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the-hidden-pages · 2 months ago

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I’ve read this 15 times at least I swear I’m so normal about this

The Fifth Temper [ReaderxMarkScout]

You moved in next to Mark a few months ago. Tonight, you get talking after he accidentally runs over your trash can.

wdym there is no reader-insert porn for this sad little man???

The sound comes first—a dull thunk, followed by the slow, scraping drag of plastic against asphalt. You glance up from your phone just in time to see your trash can teeter, then flop onto its side in the glow of a pair of headlights. Mark, your quiet neighbor from next door, stares at it through his windshield for a long moment before sighing and stepping out of his car. He looks over at you, expression hovering somewhere between sheepish and exhausted. “Uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think I killed your trash can.”

You stare back at him. Not only did he just run over your trash can while you were unlocking your door, scaring the shit out of you, he also just said more words in a row than he ever did before.

“Are- are you okay?” You ask, taking a step towards him.

He looks like he’s about to collapse and you’re not sure if it’s because of shock or because that’s just his aesthetic.

Mark blinks at you, like he hadn’t considered that possibility. “Uh. Yeah. I think so.” He glances down at the trash can, then back at you. “Sorry about that. It came out of nowhere.”

You huff a quiet laugh, crossing your arms. “Right. One of those wild, free-roaming trash cans. They’re a real menace.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t quite stick. Instead, he exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. Up close, he looks even worse—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’s carrying something heavier than just the weight of his mistake.

“I’ll, uh, buy you a new one,” he says, nudging the sad, dented can upright with his foot.

You shrug. “It still stands. I think it’ll live.”

Mark nods, staring at it like he’s considering something deeper than the structural integrity of a trash can. Then, almost hesitantly, he says, “You just get home?”

It’s the first time he’s ever initiated a conversation with you, and for some reason, that feels bigger than the crime scene he made of your recycling bin.

You nod, a little thrown off by the fact that he’s actually making conversation. “Yeah. Late shift.”

Mark makes a small sound of understanding, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Long night?”

You let out a breath, glancing at the battered trash can before looking back at him. “Could’ve been worse. At least no one ran me over.”

That almost gets a real smile out of him. “Glad to hear it,” he says dryly.

For a moment, there’s just the hum of the streetlights.

Mark shifts on his feet, looking like he might say something else, but then he just gestures vaguely at his car. “Guess I should… park like a normal person.”

You arch a brow. “And I guess I should… mourn my trash can in peace?”

His lips press together, almost amused. “Right. Sorry again.”

He turns to go, but before he can slip away, you surprise yourself by saying, “Hey, Mark?”

He pauses, glancing back at you.

“You wanna come in for a drink or something?” You hesitate, then add, “Not as a guilt offering. Just—if you want.”

For a second, he just looks at you, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped. But then, to your surprise, he nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think I’d like that.”

You step aside, pushing your door open wider as Mark follows you in. The air inside is warmer than the chilly night outside, and you suddenly become aware of the mild clutter—an unfolded blanket on the couch, a half-finished mug of tea on the coffee table. Nothing embarrassing, but enough to make you wonder what he sees when he looks around.

Mark lingers near the entrance, hands still stuffed in his jacket pockets, as if he’s not sure whether to fully commit to being here. “Nice place,” he says, though it sounds more like an observation than a compliment.

You snort. “You don’t have to lie. It’s lived-in.”

That actually gets a real, if small, smile out of him. “Lived-in is nice.”

You head toward the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder. “Beer? Whiskey? Water, if you’re still recovering from the tragic murder of my trash can?”

Mark exhales a short laugh, following you in. “Whiskey, if you have it.”

You pour two glasses and hand him one. For a moment, you both stand there, quiet, the only sound the clink of ice shifting in the glass. Mark takes a slow sip, then glances at you. “So… how long have you lived here?”

It’s a simple question, but coming from Mark—who has spent the last few months barely acknowledging your existence—it feels like something else. Like he’s trying, in his own tired way, to actually know you.

“A few months,” you say, leaning against the counter. “Long enough to know you keep weird hours.”

Mark huffs, staring down at his drink. “Yeah. Guess that’s true.”

You hesitate, debating whether to push, then decide to take the chance. “Work?”

His grip tightens slightly around the glass before he nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s… complicated.”

You don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, the way his gaze flickers somewhere distant. But he’s still here. Still talking. So you just nod, letting the silence settle comfortably between you before saying, “Complicated jobs suck.”

Mark exhales, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. Then, slowly, he nods. “Yeah. They do.”

And just like that, something shifts. Not big, not obvious—but enough that, for the first time since you met him, Mark actually looks like he’s here.

The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels… easy. Mark rolls his glass between his hands, staring down at the amber liquid like it might give him answers. You don’t push. Whatever complicated mess he’s dealing with, you get the sense that talking about it isn’t something he does often—if at all.

Instead, you take a sip of your drink and say, “So, do you make a habit of running over your neighbors’ trash cans, or am I just special?”

Mark exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re special.” He pauses, like he just heard himself, and quickly corrects, “I mean—I don’t usually run over things. Or talk to people.”

You smirk over the rim of your glass. “Wow. Two firsts in one night. Lucky me.”

He gives you a look, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just a flicker of amusement that fades as quickly as it came. He takes another sip of whiskey, then sets the glass down with a quiet clink. “I’m not… great at this,” he admits.

You tilt your head. “At what? Holding a drink? Making small talk? Vehicular trash can manslaughter?”

That gets a real chuckle out of him, soft but genuine. “All of the above.”

You let that sit for a moment before shrugging. “Well, good news: you’re doing fine. And you only mildly traumatized my trash can, so I’d call it a win.”

Mark huffs, shaking his head slightly. But there’s something different now, something a little lighter in his posture, like the weight he’s carrying isn’t crushing him quite as much.

After a beat, he glances at you again. “You ever have a job that makes it hard to feel like yourself?”

The question is sudden, out of place in the easy rhythm of the conversation. But his voice is quiet, almost careful, like he’s asking something bigger than what the words imply.

Instead of answering his question, you ask: “What’s your job?”

Mark’s fingers tighten slightly around his glass. He hesitates, like he’s weighing how much he should say—or if he should say anything at all.

Finally, he exhales and mutters, “I work at Lumon.”

Your eyebrows lift. “What do you do there?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Data refinement.” The way he says it is flat, practiced—like it’s been drilled into him.

You take a sip of your drink, watching him carefully. “Sounds… vague.”

Mark exhales a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. It is.” He rubs a hand over his face, then shakes his head. “Sorry. I—probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

You tilt your head. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a good answer,” he admits. “Not one that makes sense.”

That hangs between you for a moment, heavy and strange. There’s something unsettling in the way he says it.

