#and like I don’t expect or need anyone to respond to this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elletheactualmenace · 1 day

Text

You Would do That for Me? - Pt. 4

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!fem!reader

Summary: Its finally Friday and Peter isn’t expecting what happens at your house.

Warnings: Mentions of physical assault (not in this chapter), Slight verbal bullying, swearing, suggestive (just a bit)

Word Count: 3.8k

a/n: Hello! Sorry this took so long, life has been crazy. I hope you like this part! Its getting exiting and the next part should be, if i write it correctly, more exciting. Enjoy!!

Thoughts = “Italicized dialogue”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

After everything that happened during first period, Peter puts aside his work during his study hall to wrap his head around it. There is no way that what happened actually happened. Peter is stunned but finds it all hilarious at the same time.

“What does this mean for us?” He thought. “Or maybe I’m looking too deeply into this…” Peter doesn’t want to admit how you defending him warms his heart and sends butterflies swarming in his stomach. He admires how you could be so brave, so bold without a mask. Without his mask he doubts he could do half the things he does as Spiderman. Not that you knew he was Spiderman, oh no. You don’t know, and he plans on it staying that way, at least for as long as he can.

He can’t imagine what would happen if you found out. What if- what if you got hurt, or- or die- No. He can’t think like that. You’re safe, everyone is safe. Besides, if you do find out, in some miraculous way, he assumes you’ll be pissed he didn’t tell you, but the whole hero thing won’t be new to you. For now, he pushes those “what ifs” out of his brain.

“I still can’t believe she said all that to defend me.” Peter thinks blushing with a giddy heart warmed smile. “God, she’s amazing.”

He's astounded that anyone would do something like that for him. Sure, MJ and Ned did it too, but not in the way you defend him. He feels bad for feeling like this, but he just feels like there from different places, and they mean different things. Like you feel the need to defend him.

Peter doesn’t know if this should or will shift something in your relationship with him. But if something were to shift, he wants it to be for better, not in an awkward way. He wants this “relationship” to be just as healthy as a real one.

“For now, I guess, I’ll wait for her to talk about what happened. And when we do talk, I can say that this is what we both wanted. I can reassure both of us. It’ll be fine.” Peter concludes, just as the bell rings. He stands from his desk and heads over to the doors.

As he walks out of the class, he can feel all eyes on him. It messes with his senses and leaves him on edge. He just keeps walking. Even when he hears people whisper his name and yours and then some curse of astonishment. His hands tighten into fists as he holds onto the straps of his school bag.

He feels a person walking up next to him silently and before he looks he can tell it’s you. Maybe it’s your perfume, or maybe it's just that happy feeling he gets in his heart when you're close.

He glances over to you and a small smile graces his lips. You both walk in silence. That is until Peter, with his enhanced hearing, overhears someone say something about Peter and you. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from curling into a ball in the middle of the hallway.

“Peter?” You ask and he whips his head to listen to you. “I just wanted to apologize about what I said in our first period.”

“Oh.” Peter thinks, relieved that this conversation didn’t have to wait too long. He decides to lighten your anxious mood, and makes a stupid joke.

“What? That you think Luke Skywalker is lame? Because, really Y/n it doesn’t bother me as much as I led on.” Peter says with a smile. You smile at his comment.

“No, I mean with Flash. I realize we should have talked about it before I told him, because now everyone knows." You utter quietly. Peter hums, thinking of how to respond in a way that shows you he doesn’t mind but also doesn’t show you that he thought what you said and did was incredible and brave and amazing and-

“And also all the other stuff I said when he was there." You add on quickly. Peter stays quiet, still contemplating what to say. Finally, he comes up with a good response.

"It's fine Y/n. Honestly it was really cool of you to do that for me." Peter is surprised at how cool and calm he sounds, because on the inside he’s got butterflies invading every corner of his stomach.

“Really?” You ask a little surprised.

"Yeah, and I mean, this is what we wanted right? Everyone to know?" He tries, repeating what he’s been telling himself all day.

A thought passes over him like a wave slapping him in the face. “Ask her about the thing,” he thinks to himself. “Now is the perfect time.” He reasons, as he gathers up the courage to ask you.

"On that thought, I can't remember, umm, how do I say this?" Suddenly his tone switches to one of seriousness.

"You know how you are helping me with Flash?" Peter whispers so no one in the hallway will hear him. His brows furrow as his face fills with concern.

"Well, I feel like a real ass for not remembering, but what exactly am I trying to help-"

The ringing of the bell cuts him off, annoyingly. He watches as you pull your phone out quickly checking the screen. And you give him an apologetic smile.

"Can we talk later? I have a history test to get to." You say, and he can tell you don’t want to leave. He knows you feel bad. But he also understands how important tests are and sighs sadly.

"Oh, umm yeah, of course." Peter mumbles out, he’s annoyed and a little disappointed but gets it.

"See you later." He says you both walk to your classrooms. He’ll just have to ask you about it later. But soon. He promises himself. Just in case he’s helping you with something bigger than what you're helping him with. That’s what scares him. But as he continues walking he tries to reassure himself.

”oh, good luck!” Peter awkwardly calls after you. People eye him with second hand embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck, sighing

“Look, it's the smartass’s new boyfriend, penis Parker.” Peter hears someone whisper and then giggles follow. He dips his head, trying to sink into the floor. God, he hates how mean people are. He doesn’t care about himself, he's used to the dumbass nicknames. But for someone to make fun of you makes his blood boil. You’re too kind and- and pretty to be made fun of. He doesn’t understand.

Peter wills himself to let it go as he walks to his next class.

——

He really can’t believe how well he handled that conversation. He guesses that taking time out of study helped. But, when he tries to ask you the question again, you have another thing to get to. Peter tries not to dwell on it too much, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

When Peter gets on the subway, Ned starts up a conversation in the group chat with MJ, you, and him. After it's done, all he gets out of it is that you’re all going to be watching a horror movie, and that well, as MJ puts it, he can cuddle up with you when he's scared. He blushes so uncomfortably on the subway, his heart beating super fast, he swears other people can hear it, but he makes sure to play it off cool.

Peter eventually makes his way to his usual alley. There he changes into his Spiderman suit. Peter quickly webs his backpack to the brick wall of the alleyway. He’s learned from past experiences to try his best to get it higher up so it has a smaller chance of getting stolen. Aunt May talks his ear off every time he tells her he needs a new one, Spiderman activities, or not.

When his backpack is secure and his suit is on right he smiles. Peter shoots a web up to the top of the building and propels himself up. When he gets to the roof of the building he sighs, contently.

Being Spiderman makes Peter feel worth something. It feels good helping others. That's why he wants to help you. Or find out what you need help with. He cares about you, not just as a friend, not just as a crush, but as a person. I mean, how could he not care about you? You're perfect in his eyes. You’re smart, you're funny, you're witty, you stand your ground, you're pretty and you have a kind heart. He can’t even imagine a more perfect human being. And even better, you tolerate his shit.

He can’t believe that he’s in this situation with you, it makes his head spin. It makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. It makes him smile like a schoolgirl. It's honestly embarrassing to blush as much as he does around you. He wonders what you’re doing. He always does, really.

Peter looks out at the city from his high stoop on the edge of the building. He watches the people pass, he watches lives being lived. These are his people, the people he’s promised to protect.

During his patrol, Peter manages to stop a couple muggers, petty thieves and help a mother unload her groceries. Usually the ‘big bad guys’ come out later, when the night sky can hide their crimes, as Peter sees it.

Peter swings all over Manhattan, by the end of his rounds around the city he feels his body flood with exhaustion. He sigh in slight annoyance, the nuisance of having to deal with grumpy New Yorkers all day will leave a sour taste in anyone's mouth.

When Peter lands in the same alley he was in just a couple hours early he finds his backpack still webbed to the brick wall. He climbs up the wall, unwebs his bag, and jumps to the ground. He quickly changes out of his outfit and into his clothes from earlier. The awkwardness of being in his boxers in the middle of a New York alley has begun to dull out. After a homeless man saw, laughed, and then whistled a mock, and walked away, Peter was pretty immune to the flush of his cheeks.

Peter wings his bag onto his shoulder and saunters out of the alley, his headphones secure in his ears. He shuffles the songs in his playlist, and the song lands on one that reminds him of you. His lips quirk up. He’s not so annoyed anymore.

That is until he remembers the hours of homework he's walking home to.

——

The next day of school goes by with no hitches. Aside from the occasional odd look from passersby in the hallway. You and Peter manage to keep up your cover, undisturbed by Flash. But when Peter walked by Flash during first period, Flash immediately turned away in embarrassment. Peter smiled at the fact Flash was too shy to look Peter in the eyes.

Along with that, in every class you had with Peter, he felt your eyes on him. He tried to ignore it, assuming you’re lost in thought about more ways to make the relationship believable. He didn't want to jump to conclusions. Conclusions like: You were staring at him because you might actually have feelings for him that run deeper than just friends. But again, he had to stop himself from thinking like that. Because you couldn’t like him like that. Right?

It's Friday so, todays the day. Movies night at your house. Peter's eyes were drawn to the clock in every class he sat in. He couldn’t stop the bouncing of his foot, waiting for the final bell to ring. And then to meet you with you and both of your friends outside the building. You told them that Happy was going to pick you all up and drive you to your house.

When the final bell rings, Peter jumps out of his seat. He almost trips over the sluggishly moving people in front of him. But Peter swiftly maneuvers through the crowd of tired teenages and to his locker to collect his things.

Moving quickly, Peter stuffs his books into his bag before zipping to the doors of the school. He finds you and MJ already standing there talking. Peter dashes over, slightly out of breath.

”Hey,” He says as he waves to both you and MJ.

”What's up with you?” MJ asks, “did you just come from gym?” She asks as she chuckles. You smile too, and Peter finds his eyes drawn to you, longer than anyone normally should look at someone. But you don’t seem to mind, too lost in your own thoughts.

MJ sure notices both of you staring breathlessly at each other. She just scoffs playfully and shakes her head with a laugh.

“You two are too much,” She huffs out. “Get a room!” She says as she shoves you.

“What?” You ask as you turn to the sound of her voice, seemingly snapping out of your thoughts. And along with you Peter.

“Save that for later at the house, love birds.” MJ adds as she snaps her fingers in front of you and Peter's faces, making sure she's snapped you both out of your little trances.

“S-sorry,” Peter says as he blushes. He can’t believe she said that out loud, and with such ease. MJ just rolls her eyes.

Ned eventually joins us and soon after Happy pulls up to the front of the school. You call everyone over.

”Oh, look, Happy’s here.” You comment as you trudge over. “Sit wherever, just no shotgun, Happy hates that.” You chuckle as you pull open the door for everyone to get in.

Ned gasps as he hops in. There's two rows of seats facing each other in the back of the car. MJs eyes widen, impressed, as she follows Ned in the car.

“Damn Y/n,” Ned starts, “Sometimes I forget you're rich.” He says as he runs his hands over the leather seating. You smile awkwardly and you and Peter climb in.

“Yeah, me too.” You comment quietly as you pull your seatbelt on.

”Hey kids, you better not make a mess back there” Happy scolds you all, making himself known as he pulls out of the school.

”Hey Happs.” Peter calls with a small smile.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Happy asks as he rolls his eyes. He then closes the divider between the back and the front of the car.

”Wait, you know Happy?” You ask, turning to Peter. You look really confused. He stutters for a second. You can’t find out that he's Spiderman. He won’t let you. He promised himself he wouldn’t. Especially with MJ in the car, she doesn’t know either. Oh god, what does he say? He just stares at you unsure. What does he say?

“He works for your dad as an intern, remember?” Ned chimes in. Peter swears he's a god sent. How did he forget about that? During freshman year it was basically his entire personality. Ned glances at him, letting him know he has Peters back. Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding back.

”Right, that.” He says quietly looking at Ned.

”Oh shit, yeah, sorry I forgot.” You apologize, giving Peter a small smile, which he returns.

“How could you Y/n? It's where he gets his bragging rights.” MJ says as she rolls her eyes.

”That is, after you,” Peter adds on. “After all, if anyone should get bragging rights it should be the daughter of Tony Stark, not his intern.”

“Please, my dad does all the bragging for me.” You joke with a smirk and shake your head. Everyone laughs with you. Peter can’t believe you looked past his hesitation after the question you asked. He's just glad Ned was there to save the day.

Happy pulls up to the house in upstate New York and you can hear Ned, once again gasping. Ned practically presses his face against the glass.

“God, you live so far.” MJ says as she pushes open the door.

“I know,” You breathe out. “Sometimes I wish we had stayed in the Avengers tower.”

“That would be sick.” Ned grins from ear to ear. You all shuffle out of the car.

“Bye, Happy, thanks for the ride.” You wave to him through the glass. Everyone echos with their own version of your words. Peter waves to Happy and Happy waves back before driving off once again to park the car somewhere.

”How long was that drive?” Peter asks as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Forty minutes,” You answer. “with traffic.” You add as you stride over to one of the many doors.

“I would die.” MJ comments as she follows after you. Peter laughs, he can’t imagine going on that drive twice every day. You must do homework on the way home with that much time on your hands.

“Believe me, when I wake up every morning, I want to.” You groan as you put in a code and open the door. Everyone follows you as you walk.

“She knows this place like the back of her hand,” Peter thinks in utter disbelief that you knows the layout of this mansion. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised because you live here, but still, it’s impressive.

You guide them all to the kitchen. There you plop down your bag on one of the counter stools. Peter suspects that this isn’t the only kitchen in the house.

“uh, this is my familys kitchen, only my family uses it, sometimes the Avengers. You can put your stuff down.” You say with a smile. Your three friends take a seat.

“So, let me explain a bit about the set up.” You offer as you walk to the other side of the island and lean against it, facing them.

“We have a house house section of this building, and then an Avenger section.” You explain. “So on this side of the building it's more homey and you know, like a house.” You say gesturing to the homey kitchen.

“Should we take our shoes off?” Ned asks. You chuckle. “You can do whatever. We usually do, but you can keep them on if you want.”

“Where should we put them?” MJ asks, and you point to a closet near the entrance of the spacious kitchen. You walk over and slide off your shoes before placing them on one of the shoe racks.

”Fancy,” Peter smirks at you and you blush slightly and nod. Peter sees you blush and he can’t help but blush too.

——

Eventually you all make your way to the theater room that you somehow just have in your house. You all gather round in comfy seats with snacks from the snack cart and blankets. Peter, MJ, and Ned are astounded at your wealth.

MJ scrolls through the movies. You and Peter sit next to each other on a two person couch, while MJ and Ned sit together on another two person couch. MJ had insisted that you and Peter sit together. She reasoned, Peter would get scared and need his girlfriend to comfort him. You rolled your eyes, while Peter blushed furiously.

“So, how about The Sixth Sense? It's a classic.” MJ asks. You nod and look at Ned and Peter.

“I'm chill with that.” You note. Ned sighs loudly. You can practically feel MJ roll her eyes.

“Fine. As long as I can see your dads lab, Y/n.” Ned says pointing his finger at you.

“Promise is a promise.” You confirm, lifting your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, start it.” Peter says and MJ does. The music begins to rumble softly through the speakers in the room. It flows around you all, drawing you in. The screen flickers to life as the movie rolls.

As the opening scene plays Peter can feel your hand resting awfully close to his. The heat radiating from your skin hits his skin. Peter has trouble paying attention, his breath gets caught in his throat. And he's starting to notice a pattern of that when he's around you.

