#i have that same eery feeling i had that day i found out
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#also this is a really niche post that is really only for me#and not to compare liam to this person#just to compare my feelings about everything#this feeling i have no really reminds me of when my rapist died#i felt such weird things that day#grief. sadness. lack of justice. anger.#i feel that all now as well#lack of justice for everyone involved. maya and others don’t get justice#and liam doesn’t get justice either because he never got lasting help#i feel so sick. numb. tired. dizzy#i’m sure maya feels now what i felt like when my rapist died#and i don’t know if any of you have had a similar experience#but it’s a weird feeling to grieve someone who did horrible things but was a huge part of your life story#even my rapist was a huge part of my story#i have that same eery feeling i had that day i found out#i really don’t know how to process this so i really can’t imagine what his family and friends and maya are going through#must be so conflicting and sad#my heart goes out to all survivors out there#this all sucks so bad#lp#grief tw#rape tw#death tw
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Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?
Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.
Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.
EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶
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Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.
Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.
Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.
In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.
It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.
But that was simply not the case for you.
Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.
Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.
You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.
He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.
It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.
You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.
When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.
As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.
He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.
This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.
Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.
Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.
Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.
He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.
Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yancore#yanderecore#yandere aesthetic#yandere male#yandere sunday x reader#sunday x reader#yandere sunday#sunday#sunday x you#yan hsr#yandere hsr#hsr x reader#sunday hsr#yandere honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail
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My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream
husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader
summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔
word count: 10,991 words
side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)
part: I/II
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The news had spread like wildfire.
As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.
(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)
In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.
"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"
"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"
He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.
"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"
Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.
"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?
"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.
"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.
"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.
"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"
You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?
"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."
He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)
Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.
"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.
"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.
"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.
The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.
You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.
Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).
So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.
That's it.
You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.
You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.
But boy, weren't you wrong?
It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"
Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.
Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.
This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.
You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.
It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.
Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.
"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:
"You looked at them, didn't you?"
He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.
"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"
"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"
"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"
He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.
"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.
"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?
"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"
"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"
He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.
"I'm sorry"
Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.
"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"
"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.
His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.
"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"
He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.
I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.
"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"
Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.
Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.
mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)
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It had been days since your fight.
In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.
"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.
So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.
"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.
"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"
"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"
You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.
So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.
"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.
"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.
"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"
"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"
He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.
"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.
"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.
"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.
Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"
"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"
"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"
The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.
"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"
"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"
The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"
Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.
"Won't be needed"
They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.
"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.
He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"
How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.
"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.
You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.
I'm waiting.
So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.
I'm coming.
Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.
You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.
You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.
After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"
You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.
"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.
"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"
His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.
"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.
"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.
"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.
"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)
He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.
His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.
"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.
"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.
"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.
"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"
"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)
You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.
"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.
"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"
You choke in your words. "No-"
"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"
"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"
Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.
"That's my girl"
His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.
"Sit"
He glares back, "in the toilet?"
"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"
You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.
"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"
You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.
"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.
You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?
You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.
"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"
"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"
He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.
You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.
"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"
"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)
"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"
"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"
You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"
"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)
"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"
He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"
"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"
He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.
"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.
"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)
That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.
pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN
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The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.
You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.
"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.
"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"
You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.
Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)
"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"
"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.
Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.
"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.
"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"
"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"
"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)
They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.
"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"
Now it's Pedro's turn.
"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"
"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"
"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"
"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"
Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"
You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.
"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"
"London?" Paul asks.
"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"
"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.
"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"
"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.
"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"
"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"
You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.
"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"
The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.
"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"
They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.
"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"
"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"
"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"
Paul laughs, breaking contact.
"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.
"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"
"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.
"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.
"Will you ever let me live?"
Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"
"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"
"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"
You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.
"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"
Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?
"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.
"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.
"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"
"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"
"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.
"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.
"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.
"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"
"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"
"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"
"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"
"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"
They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.
"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.
"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"
"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"
The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.
"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"
"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.
"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"
Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"
"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"
"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.
"Clothes line?" you try.
"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"
"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"
The conversation shifts again.
"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"
"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"
Paul agrees.
"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"
"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"
Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"
You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"
"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"
Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.
"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.
But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.
"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"
"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.
"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.
"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.
"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"
The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.
"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"
"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.
"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"
"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.
"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"
senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!
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You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?
"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.
"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.
"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"
Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.
"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.
"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"
"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"
It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.
"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"
His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.
"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"
"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"
There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"
You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.
"Well, fuck them manners"
You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.
"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?
"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"
You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.
"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.
"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.
"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"
He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.
"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"
You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.
"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)
His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.
"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"
"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"
Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.
"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"
Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.
"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"
Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.
"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.
"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"
You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.
"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.
"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)
His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.
"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"
"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.
Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.
You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.
"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"
His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.
"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.
You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.
"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"
His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.
"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"
"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"
You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.
He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.
"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.
"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"
You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.
"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.
"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)
You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.
And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.
"Pedro, I know you're in there"
It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.
"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"
You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.
"We are fucked"
"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"
"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.
"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"
You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."
Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.
"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"
The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.
"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"
He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.
"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"
Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:
"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"
l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9d0f4f62b88cd3be878f573dd667c9e0/4e58492e2c7dd12b-f5/s540x810/ea11c83f1f80bc1d77fbf9ae57fbea55611ae4c7.jpg)
*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.
#dilfistwrites#gladiator II#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x you#pedro x reader#pedro pascal fluff#taylor swift#reputation#call it what you want#paul mescal
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before we shatter — jjk [two]
genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook
word count : 5.1k
summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.
chapter warnings : ANGST, eventual fluff, mentions death of a loved one, mentions of Alzheimer's disease, strong language, mature, cheating (not by the main characters), jungkook will piss you off but he's deserving of love too :((, slight making out but nothing else. i think that's it, please mention if i missed anything.
a/n : OH MY GOD IT TOOK ME FOREVER !!!! here it is my pookies <333 i hope this will heal the past trauma that part one caused yall omfg. i love you so much and send an ask if you want to. You're so so cherished.
Jungkook’s fingers press on the digital lock before it beeps, indicating the door has been unlocked.
“Babe, I’m home”
He expects his girlfriend, Nicole to say anything in response but, on the contrary, all he gets is pure silence. Not a single person breathing the same air as him inside the house. His eyebrows crease in utter confusion and he wonders if he she went outside in order to run any errands.
Nicole is a fashion designer who he met when she was appointed to design his concert outfits for the group’s previous world tour. At first, there were some stolen glances, eye contacts, and innocent touches but when he found himself looking for her in the room full of people, it had to be more than that.
At the risk of sounding like a nervous wreck with zero experience with women, Jungkook had walked back and forth approximately 46 times before he took up the hatchet to ask her on a date, to which she’d smirked and whispered a yes in response.
Listen, Jungkook is a confident man. Add a confident yet adorably shy woman beside him and you have got yourself the perfect mix of charisma and charm. Not to say that he was not totally enthralled by her. He genuinely wanted to get to know her better and that’s not only because she was confident, of course.
Ordinarily, he’d find her on the couch going through her designs or making herself the 50th cup of coffee. It all really depends, but tonight the eerie silence surrounding him makes his stomach hurt. A nagging feeling arises in his chest and he hopes everything is okay.
He releases a breath and walks further in towards the bedroom. Who knows, she got tired of working all day and went in there to take a nap.
Much to his disappointment, just as his hands grip the doorknob, a moan comes from the other side of the wall and he freezes.
“You’re so good to mommy, aren’t you?”
He can’t mistake the voice even if he tries to. He hears it all day, every night by his side.
Nicole has complemented him in every spectrum of their relationship. She’d been equally successful, equally fun and adventurous, and matched every desire and aspirations of his.
Tow bodies, one soul if you will.
Turns out, she lagged behind on the spectrum of honesty.
Knowing he can’t be just standing there and not find out who she’s been fucking behind his back, he twists the knob and pushes the door open. The moan which earlier caused his heart to momentarily stop now turning into a full blown scream.
“What the fuck?”
You might prefer to think that Jungkook was the one to exclaim that, but no. Sitting on the bed with wide eyes and no clothes is his manager, Tae moo. Next to him is Nicole, trying to cover herself up with the help of the duvet as if she’d not spent the majority of nights sleeping beside Jungkook in the very same state after he’d made love to her.
“Jungkook, baby. I can explain”
His jaw goes tight, voice turning shaky. “Get out of my house.”
Fierce eyes are pointed at the manager the whole time and he doesn’t even bother to look at Nicole. As if someone had set his non-existent pants on fire,Tae moo hurries and plucks whatever fabric he can from the floor and rushes outside.
When Jungkook finally glances at Nicole, she’s got the same look on her face which she does when she wants something from him but can’t get herself to form the words. Desperate and pleading.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, tone acidic when he asks, “Why are you still here?”
“What?”
“Why? Did he fuck the common sense out of you?”
She blanches at his words, clearly not expecting him to talk like that. “Please don’t talk to me like that. I told you I can explain.”
Jungkook can’t help but let out a chuckle infused with bitterness and disbelief, “What could possibly justify you fucking my manager, Nicole. Were you lonely? Did I not give you enough love and attention? Was my dick not enough for you that you just had to jump on another one?”
Every word that comes out of his mouth has an intention of hurting the woman in front of him. Standing there when Jungkook tries to figure out any possible cause of this betrayal, he registers something.
While Jungkook was thriving because of the fact that he has a woman who supports him and keeps him on his toes, holds him when the world gets mean to him, the said woman was using him to feed her ego. He had been indispensable for her to gain the popularity that was left for her. The truth that he'd been a ladder all along for her in order to climb till success hits him like a torrent and an ache throbs through his chest.
“Why would you need another designer when I’m here?”
“Jungkook c’mon, all my friends are gonna be there. Don’t be a spoilsport.”
“Do they not let you post your girlfriends on your official instagram profile?”
Everything falls into place like a missing piece of puzzle fitting into space. Additionally, Nicole had not even gotten close with any of Jungkook’s friends’ girlfriends and he’d decided not to dwell on the fact for his own peace.
Arguably, some people just don’t click and that’s fine. Except, those people don’t denounce other women behind their back. Her adulterated personality was oozing out of her and he managed to miss it.
“I don’t know, babe. Her dress was too revealing. Take it from a fashion designer when I tell you she was not fit for that dress”
“Isn’t she too touchy with her boyfriend in public? I mean I understand you’re in love but jeez”
It is often said that when you’re in love, you’re unable to see your lover’s flaws because you get blinded. Blinded by their beauty, their charm, and their affection towards you. Safe to say, Jungkook can relate.
“Get out”
‘Please just liste-”
His pitch goes higher. “RIGHT.NOW”
Subsequently, he had been off the market for two whole years. Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t escape the endless amount of impolite and not to mention personal questions about his relationship during the interviews.
“Jungkook, you were seen coming out of several restaurants and clubs with a woman a few years back, but we’ve not seen her for a while now. Is there something you’d like your fans to know?”
“The ladies out there are having a field day because it seems our favourite superstar, Jeon Jungkook is single again”
“Is there any chance of us getting to see the mysterious woman again?”
Fucking exhausting.
Then, one fine day, he met you.
˚୨୧⋆。˚
Maybe, the trust issues made home inside of him after he found his ex-girlfriend naked and sweaty on his bed with his manager. Maybe, you can blame it on the fact that he had still not gotten over the agony caused by his past relationship.
It’s almost like the words that come out of his mouth throw him two years back to the very same room where he tasted the vile taste of betrayal.
“Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?”
The sentence is so absurd and disgusting that you can’t stop your hands from connecting with his face with a hard force. His face turns sideways as his skin stings because of the slap.
“Watch your tone with me, Jeon Jungkook.” The words are barely a whisper as you gulp, flying into a rage and hoping he eats his own words.
You’re half naked, your hair's a damn mess and you probably have a swollen face with boogers in your eyes, but at this moment, you have to stand up for yourself without caring about any of that. You can’t be the person to take first hand beating of something you haven’t even thought of doing.
When he looks back at you, you wish someone was holding you because your legs feel weak. The look of betrayal and anger is long gone and now the only thing that exists behind those big doe eyes is hurt. A pain which makes you want to disintegrate.
“Baby, I didn’t mean-”
“You know what, _____? I would have seen this coming. I was a fucking fool to even wish for a normal bond with someone without some shit happening to us.”
You watch him storm out the door, slamming it so hard it rattles on its hinges after throwing the blue file on the bed. Your feet remain frozen to the wooden floor and you hope he comes running back in, says he’s sorry and he wants to talk it out.
“Some shit”. He just called the whole situation shit.
A terrible labyrinth of anger, guilt and grief traps you as you find yourself wishing that a tight hug could fix the scattered pieces and mould your relationship back into one beautiful piece.
The words on the report stare back at you as they somehow feel more painful now that your boyfriend is aware of them. He knows he’s got into something he hasn’t signed up for and the thought that before you could even explain everything to him, before you could even tell him that you would rather die but hide anything let alone information as huge as this, he’d walked out.
Placing the file on the nightstand, you go through your usual morning routine. Take a shower, change into fresh clothes and take your supplements.
Everything is blurry to you, the feeling of loss lingering deep in your chest, slightly aware of the fact that physically, Jungkook is nearby, mentally? You’re not so sure.
Despite your better judgement, you walk towards the kitchen with the motive of making your breakfast and you find Jungkook looking for something under the couch with two suitcases standing in front of the door. Was he gonna leave without letting you know? When did he even pack?
You take a deep breath and release, knowing exactly what he is looking for, “Are you looking for your glasses?”
He straightens back up and holds your gaze. There’s a bit of delay before his answer reaches your ears. “Yeah um, I can’t seem to find them anywhere”
A minuscule smile forms on your face, “They’re inside the bedside drawer. I kept them there cause you know, you tend to lose them”
He doesn’t share the humor as you feel a pang in your chest intensifying. It’s suddenly so quiet that you can hear your as well as his breathing. And it’s uneven. Has your home always been this quiet?
You clear your throat, eyes finding the suitcases behind him, “Heading somewhere?”
He does the same and looks back at you. “Yeah uh, you remember Jimin calling me yesterday when we-,” he pauses, “Well, I have to go overseas to promote the album and get done with some other formalities”
You flash him an understanding smile, feeling utterly shattered inside and not sure if you should ask him as to why he didn't bother to let you know or just let it slide. The question is right at the tip of your tongue but thinking better of it, you gulp it back down.
“Of course. How long will you be gone?”
He slides his hands inside his front pockets and sighs, “Probably a week. You can’t be precise when it comes to promotions.”
“Alright,” you halt, “Uh.. do you want me to get the glasses for yo-”
“No, I've got it.” He says as he excuses himself. When he comes back, the glasses are resting on his nose making him look even more beautiful than he already is in your eyes.
A faint memory of you wiping his glasses for him with your slip dress comes to the surface and you hide a smile.
You watch him round the kitchen counter and pick up his jacket. As he grips the suitcases with both of his hands, the gleaming bracelet catches your attention.
What are the odds of him preparing to live without it on his wrist? What are the odds of him preparing to live without you?
You’re not surprised when he begins walking out the front door without saying a word. But you know you have to. You have to let him know that you don’t have any intention of giving up on him.
With your palms turning clammy, you speak and prepare yourself for whatever comes back as a response, “Wait”
His feet come to a stop, but him not bothering to turn around does nothing to ease your ache if not adds to it.
Swallowing, you continue, “Whe-when you come back, I want to talk it out. I want you to know that you mean too much to me for me to hide such a major information from you and one that has to do with both of us at that. Yes, I held back for a while but that’s just because I wanted to forget,” the damn tears are threatening to fall yet again, “I wanted to feel for the last time what it's like to be in your arms, your warmth before I break your heart and mine in the process,” Your fastening heartbeat causes you to grip your cardigan in a tight fist,
“Can I at least get a hug?”
His shoulders visibly go tensed as he admits over his shoulders, “I’m afraid if I so much as look at you for more than a second, I will break.”
With that the front door opens and closes, leaving you with nothing but warm tears. You try your fucking hardest not to take his statement as face value but god you want to curl up and die. Although, you know none of this is your fault. If only you could see what the future holds, everything could have been much more bearable.
You’re scared you’ll lose everything— him, your happiness, your future together.
You’re scared you’ll burn.
˚୨୧⋆。˚
For as long as he can remember, Jungkook’s childhood had been filled with vivid memories of his parents’ kisses, them being madly in love with each other, dancing in the kitchen, planning picnic dates and thousands of giggles. He had been blessed with a mother who loved his father more than Jungkook has ever seen someone loving the other person, and his father reciprocated the love tenfold.
Along with the love he also had another emotion wrapped around his heart in a tight grip. Fear. Fear that all of that would dissipate. You know, how sometimes when you’re too happy, there’s just a fucking voice inside of you screaming, “It won’t last long”?
That’s exactly what he used to feel. The root of the fear was a mystery to him and he even tried to forget about it, thinking it might be just a pipe dream.
Except, it was not.
And then one day, like a bolt from the blue, Jungkook’s dad was gone.
He still remembers the day very clearly when he saw his dad’s body being carried away on a stretcher, heavy and cold. Meanwhile, he just stood there with fat tears streaming down his cheeks, his mom arms stopping him from running behind his father.
Then, if that was not enough to break him, he lost his mom. Not physically but mentally when her mental state started to deteriorate over the next few years. Before he knew it, his mother totally forgot about his identity as well as his father’s. Apparently, that left a scar far too deep.
What’s it like to forget the ones you love?
Even though Jungkook had made peace with the fact that his mother will never return the same way he’d known her for, a small part of him still hopes. After all, what’s so wrong in hoping?
His feet drag him down the long hallway filled with wooden brown doors until he stops and stands before one. He clears his throat as he watches the woman just lie there and stare into nothing in particular.
When he gains her attention, a smile breaks out from her lips, “There you are. I knew you would come, Jimin.”
Jungkook runs a palm over his chest, a futile effort to soothe the ache.
“It’s Jungkook, mom. Your son”
“My son? How do you know my son?” The vivaciousness long gone from his mom’s voice.
He swallows and gets further inside the room. He doesn’t try to push it because he knows for a fact that even if she recognizes him today, if tomorrow he comes back he’ll be either Jimin or Namjoon or some random man he’s never heard of.
“How are you doing?”
His mom sighs, a pout on her lips as she looks down, “Still the same. I asked the nurse for a cup of tea hours back but she seems to have forgotten about it. That witch.”
He chuckles, sitting himself on the stool. “I’m sure she’s bringing it in for you.”
Her eyes move over to the window and settle on the maple tree outside. Just watching it. Jungkook ponders if she remembers chasing him under the maple tree when he was a child. It’s his favorite memory.
“A kind woman stopped by a few days back. God knows what her name was but she had this.. sad look in her eyes, as if someone had snatched something away from her and she’s broken over it. I wonder if people look at me and feel the same amount of sympathy that I did towards her that day. I’m not a fool, I know I’m sick. I could be dead by tomorrow for all you know,” she releases a small sigh as Jungkook waits for her to continue.
Except she doesn’t and in that moment, Jungkook just…. knows.
˚୨୧⋆。˚
Jungkook’s eyes have not left the silver bracelet on his wrist for a while now, brushing it with his fingers lightly as if that would help him rectify his mistakes. He wants to slap himself whenever he remembers the look on your face when those cursed words left him. You looked so broken, so tired.
The woman his mother mentioned is you, it’s so obvious. Something about the way she told him about you made him want to swallow a fistful of iron nails. Fuck even that would hurt less. For a second he saw himself at her place and that made his insides twist in such a way that he didn’t understand.
What if one day he just wakes up and doesn’t remember you? What if it all just disappears? Her memories, your smile, your sweet giggles, your moans, your touch.
The thought itself makes him want to rip something into pieces not to mention rip his own heart into pieces.
Jungkook can hardly walk through the veil of darkness which fills the hall. He holds his phone screen up for light, calling out for you.
“Honey, you home?”
No response. With his heart in his throat he starts moving towards the bedroom. Gripping the doorknob, he twists it as the door clicks open. Before he can start panicking because of the empty room with nothing but his own stuff scattered around, a cough reaches his ears.
His brows crease into a frown, confused. “_____, I’m starting to worry.”
Another cough follows, making his breath pick up its pace. Following the sound, he finds himself standing outside the guest room’s door. Wasting no time he pushes the door open as he watches you on the bed covered in layers of blanket with sweat all over your forehead.
He rushes to you in a quick second, heart beating fast. “Hey, hey baby,” voice coming out as gently as possible, “You okay? Why are you here?”
Your eyes land on his face as you sniff. “This is what happens when you eat your weight in a bucket full of ice cream on a Sunday night.”
Jungkook’s expression flashes with relief, grateful that it’s nothing more than an unfortunate cold.
“You should leave.”
He blinks, “What?”
“You're more contagious to the cold than anyone I know, baby. Go. I’ll be fine”
To be honest, he could give zero fucks about catching a cold right now. He holds your gaze for a long moment before standing up.
A quick look of hurt passes through your eyes, but you recover just as quickly.
“If you think I’m gonna leave you here in this state then you underestimate my love for you, honey. I don’t know if you remember, but you wanted us to talk once I come back and I want you to get better and get talking, alright? God knows how I managed to have survived two weeks without you by my side, but now that I’m here, you’re going nowhere out of my sight.”
“Jungkoo-”
He interrupts, “As for those reports, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if we can’t have kids normally as most people do,” he runs his hands through his black locks, messing them up as he continues,
“In every sense of the word, I just want you. I want you right here with me, holding my hand and making me the happiest motherfucker ever. We’ll try something else. We’ll adopt, we’ll go with IVF, we’ll-”
“Jungkook”
“Yeah?”
“Breathe, baby”
So he does as he fills his chest with air, taking a moment to relax. Reaching over, you take his hands in your soft and warm ones, caressing his knuckle tattoo.
“Do I have the permission to be selfish just for one more time?”
He offers you a weak smile, “You were never selfish to begin with, my love.”
Your hands pull him towards you until he’s lying down by your side. He wraps his arms around you, holding you so close you’re almost one.
Jungkook presses a kiss on your clammy forehead followed by one on the tip of your nose, “You okay?”
“I am now” you whisper, letting your head drop weakly forward to pepper kisses across his hoodie clad chest.
“I’m gonna speak now and I want you to listen, okay?”
“Okay.”
Your fingers clutch his hoodie in a small fist as you begin, “I lied about babysitting Coco and I’m sorry about that since I know we promised to never lie to each other, but I had a reason for that. I was at the hospital when you called. I knew you would be at the studio and I didn’t want to put you through that when you’re working,”
You look up at him, eyes full of love and affection, “When I was young, my mom showed me an orange butterfly which I immediately fell in love with. I played with it for hours before I went back inside the house. I let it go, wishing it would visit me again. I had to let that butterfly go, Jungkook. Because I knew I couldn’t keep holding onto it. I was gonna do the same with you that night. I had it all planned out, I was gonna let you know about my infertility and then I was going to ask you for a breakup. Thankfully, I didn’t. Do you know why?”
