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hyuneflix · 3 months ago

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THE CURE • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 11k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, lowkey orgasm denial, sub!reader, soft dom!chan slightly possessive chan, some mentions of a corruption kink.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, mention of dissociation and depersonalisation, brief descriptions of a dissociative episode, non-descript mentions of trauma around sex, therapy talk/setting. everything is intentionally vague but be careful nonetheless.

episode one - a cure for unhappy endings

Never in a million years had you ever expected you’d be sat in the plush, sleek office of one of Sydney’s most esteemed sex therapists.

You weren’t quite sure how your close friend had managed to convince you to make an appointment, her perky voice insisting it would magic away all of your problems while sliding an equally polished business card toward you. Perhaps it had been the conviction and openness with which she told you it saved her marriage that had you contemplating it in earnest. Alternatively it could’ve been her manner of being–the cheery disposition which led her to float into every room with a wide smile–one that made you sure she was doing something right. Whatever the reason you were here.

The waiting room looked akin to a modern showroom, the walls a crisp white save for a wide strip of matte black that accented one side of the room. Lounge chairs dotted the sizable space, the light grey of the velvety fabric contrasting against the one black wall. The greyscale of the room’s aesthetic was broken up by pops of green and gold, present in the flourishing of tall house plants that scattered the room beside towering, pale yellow-lit lamps. The floor looked to be a marbled stone material, perhaps a dark porcelain sleet or purbeck, partially hidden beneath a single rug that housed the centre of the room. Atop the geometric carpet a glass coffee table sat littered with pamphlets and magazines, a bouquet of white lilies placed in the very middle. The dreary silence of the near-empty space was compromised by the whirl of the air conditioning accompanied only by the occasional taps of keys echoing from behind the receptionist's desk.

You tapped your foot soundlessly as you awaited your appointment, fingers curled tightly around a paper cup. The cardboard was hot beneath your already too-warm palms, the container half-filled with a surprisingly expensive tasting coffee. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised that Sydney’s most up and coming sex therapist spared no expense when it came to their guests, though knowing so little about the person you were due to meet, your expectations were caught in a chaotic flurry of uncertainty and nervousness. You tried to still your restless limbs, planting your foot firmly against the solid ground as if the feeling of the floor beneath your shoes would heighten your senses, stilling your mind. Attempting, instead, to focus solely on the white noise that exhaled from the AC vent. You couldn’t, though. You never could. That was why you were here after all. You were so entirely unable to relax–to calm your nerves and quiet your mind–that even a climax was too far from reach. Your leg bounced anxiously at this, a huff of air from your parted lips sending strands of hair catching in the soft breeze it created.

Your eyes lifted to the clock above the reception, brows scrunching as the hand ticked slowly passed 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes behind schedule. It wasn’t the lateness that had your eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance, it was the minutes more you’d have to spend in the presence of your own nervous thoughts. Swallowing down some more of your coffee you placed the paper cup on the small side table beside you, freeing up your hands as you dug around the contents of your tote for your phone. The aged white fabric, its front decorated with a bright sun and array of technicoloured pastel flowers, rarely left your side. It was a comforting piece of familiarity in the otherwise chaotic and ever-changing ambience of Australia’s once largest city. The external screen of your mobile lit up the moment it was freed from the shadowed confines of the multi-coloured canvas, revealing a few messages from the very friend who had placed you here on this day.

[ from: Matilda ♥️]

2:32pm: don’t forget ur apt ik what ur like 😉

2:55pm: istg if ur still asleep ?? i juss knew going out last night was a mistake smh

3:01pm: k i see how it is ,, enjoy being pent up for the rest of ur life cunt ❤️

You snickered at her quick descent into petty remarks, fingers tugging at the folded screen until it opened. Tapping in your passcode you responded, letting her know you hadn’t missed your appointment despite the simmering of an ache in your temple. She wasn’t wrong, going out last night wasn’t the smartest idea but you’d insisted it would help you get out some of that nervous energy that threatened to spill over in instances like this one. You theorised that with a pounding head and an undercurrent of nausea your racing thoughts would have something else to fixate on. Imagine your surprise when you awoke in near good health. It was only natural that the one time you didn’t mind feeling a little worse for wear you felt on cloud nine. You were cursed, that was the only explanation; one that felt even more true given your current occupancy in the waiting room of a sex therapist.

The creek of a door drew your attention away from your phone, a deep voice calling your name despite the absence of other customers situated in the expanse he’d entered. Your gaze fixed on the figure half-hidden by the door frame, eyes widening when you took in the details of the person a few feet from you. It suddenly became abundantly clear why the man before you was so successful in his attempts to fix his clients sex lives; he was exceptionally handsome. Attractive in a quiet and unconventional way but undeniably so all the same. His dark gaze was soft despite the all-consuming black holes his deep brown eyes became. They sucked you in without warning, swallowing you whole the longer you held his stare. It wasn’t just his enthralling pair of aphotic orbs that had the breath catching in your throat, everything about him seemed crafted by an artist so proficient in their technique you failed to scrutinise a single flaw.

You managed a smile as you grabbed for your coffee, swallowing down the last of the cooling liquid to discard in the metallic bin on your journey toward the magnetic man; the muted thud when it hit the bottom going unacknowledged as you passed. Your tote hung from your shoulder lazily as you followed him into his office, watching the way his upper back and arms flexed beneath his too-tight charcoal dress shirt. The silk-cotton sleeves, despite the slightly ill fit, remained rolled up mid-way; veiny arms on full display as he directed you toward another set of lounge chairs. You’d hoped to feel better once your appointment began–you usually did–but having laid eyes upon the man you were expected to speak openly with regarding such intimate details, you only felt worse. His pink, plump lips widened in a large smile as he motioned you toward one of the chairs. You complied, bag slipping from your shoulder as you lowered yourself into the comfortable leather.

“Sorry for the late start; had a meeting overrun.” He spoke with emphatic sincerity, dimples pressing indentations against his pale cheeks. You could only nod, mind preoccupied by the tufts of dark curls caught in the artificial breeze that pulsed throughout the space. The office was a little larger than the last room, the aesthetics similar save the large windows on one side of it; their transparency enveloping the area in a warm glow of natural light. The beating sun against the crystal clear glass contradicted the chill of the aircon, balancing the room’s temperature to near perfection. Yet, despite this, you felt far too hot with your flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. A symptom, no doubt, of the man sat across from you.

“That’s okay, I get it.” You murmured back, fingers toying with the hem of your checkered summer dress, the soft cotton providing your anxious energy with some relief. The man in front of you seemed to take note of your nervous fussing, eyes falling to your bare thighs momentarily to fix on the opening and closing of your fists around the hem. His tongue darted across his bottom lip adding a glossy sheen to his already enticing smile; deep brown pools still drinking in your itching fingers with an unreadable expression.

“I know you must be feeling nervous–that’s normal–but you don’t have to worry about diverging anything until you’re ready.” His smile widened, reaching beside him to grab a large ipad from a short table, action in tandem with the raising of his gaze. “Why don’t we start with introductions and then we can go over some basics; try and set a baseline for what you’re comfortable discussing?” You nodded at this, words failing you for a moment.

“That works for me.” Your mouth caught up with your brain, offering him a smile of your own.

“Good, well I’m Chan; Bang Chan. My friends call me Chris though, so you’re welcome to call me that.” His disarming nature was impossible to ignore, the tone of his voice paired with his approachable expression relaxing your shoulders. It had been hard to imagine that a man with such stature and poise could be so easy-going, but the moment a smile tugged at his lips it was as if his entire being beamed with it.

“I’ve never heard the name Chan before, I like it.” You thought aloud, earning a wide-eyed grin from the man in front of you. It was hard not to allow yourself to stray when a sparkle lit up his gaze; the soft glimmer of something unknown swimming in its brown depths. Its mere presence making it near impossible to cling to your inhibitions, to remain anything but comfortable beneath his stare.

“Thank you, umm, that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” He practically radiated with warmth–giving the sun beyond the glass a run for its money��now shy gaze lowering to the device in his lap. Your confidence grew at this, the power balance between you shifting in your favour for just a moment.

“Well, most people are dumb I've learned.” Chan stifled a laugh at this, looking up at you through his lashes in brief acknowledgment before the dull tap of his purposeful actions against his ipad screen stole his attention near instantaneously.

“Hopefully I can be an exception to that rule.” He quipped back, earning a soft chuckle from you. “So your name is y/f/n, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, that’s me.” You exhaled a soft breath. Your newfound comfort was enough to simmer your busy brain, but your body had other ideas, hands fiddling with the decorative string of your pastel summer dress while the conversation flowed between you.

“No, that’s okay. Always better to make sure in case another y/n somehow wandered in.” It was his turn to offer a laugh, the contagious noise a chortle cut off by the push of air from his lungs. Breathy and short-lived, but genuine nonetheless.

“Now that would be a crazy twist of fate.” You humoured him, smile widening with every moment spent in his company. It was inexplicable the manner with which the air around you had changed–as if something magnetic and charged hung within its formless presence. You couldn’t see it, just as you couldn’t see the crisp air expelled from the AC, nor the humid warmth that radiated from the sun, but you could feel it.

“Truly, stranger things have happened though.” Chan looked up from his ipad, seemingly finished with whatever had occupied his attention. You figured it had been the documents you’d been asked to fill out before your session, pages upon pages of personal information and sexual history now ingrained in the confines of his mind. That was an odd thought to say the least.

“Ain’t that a fact–did you ever hear about that dude Mike Madman Marcum?” You distracted yourself from the rising discomfort, brain making leaps and bounds toward a vaguely relevant subject in its attempt to retreat.

“Mike Madman Marcum?” Another exhaled laugh from his nose followed his words, lips parted in a grin that showed his pearly teeth and a glimpse of pink gum. Again the craters grew in the soft dough of his cheeks, expression transformed from unreadable–nearly disinterested–to warm and inviting.

“Yeah, bro literally invented some sort of black hole, time travel portal shit and then mysteriously disappeared, like what?” You kept talking, brows raised in disbelief as if you hadn’t heard the story spilling from your lips until now.

“That sounds fake.” He shook his head, tipping it to the side afterward in interest.

“You’d think so but it's true.” You shrugged, ghost of a smile still present. It felt impossible not to have even a slight upturn of your lips around him; about as implausible as a rainy day during an Aus summer.

“How can you know that?” His laugh grew beyond the point of breathy displays of amusement to a noticeable chuckle.

“It’s a long story but there’s a police report about him and his time machine, bro got run out of his hometown and everything ‘cause of his antics. Then he makes the machine again somewhere else and ends up missing. It’s crazy, truly insane.” You filled him in, fingers still picking at the hem of your dress, out of habit more than nerves now.

“... You gotta send me that article ‘cause I’m curious not gonna lie.” His response had you tipping your head back in silent laughter, not expecting his genuine interest.

“Yeah? I’ll email you the podcast I listened to.” You nodded.

“You better ‘cause I'll lose sleep wondering about Mike Madman Marcum otherwise.” Sharing a laugh at his words, you couldn’t help but notice how melodic the different tones sounded together. Almost as if you were harmonising one another’s merriment. It charged the air with a new kind of unseen feeling, almost as if giving what had once been there more fuel.

“Oh, I will. First thing I’ll do when I get back home.” You promised, bottom lip enclosed by your teeth while you fought back your widest grin yet. Was it too much to call that sensibility between you chemistry? Were you the only one aware of the electric buzz that emanated through the air, feeling most active in the space that kept you from one another.

“Thanks, much appreciated. We should probably get back on track though, don’t wanna waste your money talking about time travel.” He maintained a smile, eyes leaving yours to trail across the brightly lit screen once more.

“Yeah, sorry, that’s my bad.” You apologised, fingers intertwining with one another to refrain from picking at the stray threads of your dress any longer.

“Don’t even mention it. Are wandering thoughts something that you get often?” He voiced aloud his observation, your shoulders rising slightly as the atmosphere around you changed again. Only, instead of the impalpable gravity that drew you to him, you felt something indiscernible push you backward.

“All the time.” You admitted, answer short.

“Do you feel that it encroaches on your sex life too?” He cut straight to the chase, your eyes blinking wide as your shoulders grew tense.

“Probably.” You retorted, shifting in your seat.

“Well, let me ask you this then–have you orgasmed before? Either from sex or masturbation?” He sounded so calm despite the words that left his plump lips, meanwhile your heart hammered in your chest, a contrast that felt improper, misplaced even.

“Oh boy, straight to the big questions… I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You countered. You’d already given him a list of answers to these questions, and you’d hoped at the time you’d forgo the awkwardness of the current topic as a result. It was clear you weren’t that fortunate, but when had you ever been?

“What makes you uncertain?” The soft brevardo of his voice kissed the shells of your ears, so gentle and genuine in its delivery that it had you melting all over again.

“I wish I knew. I guess, when I’m having sex, at least, I don’t think I ever have. It’s like I automatically check out and leave my body. When it comes to… myself, I don’t know, that’s more of an unknown. It’s like I feel something but then right as the build comes I just can’t reach the end.” You said, as honest as you could be given the circumstances. Your cheeks were ablaze, heart nearly deafening in its antiphon.

“Okay, well there’s a couple of things to unpack there.” Chan nodded half heartedly, the thin apple pen pressed against the pout of his mouth in thought; eyes trained on the screen where a set of scribbles that made up his short-hand observations lay.

“Probably above your pay grade.” You joked, though a hint of sincerity simmered beneath the chime of your tone.

“Nothing is above my pay grade, don't you worry about that.” He offered you a reassuring smile, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more. It distracted you again, forcing you to once more confront the attractiveness of the man supposedly holding all the answers to your problems. “Let’s start with this, have you been to any form of therapy before?”

“Only when I was younger.” You blinked, willing your brain to focus on his words rather than the formation of his mouth as he spoke them.

“What was that for?” He queried, thick accent pulling at the syllables as they left his parted lips.

“My mental health among other things.” You retorted ambiguously, not wanting to ignite that storm within your consciousness.

“Okay, we don’t have to get into the specifics, that's fine; did you find it helpful?” Chan seemed to pick up on this, you weren’t surprised, of course he would.

“No, I’m not great with talking about my feelings–I don’t feel like it helps.” You admitted, shoulders slouching and rising in slight discomfort. You felt your foot shift restlessly, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement you made in the leather confines of your prison.

“So what was your motivation for coming here?” The curious man inquired, no amount of austerity present in his tone.

“My friend said I should try it, apparently you saved her marriage. She’s the most stubborn person I know so if she can do it I’m guessing I can too.” You were back to making light of the situation, hoping to pull another bright smile from the seriousness that clouded his expression.

“Glad to hear she found it so beneficial.” You’d been unsuccessful, managing only to ignite a momentary spark within his dark gaze before he was back to scrutinising you, gently still, but profoundly all the same. “So what I’m getting from this is that talking to you about the root cause of things isn’t going to be the most helpful approach for you?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Your voice came out sheepish, body almost crumpling in on itself. You wished you had the answers, wanted nothing more than to be the perfect patient just as he had been the perfect therapist thus far.

“Well we can always try and go from there? We take a holistic approach to therapy so if one thing isn’t working we’ll switch it up, okay?” The man kept his eyes trained on you, flickering from corner to corner, taking in every nook and cranny of your features until they settled back on your uncertain eyes.

“Sounds good.” You forced a smile, the room around you shrinking in size in anticipation of what was to come. You could feel your mind failing you, the interior of the room transforming into a twisted, swirling haze of unfamiliarity. Of course, you didn’t know the place well, but all at once it didn’t feel as if you knew it at all. Like you’d never been here, like you didn’t remember coming here. As if you weren’t really here at all.

“The other reason I asked about your history with therapy is that you mentioned leaving your body when you’re engaging in sex with someone–did you ever discuss dissociation or depersonalisation with a therapist in the past?” His voice felt foreign all of a sudden, as if he’d been replaced by someone who looked like him, felt like him, should be him, but wasn’t.

“I did not.” You murmured, blinking in the hopes you’d return to your prior state of being.

“This is a little more of a personal question: have you experienced a traumatic event associated with sex or intimacy?” His voice rang in your mind, sounding almost like a bell as it echoed within the confines of your skull. You’d heard what he’d said, but it hadn’t settled enough to register. Instead it kept repeating, your brain trying to make sense of the words strung together, just enough to elicit a response from your parted lips, but not enough to make you remember.

“Uhh.” You felt like you’d been gawking for an hour, mouth opening and closing as you felt yourself move further and further from you body.

“Are you okay?” His voice pulled your gaze from the floor to his own pointed stare, those all-consuming pools of dark brown just enough to settle your momentarily.

“Yeah sorry, this- this is why I don’t find talking very helpful. It's like my brain just shuts down when shit gets real.” You stumbled over your words, fingers pressing against your temple in an attempt to coax your soul–or whatever it was that was retreating in haste–back to your body.

“Don’t apologise for that, you’re okay to react whichever way you need to.” He assured you, your heart dancing to the melodic tune his soft affirmations took on. “It sounds like what you’re experiencing are episodes of dissociation, and, while I can’t diagnose anything, or say for certain that’s what it is, it certainly appears that way. It’s common for people who have difficulties in this area to have a dissociative disorder or experience episodes of dissociation when they’re faced with a trigger.”

“So my trigger is sex?” You queried, words coming a little easier now. It was as if this feeling, the one he’d named dissociation, came over you in waves. You’d felt choked up, near to the point of drowning, mere moments ago. Now it felt like ripples more than strong currents.

“Maybe, that’s what we’re going to get to the bottom of. It could also be intimacy, your attachment to others or your own body. There are so many reasons why people feel they can’t cope with a situation, and their brain instinctually shuts itself down.”

“Okay, I guess it's reassuring knowing my body isn’t broken.” You muttered back, feeling rather deflated by now. The air felt sucked from your lungs, replaced by the salt water of your apparently dissociative episode. It made it hard to breathe, only managing laboured, reluctant breaths as if expecting another wave.

“Absolutely not, nothing about you is broken, not your body or your brain. Dissociation is a fear, stress or anxiety response; the same as fight or flight. It’s perfectly normal, your brain is just trying to protect itself as it's designed to do.” His smile was back, eyes forming crescents that threatened to conceal his caliginous orbs all together.

“So, like self-preservation?” You attempted to piece together the sentiments that fell from his lips so easily. Perhaps he really did hold all the answers, and that gave you a sense of belief, or attachment, that suddenly wanted him nearer to you.

“Exactly!” He beamed, fingers tapping mindlessly atop his meaty thigh. “What I want to start out doing over the next few sessions, however, is to focus on you and your relationship with your body. You should be able to pleasure yourself and know your body well before you trust someone else with that task, right?”

“That seems okay.” You nodded.

“Right, well we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but we’ll start you right from the beginning and we can skip ahead if needs be.” He continued, shifting easily back into the pensive professionalism that hid away his affectionate smiles.

“Alrighty.” Your foot bounced.

“Do you know where the pleasure points are on your body?” His eyes flickered from the ipad in his lap toward your furrowed features.

“I think so.” Your leg joined in the restless dance.

“Go ahead.” He urged, eyes tracing your figure in what you could only assume was acknowledgement of your nervous mannerisms.

“Oh you want me to- okay- there’s the clit, umm, there’s the nipples and somewhere there’s a g-spot.” You tried to act like the mature, confident adult you surely should be when discussing this topic at your age.

“Yeah, those are the main one’s sure. There’s also your inner thighs, your neck, your lips; some people find the bottom of their feet to be pleasurable, their ears, lower back, armpits–”

“Armpits? That’s a new one.” You cut him off with a surprised laugh, hand coming to cover your mouth as if to emphasise your bewilderment.

“Yeah there’s a lot.” He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek “I noticed you said ‘somewhere’ when mentioning your g-spot. Have you ever found it yourself?” Chan asked, eyes darkening as he did so, an outcome you didn’t think possible until now.

“No, umm, my fingers aren’t very good at all that.” You shifted in your seat, pulling the hem of your dress further down your bare thighs, nails grazing your clammy flesh.

“Okay, have you used toys?” His voice had dropped an octave, a sound that had the air instantaneously charged again. It was as if the pull was back, but not without the push; both worlds colliding in one disorientating, magnetic combustion.

“I don’t even know where to start with all that.” You shrugged dismissively.

“So how do you usually masturbate?” Your mouth grew dry at his words, the hypnotic buzz that seemed to exude from him almost impossible to ignore now. How were you supposed to take his words so lightly? So entirely void of all subtexts and implications when he was staring at you with such heated scrutiny.

“I just… you know… my clit.” It was a miracle he had heard you, you were almost sure you’d been whispering. In the back of your mind you could hear a white noise that sounded like the crashing of waves, almost as if threatening another trip beneath the surface of reality.

