#✧⠀⠀━━ ARCHIVED UNDER⠀⠀/⠀⠀WANTED PLOTS⠀⠀.

[roboyomo]

I Have Genuinely Never Felt So Fuckign Mad Over AO3 In My Life .

[nottslove]

DICK PICS

Pairing: hacker!theo x spy!reader

3.7k words

Summary: unable to sleep after your boss puts pressure on you to catch the most wanted hacker in the country, you toss and turn until your phone lights up with a message from an unknown number. the stranger sounds oddly familiar, and before you know it, you begin to find comfort in this mysterious stranger and even begin to get a little...... vulnerable.

Warnings: QUITE LONG, 18+, smut under the cut, modern au, porn with minimal plot, voyeurism, somewhat stalking, exploitation, sexting, mutual masturbation, semi-public, dirty talk, cursing, not for minors.

Tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse @nottsstar

Author's note: preferable to read on camera first, but can be read as a standalone too.

HE had been watching you for weeks, watching you fail at your mission of hunting him down, over and over again.

After days and days of searching, you got a lead. Your boss had given you his name; Theodore Nott, Theo Nott for short.

You scoured the internet after that; checking every big, social media platform you'd ever heard of— Instagram, Tiktok, Twitter, Linked In, Facebook— all of which led you nowhere.

Little did you know, as you ransacked the online archives for any trace of him, he was watching you from his screen, with your special cameras of the highest quality, bought and installed in every room because of your dangerous profession.

A smirk on his lips as you typed his name into various search bars, over and over again.

"Enjoying the ride, pretty?" he muttered to himself, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "I can give you something better to ride, and you'd enjoy it a whole lot more—"

He watched you grow frustrated; he watched you repeatedly bang your head on the nearest surface with every dead end you reached, he watched you throw things in frustrated after every phone call from your boss, after telling him you had made little to no progress.

He watched you skip sleep; he watched you skip meals, fall into quiet desperation, and suddenly... it wasn't so fun any more.

Being so close, yet so far.

It wasn't fun knowing he was the reason you kept reaching dead ends. It wasn't fun knowing he had been leading you on a wild goose chase the entire time, knowing very well he was redirecting you to the same 404 ERROR. Page not found message.

As he watched you on his screen, tossing and turning on your bed, unable to sleep, he suddenly had an idea to get you to relieve a bit of your stress.

He wasn't sure it would work; you were a smart one after all, and Theo knew that after observing you for months.

Still, it was worth a try.

Having been watching you for so long, it was only fair he had memorized your phone number, and his fingers dialed the digits naturally, as if he had done it for years.

And then, his breath hitched with nervousness, his fingers shaking, he sent you a message.

The past few weeks had been utter hell for you. Your boss had been calling you nonstop, asking if you'd gotten an update for him, and every time you explained that you'd reached a dead end, suffocating pressure surrounded you from all sides, closing in on you.

Yet again you found yourself in the same place, no idea, no clue who and where Theo Nott was. And your boss was getting impatient and restless.

So were you.

You hated this guy, for making himself so hard to find, for being so good at what he did that he was practically untraceable.

Hunting him had become something you did every day, and your entire routine was messed up.

It occupied your mind at all times. Any moment you spent not searching for him was considered wasted.

To the point where you were skipping meals and sleep to look for him. And you had a feeling you were close, so fucking close to catching the bastard.

You weren't.

Not even a little bit.

Not when you felt yourself grow closer and closer, only to reach the same dead end, the same bright, white page flashing in front of you, reading, Error code 404. Page not found.

It exasperated you, made your blood boil beyond control, feasted on your thoughts and sent you spiraling out of control.

And now, once again, like every night, you were awake at a time way past midnight, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Everything annoyed you; the ticking of the clock, the serenity outside, the rustling of the trees in the wind outside...

You wanted it to stop.

The next thing you knew was that your phone screen lit up beside you and a loud ping sounded, interrupting your restless thoughts.

You picked up the phone, noticing that the notification you received was from an unknown number.

Looking for me, pretty?

Reading it, your breath hitched as you stared at the screen, eyes furrowing and staring continuously at the message.

Instantly, your fingers flew across the keyboard as you typed out a message, turning on the bedside lamp beside you and propping yourself up on your pillows, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

Who's this? you typed back.

Answer my question first, doll

Perhaps it was sleep, or exhaustion, or something else, but your thoughts were most definitely clouded.

Normally, you would have blocked the number. But something, something told you to continue chatting to this mysterious person. He sounded so familiar, even though you were one hundred percent sure you had never come across him before.

Yes, you assumed it was a him. You couldn't explain it; it just felt like it was a him.

And the him sounded strangely.... attractive. Oh well, a little flirting wouldn't hurt... You could always block the number if things began to get a little freaky for you to handle.

You typed out your answer.

Maybe... Do you want me to look for you?

Yes. Fuck. I do

You stifled a gasp at his blatant response. He sounded desperate, wild, and you hadn't even seen this person's face.

Tell me your name then

Oh no, pretty. Not so fast.. It doesn't work that way

Disappointment flooded you as you looked at the screen, a sigh of defeat leaving you.

Until you saw the next messages.

You're not the only one asking questions here, doll. To get answers, you must be willing to give answers. Are you willing to do that?

Yes, you wrote.

Because screw it. You'd been overworking yourself like the only machine in a giant factory and you deserved a little time to just be yourself, even if you were talking to a stranger.

You were safe, you couldn't get hurt through the phone anyway. Besides, you had the world's best security system. Any intruder would be caught the moment they set foot even a mile within the radius of your mansion.

Throwing your job out of your mind, and your training, you let your guard down. You already knew everything about internet safety, you didn't need to be taught, like a goddamn child. You were no match for the stranger anyway, you could track him in minutes.

Good girl

The words sent a sudden jolt of surprise through you, and your stomach flipped.

My name is Laura. Will you tell me your name now?

You didn't tell him your real name, of course. Your co-worker's name was the first one that slipped into your head, and you typed that out without second thought.

Nice try, princess. Didn't know you'd be so good at lying

"Shit," you breathed, closing your eyes for a second, the feeling of dread coursing through you. Your heart stopped, and you knew you were fucked. Truly fucked.

He knew.

You couldn't even try to explain how the bastard knew.

How'd you know?

Because your real name is not Laura

How do you know that?

I just do. But I don't want your name I want something else

And then you'll tell me your name?

I'll give you my initials

You paused, your brows furrowing as you looked at his latest messages, trying to think of what to reply.

You were pretty sure you could use his initials to figure out who he was. Besides, a little bit of mystery was essential in order to enjoy life...

Fair enough. What do you want?

Right now? I just want to talk to you

Your lips curled up the slightest bit at the slightly sweet yet smooth reply from the other end of the phone.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, biting your lower lip, trying to figure out what to reply to that, when you saw the moving three dots again. He was typing...

My initials are T.N You can call me T

On seeing his initials, your heart stopped. You knew he sounded familiar, looked familiar, was familiar, but you were positive, absolutely positive you had never spoken to him before.

And then it hit you, where you had seen those initials before.

Realization flickered all over your features, and your breath hitched. It was so, so clear. You had spent the past couple of months searching for him.

How come you hadn't seen it before, the way had started the conversation with Missed me, Pretty? instead of a Hi or Hello, like any normal guy.

He was Theo Nott.

Theodore FUCKING Nott, the country's most notorious, wanted hacker.

How had he known, you had been looking for him? Should you play dumb? Or tell him the game was over?

Decision making had always come easy to you, but right now, you found yourself stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

If you told him you knew his full name, it might scare him away and make it harder for you to find him, and make your boss yell at you, overall making your life miserable.

If you played dumb... He could get bored.

And then an idea struck you.

What if you flirted? Used your powers of seduction to lure him out? To get him to fall for you?

That way, you could finally catch him, after asking him to meet you somewhere.

A slight smirk crossed your lips as you typed out your next message.

What if I want to call you... something else?

As Theo's eyes fell on the message, his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. His heart rate picked up, and he could already feel the familiar hardness ache between his legs as he looked at your message.

Were you flirting with him? If you were, it was fucking hot.

The question had taken him off-guard, and he had no clue what to answer.

Like what?

Asshole, you wrote back a little smirk on your lips, toying with him.

I'd prefer you call me daddy, Theo wrote back, his own expression matching yours, as he flirted with you with smooth confidence.

In your dreams

For that to happen, I'd need to hear your voice

And then it was your turn to stare at the phone like it was some foreign object.

You took a deep breath, unable to figure out what to reply. Part of you wanted to send an audio message, but you despised the way you sounded on a recording— it was too... cheesy, too embarrassing.

You could call him, but at the same time, it was far too soon for that. You weren't ready.

I'll let you hear my voice on one condition... you wrote, furiously chewing on your lower lip as you dropped your phone on your thighs and rubbed your palms on the sheets, trying to stop them from getting clammy.

What do you want, princess?

I can't sleep. I need help... relaxing... You dropped the clue as it was, you didn't know if you were being too forward, or not; the lack of sleep had most definitely messed with your head.

He was losing his mind, seeing you respond to him with such brazen confidence.

His need for you grew, and as he muttered a "fuck it," to himself, he stopped beating around the bush and matched your energy, adrenaline fueling through him, the sheer desperation of seeing where this would go messing with his mind.

What, your fingers too small to do the trick?

Your jaw dropped slightly. You couldn't believe the audacity. A light blush coating your cheeks, you pressed your thighs together without realizing, unable to come to terms that he had just teased you.

You couldn't let him win.

More like my boyfriend has a small dick

Holy—

Theo couldn't believe his eyes. He had always associated you with innocence, obliviousness. Seeing you through the camera go about your daily life without suspecting you were being watched had made his dick hard, more times that he could count, but having you flirt with him? Interact with him in such a way? That was something else.

He was suddenly rock hard under his sweats, his dick heavy and hard as he tried to imagine what it would be like to watch you touch yourself whilst texting him.

His blood boiled at the mention of your boyfriend... He had seen the asshole many times at your place, and he always activated the alarm system or the sprinklers whenever he came to your place.

You of course, always thought there was a glitch in the system, never once suspecting that it was all orchestrated.

And you're telling me this... why?

One thing you knew was that men liked to have their egos stroked, and what better way to flatter Theo than to tell him he was better than your boyfriend?

This was a sure way to get him to fall for you.

Of course, you had no clue about how big he was, neither did you care. All you cared about was catching him and handing him over to your boss.

That was what you thought of, when you typed in your next reply.

Because I get the feeling that you're bigger

Theo's vision was suddenly botched, and before he knew it, his sweatpants and boxers were shoved down his thighs, past his knees and were pooled around his ankles.

His cock sprung out, with a resounding smack against his abs, which clenched as he wrapped his fist around his girth, thumb stretching out to swipe a bead of precum dripping from the tip and smearing it messily across the length.

Are you always such a slut? Thinking of getting off to a stranger's cock?

Afraid to answer my question, T? Maybe you're not big...

You knew very well what you were doing, spurring him on, aggravating him, getting him hooked on you, getting him so completely drunk to talking to you.

You want proof, Princess?

Well, I'm not opposed to it...

You stared at the screen, and the three typing dots, your breath hitched as you awaited his response.

And then, it flashed across the screen.

A picture of his dick.

Your mouth watered slightly, and the slickness between your thighs grew. You couldn't stop the heat that suddenly filled the room despite the AC being on.

"Fuck," you breathed, your eyes glued to the screen.

You hadn't been wrong. He was bigger than your boyfriend— waaaayyyy bigger.

That good enough for you, pretty? he wrote, heart pounding in his chest, confidence dripping from him.

He could see you through the camera in your bedroom, staring at the picture longer than necessary, your eyes wide and your pupils dilated.

Not quite... Got a little problem now, thanks to you

Oh? he replied, waiting for you to elaborate, waiting for your next message.

My panties are soaked

Just with one pic??? I knew it. You're such a fucking slut. So wet, and you haven't even been touched...

The way he degraded you made you whimper, and before you knew it, you had wriggled out of your tiny, satin shorts, leaving your lower half completely bare, save for your tiny panties.

Are you gonna help me out, or not?

She's such a minx, Theo thought, gaze darkening as his gaze fell on his computer screen, where you were all spread out on your bed like a fucking feast, wearing nothing but a satin camisole and a tiny pair of panties.

And then, he unleashed himself.

Whatever you're wearing right now, take it off.

If you weren't turned on, you wouldn't have listened, but you slid your camisole off as well as your panties, your nipples hardening as they stood, begging for attention the moment they made contact with the cool air.

Now what?

He took a while to type the next message, and you stared at the screen with bated breath, watching him type for what felt like a very long time.

And then, his message arrived, and as you read it, you let out a quiet whimper.

Touch yourself, pretty Make yourself feel good Put your hand around your neck, and squeeze slightly, imagine it's mine Then let your hands wander

Little did you know, his eyes watched you through the cameras in your bedroom, lying back on your bed wearing absolutely nothing...

"Fucking slut—" he muttered, as your fingers applied slight pressure on your neck, blocking your airway and slowing your breathing. "Who knew you'd have such a filthy mind?"

He watched your hands wander downwards, watched you tease your nipples, watched your fingers pinch the hardened nubs until they were stiff, aching peaks.

The thought was enough to fuel his arousal, enough to get his dick harder than it had ever been.

He fisted his hand around his girth, his grip tight as he tried to imagine spilling his load all over your pretty tits.

Okay, you wrote back, one hand on the phone, the other alternating between teasing both your tits, trying to give them equal attention.

Does that feel good?

Yes

Such a nasty fucking whore, aren't you? So fucking needy for attention, even from a fucking stranger

His words elicited another whimper from your lips, and the ache between your thighs deepened; you were aching for relief.

Your fingers slipped lower, down to your slick folds, your index finger gliding so easily across the puffy lips of your cunt, and as your nail grazed against your clit, another mewl left your lips.

I need more, you wrote to Theo, hoping, just hoping he would send you another picture of his junk.

That's my little slut, so damn needy Put a finger inside that greedy cunt, doll I bet you're soaked Got me so fucking hard for you, pretty

Prove it, you wrote, challenging him into giving you want you wanted; another picture.

You finally gave into the temptation and slid a finger inside your sopping folds, a low moan leaving your lips as you arched your back.

And then Theo sent another picture, his dick stood tall, and erect, slightly curved, the tip angry and red and glossy with precum that bubbled out and trailed lower to his balls in a thin, seductive line.

God, he was huge, and you knew, you somehow knew that he was a goddamn fuck machine; he could ruin you.

Use your fingers to get yourself off, baby Think of my cock inside you You'd be so fucking full

Don't think you'd fit, you replied back, biting your lip as you gave him a completely honest answer.

You're too big

Fuck doll, you're driving me fucking mental

And then you added another finger, bucking your hips into your hand, your juices trickling down your thighs and your fingers, curling around your wrist and to the mattress, making a goddamn mess everywhere.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure as your phone slipped from your fingers and landed somewhere on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

You couldn't care enough to pick it up, your thoughts were completely clouded as you rode your fingers, arching your back and moaning like a bitch in heat, as your thumb pressed against your clit, your other hand teasing your nipples; pulling, pinching, groping, twisting, your eyes closed as you thought of his dick, filling you up and rearranging your internal organs.

"Fuuuuck," you groaned softly. "God, feels so good—"

And then, as you added a third finger into your sopping wet cunt, stretching yourself out more than you could handle, you curled your fingers until they reached that deep squishy space before you lost all control of yourself as your orgasm wrecked through you like a fast fucking freight train.

Your juices spilled everywhere, uncontrollably, drenching your sheets and your hands, the heady scent of your fluids mingling with your sweat and natural scent.

Then, you brought your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

Oh, you were so totally oblivious to the way Theo jerked off to the sight of you pleasuring yourself, his balls tightening to the thought of claiming you, filling you up with his cum until it was dripping out of you for days.

"Shiiiiit— gonna cum inside that pretty pussy one day, mark my words," he swore, dragging his fist faster up and down the length of his wet, sticky cock.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you cumming all over your hand, making a mess on your bed, pupils blown so wide that his irises were nearly engulfed.

And then, his quickened his pace, wrist flicking faster as he drew closer to his high, loud groans leaving his lips.

"That's right, make a mess— fucking slut— my messy slut, wanna feel you clamp down on my cock, gonna fucking come all over that pretty cunt..." he groaned, his words mere broken fragments that made better sense in his head than when spoken out loud.

And with a final growl tearing from his throat, he finally came, unloading a thick, hot stream of semen into his hand, his break coming out in sharp, ragged gasps, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon.

He didn't bother cleaning up as he picked up his phone, typing out a quick one-handed message to you.

Lick those fingers clean, pretty...

Already did ;)

Fuck, there's my filthy girl So fucking hot Bet you taste like honey

You didn't bother with putting your clothes back on, you merely covered yourself with the cool, Egyptian cotton sateen sheets, which you intended to change the next morning.

Wouldn't you like to know?

Feel better, pretty? He typed back, watching you adjust your pillows in a manner that suited your comfort better.

Much. I'm going to sleep now Have a nice night, asshole

You smiled to yourself as you wrote to him, flicking the switch of your bedside lamp, turning it off, waiting for Theo's response.

You too, princess.

Not so far away, Theo found himself grinning like an idiot as he looked at the screen.

Oh, he was so fucking whipped.

apologies for being missing in action lately.. have an essay due in three days and i've barely written half... hope you guys like this though. special thanks to @dearmisshoney for being the absolute sweetest and giving me the motivation and help to write this. not my best work. please comment, reblog and show me some love 🙈🙈

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[jsooly]

death in the family (3) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, your family leaves to seek uturu with the ocean clans.

(1) / . . . / (6*) / (7) / (8* - ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

norm found you passed out at your usual spot by grace's old computer, with the site 26 log archives pulled up.

jake informed him of his plan. norm was never much of a leader when it came to war, but he knew how to manage people. taking over grace's position as research head and avatar leader required a large amount of intuition. having to know what was going on in a person's head was important in this period of turmoil.

it didn't take much to read you. your eyes were puffy, cheeks streaked with tears, and the frown on your face was undeniable, even as you slept.

norm watched you grow up—watched you attach yourself to jake, as he watched the marine attach himself to you. this decision was equivalent to separating something inextricable. like attempting to pull the moon away from the tide—the water will always stretch towards it.

norm gently shook you awake.

"hey." he whispered. "don't wanna be late for dinner."

you groaned at the thought, your eyebrows downturned with just the thought of what awaited you back home. your heart squeezed thinking of your sisters and brothers waiting expectantly for your return even though your mind replayed jake's words over and over and over again.

you got up, stretching. "thanks." you mumbled as you headed out.

"wait! y/n, it's pretty dark out." he gently warned you, though you weren't in the mood to be reminded of all of pandora's dangers. "do you want to call someone to help you back?"

you shook your head. "i'll be fine. see you in the morning."

"hey." norm caught up to you, putting his hand on your shoulder. "we'll get through this, okay? like old times."

you paused, your eyes fixed on the ground. every comfort offered to you irritated you beyond belief. you found yourself grappling with a compulsive anger. you wanted to scream, what about this is 'like old times?'

you settled for a nod. because the sanest part of you counseled your temper with the fact that norm was just trying to help.

he pat you in farewell, walking you to the door. you accepted a cloak from him, as it was wet and chilly tonight. you tugged the hood over your head as you vanished into the darkness.

as you made your way through the flora, your stomach grew heavy with unease the closer you got to home. it certainly didn't help when you had to scale the gargantuan vines to high camp.

your feet touched down on the omaticaya base, and you have never been happier to feel the cold hard rocks under your feet. you decided to never climb those vines late at night ever again.

"y/n!" lo'ak appeared in front of you, his bioluminescent spots framing his feline eyes in the darkness.

you jumped, your fist flying out instinctively.

lo'ak groaned, clutching his arm in pain. "what the hell?"

"lo'ak!" you gasped, before smacking him again, hard, in annoyance. "don't scare me like that!"

"ow, why again?!" lo'ak grunted, stepping back from you with a pout. "where have you been?"

"i fell asleep at norm's." you explained, briefly glancing over his arm for any real damage. when you found none, you walked past him.

he followed you like a puppy, his eyes darting to your face every now and then to assess your mood.

"uh... mom made teylu for dinner." lo'ak perked up, hoping the familiar dish would earn some excitement from you.

"that's nice." you say plainly, too much on your mind to match his energy.

he sighed, agitated, pulling you to a stop. "i'm sorry if—" his frown deepened, his eyes avoiding yours.

your gaze focused on him, a note of concern swirling in your eyes.

"i'm sorry i didn't listen to you. i didn't mean to make things worse." he admitted. "you know, back at the shack..."

you blinked in realization, smiling to ease his apprehension. "was it a stupid decision? kinda. but you did what you felt was right. you’re good at looking out for me, but i’m even better at looking out for you. i’ve been doing it for fifteen years, you know. you need to trust me more.”

“you’re just so…” fragile. human. “small.”

“that was the one you decided on?” you smiled genuinely, your face muscles aching from ugly crying a few hours prior.

you knew what he was getting at when he trailed off. he had self-appointed himself as your bodyguard for as long as you remember, even though he was the one in need of rescuing most times.

lo’ak’s smile was sheepish. “that was the first time i saw you fight. like, really fight. scary. why doesn’t dad let you in the militia, again?”

“take a wild guess.” you prompt him as you both resume your slow pace back to the marui.

“but you could fly a scorpion!” lo’ak protested. you didn’t have an ikran. being on the ground during the raids on the RDA would be more trouble than help.

“those helicopters are for research purposes so there’s no guns on them or anything.”

before lo’ak could speak up again, tuk came racing up to you. she grabbed your hand, pulling.