Resigned, Jungkook shakes his head as a teardrop falls.
“Because some things and some people are worth staying for. You’re worth staying for. I was stupid enough to think that I would survive without you, that I would be able to weather the storm without you by my side.”
You’re sobbing now, sniffing as your fingers wipe Jungkook’s tears away.
He cups your cheek, his fingers brushing featherlight on your skin as the most tantalizing caress. “You don’t have to. I’ll never leave you, baby. You’re it for me. I can’t breathe without you, _____. Do I want a family one day? Of course, Do I want it without you in it? Over my dead body. You’re my present and I very much have the intention of making you my future too. With all due respect, but something as trivial as that report is not gonna stop me from doing that.”
A heavy moment of silence hangs in the air as he just stares at the love of his life, he didn’t even realize when the power came back, illuminating the whole guest room.
You are the first one to say, “I love you.”
“I love you the most.” he declares as his lips brush with yours with immense gentleness and love.
“Jungkook?”
“Yeah honey?”
“What do you think about calling our daughter, Ji woo? If we ever have one?” your voice comes out muffled because of the way you’re snuggled against his chest.
His lips stretch into the biggest grin ever, chest filling with pride because the woman who he loves the most in his life asked to name the girl he’d love the most in his life after a woman who loves him the most in her life. Even if she doesn’t know it.
“I’d love that.”
˚୨୧⋆。˚
Few years later
“What-” you gasp as your body goes tense for a quick second before relaxing against Jungkook’s chest. His arms circling around your waist, making you feel cozy and at home.
“You really need to stop scaring me like this.”
“Why? I can’t hug my wife now? I know you secretly like back hugs.”
Wife. The word still holds the same love and power as it did the first time he asked “Will you be my wife and make me the happiest man in the world, honey?”
You let your head fall back against his chest and look up at him, “You know what? I do.”
“I know you like the back of my hand, wifey.” he says, leaning down to drop a light kiss on your forehead.
“I love it when you call me that, but right now you’re distracting me.” Your hands start running over his forearms, caressing. It’s like a habit for you. You need to touch him whenever you can, feel him close to you as much as possible. He’s always so warm and soft, it makes you all fuzzy on the inside.
His mouth nibbles on your ear, making you shudder. “I don’t think so. Besides I barely get to have you for myself these days.”
You sigh and just let yourself relax in his hold. The past few days have been hectic to say the least and nothing can heal you better than being in your husband’s arms. “How was practice, baby?”
Jungkook has been working on a new album resulting in him spending most of his time in the studio. You miss him, of course, it’s only normal, but you’re also beyond proud. He took a momentous break from his work the same year you guys were facing issues and he didn’t so much as leave your side, promising to always stick around. Through thick and thin as he said in the wedding vows.
He ignores your question and sucks on your neck, making you groan.
“Jungkook” His lips find yours and he steals a kiss, hands pushing under your sundress as he caresses the back of your thigh. Goosebumps break out all over your body and you curse at the fact that he still holds so much power over you. Your legs go weak and your clutch onto his shoulder for support.
As he lets your lips go with a loud pop, you open your eyes and look at him.
“What are the chances of me getting lucky tonight?” he asks, hands still under your dress, now grazing your ass.
“It-”
Before you could answer him, the sound of tiny footsteps running towards you both reached you. And there she is, your prettiest five year old letting out the biggest shriek after she sees her daddy all but falling down from enthusiasm.
“Da!” her feet pick up the pace as she runs towards him with arms wide open.
You detangle yourself from your husband’s hold and he takes a step back.
He crouches down and catches your little girl, Ji woo, in his arms. Groaning as she crashes into him. “Ooff”
“Da, I missed you. You’re coming to the picnic with us, right? Mommy says you are.”
You watch him laugh and peck her chubby cheek. “Of course, sunshine. Nice daddies never miss picnics with their daughters, do they?”
As they talk like their goofy selves, you just take a moment and watch. By the grace of all things good, you’ve had the chance to visit almost everywhere in the world, but this right here is the best view. After musing about it, you and Jungkook decided to go with IVF and you’ve not regretted it ever since. Hands down the best decision of your life.
Waking up and seeing your husband with your daughter sprawled on his chest as she lets out tiny little snores, watching her fall in love with the same eyes as you did, going on family dates, going to his concerts wearing the same outfits and whatnot. It’s more than enough for you to thank your lucky stars that you stayed.
“Mommy, daddy says he’ll not steal my strawberry this time.”
You offer her a gentle smile. “Daddy is a little liar, baby”
She lets out the cutest gasp ever, cupping Jungkook’s face with her tiny hands. His face is so big in her hands it’s almost chucklesome.
“Is that right, daddy?”
He playfully narrows his eyes at you as you stick your tongue out. “Mommy’s just jealous because you love daddy more. Now, what do you think of making those bracelets together?”
Ji woo’s face lights up like the fourth of July and she starts squirming like a little butterfly in his arms, flapping her arms. She’s been asking for her own bracelet after seeing the silver one on Jungkook’s wrist for years now. He suggested custom making one and she got so excited one would think he got her a pet dog or something. Although, he’s considering that too. Nothing surprising there.
When it comes to Ji woo, Jungkook is a loser in love. You’ve never seen him looking at another girl the same way he looks at his daughter. Besides you, of course. It’s innocent, pure and all things perfect.
Before they both leave, she gives you a kiss on the cheek, covering her eyes when your husband pecks your lips.
Your eyes find the butterfly tattoo on your wrist, sometimes seeing it in your daughter. Excited, lively and someone who makes you want to wish it never disappears, the only difference?
Jungkook’s not afraid that everyone will let him go and you’re not uneasy about how you will have no reason to not let go.
You’re healed.
He’s healed.
taglist (ilusm guys) : @woodarevil-blog @kookooquette @busanbby-jjk @chaelvrx @kaiparkerwifes @elithenium @vixensph @carriereadsbooks @mageprincess7 @queenbloody @hinatsu @parkinglot-nights @kookiescutie @ggukieskookie @jimineepaboya @cuteipat @dolligguk @bookstoread199 @chokoopie @lovingkoalaface
#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#bts#jungkook scenario#jungkook smut#jungkook scenarios#jungkook x you#bts x reader#jungkook imagine#bts scenario#bts fanfic#bts scenarios#bts smut#bts jungkook#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook drabble#jungkook series#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook oneshot#fluff
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I would love it if you did some werehog sonic for spooky season. Maybe he doesn't want reader to know it's him but they find out anyway and comfort him (idk I just need more werehog sonic in my life)
moonlight
WARNING: None
PAIRING: Sonic the Hedgehog x Reader
NOTE: Thanks for sending in this request! I had so much fun writing this guy. Let’s keep the spooky season going!!!
SUMMARY: Sonic never wanted you to see him like this. He had been doing everything to hide his Werehog form from you.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8f24250e608a87eb948b7e23a680c9d2/7564f483e06f4a22-cf/s540x810/f5759f06eb2d58de5d55c90de1090cc7b313f3c5.jpg)
You hadn’t seen Sonic in almost two days, and it was starting to worry you.
Normally, Sonic would pop in to check on you, even if just for a quick chat before zipping off to wherever his next adventure called. But lately, his visits had become scarce, and when he did show up, it was always during the day—never at night.
Something was off, and you could feel it.
You asked Tails about it, and he told you that he still saw Sonic around until the evening, which he found odd, but he never questioned it.
Now it was late in the evening, the sun having set hours ago, leaving the landscape bathed in shadows. You stood by the window, staring out at the full moon hanging in the sky, the eerie light casting long, dark silhouettes across the ground. A shiver ran down your spine, but you weren’t sure if it was the chill in the air or the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.
“Where are you, Sonic?” you muttered to yourself.
A sudden noise from outside caught your attention—a rustling in the bushes near the edge of the clearing. You squinted, trying to make out what it was, but the shadows were too thick. Then you saw it—a large, hulking figure darting behind a tree.
Your heart jumped. It was too big to be Sonic—or anyone else you knew. But something about the shape seemed... familiar.
Grabbing a flashlight, you headed out into the night, determination outweighing the fear gnawing at the back of your mind. You had to find out what was going on.
As you made your way through the trees, the sound of heavy breathing reached your ears, low and raspy. You stopped in your tracks, heart pounding, the beam of your flashlight sweeping across the dark woods. Finally, the light landed on a pair of glowing eyes—bright, green.
There, crouched in the shadows, was a massive, wolf-like creature. Its fur was dark and shaggy, its body rippling with muscle, and its sharp claws dug into the ground as if it was ready to bolt at any second.
But those eyes... you knew those eyes.
“Sonic?” you whispered, the flashlight slipping from your hand and falling to the ground with a soft thud.
The creature flinched at the sound of your voice, as if caught, and slowly stood to its full height. There was no mistaking it now—the familiar cocky stance, the slight tilt of the head, even in this monstrous form, you could see the hints of the Sonic you knew.
But Sonic didn’t say a word. He took a step back, as if trying to retreat into the darkness, away from your gaze.
You stepped forward, undeterred. “Sonic, I know it’s you.”
He froze, shoulders tense, his clawed hands curling into fists as he kept his eyes lowered, refusing to meet your gaze.
“I—” His voice was different, deeper, rougher, but it was still unmistakably him. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone. He had always been so confident, so sure of himself, and seeing him like this—scared, ashamed—it was a side of Sonic you had never seen before.
You approached slowly, careful not to startle him, but determined to close the gap between you. “Sonic, why are you hiding from me?”
He let out a low growl, though it was more frustrated than threatening. “Because... look at me!” His voice rose, and for the first time, he looked at you fully. “I’m not... I’m not me. Not like this.”
Your eyes softened as you took in his appearance. Yes, he looked different, but underneath the fur and claws, he was still Sonic—still the same hero you had known for so long. And the fact that he was trying so hard to hide this side of himself from you broke your heart.
“You’re still you, Sonic,” you said softly, stepping closer until you were just a few feet away.
He shook his head, turning away again. “I’m a monster.”
“You’re not,” you insisted, reaching out slowly to touch his arm. His fur was coarse, but warm, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as if he was expecting you to recoil. But you didn’t.
Instead, you gave him a gentle squeeze. “You’re not a monster, Sonic. You’re still you, no matter what you look like.”
Sonic was silent for a long moment, his body still trembling slightly under your touch. Finally, he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “You’re not... scared?”
You smiled softly. “Of course not. Why would I be scared of you?”
Sonic let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The relief in his eyes was evident, though he still looked unsure, as if he couldn’t quite believe you weren’t running away from him. “I didn’t want you to see this,” he admitted quietly. “I thought you’d think I was... I don’t know. Dangerous?”
You stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Sonic, you’re the least dangerous person I know. You’d never hurt anyone—especially not me.”
His ears twitched, and he finally met your gaze fully, the glow in his green eyes softening. “Yeah, well... I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought,” he muttered, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
You laughed softly. “No, you’re not. But I’m glad I found you.”
Sonic huffed, though it was more playful this time. “You always were too smart for your own good.”
There was a brief pause before Sonic shifted awkwardly, still not quite comfortable in his Werehog form, but no longer trying to hide it from you. “So, uh... now that you’ve seen me like this, I guess you don’t mind hanging out with a big ol’ werewolf looking thing, huh?”
You smiled warmly. “Not at all. In fact, I think it suits you.”
Sonic blinked, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’re still fast, still strong, and now you’ve got extra muscles and claws. It’s like Sonic... but enhanced.”
Sonic chuckled, the sound more like a growl in his Werehog form. “Huh, never thought about it that way.”
You reached up, gently brushing a stray tuft of fur from his face. “You don’t have to hide from me, Sonic.”
For the first time since his transformation, Sonic seemed to relax completely. His broad shoulders slumped in relief, and the anxious edge that had been lingering in his eyes disappeared. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I guess I needed to hear that.”
You smiled up at him. “Anytime.”
#sonic the hedgehog#sonic#sonic x reader#sonic the hedgehog x reader#werehog sonic#werehog#sonic the werehog#sonic fanfic#sonic fanfiction#x reader#ask#request#fanfic#oneshot
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Rule Number One (You Gotta Have Fun)
Alastor x Reader Smut. U break his only rule and bother him while hes tryna work. Enjoy. :} Requests open btw.
Alastor had locked himself up in his radio tower for what felt like days. He was truly a workaholic, and loved to be busy. This was fine, except you found yourself actually sort of... missing him?
No sight of him creeping down the hallway or the impending feeling that he was about to catch you doing something prohibited at the hotel. It all felt too empty all of a sudden, and you wished he’d be back down soon, even if just to make you uneasy with that eerie smile.
So, you decided to break the number one rule set by him.
“Under no circumstances is anyone to ever enter the radio tower without my express permission.”
Well, what are rules if not to be broken, right? And that’s where you found yourself, climbing up into the prohibited area.
Ears pressed back, he turned to face you. There was no other way to put it, Alastor was fucking pissed.
You shouldn’t of come up here. You should of listened to his stupid rule, and busied yourself with something else. Maybe you had time to turn around, and pretend you made a wrong turn.
“I trust you have something important for me? Something that would be worth you coming all the way up here without my say so, hm?”
His voice was even more staticky than usual, his tone dripping with sarcasm. You were thinking up a response when he stood up and strode over to you. He jabbed his microphone stand under your jaw, albeit gently, and forced you to look at him.
“Well, deary?”
You only shook your head, hair bouncing on your shoulders.
“Then why, pray tell, are you up here? And use your words this time, yes?”
Within those few words, you suddenly understood why he was so feared. Just from the way he spoke, he could make you feel tiny and stupid.
“I, um, was just wondering where you were, is all...”
“Oh?” He released the microphone stand and you faced the floor again, feeling like a child about to get scolded. “You did know where I was though, didn’t you? So, I’ll ask once more. What brought you up here?”
He had retired back to his chair, and was watching you intently as you squirmed at his questioning. His smile never once left his face.
“You know what, I should go-“
Slam. His shadow had closed the door.
“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to ignore someone, darling? I’m just asking you a simple question, what’s the need for all this attitude? Why are you here?”
Blush rising to your face, you picked at skin around your nails still not wanting to look at his shit eating grin.
“I was bored. Missed you.”
“Ah, there we go! You see how easy that was?”
You nodded, “Can I go now? Sorry for interrupting...”
“Nonsense! You missed me, did you not? You came all the way up here for me, desperate for my attention. Well, dear, my attention you have got. Come, sit, sit.” He patted his thigh.
Oh, how you wished the world would swallow you up right now. But the worst part of this was how turned on you were at his lecturing. You think your reaction was doing the same to him, given the way his ears were perked up and pupils blown.
You walked over to him, gently perching on his knee, before he pulled you down by your waist so you were properly sitting in his lap. He continued working, tapping buttons and twisting dials, as you could only sit there and pray your heart rate would soon go back to normal.
"If I did not know any better, I'd say this encounter has you quite excited, darling! The way your pulse is rising, and not to mention the fact I can smell the arousal on you!" He laughed. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If I had brought out such emotions in you."
Your blood drew hot in shame, he knew.
You nodded and tried to save face, "Yes, Alastor. I'm fine, just- my pulse is high from the walk up here, that's all."
"And if you were to stand up, your answer would be the same, I presume?"
Confused, you cocked your head. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his hands around your waist and stood you up.
There it was, the evidence he was looking for. A wet patch on his thigh. Right from where you were sitting. Your wetness had leaked through your panties, leaving a spot on his dress pants.
“Well, look at this mess. And my best pants, no less! Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”
You shook your head, never so embarrassed in your life.
He tutted, "First, you lie about why you came up here. Then you lie about this? Darling, have you no manners? Or am I to teach you them myself, hm?"
His eyes were half lidded now, ears twitching.
"I- uh. I think you need to teach me, Alastor..." You admitted, not able to take your eyes off him.
“Finally! The right answer! You’re getting the hang of this now, eh?” He laughed, and patted his thigh - the one you’d dirtied, “Back up here. May as well see how much more you can ruin them.”
Legs shaking, you stood up and straddled his thigh. He leaned in close, “Now get yourself off. You can do that, yes? If your mewls at night are anything to go by, I’d say you’re to be a natural at this!”
The thought of Alastor hearing you play with yourself through your bedroom door sent shivers down your spine, in a good way. He grabbed your chin, angling your head to face him.
“I said you can do that, yes, dear?”
You nodded, hands reaching up to his shoulders to steady yourself as you started grinding down on his thigh like your life depended on it, maybe it did. You could feel his cock hardening. His hands trailed down your body to your hips where they stayed, helping you slowly ride his thigh.
“Theres a good girl, hm? See what happens when you behave?”
You nodded, breathing heavy, “Uh-huh.”
Alastor nodded, his hips gently bucking up for friction. Your hand went to zipper to help, but he brushed it away.
“This is your lesson. Not mine.” He winked.
So you kept riding his thigh, until your own thighs were weak, and you were close. And he knew it.
“If this were a proper lesson, I wouldn’t allow you to cum. But you’ve been so good, so good for me... You may cum.”
You nodded into the nook of his neck, letting out a pathetic whiny mewl as you came, soddening his pants. From the sound of it, he came too, letting out a staticky grunt that would of hurt your ears if you were paying attention, but you were too busy grinding your way through your climax, as he shushed you gently.
He helped you stand up, your thighs shaking and almost giving out under you. A sharp finger pressed into the stain on his pants, before he collected some of the wetness and licked it off.
“Head off to my bedroom, now, love. Get yourself cleaned up. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
The walk to his bedroom was strange to say the least. Your knees shaking and panties wet, of course Angel was going to say something.
“Christ, you look like you been fucked good, sweets.”
“I have, I think...?”
“Oh yeah? And whose the lucky son of a bitch, huh? He knows not to fuck with you, right?” He winked, ever protective of you.
As if on cue, Alastor appeared, strolling carelessly toward you both. A hand on your shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt, Angel, my dear, but I’m afraid we have something to take care of. If you’ll excuse us...” He guided you away, towards his room.
#alastor x reader#alastor smut#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin smut#alastor
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Diaries of Spider-Man.
ch1
Dear diary; what was I thinking?!
synopsis; the disastrous "adventures" of a teenaged spiderman.
This is a WIP, please let me know your thoughts and if this is what you would like to see from me<3
“let's do this one.. last.. time...”
“my name is izuku midoriya, and for the past 3 years, I've been the one and only spiderman. Annnd, I'm pretty sure you know the rest..”
₊˚⊹
Izuku jots away in his notebook before taking a step back to read what little he's written. the groan that escaped his lips was quite audible. He was rather disappointed in what he's written.
When his therapist "prescribed" him to journaling or writing down his thoughts in a notebook which he didn't want to refer to as a diary, his initial thought was;
‘theres no way in hell writing things down would help me.’
However for the past three years, izuku found himself writing everything he could down in those measly little journals his therapist gave him. Each and every year the thick and huge diary journal she gave him would begin to get fuller and fuller of all of his little adventures or simple daily routines.
Izuku was nothing if not a stubborn little shit at times. Of course he would disagree heavily but facts don't lie. You can't tell this energetic know it all anything. He's really smart and well put together. Most of the time. Upon becoming spiderman he hasn't had a lot of time for much. His consistent tasks of being spiderman are always heavy and time consuming. He doesn't have time to study for his driver's test, his normal class tests which define if he passes the grade and gets into college, or even dinner half the time?!
To be frank; the poor thing has been through a lot the past years. Too much honestly. Izukus "power" awakening was an honest mistake. Like your typical movie spiderman, he was bitten by a radioactive spider whilst he was doing something he knew he had no business doing
₊˚⊹
To go back exactly three years 4 months and 17 days ago, you would find a 14/15 year old izuku breaking into an abandoned home with none other than his typical, usual, partners in crime.
Katsuki bakugou and y/n l/n.
Izuku knew it was a bad idea from the beginning, however he always followed the two of you into stupid situations that could eventually get you killed. In this case, it almost did. Izuku helped you get through the window the three of you had busted by letting you climb onto his shoulders, katsuki who had laid his jacket over the glass so none of you would cut yourselves, grabbed you by your arms and pulled you in, the both of you then helped izuku in with basically the same method.
“woah.. spooky.”
“ heh.. it reeks in here.”
You giggled at katsukis exclaim, making izuku pout slightly. He sighed to himself, not wanting to admit the blonde was correct.
“ you guys i- i really don't think we should— ”
“ hey check it out! there are spray paint cans in here!”
Katsuki yells running to the other room with numerous cans of spray paint. You followed him like a dumb lost puppy leaving izuku to groan and follow behind you both.
There were many graffiti stamps left behind from many different people, obviously they had left behind their spray paint for some odd reason, that's what really intrigued izuku.
“ tch, hey deku, get over here so we can sign our names!”
Izuku jogs closer to you two shivering to himself at all the spiderwebs covering the cans. It was dusty and quite eerie inside of this place. Izuku truthfully wanted no part. You and katsuki signed your names right next to each other with little quirky doodles next to them, izuku soon followed suit. He picked up the green can of paint and signed his name ‘izuku’
“ no no, put deku! ‘ts way better than ‘izuku’!”
The way katsuki could make izuku feel bad about his given name should've been studied. And they way you were quick to agree hurt the poor boy even more. He soon crossed out izuku and put ‘Deku’ big and boldly. It was all alone compared to how closely the two of your names were.
The two of you had long began to explore elsewhere, leaving izuku wondering where you two went off to.
“hey! Come in here izu- I mean deku!”
You yell out catching his attention, he follows the sound of your voice to find you two the small critter crawling up his back going completely unnoticed. Some time passed and it only got later and later, izuku was still hesitant about being there but the two of you just kept going deeper and deeper inside of the manor.
Izuku rushes inside of the next room, breaking contact with whatever artifacts caught his eye. He looked for the two of you calling out your names with no answer, he was confused and quite scared, where could the two of you have gone?
“ boo!”
Izuku jumped back falling down to the ground and scraping his little hands.
“ow..!”
Izuku winced at the sudden sting of not only his hands but the pinch of his skin itching and being very irritated next to his neck, he slapped it and the arachnid soon fell into his hands. With a shutter he threw the spider out of his hands feeling rather jittery after the encounter.
“ are you alright, izuku?!“
You were quick to rush over to him. It was simply supposed to be a little harmless joke, he wasn't supposed to get hurt. You helped him up and dusted him off as well heading katsuki suck his teeth in response.
“ yes, i- I'm fine. I've gotten bitten by a spider however.. one unlike any other I've ever seen.. we should head back so I can tell my mom.”
“ oh, oka-”
“ no.”
Katsuki was quick to shut down before you could get out your sentence. You both turned to look at him he seemed angry a bit as if something completely ruined his mood.
“ if you tell your mom we could get in trouble, she might tell my mom who might tell y/ns. you don't want us getting in trouble, do you deku.”