He can feel you shuffle closer to him. His body stiffens and he glances over at you. He makes sure only to move his eyes, not his head. He doesn’t know what to think of it when you move so your thigh is pressed against his. He doesn't want to assume it's something that it’s not, but, what else would it be? He asks himself. He runs through all the possibilities. And his conclusion is that you want this. You want him close. So he obliges, hoping his suspicions are correct.

As you move closer once again, your eyes still on the large screen, he moves his arms to wrap around your waist to pull you close. He feels you tense. And immediately he pulls away. Embarrassment and shame flowing through his veins.

But then, as if out of a book, you grasp his hands, and pull them back. He lets out a small breath. “She wants this? She really wants this?” Peter thinks with a relieved and thrilled smile.

You pull his arm back around you, to snake around your waist. You push your back into his chest slightly, at least as best you can while sitting next to him. You lean your head against his shoulder. Peter's heart drums through his chest as fast as it does while fighting crime. Almost faster.

Peter moves to nuzzle his head against yours. He sighs in euphoria. This is all he's ever wanted. Maybe it's not a kiss, but in some ways this is better. Holding each other close in a dark room is so intimate.

Peter closes his eyes, trying to savor the moment. He feels your hands graze over his that are wrapped around you. He moves one of his hands to intertwine with yours and the soft contact of your skin against his makes his heart skip a beat. His other hand sits securely around you. You let your body relax against his and Peter swears he’s dreaming.

You both just sit there. Both of you two focused on the close proximity to pay attention to the movie. Eventually though, your eyes slowly fall shut, and Peter can hear your breathing slow and soft snores leave you. He smiles, pulling you closer and glancing down at you. With all of his being, Peter hopes that the feeling in his heart, that this is too real to be you both faking your relationship, is not just a feeling in his heart.

Tag list:

@riordanness

@princess-ofthe-pages

@sunnyx07

@hollandweather

@crumpets-are-better-with-jam

#x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #mcu peter x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman #mcu spiderman #spiderman x reader

20 notes · View notes

princessmuk · 2 years

Text

Depressive rant under the cut

What do you do when you just. Can’t?

I’ve missed so much school this semester. I can barely get out of bed in the morning. My depression and ADHD are so bad all the time. I have no personal or social life. My friends haven’t talked to me in months. All I do is work and school and nothing else. I’m exhausted all the time. I just don’t understand.

What happened to me? Why can’t I hold it together? Why am I never enough? Why can I never just get through life like everyone else?

Why am I so fucking tired all the time?

I’m just. I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted with life. And no, don’t worry, I’m not suicidal or anything. I want to live. I want to live and be happy. I want to have energy. I want to enjoy my existence. I just want to go to school on time and not cause myself more stress, I want to have energy when I get home, I want my meds to work, I want my friends to exist again, I want my mind to be calm…

I just. I can’t. And no amount of therapy, or meds, or trying is seeming to change that.

Everyone tells me I’ve been working so hard. That they can see the progress I’m making. But I feel worse than ever. And I just want it to stop. I just want to be okay.

Why can’t I be okay?

#my post #depression tw #I’ll probably delete this later if I remember #my brain loves to forget things tho so we’ll see #I just need to get this out and I have nobody to talk to #and like I don’t expect or need anyone to respond to this #but actually sending it out into the dash makes me feel better than writing in my diary or saving a draft yknow?#idk maybe that doesn’t make any sense #I’m just. bleh.#and I’m so tired of making excuses to everyone when the true reason is I just can’t

7 notes · View notes

babyfairy · 8 months

Text

i hate that i can’t even ride the high from my concert because my life is so consistently depressing and hellish lmao 🙃 it’s depressing to come back down to reality after such a good day. like it really makes me realize how joyless my life has become. everything just blurs together

#and i’m just tired of like everything around me feeling like it’s drifting away and becoming more unreachable #like i never even get to finish a conversation with half of my friends because they just forget to respond to me #thank god for sushi and asant consistently replying even when they’re busy lmao #no one else even bothers to really check in now unless i’m in like ACTIVE crisis it really sucks #not even in like a ‘i need people to hear me vent’ way #i just don’t feel important to the majority of the people in my life. at all #or maybe it’s just i feel like i care about and prioritize them a lot more than they do me #like? i had more coworkers text me on my birthday than actual friends #and i fucking hate my birthday so i get it to some degree #but it just hurts my feelings? idk? i feel like such an afterthought all the time to people. like a ghost #and i feel like i’m not interesting or good enough to keep anyone around or hold their attention #my own brother didn’t even wish me a happy birthday. at all lol #are my expectations just too high?#it’s just lonely. i wish i didn’t feel so alone

13 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 16 days

Text

Title: Puppy Love.

Pairing: Yandere!Yuuji x Reader x Yandere!Yuuta

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Puppy!Yuuta, Puppy!Yuuji, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Somnophilia, Biting, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, and Obsessive Behavior.

You heard Yuuji, first.

He’d always been the louder of the pair, not that it was a very steep competition. You hadn’t had him for very long, but—well, it was less that he came out of his shell quickly and more that he’d never had a shell at all. It only taken a day or so for him to get used to the idea of living with you and Yuuta full-time, a week for him to start acting like he’d always been a part of your little family, and another month before he started pawing at your bedroom door at night and whining when you reminded him that you preferred to sleep alone (meaning: without multiple two-hundred pound hybrids draped across you). He was energetic, overly friendly, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to call him disobedient or difficult. You figured having a more, for lack of better phrasing, dog-like hybrid in the house would be good for Yuuta, bring out his more instinctive side. In reality, the added stress of an overly hyper roommate had only worked to make him just a little more anxious than he already was, but you still thought it was good for him. If nothing else, Yuuji gave Yuuta something to focus on that wasn’t you, and Yuuta could use more distractions.

But Yuuji, though—He was what you should’ve been focusing on, at the moment. Through the haze of exhaustion, you could hear the door creaking open, the muffled sound of padded feet on carpeting and the tiny, almost inaudible vocalizations Yuuji never seemed to realize anyone else could hear. Soon enough, you felt the foot of the mattress dip as he clambered onto your bed. Any other night, you would’ve forced yourself to sit up and tell him to leave, would’ve called on the dozens of books and hundreds of blogposts you’d read about hybrid obedience training and found the strength to ‘reinforce boundaries despite personal feelings’, but you were tired beyond the point of discipline, and Yuuji didn’t mean any harm. One night of letting him curl up next to you wouldn’t hurt, even if you did make a mental note to show Yuuta some extra affection in the morning – just to keep the scales balanced. For all their many differences, they were both prone to crying favoritism.

You never stirred, but you settled deeper into place, curling into yourself as Yuuji remained at your feet. You might’ve fallen asleep entirely, if Yuuji hadn’t spoken.

His voice was quiet, low, audibly trepidatious. It reminded you of Yuuta’s nervous, stuttering inclination, although not quite as unsteady. “Are you sure it’s alright to…?”

“I am.” You weren’t sure who you expected to answer, but the sound of Yuuta’s voice almost startled you awake. It was normal for Yuuji to bend the rules. Yuuta was supposed to know better. “She’s asleep, right? Just don’t wake her up.”

Yuuji didn’t respond, but you felt the sheets draped over your shift, a warm hand curl around your calf. For as little reassurance as Yuuta had provided, it seemed to be enough for Yuuji.

It was half curiosity and half fatigue that kept you quiet as Yuuji moved around you. Whatever they might’ve been up to, nothing could’ve seemed worse than having to wake up and sacrifice much-needed sleep for the sake of scolding your (usually angelic) pets. At worst, you’d wait until you could catch them in the act or, better yet, grit your teeth and bare it until they left. Anything not to have to deal with this for another eight hours.

You rolled onto your side, twisting your leg out of Yuuji’s hand and letting out a soft groan as you curled into yourself. It wasn’t a subtle position, let alone an inviting one, but Yuuji only whimpered, only edged closer to you. This time, when he touched you, it was to take up your shoulder – his hold gentle and breathing heavy as he nudged you onto your back. Whatever he was doing, he seemed determined to see it through. It might’ve been more admirable, if you hadn’t been so confused.

You felt your sheets pull away from you next, then another hand on your ankle, Yuuji’s rough claws pressing lightly into your skin as his loose grip flexed. You felt him draw your legs apart, and with the corner of your mouth already quirking downward, you started to open your eyes, to sit up and—

Suddenly, you felt something wet and warm press into your cunt, and you stopped moving entirely.

Whatever lingering exhaustion you might’ve felt was swiftly replaced with cold, pointed terror. This time, you forced yourself to hold still, it wasn’t out of confusion or curiosity, but an abrupt and paralyzing fear.

It wasn’t a feeling Yuuji seemed to share. His tongue was already moving across the length of your slit, his drool already soaking into the silk of your panties. He was making those noises, again; deep and throaty, closer to the sounds a prowling animal would make than anything remotely similar to human speech. Both of his hands found their way to your ass, claws biting into the plush flesh as he buried his face in your pussy. He was just as rough with his mouth – his pointed canines ghosting over the inside of your thighs and catching on the material of your panties, his broad togue laving over your covered entrance as if he could taste you through the fabric. It was only when he bowed his head, when the bridge of his flat nose ground against your clit that you started to wonder if he actually could, but forced yourself not to linger on the idea for very long. Thinking about what he was doing, assigning a motive to his actions – that would only make this worse. Thinking at all would only make this worse.

You bit down on the side of your tongue with as much force as you could afford to use, willing yourself to hold still, to not react – a wounded animal, playing dead as to not attract the attention of a predator. You felt Yuuji’s hands shift, calloused fingertips pressing into your thighs, then—

“Stop.”

Yuuta. Wonderful, miraculous, well-behaved Yuuta. You would’ve sighed, if you weren’t holding yourself so stiff. You could hear him moving closer, too – his footsteps feather-light compared to Yuuji’s. You braced yourself to break up a fight (there’d been a few when Yuuji first came home with you, when you first realized that Yuuta had never learned to share), but rather than barking, growling, any of the sounds that came with two animals trying to tear each other apart, there was only rustling fabric, another shift in gravity as Yuuta positioned himself by your side. “Y-you’re doing it wrong,” he stammered, and something deep inside of you seemed to curl up and die. “You have to take her clothes off first. Otherwise, she won’t feel anything.”

It was almost strange, hearing him take charge. In any other context, you might’ve been proud.

Yuuji whined, but obliged. His nails scraped against your hips as he balled his fist around the fabric and tore, making no effort to spare the delicate fabric. The remaining scraps were discarded with just as little care, and before you could fully wrap your mind around what was happening, he was back to lapping at your cunt. With the only barrier between you gone, it felt less like he was trying to eat you out and more like he was trying to eat you alive – his tongue too thick and too long, his hands too big and too prone to groping at whatever was underneath him, the boundless energy you were so used to finding either infinitely adorable or impossibly exasperating sudden not quite as harmless than you’d always considered it to be.

The next time he found your clit, you couldn’t stifle your reactions – little, half-choked whimpers and moans escaping despite your pursed lips. Your hips twitched, and for the first time, you felt Yuuji draw back willingly. He was such a sweet dog. Even with your eyes clenched shut, you could picture him tilting his head to the side, his ears flopping in the same direction and his big, dark eyes going full puppy-dog. Usually, you’d melt at the sight, give him whatever he was asking for and comfort him the best you could, but you didn’t have much comfort to spare, and Yuuta was already answering on your behalf.

“That means she likes it,” he explained, his voice a little quieter, a little more airy than it’d been before. “Keep going, she’ll make more.”

There was a short lapse, passed in silence. For a second, you let yourself believe he’d come to his senses, that he might stop, but it was only for a second. His response was enough to dash any remaining hope you might’ve had. “…will she get louder?”

“Mhm.” And then, with the slightest note of pride, “She does for me, at least.”

And just like that, Yuuji’s head dipped, his mouth latching onto your pussy with a renewed concentration. You willed yourself not to move, not to think, not to do anything that would mean having to open your eyes and acknowledge what was happening, but it was impossible not to feel the heat of his mouth against your cunt, not to let the sounds of saliva and arousal against tongues and skin seep into the back of your mind and tint the pleasure slowly starting to pool at the pit of your stomach with a vicious, sickeningly sweet, nectar-like quality. It wasn’t long before your own pitiful noises were just as difficult to suppress, before your hips were jutting upward involuntarily to meet Yuuji’s mouth, before you could feel a mix of drool and slick and every other ungodly thing pooling on your sheets beneath you. Yuuta shifted beside you, edging close enough for his thigh to press against your arm. “You’re—You’re making a mess, she’ll be mad if—”

His voice cut out abruptly, drowned out by a sudden, bubbling moan from Yuuji. Yuuta tried to catch his attention again to the same result until, finally, there was a low growl. Yuuji yelped has his face was shoved further into the space between your thighs – Yuuta pushing down on the back of his head, as little as you wanted to picture your sweet Yuuta doing something like that – but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his lapping only seemed to get faster, more reckless, more wild. You didn’t want to, no part of you wanted to cum because of your pet’s mouth, but you could feel the pressure mounting, the heat building, the walls of your pussy convulsing around his tongue as you reached your climax.

There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from crying out as you came, any hope you might’ve had of making it through this without letting either Yuuji or Yuuta know how much of it you’d been conscious for immediately abandoned. You tried to make good use of your adrenaline, to shove Yuuji away and run, but he’d always been strong, even for a hybrid, and he didn’t even have to pull away to pin your hips to the mattress and nurse you through your orgasm, his tongue now fucking into you unabashedly. He only stopped when the last of your aftershocks had died out, when it was all you could do to lie limp and mutter all the little ‘no’, ‘stop’, ‘please’s that you’d pictured yourself screaming only seconds ago. Even then, the separation wasn’t made by choice – no, it was Yuuta who finally, finally dragged him off of you. Even through the darkness of your bedroom, you could see his fingers knotted in Yuuji’s untamable hair, his knuckles white and his grip steadfast. By the time he let go, Yuuji’s back was straight and he’d gone surprisingly quiet – his dark eyes glassy and fixed on yours. By the time you could force yourself to look to Yuuta, he wasn’t much better. He was focused on you, too, but he didn’t look quite as dazed, quite as mindless. His lips were parted, but his eyes were narrowed, and he was wearing the expression he’d worn when you first brought Yuuji home, all displaced resentment and palpable betrayal. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might’ve called it anger.

Yuuji broke the silence. He whined sharply, slumping forward and kneading down where his hands were still planted on your hips. You opened your mouth, ready to tell him to get down, to get out, but Yuuta cut in before you had the chance to spit anything out. “Turn her over. It’ll be easier if she’s on her stomach.”

Yuuji didn’t hesitate. You felt his hands on your midriff, and then, you were on your chest, Yuuji’s form hunched over you as he ground something stiff and hot and leaking against your ass. You tried to push yourself up, to get away, but you were barely able to get your knees underneath you before Yuuji’s arms were around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck and his pointed teeth bared against the side of your throat. He didn’t growl, didn’t bite, but you went still regardless. You didn’t think Yuuji would hurt you, but you never would've thought he would do this, either.

