#i have been at a writing retreat for work all day and it has been WONDERFUL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 3 months

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I love your work so much and it makes me feel a certain way <33 BUTT im here to request something that I've been looking for 🤞🏽

Toji x Fan-Fiction-Writer ! Reader? I'll get on my knees if required 🫶🏽

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐜(𝐤)𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧!! | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You know, some things are just not meant to be shared, such as fanfiction writing. And how the hell did your boyfriend, of all people, come to be the one to question you about your hobbies? You tell me, you dirty little writer…

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem fanfic writer! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - the reader is mid/late 20s; Toji's in his mid-30s - humor - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (licking, sucking and swiping) - deep impact position - degradation (slut, whore) - use of "Daddy" title - praise + humiliation - spitting - cervix fucking - little bit of rough sex - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy; don't be silly) - pet names (baby, cupcake, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweetie) - aftercare; taking a bath together - usage of a phone; erotic literature/writing - Toji teasing you to no end, the bastard, lol - reader wears glasses cuz why not, hehe - mention of drool/spit.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k (bless up)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: bro. this idea cooked so bad, i just HAD to make a fic for it, lmao!! apologies for doing this months late, hope I did the prompt justice, and ty for loving my works~☆

“Nooo, stop, Toji, give it back!”

“Hold on, baby, hold on…Phew, who knew ya liked wrtin’ dirty shit like this? The fuck is ‘pet play—’”

“Oh my God, stop it!”

This had to be, undoubtedly, the worst day of your life.

If there’s one thing every human being on Earth has in common, it’s their love for the weekends. They’re amazing — have two whole days to retreat and relinquish the turmoil and stress after five days straight. They’re the days when you can choose whichever activity you want to enjoy your leisure.

Some people catch up on sleep, others watch a show or try to cook up a new dish, and some go outside and hang out with friends. But then there are those weekdays where it’s satisfying enough to spend your day inside the comfort of your home, delighting in a hobby.

The hobby you chose to indulge in this weekend was writing. And right at this moment, you regret it being the activity you selected.

Why? For one, it wasn’t just any type of writing, like journalling or poetry. No, no; if it were, things would be easier for you to deal with now. Nope, it was fan fiction writing. The type of writing you’ve known since middle school and decided to jump in and try for about a year. What started as a curiosity turned out to be a hobby that took up your infatuation to the maximum level: writing pieces every night, taking up requests from your following over six thousand followers, and serving as an outlet to project your fantasies onto the Internet.

What type of fantasies, you might ask? The type you read in a room by yourself or in the corner away from prying eyes, under a blanket with your phone exhibiting the dark secrets that corrupt your mind, or the type that only could be accepted on the Internet and not from the judgmental looks of those in the real world.

But, most certainly, not the type of fantasies you wanted your boyfriend to see!

“Toji, please, give my computer back!”

“Nah, hold on; I wanna see this…Oh, what a title; ‘Fuck Me, Rail Me, Use Me, Daddy—‘“

“TOJI, STOP!”

Perhaps writing fan fiction with your boyfriend occupying your apartment wasn’t the best idea. But you wanted to get a draft don’t by the end of this weekend, and you were almost done with it. You were typing up a storm in your bedroom, sitting at your desk while your man, Toji Fushiguro, was doing at-home exercises in your living room.

And you could’ve sworn you had locked your computer before going to the bathroom. All you know is that after flushing and washing your hands, you opened your bedroom door to a horrifying sight: Toji, sweaty from his routine in his sweats and wife beater, holding up your laptop that showed the exact draft that you were working on! No, no, NO! You almost tripped dashing to take the device, but the older man was too quick and effortlessly dodged your attempts while still reading the material. And now you know why you are hopping around your room trying to catch the man and stop him from reading more of your stuff.

Spoiler alert: your efforts were beyond futile, huffing and puffing in complete defeat on your bed. Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, still reading aloud while scrolling through your drafts, to your dismay. Your ears and cheeks harbored an unbearable heat that you could cry at any second, and you covered your face in case it were to happen. God, please kill me now!

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, how many of these shits have you written?” Toji inquires, his forest green eyes scanning every draft as if the list were endless. “How long have you been doin’ this?”

“For…a while.” You can barely muster the confidence to utter an adequate response. How could I have forgotten to lock my damn computer?!

“How long’s a while?”

“Uhhh, a…a year?”

The silence was pinching your skin enough, but you don’t know if you preferred it over the next thing he said. “Wow, who would’ve thought my sweet angel was a dirty lil’ thing writing filth like this?” Oh, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. You can practically sense the smirk on his stupid, handsome face, pulling the scar off his lip! And it hurts your being that he laughs at you grabbing a pillow to scream into oblivion. “What a horny minx.”

You removed the pillow to tell him off. “It’s not all my fault! Most of those aren’t even my ideas; some of my followers asked me to write—“

“Followers?” God, would it have killed you to shut up? “So you got people readin’ your stuff?”

Downcast eyes to avoid his surveying ones, “W–Well, yes…People like how I write, so I…..Write whatever they ask me.”

“Oh, wow,” raven eyebrows lift while looking at the screen, flipping through the notes of your drafts to your blog with your completed works. “So over a hundred freaks like how freaky you write.”

“Hey, d–don’t say it like that!”

“Oh really?” You didn’t like how he said that, nor when he pulled up one of your drafts to read. “… ’You spread your legs on instinct as she sucks on your chest, and the woman takes the initiative by sliding a hand down to your—‘“

“Stop, stop, STOP!” You sit upright and try again to take the computer away from him, but Toji swiftly moves to the bedroom floor. Fuck! It was hopeless, so you groan in exasperation. “Quit it, Toji; you had your fun, so give it back!”

He didn’t think so; finding something new about you made him curious to no bounds. And for it to be a bit of a suggestive side of you? Oh, how ashamed you were of him finding this out tickled him. “Damn, there’s so much on here…Have you ever written ‘bout shit we’ve done?”

You couldn’t believe he asked you that question — you couldn’t believe you were in this situation at all! Are you serious ”—ly asking me that?!?”

“I’m not hearin’ a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Now, this is just diving into a more profound level of embarrassment than you could handle. “Did’ya?”

“……………yes.”

“Wait, fr’ real?! Which ones?”

“I’m not telling you! Just give me my laptop—“

“Hell nah,” his elbow is strong enough to keep you at bay—how pathetic on your part being treated like a kid. “I’m curious to see what my lil’ sweetheart is tellin’ strangers ‘bout how we do our business—“

“I’m not telling them anything!!” You retort. “I-I just use our experience as a means of…references when I’m writing,” thumbs find themselves fidgeting together. “It…It helps when I don’t know how to describe a feeling, or….what it’s like during certain…..positions.” Was the room getting stuffy, or were you shrinking under the growing pressure of every word coming out of your mouth? Who knows.

“Is there stuff y’ve written before that you’d like fr’ us to try?” Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was too much, bringing your –his– hoodie up to shield you from this predicament. And it only worsens when he stares your way, having you close up the hoodie by the drawstrings and collapse to his shoulder. Toji chuckles at your routing self, wrapping an arm around you. “Can’t even be honest fr’ a second.”

“Toji, pleaseeee,” whining doesn’t help, the older man moving the laptop out of your lazy attempt to retrieve it. “Give it baaack…!”

“Nnm, nnm, don’t wanna,” he places the device away to the ground and takes your hand with his. “Now I gotta read what weird shit you’ve been keepin’ ‘way from me.”

You shake your head frantically. “Please don’t! Don’t you think you’ve tormented me enough today?”

“Now, why would I ever get tired of fucking with ya?” The smirk on his face is still present after you open the hoodie to sneak a glare. “Shoulda thought ‘bout that and locked y’r laptop screen.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole…” his laugh at your words only proves your point, and you bury your face in his chest. This entire thing was so outrageous. How in the world were you this dumb enough not to double-check to make sure your computer was locked from prying eyes? What an amateurish move! Not even your closest friends know that you write fanfiction, so to have your boyfriend be the one to not only find out but bombard you with questions about your secret hobby is nothing short of humiliating. It can’t get any worse than this…

…Or so you thought.

“Hey,” you perk up to look at Toji. “You said ya got followers askin’ ya what they want you to write, right?” You nod meekly, twirling your thumbs with the bottom of your shirt. “Show me some.”

Appalled, you gawk, “Wh–why would I—”

“I know you have favorites from the hundreds I’ve been looking at for the past five minutes. So, are ya gonna show ‘em to me, or am I gonna have to read every single one to find out?”He didn’t show interest in returning the laptop to you even after asking the question. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, baby; I bet ya can look it up on y’r phone or somethin’.”

Your pout deepens in defeat as you begrudgingly stuff a hand inside the pocket of your leggings to pull out your phone to click on an app. Your thumb clicks and scrolls for a few seconds before you peer to him and say, “…I do have some favorites.”

Jesus, it hurt to admit that to someone, especially with your him of all people, who is without a doubt getting an absolute kick out of this, the fucking bastard! This was beyond embarrassing; nothing could ever top this moment. Indeed, there is nothing else he could have done that could have made this predicament any worse than it already is. At least that’s what you tell yourself to cope because Toji’s grin on his face says otherwise. And what he says afterward makes your blood shift to ice.

“Why don’t ya read ‘em to me.”

Yup, you were killing yourself tonight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Go on; read that short one fr’ me.”

“Ahh—…Hahhh, ‘Sitting here and thinking…about your faves…Mmmm.”

For some reason, this felt so. Fucking. Wrong!

You already knew it was a bad idea for you to read your works to your boyfriend at his request. However, to be fulfilling said wish in this manner? The mortification had your ears ringing a thousandfold.

How would you have foreseen this yourself, face stuffed to the pillow with your phone held up by your right hand with your legs spread up and your bottom propped up? Who the hell reads like this?! And on top of that, your boyfriend is alongside you, his body behind you. The inability to see what he’s doing arises uneasiness in the soul, quivers sneaking up as you feel the rough pads of his fingertips greet the skin of your ass after sneaking inside the oversized hoodie.

Breath hitches at the slide of your panties, coming down for his hands to grope the flesh wholly. “To..ji…” his name leaves in shakes.

“C’mon, baby,” you swallow thickly at the cupping of your chasm. Toji chuckles at the twitch felt on his palm, “Read it properly, yeah? Word for word.”

Oh, fuck, your brows trench together. “T…’Thinking about your faves pleasing you from behind. He knows he has to tease you a bit—Tmmm,” his lightly hits your butt. “‘B-By massaging your ass with his strong hands,” he does so, kneading your ass skillfully that has you involuntarily purring to his touch. “…’Keeping you still and relaxed so he can later feel you with his fingers and—“ his forefinger and middle slowly come from your clit to the entrance, biting your lips. “Nhhmm, hahhh.”

“Go on,” Toji scolds, the middle digit sliding up and down with a faint push. Your back quakes to the touch, fingers gripping the pillow. “What else is y’r fav doing?”

You inhale. “Mmmm…’and circle one of them around to warm you up—‘“ spit gulped down again when Toji’s digit did the exact thing as told. “‘And then, when he knows you’re ready for him, he sneaks them insi—‘ Aaaiiii!” His middle finger is shoved into your vagina, and your toes instantly curl before he pushes the rest ever so slowly. “Oh! Ohhh, fuck…’He…then comes to your shoulder and says to your ear to make you tingle…”

“…’Stay still, sweetie,’” woah. You were not expecting that; you were too focused on trying to read your words, and Toji bending to your ear to read his part wasn’t noticed at all. You only hope he didn’t catch the clasp of your vaginal walls around his finger (he most definitely did), hoping the soft chortle meant nothing. “‘Gonna let me make y’ feel good, yeah?’” Jesus Christ, his gruff voice relayed this so intimately to your eardrums that your heart was beating too hard.

Toji’s finger goes faster, nearly having you almost drop your phone. Your face smooshes to the pillow from the scrape of his fingertip, biting on the pillowcase as he puts in the other finger. He whispers to your ear to keep going; unbelievable…So you lift your head and try. “J-J…’Just thinking about how easy he could make you cum—Mmmph! Wi-With his fingersss…scratching and rubbing your insides so precisely until you’re practically begging to mess his hand up’…”

“Oh, fr’ real?” The perk of his tone makes you anxious. “Well, don’ mind if I do.”

The pace of his ring and middle finger increase, and you gasp sharply. The onslaught of rubs to your inner channel is enough to have your lower half writhe despite Toji keeping your legs grounded with his single one. Oh, fucking Christ, your glasses up to your smooshed cheeks the more you try to conceal your cries, proven to be trivial as the seconds go by.

“Aww, whaddaya think y’re doin’?” He coos with a kiss to your nape; you nearly shut down. His free hand takes your phone, “Tryin’ to hide that cute voice of y’rs from me? Fuck that,” he then removes his digits from your chasm as you yelp and makes you flip to your back. Oh, fuck no! Your hands go to cover your face—nope, Toji is quick to move them away. “Lemme see you, mama…Now, let’s see what else you should read fr’ me.” He swipes your phone screen, “This too wordy, this long as fuck—goddamn, baby; you writin’ whole ass novels or somethin’?”

“Shut up,” you reply as your legs move, and Toji’s left hand removes your undies.

“Ah, this one!” He hands you back your cellular device. Your eyes catch the first sentence, and your face morphs into dread before staring back at him to meet his grin. “Go ‘head,” he says cooly, spreading your legs by the knees.

“…’Picture this: your favorite coming to your room and seeing you on your bed and striding to you to taste you,” you inhale deeply at the blow of air on your wet southern folds. “‘He crawls up to you while you’re busy scrolling on the phone, busying himself with placing kisses to your stomach and down to your undies. He’ll then take them off and spread your legs for him, greeting your privates with his ton’—Ghhh…!” Toji licks your slit leisurely; you gulp at the muscle perching between the lips of your labia. “Hahhh, shit…’The smell and taste of you are so inviting he can barely keep it together, virtually inching to stuff his face with your pussy. He kisses it, lips petting your clit,’” he does so, and you chew your bottom lip. “‘Then his tongue goes excruciatingly slow to e-explore your folds,” your exhale is shaky as Toji’s tongue laps and swirls; fuck, I can’t do this…

The older man, on the other hand, flips a switch and goes to town. You knew this was a bad idea; if there’s one thing Toji loved doing more than fucking your cunt, it’s eating it out. He pushes your legs up by the knees for easier access, the angle perfect for him to propel his mouth onto your entrance. You shriek, his nose frequently grinding the hood of your cunt as his scarred lips and tongue suck and lick you feverishly.

“—Tahhh! Ohhhshit, no…!” You cry, throwing your head back to the pillow. “Ahhnn, Tojiii, stop…not too fast—Oooh!”

He spits, mixing his saliva with your slick as he laves. “Mmmph, shit, taste ’o good,” Toji pushes his face further as he sucks on your clit, and you nearly choke on your sob. “Yeah, yeah, let ‘em out; scream like a real whore.” You jerk, but his hands firmly keep you down. “Keep goin’, cupcake, finish y’r reading.”

“Khhh, God, I can’t,” you gulp when emerald eyes peer toward you. “…’Before long, he’s too overwhelmed by you that he can’t take it anymore, stuffing his face between your legs and having you cry out his name in prayers—your phone is no longer a priority.’” Jesus, you can hear his grunts along with the lascivious sounds coming from below; he’s so fucking turned on. “‘Now he has your attention, playing with your…pussy like a toy just to hear you squeak.”

“Fuck yeah,” he groans as he sticks his fore and middle digits into you. Fingers go to and fro frantically, and your free hand grabs his raven hair. “Christ, y’ sound so fuckin’ hot. More, gimme more,” a long and harsh kiss to your clit makes you want to arch so bad. “Good girl, good fuckin’ girl…”

You hiss at the graze of your vagina; keeping your eyes open is hard to do. Lips go agape, and your noises fly out with no restraint. Your legs tremble, impending in a wish to close from the curl of Toji’s fingers. Your senses become too keen, your nerves heightening with every massage of your walls, lick and slurp of your slick and clit.

“Ohooo, nhhmm, fuck, Tojiiii,” another suck to your clit has you grip the sheets. “Stooop, please; I’m gonna cumm…!”

However, your boyfriend has another idea in his head. “Oh no, you don’t, princess,” his fingers leave you hurriedly with a squeal. He yanks for your phone once more to find yet another piece of yours for you to read, giving you so little time to recuperate. Until he scoffs with a smirk, “Ohh, read this one aloud next.”

You take the device returned to you cautiously, scanning the first few words that catch your eye. Curiosity snaps to apprehension, “W-wait, no, please!” Begging won’t work, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “Please, Toji, look for some—“

“Aht, aht,” the click of the tongue shuts you. “C’mon, sweetheart, that ain’t what y’re callin’ y’r fav right now.” He squeezes your thigh, “What’s my name?”

“Toji, pleas—“

“Mm, mm,” he pinches you, a warning. “Try again.”

Excitement Nervousness flicker through your soul, breathing tardily as you muster to answer. “Sorry…Daddy.” The title burnt your tongue when it left your mouth, and the smile lifted Toji’s scar even more.

“Good,” he praises. “Now read.”

“…One of my followers asked about writing a post about deep impact, so it’s—“

“Deep impact?” He questions while spreading your legs. “The hell’s that?”