The way katsuki used the nickname against him made his stomach feel sick. He gulped down the rising bile in his throat and coughed lowly.
“ katsuki he got hurt, shouldn't he-”
“ no! I'm not getting in trouble because wimpy deku wanted to be an easy scare!”
“thats not fair katsuki!”
The two of you started bickering, leaving him out causing him to sigh. He felt a bit weird.. kind of dizzy and out of breath as if he'd been running. It was growing warm and he had began sweating, hyperventilating as if he needed to catch his breath.
The sounds of him caught your attention and suddenly the boy looked quite weak, frail of some sort.
“ izuku..? are you...alright?”
Katsuki sooner looked over to see izuku hardly keeping his balance, he wouldn't admit it but he was quite worried at the sight of him.
“ let's go.”
Was all katsuki said as he grabbed izuku by the hand and ran back towards the broken window the three of you came in.
The two of you got izuku home in one piece for the most part, he was dizzy and hardly standing up on his own, the running had him so our of breath it was almost like he was having an anxiety attack. He probably was to be honest, izuku was a very anxious boy. His anxiety levels were very high at all times, with the growing symptoms in his body and the bite from the spider he was so worried about what was happening to him he most likely started having a panic attack whilst running. Luckily he was home now, you and katsuki beat on his door as you heard him mom yelling she was coming.
She opens the door with a smile to see the three of you out of breath with a dead looking izuku, the sight startled his mother causing her to pick up her son and rush him to the hospital. Both yours and katsukis parents had been called and had quite a talk with inko who was worried sick about her son, yelling at your parents and explaining how she has no idea what happened.
You two didn't speak to each other once. Not even looking at each other. Both your parents had taken you and katsuki back home. After that night you'd never spoken to katsuki or izuku ever again..
Izuku was completely fine however. Those symptoms may have been bad but that was all it was. He was able to go home that same day and the doctors called it a simple panic/anxiety attack. His mother was worried sick for no reason.
From that moment forward things only began to get weirder for this normal teenaged boy.
₊˚⊹
Izuku sat at his desk reading his old journals of how he believes he got his powers, scoffing to himself at the memories. He had all his books all over his desk in a completely messy pile nose buried in his book as someone walked over and bumped his desk back into him, it lightly hit him in the stomach causing him to drop the journal in the desk and the desk of the books that were formerly there onto the floor.
He scoffed in annoyance looking up to see you with a shit eating grin on your face as you scowled down at him, not even apologizing as you walked out of the classroom.
Izuku seen as the classroom was completely empty, just him and his messy books all over the floor. He sighed and crouched down picking them up and shoving them into his backpack. His phone vibrated in his back pocket, he picked up up to see w text from his friends.
‘ hey! Meet us in the front?’
That singular text from ochako was all he needed for a small smile to form on his freckled cheeks. Just as he was about to put it away there was a pop up from the news channel he had downloaded on his phone, something about a criminal stealing from a jewelry shop.
He sighed to himself and texted her back explaining he wouldn't be able to meet them and that he'd just head home. However that wasn't the case. He ran out the back door of the school pushing through some students earning some angry and annoyed remarks spat at him; but he didnt have time to care. He ran behind some building and quickly slipped his suit on. He'd rather skip the embarrassing details..
Just as he was about to 'web away' he got a call from none other than katsuki bakugou. Izuku jumped and nearly dropped his phone at the sudden ringing, he quickly answers without thinking, lifting his mask over his mouth to speak,
“ oi nerd, y’heard about that criminal stealing that diamond or whatever?”
The normally volcanic boy has a soft tone still laced with a bit of redness and sass.
“ yes, kacchan, and before you called I was just about getting there so if y’dont mind!!!!”
The blond scoffs on the other side, chuckling as he snorts at his sass. Izuku groaned at the sound of him laughing and simply hung up swinging away as quickly as he could.
“ look up there! It's spiderman!!”
People squealed and yelled at the familiar colors of izukus suit, black along the sides and a deep green painting the front and back of his skin tight suit, and a big white spider over the chest. He'd made the suit when he was younger and had started working out he'd wanted to show it off but as of now he thinks it's quite unnecessary..
He swung through the crowds waving and smiling under the mask, as tiring as being spiderman was he was always thankful for the love he'd gotten. They truly made him feel valuable, izuku struggled with self confidence a lot, it's common in people like that to enjoy attention from all.
It wasn't that izuku needed to be humbled or anything but....izuku swung down an alley that reports seen the criminal go down, supposedly the diamond they had stolen was a very important artifact from ancient times or whatever, moral of the story was he needed to get it back to where it belonged! Izuku could do that!
He dropped in front of the criminal with a hero stance making him appear big n bad in front of them.
“ stop! give me that diamond, criminal!”
Izuku was obsessed with action movies when he was younger, his favorite actor was custom to working in them. He always imagined being a superhero and technically he is! However within these three years the fame and glory really went to his head ..
The criminal halted, izuku tried stepping closer to retrieve the diamond in a cool manner, speaking to the cloaked person in a soft voice trying to get them to come to their senses like some kind of......main character. To izukus surprise they pulled out a crossbow. He was stunned at the size of it,
“ how- how did that fit inside of your— ”
Before izuku could get the rest of his sentence out the criminal shot the arrow, it completely piercing izukus shoulder. He yelled out in pain nearly falling to his knees, that then made him realize that was no joke, this person being unlike any other petty thief hes gone up against.
As the criminal kicked izuku to the ground with a bare boot while he was holding his injured and punctured shoulder they quickly made haste and ran past him out of the alley, crowds soon coming up after the person ran away and seeing izuku clutching his shoulder run pain, all of them having different emotions on his face it would be an understatement to say he was embarrassed.
What had he thought that he was just invincible? Izuku struggled into his knees hearing whispers from the crowd and quickly tried his best to attempt swinging away with a singular arm, his left to be exact and that wasn't his maiden arm either. Izuku was fully right handed and did everything with it, with his right arm basically out of commission he did his best to swing with his left hand but...
He eventually wobbled and hit a sign, he was going at a high speed as well trying to hide his shame and find the person who did this to him, as his body came into full contract with the sign knocking every little bit of air out if his body the arrow got pushed deeper, making izuku groan in agony once more. Blood wetting his skin and suit as it dropped down, he didn't take the arrow out before because he thought about how it would cause him to bleed out and wouldn't be any good...now he wished he had.
He held onto the large sign and tried to swing away once more, he eventually got the hang of it for a little while managing to drop himself behind a building. He leaned against the wall of it and groaned, he wanted to take his suit off but it wouldn't be a good idea, anyone could've followed him or even tried to see who he was. It wasn't a good idea.
With every ounce of energy and strength in his body he pushed himself up from sliding to the ground and called who he knew he could.
“ yo?”
“ ka..kacchan... I need your...your help..”
₊˚⊹
AN: this is js a WIP lemme know what y'all think n if I should add or like yk leave out some things!!!!
#cvnts-post#mha#mha x reader#boku no hero academia#deku x reader#izuku x reader#izuku midoriya#izuku#izuku midoriya x reader#midoriya#midoriya izuku#midoriya izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#my hero academia#my hero academia x reader#deku#izuku x reader smut#deku smut#deku x reader smut#mha smut#izuku midoriya smut#izuku midoriya x reader smut#midorya smut#midoriya izuku smut#midoriya izuku x reader smut#mha x reader smut#kinda hate this completely#i should js stick to reading other advanced fics and writing smut drabbles...
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Shadows from the Past
Sequel to "The Bully"
PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader
SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.
WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.
Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.
High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.
But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.
Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”
Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.
You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.
Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.
Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.
It felt personal. Too personal.
That’s when the email arrived.
The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.
The message was brief but chilling:
*Dearest [Your Name],
I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.
Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*
The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.
You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.
But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.
The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.
Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.
Agatha.
She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.
“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.
You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”
A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”
Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.
“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.
The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.
“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”
Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.
You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”
“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”
Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.
“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”
The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.
The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.
She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.
One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.
“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.
Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.
“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.
“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”
Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”
Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.
“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”
Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.
“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”
Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.
“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”
Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.
“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”
Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.
“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.
Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.
“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”
Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.
Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.
One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”
You didn’t answer.
Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”
Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”
Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.
“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”
The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”
Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.
And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.
“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”
Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.
What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.
She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”
You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.
When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”
It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.
Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.
One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”
When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.
“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”
Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.
“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”
Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.
“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.
Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”
You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.
One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.
But you didn’t get far.
A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.
“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”
Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.
“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”
The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.
“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”
Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.
“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”
The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.
But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.
“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”
That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.
The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.
One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.
And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.
You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.
You were hers.
And she knew it.
Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.
“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.
Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.
“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.
Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.
“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”
The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.
Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.
"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.
And that was what terrified you the most.
Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.
She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”
She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.
Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.
“I belong to you.”
Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.
She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”
It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.
One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.
“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.
Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”
And in that moment, you knew she was right.
Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.
She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.
Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.
“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.
“I’m yours.”
But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.
And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?
Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”
Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.
“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.
Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”
And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.
#agatha all along#agatha harkness x reader#dark fanfiction#agathario#agatha harkness#agatha harkness fanfic#kathryn hahn#marvel#dark!agatha harkness#rio vidal#aubrey plaza#agatha x reader#agatha coven of chaos#agatha spoilers
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Greetings, Mr. Neil! I don't even know if you'll answer, but to start, I wanted to tell you that I love your job. I love your shared work with Mr. Terry, the book I consider a masterpiece. I'm also sure Mr. Terry is looking down at you from up above, smiling, with a pleased face, because he is proud of you that you managed to make his wish come true alongside a great group of wonderful actors and directors.
I wanted to share with you this little thing that means a lot to me. It was the year 2019, I was going around various cities to do visits and check-ups for my mental health problems, when one day I decided to enter a bookstore, and there I saw "Good Omens" for the first time. I picked it up and looked at it, but I was in a hurry so I didn't buy it. On the night of that same day I had a dream, a very realistic dream where I saw myself enter that bookstore, pick up the book, pay for it and come out of that store with it in my arms. I didn't pay much attention to it, but then, the next night, I had the exact same dream. I had this dream three nights in a row. On the fourth day I had to go back to the city where that bookstore was, and I finally decided to buy the book. Since that day, I haven't had that strange, all too real dream. It was as if the book itself was calling me. It was an eerie feeling but also very beautiful and intriguing. I read the book and then found out that a TV series was coming out soon! I bought the book of the series, the DVD, and recently also the Script Book! I'm a huge fan, and I'm very proud of being one. Good Omens has helped me a lot in particularly difficult moments and continues to help me to this day.
Now, the question... I have so many I can't make up my mind, but... it's about when Gabriel remembered something for the first time.
He remembered what God had said to Job. He said it, too, but his voice was kind of distorted, and in that distortion, I could hear the voice of God overlapping. Why is it? Was it meant to be heard? Because I remember you saying you didn't need God's voice for this second season...
Thanks for reading this far, and thanks again for bringing such a masterpiece into the world together with Mr. Terry. <3
That's Frances McDormand as God, yes. I didn't need her voice as narrator, but we needed it as God in Episode 2...
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Someone New 8
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9a845bc0724108cf228bcaf1880b650d/f29f80288bacd54c-f4/s540x810/59ddaa4e5d560e7f715f4862a5be5273ef8c5fd5.jpg)
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Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor
Note: nice to see ya again!
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Thor makes himself as permanent as the layers of sediment. Whether you’re in the dirt or looking over the charts and maps, making notes or sorting through your findings, he appears. Knowing he’ll be there keeps you coming yourself. Despite the short nights and long drives, thinking of him finding an empty site deters you from a day off, even against Sam’s pleas.
The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying.
The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same.
When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross.
“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.”
He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration.
Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral.
“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises.
You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.
He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.
“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.”
“Lunch?” You utter.
“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.”
“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?”
“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?”
“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...”
“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.”
“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.
“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee.
“Coffee?” Your brows raise.
“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins.
Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her?
You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands.
“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt.
“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size.
You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute.
“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.”
You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare.
“Oh gosh, this... a lot.”
“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?”
“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head.
“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles.
“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.”
You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive.
“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees.
You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs.
“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.”
He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them?
“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.”
“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?”
“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.
“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts.
“Hey,” you pout.
“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.”
“Am I?” You wonder.
“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.”
“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think.
“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.”
“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.”
“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad.
“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.”
“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly.
“It’s... cute,” he shrugs.
“You mean crazy,” you shake your head.
“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.”
You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest.
“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says.
“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.”
“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.”
“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.”
“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.”
“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.”
“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.”
You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.
You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.”
“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.”
“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.”
“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest.
“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.”
“They sound like it. How’d you meet?”
“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?”
“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.”
You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis.
“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely.
“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always.
“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.”
You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting.
“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.”
“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.”
He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.”
“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?”
He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.”
“A business. You must sell fitness or something.”
“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?”
“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?”
“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?”
“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.”
“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.”
“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark.
“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.”
His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat.
“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily.
“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above.
“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.”
You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away.
“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.”
He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate.
“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.”
“Loki?”
“My brother of course,” he explains with , “yes, he is quite the dour one. He might get along with that Bucky.”
#thor#steve rogers#thor x reader#steve rogers x reader#angst fic#grayish fic#fic#au#series#someone new#mcu#marvel#captain america#avengers
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Little Shop of Wonders
Kinktober Day 8 | Kun Masterlist | Member Masterlist
tags: sex pollen, free use, consensual free use, fuck toy, shower sex, lots of cum, facefucking, masturbation, bukkake, cunnilingus, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, subspace
length: 5971
The bell over the door jingled as you pushed it open, stepping foot inside the shop.
You’d never noticed this place before. An old shop with big glass window displays filled with plants and crystals, its heavy wooden door recessed from the street, an old brass lantern hung above the door offering only a small puddle of flickering light over the doormat.
“Welcome,” the doormat had scrawled across it, “to the Little Shop of Wonders.”
You weren’t sure what to expect, but it was a cool, damp October night, and the shop looked like a dry place to wait for your boyfriend.
Kun had an appreciation for magic. Usually, he favored card tricks, sleight of hand, but he’d shown you before that he was intrigued by more magical magic. He would like this place, too, so you texted him the address since he was already on the way to pick you up from work.
From deep in the recesses of the store, you hear a woman’s voice call out, “Welcome! Have a look around, and I’ll be there to help you shortly!”
The store is very old, if you had to guess. The floors are hardwood, bleached by ages of sunlight, dry and dusty with each step you take. The boards creak, and even when you pass over a thick rug, the floor groans beneath you, belching up dust. Dried flowers and herbs hang from the rafters. Strings of lights drape the edges of the room, occasionally cross-crossing the space in between. You spot more of those brass lanterns hanging at the ends of heavy wooden bookcases, the shelves of which are weighed down with heavy tomes and knick knacks that range from crystals and cute animal carvings to disturbingly realistic wooden figurines of people and a skull with a candle melted atop it.
This place gives you the creeps while simultaneously pulling you in deeper. It feels like magic. It tingles over your skin, smelling sweet.
You don’t know how long you’ve been walking around before you hear the door jingle in the distance.
You bump into a viney potted plant on the floor, and a cat bolts out of the shadows, streaking through a gap in the shelves. You follow the cat, discovering that it’s leading you back into the center of the store from where you’d drifted to the back edges. You can see the front door, the misty blue twilight sky outside the front windows.
Kun stands in the doorway, framed by that eerie light, though the light of the lantern glows on his face, radiant.
“There you are,” he says with a grin, stepping inside the store fully. “What kind of place have you found?”
“Welcome to the Little Shop of Wonders,” says the same woman’s voice as before, although now it sounds as though she’s floating above you.
You twist around, looking up at the ceiling, and you find her. She’s a wiry older woman, her curling gray hair tumbling around her shoulders, a long skirt and apron swishing around her legs as she very carefully balances and navigates her way across the beams.
When you look back at Kun, he’s watching her with a bemused expression, which shifts to that of one impressed when the woman leaps down from the beam and lands lightly on her feet.
She brushes her hands off on her apron, and looks at the pair of you with a wide, warm, inviting smile on her face.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” Her hands go to her hips, and she looks the pair of you over, her gaze studying the way you gravitate towards each other. “What can I help you with?”
“Oh.” You and Kun glance at each other, and then you say, “We’re just looking around.”
The woman nods her head. “Of course! If you look long enough, whatever you’re meant to have in here will jump out at you.”
You take Kun’s hand, and for a little while you browse the shelves, occasionally coming across a cat or the witchy woman herself, humming as she passes through different areas of the shop.
Finally, after you feel that you’ve spent nearly an hour together looking at the small oddities and interests in the store, you realize that it’s time you leave so you can get home. But Kun’s interested in the live plants the woman has sitting beside a window towards the back of the shop. He brushes his fingers along a blush pink leaf, lifts his fingers along the stem, and cups one of the curved bloodred petals.
“I’d be careful with that one, if I were you.” The woman appears suddenly at your elbow, nudging her way between you and Kun. She cups the plant’s pot in her hands, lifting it gently. “This one’s a powerful aphrodisiac. Quite a strong stimulant.”
Kun peeks at you over her head. You stifle a giggle against your hand.
“Doubt me if you like,” she warns, “But this plant’s pollen is known to cause intense arousal when ingested. Whether that means if the residue is on your skin, or if it’s contained within a bottle of honey.”
Suddenly she’s lifting a hand, a small vial of glinting golden honey sits in her palm.
“Are you saying that’s a bottle of sex honey?” You ask, trying to keep from laughing.
The woman’s mouth tightens. “Yes, dear. Essentially. A taste of this honey, and you and your boy would be bound to fall into bed together. THat’s why I have it labeled for sale over in the love and sex section of the shop. Now, if you ingest the pollen directly, say if he were to lick his fingers now after having touched the plant, the effects would be much stronger. Arousal lasting days, possibly.”
Again, Kun catches your eye over the woman’s head, and you watch your boyfriend daringly lift his hand to his lips, and he pops his index and middle finger both into his mouth.
“Oh, darling….” The witchy woman shakes her head while looking at Kun. She quickly sits the plant back down among the others, and she waves her hand towards the front door of the shop. “You should leave now. Good luck. And you, my dear,” she says with a look in your direction, “You may want to purchase a bottle of the honey, just so you can keep up with him.”
“I think we’ll be fine, but thank you.” You wrap your arm around Kun’s and walk towards the door with him, calling over your shoulder to her, “Maybe if this goes as well as you’re promising, we’ll be back for some of that sex honey.”
You swear that instead of swinging gently shut as it had when you opened it, the door slams behind you as you and Kun step out onto the sidewalk outside the Little Shop of Wonders.
“Come on.” Kun slides his hand down into yours, leading you away to where his car is parked. “Let’s get home.”
On the ride home, you both laugh about the woman’s warnings. It just sounds so silly, the things she was saying. Kun keeps sucking on his fingers, saying that he’s still waiting for it to kick in like she promised, that from the sound of it, he’ll need to fuck you as soon as you get home, but it must be slow acting. “I’m not even a little bit hard, yet. Maybe her plant isn’t working right. Not that I need the help, but she’s made it sound like one taste of the pollen and I’m going to be rock hard for days.”
You laugh, tipping your head against the seat to watch as Kun flicks his tongue between the V of his index and middle finger. “Kun, I promise, if you’re rock hard for days, if this pollen truly works as well as she’s said, you can fuck me however, wherever, as often as you want.”
“I have free use of you?” Kun’s teasing, looking over at you as he rolls the car to a stop at a light. “You’d be my little fuck toy?”
“Anything for you, Kun.” You’re playing, but some part of you is actually serious. You love Kun. Since you started dating him, you’ve wanted him a ridiculous amount. It’s only because you can’t constantly be on his dick that you haven’t let on to him how horny you frequently are. You’ve tried to tone it down, but honestly, giving him free use to fuck you however and wherever and whenever he likes is exactly what you’ve needed all this time.
If only the ridiculous notion of sex pollen was real and not just the imaginary creation of some batty woman in a mysterious shop.
When you get home, you hop in the shower while Kun starts to prepare dinner.
You’ve been in there for only about five minutes, when the door to the bathroom opens. You pull the shower curtain back a bit, peeking out into the steamy bathroom. Kun’s right there, already climbing into the shower, yanking the curtain back shut behind him as he backs you towards the wall.
“What’s this?” You giggle, reaching for his arm. “Did the pollen kick in or something?”
“Yeah,” Kun murmurs, and then his lips are on yours, his hands on your hips.
You can’t believe he’s really going along with this, playing into it just to have shower sex. You let him spin you around so your chest and cheek are against the wall. Kun pulls one of your arms behind your back, the other you lift above your head to brace yourself a bit.
“Any time, anywhere, that’s what you said right?” Kun confirms as he grinds forward against your ass.
“Mhmm,” you moan, rolling your hips back to meet his movements. “Yes, Kun.”
His mouth moves fiery hot over your bare shoulder, his skin hot against yours everywhere he touches. “Perfect.”
And then he’s thrusting forward, driving his cock between your legs, rutting forward again and again until his cock slides inside you.
With no prep, it burns a little, but you like it. You like when Kun gets a little rough from time to time. Like right now, when he just starts plunging into you with these big thrusts, clearly just chasing his own orgasm. His hand holds yours against your lower back.The shower spraying down on you both has your skin all slippery, your bound hands sliding with each of Kun’s powerful thrusts.
Your moans echo around the bathroom, and Kun’s breaths come hard and fast against your ear.
Kun presses up against your back, pinning you between him and the wall, his weight bearing down on you as he fucks into you. Each press of his cock inside you, each catch of his breath against your ear, the heat in your belly stirs a little more. But it doesn’t stir as quickly as Kun, he cums with his mouth against your throat, his body flush against yours.
One of his hands slides around down your belly, down between your legs, fingers against your clit as he thrusts several more times. Kun fucks his cum deeper inside you, gliding against your G spot while stimulating your clit, and you fall apart in his arms, feeling like you’re dissolving into sweet bliss as he keeps rocking his hips forward and tracing his fingers over your sensitive clit.
He keeps going until you’re whining, until he’s spilling inside you again.
Your legs shake as you actually put them into use again. Kun steps back, leaving you empty and on your own two feet. He rinses off quickly, running a hand down his body, over his cock. You twist around to watch him, biting your lip as you watch his hand run along his cock.
“Keep looking at me like that, babe, and I’m going to have to feed you something other than the dinner I started.” He leans in quickly, dropping a kiss to your lips, and then he steps out of the shower, calling back to you, “Shower quickly, dinner should be ready in a few minutes.”
You finish your shower, dry off, dress in a camisole and cotton shorts, then you head to the kitchen.
Kun’s standing at the counter, chopping a few toppings for the stew he’s made. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around him and lay your head against his bare shoulder. He’s only wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips. You run your hand over his bare belly, up his chest, and back down to the edge of his sweatpants.
Kun sits the knife aside.
You turn your head, brushing your lips over his warm skin. Kun lets out a shaky breath. You let your pinky finger tuck beneath the edge of his sweatpants.