But instead of pressing, you set your drink down and say, “Okay. So you can’t talk about work. What can you talk about?”

That gets another small smile out of him. “Trash can fatalities, apparently.”

You smirk. “Great. I’ll add that to the list.”

Mark’s posture loosens just a little, like he’s relieved to step back from whatever abyss he almost walked into. He picks up his glass again, taking a slow sip before meeting your eyes.

“I can also talk about movies,” he offers after a moment. “Books. Uh… the weather.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you giving me conversation menu options?”

He shrugs. “Just making it easier.”

You shake your head, amused. “Alright, let’s go with movies. What’s the last one you watched?”

Mark thinks for a second, then says, completely deadpan, “A documentary about beekeeping.”

You blink. “Beekeeping.”

“Yeah.” He takes another sip of whiskey. “It was… surprisingly intense.”

That’s the first time he get’s a full, honest laugh out of you and it makes him light up in response.

Mark doesn’t exactly smile—at least, not in the way most people do—but there’s something warmer in his expression now, something real. You can tell he’s not used to making people laugh, or maybe just not used to wanting to.

“Intense how?” you ask, still grinning.

He leans against the counter, tilting his glass slightly as he thinks. “There was this one scene where a beekeeper was trying to relocate a hive, and for a second, it looked like the whole thing was about to collapse. Thousands of bees, just—everywhere.” He shakes his head slightly. “The guy barely flinched.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you related to this?”

Mark exhales a short laugh. “What, because I give off ‘man calmly drowning in bees’ energy?”

You shrug, smirking. “I mean. If the shoe fits.”

His gaze flickers to his drink, but he’s still smiling. It’s small, barely there, but you can tell it’s genuine. “Guess I walked into that one.”

You take another sip of your whiskey, watching him. He seems more settled now, like something inside him has loosened just a little. The tension is still there, coiled beneath the surface, but for now, it’s quieter.

After a beat, you say, “Alright. Next time you watch a weirdly intense documentary, let me know. I feel like I’m missing out.”

Mark glances at you, like he’s checking to see if you’re joking. But when he realizes you’re not, something shifts in his expression.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I think I will.”

After another pause, you both speak at the same time.

Mark says: “Sorry, I probably overstayed my-“

And you say: “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Mark stops mid-sentence, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting that question. To be fair, you weren’t really expecting to ask it either, but now that it’s out there, you realize you kind of want him to stay.

He hesitates, then glances toward the clock on your wall, like he’s only just now remembering what time it is. “Uh… no, actually.”

You nod toward the kitchen. “I was about to make something. If you’re hungry, you could stick around.”

Mark shifts on his feet, clearly debating whether he should. You can almost see the tug-of-war happening in his head—like he’s weighing the risk of staying against the comfort of being here, of not going home just yet.

Finally, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to—”

“You won’t be,” you cut in before he can finish. “It’s just food.”

There’s a beat where he just looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what the catch is. But then, slowly, he nods.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

You try not to seem too pleased as you head toward the fridge. “Good choice. Hope you like… whatever I end up throwing together.”

Mark huffs a quiet laugh and leans against the counter, watching as you start pulling things out. “As long as it’s not honey-glazed, I think I’ll manage.”

“No way!” Mark exclaims, laughing as you finish the story about how the FBI arrested your neighbor for planning to eat someone. Back when you still lived in the city.

“You’re making this up! You were in the elevator with the agents and-“

“It’s true! There even is a newspaper article about it.”

He shakes his head again, looking at you.

Your dinner is long finished, and the plates sit empty on the table while you moved to the couch.

Mark leans back against the armrest, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, I’ve heard of weird neighbors, but that? That’s on a whole new level.”

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “You wouldn’t believe the half of it. He had a whole ‘menu,’ apparently. I didn’t stick around to see the details, but I heard some… unsettling things when the cops showed up.”

Mark chuckles again, but there's something different about the way he’s looking at you now, more attentive, as if the ridiculousness of your story has made him see you a little more clearly.

“Seriously though,” he says, his voice softening, “you just… casually walked out of an elevator with FBI agents?”

You shrug, setting your glass down. “What can I say? I have a talent for finding chaos. It's like it follows me around.”

His smile widens, though there’s a hint of something else there—something warmer than amusement. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t end up on the ‘menu’ yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard by the comment. It’s offhand, but there’s an underlying sincerity to it, and it lands heavier than you expected.

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your tone light, though something shifts in the air between you. “That would’ve been a bit of a buzzkill for my week.”

Mark snorts at the terrible pun, and for a second, the tension slips away. But when he meets your eyes again, it’s like something unsaid lingers there. He doesn’t break the gaze this time.

“You know,” he says, after a beat, “I’m glad I ran over your trash can tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, your gaze never leaving his. “Oh? Is that your way of saying you’re glad we’re hanging out, or just an excuse to kill some plastic?”

Mark’s eyes flicker, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tries to suppress a smile. “I mean, killing plastic was an unintended bonus, but… yeah, I think I’m glad. It’s not every day I get invited inside for whiskey and, you know, not to be murdered by an overly ambitious neighbor.”

You laugh softly, your heart picking up its pace at the way his voice has softened, the way his smile feels a little too personal. “Well, I do like to make my invites memorable.”

His eyes narrow playfully as he shifts a little closer on the couch. “I’ll admit, you’re doing a good job of it. Who knows what’ll happen next? Maybe I’ll end up really liking your cooking.”

“Is that your way of complimenting my skills, or are you just trying to butter me up for the next time you run over something of mine?” You tilt your head, a teasing smile forming on your lips.

Mark raises his eyebrows, taking a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving yours. “A little of both, actually. I’m pretty good at the whole ‘play it cool’ thing, but I don’t mind saying I enjoy the company.”

The tension in the air thickens, the playful banter simmering under something more serious now. You can feel the heat of his stare, the way he’s studying you as if he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke, or if it’s real.

“You know,” you say softly, setting your glass down on the coffee table and shifting to face him more fully, “if you wanted to stick around more often, I wouldn’t exactly kick you out.”

Mark’s gaze flickers down to your lips for just a moment, and when he meets your eyes again, it’s like something unspoken passes between you. “I’m starting to think I’d be okay with that.”

A grin tugs at your lips, and you lean in just slightly, close enough to catch the warmth of his breath. “Good,” you murmur, “because I think we’d both be better off if you didn’t.”

For a second, neither of you moves, the quiet stretching between you thick with possibility. Mark’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a tension in his posture—almost like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

So, you do. You let your gaze flicker to his lips, then back up to his eyes, giving him a silent invitation.

“Oh, god.” Mark mumbles while climbing onto you, pressing you into the couch.

