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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

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

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

It still made little sense to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I need a third one,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Next time?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t make me laugh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens within seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-Okay— I… I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You would never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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hwamphwamp · 2 months ago

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i wished for you // choi jongho

a/n: meant to write a little something for Jongho's birthday and wouldn't you know it, I forgot every time I thought about it. I wrote this sappy shit while taking one of the longest baths of my life today so enjoy!

genre: fluff

word count: 848

warnings: none really outside of the mention of alcohol/being drunk? a little lovesick bullshit here?? a little self-indulgent fluff there???

———————————————————————————

It wasn’t uncommon for you to return home from work to find a voicemail from Jongho waiting for you. In fact, the two of you had been engaged in a playful game of voicemail tag for the past week and a half, navigating the challenges of time differences and your hectic schedules. Yet, even though you would have preferred to hear his voice directly, there was something comforting about receiving those little snippets of him—like a sweet surprise at the end of a long, dreary day.

Most of his voicemails were usually straightforward—brief updates about his day, questions about yours, the usual exchanges that kept you connected across the miles. But tonight’s voicemail was much different.

“Ok, so I know we just got to the point of saying ‘I love you’ recently,” he began, a playful tone to his voice as though he was already aware of how this might sound. "So I hope this doesn’t freak you out, but I’m a weeeee bit drunk." You could picture him grinning sheepishly, the way he always did when he was nervous or about to say something he thought might make you laugh. He continued, “And when the guys had me blow out the candles on my cake tonight, I wished for you."

You paused when you heard those words. "I wished for you." It sounded so simple, but it carried a weight you weren’t expecting. He already had you—what more could he wish for? The thought lingered for a moment before he quickly clarified, his tone a little softer now, a touch more serious.

"Not like... I didn't actually wish FOR you. I already have you, duh." You couldn’t help but smile at that, imagining the playful roll of his eyes as he said it. "But I wished for you to always be with me, which is so stupid because I know you could never just drop everything and run around the world with me." His voice dipped slightly, as if he was wrestling with the reality of the situation, acknowledging how far-fetched his wish really was. And yet, there was something so genuine about the way he said it, something so heartfelt that it made your chest tighten.

He paused for a moment, as though he was trying to gather his thoughts or maybe second-guessing whether he should keep going, but then he pushed on. “But still, I wished that by some miracle we could just be alone together for the rest of our lives.”

That’s when the weight of his words really sank in. He wasn’t just talking about wanting you by his side during the fun, easy moments. He was talking about the kind of deep, unwavering connection where nothing—no job, no obligation, no distance—could ever come between you. It was the kind of wish you made when you’re so completely in love with someone that you can’t imagine a life without them.

In his slightly tipsy, vulnerable state, he was letting you in on something raw and real: the dream of having you all to himself, of being able to live in a world where it was just the two of you, free from the chaos of everyday life. It was the kind of wish that, while impossible, was filled with so much love and longing that it made your heart ache a little. He knew it wasn’t realistic—he even said so—but that didn’t stop him from wishing for it anyway. There was something achingly romantic about that.

Then came the part that made you smile the most: “Did that make sense?” You could practically hear him blushing on the other end of the line, embarrassed by how open he had just been, how he had let his guard down completely. And before you could even process everything he’d said, he wrapped it up with a quick, “It’s ok, love you, goodnight,” like he needed to get the last few words out before his courage faded.

That voicemail—just a simple, drunken message—felt like you were getting to peek through a window that lead straight to his heart. It wasn’t just about the words “I love you” that you’d both recently started saying; it was about the kind of love that made him wish, without hesitation, that you could always be together. His wish wasn’t about material things or fleeting moments. It was about living a life where it was just the two of you, lost in your own little world.

Sure, he laughed it off a bit, tried to make it seem like it was no big deal, but you knew better. There was something so sincere, so deeply affectionate in his words that you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell as you listened. It wasn’t just the alcohol talking—this was him, unfiltered, admitting that he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it, and wishing that somehow, you’d never have to be apart.

No matter what, you were determined to make his birthday wish a reality. After all, it was your wish too, and you’d tell him that as soon as his hangover subsided the next day.

#happy belated birthday to my favorite silly lil dude #wish he wasn’t a figment of my imagination #jongho #choi jongho #ateez #ateez jongho #atz #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #atz fanfiction #atz fanfic #ateez x reader

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vampyresovereign · 6 months ago

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pooka..pooka..!!! do Leona dating HEADCANONS!

*rubs your feet*

your wish is my command pooka doodle... -isa<3

DATING LEONA KINGSCHOLAR HEADCANONS

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Quick Synopsis: just a bunch of general headcanons of what leona would be like in a relationship + little drabbles in between Tags: Use of Y/N, use of "herbivore" nickname, reader is not Yuu, no specific physical description of reader, reader is a Night Raven student

HOW YOU TWO WOULD MEET

From the way the books/vignettes portray him, I'm going to be real and say I see Leona as an introvert, maybe go as far to say he's kind of a shut in. OBVIOUSLY not as much as Idia, but he doesn't really strike me as someone who would be actively looking for love like that (at first.) definitely not the type to do the cliche "locking eyes with object of affection for the first time and just falling head over heels" shtick. to me, it seems like he's just tuning everything out until he eventually graduates, which is why for you to be even considered, you'd have to be a constant, like someone he's always getting partnered with in classes or a mutual friend. sorry guys.. no hallway crushes here.

In all honesty, you were less than ecstatic when Crewel had decided to partner you with your fellow classmate, Leona Kingscholar.

He had never done anything to you personally to give you a negative impression of him, but it was just his demeanor and how he carried himself around the general public. Not speaking in class, you could barely recall his voice, and constantly maintaining that annoyed scowl.. When he was awake.

Did you mention that he had no shame about sleeping in class?

He just.. intimidated you. When it was about time to shift to your station with Leona, you grabbed your things and awkwardly sat down in the chair next to him. He was leaning back on the chair, eyes closed, ears twitching slightly to let you know he sensed your presence.

Whatever little assignment you two had to do would last a week at most, maybe even shorter than that, so Leona was under the impression he wouldn't have to care about you that much.

Little did he know.

CONFESSION HEADCANONS

One thing about Leona is that the man has a TRUCKLOAD of pride inside of him. Though, he's not stupid. He watched Falena fall in love with his future wife, he's seen old friends get into relationships. He is no stranger to love. When he realizes he has feelings for you, his first instinct would be to gaslight himself and try to deny it, especially if you were someone smaller or more sensitive than him. He didn't come to Night Raven to fall in love, especially with someone like you. If anything, it should be the other way around (haaah.) It wasn't even his choice to be on campus to begin with. However, the more he thinks about it, the more he tries to ignore it whilst spending time with you, the more unbearable it becomes to keep his feelings bottled up. The first person he confides in is Ruggie, but not with a direct approach. He'd ask him little one off questions, like "What would you do if _______" or "If you had a partner would ________." Ruggie would most definitely be confused at first, wondering why Leona, who was never once interested in romance was suddenly asking for his opinions on the topic, but Ruggie is smart. He'd see you two hanging out frequently, put the pieces together, and absolutely bombard Leona with questions and jokes. Essentially, Ruggie suggests that the only solution to this "annoyance" as Leona puts it, is for him to grow some balls and tell you how he feels himself. That has Leona grumbling. Expressing your feelings means being vulnerable with someone, something Leona would not be caught dead doing. This isn't fair, where did all his confidence go? If he looked at you any longer, he guessed he going to go into cardiac arrest from the way his heart pounded in his ribcage, like a ticking time-bomb.

"Hey, is everything okay? You said you wanted to talk," You exclaimed.

Leona scratched his head, avoiding eye contact for a few seconds before focusing back on you and your concerned expression. This was embarrassing. There were worse things he hadn't hesitated to say to other people before, but asking you out was of course the thing that had him fumbling like an idiot.

"So.. Remember that movie trailer you kept yappin' about?"

"Of course I do, I've wanted to see it for a while."

"Well, you're in luck. I bought us tickets to go see it Friday night, if you want."

Your lips curled into a small smile, and you began to look genuinely excited. "Really? That's actually so cool of you!"

"Mhm. But by us, I mean just us."

You raised an eyebrow. "...Are you asking me out?"

A light red tint painted his cheeks, indicating to you that you had absolutely hit the nail on his intentions.

"Herbivore, do you want to or not?" He quipped, suddenly getting defensive.

"Alright, alright, sure. It's a date."

ACTUAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

After that little movie date, it didn't have to be said, but both of you knew that the feeling was mutual. It wouldn't take long for Leona to start referring to you as his partner, and vice-versa. He wouldn't act much differently than he did when you two were "just friends," but he'd definitely be more territorial, teasing, and affectionate in public. I imagine him to be kind of annoying too, walking up to you with your friends and greeting you by saying some shit like "WSG LIL BRO!" and then proceeding to headlock + give you a noogie in front of them. 😭😭 now.. where did all this sudden energy come from? A few months ago, Ruggie remembered Leona never wanting to get out of bed, avoiding classwork and avoiding people in general if he didn't have to talk to them. But when the two of you start dating, he starts to care a lot more about things he considered insignificant. He suddenly starts to notice how frizzy his hair gets over the course of the day, and brushes it periodically so he'll look good when he meets you after your classes. He puts on a nicer smelling cologne. He starts to take notice of his spending habits. Yeah sure, he's a prince, he got mad money, but at the same time, the numbers are starting to go down because he bought you flowers, expensive jewelry, and more clothes all in one week. He also makes an effort to get to know your friends and interests. It's not like he didn't care much before, but he really likes to listen to your voice and hear you talk. He could do it for hours, falling asleep to it and waking up to it. Speaking of falling asleep, yes cuddling is involved in this relationship. He's lowkey a bad influence. You've gotten in trouble multiple times because you've asked to use the bathroom, using the hall pass as an excuse to roam around in the botanical gardens until you find him. He ALWAYS convinces you to stay with him and take a nap, resulting in you oversleeping and getting detention. But it's aight. Y'all are in detention together. In conclusion, mans is head over heels for you. Screw his head for this sudden vulnerability, and screw you for keeping him around, making him fall deeper everyday.

DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW TO GET THE FUCKING WEIRD SMALL TEXT WITH RANDOM BIG LETTERS GLITCH OFF IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT BUT ITS PISSING ME OFF -isa<3

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar headcanons #ts is NOT proofread ngl

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featguler · 5 months ago

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kylian relationship headcanon?

can i come over ? ────── just another episode of tenderness.

♡ ────── pairing : kylian mbappé x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. ♡ ────── wordcount : 667 ♡ ────── notes : posting this one as a good luck token for the france vs netherlands game!! ily kylian. i try to not just write the happy parts of the relationship but also the hurdles you two might face? i might do more of these since i've got some ideas still :^) (quick disclaimer: since these are headcanons of real people, i'd like to emphasize that if you do not agree with any of the things i write, please kindly click off the post). title is from cool dry place by katy kirby ♡ masterlist.

Kylian Mbappé. Every single person on the Earth knows his name. But you especially—how could you not? When he doesn’t have his eyes on a football game, or his legs on a football field, he has them on you.

Hand on your knee at every single group dinner, behind your neck at every hangout with friends; his skin is always in contact with yours at every single second.

Touchy does not even begin to describe him.

If it were up to him, he would drag you to the changing room and have you sit between his legs—but no, it is not up to him.