“It smells good,” you tell him. “I’m ready to eat.”
Kun’s hand trembles as he picks up the knife again, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, watching as he tries to chop up the last few ingredients. And then you notice.
He’s really so warm, his skin flaming hot beneath your cheek.
“Kun?” You take a step to the side, peering at his face, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Are you sick? You feel feverish.”
His eyes are dark when he looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, and he nearly moans at the cool press of your fingers against his warm cheek. “I’m not sick. I feel fine, except I don’t think that lady was lying about the pollen. I’m still so hard, babe, it hasn’t gone down at all.”
You look down to his sweatpants, at his cock that’s still ragingly hard, tenting the front of his pants.
Your mouth fills with saliva, and you lift your gaze back up to meet your boyfriend’s. You swallow to keep yourself from drooling when you say, “I meant what I said in the car, Kun. However, wherever, as often as you like. I can take it. Use me as your fucktoy.”
“Fuck.” Kun sits the knife aside again, and he reaches for you, twisting his fingers in your hair, and he forces you to your knees.
Your mouth drops open as Kun uses his free hand to push his sweatpants down. His hard, heavy cock springs free, already wet at the tip, leaking a crystalline thread of precum. You don’t need Kun’s hand in your hair to guide you; you dive forward, catching the falling bead on your tongue and following it up to the source, sucking Kun’s cockhead in.
That’s when he takes over, hand pressing against the back of your head, forcing you deeper on his cock. His hips jerk forward at the same time, triggering your gag reflex as he hits the back of your throat. Not that that stops him, if anything it encourages him to go harder, faster, and you take it all, hungry for his cock shoved down your throat even as your eyes begin to water, as your jaw and throat ache from the repeated pressure. You slurp around him as he starts to drag your mouth off of his cock. His fingers tight in your hair, Kun allows you a brief breath before he’s fucking back into your mouth.
You’re drooling all over his cock as Kun holds the back of your head, fucking his cock into the deep warmth of your throat. And when he cums, he just keeps going, filling your mouth and shooting down the back of your throat, it leaks from the corners of your lips, and you think you’re going crazy because you want more.
Kun drags you off his cock by your hair.
Spit and cum and tears streak your face, dripping from your chin as you look up at Kun.
He releases his hold on your hair to run his thumb under your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Get up, here you go.” Kun offers you his hand, and you slide your palm against his as he pulls you up to your feet. “Good girl, now sit down. It’s time for dinner.”
You obediently sit at the table, still a little fucked-dumb, still dripping his cum even when Kun serves you a bowl of the stew he made. It smells heavenly, rich with spices, and you dig in, the flavors of it only made better with the added flavor of Kun’s cum lingering on your tongue.
Kun pretty much inhales his helping of the stew, and he doesn’t even wait for you to finish eating before he’s walking over to you. You’re quite hungry, so you don’t want him to pull you away from the meal, even though you can see his cock still bulging his sweatpants, staining them with a spot of precum.
“Keep eating, babe,” Kun tells you, reaching out to stroke your hair. “You need to eat to keep up your strength. If what the lady said is true, I’m probably gonna be like this for a few days.”
You think back to him sucking the pollen residue off his fingers, licking his hands clean. Who knows how much he ingested?
You eat a spoonful of stew, eyeing his erection out of the corner of your eye. Is he just going to stand there and not take care of it? You look up at Kun, and it’s a horny little demon inside you that speaks with your voice, saying, “You don’t have to wait for me to finish eating, Kun. Until this wears off, I’m yours to do what you want with me.”
His cock twitches in his pants. Kun groans.
“Do you mean that, though? Really?”
You nod. “Anything you want. Within reason. No bringing anyone else into this–”
“I don’t want to share you!” Kun interjects.
You continue, “Nothing that we haven’t talked about before.”
Kun smirks at that. “Well, that pretty much leaves everything on the table, then doesn’t it?” He strokes your hair again. “All I want right now is to cover you in my cum, babe, head to toe. I want to fuck you in every room in this house, fuck you until we both pass out. I want to treat you like my doll.”
You turn back to your bowl of stew. You shrug, “Then do it, Kun.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him draw his cock out of his pants. You watch him start stroking his cock, but you focus on eating your stew, blowing on it to cool it off, taking your time to lick the spoon clean after each bite. You eat the stew like your pussy isn’t throbbing with arousal watching Kun jerk off inches away from your face.
He cums again when you’ve got your spoon halfway to your mouth. Kun’s cum streaks over your cheek, landing in your hair, across your lips, some of it hits your spoon and your hand. You eat that spoonful too, enjoying the extra salty addition of his cum to it. Kun keeps stroking his length, a few last spurts striping your cheek as you reach for the bowl. You lift it to your lips, quickly draining what little is left because as soon as it’s gone, as soon as you’ve sat the bowl down, Kun is pulling you to your feet.
When he moves you so your ass is on the edge of the table, you expect Kun to push your shorts to the side and slide his cock right inside you.
You don’t expect Kun to sink to his knees, for him to tear your shorts down around your ankles, and bury his face between your thighs. He spreads your legs with a hand on each thigh, massaging them as he licks at your pussy, as he fucks his tongue into you, as he sucks at your clit and licks up your wetness as you’re drenching his tongue, writhing against his face, needing more and more.
Kun moans loudly, eating you out in the most noisy manner he ever has.
You cum on his tongue, hands knotted in his hair as you ride it out, grinding against Kun’s face.
“If this is what we have in store,” you gasp as Kun licks a strip up your pussy one more time, “I think I could get used to this. You’ve never given better head, honestly. I need you to be this horny all the time if it means I get eaten out like that.”
Kun scatters kisses over your thighs. “We’re just getting started, babe.”
- - -
For the rest of the night, Kun has you sit on his lap, cockwarming him while you watch a movie together.
Kun’s hands are constantly moving – stroking along your thighs, dipping to touch your clit while forcing you to sit still on him; he pulls the neckline of your camisole down to expose your tits, and he teases your nipples until you’re whimpering and fighting the urge to fuck yourself on his cock. But as soon as you get desperate enough to beg for it, Kun stops.
He’ll have you sit up, kneeling above his lap with just the head of his cock still buried in your pussy as he jerks off, cumming inside you so he can watch it drip back out of your pussy. Instead of letting you cum, when you’re teetering on the edge, he’ll have you kneel on the floor, cockwarm him with your mouth instead so he can cum across your tongue and cheeks again, adding even more to the mess he’d made at dinner. He edges you again, and then he fucks your tits, cumming across them then taking his time afterwards to clean it up with his tongue, feeding it back to you and watching you swallow everything before he returns his tongue to your nipples, flicking his tongue over the hardened buds until you’re rocking your hips up off the sofa restlessly.
Kun cums more times than you can keep track of, and you take all of the cum he gives you, hungrily sucking his cock, feeling him fill your pussy, spreading his cum across your tits with your fingers, moaning as he shoots his load across your back while he’s got his fingers inside you.
Kun edges you through it all until finally your body can’t take anymore, and you cum around him while Kun’s got you riding him. He’s hugging you to his chest, his mouth locked with yours, and he is once again spilling into you when your orgasm finally explodes through you.
You don’t remember him carrying you to the bathroom, don’t remember Kun rinsing off with you in the shower, or when he carries you to bed. You remember only a brief glimpse of his cock finally going soft when he settles into bed beside you.
And you think that’s it.
The sex pollen ran its course.
You’re a little bit disappointed at that thought, truly. When you wake in the morning to pale sunlight, you check on your sleeping boyfriend, and Kun is all spread out beside you. He’s kicked away the sheets in his sleep, and although he still feels warm to the touch, his cock is soft against his thigh.
You know maybe you should feel like you had enough yesterday. The never-ending edging paired with the amount of fucking you and excessive cumming Kun had done should have satisfied you. But you were having fun. You liked Kun treating you like a cumdump.
Maybe you should go back to the Little Shop of Wonders, ask the witch for that vial of honey or maybe purchase the whole sex pollen plant.
You crawl quietly out of bed, pull on a shirt of Kun’s, and you tiptoe to the kitchen to deal with the mess from last night. Neither of you had bothered with the dishes from the stew, which are still spread out on the table. You get to work cleaning, tidying things and doing the dishes.
It’s probably for the best that Kun’s already gotten over the effects of the sex pollen, you think as you finish the dishes from last night and start making breakfast instead. Kun is supposed to work today. He’s got a deadline coming up, so he needs to get in the studio today, and he’d been complaining to you yesterday morning about a meeting he has this morning. He’s got things to do, people to see, he can’t call in sick today because he’s too busy dealing with a sex pollen crisis, though at least the people he’s working with and having meetings with are some of his closest friends; they just might understand the situation.
“Good morning,” Kun says suddenly behind you, startling you a bit, but before you can turn to him, his arms are around you, and his hard cock is against your ass. “I guess this isn’t over yet, babe.” He kisses your cheek. “I thought when I fell asleep that it must be. I’d gone soft, but I just woke up hard as I ever was yesterday.”
He thrusts against your ass.
“So I’m gonna fuck you, babe. But you keep doing what you’re doing, hm?” Kun pushes up the back of the shirt you’re wearing, revealing your ass to him. “God, you’re truly unbelievable, you know that? So fucking pretty, my babe.” And then he’s pressing in, cock pushing inside your pussy.
You brace your arms against the countertop, and you try to keep finishing the breakfast prep you’d been doing before Kun came in. The way that he’s fucking you makes that a little more difficult, but you try, and Kun seems to like that.
“Yes, babe, look at you. You’re taking it so well, letting me use you like this.” His cock twitches inside you.
It’s not easy, that’s for sure.
Your focus starts to slip when Kun pulls your hips back, angling you just right so each of his thrusts is nailing against your G spot. He’s moaning behind you, praising how sweet and tight and warm you feel around his cock. Your pussy just keeps growing wetter and wetter as he reaches up beneath your shirt to grope at your tits, as you try to keep on task even as Kun’s fucking you into delirium.
Kun cums, flooding your pussy, pressing in deep a few more times.
He steps back, and although you try to keep tight, to keep his cum in, you can feel some of it dripping out, sliding down your thigh, dropping to the floor.
Kun pats your ass, then pulls the shirt back down.
“Good girl.” He kisses your cheek again.
He sits down at the table, and a few moments later, the breakfast you were making is ready, so he pulls you into his lap to dine together.
“Kun,” you say after a while, “Don’t you have to go to the studio today? Don’t you have a meeting too?”
His erection is digging into your thigh, unable to be ignored.
“I do, and I was actually thinking about that.” He brushes his lips over your neck. “What if you come with me? This reaction isn’t going away, so I’m going to need to cum regardless of whether you’re there or not. So I could jerk off every five minutes, or you could come along and we’ll both get something out of it. What do you say?”
Twenty minutes later, you’re in the car with Kun. He’s flying down the streets.
Even though his eyes are focused on the road, his driving is worse than usual, though that almost certainly has to do with the fact that as soon as he’d pulled onto the road, he’d tangled his fingers in your hair and urged your mouth down into his lap.
You eagerly sucked at Kun’s cock, stroking him with both hands, leaving kisses along his length, drooling over the tip, choking yourself on him. Kun lays his hand on the back of your head, directing you when he really feels like he needs to. As you draw closer to the studio where Kun works as a producer, he starts taking over, pushing you down around his cock, his hips rising off the seat to drive himself deeper down your throat.
He cums right as he’s pulling into the parking garage of the studio. You clean him up as he navigates to a parking spot, and you wait patiently in the passenger seat as Kun gets out. He comes around to your side, opening the door and taking your hand like a gentleman, and he pulls you into a kiss as soon as you’re both standing outside the car.
He takes you into his studio, sitting you in his lap while he starts working, though that only works for so long. Soon he’s getting distracted by the pressing need he keeps grinding against your ass, so he has you slide to your knees beneath the mixing board. You pull up the sweater you wore, and Kun has you push your tits together around his cock, and he fucks between the softness of them, cumming across your tits and then immediately dragging your mouth around his cock.
You’re still kneeling there beneath the mixing board with your mouth full of his cock when his friend, who is also the artist he’s recording today, walks in. YangYang either doesn’t notice you down there or chooses not to say anything. You obediently keep your mouth around Kun, suckling and shifting on your knees.
YangYang chats with Kun for just a couple minutes, and then he heads into the recording booth.
Kun drags you off his cock, and you look up at him. “Babe, I really need to focus on this recording session, okay? So I’m gonna need you to take everything I give you, no whining or touching yourself, okay?”
You nod, sticking your tongue out, offering your mouth up to Kun again.
“Good girl.” Kun pushes you back down around his cock. You hear him press a button above your head, and then he says, “Alright, YangYang, go ahead.”
You bob your head on Kun’s cock, working your hardest to get him to cum for you, knowing that if he doesn’t cum, Kun’s going to be distracted. All you have to do is keep him satisfied, and then he’ll be focused.
He cums within minutes, but you keep going, and Kun tightens his fingers in your hair. You bring your hands up to his cock too, stroking him into your mouth, letting some of his cum and your spit slide down to lube the way. You’re making a mess of him; his cum leaking out of your mouth is pooling on the front of his pants, but you can’t help it. You’re swallowing around him, swallowing the first load of cum, but before long he’s cumming again, letting out a grunt as you choke around his cock.
“Dude, you good?” YangYang asks from inside the booth.
“Fine. Try that verse again.”
Kun’s hand weighs down against the back of your head, pushing you all the way down around his cock, and you close your eyes, letting him do it. You sink into some kind of state where you’re not asleep, but you’re not fully conscious either. All you know is the weight of Kun’s cock on your tongue, the taste of his cum, the smell of him as your nose is buried at the base of his cock. You can hear his voice, but he could be talking to you or a whole crowd of people, and you wouldn’t know the difference.
Eventually, Kun lets you up again, tugging lightly on your hair.
You gag as you’re pulled off of him, coughing and gasping for breath. Kun’s cum drips from your lips and chin.
“Are you okay?” Kun asks when he takes one look at the dazed expression on your face. “Babe, are you good to continue.”
You nod, feeling your lips form a loose smile.
Kun brings his hand up, wiping at your cheeks and chin and lips. His fingers are gentle beneath your chin as he brings you forward into a kiss. His lips leave yours, brushing over your forehead.
“We’re done with this for now.” He helps you the rest of the way to your feet. “You’re too far gone, you can’t even speak to me right now. If you could see the look on your face right now, my love, you would understand. Don’t pout.” You didn’t realize you were until Kun said that, and you try to tame your expression. He smiles, leading you over to the sofa along the back wall. “Take a nap. You’re amazing, and I love you, and once this all wears off, I owe you something huge.”
You hum, sinking down onto the sofa, laying your head down, and immediately you can feel a tired pull.
Kun strokes his hand over your head, kisses your forehead one more time, and you’re asleep before he walks away.
- - -
You sleep it off there on the sofa, waking hours later to go home with Kun.
He fucks you senseless a few more times that night at home, and when you wake the next morning you stay in bed with him, waiting for him to wake, waiting for him to need to fuck you again, to let you suck his cock again even though you’re pretty sure at this point, your throat is permanently molded to the shape of Kun’s cock.
But when he wakes, Kun just pulls you against his chest. His cock doesn’t grow hard. He just sighs and holds you close, and you’re actually perfectly content with that change of pace too.
But a few days later, as you’re heading home from work, you get the thought into your head to return to the Little Shop of Wonders, to see if that witchy woman will sell you a vial of that sex honey.
The pollen had been a lot. Your body is still aching days later, and Kun swears his balls are sore from how much he came in such a short span of time. But you’ve both agreed that maybe the honey would be nice to have – a less intense version of that that lasts only a few hours wouldn’t be bad to experience from time to time.
You walk down the side street you’d passed down just a few days ago, and you search the shopfronts for the window displays filled with crystals and viney plants, for the recessed doorway with the brass lantern and the ancient-looking wooden door.
But you pass up and down that street three times, checking each shop before you finally give up. It’s not here. It’s as if the Little Shop of Wonders was never here at all, but you know you couldn’t have imagined it.
Weeks pass, you forget about it, too swept up in the holiday season closing in around you. Christmas is just days away, winter staking her claim over the city with a snowstorm blowing in this afternoon, ruining your plans to go shopping for Kun a Christmas present and a birthday present, since that’s a week later.
You’re hurrying home from work, bundled up against the chill, thinking about what you can get Kun that he’ll truly appreciate.
And then, from the corner of your eye through the swirling snow, you see a gleam of bronze. You turn your head.
A brass lamp.
A wooden door.
Large plate glass windows frosted over, but not entirely concealing the displays of crystals and books and a wreath of candles and symbols.
A new wooden sign creaks above the door, blowing back and forth in the wind.
The Little Shop of Wonders sits waiting, promising the perfect present for Kun.
a/n: I could've gone on and on with this one honestly! I was going to write a few more scenes, but it's getting late and I really need to post this.
I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !
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Hi could you do a five hargreeves x female!reader where reader is normal and doesn't have powers but she's a genius and basically has a photographic memory, and she meets five and he's a bit mean and snarky but eventually he starts to fall for her
I also think it would be funny if she was kinda best friends with Klaus and he kinda teases her about five, but you don't have to include that
Guns And Brains | Five Hargreeves x genius fem!reader
Pairing: Five Hargreeves x fem!reader, Klaus Hargreeves x fem!reader (best friend)
Warning: None
PS: Sorry for the unoriginal title
———————————
You were used to being the smartest person in the room. It wasn’t arrogance; it was simply a fact. Your photographic memory allowed you to absorb and recall information with an almost eerie accuracy. In school, you never needed to study, and in life, you rarely encountered a problem you couldn’t solve. You had grown accustomed to the bemused looks and occasional irritation that came from people who found your talents either intimidating or annoying.
Yet here you are, standing in the middle of an ancient-looking mansion, face-to-face with a boy who exuded an air of superiority that rubbed you entirely the wrong way. Five Hargreeves—if you remembered correctly from the vague mentions in tabloids about the dysfunctional Umbrella Academy—was a strange, prodigious enigma. He looked like a teenager, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he was anything but.
From the moment Klaus had introduced you, you could sense the tension brewing. It wasn’t just the way Five had narrowed his eyes at you, or the clipped tone he used when addressing you. It was the challenge in his gaze, the unspoken assertion that he was smarter, quicker, better. The way he practically dared you to prove him wrong.
“Who’s this?” Five had asked, his tone flat and disinterested, as if your presence was more of an inconvenience than anything else.
“This is Y/N,” Klaus had said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to the storm clouds brewing between them. “She’s got a brain like a supercomputer—remember everything she’s ever read, seen, or heard. Thought she might be able to help us out.”
Five’s eyes had flickered with something—annoyance, skepticism, you couldn’t quite tell. “We don’t need help,” he’d said brusquely. “Especially not from someone who thinks they can waltz in and solve problems that are far beyond their understanding.”
And there it was—the gauntlet thrown down. You had felt your spine stiffen, your own competitive streak flaring up in response. You didn’t like the way he assumed you were just some book-smart outsider with no practical experience, especially when he hadn’t even given you a chance to prove otherwise.
“I’m not here to solve your problems,” you replied, your tone sharp. “But from what I’ve heard, you could use all the help you can get.”
Klaus had tried to mediate, sensing the tension. “Alright, kids, play nice. We’re all on the same team here.”
But you had seen the look in Five’s eyes—a mix of condescension and irritation. He clearly didn’t think much of you, and that was something you weren’t about to let slide. If there was one thing you despised, it was being underestimated.
The first few days in the mansion were… interesting, to say the least. Klaus had introduced you to the rest of the siblings, all of whom had their own unique quirks and issues. Luther was stoic and serious, Allison was kind but guarded, Diego was intense, and Viktor was quiet, almost withdrawn. They were an odd bunch, but in some ways, you felt more at ease with them than you did with Five.
Five, on the other hand, seemed determined to make you feel unwelcome. Whenever you offered a suggestion, he’d shoot it down without a second thought. When you tried to engage him in a discussion about the theories he was working on, he’d dismiss your opinions with a wave of his hand, as if your thoughts were nothing more than background noise.
It was infuriating.
At first, you tried to stay calm. Your reminded yourself that you were here to help, not to butt heads with a stubborn man who had likely seen more in his lifetime than you could ever imagine. But as the days passed, you found your patience wearing thin.
The breaking point came one evening when you were all gathered around the dining table, discussing the latest anomaly that Five was trying to unravel. He was pacing back and forth, spouting off calculations and theories at a rapid pace. The others were listening intently, but you could see the confusion in their eyes.
“Maybe if we adjusted the parameters slightly,” you suggested, your tone measured, “we could account for the temporal flux and—”
Five cut you off with a snort. “That’s a ridiculous idea. Adjusting the parameters would only destabilize the entire equation. You clearly don’t understand the complexities of time travel.”
Your jaw clenched. “And you clearly don’t understand the value of listening to other people’s input. Just because you’ve traveled through time doesn’t mean you know everything.”
Five stopped pacing and turned to face you, his expression cold. “I’ve spent decades—decades—working on these equations. You’ve been here for a week. Don’t presume to know more than I do.”
The room went silent. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but you didn’t back down. You were tired of Five’s arrogance, tired of him treating you like you were some naive child who had wandered into his domain.
“Maybe I don’t know more than you,” you said, your voice steady. “But I’m not an idiot, and I’m not going to stand here and let you treat me like one. If you’re so confident in your theories, then why not test them? Or are you afraid that someone else might actually have a better idea?”
Five’s eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said, his tone icy. “Let’s test it. And when it fails, you can stop wasting our time with your half-baked theories.”
You didn’t respond. You simply nodded and turned your attention back to the problem at hand, determined to prove him wrong.
The next few days were tense, to say the least. You and Five worked together, but it was clear that neither of you were happy about it. Every interaction was laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled insults. Yet, beneath the hostility, there was a grudging respect forming, though neither of you would admit it.
Despite his arrogance, you couldn’t help but be impressed by Five’s intellect. He was brilliant, there was no denying that. His mind worked at a speed that rivaled your own, and his knowledge of temporal mechanics was unmatched. But he was also infuriatingly stubborn, refusing to consider any idea that wasn’t his own.
For his part, Five found himself both annoyed and intrigued by you. You were smart—smarter than he’d initially given you credit for. Your insights were often sharp and on point, even if he was loath to admit it. But what bothered him the most was how you challenged him, pushing back against his authority in a way no one else dared to. It was unsettling, and yet… he found himself drawn to it.
One afternoon, as you were pouring over another set of calculations, you suddenly spoke up.
“I’ve been thinking,” you said, not looking up from the paper in front of you.
“Dangerous,” Five muttered under his breath, but there was no real bite to his words.
You ignored him. “You’re right about the temporal flux destabilizing if we adjust the parameters too much. But what if we didn’t adjust them directly? What if we introduced a stabilizing agent that could counterbalance the fluctuations?”