“What, hm?” You ask quietly, nudging his jaw with your nose.

“I-“ He kisses you again, soft and tentative but bolder than before. “I can’t remember the last time I went home with someone.”

“Bold of you to make it all the way from the front yard to my house.”

“Oh, shut up.” He groans and kisses you, deeper this time, parting his lips.

You let out a quiet sigh and run your hands over his chest, down to his sides.

Mark’s breath quickens, his hands coming to rest on either side of your face as he deepens the kiss, the gentle pressure of his lips turning more insistent. You can feel the heat between you, the rush of something raw, something new, building. His thumb brushes your cheek as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.

You smile against his lips, your hands trailing lower, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt. “You really think you can shut me up that easily?” you murmur between kisses, your voice a little breathless, teasing.

Mark chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I’m willing to try.” He leans in again, this time kissing you with more urgency, the intensity of his touch betraying how long it’s been since he’s allowed himself to let go.

You respond in kind, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin as you tug him closer. His body presses against yours, the weight of him comforting and steady, like it’s meant to be there. The room feels smaller now, the space between you shrinking with each passing second.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy. “Are you sure about this?” His voice is rough, his usual calm demeanor slipping, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability in his eyes, a crack in the mask he usually wears.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, your thumb grazing his lip. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I wasn’t,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves beneath your skin.

Mark’s expression softens, and without another word, he kisses you again—this time slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that’s meant to ground you both in the moment, to remind you that this is real. His hands are gentle now, but the need in them is undeniable.

“Would you maybe like to see my bedroom?”

“God…You’re so pretty.” Mark murmurs shyly, avoiding eye contact as you throw your shirt aside.

“Come here.” You murmur, gesturing for him to join you in bed.

After a long moment of nervous hesitation, Mark moves and crawls into the sheets, right back on top of you.

“Hey.” You speak softly, smiling up at him while you run your fingers through his soft hair.

“Hey.” He replies equally quietly and leans down to kiss you, his eyes darting between yours.

His lips brush against yours, slow and searching, like he’s memorizing the feeling. There’s something achingly sweet about the way he hesitates, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the slight tremor in his fingers where they press into the sheets beside your head.

You smile against his lips, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, coaxing him out of his nervousness. “You don’t have to be so careful,” you murmur between kisses, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I want this, Mark.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, almost like he’s trying to steady himself. “I know,” he says softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I just—” His voice falters, and he swallows hard, eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for reassurance. “I don’t do this much. Not since…”

He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish to understand. There’s something unspoken between you—some quiet grief he doesn’t want to name.

You reach up, your fingers tracing gently along his jaw. “We don’t have to rush,” you say, voice low, soothing. “Just be here with me.”

Mark exhales slowly, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he nods. Then he kisses you again—less hesitant now, like he’s letting himself feel it this time. His hands skim down your sides, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he presses closer, his weight settling against you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs against your lips, smiling just a little.

You grin, arching into him. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

He doesn’t answer you, he just kisses you again. And again. And then with his tongue seeking entrance.

You part your lips and let him push his tongue into your mouth. It makes Mark sigh, and he lets more of his weight rest on top of you. And when you graze his tongue with your teeth, he lets out his first moan.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach. There’s something intoxicating about the way he responds to you—like he’s losing himself in this, in you.

Mark presses closer, his hips slotting against yours, his hands bracing against the sheets like he’s holding himself back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s struggling to keep himself in check.

You slide your hands down his back, nails dragging lightly over his skin, and his breath stutters. He breaks the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales shakily.

“You okay?” you whisper, voice teasing but gentle.

He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect that to feel so good.”

Your lips twitch into a smirk, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. “You mean kissing? Or—” You scrape your nails down his spine again, slow and deliberate.

Mark groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. “That,” he mutters against your skin, his voice rough, unsteady.

You smile, tilting your head to give him better access.

His lips brush your throat, hesitant at first, then firmer when he hears the quiet sigh you let out. He lingers there, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his breath warm against your pulse.

And when you shift beneath him, rolling your hips just slightly, Mark whimpers.

The sound sends another sharp thrill through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected him to be so responsive, so utterly undone by something as simple as a kiss, a touch, the press of your body against his.

You tighten your grip on him, hands splaying across his back, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your fingertips. “Mark,” you murmur, breathless.

He makes a quiet, desperate noise in response, his lips trailing higher, brushing the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. He lingers there, his breath unsteady, like he’s gathering himself—or maybe just savoring the moment.

“You’re not playing fair,” you tease, tilting your chin up to give him more access.

Mark huffs a laugh against your skin, but it’s shaky, edged with something deeper. “Neither are you.”

You smile, sliding your hands beneath his shirt, fingertips grazing up his spine, feeling the way he shudders at the contact. You let them wander lower, teasing at the waistband of his slacks, and Mark gasps—a sharp, choked-off sound that makes your stomach flip.

“You really are dangerous,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost like he’s talking more to himself than to you.

You grin against his skin, tilting your hips up just enough to make him suck in a breath. “You keep saying that,” you murmur, fingers teasing just beneath the hem of his slacks. “Starting to think you like the danger.”

Mark groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “I think I might.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, but there’s something raw in it, something that makes your chest tighten.

He lifts his head, eyes dark, searching yours. His fingers twitch against your waist like he’s trying to keep himself steady, like he’s bracing for something inevitable. “You—” He swallows hard. “You sure?”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your heart stutter.

Instead of answering with words, you guide his hand, pressing his palm flat against your skin, just above the waistband of your pants. “Mark,” you say softly, watching as his breath hitches, as his pupils blow wide, “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him seems to unravel at that.

And then he’s kissing you again—deep and slow and devastatingly deliberate. His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you beneath them, and when he shifts above you, pressing closer, you can feel how much he wants this, too.

He’s been going down on you for at least fifteen minutes, dragging several orgasms out of you with lustful determination.

It’s like he wants to make sure, really sure, that you’re into this. That you’re enjoying this. And no matter how many times you told him, he only seems to accept your thighs tensing around his head as definite answer.

“Mark!” You gasp, back arching, thighs pressing to his head, hips lifting off the mattress as heat shoots through you. Your sight goes white despite the dimmed light of the bedroom and your hands claw at the bedsheets.

Actual tears pool in your eyes at the overstimulation, and you have to tap his shoulder, “I can’t, oh god, I can’t…”

He lets up, making you let out a relieved breath, and kisses your hips, rubbing your shaking thighs.

You don’t feel much besides the heat between your legs and how it radiates through your body, so it takes you a bit until you realize that Mark is lying next to you. His hand is on your side, drawing circles with his thumb, while he waits for you to come down enough to acknowledge him.

“Was that okay for you?” He asks eventually.

