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kittenofdoomage · 2 years

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Confronting The Past

Summary: You’ve made a home on Earth after signing the Accords as a condition of your sanctuary but there are some things you cannot leave in the past (set some time after Civil War and before Ragnarok but isn’t entirely canon compliant)

Pairing: Thor Odinson x female!short!Asgardian!reader

Word Count: 4051

Warnings: Angst, feelings perceived as unrequited, grief, fluff, childhood-friends-to-lovers, heartbreak, I’m sorry this got long, soft smut (oral sex - f receiving - and penetrative sex), bittersweet ending

Ao3 Link (most of my works can be found here)

Tumblr Masterlist (a small selection of fics posted here)

Patreon (early access and option to request fics)** this story was previously posted on Patreon in 2021.

The air crackled as you reached for the top shelf, fingers barely getting halfway. You slumped back down at the realization you couldn’t lay a hand on the last box of pop tarts but the disappointment was quickly squashed by the sense that you were not alone in the aisle. Turning slowly, your eyes widened as they landed on him, taking in the casual way he was dressed, and how different he looked since you’d last seen him. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, blond strands framing his face, slightly lighter than the thick stubble that covered his jaw. The last time you had laid eyes on him, he was in full battle-dress, a stark contrast to the faded denim and black t-shirt he was presented in this time.

“I was under the impression you would be hard to find, Lady Y/N,” Thor murmured, approaching you as if you could attack at any moment. You remained still, shocked at the sight of him, following his hand as it reached up behind you and easily scooped your prize from the top shelf. “I guess I know you a little better than Natasha does.”

“What -” Your voice came out squeaky, so you paused, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Stark informed me that you had accepted sanctuary on Earth,” he said softly, placing the pop tarts in your hand. “That you signed the Accords.”

“It was either that or return to Asgard,” you shrugged. “And we both know I’m not welcome there.”

“There are other worlds,” he pointed out.

You smirked at him, dropping the sweet treat into your cart. “None with pop tarts.” With a glance over your shoulder at him, you pushed on. “I should have known you would find me.” He began to follow as you strolled down to the next aisle. “Though I’m surprised it took so long. Losing your touch?”

Thor chuckled deeply. “You haven’t lost your sharp tongue, my lady.”

Sighing heavily, you slowed to a stop, turning to look at him. He paused only a few inches away, blue stormy eyes boring into yours. “Why did you come here, Thor?”

For a moment, he appeared confused, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. You waited, one hand on the cart, the other limp at your side.

“We did not part on good terms,” he muttered, suddenly breaking eye contact. “Not a day has passed that I have not thought about you.”

You snorted, turning abruptly to continue on, pushing the cart with a little more force than necessary. Thor stalled for a moment before following, rushing to catch up and walk beside you.

“Y/N, stop -”

“No,” you ground out, keeping your eyes ahead, fingers curled so tightly around the handle of the cart that the metal began to warp.

“Y/N -”

Your temper flared and you turned to face him, feeling the rage burning through your veins. “What do you want from me?” you yelled, attracting the attention of other late night shoppers. A few paused, one or two pulled out cameras, obviously recognizing the significantly more famous face you were shouting at.

Thor’s eyes darted around, a concerned expression developing, and the heat in your blood simmered, rationality taking over.

“This is not the appropriate place for this,” you grunted bitterly.

“Then perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private?” he suggested hopefully.

A wry smile tugged at your lips. “We both know that would be a very stupid idea.”

“I promise, Y/N,” he said quietly but firmly. “I only wish to explain myself. To apologize.”

You stared at him, chewing the inside of your cheek as you considered his request. The possibility of a physical altercation of any kind was highly likely when you thought back over every other encounter you’d ever had with him. Thor was a flame, and you were the moth, drawn to him at every single turn, but curiosity was pushing you to accept his request.

Finally, you sighed and nodded. “Would you prefer to drive with me, or are you going to…” You finished the sentence by flinging your hand up in a flying motion, and Thor grinned.

“I will accompany you,” he chuckled.

“Great,” you replied, teeth gritted. “Good thing I’m almost done.”

It only took another thirty minutes to get through the rest of your shopping and that was with being derailed by two young ladies who had recognized and begged Thor for a selfie, which he seemed happy to indulge. You ignored the interaction, stalking off with your purchased items and leaving him to catch up in the parking lot.

“Let me,” he requested as you opened the trunk, and you happily stepped back, allowing him to load the few bags into the car as you climbed into the driver’s seat. In the rearview, you watched him return the cart with a friendly wave to the guy stacking them.

The whole car shuddered and sank under his weight when he got in beside you, his huge frame awkwardly hunched in your little compact. Unlike most Asgardians, you were small in stature, though it didn’t diminish your inhuman strength, and only increased your speed. You waited until he was buckled in, trying not to stare at the way the belt sat snug between his pecs, pulling his shirt tight across them.

“To your home, I presume?” he asked, and you nodded, unwilling to talk with such a suddenly dry mouth.

You didn’t live far from the grocery store. Part of your agreement with the American government was a small stipend each month which allowed you to live in relative solitude, though it required you make yourself available to them - a clause they had not yet called into play.

“This is it,” you muttered, pulling into the driveway. You didn’t wait for any acknowledgment, climbing out and heading to the trunk to retrieve your bags. Thor followed, and the car raised several inches as he climbed out, making you smirk in amusement. Once again, he insisted on shouldering all the burden so you simply shrugged and headed for the front door, keys in hand.

It was a modest little house, one you’d worked hard to make comfortable over the last year. The few possessions you had managed to carry with you from Asgard were scattered among other curiosities you had gathered in your new home, along with shelves upon shelves of books. Your living room resembled more of a library than a home, but you were happy with it, and it wasn’t like you had frequent visitors to entertain.

The only people you’d seen in the last year were government agents following up on your end of the deal, making sure you were remaining out of trouble.

Trouble seemed to have found you after all.

“It is… nice,” Thor announced as he loitered in the doorway, surveying your humble little home. His head was only an inch or two off of scraping the doorframe, and he looked ridiculously out of place, but you couldn’t help feeling a little proud of the life you’d built and glad that he could see that you were very capable of surviving on your own.

“Thank you,” you replied, gesturing to the kitchen. “You wanna put those on the table?”

He nodded and continued on with the bags, placing them atop the large oak table that dominated your small kitchen. “Your voice is different,” he commented quietly.

“Just trying to blend in,” you forced out, grabbing for the first bag. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.”