Well, mostly because he doesn’t want to be the one that brings the elephant into the room, but also it is so bad that other people are beginning to think of you as a nuisance.

“Mbappé can’t keep his hands off his partner,” a tabloid once wrote, and it only took a few quote retweets from some Parc des Princes employees, heavily agreeing, for it to go viral.

“Sorry,” you once said to a manager, then to a janitor, then to a teammate, Kylian trailing quietly behind you, arms around your waist.

And he gets sooo whiny if you push him away—what’s worse than losing a match? His dramatic ass would say that it’s having you steer away from his touches!

“Kylian,” you whine on the couch, pushing his face away as he tries to kiss you for the hundredth time that hour. “Please, I’m trying to watch a film here.”

“Mhm,” He pouts, arms around your back, hoping that you’d look at him. He looks at you, his chin on your chest before sighing. “You hate me right? Be honest.”

“Please,” you say again, eyes never leaving the television, “you can kiss me all you want the moment the movie ends.”

He tends to avoid. You’ve known him for so long, and you are at the point where you would almost forgive him for the amount of issues that have simmered too long in both of your discontent.

But you don’t do that. No. You see forever with this man, right? So you sit him down and talk.

You’ve got to admit that Kylian has gotten so, so much better in recent years.

He used to flee at every problem—it’s not that he has trouble expressing his emotions, it’s that he has trouble being vulnerable.

“You’re doing this again,” you roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. Kylian won’t look you in the eyes. “I’m sick of this.”

“Come on,” Kylian tries reaching a hand over the table to you—well, if he’s going to ignore you, you sure as hell are going to ignore him too. “Look at me, we don’t have to talk about this right now.”

“Right,” you huff out, letting out a sarcastic laugh, “so when are we going to talk about this.”

Kylian stays quiet.

Kylian likes luxurious things; and he likes you. The same thing, really, in his eyes. A priceless watch and your priceless kiss—this is the kind of luxury a man like him can only dream of.

He goes all the way for his show of love, of course! He customises everything he owns with your initials.

Once, he somehow left his passport in the airport, and what got people into talking was not his passport, but your initials embroidered on its leather cover.

The strap of his duffel bag is changed into a shade of your favourite colour, your initials and his sewn together under it—it does not stop there! A gold plated lapel pin with your name on it becomes a staple on every single suit he wears; socks with your initials when cuffed; matching bracelets he only takes off before practice and matches.

He makes sure the camera flashing on his face gets it: he’d pose in a certain angle, throw his scarf over his shoulders in a certain way.

Even when you’re not there, he still loves showing you off!

#໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა : 𝑬𝑼𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑨 #kylian mbappe #mbappe #mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x reader #real madrid #real madrid x reader #real madrid fic #football fic #football x reader #kylian mbappé #headcanons

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eu-nicola · 1 month ago

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arranged marriage part 3

and final

sinopsis: after the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Rafe falls into a severe depression. His family offers him a family friend, Arabella, with whom he has always had a bad relationship, to marry him for the good of the family.

warnings: arranged marriage, barely named violence, mentions of possible pregnancy, etc

author's note: this story is very long, english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct

word count: 3148

mention: @rafegf-real

The next morning, Arabella woke up alone as usual. She sat up slowly, still with the memories of the previous night replaying in her mind. She searched for her phone on the nightstand, hoping perhaps to find a message. Her fingers slid across the screen, and finally found it: a short message from Rafe, telling her that he had left early to take care of some business and would return later.

Arabella let out a sigh, neither upset nor surprised. She knew what Rafe was like and it was obvious that he was going to leave her alone after what had happened the night before. So, after reading his message, she got up, took a quick shower and dressed in a light robe. She went down to the garden, where she asked for breakfast to be served. The morning was cool, and the rays of the sun illuminated the freshly watered flowers. As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her, the other members of the family began to appear, still sleepy but with tired smiles.

The conversation over breakfast was quiet, Arabella didn't say much, she answered a few questions and made a few comments about where Rafe was. But Arabella couldn't quite concentrate.

When she finished breakfast, she retreated to her room to get ready to go out. She wanted to clear her head, see if Rafe would come back at some point. However, as she was going through the contents of her bag and choosing the last detail of her outfit, her phone vibrated again. This time, the message was from Sarah. She read it and her eyebrows immediately furrowed:

Sarah: "Arabella, Rafe threatened JJ. He told him not to come near you again. Do you realize what he's doing?"

Arabella felt a pang of discomfort. Had Rafe threatened JJ? The news surprised and irritated her, but at the same time a part of her understood why he would do it. Her fingers typed quickly before she even stopped to think.

Arabella: "Maybe he exaggerated, but I don't think he did it in a bad way."

A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again. Sarah answered almost immediately, and her tone seemed much more upset.

Sarah: "Are you really defending him? Arabella, he threatened JJ, don't you understand how serious that is? He shouldn't be butting into things like that!"

Arabella bit her lip, feeling a mix of emotions beginning to well up inside her. She knew Sarah was right, but she also felt loyalty towards Rafe, as if it was her duty to at least try to understand him.

Arabella: "I'm just saying that maybe he has his reasons. He cares about me, Sarah."

Sarah: "Does he care? Please, Arabella. Two days ago you said you couldn't stand the way he is and now it turns out that you're on his side. You shouldn't be so naive. Rafe can't go around threatening people who are close to you. That's not normal!"

Arabella felt frustration building up inside her, wishing Sarah could understand. Her words came out in the chat without quite measuring them:

Arabella: "He's my husband, Sarah. You may not understand, but I'm going to defend him."

Sarah: "Your husband? Until yesterday you said you hated him, that you couldn't trust him. And now you're defending him like he's the best thing that ever happened to you? Make up your mind, Arabella! You can't go from one extreme to another every time it suits you."

Sarah's last message hit Arabella like a slap in the face. She stared at the phone screen, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Was it true? She had been confused, yes. Her feelings towards Rafe had changed rapidly, but it felt almost as if she had no control over it.

Arabella left the conversation with Sarah hanging in the air, deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on. With her jaw clenched and her fists slightly tense, she finished getting dressed. Before she left the house, thinking she could at least clear her head a little, she heard the sound of a door opening. Looking up, she found herself face to face with Rafe, who had just arrived with a carefree, almost haughty expression.

The tension between them was palpable. Rafe barely glanced at her and seemed ready to ignore her, but Arabella couldn't keep quiet.

"Really, Rafe?" she snapped, her tone cold, though with a hint of vulnerability that betrayed her frustration. "After last night, do you feel like threatening JJ?"

Rafe let out a short, humorless laugh, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and disinterest. He seemed about to make a scathing comment, but instead, he just shrugged.

"You should be grateful," he replied in his arrogant tone, completely dismissing her words. "I'm doing you a favor by not having that Pogue on top of you."

Arabella felt a knot forming in her stomach, somewhere between anger and sadness, but she stood firm, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

“You're shit, Rafe. You treat me like I'm worthless, after last night, you left me alone again, like I didn't matter,” she whispered, no longer able to keep up the cold mask.

Rafe rolled his eyes, but instead of ignoring her, as he usually did, he realized that Arabella was ready to leave. Without thinking too much, he grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving forward. The strength of his grip surprised her, and she looked at him, seeing his eyes darken with a mix of fury and something she couldn't immediately identify.

“Where do you think you're going?” he asked, his voice low and charged with an intensity that made her tremble.

Arabella tried to break free, but his grip was firm. She looked directly into his eyes, searching for something that had perhaps ceased to exist a long time ago. Rafe held her without giving an inch, as if he really cared that she tried to leave.

“Away from you,” she replied, her voice barely audible, but each word resonated loudly. “If you don’t want me here, then I’d better leave already.”

For a second, Rafe looked at her with something that almost seemed like surprise. His haughty expression cracked, revealing a slight shadow of doubt before his mask fell back into place. But instead of letting go, he tightened his grip, pulling her even closer to him.

“And you think you can leave that easily?” he asked, challenging her. “You should know I won’t make it that easy for you.”

Arabella swallowed hard, feeling frustration and pain burning inside her. She looked at him, hurt and defiant.

“You’re the one who leaves me no choice,” she said, controlling the tremble in her voice. “Why do you want me to stay? To ignore me?” To remind me every day that I'm nothing but a burden?

Rafe let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, but he didn't answer. Instead, his eyes wandered for a moment, as if he were looking for a way to express something he himself didn't know. But, without saying anything else, he abruptly let go of her, as if by doing so he were reaffirming his own indifference.

Arabella decided she didn't want to spend another minute in that house. So her only plan was to spend the day at her parents' house, John and Margaret. Upon arrival, the hugs were warm and sincere, full of affection and the familiarity of those who don't see each other that often. "I missed you so much," he told them, smiling as he settled into the cozy sofa of his home, decorated in soft shades of blue and white.

During the day, Arabella and her mother enjoyed the warmth of the sun in the garden, where Margaret had prepared a small seating area with cushions and blankets. They caught up, her mother asking a thousand and one questions, most of which Arabella answered by lying. Margaret loved Rafe and truly believed he was the perfect son for her daughter and that their marriage was going very well.

As the evening fell, John decided that he would be in charge of dinner, a duty he had always considered a pleasure. He headed to the kitchen and began preparing Italian pizza, one of Arabella's favorite dishes, which filled the house with its comforting aroma. Meanwhile, Arabella and her mother took care of setting the table. The laughter and chatter continued as they arranged the plates and cutlery, and Margaret told him about the latest news in the neighborhood.

"I ran into Mrs. Thompson at the market today," Margaret said, smiling as she recalled the conversation. “She was so proud of her new pot of begonias, she almost convinced me that I should buy some for the garden.”

“She’s always been a bit over the top with plants,” Arabella laughed, enjoying the light, familiar atmosphere.

However, as night began to fall and dinner was almost ready, the doorbell rang, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Margaret hurried to open the door, excited by the arrival of a visitor. Arabella, feeling a pang of anxiety, tried to ignore the uneasiness inside her. “Maybe it’s a neighbor,” she thought, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing at the name the maid called.

“Mr. Cameron!” the maid announced, and at that moment, Arabella felt her blood run cold. Her face lost color and her mind began to spin. She didn’t want to see him, not in this environment, not after their last argument. However, her mother’s happiness pushed her to hide her discomfort.

“Rafe, what a surprise!” Margaret exclaimed with a bright smile, as she made her way to greet him with open arms. John joined her as well, completely oblivious to the tension between his daughter and the young man. Arabella stood still, almost paralyzed, watching as Rafe entered her home, with his characteristic confidence.

“Arabella,” Rafe said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but with a tone that made his words seem more like a challenge than a greeting. Arabella stared back at him, trying to keep her composure, even though inside she was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions.

“Come, dinner is ready. John has made his famous Italian pizza,” she said excitedly. As everyone sat down at the table, Arabella knew the evening could get complicated. Rafe took the place next to her, and even though she tried to focus on the food and her parents’ conversation, her mind was stuck on Rafe.

As dinner progressed, the table was filled with laughter and lively conversation. Arabella's parents couldn't help but ask questions about their daughter and Rafe's marriage. Margaret beamed proudly as she asked, "So, Rafe, what's our little girl like as a wife?"

Rafe, trying to keep his composure, replied with a smile. "She's very good, I couldn't have asked for better."

Arabella, sitting next to him, felt a slight tingle in her stomach as she listened to him. As the conversation continued, John turned to Arabella with an inquisitive look.

"And you, daughter? How do you feel about this new life you're building together?"