Whatever aggression he might’ve felt faded quickly – as soon as he started rutting against your ass. You could feel him panting against your throat, his breath humid and stifling, and his chest pressing into your back. He was too close. He was too much. When he spoke, it was almost deafening, even if you knew it couldn’t be much more than a mumble. “Hurts so bad,” he muttered, as his cock ground uselessly against your ass, your thighs. “Been hurtin’ so bad since you took me home. I was so happy when Yuuta told me you could help, and—and, that you wouldn’t mind, and—”

His voice cut out abruptly as the blunt head of his cock caught on your entrance and, with a cracked whine, thrust into you. There was no time to adjust, to block out – just a sudden heat inside of you and the immediate, overwhelming fullness of his cock battering the walls of your pussy. “Off,” you half cried, half screamed – your voice a jagged, shaking mess. “Get down, stop, get—”

But Yuuji wasn’t listening. His tongue lapped clumsily at your neck as he fucked into in slow, languid thrusts – his hips slamming into your ass with enough force to bruise. You went limp, sobbing openly into your sheets, but Yuuji was strong enough to hold you up on his own, to not have to care what state you were in underneath him. So caught up in your own misery, you didn’t notice Yuuta moving until he was in front of you, until his hand had worked its way underneath your chin and tilted your head back far enough for your tear-clouded gaze to find his. His expression was that same mix of resentment and pity and bitter, bitter anger. Still, when your eyes met his, the corner of his lips quirked up, some of the harsher lines around his eyes fading into nothing.

“I wouldn’t be this rough with you.” His tone was flat, softened. He ran his thumb over your cheek, leaning down just far enough for his lips to brush against the top of your head. “I would be a good mate. You don’t need anyone else.”

Again, he leaned in, slotting his lips against yours with a feather-light sort of gentleness. At the same time, you heard Yuuji moan, felt his teeth sink into your shoulder, and started to wish you couldn’t feel anything at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #hybrid au #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #jututsu kaisen imagines #yandere itadori yuji #yandere yuji #yuji x reader #yuta x reader #yandere yuta #yandere okkotsu yuta

2K notes · View notes

lemonlover1110 · 4 months

Text

𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your husband usually calls for you to join him during his bath.

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of Sukuna killing people, rough pregnancy, Sukuna being fluffy (so slightly ooc), reader is mean to Sukuna

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Ever since you shared the news of your pregnancy with your husband, Sukuna has become more loving. The man who’d talk to you however he wanted, now makes sure to soften his voice when talking to you. He wants to see you every hour of the day, even when you don’t want to see him. Sukuna is seeing how you’re struggling with your pregnancy, and he wants to check up on you constantly.

You’re not too far along that you both know of, yet you’re huge. He grows worried that his selfish want of a child will cause you harm. There’s one person that Sukuna would die for, and it’s you. If something were to happen to you because of himself then he’d– He doesn’t want to think of it.

Lately he’s been asking to take baths with you. At the end of the day, a servant walks into your chambers and informs you, “Lord Sukuna requests for you to join him in his bath, mistress.”

She bows her head to not look at you, scared that she’ll end up like the last servant that dared to look you in the eye. It was Sukuna’s doing because how dare someone look his wife in the eye? You sigh before telling her, “I’ll be there in a second.”

She stands in the entrance of your room, given orders to not leave without you. Sure, Sukuna requests to see you but it’s an order from him. You don’t have much of an option.

You follow behind her, and she excuses herself when you’re finally with him. Sukuna lays comfortably in the water, patiently waiting for you to get undressed and join him in the water. He watches as you take off all your garments and walk over to him when you’re completely bare.

“You need to start leaving me alone, you’re starting to annoy me.” You tell him as you get in the water. Sukuna chuckles, finding it amusing how you’ve completely stopped fearing him. One of his hands caresses you from your breasts to your bump, resting there.

“Now, why are you getting mad at me? I thought you wanted a loving husband?” Sukuna comments, kissing the top of your head. Your hand rests on top of his, lightly squeezing it.

“I wanted one before he got me pregnant. I swear I must be carrying twins– Or the baby also has four arms. I don’t know, I’m just miserable.” You confess, and Sukuna kisses the top of your head again. He really shouldn’t have expected it to be any different. Sukuna’s huge, why would his baby be any different?

“It’s just one and done then?” He asks, and you hum in response. Maybe your answer will be different in a few years, but for now it’s that. He feels a tug on his heartstrings, seeing how much you’re struggling. He’s worried. “Are you holding up okay, though?”

“Not like we could do anything if I wasn’t.” You answer. He’s definitely much softer than your usual husband, and you would’ve loved it if you weren’t carrying a monster child. His hand remains on your stomach, and he feels as his baby kicks while you moan in pain. Sukuna shushes you, feeling as his baby moves.

“I’m trying to feel him! Shut up, woman!” He raises his voice, and you slightly turn to glare at him. A look that would surely kill you if you were anyone else.

“How does me making noise correlate with you feeling the baby! Think, Sukuna! Use your fucking brain.” You’re definitely bolder than usual, which makes him laugh.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.” He says, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips so he can kiss it. “I love seeing you demanding and mean. It shows the effect I have on you.”

“Really?” You answer, and he hums in response. There’s no better time to bring up what’s been bugging you than now. “I hate that new servant you took in. Kick her out.”

“And why is that?” He asks.

“She was looking at you funny.” You respond.

“In the sense?”

“She has the hots for you, and I don’t like it.”

“Hmm… What if I was looking for–” He begins and you glare at him. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he guesses that’s something that’s off limits when he tries to joke. “Don’t you want me to do more?”

“Like what?” You question, even though you should know your husband better than anyone.

“Kill her.” He answers.

“Hmm… Up to you.” You reply. You lay comfortably on his chest, feeling as his finger traces lazy circles on your belly. You change the topic, “Why do you think it’s a boy?”

“I can’t see myself with a daughter.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff

4K notes · View notes

aajjks · 1 month

Text

tw/ hórny èx bf, tôngúè fückïng, orál sèx (fèm!rècíèvïng) ovèrstïmulúlátïôn, hè ís à crèèp, nôncôn, èxplïcït ând nsfw thèmès.

It’s hard to break up with someone like him because he doesn’t get the hint- it’s been barely 6 days and he finds himself right in front of your door.

Really horny. And quite frankly messed up.

He bangs on your door- at first he’s gentle, but then he finds himself losing his patience when you don’t open up after a few bangs at your door, even with the bell It’s not working.

He just might have to be a little bit more aggressive with it. See now, he doesn’t like being aggressive with you. He knows that you hate this side of him. That’s why you broke up with him in the first place.

It’s not really a break up to him though because you’re just trying to break and he thinks that this break has lasted way longer than it should have in the first place. So he takes deep breath, and he starts banging at it like a maniac.

“Yn! YN OPEN UP!” But you don’t. You’re really trying to test his patience and then you try to lecture him on his aggressive nature.

His pupils are dilated at this point, he’s feeling so crazy right now, it’s aching and his pants, and he has missed you like crazy-staring at your pictures is not enough anymore. Not at all.

It’s your fault, you know.

It’s your fault that you’re so beautiful and that you have his heart in your hands… he closes his eyes for a moment, and then he takes out the spare keys he had to your apartment-of course, you don’t know about them, but he had a locksmith make them for him.

Without any rational thinking- he unlocks your apartment with ease.

And soon the familiar scent of your home hits him and your ex boyfriend finds himself relaxing, his head feels a little better now. “Yn!~~~” he calls out your name with affection but you still don’t respond.

Weird.

So he decides to check if you’re home. He really hopes that you are because he needs to talk to you and… a lot of other other things.

First to fall of course it’s gonna be your bedroom, his feet, take him to the familiar room so easily, because he remembers every single room in your home, like the back of his hand.

And to his surprise? He hears the shower running. A Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his lips. But before he can think anything else, the shower drops sounds come to a halt.

Oh, so you must be done..

He waits- by sitting on your bed and waiting for you to come out, and he doesn’t have to wait long, so he unzips his pants, creepy? He doesn’t give a fuck.

He needs to fuck you and get you back. He has everything you ever want. Quite frankly, you can be ungrateful. Anyone would kill to be in your place… but too bad he wants you.

And there you are, in all your wet glory-with a towel loosely wrapped around your body, you gasp, expected, in surprised to see him, he smirks.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to scream at him, he doesn’t mind you can because he’s missed your voice a lot.

“Hi baby.” He greets you. Licking his lips, because he feels himself getting harder when he stares at your soaked, freshly washed body.

You look so sexy like this I can’t help but remember all the times he would fuck you senselessly in the shower or sometimes when you were done with it.

You’re just so irresistible. You get him so horny for no reason at all. It’s your fault and now you’re going to have to help him out.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” You finally say something to him, even though you’re screaming at him like a maniac, he doesn’t mind.

“I can’t help it baby you know I love you and I can’t live without you-and I’m so horny right now.” He licks his lips again, getting up from your bed to walk towards you.

He needs to touch you right now.

“I told you you couldn’t break up with me but you thought you could.. so I just wanted to give you a little break, but I think it has lasted enough now I need you back.” He groans. You smell so good even his muscles are pulsing.

His eyes are you like a predator and You should know that you cannot escape.

He is way too strong for you.

“Come on now- look at me? I’m so fucking hard because I was thinking about you- and look at you.. fuck…” he breathes out, taking you by your waist.. but then he gets another idea.

So instead of holding you, he drops to his knees.

This is gonna get you so weak for him.

“Let me eat your pussy. Missed it so much.” He looks into your eyes when he grabs your legs. You barely manage to hold onto your towel, which was about to fall. And something switches in your eyes.

You have missed him too.

He smiles. “I bet you missed me too. Fuck- baby let me have a taste please- I’m doing this to make it up to you. I know I pissed you off, so let me make it up.” He breathes, slowly, removing the towel and he starts to tease you by rubbing his hands over to your clit.

You whimper, you’ve always been so weak for him.

He knows you need him-equally as bad as he needs you. And he’s going to make you realize it tonight. He leans his face closer to your cunt, and you grab his wide shoulders for support.

“Oh look at you baby- you’ve already started to get wet.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your thigh, and then his kisses get closer to your heat, “f-fuck. You’re so fucking bad for this.” You moan out. He knows that you’re trying to reject him still even though he knows what your heart and body really want.

Him.

“I know yn.. but fuck- you’re my bad habit.” He replies before he takes one of his fingers out of your pussy and he smashes his mouth into it- his tongue starting to eat you out.

“Nghhh fuck.” You moan as he starts to tease you again with his teeth- he’s so messy right now, all sloppy as he pushes his tongue in deeper and deeper.

That’s how you like it.

His mind is in a frenzy because the noises you’re making are purely sinful- your towel gals to the ground and your back arches.

He won’t let you fall.

He will make you cum in his tongue.

“Ugh fuck..” he groans as he eagerly laps at your juices, you’re giving him so much.

And he knows you’re already going to cum.

“A-Agh fuck don’t stop- don’t fuckin stop.” You command him and grab on his locks- that arouses him anymore- you taste so fuckin good.

He can kill anyone for you.

“O-Oh fuck- baby cum on my tongue- you can do it.” He praises you- his hands on your ass as he squeezes it, you pull on his hair.

His teeth graze your clit.

“Should I fuckin bite? Since you’re so *pants* fuckin mean to me? Nah.. I love you..” he barely manages to speak because you’re suffocating him and you’re going to cum.

“You can *pants* only cum if you come back to *pants* m-me.”

BNHA- hawks, aizawa, bakugo, deku

JJK- gojo, geto, toji, sukuna

2K notes · View notes

shewroteaworld · 8 months

Text

I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't

Premise: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.

Word count: approx. 3,200

TW: Brief mention of vomit and, perhaps, hospitals

(Y/N/N): Your nickname

Author's Note: Super excited to introduce brilliant sunshine!reader (aka, super smart sunshine!reader) onto my fanfic writing scene! Definitely willing to write more of her in the future if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoy!

“Does anybody have more water?”

“Where is the damn ambulance?”

Perhaps your job classically conditioned you to respond to Hotch’s “I’m seriously not fucking around” tone because your eyes crack open.

Someone put weights on your eyelids and cranked the sun to extra-bright. The harsh rays burned your retinas and washed everything in a white blur. Did someone set off a flash bang?

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” Miraculously, out of the screeching white, you made out JJ’s halo of blonde hair.

“JJ?” You groaned. Even though you could barely see, it felt like the whole world was spinning,

“Hotch, she’s coming around!” You recognized Morgan’s voice. “Welcome back to the world of the living, honey. We’re happy to see you.”

Your heart rate spiked. You never died. Did you die?

“Yes, we still need a medic!” Hotch barked.

You winced. “Wha?” Suddenly, your mouth couldn’t handle a one-syllable world. Even more alarming, your brain, the same brain that kept up with Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid, couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.

“What I do?” You whined.

“He’s not yelling at you, honey,” JJ said like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re just a little out of it right now.”

“Is she conscious?” Another voice entered. Your head spun. “I brought more water.”

You moaned to suppress a gag. Your eyelids drooped, and you relished in the break from the light.

“Hey, smarty pants, stay with us.” Morgan pat your cheek. “Let Emily get some water in you.” You couldn’t force your eyes open more if you tried.

Your friend Emily. That’s who the voice belonged to.

Suddenly, JJ pulled your hair from your face, Morgan lifted your head, and Emily forced a water bottle to your lips simultaneously. The blinding glare seared your eyes and your head spun. You wanted to sob and maybe vomit.

Your chest hitched with a shallow inhale. “Stop.” You whined.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” JJ said.

“No!” You exclaimed.

“Honey–” Morgan tried.

You thrashed against his hold, but your exhausted muscles couldn’t throw Morgan’s gentlest grip.

“Maybe we should let her go.” Emily said.

“She needs water.” JJ countered.

“She’s disoriented.” Hotch cut in. “Let her get her bearings first, but don’t let her close her eyes.”

Gingerly, Morgan lay your body back on the grass. Your head swam, and your vision rippled as if you could see the heat waves in the California air. You tried to take a deep breath but choked.

You sputtered. Every inhale led to a series of dry coughs. In your delirium, you thought of Spencer. Your Spencer. Where the hell was he? Did he not love you anymore?

Suddenly, Hotch loomed over you. His tall frame blocked out the brutality of the sun’s glare, which eased your headache and nausea but not your cough. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed they formed a trench of wrinkles across his forehead. “Check her airway.”

Suddenly, you stared into JJ’s blue eyes. Other hands tried to manipulate your body. You jerked.

“(Y/N), relax.”

“Honey, please–”

“Turn her on her side!” Morgan’s cut off by Reid, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard.

***

Spencer Reid has survived many traumatic situations.

He's cared for his schizophrenic mother. He’s been kidnapped. He recovered from a drug addiction. And those are just a few items from his dissertation-length “PTSD-Causing Experiences” list.

But many of his worst traumas were a by-product of being a profiler– a job which allowed him to utilize his intellect to help others. He was willing to accrue trauma like Pokemon cards in exchange for applying his genetic gifts to create a safer world.

Reid could have framed your heat exhaustion as another scare in the line of duty. But when Reid saw you, his brilliant girl, on the ground, his heart fell through his feet.

Then, he saw how his the team responded to your medical emergency.

When he witnessed you coughing and writhing on your back as the team leered over with water, he thought he might explode.

You could be asphyxiating, and the team could be letting you choke while forcing more fluid down your throat.

He shivered as he sprinted down the steps of the local precinct and onto the grassy field where you lay.

“Turn her on her side!” He yelled as diagnoses and courses of action fled through his mind on hyperspeed.

“We’re trying, she—”

“Spence?” You choked out through a coughing fit. He’s surprised his ears caught it.

Reid knelt next to you. “Let’s get you into recovery position.” He said, his voice suddenly soft as clouds. Reid gingerly pushed you onto your left side. “Off your back, there we go.” He bent your right leg and slid it in front of your body to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach if you lost consciousness.