Five paused, considering your words. It wasn’t a completely ridiculous idea. In fact, it was… interesting. But he wasn’t about to let you know that.
“It’s a long shot,” he said instead, his tone dismissive.
“Maybe,” you conceded. “But it’s worth a try. Unless you have a better idea?”
Five scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. But don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, a small smirk playing on your lips.
As you worked together, there was a noticeable shift in the air between you two. The barbs were still there, but they were less sharp, the insults less cutting. It was as if you were beginning to acknowledge each other as equals—rivals, perhaps, but with a mutual respect that was slowly, begrudgingly, forming.
Weeks passed, and the initial tension between you and Five began to ease, replaced by a rhythm of sorts. You still bickered, still challenged each other at every turn, but there was a camaraderie in it now. A strange, twisted camaraderie, but camaraderie nonetheless.
The others noticed it too. Klaus, in particular, found endless amusement in your interactions, often teasing you about your “little crush” on Five.
“Admit it,” Klaus says with a grin. “You two are just one good argument away from kissing.”
You roll your eyes, brushing off his comments, but you couldn’t deny that there was a certain… tension between you and Five. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. The last thing you wanted was to give Five the satisfaction of knowing he got under your skin in more ways than one.
But the turning point came one evening, when you were working late in the mansion’s library. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft rustle of papers as you pored over your latest set of equations. You were focused, your mind fully absorbed in the problem at hand, when you felt a pair of eyes on you.
You looked up, only to find Five watching you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was something in his gaze, something that made your heart skip a beat.
“What?” You asked, your voice softer than you intended.
Five hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. “You’re not as annoying as I thought you were.”
It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but coming from Five, it was close enough. You felt a small smile tug at your lips. “You’re not as unbearable as I thought you were either.”
Five’s lips quirked up in the faintest hint of a smile. “High praise.”
You fell into a comfortable silence after that, the tension between you two shifting into something else. Something neither of you were quite ready to name.
#request#imagine#the umbrella academy#five hargreeves x reader#enemies to lovers#number five x reader#five tua#five hargreeves
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Perfect Fit
Fic Summary: Since the first time you let him bite you, Astarion knew seducing you would be easy. What he didn’t anticipate were the feelings that came with it.
Fic Rating: 18+
Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Drow!Monk Reader
Word Count: 11.7k
Warnings: Biting, Blood Drinking (Vampire and all that), Male Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex, Grinding, Cuddling
A/N: I’m really glad I took my time with this one because I absolutely love how it came out. Enjoy! I don’t know if I’ll write any other Astarion fics but we’ll see.
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Just a taste, that is all he needs.
Boars and wildlife will not suffice, not if your little troop of weirdos keeps going at the same grueling pace. Since the moment he had been snatched up and that damn tadpole shoved into his eye it has been one battle after another.
The diet Cazador forced him onto had already weakened him. And Astarion knew that if he did not do something soon, if he couldn’t keep up with the others, you will turn your back on him.
After all, why keep him around if he isn’t useful?
No, he needs to stay in your good graces. More than that, he needs you to trust him, to care for him. It’s the only way he can ensure that when his former master comes knocking, because Astarion is not naïve enough to assume he is completely free, you will be there shielding him, to knock back.
Which you are obviously capable of doing. He’s seen you fight enough times to know you have a quick temper and an even quicker right hook.
You are the defacto leader, the one who always seems to do the talking even though you’re not the most charismatic of the bunch. Yet, when you open your mouth, the others listen, take your word as law even when they don’t agree.
Astarion finds himself falling in line along with them. Then again, he has two hundred years of conditioning to contend with. He wonders what excuse the others have.
Regardless, the plan remains the same. Seduce you, get you on his side, save his spectacular, frankly tight, ass. Simple. He’s played this part more times than he can count and can do it in his trance.
Of course, none of that matters if he starves to death. The gnawing hunger deep in his belly is distracting and has been for days. He’s used to ignoring it, even in the thick of combat. But he can’t, not tonight.
Tonight, it’s bad enough to get in the way of hunting. He can’t keep up with a lame doe he stumbles across. It bolts before he is even close enough to lunge. Not good. He returns to his tent frustrated and desperate.
Red eyes scan the still camp, predatory and sharp. He told you all he would keep watch because he needed time and space to think, which is partially true. However, that was when he hoped to catch dinner.
How in the Hells can he bloody think when he’s starving?
There’s a rustling near the fire, immediately drawing his attention. His gaze falls on you while you shift, your back to him as your body rolls towards the warmth of the campfire. A breeze glides through their encampment, bringing your tantalizing scent towards him, beckoning, teasing.
Astarion takes a deep inhale, eyes closed as he unwittingly gives into his instincts. Hunting pushes them away. But with no wildlife to sate him, his feet move on their own, dragging him closer to your prone body. When he opens his eyes, his vision blocks out everything that isn’t you.
The hunger is all that matters and right now, the hunter has finally found his prey.
His steps make no noise as practice and skill take over. He’s close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of your breath, the dim firelight framing you with its eerie glow, leading him like a beacon in the never-ending dark.
Astarion takes a knee, arms out for balance and eyes closed as he moves purely on instinct. He opens his mouth, fangs dripping with saliva at the promise of a meal, a real meal…
A second later he feels you move and his eyes snap open, only to find yours staring up at him. Cold realization slams into him like a heavy maul, making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Shit.”
Immediately, he backs away as you quickly rise to your feet, eyes narrowed in distrust. You don’t even have a chance to speak before he launches into an explanation, trying to keep his voice hushed to avoid waking the others.
“No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he insists. “I wasn’t going to hurt you I…” He pauses, taking a breath to ground himself. The bloodlust isn’t satiated, not by a long shot but it is tempered by a furious-looking monk. “I just needed…well…blood.”
It sounds lame even to his own ears. Not his best work but, then again, he isn’t at his best.
You swear, burying your face in your hands. “Fucking unbelievable!” you exclaim in a harsh whisper. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it! We even found the boar you snacked on. And you were so quick to brush it away.”
“It’s not what you think!”
Astarion’s voice goes up and you motion for him to be quiet. A quick glance confirms the others are still fast asleep.
The next thing he knows, you’re grabbing his sleeve and tugging him away from the fire, away from the others, which is not at all what he's anticipating. He doesn’t even have a chance to register you’re touching until your hand is already gone, leaving a phantom of its warmth.
“I’m not some monster,” he persuades. “I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m…I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” He pauses, the hunger taking hold once more. “If I just had a little blood, I could fight better. Please.”
There’s a sharp pain between his eyes, the familiar trigger of the tadpole lodged in his brain. He recognizes the sensation, knows it’s you reaching out, asking, and after a moment of hesitation, he lets you in.
Unlike your companions, you’ve embraced the new connection, used it to convince others to move out of your way or do as you say. Not within the group of course. He suspects you’re too noble for that.
Astarion hasn’t had much time to practice himself. No time like the present. He needs you to see, needs you to understand that what he says is true.
The trust he is trying to build is at stake, no pun intended. You need to see that this is an anomaly, an unfortunate side effect of the intense fighting you both had to endure the last few days.
So Astarion shows you, lets you see fleeting images of what he’s hunted in the woods. But this is all still new. He does not know how it works, does not anticipate the flood of other memories, personal ones he isn’t ready to share.
A dark street, a willing mark, a soft supple body for Cazador’s dark needs. They flicker one after another, a blur of faceless victims he’s lost count of. Yet, none of them with his fangs at their throat or their blood on his lips. It becomes too much too fast.
He gathers his strength and throws up those mental blocks, the ones he’s had for decades yet seem to be crumbling in an instant. With a mental shove, he pushes you out.
While Astarion's body reels from the onslaught, you remain stoic, arms crossed as you stare at him with that intense gaze of yours. The only indication anything is amiss is a head tilt.
How? How are you already so used to these damn tadpoles? You don’t even blink, and with the shadows of the night wrapped around the both of you, he can’t read your expression even with Darkvision. But he can assume and right now, he’s sure he’s fucked up. All he needed was you to trust him and because of this insistent hunger, he’s failed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
This is not the question he expects and he blinks, taken aback. You don’t sound angry, hells it would be easier if you were. Anger he’s used to, can handle with poise. But Astarion thinks he can work with this, whatever it is.
Because it’s not pity, it’s not empathy, it’s something he does not have a name for.
“At best, I was sure you’d say no, more likely you’ll run a stake through my ribs,” he explains. “No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”
Of course you can’t. Anyone who ever put their trust in him came to bloody ends. Yet, he’s seen you drop a gnoll with nothing but your fists and an insane high kick, so he feels you may be sturdier than most.
You study him closely, and Astarion does everything to appear docile and properly chastised, hunching his body to make himself smaller. There’s a beat where neither of you blink or speak. However, he catches the subtle slump of your shoulders and a sigh escapes your lips.
“I believe you,” you say. “And I do trust you.”
Astarion slowly exhales his own sigh, this one of relief. “Thank you,” he says.
Then, because he can’t help himself, because his empty stomach twists, because you’re still close enough for him to inhale your scent, he pushes his luck.
“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice as he bats his eyelashes at you. “I only need a taste, I swear.”
He fully expects your refusal and wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. As much as this hunger is driving him to madness, he is fully prepared to slink away with his tail tucked between his legs if it means he lives to seduce you another day.
Yet the next words out of your mouth throw him off his game.
“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.”
There’s no hiding the surprise on his face. He knows you see it yet you don’t gloat or react, only smile.
“Really? I—” He clears his throat and recovers, swagger in place as comfortable as a well-worn mask molded just for him. “Of course, not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”
He motions towards your bedroll with a bow. As you brush past and turn towards the fire, your smirk is wider, as if you can tell how much excitement is building within him. Then again, with the tadpole and your uncanny ability to read people, you probably do.
The others are still silent and sleeping as you lay back on your bedroll. Astarion’s chest heaves and he licks his lips as the prospect of blood, humanoid blood, becomes all he can focus on. He’s salivating again, red eyes drawn to the smooth expanse of your neck.
At first, all he can hear is the crackling of the fire. But when he leans in, the steady beating of your heart breaks through the noises of the night. Bloody Hells, he can hear the blood rushing through your veins. It hypnotizes him, draws him forward as you roll your head to the side.
White fangs pierce dark skin, sliding clean through to find a thick, pulsing vein. Underneath the rush, he almost misses the soft gasp push past your lips.
Almost.
But he doesn’t have time to process it because the first drops of blood touch his tongue and nothing else matters. Not mind flayers, not tadpoles, not Cazador, nothing but the sweet, red liquid that is sliding down his throat carrying your scent.
Everything else before pales in comparison.
There’s no fear. When he hunts he can taste the deep fear of his prey in their final moments. But this is different. You are different.
It’s such an onslaught of emotions he can’t process them right away. It’s secondhand, like trying to grab a rapidly fading echo in a dark cave.
Astarion doesn’t anticipate it and can’t recognize half of them at first. Sensation is what he does recognize. Pain is immediate, followed by warmth leading into heat in his cheeks and stomach. So much heat. He’s been cold for two hundred years, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have body heat, to be hot.
His body naturally curls around yours, one hand sliding under your head to cradle it close. The fingers of his other hand dig into the packed soil, gripping for something solid yet finding nothing.
Your body arches into his, breasts pressed to his chest and for the briefest moment, he imagines how better this would be if he could feel your bare skin to his.
Then another splatter of blood hits the back of his throat as your heart rate increases and the thought is lost.
Instinct wins out once more and Astarion groans, sucking at the wound with renewed fervor. This is better than he could have imagined. You’re better. All robust and tantalizingly smooth, finer than the finest wine he’s ever sampled. He licks at your skin, gathering as much of the precious liquid as he can. He knows it’s supposed to be a taste, but he needs more. Wants more…
A hand on his shoulder draws him out of his stupor and a firm shove has him breaking free with an orgasmic gasp. Life now drums through his veins, yours and his comingling into a surge of energy that has his dead heart thrumming harder than he ever remembers.
“Enough,” you say, your voice gruff and small, though still commanding. He thinks for a moment you might have actually cast Command on him, until his addled brain remembers you don’t use magic.
Astarion pulls himself together, comes back into his body in a way that’s far more pleasant than it has been in the past. He’s sure he’s made a mess but when he looks down, all he sees are two small puncture wounds with the barest hint of blood. Small specks of his spit glint in the firelight.
He resists the urge to kiss them away, instead stumbling back onto his haunches to give you space.
You slowly sit up and he catches you wincing. It’s the brief flash of pain that helps him reign himself further in. You said you trusted him, let him drink from you, he will not, could not, betray that trust, the gift you’ve given him.
“Of course,” he says, voice breathless as he tries to remember how to speak. “That was amazing.” He smiles wide, feels a droplet of blood slip away from the corner of his lips as he does. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel…” The faintest hint of emotions still lingers. “…happy.”
You both sit quietly for a moment, air thick with tension and a hint of copper. Your scent is even stronger now and Astarion thinks he could track you from miles away if need be.
“I look forward to seeing you fight.”
Right, the whole reason you did this. To help him be stronger, useful. It’s those thoughts that ground him once more, snap his head out of the clouds and onto the hard forest floor.
Astarion stands while you remain right where you are, watching every move he makes. He wonders if you are waiting for him to pounce, waiting for the monster he assured you does not exist. When he speaks again, it’s the light, easy tone he’s perfected, like sliding the mask back into place.
“Shouldn’t take long so many people need killing,” he says, flippantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating but I need something more filling.”
Nothing will escape him now. He swears he can take down a bear should he be lucky enough to find one.
He turns to leave, yet something stops him from taking the next step. When he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, the mask slips and he allows you to see the genuine gratitude he feels.
“This is a gift, you know,” he tells you. “I won't forget it.”
Not staying for a response, he turns away and stalks toward the darkness of the waiting forest. When he’s sure you can’t see him, he swipes that drop off his chin with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to enjoy the final taste of your essence.
He is content for this to be a one-time thing, a special circumstance he is lucky enough to experience. And though he already longs for more, he enjoys the heat while he can, letting it carry him through the night as he hunts his next prey.
So imagine his surprise when you approach his tent only two days later, wounds barely visible under your collar. Astarion is readying his weapons, preparing for yet another trek through the wilds.
You’re in your vestiges, your arms free say for the thin bracers protecting your wrists. Your stance is sure and confident, eyes alight with something he hasn’t seen in them yet.
“We’re ready to head out,” you say. “Got everything?”
“Prepared and ready for the inevitable descent into violence.”
“How are you feeling?”
For anyone else the question wouldn’t be so loaded. He gathers you’re probably wondering if he’s going to try to steal another bite at some point.
“Fit as a fiddle. Your donation was much appreciated and helpful,” he says, sliding his daggers into their scabbards. “The effects are mostly worn off but such is life. I’m not weak if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not. But, if you need to, you can feed on me tonight.”
Astarion can barely contain himself, thrilled at the prospect of another surge of power, and that his seduction skills are working, though not entirely as he expected. Still, it’s an opportunity he will not squander.
“My sweet, there’s nothing I’d like more,” he purrs, stepping in close. He catches the darkening of your cheeks and lets himself smile in triumph. “I’ll come to you tonight, when you’re snuggly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy. And this time,” he drops his voice for added effect, “I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest.”
It's not lost on him that the night after his first taste you took to sleeping in a tent rather than under the stars. The added privacy had him wondering about its purpose.
Now he knows.
Taking another step closer, he drops his voice even lower, keeping the moment between you two. “Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up,” he promises. “Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”
Your breath catches in your throat and he knows right then that he has you. Even as you smirk and roll your eyes, his pleased smile never falters.
“Great line,” you say, walking backward towards Karlach and Shadowheart, who are waiting for the two of you. “Has that ever worked for you?”
“Numerous times. And trust me, you haven’t heard half my lines.”
“Is that what you do in front of the mirror now that you can’t fawn over yourself?”
“Hurtful!” he gasps in mock outrage. “Also, need I remind you, you came to me just now.”
“And you came to me the other night.”
“Fair point,” he begrudgingly admits, slinging his bow onto his back. “Although, I did ask for just a taste. If you’re wanting another nibble, that says more about you than it does about me. I’m a vampire spawn. What’s your excuse?”
By you’ve turned your back on him and though he can’t see your face, the middle finger you aim his way lets him know he’s won the argument.
The anticipation of his next feeding carries him through the day.
It’s ever-present in the back of his mind, fueling his hunger and drive. He fights harder because he knows that come nightfall, he won’t have to hunt for his meal. You’ll be there in your bedroll, ready and willing.
Astarion can’t suppress the shudder of longing every time he thinks about it.
Waiting never felt so long.
You’re moving closer to the goblin camp with every step, picking off stragglers as you find them. Shadowheart asks the corpses for information and you’re able to narrow down the location of the druid right down to which building he's in.
When you make camp, you’re only half a day’s travel to your destination. Everyone is exhausted and moody, with little talk this time over the campfire. It doesn’t bother Astarion, who felt you all were becoming far too chummy for his liking.
He waits and watches from his tent, taking note as one by one, the others peel off to their respective spaces. You’re one of the last, your eyes straying across the camp in his direction, meeting the gaze that has been transfixed on you the entire time.
As if to tease, your scent finds your way to him on the wind, making his head spin. He gives you a wink and a smirk. You smile back and quirk an eyebrow before disappearing into your tent like the others.
Astarion bides his time, waits until everyone stops rustling and the collective silence of sleep washes over the camp.
Wyll is on watch tonight, though his back is to your tent. Astarion keeps to the shadows and easily dodges him, making no sound as he slips past.
You’re fast asleep, buried in your bedroll with a blanket loosely draped over you.
Astarion feels that familiar tug low in his belly, lets his feet guide him closer. He doesn’t need the fire to see you there, peaceful, almost angelic. You changed into a looser tunic which has slid down to reveal a shoulder.
And the faded markings he left on your throat the other night.
Astarion kneels and then crawls up behind you, slow and careful. He said he wouldn’t disturb your rest and he meant it. No need to wake you when you’ve given your consent.
Besides, as sneaky as he is, Astarion wonders if you’re that light of a sleeper, considering how easily you awoke the last time. He lays behind you, gently peeling the blanket away. Your tunic slips lower when he does and at this angle, he catches just the faintest glimpse of the top of a breast.
It makes him pause, give an appreciative glance, before your neck beckons him.
The hunger urges him forward, begging, pleading with him to drink. You’re so close and warm and vulnerable. He does his best to lean over without touching you, but you automatically tense in your sleep when you feel the coolness of his body draw near.
Leaning down, he lets his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “It’s just me, darling. Go back to sleep.”
You hum and relax once more, dropping your shoulder in the process. The angle is too good and he is too famished to wait any longer.
Astarion bites down, his fangs lining up exactly where they pierced before. His mouth fits against your throat like it was made for him.
A perfect fit.
There’s no need to rush and he is able to savor the experience. This time, a sense of calm washes over him, making his eyes droop closed as the now-familiar yet no less exquisite rush of your blood fills his mouth. Deep down there’s a sense of injustice for being denied this experience for so long.
However, he wonders if it would have been the same without the anticipation and thrill of the chase. Without you in the equation. After all, you’re a powerful person, unyielding in your convictions.
Yet, here you are, offering your blood to him. Giving him power.
He keeps his fangs buried for a moment longer, holds himself there until his mouth is brimming with the taste of you.
Only then does he retract them, sucking softly on the reopened wound to drink his fill. You’re fast asleep, which means that he has to stop himself this time. You’re not aware enough to do it for him.
When he wanted to earn your trust, he did not think you would give it to him so freely. What else will you give him? What else can he get away with? Questions for another night.
Thankfully, he can force himself to stop once that welcoming heat spreads through every part of him.
Every part.
Fucking Hells he is hard as a rock.
It catches Astarion by surprise and he immediately draws away. He finds himself panting, his lips still coated in red as he glances down at himself.
Is it the act of drinking blood or the blood itself? Feeding on animals certainly never drew this reaction.
His head is spinning from bloodlust and arousal, and he feels the need to leave your tent as soon as possible. You signed up to be his meal, not to get him off.
Not yet anyway. Shame, if you were awake he could make his move. He briefly considers rousing you with honeyed words and lustful promises but he decides against it in the end.
Maybe next time.
As he cleans up the mess he’s left on your throat, licking away the remaining drops of blood, he can’t help palming himself at the same time. He’s barely able to contain a hiss at the sensitivity.
Fuck, if this is just from feeding on you, what’s going to happen when he gets to have you another way?
Astarion reluctantly withdraws, readjusting your tunic before draping your blanket back in place. Your breathing never hitches and remains steady, even when he slips out into the night.
With fresh blood pumping through his veins, his body is strong and alive. He feels so fucking alive. He barely takes a few steps before the hardness in his trousers proves too distracting, forcing him to rest against a tree.
If he turns his head, he can still see your tent through the bushes and trees. It surprises him that he wants to go back. Then again, you are the most interesting prospect around and a part of you is within him now.
Soon, a part of him will be in you, he promises himself.
Astarion unties the laces of his trousers and pulls his cock out, finally allowing the hiss he held back earlier. It throbs persistently, begging for him to do something, anything for release. He gives himself an experimental squeeze, wondering if he has the mind for this right now. But it’s too good and he’s too worked up to deny himself.
His eyes never leave your tent as he strokes his cock. Slow at first, but that quickly proves not enough and he speeds up.
Astarion has had too many lovers to count but it has been some time since he’s had to take matters into his own hands. And yes, he plans on seducing you and may even find you attractive, but this is not in the plan.
It certainly didn’t happen the other night.
Moving purely on urges, Astarion lets his head fall back against the tree trunk, and his eyes close, picturing himself back in your tent.
If only you’d been awake, he could have pressed against you, let you feel the length of him as he drank his fill.
Would you grind back? Would you gasp? He’s more than sure that he can get you to do both. When he finally gets you where he wants you, when he finally has you writhing and moaning his name, he's not going to let you cum until you beg for it, beg for him to fill you as he drinks from that delicious throat.
With a strangled moan, he cums onto the forest floor, his knees buckling under the sudden onslaught of sensation.
Putting his full weight against the tree for support, he takes a moment to catch his breath mind, and senses hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves and gust of wind. With his lust now stated, there is an overwhelming sense of fear and guilt.
What the Hells is with all this wanting and desire? He is not allowed to want. Seducing you isn’t about desire. Neither of those emotions should be there and yet they are.
Let’s just push those way back where they belong, he thinks as he tucks himself back into his trousers.
His head is clearer now, his focus as sharp as it was the previous night. Brushing the incident off, Astarion switches into hunting mode, his grin wide enough to verge on the side of madness as he bolts into the forest, with nothing but the thought of his next kill.
Your offer of blood becomes a regular occurrence.
Not every day but often enough for Astarion to notice a significant change in himself, his power. He is faster and stronger than he has ever been. There is still the situation of becoming immensely horny when he does feed on you, but he looks on the bright side and accepts it as an unexpected bonus.