“I-It’s a, uhh,” you push up your glasses. “A position where you…kinda, like, sit on one of my legs and lift the other to your shoulder.”

Black eyebrows rise. “Ohhh, somethin’ like this, huh?” Sturdy hands find your ankle and lift your leg to his shoulder, and Toji then moves to have your other leg in between his. Your lips flatten when the groin of his pants—aka, the pitched tent–touches your hole. He whistles, “Oh, now I got a new favorite to add fr’ later.” His words aren’t meant to jest, so you frown as he snickers. “Alright, what did you write for this?”

You lick your lips; why? Toji uses his free hand to bring his sweats down, not surprised by the lack of underwear as his erection springs out. His cock is standing and ready for you, the precum oozing out alluring your eyes and your lip bitten by excited teeth. Of course, your vagina is clenching to a void—anticipation is a hell of a drug affecting your entire figure.

“Don’t get too distracted, mama,” he caught you eyeing him, lifting the hem of his wife’s beater to bite down on. Your ears and cheeks scorched at the sight of his abs and torso. “Read those words.”

Your gaze flickers to your phone while Toji lines his dick to your entrance, a gulp at the kiss of his glans and your inner labia. “…’Daddy has you propped in a deep impact, a position catered to mutual pleasure and closeness. He taps you with the tip to have you excited, then slowly pushes himself into your—Mmfff!…y-your warmth,” reminding yourself to maintain a steady breath; Toji pushes his cockhead into your slick as you’re distracted. A few seconds fly by, and he slips right in; a gasp exiting your puffy lips indicates so. “‘H–He gently shoves every inch and stretches you out,’” his girth is lethal, your eyes rolling up the further his tip goes, scrapping your texture and your opening suiting for his length. “‘A-And, it feels so good to have him making you full and good’—Hoohh?!?”

That’s it, that’s what you were anxious about—you felt the jab of his tip on your cervix. You freeze instantly, too shocked to breathe as the hit was spontaneous. Your body locks down for a quick second to process what happened.

Toji notices your tightened grip and hisses, “Fffuuckin, shit…! So tight,” his hips go sluggish, and you feel his veins and shaft brush nicely with your insides. You sneak a glance at his flashed abdomen; the flex of his abs as he pushes his pelvis in waves is a sight to see–enough to put you in a trance.

You continue. “‘His hip work is pleasuring, having you wail and cry out f-for more…the sensation of Daddy’s dick venturing inside and hitting your sweet spots is enough to make your toes curl—Nhhaaa…”

He can sense you gripping on him more; fuck, it feels so good. His thrusts go a little faster, forming a minimal medium. You exhale through your nostrils at the change of pace, and grazes against your walls become periodic and long-lasting the deeper he goes.

“Daaah, ahhh, f-fuuck,” you whimper aloud. “Tojiii, y’ feel so g—Nnnmm!?!“ You nearly swallow your tongue from the sudden pound of him, the rub of your G-spot too abrupt to predict.

“Who?” God, you know he’s getting a good kick out of this, the fucker. He pushes his cock to the hilt, and it takes everything in your power not to babble from the overwhelming intensity.

“Daddy, daddyyy, don’t…!” Correcting yourself as his fingers dance around your unattended clit. “I’m sorry, you just feel so good..”

That’s more like it. “Good girl,” he bends closer, his knees spreading further apart. He pushes the leg on his shoulder so that the angle is plausible for him to rut harder. You shriek and squirm to his enjoyment, “Keep readin’.”

“‘Y-…You’re cries become more shameful the harder and faster he goes,” Toji stimulates for a harsher pound; another hit to your cervix has you winded. Despite your gasping for air, he doesn’t relent, and you jerk to undulate to another poke. “Sh-shiiit, Jesusss…! ‘He pistons so hard, so deep, it’s difficult even to think straight when all you can think is—‘“ a choked sob from a slow pull before a devious snap of the hips. “A-All you c–an think…Ahahh!” Another nudge to your G-spot; this is so hellish!

The culprit scoffs softly. “Think ‘bout what, baby?” He swipes and pinches your clit to have you jolt and whine. “Tell Daddy the rest.”

Fuck, I can’t take it anymore! The phone slips your hand, barely missing your head. “Daddyyy, I can’t!”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Another pinch to the bud pairs with a poke to your delicate womb. Oh, he’s such a dick! “Don’t wanna read fr’ me?” He chuckles aloud at you shaking your head ‘no’. “Why’s that?”

“C-Cuz, if you keep going, I’ll,” a head thrown back at another nip on your clitoris. “Ahh, I-I’ll…!” Shit, you can feel it, the climb rocking your bones to entail your soon climax.

“What? Ya wanna cum on Daddy’s dick instead of readin’ like a sweetheart,” don’t believe the words; his faux disappointment doesn’t match the merciless thrusts and the devilish grin. “Wanna act like a whole slut and cum on me?”

“Yesss, yes, pleasee!!” You don’t care anymore; you want to let it out. “Please, Daddyyy, I wanna cummm!!”

“Heh, what a nasty girl you are—Nnnmm! Fuck, just milkin’ me dry, beggin’ fr’ it, huh?” The same fingers he used to play with your clit come to your lips to shove inside, forcing you to taste yourself. “Go ‘head, mama; let y’rself go, be the slut you really are…Hahhh, shit, c’mere,” he grabs for both your wrists with his free hand after taking off your glasses and propels you towards him at the same time as he pounds. Holy fuck, this position was getting rougher, pulling you in and hitting your cervix with accurate hits that you’re whining and twitching. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck! It’s too much, it’s all too much to bear, so it’s no wonder you climax in seconds.

You cry with the breach of your crescendo, your inner muscles contracting around the cock, hitting your womb. Your nerves are now peaked as the air is sensitive to your skin, and you feel so out of breath, everything happening all at once that you can’t keep up as you thank Toji in babbled prayers, still sucking on his fingers as your vagina flutters and coats him of your essence.

“Good job, cupcake,” he comes closer and removes his digits. “Can’t beat the real thing, right?” He cups and massages your cheeks before spitting into your mouth.

You don’t even flinch, too fucked out to even care, just moaning to his lips as he brings you in for a passionate kiss as his hips keep going until he’s done and satisfied…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Ughhh, I can’t believe I just did that…”

“Pfft quit whinin’. Don’t act like ya didn’t enjoy it.”

“I hate you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Whatever y’ say, Ms. Novelist.” You grumble at the name before he brings the washcloth to wipe down your neck.

You and Toji were now in the bathroom, your nude bodies squished together, with the warm water cleansing you both. Hair and skin damp, your back meshed to his front as you sit between his legs. The soft yellow lighting basks the bathroom with a warm glow as you two bathe in relaxation, a needed state after the excitement prior.

You snatch the washcloth before Toji wipes your face clean off. “Why did you have to be so nosy, looking at my laptop for what?” You wipe his arm that rests on the rim of the tub.

He rolls his eyes, knowing he’s in for a lecture. “Well, if ya didn’t want me to see, shoulda locked the shit.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re nosy as hell! Could’ve just looked somewhere else or left the room!”

“Hmph, well, when you see the words ‘Down and Dirty’ all bolded and big and see another tab with a pic of a rimjob, who wouldn’t stop—“

“Okay, okay!” It would be best if you threw the cloth at him for chortling; such an indecorous personality for someone supposedly older than you. “You’re insufferable.”

“Right back at you,” he whispers to your ear and kisses your cheek. You sigh softly from his lips, resting your head on his shoulder while he pecks your chin. The hand in the water finds your thigh to grope and massage, and you moan at the touch and unwind.

Tranquility fills the cozy space between you two as the silence settles in, the humid air comforting to your nose and eyes, and the drip of the faucet plucking into the tub water is a soothing sound to cajole you into a dormant plane.

However, even when relaxing, it doesn’t stop the bothersome feeling of asking Toji something. And where better than with you in his secure embrace? “Toji,” his name has him open an eye to look your way. “You don’t think I’m…weird, don’t you?”

He raises a brow. “Explain.”

“Like, don’t you find it weird that me, your partner, indulges in hobbies that are…you know, like that,” now your eyes trail away from his gaze. “Writing about fictional fantasies and such, looking up erotic material and stuff…”

A few seconds fly as he scoffs. “Baby, I’ve been lookin’ at porn way before I met you—“

“Th–That’s not what I meant??”

“Besides, it’s nothing more than just writin’ shit that doesn’t exist. Hmm, if anything, now I know y’re just as big of a pervert as I am.”

Anxiousness transitions to peeve. “You are so—“

“Do you like what you do?”

The question takes you aback; the immediate serious tone switch wasn’t expected. “…I..yeah.”

“Are ya hurtin’ anyone?”

“No…at least I don’t want to.”

“Are ya hurtin’ y’reself?” You see what he’s doing, the glint shining from his viridian orb.

“No. I…like this hobby.”

Finally, a small smile contorts that scar of his. “Then I don’t mind it. It’s what ya like to do, so do whatever, sweetie.” He comes to kiss your nose and rest his forehead with yours. “I like ya bein’ a lil’ weird anyway.”

“Jackass…” And there you go, falling in love with him again. You cup his cheek, kiss the other, and repose onto his shoulder with a blissful sigh.

“Now,” you blink back to him. “Can’t lie, think you gotta start callin’ me ‘Daddy’ from now on,” like a scratched record, your heart stops, especially with his mischievous smirk. “Where can I read the rest of y’r stuff at?”

“That’s it,” you ignore his annoying bark of laughter as you try to squirm out of his hold. “Let me out of here, get me out of this fucking tub.”

“Haha, hey, quit it; y’re spillin’ the water!”

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sinsofsummers · 1 month

Text

cupcake

1.9k | teacher!logan x fem!student!reader

(gif not mine!!)

summary: logan eats you for lunch. warnings: porn! teacher!logan and student!reader, so a bit of a taboo age gap, but an established situationship. oral (f receiving), desperate logan—like he is A LEWSER, p in v, creampie because he doesn’t last long (because he’s a whore), logan is a slut for ur releases mixed together, sub!logan tbh, let me know if i miss any! note: wow. sorry. this was also supposed to be a night of writing a longer fic. but i think this is my brand! short and sweet and salacious little things! enjoy, my loves! also i'm tagging @cavillscurls , @bren-lee-bear0404 , @ieatgoldfishy and @hughverine for this one cause...it just seemed like u guys were extra eager for it hehehe!

You can sense him behind you as you make your way down the corridor, heading for your room. You’ve just gotten out of an exam, and as the relaxation-lover you are, you’re thinking of one thing and one thing only—your bed, and curling up in it.

But just like Logan can sense you at all times, you’re no stranger to the feeling of being under his watchful gaze. It’s a heady feeling, and even though you can’t see him, you know that if you turn around he’ll be just a few paces behind you.

And maybe you shouldn’t have gotten under your history teacher in an attempt to get over him, but by now it’s far too late. Logan has all but ruined everyone for you, anyway, a fact that you’re sure he would put on a billboard if you’d let him.

You put your head down and pretend to ignore the sound of his footsteps getting faster.

You smirk. Thankfully the hallway is empty, or you’d have to answer for why your history teacher is chasing you down.

He’s not exactly discreet; or at least, not when you’re in the same room as him. Whether it’s his intense brown eyes staring you down like a challenge, or his hands somehow finding their way to your shoulders, or your hands, trying to look innocent enough…you’re pretty sure Logan’s made it obvious.

“Hey.”

There he is.

You pause, about to turn the corner, but he swings a hand around your arm and makes you whirl around to face him. His eyes are hard, but there’s a spark of mischief that has you flashing a tight-lipped smirk back in his face, blinking slowly.

“Yes, Professor?” you cross your arms, holding the textbooks in your hands to your chest. “Did I miss an assignment?”

Logan’s mouth twitches into an amused grin, and he tilts his head. “C’mere,” he says gently, and tugs you toward the nearest classroom—his own.

You’ve had your fair share of classes here, but you blush as he closes the door and sidles up behind you, his broad, heavy chest pressing against your back.

“Where’ve you been, sugar?” His voice is smooth, low, and reeks of sex. You know exactly why you’re here.

Your throat goes dry, but you swallow and turn around, taking a step back. With a wink, you keep your hands clutched to your textbook. “I’ve been working.”

You’re goading him. “If you hadn’t noticed, I still need to study for my exams,” you say nonchalantly, and watch as he confidently strides forward, following you up to the front of the room.

In no time at all, his desk hits the backs of your thighs, stopping you from your retreat. Logan’s only a step away from you and capitalizes on it. You’ve got no room to squirm away; he towers over you and puts his hands on his desk, trapping you there.

“Time for a break, I think,” he hums, nipping at your jaw when you chuckle and turn away from his attempt to kiss you. “You’ve been working that brain so hard,” he continues, tugging the textbook out of your hands and tossing it to the floor with a heavy thud. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still pleased at the admission. You take it upon yourself to hop up on the desk, though it doesn’t give you much more leverage; he’s still got the upper…everything. “Oh, you have?”

Logan lifts a hand to cup your jaw and neck, bringing your face closer to him. His hand is rough but the guidance of his touch is gentle, and he rests his forehead against yours. His next words are a whisper. “I have,” he nods. “You look so sweet, sugar. Can’t you just take a break?”

Your stomach turns in a familiar knot, and your thighs tense. It’s not that you haven’t fooled around on his desk before. But you really do have exams to study for.

“I know,” you sigh, turning to press a series of kisses to his beard. “I know, I want to be done, too. But I—”

“Then be done,” he whispers, his other hand landing on your thigh. “You’ll pass all your exams, bub, you know you will. Such a smart girl,” he says as his hand creeps toward the inside of your leg. “Why don’t you let me do something for you, smart girl?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to hide your smile. “Logan,” you whine, trying your best to sound exasperated. “I can’t just drop my panties for you everytime you want.”

His hand has wandered to the waistline of your shorts; an elastic band is all that bars him from your thin panties.

“Of course,” he says, and then his eyes dart down to the crux of your legs as he hooks a finger in your waistband, tugging it away from your body. “But you sure do leave them sopping wet, don’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Well, if they weren’t before, they are now.

Your jaw drops open an inch, and for a moment you don’t know what to say.

Another finger hooks into your waistband, and he swipes his fingertips across your lower stomach, not daring to go any further until you give him the go ahead. “Please, sugar,” he whispers, and his voice shakes as he tilts your head up, holding his lips just an inch from your own.

“I’ll be quick. I won’t even tease, baby,” he says, his hot breath fanning over your face, that delicious hint of tobacco making you flutter your eyes closed.

“Logan…” you try again, but he ducks his head into your neck and whimpers. Whimpers.

“I’ll be good and quick, bub,” he says again. “Just let me taste you. I won’t ask for anything else, I swear.”

“Yeah right,” you say breathlessly, your composure slipping. “You always want more.”

“Can’t help it,” he breathes heavily, and his hand clenches your shorts in a fist. “M’gonna go insane if I can’t taste you, cupcake.”

You’ve never seen him this desperate, this much of a loser for your pussy, that you choke out a sigh and push his hand down your stomach. His eyes go wide and his mouth stutters as his fingers reach your mound, shoulders shuddering at the velvety smooth touch of your core.

“Fine,” you say quietly, a smile growing on your face. “But just for a minute.”

“Minute’s all I need, sugar.” Logan doesn’t waste his time, molding his lips to yours with a deep groan that borders on the side of a growl, something that ignites a fire in your gut.

In a flash, he’s practically torn your shorts from your body and he’s getting on his knees, eyes flitting up to yours as he leans into your core. The flush of cool air on your lower half is almost relieving.

He pauses, closing his eyes right as he’s about to dive in. And he sucks in a breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal. It’s like a fucking ritual for him. Like a monk bent to pray, he worships the source of your sweetness.

You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair. “You’re such a freak,” you breathe, but the humor leaves your voice as he darts his tongue out to flick your clit.

And with your hands in his hair, he growls into your pussy and laps at it like a starving man, swirling circles around your clit and wasting no time before his fingers are teasing your entrance.

“God,” you gasp, squeezing your thighs around his head.

He lifts his head, and you wish you could take a picture of how fucking desperate he looks, with his beard already glistening with your wetness and his eyes wide as a puppy’s. “Not God,” he huffs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Just me, bub.”

“Shut the fuck up and make me come,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting out a soft giggle. “Your minute’s almost up.”

Of course, you don’t have any plans on cutting him off. Once he gets his tongue on your core, you won’t be satisfied until he’s filling you to the brim.

He moans with every drop that slips out of you and lands on his tongue, which only makes your pussy weep more for him. “Come on, baby,” he says into you, his fingers slipping inside you and stretching you deliciously over his thick digits. “Come on daddy’s face.”

He has the gall to ask you to call him daddy? When he just spent the last ten minutes begging to get on his knees for you?

You almost laugh, but then his fingers curl inside you. He’s hitting that one spongy spot that has you arching your back, your eyes rolling back and your hand pressing down on his head, holding him to your core as you ride out your release. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine, rolling your hips into his mouth to make the ecstasy last longer.

He pulls away from you, and you can’t even lift your head before you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor. His face comes into view, and then his tip is sliding against your slit, throwing you into a frenzy as your legs shake at the sensitivity.

“I’m sorry, sugar,” he says, voice hoarse as he circles your clit with his angry, leaking tip. “I’m close already, I just wanna…”

“You wanna fill me up,” you finish breathlessly, head resting against his desk.

