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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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Shadows of Desire || Chapter 1

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Making out, suggestive touching, suggestive dialogue, nudity but not detailed

A/N: I thought I would be able to pop out two chapters a week...I don't know what I was smoking, but it wasn't common sense. I'm only posting one chapter a week. If you want to be on the taglist, ask in the comments.

Masterlist

The moon hung low in the sky, a shimmering silver crescent casting its dim light upon the cobblestone streets of Baldur's Gate. The city seemed to hold its breath under the watchful gaze of the celestial body, as if whispering ancient tales to those who dared to listen.

A place of juxtapositions and contradictions, where the opulent mansions of the elite loomed proudly, their grandeur contrasting sharply with the decrepit hovels that huddled in their shadows. The cold light of the moon painted a surreal scene, where wealth and poverty danced together in a haunting waltz.

But in the depths of the night, beneath the cloak of darkness that enveloped the city like a shroud, Baldur's Gate revealed another side of itself. It was a world of secrets and shadows, where danger lurked around every corner and the unwary traveler risked more than just their coin purse.

It was into this world that you ventured, guided by the whispers of his location that had haunted your dreams for weeks. The cobblestones were slick with rain, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, your senses alert for any sign of danger.

As you passed by the lavish mansions with their gleaming facades and manicured gardens, a flicker of longing crossed your face, quickly replaced by a steely determination. You knew that your destiny lay beyond the gilded gates of the elite, and you would stop at nothing to define your own place admist the diverse tapestry of this world.

As you walked, the sounds of the city faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic echo of your own footsteps as turned into an alley. The alley stretched out before you like a yawning abyss, its depths shrouded in darkness that seemed to swallow the very light.

But you were undeterred. You had come too far to turn back now, your resolve strengthened by the knowledge that you were on the brink of finding him. As you continued down the alley, you began to hear whispers. With each step, the whispers grew louder, their voices swirling around you like a tempest in the night.

They became indistinct until they sounded almost like words spoken in tongues. Your steps quickened, and you hurried along the path of the winding alley. You could feel a chill creeping up your spine as the whispering grew clearer, more defined.

And then, just when you thought you could bear it no longer, you saw him. Astarion, standing against a wall of the alley, his silhouette framed against the faint glow of the moon. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the whispers around you fading into silence as your eyes met across the distance.

He was every bit as captivating as you had remembered, his features sharp and angular, his eyes as dark as the blood he consumes itself. But it was his presence that truly commanded attention, a magnetism that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

His aura radiated power and command, a palpable reminder that he was a creature of immense strength and purpose, a man capable of anything, no matter how wicked or vile. In that moment, you realized you had fallen so deep in love with him that it exhilarated and terrified you. Mostly terrified you.

For a long moment, you two just stood there, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. And then, as if by some unspoken agreement, he began to approach, his movements fluid and graceful as he crossed the distance between you both.

"Y/N," he said, his voice like velvet, rich and smooth. "What brings you to this forsaken place?"

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of the weight of his gaze upon you. "I could ask you the same thing," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. You didn't want to admit that you had been searching for him the past few weeks.

He let out a chuckle, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Ah, but I am no stranger to the shadows, my dear. They are my home, my sanctuary." As he spoke, he came closer, brushing the tips of his fingers softly against yours. You shuddered, unable to tear your gaze away from his face, from the intense look in his eyes as you gazed upon one another in the shadow of a looming fortress.

You nodded, understanding flickering in the depths of your mind. Astarion was no ordinary traveler, that much was clear. There was a darkness to him, a danger that lurked beneath the surface like a coiled serpent. But there was something else too, something that drew you to him in a way you couldn't quite explain. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, his eyes burning with a hunger that mirrored your own. Or perhaps it was simply the thrill of the unknown.

Whatever the reason, you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. And as he extended his hand to you, "Come on, my darling Y/n" left his mouth as an invitation to join him on a walk.

You hesitated for a moment. It wasn't just the allure of the mysterious vampire that gave you pause, but the weight of the unknown that hung heavy in the night. Yet, despite the uncertainty, there was an undeniable pull drawing you closer to him, like the irresistible force of a tide pulling you out to sea.

With a steady breath, you reached out, your fingertips brushing against his palm. The contact sent a jolt through you, an electric current that seemed to awaken something deep within your soul. Astarion's touch was cool against your skin, his grip firm yet gentle as he led you further into the shadows.

As the two of you walked, the darkness seemed to envelop you, cocooning you in its embrace. The whispers started again, their voices intertwining with the sound of your footsteps as you both ventured deeper into the heart of Baldur's Gate through alleys. Though this time, the whispers were simply the voices of fellow people in Baldur's Gate. They were quiet, muted, unlike the whispers of the darkness that threatened to consume you.

As the pair of you passed through the shadows of the alleyways, there seemed to be a sense of peace around you that seemed to envelope you in warmth. This was a strange sensation for you. After all, you had never felt this comfortable anywhere else.

The shadows of Baldur's Gate wrapped around you and Astarion like a cloak as you walked together, the quiet whispers of the night blending with the distant sounds of the bustling city. Your hand in his felt like a fragile lifeline, a connection to a world beyond the darkness that threatened to swallow you whole.

But for now, all that mattered was the connection between you both, the silent understanding that bound you together like threads in a cloth. With each step, the distance between you grew smaller, until there was nothing but the space of a breath separating your bodies. You knew it meant nothing to him, but to you, it felt like a promise, one that would keep you grounded amidst the chaos and confusion that had consumed your life.

Astarion's presence was both comforting and electrifying, his dark eyes holding mysteries untold and secrets unspoken. As you walked through the labyrinthine alleyways, his cool touch on your skin sent shivers down your spine, a paradoxical mix of fear and desire that coursed through your veins.

The city around you seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the torchlight flickering against the ancient stones of the buildings, casting long, dancing shadows on the cobblestone streets. The whispers of the night intertwined with the soft murmur of the city, creating a symphony of sound that enveloped you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

Though you were keenly aware of the dangers that lurked in the shadows, there was an undeniable sense of peace that settled over you, a feeling of belonging that you had never experienced befo-

Abruptly halting at the mouth of the alley, Astarion's presence intercepted your contemplations. Startled, your gaze swiftly met his, puzzled by the intensity with which he fixated upon the Inn ahead. Confused, you scanned the surroundings, seeking any possible distraction that might have captivated his attention, yet the empty space ahead offered no solace. The Inn stood before you, the sole focus of his unwavering gaze, shrouded in mystery.

As if sensing your confusion, Astarion turned his gaze towards you, a grin teasing the edges of his lips. "There is a quest that has long eluded me," his voice resonated in a whisper, charged with an air of eager expectation. "An elusive prize that holds the power to reshape destinies. My destiny."

Intrigued, you leaned in closer, eager to hear more. "What is it?" You asked, your pulse quickening with excitement over the thought that he might let you come along.

"A daylight ring," his voice resonated, lingering in the air like a sacred oath sworn in hushed tones. "A relic of unparalleled power, one that would grant me the ability of venturing under the sun's golden gaze without the dread of being consumed by its fiery wrath and turning to ash."

You gasped lightly, the implications of his words sinking in like a stone dropped into a still pond. For a vampire like Astarion, the ability to withstand the sun's deadly rays was nothing short of miraculous. It would open up a world of possibilities, granting him freedom that he had only ever dreamed of. The mere idea of such a thing made your heart race faster than it had all day, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your system like blood through veins, making it difficult to control the rapid beating of your heart.

"And what do I get in return for helping you retrieve the ring?" You asked quietly.

Astarion smiled, his expression transforming into something playful as he cast his gaze towards you. His eyes glowed bright with amusement, sparkling with mirth as he took in your eagerness. His smile was infectious, his laughter contagious as you watched him light up, his features illuminated by the fire of his eyes. "Why, Y/N, I'm sure you'll figure something out," he drawled, the tone of his voice laced with mischief, a mischievous twinkle sparking in those midnight orbs.

Before you had time to respond, he pulled his hand gently away from yours, wrapping it instead around your waist as he spun you around so that your back rested against his chest, one hand resting possessively on your hip while the other clasped gently around your neck, bringing your head upwards so that your faces were inches apart.

At first, you did not react at all, too caught up in his intoxicating stare to realize where you were or what was happening. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, his face inched nearer to your own until all you could see was the dark smirk curling upon his lips, the silver gleam shining in his eyes as they bore into yours with an intensity that seemed to burn like flames.

Your breath caught in your throat, the pounding of your heart growing louder as his hand around your throat travelled up to frame your jaw in his palm, his thumb grazing against your bottom lip as he tilted your head even further upward to reveal your neck.

Your heart thumped fiercely in your chest as the tip of his nose brushed against your pulse point, his hot breath fanning across your skin. He was close enough to bite you, you realized, his warm breath tickling your bare skin in a manner that caused a tingle to spread through your body.

His fingers tightened slightly on your chin, causing you to flinch as he continued his slow descent, his lips hovering above where your neck and shoulder meet as his tongue flickered lightly across your skin, sending a surge of electricity surging through your body. Slowly, he lowered his lips towards your skin in an open mouthed manner, his fangs grazing you lightly.

Then suddenly, he was gone, a sudden rush of wind blowing past you as he backed away from you. Confused, you remained frozen, your breathing unsteady as you struggled to process what had just happened.

"But finding such a ring is no easy task," Astarion continued as if nothing happened. "It is said to be hidden deep within the bowels of Baldur's Gate, guarded by creatures of darkness and ancient magics."

You nodded, closing your eyes and trying to calm your heart. "The path ahead will be fraught with danger, filled with trials that would test our strength and resolve. But if there is even a chance of obtaining this for you, it's worth the risks." You whispered into the night air.

"I know." His voice rang softly in your ear, sending goosebumps racing across your skin. His hands were back at your waist, his fingers splayed out against your stomach as he leaned forward, pressing his chest firmly against your back. "Come with me," he whispered in your ear.

For a moment, everything went silent, your senses filled with the aroma of him, the coldness radiating off of his body. All you could feel was him, his arms encircling your waist as he pulled you into his embrace. As if he had read your mind, his grip relaxed and he let his hands slide down onto your hips. He lifted your skirts slightly with the motion of him moving to stand in front of you.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As the moon reached its zenith, casting a soft silver glow over the city, Astarion and you stalk up to the Inn nestled in the heart of Baldur's Gate. Its weathered facade spoke of years gone by, yet there was a warmth emanating from within that drew you in. Astarion guided you up the two steps to a small door, opening it with a simple twist of his wrist.

Opening the door with a creak of hinges, he led you inside to a dimly lit room, the scent of wood smoke clinging to the walls as you stepped inside. An enormous fireplace sat at one end of the room, warming your skin and warming the air that carried a scent reminiscent of autumn leaves, fresh soil, and pine needles. At the opposite end of the room, a staircase curved gracefully to an upper level, disappearing behind a set of large double doors. The interior was cozy and inviting, with plush armchairs arranged around the crackling hearth and shelves lined with dusty tomes and curiosities from distant lands.