“I need to put all this stuff away,” you sighed. “Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable in the living room?” He glanced back the way he’d come and you smirked. “Just through there.” His sheepish smile made your grin grow unbidden, but when his back turned and he disappeared through the hall into the lounge, you dropped your elbows onto the table and covered your face with your hands. “What am I doing?” you groaned quietly, digging your fingertips into your temples.

You just had to be firm with him. Whatever explanation he had for what he did, it didn’t change things. He had chosen a human over you, and his father had banished you for your part in their plot to save the same human. Thor had only watched as Odin stripped you of your very identity and stranded you on Midgard. In the two years since that had happened, you’d put that betrayal behind you, rebuilt yourself and your life, albeit a lonely one, and you were damned if Thor was going to destroy any of that.

It didn’t take long to get the groceries away but you took an extra few moments to make yourself some tea, carrying it through to the living room with you. Thor hadn’t made himself comfortable on the couch, not that you’d expected him to; he was standing by the large ornate bookcase in the corner that stretched from floor to ceiling, thumbing through a book. You tilted your head to catch the title, smiling in amusement when you saw it was one of your Norse mythology tomes.

“Some of the things they got wrong about us are hilarious,” you commented, sliding into your favorite spot on the couch. Thor looked up with a grin, closing the book, replacing it on the shelf with the others. “And it’s remarkably easy to pretend to be a professor of mythology when you lived through most of the legends.”

“Is that what you do with your time?”

You shrugged, lifting your tea to blow across the surface. “Only a few hours a week. It’s entertaining.”

Thor’s grin didn’t fade and he moved to the big armchair opposite you, dropped one meaty hand to the top, assessing it quickly to make sure it would hold his weight. He sat slowly, keeping his eyes on you. “My father was wrong to banish you,” he said softly. “And I am sorry that I did not speak up for you.”

Keeping your composure, you leaned forward, placing your tea on the low table between you. “I made my peace with that,” you replied coolly. “I knew it was a possibility when I helped you and Jane escape.”

His eyebrows drew together again in confusion. “I must admit, I’m confused,” he confessed. “Why are you so displeased to see me if you have forgiven my betrayal?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “It amazes me that you have lived over a thousand years and you are still so clueless.”

“Enlighten me,” he requested gently, leaning his arms on his knees.

“I’m not sure that would be wise,” you chuckled dryly. “If you do not know by now how I feel, then I fear there is little hope.”

He looked surprised at your choice of words. “How you… feel?”

Sighing again, you leaned heavily on the couch arm, propping your chin on your knuckles. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Your mother was handmaiden to mine. We used to play together in the gardens.”

“We grew up together,” you mused quietly. “Trained together. We became adults together, fought together… we…” Your throat dried a little at the recollection of the more intimate times you’d shared, young stolen moments in the back halls and chambers of the palace. “All that time, and you believed we were only friends? Was that all it was for you?”

Clarity descended on his face, astonishment widening his eyes.

“It’s funny,” you continued, “I always imagined it would be the Lady Sif I lost your heart to. But I suppose… if I never had your heart at all, then how could I lose it?” Your chest felt tight as you shifted to pick up your tea again, sipping it delicately, avoiding his gaze. “When you chose Jane, when you left me to your father’s mercy, I accepted my fate. And I have tried to move on.”

“Did you succeed?”

The question threw you and you looked at him sharply.

“I thought I did.”

Thor was quiet for a moment, watching you as you gripped the porcelain cup in your hands tightly, hoping the shaking in your fingers wasn’t too obvious. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, watching the blue storm in his gaze, remembering other times when he looked at you with such intensity.

“I was a fool,” he said suddenly.

You broke eye contact, putting your cup down again. “Maybe,” you whispered. “Maybe we both were.”

“You were never a fool, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “You were always my dearest friend.”

The comment stung and you looked away, trying to ignore the tears gathering in your eyes as you waited for the ultimate rebuttal, waited for him to tell you that he had never felt the same need for you as you had for him.

He moved then, taking to his knee in front of you, reaching for your hands as you met his gaze with watery eyes. “But I… I was such a fool. To believe that I belonged anywhere but with you.” You sniffed, choking back a sob as he smiled and lifted one hand to wipe away an escaped tear.

“You belong on Asgard,” you stuttered. “I no longer do.”

“What if I could change that?”

You paused, staring at him in shock before shaking your head. “No. I do not wish to return to a people that shunned me. There is no one left there that I care about.” Tugging your hands free, your expression turned to stone as you looked at him. “And I know you would not stay. You have a purpose, Thor. We both know your journey does not end with me.”

“Then come with me,” he urged. “Fight with me.”

Shaking your head again, you pushed him away, getting to your feet. “It would break the agreement I have with the people of this planet.”

“You wish to stay here?” he asked, standing and watching as you crossed the room to the fireplace, putting distance between you. “Why?”

“I have fought in a thousand battles,” you exhaled, leaning one arm on the wooden mantelpiece. “I have lost family, friends, my home… this place, this existence, it may seem small to you, but it’s mine, and I am not subject to the grief and gravity of any position. I built this… this is my home now, Thor.” You met his gaze again, trying not to let your trembling become apparent, nor to let your resolve crumble. “Would you really wish for me to give that up?”

He was silent, and you nodded, requiring nothing more as an answer. Pushing away from the fireplace, you approached him slowly, lifting one hand to take hold of his.

“I will always love you, Thor Odinson,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his. “But our paths meet in fleeting circumstance and you know you cannot stay.”

You went to pull away but he suddenly tightened his hand, holding you in place. When you looked up at him with a puzzled expression, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft and gentle kiss that stole your breath away. For a moment, you indulged the buried need for him, letting it blossom as he continued to deepen the caress. When he pulled away, you were panting, clinging to his hand like it was your very last hope.

“I cannot stay,” he admitted quietly. “And you are right there are things I have yet to do. Something is coming and our people are in danger, and I would not be able to rest knowing I have done nothing. But I cannot leave until…”

“Until?” you prompted, when seconds ticked by without a resolution to his words.

His lips twitched into a smile, his free hand cupping your jaw. “Until I know I can come back.”

You almost sagged against him, clinging to his shirt with one hand, the other still contained in his larger fingers. “Thor…”

“My Lady Y/N,” he purred back, coaxing you into another kiss that you willingly accepted. The need you’d allowed to surface was becoming all-consuming, mixing with the need to have him return to you, to ease your loneliness in the life you’d chosen. A hope you’d carried for over a millennium burned brighter with each stroke of his tongue over yours, and your fingers twisted in his shirt as you tried to get closer to him.