“Yes,” he whimpers, and you swear you could come again at the sound of it. “Please, cupcake.”

You nod, a string of yes please falling from your lips. And not a moment later, he’s shoving himself inside, and suddenly you realize how empty you’d felt all day before this moment, before his thick cock was making room for itself in your body.

He doesn’t look like he’ll last long enough to give you another orgasm, but you don’t really care; he looks so fucking pretty like this that it’ll be enough to fuel an entire night of play when you’re on your own.

With a guttural groan and a few uneven thrusts, Logan bursts. The swing sound of metal claws unsheathing themselves is like a drug as he empties himself inside of you. “I’m sorry, cupcake,” he shudders, laying himself over you on the desk. “M’sorry I couldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you wrap an arm around his shoulders, savoring the feeling of his dick still pulsing inside you. “I like it when you’re so…”

You trail off. Nothing can quite describe the essence of Logan when he’s begging to eat you out. But there’s something so undeniably filthy about someone like Logan—your rugged, perfect Professor Logan—shedding his grumpy exterior for a taste of you.

The two of you lay there for a few more moments before he straightens, pulling you to a sitting position. He slowly pulls out, catching his seed and pushing it gently back inside you as best he can.

You hum at the sight, and finally stand, pulling your wrecked shorts back onto your hips. “How are you gonna explain that?” You point at the small puddle of your releases, mixed together.

His hair is still messy, his fingers still shining with your arousal, but he winks. Claws retracted, he swipes a finger through the mess and puts it to his lips, drinking down the result of your pleasure.

“Frosting,” he grins, and the return of the cocksure professor you know so well has returned. He presses a kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear. “From the sweetest of cupcakes.”

#logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x reader #logan smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine imagine #logan xmen #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x fem!reader #deadpool and wolverine

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defmaybe · 27 days

Text

Sticky

ITZY’s Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.9k words

Prequel to Party Police

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you will be blocked!

Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room fulll of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But its nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.

"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"

Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.

“Mr. Kim.” You seethe from the doorway.

Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you? In the hallway.”

The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.

“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”

Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”

“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”

“How do you know they were for my class?”

You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.

“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.

“If you need paper, ask!”

Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?”

“That was an accident!" You argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”

“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”

“Fine.”

With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.

Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.

#svthub #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu fluff #mingyu #mingyu fluff #kim mingyu #seventeen #svt fluff #seventeen fanfic #🫡 highvern #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Hi, I absolutely love your writing and i’d thought i’d try to request a remus lupin x reader kinda hurt comfort fic or blurb? Reader comes from a dysfunctional family where her dads alway angry and she feels like she’s walking on egg shells when around him and her mom throws all responsibilities like taking care of younger sibling onto reader so they always feel like they aren’t doing enough and they kind of cary these traits into their relationship with remus? maybe remus comes home from a hard day at work and reader can immediately sense he’s in a bad mood and like gets really quiet and starts working on the house instead of spending time with him bc she thinks he will be mad or something

This was way longer than i intended it to be im sorry😭 and I totally understand if this was too much or a topic that you don’t wanna write about there is no pressure at all!!!

love ya! -anon

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: implied past harmful/abusive dynamics

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 849 words

If the sharp turn of his key in the lock didn’t tip you off to Remus’ mood, the way he shuts the door behind him would. Automatically, your mind starts whirring with the things you can do.

Your boyfriend has barely taken his shoes off before you’re in the kitchen, unloading the overfull dish rack. You’ve no idea how you let it go this long; some of these things have been dry for days. You’re shutting drawers and cabinets as softly as you can, wary of worsening Remus’ irritation with a racket.

“Hey.” He pads into the kitchen, reaching for you.

“Hi.” You smile and give him a kiss. His hands start to come around your waist, but you pull away in favor of grabbing a pot from the rack.

“What’re you up to?” he asks. The exhaustion in his voice has a terse edge that makes your fingertips crackle with nervous energy.

“Just tidying a bit.”

“Want some help?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply in your most serene voice. “You’ve only just got home, why don’t you relax?”

Remus hesitates a handful of moments, watching as you go back to whizzing about the kitchen before wordlessly retreating to the living room.

Once the dish rack is empty, you decide to start filling it up again. There’s an unwashed pot on the stove, an old container of leftovers in the fridge, and a handful of dishes on the coffee table. You make yourself as scarce as you can when you go to retrieve the last. Remus is still emanating traces of a worn-thin temper from where he sits on the couch, reading his book, and you try to minimize the clatter of the dishes as you stack them. When there’s a sigh, you try even harder.

“Would you stop for a second?”

You freeze in your tracks. “Stop what?”

“Just,” he shakes his head, frustrated, “put the dishes down.”

You obey wordlessly.

Remus looks at you with something you can’t decipher in his expression. “Now would you come here, please?”

You walk over to him, tensing for—you don’t know what. You don’t think Remus would hit you, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to shout. You’re stiff with anticipation nonetheless.

He reaches for you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, slotting against him naturally, the way you always do. Remus presses both palms into your back, hugging you tighter than usual but not enough to hurt.

He nuzzles his face into your neck. “What’s going on with you?” he asks, and he sounds like the soft, grumbly version of himself that tells you to stop fidgeting at 4 a.m. before trapping you in his hold. You start to relax.

“You seem like you’ve had a hard day,” you say. Not quite an admittance, but close.

“I have,” Remus agrees. “I was hoping to come home and relax with you. Maybe have a kiss if you were feeling generous.” His teasing comforts you further, and you don’t flinch when he adjusts his hold so he can look you in the eyes. “Are you being weird because you know I’m in a bad mood?”

When he puts it like that it sounds so silly. This is how you’ve learned to be around hot tempers, quiet and useful, but of course Remus would want someone to console him. To be with him instead of hiding away.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out. Your hands smooth over his shoulders, a belated comfort.

He sighs, and this time when you hear the frustration in the sound you know it’s not meant for you. Remus takes your face in both hands, pressing a firm kiss to your brow before resting his own against it.

“Nobody’s angry with you,” he says softly.

“I know,” you reply just as quietly. “If I think about it, I know you wouldn’t be. It’s just…”

“Old habits die hard?” he guesses. There’s a wry twist to his tone.

You hum apologetically.

Remus lets his cheek slide along yours, pulling you in for another hug. This one is gentler, his hand running the length of your back and squeezing in all the right places. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m sorry I came home so cross, sweetheart. I never want to worry you.”

“I like to worry about you a little,” you tease, and you can sense the reward of your boyfriend’s smile spreading unwillingly over your shoulder. “And it’s not fair to expect you not to have any bad feelings around me. That’s just normal.”

Remus hums thoughtfully. “What if we try this: when you’re feeling like I’m upset, you just say something and we’ll talk about whether it has anything to do with you. Do you think that would work for you?”

You turn your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder. Remus’ palm cruises down the curve of your spine as you let out a breath. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks.”

“Thank you, lovely.” He tucks his chin to skim a kiss over your temple. “This is just what I needed. I feel better already.”

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puckinghischier · 3 months

Text

Sunburnt

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader gets a little too excited on her first day at the lake, resulting in a nasty sunburn

notes: hi!!!! long time so see!! my writing slump has been brutal, but i had a lil pool day today and was sitting there thinking about what a summer at the hughes lake house is like while sunbathing and this little piece popped into my head. it’s not much and probably a lil all over the place, but i hope you enjoy!! i missed all of you 🥺

[3.3k]

(also, unedited bc it’s late and i’m going to bed. i might edit it in the morning, we’ll see)

You’ve waited all year for this. You have absolutely nothing on your agenda but two straight months of lake house fun and working on your tan.

Your move to New Jersey had really put a halt to any tan building for a majority of the year. You learned quickly that the winters were long and brutal, leaving little room to feed your sunbathing addiction.

You had tried to find a salon to tan at, but you quickly got bored of the bright lights and sterile smell. You even tried spray tans a couple of times, but you always felt you had more of an orange tone than a golden one.

You didn’t have to worry about any of it for a second longer, though. You were finally in the place you craved to be year-round.

Since the season ended early for the boys this year, the Devils losing their shot at the playoffs, you and Jack had packed your things and left Jersey the second all of his current post-season duties were over with.

Jack had managed to secure himself a pass on any other post season activities the players might be pulled for. He wasn’t required to return to the city until pre-season started.

Luke and Quinn were set to join the two of you whenever they could, but with Luke playing on the U.S. national team, and Quinn’s playoff run with the Canucks coming up, it would be weeks before either brother made their way to the beloved lake house.

Ellen and Jim were also set to join at some point during the stay, but weren’t yet sure of when they could escape their work for a few weeks.

This leaves you and Jack with the entire house to yourself for the beginning of your stay. You loved the other Hughes brothers, but with Luke living with Jack and your own roommate being a homebody, the two of you were rarely ever awarded with true alone time.

You were currently putting sheets on the bed in what will be yours and Jack’s room for the next two months while Jack unloads his car.

You were nearly done when you hear the sound of a suitcase being dragged up the stairs.

“God, Y/N, I know we’re going to be here a while, but it feels like you packed your entire apartment in here.”

Poking your head out of the open doorway, you watch as your boyfriend heaves your gigantic suitcase up the double flight of stairs.

“Well, I was going to only pack a few swimsuits and pjs, but I figured I should pack some real clothes for when the rest of your family gets here.”

Jack responds with a glare as he climbs the final step, stopping to take a breather. His face was a light shade of red and there were a few beads of sweat on his top lip.

“You know, I figured since you just finished your season you’d still be in pretty decent shape, but it looks like you’re going to have to stay in the gym all summer. Maybe do a bit more cardio and weight lifting, seeing as you’re struggling to carry my lil’ ole’ suitcase,” you tease, retreating back into the bedroom to place the decorative pillows on the bed.

“Maybe if you didn’t shove a dead body in your luggage I’d be able to carry it up the stairs like a normal person. But no, you had to pack cinderblocks.” He rolls the oversized suitcase into the corner of the room, placing his own measly duffle bag next to it.

You let a small giggle slip out, walking over to where Jack was standing with his hands on his hips.

Once you reach him, you place your hands through the opening left by his arms on either side of his torso, hugging him close to you. You let your chin rest on his chest as you look up at him, his own face tilted down so he could meet your eyes.

“Thank you, my big strong hockey player boyfriend, for carrying the dead body in my suitcase up the stairs. I’ll make sure to leave your name out of all this in court,” you joke, leaning up to place a small peck on his lips.

“Oh, how kind of you. How will I ever repay you?” Jack places his own arms around you, pulling you even closer.

“Hmmm…” you pretend to think. “How about helping me rub tanning lotion on my back and laying in the sun with me for the rest of the day?”

Jack acts like he’s mulling it over, raising his eyebrows while tilting his head to one side.

“I guess I can manage that. Considering the circumstances.”

You smile up at him, pulling out of his embrace.

“Yay! Okay, I have to go get changed. Set up the chairs for us?” You ask him, clapping your hands together out of excitement.

“Your wish is my command,” Jack says with a bow, playfully rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

You turn to open your suitcase to fish out one of the many bathing suits you brought as Jack makes his way out of the room.

“Find the sunniest spot you can! I need to make up for lost time!” you shout after him, hearing a laugh as he makes his way down the stairs.

Only 10 minutes later, you walk out of the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. You spot Jack on the dock down near the lake, putting the final touches on your sunny oasis.

You make the small trek down to him, pool bag in hand and sunglasses on your face.

“Wow, all this for me?” you announce your presence as you reach the end of the lengthy deck.

Jack had set up two tanning chairs on the end of the dock, an umbrella in-between them for when you inevitably claim you’re too hot and sweaty to sit in the sun any longer. He had a small cooler set up with waters, beer for himself, and some of your favorite fruity seltzers.

He had even found a small fan that he clipped to the arm of your chair to keep you cool while you laid out in the sun. He was fiddling with the small speaker he had under the umbrella as you approached, a country song flowing out around you.

“Only the best for my little felon,” he recalls your earlier conversation, raising up to give you his full attention.

Once his eyes fall on you, his mouth snaps shut.

You had picked your skimpiest bikini, wanting to get all of the risqué swimsuits out of the way before the two of you had company later in the summer.

The number you were currently sporting was a pale pink matching set. Two tiny triangles covered your chest, while a high-legged thong covered the rest of you.

You watched as his darkening eyes raked over your body, his tongue poking out to wet his dry lips.

“Hell, baby, you can stuff my dead body in a suitcase if you’re going to look like that while doing it,” Jack breathes out.

You laugh at his response, walking over and setting your stuff on your chair, patting his bare chest as you walk past him.

You bend over to grab your tanning lotion out of your bag when you feel a light smack on your ass cheek, straightening up to find Jack standing right behind you, his hand finding its place on your exposed hip.

“Y’know, we could skip this whole tanning thing and go make use of that big, empty house while we have the chance,” Jack lowly whispers in your ear, sliding his hand around to ghost his fingers up and down the soft skin of your belly.

You lean your head back on his shoulder at the touch, allowing yourself to enjoy it for a few more seconds before turning around in his hold and placing your hands on his freckled shoulders.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea and would absolutely love to….” You trail off, standing on your tip toes and letting your lips touch his ear as you speak. Jack gulps, closing his eyes as he feels your hand slip from its spot on his shoulder and continue to move downward, almost reaching the band of his swimming trunks when you stop.

“…..after we tan” you finish, bringing your hand back up to pat his cheek, causing his eyes to shoot open.

“Okay, not fair,” he pouts as you push him back so you can continue digging through your bag.

“You told me you’d tan with me, so tan with me you shall,” you remind him, finding the bottle of lotion and holding it out to him.

Jack fulfills your wishes and very thoroughly applies the dark lotion to your skin, only being reprimanded for wandering hands a few times.

The two of you lay out on the dock for hours, enjoying each other’s company while feeling the rays soak into your skin. You talk about Jack’s team and this past season, what the upcoming season might hold, what the plan is for when the rest of the Hughes family joins, and various other light topics.

At one point you let the soft music and warmness of the sun lull you to sleep, only waking up when Jack comes over and gently shakes your shoulders.

“Y/N, c’mon, time to go inside. You’ve been in the sun for way too long, you’re going to get burnt,” Jack softly speaks to you as you come back into consciousness.

“Mmm, don’t wanna. Too comfy. Warm. Five more minutes,” you fight him, turning your head over to face opposite him.

“Nope, not an option. Can’t let you get too fried on your first day. You won’t be able to do anything for days if we don’t go inside, Lovey,” Jack uses the nickname he stole from your own family.

You grumble in protest, but peel yourself from the chair nonetheless. You notice how much lower the sun is in the sky and wonder what time it is. You pull your phone from your bag to see you’ve been out here well into the evening.

You realize you and Jack forgot to go grocery shopping after you got here, your excitement about the sunshine causing you to forget any other chores you intended on doing today.

You grab your bag and follow Jack back up the dock, admiring the way the muscles in his back are flexed due to him carrying the still full cooler on his shoulder.

“Hey, J, what are we gonna do for dinner? We don’t have any groceries and I’m not sure if you want to go out, but-“ you’re cut off by your own stomach, the growl loud enough for the two of you to hear over the music still flowing through the speaker in Jack’s pocket.

“Yeah, looks like we’re going out, huh?” Jack laughs as your cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink than they already are from the sun.

You reach the house and help unload the cooler into the fridge before making your way up the stairs to rinse off and change.

When you step into the bathroom and undress, you’re shocked to see the extremely present tan lines already formed on your very red skin. You hadn’t noticed it outside, but your entire front half is a fiery shade of red.

You lightly press two fingers to the skin in-between your breasts and notice the two white fingerprints left behind. Your eyes widen when you realize how badly burnt you are.

You exit the bathroom to grab the after-sun lotion you packed before returning and turning the shower on, making sure you remember to lather yourself in the lotion after you’re done showering.

You peel back the curtain and step under the warm stream of water, but the feeling of the water hitting your sensitive skin causes you to cry out, trying to remove yourself from the water’s harsh sting.

Your scream of pain grabs Jack’s attention, causing him to rush up the stairs and burst into the bathroom, panic evident on his face.

“Y/N, what’s wrong, are you okay?” he steps into the bathroom, looking around for the source of your scream.

“Jack, we have a problem….” You whine, pulling the curtain back to reveal the state of your skin.

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening at the angry, red color of your skin.

“Oh Lovey…”

You stand with the curtain open, shivering despite the elevated temperature of your skin. You had turned the water to cold to avoid the searing pain again, but the cold felt like small knives poking into your flesh.

“I think we got a little too excited with the tanning lotion….” You squeak out, trying to wrap your arms around yourself, but any touch to your skin felt like fire.

Jack’s eyes fill with sympathy, but also guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should have woken you up sooner. You just looked so content I didn’t want to make you go inside just yet.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I should have set a timer or something. You know how I get,” you wave off his guilt, knowing you can get a little sun-drunk sometimes.

Although, you had never let yourself get this burnt before.

You blame the New Jersey climate and its lack of warm weather for your tanning needs to prevent this from happening once you do manage to get somewhere warm and sunny.

Jack still looks at you, not sure what to do for you, but not wanting to leave you by yourself, seeing as you’re stuck standing with your arms held out a few inches from your torso to avoid any unwanted skin contact.