Astarion's eyes lit up with recognition as he surveyed the room. "This is definitely the place," he murmured, a hint of excitement coloring his words. "I have heard whispers of its owner, a mage rumored to possess knowledge of ancient artifacts and arcane rituals."

"A mage?" Your eyebrows furrowed. "How can you tell? Are they dangerous?"

He shook his head. "Not necessarily dangerous, no," he replied. "If anything, they are considered among the most powerful of the Magi." He paused, taking a seat in one of the chairs near the fire. "But they can hold a grudge as well as anyone else."

You approached cautiously, eyeing the chair warily as you took a seat. "So who are these magicians anyway?" You asked, peering curiously between the seats.

As if on cue, the sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard as the source emerged from the hallway behind the service counter.

Getting up, you both approached the counter, a figure emerged from the shadows, their face obscured by a hooded cloak. "Welcome, travelers," they said, their voice soft yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. "How may I be of service?"

As they removed their hood, the stranger's face revealed itself to be that of a man, a tall, strong, well built man with a lean frame. He wore his black hair in a high ponytail, his skin ashen gray in colour, contrasting sharply with the brilliant red of his cloak. There was something about him, something familiar…but you couldn't remember exactly what it was. But you felt your heart skip a beat, your breath catching in your throat as you gazed at him. His piercing blue eyes stared right back at you, piercing straight into your soul.

Astarion must have sensed your reaction as he turned his head to look at you, a frown marring his handsome features. "What is it?" He asked, confusion clouding his eyes as he turned back to examine the Inn keeper.

You blinked, shaking yourself out of whatever stupor you were currently immersed in as you regained control over yourself, regaining a semblance of your usual self. "Nothing, I thought I recognized you as someone I knew…" You trailed off, unable to put your finger on what it was.

Astarion sighed exasperatedly, turning to address the inn keeper again as you tried to push the memory away, refusing to allow yourself to think of anything else. The thought alone sent waves of panic flooding through your bloodstream.

"Ah yes, how may I be of service?" The Inn keeper repeated himself from earlier.

"We seek lodgings for the awhile," Astarion said, his tone polite yet firm. "And perhaps some information, if you are willing to share." You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from chuckling. Astarion would torture the information out of the Inn keeper if he needed to.

The innkeeper regarded you both with a knowing look, as if already knowing what information Astarion wanted. "I may have what you seek," he replied cryptically, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "But first, let us attend to your accommodations."

The Inn keeper lightly tapped his fingers on the counter. Astarion dropped a small bag of coins on it. The Inn keeper looked through it, then tapped his fingers on the counter again. Astarion huffed loudly, "Really?" Noting the Inn keepers unchanging look in his eye, Astarion sighed and put a few more coins on the counter. "There! Are you happy now?"

The Inn keeper silently put away the coins and walked to the spiral stairs. "Your room is just up here." Astarion and you trailed along up the stairs, and through the winding corridors of the Inn until eventually stopping before a set of double wooden doors.

The Inn keeper slid a small golden key out of the pocket of his robe and slid it into the keyhole; a faint click echoed throughout the corridor. He twisted the key once before removing it, then he opened the doors wide, revealing the interior of what appeared to be an ordinary bedroom. "Here it is."

You and Astrion barely made it through the door before the Inn keeper left. With the slam of the door, the lights flared to life, bright and warm, filling the room with a warm, golden glow that brought light to every corner of the room, giving it the appearance of an entirely different place than what you'd only just discovered.

Turning slowly on the spot, you admired the room, it didn't look anything like the rooms you'd been staying in for weeks in your search of Astarion, instead, it looked much warmer and homelier, not the slightest hint of the chill coming from the stone floors. It was so unlike any other room you've ever seen.

As you two settled into our room at the inn, the air crackled with a tension that was palpable, hanging heavy between you two like a veil of anticipation. Astarion moved with a grace that was both mesmerizing and tantalizing, his every movement sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

You watched as he moved about the room, his movements fluid and purposeful as he lit the candles that flickered softly on the bedside table. The warm glow cast his features in shadow and light, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

When his eyes met yours, they glowed, deep and captivating. In all the time you had known each other, he was still so mysterious to you, always hiding something, always keeping something hidden from you.

With each passing moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, until there was barely a breath of air separating your bodies. You could feel the heat of his gaze upon you, like a physical caress that sent shivers racing down your spine.

Taking a deep breath you willed your self away from him, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, you looked up at him. "So," you began quietly, clearing your throat, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. "Thank you for arranging our accommodations," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed through his nose before reopening them, as if needing to collect himself. "It is my pleasure, my dear," he replied, his voice low and husky. "After all, what is an adventure without a bit of comfort along the way?" He smirked.

His words sent a thrill through you, igniting a fire deep within your core that threatened to consume you whole. You could feel the tension building between you two, the air charged with a potent energy that crackled and sparked like lightning in a summer storm.

And then, without warning, Astarion was standing before you, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek. The contact sent a jolt of electricity coursing through you, igniting a fire that burned hot and fierce in the pit of your stomach.

His fingers lingered there for a short while, lingering against your cheeks. When his touch disappeared, a wave of disappointment crashed through you, the feeling quickly dissipating as soon as it had come when he stepped back.

A smile curled up at the edges of his lips, teasing and flirtatious, his eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief as he spoke. "Now," he drawled, his hand back to resting lazily by his side. "Tell me why you're looking for me, my darling." He gave you a sly smirk, causing you to blush furiously and your heart to pound wildly against your ribs.

"Why did you bring me here?" You demanded suddenly, not yet ready to have that conversation. You didn't even know yourself why you went looking for him.

Astarion raised his eyebrows at you in surprise, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst. "Do I really have to explain myself to you?" He shot back, but there was something about his tone that was playful, almost playfully teasing.

"Yes." You said stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. Hopefully if you don't back down he'll just drop it and never mention it again.

He laughed lightly, shaking his head. "You really know how to make a man beg for mercy, don't you?" He teased, making his way towards you. Your heartbeat quickened as his proximity grew closer and closer, his warm breath fanning across your face.

You could practically see the lust in his eyes as he stood in front of you. He leaned forward, placing his hands on your knees, his thumbs gently stroking the tops of your legs. "Well?" He murmured, his eyes burning with want and desire.

"Just tell me." You said breathlessly.

Suddenly, he pushed himself away from you, leaning back onto his bed as he crossed his arms. "Fine." He said, feigning indifference. "I suppose I'll give you one hint." He looked at you pointedly, watching as your brows furrowed in concentration.

"What? Why not just tell me?" You protested, growing impatient.

"Well, the answer may not be obvious to you. Perhaps I should give you a clue…" he trailed off suggestively. You glared at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

He grinned mischievously at you. "I'm going to take a bath." He told you, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the bathroom. He paused next to you. "Make sure to shut the door." He added in a conspiratorial whisper. Before you had a chance to respond, his laughter filled the room, reverberating across the walls, bouncing around the corners.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As Astarion exited the bathroom, a towel draped loosely around his waist, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. You averted your eyes, trying to focus on your book, pretending to read. Your cheeks felt flushed with embarrassment, which made you even more embarrassed.

"What do you think you are doing?" You questioned Astarion as he sat beside you on the bed, brushing some strands of hair out of your face.

He gave you a coy grin. "Oh please, you can't fool me." His fingers trailed down the side of your face, caressing your skin. "You love this sort of thing." His eyes roamed over you hungrily as he ran his thumb over the edge of your mouth.

Your cheeks flamed at his words. "No!" You denied emphatically, turning away from him. "I don't-" Your words died in your throat as his lips descended upon yours.

You couldn' help yourself. Instead of fighting him, you reached out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The taste of him was overwhelming, the smell of soap clinging to his skin mixing with the scent of leather and spice.

His touch was electric, his fingers trailing along your skin with a feather-light caress that sent shivers racing down your spine. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the raw, primal desire that pulsed between you like a heartbeat.

You reached out, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. Your lips met in a fierce, desperate kiss, a collision of passion and desire that threatened to consume you both.

In that moment, there was no daylight ring, no quest, only the intoxicating heat of your bodies pressed together in the candle light. And just as you surrendered to the pull of the moment, he pulled away.

Sighing sadly, you reached out, grasping blindly at the empty space where he had once rested, your hands grasping desperately at nothing. You slowly opened your eyes.

"Come now," he cooed, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You didn't think I would give you what you want without the daylight ring?"

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, the right response. "Astarion…"

He stopped you before you could continue. "Your so easy to play with," he cooed again, before getting up. "Turn around or watch, ether way I'm getting dressed." With that, he dropped his towel from his waist.

Without another word, he turned away from you and went into the bathroom. You watched his back retreating, the warmth of his body fading from the mattress. Astarion was beautiful and mysterious, a mystery wrapped in sinewy muscles and a seductive smile. There was a sense of danger to him, of danger lurking just below the surface. He was the embodiment of temptation, of forbidden fruit.

You felt your pulse quicken; you wanted more of him, you craved him. But there was also a part of you, a small part, a very small part that kept you guarded, afraid. Afraid of letting him get too close to you, afraid of letting anyone in.

Previously < Chap 1 > Next

#fanfic #writing #x reader #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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I'm Fucked

Welcome to a game show I like to call I'm Fucked. I have 3 hours till I have to leave on a 3 day cruise with my Mom - cause her boyfriend can't find his birth certificate. This was all sprung on me last minute. Only problem I have is that I haven't finished the first chapter of my Astarion series, and it's do tomorrow. So now I have to finish it and pack within 3 hours! I have 2,702 words left plus editing. I'm fucked...

Hour 1: I just did my first sprint and now have 2,276 words left. I'm really liking how this first chapter is turning out. I also am really happy with how I'm capturing the dynamic between the reader and Astarion.

I just finished my second sprint and now have 1,800 words to go. I also breached 3,000 words!! I'm moving on to hour 2 and I'm feeling a lot more confident going into this hour then I did last hour.

Hour 2: Finished my first sprint of this hour and now I have 1,451 words left to write. I'm dying. I've hit a slow part and am struggling. But the show must go on.

Another sprint done, now only 736 words left. I've gotten back in the grove, cause I really like the ending of this chapter.

Hour 3: And with this last sprint ladies and gentlemen, I have finished the chapter!

#i'm fucked #writing #writer stuff

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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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sugu w/ crybaby reader was who gets emotional reeeally easy while he's fucking the life out of her n she just wants him to hold her (i think im sick in the head i need him so bad)

“s-sugu —“

“y’cryin honey? ‘s too much f’you huh.” he giggles, pace slowing down a tad. it doesn’t help, the feeling of his intruding cock lingers in the deepest part of your sensitive cunt.

his girth stretches you out greatly, and it had taken nearly an hour of his preparation and 2 prior orgasms to get you where you are now.

you huff, geto’s hand cupping your chin forcing your big doe eyes to stare into his. your eyes glimmer with tears , the apple of your cheeks dewy with sweat and tears. your mouth gapes open slightly from the pressure of the man’s grip on your jaw , completely vunerable under his touch.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty baby.” he groans , harsh thrusts resuming with his previous pace.