“Would you stay tonight?” you asked nervously, pulling away only a fraction.

He smiled, nodding lightly. “I will stay a while,” he murmured, dropping a chaste kiss to your lips in between words.

“Then let me show you the bedroom,” you whispered with a slightly shy look, tugging on his hand to lead him to the stairs at the back of the house. He looked almost comical in the small hallways, his large breadth meaning his shoulders nearly brushed each wall as you guided him up to the second floor of your small house. The bedroom took up most of the space up there, with a bathroom occupying the last few square feet.

He didn’t waste time once you were inside the open area, pulling you into another eager embrace, kissing away each nerve and reservation until your resolve was utterly obliterated. You found yourself half-naked before him, rectifying that by almost tearing his shirt in your hurry to even the score.

“I can get you more clothes,” you giggled, dissolving into moans when his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants and underwear, thick fingers caressing you intimately. “Oh…”

Thor grinned, pushing his hand deeper until he had a single digit buried in your tight channel, stroking in exactly the right spot. You clung to his shoulders, panting as he fucked his finger into you, his eyes locked on your face as your expression dissolved with pleasure. “Do you want more?” he asked quietly.

You could only manage a nod with your bottom lip captured between your teeth but instead of increasing the stimulation, he withdrew, pulling you towards the bed. His shirt hit the floor before he turned his attention to your pants, disrobing you until you were entirely nude.

“Lie down,” he murmured, kissing you again, trailing one hand down to tease a puckered nipple. You shuddered and obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed without taking your eyes off of him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, slipping one hand over your bare thigh, and you realized he’d asked you to lay, not sit. Leaning back, you swallowed a whimper as he pressed your legs apart, returning his fingers to your sex. It had been so long since anyone had touched you like this - human males seemed too fragile for the sort of enthusiasm you usually displayed and most of your attempts had failed miserably. The only man who had ever pleased you without concern for injury was the one touching you now, further proof, you felt, that he was the only one for you.

He was quick to penetrate you again, leaning in as his fingers filled you, dragging his tongue over the swollen pearl of nerves that made a shaky breath pass your lips. You fisted the sheets underneath you in one hand, letting the other dance over his golden locks as he began to feast on your cunt. He grunted as he devoured you, his free hand pinning your thigh to the bed as his other fingers fucked into you with a steady stroke.

“Thor,” you whined, pushing yourself further up the bed as if you could escape the unbearable pleasure building in your core. He only tightened his hold on you, and you heard the bed creak under his weight. “Thor, please -”

Pulling his mouth away abruptly, he grinned at you, withdrawing his fingers with a little more leisure and sliding them into his mouth, sucking your essence from them. “You’re still just as impatient as always.”

You smirked, pushing up onto your elbows as you watched him stand and discard his pants before he crawled up the bed, his larger frame covering yours. His knees parted your thighs, the thick heft of his cock resting heavily against your drenched sex as he drove in for another kiss.

“I missed you,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his when he broke away once more. His blue eyes seemed to shuffle through darker hues as he looked down at you, careful to hold the majority of his weight off of your body.

“And I you,” he replied. “But I will always endeavor to return to you, Y/N. I swear by all of Asgard and the Nine Realms; I belong with you.”

You wanted to say more, though it felt superfluous, but then Thor was pushing into you, filling you so completely that all you could do was cling to him. Each kiss was met with enthusiasm, and you quickly wrapped your legs around him to pull him in deeper, letting him settle in your belly with a comfortable and familiar weight. One of his hands rested on your ass, the other underneath your shoulder, and when he began to move, every cell in your body sang.

His thrusts were measured and slow but hard enough that you felt the first stirrings of climax within only minutes, digging your fingernails into his shoulders as he drove into you. You whimpered into each kiss, responding to every touch with just as much passion as he gave, desperate and unwilling to break contact with him for so much as a second. Thor seemed to share that sentiment, moving the hand under your shoulder to cradle your head, allowing him to plunder your mouth with his tongue until you were aching to breathe. Your head swam with bliss, and you could barely find the strength to cry out as the wave of pleasure dragged you under.

Thor slowed, lifting to watch you as you fell apart, keeping his strokes hard and purposeful, glancing down to witness your body accepting every inch of him. “My Queen,” he hummed, dropping his mouth to suck one hard nipple between his lips.

You smiled lazily at the quiet comment. “I’m not a Queen,” you corrected softly.

His eyes met yours, and he released your breast with a wet pop. “To me, you are.” He didn’t give you a chance to argue, sweeping you away on another round of intense kisses, rocking into you with a steady rhythm. You felt the pressure in your belly build once more, only this time, you want to feel him, all of him.

“Thor -”

“I know,” he shushed, breathless with exertion. “Kiss me.”

It wasn’t a crescendo like you’d experienced before. This time felt different, more concrete, more mature - he was promising to always return to you, even if he couldn’t stay. His oath was more binding than even the bond you’d shared as children, and you knew it would be a vow he would never break.

“Let me feel you,” he whispered, and you crashed, clinging to him as he spilled into you, eagerly accepting a last hard kiss before the both of you collapsed atop the sheets. Thor was quick to move you into a more comfortable position, holding your body firm against his as he sought out lazy, gentle kisses and caresses.

You laid still in his arms for a while, enjoying the warmth of his body, listening to his heart pound in his chest, mirroring your own heartbeat. There was a stickiness you’d have to deal with eventually, though that threw up an entirely new problem.

“You know,” you whispered, looking up at him as he gazed down at you, “I’m not sure you’re going to fit in the shower.”

He laughed, a throaty and loud noise that made you smile anew. “We’ll figure it out,” he chuckled when his mirth died down a little.

For a second, you simply stared at him, unable to voice the dozens of questions clogging your head and your heart. “And everything else?”

Thor smiled, cupping your cheek and leaning in to kiss you softly. “There is nothing we cannot conquer,” he murmured, “together.”

If you enjoyed reading this, please let me know your thoughts by either reblogging or sending an ask! Feedback is like gold to creators, we love hearing from you!

#thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #asgardian!reader #smut #fluff #angst #the three main food groups of fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfiction #kitten writes #rhi writes

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chimaerakitten · 1 year

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One under-appreciated breed of fic writer are the ones who hyperfocus on logistics to the exclusion of all canon shortcuts, and thus usually strike upon an awesome way to flesh out the worldbuilding or characters.