“I don’t know how I’m going to shower, Jack. The water burns so bad, even on cold. But I have to get this sticky lotion off of me,” you whine again, frustrated that you’re burnt so badly you can’t even wash the tacky lotion off of your body.

“I’ll go get a soft washcloth, hang on,” Jack leaves the bathroom for only a second before returning with a soft, blue cloth in his hands.

He adjusts the water temperature and holds the cloth under the lukewarm water for a moment before applying some of your body wash to it and handing it to you.

You take the cloth from his hands and attempt to wash yourself, but any movement of your limbs causes your damaged skin to pull, making you whimper out in pain.

“Okay, don’t worry baby, I got you,” Jack takes the cloth from you, stepping into the shower, standing in-between you and the water streaming out of the shower head.

“Please, be careful, J, it hurts,” you whine out, eyeing the cloth in his hand.

“I got you, Lovey, trust me,” Jack tells you as he drags the cloth over your skin so lightly you’re not even sure it’s touching you.

He continues the feather-light motion slowly, until he’s cleaned your entire body.

“I have to rinse you now, okay? It might sting, but we’ll go slow,” he turns to rinse the cloth, letting it soak with water once more after there’s no traces of soap left.

You close your eyes as he squeezes the water out of the cloth onto your arm, the sting only slightly better than before, but bearable enough you only have to have him stop once.

After he rinses all of the soap off of your body, Jack turns off the shower and finds the softest towel in the cabinet under the sink. He pats your sore skin dry, then rubs the after-sun lotion all over your body before helping you into your pajamas.

“Jack, I don’t think I can wear this, hurts too bad,” you tell him when he hands you the matching button up shirt to the shorts you’re currently wearing.

“Okay, go topless, then. Won’t hurt my feelings any,” he winks at you, causing you to roll your eyes with a smile.

Once you were as dressed as you could stand to be, Jack helps you to the bed sitting in the middle of your bedroom. Luckily your back wasn’t burnt, so he helps you into a partial sitting position, piling several pillows behind you to prop you up.

He starts to pull the blanket over you, but you stop him, knowing anything touching your skin right know would bring you to tears.

“Babe, you’re going to get cold if you don’t cover up with something. As soon as the sun sets you’ll get the chills,” he eyes the large window on the other side of the room, knowing it’ll be dark in another hour.

“Jack it hurts too bad, I can’t,” you cry out, pouting at him.

“Okay, fine. We’ll figure something out later,” he gives in, walking over to the other side of the bed and sitting down.

He turns on the tv and attempts to find something for the two of you to watch when your stomach growls again, reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten since this morning.

“Jack, I’m still hungry.”

“Do you want me to go grab something?”

“No, don’t leave me here by myself, what if my skin starts melting off?” you exasperated.

Jack laughs at you. “Your skin isn’t going to start melting, but fine. I’ll go find the take out menus and see who delivers.”

Thirty minutes later the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of your Chinese food.

Jack goes to grab the food and bring plates upstairs so the two of you can eat in your bed, knowing you don’t feel like trying to walk downstairs to the dining room table.

He sets everything out like a small buffet. You manage to sit up a little straighter and try to reach for a plate, but the movement brings a new stinging warmth to the skin of your arm.

“Jack, I can’t even reach for a plate, how am I supposed to fill said plate and feed myself,” you say, frustrated.

Jack doesn’t say anything, but he takes the plate you were reaching for and puts all of your favorites on it. He grabs a fork and moves so he’s sitting cross-legged beside you.

“Here, open up,” Jack brings a fork full of food towards your mouth, motioning for you to open your mouth as the fork gets closer to you.

You open your mouth and he shovels the food in, going back in for more food once you had chewed and swallowed the first bite.

“Are you really going to sit here and feed me that entire plate?” you ask him, slightly embarrassed that this is how your first night at the lake house is going.

“Well, yeah. You said you were hungry, right?” Jack responds, looking at you as if he thought your question was stupid.

“I am, but you don’t have to do this. You can eat your food. I’ll figure out something. I feel like a kid sitting here being fed,” you tell him, wishing you could cross your arms the way you usually do when you pout.

“Y/N, you’re sitting in front of me with no shirt on. I’m trying my hardest not to stare at your boobs right now because I feel it would be wildly inappropriate to be sporting a boner when my girlfriend is clearly in pain. I can assure you, the last thing I’m thinking about right now is you resembling a kid,” he says, seriousness lacing his tone.

You laugh at your boyfriend, causing the skin on your belly to burn slightly, but you don’t care. You love how Jack can always make you feel better about any situation, even one as embarrassing as this.

“Now, c’mon and open up. Your food is gonna get cold,” he fusses, bringing another fork full of food towards your mouth.

He feeds you an entire plate of food, then eats his own. He takes the dishes and leftovers downstairs before coming back up to take a shower of his own.

Once he’s done with his own shower, he brings the bottle of after-sun back into the bedroom and lathers your skin in it once again, hoping this will help soothe your skin a bit more before the two of you try to sleep.

He settles in the bed, and as he predicted, you’ve started violently shivering.

“Can I please put a blanket on you now? I know you said it hurts, but you’re going to shiver right out of this bed if you don’t cover up,” Jack pleads, hating to see you shaking like this.

“Yeah, we can try. But maybe just the top sheet only for now,” you tell him, still apprehensive.

He gently pulls the top sheet over your body, letting it fall right at your collar bone.

You thank him for that second coat of after-sun because you can actually bear the thin cotton on your skin this time.

“Better?” he asks, waiting for any kind of negative reaction from you.

“Better. Thank you, Jack,” you tell him, causing him to relax a bit.

“Don’t sweat it, babe,” he shrugs it off, moving to get himself settled on his side of the bed.

“No, I mean it. I’m sorry I let myself ruin our first night here. I just got too eager, I guess. Forgot I haven’t laid out in a while.”

“It’s okay. Really. It’s partially my fault, too. For letting you sleep for so long without making you move under the umbrella with me,” he turns the light off, sliding down next to you, but not touching your skin.

“Well, I promise, I’m wearing sunscreen and sunscreen only for the rest of the summer,” you swear to him, moving your hand to loop your pinky through his, not being able to handle not touching him.

“I mean, I’m all for it, babe, but I don’t know how my parents and brothers will feel about that,” Jack quips back. You can hear the amused smile on his face, even though the room is pitch black.

“Goodnight, Jack.” Is all you say, rolling your eyes and smiling even though you know he can’t see you.

Jack lets out a laugh, squeezing your pinky.

Your skin may be on fire due to your love of sun soaking, but your heart has been sunburnt for years; Jack’s own personal sunshine setting it on fire every second you’re together.

609 notes · View notes

k4vehrtz · 3 months

Text

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE YOUNG, YOUNG LOVERS? dom ! nanami kento / sub ! m. reader

content warnings. nsfw content / hybrid au ergo predator - prey dynamic where applicable / bunny hybrid ! nanami & reader / explicit mentions of and allusions to social anxiety / age gap (reader is 25 + nanami is 45) / satosugu cameo / self - degradation (brief, nanami) + mild degradation (r receiving) / fingering (r receiving) / spontaneous sex / ‘bunny’ & ‘little rabbit’ used as a pet name / doggystyle / ass‐to–mouth / overstimulation / heat cycles / nipple play / explicit consent / reader is shorter than nanami but there is no explicit description of a body type / virgin nanami ergo loss of virginity

word count. 3K

notes. i’ve had this bunny ! reader req in my inbox for a while and it has been on my mind so i decided to explore a couple ideas :) i’m dyslexic so any errors just give the fic personality

nanami had, over the course of his life, nurtured a particular distaste for other human beings.

he’d grown up in a city — one that never slept; a city that hummed to the tune of debauchery. busy days pre–empted busier nights. and he’d always remember two things: one, that the winters were cold, but the people there were always colder and two, he’d stuck out in a crowd.

hence, at the age of forty–five, he’d decided to leave.

“… so let me get this straight,” satoru, who’d made it his mission to mimic a koala, says as he untangles himself from suguru after having concluded that this was, in fact, a serious conversation. “you’re moving to a small town to avoid human interaction more efficiently instead of addressing your underlying social anxiety?”

satoru naturally spoke faster than the average individual, but his pace increased near the end of his sentence. nanami pretended not to notice (something he’d become exceptionally good at).

“real subtle, smart ass,” suguru hadn’t though, narrowing his eyes at his partner before turning his attention back to nanami, “i think it’s a good idea, better environment to write and all.”

writing, yes. he’d gotten in the habit during high school. it was nothing more than a hobby — something to pass the time between classes. being a loner by choice (as he’d liked to call it), he’d had a lot of time to get lost between the lines of an empty notebook. and being a creature of habit (in the self–proclaimed ‘right’ opinion of the startlingly blue–eyed man sitting across from him), he’d made a career out of it.

“i…suppose,” he responds almost nonchalantly, lacking the energy that his two closest friends possessed.

he hasn’t written since his last work — a collection of essays on how one’s perception of their surroundings is impacted by one’s perception of oneself — was published two, almost three years ago.

he’s embarrassed, a sensation that sticks to his skin uncomfortably and the silence that falls between them only exacerbates his discomfort.

“i’ll see you two, then,” he speaks up after the silence proves to be too much for him, standing to his full height in a bashful sort of way that can only be described as endearing — typical for rabbit hybrids.

the two fox hybrids, long since accustomed to the abrupt end of get–togethers, exchange their goodbyes as they stare at his retreating form with sympathetic eyes.

and nanami, instinctively observant of his surroundings to a fault, doesn’t have to turn around to know the expressions that colour their complexions. he can feel it — the eyes of predators following his every move.

he exhales slowly through his nose: once, twice, and then a third time before the intensity of his heartbeat subsides. they’re his friends, not a threat.

his stride resumes, albeit awkwardly, with full awareness of the fact that he has a problem. he’s had a problem for a long time. but running comes naturally to prey animals.

designated ‘safe spaces’ for prey animals had become the norm in recent years following a series of unfortunate events. the café you worked at was one such establishment.

“…i’m so sorry for the delay, my co–worker called in sick so i’ve been on my own and today is a lot busier than—”

nanami clears his throat, his intention crystal clear, and your ramble comes to an abrupt end.

warmth gathers beneath the surface of your cheeks as you raise your gaze to his, though he swiftly looks away, “what can i get you?”

without looking at the menu, he responds, “a croissant,” and you interject, “so you’re the croissant guy!”

he stares at you for a moment before slowly repeating after you, “the…croissant guy?” and when you smile at him, he can’t help but think that he’d need sunglasses if you were to do that again.

you apologize for the second time before continuing, “you should know by now that there aren’t that many people that live here and, between you and me, even fewer people that buy our croissants,” a distinct warmness to your tone.

nanami nods thoughtfully, responding curtly with an indifferent, “i see,” as he pays for the pastry before finding himself someplace to sit with his laptop.

it’s been a week since he’d first arrived and he considers himself familiar enough with his new surroundings. all that was left to do was to write but, as it turns out, a change of scenery only goes so far.

as he stares at the empty document on his screen, his thoughts wander back to a few minutes ago. you’re a new face — he presumes the co–worker you’d mentioned was the barista he’d met before.

but his thoughts wander so far before you appear at his side, croissant in hand, “i heard you were an author, that’s pretty cool,” and your seemingly perpetual smile curling your lips.

you mean no harm; it’s merely an attempt to be polite, making small talk is perfectly normal. but nanami isn’t normal, he feels strange, a surge of anxiety materializing seemingly from thin air.

“you heard?” he repeats after you, stumbling over his words, and he feels stupid and embarrassed.

you tilt your head to the side, your overly large ears flopping as you do so, before taking it upon yourself to sit across from him.

“isn’t it great to have places like these to ourselves?”

he raises a brow at the sudden change of topic but you continue nevertheless, “i think it’s great, ‘cause you get to meet people who understand you. there’s a book club at the library down the street this saturday, i think you should stop by if you have the time to spare,” before excusing yourself, leaving as fast as you came.

nanami lowers his eyes to the croissant, not entirely sure of what had just happened. while you stare at him from behind the counter, a complex mixture of emotions colouring your expression.

“i think you should go; it won’t hurt to get out of the house.”

satoru’s voice echoes through his laptop’s speaker and nanami falls into contemplative silence.

“besides —” suguru interjects, “you’ve been seeing that therapist, right? i bet she’d agree that this is a step in the right direction,” moving into the camera’s frame as he settles down on satoru’s lap.

they’re not wrong; he, deep down, knows that they’re not wrong, but he hesitates all the same.

“i don’t know,” he breathes out after a moment of silence, pushing the pickled vegetables around his plate with his reusable chopsticks absentmindedly.

the line of communication falls silent once more and then suguru responds, “whatever you decide to do, we support you,” before ending the call.

and nanami exhales slowly, staring at his reflection on his laptop’s screen. he’s aged (of course he has), baby fat no longer rounds his cheeks, and crow’s feet round the corners of his eyes.

but, even now, he stands out — and nanami hates standing out.

he’d stood out among his peers; other prey animals were shorter, always shorter. there was always ‘too much’ of nanami — it made him easier to spot and made his movements awkward. he never fully knew what to do with himself.

rabbit hybrids were meant to be small and cute, two things nanami wasn’t.

you, on the other hand, were the epitome of society’s expectations; smaller and sociable. at least, that’s what he’d observed over the past four days. and he doesn’t hate you for it — ‘hate’ is too strong of a word to describe how he felt.

‘envy’, however, leaves a bad taste in his mouth, it ruins his already depleted appetite, and he pushes the ceramic plate of pickled vegetables away from him when the thought crosses his labyrinthine mind.

he doesn’t envy you; that would be absurd. but, isn’t that what this world is, absurd?

‘it is’, he decides as he changes into more suitable clothing for leaving the house — abandoning his pyjamas for a white shirt tucked into the waistband of black slacks. it was plain, nanami liked plain; he liked uniformity.

but you, you again, you were anything but plain.

as he rounded the corner of the library after receiving directions from the librarian, a sweet elderly woman, your brightly coloured sweater caught his eyes first. it stood out amidst the piles of books of all different shapes, sizes, and colours that surrounded you.

his gaze flickers to the watch around his wrist, an all too familiar sensation creeping up on him. he’d come too late. but the sound of your voice drags him out of his thoughts before he can spiral any further. hell, he hadn’t even noticed when you approached him.

“you should get out of your head sometime.”

he narrows his eyes at you, not entirely because of what you’d said (though it played a role) but because of how you said it. now that you were in such proximity to one another, he can’t help but acknowledge that you look terrible.

you sound as though you’d just run a marathon, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. without thinking he presses the back of his palm against your forehead, beads of sweat dampening his skin but he doesn’t mind. you’re burning up.

“christ,” he grimaces as he gives you a once–over, adrenaline coursing through his veins as his own body begins to heat up in a similar manner.

so, this is not a regular fever, duly noted.

“i don’t consider myself a believer but each to their own,” you grin, a lopsided type that nanami swore could give him cavities. but now is not the time for that.

he clears his throat, making the conscious decision to ignore the growing strain of his cock against the fabric of his slacks, and asks carefully, “do you need a ride home?”

nanami’s studio was a blank canvas; untouched white walls, and brand–new furniture (some still encased in its plastic wrapping) in different shades of grey. even in your heat–induced haze, you could tell that this was a ‘house’, not a ‘home’.

he doesn’t comment on it though, so you keep your thoughts to yourself as he gently guides you to his designated bedroom.

the mattress sinks under the combined weight of the two of you. your chests rising and falling in sync as you stare into each other’s eyes, your oversized ears touching in a way neither of you knew could be so pleasurable until now.

“i look old enough to be your father,” he murmurs, his voice breathier the longer his body hovers over yours. and your response comes between laboured gasps, “i’m—oh shit, you’re big—twenty-five, don’t worry, i’m a big boy.”

you can feel his growing erection through the fabric of his slacks against your own. and the air between the two of you feels charged, igniting as he lowers his lips to your throat, his warm breath feeling like miniature needles against your sensitive skin, “do you or do you not want this?”

it’s the question of the hour and you nod eagerly but he pauses, holding your chin between the soft pads of his thumb and index finger as he tilts your head upwards, “i need words, bunny, think you can use your words f’me, bunny?”

your lips part, a low, open–mouthed moan cascading down your tongue before you manage to form a coherent response, “i want ‘you’, not ‘this’.”

and your choice of wording is not lost on him, he hears you loud and clear.

“i’ve never done ‘this’ before,” he blurts out, embarrassed by his lack of cleverness when compared to your confession only moments prior.

it is the truth though; something he prides himself on being to others — truthful. although it’s up for debate how forthcoming he is with himself.

he had, however, every intention of taking you back to your place wherever that may be. but as the distinct floral scent indicating the arrival of your heat enveloped the confines of his car, he had to make a decision that was for the best of both of you. driving while approaching his heat was no better than driving while intoxicated; thus, the choice was clear.

“i can teach you,” comes your response, sounding as though it took a great deal of effort to say whilst pushing yourself up into a seated position, unintentionally bumping your forehead against his in the process.