“Okay, and does that make you climax?” You focused carefully on his words, using the image of his mouth as it curled around each syllable to guide you from the deep end. That tongue of his, a threat in itself, traced the seam of his bottom lip once more, lingering for a moment too long.

“I get close but err, I don’t know, I can never get all the way my mind wanders.” Distracting yourself from his plump mouth, you moved your own until a riposte drew from it.

“Okay, have you tried watching porn to focus your mind?” His response was near immediate, chin balanced on an open palm now as he leaned back in his chair, legs parting, elbow pressing deeper into the armrest.

“No actually, I haven’t.” You retorted, watching him nod gently as if contemplating his next words, long, pretty fingers clutching the pen as it moved across the screen. His hand moved from his chin to his throat, the back and forth motion as his reflexive state persisted an image that would surely haunt you. You’d never noticed that a person’s hands held their own beauty until now, each digit perfect in length and adorned with ridged veins.

“Alright, well then I think you have your first piece of homework.” He concluded, snapping you out of your day dream and forcing you to draw your eyes away from the sight. You managed a smile, waiting for him to continue. “I’m going to give you a starter toy, then I want you to go home. If you get in the mood, open up a porn site and type in solo female. Find a video that you think is going to be the most relevant to you and then, using your fingers or the toy, follow what the actress is doing in the video.”

“Right, okay.” You nodded along, thankful that your first session was drawing to an end. However, the prospect of an at-home-assignment was one that brought a new wave of uncertainty.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just you and the video. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work and that’s okay.” His smile was back, stature adjusting as he placed the ipad aside, both palms planting themselves atop his thighs.

“Uh huh.” You were distracted, but you’d heard him, contemplating his words with a degree of skepticism.

“What’s making you anxious?” He asked, and on one hand you wanted to blurt out ‘you’. It truly was a challenge all in itself to hear him speak about such a personal topic while he unconsciously made every action attractive and impassioned. From the flicker of his brow, to the rise and fall of his chest, you’d gone from hyper-aware of yourself to hopelessly unable to pull your eyes from his motions.

“I don’t know, guess I’m just not good at trying new things when it comes to this–I feel like I’m setting myself up for failure.” You admitted, the rise of his brows enough to have you wishing you’d kept it to yourself. That thought didn’t last though, not when the words that followed lulled your anxiety in a way never knew it could be.

“Failure doesn’t exist in this sphere, you cannot fail, only try and then if you want to, try again.” He leaned forward in his chair, less relaxed in his posture as he grinned at you encouragingly.

“Right, yeah. I don’t know. I feel like your positivity is so infectious but the moment I get home I’ll just be stuck overthinking again.” You chuckled, an undercurrent of nervousness pulling the whimsy from your tone.

“Well, why don’t I give you my work number and if you get nervous and need me to talk you down you can call me, yeah?” His assurances continued, palm reaching into the pocket of his cropped suit trousers.

“Are you sure?” You blinked at him, leaning down to pry at the strap of your trusty tote bag.

“Of course, whatever you need–I’m here.” He gleamed, and with the way he was looking at you so intently, you could tell he meant it.

The moment you’d gotten home you’d done as promised, sending the podcast via email before opening pornhub preemptively to get ahead of your ‘homework’. It was intimidating to say the least, even more so when the toy Chan had given you sat beside your laptop caught your gaze. The box called it a G-Spot Vibrator, at one time concealing the long, slightly curved pink device from view. Now the vibrator led there, taunting you with its unfamiliarity as your gaze shifted to and from the screen of the laptop. Eventually you chucked in your desk drawer defiantly, fixing your attention on the brightly lit screen to begin scrolling through the wealth of videos. You couldn’t decide on one, none of them seemed to match your skill level; their wrists expertly shiting fancy looking toys in a thrusting motion while their bodies shook and convulsed with over exaggerated pleasure. It was off putting, almost taunting the manner with which they played up every action and sound.

It didn’t take long for you to lose interest, opting to go about your evening as normal instead. Easily the events of the day became background noise as you took care of the needs you struggled with far less than. By the time you’d finished your skincare you were crashing down in front of the couch, mind wandering back to the soft spoken man who’d assigned you such vexatious and troublesome homework. A drama played on low volume in the backdrop of your thoughts, your mind's eye picturing the way your therapist's tongue had travelled across his plump bottom lip. It was miraculous how you’d so easily managed to commit every part of him to memory. You could see him as clearly as the ceiling above you, his veiny hands tightening around his thighs while his dark eyes both provoked and lulled your anxiety. You didn’t realise the extent of his intoxicating stare until you were without it, nor the heat with which it took in every detail of your face as you did his.

Before you knew what you were doing your fingers had begun shifting toward your already hard nipples, one hand covering your t-shirt clad breast. You squeezed softly, head falling further back against the sofa with your eyes now tightly shut. Your free hand skimmed lower, tugging the hem of your oversized shirt to cup your bare flesh. The action of your open palm squeezing against your clit and dampening hole was enough to have your thrusting gently upwards. What a dilemma that the very person who was supposed to be helping you pleasure yourself had become the object of it. The mere thought had you huffing in disbelief–just your luck.

Deciding to distract yourself you seized the opportunity to do the homework you’d been assigned. Getting up, you trudged the short distance to your desk, grabbing your laptop and the vibrator before returning to the sofa in haste. Your fingers continued tugging at your nipple, electric sparks travelling straight to your core. You kept the drone of the tv on as you clicked play on one of the videos, muting the sound to focus on the girl's actions. That earlier worked up feeling died down somewhat as you mimicked her movements. Taking the vibrator in your mouth you sucked on it stiffly, allowing your tongue to press against the base of it as you wet the velvet soft device. You should’ve known better though, then to think your mind could focus just because you willed it to. Instead, you began to wonder, deliberating whether Chan’s hard cock would feel this heavy between your lips; the thought drawing a hum from your stuffed mouth as you tried to concentrate on the video.

You felt yourself grow soaked at the image of your sex therapist pushing his member further past your lips, the tip of it entering your throat while he exhaled grunts. You thanked the heavens when the actress removed the toy from her mouth, switching the vibration on to press it against her clit. You did the same, body jolting at the unfamiliar feeling. You tried to keep up with her motions, alternating between teasing your soaked entrance with the toy and rubbing it against your clit. Your pleasure came and went as you did so, your clumsy movements trying to keep up with her own. You felt yourself grow frustrated as you did so, mind aching to return to the image of Chan using your mouth.

Your head lulled back at the thought of his hand clutching your hair with those big, veiny fingers, pushing your head down against his cock until your nose met his muscular flesh. Your eyes glazed over, the video no longer in focus as you fixated on the memory of his slender digits. They were so long and shaped in such a way that you were certain, in your imagination at least, they’d have no problem fucking you open. Neither an issue finding your g-spot; bringing you to a satisfying climax again and again until your body begged him to give you a moment to recover. You could picture it now: his large body hovering above you, one hand pushing you against the mattress to keep you still while the other pistoned his skilled fingers in and out of your gushing pussy. You knew you’d surely be convulsing like the girls in porn did, hips unable to keep still despite his heavy palm.

The movie playing behind your closed lids was enough to have you more worked up than you’d ever been before. You pressed the vibrator into your entrance letting it linger before you thrust it past your walls, leaving yourself no time to prep like the man in your imagination refused to. He touched you with an air of impatience, desperation even, as if he’d deprived himself of you for too long; torturing himself with the thought of how you’d feel constricting around his rock hard length. You marvelled at the way his cock would feel spreading you open deliciously. You imagined his member to be as veiny as his arms, the ridges pushing against your spongy walls sending a new type of wave throughout your body. No disconnection, no retreating. Just the crashing of ecstasy that was building up with every desperate push of the vibrator. Moans fell from your lips as you thrust the toy in and out, the length of it brushing blissfully against your clit every few motions. You pictured the push of his hips against yours, the feeling of his breath against your clammy skin and the melodic muse of his groans. You just knew your moans would sound perfect together; as harmonious as your chorused laughter.

It felt so fucking sinful fucking yourself with the toy he’d given you, imagining him in place of it. The revelation had your high approaching and your walls tightening as you tried to push yourself over the finish line. It felt like a knot, or a rubber band, constricting and pulling until it threatened to snap. You tried to imagine him circling your clit with his soaked fingers, his teeth latching at your throat as he painted plum coloured hues against your skin. You kept your frenzied motions up–thrusting and rubbing in desperation to cum–but the band never snapped. The knot coming undone as your stamina reached its limit. You felt overstimulated, but without the post-orgasm floods of pleasure that should surely be wracking your body. Instead, you just felt tired, defeated even.

You’d usually give up, the magic of the moment gone with the disappointment that overtook it. This time around, though, you were still endlessly frustrated. You wanted release so badly. Your hand pushed the toy back into your needy pussy as you let your mind wander back to the therapist clouding your mind with lust. This time, he coaxed you through it sweetly, whispering reassuring words in your ear as he took his time thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. That dark gaze captivated you again. You imagined the way it would scrutinise you once more, peering up at your spent form as he trailed kisses down the valley of your plump breasts; close to where his busy fingers worked you open. Your imagination had you near sweet release again, the image of his plump lips latching at your clit was enough to have your back arching as you tried desperately to cum.

Cruelly, despite your best efforts, the blissful feeling died out like the embers of a long forgotten fire. The feeling becoming duller and duller till the pleasurable light flickered out for the last time. You let out a whine of defeat, chest heaving as you caught your breath before trying again. You tried, and you tried, but no matter how many times you thrust the vibrating device in and out of your puffy cunt you ended up exhausted and disappointed. Realising it wasn’t going to happen, you got up with glossy eyes, tears lining their brim as you wobbled over to the desk. You found your phone discarded by the vibrators packaging, the sudden igniting of the screen reminding you of its presence. Reminding you of your plan b.

You didn’t expect him to pick up, thumb between your lips as you chewed anxiously at your nail. By the third ring he did, though, your eyes widening not only at his quick response, but how real the situation suddenly felt. What were you doing? Had you actually called him? You had. That became abundantly clear the moment his voice filled the silence the call tone had left behind. “Hello?” The octave sounded a little rougher than it had during your appointment, leaving you suddenly panicked that you might’ve woken him up. Your eyes darted towards the time on your laptop’s screensaver 8:12pm visible in big letters.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” You quickly blurted out, back straightening in anticipation of his response.

“Oh hey, no you didn’t don’t worry. I was just listening to that podcast actually.” The strain in his voice dissipated, replaced instead by an enthusiastic tone.

“Really?” Your hesitance was gone, the swirling of something close to affection beginning to churn in the pit of your stomach. It reminded you of that prior unseen tension between you, the kind that felt like a perfect storm; a destiny playing out in a beautiful collision.

“Yeah, shit’s insane…” He trailed off, the muted clattering of background noise leaving you no clues as to what he could be up to. You wondered briefly how he spent his time when he wasn’t cooped up in his office. Did he frequent a bar? Maybe the gym? Did he have a favourite takeout spot? Or did he have a book of recipes he flicked through every night? Maybe he spent his time much the same way you did, curled up on the sofa with a show you only half-paid attention to.

“I know right, it’s wild.” You agreed, pushing the far-too-domestic thoughts out of your mind.

“Right? He just disappeared off the face of the earth.” Chan exclaimed, the distant, indistinguishable noises fading to a settled silence. “So, are you okay? Did your homework go okay?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” You admitted, growing a little sheepish at the turn in conversation. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered because of the subject matter, or because your cunt still throbbed and ached in desperate anticipation of something that would seemingly never come.

“Sure, what’s the matter?” He spoke, voice level as always.

“I tried to do the porn thing but I don’t know, I just felt way too uncoordinated and ended up getting distracted. But, like, this time it was a good kind of distraction and I got close so many times but I just couldn’t cum.” The recollection of your disappointing evening had you shuffling in your seat, the friction of your bare clit against the couch setting your over-sensitive body alight. You got a bit more comfortable, squeezing your legs together in the hopes the pressure would lull the ache. It didn’t, it seemed nothing would. Nothing except an outcome that you couldn’t attain.

“Okay, well that’s a positive development, right? You tried something new, it didn’t work but you gave it a really good go, yeah? You should feel proud.” His positive disposition had once filled you with so much assurance, but right now, it did nothing but taunt you. No shit it didn’t work, you were practically throbbing with desire, desperate for release.

“Right, yeah, I guess so.” You muttered.

“Did you try the toy?” At the mention of the vibrator–still close to you on the sofa–you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure how, in your frantic mind, you’d figured that having a sexually-charged conversation with your very attractive sex therapist was going to help your situation. Right now, it only worsened it tenfold.

“I did.” You retorted shortly.

“Did it feel good?” You felt like your ears were playing tricks on you. Could’ve sworn his usually balanced voice wavered with something unknown. You wanted to call it restraint, but you knew that was surely your desires playing out in your mind; your current disposition plaguing all reason. He was good at that–consuming every part of you–and you were starting to think that was exactly what you needed. To be consumed. To not be able to have a single sense focused on anything but him.

“Uh, umm, yeah.” You felt your situation growing exponentially worse, body shifting again in a fruitless attempt at distracting yourself from the heavy throb between your thighs. You hadn’t even realised you’d managed a response, not until he was talking again, offering that same assurance that still held little weight.

“That’s another positive step, maybe we can give you more toys to try out to see if there’s one that can help you finish.”

“Uh huh.” You hummed, head pressing against the sofa, free hand skimming your bare thighs. You knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation, not with Chan on the phone, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t do anything about it without him either. It was a cruel catch 22; sit here and squirm beneath the mundane distraction his sentiments provided, or try and get yourself off again and again to the image of him in your head.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to pick up on your absentminded demeanour, pitch raising in slight concern.

“Just… frustrated. I’m open to trying more things but, like, I’m just… what about now?” You admitted, perhaps if you were honest about his situation he’d know the right thing to say. The perfect affirmation that would finally have you climaxing after years of pent up frustration.

“Oh… right. So when you say frustrated…?” He attempted to connect the dots, your eyes squeezing shut as you released a huff.

“I’m really fucking desperate to cum.” You spoke bluntly, the hand that sat at your thigh itching to circle your clit. The thought alone had your hips rising in ecstasy, eyes rolling back as you imagined your fingers strumming your sensitive nub in a frenzied attempt to cum. You’d have to keep quiet, you wouldn’t want your sex therapist to know you were trying to orgasm to the sound of his perfectly innocent intimate questions “Chan?” You questioned, when silence followed.

“Yeah, sorry, umm, just thinking.” He seemed distant now, and you suddenly regretted being so honest. Had you crossed a line? Well of course you had, many in fact. You hated that justifications followed suit; so surely you can cross one more, right? To give your clit that attention it so desperately wanted.

“Am I hopeless? Is there nothing I can do right now?” You asked in defeat, the ache almost painful beneath your continued resistance.

“You’re not hopeless, no– okay…” He started to speak, still sounding much different than he had moments ago. “I don’t usually do this, I’m not supposed to do this, but, if you want I can, umm, I can help you?” There was hesitance in his tone, uncertainty wrapped up in every syllable; leaking through each word the same way your cunt gushed at the prospect of his statement.

“Help me?” You uttered, not daring to believe he could mean what you thought he did.

“Like guide you.” Oh, you thought. So he meant exactly that. The man of your prior fantasies wanted to talk you through your masturbation. If you thought your desperation had reached maximum capacity before, then you were certain you were at the breaking point now. Your pussy clenched around nothing, whole body suddenly heavy with thick hot lust as you managed a response.

“O-Okay.”

“Yeah, you want that?” He was back to sounding level again, and how he could be in this situation you didn’t know. You didn’t care, though, not when your deprived cunt was about to get abused once again.

“Yeah, so bad.” Your voice no longer hid your frantic state, hips rising from the sofa, hand reaching between your thighs to ghost over your sensitive clit in an attempt to feel any relief.

“Mm fuck, okay.” Whatever professionalism he’d mustered up had quickly faltered, something close to a groan falling from his lips. “We can stop whenever you want to, I only wanna help you with this if you’re comfortable with it.” Before you could register his new state, however, the collected therapist was back. You questioned your sanity, were you hearing things now? Your mind conjuring mirages of your hot therapist moaning in your ear as he got you off. Fuck you wanted to touch yourself so bad.

“I want your help, Chan.” You confirmed, gnawing at your bottom lip as you ran a finger through your soaked folds, digit quickly growing sticky, body jolting from the small amount of contact.

“You sound so strained, gonna help you okay?” His voice held promise, and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the prospect of finally cumming.

“Please.” You begged, restraint completely vanished along with any shame you might’ve felt about sounding so unbelievably desperate.

“You still wearing that pretty little dress?” His voice dropped an octave, his ability to stay unphased broken up by bouts of what you could only surmise was his body betraying him.

“No, just a t-shirt” You responded, mewls falling from your lips at the prospect of him being affected by your insatiable lust.

“Nothing else?” Chan questioned.

“Just the shirt.” You confirmed, finger circling your gushing hole as you awaited your sign to begin pleasuring yourself properly.

“Take it off for me, drag the fabric against your skin nice and slow. You doing that for me?” To your dismay, he had other plans, his request to take your time sending every one of your nerves into overdrive. You did as you were told, though, too turned on by the current events playing out to rush through it.

“Yeah.”

“Good, give your breasts special attention; squeeze them together, let the rough part of the fabric stimulate your nipples.” You followed his commands, putting your phone on loud speaker by your head to squeeze your breasts together; the fabric against your sensitive nipples sending waves of pleasure straight to your desperate pussy.

“When your shirt is off, bring your fingers to your mouth and get them nice and wet. You doing it baby?” Behind closed lids your senses were heightened, the sound of his voice from the speaker–so close to your ear–jolting your forward. Leaving your breasts alone for the moment, you removed the thin clothing, the air of your cool apartment stimulating your bare skin in a way that had your head spinning.

“Mhm.” You moaned loudly at the nickname, mouth stuffed with your fingers as you sucked on them. You were reminded of your earlier imaginings, the thought of his cock between your lips instead of your fingers pulling another pitchy groan from you.

“You like it when I call you that?” He asked, not waiting for a response before he continued. “Good, such a good girl, so responsive. Suck on your fingers till they’re nice and coated then I want you to play with your nipples okay?” You were frustrated at the pace he’d set, brows furrowed as you let strings of spit coat your fingers, hips continuously jolting as if trying to beg for your attention.

You couldn’t help the moans that spilled from your lips at the state you were in, cool air stimulating your already needy clit as you rubbed your soaked digits over your nipples. You played with them harshly, almost annoyed at the pent up feeling that grew and grew. With each pinch your pussy clenched around nothing, the emptiness reminding you of what you wanted there most; his cock.

“You sound so good, fuck, doing so well.” His resolve crumbled again, a huff of air the only release he could manage. “Take your time with yourself, okay?” Chan sounded strained now, the level part of him gone, replaced only by a man pushing his patience to unseen limits.

“It’s too much, wanna touch myself properly.” You whined, wetting your fingers some more to continue playing with your breasts.

“You’ll get there baby, don’t worry, not gonna leave your pretty pussy neglected.” Another desperate moan fell from your lips, noises carelessly flowing from you with complete disregard for your neighbours let alone the man on the other end of the phone. “You like that? Like me calling your pussy pretty? Mmm, I bet it is. I know it is.”

“Hmpf, Chan, please.”

“Ohmygod.” His ability to maintain level-headedness was slipping with every sound that fell from your lips. You sounded incredible, mind racing with vivid images of your legs spread, pretty fingers prying feverishly at your swollen nipples. “How does it feel baby?” He questioned, feeding his own thoughts more than yours with this request.

“Good but not enough, want more.” Your hips rose and fell, so unable to continue just playing with your plump tits when your aching, needy cunt was pleading with you to touch it.

“Okay baby, go slow, leave one hand playing with your nipples and let the other one start trailing down your body. Make sure you give every part of yourself attention, squeeze at your thighs, graze your tummy with your nails; do whatever feels best.” You released a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving on from your top half.

“I’m doing it.” You murmured, trying to follow his direction as best you could. However, your hand skimmed your flesh clumsily, hurriedly, squeezing at your thighs to keep them pressed against the couch.

“Good girl, brush over your clit when you get there, okay? use your finger to push through your folds and spread your juices over your clit.” You did exactly that, digits instantly drenched in the sticky, wet mess soaking the sofa beneath you. Your entire body moved in haste, pushing your fingers between your pussy lips and up to your clit over and over, hips thrusting with them.

“Ah, fuck, that feels so good Chan!” You couldn’t control yourself anymore, moan after moan spilling from your gaping mouth as you repeated the motion.