“ah —“ you jolt with surprise, his body pressing on top of yours just close enough to press hot but quick kisses on the fat of your lips.

you’re quick to wrap your arms around the man’s broad shoulders, pulling him in closer to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

soft whimpers fall from your lips followed by moans, still tears cloud your pearly eyes and he notices.

“what’s wrong baby? why’re crying? tell suguru.”

“i— wan’ you to h-hold me sugu . wanna feel you closer..” you whine.

and just when you say it, he notices. how your body desperately cages him in, arms wrapped around his shoulder and legs holding your pelvises together tight.

“oh baby. “ he grins, pressing a firm kiss onto your lips before enveloping your head into his arms. “y’r too cute .” his chest presses against your plush tits, hot bodies rubbing off on eachother as he nudges himself impossibly deep into your silky cunt .

you squeal , nails clawing at his back at the feeling of his overstimulating cock. “just like that baby. so perfect f’me.” he groans, he thinks he’s going to die.

it makes him dizzy; it’s so intimate , so perfect. you were perfect.

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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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As someone with cats, this is so fucking true!!!!!!

The Beast that Bothers

#cats

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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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Shadows of Desire

Astarion x Fem!Y/n

Summary: In the moonlit alleys of Baldur's Gate, an encounter intertwines the fate of the enigmatic vampire Astarion and the mysterious traveler Y/n even further. Drawn together by their shared secrets and hidden desires, they embark on a perilous journey fraught with danger and temptation. As they navigate the treacherous political landscape of the city, their bond deepens, blurring the lines between ally and lover. But dark forces lurk in the shadows, threatening to tear them apart. Will they succumb to the darkness that surrounds them, or will their love be the light that guides them through the night?

A/N: This is a 18+ fan-fic, as it will eventually contain smut, so MDNI.

Prologue || Warnings: There are none this chapter

Chapter 1 || Warnings: Making out, suggestive touching, suggestive dialogue, nudity but not detailed

Chapter 2 || Coming: May 7th

#fanfic #smut #x reader #astarion smut #astarion #masterlist #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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Shadows of Desire || Prologue

Word Count: 568

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: I'm so excited to start this fan-fic!! I'm gonna try to post twice a week. Also feel free to let me know about spelling mistakes, or if you want to be added to the tag list.

Masterlist

The night draped its obsidian cloak over Baldur's Gate, casting the city into a realm of shadows and whispers. Its labyrinthine streets, once bustling with life, now lay shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint echoes of distant footsteps and the occasional rustle of nocturnal creatures.

You stood at the edge of the city, a solitary figure amidst the darkness, your cloak billowing gently in the cool breeze that swept through the cobblestone alley. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft, silvery glow over the rooftops and spires that stretched towards the heavens like skeletal fingers.

Baldur's Gate was a city of secrets, its walls built upon a foundation of lies and deceit. For centuries, it had been a haven for those who dwelled in the shadows, a place where the line between right and wrong blurred like ink on parchment. And yet, despite its dark reputation, there was a certain allure to the city, a sense of mystery that drew travelers from far and wide, seeking fortunes or fleeing from their pasts.

You had come to Baldur's Gate in search of answers, drawn by whispers of ancient prophecies and forgotten relics that lay hidden beneath its streets. For years, you had wandered the realms in pursuit of knowledge, seeking to unravel the mysteries of the world and uncover the truth that lay buried beneath layers of myth and legend.

But the road had been long and treacherous, fraught with peril and uncertainty. Along the way, you had encountered dangers beyond imagining, faced trials that tested the very limits of your strength and resolve. And yet, despite the odds stacked against you, you had persevered, driven by a relentless determination to uncover the secrets that lay hidden in the shadows.

As you stood on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, you felt a sense of anticipation stirring within you, like a flame flickering to life in the darkness. You knew that your journey was far from over, that there were still truths waiting to be discovered, mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

And then, as if summoned by some unseen force, he appeared before you, his presence like a ripple in the fabric of reality. Astarion, the vampire with eyes as dark as blood and a smile that promised both danger and desire. In that moment, you knew that your meeting was no mere coincidence, but the culmination of a destiny that had been written in the stars.

He approached you with a grace that belied his predatory nature, his movements fluid and effortless as he stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. His eyes met yours, twin orbs of rubies that seemed to pierce straight through to your soul, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

There was something about him, something that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It was more than just his otherworldly beauty or the air of mystery that surrounded him. There was a hunger in his gaze, a hunger that mirrored your own, as if he too was searching for something beyond the confines of this mortal realm.

And in that moment, you knew that your fate was irrevocably intertwined with his, bound together by threads of fate that neither of you could escape. For in the heart of darkness, amidst the shadows of desire, your story was only just beginning.

Prologue > Next

#fanfic #x reader #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #prologue #astarion x reader #astarion x you #writing

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sweetbunnyheart · 2 months

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Tan breaking the bed?? So now we have to both sleep on the couch.That's it, that's the whole smutty request. It must be Horny for Tan season or something (when is it not?) 💺 anon

loving where your head is at😌 always horny for tan season on this blog. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌 inspired by the suggestive text convos. and the image has no relevance to the fic but his arm and hand??????????? help

MONEY WHERE HIS MOUTH IS.

tangerine x fem!reader

word count. 498

warnings. 18+ only!! unprotected pinv, mating press, breaking beds. minors dni

Tangerine has been away on a two-week-long mission in South Africa, and the extent to which you missed each other was always incomprehensible. The distance and time apart isn't an uncommon part of your relationship - it was simply a kink in the road you've grown to be become comfortable with.

This time, while he was away, he filled you with an insatiable want for him, a thirst that couldn't be quenched with the hundreds of miles of distance between you. It was need he fed regularly with his filthy texts and voice notes.

So when he returned home safely to you, he put his money where his mouth is - fulfilling every one of those promises he made to you during your late-night calls.

He had you on your shared bed within minutes of being back, your naked self lying desperately under him. His weight balanced on the backs of your knees, pushing down onto your thighs as he continuously drives his cock into you - holding you in mating press.

The wind of his hips urgent and erratic, the deep need to feel you wrapped around him being the only solid thought in his brain. His strokes precise and intricate, every move made with intention - as if there's preparation and thought behind each thrust he gives you.

Every drag of his cock rips out broken noises from you, his weight knocking strained sounds from the pits of your stomach. The only other sounds in the room being his soft grunts, the hasty creaking of the bed and the slapping of sticky, wet skin. All of the lewd sounds merging together.

His expression is primal and desperate, staring down at you with that carnal look he often wears - curls falling from his usual pushed-back-do, stray hairs danging across his forehead as he vigorously fucks himself into you.

Just as you feel another high rise to the surface, you hear the cry of help of the bedframe from under you - the creaking getting louder and louder. The wooden slats sounding mere moments away from giving in.

He brushes away your cautious expression, shaking his head as if to quieten you - putting off that thought like he was trying to concentrate. The throbbing of his cock inside you alluding to his close release.

"Shush. It don't matter," he coos, his voice hoarse. "Will get a new one, just— just focus, love."

You do as asked, nodding up at him as you reach for his wrists, wrapping your fingers around the thickness like you were trying to keep him there - getting back in the zone and distracting yourself from the inevitable break of the bed.

You feel Tangerine tense up - his body stilling above before you feel a dip in the mattress beneath you, the frame caving in from under. He shakes his head frustratedly and readjusts his position, fucking you into the broken bed until you're both gasping and blubbering from your climaxes.

sorry it’s kinda short and shit

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sweetbunnyheart · 3 months

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sweetbunnyheart · 4 months

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Little Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid × virgin!fem reader

Genre: SMUT, some fluff, a little tiny smidge of angst. MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: As the youngest and most innocent member of the BAU, they all take care of their little angel. When they find out just how innocent you are, though, one member takes his possession to the next level. You're his little angel, and he's determined to have you.

Warnings: loss of virginity, loss of innocence, degradation, pet names, oral sex, thigh riding, fingering, cum marking, love bites, Spencer is territorial and possessive, Dom! Spencer Reid, PinV sex, mentions breeding, but he pulls out.

A/N: We've reached Day 8 of kinktober! It's our second "long" fic, meaning there's a bit more plot to this, and the smut scene is longer too (WC is almost 7k!) I hope you love this one just as much as I did... The kinktober masterlist can be found here, and my regular masterlist is here too! If you want something specific, my requests are open ❤️

Your first three months with the BAU were a blur, and for good reason. Endless cases, back-to-back, interrupted only by the slight hint of a weekend or the ever possible death row interview. You were tired, stressed, and afraid to walk home alone at night, and absolutely satisfied. As far as you were concerned, it was all worth it to get these monsters off the streets, to help save their victims and to find out what made them tick. There was nothing else you'd rather be doing.

The team had helped you settle in well, too. You'd joined the team after Alex Blake had left - she'd recommended you actually from the college seminars you'd taken with her. You were obviously lacking a bit of experience, so they took on two team members, and you and Kate Callahan had the great opportunity of both being the newbie. But you had a slight disadvantage of age, coming in as the youngest member of the team. You thought that might be why you'd settled in so well, in all honesty.

Hotch and Rossi were both protective in a fatherly way. Hotch pushed you and Rossi encouraged you and that was everything you needed from them. A strong pat on the back at the end of a case and a "you did good, kid," and whatever hell they'd pushed you through, it was worth it. Morgan's tough love was brotherly, but he did a great job at getting you to relax on and off the case, reminding you to not take the work home. JJ and Kate were great mentors. It wasn't easy being women in the FBI, let alone the unit that specifically looked into some of the most misogynistic killings, rapes and abductions in the world. They both gave you tips about how to handle condescending officers, and JJ had held your hair back after you'd puked your guts up on a particularly harrowing day in the field. With Penelope, friendship was easy, and you loved talking to her about whatever hyperfixation you were on that week, loving that there was someone on your team that had filled their life with genuine joy in the face of so much horror.

And Spencer. Honestly, you were beginning to think that you'd used Spencer as a human stuffed toy a bit too much.

You don't know how it happened at first, just that after one of your first few cases, you'd been so elated to find a victim alive, safe but traumatised, that you'd thrown yourself into his arms the minute you got back to the precinct.

"We did it, I thought she was going to be dead, Spencer but she isn't." Your head was pressed into his chest, you were almost surprised he even heard them, muffled as they were. If you weren't so elated, you'd have noticed the way he'd stiffened at your touch, panicking slightly before awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, too. But you pulled away before you could notice that he wasn't really used to any physical comfort, bouncing off to write up your case report.

Spencer noticed, though. Noticed how the heat of your body made him feel comforted, the way his heart rate increased to 125 BPM from it's base rate and didn't fall back to normal for another half hour. He noticed that you smelt like jasmine and patchouli, and more importantly, he noticed that he didn't really care if you touched him, and that was new.

It became a kind of ritual for you, finding him after a case and folding into his arms to celebrate. They were friendly hugs, after all, a sign that you'd been through hell together, and you'd made it through like avenging angels. They only lingered longer when the cases went badly. You turned to crying in his arms after you'd discovered the body of a dead street girl, Veronica, in pieces in the house of an unsub who'd committed suicide by cop moments earlier.