“Did she faint?” Reid asked the team. He couldn’t take his eyes from your face.

“We think so. She was dizzy, so she laid on the ground. Then she was unresponsive for at least 40 seconds,” Emily said.

Spencer pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Predictably, you were feverishly hot. “She’s burning up. Has someone called an ambulance?”

“Allegedly.” Hotch said, an edge to his voice.

“We have, sir. They’re on their way.” A local police officer responded, exasperated.

Spencer’s eye twitched. “How long has she been down?” You whined, and he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He whispered.

“In total, 15 minutes.” Hotch supplied. “Emily, pour some more water on her.”

“This was for her to drink.”

“Use one bottle to pour on her face and neck.” Spencer said. “I ran and got Gatorade. She should start with sips of that when she can swallow. Heat stroke can also be caused by salt depletion.”

Spencer was conversing with a local officer over the safety protocols in the area when a pair of policemen walked into the precinct, gossiping about the FBI agent who “folded fast in the southern Cali heat.”

Spencer’s jaw had clenched. Maybe one of his team members was ill since they put in most of the grunt work to catch the unsub. He would’ve been more annoyed if not for the worry gnawing at his brain. What if they were talking about (Y/N)? She looked a little shaky right after her chase with the unsub, but Spencer didn’t get a chance to ask his friend if she was alright. And, stupidly enough, he forgot to text her to check if she drank any water post-case. Quickly, Reid excused himself, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, and rushed to the field where your limp body trembled on the grass.

“I’m going to pour some water on you, honey," Emily said. You flinched as the frigid water hit your hairline.

“Breathe, relax.” Spencer said, shielding your nose. The last thing you needed was some accidental waterboarding.

Seconds after the water drenched your forehead, your whole body relaxed into the grass. “That felt good.” You smiled weakly.

Spencer stroked your arm. “Let’s sit you up in a minute, okay? You should try some Gatorade before the EMTs get here.”

“EMTs? I’m fine.” You whined.

Spencer didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to crease further.

“You’re not fine.” Gentler, he said, “and it’s okay not to be fine, sunlight.”

“But, I’m alive.” You tried to roll onto your stomach, but your bent leg kept you safe on your back.

Some on the team members chuckled, but Spencer didn’t find your delirium humorous. “I know you’re alive, sweetie. But you’re way too hot. I think you’re a little confused right now.”

“I’m just…” You winced. “I’m alive.”

The knot in Spencer’s chest tightened ten-fold. This could be heat stroke. At the very least, you had heat exhaustion. You were dehydrated. You were delirious.

Best case scenario: you were ill for a few days. Worst case scenario: You had vital organ damage.

Just as he’s about to call 911 himself, JJ interrupted him. “Look–ambulance lights. Help is on the way, honey.”

“You hear that, (Y/N)? You’re gonna be fine.” Morgan said. If only Spencer felt that confident.

“Spence…” You blocked your eyes from the light with your limp right hand. “I’m scared. I don’t feel well.”

“Oh, (Y/N), I know.” He cupped your shoulder and hoped you could feel his love for you through his palm. That sent a jolt down his spine. He wasn’t supposed to comfortably think those thoughts about you.

You were sick. This wasn’t the time. He leaned over your body. He gave you plenty of breathing room, but his torso was parallel to your hip so his eyes could meet your watering ones. “Hey, take a breath for me, Smartie.”

Your nickname for him slipped from his tongue so easily it spooked him. Suddenly, he noticed his thumb stroking over your cotton t-shirt. He should stop. The whole team was watching. He was being was too intimate; he'd face stupid quips from Morgan for days. He kept stroking anyway.

He observed your chest rise and fall. Your breaths were shaky but deeper. He relaxed a tad. Vital oxygen was reaching your bloodstream.

“(Y/N), can we try something?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Maybe. What is it?”

The knot in his chest loosened. You responded immediately and with more than two words; you were becoming more lucid.

“Can you sit up and have some sips of Gatorade? I got your favorite flavor. At least, if your favorite flavor hasn’t changed from three years ago.” It most likely hadn’t. Once your opinion settled, it was frustratingly hard to erode your verdict.

“I can’t…I don’t know.”

“I know sitting up is hard. I’ll help you. And I’ll prop you against my chest. I’ll hold your weight when you can’t.”

“KK, Spence.” Your childlike tone tugged at his heart strings.

Spencer and Morgan lifted your limp body from the ground. They manhandled you into a sitting position with your head propped on Spencer’s shoulder and your body tucked between his thighs.

One of his arms stabilized you while the other raised a cold bottle of orange Gatorade to your lips.

After nine sips of Gatorade, you spoke again.

“Orange.” You took another sip. "My favorite.”

He smiled into your hair. “When have I ever lied to you, (Y/N/N)?”

***

Spencer nearly created a crater in the linoleum floor of the ER waiting room with his bouncing heel by the time the doctor came back with an update.

“She had a mild case of heat stroke. We currently have her on fluids, and she’ll need lots of rest for at least the next week.” Doctor Bahamani concluded.

“No signs of metabolic dysfunction? Any respiratory distress?” Reid checked.

Doctor Bahamani smiled knowingly. “She’s going to be just fine, Doctor Reid.”

“Can I see her?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Only two at a time, please.”

Spencer didn’t care who volunteered with him. He moved without thinking. An outpouring of gratitude for his eidetic memory flooded him. Through the thickest brain fog, he could trust his recollection of the hospital to bring him to the correct hospital room.

The security staff practically had to drag him away from your bedside after the ambulance ride. They might have thrown him out of the ER if not for the flash of his FBI badge.

Something nagged at him as he sped past the nursing station.

You were going to be fine. The ER doctor confirmed it. Yet his heart was still pounding and he could barely refrain from running. Even more odd, he wasn’t ashamed of his irrational behavior.

So what if a doctor deemed you were okay? It was you. And he saw you groggier and more out of it than you'd ever been. And who knows how thorough the doctors were with their examination? It was completely reasonable to worry for one of his closest friends.

He just couldn't believe you were alright until he checked you over with his own hands and his own eyes.

***

When you grinned at him from your cot, Spencer wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

Tears glazed your eyes. But, your gorgeous smile was back.

“Spencer?” You asked, brow raised and head cocked.

He’d been staring too long. He looked like an idiot, lamely standing in the doorway as if he were the one with heat stroke.

“Straighten your head. Your neck is probably tight.”

You smiled, but this time it was tight-lipped and painful-looking. “You’re too worried.”

He watched saline drip down your IV. “Of course I’m worried, (Y/N). You got heat stroke.” With a deep breath as a shot of courage, he sat in the chair by the head of your bed.

There was nothing odd about sitting with his best friend at the hospital.

His chest twisted at “best friend” and his resolve collapsed. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

He liked you. He really, really liked you. He actually might even–

“Luckily, I got out pretty unscathed.” You snapped Spencer out of his spiral. “A little dehydrated. Achy. Might feel sick for a few days.”

“Or weeks.” Spencer corrected.

“Trying to look on the bright side here, Doctor.” You smirked and Spencer swore his right ventricle tightened.

Then, your nose scrunched and Spencer's wiped clean of any concern about his cardiac health.

“What hurts?”

“Just a little achy, Spencer. I’m alright.”

He shot you a look. He knew all your excuses. He knew you went to self-harming lengths to not worry people.

“You’re not alright.” He reached for the red nurse-call button.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Okay…my body aches, Spence. And the IV burns. But they’ve already told me that’s normal. No need to take nurses away from an emergency.”

The nurses at the station desk didn’t appear to be rushing around for anyone, but Spencer feared this wouldn’t behoove his case.

“They can give you pain medication, if you want.”

You hesitated, and immediately Spencer pressed the button. When you smiled weakly instead of bickering, his worry grew tenfold but not without a rush of heat flooding his entire body.

In Morgan's words, he’s down bad.

“How are you doing, sunshine?” As if he’d been summoned, Morgan appeared in the doorway.

Spencer stepped back from your cot. The part of him riled from Morgan’s “sunshine” moniker wants to shove his hand into yours. Spencer thought he hid his annoyance well, but something about Morgan's smirk told him otherwise.

“Um…”

Morgan’s smirk fell. “You feel that bad, huh?”

You chuckled sadly. “Do I look that shitty or am I an open book today?”

“You never look shitty,” Spencer said. A tsunami of blood rushed to his face.

“Anyway,” Morgan said, “Do you want anything, Beauty Queen? I can grab you some jello.”

“Jello sounds nice.” You said, and something in your voice was so vulnerable and naive Spencer wanted to wrap you in his arms as tight as he could. Which was illogical. That would only hurt you further.

He shook his head as if that would remove the thoughts from his mind. “I’m gonna see if I can check up on your labs at the nurse’s station. I’ll make sure they’re giving you the good drugs.” He smiled.

You laughed– a genuine laugh– and Spencer’s heart soared. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I’ll go grab your jello,” Morgan said.

“Hold on, you should stay with her just in case she needs anything," Spencer said.

“I’ll be fine, Spence.” You said, but Spencer was not prepared to take "no" for an answer.

“If you boys wants to run her some errands, I’ll stay.” Emily stood in the doorway. “JJ is coming soon too– she just got a phone call from a very frantic Penelope.”

Your nose crinkled. “Oh no.” You groaned, but you were smiling.

“Oh, yes. Be prepared for some mother henning," Emily said.

“Garcia can’t be any more mother henning than Reid," Morgan said.

Before his face could turn redder than a baboon’s bottom, Spencer fled.

He’s only two yards from the nursing station when Morgan intercepted him at the end of the hall.

“So, you’re going to make your move, right?”

Spencer's body temperature plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tried to shoulder past Morgan, but he was no match for his grip strength. “Reid, c’mon. You like (Y/N).”

Part of him wanted to laugh. “Like” seemed too simple of a word to describe the symphony of feelings (Y/N) started in him. “It’s…” He’s too tongue-tied to lie. “It’s complicated.”

You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. You’re brimming with empathy. You’re everything Spencer could want. And it scared the shit out of him. Because that meant there’s even more to lose. And if he lost you, there would be no one to blame but himself. It was better for his psyche to not go there with you– to step back from the line rather than risk what would happen if he failed to make it work in the end.

And what if you got hurt? What is you fell in the line of duty? Or worse, what if someone targeted you because of your romantic tie to him? Spencer's already experienced the pain of losing a soulmate-- a concept he wasn't even sure he believed in-- once. He wasn't not sure if he could survive it a second time.

There was too much unpredictability in his life. He chose a dangerous profession. He was gifted a ticking time-bomb of dangerous genes. He’d never forgive himself if he inflicted onto you the pain he’s been through; losing loved ones, whether through death or mental illness.

Morgan's expression turned sympathetic. “Reid, you should give it a shot. Our lives our hectic. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

Spencer blinked to block tears from welling. “I just want her to be happy, too.”

“And who says you don't make her happy?”

“His idiotic genius brain.” Rossi appeared from around the corner.

Spencer froze. “You heard?” His face flushed yet again.

“Just the tail end. But Reid…” He trailed off.

Morgan took the hint. “I’m going to get (Y/N) some jello. With my charm, I could negotiate for some whipped cream.”

“Don’t get whipped cream on it. She’s lactose sensitive,” Spencer said.

Morgan's stupid smirk reappeared. “Gotcha, Reid.”

Rossi took Morgan's place. Once Morgan was out of sight, he began his speech. “You love her. Don’t get in your own way.” Rossi put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “And (Y/N) is an incredibly intelligent woman. Don’t insult her intelligence by thinking she can’t decide who is or is not worth taking a risk. And for what it’s worth…a man like you is worth the risk.”

Rossi left Reid staring at his back.

For the longest time, Reid convinced himself he refrained from asking you out to protect you from himself and his hefty baggage. And that’s not completely untrue.

But suddenly, he realized he was primarily trying to protect himself from exposing his vulnerabilities to you this whole time. There’s never been a person whose opinion affected him like yours. There's never been a life he's wanted to protect more except perhaps...Maeve.

But just like it’s up to you to decide who’s worth the risk, it’s up to him to decide as well.

And if today taught him anything, shit happens. And if you slip through his fingers, he doesn't want it to because he wasn't brave enough to make a first move.

And being your person was more than worth the risk of rejection.

Author's Note: Thank you to so much to everyone who stuck around through my hiatus! I appreciate every single one of you! You're super cool :)

Happy to be back! Inbox is open to chat about writing and take requests! Please check pinned "Blurb Requests" post before requesting! (Will update the post as my boundaries update!)

Have an awesome day or night, wherever you are in this crazy world. I am incredibly thankful you spent part of your precious life reading something I penned.

Forever grateful,

shewroteaworld

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

3K notes · View notes

keeplcving · 3 months

Text

art deco.

(young president!coriolanus x young!f!plinth!reader)

summary: the president takes notice of Sejanus’ much younger sister, at one of his galas, and cannot let her go.

cw: plinth!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, sejanus lives (and is still friends with coryo), age-gap (coryo is 28, reader is are 18), strabo is a shitty father, sweet!coryo (but only to you), heavy smut, creampie, soft sex, pet names (little one, little dove, darling, etc), cuddling, lmk if i missed anything!

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the Presidential Mansion, a stark contrast to the still-setting sun outside. Your arm is tightly linked with your brother, Sejanus’ arm, as you make your way to the table. You don’t know anyone at this event, not really.

You’re far too young, the next youngest people at the gala are brother’s age, and even still, Sej is 10 years older than you. It makes you feel queasy, knowing most of these men in attendance are nearly old enough to be your father, and they are all staring at you.

Staring at you like you’re a fine piece of meat, and they’re starving for a taste.

You sit down next to your brother, and quickly survey the other guests seated at your table. Clemensia Dovecoat, Festus Creed, Livia Cardew, Persephone Price. All your brother’s age, no one younger. You want to shrink back into your seat, become invisible.

You have no idea why your brother invited you to attend this Gala with him, but you have a feeling it was not with the purest intentions. As you graduated from the Academy, both your parents and your brother were pushing for you to find a suitor, to further better the Plinth name. Frankly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to give a damn, you were far more worried about being successful at the University to find a husband.

“Hello.” A familiar, yet unfamiliar voice breaks you from your reverie. Coriolanus Snow, or should I say President Snow, you think. You couldn’t lie to yourself, he was a very attractive man. Having been very young when your brother began bringing him around to your family’s manor, you only had some vague memories of Coriolanus, however, he has been a close friend to Sejanus, so he’s been around your vicinity for years.

I wouldn’t mind marrying him, your thoughts betray every fiber of your being, who you are. You are an independent woman, you don’t need a man, you need to do well at the University, and score a job. Not fawn over the President of Panem. Oh well, you think, he wouldn’t want anything to do with someone as young as me.

“Hello, Coriolanus.” Your brother greets him warmly, then lightly touching your arm, “I don’t know if you remember my sister, Y/N, but I’ve invited her as my guest tonight.”

“Hello, Mister President.” You say, wanting to roll your eyes at the pomposity of the statement you just spoke. You quickly scanned Coriolanus, and you were not disappointed. Blonde hair slicked back, beautiful blue eyes, a tight crimson suit that perfectly accented the muscular frame you were sure was underneath it.

“No need for the formalities, Ms. Plinth, just call me Coryo.” He responds, giving you (and your body) a quick glance in return. You want to blush at his actions, but you restrain yourself.

“Then call me Y/N, Coryo, Ms. Plinth is much too formal for me.” You bite back, cracking him a smile. He returns it, before turning to your brother.