“it’s so warm,” you both groan in unison as you pull away from each other, removing all articles of clothing deemed ‘unnecessary’ which truthfully rendered you both nude.

your state of undress mattered not, though, as nanami promptly leaned to the side, rummaging in the upper drawer of his nightstand for a moment before retrieving a lubricant specifically designed for rabbit hybrids (a gift he’d received from the ocean–eyed freak) and handing it over to you.

which you happily accept, coating both your own and his fingers in a considerable amount of lubricant before leaning against the headboard and spreading your legs.

you carefully guide his palm between your legs, gently nudging the tight ring of muscle with one of his fingers.

“i haven’t done this in a — fuck fuck fuck, your fingers are thick,” you hiccup, your breath catching in your throat as you rapidly descend into a string of curses as his finger breaches your entrance. the sudden intrusion hurts, but in the midst of your heat, it’s enough to send you over the edge, your toes curling as ropes of cum erupt from the head of your cock.

and there’s that bad taste in nanami’s mouth again, clinging to his bones and invading his muddled thoughts: ‘you just have to be perfect, don’t you?’ but with it comes the realization that he’s the reason why you’re like this and it fills him with an odd sense of satisfaction.

determination renewed, and perhaps in tandem with his desire to experience such relief, he cautiously adds another thick finger whilst you come down from your high.

“is penetration all it takes to send you over the edge, little rabbit?” he questions, curling his fingers towards what he presumes is your prostate, and you can’t help but whimper.

it’s strangely degrading when you think about it; nanami, a rabbit, a prey animal like yourself taking on a dominant role. a role that isn’t in his nature thus his tone remains mild–mannered whilst his words and actions, while cautious, are the exact opposite.

another finger is added — the total amounting to three now. you’re stretched around three of his thick fingers as he memorizes the layout of your insides, curling his fingers in such a way that he grazes your prostate with precision.

instead of teaching him, you’re rendered speechless as he maintains a steady pace with his fingers. the sound of your gasps, moans, and whimpers creating a symphony in the otherwise silent studio.

by the time he retracts his fingers for the final time, you’ve already climaxed two more times, your cum splattered across your bare abdomen.

“you’re so easy, little rabbit,” he whispers as his lips ghost yours before fully enveloping them in a heated exchange of saliva. there’s no real heat behind his words but you shudder nevertheless.

when nanami pulls away from your lips, it’s solely because you both need air. a string of saliva, however, remains connected to both of your lips, a testament to the heated kiss.

as you both catch your breath, you take it upon yourself to reposition yourself so that you’re on all fours, gleefully presenting yourself to nanami who obliges you.

your thighs tremble in silent anticipation of what’s to come, your loosened ring of muscle winking invitingly. but it’s not his cock — no, when the wet muscle breaches your entrance you squeal, almost losing your balance had nanami’s hands not been on your hips.

it’s a strange sensation — his tongue in your ass, his warm breath wafting across your most sensitive region. but you slowly adjust as he ravages you, lapping at your puckered entrance as you subconsciously clench and unclench.

and in a matter of minutes, you’re climaxing once more, the muscles in your pelvis twitching convulsively as your erect cock spurts ropes of cum onto the sheet beneath you.

nanami pulls away from your ass with a ‘pop’, aligning himself with your entrance before easing into you and savouring every spasm of your gummy walls. he doesn’t move until he’s buried to the hilt, angling his hips as he thrusts into you with a steady pace, his balls colliding with your sensitive skin.

you’re overwhelmed by a sense of euphoria, having experienced multiple orgasms. so much so that salty tears roll down your cheeks as you feel nanami throb inside of you, the angry tip of his cock bullying your prostate relentlessly.

he truly is brutal, desperately chasing his high as one of his hands wanders up to your chest, taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger and teasing it.

nanami’s thoroughly bullying you but you can’t even protest, ‘uh–uh–uhs’ tumble past your lips in rapid succession along with the overwhelming urge to please him rearing its head.

thus, you endure his assault on your body until you fall limp on his mattress in a puddle of your cum as his leaks out of your entrance, some cascading down your inner thighs.

you’re still asleep when nanami wakes up the next morning, golden rays filtering into his apartment through the blinds. and he takes it upon himself to wipe your unconscious body with a damp towel from head to toe before taking a shower and heading into the kitchen.

a sense of dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he ponders the various directions the conversation the two of you are bound to have may go. but with it comes a new perspective.

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #nanami x male reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #jjk x y/n #x sub male reader #jjk x male reader #nanami smut

639 notes · View notes

writtenbymoonflower · 3 months

Note

hello! I'm not sure if your requests are open, but could I ask for some hurt/comfort with poly!marauders with an autistic reader?

maybe reader has a meltdown because of sensory overload and they help her through it?

thank you so much! I love your writing xxx

thank you so much for requesting! poly!marauders x autistic fem!reader

cw: description of sensory overload, autistic meltdown/panic attack, brief mentions of unsafe stimming

943 words

By the time your building was in sight, you felt every ounce of adrenaline leave your body. You had been holding on by a fraying thread all day, taking every searing feeling of overwhelm in stride. Your hands were raw and scraped from digging your nails into your flesh, and your jaw was tight and aching from being permanently clenched.

Usually, work wasn’t this stressful for you. There were difficulties for sure, but it was familiar and predictable. Today however, there had been a company mixer involving all of the branches of your company. The building was hot and crowded with bodies, everyone was talking over each other, there were new people constantly trapping you in mundane conversation, and it was all just too much. It felt like every aspect of the event was scheming for your demise. You made it, though. You were as friendly as you could muster and you hoped your simmering discomfort was mostly imperceptible to your coworkers. Unfortunately for you however, the come down was worse than the overwhelm itself.

You kicked your pinching shoes off the minute you stepped through the door, wanting to rid yourself of all sensation. You rushed to your room to undress. All of your clothes were itching painfully into your skin and it was enough to make you want to scream. You tugged your blouse off, not even bothering to throw it in the hamper. Your hands were so shaky that you pinched your fingers in the zipper of your skirt. You were already close to tears, but when you punctured your stockings while tugging them off, it all caught up to you. You crumpled into a heap on the floor, shivering from the biting cold in the room. You rolled yourself into a ball as small as possible on the floor, shaking as tears rolled down your face. Everything was too much. You weren’t sure how long you had stayed like that, rocking back and forth and shaking your hands, as if you could shake off the crawling on your skin. In your overwhelmed state you didn’t notice the door open, or the footsteps rapidly approaching your room.

“Baby?” A voice was panicked, rushing over to you and crouching on the floor. You recognized the smell first, Sirius’ woodsy and fruity scent. His hands reached out to grab you before quickly retreating, not wanting to add to your state. “Baby, did you hurt yourself?” You shook your head rapidly, still choking on sobs. You winced as Sirius yelled. “Prongs! Moons!” They appeared in the doorway almost immediately, recognizing the urgency in his voice.

“James, get the blanket.” Remus ordered. They had seen this happen a few times before but it didn’t make them panic any less. It was difficult for them to see you in pain, especially when there was no visible injury to tend to. You were still shaking, biting your hand compulsively. Remus was firm but kind as he kept you safe from yourself. “Honey, I need you to be gentle, okay?” You didn’t respond but still obeyed. Soon, a warm and heavy blanket was placed over your shoulders, it helped to calm your shaking, but you were still crying.

“Will a hug help, lovie?” You nodded, craving the pressure. James pulled you onto his lap and squeezed you tight. The compression was wonderfully grounding, as if you could feel all the pain being juiced from your system like a lemon. He released you too soon, but you knew he was just being cautious. You tended to not know when pressure was too much, especially when you were in this state. It wasn’t rare for you to have bruises on your hands from squeezing or sitting on them when you got stressed. Still, you now felt calmer.

“Remmy, can you turn the lights off please? The buzzing hurts.” You winced. He scrambled up to do so, in a way you knew likely hurt his aching joints. Your brain began to quiet down, your system being cleansed from the unwelcome and intrusive sensations of the day. “Thank you.” You mumbled, playing with your fingers.

“Don’t thank us, baby.” Sirius wrapped the heavy blanket further around your shoulders. “Did something happen today?”

You shook your head. “Not really, just a bunch of little things. It was just a lot, I didn’t expect it to affect me so much.” You said the last part with a bit too much shame for the boys liking.

“Sometimes you don’t know until it’s happening.” James said gently. “I’m sorry it was a hard day, lovie.”

“Is there anything more we can do?” Sirius said restlessly. He hates that this happens to you, it makes him wish he could wrap you in warm, quiet darkness and hold you to his chest, shutting all the pain out.

You thought for a second. “I think I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten yet today. I was too distracted.” You knew the boys were still feeling especially tender, since you weren’t scolded.

“Why don’t we order a takeaway?” Remus suggested. “That way we can just relax for a bit.” He stroked your exposed knee with his fingers.

“I think that Greek place is open.” James said before you could answer. “I’ll get the menu.”

“Do you wanna move to the settee, sweet girl?” Sirius wrapped an arm around your shoulders. When you nodded he helped you stand up and ushered you to the sofa, wrapping you in more warm blankets when goosebumps rose. James handed you the remote.

“Pick what you want, lovie.” James sat on your other side, caging you in wonderfully. You were again covered in sensation, but this time it was welcome and comforting.

412 notes · View notes

a-small-safe-place · 11 months

Text

His Haven

Homelander x Psychiatrist!Reader Pt. 1?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When Homelander first met you, he just came in because Madelyn cooked up some scheme with Edgar to 'prove' that the members of The Seven were sound of mind and could pass a psychiatric evaluation similar to the one used in the army. Of course, you had been paid a lot of money to do the evaluations and even more money to ensure that these heroes passed no matter what they said. You were a respected psychiatrist in your field; that’s why Madelyn wanted you specifically.

Homelander went to his appointment, planning on leaving until you said something that caught his attention. You said, 'I am here for you. I took this job because you all spend your days helping and saving people, but at the end of the day, who helps and saves you? Obviously, I couldn’t physically save you, but I can be a place for you to talk if you need it. Nothing you say will leave this room.' Boy, did that stroke his ego in all the right ways. He decided to stay. Something about you was comforting, and he wanted to talk, so he started small with the obvious stuff. He led the conversation by making off-handed remarks about being better than everyone and having to be perfect for Vought. It was clear you didn’t understand his pain, but you were listening to him. You were actually listening to him and responding.

You weren’t like Madelyn, who seemed to argue with every other thing he said; you didn’t respond with dismissive and uncaring responses like Queen Maeve, and you could actually keep up with the conversation, unlike The Deep.

Homelander surprised you and himself when he began attending regular scheduled sessions. You usually led the discussion by asking various questions. Some questions he would lie about, not feeling totally safe to dive into certain topics, or he would just dodge the question and change the subject. Homelander knew you noticed this because anytime he did either of those things, your body language would change, and you would write something down in your little notebook. That notebook had made Homelander incredibly nervous until he found out you were not in there calling him a useless pussy. You were just simply writing topics you two had discussed and what topics made him uncomfortable.

You seemed to actually care about Homelander’s feelings, even the bad ones. Stan Edgar put Homelander in his place, and Homelander looked down avoiding Edgar’s pointed gaze like a child being scolded by their father. Homelander needed some reassurance, but he would never admit that willingly. Homelander felt weak and stupid for needing someone, but you didn’t seem to mind even when he was ranting and raving, so he went to you. You had been his haven. The one person he could confide in and actually be himself.

He arrived at your office in the morning while you happened to be filling out some paperwork. He knew you didn’t have any appointments today because this had been previously the day Vought scheduled for the evaluations of the heroes. Homelander spent the whole day pestering you. 'What are we doing now?' He asked, not entirely oblivious to your mild frustration. 'Still just filling out paperwork,' you replied. He rolled his eyes. 'God, your life is so boring. Go to work, talk to the crazies, fill out paperwork and go home, and you do that all alone? I forgot how boring normal people can be.'

You laughed before telling him, 'no one is keeping you here.' Homelander’s jaw tightened. This pissed him off. You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to offer to do something more fun. You seemed to notice that 1,000-yard stare he has as he retreats into his own mind. 'Look, I just mean that I have to finish work. I know it’s probably boring you to death just sitting here; you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,' you told him, which seemed to make him feel a bit better, but he’s not entirely out of his head. 'It’s fine, we can just talk while you work,' he tells you with a feigned smile.

Homelander begins to perk up while you finish your paperwork and finally asks you the million-dollar question, 'What are we doing when we get home?'

'I am going home to cook up some dinner and watch some television,' you told him, trying to hint that you were wanting to be alone. Homelander was undeterred. 'What are we eating? I could use a home-cooked meal. We could watch one of my movies. I’ve been told I’m a great actor.' Homelander needs you to agree and compliment him. He desperately wants you to tell him he does a good job, even if you’re just talking about acting. 'Yeah? Your movies are pretty famous,' you say, accepting your fate that he isn’t leaving you alone tonight.

The night is spent with him at your house. Homelander wastes no time making himself at home and pilfering through your things. He feels comfortable being so ensnared in your scent. He becomes more comfortable as the night carries on. You fix his plate and drink for dinner, and the two of you share a dinner that he perceives as romantic. Your food isn’t as good as the private chefs at Vought, but Homelander loves it because he got to see the love you put into making it just for him.

You two clean up together. It’s really you cleaning, and Homelander helps by talking about which movie of his you should watch tonight. Finally, you try to retire to your room, but he follows. 'I thought we were gonna watch a movie… it doesn’t have to be one of mine,' Homelander tries not to sound too desperate, and he hated to say that last bit.

'I had planned on watching something in my room, but you can come lay with me if you want,' you tell him reluctantly. Homelander is excited but tries to keep that hidden. You two lay down and begin watching one of his movies. By the end, Homelander is 'asleep.' He knows you can’t tell the difference in him and ignores you when you gently shake him trying to wake him. He’s not the biggest fan of sleeping in strange beds, but for you, he can make an exception. Next time, he wants you in his bed though.

#homelander x you #reader x homelander #gender neutral reader #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander #the boys fanfic #the boys #the seven #tw: homelander #psychiatrist!reader #psychiatrist x character #fem!reader #male!reader #nonbinary!reader

1K notes · View notes

cozage · 1 year

Note

Please, please, PLEASE MAKE A FOLLOW-UP ON LAW ON THE DARE CHALLENGE

😭😭😭😭😭

A/N: Did someone order Law x reader with an extra slow burn??? Oh my sweet sweet anon I love you and everyone else who requested this. This was such a pleasure to write. I truly hope I did it justice and made up for not having a section for him earlier. For those who are new here, this is part two for an earlier headcanon list I did. Check that out first for more context.

Characters: GN! reader x Law

Cw: NSFW. MINORS - DNI. I promise I’ll have so much other content for you to consume, please respect me and my work and keep scrolling. If I catch a minor on my NSFW posts, I will block you (and then you don't get to see any of my writing! So just skip this one.)

Total word count: 4.2k

tag list: @error404-tryagain @jadedrrose @patchofblue @nikos-a-clown @evilunicorns4minions @reader101 @gaynerdnotkid @augustanna @uchihabbynic

Push and Pull

“Y/N-ya, what the hell was that?” You could hear the frustration in his voice follow after you as you dashed out of the room and retreated down the hallway. The game was finally over. The moment Shachi released you from your place on Law’s lap you had made a beeline for your room.

“N-Nothing!” You keep moving, feeling heat rise to your face at the thought of your earlier flirtation attempt. Shachi may have been the one to force you to do it, but it would have been a lot better if you hadn’t fumbled it so badly.

Law quickly caught up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back from your escape. He spins you around to face him, and he towers over you. His face was contorted with such anger that you instinctively shrank away from him.

“Did Shachi put you up to that?” His face had softened some and you could tell he was attempting to control his voice, but his anger was apparent. You hesitated, which was enough of an answer for him. You could feel his grip tighten on your wrist, and you resist the urge not to squirm away from him again. You want to be far away from him and his rage, which now appeared to be centered on your crew mates. You could hear their laughs echoing from the common room, and Law glared in their direction.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says, still facing the common area. You start to respond, wanting to let Law know that it wasn’t a big deal, but he’s already dropped your wrist and is striding back to the common room. A dark aura is rolling off him as he heads towards the crew, and you turn on your heels and bolt to your room, thankful for an escape.

You make yourself scarce over the next few days, and the captain seems to be doing the same. You stay locked in your room, and he stays locked in his office. The only time you interact with Law is over meals, and you catch yourself glancing over at him several times throughout those moments. A few times you glance over to catch his golden eyes staring back at you, and you both quickly look away, praying nobody else caught you all.

You and your captain have been doing this strange dance of avoiding each other and catching stolen looks for three days before the crew decided to step in.

At lunch on the third day, Ikkaku hunts you down to pull you into your room. “You should wear something super nice tonight!” She’s already sifting through the clothes in your drawer.

“What? Why?” You start picking up the clothes that Ikakku has tossed on the floor, but she’s oblivious to your efforts, which irritates you. “Do you mind not making such a mess?”

She ignores your request, still shifting through your belongings and mumbling to herself. “Not a lot to work with here but I’m sure we can find something.”

“Hey-stop that! Ikakku, what is this all about anyway?” You’re throwing your clothes back into the dresser as fast as she’s throwing them out, frustration growing with every shirt you have to refold.

Ikkaku doesn’t offer much explanation. “It’s for the captain.”

You stand there staring at her, dumbfounded, until a stray shirt is thrown at your face. “What’s for the captain?” You finally ask.