"I told her she'd be safe if she talked to us, Reid. I told her we'd protect her, that I'd protect her." You were so hurt by that failure that he'd had to drive you home that night, holding your hand the entire way so you didn't feel so alone, left to fester in your guilt.

The rest of the team had begun teasing you about the hugs, but you'd brushed them off. You hugged everyone else too, and you knew for a fact that Penelope hugged every member of the team, so there was nothing special going on between you and Spencer. No one had deigned to inform you of Spencer's germophobia and aversion to touch.

"Gonna tell me what that's all about?" Morgan asked Spencer as you bounced away from a hug one day, leaving to remove your FBI vest.

"What what's all about?" He replied coldly, turning away to remove his own vest, replacing it with his blazer.

"What, you don't have a statistic for how many germs are passed between people during a hug, Kid, come on, you were practically smelling her hair." The older man's eyebrows raised in a question again, but Spencer continued to blow him off.

"I hug people all the time, it's not a big deal." He shrugged.

"It took you four years to return one of Penelope's hugs, and you still only do that on special occasions. That's not all the time."

"Derek, just drop it. There's nothing going on, she just… She just does it sometimes."

It was when you'd hugged him in the middle of the office, without a case to use as an excuse, that you noticed an underlying tension in the office. You were all celebrating, of course, Callahan had just announced her pregnancy, and you were all so happy for her. You'd heard the happy news and instantly turned and thrown yourself into Spencer's arms. Even you weren't sure why, not even questioning it until you saw the awkward glances on the other profilers' faces. You brushed it off by rushing to give each of them hugs, and running out in a mad flush, needing air, or water or something to get you out of what was looking more and more like an interrogation room.

A few cases later, the entire team headed to O'Keefe's to celebrate.

"To another case successfully solved," Morgan toasted, and you all joined him, lifting your glasses in triumph.

"To the wonders of non-alcoholic beer," chimed in Kate, leaving you all laughing together. The booth was small, and as usual, you'd found yourself sat right in the arms of Spencer Reid. You hadn't intended it, honestly, having slightly avoided him recently, but you'd followed Penelope into her side of the circular table, and Reid had followed you. You were sat squished between them, your arms resting awkwardly on your lap between drinks.

"Okay, a night of drinking is slightly boring without some games to spice things up, what do you say, hot chocolate?" Penelope said, addressing Morgan who was on her other side.

"I'm all ears, baby girl. What were you thinking?"

"How about twenty questions? We already know a lot about each other, let's see what we don't know?" Kate suggested, thriving off of the knowledge that as the sole sober member present, she'd hold all the cards tomorrow.

"What, how is asking questions a game?" Reid questioned jokingly from beside you. "That's just an interrogation or a therapy session, there's no winner or loser."

Already slightly buzzing from your drink, you turned to him and out your fingers in his lips, shushing him.

"No time for logic in matters of the bottle, Spencer. Let's play." He pulled your fingers off him, but nodded, holding them in his grip still as you turned back to the table.

"I'll start! JJ, are you and Will thinking of having more baby LaMontagne's?" Penelope jumped at the chance to probe her teammate, and you laughed at her enthusiasm.

"There have been discussions, but I'll not confirm or deny yet." JJ said, taking a sip of her drink as she slyly avoided a direct answer.

"I always forget why you were so good with the press, Miss No Answers. Okay, your turn to ask a question."

"Okay, Morgan. Are you thinking of popping the question to Savannah anytime soon?"

"Did she send you?" He laughed and took a drink. "If I do, she'll be the first to know."

The game went back and forth like this for a few rounds before Penelope turned the spotlight back to you.

"Okay, Y/N. You were a college student recently, I know you've got some wild stories. Where's the craziest place you've ever done it?" You knew Penelope didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. She was just an open person.

But you shifted in your seat nonetheless, trying to figure out if you could answer or even if you would. Your tongue was a bit looser than you expected though, because before you could even finish thinking you just blurted it out.

"Nowhere."

The others blinked at you slightly before Penelope dived in with another question.

"Is that Nowhere, Oaklahoma, or you're just not having sex in crazy places?"

"No. I'm not… I'm not having sex. Period. Never have." You felt yourself shrink as the other members of the team awkwardly apologised for probing you so much. Really it wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't as if you were saving it for religious or moral reasons. But you'd not been the most popular teenager, and you'd started studying serial killers and sociopaths so early that you really hadn't wanted to get so intimate with someone else like that.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer's grip on his own drink had tightened ever so slightly, his heart race had picked up again, and suddenly the hand that was holding yours suddenly let you go, quietly dropping your fingers like they were glowing cinders, and he was dripping in gasoline, waiting to ignite.

Lust. He felt sick with himself for the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind now that he knew you'd never been held in that way, trying not to fantasise about you underneath him, holding him, begging him, feeling all of him. He took another swig of his drink and politely excused himself to get another as he let himself catch some air, as the sudden realization that he wanted you - and had wanted you for quite some time now - finally hit him.

The next couple of weeks were normal, and you were thankful to have that discussion behind you. No one treated you differently, acted like you were more of a child than before, asked you how your dating life was or set you up on blind dates, which was really refreshing actually. You'd let some friends know previously, and that's all they'd done, surprised that you could live ignorant to wonders of sex without shrivelling up and dying.

The only thing that was different was Spencer. And that wasn't really difference so much as growing more comfortable with each other. He'd rest his hand on the small of your back now in support sometimes, or have a hand slung over the back of your chair when sitting together. He was constantly at your side, especially if you were around male suspects or officers who'd taken a bit of a ballsy approach.

You liked it, probably a bit too much. You gravitated towards him in a room filled with people, and found yourself hugging him more often, when you left a room, when you entered one, when he looked like he needed it. Which, recently, was all the time. A month went by with this increased comfort level, and soon you found yourself feeling wrong if his hands weren't on you.

He stood close to you all the time, and you noticed the stares you were getting from everyone else. A few officers who'd approach you would apologise to him when they noticed him at your back, hand on your hip as he pulled you away.

After one case, you could even swear that you felt more than him than you were expecting. He'd moved away slightly in between one of your hugs, but you'd pulled his arms back around you and stepped closer, pressing your back against his chest, letting your head rest on his arms. Something hard and long wedged up against your ass, and in a split second he was pulling away before you could ask him about it. He excused himself, and you felt your body burn up. It was Spencer, it was just Spencer and that wasn't because of you, it was some other reason.

Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He grew more possessive over you by the day, and he'd honestly nearly bitten the head off an officer who asked him for your number.

"Sorry, she doesn't have a phone."

"But I saw her with one earlier. Look I get it she's FBI, and you guys are-"

"Okay, so she's not interested."

"Hey, why don't you let her decide that wise guy?"

"Oh sure, get angry I'm sure she'd love that. She's not interested, she has me." He couldn't help himself from getting in the officers face at that, and Morgan had to pull him back from the edge.

"Wow, wow, hey, calm down." The officer stormed out, and he felt triumphant for only a second before Morgan rounded on him.

"Whatever this thing you've got going on, Spencer, you need to get it out of your system as soon as possible." His voice was low and stern, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where you were sitting, staring confusedly through the glass at Spencer, whose eyes refused to move from your own.

" I just wanted him to back off, she doesn't like him like that."

"No, you wanted him to back off because you've marked her like some animal marking its territory. She's not your prey, Spencer, she's our team member, now you're gonna have to get your act together and leave her alone, because we've got work to do."

Sighing and throwing his hands through his hair again, he finally looked away from you and gathered his breath. He wanted to stop this too, this horrible perverted feeling of needing his hands on you, wanting to possess you day and night. To protect you. He just wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do that.

The next time you all went to O'Keefe's he certainly tried. You expected him to follow you into the booth again - he didn't, sitting opposite you next to JJ. You expected him to talk to you or look at you for more than a second at a time - he didn't, avoiding most conversations entirely and keeping his eyes fixed on the bar. You certainly expected him to still be sat at the table when you returned from the bathroom, ready to slip into the seat beside him, force him to talk to you. Instead he was gone, and you scanned the rest of the bar trying to locate him.

Something green and vile jumped you when you finally locked onto him, stood at the bar, surrounded by other women. Surrounded was maybe an exaggeration, as there were really only two of them, but they were practically draping themselves over him, and for some reason that set something alight inside of you.

You watched them for a moment, how one of them trailed a hand up his arm as he shuddered away from their touch, the other pressing herself against the bar so her chest pushed up dramatically. The green bile in your throat carried your feet forwards, and before you knew it, you were clearing it from your throat to grab their attentions.

"Spencer, there you are!" You brightened your tone specifically, as you locked eyes with his panicked ones. The two girls looked you up and down as you moved closer, brushing past them to climb up right into his lap on the barstool, pulling his arm around you as you pressed your ass into his crotch.

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" The smile didn't reach your eyes as you let your back rest against his chest comfortably, watching the women to see their reactions. The one touching him pulled her arm back instantly, and the other readjusted her dress before they both left silently, carrying their glasses back to wherever they came from.

You watched them leave a little triumphantly before the green faded, and you realised what you had done.

"Y/N…?" His voice was hesitant in your ear, and you shivered slightly before pushing off of him.

"I'm so sorry, Spence, it just- it… looked like you were hard." You panicked again, pushing closer to him. "No, like you were in a hard situation, not that you were," your hand accidentally dropped to his crotch as you spoke your final words: "Hard."

He twitched beneath you as you finally looked down to where your hand was, as his mouth opened to say something.

"Y/N…" was all you heard before you turned around, and fast walked to the entrance, picking your bag up quickly on the way, and then sprinted the second the cold air hit your face.

You cursed yourself inwardly as you ran the three blocks more to your apartment, thankful that you were at least in walking (or apparently running) distance. What the hell had you been thinking? Practically sexually harassing one of your coworkers like that, grabbing his dick, albeit accidentally.

You slammed your door shut behind you, leaning against it and sliding to the floor as you finally accepted that whatever this was with Reid, it wasn't friendship for you anymore. And you weren't sure if it had ever been.

With your head between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you started replaying each moment with him, each touch from the very first. How even the memory of a brush past you could excite a fire in your heart, a heat between your legs growing by the second.

You wanted to crawl pathetically into bed and not think about him until the next morning at work, but fate, or Doctor Spencer Reid, had other plans.

The knock at your door was sudden and incessant, the banging starting loud, and staying consistent until you tentatively pulled it open.

He was stood there, chest heaving, looking down at you, sweat coating his forehead.

"Can I… Come in?" He asked, and you nodded, too stunned at his sudden appearance to tell if this was real or just your fantasy becoming a little too realistic.

He thanked you for letting him inside, and you showed him inside, guiding him to he couch, where you took a seat opposite him.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, you left in a rush and…" He trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. His Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow, and you watched it yourself, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, as if you were a schoolgirl about to get in trouble with a disappointed teacher.

"I'm okay."

"Okay, that's great, that's… Great." His breaths caught up to him, and he took another deep breath and a swallow before continuing. "How about we continue that game from last time. Twenty questions?"