“Mind if I borrow your sister for a dance, Sej?” He asks your brother, missing the wicked glare that Livia sends you. You’re not sure why she’s upset with you. You knew the President was a single man, which was a rarity in the politicians in Panem. But, you’re no where near his age range. He wouldn’t want you like that, right? He would want someone like Livia, perfect and his age.

“Of course not, thank you for being so kind to her. She’s a little overwhelmed with the gala, as is to be expected. She’s never been to one this formal before.” Sejanus tells Coryo, and you smile weakly, standing up, wobbling slightly in the heels that were a little too high for you.

Coriolanus rounds the table, grasping your hand lightly in his much larger one, leading you to the dance floor in the center of the room. He circles his arms around your waist easily, and you reach up to circle yours around his neck. He begins swaying you gently in time with the music before opening his mouth to speak.

“I don’t remember Sejanus mentioning that he had such a beautiful sister.” He whispers to you, leaning his head down so you could hear his words. He was well over a half a foot taller than you, even with you in your heels. That thought was dizzying.

You blush in response to his words, ducking your head. But you don’t stay that way for any more than a moment, as he brings two of his fingers under your chin, before lifting your chin up, to meet his gaze. “I mean it, dove. You’re simply stunning.”

The flattery was almost too sickly sweet, but you relished in it. “Thank you, Coryo.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say, you had never been in a situation like this. Sure, the boys from the Academy thought you were pretty, but they were nothing compared to the President of Panem.

“You are very welcome, darling. Tell me, how old are you? I cannot remember your dear brother ever mentioning your age.” There it is, you thoughts begin ruining the moment, he will no longer be interested in you once he finds out you are so young.

“I just turned eighteen, I am set to become a student at the University in the fall.” You look into his eyes, expecting to see something, a wavering of interest, anything. But instead, you see nothing.

“I see.” Is all he says, continuing to sway to the music, holding you. His grip tightens lightly, as more people make their way to the dance floor, like he doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, some other man. Like anyone would dare attempt to snatch you away from the President of all people.

“I was expecting you to be a bit older,” He continues, giving you another look, throughly analyzing every part of your body, “Especially when Strabo mentioned to me a potential love match in his darling daughter.”

It’s like a bomb has gone off, shattering your world around you. Of course he wasn’t really interested in you, foolish girl, you think. It was set up, so you could finally find the suitable husband your father had been discussing since it had been deemed socially acceptable to do so.

“A potential… what?” You spat out, not harshly, just in surprise. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Love match, darling. But, you may be just a bit too young for me.” He tells you, shattering your heart just a bit. You knew he was too old for you, no matter the attraction you felt for him. Not to mention that your father was simply trying to better the position of the family name by attempting to marrying you off to him.

You weren’t sure what to feel. You wanted Coriolanus, in ways a woman of your social standing shouldn’t. Especially given the age difference that was present between the two of you, however, there was no denying his pure masculine beauty. There was still that thought in the back of your mind that by engaging yourself with Coriolanus, you would be pleasing your father and his wishes for you. In this moment, you knew everything you felt about Coryo would override the disdain you had for pleasing your father.

“I’m not too young.” You almost whine back at him, a light pout forming on your lips as you stare into his impossibly blue eyes. You didn’t want him to see you as too young, you wanted him to see you as just another woman. Who cares that he was nearly ten years older than you?

“Is that so, princess?” He chastises you jokingly, before continuing, “You said you were eighteen, right?” He waits for you to nod, then resumes, “Well, do the arithmetic, little one. If I am twenty eight, and you are eighteen, that leaves us with a ten year difference.”

“I don’t care about that Coryo.” You find yourself frustrated. You wanted him, especially after all of the praise he had given you. Right now, in this moment, the ten years between the two of you didn’t matter. “I find myself rather attracted to you.” You tell him, honestly.

“Is that so, little one?” He asks, smirking at your words. He knew he could mold you into the perfect little wife, so young, so innocent still, unlike the women his age, who already knew what they wanted and simply wanted him for the money and glory that came along with marrying the President.

“Yes, please. I want you. My father was right, about the potential love match. Please, don’t leave me to marry some other man that isn’t twice the man that you are. I know I am young, but that doesn’t matter. I’m old enough to know what I want. Please, Coryo.”

You beg him, not sure exactly why you wanted him so bad. You had just really met him after all. But he was so attractive, so powerful. Something about him enticed you, and you didn’t want to let it go before anything could even potentially happen, before you could see where it progressed between the two of you.

“If you’re so sure, little one. However, this is a conversation we should have somewhere more private, away from prying eyes.” He tells you, raising your hopes ever so slightly. He wasn’t outwardly telling you no, and that you were absolutely too young for him.

Silently, he seizes swaying instead turning you so that you are pressed tightly to his side, one arm firmly grasped around your back, the other arm falling to his side as he led you out the doors to the ballroom, further into the Mansion, and into what you could only assume was his bedroom, gently closing and locking the door behind him, not unnoticed by you.

He is silent for a moment, before speaking, “You mentioned other men. You are going to be mine, little dove. No other men matter to you. I’ve been aware of your age this whole night, and your father and I have been discussing this chance meeting between us for some time now.”

You want to feel disappointed, or disgusted. Your father and Coriolanus, going behind your back, planning your future without a say from you. Planning when you would meet, when would be the right time. You had so many thoughts swirling in your head, it was overwhelming.

“How. Long.” You spat out at him, visibly upset. You wanted him, sure. But if he had been going behind your back, and truly knew of you well before you knew of him, you weren’t as sure. It felt almost predatory, knowing you were barely legal.

“Just over a year, darling.” His words made you want to vomit. Before you were legal. Your father, planning a marriage to a man ten years your senior, when you weren’t even legally able to be married, or have intercourse. You started to sway on your feet, feeling faint. You couldn’t believe it.

Coriolanus reached out a strong arm, steadying you, before grasping your hand and pulling you to sit on the edge of the bed. With you sitting, and he standing, the height difference became even more pronounced. You had to crane your neck to meet his eyes, even when you did not want to.

“A year.” You started, thinking for a moment, choosing your next words carefully. “My father has been meeting with you for a year, to discuss marriage. When I wasn’t even legal!” You yelled at him from your seated position, not feeling stable enough to attempt standing.

“I know it’s wrong, little one. And I am sorry. I only learned of you not being eighteen last night. This entire time, up until last night, I thought you were already eighteen, or older. Your father never mentioned your exact birthday, only that you were of marriage age.”

Your rage for Coriolanus dissipated, the only anger that remained was for your father. You couldn’t take it out on Coryo, who didn’t know you were underage for most of the planning, not until it didn’t matter. He was just as innocent as you.

“It’s alright.” You kept your statement concise, not sure what else to say, without bursting out into tears. You could already feel them welling in your eyes, and you begged them not to fall.

The tears didn’t do unnoticed by Coriolanus, who looks taken aback at the thought of you crying. “Don’t cry, little one. It’s alright, I assure you. I am going to give you some space, and some time alone. You are to wait here, however. I am not forcing you, but I would prefer we continue this conversation when you are ready.”

He leans down, and presses a small kiss against the crown of your head gently before making his way toward the door, grabbing the knob.

“Wait,” You start, tears starting to fall at the thought of him leaving you alone. “Stay, please.” You beg.

“Sweetheart, I can’t. I need to give you space to think. I don’t want to force this upon you.” He tells you honestly, turning the knob.

“But why?” You state, petulant like a child. The child that you still practically are. “Just stay here, with me. I’ve already made up my mind.” You say, standing back up onto your feet, making the few steps to the door, grasping his upper arm gently.

“I can’t.” He says simply, not moving. He looks almost conflicted on right or wrong in this moment. Your lip begins to wobble, as you think about him leaving you.

“But why, Coryo? I already made up my mind. My father may have hid the truth about my age from you, but I want you. Please.” You plead with him, willing him to stay in this room with you.

“I’m way too old for you, my love.” Coriolanus stops turning the knob, though. Standing, waiting for you to speak again. He had to at least partially hear you out, and he wanted to know your rationale.

“And what if I don’t care if you are far too old for me?” It was your last feeble attempt at getting him to stay. If he wanted to stay, it was up to him now. You weren’t going to plead with him, he was a grown man.

“I can see how much you would prefer it if I stay.” He says with a sigh, pulling you into his arms, his warm embrace surrounding you with a feeling you had never acted upon before.

“Coryo,” You whisper, “I want you. I want you so bad.” His eyes widen in surprise at your words, confused on what exactly you meant by wanting him.

“What do you mean, little one?” He doesn’t get the chance to do anything but whisper back that sentence before you were leaning up on your tiptoes, and your lips pressed against his, hard. He doesn’t fight you, quickly kissing back.

He adjusts you so that your back is up against the door, and your fronts are pressed together tightly, without breaking the kiss. He runs his hand along the curves of your waist, before bringing his hands to cup your ass lightly. You let out a gasp, and he uses that to his advantage and slips his tongue into your mouth, tongues tangling.

He then drops his hands to below your knees, sweeping you into his arms, and carrying you back to the bed. He disconnects the kiss, with a whine falling from your lips, lightly setting you down on the bed.

“Are you sure, little dove? I can stop if you aren’t sure.” You appreciated his concern in this moment, but all you wanted was him. You vocalized that to him, and he smiled. He pulled you, so that your feet were dangling off the edge of the bed, where he was still standing. Getting down on his knees at your feet, he gently unbuckled the heel, and removed it from your foot, one foot at a time. As he removed the shoe, he ran a hand over the soft skin, before pressing a kiss to the sole of your foot.

He kissed his way up your legs, up to your thighs, being met with the skirt of your dress. He flipped the skirt up, over your hips, and met your eyes again as his hands made their way to the edge of your underwear.

“Still alright, little one?” He asked, thumbs in the band of the underwear, waiting for permission to pull them down. You nodded at him, with a weak grin. Coriolanus smiled back at you, before pulling the panties down your legs, over your ankles.

He spread your legs, so that your wet heat was visible to him. He grinned, before leaning down and licking a teasing stripe up your pussy, You moaned lewdly, legs closing around his head, locking him in place. He continued his broad licks, eventually moving to circle your clit until you were twitching. He stuck his tongue inside of your hole a few times, and that was enough. You gushed around his tongue, quickly becoming overstimulated and pushing his head away.

As he brought his head out from between your thighs, you noticed his face was covered in your juices, and you laughed. He cracked a smile at you, allowing you to breathe for a few moments together. He gently helped you to your feet, to your confusion for a moment, until he spun you so that he could unzip your dress.

Once you were fully bared to him, dress gently placed on a chair in the corner, he began to undress for you. The suit jacket first, then the button up, revealing his pale yet well formed chest that had you licking your lips in anticipation. His shoes were toed off, and socks removed too. He leaned in and kissed you sweetly before removing his slacks and boxers, cock springing up, very obviously hard, the tip nearly purple as he looked at you.

You felt intimidated. You were a virgin, and his cock was so long, and so thick. You knew it was going to hurt, and you hoped he wouldn’t let it hurt you too bad.

“Coryo,” You whispered, “I’m a virgin.” He stopped, and looked you directly in the eyes.

“That’s alright, little one. I’ll be careful, so so gentle. I promise.” He tells you earnestly, and you smile at him, nodding. You trusted him, he had never lied to you before, not willingly.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, before climbing on top of you, his strong forearms next to your head. He grabbed his cock, positioning it with your hole, before gently beginning to push in.

You flinched at the intrusion, body wincing at the pain from his cock splitting you open. Tears sprung back into your eyes, and he stopped pushing in, giving you a moment to adjust. He kissed you, making out lightly for a moment.

“You can keep going.” You said, breaking the kiss. You hissed as he kept pushing, but eventually, he was fully sheathed inside of you, and the sting had dulled down to a pressure inside of you. You looked down, and you could see a faint outline of his cock on your stomach and you smirked.

“Look, darling.” You directed him to where you were looking and he smirked back at you.

“Look at you, little one. Your body is taking me so beautifully.” He responded beginning slow, thrusts in and out, keeping tempo.

“Please, Coryo. More!” You begged him, and he began thrusting faster, pressing into a spot inside of you that made you see stars. You moaned loudly at that feeling, his cock slamming into it every time he thrust back in. You couldn’t stop letting out little noises of pleasure, it felt too good. He let out little grunts too, praising you for taking him so well, being such a good little girl.

“Rub your clit for me, darling.” He directed you, breathing becoming heavier, thrusts more erratic. You could tell he was close, but you wanted to orgasm with him. You rubbed your clit harshly, moaning, and tightening around his cock.

“I’m so close!” You cried out, circling faster as he continued to pound in and out of you.

“As am I, little one.” He grunted back. “Come for me, darling. I’ll come for you.”

You allowed yourself to come, soaking his cock with his juices, and he spurted deep inside of you. He groaned as he pulled out, immediately missing the tight warmth of your cunt.

“You did fantastic, love.” He tells you, falling nearly on top of you, worn from the excursion. You gently scratch his scalp with your fingers, soothing him.

“I should be telling you that,” You laugh, continuing to massage his head.

“You are mine now, darling.” He grunts, completely blissed out, resting his head on your chest. “Age does not matter to me, little one.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” You rolled your eyes, smiling at him. “I am to be yours, forever.”

“Mine.” He agrees. You don’t say anything back, basking in the afterglow. After tonight, you know that your future plans have shifted, and you couldn’t find it in you to care. You still had that independent woman in you, but now, with a powerful man by your side. You’d found yourself a wonderful man in the President of Panem, and you didn’t plan on letting him go.

©keeplcving 2024. please let me know what you think, and feel free to send me requests! :)

#coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x y/n

1K notes · View notes

jongseongsnudes · 4 months

Text

all yours

ex-fwb!jake. 1.9k words. toxxxxxxic smut.

“can we fuck?”

“can we what now?”

“please,” he responds a little too quickly over the phone, desperation lacing his tone, “i need you.”

not even ten minutes later, and the man is standing at your front door. he’s dressed in his usual tee and sweatpants combo, something so simple yet so ridiculously breath taking on him. he topped it all off with a black cap, the thing covering most of his face as if wanting to be lowkey. as if not wanting anyone to know he was here at yours.

before you could greet him or ask what the hell he was doing here, the man moves at lightning speed, closing the gap between your bodies. his hands are already at your neck, holding you in place as he smashes his lips onto yours.

the last time you saw him was three weeks ago, when he ended the friends with benefits arrangements with you, saying he wanted to explore things with a super hot girl he met. and you hadn’t spoken to him since.

so the last thing you expected tonight was for him to call you at 1am, let alone be at your apartment... kissing you.

he slightly pushes forward, welcoming himself into your home and closing the door behind him with his foot. your back is quickly met with the hallway wall with his body now pressed firmly against you, cornering you in.

the man kisses you, hard, like his life depended on it. there were times when jake was rough, usually when he was stressed out but this, this was something else. like he was so desperate for you.

and this drove you crazy.

but no matter how in the moment you were feeling, the fact that this man was supposedly pursuing or even with another girl, kept ringing in the back of your head. knowing jake and his fuckboy ways, the man could very much be in a messy situation and the last thing you wanted was add yourself into the mix.

it takes every bit of you to pull your lips away from his, only slightly, but your gazes remain on each other in the dimly lit hallway. it’s now that you realise the waft of alcohol coming from the man, like he’d been drinking before coming here.

“you’ve been drinking. don’t tell me you were stupid enough to drive here.”

“a beer, don’t worry. i just really wanted to see you.”

“i’ve told you so many times, don’t drink and drive,” you sigh your words and push him off of you, leaving him be in the hallway as you walk into the kitchen, the man quickly following behind.