She smiled, aware that she couldn't let the awkwardness show on her face. "It's a new beginning for both of us."

The words seemed to hang in the air, but as the questions continued, Rafe and Arabella glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, sharing nervous smiles that tried to hide the underlying tension. Rafe's ability to maintain small talk was becoming an art.

Finally, dinner came to an end and John stood up to pour drinks. Rafe took the opportunity to approach Arabella, placing his hand on her waist naturally, as if it were something he had done all his life. However, for Arabella, the sensation was strange, almost uncomfortable. The touch of his hand caused her a mix of confusion and curiosity.

As John poured a drink, Margaret joined the conversation. “We know that the first stages can be complicated, but you always have to keep communicating. How do you guys handle that?”

Rafe, taking a sip of his drink, turned to Arabella, hoping she could add something to the conversation. She, feeling his gaze, replied, “Yes, we definitely have to talk about what we feel. Honesty is key.”

John nodded, satisfied. “That's what we want to hear. The foundation of any successful marriage is trust.”

Rafe, noticing how John approved of Arabella's response, felt he could relax a little more. His hand slid back slightly, making sure she was comfortable, though the gesture only intensified Arabella's discomfort. There was a tension in the air that they could both feel, and at the same time, there was a strange connection that was forming in the midst of the familiar conversation.

The night was growing thicker as John and Margaret said goodbye, noticing the tiredness on their faces. They approached Arabella and Rafe, telling them that they had prepared a room for them in the back cabin so they could have some privacy. They both nodded silently, and after a few words of farewell, they headed together towards the small shelter, not speaking along the way, surrounded by an awkward tension.

The awkwardness between them seemed to fill every corner of the room, making even the smallest noise feel amplified. Arabella, not wanting to start a conversation, walked around the room taking off her jacket and shoes, while Rafe stood in the doorway watching her with an unreadable expression. The awkwardness seemed to morph into something else, something neither of them could quite figure out.

Arabella removed her clothes with slow but determined movements. She didn't bother to look at Rafe, or to cover herself in any way; she had reached a point where embarrassment seemed a distant concept, and with a few too many drinks, her inhibitions had disappeared. When she was completely naked, she approached him without saying a word, her eyes holding Rafe's in silent defiance.

Arriving in front of him, she raised her arms, inviting him to touch her. Rafe hesitated for a moment, but then took her in his hands, running his gaze over her, as if trying to understand the unexpected display of bravery. Without warning, he kissed her intensely, capturing her lips in an almost desperate gesture, as if through that kiss he wanted to resolve all the silences and accumulated tensions.

Arabella, however, moved away a few centimeters, looking at him with a mixture of defiance and frustration.

"Why didn't they choose another woman to marry you?" she asked, her words resonating with a resentment that went beyond simple words.

Rafe did not avoid the intensity of his gaze and, without hesitation, he answered her with a low voice loaded with a sincerity that surprised her.

"No other woman could have put up with me like you do."

Arabella closed her eyes for a moment, processing those words. The resentment continued to burn inside her, although little by little she felt that something else was emerging between them, something that confused her.

“So… is our marriage always going to be like this?” he murmured, whispering the question into the air. “Torturous?”

Rafe watched her in silence, and after a moment, he raised one of his hands to gently caress her cheek. There was something unexpectedly tender in his gesture, something Arabella hadn’t seen in him before.

“We can make it work,” he told her, his voice so low it almost seemed like a shared secret.

Arabella felt his words seep into her skin, calming something inside her. She didn’t know if she could trust his promises, or what her own emotions were telling her at that moment, but in that instant, she decided that none of that mattered.

Rafe kissed her again, and this time the kiss was slower, deeper. Without words, they both let themselves go, allowing the barriers that used to separate them to fade away in the darkness of the night. Between kisses and caresses, they shared an intimacy that went beyond words and silences, allowing themselves, for a moment, to forget all doubts and resentments.

They spent the night together, giving themselves over to an act that seemed to be both a fight and a truce, a way of getting closer and protecting each other at the same time. Amidst sighs and caresses, they abandoned themselves to a closeness they had never shared before, as if that night were a promise of what their life together could be, or perhaps just a fleeting moment in the midst of uncertainty.

After that moment, Rafe and Arabella's relationship definitely didn't turn into a fairy tale. They both had their quirks, and their character wasn't easy, to put it mildly. However, something had changed between them; the tension that had once separated them began to transform into a genuine connection. They began to understand each other, and that compatibility that had been so hard to find emerged in the most unexpected places, especially in the warmth of the bed.

Rafe, who had never thought too much about ties or commitments, now found himself being fiercely protective. He had lost a woman in the past, and the wound was still there, latent. But with Arabella it was different; the fear of losing her was eating away at him. He had come to realize how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. Only she managed to disarm him and expose his vulnerabilities, and although that terrified him, he accepted it because he knew he wanted her in his life forever. Arabella was the woman he wanted to build a future with, the only one with whom he could imagine children and a life in peace.

Arabella, for her part, was satisfied, but more than satisfied, she was happy. At last she could get along with her husband in every possible way; there were no more secrets or nights when he disappeared. Every night, Rafe stayed by her side, enveloping her with his presence and warmth, and every night, she silently prayed that from that love and desire, a child would grow in her womb. She longed so much for that dream: to form a family with him, a stable and happy family, something she had not always had. She was going to achieve it, because Arabella knew that Rafe, with all his faults, was the man she loved. He was still the same, arrogant and haughty, that man that all the girls wanted but that only she had the pleasure of calling HERS.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #drew starkey #obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x oc #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #obx4 #obx fic #obx season 4

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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

Text

A Waltz Of Blades And Blood

Sylus x gn!Reader

I'm not happy with it but I'm so tired of trying to get it to work the way I want it to

Based on this post

Warnings: sparring/fighting, blood, injuries, minor knifeplay, mild/implied sexual content, kissing, no smut

Word Count: 1,235 (so close 😭)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Psst fill this out to be tagged in fics)

Sylus doesn’t immediately enter the ring when you go to train today. Instead, you watch as he goes to a weapon rack against the wall and grabs out a couple of knives. He’s smirking at your wide-eyed look as he holds one by the blade for you to take.

“We’re using knives today?” You take it and turn it over in your hand. It feels strange in your grip. You’d trained with guns, swords, claymores, even with a bow, but never had you dealt with a knife like this. The blade gleams threateningly in the overhead lighting.

“Not everyone is going to try shooting you in a tough situation,” he says. He lifts the rope and climbs onto the stage. You follow behind. “If, say, a mugger tries to threaten you and steal your money, you should know how to defend yourself.”

He holds his hands up in a fighting stance. You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to disarm first, if that’s your concern?”

He smirks. “A kitten should know how to use its claws first.”

You frown as you mimic his stance. It’s the same one used for the boxing regime he put you through, only altered by your hold on the knife.

“Try to stab me.”

You huff. You know you won’t be able to, but the idea of drawing blood with these is… unsettling, at best. Your only solace is found in the knowledge that he can heal himself.

You try to slash at his arm, but he steps to the side and pushes your wrist away, creating an opening to strike at your chest. His knife stops before it can pierce you, resting sideways against your stomach, with the flat side against your workout shirt.

“Not bad, kitten. Follow through every motion. If your knife gets stuck because you don’t keep up the momentum, you’ll be vulnerable to attacks until you get it back.”

The subsequent training sessions go much the same way. He deflects or avoids your attack, taps you where you’d be hit in such an instance, and gives you advice. You manage to get a cut or two in, but he wipes the blood away and the mark is gone entirely. When you do, he’s quick to praise you, pushing aside how shitty it makes you feel in favor of encouraging you to catch him again.

The next day, he grabs the knives again. “You did well yesterday, kitten. Let’s up the stakes, shall we?” He plays with the knife in his hand as you get up on the stage. “No more training wheels. A real sparring match.”

You look down over the ropes at him like he’s crazy. “First person stabbed loses?”

“What’s the matter?” He walks up to the ropes, smirking up at you with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Afraid of getting scratched?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “How about first person to get pinned down loses? Our internal organs are at less personal risk that way.”

He chuckles. “Alright, I accept.”

The fight isn’t easy. You both land blows on each other, punching and slicing to defend and take down. Your arms mirror his, covered in knicks and cuts. You have a cut on your right cheek, where you’d stabbed him during your first encounter with the big boss of the N109 Zone.

It’s like a dance. You strike, he blocks. He strikes, you dodge. Blood litters the floor. Glittering little droplets that smear as you step over them. A captivating waltz of blades and blood. He could easily overpower you and force you to the ground, but it’s like he’s toying with you, playing a game to see if you can figure out how to use his weak spots against him. And you’re determined to win.

You strike and he grabs your arm, using the momentum to swing it back at you. You block it with your other arm, both of your faces close as you try to keep the knife away from your neck.

You shove against him hard, enough to create a small gap. You hook your ankle around his and pull his leg out from under him, almost turning his body into a lever, with his core as the fulcrum. He doesn’t let go of you as he falls back onto the ground.

Heavy panting fills the air as the dance comes to a still. You straddle his hips, leaning over him as you pin his shoulder to the ground. Both of your blades are against the other’s throat. You can feel the cold steel brush against your flushed skin, the sharp edge teasing the idea of breaking flesh as you swallow.

He smiles up at you, but his eyes can’t seem to stay on yours for long. They trail along your cheek, watching the blood that drips down to your jaw. His hand gently ghosts the edge of the knife along your skin to catch the stray drop. Then his eyes find their way to your mouth. They’re hypnotized by your parted lips as you try to catch your breath.

His knife leaves your skin. It clatters to the side. But you feel his hand as he drags it along your bleeding arm to hold your wrist, keeping you from removing the blade from his own throat. You can feel your weight shift as he flips you, kneeling between your legs with the knife still held against his neck. His other hand is by your head, holding himself up.

He leans down against the knife. You try to pull it away, but his hand tightens slightly around your wrist, keeping it in place. His face is mere centimeters away. You can feel his breath ghosting your face as you stare up at him.

“So close, kitten…” he whispers. His lips hover just above yours. Your breath hitches in your throat. He smirks. “We didn’t agree on a prize for the winner… but I think you’ll agree to these terms.”

He kisses you deeply, nose pressing against your cheek as he claims his prize. The knife sinks into the skin at his neck. A rivulet of blood slides down the flat of the blade and drips against your skin. You gasp at the sensation as the droplets slither down the side of your neck, leaving chills in its wake.

Sylus swallows the sound eagerly, growling into your mouth in return as he finally releases your wrist. The knife clatters to the side as carelessly with the other one. You grab the back of his neck and pull him in closer. Still holding himself up, his free hand finds yours and interlaces your fingers together against the floor.

When it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, like all the air from your lungs has been sucked out and your ribs ache, he begins kissing along your cheek. You hiss when his lips seek out the cut. He follows the old trail of blood to your jaw, lips becoming pink as he kisses it away.

You tilt your chin up by pure instinct as he moves lower, kissing along the right side of your neck, before making his way to the left side. His hot tongue glides suddenly along your throat, cleaning his blood off of you. When he speaks, it’s with his lips pressed to your skin.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetie.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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satorubrain · 2 years ago

Note

Heyy <3

Can i have *another* request for the child eater Gojo~ how he would wake us up:

Normally (everyday)

To be sweet~

In an emergency~

and To be a pain!

Thank you!! i'm looking so forward to this!!!

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader.