On days when your party runs into a fight, he finds himself drained but not enough to impede his hunting.
A fact he brags about one night when he stumbles back to camp, brimming with excitement and pride.
“Guess what I just did!” he exclaims, plopping beside you on the ground by the fire that seems to have your attention.
It’s your night to keep watch which means he is out of luck for his midnight snack, as he’s taken to calling you. Much to your chagrin.
You chuckle and motion towards his mouth. “Judging by the blood I’m assuming you caught a nice dinner,” you say.
Astarion impatiently wipes it away. “Not just dinner, a bear! A whole bear!”
“Gods, you drank a whole bear?”
He nods proudly, grin wide and sloppy. “Now, it wasn’t as good a vintage as Drow,” he concedes with a wink your way. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I was able to kill it all by my lonesome and nary a curl out of place.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Kind of,” he slurs.
In truth, he is euphoric, untouchable. Between proper feedings and the tadpole, Astarion feels he is the strongest vampire spawn there may have ever been. Tonight, like the first night he bit you, there is no Cazador, mind flayer, or other threat. There’s only him and the blood of the black bear that he’s taken for himself.
And you, of course.
You smile in amusement, turning your attention to the fire.
Astarion leans back on his elbows, his body wonderfully loose and relaxed for the first time in decades. He takes the time to study your profile, his delirious mind focusing for the moment. He is acutely aware that it is only the two of you, a rarity considering the size of the camp.
Between the adrenaline of the hunt and the opportunity that comes with privacy, Astarion shifts closer, not enough to touch but enough for you to know he’s done so.
“You know, darling,” he drawls. “I don’t think I’ve told you how devastatingly beautiful you look by firelight.”
You don’t respond and at first, he wonders if you heard him. When it becomes apparent you haven’t, he clears his throat and tries again.
“The way the flames reflect in your eyes is hypnotizing,” he continues. “I can get lost in them, have been lost in them ever since we met.”
Still nothing. Astarion feels you’re miles away, which his pride will not stand for, not when he feels as good as he does and is throwing you all the signals.
He sits up and waves a hand in front of your face. “Helllooo? Devilishly handsome roguish vampire here giving you compliments. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”
You blink and tear your eyes away from the flames, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m not very good company tonight, I’m afraid.”
Astarion shrugs and sits up, interest piqued. “That’s alright, darling. We don’t need to talk. There are plenty of other ways we can enjoy each other’s company.”
You roll your eyes as you look back at the fire with that amused smile you seem to reserve only for him. “Hey, if I could turn my brain off for the night, I’d take you up on that,” you admit.
Finally feeling like he’s getting somewhere, Astarion leans in closer. “You’re in luck because I happen to be a delectable distraction. All you have to do is say the word.” He pauses before adding. “I’m talking about sex of course. We should have sex.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of what you meant.”
Astarion grins, reaching out to walk his fingers up your forearm, playfully tugging at the sleeve of your tunic. “So what are we waiting for?” he purrs. “A midnight snack is all well and good, but I wouldn’t mind sampling what else you have to offer.”
As full as he is, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in another nibble. There’s something special about your blood, enticing. When he’s this close to you it becomes all he can think about and he has to stop himself from nuzzling your throat. At least until he knows he has you.
“I want to,” you tell him, finally meeting his gaze. “I really really want to.”
“Then what’s the problem? I am ready, willing, and certainly able.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.”
Astarion frowns, confused. This has always worked before, there’s no reason for it not to work now. He doesn’t get it. You’re clearly attracted to him and he’s doing everything but presenting himself on a silver platter. By now you should be throwing yourself at his feet.
And there’s no way he’s lost his touch because that would be like saying the sky is no longer blue.
You take a deep breath and when you start to speak again, it comes out in a rush, like you’ve been holding the words in for far too long and can’t any longer.
“There is so much at stake and so many people are depending on us, on me. It’s all I think about. I can’t focus on anything else. For days it’s been one crisis after another. On top of that, everyone keeps saying that we need to get rid of the tadpoles and that we should have turned already. We rescued Halsin but he can’t do what we hoped he would and I’m just…”
You let out a noise of frustration and Astarion is back to grinning because this he can work with. This he understands.
“Aren’t monks taught to still their minds?” he teases.
“I didn’t become a monk to still my mind. I became a monk because I like punching things. It’s honestly my favorite thing to do.” You take a deep breath before falling onto your back to stare up at the stars. “But now everyone keeps looking to me for answers and I just don’t have them. Nor do I want to be the one to figure all this shit out.”
Perfect, a new angle.
Astarion leans over you, forcing you to look him in the eye. “It’s just as I feared. You need me more than I thought.” He bends his head, delighted when you instinctively present your neck. He places the gentlest of kisses to bite mark, nuzzling into your soft skin like he’s been wanting to do since he sat down. “If you need your mind on something else, let it be me. Let me touch you, taste you. Let me bring you to such unbearable peaks that you forget everything that isn’t my mouth, fingers, or cock.”
You moan softly, shuddering at the warmth of his breath. “I don’t know if you can.”
Astarion draws back, a wide smile showing off his sharp canines. “Trust me, darling, I can.” He slides a hand up to cradle your head just like he did the first night he bit you. But it’s kisses he lavishes your throat with, with the occasional scrape of his teeth.
A gentle hand on his shoulder has him pulling away.
“You seem pretty confident about that,” you say, eyes searching his.
“Because it’s true.”
He knows what you’re searching for and does everything he can to make sure his gaze speaks for him. Lust and desire, mixed with a touch of hopefulness. Disarming and endearing, exactly who he needs to be for you.
“Here is what we’re going to do,” he continues, putting all his weight on one hand so he can use the other to take yours. “Tomorrow night, once everyone is asleep, I’ll slip into your tent, and I will make it so that pretty little head of yours can focus on something else. Something much more pleasurable.”
He punctuates each word with a kiss, first to your fingers, then your bruised knuckles, and finally to your inner wrist where he can feel your pulse racing. The sound of your rushing blood makes his own body thrum with desire. His hunger returns, but not enough to distract him.
But enough to make him twitch with anticipation.
At this angle, he knows you can feel it when his cock hardens. Your eyes widen and you bite your lip to stifle another moan when he teasingly grinds down against you.
“I…” You try to speak but need to take a second to catch your breath. “I would like that very much.”
“Good.”
Astarion leans down and captures your lips in a harsh kiss. It’s meant to be quick, a tease, a way to continue the seduction and leave you wanting more but it immediately becomes something else. You match his energy perfectly, your tongue slipping past his to explore. He isn’t expecting such a hungry response after the way you seemed so controlled, fully expecting it to take time for him to get you to this level.
Apparently, you’re closer to the edge than he thought. But it’s more than that. Kissing you makes him feel…something. He just doesn’t know what in the Hells that is. It makes it difficult to pull away, to stop, and make you wait.
So he indulges, deepens the kiss by leisurely licking the inside of your mouth once you actually let him. It’s good, really good. Enough to lose himself for the moment, to cup your cheek and hold you close.
His head is spinning and in his excitement, one of his fangs nicks your bottom lip.
A drop of your blood is enough to snap him out of it. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to ruin everything. He’ll either fuck or drain you and right now he’s not sure which.
Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss, not before his tongue at your lip to steal another drop. “Until tomorrow night,” he promises.
He leaves you there, dazed and staring after him as he casually strolls back to his tent. Leaving you wanting more, just like he planned.
And definitely not because of any other reason.
Needless to say, trancing doesn’t come easy that night. Every time he closes his eyes, all he envisions is you in the firelight, looking up at him like he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Granted, he knows he is, but that’s beside the point.
If he’s honest with himself, there may be a small, tiny part of him that feels bad for deceiving you this way. Granted, he is attracted to you and the idea of having sex sounds incredibly appealing.
So what if there is another motive? You both will come out on top in the end, metaphorically speaking. Although, the mental image of you riding him is quite good. Body rocking, breasts bouncing, wet heat enveloping his lap…
Astarion needs a distraction himself at this rate.
The next day he maintains his distance for both your sakes. For one thing, he knows being apart from your object of desire only makes the chase that more thrilling. And for another, he is dealing with a storm of emotions he is not prepared for nor interested in.
On occasion when he can’t help but slide his gaze your way, you seem thoroughly focused every time. He doesn’t catch you looking longingly his way, not even once, and finds it frankly insulting. How can you be so engrossed in what you’re doing even though you know he will be in your bed later?
Unacceptable.
When you both find yourselves set upon by cultists, Astarion is relieved. He needs a good bloodbath to pull his shit together.
His daggers get quite the workout, slicing enemies left and right.
Lost in the thrill of the kill, he forgets about the weird feelings and the way his seduction of you seems to be more complicated than he thought it would be. He forgets about his hesitations or questions.
Nothing is weird and nothing is wrong.
A familiar scent breaks through the gore that stops him in his tracks. Your scent. Your blood.
You’re bleeding.
Like a hound, his head whips in your direction. He sees you across the battlefield, knocking a man to the ground. But one hand is pressed to your side, bright red visible even at this distance.
Shit, you’re further from him than he realizes and he has to scramble over a few boulders to be able to close the distance. His sharp eyes catch movement in the trees, and before he even has a chance to grab his bow, the hidden archer takes aim.
Everything happens so fast.
The arrow fires, Astarion eyes land on you, knows you don’t see it and as he raises his hand towards you, has your name on his lips—
Your hand snaps up, catching the arrow an inch before it hits your temple. With a glare, you look up at the archer, swing around, and throw the arrow right back at him.
Astarion watches the archer fall from the branches, landing in a heap on the ground.
Dead.
You grin in Astarion’s direction, face smattered with blood and he wants nothing more than to fuck you on top of that corpse. But then you stumble and concern takes over. If you fall in battle then he’s shit out of luck and he can’t let that happen.
“Whoa now, none of that!” he scolds, rushing to your side to catch you. “Where the Hells is that cleric when we need her?”
“Did you see me catch that arrow?” you slur, grinning. “I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Yes, yes, it was very hot, now hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere.”
“Even better, gives you a free meal.”
It’s Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes as he helps you lean against a tree for support. “I prefer the more intimate approach we’ve established.”
Once he’s sure you’re not going to collapse, he digs through his pack for a healing potion.
“Shame to let all this blood go to waste but to each his own,” you say.
He uncorks the potion with his teeth and holds the bottle up for you to drink. It’s not until it’s empty that he allows himself to calm down. You slowly remove your hand and the two of you watch the wound start to close. Not all the way, you’ll need Shadowheart for that, but enough to stop the bleeding.
Astarion spits the cork aside and throws the empty bottle. “There, almost good as new. Maybe don’t get stabbed again.”
“There go the rest of my plans for the day.”
“Lunatic.”
Something comes over him, making him grab the back of your head and yank you into a kiss, too wrapped up in his bullshit to overthink or consider his actions. With one arm around his waist, you kiss him back and it’s sloppy and messy and everything he needs it to be.
Nothing happened. You didn’t die and you’re still able to be seduced. Good.
When you draw back, gasping for breath, he grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks your fingers into his mouth, one by one, swirling his tongue around the digits to gather every drop of blood he can. You’re right. It seems silly to let it go to waste.
Your pupils dilate, your breath coming through your lips in a rush as you watch, transfixed.
He doesn’t need the tadpole to know what you’re thinking, or imagining. It’s a precursor to what he plans to do to you later. But with your thighs squeezing his head as he brings you over the edge.
Astarion releases your finger with a pop and a smirk. You lean in to steal another kiss when you’re stopped by the heavy thud of Karlach’s footsteps. You just manage to pull back when she bursts through the foliage.
“You guys alright?” she asks, also splattered with blood. “We just got jumped by some assholes.”
Astarion gestures to the bodies littered at your feet. “Welcome to the fucking club.”
“Where’s Shadowheart?” you ask.
“Right here,” Shadowheart speaks up, approaching from a different direction. “One tried to run away but I took care of it. Shit, are you bleeding?”
“Not anymore, thanks to me,” Astarion says.
When you wince and stumble towards her, Shadowheart catches you. Her hand glows with radiant light as she casts a healing spell.
“Easy there, soldier!” Karlach says. “You stay put. We’ll deal with these.” She gestures to the bodies, where Astarion is already digging through the pockets.
He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let good gold go to waste, and definitely not because you two were interrupted. Not because being close and alone with you makes his head spin. Not because he doesn’t know why he kissed you like that. And certainly not because the brief taste of blood is threatening to send him into a frenzy.
By the time the bodies are searched, Shadowheart is done with her healing and you’re able to stand up straight.
“Let’s get back and tell the others,” you say. “With these guys gone, we should be good to keep our camp for one more night. But tomorrow we have to move on.”
Astarion is starting to feel peckish and welcomes the chance to be alone. “I’ll do a little scouting to check for stragglers,” he offers, tossing you the heavy bag of coin he collected. “You know, make sure there isn’t anything lurking before dark.”
“You sure? You really shouldn’t go alone,” you say.
He’s already headed in the opposite direction and turns to face you as he walks backward. “If they hear me, they deserve to catch me. You don’t need to worry, darling. I won’t be late for our date.”
Your cheeks darken and he watches Karlach break into a wide grin while Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. He’s already gone by the time they bombard you with questions.
That moment you two just shared plays over and over in his head. With the taste of your blood still on his tongue, he gives into baser instincts.
Tonight, he will fuck you, and you’ll be so enthralled by his talents, he’ll have you eating out of his hand in no time.
Astarion’s mission turns up no more cultists. And after a brief tussle with a boar, he’s recharged and ready to seduce the pants off you.
Literally.
Night has already begun to fall when he returns to camp. At first, he doesn’t see you anywhere, but then you emerge from the brush, in a clean tunic and trousers with your freshly washed clothes under your arm.
He sneaks up behind you as you lay them out on a nearby patch of grass to dry.
“If you waited we could have had a little dip together,” he purrs, only half teasing because bathing naked with you sounds enticing right now.
“That wasn’t funny,” you glare over your shoulder, although he doesn’t sense or see any real malice on your face. “They gave me shit the whole way back.”
“I’m fairly certain they knew something has been going on. You haven’t exactly been hiding the mark.”
You tug on your collar in a vain attempt to do just that. “Still.” You turn to face him and cross your arms, a neutral stance that conveniently highlights the muscles in your arms. Not that he notices.
“Darling,” he gasps, “are you ashamed of me?”
“Of course not. I just don’t like people knowing my shit.”
Astarion glances around and can see multiple pairs of eyes on you both. So rather than close the distance, he settles for eye-fucking you instead.
“Tonight, all you need to worry about is relaxing and letting me take care of you. Thoroughly. Properly. Until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.”
Even from this distance, he hears the rush of your blood and it makes him grin wider. You shake said pretty head at him, turning away under the pretense of fixing your clothes.
“So long as you bathe beforehand. Blood may be your thing, but it’s not mine.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
He’s got you flustered and can’t help laughing as you shoo him away. After a brief stop at his tent for fresh clothes and soap, he finds a secluded spot by the nearby lake and takes time to pamper himself.
This part of the seduction ritual he likes, finds comfort in. Washing away the grime and viscera from his skin and taking the time to wash his hair puts him in the proper mindset. While he can no longer see his reflection, you can and that’s all that matters. He knows his looks are unparalleled.
So he primps and preens, cleans himself thoroughly before stepping out to dry off. The full moon casts the world in an otherworldly glow and he stands for a spell, taking in the night. Less than a week ago he was scrambling for rats in the dark, trying to sate the ever gnawing hunger. Now he can stand in the sun, sample the delicious blood of a thinking creature.
What a difference a few days makes.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep inhale to steady himself, to focus. And by the time he exhales, his eyes are open and he’s ready.
Camp is still very much buzzing with activity when he returns, bare-chested with loose trousers. Your scent wafts his way, making him subconsciously turn in your direction. His eyes meet yours over the fire, and he throws you a wink. You smile and duck your head, something he never found endearing until that moment.
Just like all the other nights, he waits for the activity to die down, waits until almost everyone is asleep, before sneaking into your tent.
Except, this time you’re awake. Your back is to him as you sit, still and silent. At first, he wonders what you’re doing, until he recognizes the steady breathing that comes with your meditations.
Silently, he ties the tent closed before kneeling behind you. He sees your pointed ear twitch, knows you’re aware of his presence.
Astarion lays his hands on your shoulders and leans down to nuzzle your temple. Your body is tense. He can feel the knots even through your tunic. Carefully, he digs his thumbs into them, rubbing in circles which forces a soft moan out of you.
“You are far too tense, darling. I don’t think the meditations are working,” he says with a low chuckle, smirking at the way the skin of your neck raises with goosebumps.
You lean back against his chest, making it harder to keep massaging you. So he slides his hands down your arms to hold you instead.
Astarion isn’t one for hugging or cuddling, but this feels nice, having your weight on him like this. It only lasts a second. You lean forward once more, this time with your face in your hands. He lays a hand on your back, recognizing that you need a minute, and more than happy to give you such.
He feels slightly out of his element. Normally when he arrives for the seduction, it’s hasty and eager, with the mark throwing themselves at him. You aren’t doing that, you haven’t even turned around to face him.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you tell him, your voice muffled. “If you’re looking for something carefree and light, I’m sure you can find someone with less baggage.”
Astarion can’t help bursting into laughter. He pulls your arms down and leans around to look you in the eye. “Have we been traveling with the same companions?” he asks. “If you can find this mythical baggage-less person then I salute you because from where I’m sitting, we’re all a bunch of fucking weirdos.”
That breaks the tension in you. Laughing, you lean into him again and he savors the closeness, recognizing that it stirs that same unknown sensation within him. He kisses your neck not only to move things along but for another reason.
Yours is the first thinking-creature’s neck he’s ever sampled and the novelty is fairly potent. He’s left his mark on you, not once but several times. It’s enough to drive him to distraction. The scent of your skin causes his body to react, his mouth already salivating while his cock twitches with interest.
Astarion finds you relaxing while the time slips away, and it isn’t long before his hands are reaching for the laces of your tunic. He unties them with deliberate slowness, giving you every chance to stop him.
You don’t.
In fact, your hands join his to help, and when they are finally undone, you draw away to lift the tunic over your head.
Now you’re both shirtless and when your warm skin touches his it’s like a pleasant balm to his cold flesh. He continues lavishing your throat while his hands cup your breasts, thrilled at the way your nipples pebble under his thumbs. He kneads and tweaks, pinching until just on the edge of pain before backing off.
“Astarion?” you ask, voice already breathless and husky with desire.
“Mmm, yes?”
“If we do this, I only have one request.”
He’s not surprised at this, even anticipated as such. There’s always a request or demand of him and he will dutifully oblige. Anything to keep this going, to seal the deal.
“And what’s that, darling?”
“Stay with me after? At least, just for the night.”
That…is it?
Astarion draws away, prompting you to turn to face him. Your eyes are hooded, lips wet from being swiped by your tongue. But there is a vulnerability he has never seen before that has him answering immediately.
“I will stay,” he promises, and means it. “For tonight, I am yours and you are mine. Nothing else outside this tent exists. It’s just us.” He gently cradles your face. “Just this.”
You lean in and he captures your lips.
The kiss is slow, deliberate, meant to reassure you that your humble request will be fulfilled. But as it continues, it switches, changes into something else entirely. One of his hands drops to your trousers, yanking at the laces with the same fevered energy that’s taken over your mouths. He is suddenly filled with the urge to touch, to make you shudder and moan not for his sake, but for yours.
Astarion sees in his mind’s eye every choice, every decision you have had to make. Always for others and never for yourself. Hells, do you do anything for your own well-being?
He hasn’t seen it. And if this night with him is it, if being with him is how you want to indulge, he’s going to make damn sure he makes it worth it.
When his hand slips below your waistline, his fingers slide through the mound of curls to the petal-soft flesh waiting for him. Feeling the wetness on his fingertips makes his eyebrow raise as he breaks from your kisses.
“Already, darling? I’m flattered.”
You huff, flustered. “It’s my neck,” you mumble, prompting him to latch his mouth there once more. “It’s really sensitive.”
You gasp when his fingertips stroke through your folds, spreading your arousal with practiced ease.
Astarion has a realization. “All these nights, when you knew I was going to be paying you a visit,” he says. “Did you by any chance feel aroused?”
“Every fucking time.”
He slides a finger into you, relishing the low moan and how eagerly your body pulls him in. That explains the intense hard-ons and need to get off immediately after feeding on you. He was unknowingly drinking your arousal, which he plans to do in a very different context tonight.
You’re warm and wet, and the sound of your rushing blood is making it so difficult not to seek his—your marks. The ones he feeds from every time, the ones that never seem to fully fade even with healing magic.
Sliding his finger out, he presses firm circles around your neglected nub while his free hand reaches for your breasts again. Your chest heaves and your hips begin to rise and fall along with his ministrations. When he pushes two fingers into you, your head falls back onto his shoulder.
“Astarion!” you gasp.
“That’s it, darling. Let go of everything else. Just think about me.”
In this intimate moment, he becomes acutely aware of two things: one, his name has never sounded sweeter, and two, this is going to be different for him.
Astarion doesn’t find himself slipping away like he’s done in the past. Prior, his body would go on following the script while his brain retreated elsewhere. It was a part he knew all too well and had perfected over the centuries. A moment of disgust at himself then powering through just to get it done.
Yet, it’s not happening. Tonight, he is very aware of where he is and who he is with. Somehow having you be the one to moan his name is keeping him grounded, in the moment.
And he doesn’t want to lose that.
His fingers speed up, alternating between rubbing your nub and burrowing deep into that addictive warmth he wants around his cock. You’re gasping and moaning, seemingly uncaring if anyone hears.
Let them hear, he thinks. Let them know I’m the one making our fearless leader cum.
Suddenly, this angle isn’t right. It won’t serve his needs.
Because now that he’s aware of them, aware that he needs your body, needs your little gasps and moans, he won’t stop until you’re both in a breathless, mindless heap of body and limbs.
Astarion tries to draw his hand out of your trousers but you scramble to keep it there, until he nips at your ear and says, “Shh, shh, it’s alright. We just need to get a little comfortable.” Only then do you let him pull away.
He maneuvers you onto your back and is able to fully take in the delicious image you make. Eyes glassy with desire, lips parted, breasts moving as you try to catch your breath. Without warning, he grabs your throat, not hard. Just enough to angle your head up so he can steal a few more kisses.
Then his attention falls to your trousers and he has them off your legs a second later. You’re not wearing underwear, never bothered to put them on after your bath. Hooking his hands under your knees, he spreads you wide, takes his first look at all of you, and promptly descends.
Astarion doesn’t try to put on a show or warm you up with a few practiced licks. You are more than ready for him and he finds himself starved in a completely different way.
A welcomed way.
His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily, humming with satisfaction when your thighs clamp around his head. It keeps him exactly where you want him, not that he plans to leave any time soon.