Like, I’m not necessarily talking realism here since often it’s still pretty far from realistic, but more like, “someone has to be running spies in this fantasy kingdom, and we’ve seen the whole royal court, so which background character is it? How does that change these three major interactions?” Or “real life historical nobility did in fact have some things to do that were like jobs, how does this human disaster cope with running an estate?” Or “there’s no reason for a sci-fi robot detective to know how to whitewater kayak, where’d she learn?” Or “if this guy is serving the emperor directly he has to be way high up in the space empire servant hierarchy, why is he doing this menial task for someone else? What’s his motive? Does he perhaps have the secret space telepathy?”

Anyway I’m always DELIGHTED to find a fic or writer who asks these questions because the fics themselves are universally bangers.

#fic writing #the kitten rambles #fanfiction #idk I just love em #if you have any favorites in this genre send ‘em my way

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bebx · 4 months

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Taylor Swift is right when she says karma is a cat

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master-xochimilli · 1 month

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I just want soft cuddlefucking. Arms holding me tightly, a nice slow deep fuck, kissing and praising me while wiping my tears away, fucking all the stupid sad out my head, reassuring me it'll be okay soon and that they've got me

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whinesandwhimpers · 3 months

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puppy!johnny being selfish during sex and owner!simon immediately picks up on your sad noises and pulls johnny off, grabs his jaw roughly and scolds him on neglecting the kitten before simon pushes him away and settles between your legs.

"'s'alright, kitten, I'll take care of you, my good kitty," he coos, large hand on your cheek as you nuzzle against it and stare up at him with wide eyes, before he turns to johnny. "bad dogs don't even get to watch. go sit in the corner and face the wall."

#soap being able to hear everything but not being able to look? delicious torture #ghoap x reader #kitten!reader #puppy!johnny #owner!simon #my writing

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bluerosefox · 6 months

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Beloved Beyond Time

A DeadSerious Prompt where a young Damian follows his mother's advice about finding his future 'Beloved' and is smitten with a TimeTraveling Ghost King (Prince) Danny when his grandfather summoned the eldritch being.

Damian, despite being young, will want no other to be by his side once he takes over the League. Especially since the King was able to strike fear in his grandfather for even just for a moment.

Danny, whose just started taking up his soon to be Kingly title and duties, at first freaked out when a kid who just got out of toddlerhood is offering marriage. Who wouldn't. And well while he didn't fully encourage it, he found it a little adorable and tried to nudge the kid away from said... err crush feelings?

He was a little sad to have to say goodbye to the kid when his month long stay with the al Ghul's (mostly to see if they're worthy to keep the Pits) he was pretty for sure he'd never run into the kid again and if he did who knows how old they'd actually be because again.. time travel.

So Danny now at the age of 16 really wasn't expecting to be basically be cornered on his first day at his new school at Gotham Academy by a 17 year old Damian Wayne who is leaning over him and says "Hello Beloved. Time has been kind to you it seems."

Danny's poor half-alive heart is currently dying from being cornered by an older Damian.

Let this crazy train wreck begin.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead serious #Damian sneaked into a League meeting when they summoned the Ghost King #but they actually got the Ghost Prince who was learning how to handle realm duties at the time #but Danny doesn't tell them that. Also they summoned him when he was practicing his eldritch form. So yeah he scared them.#Danny actually scared Ra's into submission by threatening his precious Lazarus Pits since he was going to be forced to stay for a month #Danny actually and sadly can't do much to the Pits.Its been there for so long the world would start to become unstable if he took them away #He can heal people who have been effected by it though #Anyways this is another thing Ra's doesn't actually need to know if Danny has anything to say about it #Damian is a smitten kitten by the being who managed to strike fear in his grandfather #and decides only the Ghost King was worthy of becoming his Beloved #During the month he tries to get Danny to agree to their impending marriage #Danny freaks at first but finds it a little adorable and never really takes it seriously #he does try to reason with Damian about how it wont work but the boy is stubborn #Damian does worm a spot in Danny's heart though by being stubbornly adorable #When the month is up. Damian swears to a fading Danny he will marry him in the future #Danny returns to his own time and thinks thats the end of that.#A few weeks later he finds out that someone as a joke signed him up for an exchange student program and that he was picked to go to Gotham #Damian has NEVER forgotten the one he calls Beloved #and has drawn him. Many times. In Eldritch form. Ghost King form. Little Man form. Phantom form. EVEN his human form only Damian knew of.#So when Damian spots Danny. He knows who he is.#Damian is gonna try to channel his mother's abilities in seduction to woo his Beloved

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kittenintheden · 2 months

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Ethics Review

Dave Matthews voice: I DID IT

Tav (reader) and Astarion pay his old office at the Courts a visit in the middle of the night for funsies and things get spicy.

aka it's the switchy bitchy magistrate roleplay fic

Rating: E Word Count: 5.2k Pairing: Astarion/reader (Tav) Content: 18+, light BDSM elements, sexual roleplay, bitches be switches, dirty talk, spanking, orgasm denial, light edgeplay, oral sex, PIV sex (AFAB reader, not gendered)

AO3 Link

It’s late, but then, it’s always late when you’re out with Astarion these days. By necessity, mostly, but also because it’s the best time for the pair of you to get up to your more unsavory plans without catching the watchful eye of the newly-reformed Fist.

“Where are you taking me?” you laugh as you follow him through a series of dark alleys. “This better not end with me having to send for Gale to get your hand out of another magicked jar.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?” He looks over his shoulder and gives you an affectionate smirk.

“Not ever.”

Astarion peers around the corner of a brown brick building, checking that the coast is clear. To you, he says, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving soul.”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, wrapping your arms around him from behind and nuzzling his neck. “Two of your most obvious and accurate qualities.”

He chuckles. “We’re almost there. Come on.”

A labyrinthine dozen alleyways later, you’re deposited in an open square, quiet and still. The cobblestones are dark with recent rain, sending their petrichor scent into the air. As you follow Astarion out into the space, you realize where you are. It’s the Courthouse District of the Lower City, where people are tried and held for petty crimes that aren’t suitable for Wyrm’s Rock.

You huff a laugh through your nose and look over at your partner with a raised eyebrow. “Did you need to tell me something? Have a court date you forgot to mention?”

“Hush,” he playfully scolds you, holding a finger up to his lips. “Let me think a moment.”

He peers up at a particular building on the square and furrows his brow, closing his eyes and moving his hands through the air. You fold your arms and watch as he moves his fingers like he’s following a path only he can see, turning corners and raising level by level. At last, he opens his eyes, and points at window on the third floor, two in from the corner.