“Yeah? fucking hell– sound so pretty, darling. Start circling your clit when you’re nice and soaked and make sure to give your entrance some attention too, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, god so good.” You mewled when the tips of your fingers prodded teasingly at your clenching hole. With every tightening of your pussy a new stream of sticky cum would gush onto your fingers, coating them deliciously for your sensitive clit’s unquenchable thirst for more.

“You doing that?”

“I think so.” You whined, near sobbing by now.

“Describe it for me.” He insisted, tone low with a growing impatience.

“I’m rubbing my clit with two fingers, now I’m moving them down and pushing the tips in.” You recited your motions, repeating each step with a thrust of your hips and a squirm of your limbs.

“Good, that’s good. Keep doing that for me until you’re ready and then I want you to get the toy I gave you.” His commands continued, the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of uncontrollable, desperation for release.

“Alright. I already f-feel close.” You moaned, that tight feeling growing expanding, filling the empty place you wanted Chan to most.

“Drag it out baby, take your time.” His words drew a frustrated sob from you, eyes screwing even tighter shut as you circled your clit furiously.

“I wanna cum so bad though.” You cried, tears streaking your cheeks as your hips moved at their own accord.

“You’re gonna cum, baby, i’m gonna make you cum– fuck.” At his promise, you reluctantly pulled your hand away, blindly reaching for the vibrator. The moan that punctuated his sentence had a wave of arousal washing over you again.

“Are you touching yourself too?” You asked, the mere thought causing your cunt to clench in a way it never had. You bet he looked incredible with his fist wrapped around his cock, fucking his closed hand with the same amount of disregard you showed your sensitive nub.

“No. This is about you.” He broke your illusion, a whine falling from you lips.

“I’m getting the toy, what should I do with it, sir?” You clutched the vibrator, pressing it against your clit in anticipation of his next request. “Chan?” You spoke after a beat in time.

“Uh huh, yeah, fuck, sorry I’m still here.” Whatever thread of resolve he’d been clinging onto desperately was audibly gone. He sounded like a man starved. As if he himself was beginning to understand the torture you must be feeling to be deprived of sweet release the way he currently was.

“You sound good when you moan, can you do it again?” You pleaded, using the toy to circle your clit as you waited for him to comply.

“Mhm, yeah like this baby?” Chan didn’t disappoint, the sounds spilling from his lips sending jolt after jolt of mind-numbing pleasure straight to your core. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah so much.” You moaned, rubbing the toy up and down your soaked folds; punishing your neglected hole with the velvety tip.

“God, so fucking hot, bet you look so good right now.” Chan seemed on a not-so-slow descent into madness, his palms no doubt twitching in place as yours had earlier, wanting nothing more than to palm his hard cock through his clothes. “Turn the vibrator on and do the same as earlier; give your clit and your hole special attention.”

“I’m so close, sir” You moaned, fingers fumbling with the button until the default vibration setting turned on. “Please can I fuck myself with it? Feel so empty clenching around nothing.”

“Fucking hell, your tight little pussy wants to get fucked so bad, yeah?” He moaned, so loudly that it almost felt like he was right there in the room with you.

“More than anything, please.” You pleaded, hips back to moving at their own accord as you circled your entrance with the vibrating toy.

“You sound fucking incredible begging for me like this baby–such a good little slut–so obedient.” his growls filled the air around you, cunt clenching at the image of his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Gone was the pretty smile and the dimpled cheeks, no doubt replaced by a solemn expression and distant stare as his own mind busied itself with visuals of your submissive form.

“If I keep being good will you touch yourself with me?” You pleaded, tone wavering beneath the chorus of moans that flew from your lips with every exhale of breath.

“A-are you sure?” He stuttered, caught off guard by your comment. If you’d asked him to do this at the start of your call, he’d give you a categorical no. Now, though, beneath the heavy haze of lust, and battling with the feeling of painfully stiff cock confined beneath his work clothes, he could only comply eagerly.

“Yeah, please, wanna hear you moan some more.” Your voice was starting to break now, tip of the vibrator pushing further and further past your walls with every flick of your hand. You pictured how he must look, strong hand clasping desperately at his poor neglected cock; not even bothering to remove his clothes entirely before he was circling the base with his first.

“Fuck this is so wrong. God if only you could see what you’re doing to me.” Chan sounded like heaven, puffs of air exhaling from his lips as small grunts filled the room. He was no longer moaning for your entertainment alone, no, instead the noises were accompanied by the wet sounds of his fist stroking his length feverishly.

“Mmm I wish, wish it was you fucking me right now.” Not a lie, either. Your head couldn’t settle on one script to stick to: him jerking off uncontrollably or you bouncing on his cock. The latter would be quite the scene, pussy gushing around his pulsing member as you rode him with haste. His hands planted firmly at your hips to spur you on. You imagined it must feel blissful to feel his palms clasping at your body, keeping you grounded, reminding you the best things weren’t hiding in the corners of your mind but right here in reality.

“Baby, fuck, don’t say that.” Chan grunted again, sounds broken up by moans and curse words. “You fucking yourself nice and slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, not enough.” You sobbed, drying tear tracks repainted with fresh salty tears.

“So greedy, such a spoiled little pussy, does it wanna be fucked hard and rough?” His voice couldn’t find an octave, one moment it was deep, controlling almost in its approach to commanding your every move. The next it reached new heights, pitchy moans interjecting each breathless word. You liked this, felt like you were adding new polaroid pictures to a scrapbook keep-sake. Finding new things to add to a growing collection of moments you’d replay over and over again in your mind. You were good at that, fixating on one situation good or bad, thinking about it from every angle until the edges of it became frayed and aged. Until it lost all meaning; all feeling.

“Want you to ruin it.” You could barely form words by now, you wanted nothing more than to quicken your pace. You wouldn’t though, not without his word. There was something so hot about doing what your therapist told you to, even if he couldn’t see you, nor hold you accountable if you misbehaved. You wanted to be his good girl, his favourite patient; the only one who could corrupt him into breaking every rule he swore he’d keep. Maybe it was the power in an otherwise powerless dynamic that had you so hot on bothered, but really, truly, that didn’t feel like the perfect fit.

There was something about him, you couldn’t describe it. You could only remember how electric the air around you had felt, how badly you wanted to let yourself be pulled into his orbit, to centre him in every aspect of your life until he was the only thing that remained. All consumed, entirely taken up by him. Every crack in your broken mind filled with him, and his voice, and his promises to fix you. It was so undeniably unethical, let alone wishful thinking. You knew you were latching onto him, your next fixation, your special interest.

“Shit, you know I can’t do that, gonna have to learn to do it yourself.” His words reminded you just how hopeless your new infatuation was. Lust and affection were two different things, not mutually exclusive, in fact rarely hand-in-hand. Chan was trying to help, he took pity on you, right? Sure, somewhere along the way his cock had ended up in his fist, moans spilling from him like a pot left to boil too far too long. But that was a happy accident, an inevitability when you were moaning like a pornstar in his ear.

You were losing focus again. God, who knew your distraction would become a distraction from himself. But just as you’d begun to run out of momentum, mind conjuring up anxious thoughts and momentary bouts of shame intermingled with embarrassment, his voice sliced through the noise. “Pick up the pace for me, keep going, keep fucking yourself like a slut if that’s what baby girl wants.”

“So close. I-I’m fuck, fuck, so close.” You clenched around the vibrating device, the loud groans emanating from your phone’s speaker pushing you closer and closer to the edge. An edge… now that was new. Usually you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, an indescribable pressure that wanted to be released. But this felt more like a building of something that was destined to end in you reaching an undiscovered depth; the deepest darkest part of an ocean you’d yet to explore.

“Yeah? You sound so fucking hot baby, you gonna cum for me? gonna cum for sir like an obedient little whore?” The filth that was spewing from his lips so easily had your mind racing in an entirely new way. You couldn’t keep up with your body anymore, vibrator plunging in and out of your abused hole as if running on a motor. The space around you smelled like sweat paired with the sweet scent of your cum; the sounds of your wet pussy battling to be heard above your shrill moans.

“Want you to cum with me, you gonna cum with me sir?” You spoke between pants.

“I’ll cum with you, yeah, that’s so hot– I can hear how soaked you are, bet you’re making such a mess baby.” His groans did indeed sound perfect in harmony with your own, you’d been right about that.

“Would feel so good creaming your cock with my cum.” you murmured, biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming.

“Ahhh, fuck, fucking hell I’m gonna cum.” He stammered and you could hear so clearly the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could tell, even through the phone that his release was already leaking from the top of his angry head, every thrust of his fist wet. You could practically taste the salt of his cum on your tongue, the image of him dumping its entirety in your wide, eager mouth enough to have your hips spasming uncontrollably.

“Yeah? Me too, please, please.” You felt your body teeter so close to the edge you almost lost the ability to thrust the vibrator in and out of your desperate hole.

“That’s it, good girl– fuck– fuck yourself so good like you know I would.” It would appear that in his near-climax haze Chan had given up on the idea of not buying into your fantasy of fucking him. You liked to think he’d reached the point of complete inhibition, no longer able to keep up the facade. That perhaps he wanted your cunt just as badly as you wanted to feel his cock rammed deep inside you, tip prodding against your cervix with every well-timed thrust. “Would treat that pussy so well, yeah, would fuck you so well baby, fuck.” He was babbling now, barely indistinguishable beneath the sounds of wet fist fucking.

“Please, please.” Was all the words you could muster, so close now that you felt yourself being pushed from the edge you’d been almost afraid to fall from, vibrator hitting your spongy walls at just the right angle to have your toes curling and your body heaving.

“Keep going baby, keep going. Imagine it's me, yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Chan kept talking, seemingly unable to keep his desires pent up any longer as he too reached the edge. “Bet you’d love it, fuck such a good girl, taking my cock so well–you’d feel so good, tight cunt wrapped around me.” He was relentless now, words sending jolts of hot pleasure straight to your already overstimulated pussy.

“Be the only man to make you cum, you know I can.” He continued, barely able to get the words out between broken moans, each one louder than the next. “Gonna make your cunt mine baby, yeah, you want that don’t you? I’ll treat you so good don’t worry; i’ll take good care of your desperate little pussy.” The possessive growl he let out, paired with the absolutely sinful rambles he couldn’t seem to stop from spilling out of him, was more than enough to send you tumbling from the edge. You were rendered near immobile, white light breaking through the darkness behind your closed lids. Your hips shook, every limb twitching and seizing until all feeling returned.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been moaning his name, over and over until your voice was hoarse and your throat felt raw. You could feel every part of you grow stiff, chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. One second you were pushing the toy in and out of your clenching hole, the next you lost all control of your body. It was easy to see why they called it little death, that feeling of going into a place filled with light, a place that threatened no return. No way to flee back to the safety of normalcy. It was a contrast to his dark gaze, the one that consumed you in the same way. It was like fire and ice, light and dark, yin and yang. So entirely wrong but right.

“Ah, you came, fuck, yeah, you’re so– god, I’m cumming too, fuck.” You realised then, as you caught your breath, listening to the sounds of his own release play through the speaker, that you didn’t want to return to normalcy at all. You wanted the light, you wanted the dark, you wanted both of them at once. No, not want; need.

You needed the dark to find the light. You needed him.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

tag list: @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse

A/N: this was made to celebrate the 100 followers milestone so thank you so much to everyone who has been a part of that. this one's for yous <3

hope you enjoyed my first written fic! this was semi-unedited so if there are any major errors let me know. haven't done smut in a long time so fingers crossed it was okay lmao. there will be another episode but not any time soon, please see "genre" for more details.

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v6quewrlds · 3 months ago

Text

LOVE ME NOT, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀3.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀justin isn't a jealous guy. at least that's what he thinks until his girlfriend catches everyone's attention.

author's note⠀⁎⠀pouty, moody pisces men >>> warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, oral (m. receiving), 3rd person (she/her)

"Sweetheart, can you grab the ketchup from the fridge?" Justin's voice carried over the sizzle of the grill, where the aroma of barbecue ribs filled the air.

She looked up from her conversation with Quentin and nodded with a warm smile. She stepped away from the chattering group, the coolness of the kitchen a welcome reprieve from the heat outside. Her eyes scanned the crowded countertop, searching for the condiment. The fridge door swung open, revealing a wall of beer, White Claws, and a lonely gallon of almond milk. She grabbed the ketchup and a few beers before heading back out to the party.

The yard buzzed with laughter, the crackle of the firepit, and the occasional clink of bottles as the team's end-of-season celebrations filled the backyard with both sound and light. She, ever the diligent host, circulated among the guests, making sure everyone had a plate piled with food and a drink in hand. Her bright smile and gentle voice eased the tension that often accompanied the hyper-masculine atmosphere, to the relief of the handful of partners that dotted the concrete nearest to the pool.

Her eyes searched for Justin, finding him in a huddle with a few of his teammates, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter at something one of the guys had said. The sight of him, so at ease and so obviously enjoying himself, filled her heart with joy. During the season, relaxation was a luxury that came in fleeting moments, and she reveled in the rare occasion where she could see him truly unwind. She approached with the ketchup and beers, setting the ketchup down on the table next to him before handing a beer to Ladd who stood nearby.

Justin watched out of the corner of his eye as she was pulled away again by a guest, a hand on her lower back guiding her to refill their drink. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, his jaw tightening as he returned his focus to the grill. The laughter around him seemed to fade into the background as he felt the warmth of his jealousy spread from his chest to his fingertips.

It was an odd, ugly feeling, one that didn't often rear its head in their relationship, but as she slipped away again, the pang of something unpleasant struck him. He knew he had no right to feel this way—she was being a fantastic host, after all—but he couldn't shake the feeling that he would much rather her be at his side. Between the way the others touched her arm, leaning in to hear her stories, and the way she lit up their faces with her welcoming aura, it was like a simmering burn in his chest. He knew it was irrational, but the more he saw her interact with his teammates, so far away from him, the more possessive he felt.

The party wound down as the night grew darker, and the guests started to trickle home. She moved around efficiently, her movements a little slower now as the exhaustion of the day began to show. Justin watched her, his mood growing heavier with each plate she cleared. It was only when they were almost alone, just the two of them and the last few stragglers, that he realized he hadn't had a real conversation with her in hours.

"Hey, let's grab the rest of the dishes," she suggested, her voice a little softer than it had been earlier. She looked over at him with a question in her eyes, noticing the tension he hadn't quite managed to hide.

Justin nodded, a forced smile plastered on his face as he turned off the grill and began to pack up the leftover food. Together, they brought the plates and cups into the kitchen, the clinking of silverware echoing through the room. She started to wash the dishes, and warm water and soap bubbles coated her hands. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes searching for any sign of what was really going on.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Justin's eyes met hers for a brief moment before he turned away to put the last of the clean plates into the cupboard with a little more force than necessary. "Yeah, just tired," he murmured, hoping she wouldn't see through the facade.

She frowned, her gaze lingering on his stiff posture. "You've been acting weird since everyone started leaving," she said, her voice low and concerned. "What's going on?"

Justin sighed, his hand pausing on the cupboard door. He turned to face her, his expression a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "It's nothing, babe. Don't worry about it," he said, his voice gruffer than he intended.

But she knew him better than that. She stepped closer, setting down the dish towel she had been holding. "Justin," she said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "You're obviously upset about something. Is it something I did?"

He looked at her hand on his arm, the warmth of her touch penetrating the barrier he'd put up. "It's just..." he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. "I don't know, I just... I saw how much attention you were giving everyone else tonight, and I guess I got a little possessive."

Her eyes widened, surprise and confusion flickering across her face. "Possessive?" she echoed. "Of what?"

Justin couldn't help the way his gaze roved over her, taking in her figure in the snug sundress she'd picked out for the occasion. "You looked amazing today," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everyone couldn't take their eyes off of you. I just... I wanted you all to myself."

Her expression softened as she understood the root of his discomfort. She stepped closer, sliding her hand around his waist. "You know I only have eyes for you," she murmured, her head tilting back to study his tense expression. "You're the one I come home to, the one who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts."

Justin's gaze fell to her lips, his own mouth curving into a half-smile. "I know," he admitted, his arms wrapping around her in a loose embrace. "It's just... I don't know. It's dumb." Almost absentmindedly, he leaned down to kiss her, a soft brush of his lips against hers that spoke volumes.

She didn't miss the undercurrent of insecurity in his words. She knew that Justin's life was in the spotlight, where his every move was scrutinized and commented on. Maybe, in that moment, he felt like he was losing her, the only aspect of his life that was meant to be saved just for him, to the very people who had become his family. She reached up, placing her free hand on his cheek. "You're not being dumb," she whispered, her eyes searching his. "I'm yours, and I always will be."

"I know," Justin murmured, his eyes darkening with something more than just insecurity. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, his hands gripping her hips firmly. She felt the kitchen counter dig into her thighs as he lifted her onto it, his body pressing against hers. Suddenly, all that mattered was the feel of him, his mouth on hers, his hands roaming over her body like he hadn't felt her in weeks instead of hours.

The kitchen around them grew hazy, the sounds of the night outside fading away as they lost themselves in the moment. Justin's kisses grew more demanding, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped, her own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Justin," she breathed out his name as his hands roamed, her body responding to his touch like a wildfire to dry grass. The dishes and the cleanup were forgotten as their kisses grew more intense, their need for each other burning away any shred of self-control they had left. "Let's go to the bedroom," she suggested, her voice low and urgent.

But Justin didn't move, his gaze dark and possessive. "I want you here," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, making her shiver. His hand slid up her thigh, the fabric of her dress riding up with it, revealing the soft edge of her underwear.

"Here?" she questioned, her voice breathy as his hand inched closer to the apex of her thighs. His warm hands yanked at the waistband of her panties, pulling them down just enough to expose her to the cool kitchen air.

"Here," he confirmed, his voice gruff with want. His hand found its way between her legs, his fingers stroking her in slow, deliberate circles that made her eyes roll back in her head. "I need to know that you're mine," he whispered against her skin, his teeth nipping at her earlobe. "That no one else gets to make you feel like this."

Her breath hitched as his fingers delved deeper, the sensation of his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. She couldn't suppress the moan that escaped her lips as he began to move more insistently, his thumb rubbing her clit in a steady rhythm that had her hips rocking against his hand.

"Oh," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending alight with desire for him. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he held her against the counter, his own need palpable. His kisses grew more fervent, his tongue sliding into her mouth to tangle with hers as his other hand slipped under her dress to squeeze her plush thighs.

The kitchen lights cast a warm glow over them, their shadows dancing on the floor. Her legs parted wider, inviting him closer, her breaths coming in pants that matched the rhythm of his touch. She could feel the heat of him against her, his arousal pressing into her through his shorts. It was intoxicating, the way he claimed her so blatantly, so desperately.

"That's it," Justin groaned, his eyes dark with need as he watched her body respond to his touch. He stepped closer, the heat of his body searing hers as he slipped his fingers into her wetness. Her eyes closed, her head falling back as she let out a soft moan that seemed to echo in the quiet kitchen. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation.

He slid his fingers in and out of her, the tension in his body grew, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. He knew he should take this to the bedroom, where they could fully let go, but the thrill of claiming her here—where everyone had seen her be the perfect host—was too tempting to resist.

With a growl, Justin lifted her off the counter, onto her feet, and spun her around, her chest now pressing against the cold, hard surface. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her back against him. Ruby could feel his hard length pushing into her, the friction sending shivers down her spine. She reached back, her hands fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him inside her.

He stepped away just enough to allow her to drop to her knees, her dress pooling around her like a puddle of ink. The sound of his zipper echoed in the kitchen, and she took a deep breath before looking up at him with hooded eyes. His cock sprang free, thick and pulsing with desire. "Take it," he murmured, his hand guiding her head closer.

She parted her lips, her tongue flicking out to taste him. The salt of his skin mixed with the sweetness of his precum, and she couldn't help but moan. She took him into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. The way he watched her, the way his chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, it was like he was memorizing every moment of this.

Justin's hand threaded through her hair, guiding her as he groaned out in pleasure. The kitchen floor was hard and cold beneath her knees, but she didn't care. All she could focus on was the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he was watching her with such desire. She took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with each suck. His grip tightened, his breathing growing ragged.

Her eyes watered, Justin's grip on her hair tightening as his thrusts grew more urgent. She could feel the head of his cock hit the back of her throat with each stroke. His sweat-slicked skin smelled faintly of smoke and his cologne, a new scent she had gifted him for Christmas. It was fitting, she decided, that she'd be kneeling before him like this, when he smelled so heavenly, her choice of scent on him.