This taste of you is so different from your blood yet equally addicting. Heady and sweet, invading his senses until nothing else exists but you. His tongue snakes long your seam, parts your swollen lips, and seeks the hole he teased earlier.
When he finds it, your hips shoot up and he tongue-fucks you, eyes drifting up to meet yours as he does.
You’re propped on your elbows, watching his every move. The vision you make is breathtaking and as he watches your head fall back and your arms buckle, he smirks because he is the one making you feel this way.
Astarion slides a finger into you, this time deeper than the other angle allowed. Your thighs are already quivering and the moment he crooks his finger in just the right way, your arms finally give out and you lay flat on your back.
Hands tentatively find their way into his curls but instead of pulling like he anticipates, they stroke and burrow, holding on for the sake of staying grounded, not for control.
A second finger joins the first and his mouth returns to your aching nub, sucking as greedily as he wants. You’re shaking and moaning, your hips starting to grind against his face the longer he goes on. With the tadpole, he can sense you’re still holding back, still not entirely lost yet. He tries to get you there, increases the pressure of his mouth, and rubs harder against the special place inside you he’s found.
With every twitch, he feels you let go a little more. And when you’re almost there, he switches tactics. For the second time, he reaches for your mind, tries to show you images. This time of yourself, of what he is seeing right then and there.
A beautiful, wanton, deity of a person whom he worships. At least for right now, in this moment. One whose legs fit perfectly over his shoulders and whose shining eyes have him transfixed.
But then what happens next fundamentally changes Astarion and turns his world upside down.
Because, now he isn’t seeing you. He is watching a pale elf with glowing red eyes whose mouth is devouring your slit. Whose cheeks are ruddy with fresh boar’s blood and whose white curls are wrapped around dark fingers.
Astarion is seeing himself for the first time in two hundred years.
And bloody hell he’s magnificent. Not just because he’s beautiful but because he can feel what you’re feeling when you look at him. He can sense the warmth, affection, lust, and fierce protection you’re experiencing here and now, with him.
He’s already achieved his goal. Now he can move on to more important things.
He draws an orgasm out of you only minutes later, not needing you to beg. Not when you’ve given him yet another precious gift.
What a breathtaking sight the two of you make. You, bowing your back into a beautiful arch, and him, sucking greedily at your clit while his fingers stroke deep inside you.
Astarion comes up for air only when your sweaty legs glide off his shoulders, leaving you spread and satisfied.
“How’s that mind of yours now?” he asks, licking your slick off his lips.
It takes a moment for you to answer. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” you gasp, a hand pressed to your forehead as you try to collect yourself.
Astarion smirks and pushes himself up onto his knees, carefully slipping his fingers out of you. He can feel your walls clench, automatically trying to keep him there. He’s tempted but has a better idea.
“I told you, I’m quite good.”
While you lay there, watching, waiting, he makes a show of unlacing his trousers. By now his cock is desperate for attention, straining against the fabric. Each move he makes is purposeful, each look calculated, letting you know exactly what he plans to do next.
He thinks of the previous nights when he crawled into your tent and slid up behind you. And once his trousers are gone and his cock is free, full and leaking at the tip, he nods his head.
“Turn on your side, darling.”
He strokes himself while you do, using your arousal to make the glide of his hand easier, better. He lets every lustful thought invade his senses, lets his eyes shamelessly rake over your body as he realizes this is a fantasy he will get to live out.
Astarion knows this night is about you, should be about you, but he can’t help but feel that it’s now also about him. About having something, even if it’s for a night, that gets to be his.
He spoons up behind you, tucking his cock snug under your backside. His hand comes around and slides between your legs once more, picking up right where he left off. You gasp at the sensitivity, your body tensing for only a second until you manage to relax again.
This time with the added bonus of you rocking against him.
Time loses all meaning. He can not be certain how long you both lay this way, grinding and moving together while his fingers make you cum for a second time. It takes longer but absolutely worth every moment. His mouth is permanently attached to your throat lavishing it in kisses and love bites, leaving even more marks. Not as deep as the mark. He'll only drink from you once he’s good and ready.
And when neither of you can take it anymore, when the friction of your skin isn’t enough and you’re positively soaked, he whispers into your ear.
“Lift your leg.”
You do and he takes hold of himself, coats himself in your slick again, then pushes into you with a smooth, quick, thrust.
A perfect fit.
Being inside you, having his cock enveloped by that fucking heat is better than he would have ever thought. After that, he can’t take his time, won’t until he’s emptied every last drop into you.
Your moans are constant, muffled as you bury your face into your thin pillow, your hand twisting the bedroll, reminding him of how he twisted the soil when he had his first taste of you.
Taste.
Gods does he want to taste you again, drink you as he continues pounding into your eager body. As if struck by the same thought, you reach back to slide your hand into his curls.
“Bite me,” you urge. “I need you too. I can’t…”
He hears the rest of the thought in his head.
I can’t cum again if you don’t.
Astarion bites down on the mark, having half a mind to press down on your swollen nub at the same time. You cry out this time. Loudly. Properly. Not his name yet even more beautiful, a cry of pure ecstasy.
Your blood seeps into his mouth just as a fresh wave of your slick coats his cock, and he is done for.
Thrusting wildly, still rubbing your sore clit, Astarion spills himself into you, lost in a frenzy of blood and lust. He’s aware enough to yank out his fangs but after that, it's a blur as he sucks at your throat while his cock spasms and fills you with his seed.
It's too much and coats his lap and your thighs while trickles of blood dribble down your neck. He’s aware of you pushing his hand away from the overstimulation. So he grabs your hip for leverage during his final, weak thrusts. Spent, you both cry out a final time and then grow still.
Eventually, you roll onto your stomach while Astarion collapses onto your back, crushing you against the bedroll.
You don’t seem to mind in the slightest, letting him lazily lick away any remnants of blood. Only then do you hum with satisfaction stretching underneath him as much as the position will allow.
“Fuck, Astarion.”
“That you did, love. That. You. Did.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss or a nibble.
“You were right,” you purr, sounding infinitely more relaxed than he’s ever heard. “I needed that.”
He places a final kiss to the mark before rolling onto his back. “Mmm, me too.” He tucks his hand under his head, staring up at the canvas of the tent with a lazy, satisfied grin. Like a cat who’s just found a sunbeam.
You roll to face him, draping yourself across his chest in a graceless heap. Your face is glowing with post-coital bliss, eyes still shining as they take him in. You reach up to wipe away a spot of blood from the corner of his lips, which he sucks off your thumb.
Astarion is aware you both should clean up but he can’t bring it in himself to care. Your scent hangs around him, not just your blood but your arousal and release. When mixed with his own, it stirs something primal inside, a sense of claim he’s not sure he has a right to feel.
But he’s far too satisfied to question it.
“That was amazing,” you slur. Already your eyes are drooping and your breathing evens out.
Astarion draws you close, feels around for a blanket he manages to drape over you both. “You’re amazing,” he responds, and is surprised he means it.
Even he is ready to trance, the normal rush of adrenaline after feeding is gone, channeled into the thrusting of his hips during those last precious seconds before utter bliss.
For once, no thoughts or machinations enter his mind. Unless it’s your soft body atop his, he has no interest, lazily stroking your back until you fall asleep.
And as he lets his trance carry him away, he has one final thought, an observation his waking mind will remember vividly the next morning when he finds you in the same position, curled around each other even in sleep.
Having you in his arms seems to be another perfect fit.
---
Taglist: @frankie-mercury @miniminx
#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion x reader#astarion x female reader#astarion x you#astarion ancunin x reader#astarion ancunin x you
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magic (and the lack of it)
Justice needs a healer. Anders is always happy to help. [written for day one of @andersweek2025 ! minor tw for mentions of wounds / needles, and one brief reference to suicide] read on ao3
“Mage, I seek your counsel.”
Anders looked up from his book - he’d been enjoying a rare moment of quiet beside the fire while the Warden Commander was attending to business in the city. Usually he went with her, revelling in the chance to walk through the markets without having to watch his back constantly; but he was still licking his wounds after a drunken argument with Oghren the night before and didn’t fancy trading jabs for the rest of the day. That dwarf was ruthless when he was hungover.
Justice had stayed behind as well. Walking corpses weren’t often welcome in cities. Anders could sympathise.
Looking at him now as he hesitated in the doorway, it was hard to see him for what he was. He shuffled awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot – he had once confided in Anders that this was a mannerism he’d learned by observing low ranking soldiers stationed at the keep. It was oddly sweet to think of him standing in front of the mirror, practicing his movements, wondering which made him look the most human.
“I have a name you know,” Anders said, snapping his book shut and propping himself up on one elbow, “I’m not defined by my mage-iness.”
Justice stilled, an unreadable expression on his face, “my apologies, Anders.”
Teasing Justice was almost criminally easy - if the heart in Kristoff’s chest had pumped blood, he might have even blushed. Anders softened and put his book down, patting the space beside him on the rug.
“Come here and tell Anders your woes,” he cooed, stretching lazily. He wasn’t trying to flirt – not really, anyway – but he couldn’t help feeling a little curious. Who wouldn’t be? Kristoff had had a wife, did those same urges still exist in there somewhere?
Seemingly not. Justice crossed the room to stand beside the fire for a second before plopping down on the rug, arranging himself so he sat cross-legged and stiff-backed. Up close, it was even easier to tell that he didn’t need to breathe or blink. Eerie.
Justice ducked his head, “I require your assistance with a personal matter.”
“Oh?”
“You are trained in the art of healing, are you not? I need-” Justice paused for a moment, struggling to find the words, “my body is damaged.”
Anders looked at him, “we do have an infirmary, you know. You might prefer it there – I have a terrible bedside manner.”
“I would rather you look.”
He seemed nervous, staring directly into Anders’ eyes as the Warden Commander had taught him to.
“Alright,” Anders sighed, sitting up straight and gesturing vaguely, “whip it out and let me see.”
Carefully, Justice unfolded himself and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm; he’d taken to wearing a simple shirt and breeches around the keep when not in armour, having found them beneath his pillow in the dormitory. They accentuated his sunken features, making him look even more skeletal than usual.
In the wavering firelight, Justice’s skin looked almost alive. Anders leaned forward to study it. At first it was hard to see what he was supposed to be looking at - the flesh of his arm was gnarled and warped, stomach-turning reminiscent of the many blight victims Anders had come across in the past few months.
After a moment, Anders’ eyes fell on a large gash just below his inner elbow. Had he been alive, it would have been gushing blood – spurting, even, if it was as deep as it appeared – but without a working circulatory system, it could only weep sadly.
“Makers’ breath!” Anders couldn’t help recoiling slightly, “when did you do that?”
Justice looked down at the wound, “I don’t know.”
Anders wasn’t squeamish. You couldn’t live the life he’d led and come out the other end easily disgusted by blood or pus or any other bodily fluids. But the idea of tending to Justice’s rotting wounds, holding his arm in his hands and putting his face close enough to smell the decay? That gave him pause.
It must have shown on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings. Justice smiled sadly, pulling his arm away and rolling his sleeve back down.
“I apologise,” he said, yet again, “clearly you are uncomfortable.. Perhaps it would be best for me to visit the infirmary after all.”
There was an air of resignation to the way he spoke, as though he’d been expecting the rejection all along. He knew what he was, how he made people feel. Most paled when they saw him up close, cringing away from the smell of rot that lingered about him – why should Anders be any different?
Then again, why shouldn’t he be?
“Wait!” He said, reaching out to grab Justice’s wrist and suppressing that instinctual shudder when his fingers circled around the cold skin, “don’t be silly – it’s only a little cut, I can patch you up easily.”
Justice’s eyes widened. He let Anders grip him tightly, unmoving.
It was intense. A little too intense for Anders’ liking; he broke eye contact, smiling gingerly as he pulled away. If Justice reacted to the loss of contact – relief or disappointment or resignation – Anders made sure not to look for it. Instead, he turned his gaze to the fire, fixing his mind solidly on the task ahead of him.
Justice breathed heavily and Anders smiled, knowing it was all for his benefit.
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense,” Anders smiled, “I’ll run and get my tools. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to teach you a thing or two.”
—
It took all but a few moments to return with the supplies he needed and lay them out on the carpet for Justice to see: needle, thread, forceps, scissors, gauze, bandages, a half-used poultice, and a shallow basin of warm water. Half of them were just for show, Justice wasn’t bleeding, nor was he in pain - Anders wasn’t even sure what good a needle and thread would do, given how his thin skin seemed to be practically rotting off the bone. He almost gagged imagining how it would feel to pierce it, the soft crackling of it beneath his fingers.
He’d sewn dead skin together before, of course, like any other Circle mage who had taken an interest in healing. But that had been carefully preserved, manipulated to mimic living flesh as much as possible so as to prepare apprentice healers for the real thing. And those had been bits and pieces, cuts of farm animals that weren’t fit to be eaten. It was different when the corpse had been dead for several weeks and was staring at you with unseeing, anxious eyes.
“So,” Anders said, breaking a silence that had stretched on for far too long, “I’m going to try and sew your wound together – you saw me tending to Sigrun’s knee last week, didn’t you? This will be similar except… a little bigger, I suppose.”
Justice frowned, “I still don’t understand why your magic is not sufficient for this task.”
“Hey, my magic is plenty sufficient!”
This was a frequent annoyance and a conversation Anders felt he must have had a thousand times with a thousand people – even in the Circle it wasn’t common knowledge that healing magic was best used alongside more traditional methods rather than instead of them. Any powerful enough mage could knit skin back together with magic – Anders himself could do it fairly easily – but it was a useless and risky indulgence that only the most desperate of healers would resort to.
Still, how was Justice supposed to know this? Anders sighed and picked up the needle, testing its sharp point against his finger.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, our world is filthy. An open wound is a problem, yes, but so is a closed one that hasn’t been cleaned properly. Now, if I sew you together, any infection will be obvious and easily treatable; it may even sort itself out if you’re healthy enough otherwise.
“But if the skin heals over an infection? Sometimes, you won’t even notice the signs before it’s too late. There’s nowhere for the dirt to escape from, so it bides its time until it’s strong enough to expel itself by force. Sometimes that means vomiting on someone’s shoes, but sometimes it means you lose an arm, or your lungs fill with fluid, or your bowels explode. And let me tell you, even if you can’t feel pain, none of those things will be a pleasant experience for you.”
Justice stared at him, “you’ve studied this at length.”
“Not much else to do in the Circle, is there?” Anders shrugged, “better this than becoming one of those poor sods that obsesses over entropy or necromancy. No offence.”
Still staring, Justice frowned.
“I dislike hearing about these Circles.”
He meant it. Something inside of Anders twisted and he turned his head away, gripping the needle tightly in his fist.
Justice went silent. When it was clear he wasn’t going to keep prodding, Anders stood up and crossed the room to stare into the fire. Even with his back turned, he felt those corpse-like eyes watching him. Self conscious, he bent down and held the needle to the flames, not caring as it began to heat up and burn his fingertips.
“What are you doing now?”
Anders pulled the needle from the fire and shrugged, “fire kills infection. You’ve seen the funeral pyres whenever there’s a darkspawn attack, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we don’t do that for fun.” He said, “here – let me show you.”
It was strangely difficult to sit back down. There was a tight knot of nerves in Anders’ stomach, like he was about to kiss someone for the first time, that strange mixture of anticipation and excitement and worry. He tried not to let it show, not wanting Justice to mistake it for incompetence.
He held out the needle, still glowing slightly from the fire, “if you ever need to sew someone else up, you’ll have to hold it against a flame until it glows like this. Otherwise, you may as well just rub dirt all over the wound.”
Justice looked at the needle closely, “red...like metal being worked by a blacksmith.”
It was a connection Anders had never made before. He stared at the needle, now cool and dull between his fingers.
“I never did do much smithing,” he said, “not exactly a career for a mage.”
Justice winced but said nothing.
It only took a moment for Anders to prepare everything, threading the needle and making sure the water he’d fetched was still warm. He dipped a cloth into the basin and glanced up at Justice.
“Are you ready to start?”
He always liked to ask before shoving a needle into someone. It didn’t help with the discomfort, not usually, but it felt polite to do so – the Warden Commander hated it, always telling him to stop with the niceties and just get on with what he needed to do.
Justice seemed to appreciate it, though. He nodded, rolling his sleeve up and offering Anders his arm. Somehow, it looked even worse than before, his pale skin rotting slightly around the edges of the wound – it occurred to Anders suddenly that the injury could be weeks old.
Nervously, he reached out and dabbed at Justice’s arm. He was half afraid the skin would fall apart as soon as he touched it, but it held surprisingly firm. There was a thin layer of gunk covering the area surrounding the wound that he tried not to think too hard about, cleaning it methodically and calmly.
Once the skin was clean – or, once Anders had reached his limit – he dried Justice off and picked up the needle and forceps. Justice watched with interest, eyes following Anders’ movements so intensely that he suppressed the urge to blush.
“This might pinch.” He warned.
“I do not mind.”
Of course he didn’t. Anders sighed and leaned forward, picking up the edge of the wound with the forceps. It made a sickening sound, a crackling groan that made him feel queasy.
Circle healers had to have strong stomachs. Anders had once spent weeks trying to explain this years ago while travelling with a group of lifelong apostates during one of his many brief attempts at freedom. They’d made fun of him, asked how many papercuts he’d healed, whether he knew any useful potions for indigestion. They hadn’t understood.
But when one of them had fallen from a tree and snapped his neck, he’d been the only one able to handle preparing the body for the funeral pyre. When he’d explained how common broken necks were at Kinloch, how many times he’d seen this same death play out over and over, a mage falling from their tower, that was when they’d finally understood. He’d stopped travelling with them soon after that.
“Does this hurt?” He asked.
“No.”
“Good,” Anders was genuinely glad, “tell me if you feel any pain. I’m going to start sewing now.”
He was going slower than he usually would and he didn’t know why. He looked into Justice’s blank eyes, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.
Justice inclined his head slightly. It seemed that that would be all Anders got.
Carefully, more tentative than he’d been since he was an apprentice, Anders pressed the needle into Justice’s arm.
Justice didn’t flinch. He watched in fascination as Anders wove the needle in and out of his skin, using the forceps to manipulate the wound and keep the stitches small and neat. Once he was in the familiar rhythm of suturing, Anders found it easier to stomach being so close to Justice’s rotting flesh – it was nice, even, to be tending to someone so still and patient.
The wound was larger than Anders was used to stitching under such controlled circumstances. Usually, this was something he’d be fixing with bloody, shaking hands, just wanting to stem the bleeding before the patient lost consciousness. Without pressure, it seemed to take forever. The world narrowed down to just his hands as they moved methodically, his slow breaths, his singular heartbeat. It was oddly lonely. He wished Justice would say something.
Around halfway through, he ran into difficulty, finding the skin tougher and harder to work with. It was probably old scar tissue from one of Kristoff’s long-forgotten wounds.
Anders frowned and pushed the needle hard, forcing it through.
“Oh!” Justice said.
It was the first sound he’d made since Anders began sewing,“that hurt?”
“No. Apologies, I didn’t mean-”
“Justice.”
“Please, keep going.”
Anders knew a lost cause when he saw one. He shrugged and ducked his head, carrying on with his work as gently as he could. There was a little more scar tissue, but he took his time with it, gently pushing the needle through. There were no more complaints from Justice.
When he was done he tied off and cut the thread, breathing a sigh of relief and relaxing. As usual, he’d done a good job – the stitches were neat, the skin pulled tightly closed.
He tilted his head to smile up at Justice, “better, right?”
Justice looked down at him and nodded hesitantly. He attempted to flex his arm, testing the tightness of the stitches. Anders yelped and reached out to grasp his wrist.
“Careful!” His skin was a little warm from where Anders had been cradling it a few moments ago, “be careful. You don’t want to tear anything.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Though Justice’s eyes were dead and blank, Anders swore he saw a stirring of emotion behind them, a mix of gratitude and grief so intense that he found himself drawing back, slowly removing his hand from his wrist.
“I appreciate your care.” Justice said, each word carefully enunciated.
Anders swallowed, “think nothing of it, couldn’t have you walking around with an open wound, could we? Speaking of…”
He scrambled around for his bandages. Justice looked at them blankly.
“I am not bleeding.”
Anders shook his head, “remember what I said about infection earlier? Come on, it’ll only take a moment.”
Once again, Justice held out an obedient arm. Anders wound the bandage around the stitches, careful not to bruise the delicate skin beneath.
It took less time than the stitching, “done,” he said, after a few moments.
Justice drew back, carefully touching the bandage. He said nothing.
“How does it feel?” Anders probed, “not too tight?”
“No.”
Sometimes it felt like Justice didn’t know that words were free with how carefully he used them. Anders stared at him for a moment, trying and failing to think of something to say.
“Did you need help with anything else?” He managed eventually, “no other gaping wounds that need stitching up?”
Justice said nothing, but Anders saw his face change. He was working up the courage to ask for a favour, Anders just knew it. But what kind of favours could a spirit even need? Unless he wanted… No. Anders didn’t even want to entertain the thought.
“Justice?” He said, “come on – spit it out, already.”
Justice sighed, “it is nothing.” He said nervously, “only… I hoped to witness your magical abilities up close. I find the process mildly fascinating.”
“You… what?”
This was a first. Aside from his fellow mages, most people Anders had met found healing magic terrifying – something about the gentle transferring of energy seemed to scare them even more than fireballs or bolts of lightning. He stared at Justice suspiciously, unsure whether he was being genuine.
Justice grimaced, “have I offended you?”
“No! I just – well, most people look away when I heal them.”
“Others have taught you to be ashamed of your gift?”
“What? No. Don’t say it like that.” This conversation was growing more uncomfortable by the second, “I suppose I’m just used to patients being afraid. It’s easier to heal people when you know how to put them at ease.”
“I am at ease with your magic.”
“I know, Justice.”
There was little else left to say. Anders wished he was braver – he could have shown Justice his magic if he wanted to, he could have sliced himself open and healed his own wound to demonstrate him what it looked like, let him look closely as the skin neatly grew back together.
He couldn't face it, couldn’t risk the possibility that Justice was lying to make him feel better. Wasn’t that what spirits did? Lie to mages to flatter them?
Or maybe he was the one lying to himself. Maybe he really was ashamed. Funny, that.
“Next time.” He said weakly.
Justice nodded, seeming to understand. “Indeed.”
#dragon age#andersweek2025#fanfic#my fanfic#i don't remember which tag i use for that lol#i love writing awakening anders he's so bouncy. i imagine his ponytail bouncing when he speaks
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Nights Like These
18+ Content. Minors DNI
Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid
Description: After a grueling case, your best friend and roommate Spencer comes home a lot more cuddly and hands on. So much so you two have to share a bed because he just doesn’t wanna be alone.
Content Warning: Some light case discussion, light angst due to Spencer being in distress from the case, one of the many versions of the one bed trope, best friends with hidden feelings trope, Spencer ends up having a wet dream, admitted feelings, some sweet fluff, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, some cockwarming in the end.