“That one,” he says.

“That one what?” you prompt.

He grins devilishly. “That…” he points again. “... is my old office. I thought we might pay it a visit.”

“To what end?” you laugh.

“What can I say, I’m feeling a touch nostalgic these days.” He keeps his eye on the window and beckons you to follow closer to the building. “Something about my old haunts is calling to me.”

Behind where he can’t see, you pay him an affectionate smile. In the last year or so since the fall of the Nether Brain, you’ve seen the city rebuilt and gone on your fair share of adventures and quests, always searching for some way to give Astarion back the sunlight you promised him. No luck yet, but there have been promising leads here and there. It’s not a lost cause. Not yet.

The last few months in particular have seen certain changes in your lover. The terror and fear he carried for so long clung to him like a shadow, and ever so slowly it’s beginning to lift. His laugh is more present than before, more real. The intimate moments you share are filled with trust and care, even as you get more comfortable pushing a few boundaries here and there.

Most of all, he’s been remembering. Not everything. There are parts of his past forever lost to him, written over by more years of torment than he ever had of life. But there’ve been flashes every now and again of who he used to be. Some of them he likes, some he loathes. He doesn’t always talk about it, but you know being able to pick up a piece once in a while has meant a great deal to him.

So you follow along with whatever little game he has planned.

He walks along the building, scanning the brick for footholds. Just as he puts his hand on a storm drain and tenses to leap, you halt him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looks back at you, you flick your eyes up toward the window.

“Three up, two in from then end?” you ask.

He nods.

“Allow me, love.”

You hold up your hand and cobalt magic pools in your palm, forming into a sphere. You send it up above you, the arcane eye floating until it finds the correct window before it slips inside. You blink, your own eyes glowing blue as you use your magic to scan the room. It’s certainly an office of some sort.

Astarion takes your hand when you hold it out for him and instantly you’re transported inside the office thanks to a handy little dimensional door spell you picked up on one of your many adventures. You wave away the arcane eye and give Astarion a wink.

He smirks and shakes his head at you. “Take all of the fun out of the thing, why don’t you,” he says through his smile. “Suppose I’ll have to make do with checking that the place isn’t alarmed. Alas.”

The place is, indeed, alarmed. Astarion manages to disarm two common magic wires and one trickier sending stone scattered throughout the room. You reach out through the Weave for any other whispers of magic. Some artifacts and lightly magical office supplies. Nothing worrisome.

Once you’re both satisfied that you won’t end up immediately arrested, Astarion moves to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. You’re quiet as he scans the walls, turning in a slow circle as he takes everything in. His fangs flash as he gives a quiet laugh.

“The layout is different, and the color,” he says. “But yes, this is the place.” He furrows his brow slightly and holds out his hands, eyes on the floor. “I… worked here. Me. A magistrate.” His eyes find you and his smile widens. “It was a lie for so much longer than it was a reality. But it was a reality, once upon a time.”

“I’m surprised,” you say, folding your arms and nonchalantly stepping closer. “The way you spoke and dressed when we first met, I thought you must’ve been an Upper City fancy defending-the-powerful type.”

Astarion clicks his tongue at you. “Now, don’t be judgmental. That’s my job.” He waves a hand through the air. “I was quite young in my career, but I was working my way up. All the way to the third floor, thank you.”

You come in to wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Genuinely.”

He spreads his fingers over your forearm, pressing his lips to your hair. “Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” He clears his throat and removes your arms, backing away from you with a toss of his head. “But don’t be too proud. I wasn’t exactly a… what’s the term? Model citizen.”

Astarion begins to walk around the small table with four chairs set in the center of the room.

“Oh?” you say, walking around the other side to mirror him. “Were you terribly corrupt?”

He pauses and tilts his head, shrugging. “‘Terribly’ is such a strong word, isn’t it? Lets just say I may have been known to, ah… sway the odds in my favor.”

You stop and look across the table at him. “What do magistrates even do, exactly? What did you do, specifically?”

“An absolutely stupid amount of paperwork, as I recall,” he says. “At least, I certainly remember hating every scrap that came across the desk. Meting out appropriate punishment for any minor and petty crime you can think of, most of them horrifically boring. But…” He leans over the table and holds up a finger. “... sometimes I got to conduct interviews to determine if crime was worthy of Wyrm’s Rock, and I was very good at getting the verdict I wanted.”

You rather like seeing this side of Astarion. Honest pride, confidence, and authority. The tip of your tongue runs along your bottom lip as you take in your love leaning over that table, dappled in moonlight. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“And how did you do that?” You pop your hip and raise your thumb to your mouth, teasing your lip as you peer up at him through your eyelashes. “Exactly?”

Astarion notices the shift in your demeanor immediately, his own eyes going half-lidded as they track the path of your hand to your mouth. His grin goes predatory and he leans back so he can come around the table to you and pull out the chair.

“Please, darling,” he says, nodding for you to sit. “Let’s talk, you and I.”

You pay him a sultry smile and sink into the chair, which he pushes in under you. Then he walks back around to the other side with his spine straight, hands folded behind his back.

A new game begins.

Astarion rolls out his shoulders as if he’s shedding a coat. When he turns to look at you, he does so down the length of his nose, his hard gaze making it clear that he thinks you beneath him.

You shiver as a thrill runs down your back and attempt to hide it.

He shakes his head above you, tutting. You’ve disappointed him.

Instinctively, you shrink into your chair slightly as he leans forward and places the tips of his fingers against the table in front of him, continuing to lower his face until it’s a mere foot from yours.

“A pathetic display back there,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “Your associates have hung you out to dry. You do know that…” He tilts his head. “... don’t you?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and drop your eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Silly little patsy,” he chides as he straightens to glare down at you again. “Such stars in your eyes for friends who would sooner see you burn than stick their necks out for you.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” you say, raising your eyes to him in defiance even as you let a waver of nerves shake your voice.

“What must it be like to be so tragically misguided?” he sneers. It’s like an echo of a man you once knew. One you met on a sunny beach amid burning wreckage.

You blink up at him, eyes going soft. “I can’t betray them.”

“Betray them,” he breathes, huffing a mirthless laugh as he leans one hand onto a nearby chair. “My dear, they are in the next room, and the room after that, giving you up as we speak. No loyalty among thieves, I fear.”

“No,” you gasp. “They wouldn’t.”