Tags: Fluff, slight angst.

Synopsis: How Satoru wakes you up.

A/N: WELL THEN I HOPE U ENJOY THIS BBY <3

Normally.

Lets consider this is the normal one but the real normal is "to be a pain"

He wouldn't. He doesn't even want to get up. But your phone is too far from his reach and it's too comfortable to leave. He nuzzles in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent mixed with your lotion.

"Babeeee" he whines. "Your alarm has been going off for the last 15 minutes? Think you can do something about it please?"

"Mn. 5 more minutes pleasee" You mumble in your sleep, head buried in the pillow, eliciting a giggle from him.

It's a daily thing and both of you knew that. The 5 minutes might turn into 5 hours and you'll still somehow manage to doze off without a worry in your sleepyhead.

He hugs you a little tighter before dragging you up along with him, rocking back and forth with you, saying sweet nothings in your ear waking you up (mostly because if he annoys you in the morning, he'd be found dead in the next two seconds).

To be sweet.

This usually happens when you return late at night from a week long mission or when he fully knows you've been having a hard time recently, he tries his best to be extra sweet.

He wakes up a little early, drawing you a bath so you can relax. While the water is filling up he gets you breakfast, since he's prohibited from cooking but at least he knows how to make your favourite kind of tea.

Giving you a gentle kiss on your cheek as he slides an arm under your back, helping you get up.

"Good morning, sweet. I've got you breakfast and drawn a bath for you. What do you want first..... Or perhaps you want me?" He mischievously jokes earning a smack on the shoulder from you.

In an emergency.

I dont really imagine what kind of emergencies he might have. But I can think of three to be specific.

Case 1:

If anything that wakes him is your phone ringing because someone called you at an ungodly time.

Thankfully before it could even bother you, he picks it up just to find out about an emergency exorcism of a special grade curse that appeared out of nowhere. All it did was annoy him, he was irritated by the higherups who decided to summon you at 4 in the morning.

No he still doesn't wake you up. Instead he decides to solve your problem and not bother your peace.

Giving you a quick peck on your forehead, whispering "sleep tight, sweets. I will be right back" to which you mumble random incomprehensible words, which was enough encouragement for him. It doesn't even take him an hour to finish up your work and return to your warm embrace, giving in to his sleep.

"Uhh what did I get paid for?" You question, mostly yourself while checking the text message as you got ready for the day.

"Well i wonder" he stands proudly in front of you grinning widely giving you an answer.

Case 2:

He's crying.

It's one of the days when his thoughts get the better of him, his past comes tumbling down, numbing his senses and leaving him so vulnerable.

He's holding you close, afraid that he'll have to lose you too- maybe that you'll leave him or something else. His past has left a deep wound in his heart that is far from being healed, which reopens from time to time leaving him whimpering and afraid.

You soon wake up to his silent sobs, his chest heaving, and his soft sniffs. It doesn't take you long to come to your senses and realize he's probably having an anxiety attack. You know what's aching him, he doesn't need to tell you nor do you need to ask.

You hug him tightly as you gently pat his head. "My love, my Satoru. I'm here alright? You'll be fine. We will be fine okay, love?" you try your best to comfort him, reminding him to regulate his breathing as you wipe his tears, and thankfully it seems to be working.

"P-please... Don't leave me" Satoru pleads, sounding so pained and broken. You feel your heart shatter at his words.

"Always my love, I'll always be with you" You assure him, cupping his cheeks as he rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes while holding you tightly as he falls asleep.

To be a pain.

Exhibit A.

Another emergency being, him having a stupid question at 3 fucking 48 in the morning.

"babe babe as curses are developing they will start crushing too?" "Do you think Sukuna ever gets lonely? Nah maybe not hes a loser" "Babe will you love me if i was a worm?" "I had a dream of you!!! Did you dream about me too?" He shakes you awake, looking at you with his bright cerulean curious eyes.

"Gojo Satoru are you serious?!"

"My name is not Gojo Satoru, my name is, my love or something like that but not gojo. But what do you think about the question!!!!!!"

Exhibit B.

He has returned from a week-long mission at 4am and of course he wakes you up with a loud announcement of his arrival before he rushes into your shared bedroom, discarding his blindfolds somewhere. The door hits the wall with a loud bang while his throws himself on top of you crushing you with his weight.

"I'm love-starved" He explains cupping your cheeks, frowning and pouting slightly, his eyes a little watery. Enjoying your every movement and grunt that spill past your lips as you try to make space for yourself. Witnessing your beauty makes him realize how much he missed you as he cages with a tight hug.

Exhibit C:

"Rise and shineeeeeee" He declares as he slides the curtains aside causing you to wake up whining.

"Glad you woke up! I need my morning kiss now" He returns to you demanding a morning kiss just to be thrown off the bed when he comes close to you before you rush to the bathroom to get ready.

Oh, how he loves teasing you and annoying you. Knowing you won't even say a word before brushing and getting rid of that morning breath he could care less about.

[REQUESTS ARE OPEN]

#gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo headcanons #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons #jjk angst #gojo x reader angst

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maddiem4 · 7 days ago

Text

Well, I wanna be working on a novel right now, but apparently it's time to make a certain kind of post again, as is periodically necessary, because young queer folk keep trying to reinvent the Hayes Code for a variety of misguided reasons. So you know what? Let me lead with the TLDR, and then give my reasoning. If you DNI stuff like incest, I am not just going to unfollow you, I am going to block you.

Now, if you're the type to make assumptions, you might be surprised to hear that I'm not into incest. Sorry to disappoint. Well, unless you count selfcest, but people don't usually lump those together except by technicality. But incest is really not my thing.

That said, I have mutuals who are into it, and harmless about it. Whether it's fictional, RP, or consensual, it's not my business and it hurts nobody. Get used to those words, they're gonna be a mantra here. Further, I've seen how Hayes Queers (hey, I needed a term for them) talk about harmless members of their own community who give them The Ick. The post I'm writing here is a direct reaction to seeing a Hayes Queer post from someone I followed! Reading that, and the comments on it. And lemme tell you: y'all are very quick to throw your peers under the bus with the exact same logic (respectability politics, personal disgust, "making a bad name for us as a larger group", lurking threat to our moral purity) that the conservatives are using to argue for the mass extermination of queer folk. You are bringing pitchforks and tiki torches to the party. So no, I am not going to give you access to my vulnerable mutuals. That's the heart of it. You are a danger to your community, and I'm going to limit the scope of harm you can do. The broader queer/kink communities have worked hard to define harm more carefully than "well I just personally think it's gross." Scat and piss are gross to me, but my mutuals who are into those things do still deserve love and safety, not to be sacrificed on an altar of conservative family values for imaginary "one of the good ones" points. I have a responsibility to look out for my people. So do you, FYI.

So here's the recipe for living online with people whose kinks aren't your business and hurt nobody: learn to scroll past those posts or block those tags, or even block that person. Be an adult. The world does not exist to be personally palatable to you. You are not being harmed, you're being inconvenienced. If you can't handle that, you're the one bringing real-world (rather than imagined) danger to your community. Fuck's sake.

This also finally convinced me to look up what "proshipper" means after seeing it in discourse for years, these dreaded dangerous devils who apparently must be purged from the internet, and... holy fuck, how is this contentious? It literally just means you can disagree about fandom pairings without harassing people? That's just mature behavior in a shared space. That's what the argument is about? Oh my god. If you're arguing about this in 2024, your Aunt Maddie is fully ashamed of you for real.

The dumbest part is that people get doxxed for saying the stuff I'm saying, and maybe it'll happen to me. Guess I'll roll the dice. Which comes full circle: if you're looking at this post and trying to decide how to punish me for it IRL, you are literally being the danger. Stop and think for 30 milliseconds. Maybe I have a point that you are a bigger threat than two trans girls who like to pretend to be sisters for sex reasons. And I don't wanna hear no trauma excuses from any of you little monkeys, fetishes come from trauma a decent percentage of the time, so a lot of the people you're persecuting are victims of the same kind of assault as you.

This is more words than I ever should have to write about a self-evident topic. I know if you're young enough and still figuring out a lot of life stuff from scratch, it may not be self-evident to you. But hopefully it is now before you fucking hurt somebody. Thanks.

#discourse #i ain't fuckin' havin' it #life is too short to be shortening it for your vulnerable peers

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cor-obscenum · 7 months ago

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Hello!!! Today, I had a really bad panic attack 😭😭😭, and I wish I had someone to comfort me in the only way that would calm me down~ "Listening to their heartbeat and talking sweet nothings so...

Can you please write Terzo and male reader in which Terzo finds his lover in the corner having a panic attack, and the only way to comfort them is letting his lover listen to his heartbeat while talking sweet nothings!

No pressure and Thank you! ♥️♥️♥️

~ brother of sin Vincent

So sorry to hear that, ghestie 🫂 I hope you're okay now! 💓

Breathe With Me

Pairing: Terzo x male reader

Summary: noticing you're having a terrible time, Terzo comforts you the best way he knows.

Tags: rated T, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, cardiophilia

"Caro?"

Tears run down your face, your breathing shallow and quick. It's happening again.

You barely take notice of Terzo squatting next to you as you sit, curled up in the corner, your whole body shaking. Your mind races, you can't focus on a single thing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why does it have to happen to you?

"Ragazzino, you're shaking. I can tell you're not doing okay." Terzo places a tender hand on your shoulder. His touch grounds you back to reality, and you realize he's there.

"I'm s-sorry" that's all you can say between the tears that keep falling, hiding your face in your hands, embarrassed. You hate when Terzo sees you like this, at your most vulnerable.

"No need to be sorry, cuore mio. It's okay, your Papa is here. You are safe with me " He says with a gentle voice, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you closer into a hug. "Now, let's do what we do when you have a panic attack, shall we? Let's take some deep breaths, si?"

Your stiff muscles soften when you realize he's pulling your head close to his chest. Almost instinctively, you snuggle into his sternum, pressing your ear against it. Then you hear the sweetest sound in the world: the soft thumping of his heart. Your favorite song.

"That's it, mio bello ragazzo. Now put your hand on my stomach and breathe with me, okay?" Terzo commands softly and you comply, inhaling deeply as you feel his stomach swell up. Your ear on his chest, you can hear the air coming in and out of his lungs, all while his beautiful heartbeat resounds in the background.

"Very well, caro, you're doing very well. Breathe in... Breathe out..." Terzo whispers as he kisses your head. "Ti amo così tanto che mi fa male..."

You don't know how many breaths you take until you finally calm down. But it doesn't matter. It feels like time stops when you're wrapped in Terzo's arms, that special place that truly feels like home to you. Sometimes home isn't four walls, but two mismatched eyes and a heartbeat against your ear. And Terzo knows how much you love listening to his heartbeat - that pretty little tune that's so uniquely his, and such an intimate part of him, that makes you feel like you and him are one. Your own heartbeat has slowed down, and when you notice, you realize it's syncing with his.

Two hearts beating as one... Is it just some silly romantic trope, or is it a real thing?

Terzo pulls away slightly from the embrace.

"Are you calmer now?" He asks.

"I guess so... But can you hold me for a little longer, please?" You plead.

"Of course, tesorino. Come here." Terzo smiles, patting his chest.