“why are you even here? does that girl of yours know?”

“we fought,” he begins, fingers threading his hair as he approaches you, “she’s a headache already and she’s not even my girlfriend.”

“so you’re only here because you guys fought and you’re not getting ass?” a little chuckle spills from your lips as you turn to look at him, amused at all the audacity. “wow. you sure know how to make me feel special jake.”

apart of you was hoping that he’d tell you different, that he’d show up tonight and tell you that he was no longer seeing her. you know it’s crazy but you’ve never liked sharing jake so you were glad when things ended when they did...

because you were getting way too close to that thin line between fucking and everything thereafter.

“look i’m tired, i’m sure you have plenty of others to hit up tonight,” you say with a yawn and pat his chest, “shut the door on your way out-”

you’re only able to take two steps before his hand is on your arm, pulling you right back to him. and before you could even complain, the man lifts you up onto the countertop by the waist, his body immediately settling in between your dangling legs to stop you from moving away.

the smell of his cologne, once so familiar to you, immediately heightens all of your senses. it’s one you’ve become so used to, one you’ve come to loved so much after spending countless nights with him.

but that was the past, he was with someone else now.

“jake. we can’t do this.”

“we can baby, who’s stopping us?”

that god damn petname, the one he always uses when he wanted something. and every single time, you’d give in, giving him just about everything he wanted.

and judging by how your body is reacting, you know you’re about to do the exact same thing this time too.

give in to jake sim.

sensing your lack of response, the man leans in, his face now in the crook of your neck. he kisses you gently, his soft lips leaving a trail down the side of your neck where he knew you were the most sensitive.

the man knew so much about you. where to hold, where to touch, where to kiss to get your body burning and yearning for him. you hated this, hated how easily he could have you wrapped around his finger without doing much.

you struggle a bit but successfully push him off, your hands now at his chest to stop him from kissing you. his half lidded gaze immediately has you pooling in your panties, a reminder how he used to look at you every time he wanted you.

“you know you shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, your words more so for yourself than him, “you’re with someone now.”

“baby. you know she means nothing to me, no one can replace you.”

he doesn’t give you the time to respond, instead swooping in to kiss you again. his lips feel so unbelievably soft against yours, just like how you remembered the first time he kissed you. months ago yet feels like it just happened yesterday, kissing him at that random party and letting him fuck you right there and then in the upstairs bedroom.

jake always had this effect on you, even now.

“i only ever want you, you know that right?” his hands are already at the ends of your night gown, pulling the thin piece of material higher and higher up on your thighs as he continues kissing you, “you’re so pretty. the prettiest.”

you’re no longer fighting him, your mind too focused on his fingers that are now drawing circles in your inner thigh. he’s just so close to where you needed him most, your poor core already throbbing at the mere thought of him being inside of you.

you’ve missed him so much that just him being here excited you, more so than any other man have in the past few weeks.

“you’ll let me fuck you right baby?”

you don’t bother replying and wrap your arms around his neck instead, pulling the man in to kiss him. you’d be lying, especially to yourself, if you said you didn’t want this.

a shiver runs through your body as he hastily rips your panties off in one go, leaving your core so bare and ready for him to fill. it’s not long before the man is also bare, his throbbing erection already oozing of precum that he’s rubbing against your thighs, desperately humping you.

“this pussy... is mine,” he pushes into you without warning, without hesitation, immediately filling you to the very brim. he’s already so deep, stretching every part of you along the way but he doesn’t care and at this point, neither do you.

it’s uncomfortable at first, your tightness attempting to take as much of him as possible. to say he was big, was quite the understatement, something you’ve learned right from the start. it always surprised you how he could fit it all in of you, even without the foreplay.

but then again, he did always have you so wet and prepared for him, always so eager to take him no matter what.

“you’re mine. all mine. right?”

“yours jake, all yours.”

you’re too caught up in the moment, throwing your head back without thinking much besides how good it felt to have jake sim fucking you. every word, every kiss, every thrust is already bringing you closer and closer to your release. it’s obvious you’ve been so desperate for him, so needy with the way you’re already moaning his name.

words become foreign to you, the only thing on your lips are sounds you didn’t even know were possible to make.

so whiny, so pathetic, so sinful.

and all for jake sim.

you watch through blurred vision as he lays his head into the crook of your neck, his grip gradually tightening more with every one of his thrusts. he kisses your neck again, even going as far as sucking on a particular spot he knew would have your head spinning.

but just as much as he knew you, you knew him as well. and judging by his current stance, you were sure he was about to finish. his angling, his deep grunts, his grip on your body, all signs that the man was desperate to reach his end.

and luckily for you, the same feeling was finally approaching. that familiar knot in the pit of your core that is screaming to be released. you claw at him then, fingers tangled in his hair, his black cap long gone.

it’s not often that you guys finish together but when it does happen, you always feel as though you’re floating on cloud nine. your entire body feels as light as air, like nothing else mattered in that moment but you and him, your bodies completely entangled together.

just like right now.

his name is the only thing on your lips as you reach your peak, your juices mixing with his hot spurts of cum that was already leaking out onto your thighs. your nightgown, his hair, the cum on your thighs, all so messy just like the mess you just got yourself in for letting jake sim into your apartment tonight.

“fuck- that was crazy,” he runs his fingers through his hair, fixing all the strands sticking out from you pulling on it earlier. the man slowly pulls out of you, leaving you to gasp at the sudden empty feeling and of course... of the cum that is continuing to spill out of you.

*ding*

your brows immediately raise at how quick he reached for his phone from the countertop, as if to prevent you from seeing the new messages. it’s a no brainer who the sender was based off the smirk on his face but apart of you still held onto the small chance that it wasn’t.

that it wasn’t her, calling for him to come back.

“hey uh- i gotta run.”

sigh. of course.

“uh- the boys are looking for me,” he explains without even looking at you, the man too busy wiping himself off before getting dressed. all done so at record speed. “see you around pretty.”

you had barely gotten off the countertop but the man was already off on his way, disappearing out of your apartment just as fast as he had appeared. even leaving behind his favourite cap on your kitchen floor.

there was nothing for you to do besides laugh, laugh at being fucked over by the one man you said you’d stay away from. you weren’t stupid, you just had a weak spot for him and he knew this very well.

but this was it. if he wanted to play, so were you.

and it was all going to happen tomorrow night at your friend’s party, where you were certain both jake and his new girl would be at.

to be continued.

2024 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.

3K notes · View notes

tragedybunny · 7 months

Text

Something Like Love - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion has failed to seduce you, but even so, a bond has begun to grow between the two of you. It all comes to a head when Astarion almost loses you.

You infuriated Astarion. At first it was because stopping to help every person you happened upon was delaying dealing with his problems. Now that you had been traveling together for some time, not only were these little side adventures a delay, but you didn’t seem to be careful about how much they took out of you and how tired they left you. Even your other companions didn’t seem to care, letting you agree to solve every problem that you came upon and even adding to the pile.

But not him. Astarion was always right there at your side with a glare and a snapping refusal, which you’d usually brush off, but at least he tried. The rest of them just smiled and nodded, without noticing the circles under your eyes, or how slow you moved some mornings, or how thin you’d gotten. Protector wasn’t a position he normally found himself in, but you were different, you were kind to him, without expecting anything in return, as far as he could tell anyway. The two of you hadn’t even slept together, not for lack of trying on his part. The couple times he’d tried you firmly refused, and yet somehow you stayed kind to him, even still offering him your blood. In fact you didn’t seem to want anyone in camp. That was also exasperating. How could he expect your continued kindness, and protection which he desperately needed, without repayment? And what was he better at than sex?

So he resolved he’d give you whatever small gestures he could. Whenever you tore an item of clothing, he’d mend it at first chance. When the group made camp for the night, he always made sure your tent was up first, in whatever spot you wanted, and helped you pack when it was time to move on. Every battle, he stood at the backline with you while you cast spells, aiming arrows at anyone who got too close to you, his first priority keeping you safe. And he still tried to keep you from overextending yourself, despite no one ever listening to him. Which had led to the shouting match with Halsin earlier. Well it wasn’t really a shouting match, the Druid had remained frustratingly placid in the face of Astarion’s blustering. He’d already been vocally unhappy about looking for this Thaniel or whatever, but you’d found him, and still Halsin asked more. “We need to worry about Thorm, we don’t have time to keep bothering with this!”

“Curing the land could help break Thorm’s hold. I know you all don’t owe it to me.” Gods why did he ask like that, all humble and dissembling. You would cave to that for sure,

“You’re right, we don’t.”

“But…”

“Hells, can’t you see how much all of this is taking out of her!” Astarion had exploded, voice loud enough that some of your other companions jumped.

“It’s fine Astarion,” you’d gently placed a hand on his arm, “let’s finish this.”

With a frustrated growl, he’d yanked his arm away, regretting the hurt on your face. “Fine.”

That all led to this moment, you’d fended off the creatures summoned by the corrupted spirit, and Astarion watches as you calmly approach it. Speaking softly, your words soothe it, and he could see it starting to trust you. As always, you amaze him with your ability to solve things with your words, but he feels a twinge of something else, a want for something like those kind words that fell from your lips so easily. The spirit vanishes and Astarion finally feels a bit of relief it seems over. That is until your knees give way and you collapse to the jagged paving stones beneath you.

He's at your side instantly, a scream tearing itself from his throat. “Somebody fucking help her.”

Shadowheart js the first to respond, hands peeling away the light armor you wear, revealing gashes left by one of those shadow creatures that had gotten close. Teeth bite down into his lip to hold back a sob, he hadn’t even noticed, he’d failed the one duty he had. That ire finds a new target easy enough though, as Halsin attempts to join Shadowheart in tending to you. He’s barely started to kneel next to you when Astarion lunges, hissing and fangs flashing. “No you stay the fuck away from her, this is your fault!” For a second his face falls with guilt, but Astarion is in no state for empathy, all blame now on the Druid in his mind.

Hands fight to grab hold of him, to get close enough to tear his thick throat out. A pair of strong arms wraps around his waist, pulling him back from his murderous goal. “Easy Fangs, she’ll be alright,” Karlach tries to reassure him.

He struggles against her iron hold, still flinging curses and furious words. “That’s not the point, this shouldn’t have happened. But no one wanted to listen to me, none of you selfish idiots care when you’re asking too much!”

That was it, they’d all turn on him now, especially without you aware enough to defend him. To his surprise, Karlach just holds him slightly tighter, and keeps whispering that it was going to be fine. Wyll comes over to lay a hand on his shoulder, face stoic. "Shadowheart has this.”

At least Halsin has stepped back, expression troubled. Good, let him suffer. A spell glows in Shadowheart’s hands, suturing back together your skin, and your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, for a moment before closing again. Karlach wisely releases him, leaving him free to hover over you and ward off Halsin as he takes a hesitant step toward you. He’d be damned if anyone else was carrying you, the lot of them were untrustworthy. Reverently, he leans down, taking you in his arms, and lifting you from the ground. Gods, you were so small, there was almost nothing to you. How did you seem so imposing most of the time?

Silently, the group makes it’s way back to camp, Astarion holding tightly to you the whole way. When they reach the cluster of tents, he goes straight to yours to lay you down gently in your blankets. Turning back to the rest of the party he snarls in their direction. "All of you better stay the hells out of this tent until she's properly healed," he snaps the tent flap shut and wishes he had a door to slam on their faces.

Sitting down next to you, he pulls your hand into his and tried to forget about the stinging in his eyes. "You're going to be alright Darling. You have to be."

For hours he sits there, hand holding yours, waiting, watching your chest rise and fall, the reassurance he hadn’t lost you. Losing you, he can’t even fathom it. His protector, companion, he'd even go so far as to say friend. Even if you didn't notice how he was always at your side whenever you stayed up to launder your clothes, or how you never took a turn to cook alone, or how he was always walking right next to you on the road.

You sigh in your sleep and he feels a tug in that place that sometimes wonders if you could be more than friends. Which was stupid, you hadn't even wanted sex with him. Besides, what you already gave him was more than he deserved considering what he had been planning after sleeping with you.

Finally, exhausted, he drifts into meditation, still holding onto you, until your sleep heavy voice pulls him out of it. "Astarion?"

His eyes are wide immediately and without a second thought, he throws himself into your arms, nuzzling into your neck. "You're awake." Then he starts crying like an idiot; ugly, undignified sobs against your skin. "I was worried," he tries to explain leaping on you and his ridiculous tears.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you." You put your arms around him, accepting him without question, like always.

"You silly, silly girl, you were the one that almost died. Don't apologize to me." He's trying desperately to stop bawling uncontrollably.

"I know, but I don't like to see you upset." Ever so lightly, he can feel your hand brushing through his hair.

"Why," he's managed to get himself somewhat under control, but doesn't move from where you've let him lay. "Why are you like this? Always giving, even when it's too much for you?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Because I care about you."

"You do," he asks, unwilling to let himself believe what he's heard.

"Well, I care about everyone," of course he should've realized, "but I care about you a very great deal, Astarion."

Astarion freezes, the words leaving warmth in that secret place inside that he's been trying to keep from himself and you. "I don't understand."

"I see you. I see how hard you try and how far you've come, and how much you try to do for me." There's a smile in your voice and impossibly he thinks it has something to do with him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" His hand searches yours out and your fingers interwine.

"I didn't think you were ready to hear it. But today it was almost too late to tell you." You've placed both of your hands over your chest and he can feel your heartbeat.

"I…I don't know how I feel." Inwardly, he quails, worried that will drive you. "But this is nice."

"It's alright Astarion, there's no rush to this." Impulsively, he leans up to leave a feather light kiss on your cheek, grateful for you in ways he can't understand.

#Astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #x reader #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing

2K notes · View notes

feyascorner · 5 months

Text

wish you would look at me

summary. convinced that you’re in love with another, when you approach him with a serious expression, he readies himself for the inevitable—rejection. but is it ever that simple?

pairing. astarion x GN!reader

warnings. light angst, fluff

a/n. this is inspired by the ppl who have love triangles w gale and astarion in act 2 and what he says if you pick him bec when I saw that I almost cried pls let him be happy

If you asked him a few weeks ago, he’d laugh at the mere suggestion that he could ever be jealous of someone like Gale. That blasted wizard couldn't go four steps before begging for a magical shoe or pathetically limping his way behind the rest of the group while you frantically searched for the said shoe. And when he found out the wizard was a few errors away from exploding, somehow Astarion felt even more pity (not really) for the lad.

Yet here he was.

He’s not sure when the hell you and Gale had gotten so chummy, but it rubbed him the wrong way. Even if his expression would never show it. He sips at his wine while Karlach and Wyll continue to chat about God knows what, too busy peering from the corner of his eyes as you lean into Gale’s shoulders to look closer at the book he was holding.

Perhaps the tadpole had finally made you lose your mind. He'd almost dropped his goblet when you denied his invitation to his tent tonight, spouting the excuse that you'd asked Gale to help you with something, and now this?

God knows why you ever found the wizard charming. If Gale could do something, he could too—much better, in fact. He was sure of it.

His grip tightens around the goblet when he hears you laugh.

Sure, his original intentions for approaching you had been less than noble…and he might have seduced you for more selfish reasons than you originally knew, but as much as he hated himself for it, he'd grown rather fond of you. In his own way, of course.

He’d only realized that the anxious squirming in his stomach was not of fear but of affection when you'd defended him from that vile drow at Moonrise Towers. He'd half expected you to ask him to throw himself at her, yet you stood your ground, showing nothing but respect to his own boundaries while you failed to realize that he'd deceived your own.