Justin's hand slid from her hair to her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he whispered, "You're doing so good for me, baby," his voice was a mix of love and lust. She moaned around him at the sound of his praise, feeling her own arousal build as she watched his face contort in pleasure.

With a final, deep thrust, Justin pulled out of her mouth. He hoisted her back onto the kitchen island, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. Her fingers dug into his back, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as he pressed into her, all passion and urgency. The kitchen light glinted off the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, the muscles in his neck and shoulders standing out as he drove into her.

Her dress was hiked up around her waist, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. His hands found purchase on her thighs, his grip firm as he pushed deeper, his movements unyielding and possessive. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and the occasional clink of a forgotten dish. Her eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back as she gave herself over to the sensation.

"All fuckin' mine, baby," Justin grunted, his eyes never leaving hers as he claimed her in the most primal way possible. The countertop was cold against her back, but she barely noticed, lost in the heat of their passion. Her thighs spread for him, the smack of his skin against hers punctuating each thrust. Her hands strained for something to hold onto, finally whimpering softly to catch his attention.

He cursed under his breath, roughly biting his bottom lip before bringing his hips to an agonizing still. Justin shifted her position, bringing her ankles to rest on his shoulders. The new angle sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through her, making her cry out. He leaned over to hold her hands, bending slightly at the waist, his pecs flexing with the effort.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice thick with desire. Her eyes locked on his obediently. Green, blue, and hazel was brimmed with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying, a raw, animalistic need that seemed to consume him. It was unlike anything she had ever seen in him before, and it sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold countertop.

Justin's eyes never left hers as he began to move again, his strokes long and deep. Her eyes grew wide with each thrust, her breaths coming in short gasps. The sensation was almost too much, the stretch and the burn and the feeling of being filled so completely by him. But she never looked away, not even when the pleasure grew so intense she thought she might shatter.

"Nobody gets to make you feel like this," Justin reiterated, his voice strained as he pushed into her with a fierce determination. His eyes searched hers, as if seeking confirmation of his claim.

Her chest heaved with each thrust. She felt the muscles in her core tighten, the beginnings of an orgasm building like a storm at sea. "I'm yours," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. "All yours."

He watched her pupils dilate, her mouth part in silent cries of ecstasy. It was intoxicating, the power he had over her in this moment, the way she surrendered to him completely. His hips slammed into hers, the kitchen light making her skin glisten against his. He blew out a puff of hair, mildly annoyed at a strand that had fallen into his face.

The tension grew, tightening in the air around them. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Justin took the opportunity to lean down, his mouth capturing hers in a rough, possessive kiss. She could feel herself almost fold in half, his length sliding into her so deep she thought she might split apart.

"Don't stop," she panted into his mouth, her nails raking down his back. The words were barely a whisper, but they were all the encouragement he needed. Justin's hips picked up speed, the slapping of skin on skin growing louder in the quiet kitchen.

Her walls clamped down on him, and he knew she was close. He reached down, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in firm, steady circles. "Come for me," he murmured against her ear, the words a command and a plea all rolled into one.

Her body tensed, a soft keening sound escaping her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bit down on her lower lip to muffle her cries as the orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of pure bliss. Her nails scored down his back, her hips bucking against him as she rode the crest of pleasure. Justin's eyes never left hers, his own climax spilling over the edge as he watched her shatter underneath him.

They remained like that for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts hammering in sync with one another. Sweat beaded on their skin, the kitchen lights glinting off the droplets that had formed on Justin's chest and neck. Her dress was a wrinkled mess around her waist, and her makeup—or what was left of it after a long day outside—was smudged from their kisses. But in that moment, she felt more beautiful than she ever had in her life.

Justin hissed lightly, holding her in place as his cock throbbed deep inside her. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her collarbone, his lips a trail of fire that left her skin feeling branded. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I think I got a little carried away."

Her eyes remained closed, her breaths still coming in gasps. She could feel the tremor in his body, the aftershocks of his release. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with a tired contentment. "It was hot."

Justin chuckled, his body still tense with the remnants of his orgasm. He kissed her forehead, his hands sliding down to rest on the countertop on either side of her hips. "I guess it's a good thing we don't throw parties often," he said, his voice lighter now.

She couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little shaky. "If this is what you're gonna do when we throw a party, we should start having them every weekend," she teased, wincing as he pulled hesitantly, his release slowly leaking out of her.

An embarrassed shade of pink dusted over the bridge of Justin's nose and spilled over onto his cheeks. "I don't know if our kitchen could handle that," he quipped, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. He kissed her nose, setting her back down on her shaky legs. She stepped closer to him, hands sliding over his shoulders. She kissed him slowly, giggling softly when his hands moved from her hips to straighten out her dress in an effort to make up for his behavior.

"Let's go clean up," she said, her voice still a little breathless. Justin nodded, his eyes dropping to her lips briefly before scooping her into a bridal carry, making her squeal with surprise and delight.

#&. cassie writes.#justin herbert #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert smut #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert x black!reader #justin herbert x reader #x black reader #black!reader #black reader

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crowsofdarkness · 3 months ago

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A little fun in a back alley with your two best guys.

18 + CW's below the cut(public sex, oral with male recieving, unprotected p in v, threesome, m/f/m)

“Look at you, such a slut for my cock,” Bucky groaned while throwing his head back, resting it against the cool brick of the building.

You two were hidden in an alley behind the bar and all night of flirting led you to be on your knees for him taking his cock all the way down your throat. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat without resistance making him shudder above you. Your nails dug into the material of his jeans.

“Can you be a good little whore and swallow all of it?” Bucky asked while running a vibranium thumb over your acting jaw.

Your eyes glittered your answer: yes.

Movement to your left caught your attention and you went to remove yourself from Bucky who simply kept you on his cock with a tight grip to your hair.

Steve stood at the back entrance of the bar, a look of shock and slight arousal on his face. You let your eyes linger lower to his cock that pressed against the grey of his sweatpants.

“Can he join, dot? He’s already seen so much of you before. It'd be wrong to deny him now,” Bucky demanded, guiding your head up and down again.

You knew what Bucky was talking about. The memory of you and Steve playing on a loop for days now.

With your hand extended toward Steve, you beckoned him over all while keeping the momentum of your tongue on Bucky’s cock. He tasted heavily; he always had. This wasn’t the first time you found yourself begging him for a little taste. While you weren’t dating, he never denied you. Any chance he got to feel your warm mouth around him, he took it.

Steve’s large hands lifted you from your knees to stand on two feet before bending you over slightly, your movements never faltering on Bucky. A swift smack to the swell of your ass echoed in the dark alleyway but your screams were muffled when Bucky forced his cock deeper down your throat.

“You need to be quiet, doll. Can’t have anyone hear how pretty you sound,” Steve’s deep voice rumbled in his chest as his fingers glided over your slick folds when he shifted your panties to the side.

You were suddenly very thankful you decided to wear a skirt tonight.

Even though you couldn’t see him, you knew Steve was taking his cock out from his sweats and pumping it slowly.

“I’ve been thinking about your tight cunt for days, doll,” he groaned. “Remember how good it felt when we were in the closet at the Avengers tower. You took me so well.”

You did your best to nod while still sucking Bucky’s cock, him tightening his grip on your hair as his hips stalled.

He was close.

“Think she’ll be able to take both of us, Steve?” Bucky asked, almost breathless as I began sliding my tongue up and down the underside of his cock.

“Might take some work but I think she can,” Steve said, right before he spit on my pussy, pressing his cock deep inside of me.

Both of their groans tangled together as Steve began snapping his hips into my ass, his cock hit that spot almost immediately. Bucky’s cock twitched in my mouth and I flicked my eyes up at him, drool dripping down my jaw to the concrete below.

“All of it,” he demanded right before he spilled himself deep into my throat.

Steve’s hand slipped around my front, finding my clit to draw circles around it.

“So wet. You want both of us don’t you?”

I went to answer after popping my mouth off of Bucky, who sagged against the building, but an all too familiar female voice called from the open back door of the bar.

“Y/N? Where did you go?” Nat’s voice slowly began creeping closer.

Steve grunted as the pace of his cock increased, him already so close to bliss and Bucky chuckled while tucking himself back into his jeans.

“We're going to get caught, Steve,” Bucky warned.

Steve’s hand gripped my air to angle me up against his chest before sinking his teeth in the crook of my neck.

“Don’t care,” he grunted.

I was so close, ready to tip over the edge of my orgasm, and I knew Steve was close as well. But with sudden noise coming from the open back door of the bar, Steve slipped out of me with a slew of curses. Quickly adjusting my skirt and lace bralette, I stood straighter right in time for Nat to pop her head out of the open door.

“There you are! I just ordered a new round of drinks!”

“Sorry,” I gave her a sheepish smile. “I just needed some fresh air. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Nat left us with a nod and I glanced over my shoulder to Steve who had a pained expression for not being able to finish what he started.

“Tonight. My room.” I looked over to Bucky. “Both of you.”

Snatching up the dropped jacket, I purposely shook my ass to both of them as I skipped back inside the bar.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #stucky #stucky smut #stucky x reader

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playnextdoor · 5 months ago

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im sick

summary: vi helps you when your sick

cw: mentions and descriptions of throw/throwing up for my emetophobes, mentions of food that caused said sickeness lol, domestic (?) vi, she is very sweet yay, this is very short

You jolt awake, drenched in sweat, the taste of bile pooling in your mouth. For a moment, everything feels blurry until the sudden urgency hits you. You barely notice Vi sprawled out beside you as you clumsily crawl over her and bolt for the bathroom. The commotion stirs her instantly.

“Hey—wait, what’s wrong?” she calls out groggily, already moving to follow you.

By the time she reaches the bathroom, you’re hunched over the toilet, your hands gripping the porcelain as your body convulses. The sound of you retching echoes off the tiles.

“Shit,” Vi mutters, panic lacing her voice as she turns and rushes out of the room. She’s back in seconds with a towel and a glass of water, setting them on the counter before kneeling beside you. Her calloused hands are gentle as they push stray hairs away from your damp face. “Let it out, babe,” she murmurs, her other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. “You’re okay. Just let it out.”

Your body heaves one last time before the sickness leaves. Gasping for air, you shakily reach for her hand. She’s already there, steady and solid, helping you stand. Without a word, she dampens the towel and gently wipes your face, her touch so careful.

“I think it was that burger we had earlier,” you croak, wincing as you rinse your mouth out at the sink.

Vi watches you closely, her brows furrowed with concern. “Yeah… probably. You’ve been off all day.” Her voice is quieter now, as though speaking too loud might overwhelm you.

You stare into the mirror, water dripping down your face. Tiny red dots bloom under your eyes, blood vessels burst from the force of throwing up, a grim reminder of how your body puts so much force in this thing you would avoid any day.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” you whisper, voice shaky.

She shakes her head, stepping closer. “Don’t apologize. Drink some water.” Her hand cups your damp face as she raises the glass to your lips, her thumb brushing over the faint red freckles on your cheek. She watches you drink slowly, watches you wince as the bitter aftertaste of bile fades under the coolness of the water.

“I know you hate throwing up,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving yours.

You nod, managing a weak smile before your stomach churns again. “Too soon,” you mutter, and before you can stop yourself, you’re back at the toilet.

Vi is there in an instant, one arm wrapping around you to keep you steady as the other supports your weight. “it’s okay,” she whispers, even as your body shakes violently. “I got you.”

When it’s finally over, you slump against her, tears and snot streaking down your face. You’re a mess, and you know it. You hate when she sees you like this.

“I should’ve warned you…” you mumble through ragged breaths.

“Hey, stop that,” she cuts in, her voice firm but kind. She helps you to your feet again, guiding you back to the sink to rinse your mouth before coaxing more water down your throat. This time, she waits, watching you carefully to make sure you’re not about to hurl again.

When you finally make it back to bed, you collapse into the sheets, still trembling. “Stay with me,” you whisper, the words soft and desperate.

She grins, trying to lighten the mood. “Like I’d go anywhere.”

Before you can reply, she’s yanking the thick blanket from beneath you and tucking it snugly around your body, cocooning you in a makeshift burrito. Your head and feet poke out from the folds, and you pout up at her as she adjusts the edges.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she teases, pulling out a warm compress and placing it gently on your forehead. “You need to rest.”

“But I want to kiss you,” you whisper, your lips curling into a weak pout.

Vi smirks, leaning in close, her breath brushing against your cheek. “You’re cute, but also gross. I don’t need whatever you have.”

You groan, turning your head away, trapped in your blanket prison as she crawls into bed beside you. Her messy pink hair spills across the pillow, and the sight of her, so effortlessly beautiful even now, makes your chest ache.

“I’m sorry…” you murmur again, your voice soft as you glance at her.

She chuckles, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose. “No more burgers,” she whispers, settling in beside you and pulling the blanket tighter around you.

“No more burgers,” you agree, letting your eyes flutter shut as her warmth seeps into you.

a/n: i wrote this to help me cope that i have no one taking care of while i threw up my insides last night. yeah.

#arcane vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x reader fluff #arcane vi x reader #orion’s writing

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grandisknight · 7 months ago

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dots and dashes | sylus

summary: Sylus gives insight into one of the many languages he's well-versed in.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, banter, morse code, vibrator, sex toys, orgasm edging, f!orgasm, aftercare/morning after, gift giving, evol abilites (sylus' energy manipulation), a pinch of fluff

wc: 2.6k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: mildly inspired by one of his older text messages (affinity 37’s text message: deal)! also around his pre-debut, he had morse code in one of the teasers (official weibo post here) and i thought that was pretty neat so here we are ^_^)7

The leader of Onychinus kept a plethora of languages stored away under his sleeve. A man of multiple tongues and talents, you just wanted to know how to say one thing—anything, really.

Though, you didn’t think he’d take a silly comment in passing so seriously, and it landed you in his personal study the following evening. A rare day where your schedules aligned, Sylus took the opportunity to extend a warm welcome into the N109 Zone under the promise of a ‘lesson.’

Of all the languages, morse code was what he decided to reveal in his cards. A curious choice, to say the least, but it piqued your interest nevertheless. Cozied in one of the cushioned chairs, a beginner’s guide laid flat across the desk with your scribbled notes. Sylus’ chair was tucked to the side in observation, accompanying your lessons as a stand-in teacher of sorts.

Time passed in this way—he would offer a series of taps and drags with his fingers against the surface, and you would write them down. He was patient with you all throughout, solidifying the foundation for the alphabet before switching to small words and phrases.

A question that had been plaguing your mind since you arrived drifted into the air during a self-proclaimed break. “By the way, why do you know morse code?”

With a hand propping your chin, your gaze takes in his relaxed figure. Comfortably dressed in his light gray sweater, the detailed threads of silver patterns painted him in a softer aura that juxtaposed his usually formidable appearance. Rimless glass coveted the rubied gaze that would occasionally meet yours, though occupied in thought.

It was distracting, to say the least. A handsome distraction at its finest, though it doesn’t pull away from the message he quietly relayed to you.

A dot, two dashes. A series of dashes, another dot and some more followed. (.-- / --- / .-. / -.-)

Counting off the units that met the table in muted taps, you answer, “Work?”

“Good ear, sweetie.” Sylus nods, leaning back and adjusting the thin frames balancing atop his nose. “Sometimes, negotiations are better said without words.”

“That’s a thinly veiled way of saying threats, but sure,” you retort. He doesn’t deny your claims, rather letting out a small chuckle in acquiesce.

Sylus taps your forehead with his forefinger, amusement quirked in his brow. “You’ve seen the kind of talks and people I’ve dealt with. Who knows, you could use this in one of your little undercover missions too.”

His hands return to nestle in his lap, and it catches your eye then—a faint snap and swirl of black manifested into a box underneath his palm. Perfectly fitted and nearly hidden if it weren’t for the glimmering trim around the edges, and the fluttering crow feather swaying towards the floor.

“Curious, are we?” Sylus voices your thoughts, fingers drumming against the lid.

Two dashes and a dot, a couple more dots, another dash-dot and lasting dash. (--. / .. / ..-. / -)

“Gift,” you echo upon realization.

Your eyes wandered between his lap and the sparkling rubied gaze that honed his presence, reading between the lines. “Don’t tell me it’s another gun? Last time I checked, my Harrier 700 still works well.”

And the last thing you wanted to deal with was a run-in with customs, if that were the case—he’s already tried his luck before, and you weren’t counting on his luck index to grant a second chance.

“You’ve been taking good care of it, so there’s no need for a replacement,” Sylus says. He leans back, tapping a forefinger to his temple in thought. “I thought it would be nice to get you something for studying so diligently.”

It had your back straightening in attention—now you really had no idea what he could be hiding. Even so, a scowl sketched onto your face, wondering if you’ve walked into a trap. A dry chuckle parts his lips at your clear interest and adamant attempt to maintain a façade all the same.

“Sweetie, it’s all yours.”

“It’s not that simple though, is it?”

“Ah. You know me so well,” he muses. “As vigilant as ever.”

The box finds itself on the desk and his hands reach for your chair. They dance over the armrest before turning your full front towards him—where his cocked head and curled lips asked, “Let’s make a deal. How does that sound?”

“What’s the catch?” Your heart jumped into your throat, unsure of when the air became so… palpable. Damn him and his ridiculously handsome face, you couldn’t tell if it made this more bearable or stirred your senses further. “I might be willing to wager.”

“Relax, that’s one of the conditions.” His larger fingers swipe over one of yours, which had subconsciously curled into a fist. Gently, he coaxes your hand to open into his, soon neatly slotted and all encompassing with warmth. “You look nervous, and I haven’t done a thing.”

“I know.” Your shoulders relax when his thumb massages yours in a light stroke. “But you haven’t done anything yet,” you clarify.

“Which brings me to my second condition.” He brings it closer to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours when he presses a kiss to your knuckles. “A test, if you will. You pass if you manage to decode my sequence correctly.”

“My sequence,” you pause, catching the tail end of his proposal. “So there’s only one?”

“Why, do you want a whole pop quiz?” He snickers, a brow raised. “We’ll be stuck here all night if that’s the case.”

“Nevermind,” you shake your head, finding the prospect to be less than charming. One was more than enough to take on your plate.

You purse your lips then and poke in jest. “Are you doubting my academic prowess now?”

“I would’ve dismissed you entirely if I was,” Sylus points out, tugging your hand towards him.

It jerked you forward unexpectedly, though it seemed he was anticipating this—smooth swirls of red and black tangled around your body, gently placing you atop his expecting lap before softly dispersing. “There’s no doubt in my mind you’re as bright as they come,” he adds in honesty.

“What the—hey, now!” A flush ran across your cheeks at the newfound proximity.

Hips hovering above him, you nearly fell onto the fine meeting place between his thighs. You save yourself the embarrassment, reaching for the chair’s headrest to steady your shift. He allows you this much, your legs soon bracketing his own and enjoying the sight all the same.

You huffed, “Is this part necessary?”

“Par for the course, actually.” Sylus’ fingers ghost over your sides, before settling atop your thighs and his palms lying flat in a gentle caress. “You can always back out if you’re not game.”

An arrow to your pride dug into your heart at the mere offense. The competitive spirit that once laid dormant jerked into consciousness—absolutely not. “No, we’re on. Do your worst,” you raise in steadfast confidence. “I can take it.”

“Those are fighting words,” he says. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, teetering on a fine line of fondness and scheme alike. “But I’ll hold you to it.”

—

So, maybe your confidence could only carry you so far.

Rather, it tumbled you into a predicament at the cost of your exposed cunt. His free hand lazily dimpled into the plush of your hip, simultaneously careful to keep you steady. No longer a comfortable chill, the study’s air swirled into a concoction of heat and burning salacity in every inhale.

“Sweetie,” Sylus purrs. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. The game of codes was the last thing on your mind when a fine man of caliber was perched beneath you, gracefully stringing you along and allowing you the same right.

Easily thrown out the window, especially so, when all inhibition was lost to his kneaded touches and peppered kisses. The smooth movements that treasured your skin with care, tugging your bottoms down just enough in the process and tenderly appreciating you throughout the heat of the moment. Even his hair stuck out in one direction to the next, unkempt from the field day your tugging fingers reshaped the silver stands into.

Be that as it may, you still groan, chest rising to catch your breath. Nails drag into planes of his firm shoulder blades, lightly leaving their mark. “It’s because you’re not playing fair, Sy.” If you had a nickel for every time you were close to crashing in his embrace from an impending climax, it would be two. While it’s not an impressive sum, both were earned in the past few minutes alone, under the direction of his cunning smile and newfound toy in hand.

To his kindness, he pulls the rounded head of the vibrator away from your clit—the once muffled hums rang out more clearly, whirring at the highest setting. It glistened to the naked eye, finely coated in a layer of your evident arousal.

