumed he'd taken.

You had started to believe you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when you heard his cool voice from behind you: "There you are. I've been waiting."

Astarion stepped out of the shadows. He ran his gaze over you, observing your slightly hunched stance, your hand on your lower abdomen. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him; he looked softer in the moonlight. The silver light fell across his curls and the statuesque panes of his face, somehow making that face that was so gaunt with hunger unbelievably beautiful.

He looked like a poet or a god, even in just the simple shirt he insisted on wearing around camp instead of the finer silks you knew he carried with him. Or perhaps it was the simplicity that made him so godly. You couldn't tell.

A frown graced his brow. "The pain is worse now, isn't it?"

You nodded. "Just a bit."

Astarion left the small hill he stood on and came closer to you. He offered you his hand. "Come on, dear, let me make you feel better."

You let him guide you away from the path you had taken and into a small clearing just a few feet away, conveniently hidden by thickets, trees, and tall grass. He stood aside, letting you take it in for a moment, as if waiting for your approval of the place. You looked down at the mossy ground and decided it would be soft enough.

"Well, this is nice," you said, seconds before you heard fabric rustling. You turned and blinked rapidly at what you saw: Astarion, his shirt now off and in his hands. You watched him lay it down where the ground was most level. Your breath caught horribly in your throat at the sight of the scar covering his back. You fought back the urge to ask, knowing it would only piss him off.

He turned back to you with a smile. "Your bed for the evening, my love," he said, gesturing to it.

"Oh, Astarion, I can't, I don't want to get blood on your shirt. What would the others—"

Astarion cupped your face in one hand. "The others will assume I hunted something and got messy," he said. "And I'll enjoy your scent while I have it."

Flutters in your stomach nearly brought you to your knees. You looked up at him, drawing in a tiny breath, and brought your hand up to hold the wrist that cradled your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, unsure of exactly what you were begging for but knowing what you wanted.

"Promise me you'll tell me if...I'm too much," Astarion said, and you got the sense he'd changed what he was going to say.

You nodded, whispering your promise, and wound your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to push your lips to his.

It was a messy first kiss. It was little more than teeth and spit, but it felt like heaven anyway, because his free arm was winding around your waist and pressing your bodies together, his leg sliding between yours. Bliss spread through you, starting at your core.

Astarion pulled away from you. "Someone's eager, isn't she?"

You whimpered and he stifled it with another kiss, softer than the first. He was gentle, more than you'd expected from a starving man. He cupped the back of your head and your hand dropped to his hip. You opened your mouth to him and reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours. He made a soft sound of satisfaction and pushed his leg up against your clothed core. You moaned loudly, your grip on him tightening. Need flooded you and your hips pushed down on his leg, finding relief in the pressure.

The two of you pressed your foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"Shh, darling, not too loud. You don't want the others to come investigate, do you?" His cheeky tone suggested he would love it if the others found the two of you like this—or, perhaps, further along.

You wrapped both arms around his neck and buried your head into his shoulder, heat burning through you, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. You felt like there was a pendulum inside you, swinging constantly between wanting to slow down, afraid of coming off as too eager, and desperately needing him to get to it.

Astarion chuckled. "Don't hide, love." He smoothed his hand over your hair. "You do trust me, don't you?"

You kissed his shoulder and heard his breath catch. "With my life, Astarion."

"Are you ready?"

You nodded and he walked you over to his shirt and helped you to sit on it. He watched you lay down, his gaze falling your exposed neck. There was something more than hunger in his eyes; it made your breathing hitch.

Astarion crawled over you and placed his hand underneath your head before he kissed you. You draped your arm over his shoulders, holding him close to you, enjoying the soft touch of his lips against yours. It was chaste, as were the next few that followed it in quick succession, one after the other.

One hand slid down your body and stopped at the hem of your trousers. He tugged at the shirt tucked into them. "Darling? May I?"

"Please do," you said.

"Arms up."

He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side. He looked down at your torso from where he straddled your hips. His hands skimmed over you and he leaned down, pressing more gentle kisses to your neck and collarbones. Your body tingled with remembrance, practically yearning to feel his fangs sink into your neck, to feel your blood leave you with a burning that felt like intoxication.

"Astarion." His name was a breathy cry on your lips, and you saw how much he liked the sound of it when he looked up at you, a smile curving onto the lips still pressed to your skin.

"Yes, dear?"

You gently coaxed him back up to you with your hand on his chin. "Let me kiss you."