Ikakku moves onto the next drawer and keeps digging through your clothes, unfazed by your question. “You gotta dress to impress, sweetheart!”

“Why would I do that?” Your voice comes out choked, and you know your secret has been found out. You still can’t find the will to move, even though your friend is continuing to demolish your room.

Finally, your words catch up to Ikakku, and she turns to face you. She stares at you a long while, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re even worth explaining her motives to. After a few long seconds, Ikakku laughs. “Don’t try to deny it, dear. I know you’re head over heels for him.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. She says it with such confidence that you know there’s no point in denying it. Ikakku always had a sixth sense for these things. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a little while, but you made it pretty obvious during game night. At this point everyone must know.” There’s something extra in her voice that sends you over the edge. She said her words so condescendingly, as if she pitied you and your circumstances.

“Get out! Get out now!” You shoved Ikakku out the door and slammed it behind her, refusing to come out until the dinner call. You feel so humiliated, though you’re not sure why. Your cheeks still turn pink at the thought of that night, which was the last time you had talked to your captain in three days. It felt like Shachi and Ikakku had ruined your entire relationship with the captain because of that stupid dare, and now they were trying to meddle in your life even more.

You were late to dinner because of Penguin. He was trying to get you to put a nicer outfit on, which led to a big fight and left you in a sour mood. By the time the two of you got there, only two seats remained. One next to Shachi, which was obviously meant for Penguin, and one next to the captain, which was obviously meant for you.

Everyone’s eyes followed you as you took your place next to Law, but nobody said anything. You could see Ikakku and Shachi silently questioning Penguin over your outfit choice, but he simply rolled his eyes and waved it off. A few members exchanged glances, and you could feel that someone was waiting for something to happen.

“Sorry for being late to dinner, everyone.” You finally say, trying to sound genuine.

“Shall we eat, then?” Law spoke to the crew, ignoring you and your apology, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You didn’t have much of an appetite, and you weren’t in the mood to talk to the man who you had spent the past few days avoiding, so you occupied your time by pushing your food around on your plate. You tried to take a few bites every now and then, but you weren’t making much of a dent on your food.

“Y/N-ya.” The voice made you freeze. It was the first time your captain had spoken to you since game night. Your eyes shifted over to your captain, but when you made eye contact with him, they darted back to the peas on your plate.

“Are you feeling okay?” There was a calculated levelness in his voice. You go the sense he was asking as a doctor, not as a captain or a friend.

“I’m fine.”

You could see his eye twitch in irritation, but his voice remained calm. “If you would like something else to eat-”

“I don’t.” You interrupt, not giving him the chance to finish his sentence. The other conversations at the table start to die down, and you’ve become painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on you now.

“Captainnnn,” Shachi called to the man next to you. “How about you give Y/N some of your food?”

You’re not sure why, but something snaps inside of you. He’s using that same condescending tone that Ikakku used with you earlier, and the anger that has built inside you over the past three days finally explodes.

“How about you go straight to hell, Shachi?” You say, slamming your fork down onto the table. You see everyone’s mouths fall open in shock, including your captain’s, but you don’t care anymore. You storm out of the room and back to your cabin, furious with the position you’ve allowed yourself to be put into because you have feelings for some guy. You lock your door to avoid unwanted visitors, but nobody tries to come talk to you anyway.

“It’s not my fault that they want to rip off each other’s clothes!” You freeze as you hear Shachi’s voice call out in frustration from the kitchen down the hall. You hadn’t seen them-or anyone- since dinner last night, and you were hoping to avoid everyone while you ventured to the kitchen for lunch today. You had even waited until far after the normal lunchtime to lower your chances of running into someone, but it seems you had waiting too long and now you had stumbled upon the people who were cooking dinner tonight.

“Hush!” A feminine voice scolds at the man in a low hiss. Ikkaku. “Someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t care if they do hear me!” Shachi shoots back. “Everyone on this damn ship can see it except them! It’s been painfully obvious since game night! The way they avoid each other now, the glances over dinner, and now all this hostility!?! I knew the captain would be pissed at us, but now…”

He trails off, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you realize it is you they are talking about. You stay frozen in the hallway, praying that nobody comes around the corner and catches you eavesdropping.

“Listen,” Shachi continues, now in a full-blown rant. “Captain told me that he liked Y/N! And Y/N told you the same thing, right? What were they expecting us to do? Of course we’re going to meddle in that! We’re the most meddlesome people on the ship! They wanted us to intervene! And we did and now they’re avoiding each other like they have some kind of plague and I’m so tired of it!” He pauses for a beat. “We should just tell them.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a horrified gasp and Ikkaku speaks in a deadly serious tone. “We are not doing that, Shachi. Neither of them would ever forgive us.”

“I know, I know.” Shachi seems to have calmed down a bit. “It’s just frustrating to watch. And now they’re both upset with us. I just want them to be happy.”

“As do I. Come on, let’s make dinner,” Ikkaku suggests, trying to change the subject. “We’ll figure out a way to make them forgive us and each other. Until then, we’ll just count their awkward glances.”

“The record is eleven, you know. Eleven times they made eye contact and then quickly glanced away from each other. Just at one dinner!”

So they had noticed the looks you and Law had been sharing. In fact, the more they talk, it sounds like they had been actively watching the two of you. It seems like it was a sort of game to them. They were able to recall most of the ones that had happened over the previous nights, chatting quietly and laughing at the exceptionally embarrassing ones.

There was no way you could face them after learning this. There was no way you could face anyone on the ship. You wanted to go hide in your room forever. You retreat back down the hallway the way you came and quickly rounded the corner to return to your room.

You crashed into someone as you turned the corner, too in a hurry to notice them until it was too late. You’re about to let out a small squeal of surprise when a hand covers your mouth tightly. Panic sets in for a moment, thinking someone may have stowed away on the ship, but when you see equally wide golden eyes staring down at you, you feel a twinge of relief.

A different kind of panic sets in, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how close you are to your captain; how his tattooed fingers are still gripping around your face, holding your mouth shut.

He must realize it too, because his face begins to tint with pink, and he releases you from his grasp. He holds a finger up to his lips and looks around the corner to see if anyone is watching, but Shachi and Ikkaku are still chatting in the kitchen, and nobody else is in the hallway. He takes your wrist and silently leads you away from the kitchen in the direction of his office.

You can feel your heart rate accelerating in your chest with every step closer to the captain’s quarters. Based on his reaction, you weren’t the only one who had heard Shachi’s and Ikkaku’s conversation in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to run, to find a way to put as much distance between you and your captain as you could on this small ship. But you let him lead you down the halls, too afraid to say or do anything else but follow him.

He didn’t look back at you the entire time you walked through the halls. His pace was fast, and at times you struggled to keep up. He quickly opened the door to his office and yanked you inside, looking back in the hallway once more to make sure you weren’t followed before closing it and locking the deadbolt firmly.

“What are you-” You had begun to question him, but quickly lost your voice when he started towards you with such intensity.

“Shachi and Ikakku, were they telling the truth?” His voice is harsh and rough when he speaks to you. You could hear the disbelief in his words, and you knew for a fact that he had heard them in the kitchen. He was towering over you with an intense gaze, and you were doing your best not to cower away from him like before.

“What-”

“A yes or no will do.” He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively step backwards, pressing your back against a random bookcase behind you. He had you cornered now, and your stomach ties into a knot as you look up at him. You feel so small, trapped here in his office with him. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, like a predator when they’ve found their next meal. He’s a little terrifying, yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.

“Y/N.” He prompts again. He didn’t add the normal nickname to it, which was a solidified sign that he was pissed. You didn’t normally find your captain intimidating, but since game night he made your hair stand on edge. You’re too embarrassed to admit your feelings for him, not while staring straight in the eyes like this. You finally break away from his gaze and stare at the floor, too ashamed to answer.

But your captain wants your full attention, and Law’s index finger tucks under your chin and guides your face back up to meet him, beckoning you to look him in the eyes again. You resist at first, but eventually give in, locking back into his honey irises.

He leans down, only centimeters from your face. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he exhales. His breath is hitched and shallow, warm as it brushes against your skin.

Your knees feel weak with him so close to you, and think they might give out any second. The electricity between the two of you is palpable, and you wonder if this is what it means to be alive. You are suspended in this moment only with him, completely isolated from the outside world and everyone in it.

“Was it the truth?” He whispers the question softly this time, and now you can sense a trace of hope laced into his words. You open your mouth to respond, but your words fail you. He looks down at your lips, waiting, and you do the only thing you can. You nod.

That’s all he needs. His lips crash into yours with such force that you have to take a step back to steady yourself, but you stumble against the bookcase. Law’s free hand wraps tightly around you to help you stay balanced, and he pushes you back against the bookcase for more support. Inked fingers trace your jawline and cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him while he leans further into you. There’s been far too much distance between the two of you recently, and he needs to make up for lost time.

You wrap your arms around his body, digging your fingernails into the back of his shirt as you pull him against you, showing him how much you want this-how much you need this. His tongue flicked across your lips and a soft moan escaped your mouth as your lips parted, granting him access to you. He dives in without hesitation, eager for his first taste of you.

His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers throughout your entire body. He reached your waist, and you could feel him hesitate for a moment, unsure how much further to proceed. You press against him harder, encouraging him further, and your hands move upwards, wrapping around his neck to pull him into you more. Your fingers twisted around his midnight locks, tugging at them gently.

His lips finally release from your mouth, and you gasp for air while you have a second to breathe. Both of his hands slip under your ass and he lifts you up, your back still against the shelf for assistance. Your legs wrap around his body, pulling him into you.

He kissed your jawline, and then slowly made his way down to your neck. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin made you pull at his hair harder, shoving his mouth further into your nape. You had to bite your lips to stifle a moan, and he gave a dark chuckle against your skin.

“Come on now,” he teased, nipping at your neck a few times. “Moan for me, y/n-ya”

You didn’t immediately oblige, and he was quickly growing impatient. His lips continued to suck at your skin with such ferocity that you were sure his marks of passion would be displayed there later. He gripped your ass tighter and pushed his groin into the opening between your legs. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans grinding against you, and you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“Fuck, Captain!” You had tried to keep quiet, but the moan rang out loudly against the silent room. Either Law didn’t care about the level of your voice, or he liked it. Judging by the way he thrust into you again, you would guess the latter. Your fingers dug deeper into his locks, pure ecstasy running through your veins now. You wanted to ride this high all the way to the end with your captain, and you continued to call out his name every time his bulge rubbed against you in the perfect way.

Law abandoned your neck to return back to your lips again, muffling your moans with his mouth. He continued to grip your ass tightly and push into you, and you could hear books falling to the ground behind you as his pace began to pick up.

“Errr, Captain?” The voice came from the other side of the door, distorted and concerned. In shock, Law pulled away from you and your hand flew to your mouth in horror, both of you frozen in place.

The door jiggled, and your eyes widened at its movement. Thankfully it stayed shut, locked earlier by the captain.

Law’s eyes stayed connected with yours. He kept you against him, refusing to put you down. “What is it, Bepo?”

“Is everything okay, Captain? I was coming to tell you dinner is ready, and I heard some commotion as I-“

Law cut him off before he let Bepo’s rambling go on too long. “Everything is fine, Bepo. Thank you. We will be at dinner soon.”

Your eyes widen at him, and he realizes his mistake too late.

“We?”

Law curses under his breath and you smile at his uncharacteristic slip up. You can only thank the stars that it’s Bepo summoning him and not anyone else on the crew.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Bepo.” Law corrects, and you can hear Bepo’s feet padding away down the hall without further commentary.

You start to unwrap your legs from around his waist, but he grips you tighter, refusing to release you just yet.

You giggle at him and place a quick kiss on his nose, and in shock, his arms loosen from around you. He releases you, and you hop down happily. All the tension between you two has finally broken, and the air feels lighter now

You do a quick check in the mirror nearby, and attempt to fix the things you can control. You use your fingers to comb through your hair quickly and smooth your shirt, trying your best to make yourself look presentable. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about the welts that are already forming on your neck other than pull up your shirt collar and hope for the best.

“Go ahead, I’m going to clean up and then I’ll be there.” Law bends down to pick up his hat and places it back on his head. It must’ve fallen off at some point, though you’re not sure when. He waves you on, bending back down to begin collecting the books you’ve scattered across the floor.

You start to think that you’ve done something wrong or he’s ashamed to be seen with you, and you feel that familiar pit forming in your stomach.

“Save me a seat,” he calls to you as you exit the room, and your fear instantly melts away.

You walk into the kitchen to find that most people have already congregated around the table. A few people look over to see you come in, and your eyes find Shachi. You smile at him politely, trying to start the process of making up for your outburst yesterday. His eyes glance down to your neck, and you watch as his eyes grow wide. He mutters something to Ikakku and Penguin, and you look away before you become more embarrassed.

You take a seat, and a few minutes later Law walks in and sits next to you. He’s sitting extremely close to you, his leg pressed against yours. You try to avoid the looks Shachi is sharing with the rest of the crew.

Dinner starts out casual, everyone attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. You were chatty with your crew mates, and everyone began to relax more. It finally felt like the crew dynamic was returning to normal again.

Halfway through dinner, you feel a hand rest on the top of your thigh, and you resist the urge to look over at your captain. You can feel his thumb lazily rubbing in circles, and electricity starts through your veins again.

After a few moments his fingers reach down, gripping your inner thigh and giving it a squeeze. You have to bite down on your lip to avoid showing any outward signs of his advancements. You snap your legs shut and attempt to continue your conversation with Clione, ignoring the hint of a smirk dancing across Law’s face.

He pushed further into your inner thigh, massaging it slowly. Continuing his taunt, he spreads his fingers closer to your core and flexes his fingers against you. You shift away from him, and he gripped your thigh harder to prevent you from completely leaving his grasp.

He leans close to you, whispering so only you can hear him. His voice is low and thick with desire. “Do you want to finish what we started?”

Your cheeks burn as he releases your thigh and gets up from the table, not waiting for your response. You wait a few moments before deciding to follow him.

“Thank you, Shachi.” You look at him and pause, and you can feel a sense of understanding pass between you two. “For the meal.” You add in, for sake of appearance.

You get up and walk out of the room, and Law is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand and leads you back towards his office once again. You’re uncertain of what lies ahead, but it’s better than where you’ve been.

“Thank FUCK!” You hear Shachi scream from the kitchen, and the crew joins in with a chorus of laughter. You found yourself agreeing with them, grinning to yourself as the captain pulls you along, hand laced in yours.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law x reader #law x y/n #trafalgar law smut #cozage #✧˚law✧˚

3K notes · View notes

absurdthirst · 3 months

Text

A Roman Romp {Deiter Bravo *AS* Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Drug mentions, power imbalance, fucking the boss, clitoral play, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral sex (male receiving), derogatory names, role play, rough sex, Dieter being unbelievably bad with emotions, costume play.

Comments: You've found a niche as Dieter Bravo's assistant. Taking care of him and sleeping with him work surprisingly easy until his new role as a Roman general makes you completely feral for him.

A/N: Completely inspired by the sexy, bloody gifs.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Deeper. Raspier.” You decide, ignoring the frown of the man in front of you as you contemplate the voice pitch he has changed into. Dieter Bravo loves to experiment with his voice and facial expressions, but being the consummate narcissist that he is, he doesn’t like it when it’s not immediately loved by all. You don’t work that way and he knows it. It’s why you are permitted to run through the dialogue with him and read the scripts when most assistants just scheduled appointments and bring the actors they work for the page changes. “This is a man who has screamed throughout the bloodiest battles, who has inhaled the smoke from a hundred thousand fires. He’s hardened by battle, by death, and he shows it.” You explain, painting a picture for him to visualize from the comfort of his plush designer sofa in his Sherman Oaks mansion.

Dieter nods, shifting to sit up and he clears his throat. “You’re right. He’s seen shit we could never imagine. He needs to be tortured but capable.” Dieter decides and rolls his shoulders. His eyes focus on the script and he says “I declare for Rome. For her Emperor. For her people.” He deepens his voice, letting it catch to be raspier than before. “How was that?” He asks, face softening as he expectedly looks at you.

Despite the massive ego, the demands, and his ability to act like a twelve year old boy at times, Dieter is surprisingly needy. He craves acceptance, like a feral cat who spits and hisses when you get too close, but is desperate to be loved on their own terms. You deal with him delicately at times, more harshly at others, all while understanding that neediness. It’s what made you work well for him. “That was good.” You nod in approval.

He thanks you with a slightly dazed, soppy smile, like he's grateful for the approval. Like it means the most coming from you. "Yeah?" He asks, hungry for more praise and you nod. He stares at you for a second before he looks back at the script, continuing with the new voice he's found for the character and he continues practicing his lines, his eyes drifting over to you every now and then as he seeks approval.

This time he runs through the lines without you reading the other parts, but sometimes he wants you to voice the other characters, to give him a tone to feed off of. Since the Cliff Beasts debacle and you coming to work for him, Dieter has been determined to win another Oscar and you think this might be the role to do that.

“I’m trying on the costumes this afternoon.” Dieter tells you like you didn’t already know that. You know every detail of his schedule. “I know.” You chuckle softly and he flushes slightly, “yeah. I am hoping it’s going to help me find the character posture.” He confesses, “and I get to check out my trailer before filming begins in a couple days.”