You'd do anything to stop him walking out of that door, but you felt too shy to touch him again, even in the friendly ways you were used to, so you eagerly accepted.

"Yes, that… That sounds fun, thank you."

"Okay. Question one. Do you know why I'm here?" He asks as he shifts closer to you, still not touching, but at a proximity where it would be natural to accidentally brush against one another.

"N-No. But I might have an idea." He nodded at your response before moving on to his next question.

"Question two. Are you a virgin?" He didn't trip or stumble over the words, pushing them out slowly and delicately so as not to offend.

"Yes." The lump in your throat was thick, almost as if he'd put something there that you couldn't help but choke on.

"Question three. Do you want to remain a virgin?"

You shook your head no, following it with your voice seconds later as he stood up from his seat, putting some distance between you.

"Question four. Do you feel intoxicated or drunk right now?" He held himself still as you sat on the very edge of your chair, desperate to feel his hands on you now.

"No, I only had one sip at the bar before…" He held up a hand to silence you, and you did.

Question five. Answer me honestly. Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes." Your breath was a whisper, but it was breathy, sounding almost pornographic in your neediness.

"Question six. Do you like it when other people touch you?"

"Do you?" His head snapped back to yours, and you froze under his gaze. "Not as much." You answered and relaxed again, pouting slightly at his lack of answer.

"Question seven. Do you like me touching other people?" He took a step closer to you again with this question, but you continued pouting as you shook your head.

"No. I don't." His lips quirked upwards before he could stop them, but he gathered himself together again.

"Question eight. Do you want me to leave?" You met his eyes at that question, taking one good, hard, long look at him. You noted the tensed jaw, the clenched fists, his stiff body language, trailing your eyes over him before looking him directly in the eyes.

"No." You let the word hang on your tongue, pulling it out a bit longer than was necessary as you watched him take in a shaky breath.

"Question nine. Do you want me to come over there and kiss you?"

"God, yes." He was on you in seconds, restraints gone, throwing himself back at you as his lips collided with your own. Virgin you may be, but you'd kissed men before, and it had been nothing like this.

His hands trailed up to your hair, tipping your head back slightly so he could gain better access. He bit your lip and thrust his tongue into your mouth when you gasped, so eager to consume every part of you whole.

You'd never felt like this before.

He pulled away, and you tried desperately to chase his lips, even as your lungs begged you to stop.

"Last question," he whispered in the space between you, holding the sides of your face at a distance so neither of you could be tempted to dive in for a second kiss, or a third, or fourth. "Do you want me to fuck you?" You whimpered at his words, nodding furiously as you tried to lunge at him again, but he held you firm.

"I need you to say your answer, baby. I need to hear your consent, okay?" You nod again and open your mouth, eyes never leaving his lips as you moan out a definitive "yes."

Instead of letting your lips fall against his again, he lunges for you, grabbing your legs and hauling you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style all the way back to your bedroom.

"Gonna do it right," he mutters to himself as he throws you down on the bed, pulling back to take off his jacket and unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up meticulously.

"I'm going to take care of you, Y/N, okay?" You nod at him and flush, suddenly feeling the strength of his need for you as he holds himself back. He puts his hands on you again, gently coaxing your legs apart, pushing your skirt up over your hips. Reflexively, you move your hands over yourself, covering your sensitive places with your hands.

"Don't cover yourself." His voice is strong, deep, as he orders you, and you let your arms drop back to your side. He traces his hands up and down your legs, almost as if he were memorising every inch of your skin, how you felt under his hands.

His hands make their way up to your panties, and you watch with baited breath as he moves you, pulling your hips up so he can let them fall down. The lace material tickles you as he pushes them past your thighs, over your knees and finally off your legs entirely, balling them up and putting them in his pocket.

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He asks it like a question, but he doesn't wait for your answer, unable to hold himself back before diving straight between your legs, so desperate to taste you that he's deaf to everything else.

His tongue connects with your sensitive area first, tracing up and down at a steady pace as his legs half-heartedly push your legs open. It's almost as if he's enjoying the pressure of your legs wrapped around him, suffocating between your thighs as he feels your pleasure build, and build.

Eventually he pushes your hips further apart, letting himself push his face into even more of you, his tongue entering your hole as he begins fucking it in and out of you, fingers coming back up to your clit to keep up the pressure there.

"Spencer, please, please, fuck."

"I love it when you beg for me like a needy little slut," he whispers, holding your legs apart as he looked up at you, face slick with your arousal. Your mouth drops wide at his words, and he immediately begins to retract them.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, if that was too far, I just got caught up -"

"I liked it." You said, quieting him as you spread your legs a bit further apart, begging for him to continue. He smiled and dived right back in, bringing his other hand up under your dress, all the way to your chest as you kept your legs open yourself.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, lapping up all the juices you were releasing as you moaned underneath him, bucking into his face at the memory of his degradation.

You were a needy little slut, and you needed him to make you cum. He was more than happy to oblige.

He kept you there for what felt like forever, drinking you in for as long as he could. You orgasmed twice before he finished, completely overstimulated by the way he was desperately fucking you with his mouth.

He was obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to fuck you, to make you feel so good. Without him even realising, you're pushed to the brink for a second time, shuddering under the heat of his mouth as he drinks you in.

He finally pulls his head up again, coming up for air as you're twitching under him.

"Perfect, baby, so perfect for me." His lips fall down to your own, and suddenly you're tasting yourself on his tongue. It's hypnotising, and despite the pleasure you've just received, you need more, desperate to feel him on you again.

When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces himself with his fingers, pushing them into your mouth.

"Suck," he says and you listen, as he watches the way you lick yourself off of him.

He unzips your dress with his free hand, carefully pulling your arms out of the sleeves and pushing your dress off your body. You trace your tongue around every ridge of his fingers, leaving no inch undiscovered. He moved you to pull the dress of, and you graciously followed, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

"Nice little slut, tasting herself on my fingers?" He whispered when you were finally bare, pulling his fingers from your mouth, letting the trail of spit hang between you as you moaned.

He removed himself from over you, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Come here. Come and sit on my lap."

You cautiously followed his directions. You'd thought that he'd fuck you then, after spending so long getting you ready, but apart from his tie, which he was in the middle of discarding as you crawled over to him, he hadn't derobed any further.

"That's it baby, come and sit yourself down right here." He pat his thigh and you crawled over, lowering yourself down onto his clothed leg.

"What now, Spencer?" You stuttered the words out, heart beating as you awaited his instructions.

"Now, I want you to rock your hips back and forth. Just like this." He grabbed your hips and started moving you against his leg, pushing you down to grind into him.

"Spencer, wait, I don't know-"

"I do. I know you can do it, so please try. For me." You pulled you in for a kiss, and then removed his hands from you, leaving you to rock against his thigh.

You were unsure of the movements at first, moving slowly as you dragged your aching cunt up and down the top of his pants, watching as you saw the wet patch you were making. You moaned with each movement, growing faster and more confident as you continued.

"That's it baby, use me to get yourself off, okay? Let me see you." He whispered in your ears, pushing your sweat-slicked hair ou of your face, holding it up for you.

"Spencer please," you don't even know what you're asking for as you beg him, feeling that familiar bubble in your stomach grow.

"No, you can do it. You look so beautiful like this, Y/N, so desperate for my cock, huh?" You start trying to unbutton his shirt, desperate to see more of him, to feel more of his bare skin on your own. But he stops your hands and holds them against his chest.

"You need to ask nicely first, before trying to undress me like a needy little whore." The words should sound violent, should humiliate you, but his voice is so soft you simply move faster, moaning and desperate to cum one more time.

"Fuck, Spencer, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…"

"No, you're not." Before you finish, he pulls you off his leg, hauling your body back onto the bed, and laying you back down on your back. You moan in disapproval, so frustrated with the lack of release that you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.

"Don't cry, baby. I'll give you what you want soon." He practically rips his clothes off, pulling his vest over his head, stumbling over each button and removing his belt and pants before climbing over to you. His cock finally free you take your first glance at it.

You'd never entirely been sure how it was that the male appendage fit inside something as small as your pussy, and you were doubly unsure about how Spencer's was ever going to fit inside you. You stared at it wide eyed, as you took in the length, the girth, and the heat of it as he stroked it in one hands, pushing on top of you.

He let go of it as soon as he was between your legs, letting it fall onto your stomach as he crawled between your legs. He trailed a finger over your lower abdomen just around where his cock was twitching against you as his other hand came up to stroke your hair.

"You look worried, Y/N, what's wrong?"

"Will it, um, will it fit?" You asked, knowing how cliché you sounded.

"We've spent the last thirty-seven minutes loosening you up with foreplay. It should fit, but I can't promise it won't hurt."

"Right, if my hymen is still intact you have to…"

"That's right. And then it's going to reach all the way in you to here," with each word, he stepped his fingers up from your clit to where the tip of his dick sat on your stomach, letting you come to terms with exactly how full you were about to be.

"I'm going to fill you, and you're going to be mine, and I'm going to be yours. My sweet angel." He stroked your face, catching his thumb on your lips on the way down, tempted to thrust it into your mouth again, to see just how much of a whore you could be, given the chance.

Instead, he lined himself up with your dripping core, and, making sure one last time that this is what you wanted, slowly pushed in.

It was uncomfortable at first, having something so wholly alien inside of you, you weren't sure how to react. You wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails in, deep, as he pushed in further.

"Y/N, I need to move more now, and it's going to hurt a little, you just have to trust me, okay?" He kissed the top of your head, but you were so lost in the sensations to answer. With one swift jerk of his hips, he pushed through your hymen, and fully sheathed himself inside of you. He pressed small kisses everywhere on your face, while whispering to you how beautiful you were.

"You're doing so good for me angel, I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so much better than this. You're so beautiful." His lips were distractingly sweet, as were his words, and soon you found yourself relaxing into him, the sharp pain of earlier fading to an electric buzz inside of you.

You jerked your hips up to meet his, and with that, he knew you were ready. From his words, you'd assumed that he'd move slowly in you. But with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he lifted his chest up, pinned your legs tightly down, and started thrusting hard and fast.

"Sorry, just couldn't help myself baby. Needed to see you looking ruined underneath me." Moans spilled out of your mouth with his every movement, and the orgasm you'd built up earlier hit you like a ton of bricks, blackness hazing over your eyes as they rolled back in your head.

"Fuck, fuck, Spencer, don't stop!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, unable to control your pitch or volume as he slammed into you desperately. He was so turned on by the sight of you beneath him, so proud of having fucked away your virginity, to have given you your very first penetrative orgasm that he wouldn't have heard anything that came out of your mouth.

His eyes were fixated at the place between you, where you joined, where he was entering you, defiling you, claiming you, using you, breeding you.

He knew he wouldn't cum inside of you, not the first time, but it was tempting. Instead, he chose to move his lips back to your skin. He marked you with love bites and hickeys across your neck, chest and shoulders as you moaned with every roll of his hips, shuddering on his cock. He was close. And seeing you like this, displaying all the signs that you were his and his only, he finally lost it.