He smiled, brighter than the moonlight falling around you, and you pressed your mouth to his. He hummed happily into your mouth, a pleasant sensation that made you reluctant to break the kiss. But you did, kissing along his jaw and down his neck instead. You nipped gently at his neck, pulling a surprised laugh from him.

"Really, darling? Biting the vampire?" Astarion's eyes were sparkling with amusement. His face had relaxed into an easy smile. It was a good look on him; you liked it.

You giggled and placed another kiss over the bite. The pair of you rolled onto your sides and you peppered his chest with kisses, your arm wrapped loosely around his waist. You went back up to his neck and sucked lightly.

"So much for the others not knowing," he teased.

You looked at him through your lashes. "What if I want them to know?"

"Cheeky little thing," he whispered, dragging a finger down the side of your face. "As much as I love this—and believe me, I do love this—I can't wait any longer. I'm starving, darling. Let me taste you. Please."

Slightly subdued, you rolled onto your back. "Alright," you whispered, your chest tightening in anticipation.

Astarion climbed on top of you again. He undid the laces at the front of your trousers and slipped his hand inside them, moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked on yours.

The moment two of his fingers slid between your wet folds, your eyes fluttered shut and a happy sigh slipped from your lips.

"There she is," he whispered, his eyes half-lidded, as he worked you gently and slowly. You felt the blood and arousal gather on his fingers as he grew closer to your entrance. He dragged them back up to your clit and rubbed in a slow circle. You gasped, arching into his touch. Astarion giggled. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"

You wriggled underneath him, trying everything in your power to get more of his touch. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek and cooing softly at you. If he spoke words, you didn't hear them, too lost in the pleasure he easily, skillfully, brought to you.

Without warning, Astarion plunged both fingers into your entrance. You moaned, grabbing at his hair. He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Whimpers slipped past your lips; you couldn't have controlled them if you tried, but you were by no means trying. His smile grew with every sound you made, and you wanted nothing more than to see that smile.

Just as suddenly as he'd pushed his fingers in, he pulled them out. You whined instantly but he shushed you and removed his hand from your pants. A small streak of blood was left on the skin of your stomach as he raised his hand to his mouth. You watched raptly as he licked your blood from his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with you.

He wasn't even touching you and the fire in your belly grew at the sight.

Astarion moaned softly around his fingers. You watched his deft tongue catch every drop of blood, thinned by your arousal, from his hand. He whispered your name in a whine and you let go of a long breath.

Once he'd licked his fingers clean, he bent down and yanked your trousers off your legs. You spread them automatically and he put one leg between them. He pulled off your undergarments and sat back, admiring your naked body with a satisfied smirk.

"Look at you," he whispered.

The need for him to touch you won out over the desire for him to keep staring at you. "Astarion." His name was a loud whine, emphasized by your writhing hips.

He chucked. "Needy girl." His hand returned to your cunt, his palm applying pressure to your clit while his fingers toyed with your bloody folds. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, the smell of blood so heady even you could smell it.

He teased your entrance for a moment and pulled his fingers back up, the tips of them coated in thick blood that looked black in the night. He sucked it from his fingers with a toothy smile, his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.

You pushed your hips up enough to catch his eye. "Please," you whimpered.

"Alright, love, alright," he said. He put his hand back and slipped his fingers back inside you. Relief curled through you—as did his fingers. "I'll starve myself a bit longer for your pleasure."

You cupped his neck and brought his face to yours and kissed him fiercely. He made a surprised but pleased sound into your mouth and quickened his pace. You gasped against his lips and he ducked his head to your neck, kissing you quickly with every curl of his fingers.

You twisted your fingers through his hair, rapidly kissing the top of his head, pushing your hips up into his hand. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. You shuddered in his arms.

"I've got you," he murmured, sucking a light mark into your neck. You felt his teeth prick you and saw the shudder that passed through his body at the tiny droplets of blood that appeared.

He pulled away from your neck and curled his fingers just so. You groaned.

"Astarion!" you cried, throwing your head back.

He grinned and quickened his pace. You sucked in a deep breath, fighting back tears of pleasure.

"Let go, darling," he whispered. "I've got you."

Astarion looked back down at your neck. He locked eyes with you as he pressed his tongue to your skin, slowly licking up the droplets as they began to run down your neck. The combination of his intense stare and the movement of his fingers was all you needed; with a loud cry, you came on his fingers, your walls clenching so hard around him he could hardly keep moving them.