He truly had no reason to feel this way. He was selfish, he knew, for feeling so possessive because not once had the two of you established being exclusive. Though you'd respected him, you saw him for just that. A friend to respect, and nothing more. Sure, you'd spent a few nights together, but it was a mindless night of passion and he knew he'd continue to be your fling until you found another to truly love. He had just hoped it wouldn't be someone like Gale, of all people…or Wyll…or Shadowheart…or anyone for that matter.

He shakes his head. The wine must be getting to him. Serious relationships aren't a luxury he can afford, he reminds himself, relaxing his shoulders. He’s perfectly okay with being your ally—nothing more or nothing less. Ecstatic, even.

But when Gale flips a page of the book and both of you lean closer again—this time dangerously close—he feels a sharp pain shoot up his hand.

“Uh, Fangs, you alright there?” Karlach stares at the cracked glass in his hand and even he blinks at it in disbelief.

Apparently not.

He sighs irritably, dumping the glass elsewhere. “I’m quite alright. Seems I just need a nice comfortable mattress than a thin bedroll on the ground, but it’ll do for now.”

“Need help patching that up? You're bleeding.”

He almost laughs, if it weren't for the giggle coming from your direction. “Blood’s my specialty, darling, remember?” Without another word, he paces into his tent, closing the flap behind him for the universe signal that screams ‘don’t bother me.’

So when half an hour later, when he no longer hears the crackle of the campfire, he sees your shadow emerge from the other side of his tent flap, he squints.

“Can I come in?” He fails to respond, and hears you shuffle. “Ah, are you asleep?”

At this, he can't help but snort. You instinctively peek inside, and he runs a hand through his hair, sighing in defeat. “If I'd been asleep just how would I answer that question?”

He motions you closer and you take it as a sign to step inside, careful to avoid stepping on any of his belongings before situating yourself in front of him. “It was rhetorical, obviously!”

“Of course,” he doesn't seem convinced, lips curling into a teasing grin. “Now tell me, what brings you to my palace this late at night? Surely not for a cuddle. I'd thought you declined my offer earlier?”

Usually, you'd smile, but instead you only look down at your clasped hands, seemingly in thought. “I needed to talk to you—without everyone else watching.”

The usual brightness to your tone is missing.

Oh, he thinks. You've come to end things with him.

“Ah,” is all he says. He can tell his smile hasn't dropped, but it doesn't feel that way. “I hear you've found a new lover. Perhaps you want to keep yourself for this one, true love? How romantic, darling.”

You frown at this, and he wonders if he’s done something wrong. But it does little to stop his defense mechanisms from springing into action, because he’s immediately slipping into his usual mask, grin stretching wider but never reaching his eyes.

He hates the words coming out of his own mouth as if they taste of poison. Still, his voice is steady, almost teasing. Perks of the 200 years spent shamelessly lying, he supposes. “So, is this the end of our late night trysts? Even though they were an awful lot of fun?”

He doesn’t think he could stand watching you with that damned wizard. He doesn't even want to think about it quite frankly, because all he feels is his chest tighten when he imagines someone else holding you the way he does. And gods, if had to watch Gale’s poor attempt at flirting one more time…

But then again, you'd be with someone who doesn't manipulate you. Someone who doesn't toy with your feelings, or someone who doesn't seduce you for protection.

His smile twitches, and he just braces himself for your response.

“I’d rather be with you.”

He stares at you, eyes wider than its ever been since he'd gotten this damn worm in his brain.

“What? Why?” he blurts, embarrassingly so, before he composes himself again and clears his throat. “I mean, well, I know why—but I thought you'd had something more…with Gale.”

As much as he despises the idea, he'd seen the way you'd laughed with him. And while it was a new experience for him to be fond of another person, he'd found that these feelings had led him to rather you be happy than dragging you down with him. If it meant you wouldn't regret your choice, he’d been willing to deal with it.

So why?

“I want something real with you, Astarion,” you say softly, eyes meeting his. “I don't know if you feel the same way, but Gale and I are better off as friends, and I told him before I came here. And besides, it’d be cruel of me to lead him on while my heart is with another.”

He thinks he might have died again just now. For the first time in decades, he’s actually at a loss for words. “I—if that's what you truly want—we can try. Be lovers, I mean.”

You finally smile at his words, and Gods above if that doesn't lift the excruciating weight of the past few weeks off his shoulders. He feels the warmth of your lips when you lean forward to give him a peck on the cheek, everything happening so fast that his mind is spinning. He snaps back into focus when you pull back.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

You could have—should have, done it earlier. With a smile of his own, he leads you back to him, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips. It’s short, and not nearly enough, but it’ll do for tonight.

“Well then, consider yourself wholeheartedly taken then, my dear.”

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending

1K notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 2 months

Text

the space between us | S.R.

previously

The adjustment between never being home and always being home seems to take a toll on you.

who? spencer reid x fem!retired!reader category: flangst content warnings: the events of stuck between a rock and a hard place apply, briefly mentions a baby, reader trying to cope with a 180-turn in life, anxiety word count: 2.16k a/n: i meant for this to be fluff and it's definitely a tad angsty. good thing i'm obsessed with spencer and retired!reader. they'll be back.

Slowly but surely, you convinced yourself that the dark green walls of the apartment were closing in on you. Sitting up in bed, you looked at the time on your phone before quickly scrolling through the notifications, half expecting a text from Andi Swann asking you to come in.

She wouldn’t do that though, because she’s not your Unit Chief anymore, and you no longer work for the FBI.

The only text message you saw that piqued your interest was from your husband, letting you know that he was flying home.

Tossing your blanket off of your legs, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Hissing at the feeling of the cold hardwood floors beneath your bare feet, you wrapped your arms around yourself and made way for the kitchen. Creeping slowly on your way, you made sure to keep your footsteps light.

Gingerly, you flipped the light on, wincing as the fluorescence flooded your vision. As your eyes adjusted, you reached up to the cabinet, grabbed a cup, and set it on the counter.

“You’re sneaking around again,” a voice said from behind you.

Jumping, you put a hand over your chest and spun around, “You scared the shit out of me.” You frowned at Spencer, “I thought you were flying home. I just got your text.”

He nodded, walking into the warm light of the kitchen, “I texted you four hours ago that I was flying home from Connecticut.” His hair was messy, and he had already taken his contacts out, telling you that he had been in the bathroom – he had passed by you while you were sleeping.

Your lips tightened to form a small “o”. Leaning back against the counter, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “How was Hartford?”

Intently, you watched Spencer as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “It was fine, the UnSub’s in custody, we’ll build the rest of the case from Quantico.” His tone was strictly no-nonsense when he repeated himself, “You’re sneaking around again.”

Letting your arms fall to your sides, you shrugged helplessly. “I don’t do it consciously, you know?” You told him, reaching behind your back to hoist yourself up so you’re sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling in the air.

“I know,” he said gently, stepping forward so that he was standing directly in front of you. You parted your knees so that he could stand flush with the counter, allowing for minimal space between the two of you. “The fact that you’re doing it subconsciously makes me wonder if there’s a part of you that feels like you need to be quiet in the apartment,” he murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You pursed your lips for a moment, thinking about an answer before you responded, “It’s late, I don’t want to bother anyone by walking too loudly.”

Based on the look in his eyes, you can tell that he doesn’t believe you, “It’s an old building, the floors are thick and well insulated. Also, the apartment below us is vacant, and you know that.” His words are borderline accusatory, and rightfully so. “Do you feel safe here?”

Surprised, your eyes flittered up to meet his, “Yes,” you answered almost instantaneously.

“Do you not feel at home here?” He asked, further pressing his agenda.

When you and Spencer decided to move in together, you were living in a studio apartment, so his place just felt like the obvious choice. At the time, you weren’t home long enough to make it home, and now it seemed like you were past the point of no return. “Can we go to bed?” You asked softly.

Spencer tenderly placed his hands on either side of your waist, “You’re deflecting. What’s so wrong that you don’t feel like you can talk to me, baby?” You should’ve known better than to answer a question with a question.

Averting your eyes, you looked up at the ceiling in hopes that the action would quell the tears that were filling your waterline. “I just feel so out of place,” you answered, emotion closing your throat.

“In the apartment?” He whispered softly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you shook your head. Giving up on your dreams of stopping your tears, you bowed your head and let them fall. “In my life,” you clarified. “I thought it would be easy to just go from being an undercover agent to being at home. Maybe that was a lost cause, but I didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

Never wavering, Spencer stayed resilient with you as the dam broke, letting you lean your head on his shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried. “You’re going through one hell of an adjustment period right now.”

Nodding tearfully, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, “I feel like I haven’t been a real person in almost ten years. I don’t know who I am without that fucking job and it’s mauling me.” Briefly, Spencer stepped away from you, filling the cup that you had gotten out with water and handing it to you. “God, I’m a disaster. I’m so sorry,” you muttered, looking down at the glass of water you’d clasped in both hands.

“You are not a disaster,” he insisted. “You’re going through an unfathomable experience and you’re not giving yourself enough leeway,” he stressed, hooking a finger beneath your chin, and lifting your head.

Everything about him seemed soft, and you felt like pieces of broken glass – flying around and damaging everything in sight. You lifted the glass in your shaky hands, bringing the lip of the cup to your own and downing half of its contents.

Spencer studied your facial expression before he spoke again, “I know exactly who you are. You are the single most selfless person I have ever met,” he told you earnestly. “You spent nine years of your life rescuing tens of thousands of people, giving up holidays and birthdays and time with loved ones for the benefit of total strangers.”

Sniffling, you shook your head, “Spence,”

“No, this is true, and I need you to listen to me,” he urged. “One time, you had gotten back from five weeks undercover and, before catching up on sleep, you went to Henry’s birthday party. Solely because you had missed it the year before.” Hesitating for a moment, he resumed singing your praises, “You’re brilliant and funny and beautiful, but I need you to stop being so magnanimous.”

You pulled back, furrowing your brows in innate confusion, “What?”

He nodded, affirming his point. “I need you to be selfish. Operate with your self-interest in mind. Use that to discover yourself. If you keep throwing pieces of yourself away in order to make the people around you happy, then you’ll never really identify your adult self.”

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. You were always working; the FBI was your life. “Everyone is telling me to do different things,” you murmured. Spencer wanted you to be selfish, your mother wanted you to have a baby, and every single one of your friends had offered their stress relief methods – most of them unsolicited.

The understanding in his expression made your chest ache, “I think you should talk to someone. Not me, not Garcia, definitely not your mom, but a professional. You should talk your experiences out with someone who can help you work through it, not just like you do with me. I know you hold back details when it’s with me.”

Uncertain, you tried to wrap your arms around yourself again, but Spencer didn’t let you close yourself off. “Okay,” you ventured, “I’ll look into it.”

Putting his hands up, he smiled softly at you, “That’s all I ask.” He stepped back, allowing you to get off of the counter and stand. Spencer gently ushered you into the living room, sitting down next to you on the couch.

Instinctively, you leaned into his warmth as he draped an arm over your shoulders. “I need a hobby. Something to do other than sit at home all day,” you thought aloud.

“We can look for ideas in the morning,” Spencer offered. “Maybe we can go to the store this weekend for supplies.”

Turning your head to face him, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “Hey, Spence?”

He hummed, “Yes, love?”

“We could get a house,” you proposed. “It could be a good new start for the both of us, and we have the money,” the more you spoke about it, the more you liked the idea. A new start for the new you. Technically, the two of you were still newlyweds, it felt like something you were supposed to do. “We wouldn’t have to keep your books on the floor anymore,” you murmured, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his t-shirt with your index finger.

Your eyes flickered up to see him smiling. “We absolutely can get a house, and you won’t have to tip-toe,” he said pointedly, “it’ll be our space.”

Mirroring his smile, you adjusted slightly on the couch, “Our house.”

As you tucked your feet underneath yourself, you felt his eyes on you, “Are you sleeping alright?”

Groaning, you wiped a hand down your face, “You worry too much. We were doing so well.”

“Did you know that your coping mechanism is avoidance?” He remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, “I sleep fine,” you answered simply. It was true, once you were asleep, you slept perfectly fine until the morning. It was falling asleep that you had a hard time with, lying awake and wondering if when you finally fell asleep you would be greeted by nightmares. Nightmares that you had been waiting weeks for but had yet to come. “Let’s uh… let’s call it a problem for the professional,” you faltered.

He nodded understandingly, “You just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay? Anything at all.”

Allowing your body to meld into his, you hummed, “How are you doing with all of this?”

“I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still breathing,” he confessed. Adjusting his glasses, he pulled you a little closer to him. “I’ve seen you more in the past six weeks than I had the previous year, and, selfishly, I’m glad that we get more time together.”

With one hand, you reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, “I am too, love. It’s new, even though we’ve been together for years, I think we’re lucky to have something that feels new.”

He turned his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm before taking your hand in his, “I think I’m lucky to have you.”

“Sweet talker,” you teased lightly.

You nudged him gently when he went quiet. “I love having you be at home when I get home,” he whispered as if it was a secret. “I suppose I never really thought much of it because it always seemed like an unattainable fantasy.”

But now you were home when he came home. He took time off to spend with you right after you had gotten out of the hospital, but for the past six weeks, every time he walked in the door, you were around. It was almost like the two of you had entered your honeymoon phase. Although, you supposed you had, “Did anyone ask you about the party?”

Spencer chuckled, “Of course they did.”

Part of you supposed it was your penance for getting married in secret – mostly secret, everyone always seemed to forget that Rossi was there – that the BAU was insistent on giving the two of you a wedding. “I never knew profilers had such great memories,” you pondered. “No one else asks me about it.”

“They just want to make sure you’re alright before turning it into a celebration,” he explained. “For the BAU, taking a step back is a big deal,” he leaned his head to the side so that his chin was resting on the top of your head, “you know that, though.”

Nodding softly, you shut your eyes, “I don’t suppose they’d be willing to do a combo housewarming and wedding celebration.”

“Not a chance,” Spencer answered almost a bit too quickly.

You sighed in mock defeat, “We’ll just have to have a party a weekend until Garcia runs out of ideas.”

Slowly, you felt yourself falling asleep again, “Do you want to go to bed?” Spencer murmured.

There was just a moment before you hummed, “In a minute.” You pulled on the sleeves of your sweatshirt so they would cover your hands, “Hey, Spence?”

“Hm?” He said, drowsiness growing in his voice.

You tipped your head back and looked up at him, “I love being home when you get home, too.”

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer x retired!reader

956 notes · View notes

riality-check · 2 years

Text

This is not how Wayne was expecting to come home from work.

He had expected, as usual, that Eddie would be asleep, and he’d be free to watch the 5:00 AM news. He’d have a bowl of cereal for dinner (or was it breakfast at that point?), and then he’d be out like a light while Eddie did whatever it was he did before noon. Usually, that was sleep.

The exact opposite of what Wayne was expecting is happening right now.

He didn’t even get his keys out of his pocket before Eddie whips the door open. He looks a mess: hair tied back loosely, pajamas off kilter, panic mixed with exhaustion on his face.

“Oh, thank Christ,” he croaks. “Wayne, I need your help. I have no idea what to do.”

Wayne can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Eddie panic like this. He shoulders past him into the trailer and is greeted with the sight of Steve Harrington standing in the middle of his living room.