“I-“ You have to clear your throat, voice raspy from moaning. “Yes, god, more than okay.”

He smiles, lips glistening with your arousal, and pulls you closer.

You take another few deep breaths before you look at him, eyes still glazed over.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He mutters. “Especially like this.”

You run your fingers through his soft hair again and down his neck and scratch over his back. It elicits a groan from him and you smile, whispering: “There are condoms in the nightstand if you want to keep going.”

Mark Scout knows how to take his time. He knows how to be patient, thorough—how to make sure you’re completely unraveled before he even thinks about losing control.

But shame on you for thinking that’s all he knows.

Mark Scout fucks.

Yes, he’s sweet, and careful, and made more than sure that you’re into it…but shame on you for thinking he only knows how to take it soft and slow. That might be how he went down on you, but that’s not how he’s currently fucking you into the mattress.

One of your legs is hooked over his shoulder, his grip firm on your upper arm and the side of your neck, holding you in place as he moves. His thrusts are deep, precise, leaving you gasping beneath him. Every time he pulls back, it’s only to push in again with more intent, more purpose. Like he wants to memorize every reaction he can pull from you.

“You feel so fucking good.” He pants.

You whimper and nod, the ability to form full sentences long gone as you clench around him.

Mark’s lips curve slightly. “You’re so responsive… Do you like my dick that much?”

The teasing lilt in his voice makes your stomach tighten, and when you don’t answer right away, he snaps his hips forward, making your breath hitch. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets. “Yes, you feel—God, you feel amazing.”

His grin is all satisfaction as he presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips warm against your skin.

And then his hand begins to trace its way down your body, slow and deliberate, skimming over every sensitive point along the way. It lingers at your hip, his fingers pressing just slightly into your skin, teasing, making you arch toward him instinctively. He lets his hand linger there a little, tantalizing you, making you tilt your hips to get his hand closer to where you want it.

He’s still moving, still keeping that unrelenting rhythm, but he’s watching you now, like he’s waiting for something.

You’re about to beg when he finally – finally – brings his thumb down to circle your clit.

It elicits a gasp from you and your hips lift off the mattress.

“Fuck,” Mark hisses, his voice rough as your body tightens around him in response. His movements stutter just for a second before he adjusts, finding a new angle, thrusting deeper. The shift makes his breath catch, makes him groan low in his throat.

The obscene sound echo through the room as you make eye contact, both of you panting and starting to sweat.

“Look at you,” Mark speaks up, breathing heavily, “all I had to do is run over your fucking-“

“Oh, shut up.” You groan and snake your leg around him to push him over and onto you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, propping himself up left and right of your head.

“Feisty.” He comments with a grin.

You roll your eyes at him but smile and pull him for a kiss. It’s a sloppy kiss, with lots of tongue and groans and lips being bitten down on.

Mark groans into your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his body flush against yours. There’s a desperation to the way he moves now—like something in him has completely given in, like he’s lost in the feeling of you beneath him. His hands trace down your sides, his touch firm but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you. The heat between you builds with every roll of his hips, every quiet, breathless sound that escapes into the space between your lips.

Mark exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting second before he shifts his weight, pressing you deeper into the mattress. His pace slows, not out of mercy, but to drag it out—to make you feel every inch of him, every deliberate, agonizing thrust. His hand slides down to your hip, fingers digging in just enough to keep you right where he wants you. "You have no idea," he murmurs, voice rough, almost wrecked, "how fucking good you feel."

Your nails scratch down his back, leaving faint, red trails in their wake, and the sound he makes—half growl, half moan—sends another rush of heat straight to your core. His grip tightens, his hips snapping forward harder, as if he’s chasing the friction, chasing the way you gasp his name like it’s the only word you remember. "Mark—" you pant, legs wrapping tighter around him, pulling him in as deep as he can go.

He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "Say it again," he mutters, his teeth grazing your pulse before sucking just hard enough to make you squirm beneath him. "Say my name."

“Mark,” you breathe again, voice wrecked, barely more than a gasp, and it does something to him—you can feel it in the way his whole body shudders against yours. His thrusts stutter for just a moment before he finds his rhythm again, deeper now, slower but no less intense. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s trying to make this last.

His lips trail down your neck, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat across your skin, his breath heavy and uneven. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, like he’s losing himself in the way you feel, the way you sound. He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide, hair damp with sweat. “You’re so—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, like the words are too much, or maybe not enough.

You arch beneath him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down into a desperate, messy kiss. He groans against your mouth, his hips driving into you harder, needier. Every movement, every sound he makes is unraveling you, winding you tighter and tighter until you’re right on the edge again, and he knows it—he can feel it in the way your body clenches around him.

His thumb finds your clit again, pressing in slow, teasing circles that have you gasping into his mouth. “Come for me,” he whispers, his voice strained, almost pleading. “Let me feel it.”

The way he says it—low and rough, almost desperate—sends a sharp pulse of heat through you. Your body tightens around him, every nerve alight, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

Mark feels it, too. You can tell by the way his breathing turns ragged, by the way his thrusts grow uneven, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge right along with you. His hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in like he needs to hold onto something, needs to ground himself in you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice strained. “Come for me. Let me feel you.” His thumb presses down just right, and it’s enough to send you over the edge.

Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your whole body tensing before shattering apart, heat flooding every inch of you. A broken moan spills from your lips as you arch against him, hands gripping his shoulders, nails dragging down his back.

Mark groans at the feeling of you tightening around him, his own rhythm faltering. He presses his forehead against yours, breath hot and uneven, his body trembling as he loses himself completely, spilling into you with a shuddering gasp.

Mark stays buried deep inside you, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants against your lips. His body is still trembling slightly, his muscles taut like he’s bracing himself, even as the last waves of pleasure roll through him.

You smooth your hands down his back, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way his heart pounds against your own. He exhales slowly, as if trying to gather himself, and when he finally lifts his head to meet your gaze, his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it—raw, unguarded.

A lazy, satisfied smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead, “are going to ruin me.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. “I think you’ll survive.”

Mark hums, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, like he’s savoring the moment. Then he shifts, carefully easing out of you, and you both let out quiet, contented sighs. He doesn’t go far, though—just rolls onto his side, pulling you with him, keeping you pressed against his chest.

You close your eyes, resting your head against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns along your spine, and for a while, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. The quiet between you feels full, warm, like something neither of you wants to break just yet.

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the-hidden-pages · 3 months ago

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My last fic was posted October 5, 2023.

A part of me goes unnourished.

This must be remedied.