He chuckled. "That's it, dear, that's it." He cooed softly, helping you through it with his voice, his soft touch, and gentle kisses to your lips.

You were breathing hard when he finally pulled his fingers out of you. You whimpered at the slight pain but realized your cramps had all but disappeared.

Judging by the state of his hand, you didn't want to know how bloody his shirt was. It looked as though he'd reached into someone's chest and ripped their heart out; his hand was drenched and rivulets of blood ran all the way down to his elbow.

Astarion giggled at the sight while you burned with embarrassment. "Well, well, well. Someone's happy, isn't she?"

"So are you," you said, nodding to the bulge in his pants.

He grinned. "Well, what did you expect? You were quite vocal, my needy little thing." His eyes drifted back down to your cunt, lust curling through his gaze. "Tight and wet and utterly desperate for me."

He licked a stripe up his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, darling, you taste good." He sucked your blood off of every finger, pleasure sliding over his face.

You smiled. "There's more where that came from."

Astarion raised one perfect brow. "Can you handle another little death?" he teased.

You nodded. "I can take a few more."

He chuckled and groaned at the same time. "Oh, my love, don't make promises you can't keep."

You met his gaze as he finished cleaning off his hand. "Believe me, I can keep it."

The vampire grinned. "Very well, then. I'll eat good tonight."

He kissed you chastely as he put his hand between your legs again.

Astarion brought you pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before as his fingers slid over your blood-slick skin, teasing your folds and entrance with a smirk, often just barely inserting the tip of his finger before pulling it out again and tracing over your clit and smearing blood across your skin. He kissed and sucked on your breasts, leaving darkening bruises and tiny scratches from his teeth, licking up the tiny beads of blood that sprung from each nick. He kissed along the line of scarring and stitches you had gotten from your injury, fading fast but still a reminder of what had gotten you on your back for him in the first place. Now that he'd eaten a little, he was intently focused on bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, again and again and again.

He worked another orgasm out of you and was on his way to coaxing out the third when you stopped him.

"Is it too much?" he asked, frowning. His unbloodied hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb smoothing over your skin. His eyes searched your face, looking for anything to tell him why you'd stopped him.

You shook your head. "I need more, Astarion," you gasped, slurring his name into Astari. The unintended nickname made him blush. "I need more of you. Please. Please."

The smile returned to his face, cockier than before. "Oh, darling. I need more of you, too," he said, looking into your cunt and licking his lips. "I could just eat you up."

You spread your legs wider. He settled between them. "Please do."

He breathed in deep and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. "You're going to be the death of me— Ah. Well, you would be, if I was alive."

You frowned. "Would this even be happening if you were alive?"

Astarion thought for a moment. "Let's not think about the logistics," he decided and licked the drying blood from his fingers off your abdomen. Your body trembled. He lifted your legs over his shoulders. You squeaked and smiled at him.

"Lay back," he whispered. You obliged him.

Wet warmth touched your skin just above your clit and you glanced down at him, watching him slowly lick the drying blood from your skin. He kissed your skin as he cleaned it, leaving you covered in slowly darkening bruises.

You stared at the stars as he pressed a soft first kiss to your clit. You let out a slow breath and he began to suck, his lips closing around it, his tongue licking light stripes.

You pushed your hips against his mouth. "Circles," you whispered.

"As you wish," he said, his breath fanning over your cunt and making you tremble. He went back to his feast, licking in circles this time, and you let out a soft whimper. You reached down and he reached up, lacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand. You squeezed back.

He moved further down until his nose bumped your clit and his lips found your entrance. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural, at the taste of your blood. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue sweeping up the blood as soon as it collected there. You shuddered, your breaths coming in heaves.

Astarion kissed your entrance once before he dove in, pushing his tongue into your cunt. You gasped and he laughed and buried his face in you.

Through the pleasure, you wondered dimly how he was breathing (did he, as a vampire, need to breathe?), but the thought was pushed away the moment his splayed fingers on your hip dug into your flesh and pulled you even closer to his mouth.

The sounds you were making were obscene: your moans were loud and coarse, and your cunt squelched lewdly as he drank your blood and arousal. You felt filthy, aware that the mix was running down your legs and buttocks but knowing the vampire eating you out was enjoying you too much to care.

Astarion himself was quite vocal, moaning into you and making you shiver. He whimpered, whined, groaned, and keened, growing louder with every swallow of blood. He alternated between watching you writhe and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

You watched his hand slide from your hip to his bulge. He palmed himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and the sight was enough to send you over the edge for a third time.

