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pucksandpower · 28 days

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Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

2K notes · View notes

livinginshambles · 6 months

Text

I thought you'd be different | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: A cinderella story (maybe a little romeo and juliet while we're at it) but Hogwarts - Enemies-ish to lovers. You find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (James). When you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. When you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style.

Probably part one of two again.

Notes: Not proofread, grammar mistakes. Discrimination issues, themes of bullying. Regulus is our friend. James is an idiot, but we knew that already. Sirius sucks.

Masterlist. Part two. Part three

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

You could still remember the moment vividly, as if it was engraved in your memory. That moment when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like your two older sisters had been sorted. You could still see the look of surprise, concern, horror and then eventually disgust, every time you close your eyes.

“Now we finally know your true colors,” is what your sister Alyssa had hissed coldly at you. You had pleadingly looked at your other sister, but Marla had supported her twin sister, disregarding the confused and scared look in your eleven-year-old eyes.

“Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us and don’t mention us at all,” she sneered down at you and for a moment you wondered how she hadn’t been the one to be sorted into Slytherin instead. But you had cast your eyes down and agreed.

But years passed and you had become the very stereotype of a Slytherin student, completely leaning into the cold, distant, quiet but calculating persona that your sisters had created for you. Might as well, you figured after your parent’s dismay at the revelation of your house.

You were making your way down the corridor, long strides as you passed your sisters while looking them straight in the eye. They grimaced at the sight of you, but without their entire group of classmates, they didn’t dare make any comments. A feeling of victory erupted inside of you, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that crept up your face.

“What poor soul suffered for you to look so satisfied?” You turned your head to look at the person who called out to you. James Potter and Sirius Black were both leaning against a statue in the open yard. “Did you get rid of Regulus or something?” Sirius taunted. “Finally had enough of him following you around, did you L/N?”

“Go die in a ditch, Sirius,” you retorted with an eye roll, but seemed unphased.

“Why so much hostility,” James unpleasantly remarked, and you halted in your step. “10 points from Gryffindor for loitering,” you pettily decided.

“If you have nothing to do, other than insulting students, I would love to recommend you to Professor McGonagall for detention. Heard she was still looking for the person who made all the pumpkins explode last week during Halloween, and you guys are terrible at getting rid of the evidence.” With a last glance up and down, you continued your way towards the room of requirement.

When you entered the sober room with a sigh, you noticed the small scrolled up piece of parchment in the middle of the room. You frowned. This was your space. The room didn’t open this space for anyone else, you made it specifically as a safe haven.

You cautiously approached the parchment and rolled it open to reveal nothing. It was completely blank. You shrugged. If the room left this here, it was meant for you, and so you took a seat and started drawing on it.

James sat in an empty room, his invisibility cloak hiding him from plain sight as he pulled the now folded paper from his back pocket. He inspected it closely, almost pressing the paper to his glasses in a curious manner. He had gone to the Room of Requirements earlier that day and found a piece of paper floating in the air.

James unfolded the paper, and his eyebrows flew up. Lines were appearing on the paper by itself, and a beautiful portrait of a weeping willow with a girl, crying on a bench under the tree appeared.

James fumbled to find his quill and ink. Then he started to write something on it, in a handwriting that he only ever used for written exams. Credits to Professor McGonagall, who had announced that she would not be grading anything she couldn’t read. And she had looked over her glasses at him while she said it.

It’s beautiful.

You dropped the parchment at the words that formed right under your drawing. You traced it with your fingers. Then you decided to write back.

Thank you, I’ve been dreaming about this for the past two days.

You frowned at yourself, unsure why you would disclose such information, but figured no one would be able to trace this back to you anyway.

James blinked at the response he got, mouth open in surprise. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. It must simply be a spell of some sort after all. He stared at the sad drawing and the sentence, and then he made up his mind, writing back.

It must be lonely for that girl to cry by herself under the weeping willow.

Your eyes followed the words that formed in a trance.

If she ever feels lonely again, she can always pour her heart out on this parchment. I’ll be the mighty guardian wizard that will make all her worries magically disappear.

A grateful smile made its way up your face and when you scribbled back a response, James couldn’t help but smile as well.

Maybe she will.

You doodled a wizard sitting on the bench next to the crying girl, a consoling hand stretched out.

That's how you became James’ best kept secret. He learned that you were indeed a student at Hogwarts, but that you felt lonely. That you enjoyed butterbeer, but never got to enjoy it on a Hogsmeade outing with friends, because you rarely had any. He learned that you felt inferior to your siblings and a disappointment to your parents. He noticed how you would draw a circle as the dot on your ‘i’ and learned, when he asked, that you did that because you had once seen Professor McGonagall do that when you were in your first year, and had practiced mimicking her handwriting, should it ever come in handy.

In return, he had told you that he felt pressured by the reputation that he had to maintain. He loved Quidditch and absolutely despised Ancient Runes, to which you had replied, “who doesn’t?”. He told you that he had illegally learned to become an Animagus, a stag, and that he wasn’t sure yet what the future would hold for him. He even revealed to you that he desperately wants to protect his friends and sometimes had nightmares, which usually resulted in a sneak around the castle at midnight. When you had asked him if he’d ever been caught, he responded with, “never”, and had explained to you that he had an invisibility cloak.

Two months passed and before you knew it, you were explaining Transfiguration through the enchanted parchment. You did conclude from this that your pen pal was most likely in a year or two higher than yourself but decided not to comment on it. James on the other hand, was under the assumption that you must be from his year, as you managed to help him study for his exams.

But now, it was almost 12 o’clock midnight, and James chewed his lip while he looked at the parchment. He hesitated for a moment. Then he decided to ask you the one question he had been yearning to know the answer to.

Who are you?

You looked at the paper sadly, and sighed.

You’d be disappointed.

I understand if you don’t want to reveal yourself. But know that I could never be disappointed by you, Willow.

James sighed when you didn’t answer anymore. He waved away the light that emitted from the tip of his wand and took his glasses off. He went to put the parchment under his pillow as usual, when he saw the scribbling movement that he’d gotten so accustomed to.

He scrambled to grab his wand to shed light on the paper but accidentally nudged them off the nightstand and onto the floor, where it rolled under his bed. James’ eyes flickered back to the paper in his hand, and he managed to catch the first letter of your name as it was written in capital letters.

But your cursive handwriting, the dark and lack of glasses made it impossible to read the rest of your name. When he finally reached his wand and put on his glasses, he heard the clock strike twelve and he cursed as he grasped the parchment tightly, hurried ‘lumos’ and saw that the parchment had reset itself to a blank page again, just as every night at 12 o’clock at midnight.

Wait, please! I didn’t catch it before it erased itself. Please write it again?

You let out a sigh in relief after you had internally bashed your head against a wall.

No, it was stupid of me. I’m glad you didn’t see it.

You leaned back into your armchair with a racing heart. You couldn’t believe you had done that.

“Regulus,” you acknowledged as you pulled the chair back to sit next to him in the library. “Y/N,” Regulus quietly responded without looking up from his book, and if you didn’t know any better, his straight face would indicate annoyance. Luckily, you did know better.

“You smile any brighter, the sorting hat will transfer you to Hufflepuff, you know,” you teased him.

His face distorted in a grimace and without missing a beat, he replied, “do kill me before such a thing occurs.” You shook your head and finally sat down. Then you pursed your lips in thought.

“You know how I’ve been working all summer to earn galleons?”

“No.”

“Well I did.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I rented a small flat,” you blurted out. Regulus finally looked up at you, surprise almost evident on his face. Then again, you didn’t have the most amazing home situation either. You often opted to stay behind at Hogwarts for the holidays. It is how you two had befriended each other, especially ever since Sirius left him to his own devices at home. Parents, it was a trauma bonding thing.

“Congratulations,” he nodded, his voice trailed off as he tried to see how this would concern him.

“So I thought you might want to stay with me over the Christmas holidays? Your mother doesn’t hate me, so I thought it might be possible. Gives you a chance to get out once in a while.” You tentatively brought up the sensitive subject.

“And what makes you think living with you will be any more bearable than living in my own mansion?” Regulus snarkily remarked.

You squinted your eyes at him in a scowl. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice don’t you think?”

“Do I have to pay rent?”

“Depends on whether or not the answer impacts your decision.”

“So not then.”

You huffed.

“Fine, I suppose I could join you in your small flat.”

“Merlin, don’t go doing me any favors Reg, I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

Regulus shook his head in amusement.

Satisfied with your rather successful attempt to invite him over, you got up. The chair you sat on screeched loudly as it was being pushed back. You could feel the librarian’s furious eyes on your back and rolled your eyes at her as you made your way to the door. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” you waved your hand in the air and exited the room.

You made it approximately two steps when you spotted your sisters again. “Of course you would cause a disturbance in the library,” Marla spat at you. You raised your eyebrows but remained unimpressed.

“I see you’ve got your buddies to back you up now?” you commented and tilted your chin slightly upwards. Your eyes flickered to your other sister, their closest friends, and the marauders.

For a moment, you considered walking away, but there was just something about that twitching lip of your sister that had you irked.

You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you and your sister. You leaned in slightly and then, “Boo.”

It took your other sister, Alyssa about one second to have her wand pulled out and pointed at your throat.

James watched the interaction with a small frown on his face. He didn’t really speak with the fellow Gryffindor twins, but their friends and Lily were friends, so the marauders had joined them on their way towards the courtyard.

His mind flickered to a conversation he had had with ‘Willow’ about her sisters, and he wondered if you felt the same sadness and inferiority as his pen pal. And with that in mind, he pulled Alyssa back by her robe with one harm, the other lowering her raised wand.

“Let’s not,” he shrugged, when she raised her brows in question at him.

“She clearly threatened my sister,” Alyssa defended.

You scoffed at that. “I said ‘boo’. That’s hardly a threat,” you rolled your eyes and glanced at James who tried to offer you something that resembled a smile.

Was he mocking you? “Fancy yourself a hero, don’t you, Potter.”

“Hey, I was just trying to help,” he raised his hands in defense.

“Cause you’re such a good soul,” you sarcastically remarked.

“Yeah, actually. At least better than you. That hostility is so uncalled for,” Sirius mumbled under his breath, and you shot him a glare. “Right, better than me. Let me ask the two-dozen tormented Slytherin students you’ve bullied this past year. Bet Snape will buy your self-proclaimed ‘kindness’.”

You were already walking away when Sirius opened his mouth to call something out to you, but James kicked his shins in attempt to shut him up. Your words resonated in his mind.

Maybe he was a twat.

Am I a twat?

What the bloody hell are you on about?

Someone called me a twat today. Now that wasn’t necessarily true, but the implications were there.

Did you deserve it?

Sort of.

Sort of?

I mean, I am only an asshole to people who are assholes themselves and deserve it. But I guess that makes me an asshole too.

You hesitated for a moment and decided to write your opinion on the matter.

Maybe you being an asshole to people makes them assholes. And then it becomes a vicious circle. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that bogger.

You reckon?

Wouldn’t have written it down if I didn’t.

On a brighter note, do you have a date for the Yule ball after the exams?

If you’re asking me out, I already promised my friend that we’d go together.

Oh right. But would you save me a dance? Maybe at midnight under the main crystal chandelier?

James bit his lip again in suspense. The Yule ball is a masked ball anyways, if you don’t want to reveal yourself.

Midnight, main crystal chandelier. You decided to leave it at that. Besides. You could enchant the mask a little extra, so you’d be even more unrecognizable. You wondered who would be behind the kind words of the parchment.

It felt strange to you. Really looking forward to something to the point you could feel jitters in your stomach in anticipation. But it was having a certain effect on you that even the younger Black couldn’t help but miss.

Regulus squinted his eyes and moved his jaw in thought. When he had had enough, he pulled you aside.

“Out with it.”

You deflated. You knew that he knew what he was talking about, so you shrugged. “Someone asked me to save a dance next week,” you mumbled.

“And you want to?” Regulus’ tone shifted to an incredulous one.

“I found an enchanted parchment in the room of requirements and it’s connected. I’ve been using it to have conversations with a mystery person.”

It felt great to be able to share this with your friend and you leaned against the wall behind you. “So yeah.” You finished the confession with an awkward hand gesture.

Regulus took a moment to register what you said. And then, as if it was the most normal thing ever, he responded with, “I see. And you have no idea who?”

You let yourself slide down the wall and tiredly put your head on your propped up knees. “Probably a Gryffindor.”

Regulus started laughing. You snapped your head up and scowled at him, not that he was used to anything else from you.

“As long as it’s not a mudbl-“

You kicked his legs and made him lose his balance. You shot him a warning glance. “You know my opinion on that.”

Regulus sighed. You had once confided in him about your home situation, including that time when you had overheard your parents argue when you came home for the first time after having been sorted into Slytherin. Your father had addressed the matter as soon as you walked through the door.

“You’re no daughter of mine.” He had said with disapproval in his voice. It wasn’t meant as a figurative insult. It was a statement. Your father believed that you could simply not biologically be his daughter. The words had you avert your eyes to the floor in shame.

“My entire bloodline has been sorted into Gryffindor.” He had looked at your mother. “Your family does have Slytherins. She’s most likely the result of your affair with that muggle a decade ago. It is possible.” And just like that, he had practically disowned you.

“Okay,” Regulus relented. “We’ll see who it is next week.”

James was nervously looking around, standing partnerless in the middle of the dancefloor. He had long forgone the mask that he had chosen because it prevented him from using his glasses. He looked at the great clock just above the table with drinks and pulled a hand through his hair.

It was time, so where were you? Hopefully you hadn’t chickened out yet because he was absolutely dying to meet you.

There was just something about you. It sparked something in him that he hadn’t felt since Lily. He’d look forward to your messages all the time. Every morning, he practically jumped up in anticipation and excitement as he reached under his pillow to read your ‘good morning’ message for the day. A smile would pass his lips each time.

James was ripped from his thoughts when a hand was placed on his shoulder blade. It tapped twice. He stopped breathing for a moment before turning around. And then the breath was knocked out of both of you completely.

For two different reasons.

James stared in awe at you. You wore a white and silver dress, covered in diamonds. A delicate white mask covered the upper part of your face, and he stared intently at your eyes, but somehow, he still couldn’t pinpoint who you were.

He could see all of your features clearly, but as if he was in a dream, he somehow couldn’t piece everything together to identify you. A charm, he realized. He was disappointed but shook it off. If you felt insecure, then he wouldn’t push it.

James’ face broke out in a grin, and he stepped forward. He couldn’t help but reach out to your face. But you took a step back. His hand fell and he frowned at your reaction, suddenly scared. He wasn’t wearing a mask after all. Compared to you, he was completely vulnerable.

Before he could say anything, you cut him to it. “No,” you hoarsely managed. “This was a mistake.” You turned around and escaped from the center of the dancefloor. James chased you.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry!” He called out after you.

You slowed your pace when you reached the corner next to the staircase. Then you shook your head with a sight, and you pinched your nose. James could see your furrowed brows.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. But my intention wasn’t to dance with James Potter. It was a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”

James shook his head in his turn. “Don’t say that,” his eyes pleaded. “So you know who I am. Am I..” He hesitated. “Am I that bad? I don’t know if you’ve heard any rumors about me, or what made you have a bad impression of me, but I’m the one you’ve been talking to for the past months.” He looked at you desperately. “Give me a chance, please. I only ask for a dance.”

Your eyes flickered over his sad face. You knew James from all the pranks that he did, mostly committed towards your house. You knew him from the banters you had with him, and from crying students that you undid hexes for. You knew him from pushing him out of the way as he purposely blocked your path to throw insults at you.

But you also knew the boy from the enchanted paper. The one who listened to all your worries. Who offered advice and indulged into your hopes and dreams for the future. You knew the boy who confided in you all his deepest secrets and own insecurities. Who made your day and cheered you up with his jokes and positivity.

“I can give you a dance,” you caved, and you offered him your hand, which he scrambled to hold.

James was a fairly decent dance partner, you soon discovered as he guided you with grace. “So I suppose you dance often?”

“I just practiced a lot,” he sheepishly admitted. “I had to impress you somehow, you know. Someone like you had to be crazy out of my league after all.”

Your lips twitched. “I think you’ve got it all backwards, Potter.”

“You know you can call me James, right?”

“Well, James,” you enunciated his name. It felt weird on your tongue. You had only ever spoken his last name in contempt. “I’m not very liked by more than half the students of this castle.” You motioned towards your mask. “Hence the enchantment,” you added halfheartedly.

“You don’t have to tell me who you are,” James immediately assured you, and you did relax at his words. “I’m just really happy that you’re real.”

You let out a laugh. “Why would I not be real?”

“I don’t know,” James whined. “Maybe I was just talking to really sentient paper or something?”

His answer only made you laugh more. James’ grin only spread wider.

“Whoever you are, I wouldn’t judge you,” James added quietly. You watched him silently as you swayed around the room.

“That’d be a first,” you joked sadly, remembering your own family.

“What can I say, I’m just different,” James cheekily winked and then twirled you around.

“We’ll see about that, James. You have the rest of the night to convince me.”

The dance ended and you curtsied to each other, out of breath. “But you’ll have to excuse me while I go find a bench because my feet are killing me. These heels are no joke,” you groaned in pain and sort of started to limp your way back.

James quickly came to support you and held your waist as he escorted you back to the side of the room. When you discovered that there were not in fact any benches, you sat down on the first few steps of the staircase. He raised his eyebrows when you kicked off your heels and saw that the entire slipper was made of glass.

“I transfigured those shoes myself, you know,” you proudly stated. James looked at it in disbelief. “This can carry a human weight?”

“Yeah, it took a lot of different enchantments and attempts,” you admitted.

James’ disbelief changed to awe. He took a seat next to you and you two started chatting about random things. You looked at James’ profile as he talked about Quidditch and felt soft towards him. Maybe he really wasn’t so bad after all.

The two of you were deep into a conversation when you were interrupted .

“Who is this, Prongs?” Sirius curiously stepped forward and shook your hand. You couldn’t help but grimace at him.

You politely nodded and explained the situation, but even though you engaged into a civil, nonchalant conversation, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the presence of James’ friends.

“Anyways,” Sirius leans in towards James. “Did you see Snape over there?” He nodded his head towards Snape, and you squinted your eyes at the boy in front of you.

“You’re not thinking of doing anything to him, are you,” you sharply asked. Both James and Sirius were taken aback by your new tone.

“Nothing harmful,” Sirius laughed, but it faded when you simply raised your eyebrows at him. Sirius looked towards James for help. James hesitated. He had been reluctant to indulge Sirius’ ideas ever since his conversation with you about being a twat. But Sirius was his friend.

“We’re just having a bit of fun,” James tried to explain. “We’re just joking around, besides, he’s in Slytherin, so definitely a blood supremacist.” Your face fell at his words.

You watched his features contort in disgust and suddenly you were eleven again, and all you could see was your sisters disgusted face.

By the time you had snapped out of it, Sirius was already making his way towards Snape. James had gotten up and his head flickered between you and his friend.

You got up as well.

“I really thought you’d be different, James.” You scoffed to yourself. “You really had me convinced there for a moment. But I understand that you’re really just a bully after all, blinded by prejudice. You really are a twat.”

James’ heart dropped at hearing you say those words. He felt ashamed and shook his head pleadingly as he searched for words. But the thing is, you couldn’t care less, because you were hurt too. So you turned around and fled up the stairs as fast as you could, just in case he would come after you.

“Hey Prongs, you coming or not?” Sirius called out. James looked back at Sirius as he contemplated his next move. He mouthed ‘no’, and then tried to run after you. But by the time he reached the hallway that you had disappeared to, you were nowhere in sight.

In denial, James ran towards the moving staircases and looked up, in hopes to find you there.

Had he looked down, maybe he would have caught the last shimmer of reflection of the diamonds on your dress.