Pulling his dick out of you, he stroked it through his release, spraying his seed over the parts of your skin he hadn't bruised with love. Your stomach, your breasts, hell, one spurt even landed dangerously close to your lips, he was everywhere. You. Were. His.

He fell beside you, panting for a few moments as you finally cracked your eyes back open, realising what the two of you had just done. You wiped the cum from your face with a stray finger, staring at it for a second before licking it off your finger.

"As hot as that was, I think we should get you cleaned up properly, angel." He spends forever cleaning you up, carrying you to the bathroom, washing your entire body with hot water and a fresh cloth, running you a hot bath to relax your muscles. You snuggle into his chest at some point in the bath, relaxing so much into him, that you drift off to sleep.

You feel him carry you to bed, semi-conscious, tucking you in and climbing in next to you. He holds you through the night, the way he holds you after your bad cases. He holds you until he doesn't.

You're blindsided by the cold bed the next morning. You knew he would be there, you'd felt him inside you and next to you, and you'd needed his warmth, but he was gone. You looked for him in every other part of your home, looked for a note or an explanation, but there wasn't one.

Through tears, you got ready for work, ready to face him and make him answer why he was suddenly gone. You wanted him to apologise, especially since he'd marked you so badly the night before you looked like a car crash victim from the neck down.

Dark lavender blossomed along your collar bones as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trailing a finger along every place that he touched the night before.

"How could you be so stupid?" You cursed yourself. If you'd have listened to what he was saying last night, really listened, you'd have known he wasn't going to be here in the morning. He wanted to ruin you, to possess you, to take away your virginity, and he'd done just that.

You almost wanted to keep the bruises on display going into work, to make him confront the pain he caused you by leaving. In the end, it was the inevitable stares from everyone else that convinced you otherwise. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

You pushed through the doors to the bullpen and didn't bother putting your bag down before you started scanning the room for him.

"Where's Spencer?" You practically shouted the words at Morgan, unable to hold back your anger.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

"Where is he?" You demand, and there must be something in your eyes that speaks to your devastation because Morgan shuts up and just points to the top of the stairs, where Spencer is exiting Hotch's office without a care in the world.

You don't realise that something is tears until you're beating a hand against his chest in frustration as they spill down your face.

"Where were you?" You demand, sobbing into his chest, as he pulls your hands away. The entire office is watching your commotion, but you don't care, you're not letting him move you out of the way.

"Y/N, I need you to sign this." His voice is calm, and you hate him for that. That he can stay so neutral when he's just broken your heart.

"No, not until you tell me why you left."

"Sign the papers, Y/N, trust me." He pulls your chin up so you can look him in the eye, and you catch a glimpse of the man who has been holding you, comforting you for the last four months. You snatch the pen from him and sign the papers, thrusting them back at him with a scowl.

He smiles as he looks down at them, placing them back on his desk before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You're shocked at first, but you melt into it, pulling him closer so he can't leave again.

"I'm sorry. I had to come into the office to declare our relationship, Morgan sometimes tells me I have a one track mind, and when I woke up this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was get it in writing that you were mine."

Your push the tears out of his face, and attempt to pull him down for another kiss. You don't get the chance, as the sound of several throats clearing around you burst your bubble.

"Public space, no canoodling." Rossi shouts down at you from the balcony, a soft smirk on his face.

Penelope runs in from her office, and stares wide-eyed at the lack of space between the two of you. "You! And you! Security cameras….. You!"

"Now, I'm sure there's a story here, but from the state of our little angel's neck here, I'm sure I don't want to hear it." Derek laughs, smacking Spencer on the back in praise as he walks up the stairs to the meeting room.

You slap a hand over your neck, trying to pull the turtleneck further up to hide the mark you evidently missed.

"She's my angel, now." Spencer calls up to him. "I have the paperwork to prove it."

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sweetbunnyheart · 6 months

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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!scientist!reader, noncon, frottage, size kink, lots of cum, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day one [ pickle + size kink ]

you had been so close to pushing the alarm. so close to alerting the guards, and so close to being saved. your hand still reaches out towards the red button on your desk, but you’re held back too far at this point to hit it, restrained and helpless.

on top of that, you knew if anyone saw how much you were actually enjoying the beast’s containment breach, you’d be fired.

from this angle, you could watch your feet sway back and forth.

your legs dangled.

suspended at least a full foot above the sterile floor, a lopsided ovally shadow danced in tandem against the tiles below your stocking-clad toes. where your black heels had fallen off during the struggle, you have no idea. your shoes are the least of your concerns at the moment. your eyeline, albeit blurry from the crooked positioning of your glasses as you struggled against the beast, traces your own legs, and the runners of ripped pantyhose up your knees and over your thighs. the tears became more prominent, and your stockings more akin to the shreds of a cheap mummy costume hanging off your hips. it made your head spin, seeing how vulnerable and exposed your lower half was. your gray pencil skirt had been pushed up, haphazardly around your belly, and two, massive and clawed hands grip your soft thighs, from underneath, keeping them spread wide for the monstrous cock to rub against your core.

it was much too big to fit inside ( luckily for you, because as you stare at how endowed Pickle actually was, you could imagine the carnage a tool as big and hard as his would wreak on your organs ). Pickle had been frustrated at that— pushing and growling and snarling and trying to bite at the back of your neck when you squirmed to hold you steady so he can force it into your small opening, but your body couldn’t even stretch enough to take the head, so after several grueling moments of trying to cram and push, he settled for grinding against your pussy, instead. his movements were clumsy, driven by instinct and lust, and his hips rocked furiously, his grip on his thighs dragging you along the length of his rigid, powerful sex.

at first you’d fought and pushed and clawed at him to stop, telling him it hurt and that he was a bad, bad boy for doing this, but you couldn’t help that your body started to react. you started to get wet. your cunt started to soak the cock that was trying to slot between your soft, sticky netherlips, though it was much too thick, it managed to spread them, allowing them to kiss the expanse just enough to feel as though this Jurassic man was splitting you apart without actually being inside of you.

amidst your own mewls and groans, you could hear the constant drip-dripping of the primitive man’s thick cum as it beaded at the swollen, purple tip and frosted the many, many inches, emphasizing the bulging veins as it coats them in white, and dribbled on to the floor between his gargantuan feet. there was already a puddle on the floor. he had cum so many times that the release no longer erupted, but seemed to bubble out in a constant stream. either this was normal behavior, to breed and breed until he ran completely dry, or he was simply so pent up after the one hundred and ninety million years of being frozen that he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to, you couldn’t be sure.

if you hadn’t been the unwilling test subject, you might’ve been interested in studying his mating habits.

“F—fff—uck—!” a breathy croak of complete submission— it was the best you could do when dominated by a man of this stature, a beast of his magnitude. your lab coat hands off your shoulders, your blouse ripped open from the sheer power of his claws, and your breasts flop wildly against the rhythm as your eyelids flutter.

not just Pickle had cum, but you as well, your release gluing itself in sticky webs and a glossy finish to your thighs and his manhood. “I can’t… take it…” you’d started to babble after you reached peak a handful of times, your head rolling around on your shoulders, your small body slumping against his sturdy, broad chest that heaves with excitable, ragged breathing and grunts of pleasure as he jacks his cock off with your body. “I-I’m going… crazy…”

what’s worse, you realized, is that you were only getting slipperier, slicker, and more pliable. if the giant kept this up, it wouldn’t be much longer before he’d force his cock into your poor hole, regardless of the fact that he must know he’d fully and truly break you if he did.

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sweetbunnyheart · 7 months

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mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it.

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free.

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.”

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--”

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--”

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.”

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face.

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets.

“She likes it.”

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.”

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar.

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.”

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.”

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,”

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face.

“As many as will make you happy.”

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.”

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?”

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for.

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father.

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.”

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable.

Low sperm count his ass.

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it.

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.”

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.”

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel.

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them.

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.”

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly.

“Sí, Miggy?”

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so.

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that.

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place.

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder.

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck.

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone.

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day.

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is.

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready.

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall.

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.”

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.”

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.”

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck.

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.”

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest.

“Who would come in?”

“Peter,” you answer.

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see.

“The balcony, then.”

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?”

“Maybe.”

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter.

“Bend over.”

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now.

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.”

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth.

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?”

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again.

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back.

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability.

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable.

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach.

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body.

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs.

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days. “Like… not this.”

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Don’t start.”

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging.

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--”

“Let me guess. She told you.”

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?”

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe.

“Are you sure? I know--”

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.”

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?”

He leers. Peter scuttles away.

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

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sweetbunnyheart · 7 months

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・✶ ｡ﾟyou can’t lie that you loved being “waka’s girl.”

♱ warnings — mirror sex, f!reader, exhibitionism, escort!reader, present timeline!wakasa, possessiveness, creampies, praise, smoking.

♱ note — aaaaa i’ve not been able 2 get this or him ! out of my mind so i’m v happy 2 add it 2 the kinktober lineup honestly . hope u guys enjoy ! i wanna write more of him already <3

RETURN TO KINKTOBER MLIST ♱ REGULAR MLIST

you’re not too sure how it had started with wakasa, how he’d chosen you out of all the women that basically lined up to see him when he visited. his gang was a regular at the club you worked, although you’d be stupid not to notice the way his lazy, lidded gaze always seemed to linger on you a little longer when you passed by.

even if you weren’t with his table, you almost always ended up over there by his request — nestled up into his side and under his arm, noticing that he always seemed to lean a little closer whenever you spoke — giving you his undivided attention.

then wakasa had started as any regular client did.. until he wasn’t, he started requesting you by name, dropping off pretty little outfits for your shift and treating you a little more fondly than he used to.

the other patrons had started avoiding you, referring to you as “waka’s girl.” but you didn’t mind — didn’t care, because wakasa had started coming around more often.. telling you that he didnt want to see his girl missin’ him, lonely without him.

and now your pussy is spread around his cock in his lap as his half-lidded eyes drop to the thin chain he got you that bears his initial along your collarbones.

the pretty little skirt he bought you is just long enough to cover up the way he’s buried in you, not by much, but people know better than to even look at what’s his. the thought alone making desire twist and bury in the place where you’d expect shame to nest considering you’re currently being fucked in your work, but wakasa doesn’t care either.

“can look real cute all you want, princess. i know you’re a filthy lil thing.. ain’t that right?” wakasa’s words feel like they curl down your spine when he breathes them along your jaw and presses himself deeper into you, letting his cock graze and tease along the swollen spots inside of you until your lips are parting to whimper softly.

his gaze drinks you up when he pulls back, like he’s been stuck in a dessert without water for months and you’re his first taste — giving you a look that makes you lean in closer to he can press his lips against yours.

“sittin’ real pretty with my cock stuffed inside this lil pussy, my fuckin’ pussy.” he knew exactly what to say to have you melting for him, and he wishes you could see just how pretty look wrapped around his cock.

but then he realises he can with his next kiss of his cigarette, taking a slow drag while his gaze remains on you.

wakasa hums as his free hand traces between your tits to softly pinch at your jawline. then he’s turning your head to make you look at you both in the floor length mirrors that decorate the whole back wall of the bar, letting you see the way you rest against his chest — nestled on his lap.