Word Count: 2.5K
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Tags 🏷️ @beardedhotchh @nyx-tella @multifandom-on-the-side @morgthemagpie @eveyez-exe @avis-writeshq
This is purely self indulgent. Also new format of not doing purely 3rd person. Let me know if I should do this more often.
You knew how hard it was for Spencer on emotionally draining cases. He had feared being alone after them, his experience in prison making him more prone to the occasional outburst, which he desperately tried avoiding.
They could take an everlasting impact on him if he wasn’t careful enough, the idea of losing all control and being faced with the trauma that continued stacking against him was not what he needed.
He struggled enough with his day to day life, his therapist only able to give him so much advice and do so much for him. He liked to say that she helped but she wasn’t a miracle worker. He seemed to never be comfortable in the past.
Until he met you.
He’d found solace with you.
The way you would play with his hair and let him get as close as possible to you so he could cling for comfort were things that he appreciated. You weren’t the type to push him away and tell him to deal with his own issues, no, you took care of him.
You’d met whenever Spencer put out an ad for a new roommate, living in DC was something he could afford due to the luxury of working with the FBI for fifteen years, however he didn’t like being alone.
He was fresh out of prison at the time, the silence being too eery to deal with. He knew he couldn’t live in the chaos of JJ’s house, nor could he turn to much of anyone else on the team. He felt like a burden to them. A piece of him died in the prison cell he was left in,the nights of being awake due to the impending doom that was gonna strike granted the inmates found out he was a federal agent.
When he had gotten into contact with you due to you being the first one to speak with him, he had already found some sense in comfort with you. You were kind and always had a smile on your face, not to mention that you had a sense of cleanliness that Spencer could definitely deal with.
Due to his busy life, his apartment could tend to be littered with books that he’d started before he got a call, he would have case files piling up, even the occasional coffee cup or two was left out. He wasn’t a slob, yet he could definitely benefit from a roommate who would teach him the ways of organization.
The both of you really seemed to hit it off, your energies feeding into one another really well. You learned he knew way too much, joking how you didn’t know how his brain could hold the vast amount of knowledge that stuck with him. He learned that you were really into science fiction novels and films, being impressed with your knowledge of Doctor Who and Star Trek.
Both of you were seemingly cut from the same piece of cloth, making it easier for you to upgrade from just being roommates to best friends as well.
It was a late Tuesday night whenever Spencer was quietly walking through the front door. He could smell the familiar scent of lemon, associating the smell with the cleaner that you’d mop the floors with.
He was toeing his shoes off by the front door, knowing you’d kill him if you woke up to anything on the freshly mopped floors. “Y/N?” He called, walking deeper into the apartment. His voice was hoarse, presumably from yelling at some point.
“In my room!” You call, glancing up from the book in your hands while watching Spencer quietly push the door open. He looked exhausted. Being familiar already with that look, you were placing your book down before holding your arms out to Spencer with a soft sigh.
As he approached your bed and you felt his body collapse in your arms, you were slowly rubbing his back.The heaviness of his heart could be felt by the way his grip tightened on you, his face buried in your neck as his body shifted to get comfortable on the bed beside you.
Your fingers were threading through the touseled curls on his head, nails occasionally scratching his scalp in an effort to help soothe him. It seemed to work, his grip loosening and his head lifting soon after, cheek against the fluffy pillow that he could’ve swore that you had added to your bed just for him.
“It was a hard case.” He stated the obvious, making your head nod. “I can imagine. Do you wanna talk about it?” The softness of your voice brought Spencer comfort, a soft sigh falling from his lips. “The unsub targeted male and female best friends. Apparently, his ex-girlfriend had left him for someone who was her best friend. We found out they recently got married and he just snapped.”
He neglected to mention how the duos reminded him of the friendship you two shared.
It was something that a partner wouldnt understand without immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. It made him think of how that very well could’ve been you two, a man killing you for his own failed relationship and pushing blame on everyone else.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.. You’re safe now, more importantly, he’s behind bars.” Your reassurance made his head nod slowly. “You’re right.” He offered a small smile, his head turning to face you easier. “Do you mind if I sleep with you?”
The question was a silly one to ask, already knowing the answer whenever he was being told to turn off the bedside lamp closest to him.
You didn’t mind sharing a bed with Spencer, enjoying the comforting presence of a loving companion. Truth be told, you’d always had the tiniest crush on him. He made sure you were okay both physically and mentally, not to mention that he was truly an amazing roommate and friend. He carried a sense of warmth, one that could draw anyone in.
As you began to drift off to sleep, things felt right.
The feeling of his arms wrapped around your frame always made you feel a sense of safety, not to mention the butterflies in your belly would come to life when he’d pull you closer in the night.
Tonight was different.
You’d been sleeping for a good four hours now, the sounds of labored breathing filling the room from your slumber combined with Spencer’s, his snores not being unbearably loud. However, at some point you two had ended up in a spooning situation, your body being engulfed by his arms as he pulled you tight to his chest.You were stirring awake to the sounds of soft whispers coming from Spencer, his face buried in your neck.
It wasn’t rare for him to talk in his sleep, you finding it silly at times because you could have full conversations with him.
In your drowsy state, you hadn’t registered the way his hips were rutting into yours, his hard cock pressing firm against your clothed ass under the sheets. What you did register though, was a warm hand under the sheets trailing up your thigh, warm and wet kisses being pressed against the flesh of your neck. It took his thumb running over your clothed clit that had you jolting to life.
“Spencer.” Your voice was raised in an attempt to wake him up, thankfully succeeding as his movements slowed, eyes slowly blinking open.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was deep, laced with sleep.
“You were uh-”
You didn’t get to finish your sentence, Spencer’s realization hitting as he was quickly pulling away, body jolting up. “Oh, my god! I’m sorry.” His voice was at a high octave, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe himself.
“N-No it’s okay! You were sleeping.” Your body was sitting up, thighs pressed tightly together due to the fact that arousal had already settled in, your panties wet enough just from a small touch and some grinding.
You were more touch deprived than you thought.
“I’m sorry. I should go to my room. No, I am gonna go to my room.”
“Wait!”
You didn’t know what had gotten into you, your hand reaching to quickly grab his wrist. “Do you want help?” The words made Spencer’s mouth run dry, winded from just the mere suggestion. “Help?” He repeated, as if he wanted to hear you say it again.
“Yeah. We are both mature adults.”
“For the most part.”
His words made you crack a smile, soft laughter erupting between the both of you. Though as it died down, the sound of Spencer clicking his tongue could be heard. “You’re sure?” He then asked, not completely against the idea. “Because I really like you, Y/N. Seriously, you have no idea.”
He liked you. You liked him. This was an invitation if you’d ever seen one.
“I’m one hundred percent sure. I have had a crush on you since i met-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek, tugging you close to easily connect his lips to yours.
The kiss was filled with need and desire, his hand slowly moving from your cheek and down to your waist. You felt dizzy, the tantalizing nature of his tongue slipping into your mouth as the hunger for more was beginning to bubble under the surface.
His hands were pushing you back on the mattress, his body now hovering over yours, your body being trapped under his weight. However, you definitely weren’t complaining. As your kiss grew more needy and sloppy, his nimble fingers were trailing up your inner thigh, hands bunching up the nightgown that you were wearing to your stomach.
The sexual tension hung thick, his fingers continuing to tease your skin that was already burning with desire that was growing into desperation. As his fingertips slowly trailed to your panties, he was slowly pushing them to the side.
You could feel the wind being knocked out of your lungs as one of his fingers trailed up your slick folds before making their way to your clit. “You’re already so wet, fuck.” Spencer wasn’t one to swear, normally being reluctant to use such language. It was pathetic on how it contributed to the arousal pool.
His finger was massaging your pearl as if it needed to be polished and put on display, the sounds of your little gasps and moans spurring him on. His hand was moving away from your throbbing clit, chuckling at your whining for more. Instead of saying anything, he was disappearing under the blankets.
His large hands were pushing your thighs apart, lips pressing tantalizing kisses against your inner thighs before his tongue was licking a fat stripe up your slick folds. Your hands were sliding under the sheets, mouth falling open once he was licking and slurping at your cunt, your taste being intoxicating.
He ate like a man starved, lapping up every ounce of arousal that seemed to gush out of your pussy with every movement. Drinking in everything you had to offer, his jaw was growing wet with the sweet nectar that he’d been so focused on milking out of you.
It wasn’t long until his tongue was being replaced by two fingers, a cry of pleasure leaving your lips as the long digits were putting in the work, his fingers curling and brushing against the spongy button inside of you that had you roughly pushing his face into your slick cunt more.
His tongue was licking over your clit coupled with two fingers scissoring your tight cunt open was causing your legs to shake, the knot of pleasure inside of your tummy getting tighter and tighter, your pussy walls spasming around his fingers as you were so close to your orgasm.
Then Spencer pulled away.
Before you could voice your frustrations, your open mouth was silenced by two fingers slipping into your mouth. Not needing to be told twice, your eyes were fluttering shut while letting your tongue lap up any evidence of shimmering arousal from his fingers, your moans vibrating around his finger from the taste of slick.
With a ‘pop’, Spencer was pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “You look so beautiful, Y/N.” His words were soft, only leaning down to connect your lips in a chaste kiss. You were growing impatient, your hands quickly pushing his pants and his boxers down his legs soon after. It wasn’t enough to completely undress him, mainly because you both weren’t waiting that long.
Spencer let his hand wrap around his hard cock, stroking a few times go get himself hard enough to his liking before tapping the thick tip against your clit, causing electricity to shoot through your body as you shivered softly at the contact.
“Ready?” He asked, pushing the blunt head past your folds. That was when he was pushing his cock inside of you, your hands gripping his shoulders while you both shared a deep kiss.
The girth of his base had given you a delicious burn, making you hiss at the pleasurable pain. “Fuck. You take my cock so well. Like this pussy was made for me.” He grunted, the filth of his words causing a moan to fall from your lips. Never once did you expect this behavior nor this kind of language from Spencer.
He was pulling you out of your dazed thoughts as he was slowly rolling his hips into yours, cock nestled inside of your tight cunt.
It was almost as if you could feel every vein, every curve.. It was a sensation that you’d never actually felt before. Who knows, maybe you just paid extra attention because you’ve been dreaming of this moment.
Those slow thrusts were soon upgrading to harder and faster ones, a cry of pleasure falling from your lips as your head hit the pillow behind you. The sounds of skin slapping together as well as the sinful sounds of squelching from your wet pussy and the moans, whimpers and cries falling from your lips were filling the bedroom.
Spencer continued to ram his cock into your tight hole, a thin shine of sweat on his forehead as he was relentlessly fucking into you. The feeling of your warm, plushy walls convulsing around him was enough for his cock to twitch. He was close and so were you, both of your bodily reactions being dead giveaways.
As your cunt squeezed tight around his cock, your nails were digging into the shirt he was wearing as you let your eyes screw shut, your creamy cum slowly sliding down his cock and surely making a mess of the sheets while he was giving a few more hard thrusts before shooting long ropes of cum inside of you, surely coating your cervix in the process.
With a few more sloppy thrusts to ride out both of your orgasms, it wasn’t long until his body was collapsing on top of yours. As he tried to pull away though, your legs were tightening around his waist. “Wait.” She whispered, her head tilting back. “Wanna feel you inside for a little bit longer.” She blabbered out, grip loosening as Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Hey, Y/N?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you wanna go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fandom#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid drabble#dr spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid x you#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid cm#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid scenario
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Ivyyyyyyyy >.< you're the worsttttt(read: BEST) oh my god the thoughts im having abt dilic with a period kink rn. Gawd and he doesn't even know it's a period kink, he thinks it's absolutely normal to do nasty things with his girl while she's bleeding out and feels proud about it that HE can take her pain away
OMG continuing the diluc saga but yan dilic thinks darling's period is the perfect opportunity to finally put his hands on darling. He knows you're in pain so he promises, he's doing this for YOU not him (lies) he'll ease it in gently and make it feel good! Soon darling will forget all about those cramps bc of him him him! He doesnt need to feel as guilty bc he's helping you out.....right? OMG PLS write something abt thissss, it can be any yandere or oc but im going crazy after what u saiddd
Hehe, you're welcome! I began writing this as just a talk, but decided mid-way through to make it a scenario!
a/n: I wrote this before my hiatus and coming back to correct it, I found so many mistakes, it doesn't even feel like I wrote this smh... I did my best to polish it a bit since I can't see myself rewriting it in the future but if you find anything oddly worded just ignore it lol I wasn't myself back then :')
[Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content]
I can just see the cock cogs turning in this idiot's head as he racks his brain about how he can help you. Clearly, you're in pain, but no matter how many more times he calls a physician to have a look, they just keep waving off his concerns. It's normal, they say. You're healthy. That's what everyone has to go through.
And yet he sees you writhing and crying in pain—it's breaking his heart!
Pillow pressed to your stomach, tears in your eyes that you can't blink away fast enough before they fall. You're especially irritable, but it hurts him more when you whine and complain; Diluc wanting to help you now more than ever. He's already gone through the usual stuff, the imported water bottles from Snezhnaya and the chocolate from Fontaine. If you utter so much as a craving, he has the servants scramble to get it to you. Nothing is too expensive or too hard to get. You could have asked for the heads of your enemies, and Diluc would have brought them to you with ribbons and glitter if that had helped with your pains.
But alas, it doesn't.
It's been three days, and his nerves are raw, the bags under his eyes dark, and the burden of your health weighs heavily on Diluc. He can't see how things will ever get better. The other times you were on your period were conveniently skipped by business trips, so this is hitting him full force.
"Exercising might help," one of the maids suggests as he forces himself to consult someone more knowledgeable than him.
"Sometimes, my wife likes a little stimulation to alleviate the pain," a vintner chuckles, winking at Diluc as the word of his helplessness spreads. And suddenly, inappropriate ideas get stuck in his head, making him blush like a young lad in love.
»»———————— ♡ ————————««
Taking a deep breath, Diluc raised his hand to knock on your bedroom door. It was terribly late, the servants asleep and only the eery flickering of his candle guiding him through the night. Most likely, you were tugged in and fighting for your well-deserved sleep, so he hesitated, fist hanging in the air before slowly dropping it to his side.
What he was about to do was not only foolish but also filled him with the same burning in his body as using his vision did. He could feel the warmth sweep over him from his head to his toes, the latter curling in his shoes while most of the heat was throbbing between his legs, aching to connect with your warmth in a less-than-innocent way.
However, these feelings were nothing compared to the agony of the last few days.
If this was what he had to do to help you alleviate the pain, he would. If it was for you, Diluc would do anything in his power, whether to protect or help you. If he had to become a mere plaything so you'd be freed of the pain, then his concerns were a small sacrifice for all the good he was going to do.
Brushing his hair back, Diluc took a deep breath, reminding himself there was nothing wrong with wanting to help. If the method the vintner suggested worked, everyone would be happy. And if not, he'd keep searching for ways to free you of the pain. Turning the key in the door lock, he pulled it out before slowly entering your room, ensuring he could give you two the privacy needed in this situation.
To his surprise, you were still awake.
You made a half-hearted attempt at a greeting, but when you noticed it was him, you only scoffed, turning away. It hurt when you gave him the cold shoulder so callously, but Diluc knew you were the one suffering at that moment, not him. He could forgive you for being dismissive of him. Your bedside lamp was still on, and he could see you clutching a pillow to your belly, his own stomach cramping up with remorse, even though, logically, he knew it wasn't his fault. He loved you as you were, the good and bad days, your misery becoming his own much too easily these days.
Setting down the candle on your table, he walked over to you. But not before locking the door from the inside, just so he could give himself a few more seconds before his approach. Every step cost him a lot of discipline, being near you never having been this hard. Even when he looked confident around you, Diluc only ever felt weak. You made him vulnerable. Desperate. Longing for your love and affection was all he was allowed to do, so even just watching your chest rise and fall set him ablaze.
Pushing off his shoes, Diluc focused on the little space you left at the edge of the bed. It was the only space he could see that was reserved for him, as he didn't deserve to share your bed, in your opinion. Yet, when he climbed in, pulling the cover over himself and snaking his arm around your waist, he was enveloped in your scent, your hair tickling his skin as he breathed in deeply. Had he known that heaven was hiding so closely to him, he might not have waited so long to come and see you.
"What are you--" you complained, pushing yourself away from him. But Diluc's hand had already wandered beneath the pillow, feeling the hot water bottle you kept secured there, only to replace it with his palm. He was just as, if not hotter than anything the servants could procure for you; his body temperature naturally elevated from his vision. It wouldn't burn you, but with his hand hugging your lower belly, it was much more effective and fitting than any appliance might be.
And you fell for it, even if just for a split second.
For a moment, you leaned into the comfort of his palm, the pain vanishing in the blink of an eye. Diluc even caught you sighing briefly before you came to your senses, jolting and pushing away from him, only to get stuck inside the blanket and pressed up against him. Diluc couldn't help but grin, having read your actions before they even occurred to you, but of course, this was a serious matter, so he quickly composed himself.
"H-Hey!" you yelled as his hand drifted lower, his face burying into the nape of your neck. He wasn't there to dilly-dally but to be of service. To help you in your time of need. By the time Diluc pressed his lips to your skin and his fingers between your legs, you understood his intentions as well, perhaps misinterpreted, but clear as day.
He was going to fuck the pain away.
If exercise and stimulation helped others, maybe it would do the same for you. His fingers were met with warm slick, your body flinching when he moved over your clit. Perhaps his calloused hands weren't made for caressing and soft touches but for teasing and stimulating. Judging by how puffy your lower lips were, worked up from days of rubbing your legs together and your panties aggravating them mercilessly, you were in dire need of his help.
"Don't fight it. You're not alone in this," Diluc reassured you as you squirmed in his hold, biting back the salacious sounds of pleasure you were keeping from his ears. You were so mean, keeping every little taste of appreciation from Diluc, knowing how much it meant to him. But he'd endure. Even when your ass ground back against his cock, making it incredibly hard to not focus on his needs as well, he'd put you first in all of this.
When he slipped his pointer and middle finger towards your entrance, a tremor went through your body, a gasp slipping out from between your lips. Diluc never knew how easy it was to get inside another person, greeted warmly and happily by your hole clenching around his fingers.
His kisses became more fervent against your neck, teeth snapping out as he felt like he was losing himself in your scent and warmth. The pushes of his hips against your ass became faster, your cheeks fitting so well around his shaft. You yelled at him to stop, but he barely heard you through the sounds of your sloppy, wet cunt, blood mingling with eager juices to allow him more reach inside you. It was almost as if he could hear them beg for him to go deeper, which just wasn't possible with his knuckles in the way, no matter how much he tried.
Forgotten was the pain as pleasure raked its claws through both of you, and yet, Diluc still heard you whine and sob as he scissored his fingers through your inside. It wasn't enough. He opened his eyes he didn't know he had closed, staring at your expression curiously. All he saw was anger and disgust, your teeth bared and ready to snap, while he could feel your nails digging into his arm. And yet, when he found your eyes, he saw a very different version of events. Lust, desire, longing. You wanted more, and Diluc wouldn't refuse such a request.
Slipping a leg between yours, he pried them apart, spreading you open wide. You gasped, squirming and trying to cut off his access, but Diluc only had to lean back to steal your balance, your body reliant on his while he gained more space on your bed. The hardest part was freeing his cock from the restraint of his pants, the fabric soggy with both your juices as well as his own pre-cum pearling off the tip of his engorged cock.
Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your wet cunt greeting his eager cock. No imagining of this situation could have come close to the throbbing heat, your walls convulsing around his fingers in eager expectation. Diluc placed his tip against his fingers, planning to slip them out and take the opening to sink into you, but with how wet the combination of blood and juices was, he felt himself slipping away, kissing your clit instead.
And for the first time, you moaned.
It was the sound of angels and everything nice, and he drew his hips back, trying again to fill you with his cock, missing it just an inch. All good things are three, and when he finally plunged it deep inside your pussy, you weren't the only one yowling in pleasure. No matter what he had imagined his first time with you to be, nothing would ever top the mess he caused between your legs, his cock ready to burst as it pulsated violently inside your equally as ready cunt.
He could feel the waves of pleasure going through you, the shudders in your limbs as he began to slowly press forward, kissing the last few inches of his reach. You remained stiff as a plank, but when he pulled out halfway before sinking in deep again, you were unable to keep your mouth shut, an elongated moan making its way to Diluc's ears, letting him know it was the right thing after all.
Immediately, any hesitation fell off him as he dragged his cock out and sunk it back into you. Fingers retreated to your clit, continuing to slip off and assault the little knob over and over while your walls clenched around his shaft, making you feel every one of his throbs and ridges, the heat between you two almost scorching.
Part of him couldn't believe it worked. That he actually managed to help you with this trick. But he'd have been a liar if he said it wasn't a pleasure for him, too. Diluc could never have dreamed about your proficiency in driving him wild, from your hot, puffy pussy wrapping around him to the improper sounds he had never heard coming from your lips before. The blood kept you so wet and loud down there; it was like you were synching your moans with your pussy, sloppy as they were.
It couldn't have been better, a shudder going through you from head to toe, your feet curling as you gurgled. Diluc wrapped his free arm around your throat, pulling you against him and burying his face in your shoulder as you came hard, juices leaking out, red dripping on the clean sheets with the blanket long discarded.
You were gasping for air as he plunged right back into you, waiting but a mere few seconds of yours before pursuing his own orgasm. Selfishly, but unable to stop. Diluc was already too deep in it, quite literally, your orgasm making your inside tight around him, but it posed no challenge with how drenched you both were.
A strained groan escaped Diluc as he buckled, feeling the first squirts of cum shoot out of him before he drew back, popping out of your cunt and covering it in his cum. His tip got stuck on your clit, as his jizz ejected under the pressure of his orgasm, making you mewl as you were once again stimulated. It would be a mess to clean, but it had been worth it.
You two collapsed, spent and dirty, but Diluc slipped his palm back over your lower stomach, rubbing the collection of juices over your soft skin, leaving a red trail. Kissing the side of your head, he was trying to collect his breath and thoughts, barely able to think straight as the feelings of happiness and his relief kept him in a chokehold.
"Better?" he asked, his voice a blissful rumble as he pulled you firmer against him.
But all he was met with was a cold glare and tears in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered instinctively, immediately feeling bad. What had he done to upset you again? Your teeth were biting into your lip as if you were holding back a tirade of screaming, ready to explode.
His cock twitched between your legs, bloody and so, so wet.
"I'll make it better! I promise! I will definitely make it better," he tried to reassure you, dazed with pleasure as he was, unable to see the actual problem with all of this. Your body convulsed in shock as he pressed his tip upwards again, and you gasped loudly as he sunk his inches inside you. This time, he wouldn't fail to make you feel better. And until then, he'd keep going.
All night long, if he had to.
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