James refused to give up, however and he started to knock on the paintings, hoping that they could tell him where you went. He just had to apologize.

A symphony of protests and yelling echoed within the hall. “Quiet you!” “Have you no respect for the sleeping?” “I will complain to Filch about this, young man!” “Leave us alone!”

When the voices resided, most portraits were empty, their contents having escaped elsewhere.

Defeated, James groaned and hit his head with his fists. “You stupid git!” he yelled out in frustration at himself. James slouched down to sit on the stairs. Then he reached for the parchment and a pen in the inner pocket of his jacket and started scrambling something down.

“Please answer,” he whispered. He almost had to laugh at how pathetic he must look.

You sat on your bed after having made your way to the Slytherin dorms.

I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I said that. I’m stupid and I ruined everything. Please let me make it up to you. I enjoy being with you, I don’t want you to think of me like this.

Like I said before, this was clearly a mistake.

James read your words over and over again and he buried his face in his hands in shame. He stayed there for a long while and by the time he returned to the room, the party was over, and people had started returning to bed. On the left side of the staircase were your enchanted glass slippers precisely where you’d kicked the off and left them.

Preview of part two

Part two

Taglist:

@bath1lda @lilianelena39 @quackitysdrugdealer @princessprongs @clumsyassbitch @thecraziestcrayon @themoonofeternity @ttkttt @rentaldarling @handybrownpurse @elsie-bells

@charlie-weasley-is-underrated @dreamingofmarauders @moonyslibrary98 @wildernessflora @hollandweather @queerqueenlynn @locklyebrainrot @thisrandombitch @grac3aph3lion @earfquak3 @venomsvl @middle-of-the-earth @shrekscrustybudassy @bettytaylorversion @littlepoisonmushroom @faumpje @iloveutwice @katelebate @moonysupremacy01 @marina468 @fangirl-kimora @bellesowl @badasswlthafatass @sjprongs @armydrcamers @its-a-ittle-bit-cold @ireallywannasleep127 @sayukoi @jsjcue @cashtons-wife @idllyastuff @severegiantjudgefriend @ivy-34 @moonyunebi @caspianobsessed @kquil @moonys-luvr @mindflay3r @nokkoongie

#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter x fem!reader #marauders era #marauders #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter oneshot #marauder x reader #young james potter

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mrsbarnesblog · 6 months

Text

Stay quiet for me

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: Bucky fucks you while your parents sleep in the next room

Words count: 1.6k

Warnings: modern setting, established relationship, smut, kinda somnophillia?, everything is consensual, quiet sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming.

Author’s note: thanks for everyone’s support. enjoy❤️‍🔥

Your parents had been staying at yours and Bucky's apartment for four days, and even though he loved them, he was kind of missing having you only for him.

Bucky wasn’t the type of person who would show too much affection and feelings in front of other people, but when you were alone, he always had his hands on you. Causally slapping your ass, kissing your neck, or just bending you over the closet flat surface was his favorite thing to do, and, unfortunately, he couldn't do it while your mom or dad were sitting in the same room.

He didn’t want to be dramatic, but it was torture. Obviously, you two didn’t have sex during these days because you were too afraid that your parents might hear, and at first Bucky understood, but with every cute little outfit, every smile towards him, and every innocent touch of your hand, he was losing it.

And now he had been lying wide awake for the past thirty minutes while you were peacefully sleeping next to him. Your back was pressing firmly against Bucky’s chest; his left hand was under your pillow, and the right one was on your waist. He was just enjoying whatever he could get, inhaling your sweet perfume and rubbing the soft skin of your stomach with his thumb. That was until you, still fully asleep, moved your ass right towards his crotch.

The reaction was instant. Bucky’s body tensed near you; his eyes got closed, and his cock became painfully hard. The only layers that were between you were his boxers and your cotton panties, because you liked to sleep only in one of Bucky’s t-shirts. And the fact that you continued to move in your sleep didn’t help at all.

“Baby…” Bucky whispered into your neck, trying to stop your hips, but it didn't help. “Doll, stop—” That was it; he couldn’t even think straight with your ass firmly pressed against him.

Fuck it, you can be quiet, right? Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, but then his right hand slipped from your belly right into your underwear. Two fingers ran across your folds, pressing on your clit.

“Bucky…” You would’ve moaned out loud if Bucky hadn’t covered your mouth with his free hand.

“Sh-h, baby.” He started slowly moving his fingers in circular motions, and you unconsciously moved your legs wider to give your boyfriend better access.

“We can’t do that right now.” You mumbled against the palm of his hand. “My parents are sleeping in the nest ro—” You didn’t finish your sentence because two fingers suddenly slipped inside of you.

You were already wet enough for Bucky to easily move his hand, brushing your G-spot with every thrust. The rational part of your brain wanted to stop him, but your body was too weak; it was already addicted to Bucky’s touch, and you both knew that.

“Stay quiet for me, baby, ‘kay?” The hot breath on your neck sent goosebumps all over your body, and you couldn’t help but silently nod.

It felt too good. Maybe you tried being cool about it, but you missed sex with Bucky as much as he did. Yes, it was just four days, but after living together for two years, you already got used to the fact that Bucky was kind of obsessed with you and couldn’t live without touching you at every possible moment.

So right now, when Bucky’s fingers were slowly moving in and out of you while the palm of his hand was so perfectly brushing against your clit, and his hips were moving with the same pace against your ass, you forgot about everything else except the two of you.

Your orgasm was creeping in slowly but heavily. The knot in your stomach was already almost painful; you were so close to your release, pulsing on his fingers. You needed just a few moments, and...

And Bucky completely pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine in despair. His left hand covered your mouth again because it was a little bit too loud for the dead silence in the house. But still, you felt disappointment as the last signs of your building orgasm slipped out of your body, and you were lying there wet, hot, and a little bit mad that your boyfriend didn’t let you finish.

“I told you to shut up, baby. I’m gonna take care of ‘ya. Just wanna feel your tight little pussy cumming on my cock, ‘kay?” You nodded again when Bucky started to kiss the back of your neck and shoulders, at the same time sliding your underwear down your legs. “Lift your leg a little bit, doll.”

You did as he told you, even though it was hard because your whole body was trembling from excitement and fear of getting caught. It felt like you were just teenagers who were trying to fuck without anyone knowing, and this thought made you even wetter. There were, in fact, chances that everything you did could be heard in the other rooms.

You were distracted from your thoughts when Bucky took his cock out of the boxers, gave himself a few pumps, and then rubbed it against you to cover himself in your slick. The tip pressed into your entrance, slipping inside easily, until his full length was buried deep into your dripping cunt.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, and you didn’t even notice that you bit the palm of Bucky’s hand in order not to scream out loud. He buried his face in your neck, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself down a little bit.

“Feelin’ so good, sweetheart. Can’t imagine how much I’ve missed this pussy.” His right hand slipped under your thigh and moved your leg higher above your bed. The soft cover completely fell off your body, leaving your hot body exposed to the cold air of the room. It seems like he slipped even deeper, stretching and filling you up so well.

Bucky started to move slowly in and out of you, trying to make as few noises as possible and thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. You felt so fucking good wrapped around him that it was hard to behave well and not fuck you right into the mattress as he always liked to do. If you two were alone, he would've probably already put you ass up on the bed with your face in the pillows, making you scream his name and moan non-stop.

“M-m-m.” You couldn’t do anything but silently whine into his hand at every movement of his thick cock sliding inside of you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands or what to grab to distract yourself from the hot pleasure that was filling your whole body.

“Don’t– Don’t say a fucking word, baby. You don’t want your parents to find out that you’re just a slut for my cock, right?” Bucky’s deep whisper in your ear made you squeeze around him even harder. “So tight, so wet for me. I swear, you won’t be able to walk for a few days when we finally are alone, you hear me? Already so dumb for my cock, and it’s been almost for days.” His teeth playfully bit your earlobe, before moving lower to suck on the soft skin of your neck.

Your orgasm started to build again, with every movement bringing you closer and closer to the finish line. You wanted to cry or scream—you didn’t even know—but the tears blurred your vision when the hand under your leg moved further and Bucky pressed his fingers on your swollen clit. Your body twitched from the overstimulation, but your boyfriend just pressed harder, so you had no other choice but to let yourself fall into the abyss of pleasure.

“Cum for me, doll. I got ‘ya. Cum on my cock, I feel how you’re squeezing me.” Your head fell backwards, and your back arched as your orgasm filled every corner of your body.

The white noise in your ears and dots behind your closed eyes completely distracted you from the things that Bucky mumbled in your neck while he was trying to reach his own high. With a few last, not-so-steady movements, he grabbed your thigh and bit your neck while his body was trembling, emptying his hot seed deep inside of you.

“Good girl.” Bucky didn’t stop, gently thrusting into you to prolong your orgasms a little bit. “Good fuckin’ girl, take it all.” You whined when your overstimulated body started trembling under his touch, until Bucky finally stopped moving, still buried in you with his load dripping around his cock. “You did so good, doll.”

“W-what if they heard us?” You whispered into the darkness of your room, which was filled with the musky smell of sex, and you couldn’t deny that the adrenaline in your body felt so good.

“They’re sleeping, and we should too.” Bucky brought your warm body closer to himself, wrapping his hand over you and not making any movement to pull out. “Wanna stay inside of you for tonight, ‘kay? Love you so much, baby.”

“Love you too, Buck.” You relaxed under his touch and closed your eyes, drifting back to sleep, finally feeling so full and satisfied.

You didn’t know if it was true or if your overthinking brain was just playing some bad jokes with you, but it seemed to you that your mom gave you a weird smile when you came down to the kitchen the next morning.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #marvel

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msgexymunson · 7 days

Text

The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“I see London, I see France…”

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.

“Eddie!”

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.

But that just makes his smile wider.

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.

“Good girl.”

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?”

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, shoot.”

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.

“Oh princess, you are too cute.”

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.

“What? What is it?”

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”

“What, like, kissing?”

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.

“Liar.”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”

“I know that, I mean…”

For a second he just gapes at you.

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.

“Please?”

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.

“Fine. Right now.”

“Oh I didn't-”

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.

For a second you stop in sheer surprise.

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”

“Eddie!”

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.

“No, no, it's very… you.”

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-

“You can sit down, princess.”

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.

“No I- I was- maybe this-”

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.”

“But i haven't showered-”

“When did you last?”

“Well… this morning.”

“You're fine. Trust me.”

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart.

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.

“Fuck, look at you.”

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.

“Say it. You need to say it.”

‘Yes, please Eddie.”

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.

“You OK princess?”

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.

“Think you can go again?”

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.

“I think you've got at least one more in you.”

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.

“So? Good?”

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.

“That's not part of the deal.”

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”

“You'd probably like that,” you tease.

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”

“Night Eddie.”

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.

It looks like it's going to be a long night.

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.

“Morning, can I help you?”

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.

“You're not my 10:30.”

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, keep it at home guys.”

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.

“So, as I was saying-”

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.

“I was only-”

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?”

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.

“Really?”

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”

“Of course I would. You got their number?”

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”

“Eddie I already owe-”

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.”

Taglist

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#ms gexy writes #ink shop eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist eddie #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader #older eddie munson #older! eddie #older!eddie #stranger things imagines #stranger things #stranger things smut

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nereidprinc3ss · 7 days

Text

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf.

Stupid scarf, you think.

Stupid door.

Stupid wind.

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient.

You look at the stack of papers and sigh.

Stupid Lord Byron.

Stupid cafe.

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly.

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable.

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust.

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance.

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once.

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café.

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk.

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor.

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here.

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up.

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you.

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that.

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing.

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out.

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles.

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go.

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone.

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot.

“How did you do that?”

His cheeks turn slightly pink.

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack.

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently.

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble.

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look.

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels.

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second.

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself.

He was totally in love with me.

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again.

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while.

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it.

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café.

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout.

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer.

Spencer. Spencer.

It feels important.

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away.

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you.

Spence.

Reality sets in.

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away.

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way.

“Who was that?”

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in.

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up.

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality.

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination.

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression.

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading.

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more.

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table.

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin.

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real.

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed.

Adorable? Get a grip.

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges.

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley.

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents.

So that’s cool.

You’re cool with that.

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer.

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers.

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet.

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again.

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it.

Nah. Boys are dumb.

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it.

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone.

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line.

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it.

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second.

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless.

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long.

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh.

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard.

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid.

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice.

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again.

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible.

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air.

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company.

But his job is important.

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present.

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer.

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits.

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly.

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm.

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now.

“I would.”

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted.

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair.

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles.

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way.

He says none of that.

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards.

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair.

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute.

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper.

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird.

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

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candy69gurl · 28 days

Note

can you do hybrid! Wolf toji claiming you during his rut?

THE HOWL OF DESIRE

Hybrid! Wolf toji x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, slight non/con (Toji does not intend to harm you), size kink (both are adults), cave sex, multiple orgasms, nipple biting & play, fingering (Toji has black big nails), raw sex (cumming inside many times), breeding, pussy eating

wc - 2.6k

ART NOT MINE !

As you traverse through the dense woods, you find yourself getting increasingly disoriented, unsure of which way leads back to civilization. The sun's rays barely penetrating the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. You begin to worry, knowing that spending the night here could lead to dangerous consequences.

Suddenly, your senses pick up on the sound of rustling leaves nearby. You freeze, trying to discern whether it is an animal or something more sinister.

A figure emerges from behind a tree, and you gasp involuntarily. It is a creature of height 6'1ft, he appears as a magnificent wolf-human hybrid. He is slender but muscular and athletic, and his wolfish aura makes him look intimidating. As he closes on your position you notice his ears flattened on his head and his tail is pointed upright, his body has chiseled muscles and trademark scars, his green sword-like eyes looking through your soul. His mouth bore fang-like teeth that you swear are more vicious than natural canine teeth of humans.

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of hunger and desire burning within their depths.

"Hello, human," he growls softly, his voice tinged with an animalistic quality. "Lost, are we? Well, I don't normally go for humans, but you seem intriguing enough."

As you stand frozen in fear and confusion, Toji takes a step closer, his form shifting slightly, the wolf aspects becoming more pronounced. His eyes gleam with lust, and you can faintly smell his pheromones in the air – a testament to his overwhelming need to mate. "Ah finally," he says, taking another step toward you. "It's just my rut, and I need a mate to breed with. Normally, I wouldn't ask a human, but I cannot wait anymore."

His voice is calm, almost soothing despite the terrifying situation. Your heart races as you contemplate your options, but you realize that running might only agitate him further. Nonetheless your legs unconsciously start to move. There is only one way to get out of this- by running.

"So," he continues, his back facing you but when he turns to you, he sees you running, " What's a prey if they don't try running".

With a grin spreading across his face, Toji starts running after you, muscles rippling as he leaps after you. His movements are fluid and quick, darting through the trees with ease. You feel your adrenaline surge, pushing your speed to its limit as you navigate the unfamiliar terrain. However, he seems to know these woods intimately, and your panic increases as you realize you're unable to shake him off.

"Caught you little bunny" he exclaims, grabbing your neck. Despite his triumphant words, there's a hint of concern in his eyes. He pauses, contemplating his next move. "Running isn't going to solve anything, and believe me, you don't want to get hurt.. Or do you?"

"P-please let me go.. I have to get back home."

Toji weighs your plea, his gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. His need for release is urgent, but he doesn't wish to harm you unnecessarily. "I can let you go, but I'm afraid you won't find your way back alone." His voice holds a note of genuine concern, his eyes softening momentarily.

Then, his expression shifts, the wolfish hunger returning. "But," he adds, "If you agree to stay and help alleviate my… condition, I promise to guide you safely back to where you belong. You won't regret it, trust me." He leans close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "I'll make sure you enjoy it too."

You stand there, contemplating your options. The thought of being alone in these woods, possibly lost for another night, is daunting. On the other hand, submitting to Toji's demands is equally terrifying, but there's a strange allure to it as well. His promise of safety and pleasure seems almost too good to be true.

As you weigh the pros and cons, Toji watches you intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He can sense your hesitation, and it fuels his desire even more. "I understand if you're scared," he says softly, reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "But I promise, I won't hurt you. I just need someone to share this with, and you seem like the perfect one."

His touch is warm and comforting, despite the situation. You can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if he truly means what he says. "So, what do you say?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. "Will you help me, and let me help you in return?"

"O-only if you promise to be gentle..", you reply, your voice shaking from his intimidating aura.

Toji's eyes crinkle at the corners, a rare smile gracing his features. "Gentle it is," he assures you, his grip on your cheek gentle but firm. "I can't promise but I will try since you are my first human mate.. Come, let's find a suitable spot. We don't want to draw attention, do we?" His voice is smooth, radiating confidence and control. You hesitate, but there's a sense of safety in his presence that you can't deny.

With a deep breath, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you deeper into the woods. The fear is still there, but it's tempered by a growing curiosity. You're stepping into unknown territory, but for some reason, you don't feel threatened. Instead, there's a strange excitement coursing through you, making your heart beat faster.

As you follow Toji deeper into the woods, you begin to notice subtle changes in the landscape. Brambles part before you, revealing a hidden trail leading to a small clearing. In the center of the clearing lies a cave, half-hidden by the surrounding foliage. This is where Toji leads you, guiding you inside with a gentle push.

The cave is surprisingly cozy, lit by the dim light seeping through the entrance. There's a palpable sense of warmth and security, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Toji observes your reaction, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"This is my den," he explains, gesturing around. "Now, shall we proceed?" He tilts his head, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and expectation. You can tell that his rut is still strong, but he's patiently waiting for your lead.

Your nod sends a wave of excitement through Toji, his eyes glinting with eagerness.. He quickly steps closer, nearly ripping your pants and panties off. He hovers over you, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself between your thighs.

Surprised by his sudden movement, you struggle in his grip, "W-wait you need to loosen me up"

Toji pauses, confusion clouding his features for a brief moment. "Loosen you up?" he repeats, his voice heavy with confusion. Then, understanding dawns on his face, and he chuckles softly. "Tsk, I can wait no more but fine since you beg me so obediently", moving between your legs. He gently parts you with his fingers, feeling your dampness.

"You're already prepared," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice.

"Ah~", your back arches at his finger movements, your back hitting the ground of the cave.

At your response, Toji's eyes darken with lust. He thrusts his fingers into you roughly. You arch your back,

"Are ya loose yet?" His eyes remain locked on yours, his expression a mix of impatience and excitement.

"n-no not yet.. a-ah", your voice cracks up in pleasure.

Toji's eyes narrow, his brows furrowing in concentration. He inserts a third finger, thrusting harder this time, stretching you wider. You cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain washing over you as you near your edge.

"Humans are so responsive..." he mutters, his voice thick with desire as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity between you and him building, is only heightened by the dim light of the cave.

Finally, after several more thrusts, you reach your orgasm and he withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips. "Ready?" He asks, his gaze locked on your face, waiting for your answer.

"mghh.. n-not now.. I need sometime.. I am sensitive right now", you protest.

Toji's eyes squint in annoyance "Shut up, I have been patient enough. I can't wait any longer."

With that, he positions himself between your legs again .With a sudden powerful surge, Toji thrusts into you, his giant cock stretching your poor hole wide. You gasp, your nails digging into the cave floor as you struggle to adjust to the intense sensation.

"Please.. A-ah .. be gentle"

"Shush..I am trying .. You humans are so fragile.. But", he grunts in pleasure, "ya feel so good. I never thought humans feel this good"

Though he is trying to be gentle, but your insides feel so good that he can't help but move relentlessly, his hips pumping in a primal rhythm. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure and pain through you, your body responding to his dominance.

Despite your initial protest, you can't help but moan loudly, writhing beneath him. His roughness sets you ablaze, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts eagerly. His scent, his strength - everything about this experience overwhelms you. Your body cries out for release, and you know you won't last long.