“see that.. ‘ts the only place i wanna see ya, princess.”

you mould into his body like you were made to, although you already look a little fucked out over him — makeup mused from his lips and your own slightly swollen from his kisses, melting at the sight of his inked arms hooked across skin.

but then you try to meet wakasa’s lilac gaze in the mirror and you realise it’s already on you, cigarette hanging loosely between his lips as he looks over you almost proud, a little smug maybe.

you let your fingers trace underneath where his low cut shirt falls along his chest — letting you see the peek of the ink across his skin as you let your nails trace along the lines, watching the man below you shudder and hum at the featherlight touch.

“this is the only place i wanna be.” wakasa’s free hand that doesn’t hold his cigarette drops to squeeze at the swell of your ass, holding you still as he grinds his cock into your plush cunt before he’s tracing just as gentle touches along your spine.

your gaze stays locked with his in the mirror as you feel him press his palm hard against your lower back, your tits squeezing against his chest before he’s turning to an exhale his previous drag of smoke away from you.

“atta girl.” his words are followed by a slow grind of his cock into you, making your fingers twitch and scratch against his chest. meant like a reward, for being so good for him.

“you’re my girl, ain’t that right, princess? y’ don’t do this shit for any other fucker.” wakasa asks and you pant out sweet like uh-huhs that make his lips curl into a smirk when he hears the sound, rocking into you once more as your thighs squeeze around his hips in time with your walls squeezing around his cock.

your meeting his movements with small, subtle humps — you’re both still in public, surrounded by his men and you still work here. but he was enough to make you lose your self control, your sense of self when your slick folds grind against his pelvis, rubbing your puffy clit against the skin with every slow, languid connection of your hips.

wakasa let’s his arm rest along the back of the sofa you’re both sitting on, head rolling back in bliss but still managing to hold your gaze in the mirror. he’s so content with watching you ride and hump your pussy along his cock — front row seat to every pretty little expression your face makes for him as you look right back.

you let your hands graze up his chest and along his shoulders, running your fingers through his hair

“see what bein’ my girl gets ya.. y’re so spoiled, princess—fuck.” oh but you’re so good for him he doesn’t care. “bet that feels good.” he knows it does because fuck you feel more than that around him.

you’re so wound up from all his teasing it doesn’t take long for you to feel warmth prick at your thighs, but when you turn to push your head into the crook of wakasa’s neck you feel him click his tongue before his fingers are back around your jaw.

“di’nt say y’could look away yet.” fuck—he’s such a tease but it only fans the flames of your orgasm that ignites underneath your skin when you catch his gaze in the mirror once more, pressing kisses along your jawline that feel like they burn you in the best way while his eyes still remain on yours.

“can see how pretty my girl looks cummin’ on my cock.” your breathing becomes laboured with his low drawl and it only takes a few more seamless rocks of his body into yours until you’re melting into him, and you hear wakasa hiss against your skin before he’s spilling hot and thick inside of you with the first too blissful twitch of your walls around him.

you feel his cock throb inside of you, your eyes almost rolling back as you try to keep them on his in the mirror, and if every other person in the bar wasn’t under his command you both definitely would’ve been caught by now with the way your hips are stuttering against his.

the space between your thighs feel warm and messy everytime your hips grind into his, but when your movements finally slow and wakasa’s pulling back to give you a drowsy sort of look and a smirk you don’t really care.

“you really have to stop fucking me in here, waka. you’re gonna get me in trouble.” you grumble, finally turning to nuzzle into the crook of his neck and the breathless, low chuckle you hear sound from the man underneath you at your words makes you feel warm.

wakasa’s inked arms hook around your waist to keep your chest pressed against his, and you feel him take another slow drag of his cigarette before he’s exhaling and drawling low in your ear.

“hm? told y’to leave this place ‘n i’ll take care of you. plus, how else would everyone know y’re my girl, princess?”

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sweetbunnyheart · 8 months

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It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

#2 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone

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sweetbunnyheart · 8 months

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healing. ( lance sweets x reader )

When Temperance learned the truth about her father and brother, Russ, who she later learned was actually Kyle, led her to you, hoping her presence would save you from the path you had carved for yourself. You followed your father's footsteps partly, focusing on corruption and Kyle always kept track of you, and when he heard you were in the city, he encouraged Temperance to find you and help you start anew as he had tried to do.

Your crimes weren't traceable, only through confession could a link be made, you were clever in that sense. However, you and Kyle were close and he knew what signs to follow to find you and he went with Temperance and Seeley to find you.

"She'll know she's being followed, so just keep your eyes open."

The more she learned about you the more Temperance began to question whether it was a good idea to track you down when you went to extraordinary lengths not to be found. When he learned you were a highly dangerous skilled assassin with decades of experience, Seeley had warned her that she might not like what she found but supported her when she was determined to find you.

The trio walked towards the apartment and Seeley pulled Temperance behind the car when the top floor exploded, glass falling onto the street. Kyle sighed when he saw the flames, looking at his younger sister, pausing when he noticed you across the street. Your eyes met and within seconds you were making a quick escape.

"Y/N!" He called after you, crossing the street.

Seeley and Temperance followed, keeping up with his sprint, and you entered an alley, disappearing from view. Kyle looked around, trying to find you, shouting, "I just want to talk!"

A few anxiety-filled moments later, Booth was taken down, your heel against his throat, his gun aimed at his chest. Your gaze was icy as you looked at your older brother. "You brought an FBI agent here to talk?" You cocked the weapon and pressed your foot farther into his neck.

"Don't!" Temperance stepped forward. "Don't shoot him. He's with me."

You raised an eyebrow at her, "And who are you?"

"Joy," Kyle spoke up, a small smile forming on his lips having seen how attached you were before Joy went missing. "It's really her."

You dragged Booth to his feet, pressing the gun against his back, twisting his arm until he was forced to kneel.

"Look at her eyes," Kyle continued. "It's her."

You held the brunette's gaze, her wide eyes misty as you pressed the gun into her partner. After a few tense moments you released Booth and he turned, eyebrows rising when you held out his gun, slowly taking it from you.

You stepped towards Temperance with furrowed brows. "I know you. You wrote a book."

"I did." She nodded.

You stared at your sister with a small smile forming on your lips. "You're really her, aren't you?" You whispered in disbelief.

Before she could respond you had brought her into a hug and Kyle smiled, meeting your gaze over her shoulder when she returned it. You pulled away moments later, turning to Seeley.

"You work with the FBI." You looked at Kyle and Temperance. "Dr Temperance Brennan. I've seen you. I never paid much attention before, but," You trailed off, shaking your head. "I can't believe it's really you."

When Kyle was seven he recalled your father telling him, never to call himself Kyle again, changing identities to Russ while you became Y/N. You were protective of Joy - Temperance - when she was young, despite being the youngest sibling, right until the very end. When your mother died, you left, your father failed to keep the three of you together, and while you received a phone call now and then from Kyle who checked in to make sure you hadn't gotten yourself killed since Joy was taken into state care, you were off the grid.

You looked at Seeley, "I suppose this is the part where you arrest me. I'd start with arson."

It was a light sentence when tallied with the full list of your crimes, but it was a start. Your influence with judges left you on house arrest, staying with Temperance while a colleague of hers, Dr. Sweets, became your therapist. You knew he was anxious about meeting you given your history, but you knew immediately that he would be persistent. You weren't thrilled with the idea of daily check-ins, but when you tried to keep him at arm's length he happily stayed in silence. And after two weeks he finally made a breakthrough, getting you to confide in him.

Patient-doctor relationships were forbidden. Judgment became clouded, and while Lance was under no illusion of who you were, and what you had done, he found himself empathizing with you as you spoke about the anger you felt and the turmoil you endured after your mother's death. You told him about living in a city on your own, always moving around, stealing wallets to pay for a bus to move between cities. You found a job at a café and eventually got an apartment, but your past training always followed. You enhanced your skills, and finally at age sixteen, you killed for the first time.

Despite who you were, then and now, as you spoke, Lance could see the pain, and hear the fear you felt at that time. Living alone in the darkness, the vengeful angel.

It was nearing the end of the first month living with Temperance, that his judgment became clouded, admiring your strength while horrified by what you had done, yet unable to see that person when he was sitting across from you in the living room.

He could see how much simpler life had been when you were on your own, but now you were surrounded by family, your brother checking in every day now that you had a permanent address, regret was building inside you and you had no idea how to control it.

The topic of your mother was a touchy one. And Lance knew after two sessions, the reason why. You felt she would be disappointed, horrified, and it was leading to self-loathing, and he knew you would become a flight risk.

So when you disappeared, he was not surprised, nor was he concerned. Temperance was worried, confused as she had felt things were great having you around, even if you still called her Joy now and then. She hadn't minded. Seeley however was prepared to put together a man hunt until Lance told him it was unnecessary. He knew where you would be.

He approached where you stood on looking out at Lake Anne, Seeley and Temperance on their way. He put his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, standing next to you.

"How did you know I'd be here?" You asked after a few moments.

"You described it to me. I looked online and knew this was what you described." He turned his head to look at you as you stared at the water. "They're on their way."

You nodded slowly.

"Why did you come here?"

You met his gaze, a small smile forming on your lips and it unsettled him, as your eyes were dark with defeat. "While I normally like the way you know me so well," You took out a gun you had hidden under your jacket. "you really shouldn't have followed me, Lance."

"You don't have to do this." He heard Seeley and Temperance calling for him, and knew they were close by. "The pain you are experiencing will fade. You won't always feel like this. I promise. I can help you."

You placed a hand on his jacket, straightening the lapels, and sending him a smile. "Somewhere out there is someone who deserves it. But I'll never be them."

You held his gaze for a moment before taking him off-guard, kissing him, and suddenly everything else faded away. The yells got quieter, the sounds of birds sounded further away, and all he could feel was you.

And after a week of denying it, he knew his feelings for you were compromising his role as your therapist. That's why he hadn't seen the signs. He was too busy daydreaming. But in that moment his feelings gave him the adrenaline to save you.

He grabbed the gun from your hand and when you tried to knock him down the gun went off and he threw the weapon into the water. You scrambled to your feet, lips parting in shock as Seeley and Temperance arrived.

"What happened?"

You got to your feet, holding Lance's gaze, "You'll regret that."

"What are you doing out here?" Seeley spoke up. "You know what I have to do?"

You turned so your back was to Lance, smirking at the FBI agent, "You can try."

"Don't fight him." Lance moved closer until his chest was against your back, lowering his voice. "If not for yourself then for her."

You looked at Temperance, and Lance added, "And for me." You turned to meet his gaze and his eyes were pleading with you to go quietly.

You swallowed thickly, nodding before looking at Seeley. You stepped forward with your hands held out, wrists together as you smirked. "Take me to your leader."

He shook his head, handcuffing you and escorted you down towards the trek to the car. You looked at Lance who stayed behind to speak to Temperance, whose frown deepened as he spoke. His eyes met yours briefly before you looked away.