“All is fair in love and war,” he says, unphased by the line of bait you failed to reel in. He leans forward to press a kiss into your temple, a sign of affection pairing with a gentle squeeze to your side. “Should I be nice and walk you through one last chance?”

Your hands trace the curves melting into his neck, grazing his nape in forewarning. “Thin ice, Onychinus head.”

“Alright,” he muses, though reveling at the added pressure that only spurs him further. “No need to get so formal with me.” The vibrator lowers in the same breath to meet your anticipating heat.

“Five letters. Ready?”

Your hips roll forward then, impatience losing its virtue if meant you could finally, finally seek some relief. “Was practically born ready, at this point.” And then, the first rhythm played out in three, gentle presses to where you needed it most.

Three dots. (...)

This was fine, you could handle this much.

A moment of pause soon sways into the vibrator sliding between skin, returning to the apex of your labia, and dipping once again.

A dash, added dot, and paired dashes thereafter. (-.--) “Still with me?” Sylus asks, taking in the sight of your eyes screwed in concentration. It was endearing, in some sense of the word, and his gaze lingered on your expression in intrigue.

Though grateful for the concern, you chide when your breath allows it. “Don’t stop, go all the way already.”

To stop halfway tested what little patience there was left in you. You raised your head to find his circles of crimson brimming with a fondness and undivided attention. All for you.

The grin he graces you with carries the same sentiments, newly tinted with mirth. “Whatever the boss wants.”

The humming returns without warning, and you jerk against the touch, gasping. A press and slide, following upwards once more in double succession.

Another dot, dash, and two dots in a row. (.-.. )

You were quickly beginning to piece together the puzzle he left you to solve, the audacity of it all.

Before you could admonish such revelations, you bite your tongue when he continues into the next piece. It was fleeting, but memorable—identical presses and a sinister slide, the buzzing toy greeting your entrance in slick abundance.

Two dots, and a dash. (..- )

“You’re not—” Your eyes grow wide at the newly placed prodding.

“Getting cold feet? A minute ago you wanted me to go all the way,” Sylus recalls with a click of his tongue. “It would be unlike you to stop right before the finish line, sweetie.”

You squirm against him, sensitive and incredibly aware of the coil threatening to unfurl. He takes notice, hand stilling in consideration.

“You can do it,” he croons, forehead to yours and capturing your fluttering gaze.

“Never said I couldn’t,” you say, a swallow sealing your determination.

Sylus smiles. “Last letter. Let's make it count.” The vibrator slips into your cunt, whirring against your walls in a sense of overwhelming ecstasy. He makes quick work of it all then, three generous thrusts of the wand disappearing almost entirely, save for his firm grip around the base.

Three final dots. (...)

It marks the end of his charades, and the beginning of your incandescent cries.

You came undone at last, release ebbing as a flurry of sounds shape themselves into your call. “Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.”

“That’s it, ride it out for me. You worked so hard to earn it, after all.” His nose brushes just beneath your jaw, a tender kiss in consolation to soothe your high.

He relaxes the toy out of your spent heat by the time your trembling thighs subsided, power shutting off and rolling onto the desk’s surface. A brief swirling of black and crimson manifests a small cloth into his hand, gently patting away the stickied outcome before it disperses in the same specks. His fingers rake along your sides, dragging the fabric of your bottoms into their proper place.

“Sylus.” You slump against his shoulder in recovery, bemoaning amidst the moment of calm clarity. “You are unbelievable. The damn answer was your name, of all things.” “And now you know how to call for me in code. Aren’t I generous?” The slight rumble of his chest supports the chuckle he lets out, deepened further when a curl of your fist smacks his shoulder in protest.

Endearment softens his tone as he draws circles into your back, taking the rolling punches. The other tangles his fingers against your temple, smoothing out the sides in thought. “I would say our lesson went well today.”

“One hell of a lesson,” you remark. Your breathing slows for a moment, listening to the drumming heart beneath your ear. His caresses were kind, lulling, attentive. A sense of peace, wholeheartedly yours and Sylus' alone.

Your gaze shifts towards the desk, when another piece of memory, well-decorated in its untouched trim, lies next to the toy. Forgotten, nearly—the gift. “By the way,” you murmur. “What’s in the box?” Whether it was out of laziness and unwilling to move from your warmth or pure convenience, Sylus waves his hand in summoning. Accepting the floating item midair, you were about to peel off the lid when he began to shift under you, interrupting your grand reveal.

“Hold on.”

With practiced ease, Sylus single-handedly cradles you to his chest and adeptly rises from the cushioned seat. No matter how many times he’s pulled it off in the past, it still leaves you breathless as if it were the first time.

You circle an arm around his neck, the other clutching the box with a huff, “I was about to do an unboxing, you know.”

“I know,” he confirms, and presses another kiss to your temple. “But you’re getting sleepy. Open it after a good night’s rest.”

A swirl of Evol pushes the doors open, his footsteps echoing down the hall and towards his sanctuary. Your mind willed to protest his attempt of procrastination, yet only a yawn pushed past your lips and proved his point.

Curling into his embrace, you faintly mumble into his neck, “I’m wide awake.”

“And the sun shines at midnight,” Sylus deadpans, unimpressed at your performance. “Don’t fight it. If you’re tired, then sleep. I’ll make sure the gift will be there when you wake up.” “You promise?”

“With my heart,” he says.

It was a simple response, yet the timbre of his words imbued security and affection all the same. As if he meant more than just ensuring your box was safe, swearing to something beyond your greater comprehension.

One blink lasted longer than the one prior, sweeping the thought and yourself away into soundless sleep. Another time, perhaps.

—

You would find out the following day that he stayed true to his word. In the quiet hums of the morning, a slumbering giant clung to your side, his breathing calm and unknowing you had finally peeled open the mysterious box.

A finely crafted jewel twinkled amidst padded velvet, a clasp secured on one end. Engravings inlaid in a series of familiar dots and dashes; you couldn't help but softly laugh, a finger tracing the pattern.

(-... . .-.. --- ...- . -..)

Beloved.

784 notes · View notes

theorist-fox · 1 month ago

Text

Compass

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Previous << || >> Next

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: where Simon finally gets it.

18+

CW: angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, fluff

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

Staring straight at the screen won’t make that form fill in, yet it’s all you’ve been doing.

The office is cold. Freezing. Your fingers are stiff when you punch the keys, rough skin tight at each knuckle.

Price has asked you to do it. He’s tired and needs to lean on you for a moment. You know how hard it must’ve been for such a proud man to ask for help, so you don’t have the heart to refuse him. Even if you’re just as exhausted, just as worried, because the op went tits up so quickly and suddenly that you’re still recovering from it.

Faulty intel. Ambush. Tactically placed C4 blew the place up into smithereens. Mayhem ensued—you all lost sight of each other and then met again.

The ringing in your ear still sounds fresh. A new cut on your brow your new shiny scar, the crescent of speckled mauves under your eye yet another reason for the brass to come and shower you with meaningless praise so you’d keep up with this unforgiving job without rest.

Chest candy as a prize. As if you care.

Your eyes burn. They squint at the unforgivingly bright screen; bloodshot sclera and a healing bruise, cheekbone swollen and tender.

Casualties And Damage Assessment.

The cursor on the document blinks right next to it.

Write above the dotted line. Do it. It’s there. It’s not hard, it’s just a name—a name among thousands. You could be typing John Doe, and it should feel the same.

So do it, love.

Type it in.

Type “Simon Riley”.

You feel your eyes sting wet.

Johnny is still out there, searching for his whereabouts. Kyle’s with him, probably trying to be the voice of reason—the only one with a head still on his shoulders. The one who grabbed you and handed you to Price so he could slam you in the helo for takeoff. It left without Gaz and Soap in it.

Without Simon.

Crystal clear is the memory of Price’s finger pointed at your face as you huddled your knees to your chest—glossy, bloodshot eyes seemingly lost as they looked back at him, trying to find a compass to guide you through this dreadful darkness, through ice cold fear.

Instead, you found a scowl that struggled to mask a quiet threat beneath it, something you knew he’d been almost impatient to tell you.

Something you knew he knew.

You should’ve known better than to bring feelings into the job. I trusted you and your judgment and you failed me. You failed us.

But now all that feels so unimportant. Price’s disappointment is only another notch to your belt of failures, and you know it’s gonna get even thicker and tangled if you don’t type that name into that form.

If you don't prove to him and everyone else, yourself included, that you’re still somewhat sane. That you didn't lose your marbles on that day, only a chunk of your heart.

Nails tap nervously on your desk. The clock ticks out of beat. Your eye twitches restlessly, but you punch the keys.

Simon Riley — MIA

A weary breath escapes you.

Good girl.

And the leftovers of your heart crack something vicious, a perpetual hairline fracture that will not go away. Your molars grind until your head hurts. Your eyes water, because it’s all happened so rapidly, that you don’t think you’ve had the time to metabolize it.

S’alright. S’alright. You did right.

You sniffle. Wet your lips. Your face screws up to keep it all inside because you can’t have him see you like this—he’s not here, and yet he might as well be, with how clear his voice is echoing in your head.

Why shouldn’t it be? Your last talk was barely a week ago. Your last kiss not even ten days prior.

Softer than the ones he’d given you before. Wet lips stealing your breath, big hands holding you tight by the waist.

The slow, purposeful drag of his cock inside of you as he flattened his chest to yours. The wordless whispers tumbling out of his mouth—uncontrolled, reverent of you.

His lips on your skin, both selfish and selfless: descending to your throat, where the taste of you intoxicated him—and where you shivered, moaned, sunk your fingernails into his back, painting it red.

Your brows pull tight, but you can’t stand it a moment more, as that name typed black on white looks at you expectantly, like you could pull it out of there and bring it in your arms.

Don’t, sergeant. Need you sharp.

You cry, because logic is knocked back into you, and there is no Simon Riley if not the memories rushing in your head.

If not the weariness with which he’d invited to his flat for the first time. Burnt the eggs he cooked for you the next morning, as you slept soundly in his bed. Asked you to stay, even if you were as cautious as can be—a gazelle in the lion’s den.

“Not fuckin’ it up, this time,” he’d told you.

And even in your caution, you could recognize that silent pleading—that almost a year without you has taught him the pains he would endure to not go through it again.

It didn’t soothe your worries, but it did smooth down the line carved between your brows.

You slump back on the chair and think of the times he’s told you there were no strings attached between you two, and how those strings inevitably formed.

How he’s annealed them, as time passed, going against everything he’s ever vouched for.

How he watched you snoop around his bedroom, allowing you to study his home and his habits—voluntarily and without an ounce of reluctance in him.

Sobs wreck you as you recall that night: you hadn’t even bothered wearing something, just tiptoed around naked the way you left the bed.

You tinkered with the few framed photos he had on the shelves, recognizing the people in them: the team, your face squinting at the sun while wearing khakis, and the family he told you about as the muscles of his jaw jumped with tension.

How you scoured through his books, giddy when you double-tapped those you’d read too.

Or how you smiled when you found the wrinkly receipt of that drive-through, dated on that day, being used as a bookmark in the novel you’d recommended him ages ago.

You glanced his way every once in a while, just to make sure he was still asleep. Instead, you found a man bathed in moonlight and lazily wrapped in wrinkled sheets—a knowing smirk on his lips, one that made warmth bloom on your chest, all the way to your cheeks.

He’d patted the spot next to him on the bed, inviting you back beside him.

That was the first night you held each other for no other reason than the pleasure of being close.

In the days that came after, there were countless nights just like it.

And now, drowning in your own tears and snot, you don’t know if there will be more.

If you’d feel his thumb run along your jaw again, his fingers brushing down your spine—or pinching your cheeks to make you take a breath when you rambled on.

If you’d feel his lips on yours, tasting you and your voice, with the veiled excuse to make you quiet.

Wondering if he’ll ever smear greasepaint on your brow, if he’ll ever fix the straps of your vest.

Each tear that falls now is chock full of memories, old and lost. The ones you could’ve had but you’re not sure they’ll ever be. You cry, as you hold yourself together—arms around your chest, nails digging into your biceps, painful enough to anchor you back to earth.

You cry until your throat burns, until your eyes yield, and you fall asleep; the document blank on the screen, only his name as the blatant proof of your failures.

A hand rests on your shoulder.

It’s soft at first, a thumb brushing against your collarbone. When you only shift, the grip gently tightens in a brief shake.

“Sergeant,” you hear.

Your eyes blink open, then, struggle against the crust formed between your lashes. They focus on an equally as tired pair of blues, a mouth that breathes some relief in your weary bones.

“John,” you croak, stretching your limbs behind your head until you hear a sequence of pops in your spine.

You look around to assess where you are. The sunlight, dimming behind the windowpane, tells you that you’ve slept on your chair for half of the day.

Your neck tingles as it wakes, aching from the awkward position in which you fell asleep.

Blinking away the drowsiness, your eyes land on the document plastered on the screen.

Your stomach turns into a boulder once again.

“What is it?” You say, returning your focus to Price standing next to your chair. You press your thumb between your brows to dispel a migraine sure to fall upon you. “Almost done with the report, gimme a few more ho—”

“He’s back, darling.”

Your body deflates pitifully. Dread clogs your throat with ice, because Simon being back doesn’t necessarily mean he’s back alive.

Your hands tremble as they land limp on your thighs, and you don’t care if you’re giving too much away; John already knows, after all, doesn’t he?

And he senses it: the gnawing fear, the supplication in your eyes.

“He’s in the med bay, overall lookin’ fine.”

You stand up so quickly that the chair is knocked back.

Your vision gets spotty, and suddenly the poor nutrition of the past days rears its ugly head in the form of low blood sugar.

John senses it and places a hand on your bicep when you wobble on your feet.

“Bit dehydrated, few scraps here and there, but eh—" A tired smile stretches his lips as he squeezes your shoulder. “We both know it takes a lot more to bring down tha’ bastard.”

John can’t even finish his sentence that you’re curled on your laptop, typing something he can’t see. You stand upright, and with a rush of thank yous that barely make sense, you bolt out of the door.

The captain huffs and rubs his face in exhaustion, before his eyes swivel to the screen.

Casualties And Damage Assessment.

Simon Riley — MIA & found

He sits there, hunched on the gurney like he’s too big to fit on it. His uniform has taken a lighter hue because of sunlight and dust from the unforgiving desert. A nurse is fumbling with a tube on his arm, a needle already inserted in the crook of his elbow for rapid hydration. There are two crumpled bottles of water on the shelf right next to the gurney, and even though Simon's still hiding under the mask, you're sure he's just finished chugging on both.

Johnny stands by his side, arms crossed and a lazy smile on his face. Sunburnt cheeks and a dusting of freckles on his nose.

Kyle talks to a doctor, fiddling with his cap in hand—you catch words like “bruised ribs” and “sunstroke” and something about his ankle but you’re not sure. They get lost in the chatter surrounding you when Simon lifts his head and clocks you at the door.

You stare at each other for what feels like centuries, his eyes always sharp as those of a hawk—yet a little more tired, this time. A little more rough.

When the nurse moves away to tinker with the IV bag, Simon’s hand on his thigh twitches, and he subtly beckons two fingers at you.

It’s all you need.

You beeline your way through passing doctors and nurses alike, until you come to stand in front of him, long legs dangling off the gurney. He’s subtly parted them for you, but Johnny has noticed it and he’s sporting a smarmy grin because of it.

You decide he can have it for today.

Jaw clenched, you swallow before you speak. “Gave us a scare, yeah?”

He doesn’t answer, because his eyes are locked to the thin white bandages taped to your brow. His focus shifts to your cheekbone, then, and the mauve shade it’s taken after the bombs went off out of the blue.

“Quite the shiner you got.” He drawls.

His voice is raspier from disuse, almost a croak. It makes your heart soar and your spine shiver, because it feels like years since he’s gone radio silent.

You gesture vaguely at it, a slight shrug of your shoulder as you try to hide how tight your throat has gone at the realization that he’s alive and kicking, and not an unnamed corpse under some rubble.

“Yeah,” you reply, “Shrapnels—uh, something hit me when those things went off. Just a bruise.”

A sentence he’s heard more times than he cares to count, but he seems unfazed by it this time around. Maybe the relief of being safe has finally set his priorities straight.

You smile wearily, uncharacteristically quiet even as you try to make light of it. “Reckon purple’s my colour, eh?”

He nudges an admonishing foot to your knee. You lose your balance for a moment and blink back at him with a frown.

“Reckon it ain’t.” He grunts with a pointed look, as if you said something unbelievably stupid. But then his voice softens. “But it’s hard for things to look bad on ya, eh?”

His eyes are crinkled at the corners. Simon smiles through them at you. “Still, tha’ bruise ain't it, if ya ask me.”

You huff.

“Flatterer.”

“Thought we’d established flattery worked jus’ fine with ya, mh?”

You choke on a laugh, running the back of your fingers to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah.” You clear your throat, trying to dissipate the warmth in your cheeks. "Got it."

If you two weren’t so lost in this conversation, you wouldn’t have missed the baffled look Johnny was giving you both, talking like he wasn’t there to witness it all.

But now Simon looks at you with such an intensity that Johnny’s behavior falls into the background.

There is no discovering Simon Riley, today; he’s taken the toll of discovering you, because while you’ve always cared and he’s always known, your eyes are telling him that there’s something he’s yet to find.

Or perhaps he’s found it already, ages back, when you called his name in his sheets, when you bit a promise on his fingers, when he coloured your skin with his own—kisses and sweat and grease.

When you left, and he inevitably drifted—a demagnetized compass that couldn’t find its north again, and you were just as adrift.

Good luck, you’d said. And fucking hell he’s needed plenty of it—found it too, it seems, since he’s back where he’s safe. Where he’s home.

“You alrigh’, yeah?” You ask, causing his mind to flounder back to earth.

His throat bobs.

Simon nods stiffly but doesn’t speak.

Johnny sighs heavily and takes the burden from his shoulder instead.

“Aye, he’s a big lad, hen.” He rumbles from your side, and you turn your body to him to give him your attention—wide-eyed like you’d forgotten he was there at all.

Johnny snorts.

He starts to ramble on, and you listen intently to how they found Simon crawling blindly towards them, as he and Kyle ran in his direction.

Simon’s eyes, however, are on you.

And so are his fingers.

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and starts tracing subtle patterns on the back of your thigh.

A tickle that would normally make your knees jerk, but you push through and stay still—because what if he stops, then. What if he believes you don’t want him to touch you, after almost a week with no clue about his well-being.

God forbid he pulls away.

God forbid he thinks you don’t want his hands all over once again, and from this day on.

As Johnny tries to fit some light in the dusk of your eyes, Simon discretely hooks one of his fingers in the pocket of your fatigues and doesn’t let go—holding onto you as much as you are to him. In fact, one of your hands lands on his knuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the inside of his wrist.

“Doc said you can go rest in your room for tonight,” Kyle’s voice pitches in. “Just come back tomorrow for a checkup.”

Johnny beams at that. The world weighing on your shoulders suddenly lifts an inch, and you manage to take a breath.

“No injuries, then?” You ask, turning between Simon’s parted legs.

His forefinger stays hooked at the hem of your pocket even when you do.

“Nope.” Kyle smiles. “A concussion, maybe, since he’s not being chatty—oh, wait.”

Simon grunts. “Piss off.”

It’s only when he's done with the IV bag that you’re finally helping him carry his things to his quarters.

Johnny and Kyle don’t bat an eye when you offer to take the lead, and you stop wondering whether they’re aware of your and Simon’s thing the moment Johnny gives you a glaringly obvious wink.

Simon tries to hide a limp as you walk through the hallway, and you’d love to keep his stupid pride intact for his sake, but yours has gone and drowned in the shitter the moment you broke down into sobs in front of Price.

So, you don’t see why his can’t be a little bruised too, tonight.

You hook your arm around his waist, mindful of those eventual bruised ribs you heard the doctor talk about with Kyle. Simon only looks down at you but doesn’t put up a fight—instead, he leans into you and unexpectedly accepts your help.

When he hands you his key, you try to fit it in the keyhole and fail a few times, until you force your hand to stop shaking and the lock clicks. You two stumble inside, as the heavy door closes with a loud thud.

His backpack is dropped carelessly, key on the floor next to it.

“Easy, there.” You whisper, noticing how he almost tumbles onto the mattress.

A deep, drawn-out sigh escapes him as his whole body deflates now that he’s sitting somewhere comfortable.

You crouch in front of him.

No words are exchanged as your fingers work with the straps of his vest on each side. Simon carefully lifts his arms to help you help him, and it’s the first time in years of camaraderie in which he’s actually cooperating.