"That's it, take it!" Toji growls, his eyes locked on yours. His primal nature is on full display, and it's intoxicating.

Your toes curl up as Toji's thrusts intensify, his eyes widening at your reaction. "Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You feel incredible." His pace quickens, his hips slamming into you with brutal efficiency. You cry out, the cave echoing with your sounds of pleasure and pain.

His rut is nearing its peak, his body trembling with suppressed energy. With one last powerful lunge, he buries himself deep within you, filling you with his seed. "Take it all," he rasps, his breath hot against your neck.

In that moment, you surrender to the sensations, your own climax washing over you. Together, you collapse onto the cave floor, feeling spent but incredibly fulfilled. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, holding him close.

As he recovers, Toji nuzzles your neck, his breathing ragged. "I hope I was gentle enough," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"No .. you are so mean..", you reply panting.

Toji laughs, his chest rumbling against your throat. "Mean? Maybe, but effective, wouldn't you agree?" He teases, his grip on you tightening. "Besides, don't lie, you enjoyed it too."

He's right, you did enjoy it - despite the roughness. The intensity of the encounter left you shaken yet exhilarated. He turns you on your stomach "don't think it's over yet.. It's just a starting"

"w-what?", your pupil dilates at the though.

Toji pushes you on your stomach and he enters from behind. You moan, feeling him stretch you once again. With a smirk, he begins to thrust relentlessly, his body slamming against yours. His large hands grip your sides, holding you steady as he takes you from behind.

"We are going to do it whole night" he growls, each word punctuated by his thrusts.

You cry out, your body responding eagerly to his advances. You can't deny the pleasure surging through you. His dominance excites you, the raw intensity of his actions sending you spiraling towards another climax.

"God, you're so good," he praises, his voice thick with lust. "I could spend hours with you, sweet human."

"P-please can't no more", you plead.

Toji stills, pulling his cock out, your body shaking from oversensitiveness. "Already?" then he thrusts into you again. "I know you can handle this."

You cry out, feeling him entering you again.

Time skips, and you and he are still at it, you don't know what time it is, you don't know how many orgasms coursed through you.. The only thing you know is the pleasure you are getting from this.

Toji's eyes shine with lust, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he bounces you on his lap. Your hair falls in disarray around your face, your skin flushed from exertion. Each thrust elicits a soft moan from you, your body responding to his every command.

"Feel good?" he asks, his voice low and sultry. His eyes hold a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, his gaze never leaving your face. You nod, breathless, your nails scratching lightly at his shoulders.

"Good," he growls, increasing his pace. "I knew you'd love this." His hips buck, driving into you harder, faster. You cry out, your body reacting to his every touch.

"p-please play with my nipples too.. mhmm", your face flush with shame as you beg him to pleasure you. Unknowingly removing your hands remove your top and push up your bra, revealing your breasts with stiffening nipples.

Toji's eyes light up at your request, his hands immediately moving to your breasts. He pinches your nipples gently, then harder, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain from you. You cry out, your body arching in response.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. "Is this what you wanted?"

You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He leans to catch one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, licking and sucking. His fangs brush your nipples, nibbling on them gently

"f-fuck .. dont bite them.. ahhh."

Toji pulls back, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He looks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "My apologies," he says, feigning innocence. "It seemed to please you though."

He resumes his thrusts, his movements fierce and unrestrained. His hands pinch and twist your nipples, his tongue lashing over them in turn. Each touch sends waves of pleasure-pain coursing through you, your body responding eagerly.

"I'm close," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

"Not yet," he growls, his eyes darkening. "I'm not done with you."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You cry out, your body writhing beneath him as he plays with your nipples, fucking you relentlessly.

"R-really can't anymore.. please let me .. let me cum", you beg him, tears falling from your cheeks.

Toji's eyes meet your teary eyes, his breath ragged.

"Don't cry little human", he licks your cheek wiping off your tears. "Then cum," he growls, his voice rough with pleasure. "Let go."

With a final, hard thrust, he drives into you, the motion perfectly synchronized with your climax. You cry out, your body shaking as you crest over the edge. He follows suit, his cock pulsing within you as he finds his own release. He growls which sounds more like a howl, as he fills your womb with his thick seed.

Exhausted, you slump against him, your breathing ragged. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Soon you pass out. Toji catches you easily, his grip firm yet tender. "Awww. I wanted more though," he whispers, his voice softening, "but fine.. I have had enough fun.. I will help ya return tomorrow"

He gazes at your sleeping form, a hint of tenderness in his eyes. Despite his rough exterior, he cares for you. He wraps his big arms around you covering your fragile body, ensuring you stay warm throughout the night.

You awaken slowly, feeling warm, wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open, landing on Toji's face, his eyes gleaming with desire as he licks your cunt. The sight is both erotic and overwhelming.

"Morning," he greets, his voice thick with lust. "How are you feeling?"

You swallow hard, your heart racing. "W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he responds, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Cleaning you up after last night's fun."

You blush, your body reacting to his touch whether you want it to or not. Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks and kisses your most intimate places.

"Mmm, you taste delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Like sweet honey."

"H-hey you said.. you will help me return back home.."

Toji raises his head, his eyes locked on yours. "Go home?" he repeats, surprise clear in his voice. "Oh yes.. But I want to fuck you before I leave you alone for good"

Your skin is already sensitive from his licks and touches, your body ready for more. You bite your lower lip before nodding.

He grins, his eyes filled with lust. "What we waiting for then?" He quickly moves, positioning himself between your legs.

He chuckles as your walls devour his huge girth. "I love how good your taking me.. Fuck.. I'll always find you during my rut, my little bunny."

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miclipse · 24 days

Text

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ YOUR ROMAN EMPIRE.

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, kunigami rensuke, itoshi rin, michael kaiser (separate).

sypnosis: things he did that you often think about.

word count: 5.3k (~1.0k each)

cw: afab! reader, sfw, established relationships, nicknames used (baby, gorgeous, meine liebe, good girl, pretty girl), pre-wildcard! kunigami, mentions of period (rin's), kaiser being a smug bastard & also soft.

note: first time writing for the blue lock boys <3 comments appreciated!

ᯓ★ isagi yoichi ᝰ.ᐟ

“does it still hurt alot, baby?”

isagi, who was kneeled in front of you as you sat on the couch, continued pressing the ice pack against your swollen ankle.

his other hand was supporting the heel of your foot as he gently rotated it in circular motions to help ease the pain in the muscles.

your boyfriend lifted his head up to take a look at your expression, worried that the pain of your sprained ankle might be too unbearable for you if he didn't handle it carefully enough.

“a little… but it's getting better…” you mumbled out softly, feeling increasingly guilty the longer you watched isagi kneel in front of you and tend to what you could only call the consequences of your own actions.

“we have a treadmill at home for a reason. why'd you insist on taking a run outside when the ground was still all slippery and wet?” isagi's voice was soft and gentle, soothing the guilt in your heart slightly.

you thought isagi would've gotten mad at you, but he was still as loving and worried for you as ever despite all of this being your own fault.

it had rained earlier this morning, which isagi had already warned you about via text since he was away for his usual soccer practice.

but stubborn little you insisted that the rain would not interfere with your routine evening jog. you figured the damp floors would have dried up by the time you stepped out of the house.

oh, how very wrong you were.

in your defence, majority of the jog went smoothly. the problem only arose when you were about to make the final turn back to the familiar stretch of road that would lead back to your and isagi's shared apartment.

for some reason while you were turning the corner, your foot slipped. as an attempt to catch yourself before you fell face first into the cold hard concrete, your ankle twisted and ended up in an uncomfortable position.

you had to bite your tongue to hold yourself back from screaming due to the sudden sharp and piercing pain coming from your ankle.

when you finally managed to limp your way back to your front porch, you figured you could simply just eat some painkillers and sleep off the pain before your boyfriend got back from training.

but to your absolute horror and misfortune, the moment you opened the front door, you caught sight of your beloved boyfriend walking out from the kitchen with a cup of water in his hand.

the moment isagi saw you limping back through the front door in your sports attire, he immediately placed his cup on the kitchen island and rushed to your side to support you as he brought you to the couch to sit down.

“yeah, well… i thought the ground would've mostly dried up by the time i went out for my jog.” you gave isagi a sheepish and apologetic smile.

“well too bad, you thought wrong. and now look who's the one with a sprained ankle, hmm?” isagi continued to tease you with a soft chuckle, finally removing the ice pack from your inflamed ankle and placing the melted bag of gel down on the carpet.

“so? think you can stand up and walk on your own now?” isagi asked, lightly tracing circles on the bottom of your foot, leaving behind a ticklish sensation that got your foot to twitch and squirm in response.

seeing how your foot was flinching away from isagi's gentle touches, he merely smirked in amusement.

“not really, no.” you laughed, happy to keep things light-hearted despite the fact that you probably wouldn't be able to walk without support for the next few days.

but fret not. isagi was here to be your knight in shining armour, like how he always had been ever since you both started dating.

“do i need to push you around in a wheelchair like those elderly couples?” isagi joked, scooting himself closer to the side of the couch to get closer to you whilst he was still squatting down on the ground.

“well yeah, obviously. you don't expect me to roll around on the floor, do you?” you playfully rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's antics, watching as he reached out to grasp your hand in his.

his thumb traced small, comforting circles on the back of your hand, making you sigh out in satisfaction at how lucky you were to have isagi yoichi as your boyfriend.

a smile graced his lips. not the kind of smile he had whenever he scored a goal, or the kind of smile he gave to his teammates and friends. it was a smile that was solely reserved only for you.

isagi reached his other hand out to caress your cheek, lightly pinching it as a way to show his absolute affection and devotion towards you.

“don't worry. i’ll be the one to push your wheelchair. be it right now, or 60 years down the road.”

you never knew the words that left his lips would take you back to the days where you were falling head over heels for isagi yoichi all over again, but it did.

it had been months since you last felt your heart beat so rapidly against your chest and that queasy feeling of butterflies in your tummy.

those words may seem simple at first glance, but when you analyze it beneath the surface level, it held so much more meaning.

isagi was making a vow to you, promising to stay by your side through thick and thin. even when your youth was nothing but a distant memory, he would still choose you.

he wanted to spend his entire life with you, even if it meant he would have to be pushing your wheelchair around when you were all old and wrinkly.

those words were isagi's true feelings for you,

and they have never left your mind ever since the day he said them to you. not that isagi would ever give you a chance to forget about them in the first place.

ᯓ★ bachira meguru ᝰ.ᐟ

“i’ve cut up some fruit!”

your boyfriend’s lively voice from the kitchen reached your ears as you sat in the living room couch, busily typing away on your laptop.

you resisted the urge to turn away from your laptop screen to reply to your boyfriend, instead choosing to continue typing away on your essay that was due today.

seeing as you did not reply, bachira held the bowl of fruits in his hand as he made his way towards you, who was so diligently working on your assignments.

“do you want some?” the happy boy leaned his face right in front of yours with a cheeky grin, knowing that his actions would get a reaction out of you, who had been ignoring him the past few hours or so.

and rightfully so— you knew better than anyone that if you were to shower bachira with even an ounce of affection, you would never be able to direct your focus back on the task at hand.

“mmm… i’ll eat it later. you can munch on some first.” you suggested absentmindedly, gently using your hand to push bachira’s face away out of your view so that you could focus on the half finished word document displayed on your laptop screen.

well, that did not work according to bachira’s plan.

seeing how you had been paying all your attention on your laptop for the past few hours made bachira a little (very) attention-starved. dating him was equivalent to having a golden retriever as a pet; both of them were very high maintenance beings.

bachira pouted at your dismissive attitude right now, but he understood that you really needed to finish this assignment before the clock struck midnight.

however, as unfortunate as it sounded, today was also one of the rare days where bachira’s training ended early and he was able to spend some proper quality time with you.

bachira let out a dissatisfied hum, the pout still on his lips as he contemplated what to do in order to achieve the goal of the day.

which was to gain your attention.

he looked back down into the fruit bowl he had prepared for the both of you to share, and it did not take long for the pout of his to turn into a mischievous smirk.

it took you a few moments longer than usual to realise bachira had fallen awfully silent. normally, he would not even give you an ounce of quiet, rambling on and on about anything and everything he could talk about to fill in the silence. yet you hadn’t heard him say anything after you told him to eat first.

it was your fault for not figuring out soon enough that whenever bachira fell silent, he was plotting something in his head.

because before you could even save the progress of your half-written essay to turn and look at your boyfriend, a piece of watermelon poked into a metal fork entered your line of sight, successfully enticing you.

blinking in surprise, you instinctively turned your head to look at the culprit with a raised eyebrow.

“meguru-”

“say ‘ahh’!” bachira knew you all too well, and so he cut you off before you could question what he was trying to do. “you do your report, and i feed you. how does that sound, gorgeous?” bachira added, nearing the fork of watermelon closer to your lips.

he gave you no chance to decline his offer, if you could even count it as that.

“...ahh…” eventually giving in to your boyfriend, you slowly parted your lips and took the watermelon in between your teeth, chewing down on the juicy fruit.

“how is it? does it taste sweet?” bachira asked with a wide and bright smile, wiping the watermelon juice that splattered on the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb.

you tried to hide how fast your heart was beating at the simple gesture. but seeing as how bachira started grinning from ear to ear, it didn't take a genius to know that he already noticed your rosy red cheeks.

“tastes yummy.” you remarked with a soft chuckle, turning your attention back to your laptop and typing away on your report. you were trying your best to ignore the loud thumping in your chest.

normally, bachira would have been more clingy and persistent about you paying attention to him, but today he acknowledged that this report was very important to you and played a huge part in your final grade.

thus, he chose to obediently sit by your side for moral support and feed you fruit as you worked away on finishing up your essay.

“mmm, you’re right, it is yummy!” your boyfriend agreed, popping a slice of watermelon in his mouth and chewing down on it. he kept this up, feeding you a piece of fruit and gently wiping away the juice on the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb before he fed himself a piece of fruit.

after a few minutes, it had finally come down to the very last slice of apple. bachira poked the apple with the metal fork, obviously planning to give you the last fruit in the bowl.

however, bachira’s mind was ever-functioning, and he managed to come up with yet another cheeky plan to surprise you.

“mind looking over for a second, gorgeous?” he called out to you with an innocent smile, waiting for you to stumble into his little trap.

“hmm? hold on.” you quickly typed out the last few words to finish up the sentence in your paragraph before finally turning to look at your boyfriend.

“yeah–?”

in a blink of an eye, bachira placed one end of the apple on your lips before placing the other end of the apple on his lips.

“what is this? the pocky challenge but with apples?” you joked, deciding to play along with bachira’s antics this time. you had ignored him for long enough, he deserved to get some affection from you. especially since he had been doing nothing but quietly sitting by your side and feeding you fruits.

“it’s a reward for working so hard.” bachira then took a big bite of the apple from his end. you followed suit until there was only a tiny chunk separating both your lips from each other.

“may i?” his whisper sounded almost pleading— he had restrained himself from clinging onto you as you worked on your assignment. but now that you were finally giving him your full attention, the boy was yearning for more.

“you may.” you reassured with a slight nod of your head, encouraging bachira to make the final move.

in which he did, biting down the last chunk of the apple before pressing his lips against yours.

it felt wonderful to have your lips moulded against his after being deprived from his affections for so long due to focusing on your essay. you chucked your laptop to the side of the couch, your arms snaking around his waist to make the kiss last longer.

perhaps a small break wouldn’t hurt...

ᯓ★ kunigami rensuke ᝰ.ᐟ

“oooh, what's going on there?”

the curiosity in you was building up when you noticed a crowd gathering just a distance away from the pathway kunigami and yourself were walking on.

as you pointed your index finger towards the crowd, kunigami turned his head to look in that direction before giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“wanna go check it out?” he offered with a soft smile on his lips. you both had nothing important going on right now anyways. the two of you were just walking around the streets aimlessly and doing some window shopping to pass some time before you both would head for dinner.

“yeah!”

the way you chirped out happily in response, your eyes sparkling with excitement made kunigami's heart tighten with a certain fondness he couldn't exactly put into words.

before kunigami knew it, you were dragging him towards the crowd of people to see what all the commotion was about.

when the two of you were close enough, kunigami easily saw past the sea of crowd and his eyes eventually landed on a stage that was being setup with speakers and instruments, along with what seemed to be an amateur band preparing to perform.

“seems like it's a band performance. you interested to watch?” kunigami asked you. he had to raise his voice a little to beat the crowd’s volume, his eyes trailing back to look down at you.

oh.

your boyfriend was met with the sight of you standing on your tippy toes doing little subtle hops on the spot, trying to move your neck around to glance past the back of everyone’s heads, but unfortunately to no avail. you two were considered to be rather far back in the crowd, and everyone had a height advantage against you too.

sometimes kunigami would forget how short you were, or rather how tall he was as compared to you. things that he could easily do such as watching a performance at the back of a crowd was deemed as a challenge for his tiny and petite girlfriend.

kunigami was having an internal conflict with his inner voice on whether he should just push through the crowd so the both of you could make it to the very front of the stage (but also proceed to have a bunch of people glare at the two of you throughout the whole performance).

kunigami was the number one fan of everything being fair and square. and as much as he found the situation unfair for you, he also understood that it would be unfair to literally everyone else if he just rudely pushed through the crowd to get to the very front solely for your sake.

it wasn’t that kunigami would not do anything for you, he would give up anything and everything for you. but in situations like these where the universe was giving him a test on whether he should side with his morals or your happiness, he found himself stuck in the middle.

eventually, you turned to look up at your boyfriend, your soft lips jutting out to form a pout.

“rensuke, i can't see.” that sweet voice of yours would've sent kunigami into a deep trance if he was a weak-willed man.

the man pursed his lips together, desperately digging his brain for any ideas on how to ensure you got to see the performance without making the rest of the audience mad.

then, it was like something clicked in his head. like as if a tiny mouse living in his noggin just attached the two correct wires together and allowed kunigami’s brain to come up with the perfect solution that will make you happy and stick to his morals of ensuring everything was fair and square.

moving his hand down to ruffle your hair affectionately, kunigami then proceeded to crouch down in front of you, his back now facing towards you.

the action made you stunned into place, staring at kunigami’s toned back in disbelief and confusion. “rensuke?” you called out, prompting him to provide some sort of explanation for his action.

“i’ll piggyback you. that way, you'll be able to see the performance, right?” kunigami asked, trying his very hardest to sound as calm as he could. he would die if you saw through just how flustered he was feeling at the moment.

kunigami was often deemed as a scary delinquent due to his built figure in addition to his height being a whopping 6’2, but only a rare few properly understood that he was nothing but a life-sized teddy bear.

and you were the only one that would ever get this special treatment from him.

when kunigami felt your plush thighs press against his neck and shoulders, he grabbed onto your lower calves to ensure you were steady on his back before he slowly stood up to his full height again.

“can you see the stage?” kunigami asked you with a small smile on his face. he could feel many pairs of eyes looking towards the two of you, but he couldn't blame them. he was the only one among the crowd that was carrying a girl on his shoulders.

although you were not used to the stares accompanied by a couple of girls gushing over how cute your boyfriend was to be openly carrying his girlfriend on his shoulders, you were filled with a sense of pride when hearing people whisper about what a good boyfriend kunigami was.

“i can see the world.” you joked, but you sounded amazed by the view. it was your first time getting such a clear view of everything you desired like it was a piece of cake.

“is this how it feels to view the world through your eyes, rensuke?” a soft giggle slipped through those soft lips of yours as you hugged your legs tighter around his neck to ensure that you would not fall off (but also making sure not to accidentally suffocate him in the process too).