“you’re back!” she exclaimed. you smiled and rubbed her head. footsteps padded closer to reveal neteyam and kiri, frowns set on their faces.

the five of you remained in a circle for a length of time, the truth hanging in the back of your heads: not for long.

the beads of the marui knocked together as neytiri emerged. “come.” she ordered. “eat.”

—

dinner was unnaturally quiet. as if everyone was afraid to chew.

you barely met jake’s eyes as he sat across from you and he barely met yours.

after a while of awkward silence, neytiri frustratedly nudged her husband. “say something.” she hissed in a whisper.

her stern expression never wavered, not even with jake’s pleading look. he sighed, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. he needed to address this with care and caution if he didn’t want it to get worse.

“baby,” he started, setting down his teylu. “i want you to know that i was upset, so i didn’t come off the way i wanted to.”

you stared him dead in the eyes, reluctantly hearing him out. you had nowhere to run.

the kids’ eyes nervously darted back and forth between their father and oldest sister, anticipating another explosive argument.

“it wasn’t easy raising you here, but i don’t regret a second of it. i’d do it the exact same way again and again. what i want to avoid is animosity towards you.” he circled the table, sitting next to you. not too close, but not far away either. “you bear so much on your shoulders, and you’ve come so far with the clan. i don’t want to see you start over with a people who are even more hostile.”

you remained silent, unable to sneak a glance at jake’s face. you feared the need to be comforted by him would be too great to stand your ground.

“i am always gonna come back for you.” he scooted closer still, desperate to catch your eyes. he couldn’t bear you being mad at him, not for one second. the way you refused to look at him wounded him greatly. “when we establish ourselves.”

the worst part about it all was you understood. you weren’t blind to reality—it would be harder to connect with other clans with a sky person in tow. the omaticaya were harsh, and you practically grew up with them. it wasn't hard to extrapolate the response from a foreign clan.

you just hoped being a family meant they’d take you with them regardless. that it wouldn’t have mattered that other peoples would reject them because that would be better than rejecting you. what was the acceptance of a clan compared to you? what happened to sullys stick together?

“y/n?” jake called softly, gentle as if not to spark your anger.

sometimes he felt he was going crazy when he recognized glimpses of neytiri in your face. nothing linked you two biologically, yet the same pensive intensity was written across your features. an unforgiving presence that’s ready to tell him off at any given moment.

it's part of the reason he chose lightning bug as your call sign. you could take and take and take all the garbage people dumped on you, but one drop too far and you lashed out. swift and precise, like lightning.

it was rare to see it once you finally learned to spare yourself the headache and handle all the backhanded comments, the outrage at your mere presence, the alienation… the more as you matured, the more garbage you were able to carry.

jake was afraid he would be the one drop to set it all up in flames. yet he almost hoped you would—he knew he deserved it.

“y/n?” he asked, even softer.

“i heard you.” was all you said, grabbing some more food.

neytiri frowned, her eyes darting to jake helplessly. jake’s shoulders slumped but he accepted that was all he was going to get.

the dinner continued relatively peacefully. jake didn’t return to his original spot, getting as close to you as you’d allow him.

—

somehow, tuk wormed her way into your sleeping pod. and then kiri moved hers closer, then lo’ak, and finally neteyam. all the kids piled onto one side, making the marui seem empty.

jake stood over his five kids, hands on his hips as he observed them fondly. neytiri came up behind him, running her hand down his back.

“there is not much you can do now. what’s done is done.”

“i don’t want her to be mad at me.” jake whispered. “i don’t want to leave like this.”

neytiri softened, resting her head against his shoulder. “her anger will leave. her hurt will remain. and it will stay this way until we come back for her.”

jake sighed, running his hand over his face roughly. “i just—i don’t know what to do. i don’t want to be in a situation out there where i have to choose them over her or her over them.”

what do you think you’re doing now? a voice in his head nagged.

his heart sunk further. he was scared, scared of what that madman would do to his family. scared that he wouldn't be around to protect you all when you needed him the most. he hoped that by moving away, quaritch would stay on his tail and lose interest in you.

neytiri raised her eyebrow, giving her husband an empathetic look. “i trust you with many things, jake. if you think it’s best to leave, i will follow. the kids will… come to understand.”

“do you think…” jake trailed off. “do you think we’ll ever be the same?”

neytiri didn’t respond. the answer was clear.

jake inhaled deeply. it was too late to turn back now.

—

toruk makto will disappear. that was jake’s promise.

tarsem was jake’s choice for olo’eyktan. unable to go through with the traditional ritual of killing the previous clan leader, he sliced jake’s chest with a heavy heart.

the leader must die. so the leader can be born.

you weren’t present at the ceremony, instead watching from afar. you watched the farewell with a growing bitterness, but you knew the biggest underlying feeling was the hurt. you didn’t want to see them go.

the clan shared your sentiment. wailing and cries filled the air.

mo’at wove mourning garments for herself and you. the two of you weren’t particularly close but you were respectful of each other’s role in the family. you often hung around her tsahik marui where soldiers come for healing.

she appreciated your extensive knowledge on the flora and fauna of pandora, often quizzing you on what she was using in her salves and ointments.

you waited with her for the sullys, tending to the ikran.

you smoothed your hand down the crest of jake’s ikran, bob. he chirred happily, flexing his wings slightly.

behind him, a woodsprite wafted along the breeze. you frowned in confusion. eywa’s seeds, all the way up here?

you watched it closely while it moved through the space as it pleased. it hovered around you, landing on your shoulder. you stood completely still, it’s delicate tendrils brushing your skin. it ballooned when it took flight once again, gaining height and finding respite atop your head.

mo’at’s sideways glance pulled you out of your wonder.

“probably got lost.” you chucked nervously, feeing scrutinized under mo’at’s steady stare. you knew where neytiri’s fiery eyes came from.

“eywa does not make mistakes, child.” she said slowly, expertly concealing her curiosity.

the sullys approached their ikran, ready to go. the woodsprite fluttered away from you.

tuk whined as she rushed up, clinging to mo’at. the grandmother soothed her.

lo’ak frowned as he approached you, unable to hide the emotion on his face. you opened your arms and he ran into them, hugging your tightly.

“come with us,” he whispered. “i’ll hide you on my ikran.”

you laughed. “we caused enough trouble this week.”

he clutched you tighter. “shut up. i’m being serious.”

“me too.” you mumbled, rubbing his back in comfort.

he pulled back, helplessness weighing down his youthful features. you offered him a sad smile before he stormed off to his ikran, wiping his face roughly.

kiri fell into your arms next. “who will help me handle with those two skxawngs?”

you snickered. “i think you’re an expert now. it’s time you take on your own apprentice.” you winked, nodding to tuk.

kiri rolled her eyes. “tuk will tell on all of us. don’t think that’s much of an alliance.” she laughed softly before her aura grew depressive.

you cocked your head. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s just—“ she sighed. “i’m worried about spider.”

spider. taken by the RDA. your jaw set with determination. you squeezed her hands. “i’ll look out for him, okay?”

her posture raised as a grateful smile replaced her frown, and she squeezed your hand in farewell. tuk jumped on you, refusing to let you go until neytiri pried her off.

"y/n," neytiri hummed, her voice soft and smooth like nectar. her head fell to her shoulder as she blinked back tears, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into her side. she held you tightly, afraid to let go. "i will not say goodbye, because i promise you this is not the end."

"i know," you fought the ball of emotion in your chest, trying your best to remain strong for their sakes. but as soon as neytiri reluctantly released you, her hand cupping your face gently before mounting her ikran, you felt the gaping absence in your soul.

your eyes scanned the area, missing one very important person. you passed all the others preparing their ikran, rounding neteyam's steed and finding him quietly adjusting the saddle.

you crossed your arms as he ignored you. "no goodbye?"

he didn't spare you a glance, his eyebrows knitting as the frown in his face deepened.

"seriously?" you walked up closer to him, a mix of confusion and offense in your tone.

he glimpsed at you and you immediately understood. in most things, neteyam was the big one. the big guy on the field, on lookout, cleaning up after lo'ak. at home was the only place he didn't have to shoulder it all.

he had to say goodbye to his big sister, his first best friend and protector. how would he bear the weight of being jake sully's first son without jake sully's first daughter? the kids would look to him now. he would have to be the mediator, give the advice, fight the fights. neteyam was able to be brave out there because he knew you were standing behind him.

you gave him a dispirited smile as you opened your arms in invitation. once you made the gesture, he wasted no time embracing you. no words were exchanged, but the two of you shared an understanding.

"saddle up!" jake called to the family.

neteyam smiled at you, his eyes clouded. he ruffled your head before jumping on his banshee.

you stepped away from them, watching as their ikrans chirped lively. jake approached you.

"i meant what i said." jake grasped your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

you were not soothed by his gesture at all. you merely nodded out of respect.

"hey," he caught your gaze, his face open and vulnerable.

you watched as neytiri led the children out. their banshees were hesitant to leave the cliff, picking up their own unwillingness to take flight in the forest for the last time.

jake held you tightly, as if letting go would make the distance between you real. he never thought he’d be apart from you—much less that it would be by his own doing.

“i'm your father, y/n. no matter what. that must mean something.” he whispered.

you begged yourself not to give in to your impulse. but regret wasn’t a enough to satiate your anger.

“my father is dead.” you bit out.

jake paused.

swift and precise, like lightning.

he exhaled softly, shakily. his face barely shifted, but something in his eyes flickered—pain, maybe understanding. he swallowed, then simply squeezed you tighter, kissing your forehead.

—

the leader must die, so the new leader can be born.

jake left tarsem in charge of the omaticaya. he was unaware he was set the stage for a different kind of leader to emerge. eywa already began to show her hand this day—you just had to realize it.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky

© jsooly ‘25

[deepcreekvultures-writing]

"Stellar Collision"

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Word Count: 8.2k

Content Warning: Mild injury, Description of injury, Smut, Fingering (F receiving), Penetrative Sex, Using Astronomy as a Plot Device

A/N: Please ignore any inaccuracies with the scientific stuff and the smut- I'm just silly and Asexual. I picture this as late season 4 Spencer, but you can picture whatever Spencer you want bbg.

Summary: Everyone knows you and Spencer Reid work well together- actually, the entire team thinks you two are the most oblivious profilers to ever work for the FBI, but c'est la vie- they figure you'll crash into each other eventually.

=======

Shaking the hand of the lead detective you introduce yourself before gesturing to Spencer who hovers behind you, “... and this is Agent Weirdly Sticky, a.k.a. Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Spencer’s face scrunches in an odd fusion of disgust, confusion, and amusement. He fights off the laugh that bubbles up and just lifts his hand in an awkward wave. Pressing his lips into a thin line to avoid the smile threatening to break out on his face. JJ elbows you in the ribs, earning a small ‘oomph’ as she pushes you aside. 

It had become routine at this point, calling him weird names to break the tension between the team and locals. Spencer’s hands rest on your shoulders to steady you as JJ takes over the conversation. You chuckle, following an officer into the precinct conference room to get everything set up. Hotch doesn’t say anything about your antics for once, resigning to just accept that there was no stopping you. 

“You really need to stop doing that, they’re going to think you don’t take things seriously.” Spencer mutters to you quietly, his hip lightly bumping into yours as the two of you stick photos onto the provided whiteboard.

“Yeah, maybe, but their face is worth it. It’s like they think federal agents can’t joke, so at first they believe me.” You giggle, sliding your hand around his waist, unceremoniously picking him up and pivoting him around you. You swap places with him quickly to tack a few pieces of evidence to the board.

Spencer lets it happen, not offering any help as you move him. Not that you need it, you were more than strong enough. “But “Agent Weirdly Sticky”? They’re going to think I don’t shower or something.”

You laugh, “At least they won’t try and touch you.” Looking at the board, you tilt your head a little. “The handwriting in each of these is so similar but look-” You point at two series of numbers, “one writes their seven with a dash, and the other doesn’t.”

Spencer leans forward to look at it, his eyes squinting as his mouth drops open in focus. 

“I swear you need to start wearing your glasses again.” You snort, reaching out and placing your fingers under his chin to push his jaw closed. 

He bats your hand away, “Glasses obstruct my peripherals.”

“But you look cute with them.” You argue, sliding to stand behind him, “I miss them.” 

Flattening your hands, you place them on either side of his head, blocking his peripherals. He ignores you, trying to focus on the pages in front of him rather than the warmth radiating off of your palms. Only moving when his phone rings, you drop them on his shoulders, turning him a little so you could grab his phone from his front pocket. 

“Hey Garcia, what’s up?” You greet, “...yeah, it’s me, what do you have for us?”

The investigation continues like that, the two of you revolving around each other, splitting up only when necessary, bouncing profiles off of the other.

Everyone knew you worked well together. Spencer was comfortable around you, not as stiff and one track minded as he would be working alone. He turned to you for most things, and sometimes when working through things in his mind he would just stare at you- Managing to find most of his answers in the curve of your nose and the color of your lips. 

You mellowed out around Spencer, his ramblings filling empty spaces almost like a living white noise machine. It was hard for most people to believe how abrasive and short fused you could be working alone. Irritation ran rampant with local PD getting in the way, suspects being difficult, media running with half baked stories; whenever the tension in your jaw threatened to spring into a full on rage, Spencer was always there.  

“You’re telling me you released the profile to the press even though we specifically told you not to?” Your eyebrows raise, hands pushing your sleeves up to your elbows.

“The public needs to know what they’re dealing with.” The detective crosses his arms over his chest, lifting his chin in challenge.

“Yeah? Well now our Unsub knows exactly what to change to avoid us, this guy is smart and he is watching.” Your voice raises slightly, shoulders squaring as you step chest to chest with the man. “From this point on, you release nothing to the press without approval from our Liaison or SSA Hotchner.” 

The detective snorts, shaking his head, “Oh yeah? And who are you to tell me what to do?”

Spencer instinctively reaches out, hooking his finger around your belt loop. He tugs you backwards, putting space between you and the focal point of your mounting rage. You don’t relax, but you let him pull you back.

“I’m the woman who’s gonna punch a hole through your spinal cord.” Your tone is icy, and he can almost hear your jaw pop from how hard you’re clenching your teeth. Spencer keeps his finger hooked on your belt loop, cringing slightly at the threat. 

It’s not that he disagrees with you, it was out of line for them to release a statement to the public without the team’s permission; and it’s not that he thinks you can’t back up your statement, he is well aware that you can. Spencer just didn’t want you to get suspended for assaulting an officer. Again.

Hotch approaches, stepping between you and the detective, and- to your relief- backs you up.

“If you release anything more to the public you can consider that little boy as good as gone. If you want us to be able to catch the unsub before it’s too late, it’ll do you well to listen to my agents.” His sharp gaze lingers on the man’s face before he turns to you, “Go cool off, and stop threatening people.” 

You nod and turn to leave, missing the small tilt of Hotch’s head, gesturing for Spencer to go with. He obliges, quickly rushing after you. 

Pacing around in the conference room, you keep your arms folded, chewing on the nail of your thumb.

“Sit.” Spencer pulls out one of the chairs, and you follow his instruction. Having gone through this routine again and again, you move a few stacks of papers, opening up a space for him to sit on the table’s glossy surface.

“I was reading up on star systems, and typically stars will orbit around each other in small or large groups- but most are trinary with only three stars…” Spencer hops up onto the table, crossing his legs under himself. He settles into his position, leaning his arms on his legs as he watches your face. 

He can tell by the way your head tilts that you’re listening, unconsciously bringing your ear closer to him. Folding your arms across your chest again, you roll your jaw to relieve the tension from the joint. He pays attention to your demeanor, watching the pressure between your eyes melt away. Crossing your legs, you tilt your hips, turning your body to face him though your gaze stays cast to the floor. Spencer responds by unfolding his legs, stretching them out to rest his feet on the apex of your thigh. 

Hands finding their way to the laces of his converse, you untie and retie them as his melodic droning fills the room. You keep yourself from looking at him, wanting to hold onto your anger for just a little longer. Spencer knows that you would’ve stewed in your fury for hours alone- and it seemed that Hotch knew the same. 

“... but then you have star systems that are just two stars- a binary system. The Sirius star system is the most well known, but Sirius A is a lot bigger than Sirius B. Sirius B is a white dwarf- which has around the same mass as our sun but condensed into a star not much bigger than the earth.”

“Without the extra gravity from another star like in trinary systems… Do binary stars collide a lot?” You ask and Spencer beams, happy that you were finally relaxed enough to fully engage.

“Actually, it’s pretty rare for them to collide. They stay stable for the most part, but when they do collide it’s most likely due to their stability being thrown off by the exchange of mass or gravitational radiation.” Unlacing his left shoe fully, you replace them upside down, tying the bow at the toe of his converse. He expected you to do the same with the other shoe, but you leave it asymmetrical. 

Lifting your gaze from his shoes, your eyes settle on his face. Spencer chews on his bottom lip, looking for any underlying stress in your features. He finds none.

“So, when a stellar collision occurs, the way it reacts depends on what kind of stars were involved in the collision. Like, if it was a set of white dwarfs, the gravitational radiation would cause them to spiral inwards and-”

Spencer is cut off by JJ poking her head in the room, “Hey, the unsub responded to the statement they released.”

You sigh, “Come on, Gorgeous, you can tell me more later.” pushing Spencer’s feet off of you before standing. You lead the way out of the conference room. As he follows, he tries to ignore the way his face warms when you call him gorgeous. He knew it was stupid to focus on your little nicknames- you use them often enough that he should be used to it by now- but his heart flutters all the same.

Spencer stands at your side, his slender fingers finding their way back around your belt loop. He didn’t think you would do anything, but local cops could be unpredictable.

A few feet away, Emily leans over to Morgan, “So how long have they been dating?” She asks.

Morgan looks at her, quirking an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Reid and his attack dog, duh.” She points to the two agents attached at the hip next to JJ. Morgan snorts, covering his mouth with his hand.

“They’re not,” He shrugs, laughing when Emily’s head snaps to look at him, “I know- I know, we like to say they are, they just don’t know it yet.”

Emily looks back at the two of you, noting how you lean back into him. Your head tilts up and you whisper in his ear, motioning to whatever the unsub had sent loosely. “You’re kidding…”

“I wish I was,” Derek shakes his head, moving to place his hands on his hips, “you’re looking at a four year relationship between the two most oblivious profilers in the FBI.”

The entire team has thought the two of you were dating at some point- even Gideon before he left. In the beginning, Hotch came to the conclusion that the two of you lived together and got into the habit of only calling one on the assumption that you would arrive together. And you did. Always.

With the unsubs response, you and Spencer manage to put together a solid lead to who exactly you’re looking for. You hand the letter to Spencer, and break away to call Garcia- still with Spencer’s phone.

Garcia locates the unsub and the team hits the road. After securing your own bulletproof vest, you approach Spencer. Undoing the velcro on the sides of his vest to redo them. The velcro ripping apart is loud, drawing the attention of Rossi. He makes a face, looking over at Hotch and Derek who shrug in response. 

You make sure they’re snug, sliding your hands along the curve of his waist. Moving on to the straps over his shoulders, your face scrunches a little in focus. Your hands are warm, radiating their heat onto the skin of his neck. Spencer watches you, your lips parted slightly, the tip of your tongue fitted between your teeth. You shimmy the vest, eyes roving over his torso to make sure there were no loose points. 

Satisfied, you pat the FBI emblem on his chest, turning away without a word.

As the team approaches the house, you enter ahead of him. Moving methodically through the hallways, indicating clear rooms through your intercom. You enter the garage slowly, Spencer following closely behind you. 

“FBI, drop the gun and show me your hands!” You have your gun on the unsub, expression stone cold. The man huffs, sweat dripping from his nose and he switches between pointing the barrel of his hand gun at you or Spencer. He seems to settle on the latter and you step forward, rushing the unsub who in turn shoots. 

Spencer expects impact, but it doesn’t find him. Instead, coupled with the dull ringing in his ears from the shot, he can hear the crack of the man’s nose as the butt of your pistol slams into it. You gently push the little boy the unsub was holding towards Spencer, who cradles him to his chest. 

“We have the kid- garage.” He can hear you gasp into your intercom, the breath knocked from your lungs at the impact of the bullet. Slamming the unsub into the concrete and cuffing him, you attempt to take in air. The grimace on your face isn’t from rage, he can tell that much, the tension is sat in your throat rather than your jaw.

Once the man is cuffed beneath you, your knee holding his arms in place as he squirms, you huff. Long, drawn out, breaths are pulled into your lungs. Expanding them slowly as you feel the searing, white hot, tendrils of pain erupting from the base of your ribcage.

===  

“I’m fine,” You assure him for the fifth time since the team got back to the precinct. He goes to say something, but you hold up your hand, your finger pushing against his forehead, “Yes. I promise.”

“But-” He grabs your wrist, “but, even if you were shot in the “bulletproof” vest, the vest isn’t actually bulletproof. You could have bruised or cracked ribs, internal bleeding, even organ damage-”

Wiggling your arm out of his grip, you slap a hand over his mouth, “I got checked out by the paramedics, I’m fine.” He grumbles but nods, his eyes soft as he silently pouts. “Perfect, now go pack up your stuff.”

He slinks away, still pouting. Packing up the things in the conference room slowly, his worry plaguing his demeanor. You frown as you watch him. Making Spencer upset was the last thing you wanted to do.

Morgan slides up next to you, “Hey there rockstar, I know you’re just trying to reassure him. How is it really?”

Sighing, you rub a hand over your face, “He shot me at close range, the bullet pierced through and I’ve got the most wicked bruise and it hurts to breathe- but I’m definitely not telling him that.” 