Ragazzino - little boy

Cuore mio - my heart

Mio bello ragazzo - my handsome boy

Ti amo così tanto che mi fa male - I love you so much it hurts

Taglist: @boomerangjr @runscold-runsdeep

#terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #cardiophilia #heartbeat #cardiophilia fanfiction #my fics #heart to heart questions #anon

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uhohbestie · 5 months ago

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There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 25]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite their tensions. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 25 - Scar and Pops begin their road trip, finding their way to a place called Paradise. Gradually Pops starts to open up, and Scar notices an amusing relationship trend in the apocalypse.

Now if only he could shake the feeling that there's more outside than snow and trees.

📝 Words: 6,561

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 25 on AO3

—

“You’ve got a real knack for this,” Scar compliments, rocking his chair back and forth as he tests its new suspension.

Slowly pulling himself to his feet, Pops offers him a shrug, pushing his hair back out of his eyes before he moves over to the lobby’s large stone fireplace.

“It’ll do me good in the long run,” he admits at last, dragging spare pieces of kindling out of the enormous woodpile stacked next to the hearth and beginning to assemble them to start a fire. “My old man’ll need one of those sooner or later. It’s worth it for me to figure the logistics out now, when I’ve got an experienced teacher to tell me when I’m fucking up. Or—” he pauses, casting a grin in Scar’s direction. “When I’m doing it right, he thinks, he wasn’t really paying attention to the video he watched about this at the time.”

He offers the joke as a distraction, but Scar only hears the confession, spinning around quick on his new tires as he faces Pops.

“Your old man?”

It’s a surprise admission, something he wasn’t expecting at all. The realisation that this entire time Pops has been the son, waiting out the apocalypse with his father. Suddenly the obvious skirting of his intentions and the out-of-the-way trips to restock on medical supplies make much more sense.

All this time he’s had his dad to worry about.

“I didn’t realise…” Scar starts, completely at a loss for words. “You’ve been out here with your father?”

The look on Pops’ face is comedic, horrified in a way Scar doesn’t immediately understand.

“No!” Pops insists, with a vehemence that takes Scar by surprise. “I haven’t been out here with my father. Jesus Christ, Wheels. I said my old man, okay?”

He’s striking a match as he says it, setting kindling alight and looking at him expectantly as the beginning of the fire catches quickly between his weathered hands.

Befuddled, Scar doesn’t get it.

With a heavy sigh—the kind born from an excruciatingly specific kind of long-suffering—Pops raises his hands, crudely miming out jamming his middle finger through a circle made by his thumb and pointer finger.

That catches, at least. The heat of embarrassment flushing into Scar’s cheeks.

“Oh,” he says, letting the revelation sit for a second before following it up with a far longer, “Ohhhhhhh.”

—

We continue with the adventure of Pops and Scar! Now with Masculine Vulnerability and Feelings™.

You can read the whole fic thus-far in the link below!

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)

#trafficshipping #scarian #life series fanfic #zombie au #TAMN #TAMN fic

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monichouu · 2 months ago

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Bound by nightfall.

01:

02:

Cw: mentions of cursing, bit of gore? No smut this ep but there will be in other eps so MDNI!!! @monichouu

Vampires are usually seen as cold, dangerous creatures, not capable of feeling real emotions—especially not love. But what if a vampire actually did feel something deeper, something that went against everything they are?

When a vampire falls in love with a human, it’s a huge risk. They’re built to hunt, and love makes them vulnerable in ways they’ve never been before.

You walk through the dark streets of downtown New York, the city alive around you. The lights from the signs flicker, and cars pass by, but all you can focus on is the hunger inside you. It burns, pushing you forward, searching for your next meal. Every person you pass, you can hear their heartbeat, smell the blood just under their skin. You feel the pull, the urge to hunt rising with every step.

You come to a stop as a distinct, irresistible scent of blood hits you. It’s coming from a dark alley, the stench of trash and decay barely masking the allure. Despite the foul surroundings, the pull of that mortal’s blood is undeniable.

The streets have quieted, and the alley offers the perfect cover—hidden from prying eyes, far from the bustle. It’s an ideal place to strike, and you know no one will notice. You step quietly into the damp alleyway, the shadows enveloping you. There, leaning against the grimy brick wall, is a man smoking a cigarette.

He wears a beanie, and his medium-length hair peeks out beneath it. His brown eyes reveal a hint of tiredness, and a name tag on his shirt reads “Ino Takuma,” though that hardly registers in your mind.

What captures your attention is the tantalizing warmth of his blood pulsing just beneath the surface of his skin. The hunger inside you intensifies, drowning out all other thoughts, sharpening your focus on one singular need: to feed.

Your eyes darken, thirst sharpening with each passing second. You approach him, your voice low and calm. “Hey.”

He looks up at you, confusion in his eyes. “Hey?” he says, unsure. You try your best to sound human, to hide the predator within. “You’re cute,” you say, your voice low and raspy, almost playful.

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of concern and confusion on his face. “Uh, thanks?” he replies, taking another cautious step back. The compliment hangs in the air, thick with tension, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to figure you out.

“Ino Takuma, right?” You smirk, barely able to contain the laughter bubbling inside you at the pleasure of his blood scent.

“Never heard of that name before,” you continue, keeping your tone casual, as if you’re just making small talk. He narrows his eyes at you, confusion still evident on his face. “Yeah, that’s me,” he says, the caution returning to his voice. “Why do you ask?” There’s a flicker of unease in his gaze.

“Oh, just wondering,” you say, stepping closer, your smirk widening. “What do you work for?”

He shifts uncomfortably, the tension rising. “I work at a nightclub,” he replies, taking a quick drag from his cigarette. “Bartender.”

“Why do you care?” His voice is cautious now, but he doesn’t move, watching you as you close the distance. His eyes lock onto yours, suspicion creeping in. “Are those contacts?” he asks, his gaze lingering on your piercing red eyes.

You pause, the question hanging in the air. For a brief second, you almost laugh at the absurdity, but instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting the silence do the talking. You move closer, every muscle tensing as you prepare to strike. The scent of his blood fills your senses, and your fangs ache with anticipation. Just as you’re about to make your move, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Yo! Ino! The fuck are you doing? It’s not time to fuck around! You’re late!”

An employee, likely another bartender, stands at the entrance of the alley, his arms crossed, annoyance clear in his tone. Ino jumps, startled, the moment between you both shattered. You force yourself to pull back, irritation bubbling beneath the surface as your eyes flick to the intruder, the moment ruined. As they walk away, you hiss quietly, frustration building inside you. Your hunger is sharp, and watching your prey slip away makes it worse.

You curse under your breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. No. He’s not getting away that easily. Not tonight. The hunt isn’t over.

“Who was that chick?” the other bartender asked, shaking up a drink behind the bar, his eyes briefly flicking toward Ino.

Ino shrugged, still looking a bit unsettled. “I don’t know, man. Just some random girl in the alley. Kinda weird.”

“Finally, you’re pulling,” the bartender laughs, shaking his head. “Thought you were a loser, for real.”

“Shut up,” Ino mutters, rolling his eyes as he grabs a glass. But the strange feeling from the alley still lingers, gnawing at the back of his mind. Ino looked up after setting the glass down, and there you were, sitting on one of the bar stools, staring right at him. The shock hit him hard, making him take a step back.

“What the—” he stammered, eyes wide, clearly not expecting to see you again so soon.

“Hello, ma’am, how may I serve you?” the other bartender asks with a friendly smile, unaware of the tension in the air.

“I don’t want you to serve my drink. I want Ino to,” you demand, your voice firm and unmistakable. The words hang heavy between you, making it clear that you won’t take no for an answer. Ino’s eyes dart between you and the other bartender, surprise mixed with confusion.

“A glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, please,” you say, sliding your card across the bar with confidence.

The other bartender raises an eyebrow but takes the card without hesitation. Ino pours the Cabernet Sauvignon into a glass, his hands slightly unsteady as he sets it down in front of you.

“We haven’t had a nice talk with each other since we were so rudely interrupted by one of your associates, hm?” you say, leaning forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

He glances around the bar, then back to you, his expression concerned. “Yeah, I guess we haven’t,” he replies, trying to keep his composure. The tension between you thickens, the memory of the alley still fresh in his mind. “Not to sound rude or anything, but what is your deal, lady?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly as he studies you. The playful tone you had once had set shifts slightly to his question.

“You intrigue me,” you say, your gaze locked onto his eyes before drifting down to his neck, where the pulse beats just beneath the surface. “You meet a lot of women like me, don’t you?” you ask, a smile spreading across your lips, the predatory glint in your eyes unmistakable.

Ino swallows hard, caught off guard by your question and the intensity of your gaze. “Uh, not really,” he replies, his voice wavering slightly. “You’re definitely… different.” He looks at you, trying to decipher your intentions, the tension between you palpable as he leans in just a bit closer, drawn in despite himself. “You’re right. I am different. You’ll never meet a woman like me,” you say, your red eyes shining with boldness as you lean in closer.

Ino’s breath catches, mixed emotions clear across his face. He studies you, trying to make sense of the mystery before him. “Okay, so what makes you so unique?”

“You’ll see, my dear Ino,” you say playfully, enjoying the moment. This was going well.

But there was a feeling you couldn’t shake off while talking to him, a sense of something different. He felt different from the others, and for a moment, you hesitated. You pushed that feeling aside, focusing on the energy between you and the pull of the hunt that kept drawing you closer. He turns around to pour another person’s drink, and when he looks back, you’re already gone.

“I like her,” the other bartender says with a grin. “I’d definitely smash.”

“Shut the fuck up, you perv,” Ino shoots back, still shocked by how quickly you vanished. He glances around, searching for any sign of you.

But in reality, you haven’t left. You’re hidden in the shadows, waiting for him, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and claim your prize. Hours pass, and finally, Ino clocks out, the weight of his shift lifting as he steps outside. He lives not too far from the nightclub, so he prefers to walk home, enjoying the cool night air and the quiet streets.

What he doesn’t know is that you’re following him, shadowing his every step. You keep your distance, hidden in the darkness, your senses heightened as you track his movements. “Leaving so soon?” you whisper, your voice barely above the night air. He yelps, spinning around to face you, surprise etched across his features.

“Okay, what the fuck?!” he yells, his heart racing as he takes a step back. The fear in his eyes is visible, and for a moment, the bravado he had at the bar disappears, replaced by raw instinct. You can’t help but smile, the thrill of the chase pulsing through you once more. You smile, your fangs flashing in the dim light, eager for him to see.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking vampire lady? Why is it always the crazy women?!” he screams, panic rising in his voice.

Ino steps back, his eyes wide with fear, and then he turns and starts running. You know you’re ten times faster than him, your speed and agility unmatched, but you find the chase arousing.

You walk behind him, a predator enjoying the hunt as he continues to run. His footsteps echo in the night, but you don’t rush. There’s no need. You relish the fear radiating from him, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and the delicious blood of what’s to come. He glances back over his shoulder, panic etched on his face when he sees you still trailing him. He picks up his pace, but you remain unfazed, a steady presence in the darkness, allowing him to believe he has a chance. “Oh my sweet, Ino… where are you going?” you call out, feigning frustration with a small pout on your lips.

Your voice drips with a playful sweetness, contrasting sharply with the danger that looms behind it. He stumbles slightly, glancing back at you, his eyes wide with fear. The sight of your playful demeanor only intensifies his panic, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at how easily you toy with him. You quicken your pace just enough to let him know you’re still right behind him. Just as he’s about to trip on the pavement, you catch up effortlessly. In a swift motion, you grab the back of his collared shirt, pulling him upright, and he gasps in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

“I don’t want my prey all bruised up,” you murmur, your voice soft yet laced with menace, your grip firm but careful. His body trembles beneath your touch.