Vest on the floor. Gloves off. His tac belt is carelessly tossed behind you, as you unlace his boots with his eyes burning holes down at you.

“You need a shower,” you mumble as you slide one boot off his foot. “And then I’ll check those bruises myself, see if I can help somehow.”

Simon is deadly silent.

Or maybe it’s you who can’t quite catch any sound, as the blood rushes in your ears, your heart a violent drum.

“Gonna take a look at your leg too.” You go on, relentless, as your voice cracks unbidden. “It’s probably just a sprained ankle, but it’s better to ma—”

His hand cups your jaw, then, stopping your endless ramble.

You stain the cracked skin of his palm with tears you didn’t know were falling. Simon holds your face until you find it in yourself to look up at him.

He peers down at you through the eyehole of the balaclava, ripped and singed in various spots as a testament to his survival.

He presses a thumb against the corner of your mouth, forcing it into a plastic smile. But those teardrops are still regrettably streaking your cheeks, your lips still trembling in a fruitless attempt to keep quiet.

His other hand comes to grab your bicep to help you up.

You’re on shaky legs, probably worse than the stagger he had when walking down the hallways. You come to a stand right between his thighs nonetheless, pressing your palms on his shoulders for balance.

Simon doesn’t speak as he looks up at you—doesn’t have the strength to do it, nor does he know what to say when you look so vulnerably lost.

He uses actions, instead.

Languidly, he slides the balaclava off his head, showing the cuts on his skin that match the rips on his mask. His forehead is ruddy and chapped, flaky skin peels off the bridge of his nose right where it gets redder and inflamed. His lips look thinner and pale, like he hasn’t had a good gulp of water in a while.

Your brows pinch and you instinctively lean forward until your noses brush.

Simon takes a generous look at you, taking note of all the things left unsaid that are so clearly etched into the fine lines of your face.

He nods softly, like he knows you need him to give you the green light.

And so, you kiss him right then, not wasting a moment longer. You both don’t bother to pretend to build up the tension when the rubber band has obviously already snapped. He parts his mouth for you and tilts his head until you can only breathe him in.

You taste the salt of your own tears, and his acetone breath of days spent without having a bite. You reckon yours isn’t much different—fear and hunger your only companions in his absence. Similar desperation in his hands running up your spine, in the panting of his breath, clogging your lungs already filled with a cocktail of dread and relief—poisonous, yet so comforting.

His arms are sore, muscles taut, but he uses them anyway to wrap around your thighs, bringing you in.

But it’s then that you stop: when your knees dig into the mattress on each side of his hips—your hands softly pressed to his chest to push him away.

His eyes land on your lips, already swollen and glossy after he’s kissed them to bits. He watches them move when you speak, entranced, as tears trail into the corners of your mouth.

You think he’s a bit lost in that moment, possibly not entirely listening to what you’re saying, yet that doesn’t stop you from rambling like time is running out.

“You have to shower and rest; we can’t be doing this now.” You’re stumbling over your words. “What if you got a broken rib that might puncture your lung, I gotta be careful.”

He blinks, snapping out of his head. Brows tight in a frown, he lifts his arm and grabs the nape of your neck, pulling you in.

“No, you gotta come 'ere.”

Your lips crash onto his.

The salt of your tears stings your tongues, dancing together just because your mouth is already open, busy mumbling something under your breath.

“Simon,” you’re saying, but not in the way he likes. “Listen—”

He stops. Sighs like the world has been dropped on his shoulders, breath heavy in your mouth.

His eyes shut close, lips to lips ready to ravage yet both stand still and anticipating. His fingers flex at the back of your neck, others dimple the fat of your thigh through your trousers.

Anxiety has your stomach in a clutch, and you fear he knows because he can read you like a book, easy as anything, like he’s taken notes through your pages firsthand.

When Simon gazes back at you, his eyes are close enough for you to distinguish the bloodshot whites, the enlarged pupils eating at the chestnut irises. You don’t look at his lips, but you feel with yours how he tentatively opens his mouth a few times, as if he wants to say something but thinks back on it every time.

Until he speaks.

“Please.”

You want to give in. Have him show you he’s still alive in the only way he knows: with the touch of his hands, the flawless glide of his body with yours.

But you’re relentless, and you mimic him—if not even more desperately. “Please.”

He sighs, completely disarmed.

Both his hands come to cradle your jaw, then. He starts tracing a path with his lips—kisses so tender you can barely feel them, landing blindly on your cheeks.

“Just a few days out there, just—” he murmurs, voice low and breathy. “Fuckin’ sweltered all day, then soon as the sun fucked off—cold as a witch’s tit.”

He breathes a hoarse chuckle, such a weak one that instead of stealing a smile it pulls and knots at your heartstrings.

You gulp. It’s fruitless, there’s something lodged in your throat so thick you abandon any effort to identify it. Fear peaks, however. Cold as the harshest of winters.

You stay silent. You listen. No questions asked, no interjections of any kind. A dance you’ve learned over time, from past mistakes you promised to never make again.

“Been through worse, y’know?” he mutters to your skin, words interrupted only by his own kisses on your cheeks. “Much bloody worse—an' this? This was nothin’. Part an' parcel of the job, love, bound to happen sooner or later.”

He pulls back, his gaze meeting yours as though he could show you what he’s endured, like snapshots unfolding in a reel of film.

Your fingers lace through his hair, and specks of sand and grime settle under your fingernails as you scratch his scalp. Slowly, you lean in, and press a kiss to his forehead.

Simon imperceptibly softens against you, like his body wants to but his head won’t allow him. The muscles in his shoulder are taut but the ones in his neck are loose and flaccid, head bowed to your lips.

“But fuck—” he breathes. “Never been so bloody scared.”

When he takes his hands away from your face to wrap his arms around your waist, you know better than to move—as if the ghost of his fingers still lingers at your jaw.

He holds you closer. Fists your shirt between his fingers until it’s pulled tight around your middle.

Seconds pass, in which you do nothing but wait with bated breath for him to elaborate further.

“But not f’ me.” He sighs. “Don’t care if I live or die, yeah?”

It’s not a surprising statement. It doesn’t leave you as floored as it should’ve.

It’s one you’ve internalized so long ago, even before you two engaged with this nonsense of a thing that only ended up hurting you both.

When you first got to know him, it fell upon you not slowly like a setting sun, but more so like a comet crossing the sky—quick and sharp. Burnt itself into your bones, in the crevices of your heart: that in front of you was a man who didn’t care for his life. A ticking time bomb bound to blow up.

And this knowledge properly slapped you when he went MIA.

A handful of days of nausea and shaking limbs.

Days in which you bit your nails until they bled, refusing to mourn a dead body you couldn’t see.

“You listenin’?” He asks hoarsely.

Gingerly, you nod. Your lips brush his forehead. They’re wet. Tears are falling again, salt as needles puncturing the cracks of your lips.

“You get it, yeah?” He murmurs, and this time it’s him who guides your eyes back to his. They’re dark and heavy with sorrow and, for once, not chained shut.

Days in which you didn’t know where he was—if he was at all.

His eyes search for yours. Palms to your cheeks like you’re made of glass and might shatter if he holds you too tight.

“You get it?” He asks again, low and breathless.

Days in which he didn’t know where you were—if you were at all, too.

“I do,” you croak.

There's a sense of grounding, then—tectonic plaques settling back after the earthquake. The needle of your compass locks back into place, finally pointing North—no longer caught in an erratic spin.

And it’s so quiet after that.

Two words that hang in the air and cut the tension in half, until it finally dissipates when he brushes the hair off your forehead.

Simon holds your eyes for a moment more before he brings your lips to his own.

He kisses you slowly like he doesn’t know the way you like it, like he’s doing it for the first time.

And maybe, he is.

That night, Simon doesn’t fuck you.

He’s naked, just out of the shower you helped him take. He sits at the edge of the bed, fists curled around the blanket haphazardly thrown over it, towel crumpled at his feet.

His skin is damp, glistening under the low lights—gentle highlight of scars you’ve traced, and newer ones. The knotted lines and the inflamed cuts. The pale stretches of skin interrupted by speckled purples, greens, yellows—entire galaxies blooming on his shoulder, on his ribs, on his abdomen and on his thighs.

If that isn’t enough to make your knees buckle, enough to make your heart crack, it’s his request that does it.

“Stay,” he croaks.

That’s just how he says it, blunt as ever—gritted through his teeth, still coarse in the attempt at tenderness. Trying to fit in a role he’s never thought he’d get the chance to play; where he's not a killer, only a man.

That night, Simon doesn’t fuck you, no.

Simon holds you to his side, deaf to your protests when he guides you to lean your cheek to his heart—all the be careful’s stumbling out of your lips tossed out the window by the very man they were meant for.

Still, he brushes your hair, fingers gently lacing through it. His hand faintly trembles—discomfort in the unfamiliar, you think.

However, even in their uncertainty, the gesture’s enough to make you fall asleep, lulled by the warmth of his body tucked under the duvet with you. Pine needles of his body wash, vestiges of tobacco, antiseptic you smeared on his cuts—the strange familiarity of it, the comfort you hope he's found too.

And maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe it’s the delirium — the adrenaline crash, the hunger, the sleepless nights. Or maybe it’s just the overwhelming relief of having him here, real and warm, alive with blood that still runs.

You feel it rumble in his chest first, before it properly travels to your ears.

A curse. Drawn out, rouged with tender resignation, with honeyed surrender. A beautifully dreadful feeling, conveniently compacted into a single, wretched word.

Wet lips touch your forehead. They brush left and right but never press in a proper kiss.

“You get it, uh?”

A sigh, then. Or a hoarse chuckle, maybe—you’re not sure. Warm breath grazes your forehead, tickles your scalp until shivers tiptoe gently down your spine and you unconsciously huddle closer.

Simon only holds you more thoroughly.

“Can't fuckin' believe it,” he whispers.

There's something feather-light in his voice that betrays a hint of careful awe—jarring, misplaced, especially after days scraping by on the very edge of life.

Something akin to hope.

A lot from a man who insists he doesn't care if he lives or dies.

Still, Simon doesn’t bother to conceal it—perhaps because he thinks you're long asleep, perhaps because he doesn't care about hiding at all, not anymore. It curls into his vowels, bleeds golden into his tongue clicking at each t.

“Yeah,” he breathes. Kisses your forehead. “Now I get it too.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #angst #cod angst #x reader #call of duty #Simon Riley is bad at feelings #but he got better didn't he #foxy

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0-n-1-x · 9 months ago

Note

Hey hey hey! I just read your Damian x photographer reader post (love btw) and instantly became infatuated with the idea of Reader who takes pictures of Gotham vigilantes for the news. Kinda like Peter Parker taking pictures of Spider-Man? (Not a 1 to 1 comparison but you get where it coming from) Basically they’re close with Damian but they don’t know Damian’s Robin. Cue secret identity shenanigans!

Damian Wayne x Hero Photographer!reader

link to my masterlist <33

As a talented photographer, you’ve made a name for yourself by capturing the best shots of Gotham’s vigilantes in action. Your photos of Batman, Robin, and the rest of the Bat-Family often end up on the front pages of Gotham’s newspapers, earning you both praise and a bit of notoriety in the city’s media circles. You and Damian have been friends for a while, bonding over your shared love of art and your similar work ethics. He admires your dedication to photography, though he’s secretly amused by the fact that you’re unknowingly photographing him in his Robin persona.

You and Damian have been friends for a while, bonding over your shared love of art and your similar work ethics. He admires your dedication to photography, though he’s secretly amused by the fact that you’re unknowingly photographing him in his Robin persona. Despite being so close to Damian, you have no idea that he’s actually Robin. He’s careful to keep his vigilante life separate from your friendship, though he occasionally drops hints that go right over your head.

There have been multiple instances where you’ve almost caught Damian in his Robin gear. Whether it’s seeing a flash of green and red out of the corner of your eye or noticing how familiar Robin’s fighting style seems, you start to get the feeling that there’s something more to Damian than meets the eye.

One day, you capture an exceptionally clear photo of Robin, and you can’t help but notice something oddly familiar about his eyes. You brush it off at first, but the thought nags at you. Damian, of course, is aware that you took the photo and goes out of his way to ensure you don’t connect the dots.

Whenever you talk to Damian about your latest photos, he can’t help but tease you a little. He’ll ask about your “favorite vigilante” or make subtle comments that hint at his dual identity. You laugh it off, thinking he’s just poking fun at your obsession with Gotham’s heroes. (i like to think that your favorite wouldn't be him, and he'd be slightly offended and try to explain why he's robin's better than his brothers other vigilantes)

There are times when Damian has to abruptly leave your hangouts to attend to Robin duties. He always comes up with an excuse—whether it’s a sudden family emergency or needing to take care of something important. You find it a bit odd but don’t press him on it, chalking it up to Damian’s sometimes mysterious nature.

One night, while you’re out trying to get some action shots of the infamous Gotham Vigilante Group, you get caught in the middle of a dangerous situation.

As you leaned over the ledge to get a better angle, you suddenly heard the sound of gunfire echoing through the alleyways. Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t move, focusing your lens instead. Sure enough, you spotted Batman and Robin making their move on a group of heavily armed thugs. You quickly snapped a few shots, your heart racing with the thrill of the moment.

But then, something went wrong. One of the thugs spotted you—your lens reflecting just enough light to catch his attention. Without thinking, he pointed his gun upwards and fired.

The bullet whizzed past your head, shattering the brick near where you crouched. Panic surged through you as you scrambled back, nearly dropping your camera. Before you could react, you saw a flash of red and green—Robin was suddenly there, pulling you out of harm’s way.

He shielded you with his body, guiding you towards a safer spot on the rooftop. His gloved hand was firm but gentle as he held onto your arm, his other hand reaching for a grappling hook.

“Stay close to me,” he ordered, his voice low and urgent.

You barely had time to process what was happening before Robin swung the two of you off the rooftop, carrying you safely to a nearby building. Your heart pounded in your chest, both from the fear of what just happened and from the adrenaline of being in such close proximity to the vigilante.

When your feet finally touched solid ground, you stumbled slightly, still reeling from the close call. Robin’s arm was still around your waist, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but notice how strong and warm he felt, even through his suit.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with concern.

You nodded, but your mind was spinning. There was something about his voice, the way he held you—something that felt so familiar.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you managed to reply, your breath hitching slightly as you looked up at him. Your eyes locked with his, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The green mask, the intense gaze, the way he said your name earlier—it was Damian. It had to be.

“Damian?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Robin stiffened, his grip on you tightening for a split second before he quickly let go, stepping back. His expression was hidden behind the mask, but you could see the conflict in his eyes. He hesitated, clearly torn between continuing the charade and telling you the truth.

“I—” he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

“Damian, it’s you, isn’t it?” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re Robin.”

#dc x you #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne headcannons #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x gender neutral reader

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pellucid-constellations · 10 months ago

Text

If It All Fell (10)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: As always, thank you so much for reading :) You guys have really been in it for the long haul with this fic and I adore you for it. My brain only lets me write it about once a month. I hope you love it and I love you!!! Please let me know what you think!!! ❤️

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

The syllables of your name echoed, bouncing off the stark chamber of your mind that was now sullied by a beautiful memory with no context. You’d grown used to the quietness, the emptiness—however temporary that was to be. The new memory chafed.

Pressure remained constant along the back of your neck and you felt the awkward angle of your back as it rested against something sharp. Your body shifted. Another pained croak of your name vibrated in the air.

“Please, please.” Azriel, you determined, his voice restrained and tight. “Not again. Please, not again. I thought—I thought it would’ve been okay. It didn’t seem—”

He cut himself off, choking on the words and leaning down until you felt his face press into your shoulder. You wanted to open your eyes, but nothing made sense enough for you to do so. The memory of your laughter and joy lingered in your mind still, creating a dull ache that battled with the present.

“You wouldn’t have had to find me. I never would have left your side.”

Azriel had said that. This Azriel—right?

“I love you. I love you and I’m sorry, y/n,” you heard the words mumbled against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have pushed it. I knew—”

Was this the same Azriel who avoided the threshold of your bedroom for days after your return to Velaris? The one that refused a simple lunch with you and struggled to look you in the eye? Was this the Azriel you had seen in that memory?

He spoke as if he were—held you with a reverence that seemed to connect each and every discrepancy.

You let out a shaky breath, fighting for full consciousness. When your eyes finally caught up with your brain, Azriel was there, hovering over you with damp cheeks and a harrowed expression.

Last time—you thought, connecting dots as you blinked away the ache behind your eyes—you probably hadn’t woken up. Last time, Azriel had most likely approached this with much less delicacy and you had paid the price. Everyone said you were in too much pain to hear about your past.

Last time, last time, last time.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, his broken words a testament to your assumptions.

But you weren’t thinking about last time anymore.

Azriel was your mate.

You were Azriel’s mate.

And he had said—

“You said you wouldn’t leave my side,” you whispered. You were clutching at his arms with a white-knuckle grip, the action barely registering in your mind. “You said—”

“When, baby?” Azriel rushed, the endearment passing through his lips like a desperate prayer. His fingers made their way to your cheeks, brushing along your skin just as desperately.

“When we were married. You said… the first time… you wouldn’t have left my side if I never remembered you.”

Azriel’s expression widened. “When we were… Did you—”

His breath came out in quick huffs. He blinked, as if to clear the image of you in his arms, and then moved to sit you up in his lap. His shadows were a mess alongside you, wrapping and twining into odd shapes as they sought to ease the tension on the balcony.

When you were finally situated against him, your body still shaking with the events of the evening, Azriel licked his lips and spoke. “Did you remember something?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your gaze fixated on your fingers as they rested in your lap. You observed your tremors with an unnecessary acuity. “I think so. We were… in bed. After our wedding, I think. You said we were mates, right?”

You tilted your head up to catch his eye in a question, feeling no embarrassment at your question. Something had shifted after his admission. After your memory.

You felt more empowered with just a taste of your life.

“Are,” Azriel clarified. “We are mates. Now and always.”

“You said something similar in my memory.” You turned back down to your fingers. “How long ago was that?”

“If you remembered our wedding, that was 267 years ago. After we got you back from Day Court we had a ceremony—a public one. It was around a year after you were healed.”

“267 is very specific.”

“I could never forget the day I married you.”

You locked your fingers together and squeezed your hands until it hurt.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again. His tone was lower this time, almost scared.

You furrowed your brows and released your fingers. The shaking had stopped. You hadn't tried to remove yourself from Azriel’s lap and he hadn’t commented on how you nestled into his chest as if it were your right.

Because, apparently, it was your right to touch him in this way. You had been fighting that instinct for weeks, but right now you were confused and conflicted and although everything was becoming clear, it also felt as if your world was toppled once again. So you didn’t move from the one thing that made you feel sane. And Azriel did not move you.

“I think so,” you answered.

“Are you… angry with me?”

The furrow of your brow deepened. “Should I be?”

“Yes.” His answer was instantaneous. You turned your face up to inspect the guilt lacing his tone and found it in the clench of his jaw—in the wetness still evident in his waterline. “I have failed you, y/n. I have failed you twice and, this time, I have broken more than one promise.”

“Azriel—” you began, ready to reassure something you had no understanding of, but the shadowsinger hung his head and refused to let you stumble through your words.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness—not now. I told you I would stay beside you and then I ran in cowardice. I brought you to this,” he gestured with his shoulders. “To this confusion and isolation. I am supposed to be your mate, y/n. I know that doesn't mean much to you now, but it will. And you will be disgusted by me.”

“Azriel, that can’t be true,” you argued. “I know this has been so hard and I don’t blame you for your actions. I was angry before—I am still angry—but not at your fear.”

Azriel’s teeth came together even harder, grinding as his wings coiled tightly at his shoulders. He took a long breath and released it through his nose, frustration emanating from him in waves. But not towards you, you gathered, as he finally looked down to meet your gaze and his eyes softened to match the dried tears on his face.

You wanted to reach up and soothe some of the torture written across his expression, but Azriel gave you a sad smile that stopped you in your tracks.

He rested his hand on your cheek. “Always too good for me,” he whispered, a too-quiet preface to his next declaration. “I’m going to take you back to your room. Your body and mind must be exhausted. We can talk in the morning.”

“But Azriel—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. “Tomorrow.”

You lasted about two hours in your room.

Calling it “your” room was a bit of a stretch. You had confirmed your suspicions that something had been off about the space after learning of your mate. There was no way you lived in this room alone when you had a relationship like that.

You began pacing after Azriel had left you at the door. He had placed a lingering hand on your shoulder and waited until you shut the door behind you to leave. So, still fraught with confusion and pent-up frustration and newfound hope, you started pacing.