Morgan laughs, his eyebrows raised in concern. “You know he just worries, let him take care of you.” He pats your shoulder in support, stalking away as Spencer comes back, bag slung over his shoulder. 

Landing back in Quantico, Spencer finds his way into your car- something he had taken a liking to. You were a good driver, and Spencer didn’t really like driving all that much. Having to focus on so many things means that he can’t talk as much as he wants to. But he sinks comfortably into the passenger seat of your car. His shoulders drooping as he leans his head back on the head rest. 

He tucks his duffel under his legs, relishing in the leg room your car offered. Since he was the only one who really rode with you he had the seat set how he liked.

“Are you gonna finish your rant about stellar collisions?” You ask, your voice soft as it carries over the sound of the car’s A/C. He turns his head, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. You laugh, “You were explaining what would happen if two white dwarfs crashed into each other. Are you sure about that eidetic memory thing?” 

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, but he straightens up in his seat, taking a second to remember where he left off. 

“So, the two white dwarves would emit gravitational radiation, or waves, which would cause their orbit to become unstable- which would in turn cause the stars to spiral into each other,” He uses his hands as a model, “and once they collide, the force causes carbon fusion to ignite. White dwarfs are basically dead stars that no longer support fusions, but the fusion is re-ignited by the merge.”

You nod along, turning into the parking lot of your apartment building. Spencer is confused, usually you would drop him off first, but he decides to keep his question to himself, ��And since the dwarfs are made up of that degenerate matter, the equilibrium needed to keep the merge stable is pretty much non-existent. So the thermal pressure combined with the unstable weight of them crashing into each other causes a full blown supernova.”

“Supernova, huh? That’s pretty cool.” You grin, putting the car in park. You turn your head to look at him, and he stays silent. A soft smile rests on his face, and he takes the time to memorize the way the warm lighting of the street lamp shines on your soft features.

You turn off the car, pocketing your keys as you open the car door, “I need your help with something really quick, then I’ll drop you off at home, okay?”

“Yeah, no, of course.” He gets out of the car, mindlessly grabbing his bag as he rushes to catch up with you. Unlocking your ground floor apartment, Spencer shuffles in after you. He kicks off his shoes, nudging them into a neat position with his foot before placing his bag next to them.

You shrug off your jacket, hissing lightly as you slowly stretch your arms over your head. Motioning with a small tilt of your head, you lead him further into your apartment, flicking on a few lights as you do. 

After all these years of knowing you, Spencer hadn’t been to your apartment much. He liked how homey it felt, dark wood furniture scattered around neatly, warm lighting, and a little clutter here and there. It was very you.

Opening the door to your bedroom, you usher him inside. Your hand was on his lower back to guide him, “Chill out, Pancake, I just need you to help me change my bandage.” You chuckle, pushing him a little firmer as he hesitates. You separate from him to grab the first aid kit from your bathroom, setting it down on the mattress when you return.

“I thought you said you were fine?” He asks, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows a little.

“I am, but I might’ve just told you that because I didn’t want you worrying.” Your confession frustrates him and he crosses his arms, “Don’t look at me like that you Grackle, just help me out, please?”

Spencer nods, dropping his hands at his sides, stuffing them into his pockets. He watches as you shuffle through the contents of your first aid kit. His hand mindlessly lifts to scratch at the inner part of his right elbow. Without looking away from your task, you reach one of your hands behind you. Gently hooking your fingers around his, you push his hand away.

“Okay, so, it definitely looks worse than it is.” You warn, turning to him. Before he can ask what you mean, you start unbuttoning your shirt. His head snaps to look away, the tense joint in his neck cracking at the force. 

His cheeks warm, his hands coming up to fiddle with his tie. Keeping his eyes averted, he wills himself to stop thinking all together. All trains of thought chug their way back to you, your face, your lips, your bare torso- he has to stop thinking. Blank. Blankness.

“Uh, if you’re gonna help me I kinda need you to look,” You chuckle awkwardly. He slowly turns his head, feeling like his head is sitting atop a stack of rusty gears. To both his relief and utter disappointment, you were wearing a tanktop. He doesn’t have time to decide if he should choose between the two, you shrug off the button up before quickly pulling the tank top over your head.

Spencer was afraid he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from your chest, clad in a black bra, but his eyes were immediately drawn lower. At the base of your ribcage sits a large mass of purple and red splotchy skin spreading out from underneath a bloodied bandage. His mouth falls open when he sees it, his eyes flicking between your face and the bruising over and over. 

“Like I said,” you raise your hands, “It looks worse than it is. The bullet pierced through the vest a little and it hit skin.”

“What? Do you have any broken ribs, any organ damage, what if you’re bleeding internally?” He rushes, his hand cupping the curve of your ribs. His thumb grazes over the edge of the bandage.

Tensing at his touch, you respond swiftly, “I have a broken rib, a few fractures and a ton of bruising. The ribs took the brunt of the force, no organ damage.”

“That you know of-” 

You shush him, placing your hand over his. His fingers were warm against your bare skin. Making no move to remove his hand fully, you gently slide his hand lower to rest in the dip of your waist. He lets out a shuddering breath, briefly distracted by the softness of your side. 

Peeling back the bandage, you wince, swallowing the hiss bubbling at the back of your throat. The center of the impact was so red it looked black, the dark purple skin surrounding it giving the illusion of a black hole. Reminding himself of what exactly he was here for, Spencer sits on your bed, guiding you by your waist to stand between his legs.

He gets to work, gingerly removing his hand from your side to grab the contents of your kit. Working silently, he focuses on being as gentle as possible while also assessing the damage. His eyes squint softly, his jaw hanging open as he disinfects it. You watch him, your head tilted downwards, noting every small mole or freckle you can as you try to ignore the burning ache in your abdomen- both physically and metaphorically. 

Having him this close was supposed to be the norm, right? The two of you had been closer than anyone on the team for almost 5 years. But your heart pools into your stomach, settling itself in your wound. Just for the chance to be cared for by his hands. 

Spencer’s hands, warm and lightly calloused, slide along your ribs as softly as he can manage. His long, slender fingers, guiding a new bandage into place.

You had never considered that Dr. Spencer Reid would ever return your simmering feelings. Sure, he went along with your teasing, let you manhandle him, calmed you down, turned to you for everything, cried on your shoulder, comforted you. But that was just him, right? He was like that with everyone… Right?

No. Spencer was sweet, yes, but you knew. He was different around you, more open, more playful. Everyone on the team knows how you revolve, bound to each other via some inexplicable force. He knows how you like your tea, he knows what snacks you like, he knows the ins and outs of your past relationships. But he knows everything, from the probability of finding a four-leaf clover, to quantum physics. You weren’t special.

But once he’s done securing the bandage just beneath your sternum, he looks up at you. His eyes rounded and shining, their honey-like color looking richer than ever. 

And you feel like the only woman in the universe. 

It’s hard not to feel like you’re completely under his spell when the warm hazel color of his eyes bore into your own. The patterning on his irises were just as enchanting, throwing you into the labyrinth that has held your heart at its center for the past 4 years. 

“How often do you need to change it?” He whispers, suddenly finding himself closer to you, his warm breath wafting over the center of your chest. 

“Just once a day after this.” Is your breathy response. Your hands lift, gently pushing the front pieces of his hair behind his ears, “Your hair is getting long.”

“Should I cut it?” He asks, gaze unwavering. You shake your head no, brushing your fingers through his soft brown waves. The touch is attentive and gentle. The air grows thick with every passing moment, bathing every touch in an intimate nature. 

Spencer’s hands linger at your sides, fingers ghosting along your waist. He looks up at you, his eyes somehow softening further. You almost melt on the spot, your hands finding their place at the nape of his neck. Mindlessly, you press the pads of your thumbs into the space just below his skull. The pressure alleviates some of the tension in his neck, his eyes fluttering closed as you begin to move them in a circular motion.

“You really worry too much…” You murmur, face flushing as you watch his expression melt into contentment. 

“Hard not to when you’re rushing at a sociopath with a gun…” He mumbles in response, looking at you through his eyelashes. “Especially when this bullet was meant for me.” His thumb slides over the bandage, his bottom lip jutting out a little as his eyes round at the edges. 

That damn puppy dog look. You hated it. He used it in any situation where he wasn’t getting his way. He knew it worked on you, probably thinking that you just thought he was too cute to resist. Not quite, as much as you did think it was cute- it was just such a turn-on.

Scoffing, you push away the mounting arousal pooling in your stomach, “Neither of us died, so I call it a win…” his gaze doesn’t waver, clearly seeking to break you, “Stop looking at me like that.” You grumble, placing a hand over his eyes. 

Spencer laughs, reaching up to pull your hand away. His fingers curl around you, sliding against the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. “Like what?”

Rolling your eyes you sigh, “Come on, Handsome, don’t be coy. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His fingers slide up your wrist, spreading out to flatten your palm. Spencer’s hands are large, enveloping yours easily as he intertwined his fingers with your own. You had spent the last 4 years perfecting the art of hiding the way you feel about Spencer. But it was impossible to hide what he was doing to you here and now.

After years in steady orbit of each other, you were finally spiraling inwards.

He keeps his right hand intertwined with yours, his other hand sliding up your torso slowly. He keeps his eyes trained on your face, watching the miniscule changes in your flushed expression. His fingers slide along the band of your bra. The texture of the lace rubs along the pads on his fingertips. He guides his hand up, breathing shakily as it ghosts over the apex of your chest. You bristle at the contact, your hand gripping his tightly in an attempt to keep your composure. 

The only thing breaking up the silence permeating the room is the uneven breathing shared between you. Spencer takes his time, tracing the outline of your collarbone. He follows the line of it, dipping his index and middle finger into the center crevice of your clavicle. Dragging his fingers up the center of your throat, his short, dull nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. You let out a strained hum, his fingers feeling the vibration of your vocal chords. His inner thighs press against the outside of your own, reminding you of how exactly you ended up here.

Following the line of your jaw, his knuckles gently tilt your head down. He keeps his eyes locked on you, still giving you that dreaded doe eyed stare. Once his hand reaches your face, he tears his gaze from your eyes, following his fingers as he caresses the soft skin of your cheek.

Turning his hand, Spencer lets his slender fingers flatten against your jaw. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, tracing the warm skin and gently pressing into it. Watching as the color of your lips changes with the light pressure, he finally speaks.

“The reason your heart races, or you feel nervous when you’re in love… is because of the sudden release of hormones. Dopamine, Cortisol, and Norepinephrine spike, but the mood stabilizer, Serotonin, drops.” His thumb gently tugs on your bottom lip.

“Do I make you nervous, Dr. Reid?” You whisper, your lips gently pressing into the pad of his thumb. Reaching up your free hand, you gently slide it under the front of his cardigan. Pressing it into his chest you could feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage.

Spencer nods, his bottom lip fitting between his teeth as he looks up at you. His face is flushed, the heights of his cheekbones radiating heat from the blood pooling beneath his skin. Adjusting in his seat, he pulls his legs towards himself, fitting one of his knees between your legs to spread them apart.

You look at him in surprise, but he dips his gaze to watch what he was doing. He puts his knees together, placing them between your own. Spreading his legs, he hooks them around your calves, forcing you forward. Yelping, you try your hardest not to collapse into him. You manage to get one of your knees onto the mattress before he fully knocks you over. Ignoring the way his gaze lingers on your flushed face, you settle into his lap, knees on either side of his hips.

Spencer could feel the strap of your thigh holster pressing into his leg. He unclasps his hand from yours, sliding it up your knee. He finds the buckles on the two straps digging into the flesh of your thigh. Maintaining eye contact while he unclasps them, you lift yourself off of him so he can take it off easier. He discards it onto the other side of the bed before letting his hand fall back to rest on your thigh. Spencer was constantly searching your face for approval, touching you slow and simple- He always made it a priority to make you comfortable. Mirroring his other hand, the one holding your face slides down the side of your torso to cup your thigh.The pressure of his touch increases, kneading your muscles through your jeans.

Your hands rest on his shoulders, gripping them lightly as he touches you. Growing restless, you reach down to unbutton his cardigan, sliding it off of his shoulders. He assists in taking it off, throwing it haphazardly across the room. His hands return to their places, but he tilts his head a little, his lips parting as his eyes slide across your face. 

Rocking your hips forward pulls a soft moan from his lips, his fingers curling into your thighs. “I- I don’t… think we should do this…” He gasps, contradicting himself as his hands slide up to your hips, pulling you against him again. 

“We don’t have to…” You gasp in response, the stimulation only slightly dulled by the thick material of your jeans. 

“I want to- but, you’re injured.” He mumbles, leaning forward to press his lips against your collarbone.

You shake your head, sighing at the feeling of his warm lips, “You won’t hurt me.” Loosening his tie, you pull it over his head and toss it to the side.

“I could- not on purpose, but strenuous activity should be avoided during recovery.” Spencer argues, his voice weakened by the way your hips slide into his. His breath falls from his lips heavily, fanning your face as you lean in close.

Laughing, you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple, “It doesn’t feel like you want to stop.” You could feel him underneath you, already straining against his slacks. He swallows, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down. The hands on your hips tighten their grip, digging into your flesh. He keeps his eyes on you, leaning forward to press a small kiss to your sternum.

Spencer’s hands knew exactly what to do. Sliding over the apex of your hips, his thumbs pressing firmly into your soft skin. Traveling slowly up, the weight of his palms kneading your sides as the tips of his fingers find the band of your bra. The pressure of his touch lightens as he lifts his palms off of you. His fingers curl slightly, leaving just a few fingertips touching the lacy fabric. 

Reading you like a book, his hands circle around to your back. Finding the clasp, he makes quick work of undoing your bra. He makes no move to fully remove the garment, just flattening his hands against your exposed back. His fingers press into your spine, running along the outsides of it.

You slide the bra off, throwing it over your shoulder to join your shirt and his cardigan on the floor. His eyes leave yours, trailing along your skin, uninterrupted by fabric. One hand stays on your back, the other sliding around your side. The pressure of his touch lightens as he reaches your front, very careful to not disturb your injured ribs. 

His hand flattened on your torso scoops the underside of your breast, his thumb caressing the soft skin. Watching how your body molds to the shape of his hand, his lips part slightly, almost studying you. 

Spencer presses a few more kisses to your sternum, slowly making his way up to your collarbone. Your hips continue to slide against his, pulling soft breathy moans from the both of you. His noises are muffled by your neck as he presses his lips to the center of your throat. It almost hurts how badly you want him, your desire clouding over any possible pain stemming from your ribs.

Moving as quickly and as gently as possible, Spencer twists his body. He slowly lowers your back to the mattress, settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He continued to grind against you, the feeling of him through four layers of clothing was enough to drive you up the wall. 

It dawned on you then how easy this felt.

Just like everything with him, it all came to you like the most natural thing in the universe. The two of you had spent years memorizing everything about each other. You never thought it would translate so well into this situation. Then again, you never thought it was possible for you to end up in this position with him. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them quickly as his mouth finds your throat again. He takes his time exploring the warm skin of your neck, very gently nipping at your pulse. He takes in every noise he draws from you, filing them away in his mind with every roll of his hips. 

Just as easily as the dusk slides into the quiet of night, you turn to putty in his hands.

Trying to focus on getting his shirt off, you’re distracted by the intense way he kisses your neck. You hadn’t really expected Spencer to be so… possessive with his mouth, but in hindsight it made sense to you. 

He was possessive in other ways, always taking the seat next to you on the jet, calling dibs on partnering with you, not letting anyone else help you if he was nearby, getting pouty when your attention was drawn elsewhere. Listening to his heavy breathing as his warm, open mouthed, kisses press into your throat you’re suddenly aware of every way he’s laid his claim on you to the people around you.

To everyone else, you were his.

His hands hold your chest, squeezing and caressing the soft skin. Spencer’s teeth slowly drag along the side of your neck, biting you very gently, careful not to leave any marks where anyone would see. Your breathing comes out heavy and labored, your face scrunching slightly as you feel the strain of your ribs with each breath.

Spencer’s large palms slide down your torso after one last squeeze, finding the hem of your pants. He quickly gets your belt off, letting it clatter to the floor and unbuttoning your jeans. Pulling away from your neck. his eyes meet yours as he hooks his fingers over the hem of your underwear. He shimmies them down the length of your legs along with your pants, tossing them across the room carelessly. Pupils dilated wide, he drinks in the look of you like a starved man. His hand finds its way to your cheek, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the pained look on your face. His thumb presses against the space between your brows, smoothing out the tension building there as your chest rises and falls heavily.

“Try to relax your breathing,” He whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek. His hand slips away from your face, the soft noise of his silver belt buckle unfastening filling your ears. Attentive kisses are pressed along the perimeter of your face, urging you to try and calm your racing heart. 

The air around you is cold, a stark contrast to the ever growing heat pooling between your legs. His warm chest presses against yours, one hand curling around your knee, the other sliding along your bare inner thigh. 

A soft moan falls from your lips, “You’re not exactly helping,” You whisper, feeling his lips press against your temple.

“It doesn’t feel like you want to stop,” He replies, throwing your words back at you as his fingers slide against your clit teasingly. You writhe underneath him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Trying your hardest not to move too much as his fingers slowly circle the bundle of nerves. If you move too much and aggravate your ribs, you might have to stop. His slender fingers slide along you, dipping into your entrance briefly before continuing to tease. You whine, lifting your hips to meet his hand as best as you can. 

As much as Spencer wants to keep teasing, his need to please you overwhelms any other desire that may be festering. He pushes his middle finger into you, kissing the corner of your mouth as a guttural moan is pulled from your lips. 

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing soothing circles into it as his finger fucks into you. His face remains pressed into yours, kissing along your cheekbone lovingly. Adding his ring finger, he pushes it into you slowly and allows you to adjust to the difference in size. His long, slender,  fingers slide in and out of you, the ministrations deliberate and slow. 

Despite the slow pace of his hand, the length and size of his fingers provides overwhelming stimulation. You had always loved how large his hands were, spending nights wondering and fantasizing about how they would feel touching you like this. But this was way better than any piss poor scenario you could dream up. 

Your head falls back onto the pillow, mouth hanging open as deep, breathy moans fall from your lips. Hissing a bit, you try to calm your breathing.

“Don’t stop…” You sigh out, knowing he was noticing the way your breathing changes in kind to the pain spreading from your fractured bones. Spencer listens to your request, his fingers curling slightly. The sensation draws out a loud gasp as the tips of his fingers press into you. Your hands move down his neck, sliding along his back. 

Your head swims with intense pleasure, not bothering to care about how badly your ribs hurt with every breath you take. Spencer’s name falls from your mouth like a mantra, eyes closing as you focus on not writhing underneath him. Hands pressing into his shoulder blades you pull him flush against you, feeling his hard length against your inner thigh as he pushes you closer to the edge with his fingers. 

The way he presses into your inner thigh pulls a small noise from the back of his throat. He speeds up the way his fingers fuck into you, rutting against your thigh instinctually to keep the friction going. His thumb presses into your clit, the pressure firmer as he continues to circle around it. The feeling draws out a strained moan from your lips, your hips jerking involuntarily. 

Spencer can feel you starting to fall apart underneath him, his lips pressing firmly into your neck. His soft gasps and moans muffled by your warm skin as he uses your thigh. Tightening around his fingers, your legs shake, and you mumble his name over and over. Biting down on your lip, his free hand slides just under your breast, holding your torso down when he feels your back begin to lift from the bed. Your orgasm crashes over you and the room spins, tremors vibrating through your spine.

You gasp, panting to try and catch your breath. His lips find your face again, smothering your cheeks and nose with affection as you come down from your high slowly. His desperate grinding against your thigh pulls you back to reality and you gently push on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Spencer… I need you…” You whine, your hands cupping his face. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, he nods. There’s a soft twitch to his face when he pulls his hips away from your thigh, his eyes searching yours for final approval. You nod, adoring the amber color at the center of his irises.

Gripping himself in his hand, he takes a second to slide his tip through your folds, pulling a desperate moan from the both of you. The tenderness left from your last orgasm causes you to whine and throw your head back onto the pillow. 

“Wait…” He gasps, looking up at you, “I- do you have a condom?” 

You can’t help but laugh a little, shaking your head, “I’m on birth control, it’s fine… please.” Your fingers curl and play with the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

He hesitates, seemingly working through the probabilities and statistics of not using one, but he nods. Spencer looks back down, lining himself up with you. One hand on your hip, the other wrapped around himself. 

“Tell me to stop if you need to,” He says, voice shaking with his heavy breathing. You nod, eyes locked on his features. The shadows of his face as he hovers over you are dark, seeping into the dips and curves of his brow and cheek bones. He looked ethereal.

When his tip pushes into you slowly, you gasp. His mouth finds yours, kissing you needily as he works his way inside of you. 

Spencer breathes heavily into your mouth as his fingers dig into the flesh of your outer thighs, “I… I love you.” He declares, his lips moving against yours with fervor.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, his kisses not allowing you to verbally reciprocate. You loved him. There was no doubt about that. But when he’s fully inside of you, filling you completely, there is nothing you can do to stop the way you ignite underneath him.

Moaning into his mouth, your legs shake from your earlier orgasm. He gives you time to slowly adjust, shivers running up and down his spine as your muscles flutter around him. Spencer slows down his kisses, resorting to soft presses as he waits for your signal. 

After a moment you nod, whispering a soft “I love you” and kissing him in return. With your quiet permission, he pulls his hips back. Letting out a strained groan, his lips loosely against yours, he rolls his hips back into you.