“perhaps. but i wish you could see what i see whenever i look at you.” kunigami responded with a playful grin.

your heart skipped a beat at his words, suddenly feeling all giddy and floaty on the inside.

oh, how lucky you were to call this man yours.

ᯓ★ itoshi rin ᝰ.ᐟ

the familiar sound of the front door being opened was accompanied by your boyfriend's monotonous voice.

the words that escaped his mouth seemed habitual and subconscious, and you wouldn't doubt that he would still say the same exact thing even if you weren't around to receive his greeting.

“i'm home.”

you immediately sat up from the couch with a smile, turning to glance at your boyfriend so that you could return his greeting.

“welcome home, rin!” your enthusiastic response was something rin could never dream of getting tired of. no matter how many times this scene unfolded in front of him, it never failed to warm that stone-cold heart of his.

it just seemed to fulfill that hidden desire of his to finally feel loved and be appreciated by someone.

but of course, he would rather take this little secret of his down to the grave with him than ever letting you know about it.

“thanks.” rin responded, trying to seem nonchalant about your response. he had barely given a reaction to it for the past year, so why should he now?

“oh, what's that? did someone give you a gift for winning your game today?” rin used the back of his foot to gently kick the door shut behind him as you spoke, pointing at the basket in his hands out of curiosity.

“no, i bought these.” rin rolled his eyes at you. what made you think he would be accepting gifts from anyone other than his girlfriend? he wasn't that much of a sucker for attention from other girls.

before you could follow up with a second question on what was in the basket that looked to be stuffed to the brim with items, rin walked towards you and shoved the basket right in your face.

looking at rin with a raised eyebrow, you held the basket with both your hands and took a look in it, wondering what could rin possibly have bought for the basket to be looking so full yet barely having any weight to it.

inside, there were tampons and pads arranged neatly on the left side of the basket. it was plenty to last you for the next three to four months or so. and the right side was stuffed to the brim with chocolates and sweets that you remembered mentioning to rin about them being your favourite.

and if that wasn't jaw dropping enough, there was also a cute little teddy bear in the basket, staring right back at you with its cute little beady eyes and a cartoon smile.

“you're going to attract flies into your mouth. close up.” rin commented, scoffing in amusement at your reaction to his small gesture. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying his best to remain as indifferent as he could.

but if you took a closer look at him, you would realise that the tips of his ears held a faint red hue to them.

“but rin… what's this for? my period isn't even here yet.” you looked up at him with your stupidly wide eyes that could compare to a puppy's. seriously, sometimes rin wondered how you looked more like a dog than a human.

“yeah, but it's in two days, is it not?” that was a rhetorical question.

it wasn't that rin was genuinely asking whether your period was coming in two days, he knew. he was just telling you in a way that would make him feel like he held the upper hand against you, especially when it came to your own body.

he just wanted to challenge you to prove him wrong, as he always did. his confidence was always sky high— but rightfully so (in his opinion).

you blinked in surprise, grabbing your phone and unlocking it to check your period tracker. you had been losing track of time due to how busy you were that you hadn't even realised that rin was right. your period was coming in two days.

“how'd you know that?” you asked him back, seeming shocked that rin bothered to remember your monthly shark week. you were convinced he barely cared about dates that were not as important to him like anniversaries and your birthday.

“you think you're the only one with a period tracker app? i have it too.” rin answered, sounding as calm and nonchalant as he always did.

come on, it wouldn't hurt for him to show even an ounce of emotion. it was already so painfully obvious how much he loved and cared for you, it wouldn't bring any harm to be nice to you every now and then, would it?

“you're such a creep.” you tried to tease him in a serious tone, biting back the smile that threatened to show on your face. you were trying to get him to show his rare soft side.

but rin was one step ahead of you. he knew you better than the back of his hand, and he didn't hesitate to tease you back.

“i’ll take it as you don't want my gift then. might as well give it to another girl who'll appreciate it more than this ungrateful brat.” as if to entice even more of a reaction out of you, rin slowly edged his hand closer to the basket, threatening to take it away from you.

“what?! no! don't you dare!” you gasped, immediately hugging the basket protectively like it was your newborn baby.

that was exactly the reaction rin wanted out of you.

his cold facade was unable to further resist your cuteness and started to crumbled as a faint smirk ghosted his lips.

his hand that was once edging towards your basket (technically his, since he was the one that paid for everything) moved towards the top of your head to ruffle your hair.

silence filled the room, and you looked up at rin patiently with an anticipating smile on your face, waiting for him to finally say the words he had been holding back all this while.

“ i... i love you.” he eventually whispered out with a defeated sigh, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “don't ever forget that, ‘kay?”

rin knew he was bad at expressing his emotions. but he wanted to make sure to remind you from time to time that his feelings for you would never change. not now, not ever.

ᯓ★ michael kaiser ᝰ.ᐟ

“come.” kaiser patted his lap, a coy smirk on his lips as his sapphire eyes observed your figure standing by the bedroom door, not moving despite his command. “hurry up meine liebe, i don't have all day.”

those words were what finally made you obediently walk towards where kaiser was seated at; the chair just by the vanity table you both shared.

he rested his hand on the vanity table, rhythmically drumming his index finger on the surface of the table as his eyes remained fixated on you.

kaiser was a bold individual, and it was something you both hated and loved simultaneously.

he never tried to hide the fact how his eyes were always lingering on your body, staring at you like you were the next prey he wanted to devour.

even now, he watched intensely as your hips swayed from side to side while you walked across the bedroom to make your way towards him.

it was almost like you were strutting into the lion's den, volunteering to be his next meal.

and even as you finally lowered your hips and straddled his lap, kaiser didn't look away from you for even a second, the smirk on his face only growing more smug and cocky.

“you’re so cute, i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose to seduce me or not.” kaiser couldn't help but tease you, noting how your cheeks were rosy and the way you were trying to avoid his intense stare.

“quit it, mihya. didn't you say you were in a hurry?” you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's antics. it left you all weak and flustered, and you knew that kaiser took pleasure in seeing how he had the upper hand against you everytime.

you were nothing but a little mouse the lion planned to toy with for amusement before he eventually wolfed you down in his stomach.

“the emperor chooses his next move.” kaiser pointed his index finger at your cheek, slowly inching closer before gently giving you a little poke. “not you.”

despite his words, kaiser moved his hand away from your face to stop messing with you as he was not lying about being short of time.

his hand felt around the vanity table, before coming into contact with just the object he needed.

using his free arm to wrap around your waist to keep you steady in his lap, kaiser brought the eyeliner pen to his lips, using his teeth to bite the cover off before securing it on the back of the pen.

“be a good girl and sit still for me, hmm? i don't have time to redo it if you make me mess up.” typical of kaiser to push the blame onto you if he messed up. he was an egoist, thus his mistakes were never his. it was always someone else's.

he kept his hand steady as he moved the eyeliner closer to your face. once the tip of the red tinted pen was close enough to your skin, you closed your eyes so that kaiser could have an easier time applying it on you.

“you're so adorable for wanting to match with me, you know that meine liebe?” kaiser chuckled, using short and gentle strokes to draw the eyeliner onto your eyelids, just like how he would to himself every morning before he started his day. “you'll look gorgeous once i’m done with you, i promise.”

the room fell into a comfortable after kaiser's reassurance, as kaiser decided to direct his full focus on helping you apply the eyeliner. he didn't want to risk messing up.

afterall, he wouldn't have time to help you redraw it due to him having to rush to practice right after this.

you could feel goosebumps surfacing on your skin when you felt kaiser's hot breath hit your cheek. no doubt that he was intentionally leaning in closer to you just so he could get a reaction out of you, as he always did.

you could picture it in your head: his head tilted in an angle, his eyes squinted in concentration while gently drawing on your eyelids. it felt so comforting that you felt like you could fall asleep on his lap, but you resisted the urge to do so.

the sensation of kaiser stroking the eyeliner against your eyelids stopped, before the sound of him popping the cap back on the pen was heard.

“open your eyes, pretty girl. we're all done.” kaiser placed the eyeliner back in the drawer, his other arm still securely keeping you on his lap by holding your waist.

when you opened your eyes, kaiser's face was just inches away from yours. your eyes widened slightly at how close he was to you, trying to remain your composure.

the cocky smirk on his lips proved that he did this on purpose to entice a reaction out of you. before you could resist, your boyfriend leaned in, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“take a look in the mirror, liebe. don't you just look so beautiful?” kaiser whispered huskily in your ear, gently grasping your chin between his thumb and index finger and guiding your face to turn towards the mirror on the vanity table.

you took a closer look at the reflection in front of you. you, sitting intimately on kaiser's lap whilst he had an arm slung around your waist and the both of you having matching red eyeliners. it looked…

“perfect.” you whispered it out loud without realising.

“oh? what was that?” kaiser leaned his ear closer to your mouth, taunting you to speak up so that he could hear you say it again, but louder.

“i said it looks perfect.” you replied without hesitation, and kaiser seemed satisfied by your obedience today. it was always a nice sight whenever you played along with his annoying and teasing nature.

“and you're perfect for me, liebe.” your boyfriend moved his hand to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing the fat of it. “you don't understand how grateful i am to have you by my side.”

and you could just about say the same thing about him.

1K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 1 month

Text

A battering ram in bed

ʚ virgin!konig x reader, 4k words

ʚ cont: fem reader, dad bod konig, oral (m!r), throat fucking, first times, edging, monster cock konig, rough sex, fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, finger sucking, hand jobs

note: for my pookie @istyrrstars i hope u enjoy, ty for getting me out of my writers block w/ this <3

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Konig's hands curled into the hard, cold metal of the door behind him. His eyes were wide in shock, head tipped down as he watched you palm him over his pants. "Is- is this okay?" He stuttered, his eyes anxiously darting between your eyes and your hand which looked dwarfed in comparison to his bulge. "I don't know Konig, is it okay?" You asked, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at him.

"You're twitching." You whispered, wrapping your hand around his length now that it had grown harder in his pants. Konig released a shaky moan he had been holding back out of embarrassment. He was relieved by the mask covering his face and neck, he could feel how hot his skin was burning under your attention, surely he already looked like a mess underneath the mask.

Konig unclenched and clenched his fingers against the door, fighting the urge to not cum in his pants or freak out at the situation. "Do you want me to stop, Konig?" You asked, batting your eyelashes up at him as you continued to stroke him off, gripping him harder than before. Konig's eyes rolled back in his head. The strong, rouch stimulation of his cock rubbing against the fabric of his boxers was driving him crazy, he could feel his cock leaking the longer you went on.

Konig shook his head, his eyes finding your hand again. He was seemingly in a trance as he watched your hand work on him, his brain almost short-circling when you added your other hand to the mix, one not being enough to fully stroke him how you needed to. "Don't be shy, you can touch me." You teased, finding his hands and watching them shaky and struggle against the door.

It was obvious he had never done this before and had no idea what to do with his hands. Konig was respectful, he didn't want to do something wrong or make you uncomfortable. "I don't know where to put them, my hands." He said, voice shaky and gruff. You smiled and grabbed one of his wrists with your hand, pulling it towards you, you placed it on your hip, shocked at how much of your body he could encase in just one palm.

His hand was so warm even through the glove, that he must be overheating in all that gear he was still adorned in. "The other one too." You instructed, making Konig nod in understanding as he slowly placed his other hand on your waist. He felt his cock twitch as he struggled to not leave bruises on your skin from how hard he was grabbing you. Your body felt so fragile under his hands, he was enthralled with you.

"Let's move this to my bed, hm? Might be a little more comfortable for you." You whispered, nodding at him as you spoke. "Okay…" Konig nodded in a trance, his voice hoarse as he spoke. You released his cock; which made the large man internally groan; before you grabbed his hands off your waist and leaned back, pulling him towards the bed with you.

Konig swallowed whatever saliva was left in his extremely dry mouth as he watched the person of his dreams drag him to bed to do god knows what with him. Just before your shins hit the end of the bed, you spun Konig around and pushed him towards the bed. Konig was much larger than you, so your attempted shove didn't do much, but the man took the hint, sitting down on your comforter.

Konig sat on the edge of the end of your bed, legs spread wide, giving you the perfect seat. You placed your hands on Konig's chest and pushed him to lie down as you straddled his hips, feeling his impossibly hard cock poke you through his bulky pants. Konigs hands shot up to your waist, as he decided this was a safe space to touch you. "You're so hard." You whispered, giving an experimental rut of your hips against his lap.

Konig released a high-pitched groan, his legs spreading wider as the pleasure from the pressure of your body on top of him spread through his body. "I'm surprised you can feel anything through these thick pants." You joked caressing his clothed hip with one of your hands. "I think you'd feel a lot better if we took them off." You suggested, raising your eyebrows at the man under you.

Konig felt like he was going to explode. The pressure and friction he was already getting from this was making his head spin, he couldn't imagine what it was going to feel like without the protection of his pants. "Alright." He agreed, nodding his head. You smiled when his fingers curled into the skin of your hips with more pressure before you slid off of his lap and stood in front of him between his slid legs.

Konig pushed his body up from the sheets and reached his shaky hands down to his belt, beginning to work on getting it off of him. You ran your hands teasingly up and down the expanse of his thick thighs as he pulled the belt out of the loops in his pants, throwing it to the side. Konig looked hasty, your touching on him was probably making him more antsy than you even knew.

Konig lifted his ass and pulled his pants down his large, toned thighs, kicking them off his feet, leaving them pooled on the ground. You lost your breath for a moment as you took in how large his thighs were. When he flexed them as he took his pants off, you could clearly see the defined muscle, but now that they were relaxed against the bed, they looked much softer. You wonder how the rest of his body looked.

The next thing your eyes caught was the massive bulge in his boxers. The thin fabric did very little to conceal his hard-on, his boner sticking straight up in them, revealing his shocking length. Konig noticed your staring and adjusted himself in front of you, pushing his boner down so it didn't look as prominent, although he had already been exposed. You ran your hands across his bare thighs, his warm skin heating up your cold fingertips.

You watched his cock jump at your teasing touch, as you dragged your hands up to the end of his boxers before back down to his knees again. "Please." He whined under his breath, his hands curling into the fabric of the bed. You looked up at him and cocked your head to the side, smiling. "Please, touch my dick again." He begged, his raspy voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Come here." You instructed, motioning for him to scoot closer to the end of the bed. Konig did as he was instructed, putting his ass a little over the end of the bed. "Good." You praised before you dropped to your knees, keeping your hands on his large thighs. Konig felt his heart race, although he had no experience, he had seen stuff like this picture in front of him now in porno mags the other soldiers passed around at the base, though they were always tastefully blocked by the back of the girl's head, leaving little to the imagination.

You traced your fingers along the freckles of his thigh, connecting them with one single line. Konig felt goosebumps rise on his skin from the soft, barely there touch. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the most prominent freckle on the inside of his thigh, making him sharply inhale at the soft feeling of your lips on his skin.

You finally let your hand drag high enough up his thigh to grab his cock, wrapping your hand around it. You could feel the skin on his cock moving with your hand under the fabric as you jerked him off, the stimulation making him groan, his eyes fluttering in their sockets. "Your boxers are soaked!" You exclaimed, surprised at how much a grown man like him leaked into his boxers from just a little touching.

"I've never done this before." He answered, his accent making you press your legs together. "Really?" You responded, knowing full well he hadn't done anything like this before. "Is that why you're so sensitive?" You asked, finding his tip through his boxers and rubbing your hand around the tip. Konig's hand shot up and gripped your wrist firmly, preventing you from moving much. "T-too much." He stuttered, his thighs closing a bit.

"Sorry." You giggled, removing your hand from his cock. Konig released your wrist as soon as his cock stopped twitching frantically, he must've been close, or maybe his tip was just that sensitive. "Hey, Konig." You said, getting his full attention. The man looked down at you, finding your eyes to let you know he was listening. "You ever got a blowjob before?" You asked, sneaking your fingers into the band of his boxers.

Konig's eyes went wide in surprise, he guessed that's where this was heading but now that it was actually happening he was starting to freak out a bit. "No, I haven't." He answered, his voice sounding shaky and nervous, only adding to your own arousal. You tapped the side of his thigh and silently told him to raise his hips as you dragged his boxers down his thick thighs. His cock sprung out of his boxers and slapped heavily against his shirt, making your mouth water.

"Toda's your lucky day." You said, biting your lip as you found his eyes again. If Konig felt like he had a hot face earlier, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. "Do you want me to suck you off?" You asked pointing to your lips. Konig's dick twitched at your words, a bead of precum leaking from his tip, soaking into his shirt. "It won't hurt you?" He asked, watching with bated breath as you stood on your knees and slid your hands up his thighs again, both hands aiming for his bare cock.

A moan was stolen from Konig's throat when you wrapped both hands around his thick cock and began screwing them up and down, rotating your hands in opposite directions. It was already almost too much for the man, his leg started shaky and bouncing as he tried to comprehend how much pleasure he was feeling. "Hmmm…" You said, leaning closer to his cock.

Konig watched with bated breath as you eyed the tip of his cock, watching how another fat bead of precum welled up on the slit on his sensitive cockhead. You felt him throb in your hand as you leaned down and licked the salty liquid up, swallowing it down quickly. "You are pretty big, I'm not sure how much of it I'll be able to take." You finally answered. Konig felt his ego swell, making his blood run through his body hotter. He knew he was hung down there, always getting teased about it in the bathroom by his other soldiers, but hearing it from you felt different.

"Don't hurt yourself," Konig said, his high-pitched voice shaky and full of worry for you. You pressed a soft kiss to his fat cockhead, making him hiss, before you looked up at him. "You're so kind." You said, before averting your attention back to his cock. The size was very intimidating, but you knew anything you did would feel good for him considering how sensitive he was, so you weren't worried.

"You can touch me again Konig, put your hand on my head if you don't know what to do with it." You reiterated. You licked another fat stripe against his cockhead before you fully leaned down and took his tip into your mouth. Konig wasted no time in abiding by your words and carding his hand in your hair. You felt his finger shake and strain against your head as he undoubtedly fought to not pull your hair, although that's what you wanted him to do.

Your eyes shut and your eyebrows furrowed as you took him deeper and deeper into your mouth. Konig's high-pitched whines and groans were getting sent straight to your cunt, as you tried to press your thighs together to the best of your ability from the position you were in. "Oh god-" He groaned when you took him about halfway into your mouth before you coughed around him. He was filling your mouth up entirely, and his cock got thicker the more you went down, he was starting to stretch your mouth.

Konig's breathing consisted of steady panting and whines as you sucked him off, your hands jerking the base of his cock up and down that your mouth couldn't take in. "Good, feels good," Konig whined, his fingers finally curling into your hair, his head falling back as his eyes shut in pleasure. You would've smiled if your mouth wasn't full of cock.

You tasted him again as he dripped more and more pre cum into your mouth, only aiding in the slickness and sloppiness of the blowjob from all the spit that was dribbling out the side of your mouth. "Can you take more?" Konig whined, his voice coming out needy and gruff, he sounded so aroused. You popped your mouth off of his cock and smiled at him, stroking him off as you did. You watched Konig's eyes roll back in his head at how fast you were jerking him off, the lewd wet noises from his cock echoing inside his head.

"I can try, wanna help me?" You asked, tilting your head at him. "Yeah, yes, please." He responded, making you giggle at how eager he was. "Just need you to push down on my head okay? I'll tap your thigh if it's too much." You instructed, making Konig nod hastily. You leaned your head back down to his cock and took his thick length into your mouth.

You were able to take more of him easily this time around since your mouth and throat were becoming more adjusted to having such a thick foreign object inside it. You looked up at him from under your lashes and nodded, placing your hands on his thighs, leaving him free reign to push you down as far as he wanted. You braced yourself and did your best to suppress your gag reflex and breathe through your nose when you felt Konig start to press down on your head.