Azriel had told you to rest, a futile recommendation with so much battling within your mind. But above it all, you were thinking about him—about the memory and his words and him being your mate.

You had meant what you said on the balcony. You were still angry at the way everyone treated you like glass. There was still much that needed to be said and feelings that needed to be revealed, but you felt no ill will toward Azriel. Not in the way he expected you to.

Still, part of you felt a sense of betrayal. The Azriel from your memory had seemed so devoted to you, so sure that he would stop at nothing to rectify any distance between the two of you. And you had seen glimpses of that Azriel in this strange state you were in now, but some of that was missing.

You were having a hard time balancing his fear with his love, but more signs pointed towards love.

Didn’t they?

It didn’t help that you were contemplating this alone in an empty room, leaving tracks in the carpet and stringing your body so tight a soreness had begun creeping up your heels. You huffed and sat on the bed instead, biting your nails.

Azriel was your mate.

He loved you.

You’d heard him say it multiple times now, in more ways than just the explicit words.

Hadn’t you?

“Our souls are linked—mates I mean.”

“Fuck, I miss you.”

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.”

“Y/n, spending time with you—being around you—it’s as natural as breathing for me.”

“You are the one sure thing in my life.”

You rose from the bed abruptly, your body making a decision before your mind. You flung the door open to “your” bedroom and walked approximately six steps to the next room. You had assumed Azriel was staying close after spotting his shadows beneath the door a few weeks back, and there was no denying it now.

You rapt your knuckles against the wood three times, his door flinging open before you could go for a fourth.

The shadowsinger looked frazzled, his hair askew and his sweats haphazardly thrown on. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You ignored the clear panic in his tone as you asked, “Do you love me?”

“What?”

Taking advantage of the confusion and shock rendering him vulnerable, you swept under Azriel’s arm on the door and stood your ground in his room. You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as Azriel robotically shut the door and turned around to face you.

“I asked if you love me,” you repeated. “I only have one memory back and you say we’re mates. I… I’m inclined to believe that you do. I think I’ve heard you say it but only when you think I can’t hear you and—”

“I do,” Azriel hurriedly replied, remaining rooted by the door. “I do love you. I love you so much that I haven’t been able to help myself in those moments. You have heard me say it. I’ve been saying it to your back for weeks.”

Your chest heaved, emotion weighing it down. “Were you only staying away out of fear?”

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed. “And it hurt—being around you. I was a fool.”

Shadows swirled beneath your feet.

“This is just hard for me. I don’t really understand where I fit in here. I have this memory of you saying one thing and then—”

“I know. I’m so sorry, my love.”

You blinked at the unabashed way he addressed you.

Azriel did not flinch.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you unleashed the question that had been plaguing you since you began pacing two hours ago.

“Do you love me when I’m like this? Even now?”

Azriel deflated, the panic extinguishing from his body and his expression falling. He took two long strides to meet you across the room, his hands hovering over your arms for a moment before he shook his head and touched you—perhaps despite his better judgment, his fear.

“I will love you until the day I die, y/n. Even if you cast me aside. Even if you have no idea who I am.” He winced and shut his eyes, giving into instinct and pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you and it hurts. And I would take that pain to the grave if it meant I still had the privilege of belonging to you in some way.”

You brushed your hands up to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your eyes open while his remained shut—like it pained him to even speak the words.

You wanted to say something back—a reassurance, a reciprocation, anything. But everything that would come out of your mouth would be a half-truth. You loved him, but did you? Did you really love him yet, or did you just love the way he spoke to you and how he made you feel? Did you know enough about him in the context of your life to love him? And if you couldn’t say it back right now would he—

“Hey,” Azriel’s slow tone brought you back to the present, his gaze now soft upon yours. “I can feel your panic. It’s okay, y/n. You don’t need to say anything.”

Your lips parted. “You can feel it? Like my power?”

“Not quite. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

A familiar jolt invaded your ribs, making you gasp at its resurgence. You didn’t feel it often, but it was always jarring when it happened. And it always seemed to happen most when you were scared or hurt or in danger. Putting the pieces together now…

“That’s you?” you gaped, rubbing below your ribs. Azriel leaned back, giving you some space with a small smile on his lips.

“It is. You can do it back if you know where to find it.”

“Even with my magic blocked? Right now I can't even sense anything. Not like I could earlier.”

“Try,” Azriel encouraged with a small nod.

And so you did, closing your eyes and searching within you for something to pull on—anything to grasp. There was a lot of empty space, some areas overflowing with the new memories you’d made, but in a far corner, dim and dull, was a glowing thread.

You reached for it and yanked, the action sparking a more fluorescent gold.

Azriel let out a small gasp. The beautiful flow of his laughter followed, a melody of relief and joy intertwined. Your mate stared back at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners and allowed his smile to overtake his face.

“It has been so long since I’ve felt you. The bond has been there, but it hasn’t felt alive. It hasn’t felt like you.”

You let out a small giggle at the ridiculous-sounding notion. “What has it felt like?”

“I get your most heightened emotions, but they feel dull. They’ve been missing something.”

“You feel my emotions?” you marveled, looking inward once more to inspect the link between you. “Why don’t I feel yours?”

“I believe you have a few times,” Azriel admitted. His wings had begun to unfurl from their uncomfortable cinch at his back. “I’ve tried to keep them closed off during all of this. I didn’t want you trying to wade through someone else’s feelings when you were already confused.”

“Could you…open them back up?”

Azriel shot you a dubious look, knocking his head to the side before he passed you to sit on the side of the bed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’ve been… feeling a lot. I don’t want to put that on you.”

“I’ve been feeling a lot,” you shot back, coming to stand in front of his bent knees. “And you’ve been taking all of it.”

“I’m used to feeling you. I welcome it.”

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. “Didn’t we discuss this? I want to get used to feeling you, Azriel. I want my life back, memories or not.”

Azriel let out a sigh, pressing his fingers together between his knees. He bowed his head for a moment before staring back up at you with a defeated expression. His wings lay bare and open along the bed behind him. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”

“Do you want to?”

Another small, defeated chuckle from your mate, and then something came alive within you, that golden thread singing, finally living up to its full potential. You had to brace yourself at the full force of it, your hand landing on Azriel’s bicep as you stumbled. He placed a hand on your back and your eyes fluttered as you parsed through this new feeling.

You felt him.

His fear, anger, and frustration; he was filled with so much sadness and longing, and the pain lingering in undertones was dull yet overwhelming at the same time. Each emotion fought for dominance. But there was something else pulsing down the bond, something intentionally sent.

Adoration, love, devotion—you weren’t sure what to label it but it undermined all else.

You laughed in disbelief, bringing your free hand up to cover your mouth. You felt the warmness of your face as you went. This was indescribable.

“How is it?” Azriel asked. His thumb was rubbing circles into your spine. “Too much?”

“No,” you were quick to reply. “No, Az, this is—wow, you weren’t kidding when you described mating bonds to me.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he teased. “Tell me if you want me to close it.”

The thought of losing this connection seemed unreasonably terrible. You shook your head and pressed closer to your mate, slotting your body in between his legs.

You remained in comfortable silence for several minutes, relishing in the bond tethering you to each other. Eventually, you migrated to lean against his thigh as you fiddled with the material of his shirt, and the position felt the same as the one on the balcony—like it was yours to take.

“I’m going to ask you something and you have every right to say no,” Azriel said, breaking the silence that had blanketed the room. You nodded for him to continue. “Would you stay with me tonight? In here?”

“To sleep?” you asked, surprise evident in your raised voice.

Azriel huffed out a laugh, lightly nudging his nose against your cheek. “To sleep,” he confirmed. “Just, with the bond open like this, I would feel better if you were near me. If you aren’t comfortable with that, I completely understand. I can—”

“Yes.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #if it all fell

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dilfstarr · 1 day ago

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Toji x black fem reader

a/n: yalllll i literally cant stop thinking abt sexworker!toji, it’s taking ova my brain. this time we are the woman in the vid ;) part one part two 18+

Of course when you stumbled across the twitter page that had the internet people in a frenzy, you had to fly out personally to see what the hype was about.

You arrived to the Airbnb at 4pm on the dot— snuggling your rental car between a lifted Ford truck and a 1970’s Mercedes. You stepped out, cautious not to hit the car next to you. One step into the beaming sun and you felt yourself melt like icecream. You cursed yourself internally for wearing long sleeves in the summer time. Your coach was thrown lazily over your shoulder as you struggle to get your overpacked suitcase out of the trunk. After a few minutes of wrestling with luggage and eventually wiggling it out, you made your way to the entrance—seeing Toji already waiting for you at the door. As you made your journey to him, you couldn’t help but to undress him with your eyes.

The white wife beater he wore fitted tightly around his center, showcasing the endless inked designs that were wrapped around his arms. His teeth, the sun, and his silver chain were all in competition on who could shine the brightest— his grin winning by a long shot. The grey shorts he wore hung dangerously low with no indications of underwear— was he freeballing? You didn’t have time to even ponder the idea before he enfolded you in a tight hug like you were a long lost friend that he just reconciled with. The smell of fresh laundry and deodorant made you dizzy as he rocked you side to side with his eternal long hug. He eventually pulls away and takes a quick glance at your very confused face.

“My bad, m’just a huge fan.”

You dismissed his words with a giggle and a wave, “It’s alright, I’m a fan of your work as well!”

The reassurance brought his signature smirk back to his face as it was his turn to undress you with his eyes. You wore a simple pink tracksuit with matching Chanel sandals as you wanted to be comfortable on the five hour flight here. Your curly mane framed your face perfectly— brown skin glowing with the sun reflecting on you. Even in your airport outfit you looked incredible— you were truly flawless.

As he checked you out you did the same, again— now way closer. He was in fact freeballing— feeling his dick brush against your leg when he gave you a hug. He looked so much bigger than he did on camera— not just height but the overall mass of him. He was just big tree you couldn’t wait to climb. You rocked on your heels, clearly starting to get annoyed with the heat.

“Can we get out this heat? I got this hot ass jacket on, bout’ to have a heatstroke.”

“Yea for sure, sorry.”

He let you in first, taking the loaded bag from your hands. The inside was massive and so expensive looking—all white furniture, marble floors with matching countertops, high ceilings, and a non-white refrigerator. The dragging sound of Toji’s Birkenstock clogs, along with the wheels of your suitcase, echoed behind you as he followed you around. Walking towards the living room you’re greeted with the smell of bitterness filling your nostrils. Your face balled up in disgust, eyes searching for the origin of the scent. A man in a crisp brown tailored suit caught your eye as you scanned the room. He sat comfortably in one of the arm chairs closer to the corner, blowing smoke from his lips. The grey MacBook balanced on his thighs as he typed promptly along the keys.

“That’s Shiu, he manages the business side so I don’t have to.” Toji explained, placing your luggage adjacent to his manager. Shiu paused and inspected your figure as Toji spoke.

At the sound of his name he saluted you with two fingers. You reciprocated the greeting with a flashy smile and a brief wave. He didn’t even notice as he went back to minding his business in the isolated area. Toji took your hand in his, guiding you to dinner table were the stacks endless pieces paper overlaying the brown wood of the table resided.

He went over the contracts and other accompanying paperwork meticulously, so there is no confusion on either sides. Since the video is being solely recorded by you and uploaded only on your website, you get majority of the revenue. He only gets twenty percent of the earnings while you pocketed the rest— It sounds bad until you remembered that he charged you thirty thousand for today’s session. That’s even counting the discount he gave because was a fan of your craft.

The reading of packets and the giving your signature a gazillion times was now completed leaving the pair of you to engage in small talk. Since you both are sex workers, that was the topic of discussion.

“So, do you like doing OF content Mr. Toji?"

Your imaginary microphone traveled from your mouth to his urging him to speak in it. He leans in to talk into your fist, "To get millions for fuckin' women senseless on camera? Fuck yea!"

“Oooo okay! You heard it here first folks!”

He chuckled at your animated news voice, shaking his head. “How about you? You seem to enjoy it, you’ve been doin’ it way longer than me.”

Nobody ever grows up and necessarily wants to fuck for cash, let alone have it being recorded for the whole world to see. But, when the opportunity presents itself it’s hard pass it up. Since losing your job due to covid, you needed to keep your bills paid, obviously. One thing led to another and you started posting faceless content to OnlyFans. Solo masturbation was your strong suit for months, before one of your loyal subscribers offered to pay you five thousand for a thirty minute session with him. You wasn’t completely against it per say, the only downside was that you would have to show your face. Were you ready for that? After consideration, you agreed to shoot it. You didn’t fuck him, just gave him head. That’s what put you on the map.

The video skyrocketed— going viral the very next week, eventually growing your audience. A segment of your video where you made him nut and kept sucking hit twitter like crack in the 80’s. The offers to be in one of your upcoming videos were unending. By the end of the year you were one of the many creators that were in the one percent. You made close to seven million in three months— you would be crazy not to keep going.

“I enjoy it to some extent. Yes, I love the money and building endless connections with people in the entertainment industry, but the constant harassment of what I do with my body could get overwhelming at times, y’know?”

He hums, nodding his head. He personally hasn’t had any problems with harassment concerning the content he puts out but he could see how it would make someone go crazy.

“Okay! Next topic.” You clapped your hands together, taking in a sharp breath, changing the subject, “When did you become a fan of mine, Mr Toji?”

He groans, rubbing his hands against his face, as if he was excited to tell the story.

“Remember that collab you did with Sukuna?”

“Of course I did, he fucked me up for a week.”

He chuckles before continuing, “That video got me through a lot of lonely nights. I still watch it when I need to rub one out.”

The video you did with Sukuna was one of the many videos of yours to go viral. He was famously known for being extremely rough, and wanting to experience after countless of requests from your supporters, why not go to a professional?

You ended the night with a bruised cervix and your vocal cords were temporarily ruptured and swollen. Bite marks, bruises, and scratches littered your body like confetti as you had to desperately explain to the hospital that you weren’t in a domestic relationship. Yup, first and last time working with that demon.

“Well hopefully this new video will be your favorite.” You purr dragging your nail up your arm. Your eyes screamed ‘fuck me!’- looking up at him with pure desire.

“Mmm.”

The screeching sound of your chair rang loudly in the air as he pulled you closer to him. Wanting to not waste another second you climbed on his lap. He doesn’t kiss his coworkers but the tension was at an all time high, he couldn’t help it. The kiss was sloppy as fuck—teeth, tongue, and spit met in the middle as his hands found comfort around your waist. Your hands tugged on the back of his head, making the kiss deeper. You rolled your hips over his growing bulge—bringing your hands down to palm him over the thin material of his shorts. Since his wore nothing underneath, the veins that traveled along his cock were protruding through the cotton. He growled against your lips while humping at your moving hand.

“Okay lovebirds. Save it for the film!”

Shiu unfortunately watched the whole thing go down as he had a clear view from his seat. He was genuinely surprised it took this long for y’all not to touch each other sooner. The makeout session came to a screeching halt as Shiu’s words boomed through the house. His dress shoes got louder and closer before appearing right beside the two of you.

“I’m going to be on my way now. Cleaning crew will be here in five hours— hopefully you’re done by then. Have fun.”

“Okay, thanks Mr. Shiu!”

He nodded, turning on his heels and continued his stroll to the entrance. The door swung closed and the realization that you were alone hit you.

“So where should I set up?” You asked, jumping off of his lap. His cock stood at attention—bringing both on his hands to palm at the throbbing muscle.

“I was thinkin’ the couch—it’ll look good with the sun shining through the windows.”

“Mkay, I’ll meet you in the living room in about thirty. Be naked.”

Toji was right about filming in the living room as the natural light complimented your skin beautifully. The camera was positioned so that no glare would mess up the shot. You were on your knees before him, working your mouth overtime around his length. Your spit and his precum worked perfectly in your favor, creating natural a lubricant as you took him in one swift swallow. His stomach clinched as the sudden pleasure.

“G-god! You’re so fuckin gooood- shit!”

His praising boosted your confidence greatly— allowing you to contract the muscles in the back of your throat, squeezing the tip of his dick. If he wasn’t being making noise before, he was definitely making them now. He cussed under his breath in frustration as he felt himself getting close so fast. From the videos he watched of you, he knew your forte was head and how you had a thing of making men nut in under three minutes. He tried desperately to not cum down your throat but you made it so hard for me.

You hummed around his dick— vibrating it, before slowly detached him from the deeps of your throat. Your cheeks were hollow as you slid up his length, giving him full eye contact. He groaned when you popped him out of your mouth.

“You’re so…. Biiig!”

His heavy wet muscle slapped along your tongue creating a loud plat. Both of your hands are not stroking him at the same time, going in opposite directions. He scooted up subconsciously and you took it as an invitation. You traveled down his length to give attention to his balls. It started off as kitten licks before you held them in your mouth one at a time. The movement of your hands and the heavily feeling of your mouth around his jewels send him to a place he’s never been— heaven. His eyes were watching you droopily and were starting to cross?

“You’re such a d-dirty bitch. I fuckin swear.” He swore between his gritted teeth.

You released his balls with a pop as you made your way back up. Once you saw the state of his being, you knew you had him right where you needed him— vulnerable.

“You’re doing so good f’me papa. N’ I think it’s time you should stop holding in your nut.”

The two handed stroking soon turned into two handed stroking with your mouth sucking just the head of his dick. Your hands stroked him up and down— twisting in different directions as your mouth moved in sync with the motion of the hand closest to it. The vain on the underside of his massive cock throbbed a three good times before him cum coated your tongue and the back of your throat.

“Fuh-FUCK!”

This was the most vocal he’s ever been and you loved it. His moans, yes moans, and cussing emulated through the empty house as you continued your torture. His thigh trembled underneath your elbow that rested on it. Both hands were hanging for dear life on the back of couch as you sucked the poor soul from his body. His head hung off the back of the couch— panting like a dog for air.

“F-fuuuuck mee!”

Not once did he try to stop you, letting you have complete your freedom. His stomach was sucked all the way in like an empty capri-sun. You hummed to yourself, finally letting him go out of your embrace with another pop.His breaths were deep and much needed as he was started to feel lightheaded.

“Jus’… jus’ give me a sec.”

A second wasn’t going to be given as you rose to your feet, clearly now having to take matters into your own hands. The soft cushions of the couch dipped under your weight as you stood on them. Bringing one your knees up to rest on the back of the couch, you slowly descended to sit on his open panting mouth.

“Yur’ trinm’ to khill me-”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t you have m-manners Toji? Shit!”

Instantaneously snapping out of it, he’s grabbing at your waist and rocking you against his face. Your hands palmed at the crown of his head, tugging tightly it to ground yourself. The leg that stood tall on the couch started to buckle beneath you. His thumbs held your pussy lips open like curtains as he toyed with your clit with his tongue. He Flicked it up and down quickly, replicating a bullet vibrator, before giving it a suck. He did this routine repeatedly, earning praises and moans from up above.

“Shiiit! Y-yes, like that!”

Yes, the head was good but you needed it to be better.

“P-put your tongue in please.”

He obliged, making his tongue thin enough to sink into your hole before contorting it to make it thicker once inside. Your grip on his hair became tighter and firmer as you bounced on his tongue. Toji has never been with anyone who asked what they wanted and took initiative when necessary and it turned him on. His soften dick began throbbing against his thigh, rising up once again. He stuck his tongue out more, giving you more to ride. His hands palmed at your cheeks at an attempt to help you bounce.

“Yesyesyes, fuuuuuckkk! Toooji!”

Every time your body sunk back down, the pointy tip of his nose would kiss your pearl bringing you closer to your fate. Your leaking hole temporarily held Toji’s tongue hostage as it contracted from the upcoming orgasm. One, two, bounces before you quiver from above. He held your legs steady, helping you ride it out.

“Ooooomy- Ohhhgoddd!”

You continued to rock slowly before giving two tap to his head, indicating that you were somewhat back to normal. His tongue exited from inside you, causing your juices to be drained into his open mouth. He slurped it up without hesitation— shaking his head side to side like a dog. Your body jerked at his rapid pace, bringing you to drop your leg from the side of his head. You stood on shaky legs before ultimately sitting down beside him. You both stare into space before the silence was broken by Toji’s voice.

“My tongue has never been used as a dildo before.”

You share a breathless laugh before eyeing your camera to see if it’s still filming. The red light blinked back at you, showcasing that it was still on. You turn back to Toji who is now lazily stroking his half hard dick. An unspoken conversation occurs when he points his chin to the arm chair that once held Shiu. You nod, grabbing ahold your camera and propping it up against the glass coffee table. He watched you crawl up the couch and spread your legs open by your ankles, inviting him in.

“Come fuck me Toji.” You purr. Your hands rubbing up and down your parted legs.