The feeling of you wrapped around him completely, your hands in his hair, your mouth against his. There is nothing that can compare to this. Nothing.

Spencer rocks into you slowly, keeping your hips pressed against the mattress. The angle is perfect, and the least likely to aggravate your rib cage. He’s fully in tune with how you feel underneath him, his hands gently sliding over your hips in a soothing motion. Feeling no need to rush, he pulls back from your lips to watch the way he slides in and out of you.

“I… I would beg you to go faster if my ribs didn’t feel like they were on fire.” You hum, your hands brushing over the perimeters of his face. His face scrunches a little and he almost slows to a stop, but you shake your head, “Don’t- don’t stop, please, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers shakily, one of his hands sliding down to press circles into your overly sensitive clit.

A whine falls from your lips at the feeling, “Yes, yes… I’ve never felt so good…” Your muscles flutter around him, the added sensation pulling your thoughts from the deep ache ringing from your torso. His lips meet yours again, one of his palms cupping the back of your hand. Pressing your hand firmly into his cheek, his mouth moves against yours in slow, loving motions. The amount of tongue he used was a pleasant surprise, his kisses never seeming to still. 

Keeping up his languid pace, Spencer memorizes the way you feel- which isn’t hard with his memory, but he files away every moan, every flutter of your core, every lingering kiss. It was all so perfect. 

The remnants of your first orgasm buzzes in your core, your entire body felt like it was on fire. You could feel yourself reaching the edge, your kisses getting sloppier and his name falling from your lips in quick succession. His hips roll deep into you, making up for the slow pace with the thumb rubbing evenly over your clit. 

His shoulders tense, the kiss between you breaking into just a sequence of heavy breaths against your lips. Hips twitching, the feeling of you around him almost unbearable as the pleasure causes his head to swim. All of the facts and knowledge constantly swimming through his mind fall silent, replaced with your soft whines and the feeling of your soft skin under his palms. 

“Spencer… god, please- come for me…” You murmur against his lips, your hands moving into his hair and sliding down the back of his neck. Your nails lightly scrape along his sensitive skin, coaxing him over the edge. It’s all he can do to keep his slow pace, lifting his face away from yours to look down at you. Your eyes are slightly glassed over, looking up at him with a pleading gaze. The eye-contact is the final push he needed, his fingers circling around your clit quickly. 

You gasp at the change in pace- the feeling of him inside of you, the length of him brushing against your sweet spot, his sweet gaze on your face all cause your muscles to contract as your second orgasm crashes over you. Spencer follows quickly behind you, groaning loudly as his hips stutter and he pushes himself into you as deep as he can. His release coats your insides, the added sensation pushing you even farther. Mouth falling open, his moans spike to a slightly higher pitch as he slowly rides out his own orgasm. 

Heavy gasps fall from your lips as the two of you come down from your high. Spencer’s lips press against yours sloppily, his hands reaching up to hold your face firmly. He pulls out of you slowly, listening to the soft whine that falls from your lips.

Overly sensitive from the two back to back orgasms, your head swims. Spencer attempts to pull away from you more, but your hands loosely capture his wrists and pull him back. Lips meeting again in a lazy fashion, your mind is in a daze, “I love you…” is softly mumbled into his mouth, your hands holding his to your face. 

“I love you too… How do your ribs feel?” He asks, kissing up the bridge of your nose.

You sigh into his affection, your thumbs rubbing the outside of his hands, “I feel great… it’s like a forgotten bruise.” Your lips pull into a sloppy grin.

“That’s because pain can be reduced by orgasms,” Is his response, pulling a soft laugh from you, “Potent analgesics, which are basically pain killers, are released in the endorphins during sex.”

“Maybe we should do this until my ribs are healed,” You hum, pressing a few soft kisses to his cheek.

Spencer laughs a little, shaking his head, “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He attempts to pull away again but you keep his hands held in your grip. You were still exhausted, your hold loose. Spencer could easily wriggle away, but he humors you with a few more kisses.

“Stay… I want you to stay.” You whine, tilting your head and kissing the corners of his mouth. “Please?” 

Spencer nods, moving to settle next to you. Being mindful of your injury, he wraps an arm around your shoulders. Scooting closer and  pressing his chest against your arm, he kisses your temple sweetly. The gravity of your connection holds your cores together in the wake of your collision.

[obsessedwhyyes]

An Empirical Study

Part 2 of The Scientific Method Series (though readable as a standalone). Part 1, A Sound Hypothesis, can be found here!

Summary: As your first night together with Astarion draws near, your mind, ever the analyst, goes into overdrive. Thankfully, Astarion has a cure for those racing thoughts - a sensory experiment, one that will release your inhibitions and help you to embrace the unknown. In doing so, you discover that some mysteries are best experienced, rather than solved.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7132 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Act 1, smut with plot, inexperienced nerd reader, losing virginity, sensory play, tantric massage (sort of), fingering, Astarion guides you during sex. Warning: Very mild reference to Astarion's past trauma, though this Tav doesn't pass her insight checks.

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

A/N: This fic was inspired by the idea that mindfulness is the best cure for a busy mind. No one says mindfulness can't be sexy, right? Actual smut appears halfway through.

Travelling lush verdant landscapes on your search for the Druid, Halsin, your eyes are drawn to Astarion at each opportunity, your mind wandering to thoughts of your night prior. You had bared yourself to him, and him to you in an evening of bliss and exploration which you, even in all your overthinking, had not anticipated. Yet, it was nothing compared to what was to come tonight - at least, according to him.

Stolen glances, lingering touches on the small of your back, a brush of his hand against yours - all promises of what is to come, whispered between almost-lovers.

And so you find yourself sneaking glances at his lips, which spilled forth such delicious sounds for you at your touch; at his silver hair which you envision your hands running through in a moment of passion; at his eyes, which gazed into yours with the intensity of a winter storm as his pleasure spilled from him.

Gods, is it distracting.

You're meant to be leading this merry band of tadpolled companions you have founded, not indulging these dirty little fantasies of yours. You need to keep your wits about you. Lives depend on it. 

He, meanwhile, is the picture of easy grace and sardonic smiles, sauntering ahead of you with all the casual arrogance of a man who knows how good he looks from behind.

Every so often, he pauses to check his nails or adjust his perfectly coiffed hair, as if the finer details of his appearance are the most pressing concern in this current life-or-death situation.

And then there's that smirk. That knowing, mischievous quirk of his lips whenever he catches you staring. It's a look that says, “I know what you're thinking, darling. And you have to work for it.”

You're torn between wanting to wipe that damn smug expression off his face and wanting to… well, the evermore debauched side of your mind helpfully supplies several colourful suggestions, none of which are appropriate for your current company or circumstances.

So when you find yourself tripping over a fallen beam and nearly falling face-first into a pile of mouldy straw as your companions attempt to loot the blighted village you’ve stumbled into, you decide, for your sake and the sake of your increasingly concerned friends, to seek a moment of reprieve.

“You all go on ahead,” you shout to them. “I'll catch up.”

When they nod their understanding and continue on, you're relieved to have a moment to yourself. A moment to rein your wandering thoughts back under control and return to the wizard you were - one with a mind of sound, scientific thought and resolve, not of such lewd desires. For now, at least.

It seems only a taste of the once unknown was enough to drive you to madness.

But that isn’t all that plagues you.

As you stand alone in the dilapidated building you’ve resigned yourself to in your moment of madness, your mind wanders to the night ahead. Excitement bubbles in your chest, but it’s tempered by a gnawing anxiety that threatens to overwhelm you. You’ve faced down monsters, handled the horror of a mindflayer parasite lurking in your brain with a surprising grace. And yet, the prospect of fully giving yourself to Astarion shakes you in a way that you have never experienced.

It’s a natural biological response, you tell yourself. The release of hormones in response to a new, potentially stressful situation.

But there is a sense of finality to the coming night that intimidates you - a threshold that once crossed, cannot be uncrossed.

You pace the worn floorboards, your footsteps echoing in the empty room. Your mind, ever the analyst, begins to dissect your fears with scientific precision. Perhaps it’s not the physical act itself that fears you, but what it represents: a change. For so long, you’ve defined yourself by your rationality - your dedication to your craft - even if it meant keeping intimacy at arm’s length. But Astarion - he's awakened something within you. Something primal, something that can't be contained by logic or reason.

Astarion is a master in getting your heart racing - a dangerous cocktail of excitement, fear, and desire that leaves you breathless, in more ways than one as of late. He’s like the night itself - dark, mysterious, full of hidden dangers and untold pleasures. And just like the night, he calls to you, urging you to explore, to experience, to lose yourself in the shadows. It’s intoxicating.

There’s a part of you that fears this - that desire to cling to what is familiar. Yet you also yearn for the connection, the raw intimacy, the chance to experience life with your whole being, not just your mind.

And really, what does it matter if you lean into this yearning? You could all be dead tomorrow, or worse, transformed into mind flayers. If you're going to die or become a monster, at least you could do so knowing what it feels like to–

No, no. Stop that.

You groan and run a hand through your hair. All this anticipation is maddening.

Your eyes scan the room - what was once a bedroom - for a distraction, and locate a suitably perfect one placed conveniently on a bedside table: a small coffer, liable to be filled with the valuables of its owner, now long dead to the goblins which had infested this area before you and your companions had cleaned it up.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, the old, torn frame creaking as you lower yourself. The coffer is ornate, its lock intricate - complex enough to keep out the finest of goblin thieves, seemingly. Probably not enough to keep out particularly dextrous vampires though, your traitorous mind supplies.

Nevertheless, it will make a suitable distraction. You can figure out an old lock without Astarion’s expertise. You’re a wizard for gods’ sake.

You pull spare lockpicking tools from your pack, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as you set to work, trying to remember the vague instructions you’d once overheard in a tavern. Hells, what was it again? “Insert and wiggle?” Or “poke and hope?” Undeterred, you begin your fumbling.

… And the pick slips as you attempt to insert it into the lock, jabbing under your fingernail.

You yelp, nearly dropping the entire set, swearing profanities under your breath.

“Now this is just pitiful.”

“Shit!” You shout, the coffer clattering to the floor as you scramble to get up to address the velvety voice that manifests behind you.

You look up to see Astarion gazing down at you, eyebrow raised, amused at your lack of grace. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, the picture of casual elegance.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he coos.

“No, I just…” You fight to catch your breath. “It looked valuable. I couldn't just leave it here without taking a peek.”

“All by yourself? I do hope you were planning to share,” he teases in mock pouting.

“As if you wouldn't keep it all to yourself.”

He brings a hand to his heart, with all the theatrics of a wandering bard recounting his most exaggerated conquests after too many tankards of ale.

“How you wound me! I think you'll find I'm very generous.” He looks you up and down as you reclaim your fallen items and your space on the bed to resume your attempts at this gods-damned impossible lock. Astarion, however, seems to have other ideas.

He saunters into the room, circling you like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You know,” he continues, a smirk on his lips, “if you need me to teach you, you only have to say so. If I recall, you're an exceptionally fast learner…”

He leans over you, lips hovering closely to your ear. You pulse quickens, but you don't look him in the eye.

“... Darling.”

Nope. Still not looking him in the eye.

“I’m perfectly capable of picking a lock, Astarion.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. But perhaps you’d like a lesson from the master of larceny himself? I promise to be a thorough teacher. All you have to do,” he teases, “is say please.”

Bastard.

“And I suppose you’re offering this lesson out of the kindness of your heart?”

Astarion’s laugh is rich and warm, and your heart flutters for just a moment. “Let’s just say I enjoy watching you learn.”

The double entendre isn’t lost on you. Heat pools in your belly as you recall his “lessons” from the night prior.

“Fine,” you sigh in mock exasperation, turning to look directly into his ruby eyes. If it’s a cat-and-mouse game he wants, a cat-and-mouse game he shall have. “Please,” you purr in your best attempt to embody the sultriness that Astarion so easily exudes, holding his gaze with eyes hooded. You can only hope you don’t look and sound as silly as you feel.

You get more than you bargained for.

“Oh, my.” He positions himself behind you on the bed, pressing his chest against your back, his legs either side of you. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Your breath hitches. Your pulse quickens, pounding so loudly that you have no doubt he can hear it. But worst of all, the proximity, his breath on your neck, and the feeling of his hard body against yours ignite that familiar ache in your core. 

So much for a distraction.

He tuts. “Ah, I see the problem.” His voice is low, lips now hovering beside your ear. “The pick you’re using - it’s not quite up to the task.”

You frown, examining the delicate tool. “What do you mean? It seems fine to me.”

“Oh no, my dear. Size matters when it comes to these things. It’s simply not big enough for a lock like this. Luckily for you, I have a pick that is very large.”

You bite back a laugh and decide to play along. “Is that so? And how exactly do you manage to fit such a large pick in these small locks?”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich in your ear. “It’s all about technique, darling. With the right approach, you’d be amazed at what can fit where.”

You half expect to find yourself suddenly transported into the pages of one of those tawdry “romance” novels hidden in the darkest corners of Candlekeep’s library.

“I see,” you reply. “And I suppose you’ve had plenty of practice…”

Gods, you can’t quite believe you’re indulging this.

“... inserting your pick into various locks over the years?” You continue, heat flushing your cheeks at your own brazenness.

“Oh, indeed,” he replies. “I’ve encountered all sorts of locks in my time. Each one unique, requiring a… personal touch to open properly.”

“And have you ever met a lock you couldn’t pick?”

Astarion’s voice is downright wicked. “Not yet, darling. Though I must say, I’m quite looking forward to trying my luck with yours.”

There’s that ache of excitement again, pooling at your core at the implications which race through your mind. The air hangs heavy between you, charged with promise and anticipation. “Well then, master lockpick, perhaps you’d better show me how it’s done.”

“With pleasure,” Astarion coos, reaching behind him to retrieve an, indeed, much larger lockpick from his pack, alongside an additional curved tool: a tension wrench - how very advanced. He hands them to you, keeping a hold of your hands as you hold onto the implements.

“First,” he murmurs, his cool, long fingers guiding you to bring the tension wrench to the lock, “we need to slide this into the keyway, here. Apply constant, gentle pressure. Too much, and you’ll bind the pins. Too little, and they won’t set.”

Next, he raises your other hand, holding the pick. “Now for the delicate part,” he purrs. “We’ll use this to probe deeply, searching for those sensitive spots that, when touched just right, will yield to you.”

You swallow hard, but persevere.

As you work, you feel the subtle vibrations of pins through the pick; the minute clicks as they each settle into place. Astarion’s hands never leave yours, his touch both instructive and maddeningly distracting.

“Feel that resistance?” he asks as you encounter a stubborn pin. “Sometimes, darling, you have to apply a little more pressure.” He emphasises the word by pressing his body closer to yours, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a sound. “Maintain tension while you lift the pin with the pick.”

“That’s it,” he encourages as you successfully work your way through the lock, guided by his expert hands. “I knew those clever fingers of yours were good for more than just spellcasting.”

“And just what other uses did you have in mind for my fingers?”

His chuckle is low and rich. “My dear, I have so many ideas, we might need another night to explore them all.”

The promise in his words sends a thrill through you, equal parts excitement and trepidation. 

“Almost there,” he murmurs, voice husky with concentration - or perhaps something else entirely. “Just a little more pressure…”

With a satisfying click, the lock finally gives way. You let out a triumphant laugh, turning to face Astarion with a grin.

“Well done,” he says, with something resembling pride flickering across his features for a moment. Or hunger. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

As the excitement of your victory over that bastard lock fades, you become acutely aware of Astarion’s proximity. You realise with a start just how close you are. His face is mere inches from yours, eyes boring into you with an intensity that steals your breath. The cool solidity of his chest against your back, his breath ghosting over your neck - it’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once. The reality of what is to come tonight crashes over you like a wave, bringing forth those familiar pangs of anxiety deep within your chest.

“Astarion,” you begin, turning your face away from him. “About tonight…”

“Not having second thoughts, are we?” He says as he shifts to sit alongside you. You find yourself equal parts relieved and disappointed at the loss of him pressed so firmly against you.

“No,” you say quickly, then pause. “I want to. It’s just… I don’t know. I’m just–”

“Nervous? Darling, I assure you, I won’t bite.” He pauses, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Unless you ask nicely, of course.”

Your face flushes at his brazen comment.

“Besides, after your… performance last night, I thought we were well past this bashfulness. You don’t need more ‘experimentation,’ surely?”

“That was different,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

“Oh?” Astarion leans in. You feel his breath on your skin, cool and gentle. “Do tell. What makes tonight so special that it has our dear leader in such a state?”

You take a breath, deciding to be honest. “It just feels like… once we do this, there’s no going back. I’ll be… I don't know. Different.”

It’s a foolish notion by all logic, but one that gnaws at your mind nonetheless. You feel almost ludicrous as you voice your feelings aloud. It’s difficult, this “being honest with yourself” business.

Astarion’s eyebrow arches, a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Ever the overthinker.” He pauses, seemingly considering his words. “Darling, you’ll still be you. Just… more experienced. And significantly more satisfied, I might add.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean, Astarion.”

His expression shifts to something altogether softer. "I do. But tell me, darling - didn't you feel it last night? That thrill of breaking free from your own chains? The prim scholar I met would have baulked at such unseemly behaviour. And yet, there you were, eager and willing. Why cling to those old restraints when you could shed them entirely? There's so much more to experience, so many delicious freedoms to taste."

You blink. Loathe as you are to admit, he’s right about one thing: abandoning your own self-imposed constraints last night was… liberating.

“You know, you can be surprisingly insightful at times.”

He feigns offence, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Surprisingly? My dear, I’ve had centuries to perfect the art of observation. How do you think I’ve survived this long? It’s a crucial skill for any vampire. Or any lover.”

You laugh, and some of the tension eases from your shoulders at his usual bantering. “And there’s the Astarion I know.”

“Would you prefer I return to being mysterious and dangerous? That can certainly be arranged.”

“No,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “I think I prefer you as you are.”

Shit, you think. Did I really just say that?

He makes an odd expression. That same indecipherable expression from the night prior, flickering across his features, barely visible, impossible for you to categorise. Is it disappointment? Annoyance? A deeper emotion that you cannot name? Gods, you wish you could see into that mind of his.

Well… you could, but that would be impolite.

But before either of you can speak again, a voice cuts through the air.

“Oi! Are you two coming back or do we need to leave you to the goblins?”

It’s Shadowheart, her tone impatient and slightly suspicious.

Astarion's usual smirk slides back into place, the elusive expression gone as quickly as it appeared. "Well, we'd better not keep them waiting. Wouldn't want them to start any unsavoury rumours, would we?"

As you gather your things, your mind whirls with thoughts of what almost was and what's still to come. Astarion brushes past you as he heads for the door, his hand ghosting over the small of your back.

"Until tonight, darling," he murmurs, just for you to hear.

-

The day crawls by with agonising slowness, each moment stretching like treacle in the sun; thoughts of the unknown looming over you like a curse - albeit one that promises especially satisfying outcomes.

When evening approached and you and your companions returned to the sanctuary of your camp, Astarion had caught you alone, his voice low and rich with promise.

“Meet me tonight,” he murmured. “When the others are asleep. In the clearing we found yesterday. Follow the path, and head east at the fork. I'll be waiting,” he finished with a smile - that same teasing, rakish smile which lingers in your fantasies at night.

Now, as you make your way through the darkening woods, your heart pounds a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

What if I do something embarrassing? What if I accidentally cast Fire Bolt in a moment of madness?

You snort at your own ridiculous thoughts. You can almost hear Astarion's voice in your head, calling you out for being the terrible overthinker that you are.

As you approach the clearing, you take a deep breath, trying to centre yourself. You're a bundle of contradictions - nervous yet eager, apprehensive yet excited. Your mind might be a chaotic whirl of thoughts and doubts, but your body moves forward with purpose, drawn to Astarion like a moth to flame.

Well, you think wryly, at least if I embarrass myself horribly, I can always hope for a sudden mindflayer attack to put me out of my misery.

With that comforting thought, you step into the moonlit clearing, your eyes searching for Astarion's familiar silhouette.

And then you see him.

Astarion emerges from behind a tree, shirtless, moonlight casting shadows that accentuate the lean contours of his form.

"There you are," he purrs, his voice low and rich. "I've been waiting. Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you. Waiting... to have you."

You can't help but chuckle, a mixture of nervousness and amusement. "Since the moment you laid eyes on me? You mean when you held a knife to my throat?"

"Gods, you just can't let me woo you, can you?” he teases. He steps closer to you, his presence electric.

Your eyes trace the elegant lines of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the mesmerising depth of his ruby eyes. He is beautiful in the way that wild things are beautiful - captivating and perilous in equal measure.

“You don’t need to ‘woo’ me, Astarion. I’m already here.”

His smile widens. "Indeed you are. But where's the fun in rushing? I intend to savour every moment of this."

As he approaches, he snakes a hand around your waist, lingering at the small of your back, before pulling you flush against him. Before you have a chance to acknowledge his brazen actions, his lips meet yours and his kiss is as hungry as you remember; as intoxicating as you’d dreamed. His tongue plays with yours, cool and skilled, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in your core. For but a moment, you find your body taking the lead once more - your fingers glide up the bare skin of his chest, up his jaw, finally tangling themselves in the silken strands of his hair.

As your arms wrap themselves behind his neck, you suddenly feel your feet lift the ground. Your stomach drops, a fleeting sensation of weightlessness before Astarion secures you in his arms, twirling to press you against the tree he emerged from. The rough bark presses into your back, only accentuating the feeling of his hard, smooth body as it envelops your own.