You fought him a little at first, struggling to take his cock so deep. When you got about an inch away from taking his entire cock into your throat, you gagged and gripped his thighs, making your throat contract around him. Konig whined loudly, his fingers raking against your scalp as he curled his fingers in your hair. You felt him twitch inside your throat, he must be having a field day.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" He asked, caressing your cheek with his other hand. Your cheeks were wet with tears as you struggled not to choke on his massive cock. Nonetheless, you tried to nod at him, feeling his cock jolt around in your throat at the movement. "Good." He responded, thighs shaking and threatening to close around your body in pleasure.

When you were ready, he began aiding you in bobbing your head up and down along his fat cock, his cockhead rubbing the back of your throat with each thrust. "I-I've never felt anything like this, so good, so good." He repeated, his hips shallowing jerking up against your mouth every so often.

The bottom half of your face was covered in saliva and cum, which stuck to his pelvis each time he bobbed you fully down on him. Just when you felt your jaw starting to ache, you noticed Konig's moans increase in volume and pitch, along with how fidgety he was getting. He was constantly cocking his head to the side, his thighs and arms were shaky, his eyes kept scrunching and rolling back in his head, he was close.

"It's coming, I'm going to cum-" Konig warned, his shaky hand losing grip against your head. You tapped his thigh in a warning and placed your hand on top of his, pulling up on it, letting you release his cock from between your sloppy lips. You gasped and wiped your mouth as clean as you could get it. Konigs cock looked so sloppy and wet, as it twitched needily and frequently against nothing. Konig still held your face as he waited for you to speak, he felt his balls ache with how close his orgasm had been, and you just ripped it away from him.

You wasted no time with words and rose from your place between his thighs, pushing his chest back hard with your hand, making him lay back against the comforter. Konig tipped his chin down to watch you hastily pull your pants and panties off your body in one fell swoop before you climbed on top of him, straddling his cock. "What- what are you doing?" He asked, his hands finding your hips as comfort.

"Wanna fuck me?" You asked, reaching between the two of you and finding his cock, you stroked it up and down, his cock soaked with your saliva and his cum. "L-like this?" He asked, referring to the fact that he wasn't wearing a condom. "I'm on birth control, you can't get me pregnant." You explained. "So if you wanna, you can fill me up as much as you want." You finished, making Konig release a long, strained groan.

"Okay." He said, nodding at you. "Okay, what?" You asked, tapping his cock against your pussy from underneath. Konig gasped at the feeling, his eyes finding your cunt. You were so wet, your slick dripping against his cock from just a little touching, it was driving him crazy. Konig swallowed hard, his heart beating out of his chest as he averted his eyes to the wall behind you. "I want you to put it in, I want to fuck you." He said, throbbing in your hand.

"Good boy." You praised, smiling as you rubbed his cockhead against your entrance and found your tight hole with his cock, trying to press it in. You lowered your weight on him, your mouth falling open in a small O as you tried to force his massive cock inside you with zero prep. Konig watched with furrowed eyebrows as you struggled to take him in. "Fuck, this isn't going to work." You mumble under your breath, something Konig didnt miss. "Give me your hand." You instructed, holding your hand out for him.

Konig released one of his hands from your waist and placed it in your hand. You flipped his palm to face the ceiling and pulled his hand between your legs, rubbing his fingers against your pussy. Konig's cock twitched as he felt your soft, hot, cunt, a noise of surprise leaving his lips. "Usually I'd be more thorough with having you stretch me out, but I don't wanna wait anymore." You said, pressing his fingers inside your pussy.

It wasn't fair, every part of his body was so fucking thick, even his fingers were a challenge. "Just thrust them upwards and curl them like you're trying to touch my stomach." You instructed, sitting back on his soft thighs, which flexed every so often under your ass. You thrust your hips toward him and placed your hand on his knee, leaning back a bit so he could finger you better.

Konig curled his fingers upwards experimentally and was shocked when he was met with your walls squeezing around him and your jaw falling open in a silent scream. "That- do that again." You instructed, gripping his thick wrist with your other hand, keeping his fingers deep inside you. Konig did as he was told and curled his fingers inside you with more confidence now, thrusting them upwards as well. Your chin fell down as you watched his fingers work inside you, the sight arousing you to no end.

"Fuck- fuck Konig right there, keep fingering me just like that-" You whined, bounding your hips down on his fingers to make him give it to you harder. Konig looked like he was in a trance, every time your cunt clenched around him, a strained moan left his lips. He couldn't believe what he was doing. You felt so hot inside, he was almost worried his fingers were going to melt. How was it going to feel around his cock? Was it going to be this intense?

You felt yourself nearing the edge, and quick as he fingered you faster, slamming them up into you and curling them against your sweet spot. But you had other plans, you didn't want to cum like this, just like you didn't want to waste Konig's cum down your throat instead of inside you. "O-okay, that's enough." It took Konig a moment to register your words before he pulled his fingers out from inside you. His eyes found his hand and his heart skipped a beat as he stared at the sloppy wet mess covering his fingers.

He was only jolted out of his trance when he felt you grab his cock again and began rubbing his sensitive tip against your now worked-open hole. "It's still gonna be a tight fit." You joked, making his eyebrows furrow. "If it's too much-" "I know Konig, you're so sweet, but I can take it." You interrupted, placing your hand on his chest and straddling his hips. His thighs felt so soft under your own, the hairs on his legs tickling your skin as you rested on him.

You both watched as you inserted his cock inside your cunt and slowly slid down on him, teeth grit and face twisted in pleasured pain. Konig's muscles flexed and clenched under your own, he felt his balls throb as your walls engulfed his cock. He was right, it was just as hot and intense as he thought it was going to be. "So warm, I-it's so tight." Konig whimpered, his nails digging into the skin of your hips. You slid your hands down the sides of his body and found the bottom of his shirt that covered the rest of his impressive body from you.

You found his eyes as you continued to slowly take in his cock while you pushed his shirt up his body, exposing his tummy and pecs. He was so large, the sheer size of him compared to you made your stomach do a flip. You thought his uniform bulked him up, but the truth was, the uniform only did so much, most of his size was from his own body. His stomach and pecs had a bit of pudge, but every time he flexed his stomach, you could feel the hard muscle hiding underneath it.

You both moaned in unison when you finally bottomed out on his cock. One of your hands placed itself over your tummy as you pressed down a bit over the bulge there. You could feel how deep he was inside you, how hard he felt. "D-dont touch there," Konig warned, his hand gripping your wrist. "Why not?" You asked, smiling cockily at him. "It's so tight already, can't take much more." He whined, his eyes barely open.

"Yeah? Does it feel good?" You asked running your hands along his body while you slowly rocked back and forth on him, jolting his cock inside your walls. He nodded quickly, his head rolling back and forth in pleasure against the comforter. You felt yourself throb around him, he looked so fucked out already. "Yeah? You like fucking me raw?" You teased, picking up your hips before slowly sliding back down. Maintaining your composure was proving to be quite difficult when his cock filled you up completely and pressed against your g-spot constantly.

Konig's eyes rolling back in his head made you feel like you were losing your mind with him. "Fuck me, Konig, cmon." You pleaded, slowly sliding up and down on his cock. Only seconds after you uttered those words, Konig placed his feet on the mattress and began fucking up into you, wasting no time in working up a slow pace to get you used to his cock, it was clear as day he was a virgin. You dug your nails into the fat of his pecs, which flexed under your fingers.

"F-fuuuc-kk Konigg," You whined as he bullied his cock in and out of your walls with reckless abandon. His moans were louder and higher pitched than yours, the raspiness of his sounds sending pleasure straight to your core. Konig roughly gripped your hips and slammed you fully down on his cock, your insides were sure to ache like hell after, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care as he fucked you stupid.

"Oh god-" He wined, his head falling back against the sheets, eyes falling shut as he used you like a fleshlight. You took the opportunity to slide a hand up his chest and under his mask, finding his neck. Konig jerked his head down to look at you, eyes open a bit wider in shock when he realized your hand was on his bare neck. "I-it okay, n-not gonna look at your face." You reassured before sliding your hand higher up his neck and finding his face.

You weren't surprised in the slightest to feel his open mouth panting hot breath against your hand. You pressed two fingers between his lips and smiled when he immediately wrapped his fingers around them, his tongue swirling around them sloppily, like he wasn't sure what to do. You felt your orgasm rapidly approach feeling him suck on your fingers like no tomorrow as he sloppily fucked his hips up into you with no rhythm.

You were almost disoriented when he quickly wrapped an arm around your torso and flipped you over in one motion, keeping your fingers in his mouth. His lips opened around them every so often as he moaned shamelessly, drilling into you from above now. You winced in pleasure from the new angle, and how he was somehow fucking you deeper now. "Konig- K-konig-" You were quickly overwhelmed as he crushed you with his massive frame, his strong arms wrapping around your body, his soft tummy pressing into yours, all while he fucked you like the needy virgin he was while sucking on your fingers.

"It-it's coming again, please don't stop this time," Konig begged around your fingers, feeling his balls pulse with the need to cum. His hard pelvis was rubbing against your clit so perfectly, you were right there with him. You would properly teach him about the wonderfulness of the clit another day because right now this was doing it for you. "I won't stop- I'm gonna c-cum too." You whispered back. You quickly pulled your fingers from his hot mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck as he buried his face in yours.

The squelching from between your legs was driving him crazy. You were so wet around his dick, he'd never felt anything like this from his fist and lube before, he was addicted already. "I can cum inside?" He whined against your neck, double-checking he was alright to cum only seconds before he let go. You squeezed your arms tighter around his neck, keeping his soft body tightly against your own as he fucked you hard.

"Yeah, yeah you- you can cum inside- fuck-" You whined, your eyes squeezed shut as you focused on your own orgasm coiling up inside you. "Ngggh- Konig- Konig I'm cumming-" That was all the larger man needed to finish right there with you. He felt like a nail inside his head had just been struck inside the coffin, the final push he needed.

Konig whimpered and gasped into the crook of your neck as he fucked his hips against your own, releasing hot, thick streaks of his cum deep inside your pussy, making sure his dick thrust it all inside you. Your walls spasmed around him as you came, clenching and unclenching, making him grit his teeth at the amazing feeling he was going to burn into his memory so he never forgot what it felt like.

Your legs shook around his body as you came down from your orgasm, your head still in the clouds as your pussy weakly pulsed around him. Konig kept himself balls deep inside of you until his cock finished pulsing and his balls were thoroughly empty. "H-hah… It's so warm." He whined into the crook of your neck, making you laugh against him. His soft body crushing yours felt more comforting than it did overwhelming, especially coming down from such an intense orgasm.

"I- I don't wanna move yet." Konig pleaded, squeezing you tighter when you barely moved against him. You placed your hand on the back of his head and caressed him, wincing a bit when you felt his cum squeeze out of your pussy and leak down your ass. "We don't have to get up yet." You said, comforting him. Konig was still breathing heavily and whining every so often, overwhelmed with everything he was feeling.

"You did so good Konig, made me feel so good." You praised. You felt him nuzzle his head deeper into the crook of your neck at your words, undoubtedly in embarrassment. "You made me feel good too. I don't want to stop doing this with you." Konig admitted, voice a bit muffled and weak due to his abashed nature and lack of energy. You felt your heart swell at his post-nut confession.

"Who said I'm gonna let you go so easily? You're stuck with me now." You replied, smiling to yourself when you heard him whine into the crook of your neck. Who knew such a big scary man could be so cute?

#cod mw2 #cod #cod x reader #cod mwii #konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig smut #konig x you #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #konig x y/n #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #cod smut #cod modern warfare smut #ghost smut

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lilithandherharlots · 10 months

Text

Too shy to tell you

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

Miguel hides your heals in hopes of making you forget you ever owned a pair...he confesses about his theft during a hot and heavy night of sex.

Warnings: This might be interpreted as possessive or an unhealthy bond. Though its supposed to be just a very shy and respectful Miguel who let's loose during sex.:]

Authors note: I am not a writer!! This is my first time righting fanfic.. like.. ever!!! So don't attack me. Though honest, constructive criticism is something that I would love to hear. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. Also, I don't know how to put proper description..... enjoy!!!!

:::

"Miggy?" I call out to my boyfriend who's currently towering over the coffee machine, waiting for it to brew.

"Yes, my love?" He responds with a look over his shoulder.

"Have you seen my black pointed heals? I can't seem to find them."

"No. Have you checked by the door?" He was lying.

He was lying. He was lying, and he didn't feel bad about it. The truth was he had stuffed them in the highest cupboard of the laundry room. He knew you couldn't reach it. He liked it that way. He couldn't let you open it since he had stuffed at least 4 pairs of heals in there.

"No miggy, they aren't here." You say after checking everywhere by the front door.

"Idk what to say, baby... we have to leave soon. Just throw on a different pair and I'll buy you some new ones later."

He was a liar... and he was damn good at it... until he wasn't.

:::

It was 2am. This insanity started hours ago, but Miguel's stamina wouldn't let down. Your soft moans could fuel him till sun rise, and he would love to do this forever. But unlike him, you have limits. Limits to your ability to stay strong, or at least keep yourself up right. But he doesn't really care. Your begs for a break won't succeed with a constantly starving man like him.

"One more round, please baby... please. I need you." His desperate begs caress your tear stained cheeks as he whispers them softly, leaning over you and filling you with sloppy thrust.

"Miguel- please.. It's too much.." You whine as you try to pull away, gripping desperately onto the sheets.

"Last one.... I promise..." he lies.

He said the same thing the last 4 rounds. If he could have it his way he'd continue. But he knew you couldn't keep going for much longer, so he used this opportunity to tell you what he couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.

"I lied..." he confesses. Watching your tits bounce with every rough trust, keeping himself busy while you tried to form a reply. It took you a while, but you managed to let out a soft hum, waiting for him to explain himself further.

"I took them. Your heels.. I fucking hate those things.." he thrust get faster as he says it. Hoping to make your brain foggy enough to not remember his confessions in the morning.

"I like your height, so why do you wear those weird things?" His heart felt lighter as he told you.

"I like that your height forces you to get on your tippy toes every time you want a kiss from me.. and even then, I have to bend over to reach you.... I like that you rely on me to reach those high shelves. Every time you ask me, you grow as red as a rose...."

You can feel his movements speed up. You can barely hear him... your mind fuzzy from pleasure. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin felt like white noise at this point. The dim shadow of his frame covering you completely.

"You're so small under me.. your body falls any way I bend it..." At his point, he was just speaking the first thing to cross his mind.

You didn't hear him, and he knew it. Seconds later, you feel his weight shift, the mattress by your head sinking under his heavy hand as he leaned in and whispered.

"Please don't take that away from me."

His words were demanding. He felt exactly what he said. Even though your eyes were shut tight, you knew his eyes were locked on you. His breath heavy, as if he just confessed a dirty secret. He kinda did...

"Promise me.... Promise me you won't wear them and I'll help you cum."

As tired as you were. You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. So you give in.

"F-fine... I promise."

"You promise what?" He smirked hearing your whiney voice.

"I promise I won't wear the heels!!"

The pleasure he got from you saying that was immense. He shifted his weight once more as he changed your position like a marionette doll. Spreading your legs apart. His hands wrapped around your thighs, and his claws dug into your skin. The stinging pain of it was a wake-up call, causing you to gasp for air.

This position caused him to go deeper. The sticky mess from your previous rounds was being pushed out of your aching hole. The sound of his hips hitting your ass grew louder with every precise thrust. They got louder and louder until they stopped. Your thighs had clenched closed as you hit that high you were chasing. And you took him with you. Tightening around his pulsing cock in a way that made him fill you to the brim once more.

He watched your body shake. Your hips jerking forward. He would usually take that as his sign to keep going, but your fucked out face was telling him you couldn't take another thrust.

"You did great my love..... my little angel~" He cooed gentle praises as he rubbed your claw marked thighs.

"I'll buy you the cutest flats."

:::

A thing he didn't know.. is that you lied, too. His secret cupboard was emptied, and your heal collection was restored... and yes.. he pouted in silence.

The end

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman smut

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itadodori · 2 months

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#note: obsessive nanami with a breeding kink?? i think tf yes!

obsessed!nanami who necessarily doesn’t like to show how head over heels for you he is. he’s the type that likes to cover it up, keep it a secret just in case it creeps you out. however, he couldn’t very well hide his addiction to you when he was inches deep in you, thinking about changing both of your lives for the better.

he’s been begging to try for a baby for months now, and he was getting really fed up with your answers. you would always say yes but when it finally came down to it you’d make him pull out. what type of shit was that?

“so what d’ya say baby? gonna let me fill this pretty lil pussy up? give ya’ all my babies?” his hands flew to your hair, pulling it so hard that your head was forced back. you couldn’t even give him a solid answer with the state you were in.

not with the way his hips were snapping back and forth to meet yours, or the way his lips roughly sucked on your neck— leaving marks which were very well intended.

your shaky hands involuntary found their way to his stomach, trying to push the man out of you so you could catch some type of break.

“k..k..kento please! t’s too m..much i-“ your words were quickly cut off by him smacking your hand. you should’ve knew better honestly, he never liked when you tried to push him away, but that still didn’t stop you.

this time, you used your foot to try and push him away—but again.. you should’ve known better. as soon as he saw your leg move he was quick to slap your thigh, causing you to hiss and put it right back where he had them pinned.

“you didn’t answer my question princess.. can i?” now his thrusts were even faster than before, and he made sure to give your clit some extra attention as well, slowly teasing it by rubbing small circles around the throbbing bud.

now that was enough to drive you insane, nanami knew what he was doing, he always did. he was purposely trying to overstimulate you because he knew how easy you give into him when you’re in that state.

with curling toes, and a wide mouth you tried to escape from his grasp— well, more like you quite literally tried to run away from him.

you knew exactly what he was planning and you weren’t giving in that easily, that’s what you hoped at least.

his face fell into a frown when he realized your weak attempted to escape him, you did this every time the two of you had sex.. you could never last for longer than thirty minutes, and usually he would let you off the hook.. but this time, he had other plans.

when nanami finally got fed up of you trying to run, he became more serious. his touch was no longer passionate and steady, it was sloppy and rough.

the hand he was using to hold your legs up soon became the hand he used to grip your neck. it caught you off guard at first since he’d never done it before, but you soon became used to the feeling, and it only added to your pleasure.

“stop tryin’ to run from me. i told you about this before, keep it up and you just might get fucked up.” it was a small warning. the way his eyes locked with yours, and held that familiar gaze of seriousness, you knew he wasn’t fucking around.

you didn’t miss the way your pussy clenched tighter around him at his words, or the way you suddenly got the feeling to let him do whatever with you.

this time was different than all the other times you two had sex.. usually he wouldn’t be so— aggressive. not that you were complaining though.

you knew he was finally getting serious when he let go of the hold he had on your legs, what was he planning next? he pulled out of you without a word, and your face studied his for some type of answer.

confusion quickly took over your body, but you weren’t left confused for long.. nanami rocked his hips backwards before slamming back into you without any warning, continuing his previous goal.

the scream you let out was loud, all your neighbors most likely heard it too, probably wondering what the hell was going on.

nanami’s hands gripped on your waist, keeping you still since he knew you loved to fucking move, or better yet run. “what do you have to say to me, darling?”

“’m sorry baby— fuck! ‘m so sorry.” you had no choice but to stay still this time, you knew he wasn’t letting you get away again. even if you never really got away in the first place— he’d make sure you never thought about running from him (or his dick) again.

by this time nanami was already too far gone to listen to you. the way your pussy was squeezing around him like this, and sucking him in.. he couldn’t listen to you. not when he had a job to do.

the more your walls sucked him in, the more he felt his rationality slipping away. he couldn’t hold out much longer.. you knew he wanted kids from the beginning right? plus, it’s not like you didn’t want this. you told him yes many times before, so why not just get it over with already?