Astarion holds a finger up to his lips, shushing you. “I think you know better than that. But fine, have it your way. Don’t give them up to save your own hide. Let me sweeten the pot.”

He turns his body so he can side-sit on the table and put his first knuckle under your chin, lifting it so he can inspect you. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Gold to line your pockets, perhaps?”

Though you try to stop it, your body betrays you as a bright blush blooms across your nose and cheeks. Astarion’s pupils dilate above you.

“Or something else entirely?” he whispers, tilting his mouth closer to yours. “I’d much sooner send those two cads to Wyrm’s Rock in your place. Help me, and maybe you and I could have a bit of…” His eyes trail down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and beyond before he looks back into your eyes. “... fun in celebration.”

“Why would you do that for me?” you whisper back.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I rather like you. Plus, I might get a little kickback in the form of a promotion for bringing in two thorns in the Fist’s side, but that’s neither here nor there.” He rolls his eyes and pays you a flirtatious smile on the last bit.

And that… is your opening.

Your expression grows serious and you note the moment that Astarion’s eyebrows give the briefest twitch of concern.

"You've overplayed your hand, Magistrate Ancunín," you say.

Astarion draws his hand back and gives you a perplexed look. “Have I?”

You smile, then. Calm and dangerous. "I've been sent by the Board of Ethics, you see."

Astarion is thrown by this turn, but he recovers quickly, offering a simpering smile. "Oh? Oh, dear. Seems I've been caught with my pants down."

You stand, holding his eye. "Indeed. Best go place your hands on the desk where I can see them."

With a flourish, he holds his hands up for you to see. No funny business, none at all. He goes to the desk and spreads his palms flat against the polished wood. He must feel the heat of your skin as you come close, only inches away. Inspecting. Considering.

You lean in close to his ear. "Say our word if you'd like me to stop, Ancunín," you whisper.

"Stop what?" he asks.

In answer, you grab his hips and pull them flush against your own with enough force that he gasps from it, genuinely surprised. In his ear again, you whisper, "Teaching you a lesson."

You release him and move to his side. He turns his head to look at you and you can see the openmouthed surprise in his face, but it’s more than that. Surprised, yes, but also open. Interested. Very turned on. You know this look.

This is Astarion’s “oh, we’re doing that thing I like?” look. It’s a good look on him.

You tap a finger on his nearest hand. “Keep these exactly where they are. I must warn you that you face serious repercussions for witness tampering. I have some questions. Answer them to my satisfaction, and I may consider…” Your gaze trails down to the front of his trousers, which are straining. When you meet his eye again, you add, “... reinstatement.”

Astarion tilts his chin down so he can give you a heated look. “Then by all means,” he says, lips parted. “Ask.”

“Hm,” you hum as you trail your fingers over the desk as you walk around to the other side. You mimic his stance with your hands on the table, though yours is one of authority while his is one of awaiting judgment. He tilts his head at you in question, gaze hot. You match it.

“Let’s start with an easy one.” You tilt your head toward the wall without breaking eye contact. “That placard hanging there. What is it?”

He looks and then huffs through his nose. “It’s an oath.”

You tilt your head the other way. “And what does it say?”

Astarion smirks. “‘As an officer of the Court, I will strive to conduct myself at all times with integrity, dignity, and honor.’”

“That’s right,” you say, nodding. “Now tell me, Ancunín… do you feel you’ve conducted yourself in accordance with that oath?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation, flashing you a winning smile. “I offered you the utmost dignity and honor, did I not?”

An idea occurs to you and you imagine he catches the twinkle in your eye as you raise one of your hands to click your fingers, a glowing web of pale blue stretching to cage you both inside. Astarion frowns up at it. The moment he realizes what you’ve done, he gives you a look that’s half-exasperated and half-devious.

“What’s this?” he says, playing along.

“A little insurance policy. To ensure your adherence to honesty.” You reach to the collar of your shirt and undo one button. Then another.

Then another.

Astarion struggles to keep his eyes on your face, but when you lean back down onto the table, he can’t help but sneak a peek.

You toy with another button. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about dignity now?”

Astarion bites the corner of his lip to keep his expression serious. He keeps his eyes trained on your chest and seems to carefully consider his words before he says, “I maintain that I respect the dignity of your tits.”

That’s not what he meant to say. He blinks. His eyes flick up to yours. “Your position,” he amends.

His eyes flick back down. “Your position and your tits.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes, I thought that might be the case. That you might be… what do they say? Dipping your wick in the law office wax.”

You stand and come back around to his side, maintaining your spell as you do. Astarion tracks you all the way back around.

“I’d like you to be as honest with me as you can be,” you say softly. “Not that you’ve much choice. So, in that case, here’s some extra… motivation.”

You’re behind him now and you hear his sharp intake of breath when he feels your palms spread over either side of his hips before moving around to the ties at the front of his trousers. You loosen them just enough to give you space.

Astarion’s knuckles are going white where he presses his fingers against the desk.

Your fingers are soft and warm against his lower abdomen as they dip below his waistband, then inside his underthings. You find what you seek and grip it firmly, fisting the length of him. He bites back a groan and flexes his hands against the wood as you draw him out into the open air.

“You do keep it cool in here,” you whisper into his ear. You keep your touch light as you tease his cock, just enough to make him want but not nearly enough to satiate the need. “Why is that?”

Astarion swallows and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “A little discomfort loosens the tongue, I find.” He struggles to keep the breathiness out of his voice and very nearly succeeds.

Nearly.

Your smile is wicked. “I see. Well.”

You rest his hardened length against the varnished wood of the desk. It’s cool on his touch-warmed skin and he whines lightly as you leave him there to walk around to his other side, fingertips drawing a trail across his broad back and shoulders.

“In that case, we’ll be leaving that…” You glance down at his cock, then back at his face. “… out in the cold until you’ve answered my questions to my satisfaction. Understood?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and meets your eye. “Completely.”

“Good.” You move one of his misplaced curls back into place. “If I’m satisfied, I just might let you warm it up again. We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall,” he says, voice dropping deeper, and you can sense the challenge there. You smile as you turn away from him.

“Let’s try again,” you say. “Do you make a habit of lying to your interviewees in hopes of manipulating a confession?”

“Is ‘lying’ the word we want to use?” he says with a lilt.

“Yes.” You turn back to look at him.

He clears his throat, chewing his tongue to hide another smile before he looks away. He thinks a moment, then says, “I occasionally massage my message to pave the way for a more fruitful discussion in my favor, yes. Only in the interest of this office and my personal satisfaction.” He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You shake your head. “My, my. And just when I thought we were getting somewhere. Perhaps you need a reminder that I hold your immediate future in my hands?”