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the-hidden-pages · 10 months ago

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My fixations the summer of 2017:

My fixations the summer of 2024:

I have come full circle in some hauntingly wonderful way

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the-hidden-pages · 1 year ago

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the-hidden-pages · 1 year ago

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eclipse 🌙

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the-hidden-pages · 1 year ago

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It's a lot healthier to go for a daily walk than to sign up for a gym membership you won't be using because you hate that kind of exercise. It's a lot healthier to eat a frozen meal than to skip a meal because you were too tired to cook something healthy. It's a lot healthier to take a quick shower than to procrastinate an elaborate routine for days. Don't aim so high that you won't be hitting anything!

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the-hidden-pages · 1 year ago

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hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.

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the-hidden-pages · 2 years ago

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Kinktober Day 4 - Thigh Riding | Sex Pollen - Jaskier x Fem!Reader

Thigh riding | Sex pollen | Forced orgasm

Disclaimer: I did interpret “sex pollen” as loose as aphrodisiac - it’s not an actual pollen, it’s a liquid. Also, it's late, I have work, I did rush a little to get this out but it's better than another day sans post I hope!

Summary: Geralt had warned you of the dangers of consorting with witches. But you had never anticipated the dangers being this.

Warnings: NSFW, Public Sex/Orgies, Aphrodisiac, Dub Con because of the aphrodisiac but they love each other I swear.

Geralt had warned you.

Geralt had warned you of the dangers of witches often enough. Even Yennefer, a witch herself, often advised against mingling with others that dabble in Chaos.

But that didn’t stop Jaskier from accepting the opportunity of performing on behalf of a town’s witch.

It didn’t stop you from attending the gathering in support of him.

Which is how the pair of you wound up in the mansion of the local town’s “healer”, surrounded by townsfolk that were in the know, and various other mages and witches.

Jaskier had sung wonderfully, as captivating as he ever did - and to hold the attention of those as vain as witches and mages was no small feat, you’ll give him that.

As the night went on, he was free to mingle, returning to your side and sip on the wine that was being freely poured, to feast on the foods presented.

“And to think Geralt was worried,” Jaskier scoffed, in his element, overconfident in the way he often became when things were going a little too smoothly.

It didn’t stop you from smiling though, an easy grin matching his on your face. “A worrywart, that one. A white haired worrywart of a Witcher.”

“Isn’t he just? He ought to have more trust in us.”

You chuckled, taking another sip before waving your glass in emphasis. “Did he warn you about the wine?”

“No, what of it?”

“Yennefer mentioned some witches put something in it, an aphrodisiac. Makes the night more fun as it goes on.”

Jaskier made a face, somewhere between a grimace and a grin. “Oh woe is me, a witch’s orgy. Save me, Butcher of Blaviken!”

A snort escapes you as the pair of you take another sip, continuing to pass the time discussing his various adventures with Geralt, his performance, and the various attendees of the soiree.

The conversation carried on easily, until the vibe of the room suddenly, inexplicably, intangibly…Shifted

Suddenly the air was heavier, thicker in a way that was hotter, heavier. It felt as though the voices of the other partygoers was quieting, slowing down. You became more aware of certain things - men sitting with their hands on other women’s thighs, just a little too high. A flush on women’s cheeks that ran a little brighter, went a little further down than the typical blush from too much wine.

And you were very aware of Jaskier sitting beside you.

His thigh lightly touching yours was suddenly scalding you, but in a way that you felt you simply couldn’t move away.

You hadn’t realized you had stopped listening to the conversation entirely until Jaskier called your name.

You met his eyes, ready to apologize, before immediately regretting it.

Were his eyes always so piercing? His hair always so soft? Did you always notice how deeply he unbuttoned his shirt, how noticeable the droplets of sweat were running down it.

Oh.

“Jaskier,” you croaked out, suddenly noticing how dry your mouth was. You licked your lips and continued. “Jaskier, the wine. I don’t think Geralt was wrong.”

“Hmm?” the bard only hummed, and you met his eyes again. He was practically in a trance, staring at where your tongue had darted out to wet your lips.

Slowly, around you, you begin to hear soft sighs, and the lower, hushed tones of lovers speaking to one another.

You grow more aware of the unbearable, present, nearly painful heat between your legs, and when you shift, you realize that you’re already drenched.

“Jask…”

The bard reached forward, placing a large, warm, calloused hand on your thighs.

“They spiked the wine,” he breathes out, turning himself enough that his head is resting against yours, words breathing right in your ear and sending chills down your spine.

“Mhm,” your eyes are closed, trying to ignore the stimuli coming from all senses that your body seems hyper aware of. The gasps, the quiet moans, people growing closer.

Jaskier right beside you.

“Darling we can leave right now,” he breathes, hand on your thigh growing tighter, wandering ever so slightly higher. “We can rent a room in the nearest tavern - or two, if you want to wait this out. We don’t have to stay -”

You cut him off, pushing him back. You can see him start to form an apology, but before giving him the chance you stand and move to position yourself on his lap, straddling his legs and capturing him in a frantic kiss.

It’s not coordinated, or careful, or planned. The moment Jaskier’s brain catches up to what you’ve done, he’s immediately pried your lips open with his tongue, tasting you, claiming you, his hand coming around to cradle your head and pull you in deeper. His other hand wanders quickly, greedily, grasping at every inch of you that he can.

You already don’t want clothes in the way.

As quickly as you get on him, you stand again. The bard is dazed, bright eyes nothing but dark pupils gazing at you as you begin to make quick work of your clothes.

It’s the wine, some tiny, miniscule part in the back of your mind speaks. It’s the wine making you strip in front of a room of strangers, the wine making you mount your friend in a fit of desire.

The wine. Only the wine.

It has to be.

Your hands, in their flurry, begin to struggle with the laces, of which Jaskier is far too eager to help you with.

He leans forward, reaching up to help you loosen the corset. As it’s flung somewhere to your side, he makes quick work of your undershirt, your skirts.

Quickly, so quickly it all began, and just as quickly you’re completely nude, with the bard urging you back into his lap.

In your haste, you slip a little, falling to one side and straddling only one of his thighs.

Despite this you moan, jolting slightly as sliding on the thigh offers some friction to your throbbing clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, grasping on to his shoulders tightly, your body moving without your full consent as you seek any form of relief to the growing burn within you.

It’s too much, the feeling of the cotton trousers beneath you, offering a burning friction to satiate your need, the growing groans echoing throughout the entire room.

It’s not enough, when Jaskier himself lets out a beautiful moan, feeling you begin to soak through his clothes as you claw at him desperately.

“Dove, please,” he begs, leaning forward to pepper your neck and collarbone with bites. Your hips rock faster, until he tugs harshly at your hair, exposing your neck fully as you shout. His teeth mark your neck and his grip remains firm, his other hand wandering down to aide your movements.