That’s code for he wants the trailer to feel like his own personal retreat so you need to pack up all of his favorite things. Like you hadn’t already planned that. “I will make sure that you can relax.” You promise, shooting him a soft smile. “Your favorite incense and candles, that serenity stone and I’ll pack up your favorite sheets to bring with us today.”

“You’re the best.” Dieter compliments you and it’s a rare occasion but he’s sincere as he offers you a soft smile. “I’m gonna go smoke a little before we go to the studio. Can you go get some tacos for me?” He asks, “carnitas.” He decides with a nod as he relaxes against the sofa.

“Sure thing, boss.” You wink at him and put a little away in your walk as you leave the room, knowing his eyes are on your ass. This thing you have with Dieter is incredibly easy and complicated at the same time. You sleep together, pretty damn often, but you aren’t his girlfriend. He’s sworn off relationships since Kate and Anika, but it’s not like you can blame him. You get sex and as a bonus, it puts your boss into a better mood for you to deal with him professionally. It doesn’t hurt that you care about him a lot, love him really, but that’s something you would never admit to him. You know that you just fill a void in his life.

Dieter watches until you disappear and he sets his script down, rubbing his scruffy cheek. Fuck, you’re so goddamn gorgeous. Too good for him to touch you honestly and he knows he’s putting everything on the line. Losing you would mean losing his assistant but also his best friend and some of the best fucking sex he’s ever had. He can’t tell you anything about how he feels in case you’re scared off and he loses it all. With a sigh, he looks back at his script and waits for you to return like the lovesick fool he is.

It doesn’t take you long, the place where you go makes the best fucking tacos and they know how Dieter likes them. He’s ordered from there often enough while he’s high. You get some extras because he said he wanted to smoke some weed when he gets back from having his costume fitted and you know he will have the munchies. Picking up some salad because you know he won’t eat greens unless you get them. “I’m back.” You sail through the door with the paper bag and grin. “You eat and I’ll get the bag together for your trailer.”

Dieter groans at the smell of the tacos and he pats the space next to him. “Come and sit down with me, babe.” He orders, wanting you to eat as well. You run around after him all the time and he knows you don’t always remember to eat.

“Okay.” You don’t argue, just plopping down beside him and handing him the agua fresca you had ordered for him from the drink carrier. “I can eat and then I’ll make sure we get you settled into your trailer.”

Dieter reaches out to squeeze your leg. He’s always been a touchy feely kind of man, needing that physical connection. That’s why he wants sex so much. He loves to feel wanted and to be touched. “You’re the best.” He says around a mouth full of tacos.

“You might not think so when you see this.” You tease, pulling out the salad to set in front of him. He doesn’t argue but he does pout, swallowing the mouth of tacos and sighs. “Did you get that adobo dressing?” He asks hopefully, knowing he would eat anything as long as that stuff is on it. “Two of them.” You promise. “So you can have one for a salad on set.”

“Fuck yes. You’re - you’re the fucking best. No one comes close to you. Literally no other assistant is like you, babe.” Dieter praises with a mouth full of tacos. His last assistant couldn’t make him hard and he certainly couldn’t make him eat salad. He was authoritative and while Dieter likes to be submissive, when it comes to his work, he is the one in control.

You shouldn’t let the praise get to you, knowing that Dieter is always expressive when he’s happy and then can throw full tantrums when he’s not. Still, you smirk and lean forward to grab a taco for yourself after putting a straw in your own drink. “That’s why you pay me so well.” You remind him. “Don’t forget you still have to make that happy birthday video to send to your niece.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’ve already sent the gift from you. It’s a battery operated kiddie jeep. She will love it.”

Dieter nods, knowing he would have completely forgotten about her birthday. He loves his niece but his brother is a stiff prick. Always the golden child. Better at everything including being monogamous and heterosexual. He went to college, got his finance degree. Has the wife and 2.5 kids in Dallas and Dieter is…never good enough. Even when he’s won a fucking Oscar. “I gotta go see that kid soon. Make sure she’s not fucking boring like her dad.” He snorts as he wipes his mouth.

“Let me know when you want to go and I’ll work it into your schedule.” You promise, reminding yourself to remind him of it when filming ends for this movie. He always wants to go somewhere after he’s wrapped a movie. “Just let me know and I’ll take care of everything.” From his flight to the drugs, you will make sure he has everything he needs.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, unsure if he wants to deal with his family. Especially his parents. He left Texas to come to L.A when he was eighteen and he struggled until he got spotted while he was failing at being a waiter. “You need a break too. At some point.” He announces as he reluctantly digs into his salad even with the adobo smothering it.

“I get breaks.” You remind him. But it’s true you don’t get them often. Even when Dieter travels, he brings you with him. He likes having you close and it’s not something you are completely opposed to. Spending months in Croatia or China is amazing. You reach over and brush his hair back and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for eating your salad.”

He loves the praise and hates that he loves it. His life is messy and the last thing he wants to do is lose you because he ruins it with his personality. At least like this you’re at a distance. “Fucking lettuce.” He grumbles and takes another bite, tilting his cheek out so he can get another kiss.

You grin against his skin as you pepper his cheek with little kisses. You don’t mind when he’s like this. It’s sweet, even if it’s needy. Dieter so desperately wants love and for someone to adore him. He just manages to ruin every relationship he gets in when someone new shows up and showers him with attention. You know that it’s possible with your situation. You just have to deal with it.

Dieter loves the way you give him affection and he chews his salad after you pull away, he looks down at the salad, setting it down after a moment to dig into another taco. “Tacos are better.” He decides and watches as you dig into your own food.

“I know they are, baby.” He hates eating salads and you try to make it fun most of the time, but there’s no chance against tacos. “But this counterbalances the tacos. You’ve been doing so good at the gym. That sexy body needs the good stuff for all those fight scenes.”

Dieter has definitely had to put in time at the gym to make sure he’s getting in shape for this role. He had a nutritionist and personal chef come in for the past few months and he’s done pretty good building up his arms. “Yeah? You think I’ll look convincing?” He asks, eager for your approval of the body he’s been working out for.

“You’ll be amazing.” You promise him. “You already have a look that can be so authoritative, but put you in Roman armor?” You groan quietly and shake your head. “I thought Maximus was sexy, but your Marcus Acacius will blow him out of the water.”

Dieter flushes slightly, ducking his head at your praise, and he loves how you compliment him. “Yeah? You think I’ll be sexy in the costume?” He smirks, “and the sex scene.” He adds, “gonna watch me on the closed set?”

You knew there was a sex scene, but you didn’t think Dieter would want you there. “If you want me to.” You tell him. “I know that day will be a long one for you.”

Dieter nods, reaching for your hand after he wipes his clean. “I want you there. I always want you there.” He admits, “I just - you know me best in that department and I want to make sure it looks real, natural.”

You could point out that Dieter has had so many more lovers than you have, but you don’t. “You’re going to look even sexier then.” You promise. “They are going to create a new Oscar category just for you. Best Sex Scene.”

Dieter chuckles, “I fucking wish. I could win that every damn year.” He says with conviction, “especially if I was filmed with you.” He says and winks, picking up the salad to reluctantly finish it even with the dressing.

You hum in approval and quickly finish your own taco before you pat his leg gently. “Let me go get you packed up so we can leave, baby.” You murmur. “You don’t want to be late with Wardrobe.”

Dieter nods, watching you get up and his eyes drop down to your ass again as you make your way into his room to get what he needs. You do everything for him and he can’t ever pay you enough for putting up with his shit.

Less than an hour later, you have Dieter loaded up in the car and you are headed to the studio where you will be filming the fight scenes. Some of the location work will be later but they want to get the fights filmed first to give them plenty of time to work on the CGI. Dieter decided to let you drive so he could read over the script again. “Don’t worry. While you are with wardrobe, I’ll get the key to your trailer. We can take a picture outside with your name on it for you IG.”

Dieter sighs, he hates social media but he knows it’s needed for him to keep himself relevant when his industry is suddenly flooded with fucking Tik Tok stars and IG models. “Sure.” He adjusts his sunglasses on his nose as he reads over the script, “you really think the voice is right?”

“That voice went straight to my pussy.” You admit, knowing that confession will give him a smug grin. He likes knowing when something turns you on. “Yeah?” His normal voice instantly changes to the once he had practiced for Marcus and you make sure to squirm in the driver’s seat a little. “Yeah, it’s good. Panties around the world will explode.”

Dieter smirks, imagining the reaction with his fans but he doesn’t care about their panties exploding when he only wants yours to explode. Sure, it helps his career to still be considered a sex symbol but he wants you to want him more than any woman thirsting on Twitter.

You giggle quietly to yourself, guiding the car to the studio and you get parked. “Okay. Do you want to see the trailer first and figure out where it is? I can get it set up while you are in wardrobe?”

“Yeah. I wanna see if they gave me a good one or if they put me in the fucking back again.” He had a meltdown when his trailer was at the very end of the lot on his last project. He’s a fucking Oscar winner not someone doing their first fucking movie. You nod and he gets out while you gather the bags with his things. He doesn’t ask if you need help. That’s never really been his nature so you carry the bags to the trailer that’s been assigned as his. “First row. Now that’s more fucking like it.” He declares as he claps his hands.

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and follow him into the trailer. It’s perfectly clean and sterile in that brand new kind of way and it will bother Dieter if it stays that way for too long. “I’ll get all this set up to your liking.” You promise.

Dieter looks around before his eyes find yours again, "that would be awesome." He declares, "oh and get me some Kit Kats. You know I love snacking on those ever since Cliff Beasts." He shivers slightly at that movie. Something he took in the desperation of the pandemic when he was stuck at home alone and was losing his mind.

“Kit Kats.” You nod and walk up to him, sensing that he needs a little affection. You caress his cheek and press your lips to his. “You are going to be amazing.” You promise him. “We will make sure this is the best film shoot you’ve ever had.”

Dieter appreciates you and he sighs, “I better get to costume to try everyone on.” He hates costume design but he needs to get there since it’s his time and they will need to do adjustments. “I better go, babe.” He kisses your cheek and exits the trailer, disappearing while you sort out his trailer.

You run and get the KitKats and make four more trips from the car for the bags of stuff for Dieter’s trailer. Stripping the basic sheets off the bed, you replace them with the Egyptian cotton ones that are 2500 thread count, which he loves. Shoving the pillows that were on the bed into a small compartment because he prefers down alternative pillows and putting the soothing weighted blanket over it all. The candle and incense is already burning and there’s a whiff of sage still, letting Dieter know that you’ve done all the things he claims helps clear his mind and calm him down. The basket full of KitKats next to the room temperature San Pellegrino bottles that he prefers when his throat hurts. The small refrigerator is stocked with other drinks and you look around satisfied that he will be comfortable.

Dieter stares at himself in the mirror in his costume and he smirks, knowing you’re going to lose your mind when you see the armor on his body. It’s surprisingly heavy and he didn’t think they’d use metal but they have. He likes the weight of it, it helps him get into character a bit more. The costume designers take notes on adjustments and he changes back, making his way to his trailer. “Fuck. You are amazing.” He compliments as you fluff the pillows you brought from his home.

You hum in delight and turn back to look at him. “That’s what I’m here for.” You motion to the trailer. “Think you can decompress here?”

He nods, groaning as he lays down on the bed. “Come here.” He opens his arm to invite you to lay with him and you follow his order, making him sigh and he shifts to curl around you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He confesses, burying his face in your neck.

“Be late.” You tease, stroking his side and chest and you let him hold you. “Wear the same thing for a week and eat nothing but tacos.” You enjoy taking care of Dieter and for all his selfishness, you appreciate the moments like this where he acknowledges everything you do for him. “How did costume fitting go?” You ask, sensing that he’s in a pretty mellow mood so it must have been good.

Dieter loves how you touch him and he nuzzles into your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “It went well. They just have to do some minor adjustments. I- I am worried that I look - that I’m too old to do this part. The fighting. Will I look believable?” He asks, a frown on his face as he pulls back to look at you.

“Completely believable.” You promise, reaching up to run your fingers through the longer curls that he’s grown out for this role. “You will look like the war-hardened general. Experienced and trained by years of fighting.” You remind him. “Generals have wisdom. They’ve experienced heartache and lost men. They are supposed to have some gray in their hair and beards.” You bring your fingers down to scratch through his facial hair, knowing how much he likes that. “They might have to add some more. You don’t have quite enough to be that salt and pepper look, if that’s what they want. You’re gonna win another Oscar. I just know it.”

Dieter loves how confident you are in his abilities and that makes him feel more secure, makes him a better actor. “Thank you.” He whispers, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “You - I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He murmurs, closing his eyes. You hum, continuing to stroke his hair until he blurts out, “I want Chinese for dinner.”

You are so used to the way that Dieter suddenly shifts gears that it’s nearly automatic. “The fancy or the nasty?” You ask, wondering if he’s wanting the upscale Chinese fusion place or the tiny little hole in the wall that makes the best egg rolls you’ve ever eaten in your life.

He ponders it for a second, “the nasty.” He offers you a smirk. “The greasy egg rolls. The fried rice.” He groans at the thought, “then tomorrow I’ll be good. I’m training tomorrow.” He tells you like you don’t know his schedule off by heart.

“Sword training.” You agree. “Bright and early at seven.” He groans pitifully and pouts at the early morning call. “I’ll make sure that you have a powerful protein smoothie first thing.”

Dieter groans, “smoothies and sword training. Seven? Fuckkkkk.” He moans and curls around you again. “Baby baby baby. Let’s go back to mine and then we can get dirty Chinese food and then I can eat my dessert.” He smirks, sliding his down between your legs to cup your cunt through your leggings.

“Yeah?” You moan quietly, always loving how his large hands feel on your body. “We can call and pick it up on the way.” You don’t call it home, because technically you don’t live with him although you spend most nights at his house. “Maybe a bath after and I can rub your back before you fall asleep.”

“Fuck you spoil me. I gotta call Sally and tell her to give you a damn raise.” He groans, telling you he wants his manager to make sure you’re looked after. He presses his fingers against your clit through your leggings, wanting to hear you moan again.

You don’t bite your lip, knowing that Dieter doesn’t want you to suppress your sounds. He’s always greedy for the sounds you make, greedy for the approval. His fingers press insistently against your bundle of nerves expertly. “Dee, baby, that feels so good.” You praise breathlessly.

He loves hearing your praise. He’s greedy for it and he hisses when you lean in to kiss his jaw. His fingers continue to press against your bundle of nerves, pressing and rubbing, wanting you to fall apart for him.

“Dee, baby.” You arch your hips up under his hand, grinding your clit down against his fingers. “You’re gonna make me cum. Fuck, I’m going to ruin these panties.”

He wants to hear your sweet cry. He groans, hardening in his pants, “I’ll buy you more.” He promises, continuing to rub you through the material. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Want to hear those sweet fucking moans.” He urges you on.

It doesn’t take long when Dieter wants to make you cum. He’s a skilled enough lover to have learned you, since you’ve slept with him so much. You hold onto his arm, gasping in pleasure until your toes curl. “Deeeeee!” You cry out, closing your eyes when the wave of pleasure washes over you and heat fires through your core.

He hisses when your thighs squeeze his hand, keeping him trapped there while you squirm through your orgasm. “Fuck you’re so pretty when you cum.” He coos, watching you with fascination.

You doubt that. Sometimes you are a little disbelieving that he finds you sexy, but you understand that he might want you to think that so you continue to sleep with him. Whining drowsily, you pull him close and press your lips to his. “Do you want to break in this bed now or go home?”

Dieter smirks against your lips, "come on baby. Let's do it. Break in the bed then we will get Chinese food." It sounds like a fantasy he's jerked off to thinking about you. He is already hardening in his pants and he groans when you reach down to squeeze his bulge. "How do you want me?" He asks, "cowboy? doggy? waterfall? little dipper? the socket?" He lists off positions with raised eyebrows.

You squeeze his cock again and then slide your hand under the waist band to wrap around his shaft. Dieter moans and he twitches in your hand. “How do you want me?” You ask. “You know it’s the Big Dipper with this cock.” You tease, knowing how much he loves being praised for how big he feels inside you. “Do you want to fuck me? Or have me do the work?”

Dieter loves to be a pillow prince but right now, he wants to fuck you. "Strip off and lay on your side." He demands, his voice lowering as his cock twitches at the thought of sliding inside of you. You're so hot and wet, like fucking velvet, and you make his toes curl.

You have no problem stripping for him, he’s seen you naked more times than you can count. Pulling your bra down your arms, you toss it to the floor after pulling your shirt off and quickly strip down the leggings and ruined panties. “Are you going to fuck me wearing clothes or are you stripping too?”

Dieter wants to be naked too. He loves being naked. He would spend all weekend naked if he could. He shuffles off the bed and scrambles to pull his shirt over his head, shoving his sweats down to expose his hard cock. You lay down and he shifts to lay behind you, reaching down to grip his cock. He pumps himself a few times, "lift your leg, baby. I want to slide inside that wet pussy."

Lifting your leg gives him the access he wants and you reach back for his hip. Wanting to touch him as he rocks his hips forward. “It’s so wet.” You promise. “I need you inside me, Dieter.”