“pussy’s suckin’ me in so fuckin’ good princess, gonna fill you up real good. m..make your tummy all nice n’ round with my babies. fuck.. you’re gonna look so beautiful. tits all swollen and shit,”

his hand involuntarily came down to your stomach— carefully rubbing it as if there was a baby in there already.

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on. just as you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to carry this man’s children.

feeling him rub on your stomach while mumbling such vulgar words.. it was enough to throw you over the edge.

“oh fuck ken! ‘m cumming baby, please ‘m gonna-” he pushed down on your lower stomach, knowing that’d be more than enough to get you where he wanted you.

without warning, liquid starting pouring out of you and it was only then that you realized it wasn’t just cum.. you had squirted. and because of that, nanami wasn’t too far behind you.

“yes mama, milk this shit. let me give it all to you.. this pretty lil pussy takin’ me so well- shit!” as you were still riding out your orgasm, he was right behind you, finally filling you up with the warm cum he’d been storing so long.. just for you.

“mm yes ken. wanna have all your babies, my love. give it to me please!” little did you know, he had a lot to give, poor guy had been waiting for this moment for years now. and it was finally here.

the two of you couldn’t keep quiet even when you both already finished cumming. nanami didn’t want to pull out, he wanted to stay buried inside of you forever. the feeling of your pussy gripping him was something he’d never get tired of.

sadly, he eventually did have to pull out. you kept fussing about wanting to go to sleep, and how you didn’t want to go to sleep with him inside of you because of what he did last time.

“fine, but before you go to sleep let me just..” he got on his knees, holding your legs up just like before but this time he had a clear view of your pussy. no, his pussy.

she looked so worn out, and even now she was still clenching around nothing— clearly missing the feeling of his dick. however, what peaked his interest most was his cum spilling out of you.

well we surely couldn’t have that, could we? what was the point of all that hard work if it was all just going to go to waste..

without a second thought he ran his fingers down your folds, lapping up all the liquids that were already spilling out, earning a low moan from you.

“w..what are you doing?”

he ignored your question— focusing on collecting all the spilled out cum purely with his bare hands. once he felt he’d done enough, he wasted no time plunging his fingers into you, pushing back all of the cum that tried escaping.

“go to sleep. im going to stay like this for a while, i don’t want a single drop wasted.”

#𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 jays creation’s #nanami smut #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk one shot #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami x self insert #kento smut #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen smut #nanami x reader smut #kento nanami #jujustu kaisen #anime smut

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after-witch · 2 months

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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly.

In surprise.

In trepidation.

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance.

How lucky for him.

How unfortunate for you.

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill?

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear.

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later.

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise.

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you.

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches.

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy.

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate?

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front.

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way?

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him.

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis.

It’s you that he focuses on, now. And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted.

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person.

You.

What to make of you?

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find.

He remembers such a living.

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats.

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them.

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you.

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm.

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you.

You stiffen.

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say.

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.” He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City.

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.”

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach.

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels.

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that.

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them.

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it?

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more.

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear.

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.”

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips.

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant.

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies.

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised.

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter.

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him.

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.”

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs.

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets.

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining.

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement.

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You.

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume.

What would you be like, once you were fully his?

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden?

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it.

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder.

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits.

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it.

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate.

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping.

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two.

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb.

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least, you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit.

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut.

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer.

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good. Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?”

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.”

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you.

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside.

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom.

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think.

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.”

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself.

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top.

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest.

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner?

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears.

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling.

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm.

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why?

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you.

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin.

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you.

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology.

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do.

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild.

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap.

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it.

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two…

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there.

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras.

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years?

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be.

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever.

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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jobean12-blog · 3 months

Text

This Spells Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Best friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2,782

Summary: Bucky is your best friend and he really is the best but he wants more, he wants everything, but the idea that it could ruin your friendship and he could lose you is too much...

Author's Note: This is for @the-slumberparty February Sleepover Challenge, Eight Types of Love and Philia (deep friendshp-friends to lovers). Our reader is a bit oblivious to Bucky's feelings but it all works out just fine in the end. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!

Warnings: lots of fun and fluff and sweetness and Bucky being the best and some tension and a bit of flirty fun too, slightly oblivious reader.

The groan Bucky lets loose makes you spin your head to look at him.

“Did you say something?” you ask, trying to speak loud enough over the din of the bar.

He shakes his head no and digs his teeth into his bottom lip when you smile and shift again in his lap, turning back to your group of friends. Every time you move it’s sweet torture but he can’t seem to keep himself away…and besides, there are no empty seats…he can’t let you stand and you wouldn’t want him to stand…so sitting in his lap it is!

His fingers dig into your thigh and you turn to face him again.

“Are you sure?” you ask, searching his face.

“Yeah, doll. All good.”

Steve shoots Bucky a smirk and Bucky shoots back a steady death glare.

“Did I miss something?” you ask Nat, who’s sitting to your left.

She just smiles and takes a sip of her drink.

You can feel Bucky’s warm breath on your neck before he speaks.

“You want another doll face?” he asks.

With a pensive tilt of your head you pause before telling him, “yeah, one more.”

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers against your ear.

He deposits you in the seat and walks toward the bar.

You instantly feel his absence and fiddle with your empty glass. You listen to Steve and Sam argue about their last run time while Nat and Wanda chime in, teasing both boys but the conversation starts to fade away when you feel the weight of Bucky’s eyes and you look toward the bar to catch him staring.

He waves awkwardly and you giggle.

“I’ll be right back,” you say to the table.

When you reach the bar Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in question.

“You looked bored,” you shrug.

“Thanks doll,” he winks.

There are even more people by the bar and they continue to crowd around you, pushing to get closer. When someone bumps you particularly hard Bucky pins them with a murderous stare before he slips his metal arm around your waist and pulls you in front of him.

He settles both hands on the bar top on either side of you and leans his chin on your shoulder.

“Too many people,” he explains as his hard chest presses into your back.

You snuggle into the safety of his arms and wait for your drink.

“Are you ever gonna say something to her man?” Sam asks Bucky as they stand outside the bar with Steve.

You, Wanda and Nat are in the bathroom.

“About what?” Bucky asks with an incredulous expression.

Sam rolls his eyes and Steve’s hands land on his hips.

“Buck,” Steve sighs. “You’re torturing yourself.”

“No I’m not,” Bucky counters. “Not having her at all would be torture.”

His last words come out quietly and Sam and Steve give each other a knowing look.

“Well, I still think you should do something…say something…she might feel the same way. What have you got to lose?” Sam asks.

“Everything,” Bucky answers as he watches you come out the door and back to his side.

As you walk down the street toward your apartment building you can feel Bucky staring so you give him a sideways glance.

“It’s the shoes, isn’t it?” he demands when he catches your eye.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say and lift your chin.

“This always happens at the end of the night doll face. You wear these shoes and they hurt your feet and then I’m supposed to just watch you suffer.”

“I have a solution,” you chime with a determined smile.

He stops walking to watch as you slip off your shoes and place your bare feet back onto the sidewalk with a contented sigh.

When you see Bucky’s scowl it makes your smile widen. “What’s the problem now Barnes?”

“Put them back on doll. You’re going to step on something like broken glass or worse…”

You spin away with a breeze and start walking again but before you get very far your feet leave the ground and you’re cradled against his chest.

“You were put on his Earth to drive me crazy; you know that doll face?”

“I’m not sorry about it,” you whisper into the collar of his shirt. “Does that make me a bad person?”

You giggle when you feel his huff of frustration.

“No. You could never be a bad person.”

As you nuzzle closer and inhale his familiar scent you express a quiet, “thank you,” before yawning.

“Too tired for the stars tonight?” he asks as his arms flex to heft you higher.

“No! I love when we look at the stars.” You tilt your head back and look at the sky. “It’s a clear night too.”

“Don’t you like it?” you ask, bringing your eyes back to his.

“I love it,” he says. “Just like I love when you practice new baking recipes and I get to taste test them all.”

“That’s fun for me too except that you say you like everything I bake! It can’t all be that good.”

You lay a soft hand against his scruffy cheek and the corner of his mouth kicks up.

“It’s all that good,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Well the next time my macaroons don’t have good feet you better speak up Buck!”

“Macarons have feet…not macaroons…big difference,” he says.

You hum against his neck with a smile. “I know that. Just making sure were paying attention.”

His hold on you tightens slightly and he looks down just as your eyes start to close.

He’s always paying attention.

Bucky slows his steps and turns on his heels, watching as Sam and Steve approach.

“Man you two are slow today,” he teases.

Steve purses his lips and throws a thumb in Sam’s direction. “I’m just trying to keep this one company.”

Sam grunts out a string of curses and plops down on the nearby bench.

“I can’t stand either of you,” Sam says between catching his breath.

“I have to make a phone call,” Bucky states as he saunters off for some privacy.

He presses your name on the screen and puts it to his ear.

“Hiya doll face,” he says when you pick up.

“Hi Buck!”

“Are you on your way home yet?”

“I am.”

“Pizza?”

“Sure, I’m starving…”

“Me t…”

“Of course you are,” you cut in. “You’re always hungry.”

He laughs. “Well I did just finish a run.”

“I’ll meet you at my place?” you ask.

“Sounds good, how much time do you need?”

You open your mouth to answer but the words die on your lips when your foot catches a crack on the sidewalk and you careen forward.

“Doll?” Bucky asks, “you still there?”

He hears scuffling but you still don’t answer.

“Doll?”

His heart beats faster the longer you don’t reply and instinctively his feet start to carry him toward your workplace.

“Where are you goin’?” Sam asks as Bucky runs by.

“Everything ok?” Steve asks.

“I gotta go,” is all Bucky says as he starts jogging.

He’s already half way to you when you pick your phone up off the concrete and try to say hello. The screen is cracked and black and you curse under your breath.

“Bucky?” you say softly but your phone is dead.

You try to put pressure on your ankle but it hurts and with a wince you scoot backwards to avoid the foot traffic. You search the crowd, waiting for someone to stop and help but it isn’t until you see Bucky rush toward you that you feel true relief.

He’s at your side, kneeling on the concrete and running his eyes over every inch of you. He’s sweaty and breathing heavily and one of the most welcoming sights you’ve ever seen.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes out. “I was worried sick.”

You start to say you’re sorry but he interrupts you.

“You tripped didn’t you?” he asks.

You nod.

“How?”

“My foot…got stuck. I don’t even know.”

He stares at you blankly before pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens his mouth to speak you clap a hand over it.

“I know…I’m clumsy and I have to be more careful…just take me home.”

His expression softens.

“Of course doll, it’s a good thing I’m here.”

“It is,” you echo. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He gently brushes his fingers over your ankle, inspecting it.

“Come on doll. Let’s get some ice on this.”

When you reach the door of your apartment Bucky props you up against his side, his hand secured around your waist and his fingers slipping under your shirt when he moves so you can get your keys.

He sucks in a breath at the contact and you give him a confused look.

“What happened?”

“Nothin’,” he answers, willing his fingers to stay put and not explore your soft skin. “Got your keys?”

“Right here,” you say and hand them over.

He unlocks the door and helps you inside.

“We forgot the pizza!” you say, whirling around and nearly falling over since you’re mostly supporting yourself on one leg.

He reaches out and snakes his arm around your waist again. “Woah, careful doll face.”

You place a palm on his chest and lean into him. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll order a pizza right now. Don’t worry.”

“Order two. You practically eat a whole one yourself.”

“True,” he winks.

He pulls out his phone and starts to dial the pizza place.

“Wanna stay and watch a movie?” you ask.

His fingers pause and hover over the buttons as he looks up at you. “Which movie?”

“Hmm…how about Magic Mike?”

“Doll.”

“Alien?”

“You won’t sleep for weeks,” he says with a stern look.

“Fine! What about…” and you tap your chin.

“Notting Hill,” he suggests.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Sure,” he shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “Steve said I should watch it.”

You give him a wide smile and push from his grasp, limping toward your bedroom. Bucky watches until you safely sit yourself on the bed and then goes to the freezer to grab a frozen bag of vegetables.

“I can’t wait until the pizza gets here,” you sigh as you start to unbutton your shirt. He tries to focus on what you’re saying but when you pull the fabric from your shoulders and reveal the light camisole beneath he suddenly feels like a trapped animal needing to either pounce or run away at full speed.

“Will you put the movie on Buck? I don’t want to get up again.”

You collapse back onto the bed and needing the closest distraction he takes the bag of peas and places it on your ankle, adjusting it so it doesn’t fall.

“Thanks,” you say. “Don’t forget the movie Buck.”

He blinks at you several times. “You want to watch it in here? What about the couch?”

He gestures to himself. “Look at me. I can’t get in your bed like this. I’m a sweaty mess.”

“You smell good to me but if you want to shower, there are extra towels in the hall closet.”

You hear the water turn on a few minutes later and realize you’re thirsty so you peel yourself off the bed and limp to the kitchen, knowing Bucky will reprimand you when he realizes you got up without his help.

Once you have your water you go back to your bedroom and wait for the shower to turn off, closing your eyes briefly.

You don’t even realize you’ve lightly dozed off until you hear Bucky’s heavy tread on the wood floor. You open your eyes and see him standing in the doorway, filling the entire frame.

Shirtless. Skin still shiny with wetness and his jeans sitting low on his hips, revealing the V shape of his muscles. And then you drag your eyes higher and stare at his abs, now flexing as he lifts the towel and rubs it over his hair one last time.

His metal arm shines under the bright lights in your room, distracting you further but not enough to miss the droplet of water that escapes the swipe of the towel and rolls down his sharp jaw before sliding down his neck and between his pecs. It get’s lost somewhere in the valleys of his six pack but your eyes move down again, landing on the dark trail of hair below his belly button.

“Did you forget I was here doll face?” he asks.

The sound of his voice pulls you from your haze and your eyes shoot up to his.

“No…” you start. “I just…I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How?”

“Doll did you hit your head when you fell?”

“NO!” you answer far too loudly. “It’s not that. I’m fine. My ankle just hurts but I don’t understand how you have those abs.”

You motion to his stomach and he looks down.

“You eat whole pizzas!”

He throws his head back with a laugh and then drops the towel into your hamper. He’s still grinning when he rounds the bed and climbs in behind you, all his muscles flexing as he settles in.

“Yeah well, I run a lot…and you know the serum helps.”

Your laughter eases the tension a little but only until he places his hands beneath his head and stretches out, making your bed feel tiny.

“Why don’t you ever bring girls around Buck?”

Your question surprises both of you and your apology catches in your throat.

He sits up without warning and reaches for your glass of water, taking a long sip.

“Forget I asked,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t have.”

He shakes his head and takes another drink.

“Do you want me to bring girls around?”

Your immediate reaction is to inwardly scream NO! but instead you ask, “would we still be able to hang out like we do?”

“Probably not doll face,” he says and shifts closer. “Pretty sure you’d make any girl jealous.”

“Then no,” you whisper. “No girls.”

You look away with the admission and then blurt out.

“You smell like my bodywash now. Did you use my shampoo too?”

“Nah,” he murmurs. “Just used the bar soap.”

You face him again and then lean over to sniff his head.

“You definitely used it, don’t lie!”

Capitalizing on having you so close Bucky wraps his arm around you and draws you against his side. Your head lands on his shoulder and you instantly relax, feeling safe and warm.

“You smell good. I like it,” he murmurs.

“I like the way you smell better,” you say sleepily, mumbling something else incoherent before you start to doze off.

You wake slowly and as the heaviness of sleep wears off you open your eyes to partial darkness and become acutely aware of the hum of anticipation that travels over your sensitized and warm skin. You feel taut and the building pressure between your legs makes you rub your thighs together.

Bucky’s steadying breath makes you turn in his arms, your chest brushing his. You can feel your pulse beat against your skin, pounding wildly all over your body.

For long seconds you study his face and then your eyes are obscured by your lashes when your gaze travels lower, over his bare chest and then even lower to the obvious bulge in his jeans.

“Bucky I…”

Your eyes lock for a fleeting moment and then his gaze drops to your mouth. He dips his head, running his nose along your jaw until his lips lightly brushing the skin of your cheek.

“If you want me to stop…tell me now.”

You say nothing, his delicate touch making your entire body tremble. Then his lips graze yours, just barely, the quick taste not nearly enough.

“Or now…”

Your eyes are closed and you make no sound.

He presses his lips to yours, softly at first, searching and waiting for you to react but when a moan gathers at the back of your throat it’s all the reassurance he needs and he sweeps his thumb across your cheek, cradling your face and angling your head for a deeper taste.

When he rolls his hips you feel the fullness of his arousal against your belly and your lips part on a gasp. A low growl rumbles in his chest and he pulls away to look at you.

“Is that for me?” you ask, still breathless.

“It’s all yours…if you want it.”

His eyes darken with the words and you see the heat in his intense gaze but it only makes you feel coveted and safe.

“I want you Bucky. I don’t want anyone but you.”

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989 @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #friends to lovers #typesoflovesleepover

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 2 months

Text

Sweet Like Wine

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Your monthly bleed is over—just in time for you and Astarion to find yourselves with a bit of alone time. You might not be able to feed your vampire as easily, but there's another hunger for the two of you to satiate.

Word Count: 9,154 words of filth

Warnings: sexual content (18+), soft Astarion, vulnerable Astarion, slightly insecure Astarion, mention of past sexual trauma, pet names, Astarion still doesn't realize he's loved for more than his body,

18+ Warnings: vaginal sex, fingering, oral (f receiving, m receiving), touching over clothes, naked grinding, bite kink, blood kink, soft sex, creampie, aftercare, use of the words pussy, dick, cunt & cock, mentions of reader's period

Burns Like Rum (part 1) found {here}

Epilogue Blood is Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine coming soon!

Note: Thank you for all the love on the first part! I'm glad everyone loved it! Here's the second part :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Rain was coming. You had smelled it on the air for several days now, an altogether pleasant scent that reminded you of fast-flowing rivers in a pine forest, distinctly earthy and cold.

The first day you'd smelled it, so had Astarion, stopping every few seconds to sneeze and then complain about his heightened sense of smell being trigged by weather.

You had taken to sleeping in Astarion’s tent with him over the past few days, enjoying each other’s company while you waited for your period to end. He was enjoying getting fed nightly, and you were enjoying learning about him after he gave you the night of your life.

Well, enjoying was perhaps not the right word for your experience. You were glad he trusted you enough to tell you about the things Cazador had made him do. You were grateful he felt safe enough to be vulnerable with you. But your heart broke every time he told you a little more, his voice low and tired and broken, reciting his past like it was a crime he was ready to be locked up for. And, by gods, how your hatred for Cazador grew.

It wasn’t like you had ever liked the thought of Astarion’s vampiric master. Anyone who had killed this man (who you weren’t quite sure how you felt about but knew you cared for more than anyone else you’d ever known) was evil in your book. But Cazador... Cazador made devils look like saints in your eyes.

You packed up the last remnants of your camp the morning after Astarion had whispered to you about his year encased in stone, slight trembles in his body and growing more violent the longer he'd talked. You'd held him close that night, holding his hand and sliding your fingers through his hair to comfort him. But now you were brooding in the weak morning sun, contemplating which way you'd most like to kill Cazador.

Not that you would—that right was Astarion's, should he wish it. If the time came and he decided he couldn't do it alone, well, then you'd employ one of your many planned strategies to make that bastard suffer for everything he'd done to Astarion and his siblings.

You had decided last night to move on from the place you'd been camped for over a week. You'd been there too long; people had begun to stumble upon your tents, and it was only a matter of time before someone realized Astarion was a vampire or that Gale had a weapon in his chest and decided to try and kill them.

Wyll had gone scouting last night before the sun had set and had reported a town in the distance—near enough to reach before sunset, but only if you got moving as soon as dawn broke. So, you got up early, woke up your grouchy companions, and started breaking down camp. You were on the road less than an hour later.