Your mind, in its wine and drug and lust addled haze, can only focus on two things: easing the burn between your legs, and hearing one of his beautiful sounds again.

And so your hand promptly finds his cock, working it through the flap in his trousers and stroking.

Gods is he hard.

It’s his turn to have his head thrown back, to let out a loud, melodic moan to the room to join the symphony of the others’. It’s rougher than you expected, lightly due to his night of signing and shouting boisterously to a room, but hells did it ever manage to turn you on.

You’re rushing it, you know it, he knows it, but somehow no one can bring themselves to mind as you raise yourself up further, straddling him properly once again.

You stare into the bard’s blue eyes, taking in every expression as you sink down fully, gasping as you feel every inch, every curve, every vein. It’s easy, with how wet you’ve become, and within seconds you’re riding him and hard as you can.

He’s eager to help you, hands grasping your hips so tightly they’re bound to leave bruises, controlling your pace and pulling you ever so slightly closer.

“This isn’t,” Jaskier gasped out, between groans and moans bites to your neck. “This isn’t what I wanted for our first night together.”

“You dreamed of this?” You tease half-heartedly, feeling a warmth in your heart bloom despite the absurdity of the situation.

Was this bard really about to give you a love confession whilst balls deep in you in the midst of a sex party?

“Of course,” he moaned, head thrown back and eyes clenched shut. “Gods, so many nights I wanted to have you, in the nearest room in a tavern, against the nearest wall, in the midst of camp. There was a plan, wine and dinner and singing and flowers, just us - fuck do that again.”

You reach for his hair, forcefully pulling his head back to meet your gaze.

“We’ll do this again,” you promise, thighs burning as you ride faster, chasing that growing feeling within you. “I’ve wanted it too, and we’ll talk about it when this damned wine isn’t in our heads but Jaskier, please just fuck me right now I’m so close -”

He stops you, hand travelling forward to meet your clit, rubbing in just the right way that has you seeing stars within seconds.

With your high comes his, and you can’t help but whine at the feeling of his cum shooting deep within you, warming you from the inside out as you clutch each other desperately, needly, as though you were the answer to some eternal unasked question.

As the pair of you come down, gasping, panting, your ears pick up the rest of the party beginning to quiet as well. It was almost as if the spell had a time limit, you thought aimlessly.

As you came to, and the sensations began to dull, your mind grew louder.

You had just fucked Jaskier.

You were still sitting on his cock.

As you go to move, his hand holds your hip tightly, and the other travels upwards to brush some hair out of your face, cupping your cheek. His gaze is gentle, kind, but hungry.

“We’ll do it again, you say?” he teases, that overconfident smirk back on his face. You can feel him hardening inside you once again, and you shift as a reflex, causing a burst of heat to ignite in you once again. “What say you to back at the inn?”

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

They did not give me cannonical aphrodisiac usage at witch parties for nothing.

Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for their Kinktober list this year!

#fawktober2023 #kinktober2023 #x reader #x reader smut #jaskier #jaskier x reader

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the-hidden-pages · 2 years ago

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I am absolutely FEASTING on that Astarion fic. My god. If you ever feel so inclined to write more pleasure dom Astarion, let nothing stop you. (If only Tav could have let him keep going at the end there…)

Trust me my dear, you'll not escape the rest of kinktober without at least one more Astarion fic.

Sadly, tonight will not be him, but hopefully it'll keep you warm until your next encounter with the vampire

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the-hidden-pages · 2 years ago

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Kinktober Day 1 - 'Love' Bites | Overstimulation - Astarion x Fem!Reader

Love bites | Overstimulation | Impact play

Coming out the gates strong with 3500+ words for this man. It has not been edited, I have work in the morning, I'm going to bed.

Summary: With the promise of taking you to a quiet little piece of nowhere to forget all the madness of the adventure, Astarion pulls out all the stops to ensure you forget everything, except the pleasure he gives you.

Warnings: NSFW, Blood, Vampire Kink, Overstimulation, Crying, Light Choking, Dirty Talk

You and Astarion had always had an arrangement.

To say you bonded quickly with your party would be an understatement - having the tadpole within your mind and surviving the same crash tends to form that immediate trauma bond. But you and the vampire had formed a deeper understanding of each other much sooner than the others.

That night, so early on in your adventure, when you awoke to the man perched over you, fangs bared and your throat exposed for the taking, things simply couldn’t go back to the status quo.

It fogged your mind the entirety of the next day, the proximity, the adrenaline, the pure, undiluted hunger.

You’ve allowed him to feed from you every night since.

You played it off as trust, at first. Trust in him, a want to have him fully strengthened for battle. Nothing but business.

But it didn’t take long for him to understand your underlying motivation, the reason you allowed yourself to feel drained, exhausted, and weak for each battle moving forward, perpetually distracted by the memory of his lips and teeth at your neck. The memory welcomed the fantasies with open arms, fantasies of his hands wandering as he drank, kissing your lips with your own blood on his own, his fangs sinking into your thighs, before wandering higher…

Still, you were never going to force it.

So, you allowed him to continue to drink, both aware of the growing tension, both refusing to move further.

Until that changed.

When Astarion came to you, offering for you both to find a “little piece of nowhere”, somewhere to “forget all this madness”, you sure as hell weren’t about to decline.

A chance to get him out of your head was exactly what you needed to think clearly.

Night had long since fallen, as you sat pretending to read one of many absurd tomes Gale had collected throughout the journey. A life of adventuring doesn’t make for the most consistent sleep schedule, and as such awaiting for the entire party to call it a night was practically torment as you tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs.

But no amount of pretending to study the Oral Histories of Faerun could distract you from wondering what pleasures tonight would bring.

When finally, finally, Karlach decided to call it a night, you waited a few moments more before creeping off to where Astarion had told you to meet him.

Any other night it may have been eerie, creeping through the woods unarmed as the moon rose high in the sky. But all you could feel was the anticipation growing, humming in every nerve of your body like someone had struck you with a Witch Bolt.

Your heart nearly stopped as movement caught your eye.

There, emerging from the trees, already shirtless, was the vampire.

You had seen him in various states of undress before - curing wounds of various weapons and spells will do that. But there was something different about it in this circumstance, seeing him perfectly unscathed, strong and confident from the weeks of draining your life from your veins, silver hair and pale skin hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight.

“There you are,” he spoke lowly, striding slowly towards you. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

While the words themselves made you blush, you couldn’t help comment.

“The moment you set eyes on me you had a knife to my throat.”

“Ah,” he sighed, walking slowly around you, bringing his fingers to lightly trail up your arm. “But if you remember, I did notice then and there what a darling neck you had, I just knew it would be heavenly.”