That kiss had changed everything.

A kiss goodbye became a kiss marking the fresh start you were granted. You wanted your own space and so you got an apartment to spend the rest of your years house arrest in, and Lance continued to visit daily.

A week later, you opened the door to allow him inside, he sent you a smile as he entered, seeing the furniture. He looked at you with a questioning glance and you shrugged, smirking as you headed to the kitchen.

"Is blackmail illegal?"

"Yes."

"Then it certainly wasn't that."

He shook his head, his lips lifting at the sound of your laughter, following you to the kitchen. You cooked at the stove and he fetched ingredients for you. That night you spoke at the dining table, discussing the case after your usual session and he knew you were working to find out who the killer was before Booth. It had happened before, proven by Temperance, much to the FBI agents chagrin.

Lance looked at the meal for a moment, and your smile faltered when you saw his expression. It was usually followed by unpleasant news.

"What? Is it the pasta?"

He shook his head, sighing as he sat straighter in his chair. "I have requested that you see another therapist. My judgment has become compromised, and I know you no longer feel able to speak as freely in consideration for my feelings. I am not able to be there for you in a professional capacity."

"I don't want anyone else." You told him. "If you go through with it, I'll kill them."

He knew you would if you wanted to, but he knew from the smirk on your lips you were joking. You had a dark sense of humour, one that made people uneasy, unsure if you were being threatening, but Lance had spent a hour with you every day for over a month and he had spent weeks learning the signs.

"Our professional relationship has become compromised. But don't worry, the doctor I requested is highly recommended."

You frowned, setting your fork on the plate. "So, this is goodbye?"

Lance knew the sound advice would be to stay away. But he knew he couldn't.

"I can still visit if you want me to."

You nodded, "I'd like that. Tempie is busy with work, I know she feels guilty about not seeing me as often. But I needed the distance. All this time wasted when I should have looked harder."

Lance shook his head, "You didn't know." He said. "But now that you do, you can be there for each other."

You sent him a small smile, "If you don't visit me I will break into your apartment."

Lance chuckled, and you continued eating. He left shortly after and you were left alone again, the apartment seeming so much bigger when he was gone.

Two months went by and Lance visited every few days, asking you about your sessions with the experienced therapist who worked over three decades in the field. You were more free now that the professional side of your relationship was gone and it wasn't uncommon that you cooked dinner, shared a bottle of wine as you caught up on each other's lives.

Lance arrived one evening as your therapist left, and he was pulled aside, warned that his presence was affecting your progress, and so he left without knocking on the door. You were upset that he hadn't explained, and when Temperance heard she confronted him in Seeley's office.

He was outside your apartment within the hour.

You ignored the sounds of him knocking on the door, stretching on the yoga mat, listening to his explanation through the door. You understood why his colleague had spoken to him, as your answer to how you felt about Lance had him very thoughtful for the remainder of your session.

"If I kill him, will you talk to me again?" You shouted across the room.

Lance was silent, before speaking a few moments later. "I can ignore his advice. But it would be -"

The door opened and you grinned as you pulled him inside. "Great! Coffee?"

He nodded, exhaling when you released his tie. You flattened out his tie and he held his breath when you tightened it slightly. "Don't ever avoid me." Your eyes held the vulnerability you were unable to explain. You had felt abandoned, and he regretted leaving your life without an explanation.

"I won't." He put his hands on your arms, holding your gaze as he made this promise and you smile but it wasn't as bright as it usually was, before leaving to the kitchen to brew coffee.

And Lance knew there was no turning back. He couldn't put himself, or you, through it again. He was already in too deep, the distance only serving to strengthen his feelings.

The next day he was informed that your therapist had decided that you go into a secure unit, but Lance fought that decision, keeping you in your studio apartment. You would never go quietly and he knew the best place for you to be was around family. Kyle visited more often and Temperance had invited you to dinner one night every week.

Time went by slowly when you were alone, but the next five months seemed to blaze by and your house arrest was lifted. You got a waitressing job and it became the place were everyone on the team went for coffee or lunch together.

You approached their table with a tray of beverages, and Lance knew from the smirk aimed at Seeley that it was going to be a lunch filled with mischief. You had seen how he felt about Temperance, and took it upon yourself to prank him now and then much to her amusement.

"And plain black coffee." You set the mug in front of him and he thanked you. You glanced at the mug then at the FBI agent who raised an eyebrow. He eyed the mug warily when you walked away and when you returned with their lunches, he was hesitant. The last time you smirked at him he had eaten a Carolina Reaper in his sandwich.

"How is everything?" You asked ten minutes later, checking in with them after tending to other customers.

"This is really good." Seeley spoke up and your smirk returned.

"Is it? Interesting." You pretended to write on your notebook as you walked away, leaving Seeley fearing what he had eaten.

"She is messing with you." Cam assured him.

Seeley examined his sandwich before setting it aside. "I'm not that hungry."

As they were paying, he loosened his tie and looked over at you as you gave Jack change for the bills he had given.

"What was in that sandwich?"

You acted innocent. "Nothing. Meat and cheese."

He groaned, knowing you would never admit to tampering or not tampering with it, and left, grumbling about eating somewhere else as he always did.

You smirked as he opened the door, calling out, "You may want to stop by the hospital!"

"Will you ever stop?" Temperance asked.

You shook your head, closing the cash register. "It's too entertaining."

"I second that." Jack chimed in, before leaving with Temperance who shook her head.

Lance stayed behind while the others left and you sent him a smile. "Don't worry, I put a little extra pepper on it. That's all."

He shook his head, "Do you want a ride home? I have some time."

You checked the clock before nodding, thanking him before going to get your jacket. The café was open all night, and you worked the graveyard shift, but four hours longer than the others so you could see your sister while she was working. And since it was close to the Bureau you frequently saw Lance every morning, his coffee prepared for his arrival.

He drove you to your apartment and you glanced at him now and then, wondering how to bring up the topic you had avoided for a week. "I'm moving."

He was taken back, but quickly found his words. "Where?"

You named the street and Lance knew it was farther away. Temperance would see you less, as would he, and the thought of not seeing you every morning before work, or when he was heading home, made him swallow down the prickle of heartache that was rapidly growing.

"That's...far away." He said.

"I have tonight off to see it one more time before I start moving in. Can you come with me?" You asked.

Lance nodded, "Sure. I'll drive."

You thanked him as he pulled up outside your apartment complex and you went inside, sending him a smile over your shoulder that took his breath away.

Seeley was the first to notice how Lance felt about you. The psychologist had tried to mystify your identity when he confided in him, but Booth knew all along that he was referring to you. Jack was the second to notice, and made remarks now and then during cases when you weren't around. Although he was comfortable in the presence of a former-assassin, he knew you could quickly switch back into who you were if provoked. Temperance was the last to know, and only realised when Booth had stated that Lance had feelings for you, hence his distance professionally.

And after nearly a year, he still kept his true feelings hidden from you, despite both Jack and Seeley suggesting to fight his fears and ask you out.

That night as he looked around the three bedroom house, Lance knew he couldn't try to convince you to keep your waitressing job for selfish reasons. It was a quiet neighbourhood where you could get away. The neighbours were friendly, and he didn't rush to correct the elderly couple when they mistook you both for a couple.

The one hour drive back to your apartment was spent in contemplative silence, though you hadn't minded. Although you were dying to know what he was thinking. When he parked outside you took off your seatbelt and turned to him. "We'll still see each other won't we?"

Lance nodded, although he knew it would be not as frequently. "Of course. And you have my number."

You nodded, smiling softly. "I wouldn't be here, with Tempie, if it wasn't for you. And I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me."

"It was noth-"

He fell silent when your lips grazed his, and his hand rose to your cheek when you kissed him. You leaned into his chest as your lips moulded tenderly, growing in passion and urgency until you pulled away.

"D-Do you want to have a drink? With me, I mean. A drink with -" You nodded, and he nodded, "Okay, great!" He kissed you and you smiled into the kiss, resting your forehead against his moments later when you pulled away.

"Your place or mine?" You asked.

"Mine." He replied. "I'll cook this time. Wednesday at seven thirty?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, a smile on your lips. "Perfect." You placed a chaste kiss on his lips before exiting the car and Lance held the steering wheel, exhaling his sudden burst of excitement, looking out the window, meeting your gaze as you smiled and waved. He returned the wave, waiting until you were inside before a grin took over his features.

He had a date.

It had been two weeks since that night and you had spent the rest of the night at his place. Lance looked up at the suburban house that you had spent a whole night in on two occasions, but never alone. He looked at the bottle of wine as he knocked on the door, a smile forming on his lips when you opened the door.

"Hi." You greeted, kissing his cheek. "Come on in."

You led him to the living room where Cam, Angela, Jack, Seeley and Temperance were sitting, the dining table filled with housewarming gifts.

The team had been busy with cases so after owning the house for two weeks, through means Lance and even Seeley refused to think about, you were finally having a housewarming party.

You entered the kitchen and he handed you the bottle of wine. You thanked him with a smile, tugging on his tie to bring him closer.

Lance looked over his shoulder, not wanting anyone to see, especially not Bones who he knew was frightening when riled up.

"You snuck out this morning." You tightened his tie slightly and he chuckled, remembering sleeping through his alarm, and rushing to his house then to work, arriving an hour late. "You should make it up to me."

"I will." He smiled, placing a hand on your cheek. "I promise."

You smiled when he leaned in, closing your eyes as his lips met yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he placed his arms around your waist, bringing you closer.

"Hey, this is cute an' all but I need a refill!" Angela called out.

You shook your head when you pulled away and met his gaze as you laughed. You picked up the bottle of wine and headed into the living room. Lance occupied the armchair Jack had been sitting on until he moved to the floor, and you smirked when you saw his cheeks darken when you sat on his lap.

"You're dating?"

You were relieved Temperance had several drinks at this point, knowing in the morning you both would receive a lecture. You smiled, nodding at your sister, resting your cheek on his hair, ending his stammering.

Jack explained that he already knew, which led to money being exchanged and you shook your head as you met Lance's gaze. Your features softened when you saw the smile on his lips and leaned in when he placed a hand on your cheek, meeting him halfway, closing your eyes as your lips met.

"Do I need to buy a water pistol for you two?" Cam cut in and Lance pulled away.

"No, ma'am. I mean -"

You covered his mouth with your hand, seeing Cam's annoyed expression at his slip up. "Cam." You reminded him. You had seen first hand what happened when someone referred to her as ma'am and it wasn't pretty.

Lance sent you a grateful glance and placed an arm around your waist, looking down at you a few minutes later as you both sat on the edge, observing the others as they spoke. You felt his stare and sent him a smile, kissing his cheek.

You had come a long way in one year. And you knew it was all because of his love for you that you survived it. His guidance and support, everything you needed to make it through the guilt, the pain, and acceptance of your past, in order to move forward.

You knew there was only one way to describe it.

"I love you." You whispered.

He looked at you in surprise, a smile quickly forming on his lips at the confession. "I love you too."

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