But then the rush of sensation begins to ebb. In its wake, your mind reasserts itself, a tidal surge of thoughts and fears flooding back in. The bark digging into your back, once a thrilling counterpoint to Astarion's touch, now feels uncomfortably real. The weight of the moment settles on you, heavy and undeniable.

This is happening. This is real.

Your body, so responsive moments ago, now feels stiff and awkward. Your hands suddenly feel clumsy and unsure. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between you, hyper-conscious of each touch.

Astarion, ever perceptive, seems to sense the change. His movements slow, and he pulls back slightly, ruby eyes searching your face. A furrow appears between his brows, concern replacing the hunger that had darkened his gaze.

"You've gone rigid as a statue, darling.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat. How can you explain this? The desire that still smoulders beneath the surface, at war with the fear that threatens to extinguish it?

Astarion's head tilts, a predator scenting uncertainty. But when he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. "You're overthinking this again, aren't you? I can practically hear the gears grinding."

He doesn't wait for your response, instead lowering you gently to the ground into the grass below and settling on his knees alongside you.

"Perhaps," he says, a thoughtful look replacing his usual smirk, "we need a different approach. One that will keep that brilliant mind of yours occupied.

“I want you to close your eyes,” Astarion instructs, his voice soft but commanding. “And then I want you to focus entirely on sensation. No thinking, no more analysing. Just feeling. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, both nervous and intrigued, as your eyes flutter closed.

“Excellent,” he purrs. “Now, I’m going to touch you, and I want you to tell me everything you feel. Everything. Alright?”

“I think so.”

With your eyes shut, every other sense seems to heighten as anticipation washes over you. Moments pass like centuries, almost agonisingly so.

As if to break the spell, you feel him trace a line, gentle and deliberate, along your jawline, all the way to your neck, resting his fingers above your pulse.

“What do you feel?”

“I… I feel your fingers,” you venture. You can't hide the uncertainty in your voice.

“What about them?”

“They're… cool? But not cold. Your fingertips are slightly rough; they have a texture to them.”

“Excellent,” he encourages. “What else?”

You pause as you feel him shift above you, straddling you at your hips, and he brings his head down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You shiver slightly as you feel the coolness of his breath, and his lips, which graze your skin, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.

“I feel your lips. They're soft. I can smell your cologne… It's fresh, herby almost. And something else… something earthy. Something ‘you.’”

“You're more observant than I gave you credit for,” he teases, though his praise causes your heart to swell for a moment.

His touch becomes bolder, a hand trailing down from your neck to reach the swell of your breast, massaging it gently. You inhale sharply, the sensation both thrilling and unexpected as he brushes a thumb across your nipple over the barrier of your clothes.

“And now?” he asks into the crook of your neck, punctuated by slow, delicate kisses, planted along the line where he would sink his fangs.

“It's… intense,” you manage. It's as if your skin has become hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and receptive to his touch. “I can feel everything so clearly, even through my clothes. It's almost overwhelming, but in a good way.”

You hear a low chuckle from Astarion. “Good,” he murmurs. “That's exactly what I want you to feel.”

As he sits up, his fingers travel to the hem of your shirt, a whisper of a touch that sends shivers across your skin. He pulls at the fabric with deliberate slowness, exposing your midriff inch by inch. His fingers occasionally brush against your skin, leaving the most wonderful tingles in their wake. When he reaches your chest, he pauses, hands hovering just below your breasts.

“May I?”

You nod, unable to find your voice. With a gentleness that surprises you, he slides your shirt, bra along with it, up and over your head as you raise yourself momentarily to help him. The cool night air hits your exposed skin and you shiver, though not entirely from the cold.

“Beautiful,” Astarion breathes.

His fingertips trace patterns on your skin, starting from your collarbone and working their way down. Each touch feels electric, sending little sparks of sensation through your body. He traces the curve of your breast, the dip of your waist, the plane of your stomach, as if memorising the feel of your skin beneath his hands.

When he reaches the waistband of your skirt, you feel his knuckles brushing against your hip bones as he works at the fastenings, and the muscles in your abdomen tighten of their own accord. You hear every sound, every breath he makes, every rustle of fabric.

As your skirt falls away, pulled with deliberate slowness, you become aware of new sensations. The blades of grass tickle your legs. The night air caresses your skin. 

You feel exposed, vulnerable. But… safe.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The night seems to hold its breath, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this moonlit clearing. You're acutely aware of your nakedness, and you need not see it to feel Astarion's eyes roaming over you.

“You're exquisite,” he says, and for once, there's no trace of his usual sarcasm or teasing.

Astarion’s hands and fingers continue their exploration of your body, alternating between feather-light touches and firmer caresses. He seems to delight in discovering places that make you gasp or shiver - the shell of your ear, the dip of your waist, the inside of your wrist.

The sensation is incredible - like tingles radiating out from his touch, spreading across your skin in waves. It reminds you of the pleasant shivers you feel when someone whispers close to your ear. But gods, this is so much more intense; more all-encompassing.

“It… it feels like…” You try to describe the feeling aloud, but words catch in your throat, coming out as a soft moan instead, causing you to clasp your hands to your mouth to stifle yourself.

“Don't hold back, love,” he encourages. “Let me hear you.”

As his fingers trail along your inner thigh, a soft gasp escapes your lips.

Astarion’s touch is feather-light, teasing, as he moves higher. When his fingers brush against your entrance, arousal and anticipation leaving you more sensitive than you have ever known, a low moan rises unbidden from your throat.

And then his fingers enter you. One finger, then two. He moves slowly, almost agonisingly so, in and out and in and out of you, curling his fingers ever so slightly upwards. Little whimpers and sighs escape you, a wanton symphony of pleasure that you never knew you were capable of. Each sound seems to spur him on, his touches becoming faster, more purposeful, more focused.

You find yourself arching into his touch, your body seeking more of the exquisite sensation he's drawing from you, only for him to bring a thumb to your clit, playing you with virtuoso expertise in rhythm with his fingers. You cry out and, for a moment, you're embarrassed by the volume, but Astarion's hum of approval vanishes any self-consciousness.

“That's it, darling,” he whispers, his voice dark, husky. “Let go. Let me hear how good you feel.”

His words push you closer to the edge. Your sounds become more frequent, more urgent. You're dimly aware that you're babbling, a stream of “please” and “Astarion” and “oh gods” spilling forth from your lips. 

As the pleasure builds to a crescendo, you feel the last of your inhibitions slipping away. It's as if the invisible chains which have bound you for so long are finally breaking, link by link. Each wave of pleasure weakens their hold, and Astarion’s touch is the key that unlocks every shackle.

When you finally reach your peak, it's like a dam bursting within you, sending all the pent-up fears and self-imposed constraints out along with it. Astarion’s name leaves your lips in a cry that's part plea, part praise, as you soar on wings of newfound freedom.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Astarion says softly, a grounding force in the wake of your climax.

You do, blinking in the moonlight. It takes a moment for your vision to adjust, but the world comes into focus slowly, like awakening from a dream.

Astarion’s face is the first thing you see, illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the trees as he sits up on his knees alongside you. And as your gaze travels down…

… He's also naked.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you take in the sight of him - all of him - all lean muscle and pale skin. You don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of his cock. Somehow, in this light, it's even more perfect than you remember: glistening, with a slight upward curve, and a girth that makes you ache in anticipation.

Astarion's smile widens, a hint of his usual mischief returning to his eyes. “See something you like, darling?”

You laugh, your voice raw. “You know I do,” you admit, surprising yourself with your own boldness.

“Hmm, yes,” he purrs. “But I do so enjoy hearing you say it.”

He shifts, positioning himself above you, aligning between your thighs.

For the first time, even at the final threshold, your mind is… quiet. You find yourself relaxed, languid. You feel that pang of nervousness, yes. But you don't find yourself restrained by it.

You want to revel in this feeling. In him. In the sensations he brings you. In this freedom he has granted you; this freedom that you have never before granted yourself.

A moment passes, and tension crackles in the air between you.

“Ready, love?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You nod. You are certain.

He positions himself, his hand guiding his cock, ready to bring it to your entrance.

“Breathe in for me, darling.”

You do as he says, drawing in a deep breath. And as you do…

His cock enters you.

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation. There's a moment of discomfort, your body stretching more to accommodate him as he slowly inserts inch after inch, giving you time to adjust. You have never felt so full before. You have never felt anything quite like this before.

“How does it feel?” He asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

“It's a little sore,” you exhale, and your voice slightly shaky at the rush of sensation.

“Then let's start slowly, shall we?”

When he leans down to kiss you, you become aware of every point of contact; the coolness of his bare skin pressed so closely against the warmth of yours, yet it never quite feels close enough. You wrap your arms behind his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss between you and, in turn, he wraps an arm under the small of your neck, lifting you to him. His weight on you is grounding as you adjust to the foreign sensations.

That is until, oh so slowly, he moves inside you.

His movements are controlled, restrained, yet you can feel the barely leashed power in his lithe form, in the ripple of his muscles. He's a predator, dangerous and deadly, yet in this moment, he handles you with a gentleness that gives you goosebumps.

Pain meets pleasure with each deliberate motion, merging into one muddle of intense sensation. But then the discomfort begins to fade, replaced by a building warmth that spreads throughout your body. Each slow thrust of his hips brings a new wave of feeling overwhelming yet exquisite.

Astarion brings a hand to your leg, coaxing you to lift it. You understand the message, wrapping your legs around his waist as he thrusts into you and gods. He's even deeper within you, the sounds wet and lewd with each undulation of his hips. You gasp loudly at the sensation, breaking free momentarily of his kiss.

You suddenly find yourself in need of more. More closeness, more contact, more of him.

Your legs, encircling his waist, involuntarily pull his hips into you, urging him on, faster and deeper into you. You hadn't meant to be so bold. But this feeling of fullness, of connection, is overwhelming, igniting every primitive urge within your body, now unconstrained by the shackles of your mind. He responds in kind, thrusting in time with each pull of your legs. Your voice is not your own, the most wanton of cries spilling forth from your lips, high pitched and needy. Your eyes search for his, eager to see them hungry, dark, brimming with pleasure just as you remember from the night prior.

But something’s different.

His eyes are glazed, ever so slightly, looking more through you than at you. It's as though he's focusing intently on something you can't see.

Concentrating, perhaps? Trying to maintain control? Gods, it's hard to think straight when each thrust hits deep inside you so deliciously. Each movement is methodical, perfect - skill clearly derived from centuries of experience.

But amidst the haze, you reach up and gently brush your fingers along his jawline. “Astarion?” you breathe, soft and inquisitive between each gasp of pleasure.

He blinks rapidly, his rhythm faltering. He pauses, still inside you. For a split second, what looks to be confusion flickers across his features, before his usual charming smirk, practised and perfect, returns.

“Ah, darling,” he starts, his voice hoarse. “Just got a little… lost in the moment.”

Before you can respond, Astarion suddenly shifts, changing your positions with a grace that takes your breath away. In one fluid motion, he scoops you into his arms and sits up, bringing you with him so that you're straddling his lap.

“Now then,” he says, “where were we?”

His renewed enthusiasm is almost overwhelming. His touch is more purposeful, his movements more intense as tangles a hand in the strands of your hair, pulling you in to kiss him. You find yourself swept up in his redoubled efforts.

Astarion’s spare hand settles firmly on your hip, pulling you to him, coaxing you to rock back and forth on his cock and–

Stars burst behind your eyes. A new, intense pleasure, richer than the last as the head of his cock brushes the uppermost wall of you.

He guides your movements, bringing you to a rhythm that has you gasping. You chase that elusive feeling eagerly. When you falter, uncertain and unbalanced from inexperience, he whispers his encouragement.

“That's it,” he murmurs as you find your stride. “Keep going.”

He rocks his hips to meet your own, and gods, there's that beautiful voice of his, punctuated by the rhythmic slaps of skin against slickened skin. His low groans reverberate through your body, mingling with your own breathless gasps and whimpers.

Finally, seemingly sensing your fast approaching limit, he brings a hand between your bodies, and you feel the familiar sensation of his thumb rubbing delicate circles on your clit.

The added stimulation is too much to bear. You cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body as you close your eyes, giving yourself over to the feeling. Your breath quickens, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears, and you feel yourself shuddering, spiralling. You’re falling, flying, lost in sensation, and Astarion is both the cause of your descent and your only lifeline. He holds you steady, an anchor, as your senses return to you.

But this steadiness does not remain for long.

With a start, you find yourself lowered to the ground, Astarion holding you firmly by the hips, burying himself in you once more, his purposeful rhythm replaced with an erratic, senseless pounding in the final throes of his pleasure.

You feel the tension in him before it fully takes hold, a low steady hum beneath his skin. His breath grows shallow, his muscles tightening as if holding back a flood. You watch it build, each buck of his hips pulling him closer, like a thread winding tighter and tighter. His body starts to tremble and then, suddenly, it breaks - his breath catches, his body jerks, and you feel him give in, a surge of release that ripples through him like a passing storm. You find yourself moaning in response to the intensity, lost in the tension heavy in the air. Somewhere in the midst of his climax, you realise, he had pulled out of you, as you feel the coolness of his release on your abdomen.

He exhales, spent, the fire that had burned so hot now just a quiet warmth.

In the aftermath, silence falls over the clearing, bar your shared panting. The night air, cool against your heated skin, brings you gently back to reality.

“That… was amazing,” you breathe, still somewhat dazed.

Astarion chuckles, leaning his forehead delicately against yours. “You sound surprised,” he teases.

“Not surprised. I just had no idea I could even feel like that.”

Astarion's lips curl into a smug smile. “You just needed an expert’s touch.”

You laugh, giddy and carefree from the lingering euphoria. “Gods, all this talk of your touch might just make me want to go again.”

“Tempting,” he purrs. “But even I need a moment to recover, love.”

With that, he rolls off of you, settling beside you on the grass. You turn to look at him, taking in the sight of his profile in the moonlight, smiling as you notice the charmingly dishevelled state of his hair, a few errant strands falling across his forehead.

He seemingly feels your gaze, turning to meet it. The moonlight catches in his crimson eyes, causing them to glitter with his usual mischief, and something darker, more complex.

You recall his eyes in the throes of passion… a glazing over; a distance that you couldn't quite understand. The look had vanished as quickly as it appeared, just like all the others. The vigour with which he renewed his efforts to pleasure you was almost enough to make you forget the moment.

Almost. 

Alas, you are ever the overthinker.

You find yourself spurred on by thoughts and feelings you don't quite understand. A need to experiment.

Acting on impulse, you shift closer to Astarion. You hesitate for a moment, then slowly, carefully, you rest your head on his chest. You feel him tense for a moment.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a mixture of confusion and wariness.

“I'm not sure,” you admit. “I just wanted to be close to you. Is that okay?”

There's a long pause. Astarion doesn't push you away, but he doesn't relax either.

“I suppose,” he finally says, his tone carefully neutral. “Though I must say, this is… different.”

You lift your head slightly to look at him. His expression is guarded, as you've come to expect.

“We don't have to if you're uncomfortable,” you offer softly.

Astarion’s laugh is short and sharp. “Uncomfortable? Darling, I've done things that would make a succubus blush. This is hardly–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, seeming to realise he's saying more than he intended. There's a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arm comes around you. It's not quite an embrace - more like he's unsure where to put his arm and this is the most logical place. But it's a start.

You settle back against his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes - unnecessary for a vampire; a relic of his past which he retains.

“This isn't… unpleasant,” Astarion finally says.

You smile against his skin.

Astarion truly felt like a puzzle box of a man at times. Certain reactions of his, certain words, dance on the edge of your understanding, always just out of reach. For a person of science, not being able to understand him in moments like this was… infuriating. Exhilarating. A conundrum that both frustrates you and drives your curiosity. Each time you think you've figured him out, he reveals another layer, another facet that sends you back to the drawing board. It's like trying to map the stars only to find they've rearranged themselves overnight. Thrilling, yes, but also unsettling. You're used to being the one with answers, the one who can make sense of the chaos. But with Astarion, you're adrift in uncharted waters, your usual compass rendered useless.

And yet, isn't this what drew you to the arcane in the first place? The allure of the unknown, the thrill of discovery? Astarion is a mystery more complex than any spell you've unravelled, a puzzle more intricate than any magical or alchemical theory you've studied. He challenges you, pushes you beyond the boundaries of your understanding in ways both terrifying and exhilarating.

You find yourself wondering if perhaps this is true alchemy - not the transformation of base metals into gold, but the transmutation of the self through connection with another. Each interaction with Astarion feels like it's changing you, reshaping your perceptions, your desires, your very understanding of the world.

But these are hypotheses to be considered in the daytime. For now, you rest, as a curious yet comfortable silence settles over you in the night air.

Masterlist can be found here.

No Pressure Tags: @silverfangmarks @davenswitcher @roguishcat @sparrowbard @chonkercatto

[heartsiebyul]

What if the overbolt gang were to find Reader crying? But after asking them what's the reason they're crying, they just explain that... They're missing all of the new content from their favorite media!! 😭😭

I rlly just want something silly, so hopefully it could be that? Like Reader is being very dramatic and stuff ig

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

art: twisted wonderland archives

featuring — Overblot boys : Riddle : Leona : Azul : Jamil : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

☛ Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle nearly drops when he finds you hunched over in the rose bushes, your shoulders shaking. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?!” he demands, only for you to sob out that you’re missing the comeback of your favorite K-pop group.

He blinks. Once. Twice. “I… don’t understand. What’s a comeback? Who came back from where? But more importantly, you’re crying over that?” he says, absolutely confused. But when your eyes well up again, he softens. “W-Well! That’s… understandable! I suppose.”

Despite not really getting it, Riddle returns with a prepared strawberry tart and a blanket. He gently pats your head, muttering, “calm down and get up so you can eat this.” He then gives you a gentle lecture about managing your emotions properly while you sniffle and nibble through your “withdrawal.”

You even dramatically sing a few lines from their track, and Riddle claps awkwardly. “Exquisite vocals, (name).” He’s utterly lost. Still, he lets you show him a few photos of your biases and listens seriously as you explain how unfair it is to miss live fan events. He’s trying his best, okay?

☛ Leona Kingscholar

Leona is napping in the field under a tree when your wailing disrupts his peace. Groaning, he rolls over to see you lying on the grass, dramatically sprawled like a damsel in despair. “You dying or something?” he mutters, and you hiccup out that you’re missing the season finale of your favorite manhwa adaptation.

“…You’re crying because of that?” he snorts, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re such a drama queen.”

But ten minutes later, he’s tossing a bag of dorm snacks at your head and flopping down beside you with a sigh. “Tch. Cry quieter and eat something.”

He listens with one ear as you rant about plot twists and cliffhangers, occasionally grumbling, “They really killed him? Psh. I wouldn’t have.” He secretly likes how animated you get.

☛ Azul Ashengrotto

You’re sobbing in the VIP lounge of the Mostro Lounge, tissues piling up as you complain about the K-pop update drops you’re missing. Azul, mid-study review, startles and rushes over. “Are you hurt?! Is someone harassing—oh.”

His concern quickly turns to confusion when you explain that you’re grieving over missing updates.

He adjusts his glasses, flustered, then nods and leaves. He returns with a dessert platter and a cup of your favorite juice. “Since I cannot provide your missing media,” he says with a sheepish smile, “perhaps a taste of luxury can ease the ache?”

Floyd walks by and loudly asks if you’re “mourning a boyband again.” Azul nearly chokes.

☛ Jamil Viper

Jamil is walking down the Scarabia hallways when he hears sniffles coming from the lounge. He finds you curled up in a blanket burrito, your phone clutched tightly in your hands. “Let me guess, you can’t access your media from your hometown again?” he sighs knowingly, having witnessed this meltdown like clockwork every month.

Without a word, he heads to the kitchen and returns with warm curry and a mango lassi. “Food heals all wounds, even breakdowns.” he teases lightly, handing them to you.

He listens as you wail about the lack of fans and concert tours, occasionally raising a brow. “You get this worked up over them?”

Still, he stays beside you until you feel better, secretly amused by your dramatics.

☛ Vil Schoenheit

Vil finds you weeping on the floor of the dorm lounge, surrounded by your phone and tablet. “Whatever is the matter?” he asks sharply, one brow raised, fully prepared to scold you for such an undignified display. But he pauses when you wail about missing the comeback and new songs from your favorite group.

There’s a long silence. Then, Vil sighs dramatically. “This is exactly what ruins skin elasticity,” he mutters, before vanishing and returning with fruit parfaits and under-eye patches. “At least cry on the couch, not on the carpet and let me preserve your beauty while you grieve.”

He lets you rant while adjusting your posture and gently dabbing at your face. “You are far too radiant to be destroyed over missing an update.”

☛ Idia Shroud

You’re lying on the floor of Idia’s room, surrounded by tissues and dramatically mumbling about the updates you’ll never see again. Idia peeks out from behind his screen. “You’re… alive. Just emotionally wrecked,” he mutters, worried but unsure how to help.

He awkwardly places a bag of chips next to your head and slides over a tablet. “I downloaded a bunch of stuff that’s probably similar to what you had back in your world. I figured you’d have withdrawal symptoms sooner or later…”

He mumbles that he gets it, his own spirals are way worse, and even lets you cling to the sleeve of his oversized hoodie while you vent.

Bonus: Ortho cheerfully tries to find music similar to the ones from your world, compiling a “coping playlist”.

☛ Malleus Draconia

Malleus hears your sobbing echo through the woods beside Ramshackle and appears beside you, only to find you weeping on the floor. “Dear… why do you mourn so?” he asks gently, concerned, as he lifts you into your bed.