He closed the distance between you, and you could promptly feel his strong form cold against your back, a prominent bulge pressing into you, and his breath on your neck making you lightheaded.

His hand trailed down your neck to trace the marks he had been leaving nightly. “And I was right.”

Despite how little he had done, you had grown so wound up from the endless fantasies from his nights of feeding that you were already weak in the knees.

His left hand lightly began to caress your thigh, as his right takes to untying the strings of your loose shirt, his mouth never stopping.

“You’ve been so helpful these last few weeks darling, allowing me for the first time to indulge in the blood of a human, giving me strength at your expense. You’ve been so good for me too, holding back all those little sounds you’ve been wanting to make, pretending like you don’t get wet just at the thought of me drinking from you, like you don’t get soaked from the moment my lips touch your neck. Hmm?”

Your breathing was already heavy, your thighs already squeezing together in some attempt for stimulation - it was already too much. All you could do was nod, a breathy “yes” escaping you as your shirt is undone, falling to the forest floor.

His hands begin to explore, lightly tracing up your arms, down your stomach, across your collarbone. “And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you my love? To keep us alive, to keep us all going. You’ve been so helpful to all of us, to me, I think it’s time I take some weight off of those pretty little shoulders.”

Suddenly, forcefully, he spins you around, steadying you by grabbing your hips. You look into the red eyes that gaze at you intently, with an emotion that is so close to something like love, devotion, but feeling just slightly too forced, slightly too uncanny.

That gaze is a problem for another day, you determine, as he sinks to his knees and gazes up at you, untying your trousers.

After all, the love may not be real, but the lust in his eyes sure as hell is.

He makes slow work of the fabric, speaking up at you the entire time.

“Dearest, I intend to do exactly as I promised. I want to repay you for the kindness you’ve given me, the trust you’ve placed in me. Allow me to please you, to make you forget about everything, if only for a night. Will you allow me this?”

You nodded, mutely, as you stepped out of your pants.

He gazed up at you again, eyes drinking you in, darkening as they travel up your body, stopping at between your legs, your chest, your neck.

When his eyes met yours again, he stood up quickly, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a deep kiss.

You had thought about this moment too often.

What he would taste like, how his fangs would feel against your tongue, how his lips would feel against yours. He pulled you into him desperately, and the sensation of your bare chest against his made your head spin, gasping into the kiss as he took full control, kissing you with such a passion that you might have thought there was more to it than a simple need for release, repayment.

He pulled away all too soon, thumb caressing your lower lip as he gazed at you in that absurdly sultry way of his.

“Before I take your breath away,” he breathed out, pausing to kiss your cheek. “I need to know what you want from me darling.” Another pause, a kiss to the jaw now. “Tell me how to please you.” A kiss behind the ear. “Tell me how to make you scream.”

You were barely keeping it together, eyes already fluttering closed.

A sharp bite to the neck, not enough to bleed, but enough to make you gasp, brought you out of it. His red eyes gazed at you intently, awaiting your response.

“I want you to take control,” you speak, feeling as though you’re giving a confession. “I don’t want to think. I want you to drain me of my blood, of my thoughts. Make me cum, make me scream, make me feel so good it hurts, until I’m begging you to stop, Astarion.”

“Oh, darling,” he nearly growled, his hand caressing your cheek. “I'll do just that.”

He spun you again, once again catching you off guard. Within moments, you feel him press up against you again, this time the hardness of his cock being released from his pants, discarded far into the forest you assumed.

“You mustn’t keep a sound from me, by the way,” he spoke lightly. “I’ll know if you do.”

You aren’t allowed much time to consider that as you feel his lips on your neck, pecking and lightly biting and sucking. His hands trail upwards to cup your breasts, slowly, softly, deeply massaging, as though he’s trying to feel every inch of your skin. His fingers lightly pinch and tug against your peaks, and he leaves soft bites on your neck, never enough to break the skin.

It had only been moments, but you’re whining, and you can feel your wetness dripping down your thigh.

“Astarion, please,” you breathe, hand coming up to lace in his hair in an attempt to force him deeper into your neck.

He just laughed. “Darling I’ve barely touched you and you’re begging. Allow me to take my time with you.”

His left hand stays at your breast as his right once again wanders downward, slowly reaching your inner thigh.

“I can smell it, you know,” he muttered lowly in your ear, and you almost squeak, flushed with embarrassment. “Every time you’re so wet you can barely think, stuck in your little fantasies as I drink from you. You do so well, hiding your wants from me, but I’ve always known, and I’ve always wanted to push it further, to let my hand wander between your pretty little legs and feel just how wet for me you are…”

As he takes a pause, his fingers reach your folds, lightly caressing up and down, circling your clit, and you both sigh.

“Astarion…”

“Hells, you want me so badly don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Oh, I’m not here to deny you, angel. I’ll give you everything you want…”

Without warning, two of his slender, delightfully long digits enter you, and you release a moan louder than you expected.

“Very good,” he praised, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace, as he resumed his work on your neck. He continued to suck and bite, no doubt leaving a myriad of bruises and marks that you would have to explain away tomorrow.

He growls again, biting a little harder, though still not hard enough to draw any blood, you notice. His fingers within you speed up, spreading in a way that has you choking out another moan.

“I can hear you thinking, darling. That’s not what we want now, is it?”

“No - fuck, there,” you moan deeper, head tilting back as his fingers reach a place in you that is forever out of your reach.

“Oh, good girl,” he purrs, focusing on that one spot. “Good girl, telling me what you want. Focus on your body, darling, not your thoughts. Feel me against you, feel me in you, feel how badly you need that release.”

“Astarion please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Bite me harder.”

“Oh, not yet my sweet. We have all night for that, and I would quite like to sample the nectar between your thighs before tasting your heavenly blood. But I’ve left such a wonderful piece of work on your neck, now everyone at the camp will know now more than ever that you’re mine.”

“Fuck,” you gasp out, feeling the waves of heat overcome you and your thighs begin to collapse, your release hitting hard and fast at his use of possessive language.

“Very good, darling,” he praised, holding you up as your vision spun. His fingers didn’t cease as you came, immediately riling you back up, moans spilling out of you louder than before. You hadn’t noticed when he had added a third finger, but you felt the stretch as he pushed in, the emptiness when he pulled out.

You needed more, and he was clearly eager to give it to you.

“Lie down, my darling,” he whispered in your ear. “Allow me to worship you further.”

You did so without hesitation, resting back on a relatively flat portion of the forest floor, spreading your legs as Astarion knelt down, bringing your legs up on to his shoulders and staring down hungrily at you.

Despite the ferocity in his eyes, he took his time, kissing from your ankle to your thigh on your left leg, and then your right. The moment you felt your frustration grow to a peak, he bit down, once again leaving marks but never breaking the skin, marking the soft flesh of your thigh.