You walked beside Astarion, both of you weighed down by your packs, your hands swinging beside each other. The backs of your hands kept brushing. You were so distracted by it and the thought that maybe, just maybe, you would take his hand the next time they brushed, that you didn't notice the others watching.

A twinge in your side made you hiss and bring your other arm to it, on the place of an old scar. The pain was a familiar, soft throb—a telling sign that the storm you'd been smelling was getting closer.

"Is your wound still alright?" Shadowheart asked you, shocking you out of your mind, and gesturing to your abdomen. The gash had healed up nicely, little more than some light, pale scarring now, but the phantom pains lingered. They struck at random and had become a cause of concern amongst the entire camp.

You nodded. "It's fine. I haven't felt anything yet. It's just...old wounds acting up."

"Let me know if you need anything," she said, which was a phrase you'd heard at least three times a day since the day you'd gotten the wound. This time, though, she sounded even more worried than normal.

You supposed she had more than enough reason to be worried—this was the first time you'd done this much moving since you'd been injured. You hadn't had to travel or hunt since then, and even your nights with Astarion between your legs kept you on your back with your calves thrown over his shoulders.

Not that Shadowheart knew that, exactly, but she had extracted a promise out of him not to let you do anything that might reopen the wound, which also meant Astarion had refused to let you take him in your mouth, afraid that such a position would be too much for you.

"I'm okay," you promised her, trying to keep the exasperation out of your voice.

You must have failed at doing so, because Astarion whispered a moment later, "She's just trying to keep you safe."

You deflated a little. "I...I know. I'm just...tired of being treated like a glass doll. I'm healed. I can handle myself."

"I know, she's just worried... We're all worried," he added, and you knew that 'we' included himself, a recent development when it came to any kind of emotion.

"I'll be okay," you promised.

"You better be," he said, finally taking your hand in his. Giddiness spread through you like wildfire. Astarion smiled at you and you got the feeling he knew you'd been dying for that to happen. "You're too cute to die on me now."

You rolled your eyes. "Well, I'll try my best."

Astarion looked at you with a fondness that had recently appeared in his eyes; it was a look you loved, one that made your entire body grow warm every time you caught him looking at you like that. You leaned into his side, letting him kiss the top of your head gently. You smiled up at him, ready to thank him for the open display of intimacy.

And then something in his eyes changed, a sparkle in the crimson. A smile twitched on his lips. For a moment, it looked like he might say something—only for his gaze to slide to the others, walking just ahead of you as if they knew to give you privacy. The sparkle to fizzled out.

"What is it?" you asked quietly.

"Walk faster, friends!" Gale called back to you. "The clouds aren't promising, that storm you've been complaining about will be upon us soon!"

"Later," Astarion said to you. "I'll tell you later."

He squeezed your hand and quickened his pace to catch up with the rest of your companions.

~❊~

Mercifully, the long day of traveling wasn't made longer—or more painful—by a fight of any kind, only by the miserable weather. Halfway through the day, the rain had begun in the form of slow, fat raindrops. By now, it was coming down fast and hard, almost painful when it hit your body, even with your many layers of clothing.

Wyll's estimation had been a little generous; the sun, though you couldn't see it, had already set by the time you got close enough to see windows in the buildings of the town, almost every one with a candle glowing on the windowsill.

"Isn't that just quaint," Astarion murmured as the muddy river of a dirt road beneath your feet slowly transitioned into cobblestones covered in at least an inch of water. "Gods, I hope this place has a good tavern."

"I hope it has an open inn," you said. "Everything hurts."

"Your wound?" he asked, frowning and automatically putting a hand on your abdomen.

You shook your head. "No—that's fine. Just my muscles are killing me from all this walking, and old injuries are acting up. It's the storm, I knew it was coming."

Lae'zel frowned. "Are you capable of sensing the weather? Why haven't you used this trick before?"

Shadowheart giggled behind her hand and got control of herself only when the gith's head snapped toward her.

You blinked. "It— I'm not actually able to do that, Lae. It's just that old wounds ache before storms. Lots of people have that. It's...kind of an old wives' tale, I guess?"

"She was right, though," Gale said, squinting up at the sky. His hood fell from his head. "The storm came when she thought it would."

Astarion sidled closer to you, smirking, and curled a hand around your waist. Under his breath, he teased, "Perhaps I...kept you awake too late last night, didn't I? Feeling a little soreness between those lovely legs?"

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch. "Don't you start."

The group walked further down the main thoroughfare, slowly spreading across the street, each one looking up at the signs on the buildings. Almost everything was closed: a few tailors' shops, a perfumery, an outdoor food market with empty vendor stalls.

Music drifted from one of the few open storefronts. Warm golden light spilled out onto the cobblestone street through the windows. Raucous laughter joined the jaunty sound of a bard's music. Inside, you could see tables packed with patrons, all singing in various states of drunkenness—and all safe from the storm outside.

Wyll gestured forward. "There's your tavern, Astarion."

Astarion grinned, his fangs flashing in the low light. "Who's up for a drink?"

"Maybe later," you said.

Pointedly, Wyll added, "Once we find an inn and rooms for the night. I'd rather not make camp out here in this damp."

"What, the Blade of Frontier's doesn't know how to rough it through bad weather?" Astarion teased.

"Stop taunting him and let's find an inn," you said, nudging him gently. "I just...want to go to bed, really."

"Alright," Astarion said, that sparkle back in his eyes again. "A good, long night's rest it is, then."

You moved further down the street. Karlach spotted the inn a few doors down and the group filed in through the door, just as thunder clapped overhead. You dragged Astarion into the building with you just before the rain could get worse. The clerk at the desk looked a bit annoyed to see you.

"We don't have enough rooms for all of you," they said, counting the seven of you.

Karlach pulled a face. Before she could say something accidentally indelicate, you pushed to the front of the group.

"How many rooms do you have available?"

"Just three," they said after a quick glance down at the open guestbook in front of them. "And they're not all next to each other."

You glanced back at the others.

"We could take two," Gale suggested. "Split us the old-fashioned way of ladies in one and us gents in another?"

Automatically, your gaze slid to Astarion; both of you appeared to have deflated at the idea of being separated. Wyll, of course, noticed.

"We'll take three and give the third to the lovebirds," he said, teasingly nudging his elbow into Astarion's side. "I don't think I have the heart to separate them."

"I find it agreeable," Lae'zel said with a decisive nod. She turned back to the clerk. "We'll take all three."

"It'll cost you," the clerk warned.

Astarion pulled out a money purse—no doubt stolen the last time you visited a merchant. "We can pay," he promised with that charismatic grin of his that made your stomach do flips.

He moved to the desk, sneakily grabbing your ass and squeezing as he walked by, and counted out the coins for the clerk. They counted it again and stood up only when they were satisfied.

"Come with me," they said. "I'll show you to your rooms."

~❊~

After saying goodnight to the others, escaping their teasing about keeping it down in the night for the sake of your poor neighbors, Astarion held open the door to your room to you. You got inside and glanced around; as far as rooms went, it wasn't awful. It was sparsely furnished and a tad cold, but there was a recently lit hearth and plenty of blankets on the beds. It was on the uppermost floor and you could hear the rain pounding on the roof, a brutal sound that made you agree with Wyll's earlier sentiment about staying out of the weather.

Both of you took off your soaked cloaks and hung them on the hooks next to the door to dry off. You set your stuff down on the ground, pulled the blankets off of one of the beds, and dropped them onto the other.

"Sharing a bed, are we?" Astarion asked with a little giggle, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into the back of your neck.

"Don't act like you don't want to," you said and leaned back into his chest. "I know you, Astari."

He hummed happily into your neck. You could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed the place where your neck and shoulder met. The nickname always made him happy, often bringing a pleasant blush to his cheeks after he'd fed.

If you had reached that point yet, this would have been the perfect time to say "I love you" and turn to kiss him over your shoulder. But you hadn't said it yet, and he hadn't said it, and you knew it wasn't time yet. You didn't know much, but you knew Astarion wasn't ready for that just yet.

You relaxed into his arms even more, practically melting against him. He planted soft, dainty kisses on your neck and shoulder. "What were you gonna tell me earlier? You had this look in your eye, like you were really excited."

Astarion's grin was audible in his tone as he whispered in your ear, "Your period's gone."

You frowned. "How do you know that and I don't?"

"Your scent's changing. I smelled it this morning, a weak scent of your menstrual blood, nearly gone. We've been traveling so you haven't been able to check recently, but once we got to the town I knew it was gone."

You shook your head. "Smell alone and you already know me better than I know myself."

Astarion scoffed. "Smell alone? Darling, I know your body better than anyone after this past week." His hand drifted down and slid between your legs, cupping you gently. Instantly, warmth flooded you and pooled in your cunt. "I know your shape...your taste...your smell..." He kissed your neck, pressing down on your clit through your clothes. You whimpered lightly. "I know exactly how to make you moan for me and I know what every moan means."

With every ounce of self-restraint you possessed, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Let's get settled in first, Astari. I need to get out of these wet clothes and I really should wash the grime and rain off me before we do anything and—" You stopped suddenly and turned in his arms, resting your hands on his biceps. "I don't have my period anymore."

Astarion blinked at you. "Why do you sound so sad? You've been in pain for the past week! Shouldn't you be glad it's gone?"

"Well, I suppose," you said, shrugging. You toyed with his collar, playing with the fabric between your fingers. "But I...I can't..." You sighed. "You can't feed from me."

His face softened. He gently took hold of your neck, brushing his thumb over the place he usually drank from. "Of course I can still feed from you... It just...takes a bigger tole on you now. Ah." He paused. "I see what you mean now."

You nodded. "It's back to being bloodless, and our fun's done."

Astarion chuckled deeply. "Oh, is that what you're sad about? No more loving little kisses between your legs from your vampire?" He wrapped his hands around your hips, squeezing them and pulling you flush to his body. "We can have a different kind of fun, my love, and it doesn't take your period to convince me to eat you out."

You heard him dimly, but didn't process anything after— "My vampire?"

Something in his face changed. A little bit of the light in his eyes seemed to fade. After a moment, he turned his face away. His body tensed in your arms. "Well, I...I thought that.... M-maybe after..."

You cupped his cheeks and turned him back to you. You kissed him softly, wanting to chase away every ounce of the self-doubt on his face. "I like the sound of that, Astarion." You brought a hand down to clasp his. "As long as I get to be yours, too."

"Darling," he murmured against your lips, seconds before kissing you again. His tongue pressed against your lips and you opened them to let him in. You wrapped your arms around his waist and he moaned softly into your mouth. His relief at your answer slowly relaxed his muscles and made his kiss incredibly tender. You returned his quiet moan with a soft, content sigh into his mouth.

When the kiss broke a few moments later, though it felt like an eternity, you immediately laid your head against Astarion's chest, hugging him tightly. He smoothed his hand over your hair, holding you close to him. He kissed the top of your head in a way that seemed almost domestic for him.

You closed your eyes, settling against his chest. The smell of him and the feel of his body against yours and his hand in your hair was enough to nearly lull you to sleep. And yet...

"I'm in wet clothes, and I'm very tired of being wet—unless it's you making me wet," you said, only half-aware of what you had said until you felt Astarion giggle into your hair.

"You're right, we should change and clean up," he said quietly, though he seemed just as reluctant as you to let go. "Then we can have our fun...and you can get all of me, like I promised you a week ago."

You hummed. "Gods, I'm looking forward to that."

"See? It's not all bad that you're not bleeding anymore," he teased, kissing your cheek.

You finally separated. Astarion dug through his pack until he found his usual shirt and pants. He closed the window's curtains and then you stripped where you stood, peeling the wet clothes off your skin. You walked over to the washroom, aware of Astarion's appreciative gaze on you, and scrubbed the dirt off your skin. You dried yourself off and Astarion joined you. It felt strange to watch your own reflection in the mirror but not see him standing next to you, even though you knew he was next to you, staring at you as he was apt to do.

You kissed his cheek and let your hand rest on his hip as you walked back toward the beds. You bent to rummage through your pack, only for his arms to circle your waist and pull you back up against his chest.

"Oh, darling, you're not going to need clothes for what I have planned," he murmured in your ear. He gently teased the shell of your ear with his teeth. You shuddered in his arms.

"Just jumping straight into it, huh?" you teased.

"I never waste time when I could be spending it with you," he breathed, letting one hand come up to cup your breast. You stumbled backward, sighing contentedly. "You like that, don't you?"

You whimpered. "More... Please darling, I..."

He chuckled and cupped both breasts in his hands. He squeezed them lightly and rested his head on your shoulder, looking down at your cleavage. "Hells, I love these tits, darling. So soft, like all your skin. So sensitive to my touch..."

Astarion began thumbing at your nipples. They perked up at his touch. He rolled them between his fingers, kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. You whimpered under his touch.

"Does that feel good, sweet girl?" he asked, squeezing your tits a little harder. He massaged them in his hands, contentedly watching from his perch on your shoulder.

You nodded, leaning your head against his. After a moment, you asked, breathless but still forming words, "Can you suck on them?"

He moved around to the front of you, grinning happily. "Of course I can, darling." He gently sat you down on the bed's edge and kneeled before you, a beautiful sight. He spread your legs to sit between them and get as close to you as possible, glancing down at your exposed cunt as he did. "Gods, I can't wait to be inside you," he muttered, just seconds before he took one of your nipples in his mouth.

Astarion's mouth was an absolutely wonderful thing. You'd figured that out the first night and for the subsequent week that he was skilled with his lips and tongue, far more skilled than his kisses let on. His mouth around your breast was heavenly as he sucked on your nipple, lightly at first and then slowly adding pressure. You'd be lucky if your tits weren't bruised come morning. His other hand held your breast, kneading your flesh, rolling your nipple in his fingers. The coolness of the skin of his fingers was a relief against your hot skin.

He moaned as he suckled on you. He flicked his tongue over your nipple and then kissed the fat of your breast. You brought your hand up to his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails, and he moaned loudly. You whimpered as his sucking grew to be almost too much. He understood your sound and switched breasts, licking and kissing the one he'd just been groping.

You stared down at the beautiful man happily sucking on your tits: his eyes closed and his long lashes fluttering every so often, his pretty lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking your breast into the heat of his mouth. You carded your fingers through his hair, delighting in the way it curled around your fingers and around his ears.

A sudden idea had you moving your hand down to his ear. You touched it gently and he moaned loudly. You giggled and began lightly caressing his ear. His moans turned into whimpers as you neared the pointed tip. At last he popped off your breast and his head fell against your stomach.

"Oh, gods, darling," he whined. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, that feels... Ohhh, that feels wonderful."

His little moan brought a rush of wetness to your core. You kept playing with his hair, hoping to draw another one of those weak whimpers out of him.

Astarion shuddered into your touch. He was panting heavily and moved shakily, but he still managed to get his hand between your legs. He slid two fingers inside of you with ease.

"Ohhh, sweet girl, you're so wet for me," he breathed. "Can I—?"

"Yes, please," you gasped, knowing instantly what he wanted to do. Your fingers left his ear and he ducked his head between your legs. He pressed a soft kiss to your clit. "More."

Astarion chuckled into your pussy. "Patience, dear." He began to suckle on your clit, the pressure alone enough to make you see stars. Then his tongue flicked over you in the way he'd learned you licked and you fell back against the bed, arching into his mouth. His hands came up to grip your hips and pull you closer to him.

He moved lower and pushed his tongue into your entrance. The two of you moaned in tandem and Astarion's fingers dug into your hip, hard enough to leave bruises come morning.

The sounds of Astarion's slurping became obscene, but you couldn't find it in you to be embarrassed. You only moaned louder as his nose bumped your clit.

Without warning, Astarion slipped his fingers back inside you. You arched into his touch, gasping as his fingers curled inside you.

"Astarion!" you groaned, grinding down on his face and fingers. He chuckled into you.

"That's it, my love, you're close," he murmured, staring into you and watching your walls clench around his fingers. "Just let go for me, you're almost there."

You moaned, writhing as he went back to sucking on your clit. His fingers found the right spot and you covered your mouth with a hand to muffle the near-scream that came out of you—a sound you had no idea you could even make.

"No, no, no," Astarion chided, fixing you with a look. "Don't you muffle those sounds. I want to hear you scream for me, darling."

You whimpered. You panted as your orgasm slowly crept up on you. Your hips stuttered and lifted off the bed—Astarion took advantage and slipped his arm underneath you, dragging you back to him and pressing his mouth back to your clit. He kissed it gingerly, occasionally flicking his tongue over it in the circles you liked so much. Sometimes it amazed you how well he remembered your body and your likes, even if you'd only told him once.

"Astari," you whined, the tight ball in your core very close to snapping.

"I've got you," he whispered. "Come on, sweet girl, it's alright. Cum for me. Cum on my face, darling. I want it. I want to taste you. That's it, that's it, that's it!"

You finished with a loud cry, your back arching, Astarion moaning into your cunt and his tongue lapping quickly to catch every drop of your release. He kept curling his fingers even as your walls tightened to the point of being difficult to move them.

Astarion leaned back, grinning up at you. His face shone; it was almost weird not to see blood on his face. He looked back down at your pussy, staring eagerly, licking your cum off of his lips. "You're so wet, darling. Gods, you'll be a tight fit, but I could slide in right now if I wanted to..."

You nodded very quickly, whimpering. "Please, Astarion, please, I want you to."

He raised an elegant brow at you. "Oh, do you, now?" You nodded, whining. "Say it, darling."

Your body twisted in a way that seemed impossible as you said, a tremendous blush on your face which you were trying to hide in the bed, "I want you to fuck me, Astarion."

He grinned toothily, his fangs shining. A deep sound that neared a growl emanated from his chest. "Again. Say it again, louder."

"Fuck me, Astari," you whined, a little louder than the first time.

Something in Astarion snapped. He pulled you back onto your feet and flush to his body, kissing you fiercely. It was almost harsh, his fangs nicking your lips. You hissed and Astarion pulled back. The desire—a mix of bloodlust and arousal—was clear in his eyes, but he paused to ask, "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," you promised. "It's not like you haven't nicked me in more sensitive places."

"And you like it, every time," he teased, briefly kissing your forehead. He wiped away a small dot of blood on your lips with his thumb and licked it off.

You smiled at him. "What can I say, you've given me quite the biting kink."

Astarion chuckled. "Cheeky little pup," he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. "Ready to continue?"

You nodded, unable to stop the happy grin that overtook your face at the idea of him finally taking you. A thrill ran down your spine as Astarion laid you back on the bed and crawled up to you, kissing you harshly. You were dimly aware of him pumping his cock between you.

He pulled away suddenly, glancing down his body. "Shit."

You frowned, trying to catch his eye again. "Darling? What's wrong?"

Astarion sighed. "In my...excitement, I may have forgotten a very important detail." He looked down at himself and you sat up and followed his gaze. His cock was half-hard, but not nearly enough to slide into you. You whispered a quiet "oh." In his embarrassment, Astarion refused to meet your gaze. He looked much smaller, like he'd curled up into himself. "Unimpressive, huh?"

The half-disguised anger and humiliation in his voice made your heart ache. You cupped his face, turning his face toward you. You kissed him softly. "Oh, Astarion... No, you're not. You are impressive, you're just not quite ready yet. You forget I've seen you before, fully hard after you feed."

"I think you're missing the point," he said weakly. He pulled his legs up to his chest, effectively hiding himself. "I can't fuck you like this, darling."

"You can once you've had some blood, but that's beside the point." You kissed his cheek, rubbing a hand through his hair. He leaned into your touch. "You're more than just sex, Astarion. Damn good sex, sure, but that's not all you are, no matter what anybody else—and especially your master—told you."