You quickly turn him around, making sure he’s facing you. His eyes are wide, panic written all over his face.

“Holy shit—holy shit!” he cries, his voice shaking as you move in closer to his neck.

For the first time, an unexpected emotion grips you—guilt. It hits you hard, unsettling and unfamiliar. You pause, the thrill of the hunt suddenly muted by this strange, terrible feeling. You’ve never felt empathy for a mortal, or anyone for that matter, but now, something in Ino’s fear stirs something deep within you. It feels wrong, like a weight you can’t explain, and it lingers, making you hesitate in a way you never have before.

You let go of him, your hands dropping to your sides.

“I can’t do this,” you murmur quietly, the words strange in your mouth. Ino stumbles back, still shaking, but too stunned to run. The hunger is still there, but the guilt is stronger, stopping you from going any further. You betrayed yourself. You betrayed your own kind. The key rule—never reveal yourself, never let a mortal live with the knowledge of what you are—was etched into you from the start. But now, you’ve broken it.

Standing there, you realize the weight of what you’ve done. You let him go, and with that, you’ve shattered a law you swore never to break.

“W-What..? You’re not going to bite me..?” Ino pants, his breath ragged as he clutches his chest, still reeling from fear and confusion.

He stares at you, struggling to process what just happened, the terror slowly fading but the shock still gripping him tightly.

You look up at him, and suddenly, a wave of possessiveness surges through you. If you were going to let him go, you couldn’t risk him talking. He couldn’t say a word to anyone.

Your gaze sharpens, the hunger shifting into something else—a need to control, to ensure that this secret stays buried with him. If he was to live, it would be on your terms.

A ridiculous idea crosses your mind, but in this moment, it feels like the only solution.

“I’m going to live with you, from now on,” you say, blunt and low, leaving no room for debate.

“What?!” he wheezes, his eyes wide in disbelief. “No—“

“I’m not asking for an answer. That’s a demand,” you interrupt, your voice cold and firm.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, quickly backing down, his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to survive this. He doesn’t dare push back, making sure not to provoke you further, still terrified of what might happen if he refuses.

After that horrific incident, the two of you are already walking back to his house. The silence between you is thick and awkward. Ino keeps glancing at you, his mind spinning, while you’re lost in your own thoughts, trying to process what you’ve done.

You’re cooked. Completely. You just let a human live—one who knows what you are. You know how dangerous this is. You know eyes are probably on you, your own kind likely watching, disgusted by your actions. The weight of it presses down on you, so heavy that, for the first time in ages, you feel like you could break down and cry. This overwhelming feeling crashes over you, making you wonder how you’ve ended up here, betraying everything you’ve stood for.

“We’re here, welcome to my humble abode,” Ino says, opening the door with a nervous smile, gesturing for you to enter.

“You’re corny, like a teenager,” you remark, stepping inside, eyes already scanning the place.

“Ouch, I guess,” Ino mumbles, closing the door behind him, still trying to wrap his head around the situation.

By the time he turns around, you’re already in his room, casually inspecting your surroundings. He blinks, startled at how fast you move. He’d have to get used to that.

“I’ll sleep in the closet,” you say, pointing at the door like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“U-uhm… okay?” he stammers, scratching the back of his head, clearly confused by your choice. The whole situation felt bizarre enough, and now this—his head was spinning.

“Wait, isn’t it night though? You stay up all night… ’cause you’re like nocturnal crazy bat bitches,” he whispers, almost to himself.

You look at him, your eyes narrowing. “Yes,” you reply, the ache of hunger clawing at you. As you glance around the room, your eyes land on a guinea pig cage. Without a second thought, you stride over and open it.

“Wait!” Ino yells, his voice panicked.

Ignoring him, you grab the guinea pig and sink your fangs into its tiny body. The blood is bitter, disgusting, nothing like the warmth of human blood, but you need something to ease the hunger gnawing at you.

“Oh my god! What the fuck!” Ino stares at you, horrified.

You look back at him, wiping the blood from your chin with the back of your hand. “What?” you say, unbothered. “Don’t tell me you feel empathy for this rodent,” you add, casually placing the guinea pig back in its cage as if nothing happened.

“Dude, that’s my fucking pet, Boobie!” Ino screams, rushing over and scooping up the now lifeless guinea pig, his face a mix of shock and anger.

You raise an eyebrow, barely holding back a laugh. “Boobie? You named it Boobie?”

“Yes!” he snaps, his voice cracking. “Why are you laughing?”

You let out a small snicker, trying to compose yourself. “Because… you named a guinea pig Boobie. That’s ridiculous,” you say, amused despite the tension in the room.

“It is not ridiculous! And who cares about the name? You just killed my guinea pig!” Ino snaps, his voice shaking with frustration. He gently picks up Boobie’s lifeless body and heads toward the front door, clearly intent on giving the poor pet a proper burial.

Curious, and still slightly amused, you follow him outside. You watch as he kneels down, grabbing a small trowel to dig a little grave. The whole scene feels almost absurd to you, but you can’t help but watch, wondering why this matters so much to him.

“I was hungry,” you murmur, your eyes fixed on the small hole he’s digging to bury the guinea pig.

Ino pauses for a second, his shoulders slumping as he places Boobie into the ground. “At least say sorry,” he mutters, glancing up at you, his voice softer now but still heavy with disbelief.

You hesitate for a moment, the words foreign to you. “Sorry,” you say, though the apology feels strange and hollow. You’ve never had to apologize for anything before.

“Why do you care so much… for something that doesn’t even… do anything?” you ask, your voice laced with genuine confusion as you watch him gently cover the guinea pig with soil.

Ino stops for a moment, looking up at you, his expression a mix of sadness and anger. “Because it’s not about what it does,” he says softly. “It’s about what it means. Boobie was my pet… something I cared about. It’s not just some thing to me.” He shakes his head, his voice cracking slightly. “I guess you wouldn’t get that.”

“You’re right, I don’t get it. It’s stupid,” you say, your eyes narrowing as his words hit a nerve. The way he said, “I guess you wouldn’t get that,” digs at you, stirring an irritation you can’t quite explain. You’ve never cared about such small, meaningless attachments, and the fact that he does feels almost insulting. Ino stands up, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening. “Well, not everything can be explained by your logic,” he mutters, clearly trying to hold back more frustration.

He walks back inside the house, leaving you standing outside, staring at the freshly turned clump of dirt.

“Humans… so stupid,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief. The way they cling to their attachments, even to something as small as a guinea pig, baffles you.

To shake off the boredom, you start to wander around the yard, taking in the night air and the quiet stillness of the neighborhood. As you stroll, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to the oddity of the night—the thrill of the hunt, the rush of emotions you’d never felt before, and the strange connection you’ve formed with this human. It’s all new territory, and while you’d never admit it out loud, it’s starting to intrigue you.

As you continue strolling, lost in thought, you suddenly feel a rush of movement—a figure lunges at you from the shadows.

Before you can react, they pounce, sending you tumbling down a steep slope. You hit the ground hard, your back slamming against a tree, the impact forcing the wind from your lungs.

Gasping for air, you scowl, your instincts kicking in as you quickly assess the situation. The figure looms over you, but the surprise of the attack leaves you momentarily disoriented.

“Always knew I should have kept my eye on you,” a voice says, cutting through your haze. You blink a few times, regaining your vision, and find yourself staring up at Sukuna, an ancient leader of your coven.

His presence is imposing, a hint of horror in your gaze, causing a shiver down your spine. You push yourself up slightly, scowling as you try to gather your bearings. “What do you want?” you snap, your frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow as he looks down at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve been reckless, wandering around with a mortal. Care to explain yourself?”

“I’m not wandering with a mortal,” you retort, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within you.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Then what do you call it? You’ve made a habit of letting them live, haven’t you?” His tone is both mocking and accusatory, as if he’s challenging your choices.

You push yourself to your feet, brushing dirt off your clothes. “It’s not like that. I have my reasons,” you insist, trying to keep your voice firm. The last thing you need is for him to think he can intimidate you.

“I should have your head on a stick, right now,” he growls, his voice low and threatening.

You hiss back, “You think I’m afraid of you?” Your heart races, adrenaline flooding your veins as you prepare for whatever he might do next.

Sukuna steps closer, the smirk fading from his lips. “You should be. This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re putting the entire coven at risk with your foolishness.”

You meet his gaze defiantly. “I’ll take my chances. I’m not letting anyone control my choices.”

Sukuna’s grip tightens around you, and in an instant, you’re floating off the ground before being hurled against another tree. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you cough out blood, the metallic taste flooding your mouth.

“Wait—” you gasp, struggling to regain your composure as he strides toward you with an intimidating confidence. Before you can react, he grabs you again, pulling you back up with a swift motion and landing a hard blow to your face.

The pain radiates through your skull, and you feel your vision blur for a moment. “You’re making this harder on yourself,” he says coldly, his eyes locked onto yours. In a moment of fierce determination, you spot a sharp, pointed branch lying nearby. With a swift motion, you seize it and turn back to Sukuna.

“You think you can intimidate me?” you snarl, thrusting the branch toward him and slamming him against a tree, the sharp tip hovering dangerously close to his chest.

Just as you prepare to plunge it into him, a flicker of surprise crosses his face, and with a swift movement, he teleports away, leaving you grasping at air. The branch plunges into the bark of the tree with a sickening thud, and you stumble back, frustration boiling inside you.

“Coward!” you shout into the darkness, scanning the shadows for any sign of him. The night seems to thrum with tension.

A howl of pain escapes your lips as the surge of energy leaves you, and you stumble backward, losing your balance. You fall hard onto the ground, the impact sending a jolt of pain through your body. Your breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps.

A few hours pass, and you finally push yourself off the ground, every muscle in your body aching. The pain lingers, but you force yourself to keep moving, limping your way back to Ino’s place. Each step feels heavier than the last, but the thought of retreating to safety, at least for now, keeps you going.

By the time you reach his door, the night is still and quiet, your body exhausted from the battle. You hesitate for a moment, wiping the dirt from your clothes, before stepping inside.

(Surprise, surprise MATHAFUKAS it’s a series!)

#jjk x reader #jjk #tumblr fyp #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #monichouu #episode 1 #ino takuma #ino x y/n #vampire aesthetic #vampire reader #human character #sukuna

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 11 months ago

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Just Like A Kiss

a follow up story to Texas Peach 1700 words, Jensen Ackles x Jared Padalecki Author's note at the end

***

Jared flinched.

At the last moment, before their lips met, he flinched and turned away.

Jensen knew he would, of course. Because you don't kiss your best friend and costar in front of a crowd of adoring fangirls. Because the joke was too close to the truth.

In real life, it had all played out in a minute, but in Jensen's memory, the moments lingered, time slowing and stretching around the two of them.

"...same with a kiss," Jensen had answered an audience question, adding a little smirk as he pointed. Convention crowds ate up that swagger.

"Prove it." Jared hadn't seemed to be paying attention, fidgeting with his fingers to demonstrate a taco crumbling. But he was completely focused, suddenly, as he turned to Jensen, their gazes locked together. Mischief glinted in Jared's eyes, sparkling in their green-gold-grey depths. His pupils were wide with a familiar look of adoration and desire.

Jared's heart must've been beating out of his chest because Jensen could feel his pulse quiver in the air between them, or maybe that was his own blood pounding through his veins.