He teased you for a few moments before the impatience struck him as well, and leaned forward further, licking a long stripe up your folds.

“Oh darling, and I thought your blood was heavenly,” he breathed, and before you could respond, he went to work.

Immediately your hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing in some attempt to regain any sort of sanity in this moment. His tongue worked wonders, knowing exactly how to work inside you before retreating, teasing at your clit, before the vicious cycle repeated. His hands clenched your thighs as though they were a life line, and the moans that left him traveled into the depths of your core.

It didn’t take long, you were already falling over the edge again, now shouting as the pleasure grew blinding.

“I could stay here forever,” you could barely hear him lament, mind fogged. You blinked blearily as you focused on his face that was now above yours, glistening with your release as he grinned ferally, hand briefly coming up to clench at your throat. “But I have more planned for you.”

Despite your exhaustion, you feel the warmth in your core grow, another release of slick as his cock presses up against your folds.

“May I, pet?”

All you can do is moan pathetically, something between “yes” and “please” falling out of you as you weakly nod.

“Darling, you’re a vision,” once again, he strokes your cheek, uncharacteristically loving for the cold vampire. “Completely fucked out, and we haven’t even arrived at the main course.”

With that, you feel him enter you, no resistance give how worked up you are.

You take a moment, joined, as he breathes heavily into your neck and you let out quiet moans, words completely failing you.

“Divine,” he breathes, returning to kiss your neck, the sensitivity of it making you clench around him immediately. “Oh, so divine, darling I could have you for eternity, such a better use of our time than fighting all of these tiresome battles.”

He began to pump in and out of you slowly, your mind spinning from the weight of him on top of you, the sensation of being fucked so deeply, overwhelmed by the afterglow of all that had happened.

And still his words didn’t cease.

“I could keep you forever, a precious little pet, tied to the bed to fuck whenever I wanted. Or perhaps the other way around, I would wait an eternity just for another chance to taste you, to please you. Whatever fantasy you wish darling, we can fulfill it tonight, I swear to you - fuck.”

He picks up the pace as you clench around him yet again, your release not even having a build up, but instead crashing against you like a tsunami. You feel the wetness seep down your thighs, coating where the pair of you connect.

“Ast-ar…” you can barely breathe, and he laughs almost maniacally.

“Very good, darling, just like that. Give in to me. You don’t need a single thought in that head now, focus only on me and let go. You can cum again, you can, for me.”

“Can’t - I can’t…”

“Oh, you can and you will, if you want me to drink from you tonight,” he muttered darkly, and you feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“Astarion.”

“You have to cum again, to get what you want. Just one more time, my darling. One more and you’ll please me so well. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You muster up the last of the strength you have, words falling from you without control.

“Yes, fuck, yes please, Astarion, please I want to come, I want you to bite me, I need to be yours, I need you ~”

It was almost as though your last orgasm hadn’t ended, with how quickly this one had began. An endless torrent that had the tears breaking, pouring down your face and into the dirt. You nearly choked out a scream, clenching around him so tightly that you feel Astarion tense, cursing wildly as you feel a warmth flood you.

You take a moment, trying with all your might to remember how to breathe, mouth gaping, expecting Astarion to move from you any moment.

Instead you shriek as he thrusts again, hand once again curled around your neck, stopping any chance you had at catching your breath.

“We aren’t done,” he growled, your own slick and his cum leaking out of you as he continued to fuck you, harder now, less restrained that before, nothing but pathetic whimpers leaving you. “We are so far from done, my love. You’re mine, you’re mine.”

Finally, what you had been begging for all night came to pass, and his fangs sunk deep into that claimed spot of your neck. You felt the familiar warmth and euphoria as your blood drained into his hungry mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo and hips moving at an inhumane pace.

And he was right.

You were his, blood and body and mind, it was all his. He had consumed every inch of you.

It was incredible, it was numbing, all you could think about was Astarion. Every molecule of you was on fire, and screamed to be connected to him, to never leave this moment, to stay in an eternity of this torment, but after four orgasms and on the verge of a fifth, with the ecstasy of his fangs in your neck, you simply couldn’t continue.

“Too much,” you manage to croak out, tears streaming down your cheeks and your entire body screaming. Your hands grip the vampire's arms tightly when he doesn’t immediately stop, nails biting into his skin. “Too much, stop!”

Immediately the fangs retract and he’s gently pulling out of you, red eyes wide with a hint of a rare expression on his face.

Fear.

“Darling I’m so sorry, did I take too much? I felt you going limp but, hells you’re so delicious I must have been lost in it-”

You shook your head quickly, placing a hand on his chest as you tried to collect your thoughts, tears still streaming.

“No, no, no,” you breathe out, still gasping. “Not the blood, you’re alright. It was too much, I really can’t cum again, it's too much. Too much good, I promise.”

The fear melted away to a more familiar expression, a smug smirk.

“Oh darling,” he purred, hand trailing up and down your inner thigh in a soothing but teasing manner. “I don’t know about that, you can still manage full sentences. Clearly too much brain power left…and I could go all night.”

“Astarion.”

A rare, genuine chuckle left the man as he began softly stroking your arm and playing with your hair, easing you down from your intense high.

When your breathing leveled out, he began to stand up, and you nearly whined.

Sensing your distress, he waved lightly. “I’ll be but a moment.”

He sauntered away, and you laid back, taking the moment to look up at the stars, basking in the glow of the orgasms and the moon.

He really had done his job, you had to admit to yourself. You were struggling to form a coherent thought.

When he returned, he had clothed himself, and had a small cloth in his hand. Striding over to you he gently knelt down yet again, running it over the blood stains on your neck, the mess between your thighs.

You stared at him, and he caught your look of surprise.

“What?” he asked, an affronted tone. “I know how to treat my lovers, darling.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle, closing your eyes. “Just a softie, I knew it.”

“Hardly,” he huffed, chucking the cloth off to who knows where and pulling you up against his chest.

He began to play with your fingers, lightly tracing the veins in your hands and up your arms. The pair of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, no words passing between you, but a silent understanding growing.

“We ought to go back to the camp,” Astarion eventually broke the peace, smirking at your disappointed expression. His arms encircled you once again, and you tried not to dwell on how good it felt. “Despite your rather loud vocals, I believe the others didn’t hear us, and unless you’d like to explain to them why you aren’t walking properly tomorrow…”

You snort, pushing him off of you. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

One thing was certain, you noted as you returned to your bedroll, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon.

You’ll need extra healing from Shadowheart in the morning.

Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for their Kinktober list this year!

#fawktober2023 #kinktober2023 #x reader smut #x reader #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav

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