His stroking increased as you spoke to him, “You want me?”

“Mhm. So fuckin bad.” You licked your fingers, bringing them down to toy with your clit— matching the set pace of his stroking.

“Oh, Fuck me.” You were going to be the death of Toji.

He made it to you in point three seconds— pulling you closer to the edge of the chair so that your lower body hung off. You squeaked in pure excitement as you finally get to experience what you came here for in the first place. His dick slapped against your glistening pussy before easing his way in. The sudden gasp you both shared was the only noise that was heard.

“Sssss! You are s’fuckin’ tight. Fuck!”

“Y-you, nggh! So biiig!”

You tried to ease up but to no avail. He took notice— licking his thumb and putting pressure down on your clit. Your walls fluttered around him, allowing him to push in and eventually bottom out. You felt so full as he sat inside you. He was forehead to forehead with you helped you breathe through it.

“You got it baby. You’re doing s’good.”

He deemed that you were ready so he delicately pulled his hips out before snapping them back in. All the breath you worked so hard to retain was instantaneously forced out of you by only one of his thrust. His palmed pushed harshly on your stomach while he set the tone of his strokes.

“Fuuuuuuc-toooji! I c-can’t! Hugn-mygooood!”

“Don’t start with that whinin’.”

Your head was forcefully thrown back, trying so desperately not to tap out. It just hurts so good. The grip you had on your ankles was about to cut off the circulation in your curled toes. Your mouth was ajar, gasping with every thrust he gave you. He held you up by the roots of your hair, pulling you up so you could watch.

“I’m in there baby. Y’feel me?

He watched your eyes cross and you mindlessly nodded.

“I fuckin f-feeeeeel it!”

The faint clapping of the both of your skins did a great job of drowning out your moans. You became more slippery, now completely coating Toji in your goodness. He felt himself shudder for the feeling of your wrapped around him.

“Pussy s’fuckin’ good. Fuckin’ hell.”

You ditched the grasp of your ankles for Toji’s shoulders, bring him even closer to you. He laid his body on top you yours, pinning you down. You whispered lowly in his ear so it wouldn’t be picked up by the camera.

“I love you. S’much.”

Now Toji would’ve brushed you off like he did before with other women, but he felt different. It was way more emotional than his previous sessions as you were both in the same state of euphoria. Not to mention, for the millionth time, that he is a big fan.

“Love you too.”

You squeezed around him at his confession causing his stokes to be thrown off. He groaned his your chest trying to find his rhythm.

“D-don’t. M’gonna’ cum if you do that.”

“Please. In-inside please.” You moaned in his ear, wrapping your legs around his hips.

Toji didn’t cum in his clients, it was written on bold on the first page of his contract. “I DON’T DO CREAMPIES!” But even if he tried, he couldn’t pull out. Shiu was just going to be a mad somebody.

“You want my nut baby?”

“Yesssss!

“If I give it to you, you gonna’ give my pussy away?”

You shook your head frantically, “Noooooo!”

“F-uck! Promise?”

“Promise.”

His hips stuttered before he groaned loudly into your neck, vibrating your chest.

“Hugnnn- Shiit! Ah!

His seed was warm as it planted deep inside of you. Coincidentally, you finished the same time as him. Your body arched upwards as you cursed to the high ceilings. You tightened your arms around his neck, desperately trying to hold it together.

The booming sound of the vacuum could be heard from your noise canceling headphones as you edit the film. You and Toji both showered together before taking a much needed nap. Hours later the doorbell rang, and just as Shiu mentioned, it was the cleaning crew. You sat at the table, deleting bloopers and unflattering angles. Toji sat in the chair beside you texting his manager about the breach in contract.

“He’s not happy.”

“I bet.

You give one more final look over at the footage before posting it to your OF. A deep sigh of relief left your lungs as you closed your MacBook.

Toji blew a raspberry, scratching the back of his head.

“Wanna go again?”

ʚɞ ʚɞ

#toji fushiguro #toji x black reader #toji x reader #x black reader #jjk x black reader #anime x black!reader #toji smut

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deadly-diminuendo · 6 months ago

Text

Those Three Little Words

a short spawn astarion x fem!tav reader oneshot / nsfw / ~1k words

Summary: Every year you and Astarion return to the place where he began his life anew and every year you indulge in your love for each other.

(Or: a short and saccharine tribute to graveyard sex)

CW/Tags: piv sex, oral sex, pregnant Tav, graveyard sex, elf ear play, tooth-rotting sweetness, post-game

Read on AO3

Or read below...

I love you.

The words spill from his lips and then echo from yours, again, again, again. A refrain neither of you ever tire of repeating.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

And though your spoken affections always fade into a symphony of sighs, you know every caress, every kiss, every moment of bliss is another declaration of your devotion to one another.

The love between you is sweetness. Safety. Care, compassion, companionship. Shared laughter and shared tears. An anchor in the wild waves of a stormy night.

And it is passion, pleasure, paradise. Sensual secrets. Hours spent intertwined. Fire and flames and a thirst you can never quite quench.

But, oh, how you try.

Astarion lays you down beneath a midnight sky—a canvas dotted with sparkling stars and lit by a bewitching moon—and yet as you gaze above all you see is the adoration in his eyes.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The night he told you meant the world to you—and still you know it meant so much more to him. It was also reclamation, renewal, rebirth. That his first act of his second life was to indulge in his love for you made your heart sing.

It is here, at his grave, where he laid his past to rest and it is here where the two of you return year after year to celebrate freedom, celebrate love, celebrate life.

You bask in the nostalgia of it all, your body aching to replay and to reenact all the ways you connected and bonded and merged. The tenderness of memories past and the radiant hopes of the future and the precious now all come together here. You have so much to be grateful for—the ring on your finger and the babe in your belly among the latest and greatest testaments to your love.

A soft laugh falls from your lips as his knee slides under yours, spreading you open. A familiar gesture forever part of this yearly ritual. He grins back at you and you beam at this sense of levity you share; the comfort, the ease, the fun that comes from a true understanding and unconditional acceptance of each other.

He peppers little kisses everywhere, and you giggle. His lips linger on the swell of your stomach, and you sigh. He licks a thick stripe along your slit, and you moan.

You claw at the earth below, not concerned in the least about the dirt under your nails nor the mess he will make of you, your mind blank but for the bliss his tongue brings. He knows you would surrender to his deepest desires—at any time, really, but especially on a night as meaningful as this—and yet he chooses to put your pleasure first. You suppose it is as he once told you.

You were the answer to his prayers and so he will dedicate himself to your worship.

Astarion works you expertly, tongue dipping between your folds and flicking against your clit, an expression of his stunning fluency in your body language. Heat coils within your core until it snaps, his name a shrill cry you can no longer suppress as pleasure pulses through you.

He cannot help but to make a little joke about you waking the dead and you give him a playful swat. And though your limbs are still shaking, you think it time to turn the tables, time to tease him and tempt him until he is throbbing to be one with you.

You start with his ear, tracing a single finger from soft lobe to pointed tip, smiling at the way it flushes beneath your touch. He whimpers, and nods, and those gorgeous eyes fall closed, and you know you have him. He lets you play with him as you like, guiding him to sit back against the tombstone and immerse himself in you. You give his ear a lick. A nibble. A kiss.

Your lips trail down his neck and across his chest, admiring his lithe frame and lean muscle, and you want him, and you need him, and you love him, oh, so impossibly much.

You settle between his legs, and you wait for that final nod that grants you this gift, this chance to give to him what he gives to you so fervently. And when he offers his assent, hungry eyes heavy-lidded with lust, you take him into your eager mouth.

You stroke and you suck, swishing your tongue to work the underside, seeking out those sweet sounds that signal his satisfaction. You revel in the way he loses himself in pleasure, head lolled back, jaw open, groaning, moaning, trusting in you.

To you he is a lover, a partner, a husband, a father to the little life growing inside you. He is everything. He deserves everything. And you will give him everything you have.

Though it comes as no surprise to you when he gives you a reluctant but gentle nudge, his need to bury himself within you stronger than his urge to spill down your throat—and so you roll onto your back as he clambers over you, his usual finesse lost in his feral desperation to fuck you.

He sinks into you. You wriggle and you writhe, making no more attempts to stifle your cries. In this moment the world is his and yours alone. Together you are whole. He plunges into you with animalistic abandon, as if his sole purpose is to stuff you full of seed, as if you aren’t already plump with his child.

I love you. Those three little words spoken from his lips are what makes you fall to pieces beneath him as he finds his release inside you. You tremble as you ride out every last second, savouring every sensation you share with the man you love more than anything.

You lie together, marvelling at how lucky you are to be by his side, to be part of his life as he learns to live again, to have built this life together, to have created a whole new life inside you, a miracle that makes you both smile.

And yet all you say is those same three little words.

I love you.

+++ Thank you for reading! A bit shorter than my usual work, but I wanted to get something out into the world as I continue to chip away on a few other wips!

My AO3 | My Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 #bg3 fic #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #my writing #my fics

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jacquitries · 4 months ago

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Through the Threads of Fate | H.P.

You've always kept your ability to read the future a secret, but when Harry Potter starts suspecting you're involved with the dark side, everything becomes dangerous. His growing mistrust of you only fuels the tension, and as your hidden talent remains shrouded in mystery, you find yourself caught between protecting your secret and surviving the storm brewing around you.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The dungeons were your sanctuary. Cloaked in Slytherin green and silver, you moved through Hogwarts like a shadow—silent, unseen, always just one step ahead. The weight of knowledge settled on your shoulders, a burden and a gift intertwined. You saw the threads of fate twist and pull, shaping lives without mercy. But you knew better than to interfere too boldly. No one could ever understand what you saw. Least of all Harry Potter.

From the moment your eyes met his, there was an unspoken war—a silent reckoning. His emerald gaze flickered with suspicion, always following you, never trusting, as though you were the embodiment of the mysteries he couldn’t untangle. And yet, your path seemed to cross his at every turn. Every twist of fate, every dark secret, always brought you into his orbit. A slow-burning tension hung in the air, a game of cat and mouse. You, the elusive enigma. He, the determined hero.

The castle had its secrets, and it whispered them to you. The ancient stones hummed with echoes of both the past and the future. You listened, weaving yourself into the delicate strands of time. You saw the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, felt the cold wind atop the Astronomy Tower, and watched the Black Lake shimmer with memories only you could comprehend. You didn’t want this power. It was a curse more than a gift, revealing fractured glimpses of what was to come, yet leaving you powerless to change it.

Every warning, every quiet intervention, every seemingly innocent suggestion was a part of a greater plan. But none of them could prepare you for the choices you’d soon have to make.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You’d always known about the Philosopher’s Stone, long before Harry stumbled across the truth. When the troll rampaged through the dungeons, you stood calm, your voice steady as you guided a pair of terrified first-years to safety. When the whispers of Nicholas Flamel reached you, you carefully placed books open on the library tables, knowing Hermione would find them. And when the final confrontation loomed, you were far away, ensuring the corridors were clear for Harry, unknowingly steering him toward his destiny.

But it was the Chamber of Secrets that truly tested you. The mystery unfolded around you in subtle pieces, fear creeping through the walls like an invisible fog. You never spoke of what you’d heard or seen, not even when Mrs. Norris lay petrified in the hall. The whispers came to you, but you stayed silent, only nudging others in the right direction. When Ginny was taken, you held your breath, knowing Harry would be the one to find her. But as the events unraveled, Harry began to grow suspicious. He had seen you talking to Ginny not long before she disappeared, and his mind began to connect the dots. Though you kept your role hidden, a part of you braced for the moment he would confront you. You had done your part, quietly ensuring the balance tipped in the right direction, but now you would have to face the consequences of your actions—especially when Harry, driven by his suspicions, began watching you more closely.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Harry couldn’t escape you, no matter how hard he tried. You appeared everywhere—always just beyond his reach. In the library, your eyes lost in ancient tomes. In the corridors, slipping away just as chaos erupted. By the Great Hall, your gaze lingering on the enchanted ceiling, as if you could see beyond the stars themselves.

It infuriated him.

"She knows something," Harry muttered one evening, pacing in the Gryffindor common room, frustration evident in his voice. "She’s always there, slipping away before I can ask anything. There’s more to her, I’m sure of it."

"Maybe she’s just… clever?" Ron offered, though even he wasn’t convinced.

Harry’s gaze darkened. "No. There’s something else, something she’s hiding."

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Your path and Harry’s truly collided during the Triwizard Tournament. You had seen it all—the chaos, the danger, the unexpected twists. You watched from the shadows as Harry’s name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire, his shock palpable in the air. You remained distant, a constant, enigmatic presence, your calm unshaken as he faced the dragons, the maze, and the deadly trials.

It was the dragons that first set everything in motion. You whispered to Neville about gillyweed—just a casual remark, but one that changed everything. And when Cedric Diggory died, when the tournament turned from a test of courage into a nightmare, your heart twisted. You had seen it all—had tried in your own way to adjust the timeline, to alter fate just enough to give Harry a fighting chance. But the outcome was inevitable. Fate, in its cruel simplicity, would not be swayed.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The darkness deepened in your seventh year, and the weight of fate pressed against your chest like a looming storm. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, you were already there, a silent force, woven into the very fabric of danger. Your presence was like a shadow, unseen but ever-present, watching as the threads of destiny pulled tight around your friends.

Bellatrix’s shrill voice pierced the air, a maddened cackle as she tortured Hermione, her wand poised like a dagger aimed at the heart of your very soul. You stood in the shadows, every muscle tense, your heart a drumbeat in your chest, yet your face was a mask of icy indifference. The visions you had seen, the threads of fate you had tried to piece together, were unfolding in front of you—but this moment, this confrontation, had always been unclear, a haze of pain and suffering that left you uncertain of where to stand.

And then, when the Snatchers dragged Harry before the Malfoys, your eyes met his—briefly, almost imperceptibly. The shock that flooded his expression was unmistakable, his disbelief evident as he saw you standing there, a ghost in the midst of the chaos. But you gave nothing away. Your gaze was sharp, unreadable, a carefully constructed wall that no one could breach. Not even him. You had to keep the illusion intact, no matter how much it tore at you to see him like this.

As the room erupted into chaos, time seemed to stretch, every moment suffocating with tension. You moved like a phantom, a blur in the dark, slipping through the chaos with the precision of someone who had already seen it all. Each step was deliberate, calculated, as if the very air around you bent to your will. Your wand flicked silently, and a whispered incantation loosened the bonds on Harry’s wrists, the ropes falling away like brittle threads. Without hesitation, you sent another silent spell, deflecting a curse meant for Ron, your magic swift and lethal.

You lingered just long enough to ensure their escape, your pulse thundering in your ears as the last of the danger dissolved into the air. The room seemed to hold its breath as you turned on your heel, vanishing into the shadows like smoke. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione dared to glance back, you were already gone—nothing more than a fleeting whisper in the night.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The final battle came, and with it, the revelation that had been a long time in the making. The skies were suffocating with smoke, the ground shaking as the forces of darkness and the defenders of Hogwarts clashed with a fury that could not be contained. Through it all, you moved like a shadow—graceful, lethal, and precise. The chaos around you was a dance you knew well, every step and strike calculated with a cool precision that only someone who had seen this moment unfold could master.

Harry caught glimpses of you throughout the battle. At first, it was just a fleeting shadow, a figure who seemed too composed for the madness swirling around him. But then, his eyes started to linger longer. The way you moved, the way your magic flowed, it all clicked for him. You weren’t just another face in the fight. You knew this battle—the exact moments when to strike, when to fall back, how to make every move count. His suspicions grew, the pieces falling into place, but a part of him refused to fully accept it. Could he trust you? Could he even trust himself?

Then, it happened. In the thick of the battle, when the world was reduced to chaos, a Death Eater lunged at Harry. He barely had time to react, his own wand raised, but before he could defend himself, you were there. A flash of movement, a wordless spell, and the Death Eater was thrown back, crashing to the ground with a force that rattled the air itself. Harry froze, watching as you didn’t just save him—you fought with a fury and skill that was terrifying in its intensity. The shock flooded him. This was no longer just the girl he'd suspected; this was something else. You weren’t just playing a part in this war. You were at its heart, shaping its outcome.

He barely had time to process. The fight raged on, louder, fiercer, but through it all, his mind kept returning to you. Every spell you cast, every life you saved, seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t ignore. He tried to focus on the battle, to finish what he had started, but it was too late. The doubt had already taken root. What did this mean? What had he gotten wrong?

When Voldemort finally fell, the world seemed to inhale a collective breath, but the Great Hall was left in ruins. The echoes of battle lingered in the air like an aftershock. Harry stumbled through the debris, searching for something, someone—when his eyes found you.

There you stood, amidst the wreckage, the first light of dawn breaking through the shattered windows to cast a pale glow on your face. You were silent, watching the aftermath with an expression that betrayed no joy, no satisfaction. Only the heavy weight of everything that had passed. There was no triumph in your gaze, just a deep, quiet burden that only someone who had seen the future—and fought to change it—could understand.

Harry approached cautiously, the tension of the battle still thick in his voice. “You were never against us,” he said, more to himself than to you, the words spilling from him like the release of a long-held breath. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement—a truth he had been blind to for far too long.

But you didn’t offer him the comfort of an easy answer. You simply met his gaze, your eyes cold but not cruel, a subtle edge of something deeper, something far more complex. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Harry flinched, the sharp sting of guilt cutting through him. The weight of all his mistakes pressed down on him, heavier than anything the battle had left behind. He had accused you, doubted you, turned his back on someone who had been fighting for the same cause all along.

“I… I’m sorry,” Harry said, the words thick with emotion, every ounce of regret spilling out. “For everything. For doubting you.”

You didn’t move, your gaze unwavering. You studied him for a long moment, the years of suspicion, of distance, crashing together into the silence between you. “Apologies won’t change the past, Potter,” you said quietly, the words biting with the weight of everything that had been left unspoken. “But they’re a start.”

The air was charged with the unspoken tension of everything unsaid. Harry stepped forward, searching your eyes as though he could finally understand the woman behind the mask. “You saved so many lives. All this time, I thought you were working against us.” His voice cracked, regret lacing every syllable. “I was wrong.”

You didn’t answer with words. There was no need to. His regret was all over his face, written in the lines of guilt that creased his brow. You had always known he’d get there eventually, but it didn’t make the journey any easier. You didn’t expect forgiveness. You never had.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a fleeting thing, barely there. “And now?”

Harry’s voice softened, raw with sincerity. “Now I see how wrong I was.” He took another step, his presence steady, unwavering. “You… you’re incredible.”

For a moment, your eyes softened—just a fraction. You tilted your head, acknowledging the truth of his words, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of an easy answer. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“It’s not flattery,” Harry insisted, his voice steady but full of something deeper. “It’s the truth.”

A silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy with everything that had been left unsaid. But for the first time, you truly saw him—not as the reckless boy who had thrown himself into danger at every turn, but as the man who had borne the weight of a war, who had fought through the impossible, even when it meant facing his own demons.

“Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought,” you said softly, your voice carrying a weight neither of you had expected.

Harry smiled—a faint, almost apologetic curve of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

But the battle hadn’t ended yet. You both knew that. There was more to be done, more healing to be had. Harry still had much to learn, much to undo. In the days that followed, as the Wizarding World began its slow process of rebuilding, Harry came to you, again and again, seeking your trust. He wanted to know you—not just the seer who had saved him, but the person you had kept hidden for so long. Slowly, carefully, you allowed him in, but it was never easy. You had learned to guard your heart—especially from someone who had been so quick to judge.

One evening, after an unspoken stretch of silence, you both stood at the edge of the Black Lake. The moonlight glinted off the water, casting the world in a soft, otherworldly glow. Harry turned to you, determination clear in his expression. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of all the doubts, the accusations, the distance that had passed between you. “For all the times I doubted you, for everything I got wrong.”

You turned to him, the cool night air brushing your face. You didn’t respond right away. The past wasn’t something you could simply forget, but as you looked at him, something in your chest shifted—something neither of you had anticipated.

With a faint nod, you said, “You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Harry smiled, the sincerity in his eyes breaking through the years of tension and regret. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time, you believed him. You believed in the possibility of trust, of something more.

And with that, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could trust him, too.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Years later, your name would be etched into the halls of history as one of the greatest seers the Wizarding World had ever known. You became a legend, revered for your foresight and for shaping the very course of events, all while remaining a mystery to those around you. By your side, always, was Harry Potter—your equal, your ally, the man who had finally understood you.

One quiet evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, Harry asked with a teasing smirk, “Still think I’m hopeless?”

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, your eyes soft with the weight of all that had passed between you. “Always.”

But deep in your heart, you knew—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x you

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