He turned to you, a strange look in his eyes. You took his hand, raised it to your mouth, and kissed the back of his hand. He leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder.

"This is the second time you've had to say this, something like this, to me during sex," he said with a humorless giggle, a shadow of his usual one.

"And I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it," you promised, kissing the top of his head.

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he just blinked until the teary glaze in his eyes went away. "Thank you," he whispered, and he adjusted to kiss the spot on your neck he always drank from. He lightly scraped his teeth against your skin. "Do you want to do this?"

You hummed, leaning into his affection. "Yes, sweetheart. I want this. I want you. I want you very, very badly."

He smiled. "Lay on your side, darling. Let me lay behind you."

You did as he asked, relaxing into his hold and letting him manhandle you into the position he wanted. He pulled you flush against his body, his length pressing into you, his arm around your waist and holding you against him as if he was afraid you'd try to escape the moment he bit you. With his free hand, he brushed your hair off your neck.

"Are you ready, darling?" he whispered, dragging his teeth across the shell of your ear.

You nodded. "Mhm."

"Just relax for me," he breathed. He nuzzled into your neck and kissed the spot he was going to bite. "Right here? Your favorite spot?"

"Right there," you whispered. You put your hand over his and both of you (you weren't sure who moved first) twined your fingers together. He squeezed your hand gently before he sank his teeth into your neck.

Quiet filled the room, except for the rain on the roof, your steady breathing (only steady for now), and Astarion's sucking.

It had been just over a week since he'd fed from you this way, and the sensation was just as alien as it had been that first night you'd let him drink—two tiny shards of ice, the cold numbness spreading slowly through the surrounding area, preventing you from feeling any pain in his bite. Slowly, you acclimated to the sensation and it faded into a dull, throbbing pleasure.

He slid his free hand under your head, holding your head up and your neck steady. He gently scratched your scalp.

"Astarion," you moaned, squeezing his hand. He grunted, continuing his sucking. You focused less on the sound of it—which reminded you vaguely of sucking juice out of a dripping fruit—and more of the feeling of his body against you. "Enjoy this, sweetheart. Please, just for me."

He cuddled closer to you, humming, and you smiled as he let go of your hand to briefly squeeze your hip. Your smile widened when he took your hand in his again as quickly as he possibly could.

It didn't take long for Astarion to start getting into it. He began whimpering softly, so unrestrained you were certain he had no idea he was doing it. Slowly, his hips began rolling against you, gentle motions at first that grew more noticeable and more desperate the longer he drank.

His teeth still in your neck, Astarion began grinding his hardened length into the swell of your ass. His whimpers became moans and then animalistic grunts. He drank in time with every thrust against you and slowly you were reduced to those two sensations.

Throbbing overtook you. Your head was pounding, just slight enough for it to be ignored, and need pulsed in your cunt. You could feel your juices coating your thighs and the dull throbbing in your clit. But the rest of your body was growing pleasantly numb. Your extremities began to tingle.

Astarion's gulps slowed down and his thrusting became feral. You moaned once, very loudly, as his cock slid briefly between your legs and rubbed against your pussy. Your moan spurred him on and he adjusted to keep grinding himself on your thigh.

A few more swallows of blood was all it took for the edges of your vision to get blurry. Your eyes fluttered shut; you didn't have the strength to open them again. You could no longer feel your fingers and you were only partially aware of your hand slipping out of his. But Astarion was incredibly aware of it; he stopped drinking and twisted around you to lay in front of you to check on you.

Your head dropped to the mattress without Astarion's hand holding you up. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook you and you groaned quietly.

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me," he said, cupping your cheek. You opened your eyes. "There's my girl. How are you doing? Feel okay? Did I take too much?"

"Slow down on the questions," you said, "and hold me."

He chuckled and scooted closer, pulling you into his arms. He kissed the top of your head. "But are you okay?"

You nodded. "Give me a minute and I'll be right as rain."

He giggled. "Right as rain..."

You rolled your eyes. "What can I say, the storm's got me thinking." You tucked yourself into his arms, your lips against his chest. You kissed his skin softly. He hummed happily and you continued, nipping at his skin. Now that he'd fed, bruises started to form under your lips.

"I'm okay now," you said after a few moments. The throbbing in your head had eased up and you no longer felt like you were about to pass out.

"Not dizzy anymore?" he asked.

You shook your head. "I'm alright."

He smiled at you; gods, that smile was gorgeous. "Well, now, dear. Let me return the favor..."

You blinked at him. "Favor—? Oh!"

Astarion's mouth was back on your breasts, this time leaving hickeys all over your skin—and tiny, bloody pinpricks from his fangs—that matched the bruises you'd left on him. You whined, gripping his hair tightly.

He grinned against your skin. "Oh, darling—I know. I know you want me. Your body and I have kept you waiting long enough, haven't we?"

You put your hand on his chest. "Wait, darling. Let me..." You slid down his body and gripped his cock in your hand. He groaned loudly, bucking his hips into your hand.

"Oh, darling, that feels..." He moaned. "Gods."

"It's about to get better, if you'd like?" you asked. You kissed his thigh. "Do you want me to?"

Something in his face changed, his features softening. You fancied that you could see some of his walls come down in his eyes, but you chalked it up to your hopeful imagination. But then he was nodding and whispering, "Yes."

You kissed around his base, watching him shudder every time your lips touched his skin. You locked eyes with him and pressed your lips to his base. He whined, high and needy, throwing his head back. You smiled; you'd never heard him make that sound before, but I wanted to hear it again.

You moved up to kiss his tip. A groan came from the back of his throat. You gave his head a small lick and watched his entire body shudder with pleasure.

"Ready?" you asked him, placing another kiss to his length.

"Yes," he breathed, looking down at you. "Yes."

You licked the underside of his cock, from base to head, then took his head in your mouth and sucked lightly. He whined the entire time, growing steadily louder until he was moaning. You took him deeper and he threw his head back again, swallowing harshly. Gods, he's so pretty when he's losing control... You reached up and took his hand, squeezing gently.

He bucked his hips into your mouth. You made a soft sound of slight complaint, surprised by the motion. "S-sorry," he breathed, his chest heaving. His voice was tight, the muscles of his abdomen tight. "You just... Gods, you're good at this. You are...amazing."

You squeezed his hand until he looked down at you, your question was in your eyes: are you alright?

"Keep going," he urged. "I'm— I'm more than alright, darling."

You sank down further until he hit the back of your throat. You moaned to feel him twitch in your mouth; you weren't expecting the breathy gasp that came from him. You did it again and his hand left yours to thread through your hair, putting the slightest amount of pressure on you.

"Is this okay?" he asked shakily, struggling to get the words out through his heavy breaths.

You winked at him and he groaned, the sound feral. He held onto your hair for dear life and you kept sucking, licking the underside of his cock every chance you could. Occasionally, he bucked his hips desperately, alternating between gasping for breath and whimpering your name between moans that verged on sobs.

Astarion jerked his hips, his cock kicking up. You took advantage to swirl your tongue around his tip, tasing his pre-cum. He leaned up on his forearms and you saw the tears on his waterline. Concerned flooded through you. His face was relaxed into an expression of pure ecstasy, but...

You pulled off of him. "Astarion? Are you okay, sweetheart?"

His chest heaved, glistening with sweat, while he gasped for breath. "I— I'm okay. You're wonderful, darling, absolutely..." He beckoned you up to him with two fingers, that dominant look back in his eye. You did as he ordered without question. "Come here. As much as I love this, I need to fuck you."

You whined. "Astari, please. Please. Please, I want you."

"Look at you, begging for me," he cooed, his hand sliding between your legs. He rubbed your clit and you arched into his touch, moaning wantonly. "There she is. That's it, darling, just feel good for me."

You leaned into his chest. "Astarion! I need you. I need you to fuck me, please, gods."

Astarion chuckled and pulled his hand away from you. He gently laid you on your back and crawled over you. He kissed you deeply before sitting back and lining himself up with your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat. Anticipation and excitement mixed in your stomach.

Astarion placed the head of his cock against you and then looked up at you. His face was fond as he met your gaze. "Are you ready for me, darling?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I— Oh, gods, yes!"

"Tell me if it hurts," he whispered. He kissed your forehead briefly.

You watched him move, slowly bucking his hips forward to push his cock inside of you. His eyes fluttered closed at the feeling. You forced yourself to remember to breathe as he bottomed out, your walls stretching to accommodate him; he finally let out a deep groan from the back of his throat.

"Darling," he moaned, leaning down to you. You reached up, putting your hand in his hair, and brought his head down to you. Once again, you weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours.

It was a gentle kiss that was fitting for his slow, shallow thrusts. The two of you panted into each other. He put his forehead against yours, glancing down and watching him slide in and out of you, whispering in Elvish at the sight.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Astarion... Oh, gods..."

"You feel so good," he groaned. "Darling, I— Ohhh, sweet girl." He bent down to lick the small blood spots off your breasts. He moaned sweetly. "You taste even better when I'm inside you, my love. You taste sweet—like a delectable wine."

You whimpered. "I don't mean to deprive you of my blood, dear, but please please kiss me."

He chuckled and kissed his way up your neck, stopping briefly to lick your already-closing puncture wounds, before he kissed your lips. His mouth tasted vaguely of iron.

Your walls tightened around him. He was rubbing inside of you in just the right ways, hitting pleasure spots that his fingers had already made tender. His thrusts were still gentle, not enough to make you see stars but enough to make your entire body relax and give in to the pleasure.

"You're wonderful, darling," he murmured. He reached up to roll your nipple in his fingers. "You feel so perfect around me. So tight...so wet...so eager... Gods, darling, yes, just clench around me like that."

You threw your head back and he immediately descended on it, kissing and licking and nipping at your skin. You could feel the bruises that you would find in the morning.

"Faster," you told him. "I can take more than this, Astari."

He grinned and you were moaning seconds later as he sped up, his hips snapping into you.

"Can you take it harder? Deeper?" he asked. "You have no idea how hard it is not to ravish you, darling."

You cupped his chin and brought him back up to your face. You kissed him hard, more tongues and teeth than anything. You met his gaze and whispered, "Then ravish me."

Astarion pushed his lips back to yours, grunting animalistically, and slammed his cock into you. You cried out, clinging to him desperately as he fucked you relentlessly, his hips snapping against yours, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every thrust. The head of his cock kissed your cervix every time, making your entire body shudder. You began meeting his thrusts and he chuckled, one hand gripping your hip to help keep you up.

You threw your legs around his hips and both of you groaned at the new angle. Astarion muttered to himself in Elvish, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You kissed him, bringing him back to you. He smiled, kissing your forehead.

"Aren't you gorgeous?" he whispered to you, staring deep into your eyes. There was an alertness there that you hadn't noticed the first time he'd fucked you like this, out in the woods that night.

You reached up to cup his cheek. "You're quite handsome like this, Astarion," you murmured. "You always are."

He smiled softly at you and turned to kiss your palm, his hips stuttering for a moment. He grunted and pushed deeper into you, making you cry out again. He glanced down your bodies and watched the two of you thrust into each other.

"Gods, that's a pretty view," he murmured, his voice breathy. "Your slick shining on my dick...and, oh, look at that... The outline of my cock in your tummy. Gods, that's hot." He placed his hand on your lower abdomen where the bulge was and he pressed down. You whined, clenching your teeth and trying not to scream. He, of course, noticed. "Oh, that feels good, does it?"

You whimpered out a weak, "Yes!" He grinned and began pressing down on every stroke into you.

You gripped his shoulder, your nails digging in; you knew there would be scratches on his back and shoulders come morning and you were careful to avoid his scar, knowing just how painful that would be if scratched.

He kept losing his rhythm every so often and you knew he was getting close; thankfully, so were you.

"I'm close," you whispered. "I'm so close, darling."

On the next thrust in, he adjusted the hand pushing down on your abdomen so that his thumb could circle around your clit. "Does this help?"

You whined, nodding frantically. "Oh, Astari— Don't stop, please don't stop, I—" Your words faded into moans. He giggled.

"Don't worry, darling, I don't intend on stopping until you've finished around my cock," he whispered in your ear. Your entire body shuddered.

Astarion's thrusts grew a bit sloppier, but his thumb on your clit remained dedicated to making you cum. You were half-convinced the way he spoke as he gazed down at you adoringly would be enough even without the cock thrusting into you or the thumb stimulating you.

"Gods, look at you," he murmured. "Look at that body, responding to me so eagerly! Those beautiful breasts, perky nipples, all covered in my bite marks... That lovely neck, marked and still just barely bleeding..." He bent to lick the thin trail of blood. "These legs, wrapped around my waist, and that pussy just sucking me in." He brushed your hair out of your eyes. "And I could never forget this darling face, those beautiful eyes just staring up at me like I hung the moon and stars..." He pressed his forehead to yours. Softly, he said, "Come on, darling, cum for me. Cum on my cock. Let me feel you clench around me and lose yourself in me."

The thread inside you snapped. You arched off the bed and into his body. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you to him, whispering words of encouragement. You screamed as you came, clenching so hard around him it was a miracle he kept fucking you through it. He pulled his hand off your clit as soon as the feeling became too much, reading your body with ease.

"That's it," he whispered to you. "That's my girl. Easy, darling, breathe. You did so well. Do you mind if I—" He groaned, hips faltering for a moment. "Do you mind if I cum inside you?"

You whined. "Oh, gods, yes, please do! Cum inside me, Astarion, cum inside me, I want it!"

He moaned happily, kissing your neck fervently. He began rambling. "Hells, darling, you spoil me. Feeding me with your bleeding cunt for a week? Taking my cum the moment it's over? You needy, heavenly little thing." He kissed his way up to your jaw. You put your fingers in his hair. "Oh, you're so wet now, sweet girl. You've soaked me. You look so pretty around me. Oh, gods, you're so much tighter now— I'm not going to last much longer, dear. You're good, you're too good. My love, oh my love!" He lost his rhythm entirely, fucking you only with the need to cum. "I love this. I love every bit of this. I love—"

He cut himself off. He cried out, burying his face in your neck and his cock in your cunt. Warmth flooded you as he spilled himself deep inside you. His hips stuttered and flexed a few more times, his cock twitching inside you, before he finally let out a long breath and collapsed on top of you. Immediately, your arms wrapped around him and you held him tight to your chest.

As the two of you lay panting together, your mind was working on overdrive. He hadn't said it, but you'd heard what he wanted to say: I love you. The very same words you were dying to say.

At last, Astarion lifted his head. "Are you alright?" he asked. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You combed your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered. "Not one bit, darling. I'm perfectly fine." You kissed his nose and he giggled. You stared at him, your beautiful boy, for a moment, enjoying the feelign of his body actually being warm against yours for once, before you asked, "What about you? Are you feeling alright? Good, even?"

Astarion giggled. "Don't sell yourself short, my love, you're absolutely wonderful. I feel amazing. Content. Cared for. Loved." With every word, his voice got smaller, quieter. He seemed to retract into himself. You frowned.

"Where'd you go? Come back to me," you whispered.

He looked back up at you and the tears were back in his eyes, but this time you doubted they were tears of pleasure. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to..." He sighed. "I didn't mean to disappear on you. It's just...I'm used to that. I'm used to disappearing during sex, after sex... But I didn't do that this time. It was...different with you. It was nice. You've cared for me like no one else ever has. You...you paid attention to what I wanted, how I felt, what I liked. You weren't just using me for your own pleasure. I... It was like...you cared about me. I don't even know what to say! But, ah, you made me feel good, in a lot of ways. So... Thank you, darling."

You cupped his face and kissed him softly. "Of course I care about you, Astarion, I— I...love you."

He tensed up in your arms. A flash of panic passed through his eyes. You shook your head quickly.

"You don't have to say it back," you said hurriedly. "Not until you're ready. But I want you to know exactly how I feel about you. And...I love you."

He smiled and relaxed, melting into your embrace. "Thank you, my love. I...I'm not ready, not quite yet, but...thank you for respecting that. Here—let me cuddle you, I know how much you like that."

The two of you adjusted so that you could lay on your sides. You curled up in his arms and nestled your head into his neck. He carded his fingers through your hair, a gentle movement that was well on its way to lulling you to sleep. You reluctantly pulled yourself away, and only because you had adjusted and suddenly felt the cooling, sticky liquid between your thighs.

"We should get cleaned up," you murmured.

Astarion hummed. "Oh, yes, let me—" He reached for his shirt on the floor and brought it up to himself.

"No, no," you said. "Let me do it."

You took a towel and dampened it in the bowl of lukewarm water on the nightstand—probably there for this exact purpose. You squeezed the excess water out and gently wiped your mixed, drying releases from Astarion's thighs, abdomen, and cock. He sighed softly, relaxing as you cleaned him off.

"No one's ever done this for you before, have they?" you asked. He shook his head. You kissed him softly. "Get used to it, darling, because I intend to do this for you every time."

He grinned, a pleasant blush on his cheeks. "I could get used to this." He took the towel away from you. "Here, let me do it for you."

You laid back and let him slid between your legs. He groaned softly. "Oh, my sweet girl, you look so delicious with my cum dripping out of you."

You blushed fiercely, groaning. "Stop talking like that, or I'm going to demand we go again."

He perked up. "I'm up for a second round—if you can handle it, that is," he added with a cheeky grin.

You considered it for a moment while he wiped your thighs and entrance clean. "Give me an hour and maybe we can."

Astarion smiled and placed a dainty kiss just above your clit. "That's my girl." He laid back down beside you and pulled you into his arms. "Get some rest now, darling, you need it after today."

You wrapped your arms around him and rested your cheek against his chest. "Thank you, Astarion. For everything."

He hummed and kissed the top of your head, stroking your hair. "You're welcome, my love."

~❊~

You were ready to leave the next morning, and you and Astarion met the others in front of the clerk's desk on the first floor of the inn. Astarion handed back the key while you limped over to the group.

Unsurprisingly, Astarion had left you with quite the limp, even more severe than the first time he'd eaten you out at camp. Karlach didn't even try to contain her laughter at the sight of you.

"So you did fuck her last night!" she said to Astarion as he joined you. You blushed heavily. "We had no idea, couldn't hear a thing!"

Astarion raised an eyebrow, then looked at you with a grin. "They couldn't hear us, even with all the noise you made? We're getting a room at an inn every chance we can get from now on!"

"Not so fast," Gale said quickly, "they might not have heard you, but Wyll and I did!"

You squeaked. "You did?"

Wyll nodded, somewhat amused and somewhat apologetic. "You made noises I didn't think were possible. Or meant pleasure."

You turned immediately to Astarion, who was grinning like a cat, and buried your face in his chest. "Hide me."

"It's alright, darling," he whispered to you. "Gale and Wyll were across the hall from us. Next time, we'll just get a room as far away from the others as possible and I'll make you scream into the wee hours of the morning."

You blushed very brightly and the others groaned.

"Don't break her," Shadowheart chided. "Is your wound—"

"It's fine!" both you and Astarion said before she could continue.

"She's all healed up, no more scarring," Astarion promised. "Believe me, I wouldn't have gone as hard as I did if I thought she would get hurt by it."

"Okay, that's enough!" Gale said quickly. "Let's leave, please, and keep going. We've got important business to attend to!"

As you left the inn, Astarion took your hand and kissed the top of your head. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you? That limp's quite noticeable, dear."

"I'm fine," you promised. "You were quite good last night."

"Good. I'd be inconsolable if I had hurt you," he said. He brush your hair behind you ear. "I mean that, you know."

You leaned into his side and kissed his cheek. "I know, darling. And thank you. Now, come on, help me walk. It will be your fault if I fall."

He snorted. "Because I have you a good orgasm? No, wait, how many did it end up being last night? Two the first time...then another three?"

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, stop bragging! Come on, Gale's right: we've got work to do."

Astarion kissed you one last time, then pulled you against his side and followed the others out of the village.

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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