Emotion hit, flooding down a well-worn path in his mind. The longing for Jared was almost overwhelming, the pull to hold him, to have more than he had ever dared in public. All these years, and the feeling hadn't weakened, no less compelling for being familiar.

His eyes flicked down to Jared's mouth, pouted out in an exaggerated pucker. He wet his own lips, quick and shallow, thinking about Jared's tongue meeting his own, about all the places that mouth had been. Their bodies drew together, each of them leaning to the right, arms already lifting for an easy embrace. Jared's body he knew almost as well as his own, moving in sync without speaking.

As the gap closed between them, their hands brushed against each other and Jensen felt the touch like a spark.Anger flared in his chest and his jaw clenched. Why couldn't he have what he wanted, have Jared and kiss him, whenever and wherever, not caring who saw or knew?

Their eyes met again, and that's when Jared flinched.

The noise of the crowd, clapping and cheering, rushed back in as Jared gave a sassy hair flip and turned, away from Jensen, back to the people watching.

It should be me. I should be the one by your side, I should be the one that people see with you. You should be mine.

Jensen knew he couldn't reveal what he was feeling. He felt exposed, suddenly keenly aware of the gaze of so many eyes fixed on him, and cast around for a distraction. A wide easy smile and the fans moved right along from the missed kiss.

Jensen hadn't realized he was holding his breath, and sucked in air as he settled back in his chair. He kept the smile pasted on his face as he adjusted his seating. From the corner of his eye, even as he played to the audience, he noticed Jared pass a hand over his face, a subtle gesture giving him time to gather himself. The way he shifted in his chair, leaning back and tangling his legs, was a sure sign to Jensen that he was retreating.

Both of them knew the moment had left them vulnerable, their secret feelings just a little too easy to glimpse.

I wish I could show the world how much I care for you. Jensen sighed.

Instead they turned, shoulder to shoulder in wordless agreement, and they slipped back into the protection afforded by their public roles. The Handsome and Sunshine Show, Jensen had seen the tag on social media. It was a performance just as sure as any TV episode, but they had practice at it. The two of them were a good pair, he thought, as he let himself be carried along by the comforting rhythm of their stage interactions.

Jensen couldn't stop himself from returning to that moment in his mind, even as he and Jared completed their day of work at the convention. They had done this many times before, signed the autographs, walked through the photo ops, and the work came easily. He was able to focus on the people in front of him and almost – almost — forgot that Jared owed him a kiss.

Afterwards, they went out to dinner with a few of the cast, Rob and Ruth, Rich, Alex, and others. They were old friends, and they knew the truth of Jensen and Jared's relationship. In this company, they could relax a little more.

Still, even a private room at a restaurant could instantly turn public if they were spotted by a fan. The two of them kept their touches under the table, Jared running teasing long fingers up the inseam of Jensen's jeans until Jensen stopped him with a firm hand on his upper thigh. They laced their fingers together under the open placket of Jared's plaid shirt as they enjoyed their food and drinks.

More than once, Jensen found himself looking longingly at Jared's mouth as he laughed and talked, always the life of the party. Jared's heavy eyelids when he caught him staring left no doubt that he, too, was looking forward to the moment they would be alone together.

The close, cautious affection carried them through their goodbyes and into the elevator. There were no kisses behind closed doors, not when they could open on a new floor at any moment and anyone could see them. But Jensen couldn't stand to have any more distance between him and his boy. With a possessive hand on the back of his neck, he pulled Jared in close, ready to whisper in his ear. With Jared's hair tickling his cheek, he couldn't find any words to say, just held him like that as they breathed together.

When they reached their floor, Jensen shifted to an arm around Jared's shoulders as they exited the elevator. The two of them walked in silence, their steps in sync, to their shared suite.

Once inside, Jensen busied himself with the latch, the lock, the deadbolt, before turning to face Jared.

He was waiting, a teasing grin on his face that turned to pouty lips, a blown kiss.

"I'm gonna need you to finish what you started." Jensen heard the rough edge of desire undercut the direction in his own voice.

Jared's eyes widened, flashed, and he leaned down eagerly. Their lips met, dry and gentle, for a long kiss. Every bit of it was familiar, Jared's head tilt, his little sigh, the pressure of their mouths, their bodies together.

The second kiss was deeper, Jensen nudging at Jared's lips with his tongue, Jared parting them easily, welcoming him eagerly in. Jensen wrapped his arms tighter around Jared, one around his shoulders, the other around his waist, pulling him closer.

The second kiss turned into the third kiss without them ever breaking apart, and then shattered into countless more kisses. Jensen's lower hand slipped into Jared's plaid shirt, up under his t-shirt, until he could palm skin. His touch slid across the cut of his hip bone, fingers seeking that dip in the hollow of Jared's back, right above the curve of his peachy ass.

"So hot," he murmured against Jared's lips, and he must've heard him, because he pulled back just enough that their eyes could meet. Jensen's hand had been resting on the back of Jared's neck and he moved with a caress to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the soft short hair along his jawline, up and over to the dimples visible through his beard.

The two of them paused for a beat like that, forehead to forehead, arms wrapped around one another, chests rising and falling together. Jensen never got tired of being this close to his lover, looking up to see every sparkling color in his eyes, feeling every breath across his lips. The moment stretched, swelled, to include everything he had wanted in that second on stage earlier in this day, holding his world in his arms.

"Jared," the beloved name fell from his lips, ripe and heavy with desire.

"Please," was all Jared said, but his wide lust-blown eyes, his flushed cheeks, his parted lips spoke volumes, the truth writ large across his handsome face. Jensen had seen glimpses, all day, but this was the first time they were alone for Jared to bare his response, the two of them stripping down to the truth between them.

They had already had reunion sex the night before, clothes hastily thrown off in their eagerness to come together. They had slow sleepy bedtime sex, naked under the sheets before falling asleep in one another’s arms. And they had a moment in the shower this morning, no less good for being rushed.

This was something different. This was the connection that had sparked on stage, that had pulled thin, finally coming back together. Everything they couldn't show the public was laid bare.

This time, they were stripping down to their very souls. The burden of keeping up appearances, of their public stories, fell to the wayside in the face of their truth. The long days apart, the lonely nights, melted away under their touches.

With every touch, Jensen asked, Do you still want me just as much?

To every question, Jared answered, Yes.

The fragile bubble of their shared desire encompassed their entire world, no space for anything but the two of them. Much like the moment earlier, on stage, time became meaningless, measured in heartbeats rather than minutes. Only this time, instead of pulling away, Jared came to Jensen, unflinching in his intention, every kiss a promise fulfilled.

Their caresses were weighted with the knowledge that life would pull them apart again soon, but for now, they could not hear the clock ticking down. For now, they only existed in this room, in this bed, together. Jensen heard only Jared's panting moans, his whispered words of love and need.

Blood rushed in his ears and with every beat, his heart said, mine, mine, mine.

Jared answered back yours, yours, yours with every kiss.

*** Author's Note: First off a huge thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock who jumped in to pre-read for me! Thanks for keeping friendship and fandom alive between us. I know it's been a while since I've written. I still have ideas that are waiting for stories. Thanks for reading, both in the past and now.

#j2 #jensen ackles x jared padalecki #fangirlxwritesx67 #handsome and sunshine

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dragonfirerogue-writes · 2 years ago

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DMC x Wednesday 😁

Nero!Reader x Wednesday where Reader always has his devil arm in a cast but always help Wednesday with her investigations with the Hyde. When Principal Weems and Wednesday confront Marilyn, Reader was with them. As Marilyn about to stab Weems, Reader blocks her with the cast

Could be gn!reader or male!Reader

A/N: I tend to default to GN!readers so that works best lol

Wednesday x Devil Bringer!Reader

This wasn't how you thought things would go. You just wanted to learn more about your demon lineage at Nevermore. Being amongst other outcasts made you feel like less of a freak. Everything seemed to change once Wednesday Addams arrived.

To avoid the eyes of others, you kept your arm in a cast. It was the only real outward indication of your demonic bloodline. Having a scaly arm definitely drew more attention than you wanted, especially from normies. You were just lucky you were quick to learn how to be ambidextrous.

But Wednesday was the first person in years who witnessed the power within your arm. It was the night Rowan was murdered. You were curious to see what the goth was doing so you followed. The sight of the monster gutting Rowan made your blood pulse in your veins. As soon as it turned to face Wednesday, you leapt into action. You honed into the beast and shot yourself towards it. When it sees you, it moves to strike, which you block with your cast. There's surprise on the monster's face when the cast breaks, but your arm doesn't.

The shattered cast reveals a clawed arm adorned with dark scales. Intertwined between the scales, there's a deep blue glow, its source coming from a core at the back of your hand. Your palm and fingers glow in the same way, with the knuckles armored by your scales.

Your strength mirrors the creature before you, trapping each other in a stalemate. Frustrated, the beast grabs your arm and opts to throw you aside. You flip on the air in time to see the monster face Wednesday again. This time, you use your power to pull yourself towards the goth. As soon as you reach her, you set yourself between her and the beast. With a growl, the monster runs away, not wanting to deal with you anymore.

With the monster gone, both you and Wednesday run to Rowan's side, only to see that he had already passed. You two look at each other, knowing what you need to do now.

You didn't know it would be as hard as it was though.

Wednesday latched onto you since you were the only other person to witness Rowan's death. Even with the two of you, no one believed you, especially when he miraculously came back. You tagged along with her investigation using your demon strength and skills to help when needed. The assistance was helpful, especially when you continued to research during her writing hour. Your dedication matched hers and she respected that.

You two grew surprisingly close. When most people saw one of you, the other was never far. Rumors started to fly, but there were other things to worry about. While it wasn't wrong that you harbored feelings for the goth, you weren't going to let it interfere with more important matters.

"You're the only one who seems to understand me, Y/N."

That startled you. You two, along with Enid and Tyler, had just returned from the Gates House. It ended horribly, with Tyler injured no less. Enid was angry at being put in danger and Wednesday seemingly not caring.

You watched as the goth sat by the large window in her room, curled into a ball. It was rare for her to show vulnerability and you didn't want to impede. You just sat next to her, barely touching. There's a moment before Wednesday speaks again.

"Goody told me I was destined to be alone." While her head doesn't move, you suddenly feel her gaze. "Will you leave me as well?"

Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. The answer is simple, but to you, it almost feels like a confession. Your eyes travel to the ceiling, unable to look at Wednesday as you answer.

"No. I won't leave you. Never planned to."

You almost jump out of your skin when you feel a sudden weight on your shoulder. When you look over, you see that Wednesday is resting her head on your shoulder. It was a comfort she sought, so you'll give it to her.

-----+++++-----

Even expulsion couldn't stop Wednesday from finishing what she had to do. Once she discovered who the real culprits were, she managed to convince Weems to bring them back to the school. Along the way, she sought you out. You had every right to confront Laurel Gates as she did. You were at the beginning with her.

When Wednesday enters the herbology classroom, you and Weems remain hidden. On the goth's cue, your principal steps out in the guise of Tyler. It was only then that Ms. Thornhill, or Gates rather, revealed herself fully. You stood ready to jump in if needed. You were Wednesday's trump card. And she was right to use you as such.

Laurel had a needle in hand and drew back to stab it into Weems. Using your demonic speed, you surged forward, reaching out with your arm to block the strike. The needle pierces through your cast and between the scales, emptying into your veins. You feel the burn of poison almost immediately and fall. Taking the opportunity, Laurel uses the distraction to run.