When you dramatically declare that you’re missing concert tours and comeback announcements, he looks completely baffled. “…A performance has caused such despair?”

But he doesn’t question it further. Instead, he brings you a basket of treats. “I cannot return you to your world,” he says solemnly, “but I can offer you the warmth of this one.”

He even sits beside you, gently patting your head as you explain the group and the fandom and the heartbreak of missing live streams and updates. Though he doesn’t understand a word, he listens, intrigued by your passion.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

Honestly, I’d be the same, thrown into an unfamiliar world without my favorite media lol

[tvickiesims]

Garden At Home By Max20 4t2 Conversion

A conversion of a gorgeous, absolutely stunning set by Max20, Garden At Home.

Includes all items + 2 terrain paints. Everything is quarter tile placeable, smooth and non shiny - my usual routine.

All the seasonal plants (stay blooming in spring and summer because too pretty!):

Terrain paints (do not appear in the collection because adding them is not possible):

Planters require Honeywell's garden plot or its edited version by @lamare-sims (if you use our Planting Overhaul Mod) if you want to be able to plant harvestables in them:

Small planter can go on surfaces:

Wood shed is a functional composter (works with Planting Overhaul Mod), sims go through to use it though:

Repotting table is a functional flower arranging table:

Don't let the look of the bench deceive you - it's a normal functioning loveset, and if you align 4 pieces together (no cheats needed for that), everything becomes seamless and fits right under a nice looking tree (I got some for you right here ;):

Bird bath is a ladybug house, it spawns pretty butterflies and birds high up in the sky (cloned from this object by @hugelunatic):

Big greenhouse is an actual lamp (though its light is very subtle). It also intersects with objects and sims (meaning you can put furniture inside and sims will be able to go through it to use these objects):

And to crown it all, the trellis is a functional wedding arch:

Thank you and hugs go to @episims and @platinumaspiration for always being there for me and saving my objects multiple times 🤗

Compressed, clearly labelled. Collection file, picture and Lord Crumps' shadow file (needed for shadows) are included. Merged files.

Download at GoogleDrive

Download at SFS

_ _ _

UPDATE 14/03/2024

Fixed blue flashing inside the trashcan (thank you @lurking-lilibeth for report), you can get just the updated file here. Also updated archive as .zip so hopefully it fixes virus reports.

UPDATE 15/09/2024

Added a second version for the flower arranging table that is compatible with @picknmixsims' Crafting Skills mod. Both versions are now in a separate folder, be sure to choose only one! If you just want the Crafting Skills version without redownloading the archive - it's here. Also added a SFS link for the archive.

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Only You | Bang Chan [NSFW]

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.5k

Pairing: King! Bang Chan x Noble! AFAB! Reader

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Married

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, First Times (Readers), Breeding Kink (a bit), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Big Dick! Chan (duh)

Summary: You are a nobleman's daughter and your father is struggling to find you a husband. The king refuses to marry all of the women brought to him and will not take any concubines. You end up meeting each other.

Author's Note: Oh boy! Here is the first part my dudes. I wanted to have this out sooner but I'm living with my uncle with my parents right now and so I don't have the same freedom to hole away in my room all day like I would prefer. Also can't really write smut in the living room with your dad like two seats away from you.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, or this post.

Also, if any of my historical information/words are inaccurate, I apologize, I did the best with what research I could and what I know from watching too many historical K-Dramas.

-> Lee Know's <-

-> Changbin's <-

-> Felix's <-

Revised (1/31/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Sighing deeply for a third time, you lazily turns the page of your book, head tilting to rest on your shoulder. Your braid falls over your shoulder, the purple daenggi draping down and covering the characters in the book. Doesn’t matter, you aren’t really reading it anyway. Already have several times. It’s nearly impossible to get books you haven't already read several times, or things that are actually interesting to you, because your father won’t let you get them. Most of the books not directed toward women that you have, you more or less smuggled into your house. Because of that, it’s hard to get more, and so you’re once again bored with your choices. A delicate breeze wafts in through the open window, a small bird flittering down to rest on the sill. You look over its various shades of brown feathers and you wonder if you could ever get a book for studying birds. Probably possible, but not probable. Men don’t want women that know more than them, that's why you can't keep a suitor. Your father's voice echoes in your head, and you roll your eyes. Unfortunately, though, it seems he’s right. You’ve had many suitors out of the sons of noblemen, but none of them stay around too long when your conversations turn from dainty and feminine matters to things that actually make them think. Looking out to the sky, you wonder if there’s anyone out there at all that wouldn’t mind your learned state.

 ~₸x₸~

On a day you’re actually able to go out, you’re grateful it was your brother who could go with you. You’re both wandering the various seller's stands and storefronts, only just glancing at most things. If you had a guard escorting you, you wouldn’t be able to smuggle another book home, but your brother will help you. As you pretend to look over various different earrings, you cast a glance from under your sseugaechima to where your brother is at the book seller. Rummaging through what they have, he holds a few up to look closer at the contents before putting them back down. Must all be fiction… Looking back at the wares before you, you nod to the shopkeeper and move on, instead looking at some shoes. You’re closer then to your brother, enough that you can see when he holds a book up toward you, pretending to rest it on his shoulder as he continues looking, likes he’s reserving it. When you catch his side glance, you shake your head no. Already have it. He sniffs, putting it back, and keeps looking. As you move on yourself, across the way, you watch a young nobleman sidle up next to your brother. He’s a great deal shorter; it almost makes you giggle, but you try to remain inconspicuous.

"Oh, m’lord, the book you were looking for arrived!" The book seller slips inside his shop, coming back with a book you’ve never seen anything like before.

"I managed to get in contact with the Arab trader and he got it here all the way from the far west!" The book seller smiles wide, and you’ve fully turned around at that point, your brother looking over his shoulder at you.

"Thank you." The man smiles, handing over a significant string of mun before turning to leave. You aren’t able to react fast enough, and he catches you looking at him. Well, not him, but the book he’s holding. It’s bound in what looks like leather and you’ve never seen writing like it.

"Wait, my lord, this as well!" The shopkeeper reaches under his stall and the man goes back, taking the locally bound book from him.

"Might be hard to read without the translation." The young lord smiles and then goes to leave again, pointedly looking right at you as he does, a small smirk on his face.

"Let's follow him." You whisper to your brother, yanking him down to your level.

"Are you sure? He paid a lot for that, he's not just going to give it to you, and we don't have that kind of money on us."

"I just want to look at it, come on." You hiss out, following after the man before he gets too far out of view. You hear your brother sigh dramatically, but he hurries after you anyway, making sure he doesn’t lose sight of you.

You finally manage to catch up with the man in a small courtyard behind a restaurant not yet open. He’s standing at the edge of the stream, watching it, the two books held in his grasp as he rests his arms behind his back. Right as your brother catches up with you, the man turns around, a playful smile on his face. It’s then you realize how gorgeous he is.

"Interested in this?" He turns toward you, holding the book up, and in your excitement, you drop your sseugaechima, the garment fluttering to the ground.

"(Y/N)!" Your brother scolds, grabbing the head covering. You’ve moved so fast, you’re already standing in front of the man, ogling the book. Even though he’s probably four or even five chon shorter than your brother, he’s still nearly a head taller than you.

"Aigo, put this back on." Your brother drapes the garment back over your head, dragging you back by the shoulders a few steps.

"Wait!" You reach for the book, not having gotten to touch it, but your brother steps in front of you. Stupid societal chauvinism.

"Apologies, my lord, but she's…intense about her hobby." You roll your eyes behind your sibling.

"This isn't a normal book." The other man said, and you roll your eyes harder. Obviously, that's why you want it!

"It's all the way from Dogil." Huh? Where?

"If she wants to look at it, she can." You shove your brother out of the way, so hard he not just stumbles, but falls on his butt. The man holds the book out to you and with shaky hands you take it. The text is so incredibly foreign, and when you flips the book open, it doesn’t even look handwritten. Then again, you can’t be sure since it’s such a foreign script. Little symbols sit in the top corner of each page, and the words are horizontal rather than vertical. Each little letter is so small, the book cramped with lines. It’s heavy too.

"This goes with it." The other man holds the translation book up and you snatch it from his hands without thinking.

"(Y/N)!" Your brother scolds, hurrying to get off the ground.

"She's fine." You move toward a bench and sit down, opening the translation on top of the foreign text. Though, it isn’t a direct translation, just a catalog of what each word means. It would take time to fully translate it.

"C-can I translate it fully?" You look up at the man, your sseugaechima falling off your head again. He smiles and your heart skips a beat, but you aren’t sure if it’s because he smiles, or what the smile means.

"I would rather not just give it to you. What if you don't give it back?" His tone is slightly teasing. You deflate then and he holds back a chuckle.

"You know, I have a lot of far western texts that I don't have the time to translate myself. You could come to my home and do it for me?"

"Wait-" Your brother's tone grows stern and you look between them, the other man holding his hand up to stop the other's words.

"Rather improper I know. Though, the King can get away with quite a bit." The man is smirking, and your eyes widen. What?

"Y-You're-" You meet your brother's gaze and you both fall to your knees before him, bowing so your foreheads touch your hands. Immediately, you realize how brazen your actions were. You’re doomed-

"Don't worry about it." He waves you both off and you stand, head still bowed, avoiding looking at his face. Instead, you glance back at the books. You wonder if the book seller even realizes who he is. Your brother sits up, but remains on one knee, if he stood, he’d be higher than the king. That is not allowed.

"What is your name? Who is your father?" He asks and you swallow hard, trying to get words out. You speak your name and family clan, as well as your father's name and rank. If he tells your father about what happened, you’ll never be allowed to touch another book.

"Your age?

"Twenty-two."

"You're unmarried?" He raises a brow, and you nod sheepishly. Reaching around your back to tug on the end of your braid, hanging down to signify your marital status.

"Your name?" He nods to your brother, and he tells him.

"Well, if you won’t mind showing me to your home. I would like to converse with your father." Oh, no.

~ʘᗩʘ~

Nervously pacing around your room, even down the halls through the building of the estate you inhabit, you wonder what is happening. You had scurried away like a scared mouse once you all returned to your home, looking behind you to the books held by the King. The King! Geez, you feel like you just escaped with your life. You hear your mother being summoned to go to your father and it’s been nearly an hour of them talking.

"(Y/N)." You hear a whisper from outside your bedroom window as you wander around it. You open the shutters and your brother's head barely can look over the sill from where he stands on the narrow edge of the building's platform base.

"What's happening?" You whisper back.

"A servant just brought them our family registry."

"What?" Why the heck would they need that?! Unless…

"You think he's going to court me?" Your legs feel week, you aren’t sure what to make of it. Your father has desperately wanted you married, but not enough to submit you to the palace. A life of luxury and prestige isn’t actually very safe. Most adversaries tend to target the women closest to the king since they’re easier targets. You know the King is unwed, and that the palace officials are just as fed up with him as your father is with you. Sure, you’d rather marry someone for love, but that’s hard to do as a noble. But if you do…that means you can have access to the King's library. Is that his plan to let you translate his foreign books without it being improper? Honestly, you’re fine with it. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. If marrying the king gives you access to even more knowledge and learning, than you’ll happily do it.

~◕ω◕~

After the long meeting, the King leaves, and your mother comes to inform you of the results. You’re right, he wants you to be his wife. But marrying a king to be the queen is much more intense than just being a concubine. Sure, the king has a lot of say, but so does his ministers and the Queen Dowager, his mother. Normally there’s a long selection process, but instead you’re brought to the palace and thoroughly analyzed by palace officials. They interview you rather extensively, then finally, his mother enters. After more questions, she leaves with the officials and you’re left to sit in the pavilion, looking at the water, uncomfortable in your nicest hanbok ensemble. All of your fanciest accessories are in your hair, on your goreum is a heavy norigae, and heavy jade earrings sit in your ears. You twist the jade ring on your finger in nervousness, feeling like you’re waiting for hours. Soon though, the Queen Dowager reenters along with a few handmaidens and a eunuch. You’ve been approved.

~◕‿◕✿~

A grand dowry is sent to your family's estate, and in return your belongings are sent in as well. You’re moved into a palace set aside for the future queen, and you’re beyond grateful that your chest of books makes it to your new home. Waiting for the actual ceremony and coronation, you’re puts through hours of etiquette training and lessons. Over the short time it takes for you to learn everything, and have the ceremony and coronation performed, the King has spent a considerable amount of time with you. Every minute he can spare. He doesn’t want you, nor himself, to marry a stranger. Never having been in love, you’re sure your feelings are either quite similar if not the predecessor for love. In a fleeting whisper he tells you his name is Chan, of course it’s part of his birth name rather than what he was crowned king with. He prefers you call him that though, even if you only can in private. When he can, he’ll bring a few of his foreign books for you to look at, but he says there isn’t time for you start the translations before all of the ceremonies. Chan seems just as passionate about knowledge as you are, and that makes you fall harder. And it appears to work that way for him as well.

The day before the wedding, as he leaves before the time is improper, he presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth with his soft lips. Your face blossoms red you’re sure, and he chuckles gently to himself as he leaves.

~◉_◉~

The wedding itself is…a mess. Well, figuratively and only to you. You feel like you’re being directed as a puppet going through so many specific rites and rituals. The most nerve-wracking part of the whole thing is being before so many people. Your tutor is proud you’ve learned all of your etiquette so well and you’re ninety percent sure you do everything just right. By the time night falls, you’re beyond exhausted. You aren’t sure if you’re more excited about your marriage, which feels more real thanks to your blooming feelings, or the future translation work. It’s nice though that your love of scholarly pursuits doesn’t turn him away like all of your other previous suitors.

Finally, though, everything is more or less complete. You’re wandering through the large room of the king's quarters, everything even fancier than where you had been. You pick at the white fabric of your sokchima, feeling naked despite being completely covered. Your hair is still in a chignon, the golden decorative binyeo holding it up makes your head feel heavy. It’s strange to have your hair up like that, but you’re going to have to get used to it. For some reason, it feels nice to have that weight, signifying you’re married, you honestly don’t want to take it out as much as you do want to. So, it stays. You’ve bathed, rather, been washed by maids before going to the king's quarters. You presume he too is washing up, and the longer he takes, the more nervous you get. Finally, the side door that leads further into the palace where the bath hall is opens. Your heart thuds against your rib cage as you see the King enter, also in white garments. He no longer has his headdress on, only the manggeon he wears under his crown is there. You wonder how long his hair is when down.

"My Queen." He smiles and you bite your lip, looking around almost like you’re checking to see if anyone’s around.

"What are you looking for, (Y/N)?" He steps closer, hand going to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. All the lessons that have been drilled into you make you want to look away, but if he’s okay with it…

"We're really alone?" Not even his Eunuch is there, he follows him everywhere as per his job description.

"Yes, my love." Your breath hitches, the term of affection hitting your heart, and you step just a bit closer.

"W-we-" He steps once more, his lips placing a delicate peck on your forehead. Still not able to get any words out, his kisses move to your cheekbone, the side of your mouth, then his hand cups your jaw, tipping your head up. Your eyes meet his and you can’t keep yours from flitting to his lips. Chan smirks, and you gasp as he kisses you, hard. Your teeth clacked against each other at the force and your head swims, trying desperately to match his pace. You haven't been kissed before, not like this. Chan himself has given you a few small pecks, but this is different. He’s claiming you.

His strong hands grip your waist, one sneaking down your back to pull you closer, the other sneaking up the ties of your sokchima. The hand on your back goes even lower, gripping the flesh of your butt and you huff, Chan's tongue sneaking its way in your mouth. When he withdraws, you heave in breaths, heart racing and with a final tug, your sokchima falls to the floor, leaving you bare. You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin, but his next actions distract you from the embarrassment of being bare. He undoes the ties of his own garments and as the white fabric pools at his feet, your eyes rapidly dance over him. You’re convinced he was molded directly by the deity of sex, because he’s gorgeous.

"Oh." You sigh and he huffs a laugh, moving closer, taking your hands in his, and bringing them to the ties of his sokbaji. Your hands brushes over him through the cloth, and you freeze.

"A-are you…?"

"No, love. But," his hands run over the bare skin of your back, pulling you to him, your naked breasts pressing to him.

"I’m getting there." Chan whispers in your ear, then he runs his tongue around the ridge, sucking on your earlobe. You whimper, turning your head to allow him access, fingers clenching the hem on his pants. His lips then move to your neck, laying searing kisses on the flesh, strong fingers digging into your skin, and when you’re pulled even closer, you feel his cock hardening in his pants.

"Come with me, my love." He pulls away and you pout in disappointment, making him laugh. The room spins as he yanks you to him, lightly shoving you onto the raised bed. You huff, then squeak when he grabs your ankles, yanking you to the edge of the platform, kneeling on the floor below.

"W-Wait, Chan-!" You try to close your legs, hide yourself from him, but he’s too strong, his hands grip your thighs to keep them spread.

"So cute." He hums and your entire body jerks, back arching as you feel his tongue swipe through your folds, the sensation almost overwhelming. It’s hard to get words out since you can barely take in air, your body immediately catching on fire, blood boiling. You hear him hum as he tastes you, and you flinch when his nose brushes your clit.

"C-Chan, it's too much!" You shudder, not sure how to handle the sensation.

"I need to get you ready, love, I don’t want to hurt you." He finishes his statement by wiggling his tongue inside you. The foreign sensation makes you clench, and he rubs your tense thighs with his thumbs.

"Relax, pretty girl." You try to do as he asks, taking measured breaths, whimpering when his tongue leaves you, flicking your button again. Heat pools in your belly, rising fast and you logically know what’s coming, but have never felt it before.

"I-I…fuck!" Your head tosses back, and he groans at the crass word leaving you. Chan kisses your clit and that sends you over the edge, wind roaring in your ears with your pulse, and you barely register him filling you with a finger.

"You're so fucking tight sweetheart." The curse word riles you up more than it even did when you said it for him. He helps your ride out the orgasm with that finger, each press against your back wall seeming to draw out your climax. Finally, the waves dull, then stop, and you finally recognize his finger inside you. Because he did it when he did, it doesn’t hurt, but it feels weird.

"Oh, you're so good." He smiles wide, his normal warm grin is hot with lust. You mewl when he starts to pump his finger, the wet squelch of your slick and release seems to be louder than anything else.

"That got you nice and wet for me, but you're too tight still." His thumb barely brushes your clit and your pussy clenches, body jerking again, it almost hurt.

"Sorry, love." He continues with the single digit and at some point, he decides to continue, and you let out a shuddering breath when he adds a second. That…doesn’t hurt per se, the slight burn of the stretch is somehow more pleasurable than painful, and you wonder how much his dick will make you sting.

"Oh, oh my-“ You try to hold back a whiny moan when his fingers wiggle and spread, getting you further prepared, the same pleasurable feeling starting to build back.

"Ah!" Chan adds a third finger, and you lift your head to look at him, one knee resting on the bed so he can kneel over you. Eyes flitting down, you notice the tent in his white pants, and you swallow hard. You don’t have any metric to go by since you have never been with or even seen a man naked, but-

"That won’t fit." You whimper, not even seeing him bare yet. Chan huffs a surprised laugh, looking at himself.

"I promise it will~" His fingers crook up again, hitting some intense spot inside you and you shiver at the sudden intensity.

"N-no, no, no!" You whine when he removes his fingers, the pleasure had begun to crest and even if it is overwhelming, it does feel good.

"Hold on, love, I'll fill you back up." You prop on your elbows to watch him, the tie of his sokbaji coming undone by his fingers, then the garment falls. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen.

"Won’t fit." You gasp out and he has a hard time controlling his smug grin.

"Let's see about that." He scoops you up in his arms, moving you up the bed so your head can rest on the pillow. The cool silk of the bedding does nothing to quell the fire Chan has set on your skin, especially not when he prop himself over you.

"I love you." He leans down, nose rubbing over yours and you giggle at the innocent gesture.

"I love you too." Your hands cup his face, and he kisses you again, gentler than the first. Distracting you with the kiss, he hitches one of your knees over his elbow, his free arm bringing his hand back to your slick cunt. His fingers run through your arousal, then he pumps his fist over his hard cock, bringing the fat head to your entrance. Chan pulls back from the kiss, bringing your hands up to his shoulders.

"Dig your nails in if you have to." You should have taken it as a warning, not really sure what he meant. When his cock breaches your core, the heated burn sears through not just your cunt, but all the way through you. Your back arches, and your mouth hangs open in a quiet scream. You can’t tell whether it hurts or is such an intense pleasure your body malfunctions. His cock presses deeper, and you can feel his pulse inside you.

"So tight, fuck, hmm, love you’re just perfect~" He groans, relishing the sting of your nails digging into his skin. After what feels like an eternity, he bottoms out, the head of his dick kissing your womb.

"Y-you're in my throat." You gasp, trying not to clench around him too much, cunt stinging but weeping, a drop of your slick hitting the bedding.

"Does it hurt?" His hand brushes some sweat-damp strands of hair from your brow, and you shudder through some breaths.

"I-I don't know-" You’ve never felt anything like it before, obviously, and your brain seems to be stopping and starting again over and over. He’s being so patient, letting you adjust, but he shifts his weight differently, changing the angle slightly and the sting fades, pleasure rising, and you can’t get words out again. He must notice the change in your gummy walls' pulsing, because he grinds into you slightly and, stronger than before, you cum.

"Woah." Chan forces himself to breathe through your orgasm, the tight vice of your pussy nearly sending him over the edge and gushes of your slick shines on your skin as well as his. Your vision dots with stars and your head swims, you’re finally able to gasp for air, panting as you return to reality.