But Astarion didn't let up. He lapped at you, sucking so harshly your pleasure bordered pain, until your legs stopped shaking and your breathing evened out.

He lifted his head with a grin. "How do I look?"

You looked at him and started laughing. He was the smiliest you had ever seen him, his eyes practically glowing, and the lower half of his face was covered in your blood. His teeth were stained red and sticky blood dripped slowly from his fangs. It ran down his chin in rivulets and splatters dotted his lower cheeks like freckles. Some of it was even in his hair.

"You're ridiculous," you giggled. "And a messy eater."

He snorted. "Excuse you!"

"It's all over your face!"

He sat up with a grin, licking his lips. "You mean you are all over my face."

Satisfaction curled through you. "Yes," you said, reaching for him. He took your hand again. "Yes I am."

He wiped his face with his hand and licked it clean once again. You reached up and wiped some off on your thumb, then held it out to him. He took your thumb into his mouth and sucked. Your heart stopped beating.

"Feeling better?" he asked you, lightly placing his palm over your abdomen, applying a little pressure, and rubbing gentle circles.

"Much better," you said. "Thank you. But, ah..." Your gaze drifted from his beautiful, if slightly pink, face and down to his bulge. It was just as, if not more, prominent now that he'd gone down on you. "What about you?"

Astarion smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, but don't worry about me. Not tonight, darling."

You frowned. "Why not? What if I want you inside of me?" You walked two fingers up his leg and slowly covered his crotch with your palm. When he didn't protest and his eyes fluttered shut, you gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out a soft moan through closed lips and tilted his head back. You kissed the column of his neck and bit down gently. You sucked—hard—and a rumbling moan came from his chest.

"Because," he said finally, drawing in a ragged breath. "Because that would be a terrible waste of your precious blood." He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. "When this is over, I promise you, you can have as much of me as you want." He pushed his hips into your hand and you gave him another gentle squeeze. He gasped.

You nuzzled into him and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you there. "And what if I want all of you?"

The question hung in the air. He looked at you for a long time and suddenly you saw the fragility Karlach had mentioned this afternoon, which felt like years ago instead of mere hours. You reached up to cup his cheek and, though you were stark naked, the sexual desire in the air seemed to have disappeared.

"I want all of you, Astari," you whispered. The nickname made his eyes grow wide. "All of you, in every way, for as long as possible. If you'll let me. If you want me, too."

He whimpered, and the sound was broken. You hated hearing that pain coming from him. "I want you, I do, I just..." He closed his eyes and you were suddenly very sure there was a darkness, a secret, he was trying to hide from you. You were certain it had to do with his vampiric master he'd so often complained about. "I'll try, my darling, I'll try for you."

You sat up on your knees and cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. You didn't break the kiss once as you pressed your body against his and held him tightly. You felt the scar on his back and wanted to ask but didn't, letting him keep his secrets for now.

His arms came around you, cradling your back and holding you tight to him. The kiss became a long-lasting hug, the both of you burying your heads in each other's shoulders until Astarion pulled away from you, a smile on his face. You returned that smile and sat back on your heels.

His eyes trailed over your body again. There was a note of nervousness in his voice as he asked, "Darling, would you mind...touching me again? I could use some relief."

You grinned. "Of course, my love. All you had to do was ask."

Relief crossed his face. He leaned back as you trailed your hand from his shoulder, down his chest, and back to his bulge. You tipped his head back with your free hand and kissed his neck while you rubbed him. He pushed his hips into your hand, sighing blissfully, and your hand was in his trousers in seconds. He grew loud, thrusting his cock into your hand with a power that surprised you.

"Take what you need," you told him, your voice hushed, your lips directly next to his ear. "Help me give you what you want."

He whimpered, your name a broken cry from his lips, and he cuddled into you as he came. He buried his head into your neck, hiding his eyes and barely holding back grunts. As his thrusts grew weaker and you slowed your hand on him, you felt hot tears on your neck and wondered what this poor man had been through that he hadn't yet told you.

You removed your hand from his pants and he immediately wrapped you in another hug, one strong enough to knock you down and knock the breath of you. You held him as tightly as he held you.

When Astarion at last pulled away from you, his tears had stopped but his eyes still shone with them. He kissed you softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I... Thank you."

You brushed some of his hair from his face. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You were... It's just that no one has cared about me during sex in a very long time and...you did. So...thank you."