“What on God’s green earth,” he murmurs. He blinks, then blinks again, but Harrington is still there, in pajamas, the tire iron Eddie still keeps under his bed in his hands. He’s breathing real heavy, and he stares out the window, stock-still.

“The hell happened?” Wayne asks, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Eddie whispers desperately. “I don’t know what happened, but he got up and grabbed the iron and just stood here-”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Wayne doesn’t like where this is going. “Has he responded to you at all?”

“No-”

Shit.

“-but I can try again?”

Wayne eyes the white-knuckled grip Harrington has on the tire iron. He’s ready to swing, and Wayne knows he’ll swing hard if given the chance.

No way he’s risking Eddie. No way he’s risking Harrington. Wayne doesn’t know him well, only met him a few times in passing, but he knows he’d never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie.

“No. Don’t try again.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Didn’t ask you to. All I’m saying is don’t go near.”

Eddie is very good at following instructions to the letter and to the letter only, much to Wayne’s fond annoyance. So, he doesn’t go near.

Instead, he says, voice strangely soft, “Stevie, sweetheart.”

Harrington doesn’t respond, but he turns a little in the direction of Eddie’s voice. Wayne takes that as a good sign, even if he can see the tension on his face now.

“Will you come back to sleep? Please?” Wayne hates hearing Eddie’s voice crack the way it is right now.

Harrington faces them a little better, and Wayne sees what he was expecting.

He’s staring through them, not at them. Wherever Harrington is, it sure ain’t here.

“I don’t know how much that’s gonna help, Eddie. He’s having-”

“I know he’s having a flashback, Wayne!” Eddie snaps. “I’m not stupid. It’s usually just not this bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Alright,” Wayne says because snapping back won’t help anyone. That and because he’s trying to process the fact that Eddie has had to deal with this before. “Let me try.”

He takes a few steps toward Harrington, keeping his hands up and his movements slow.

“Harrington,” he calls, keeping his tone light. “You’re at Eddie’s place right now. It’s almost five AM on a Friday night.”

Harrington blinks, and it looks like his eyes are coming back into focus.

“You’re safe right now. Eddie’s safe right now.”

Harrington shakes his head and lifts the tire iron a little higher. Christ, his arms must be aching by now. “No. I saw the lights flicker, and I heard a thud outside, and it got cold.”

“Stevie, the gate’s closed,” Eddie pleads. “You saw it happen. Nothing got out. You’re safe.”

Wayne doesn’t know what any of that means, but even though it was supposed to reassure Harrington, he just shakes his head again.

He hears Eddie sigh behind him, and he knows without turning around that he’s trying not to cry.

Guess he’s gotta try something different, then. “You just wake up?”

Harrington blinks, and for a minute, Wayne thinks this won’t get them anywhere. But then he whispers, just loud enough to be heard, “Yeah.”

“Okay. I just got off work.”

Harrington stares at him, confused.

“So, I think I’m a little more awake than you. I’ll take what you’ve got in your hands, and I can stay up.”

Harrington shakes his head. “It’s fine. I stay up most of the time when I’m alone.”

Alone. Wayne knows from experience, both personal and witnessing this shit, that alone is the last thing anyone should be when they’re having a flashback. Harrington says it like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

He dismisses his questions - why is Harrington having flashbacks, why is he alone - and focuses on getting him to put down the tire iron and go to bed.

“You’re not alone this time,” Wayne says. “You’ve got Eddie here, too, and I think both of you would feel better if you were together.”

Harrington looks over Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne doesn’t turn around, but he can imagine the pleading look on Eddie’s face just fine.

Wayne holds out his hands for the tire iron, and after a minute, or maybe a month, Harrington sets it there. Immediately, he looks lighter and heavier.

Eddie walks up next to Wayne and murmurs, “Come on, sugar.”

Harrington goes to him and just rests his head on his shoulder. Eddie holds him there, just standing in the middle of the living room, sunrise just starting to peek in through the windows.

Thank you, he mouths to Wayne.

Wayne nods, but he’s got a hell of a lot more questions than answers - what the hell brought this on, what exactly is Harrington to Eddie. That can wait for morning, though.

For now, he just hopes Harrington will be okay by then.

No, not Harrington. Steve.

After something like this, Wayne has learned, you start using first names.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #steddie #(from an outside pov)#angst #hurt/comfort #flashbacks #idk what this is #it's the night before midterms #i've had a shit week #bon appetit #this is old btw i promise i wasn't THAT irresponsible #to write new fic the night before a midterm #ria writes

10K notes · View notes

lizard-on-a-window-pane · 15 days

Text

Exposed

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader summary: You come back from a mission with a tear in your suit. Miguel's reaction to what he sees underneath surprises you in the best way. tags / warnings: smut (minors do not interact!), p in v, fem reader, sassy spider-reader word count: 2.3k

You were coming back from a successful mission. Anomaly eliminated. No casualties. Well, except your spider-suit. An annoyingly claw-y bad guy had swiped at you from behind, and even though you’d just managed to dodge his attack, he’d nicked your suit and sliced a long strip of it down your side, from your back all the way down to the top of your thigh. Half your ass cheek was exposed, but you were so exhausted it was beyond you to care. You’d be suit-free and in bed soon enough. You just had to report in to Miguel first. He’d ordered you to because this had been a “potentially significant anomaly.” There seemed to be more and more of those recently. And he seemed to be assigning them mostly to you. You didn’t know of any other spiders that had to report to him personally after missions so often.

You could feel the cold on your lower back as you walked up to his HQ platform, it slowly descending in front of you. You hop up as soon as it’s low enough, wasting no time. Miguel’s back is to you as he watches what seems like a million screens at once.

“Mission successful, spider-boss.” “Don’t call me that.” You knew he hated that nickname. That’s why you kept using it.

“You prefer spider-captain? Spider-chief? Oooh maybe spider-king? No, that doesn’t sound right. Aren’t spiders more matriarchal anyway? You could be spider-queen if you want. Has a bit of a bite to it.” “Y/N,” he deadpans. “Hm?” “Shut up.” “Yes, sir, spider-queen!”

He finally turns around to look at you, exasperation all over his chiseled features. You catch the end of his eye roll. Knowing engaging will only get more out of you, he opts to go straight to business. “You eliminated the anomaly?” “Yup.”

“Cleaned up the contamination afterward?” “Like the top-class interdimensional janitor that I am.”

“Anything unusual?” “Well, there was this big scary dude with giant claws that was only ever black and white when the rest of the world was especially colorful. Soo that was weird.” “I mean other than the exact reason I sent you there in the first place.” He runs his hand over his face, the other on his hip, looking sassier than he probably intended. “Oh! Then no.”

You come over to his desk, leaning on it.

“And you’re alright? No injuries or anything?” In the back of your mind, you notice his voice softening as he asks you this.

“I’m good. More than I can say for my suit though,” you laugh. You lift from the desk, turning slightly, twisting to look at the tear, exposing it to Miguel. “Why’s it called ‘tearing someone a new one,’ huh? Doesn’t make any sense. I need a new one specifically because this one’s torn.”

You don’t expect him to respond to your stupid question, but when you look up at Miguel, the look on his face is more than unexpected. His eyebrows are shot up, his mouth the slightest bit ajar, his eyes fixed intently on your exposed ass.

For once, you have no idea what to say. Why was he looking at you like that? Were you in trouble? Just because this was a bit inappropriate? I mean, c’mon, you were all spider-people; you’d all had your fair share of injuries that needed patching up and the like. It felt like a big sports team: bodies rendered just bodies by the heat of battle. Of course, you’d never admit to anyone out loud that while that was true for all the other spiders in your eyes, Miguel was the sole exception. His body could never be just a body. It was too imposing… too striking… too beautiful. You caught yourself staring at him much more often than you liked. Always talked incessantly when he was around to keep yourself distracted and from looking like an idiot. Well, you still looked like an idiot after everything you said, but you were an idiot on your own terms, usually getting some laughs while you were at it.

“Miguel?” You come up with nothing else.

Your voice snaps him out of his trance. His eyes shoot up to your face, and he looks — what is that? you’d never seen that look on Miguel O’Hara… was it… flustered?

“Um, yes, uh, right. Your suit,” he’s looking around at his screens again, trying to look busy but you can tell his gaze isn’t actually taking in any of the images. “We’ll get you a new one.”

The tension lessened and, more importantly, his eyes no longer on you give you back a bit of your confidence.

“You in charge of tailoring too? You really gotta learn to delegate, spider-boss.” He doesn’t say anything. Not even with you specifically trying to push his buttons with the nickname. “Okayy…” you elongate. “So, can I go now?”

He just grunts, not sparing another look toward you.

You start walking back across the platform but remember a detail of the mission you had wanted to tell him before making it too far.

“Oh, there was this thing with my watch —“ you start, but all words get caught in your throat when you see Miguel as you turn back toward him. He’s staring at you like a viscous predator just about to pounce. His chin is down but his eyes are on you, even darker than usual and penetrating. You can tell by the rise and fall of his ridiculously broad chest that his breathing is a bit labored. He’d clearly been looking lower than your face level, as his eyes shoot up to yours when you look at him.

Neither of you say anything for what feels like the longest, heaviest moment of your life so far. Then, in what feels like the quickest, he’s closed the distance between you, coming to a stop just in front of you, closer than he’s ever been to you before.

He’s towering over you. Any movement forward at all and you’d be touching. You’re sure he can feel your heavy breathing as you look up at him. You can feel his.

He looks like he wants to murder you. But Miguel O’Hara has a way of encoding all emotions into shades of anger and aggression. And you’ve watched him closely enough for long enough to sometimes think you have an idea of what lies beneath. You haven’t cracked it completely, but you certainly see shades of gray where others see black and white.

The stakes have never been quite this high for your getting it wrong, but hoping beyond hope that you know what he actually wants, you push your face the fraction of a distance to his, crashing your lips together.

From the moment they graze, his hands are on you, groping your exposed ass with one, pulling you into him with the other. He devours your mouth, so feral you even worry for a split second about his fangs coming out. You’re so consumed by him you probably wouldn’t mind if they did.

Not breaking apart from you, Miguel takes the few steps back to his desk, dragging you with him. When the backs of his thighs come up to the desk, he flips you around so that you’re pushed up against it. You’re caged between it and his broad body as his hands continue exploring your body, his tongue continues exploring your mouth.

At this point you can feel the huge bulge between his legs pressing against you, his spider-suit doing nothing to hide it, doing little to separate you from it.

When his mouth leaves yours, dragging hungrily down to your jaw and neck, you whine his name. He groans in response, and you feel the vibrations where your chests are flush.

Taking the opportunity to do something you’d often dreamed of, you lift your hand and run it through his thick hair. His moans get louder, and you take it as a sign scratch and tug harder.

You know you didn’t pull strongly enough to move him if he didn’t want to be moved, but he pops off from where he’s sucking on your neck and looks into your eyes. He gives you a harsh kiss then says simply, “Turn around.” You do. He bends you over his desk.

You feel his hands on your hips first then they squeeze your ass hard. He slaps your exposed cheek, and you jump at the sudden sensation.

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he says, voice low.

You nod and confess, “I want it rough, Miguel. Please.” “Fuuck, chula. You drive me crazy.” You just whimper in response.

He spanks you again then tears your suit further, exposing your entire ass and your by now soaked cunt. “You walk in here with half your ass out like it’s nothing. Like you can show me what I spend my nights imagining and expect me not to do anything about it.” He slaps your other ass cheek. “You’re soaked, mami. You wanted this as badly as I did?” You nod desperately. “Tell me what you wanted.” “Fuck, Miguel. You. I wanted you.”

“You want me to fuck you?” You can already feel him messing with his suit.

“Yes, fuck, please; please fuck me.” When the head of his cock touches your cunt, your entire body shudders with anticipation. He pushes in forcefully, your wetness enough for him to start sliding in. But he’s big. Really big. As he keeps pushing, you feel a bit of a sting. When he hears you hiss, he slows his entrance but doesn’t stop entirely. “Relax, nena,” he coos. His hands massage your hips. “Breathe, baby.” You take a long inhale, and by the time you’re exhaling, you feel him finally bottom out. “Eso, mi amor. Just like that. Fuck, you feel incredible.” “Migueel,” you whine. “Yeah, baby, I got you.” His hands tighten on your hips as he slowly drags his cock back out until only his tip is inside. You’d never felt so empty. Then he pushes back in, faster than the first time. And again. And again.

Miguel’s pace quickens probably a bit faster than you’re ready for, but you love the intensity of the sensations. You love the feeling of him deep inside you, of him desperate to be deeper. You start rocking back in time with his thrusts, slamming your ass onto him.

“Fuuuck.” His voice is gravel. One of his powerful hands comes to your shoulder to help pull and push you at his now brutal rhythm. He fucks you with a stamina only possible for a superhuman. You’re sure you wouldn’t be able to take it if you weren’t one yourself.

The large room echoes your slapping skin, your yells and moans as he spears into you repeatedly.

Your thighs tighten as you start nearing your climax. Your cunt starts squeezing tighter. “Fuck, fuck, eso, nena, eso,” he chants, getting even rougher. His praises start sounding strangled, and you know he’s close too.

“Cum with me, Miguel,” you beg desperately. He groans animalistically at your words, giving you a strangled affirmative moan and pushing his pace to what you imagine is his limit.

“C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum for me,” he urges. It’s easy to let go with how hard he’s fucking you. You can’t really feel the rest of your body except for a hot heaviness. All you feel is where you’re connected and how every thrust sends pure pleasure coursing through you.

You’re orgasming a second later, and to the feeling of your clenching cunt and the sound of your euphoric screams, Miguel comes right after.

You’re unable to keep up your movements, too spent and too blissed out, but he keeps thrusting, albeit slower, until you’ve both rode out the hardest orgasms of your life. Then and only then does he still, still inside you, and collapse onto your back. His broad torso covers you completely, warming you despite how sweaty you are now.

His labored breathing on the back of your neck tickles, sending a shiver down your body. He chuckles and peppers kisses on your neck and shoulder, pulling your suit down to kiss at more skin.

He eventually lifts himself up; you were never going to push him off, that’s certain. You could spend forever under him, wrapped up in him.

His strong hands lift your especially malleable body, turning you to face him and helping support you as you lean back on the desk.

When your eyes meet, Miguel smiles at you. It stops your rapidly beating heart.

One arm around you, his other hand pushes sweaty hair off your face then lingers there, caressing.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. You just nod. He laughs. “What?” you giggle. “So that’s what it takes to make you stop talking, huh?” “Shut up!” you tsk, shoving his wall of a chest. He doesn’t budge at all, just catches your hand in his, bringing it to his face and kissing it. His lips linger over the skin of your fingers, the back of your hand. You trace them lightly, and they shift into a subtle grin.

As you look into his big brown eyes, you’re pretty sure you know what this ever-thinning shade of serious is covering.

“Miguel?”

“Hm?” He pecks your hand again.

“All those missions… they weren’t ‘potentially significant’ were they?”

He lowers your hand but keeps it in his. His gaze follows your hands down, looking away briefly, but he’s looking into your eyes again when he shakes his head ever so subtly. You hum in understanding. He just needed to make sure you were okay after.

After a beat, you whisper, “Can we stop pretending?” “That the missions are special?” “That what we feel for each other isn’t…”

“Ah.” He looks torn. You know he thinks it’s dangerous, know he feels the weight of literally the entire universe on his very broad shoulders. You lean up and kiss him gently.

“We can figure it out,” you whisper against his lips. His nose brushes yours as he nods then kisses you again.

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara fluff #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fanfiction

543 notes · View notes