When you move back in and loosen his trousers still further to shove down his hips and below his arse, he wriggles to help. He seems to think he’s won this phase of the game. Adorable.

Rather than give him any relief, you reach out to the desk and pick up a wooden ruler, thin and flexible. Astarion opens his mouth, presumably to ask what you’re doing, but doesn’t get the chance as you use the flat of the ruler to give him a quick smack on his bare arse.

He cries out in surprise and looks around at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and give him the opportunity to call his out. Instead, you watch his eyes darken. He’s still in. Which is good, because gods above if you aren’t beginning to make a mess of your underwear already.

“Do you understand your situation?” you ask.

“Maybe you ought to remind me again,” he rumbles.

You do, leaving another slap on his pale skin. A shiver travels up his back from the base of his spine all the way up.

“I understand,” he says.

“Very good,” you say. “Do you manipulate the outcomes of your interviews?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he says quietly, peering up at you from under his brows.

“Thank you for your honesty. With bribery?”

He nods.

You bend forward so you’re eye-to-eye. “And do you frequently offer favors of a sexual nature?”

Astarion’s gaze drops to your mouth and he blinks heavily. “That’s only for when I see someone I like,” he says.

There’s another slap to his arse, quick as reflex, and he gives a small, broken “a-ah” as he drops his head. He spoke the truth, your spell ensures that, but you want him to be more specific. You look down to see he’s subtly grinding himself against the desk, his cock beginning to weep pre-fluid as you watch.

You place the ruler against his back to hold him in place. “None of that,” you say. “Not until you clarify. Why me?”

He groans in frustration. “Because I like you. Because I’m attracted to you. Because I want to be inside you and fuck and fuck and fuck until we’re both hoarse from crying our ecstasy.”

Well. The pair of underwear you’re wearing are officially done for, you fear.

“What a wicked tongue you have,” you breathe, not quite able to keep up your aura of authority. You swallow and add, “Perhaps I’ll consider letting you off with a warning if we can figure out a better use for it.”

Astarion goes to his knees so quickly it makes your head spin. You don’t hesitate to take care of the bindings on your own trousers and he’s eager to help, shoving your clothing to the floor. You’re trying to remove a boot when he presses his face into the crux of your legs and runs his tongue along the seam of you so hotly that you nearly fall over. You lean down and give him another half-hearted smack. All it does is elicit a groan against your most sensitive of places.

With some struggle, you manage to remove the boot, kick your trousers and underthings off of one leg, and hop up to sit on the desk, Astarion follows you along, refusing to let you leave him now that he’s on you. His mouth works against you on its own, tongue lapping firmly at the edges of your cunt, flushing you and making you swell. He hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you know you’re already slick with desire.

You’re so momentarily distracted that you almost miss where his hands have gone.

Chest heaving, you weakly wave to dismiss your Zone of Truth and call up your mage hand, sending it down where you can’t reach to grab the wrist of the hand Astarion’s using to pump his cock while he licks at you.

“I don’t think so,” you gasp. “Still on… probation.”

You’re losing the thread and you’re perfectly okay with it.

Astarion growls in response and comes up higher on his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you tight against his face. His tongue finally finds your center and he rolls it against your entrance, plying the place just inside that makes you go flush with arousal, your clit swelling further. Then he finally pays it attention with a light draw followed by firm circles, teasing until you feel sparkles of arcane energy tingling at your fingertips and zaps of pleasure shoot through your core.

He holds you so tight to him that there’s no escape from the assault of pleasure he’s waging on your body. All too soon, you’re whimpering as you approach your peak.

And Astarion simply stops. He leaves you there, right before the edge, and you cry out in dismay and frustration. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s on his feet and pulling you onto yours, spinning you around until your hips are pressed to the edge of the dark wood. You can feel his rock hard length against the cleft of your arse, feel the wetness at the tip of him against your lower back.

“You’ve overplayed your hand this time, I think,” he pants into your ear. “Let your guard down. What member of the Board of Ethics accepts bribes?”

When you try to wriggle free, you feel his fingers at your wrists. He takes your hands and spreads them on the desk as you’d done to him, bending you over. His hips draw back and then return and you feel his hardness drag over your folds from behind, teasing but not quite putting pressure on your clit.

His breathing is heavy, but through it, he manages, “This time, you tell me the truth. Why did you meet with me?”

“To catch you out,” you gasp. “Your behavior has been… unethical.”

“Is it unethical to recognize when someone wants your cock?” he whispers, sending a tingle over your shoulders. “Is it against my oath to offer?”

“That’s not… I didn’t…”

The head of his cock nudges your clit and you both hiss through your teeth. He pulls back until he catches at your entrance, pushing in just barely. Just enough to begin to feel him, but nowhere near enough of him. Instinctively you arch your back harder, trying to take more, but he won’t let you.

“Beg me,” he growls in your ear. “Beg me for my cock. Tell me it’s why you came here.”

Your very last thread of remaining restraint is pulled to its absolute limit, but it doesn’t break quite yet. “I came here on orders to uncover a magistrate with loose morals,” you manage.

Astarion reaches a hand up to the hair at the back of your head, grabs a handful, and gently pulls to bend your head back. Directly into your ear, he whispers, “You’ve found him. Now beg for it.”

In the quiver of his voice, you can hear that he’s the one begging you.

So you give in.

“I came here for you,” you whisper back. “Please, let me. Let me take your cock.”

His breath shudders out of him. “Take it you shall.”

Astarion thrusts his hips forward, burying himself in you, and you hardly have time to so much as gasp before he sets a punishing rhythm, one arm around your waist to hold you in place and the other one still tangled up in your hair. You arch deeply, giving him as much access as you can, and he pounds into you relentlessly. On the outskirts of your awareness, you feel bruises beginning to form on your hipbones from where they repeatedly hit the desk.

You don’t care one whit.

He keeps you bent over the desk, your palms spread to keep you both upright as he fucks you hard, his moans trapped behind his clenched teeth. As you fly full speed back to your edge, he removes the hand from your head and absently places it over your mouth to muffle your own escalating cries.