Your demon arm breaks through the cast as it fights the poison coursing through it. Wednesday is immediately by your side and Weems hovers, but you bat them away.

"I'll be fine. It burns but it won't kill me. Go, go after her."

Wednesday takes your face in her hands, muttering a quick affectionate threat before running off after the hyde's master. You feel Weems rubbing your back as you remain hunched over in pain. You just hope Wednesday'll be okay while you recover.

#a dragon tries to write #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #asks #wednesday (netflix)#requests

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meiliarotten · 1 year ago

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Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 15: Hot Water (Shower Sex)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Spy x Fem!Reader

Summary: The result of a promise I made to someone to write Spy shower sex

Tags: Shower sex, dirty talk, praise

Word Count: 2.3k

The Masterlist

You turned the metal handle, gasping at the sudden spray of frigid cold you received before the water finally started to warm up. With a few further temperature adjustments you were able to let the heat relax your muscles, still tense from a long day of work. You always felt better after a nice hot shower though, no matter how difficult your day was.

When you had first joined up with the team you were initially appalled at the idea of communal showers, in particular, the idea of sharing said showers with nine men. However, you got used to it far sooner than you expected. Staying up a bit later kept you from encountering any awkward situations with the others. Plus, it allowed for secret rendezvous with one mercenary in particular, one who you didn’t mind sharing a shower with, among other things. Speak of the devil…

You jumped when you felt arms wrapping around you from behind, the sensation of skin on skin flush against your back. The sound of Spy decloaking alerted you to his presence, putting you at ease. You had been expecting him tonight, of course. Even so, the feeling of an invisible force touching you was universally startling, and something you were sure you would never get used to.

“I wish you would remember to decloak before approaching me from behind,” you said, glancing back to look at your partner. He was already undressed, his suit jacket and mask most likely sitting neatly folded on the locker room bench just outside the showers. Spy’s eyes were closed as he let the water cascade over him, relishing the heat just as you were earlier. The softened expression on his face was one you rarely saw outside of these little trysts. It made you feel special to see him so relaxed, almost vulnerable.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day, chérie.” He whispered, voice low and seductive. His hands slid smoothly over your wet skin, warming you up even more. You let him descend over your waist, down to your hips and thighs, and then back up again. It was as if he was trying to memorize every edge and curve on your body through touch alone.

You squeezed your thighs together, embarrassed at how easily he was able to arouse you. He took his time, lingering on every erogenous zone he knew of on the human body, and then paying special attention to those that he knew were specific to you. He had spent plenty of time mapping out the places that made you feel good, where a simple, gentle touch could have you squirming with need.

With a shaky breath, you turned to face him, pulling him down into a kiss, the two of you quickly becoming entwined with each other. Spy quickly took the lead, making the first move to deepen the kiss as he slid his tongue over your lips, a silent request for entrance which you eagerly obliged, opening your mouth with a soft gasp. Kissing Spy was never a simple dalliance of lips and tongue. No, he always kissed as if he was savoring you, treating you delicately, like a fine wine. Appraising, cherishing, and taking pleasure in every little taste, slow and discerning with his movements. His hands would continue to roam your body, trying to make you moan into his mouth. It made you never want to pull away, but of course, you had to eventually. You parted with a gasp, taking in fresh air.

“God, I need you,” you said, reaching towards the shower faucet handle. “Just let me get dried off real quick. We can go back to your room-”

Spy stopped you, cutting your words off with another kiss. He took your hand gently, moving it away from the handle and pulling you towards him. “Non, I don’t think I can wait until we get back to my room, ma chérie.” He sounded so eager, so full of desire for you. You wanted to hear him say more, just so that you could listen to that lustful voice for longer. His hand drifted between your legs and you shuddered when you felt his fingers running over your slit. “I can take you right here.”

Somehow, a touch of reality managed to reach you through your arousal. “We could be caught,” you warned. These were communal showers, after all.

“Darling, I am quite adept at making my way around unseen. Do you really think I would allow someone to catch us?” Spy was known to value privacy. It made sense that he wouldn’t take such a risk unless he was sure he could avoid any unwanted guests. That alone was reassuring enough to ease your concerns. “Now, let me take care of you.”

His hands dropped to your hips, massaging them with a firm grip. You gave into temptation with another heated kiss, and you could feel him smirking against your lips just before you parted. You backed away for a moment, turning around to lean against the tiled wall and presenting yourself with a smirk and a glance backwards. “Is this alright? I feel better having something solid to brace myself against,” you said, nodding towards the wall. It would make things much easier, especially given how slick the wet floors could be.

“Whatever you wish, darling,” Spy said. You smiled, turning your gaze forward. A shudder ran through your body when you felt him press two fingers into you, thrusting gently, working you up until you were wet enough to take his cock. You couldn’t stifle the small gasps and moans you made as he fingered you, curling his digits just enough to tease your sweet spot. When you began to rock back against his fingers he withdrew, and you whined, only to quickly fall silent when you felt his cock pressing against you. Still, he teased you, rubbing the length of himself over your entrance and chuckling at the way you quivered.

“Spy, please,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the sound of the still running water hitting the tile floor.

“Easy now, mon ange,” Spy said, shushing you. “I’m just making sure you’re thoroughly prepared.” With that bit of emphasis, he entered you, hilting in one quick thrust. You yelped in surprise, not expecting him to start so quickly, although his pace did slow the moment he began moving. Those steady, measured thrusts still managed to hit hard in all the right spots, making you whine and moan for more.

Your hand found its way between your legs, rubbing gentle circles around your clit. With a soft gasp, your eyes rolled back and you started to rub faster. The pleasure coupled with Spy’s cock being buried deep within you was dizzying. You couldn’t get enough.

“Darling, let me see your hands,” Spy said. He had stopped moving, much to your dismay. Any attempt to thrust back against him were met with further withdrawal. “I don’t want you to finish so soon. Won’t you be good for me and do as I say?”

Reluctantly, you placed both your hands on the tile in front of you. The low whine you made when you lost that sweet stimulation did not go unnoticed, but Spy didn’t let it dissuade him. He wasted no time pinning your hands to the tile on either side of your head, gripping your wrists tightly.

“I want all of your pleasure to come from me,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding in your ear. “Understand, ma chérie?”

“Spy,” you murmured, his name being all you were able to muster up the ability to say. Perhaps it was an acknowledgement of his words, or perhaps it was a plea. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Spy’s expression soften. His grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly.

“I promised I would take care of you, and you trust me to keep my word, don’t you?” he asked, pressing his body flush against yours, letting you be comforted by the sensation of skin on skin, so warm and wet.

“Of course I do,” you sighed, leaning heavily against the shower wall.

Spy pressed gentle kisses to the back of your neck, trailing up to your cheek as he whispered in your ear. “I’ll let you come, in due time. Just relax and let me do all the work for now, my love.”

You found it rather difficult to relax when Spy let go of your wrists and reached around to feel up your body, making his way slowly up to your chest. You gasped when he caressed the soft flesh roughly and nearly squealed when he rolled a nipple between his fingers. Spy seemed to enjoy the way you were squirming against him, letting out soft moans as he played with those sensitive areas.

“You’re always so responsive,” he mused. “I wonder what other delightful little noises you have in store for me.”

His hands began to trail lower once again, and you shuddered as he ran his palms down your abdomen, soon passing over your hips. He rubbed slow circles over them before reaching tantalizingly close to your clit, his fingers mere inches away, only to come back up and squeeze your breasts roughly, earning a high pitched gasp from you.

“Watch your volume, ma chérie. As nice as it is to hear you scream, these showers aren’t exactly soundproof”

“I thought you were ‘adept at being unseen,’” you retorted, doing a poor mimicry of Spy’s accent as you repeated his own words back at him. The laughter you got in response only served to frustrate you more.

“Unseen, but not always unheard,” he said before delivering an especially hard thrust, making you inhale sharply. “In fact, I believe I am quite the master at drawing desperate sounds from you.” You felt him run his palms down your back. He admired the way the water cascaded over your curves and the way your body glistened beneath his hands. “Truth be told, while I loathe to imagine anyone stumbling upon your naked form as I make love to you, the idea of the others overhearing your moans, screaming my name, letting them know that you belong to me, is quite tantalizing. So on second thought, make as much noise as you want.”

Instead you immediately tried to quiet yourself, perhaps in an act of petty defiance, but it was no use. Spy seemed to locate all your most sensitive areas with ease, pinching, caressing, and thrusting harder into you, pressing you against the tile of the shower with your hands still planted firmly next to your head. The convergence of so many pleasurable sensations had your head spinning. It wasn’t long before you felt the pleasure start to build.

You clenched around Spy involuntarily as you felt your orgasm fast approaching, listening to the way he moaned at the tightening of your body. “Mon Dieu, you feel so good,” he groaned. You began to buck back to meet his thrusts, nearly slipping at one point, only being saved by Spy wrapping an arm around you to keep you steady. “You’re close, aren’t you? Merde, I am too. Go on, touch yourself, ma chérie. I want you to come for me.”

Spy sounded almost desperate, as if he was begging. It took you a moment to even process what he said, but the moment you did your hand was between your legs, fingers rubbing frantic circles over your clit as he thrust against your sweet spot over and over, determined to bring you to orgasm before he reached his own. Your moans peaked in volume and your body trembled around him as the pleasure finally overwhelmed you. Spy held you firmly by the waist as you rode out the end, keeping you from slipping while in the throes of ecstasy. The last thing either of you wanted was to explain to Medic how you had injured yourself after being ravished in the communal showers.

Spy reached his own climax soon after you, leaning against you so that his lips were right beside your ear. He tried to be more reserved, but you could hear every soft groan he made as he came, his body trembling against yours. You leaned heavily on the wall in front of you, legs shaky and threatening to buckle beneath you at any moment. Having sex while standing turned out to be far more of a workout than you anticipated, especially once the adrenaline began to fade.

Luckily, Spy, being ever vigilant, noticed your waning strength once the aftershocks began to reach their end. He quickly withdrew, reaching forward to shut the water off. You let yourself slump against the wall, not even noticing that Spy had left until he returned just moments later with a towel to wrap around your shaking body, taking you up in his arms just as your legs were about to give out.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered as he cradled you in his arms, “Ma belle chérie.”

He set you down on the locker room bench, letting you get your bearings before beginning to dry yourself off. Your whole body was flushed, either from exertion or from the heat and steam of the shower. You were breathless. Spy was in a similar state, although he was regaining his composure far quicker. Even so, anyone who walked in now would probably be able to deduce what had just occurred. But you found that you didn’t care anymore. Let them know. Let them know that you belonged to Spy.

“You’re so red, darling.” His hand cupped your cheek, feeling the heat radiating off of your skin as you leaned into his palm. “And I believe there may be some bruises on your hips here.” He motioned to where he had latched onto you, either to keep you from falling or to simply exercise his control. “When you’re dried off I’ll take you back to my room, make sure you’re comfortable, and we can spend the night together. Would you like that?”

“I would like that very much,” you sighed, eyes already drifting shut as you let Spy take over the duty of toweling you off before carrying you back to his quarters.

#tf2 x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #merc x reader #minors dni #smut #tf2 smut #team fortress 2 #cross posted on ao3 #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #spy x reader #spy tf2 #spy team fortress 2 #spy team fortress #kinktober #team fortress spy #tf2 spy

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