"Are you okay, love?" He strokes your cheek with his thumb, and you hold his hand to your face with your own. You nod, swallowing a buildup of saliva.

"Y-yes, you…you can move."

"Are you sure?"

"Please~!" Your whimper heightens into a moan as he pulls back just a bit, going slowly back in to make sure it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t. Sure, it feels like he’s carving his cock through you, but it’s more than good.

"Tell me, sweet, if I hurt you." The next thrust, he pulls back a bit further, and back in harder.

"Please, Chan, you- fuck!" He picks up the pace just a bit, still going fairly slow, but the stretch of his fat cock is more than enough stimulation.

"D-don't-"

"Don't what, love?"

"Don't…oh, fuck, please, don't stop. Just-!" Your toes curl, throwing your head back, nails digging into the bedding as he pulls out about halfway, then buries inside you hard. He sits up more, slinging your other leg over his elbow as well, rolling his hips against yours. Chan's eyes skate all over you, beautiful and bare below him, and when he gets to your face he groans. Your eyes are hazy, mouth open, drool pooling from the corners of your lips. You’ve never felt anything even close to the pleasure he’s wreaking on you. You can’t think, and you seem to be losing strength in your body, the crest of another orgasm building.

"Shit- can't hold back anymore love." He grunts and you don’t have enough available thought process to react. He moves his hands to your thighs, pinning your knees up by your shoulders, then he pulls his fat cock out nearly all the way, and starts to pound into you. Tears rose in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling, little squeals of delight forced out of you with each thrust and your cunt spasms. Chan just thunders through your orgasm, not stopping or slowing and your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, you're just perfect love." He huffs a laugh, "oh, I can't wait to fuck you full!" All you can focus on is the heat of his dick and how much hotter your womb will feel full of his cum.

"Pl-please! Chan, please, fuck!" You gasp, his pace growing unsteady, and he finally fucks as deep as he can, hot ropes of cum filling you and painting your cunt white. Your belly is on fire and a combined glob of both of your releases drips out from where your bodies meet. As Chan pants, looking down at your fucked out state, he smiles.

"You're my wife now, only you."

daenggi - the ribbon that was tied around a unmarried girl's braid. sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over their heads. mun - Joseon Era Korean currency chon - historical unit of measurement, close to an inch. Dogil - Korean word for Germany, might not be completely accurate for the time. hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. goreum - the ties that fastened the top of a hanbok. norigae - accessories that were tied to the goreum of women's handboks sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. binyeo - the long pin that would hold a woman's bun up, mostly used for married women. manggeon - the mesh-like headband men wore to hold their hair in place. sokbaji - pants-like undergarment, mostly worn by women under their chima

Master-List

Taglist: @huldrelokken, @estella-novella, @astrobebba, @kayleefriedchicken, @rhonnie23, @cassandramrn, @qwonyoung23, @minghaosimp, @stresskidz

[dawngyu]

Official Teaser: The Archive

Pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader Genre: neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama (more to be added)

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

RELEASE DATE: FEBRUARY 18TH, 2025 12PM MST.

inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind—something about the idea of science stepping in to "help" left a lasting impression on me. concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. can’t wait to share it here. ><

Taglist: Open! Let me know if you want to be tagged for this one.

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

❝ ⌗ ﹒ 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 (𝐩𝐭 𝟒) ! ໒꒱ ❞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: christopher bahng x fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: based off of its nice to have a friend by taylor swift

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒/𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: chris is literally feeding a squirrel at the beginning, hes extroverted, reader is introverted, not proofread, series, soft angst, emotional clarity, suggestive in this chapter, confession/yearning

𝐀/𝐍: omg guys its finally happening! soz for making yall wait for so long 😭

𝐏𝐓 𝟏 𝐏𝐓𝟐 𝐏𝐓𝟑 𝐏𝐓𝟒 𝐏𝐓𝟓

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You’ve been pretending not to notice it.

The way Chris looks at you when you’re laughing, like he wants to memorize the shape of your joy.

The way his hands linger when he brushes past you, like he’s testing the edge of permission.

The way he stops himself. Constantly. Gently. Painfully.

Like he’s waiting for you to decide it’s okay to want each other this much.

And maybe… you’ve been doing the same.

It’s late when it happens.

Later than it should be, honestly. One of those nights where sleep is out of reach and everything feels heavier under low light and quiet.

He’s at your place again, sitting on your bed, legs crossed in that casual, stretched-out way that makes your chest ache a little. He’s wearing a loose hoodie, sleeves bunched at the elbows, and his hair’s a mess from running his fingers through it all night.

You’re both talking, but the words don’t matter anymore.

You’re not even sure what he said last.

All you know is the pause that follows.

Heavy. Thick with everything unsaid.

And then, finally:

“Can I just say something without you pulling away?”

You blink, startled by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Yeah. Of course.”

Chris leans forward, forearms on his knees, eyes locked on yours like he’s afraid if he blinks, you’ll disappear.

“I want you to stop pretending this isn’t real.”

The breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t soften it.

“I’ve been trying to hold back, but it’s getting harder every time I see you. Every time you touch me like it means something and then act like it didn’t. I don’t want to be just your almost.”

Your heart slams in your chest.

He keeps going, voice lower now. Tighter.

“I think about you all the time. I want you next to me when I fall asleep. I want your hands on me and your voice in my head and your mess in my life. I don’t want space. I want you.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you.

Not because it’s too much.

But because it’s exactly what you’ve been feeling, too.

You move before you can talk yourself out of it.

Across the space. Onto the bed. Into his lap.

His hands find your waist instinctively, like he was always meant to hold you like this.

“You really mean it?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, eyes full of heat and something more tender underneath. “Yeah. I need you.”

Your lips crash into his, hungry and messy and so long overdue it makes your whole body ache.

There’s nothing shy about the way you kiss each other now.

This isn’t a maybe.

It’s not a what-if.

It’s yes.

It’s now.

His hands slide under your shirt. Yours tug at the hem of his hoodie. Every touch feels like something sacred.

The clothes come off slowly. Not rushed. Not careless.

Just two people who’ve waited too long finally letting go of the space between them.

The world narrows to skin and breath and soft sounds in the dark.

You land in bed tangled up in each other — warm, breathless, needed.

This time, when you fall asleep next to him, you’re not wondering what it means.

Because now, you know.

hope you enjoyed <33

todays playlist...

plot twist by tws, piece of a puzzle by seungmin and changbin, i.f.l.y by bazzi, death bed by beadadoobee and powfu, yes or no by jungkook, awkward silence by stray kids, psycho by red velvet, eve, psyche, & the bluebeards wife, double take by dhruv

*bold is explicit*

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @highway-143 @hvseunq143 @chimmyn0chu @sadeeeeee @qwonyoung23 @jesuisstay @stilldontknowhoiam

series/perm taglist is open! please comment/send an ask/dm if you would like to be added <3

[fushigurokogane]

❝𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦❞

Royalty AU || Crown Prince Megumi x Reader || Part 3

"Either way, you weren’t supposed to catch the eye of the Crown Prince. But you did — not because you tried to impress him, but because you didn’t."

wc: 3.4k

authors note: HAIIII im back!! alr so this is kinda long?? idk. but im having so much fun adding to this plot tbh so i hope you enjoy and if your new, PLEASE read the first 2 parts first, it'll help you understand the storyline better :)

warnings: fem!reader, crown prince! megumi, forbidden romance, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, and political pressure

previous | next

masterlist

They didn’t ask questions at first.

The nobles, the court, the whispers behind fans and wine glasses — they all saw you once and dismissed you. A curiosity. A blip. Another face swept into the tide of courtly games.

But then they saw you again.

At the edge of the solarium, where the Crown Prince stood just a little too close. On the second terrace, where his eyes tracked your exit even while a visiting duchess tried to flirt with him. In the south garden, at dusk — a place no one went unless they wanted privacy.

And suddenly, it was a pattern.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

You told him that, more than once. In the flickering dark of the archives, where lanterns hummed like fireflies and your knees touched beneath the reading table. In the old chapel where no one dared go except ghosts and people pretending not to be in love. In the silent corners of the palace kitchens, hands brushing over teacups and smuggled fruit.

“This is dangerous,” you whispered once, the night his fingers found yours behind the velvet curtain of the observatory.

He didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you.

The kind of look that felt like a vow.

Like if anyone found you in that moment, he’d set the world on fire to keep you safe.

But fire makes smoke.

And smoke draws attention.

The first time you were summoned, it was under the guise of a simple interview. Routine, they said. Just part of an “internal security review.”

You weren’t stupid. You’d seen wolves wear sheep’s clothing before.

They asked strange questions.

How long had you known the Crown Prince? What was your family’s profession? Had you received any… unusual gifts lately?

You lied, carefully. Just enough truth to keep from slipping.

When you told Megumi later — behind the carved wood of a forgotten study — his jaw clenched so tightly you heard his teeth grind.

“They’re watching you now,” he said.

You didn’t ask if he meant they or he — because the answer was the same.

You looked at him, and you saw the storm coming.

He was different now. Not colder, but harder. Like steel forged under pressure. Every move measured. Every glance weighed.

He’d stopped leaving you notes. Stopped appearing in public anywhere near you.

But you still found each other.

In the space between dusk and nightfall, just before the bells rang the final hour, you met in a room that didn’t exist on the official floor plan.

Stone walls. Dust. A broken mirror no one had bothered to fix. It was perfect.

You were already there when he arrived, boots silent on the old tile.

“Megumi..I missed you,” you said, voice barely more than a breath.

“I missed you too. A lot." he replied.

Then his hand was at your jaw. Fingers tilting your face upward. His thumb brushing the line of your cheek like he was trying to memorize the way you existed.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t.

So he kissed you.

Not tentative. Not unsure. But like someone whose leash had finally snapped — restrained for too long, now moving like a tide pulled forward by gravity and grief and longing.

It was the kind of kiss that meant something. The kind that leaves bruises behind your ribs.

But when he pulled away, his expression had already changed.

Not regret. Just reality.

“They’re forcing a decision,” he said.

You already knew what he meant.

A political marriage. One that would “strengthen alliances,” “preserve tradition,” “ensure the future of the realm.”

The usual excuses for arranged betrayal.

“Who?” you asked.

“Lady Hisakawa.”

The name made your stomach turn. Not because of jealousy — but because she was cruel in the way polished things often are. Beautiful and hollow. Sharp behind the smile.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said, low.

“Yes, you do,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, and the weight in his voice nearly broke something in you. “I have duty.”

You didn’t cry. Not in front of him.

But you reached out. Held his hand like it might keep the world from spinning off its axis.

“I won’t stay here,” you said.

His gaze snapped to yours.

“If I watch you marry someone else, I’ll lose everything good I’ve ever been.”

Silence.

“Then I’ll never marry.”

You stared.

“I’ll delay. Strategize. Break rules they thought unbreakable. Whatever it takes,” he said. “If they want a performance, I’ll give them one. But I won’t give them you.”

Your chest ached. Every word was a wound and a balm.

“But if they find out…”

“They already suspect. And I don’t care.”

“You will,” you said. “When they come for me.”

His jaw tightened. “They’ll have to go through me first.”

And for once, you believed it.

That night, you left the palace through a side gate no one guarded anymore.In your pocket, you carried another violet. This one dried. Fragile. Pressed flat between the pages of a stolen royal ledger.

It wasn’t a promise.

It was a warning.

Because the palace walls weren’t made of stone. They were made of glass.

And glass only holds until it shatters.

It had now been a few days, the palace whispered.

A tapestry tugged at the seams, delicate threads coming loose under the weight of secrets. Servants changed routes. Guards took new posts. Doors once left ajar began locking behind them. No one said your name, but it lingered in the air like smoke: known, unspoken, dangerous.

And Megumi was more careful now.

Not distant. Never that. But sharper. As if he walked through each day counting steps and knives. As if he knew that one wrong move might unravel everything.

You saw him less, but when you did, it meant something.

A glance across the throne room during an open council. A single brush of fingers beneath a shared parchment in the library. A quiet moment in the garden just before dawn — when the sky was still indigo and the world hadn’t remembered to be cruel yet.

You didn’t speak of the marriage again.

Not aloud.

Not after that night.

But the threat of it hung over everything, a sword waiting to fall.

Three weeks passed.

You kept to shadows, wearing quiet like a cloak. The shopkeeper missed you. The capital streets missed you. But you’d become part of the palace’s undercurrent — a ghost no one saw unless they looked too closely.

And people were starting to look.

Lady Hisakawa was the first to make it known.

She wasn’t subtle. The court never was.

She found you alone in the conservatory one evening, pretending to admire the frost orchids while you waited for a servant to slip you a message.

“Pretty things don’t survive long here,” she said, voice lilting like it was dipped in honey and edged in venom.

You didn’t respond.

She stepped closer.

“You don’t belong, you know. Whatever fantasy you’re indulging in — it ends badly. For people like you.”

You met her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “It’s tradition.”

And then she walked away, trailing lavender perfume and poison in her wake.

The message never came.

You didn’t see Megumi again until the Midwinter Gala.

You hadn’t planned to attend. It was too public, too exposed. But the invitation arrived in silence — a single envelope bearing only your name, slipped beneath your door with no seal at all.

Inside, one sentence:

You said you wouldn’t watch. But what if I want you to see me fight?

You frowned, you didn't know what it meant. You wanted to know what it meant.

So you went.

You borrowed a gown from the wardrobe of a sympathetic court musician — deep navy with silver threading, the colors of dusk. You wore no jewelry. No mask. Only your resolve.

The ballroom gleamed. Light caught on ice sculptures and velvet drapery, casting stars on the marble floor. The nobles danced. The royals mingled. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Until he stepped forward in full ceremonial attire — sword at his hip, crown band gleaming like forged moonlight — and walked to the center of the room.

He didn’t call for silence.

He didn’t need to.

The crowd quieted on instinct.

Megumi looked at the gathered lords and ladies, eyes like winter storms.

Then he spoke.

“There’s been speculation,” he began, voice even but edged. “About my intentions. About the future of the realm. About alliances.”

He looked toward Lady Hisakawa, who stood near the dais, already lifting her chin with anticipation.

“There is truth in what you’ve heard,” he continued. “I have made a decision. But not the one you expect.”

A ripple moved through the crowd.

“I will not marry for power,” he said.

A gasp.

“I will not bind my life to politics. I have seen what love becomes when it’s used as currency. I refuse to bleed it dry.”

His voice cut like a blade now — controlled, lethal.

“I will not announce a bride tonight. Because she already knows who she is.”

And then he looked at you.

Not a flicker. Not a glance.

A look so direct, so defiant, it lit the entire room on fire.

You didn’t breathe.

He bowed his head, a silent vow in a room made of silence.

And the court exploded.

You were gone before the storm hit.

You slipped out through the west corridor, skirts lifted above your ankles, heart thundering like hooves on stone. Footsteps followed. Voices. Chaos in the wake of his truth.

But you didn’t stop running until someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you into an alcove.

Megumi.

His breath was ragged. His collar undone. He looked like a man who had just set fire to everything and didn’t regret it.

"You look so beauti-"

“Are you insane?” you hissed.

“Yes,” he said. “For you.”

“You’ve just undone a decade of strategy!”

“They’ll fix it,” he said. “They always do.”

“And what if they come for me?”

His hand framed your jaw again, tender and furious. “Then they’ll find you gone.”

Your breath caught.

“What are you saying?”

“I made arrangements,” he said. “Safe passage. A place outside the capital. No one knows but me.”

“Megumi—”

“If you stay, they’ll use you. To hurt me. To control me. I won’t let that happen.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m the Crown Prince. I can’t run. But I can protect you. Even from here.”

Tears pricked the edge of your eyes.

“I don’t want protection,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He kissed you then.

Fast. Desperate. Like he knew it might be the last.

Then he pressed something into your hand — a key, worn with age and silver-etched.

“There’s a gatehouse in the mountains,” he said. “It’s yours now. Go tonight.”

You stared at him.

And then, slowly, you shook your head.

“No.”

“Don’t be stupid—”

“No, Megumi. I won’t run unless you ask me to.”

Silence.

Then, his hand closed over yours.

“I won’t. Not yet.”

“Then I stay.”

His mouth trembled, just once.

And he let go.

The fallout came fast.

Whispers turned to accusations. Nobles turned on each other. The king grew ill. The court tried to rewrite the story in real time, but the damage had been done.

Megumi stood his ground.

And you?

You watched the kingdom crack beneath the weight of two people who refused to let go of something real.

A dangerous, impossible love.

The kind that shatters kingdoms.

The kind that builds them too.

@obsessivestrawberrysimp

[pikachic]

Hi it's me again. TMA/POKÉMON AU??? YES HELLO PARDON ME I NEED TO THROW MYSELF AT THIS OCCULUS AU YOU'VE GOT GOING ON IF YOU DONT MIND

*BUSTS DOWN THE DOOR* I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

I’ve had this AU simmering away for a while and but haven’t posted that much about it, so thank you for the excuse to scream about my extremely self indulgent Pokémon x The Magnus Archives AU

*ahem*

Introducing:

POKÉMON OCULUS

(Here’s an illustration I did after getting your ask - Champion Jonathan and his ace Pokémon, Vigitera!)

This AU is set in the Ervenis Region, a relatively small island region off the coast of Galar. It closed its borders two years prior to the main storyline, shortly after its Champion went missing during a series of attacks in its major cities and his predecessor was found murdered. Since then, an acting Champion has been instated and the borders have been reopened, but the Champion still has not been found. Most Ervenisans believe he is dead.

However, the Ervenis Champion isn’t as dead as everyone thinks, and his disappearance is only the first in long chain of events that will shake Ervenis to its very core, orchestrated by a man who aims to rule over a ruined world governed by nothing but his own will and the fear of people and Pokémon alike, and who will stop at nothing to bring that goal into reality.

More lore under the cut!

(Some of the AU-specific names and terms might be placeholders in that I haven’t been able to come up with anything better lmao)

(Also some of the art might be a bit old)

General Lore Stuff

Jon is the Champion who went missing, and Gertrude is his murdered predecessor.

Martin is Ervenis’ Pokémon Professor

Martin being the Professor is literally perfect.

Be. Because.

All of the Pokemon Professors (except for the newest ones) are named after trees.

And Martin’s last name is BLACKWOOD. Which is an ACTUAL TREE.

(My first rough attempt at drawing Jmart in the Pokémon art style)

Also jmart are extremely married

They’re Ervenis’ favorite power couple

(Professor Blackwood for half of the main plot: *sighs.* …I miss my husband. I miss him a lot. I’ll be back.)

Their Pokémon ship name would be Londonfogshipping

Martin has a Galvantula (most likely a regional form), a Sinistea, a Frosslass, and a Togekiss

Jon, in addition to AU-specific Fakemon, has a Gardevoir and a Luxray

Jon also has a shiny Appletun on his team and Martin has a Flapple. Make of that what you will :D

Also yes there are Fakemon in this thing

I have never designed any Fakemon before except for one thirty-minute period of time from when I was ten but I’m not going to let that stop me

(Initial Fakemon sketches! Three guesses as to which characters get Sqwyrm and Manickregus and the first two don’t count)

(Also Ervenisan Yamask has another form, which evolves into Ervenisan Cofagrigus which is inspired by the Do Not Open coffin)

(I have a whole list of Fakemon designs I want to make but 90% of them aren’t fleshed out at all)

Tim and Sasha are Professors in their own right, and also Martin’s assistants/fellow researchers

Tim has a Houndoom because I saw another TMA Pokémon AU that gave him one and I really liked the idea, he also has a Ludicolo because I lost a debate with my friend who is also into both TMA and Pokémon

Sasha has a Dartrix and a Meowstic

Most of the Avatars are gym leaders

(Yippee gym leader designs!)

(Not pictured because I ran out of steam before I could draw them: Michael and Helen, who run a double Electric-type gym; Daisy, who runs a Dragon-type gym; Karolina, who runs a Ground-type gym; and Jared, who runs a Normal-type gym)

Elias is the acting Champion in Jon’s absence and the secret leader of Team Chrysalis

The current Elite Four consists of Peter, Simon, Maxwell, and Annabelle

You might have noticed that Jon and the gym leaders are all wearing (mostly) black pendants/brooches

This is part of the Ervenis’ region’s “gimmick:”

Metafestation (which is. Almost definitely a placeholder name)

Skilled trainers can use special items called Metalenses to tap into the psyches of Pokemon and Trainer to manifest the shape of their desires and the power of their emotions in reality.

You basically give the Pokémon a JoJo Stand

Each Metalens must be specially shaped and cut to suit unique trainers and Pokémon, and since using poorly made Metalenses may have disastrous consequences on its users, only a handful of people have the qualifications and legal authorization to do so

(Gerard Keay is one of these people!)

Metalenses are usually worn as pendants or brooches so they’re close to the user’s heart

For the Metafestation power-up to be strongest, the trainer and Pokémon must have a shared goal/desire and a deep bond

(This bond does not have to be a positive one. It just needs to be strong.)

These Metafestations have their own typing system, though no one’s been able to figure out exactly what it is yet.

It’s the Fears. The Fears are the typing system.

Though most users of this system aren’t aware of it, Metafestation comes from achieving a delicate balance of both desire and fear.

When I first came up with this idea, it was JUST Fear, but I felt like that was a bit dark for frickin POKÉMON so I added the desire aspect

After all, what we fear and and what we desire often go hand in hand

You desire safety because you fear its absence, you desire light because you fear the dark, you desire freedom because you fear being confined, etc.

For example, Professor Blackwood desires companionship, and fears being forgotten. Most of the Metafestations he and his Pokémon create are foggy and cold, but in a way soothing at the same time.