You took his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Astarion," you cooed. "I always care about you. Like this or otherwise. You could stop this right now—or before it even began—and I wouldn't have stopped caring about you."

He smiled. "Oh, darling. I love the sentiment, but I'm not done with you yet."

Astarion kissed down your body and laid between your legs again. He licked another stripe up your cunt and you saw the coating of blood on his tongue before he swallowed. "Shall we try for a fourth? Or perhaps even a fifth?" He raised his brow, leaving the decision up to you.

You laid back. "We'll try for as many as you'd like," you said.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "All night it is!"

~❊~

You woke up the next morning sore and alone and with very little sleep.

Astarion had been relentless and stopped only when you simply couldn't take it anymore and he was practically drunk on your blood—all without making you bloodless and woozy. When you had finished for the final time, he had cleaned you up, helped you back into your clothes, picked up his own shirt, and walked you back to camp. He was so gentle that you didn't even mind the teasing about how you limped.

Dawn hadn't been far off as you each went back to your tents after exchanging a final, solid kiss. So you woke to the sound of everyone else beginning their day just a few hours later.

You felt the soreness in your core before you even moved. Biting back a sigh and not regretting it one bit as you pictured Astarion's happy, bloody face, you rolled over and hoped your recent injury would be enough for the others to let you sleep in.

You were wrong.

Shadowheart opened your tent a few minutes later with a urgency that made you jump.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, blinking blearily in the bright sunlight.

"Are you alright? You never sleep in, you're always up making breakfast!"

You groaned. "Is that it? Are you just hungry?"

She peered at you. "Are you hurt? Did your wound reopen?"

"What? No! I'm fine, I'm just tired, that's all! I have lost a lot of blood recently, in case you forgot."

She sighed. "Oh. Alright. Well, just know the others are worried, too—Astarion especially."

You remembered how he'd checked in on you last night and had asked if he'd hurt you at all when you'd returned to camp and wondered if you had worried him by sleeping in. Suddenly you were grateful the others could chalk it up to his not-so-secret crush on you.

You dressed and hid the light bruises on your neck and collarbones in a high-collared shirt. You only noticed you were walking with a slight limp still after you'd left your tent and made your way across camp.

Karlach called your name and was at your side immediately. "You're limping! Are you hurt? Do you need me to fetch Shadowheart?"

You blinked at her. "What? No. I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine," Gale said, a few feet away, looking up from the book he'd been engrossed in for days. "Did you hurt your leg the other day? Or have your stitches ripped?"

"My, my," said a suave voice behind you. You turned and found Astarion grinning like a cat. "You do have quite the limp, there, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"

You huffed at him, your body remembering his touch immediately, his ghostly hands sliding across your skin. "I'm fine, I promise. Now hush and someone help me make breakfast."

Both Karlach and Astarion sat with you, Astarion very close to you and giving you a smile you couldn't help but return. Karlach stared at Astarion like he'd grown two heads, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She gasped very suddenly.

"Not a word," you hissed at her, knowing she'd figured it out.

Astarion smirked.

"And nothing from you, either," you added. "You're the reason I'm walking like this, you bastard."

He smiled sweetly at you, catching the fondness in the words. "And I gladly will be again." He took your hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it. Your eyes grew wide.

Karlach squeaked.

"You know nothing," you told her. "At least for a little while."

"Yes," Astarion agreed. "At the very least, tell Shadowheart nothing—I broke my promise to her to keep our dear girl from doing any strenuous activity."

You turned red and Karlach groaned, "Not before breakfast, please!"

Astarion opened his mouth—undoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to camp—but you moved quicker than he could speak. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward you, kissing him heartily to shut him up.

A heavy silence settled over camp. You cracked one eye open and found the rest of your companions staring at the pair of you, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"Oops," Astarion muttered, sounding rather pleased.

You cleared your throat. "I, ah, I've been meaning to tell you all. Honestly."

Gale heaved a sigh. "How much do I owe you, Wyll?"

Your jaw dropped open. "You placed bets?!"

"Alright, you bloodsucker," Wyll said, holding his hand out and waiting for his payment from Gale. "You win."

"Yes," Astarion said, and you expected him to be wearing a smirk infused with his charm, his triumphant eyes on the others. But when you turned to him, he was staring at you, a dopey smile fixed on his face. "Yes, I did."

☞ ❊ ☜

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

part 2 (Sweet Like Wine) {here}!

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