The coil of your climax tightens and Astarion begins to mutter a steady mantra of “yes, yes, yes, gods, yes” beside your ear. He presses himself all the way to the hilt and rocks, the base of him stretching you just right and his balls pressed firm to your clit and there, oh there, it’s right-

You scream behind Astarion’s palm as you come, the delicious tension boiling and spilling over as contractions roll through you, pleasure washing over your body with every heartbeat. You nearly blank out for a second and when you blink back down, your lover continues to pump into you as he chases his own end.

With a shaking hand, you call up your mage hand from where it shimmers nearby and press it to his chest, pushing back with soft pressure.

“No,” Astarion whines, attempting one or two more thrusts before you back him up. “No, please, please, I didn’t finish, I-”

You turn, bottomless and eyes full of fuck and revenge, and add your own hands to the mix, all three pushing him back until he hits the deposition table, going flat on his back. You crawl up over him and straddle him, up on your knees just out of reach.

You look down upon him, beautiful and fucked out in the moonlight. “Do you regret any of it?” you say.

“I’m regretting a lot of my decisions at the moment,” he snarks. His lips part as he breathes.

With a smile, you roll your hips just enough to catch the head of his cock back at your opening. “Do you regret any of it?” you repeat.

He pants, looking up at you. Then he reaches up to grip the front of your shirt and pull you down over him in a searing kiss. When you break, he whispers, “No. Not a moment. It brought me to you.”

You roll back, sinking down onto him. He gasps and throws his arms around you, helping you get back into rhythm, and he’s so close that it’s barely any time at all before he arches his back clear up off the table and groans as he spills inside of you, the relief painted across every inch of his face. He comes for nearly a minute, twitching and humming beneath you until he finally relaxes into a boneless heap.

When he next opens his eyes, you lean down and catch him in another kiss.

The pair of you have barely redressed and cast a few prestidigitation cantrips as a courtesy before there’s a sound somewhere down the hall. Footsteps. Coming closer.

“Shit,” Astarion whispers, startled. He grabs your hand and spins you both into a dim corner of the room before you both cast Invisibility. Just in the nick of time, it appears, because there’s a jangle of keys and then a harried-looking halfling comes bustling into the room, dark bags under their eyes.

They grumble to themselves for a moment, going to a box to sort through files. They don’t find what they’re looking for and move on to the desk. Once there, they open a drawer, then wrinkle their nose.

“Bleeding hells, it smells like sex in here,” they grumble. “Gonna tell Jackobson that Cole has been using his office again. Teach that arsehole for making me come fetch the file he forgot.”

The halfling pulls a file from the drawer, slams it, and exits the room.

Neither of you move for the rest of the minute your invisibility lasts. As soon as the cloaking spell fades, you both collapse to the floor in quiet giggles. You kiss Astarion through your laughter, again and again.

It’s nice to see this side of him.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #tavstarion #kitten writes

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nyanbinary-catboy · 8 months

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Your partner had their friends over while you were doing your own things, until they called you over.

"So remember how I told you guys that I can make them into a drooling mindless slut just by the sight of my cock? Wanna see?"

"Wha- Hey, what do you mean?!"

Your partner didn't answer you, instead standing up from where they were sitting and undoing their belt buckle. You had no idea what they were saying or doing, and you were offended and embarrassed by the way they talked about you in front of their friends, yet somehow watching them undoing their belt already made something in your mind click.

You tried to ask, "Honey, what are you-" but before you could finish, they pulled out their already erect cock and within one moment, your entire brain went blank. As if on instinct, you dropped to your knees, your empty eyes starring up hungry at your partner's delicious cock. Your mouth hangs wide open, and it didn't take long for drool to spill onto your chest. Every single neuron in your brain could only think about cock.

"Damn, you really weren't kidding," one of your partner's friends said, but you didn't even register it. You only heard your partner's voice, speaking in that sweet and sultry tone that made you endlessly aroused.

"Heh. They are my stupid little cockslut. Isn't that right?"

"Cockslut..." you tried repeating, but with your tongue hanging out of your mouth it wasn't understandable as any kind of language.

Your partner- no, your owner. Your owner's friends were talking about something, but your cock-obsessed mind didn't understand anything. All it understood was cock, cock, cock.

"That's hot and all, it's really making me horny. Can we have a go at them?"

Looking up at your owner's cock, you saw them grinning down at you. "Well, let me ask them. My cockslut, would you mind having some more cocks to pleasure?"

"Cocks!" you grunted out excitedly, drooling even more. Of course your owner's cock will always be the best, but the more cocks there are, the more pleasure! You love pleasing cocks!

Your owner looked back to their friends again, "You guys can go ahead."

#kitten writes #hypnokink #hypnosub #hypno pet #hypno slave #hypnotized #brainwashing #mind conditioning #mind control #c0ckslut #hypno story #queer nsft

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katsukikitten · 11 months

Text

Teasing Bakugou, your husband of almost ten years, with a harmless prank by asking him "What do you think about sleeping in separate rooms?"

And he turns to you, giving you the WORST grimace he has and says immediately "Shut the fuck up." As he always does when you say something off the wall he knows you don't mean.

"No babe I'm serious they say we'll sleep better-"

"We'll sleep better? We'll fuckin sleep better? Are they us now?" He's rolling his eyes and back to his tasks, "Nah one room."

"Okay what about separate beds then?"

"What? Get the fuck outta here."

"Yea, like bunk beds or something." He freezes, shirtless and in his grey sweatpants, pausing his task of the dishes, even turning off the water so he can hear your answer to his question better.

"Yer telling me ya want fuckin bunk beds in our room? How are we gonna fuck baby? Ya gonna hang off the side of the top bunk and I eat it? Dumb ass."

You of course stick to the bit.

"But then we'd have our space to go if we argue."

"Are we arguing?"

"No-"

"Then we ain't changing shit. End of discussion." He then turns on the water and mumbles to himself "Fuck outta my face, bunk beds, separate bedrooms and shit."

Reckon it makes his blood pressure high enough he has to add one more thing.

"And another thing little miss cries on the phone when I can't come home from my monthly night hero shift cause it's hard to sleep without me. How the fuck would ya manage two nights without me when we've been sleeping together for a full fuckin decade."

"Deku body pillow." He blows up the plate in his hand, turns off the water and launches himself over the counter peninsula to pin you to the soft couch where he can tickle you and smack your ass until you admit defeat, "Okay okay! A Dynamight body pillow!"

He let's up, scarred chest all puffed out before he huffs

"Yer god damn right." His strong fingers squeezing your cheeks and puckering your lips, "Sides yer not sleeping in any bed but ours. Got it, princess?"

#kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️

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teddybeartoji · 2 months

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it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

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