Though a small handful of them are spindly and laced with puppet strings and reflect his desire to wield his cunning for good.

(However, he hasn’t been able to properly use his Metalens in years. The first and only time he tried after his husband vanished, it backfired horribly, consuming both him and his Pokémon in a chilling fog and sending them spiraling into unconsciousness. It took weeks for them to recover, and Professor Blackwood bears a physical scar of the incident in the streaks of stark white in his hair.)

Of course, most people don’t have just one desire/fear. The Metalens just channels the strongest ones, and most users don’t achieve more than three separate tertiary types of power-ups.

One of the biggest exceptions is Jon.

He desires many things: Safety, love, knowledge. He also fears many things: Being manipulated and controlled, abandonment, the unknown.

When he was a child, something happened to him that scarred his psyche in such a way that he could channel all of his desires and fears.

It’s what makes him such a potent conduit for the power-up system, and what makes him a prime target for:

Team Chrysalis

Team Chrysalis is a criminal organization/sort of cult disguised as something innocent: The Magnus Institute, the region’s main research institution that Professor Blackwood works at

The AU’s main plot gets kicked off when Professor Blackwood finds evidence that his husband, the missing Champion, is still alive

If this were a real game, the main story on the side of doing the gym challenge would be helping Professor Blackwood look for clues about Jon’s whereabouts and about The Magnus Institute’s hidden goals

Professor Blackwood also figures out that it’s very likely that Elias had a hand in Jon’s disappearance

(Professor Blackwood for the other half of the main plot: *slams down the Do Not Open coffin in front of Elias* It’s a coffin. There’s a name engraved on it. “WHORE!” IT’S EMPTY!! *grabs Elias by the collar* AND YOU’RE GOING IN IT!!!)

The Elite Four are also part of Team Chrysalis and fully on board with its plan

Though Annabelle might have her own machinations going on

Team Chrysalis plans to reshape the world as they see fit by summoning a Legendary Pokémon that’s a warped physical manifestation of the fears and desires of all living creatures, and simultaneously embodies and feeds on those fears and desires

(It’s basically all the Fears mashed into one eldritch monstrosity)

(I’m mildly worried this sounds too similar to some existing legendaries but at the same time I’m just spitballing and having fun here)

To summon this Legendary, they need a lynchpin capable of channeling all of those fears and desires

This lynchpin is Jon because of course it is.

Team Chrysalis’ whole plan actually only serves to grant Elias immortality and make him king of a ruined world but shhh none of the team members know that

I have zero idea what the Legendary would look like, I just have the fact I want it to have “Pan” in its name

The climax of the story comes when Team Chrysalis starts their ritual and the end of the world. In order to stop them, their Vessel and the Legendary must be defeated.

You are challenged by The Archivist!

The Really Self Indulgent Part

I started working on this at the same time that my friend was watching through XY for the first time

So at some point when coming up with all of the story stuff my brain went “what if I stuck Ash Ketchum into the story?”

So Ash is there now. For some reason lol

He’s 19 now and is just doing his thing and traveling the world

As usual, he takes on the player’s role, challenging gyms and helping Professor Blackwood in his investigation and eventually helping him take on Team Chrysalis

(I made this shitpost in like. Less than an hour lmao)

Ash is so done with these evil team leaders trying to destroy the world

Greninja is also there because tHIS IS MY AU AND I DO WHAT I WANT *MANIACAL LAUGHTER*

And I think that’s it for an overview of Pokémon Oculus!

I have a bunch more stuff for this AU, mostly spitballs and WIP writing snippets, and I do plan on making more art and Fakemon designs eventually (especially now that I’m getting better at emulating the Pokémon art style)

Thank you for reading this far, and feel free to ask me anything about this AU! :D

[auchrauch]

A (not so) detailed post about the current project I'm working on

Bringing here a slightly more extended version of my post from bluesky.

Please be nice because I might have one more thing to share with TGCF fandom.

I want to make a short visual novel featuring hualian in post-canon. Emphasis on "want to" because with a project of this scale I can't guarantee that it'll end up as a fully finished thing.

The original idea behind me starting this was simply "hualian having a wholesome day", though the mood slightly shifted towards something a bit more melancholic after I picked up a poem after which I named the game. (The poem's "Spring morning" by Meng Haoran). There is no continious heavy plot, just various SFW and NSFW routes which aren't connected between themselves (or are they?)

I tried to include different dynamics, so you can expect to see the classics (Top HC/Bottom XL) as well as versatile hualian (these routes can be hidden if someone doesn't fancy it). I also should mention that my understanding of characters and their dynamic can differ from what's considered the "norm" in the fandom, but I refuse to slap OOC label on my work because that's how I perceived these characters while reading the book and I'll be sticking to it. Oh, and I'm also following the revised version so there could be offhand mentions of events from the new extra or other small details like that.

I'm planning to release the final SFW version of the game for free (if it'll be finished at all), though I'm still not sure if I should hide NSFW version behind a paywall. Maybe I'll make one-time purchase posts for intermediate beta-builds too, so people can have a glimpse of what is in the works. Ideally I'd like to have at least some monetary support while working on this project, but providing consistent updates and materials in the patreon format wouldn't work for me, since, aside from commissions to pay my rent, the other project I'm involved with as an artist already takes a lot of my time.

So I can't give any dates and promises and will be simply working on this at my own pace.

So far, I have a complete (not proofread and not fully edited) script for all the routes as well as a working base for the game in renpy. I'm also almost done with UI and I made a couple of backgrounds, but that's nothing compared to how many more of them I still need. (You'll be subjected to looking at the picture attached to the post over and over again at the every start of the game).

For the next step, I'll probably focus on one route at a time and start filling them with visual assets.

I also can't decide whether I should stick to British or American English because:

1) This stupid gaijin can't differentiate between the two anyway.

2) I already started using "arse" yet I lost all the "u"s from my "ou"s and now I don't know which to change.

I'd like to hear which one people prefer more.

If you want to help in some way—I'm having trouble with sound design part as I'm locked out of purchasing anything from international sites/commissioning someone from overseas, and I don't want to risk commissioning assets for a NSFW lgbt game from anyone local since it' simply not a safe move. If you know any good resources that distribute sfx/sounds/music under a free flexible license please share! I'm using GDC royalty free archives but this obviously doesn't cover all my needs.

Idk what else to say here. Send help? Prayers for my sanity? Donations so I can pay my rent??? God, what am I even doing.

Here's the assortment of some early wips I already shared elsewhere:

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Disability: A Fanfiction Rec List

This week's theme is disability! Check under the cut for 11 fics that explore a wide range of disabilities in a wide range of genres, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you enjoy.

Modern AU by AngrySaltLamp (279666, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek works with gravity all the time. He can recognize the pull of it, he knows how to manipulate it, and he can intensify it when he wants. But gravity cannot explain the pull he feels towards the Zemnian professor speaking on stage. He needs to know what it is about Professor Widogast that has resonated with him so quickly. Caleb has a dark past. He's grown to accept that he's too traumatized by it to find interest in romance again. He goes to therapy, he works on his issues, but he never expected the work to actually pay off. Not until a handsome drow startles him outside the conference room after his presentation, wanting to ask some questions.

Reccer says: This series depicts greatly how Essek and Caleb build a relationship together, Caleb suffering from PTSD and Essek having difficult family issues. I love how their relationship evolves and all the communication they build between them.

Shadowgast Parent Trap Series by Pandazzz (43409, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Archive Warnings Apply

A continuing series of modern AU oneshots featuring Essek and Caleb as single dads who meet on an airplane when no seats are available for Caleb and his four year old daughter to sit together. It turns out that Caleb is the new hire in Essek's department at Roshona University, and their daughters' fast friendship kick-starts their parents' growing relationship with each other.

Reccer says: In addition to being a very sweet slow burn, this series is a constantly relatable portrayal of chronic pain (Essek) and autism (Caleb and his daughter). I love seeing them affirm each other and themselves after some not-affirming relationships in their pasts.A perfect mix of fluff as the two get to know each other through their work, their friends (the Nein!), and of course their daughters—and a little bit of hurt/comfort recently as Caleb, Verin, and the Nein support Essek through an A+ Parent Deirta Thelyss situation. The author is also excellent at giving guest PCs meaningful cameos and roles!

Lacuna by Sangreal (94811, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Torture

Essek is captured for his crimes against the Dynasty. The Mighty Nein arrange a deal to rescue him, but when they find out Essek's memory was erased, will they be able to put him completely back together again?

Reccer says: Very intriguing plot and a great representation of Essek's disabilities (including ones before his capture! Love to see Essek use his floating as a mobility tool)

prince rupert’s drop by Nevereverever (1906, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb comes home to find his favorite wanderer unexpected laying on his floor. He keeps his lover company.

Reccer says: A lovely piece of caretaking with so much space left for both to be their own people while deeply in love.

we learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts by Vegabondfirelily (5777, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb watches as Essek recovers from something awful that fundamentally changes their lives. A beautiful non linear narrative about love and loss and hope.

Reccer says: A stunning work that allows the reader to read non-linear or search to read in order. Beautiful and heartbreaking and loving all at once. A must read!

The Upward Arc of Sun and Moon by marsastronomica (255854, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek moves for a year to teach at Solstryce, where Caleb is also a professor. The story of two wizards falling in love intertwined with great friends, adventures, and discoveries

Reccer says: Among the best long form stories in this fandom, it showcases chronic pain as disability clearly yet simultaneously shows so much strength. It is a compelling story driven as much by its characters as the plot. I love it!

the most difficult thing to read is time by Pitchblackkoi (30047, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek and Caleb were childhood friends. They reunite years after.

Reccer says: A fantastic story that balances our characters into the modern world without letting them lose who they are

strange magic by mllekurtz (7297, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Modern AU - there's a man Essek meets on the train every morning while commuting.

Reccer says: The depiction of Essek with chronic pain was really nicely done and details what it's like to have to commute via public transportation with it. It's also just a great fic, and Essek and Caleb's growing communication and interest in one another is delightful and sweet.

Heart of Joy by Vvenus (98894, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Modern AU with magic. Essek is a top student at Tidepeak university, but dealing with chronic pain. His solitary daily life is then turned upside down when Caleb, a new student comes in to be his new roomate.

Reccer says: This brillant story depicts very well some disabilities like chronic pain (for Essek) and also autism (for Caleb) with brio. There is a lot of open communication between the two characters who build a healthy relationship.

My Condition by AngrySaltLamp (11186, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek has EDS and Caleb tries to learn and help him manage it.

Reccer says: I love the EDS representation and the dynamic of Essek not knowing how to let himself be cared for and Caleb being determined to care for him anyways.

The following fic received three recs:

Coping Skills by eldritchmochi (251061, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Canon Typical Medical Experimenting from Trent

Demisexual disabled kinky Essek meets a kinky traumatised Caleb. Enchanted with the kinky handsome man that turns out to be the same scientist from the Empire studying time travel!

Reccer 1 says: I liked it! Reccer 2 says: This is quite possibly my favorite fic of all time. Essek is written as having EDS, and it is portrayed in a very real way that I relate to. We get to see Essek dealing with internalized ableism. We get to see Caleb as a caretaker. I found it incredibly healing as a disabled person to see the perspective of Caleb loving and enjoying playing with and caring for Essek. Reccer 3 says: So much wonderful things in this fic! Its a beautiful look into bdsm, and explores both kink and disability so respectfully. Also super hot sex scenes.

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring older gems, fics that are more than two years old!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[velvees-archive]

art cr: @cokiicookies on twitter

Tags: Love Confessions, Bratfeen, Art Student Feenie, Law Student Bratworth, Ace Attorney-typical cringefail, Canon Divergence

and many others!

HEAVILY inspired by @cokiicookies's bratfeen art on twitter! check out the full comic there!!!

"Hey...so...uh..." Phoenix coughs out, voice scratchy from his most recent line repetitions. It's a small mistake, not unsalvageable. All he has to do is stick to the script. Stick to the script. Stick... His eyes flick down to his note cards. He swears he’d printed them in his best penmanship, atop one of the library's extra premium desks, but everything is spinning and he feels faintly like he's going to throw up. "Did you uh," he starts, letters swirling in his eyes. "Did...you fall out of heaven...?" Genius prosecutor-in-training Miles Edgeworth regards him with a blank stare. Phoenix thinks now would be an opportune time for him to locate the nearest possible bridge and promptly jump off of it. - The joys and woes (mostly woes) of being in love, as told by BratFeen.

so i caved and wrote narumitsu. another huge thank you to @cokiicookies on twitter for allowing me to write an accompanying fic for their work. i attached some of the comic here in an attempt to entice you to look at their comic (well? are you enticed?!), but if you wanna see the full thing, please do give their art a like, a retweet, a comment, and all the love on twitter! fic screenshots below:

misc commentary/musings under the cut :)

the way i wrote feenie inner monologue and narration parallels my informal writing style, so writing his freak outs weren't challenging. consciously changing sentence structures/verbiage to be more or less extra, on the other hand, totally was.

the bulk of my pain came from writing fluff in the first place, stumbling through dialogue exchanges (as always), and attempting larry dialogue...all of which i honestly think i failed at pretty badly HAHA. who cares tho? it's my work!

bratfeen is one of my favorite narumitsu "eras" if you will. i've always wanted to write them. i didn't know the opportunity would come so soon (and at my expense considering i still have a zine fic to finalize for a diff fandom), but i took the shot. the full fic was written over the course of a day which i do not recommend anyone experience. i was on a writing hiatus for months and wrote 8k words as soon as i came back. do you see why i burnt out in the first place?

the easiest part about writing bratfeen is that none of the things i write are exaggerated for the purpose of carrying the plot forward. feenie believing that bratworth is better of a human being than everyone makes him out to be? sounds about right. feenie insisting to others that miles is the best thing since grilled cheese? his raging savior complex says that's likely to occur. feenie fumbling the bag because he thinks miles is the prettiest thing he's ever seen? yeah, 20 y/o feenie would! feenie shoving the asshole who talked shit abt miles? we saw the exact same thing with doug swallow (and we all know how that ended...). all of it is in line w his character. also miles being a try hard. that's a given.

i am hoping i can showcase more of my technical skill aka the angst writer in me with my next work, though i've been closely following fictober (haven't been publishing because, again, zine fic obligations) and have plenty of angsty fics stored in my drafts. i hope you enjoy my poor attempt at humor and fluff. may i muster the strength to finish the rest of my zine fic...please...

[a-ikus]

THE bell fixed atop the door rings delicately, announcing your entry to the clerk stocking the shelf closest to the counter, just beneath a sign with a bright (haphazardly cut) paper sign reading STAFF PICKS! browsing the shelf, one of the features titles catches your attention. you bring the VHS case to the counter, the clerk smiling warmly at you before scanning the faded, aged barcode, "good choice."

NOTES: welcome to my blog/housewarming party!! this was going to be my 3rd year anniversary event on the 26th of april but since my last storefront was burnt to the ground by evil arsonists (read: previous blog was terminated lmao) i switched it to be a blogwarming event instead

luckily i was able to save a few vhs's and trinkets from the ashes of my old blog — this is mostly just a big writing exercise! i haven't written in a while with all of the drama and move and a fresh start is the perfect excuse to host a little drabble event, i hope you find something you like in my little store!!

io's VHS store is CURRENTLY [OPEN] NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO SERVICE !

18+ only — minors and ageless blogs will be ignored if you have a side blog pls make sure to @ it if you send anonymously! <3

the event is dark content friendly

must be following to play

send a movie + one character to my inbox and i'll write a drabble based on the prompts below! — if there are certain tropes you would like me to include or avoid please let me know in your ask! some movie choices will include nsfw and/or horror themes so please keep that in mind when choosing <3

all writing is x reader — similarly, all works are f!reader, i can write gn reader if requested but i don't write m!readers

please see the rules for who i do and don't write — this is serving as a writing exercise for me so i don't mind getting characters i don't have listed/in my unsure section, if i haven't included a trope/character you're curious about feel free to ask and i can let you know

movies/characters can be chosen any amount of times, someone else's request won't affect your own + multiple requests are okay! — i'll add requests onto the masterlist as soon as i receive them if you don't want to do the same as someone else but overall it won't affect it

your ask will not be posted so include as much information in your request as you'd like

event posts will be tagged with: MERCURY'S 50% OFF WELCOME SALE if you wish to filter

MASTERLIST + ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN [tba]

all prompts listed below the cut

*click for better quality

GENERAL DISCLAIMERS!: *the themes are general tropes to expect, something listed as sfw can be requested to be nsfw and vice versa but bear in mind the overall themes of the movie will be in the drabble eg: X as only the nsfw aspects not the horror ones or vice versa but this choice cannot be made into a sfw piece *prompts may not follow the plot to a T, i haven't seen some of these movies/shows but generally it will share themes with your choice but drabbles may not exactly follow the listed plot

X: a group of actors set out to make an adult film under the noses of their reclusive hosts, but when the elderly couple catches their guests in the act, the cast finds themselves in a desperate fight for their lives. — EXPECTED THEMES: nsfw and/or horror, amateur porn + voyeurism

THE SECRETARY: a timid young woman starts working for a demanding lawyer and finds a new way to deal with her urges. — EXPECTED THEMES: nsfw, d/s dynamics; orgasm control, bratting, omo, spanking, etc

THE BEAR: a talented young chef named carmen "carmy" inherits his family italian beef sandwich shop after the death of his older brother. — EXPECTED THEMES: nsfw, restaurant au, i'll be honest i haven't seen this i just want to fuck a chef, this is pure lust driving me

JOHN TUCKER MUST DIE: after discovering they are all dating the same guy, three popular students from different cliques band together for revenge, enlisting the help of the new girl in town and conspire to break the jerk's heart, while destroying his reputation. — EXPECTED THEMES: nsfw, fake dating, toxic relationship + humiliation

JENNIFER'S BODY: when a demon takes possession of her, high-school hottie jennifer turns a hungry eye on guys who never stood a chance with her before. while jennifer satisfies her appetite for human flesh with the school's male population, her nerdy friend, needy, learns what's happening and vows to put an end to it. — EXPECTED THEMES: nsfw and/or horror, succubi, sacrificial sex + fear play

THE THING: in remote antarctica, a group of research scientists are disturbed at their base camp by a helicopter shooting at a sled dog. when they take in the dog, it brutally attacks human beings and canines in the camp and they discover the beast can assume the shape of its victims. a polite and doctor lead the crew in a desperate, gory battle against the vicious creature before it picks them all off. one by one. — EXPECTED THEMES: horror and/or nsfw, doppelgängers + came back wrong

LOVE ROSIE: rosie and alex have been best friends since they were 5, so they couldn't possibly be right for each other — or could they? when it comes to love, life and making the right choices, these two are their own worst enemies. — EXPECTED THEMES: sfw, friends to lovers, missed chances + miscommunication

BUFFALO 66: convict billy brown dreads going home so much upon his release from prison that he tries to get back inside. in desperation, he kidnaps layla from a tap dancing class and pleads with her to impersonate his wife and to accompany him home to visit his parents. — EXPECTED THEMES: nsfw/dark content, fake dating, threatening, another choice i made with my pussy i will not lie

ABOUT TIME: when tim lake is 21, his father tells him a secret: the men in their family can travel through time. although he can't change history, tim resolves to improve his life by getting a girlfriend. he meets mary, falls in love and finally wins her heart via time-travel and a little cunning. — EXPECTED THEMES: sfw, time travel + pining

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU: kat stratford is beautiful, smart and abrasive to most of her fellow teens, meaning that she doesn't attract many boys. unfortunately for her younger sister, house rules say that she can't date until kat does, so strings are pulled to set the damsel up for a romance. soon kat crosses paths with handsome new arrival patrick verona. — EXPECTED THEMES: sfw/nsfw, fake dating, enemies to lovers + mean girl x bad boy

ROMEO + JULIET: the capulets and the montagues are two rival gangs. juliet is attending a costume ball thrown by her parents. her father has arranged her marriage to the boorish paris as part of a strategic investment plan. romeo attends the masked ball and he and juliet fall in love at first sight. — EXPECTED THEMES: sfw/nsfw, forbidden love, cheating + exhibitionism

SET IT UP: two overworked and underpaid assistants come up with a plan to get their bosses off their backs by setting them up with each other. — EXPECTED THEMES: sfw/nsfw, workplace love, friends to lovers + mutual pining

PONYO: during a forbidden excursion to see the surface world, a goldfish princess encounters a human boy named sosuke, who gives her the name ponyo. ponyo longs to be human, and as her friendship with sosuke grows, she becomes more and more humanlike. ponyo's father brings her back to their ocean kingdom, but so strong is ponyo's wish to live on the surface that she breaks free. — EXPECTED THEMES: sfw, childhood romance + friends to strangers to lovers

YOU: following joe goldberg, a bookstore manager in new york, who meets guinevere beck, an aspiring writer, with whom he becomes immediately infatuated. to feed his sociopathic obsession, he soon turns to social media and technology to track her presence and eliminate any possible obstacles that stand in the way of their romance. — EXPECTED THEMES: dark content and/or nsfw, stalking/yandere + voyeurism

CLUELESS: shallow, rich and socially successful, cher is at the top of her high school's pecking scale. emboldened by her matchmaking success, she decides to give hopelessly klutzy new student, tai a makeover. when tai becomes more popular than she is, cher realises that her disapproving ex-stepbrother was right about how misguided she was — and falls for him. — EXPECTED THEMES: dark content and/or nsfw, stepcest, this is only here for stepbrother smut i'll be real lmao

© all works belong to @a-ikus and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.