He shuffles closer, notching himself at your entrance as he pushes into you. "Fuckkk." He groans as your walls envelop him and he pushes deeper until he's nudging your cervix. "Fuck. So fucking wet." He lets go of his cock and grabs your leg, gripping it to keep it elevated.

“Shit.” Your body lights up when he pushes inside you. Taking him up on his offer of sex about four months after you started working for him had been the best decision you ever made. You squeeze your tits and moan, clenching down around him. “Feels so fucking big, baby. You fill me up perfectly.”

Your praise makes him twitch inside you. He loves it when you praise him, it makes his heart flutter and his stomach clench. "Fuck, you're so tight. Tightest little pussy I've ever fucked." He confesses and he has lost count of how many sexual partners he has had. He hadn't ventured out of your bedroom since a few weeks after you started sleeping together. He has become addicted to your body and he can't keep away from your bed. His fingers squeeze your flesh as he starts to rock into you.

You lean your head back against his shoulder and moan. “Easy to say when-“ you gasp when he pushes deep. “Your fat cock makes anything tight.” Your hand reaches back to caress his face, knowing how much Dieter loves to be stroked and caressed while fucking. “God baby, you just ruin me.” You honestly don’t know how you will get over losing the sexual part of your relationship when Dieter gets bored, but you know it will come eventually. Hell, you’re surprised it hasn’t already happened if you’re honest with yourself. But regular sex is something Dieter craves and you have never turned him down, your own sex drive is pretty high.

Dieter loves the praise, fuck, he loves hearing the way he makes you feel spill from your lips. His thrusts become harder and he hisses when you clench around him. “Fuck.” He groans and turns his head to kiss your palm, his other arm is trapped beneath you but he doesn’t care.

You feel that need in the frantic push of his hips. He’s craving the closeness he feels from sex and you push your ass back, encouraging him. “Yes baby, need this. Needed you to fuck me.” You pant. “Always need it.”

He grips your leg, shifting it more towards your stomach and he groans at the new angle. You’re so much tighter like this. “Fuck baby. You - you’re the best. The fucking best.” He murmurs, kissing along your shoulder.

The weight of him on top of you presses you into the bed, making it harder to push back against him, but you just squeeze him tight every time he thrusts back into you. “Deeeee.” You whine, loving the angle of his cock battering against your cervix. He feels like he’s in your guts when he pushes his hope forward. “Fuck baby, that cock is soooooo good.”

Dieter shifts his hips again, trying to find that spot inside you that makes you scream his name. He wants the entire fucking studio to know who is fucking you like this. He groans when you squeal on his best thrust and he focuses on that spot, wanting you to cum for him.

He’s demanding today. Your moans and squeals come easily, fingers gripping the covering on the bed. You’ll have to make it again later, but you don’t care. He feels amazing pounding into you against that spot. “Dee- Dieter- I’m- I’m gonna-“ you pant, trying to talk while he’s fucking you but it’s nearly impossible. “Oh shit!” You scream, clamping down around his cock when you feel the pressure suddenly reach its peak.

The way you gush around him has him panting as he tries to work himself into your cunt as you grip him like a vice. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He hisses, pushing deep. He’s never been great at stamina without drugs so sober, he’s thrusting into you a half dozen more times until he’s painting your walls with his cum.

You groan softly, feeling the hot pulse of his cum filling you. You have an IUD, and Dieter has regular STI testing for insurance reasons and you love that he feels comfortable enough to not use protection with you. “That’s it baby, that’s it.” You reach back and hold his head, wanting to touch him as he rides out his orgasm and collapses on top of you with a breathless huff.

“Fuck. I really don’t pay you enough.” He chuckles breathlessly. “Best fucking pussy in L.A.” He compliments while he’s drunk on his orgasm and he kisses your shoulder, enjoying the feel of your hot cunt wrapped around his softening cock.

You snort at his comment and relax against the pillow. It could be ten minutes or an hour before Dieter moves but you always love the way he collapses into you bonelessly. “If I charged you for my pussy, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

Dieter snorts, “probably not.” He doesn’t deny that. Sure, he’s had sex workers in his bed before but you are his assistant and there’s an emotional connection he hasn’t found before. He’s addicted to it and he can’t let you go. He is excited to start this new project with you by his side.

****

“Dieter has an interview at twelve that day, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” You tap a pencil against your notepad as you pour over his schedule. “As long as he doesn’t go over we can make it to the studio by four and then have him ready.” His manager is on the other side of the zoom call, video feed in the corner of your computer, wanting to squeeze in a late night talk show to talk about the movie being released next month, while also teasing about this movie. “Will that work for them?”

“Yeah. We can make that work.” His manager and his PR team agree and you add it to his schedule. “We can also get him on that podcast in the next week, if he has a gap. It’s about sexual exploration and of course people know he is quite active. I think it will develop some big hit content. As long as he doesn’t talk about drugs.” His manager sighs.

“He’s been doing a lot better.” You remind them. “Working out for this film is doing wonders for him, even if he complains. He’s just smoking a little weed on the off days.” You look over his schedule again. “On Thursday he is supposed to have a half day of shooting, if we can reschedule his meeting with the accountant, he could do the podcast then?”

His manager hums and looks over the PR team who nods, confirming it with the podcast booker. “That will work. So that’s his schedule for the next month. Thanks for all your hard work. I know he’s not the easiest to handle.” His manager snorts just as Dieter opens the door to his trailer. He’s still in costume, covered in fake blood and dirt and he’s exhausted. He slumps onto the sofa with a groan.

“Okay, I’ll get back with you all later.” You promise, closing out the Zoom call and turning to look over at Dieter. It’s the first time you’ve properly seen him in costume and your mouth drops open. “Holy shit.” You hiss, clenching your thighs together as you take in the raw, rough and frankly sexy view of Dieter as a Roman general.

Dieter doesn’t notice your interest in his costume, rubbing his forehead as he is hot from the fighting. He’s exhausted. It’s been days of trying to get the scene just right. Including more takes than he’s ever known to cover the reaction of the crowd, of the emperor, of his lover in the stands. “It’s been a long fucking day.” He whines, opening one eye to look at you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is a little raspy, making you clear your throat as you sit up straighter and bite your lip. “It’s been a long day, baby?” You ask, wishing for a moment that Dieter was a method actor that stayed in character. Wanting to hear that voice he had developed for Marcus Acacius while he’s wearing that costume. “You need me to take care of you?”

He opens both eyes and smirks, seeing the way your eyes drop down to his costume. “Does this do it for you?” He asks slyly, standing up from the sofa and he brushes his costume down. His voice deepens as he asks you, “you want me to fuck you wearing this?” Instantly interested in this visceral reaction from you.

You shiver slightly, his voice changing to the authoritative tone he had practiced with you. His eyes are hardening as he looks at you. “Yes.” You admit immediately. “We can- I can ride you.” You offer, cunt dripping at the thought.

His cock hardens in his briefs under the tunic and he stiffens his spine, wanting to enjoy this role play with you. “Stand up and strip. I want to see you.” He demands, “I want to see what the emperor has gifted me for winning my battle.”

Shit. A whimper escapes you, biting your lip even harder when he slips into role play as he watches you expectantly. You reach for your shirt and drag it over your head to drop to the floor. Wishing you had worn a dress today. “Too bad they aren’t using me as an extra.” You moan. “Pulling off a Roman dress would be sexy.”

“Fuck. I could ask wardrobe for an extra.” He says as his eyes take in your tits and he breaks character for a moment. When you’re naked in front of him, he straightens his back again. “Kneel before your general and tell him your sins.” He demands, “tell him what your weeping pussy yearns for that angers the gods.” His voice is deep and authoritative.

You have no idea if that is anything remotely like a Roman general would say, but you are quick to drop down to your knees in front of him. You bow your head, feigning embarrassment, and there might be a little of the genuine emotion mixed in. Your reaction to his costume is so physical. “You, general.” You moan quietly. “I wish for the general to take his frustrations out on my body. To use my cunt.”

Dieter knows he should be more like a general but he wants to tease you since you’re turned on by this display. By his character. “You’re nothing but a servant. You are nothing to men like me. Someone to fetch my wine and let me fuck your cunt. You want to please your general?” He asks as he reaches down to pull his hard cock from his briefs. He pumps himself and shifts closer to you, “you’re going to suck my cock.” He demands, “and pray the gods forgive you for your lust.”

It’s demeaning and sexy because most of the time Dieter is a whiny, submissive mess who does what you say, but right now he’s in charge. Except he’s not Dieter Bravo, not completely. He’s his character, Marcus Acacius. You open your mouth immediately, your cunt clenching when he pushes the head of his cock onto your tongue and past your lips. Making you moan as you close your eyes. He’s a little salty from sweat but that only adds to the little scene he’s acting out.

He groans as you take him into your mouth but it’s not enough. He reaches down to grab the back of your neck. “You’re not taking my cock like a hungry, needy, little whore. Show me how much you fucking want it.” He demands, rocking his hips to push deeper into your mouth.

You gasp and sputter around his cock, loving the almost ruthless way he is pushed down your throat. You swallow around him, making him groan and you feel your pussy start to drip onto the floor of the trailer. The scene is obscene and you love it, eyes watering as you look up at his ‘dirty and bloody’ face.

His brow is furrowed as he watches you, makeup on his face making him look fierce and he hisses when you swallow around him. “Fuck. Look at you. I bet your cunt is dripping onto the floor, isn’t it? Knowing you are sucking the cock of a general. Someone you’d never be able to be near unless you’re pouring my wine or taking my cock.” He chuckles breathlessly, slapping your cheek.

Your body shivers in goosebumps and you whimper around him. Your nipples are hard and aching and you want to reach between your thighs to rub your clit, but you want to prolong the pleasure. Saliva is dripping down your chin and you bob your head eagerly as you moan around him again. So turned on that you feel like you might cum right now.

Dieter twitches in your mouth, loving the roleplay. It's not really been something that he has explored due to his occupation. "Fuck. Your mouth is the Elysian Fields. Shit. Taking it so well." He compliments you, bending over you to squeeze your breast.

You hollow your cheeks, pressing your tongue to the underside of his cock. Moaning around his length again as your saliva slick jaw works to take him deeper. Wanting to see how long he can last in your mouth before he is pulling out to fuck you.

"Fuck. I - I don't want to-" He loses his character for a moment as he pulls out of your mouth, "I want to fuck you. Get on the bed and show me how much this little slut wants a general to fuck her." He demands, his cock slick with saliva and he wants to cum inside you.

You love the tone and honestly, it’s a little bit of a turn on to hear him call you a slut like that. Dieter doesn’t usually ever use derogatory names unless he’s talking about himself, but this is sexy. You want him to fuck you from behind, but you want to see the costume. Climbing on the bed and spreading your legs wide while you are on your back, you wait for him to react.

Dieter bites his lip, watching your chest heave and he chuckles at how eager you are for him to fuck you like this. “Look at you. Fucking dripping onto the sheets. Hungry for this General’s cock.” He mocks you as he stands at the end of the bed. He grabs your thighs, dragging you down to the edge of the bed. “You’re going to take whatever I give you.” He orders and grips his cock, positioning himself at your entrance before he pushes inside you in one thrust.

Your cry is loud and you don’t care who hears you. It’s not unusual for cast and crew to hear the sounds of sex coming from Dieter’s hotel room or trailer so no one ever expects any less from him. The snap of his hips is more aggressive and your cunt clenches down around him in pleasure as your fingers twist in the sheets. “Fuck- fuck yes!”

He can see how desperate you are for him to fuck you and he loves it. He focuses on being his character, imagining how roughly he’d fuck someone with adrenaline from the battle racing through him. “Fuck you’re so tight. Such a good little whore for me.” He praises as he grabs your legs and straightens them against his body so he can feel even bigger inside you.

Your eyes roll back because of the angle. His cock pushing deeper and kissing your womb. It pinches slightly but the pleasure overwhelms any pain. “G-gods!” You manage, finding it hard to think about anything but how fucking fierce he looks over you. His brows are pinched together and it makes him look furious, adding to the effect of the costume.

His body is still covered in fake dirt and blood, sweat beading on his forehead, and he looks down as your tits jiggle with each move and your mouth is open in pleasure. If you were a Roman god, you’d be Venus. “Taking my cock. Taking your general’s cock like a good slut. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you? Bet you sat there wet and waiting for me to come back from battle. Fuck you hard and make you cum after my frustration in battle.” He grunts, squeezing your legs as he rocks impossibly harder.

You moan and nod. “Yes, General.” You pant out, reaching up and squeezing your left tit as he fucks you. “Waiting for you to come back. Thinking of you.” Your pussy is gushing and Dieter is playing up the part beautifully. You had never thought of role play with him before but it’s perfect.

Your gushing cunt has his cock sliding in and out of you with ease and his skin slaps against your thighs. “Fuck. So good. Feel so fucking good.” He groans and squeezes your calves. He hisses and slaps your flesh, “you gonna be a good girl for your general? You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.” You gasp out, knowing that will be easy to do. “Dee- general.” You moan, correcting yourself when he squeezes your thigh and grunts in disapproval when you almost say his name. He obviously likes playing the general right now and you will oblige him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He wants to see it, hear it, feel it. He groans your name and slaps your thigh, wanting you to fall apart around him. You pant, getting closer and your walls flutter around his cock. “That’s it. That’s it.” He grunts, sliding his hand lower to rub your clit. “Cum for me.” He demands, wanting to hear it, “cum for your general.”

He clenches his jaw and his nostrils flare. It's so goddamn sexy and powerful that the sight of it makes you cum. Your cry is strangled, caught in your throat while your body bucks and heaves under him. Soaking his cock and you vaguely hope you don't ruin his costume as you fall apart.

You clamp down on his cock and your cry has to be heard on the entire lot as you soak his cock. "Fuck, you are - shit. Good girl. Such a good little whore for me. Gonna fill you up now. Don't care if you get knocked up. Will make sure you are looked after by the Emperor." He promises, still in character. "Fuck, I'm gonna - gonna cum." He pants, clenching his eyes as he pushes into you, thrusting a half dozen more times before he can't hold off. He pushes deep as he starts to cum, a whine escaping his lips as he breaks character.

You moan softly, watching his face relax and he literally changes from the character he was portraying to the actor that you work for and sleep with. His shoulder slump and his eyes shift back to a more soulful gaze, glazed over with pleasure as he rocks his hips forward to push every drop of cum into your pulsing walls. “Fuck, Dee.” You can’t help but giggle, your entire body tingling from the pure adrenaline of your orgasm. “That was- is your sex scene going to be like that?”

Dieter inhales deeply, his spine tingling from the orgasm, and he snorts, shaking his head as he looks down at you. "No. No. Fuck." He shakes his head, trying to get control of himself after some great fucking sex. "It's gonna be boring. She rides me, her naked, me in armor." He tells you and you nod, "not like this." He caresses your legs, "not like this."

You hum, smirking slightly and you reach down to caress the armored chest of his costume. “Well then, why don’t I ride you in your costume before you film, so you can imagine I’m the one on top of you?” You suggest, not even remotely upset by the idea of fucking him again like this. Your pussy clenches down around his softening cock. “Anything I can do to help you.”

Dieter smirks, "Jesus, you'll have me hardening in the damn sock thinking about you but fuck...I can bring the costume back to the trailer another day." He decides and reaches for your hand to kiss your palm. "Have I ever told you that I love you?" He asks softly, knowing you deserve to know how he feels.

Dieter says he loves you all the time, most often after you do something for him he had expected you to refuse. It’s glib and flippant, not real so you don’t ever tell him how it hurts you when he does because you know he doesn’t love love you. “I could stand to hear it more.” You admit, heart twisting and you cup his cheek when he puts your hand against it. “Because I love you too.”

Your adoring gaze makes his heart flutter and he’s reminded once again how he cannot live without you. You’re his rock and you keep him on track, not letting him spiral when things go wrong. He sighs, “not like I want you to” and lets go of your hand to pull out of you. He can’t say how he really feels and he dejectedly tucks his cock away.

The ever shifting moods of Dieter reminds you that he isn’t yours and you decide to just giggle to cover the flare of hurt. “Of course not.” You hum. “That wouldn’t fit your reputation.” You sit up and reach for a towel. “Do you want a snack?” You ask, moving back into caretaker mode.

Dieter watches you shuffle off the bed, reaching for your panties and he sighs, “you don’t get it. I don’t mean- whatever. It’s whatever.” He huffs and decides to head back onto set and find himself something to drink.

You frown when he leaves the trailer before you can put yourself back together. Wondering why he seems so shiftless right now, if he’s feeling guilty about something. You know that he’s not great at expressing himself and sometimes acts out like a child would. He doesn’t like being emotionally vulnerable. You decide to go to the set and see if you can help him.

Dieter is nursing a black coffee when you arrive on set and he is sitting, waiting for the other actors to come back from their break. You walk over to him and he stares at the cup in his hand. “Sorry for - for that.” He manages to get out like it’s painful to say.

“Don’t worry about it.” The last thing you need is for Dieter to think you are mad at him. He needs to concentrate on the scenes being filmed today and hopefully by the time he’s done, whatever is upsetting him will have passed. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? You didn’t eat much this morning.” His blood sugar might be low. “I brought you a Kit Kat.” You pull the candy bar out of your bag and offer it to him.

He looks up at you in surprise and takes the chocolate, undoing the wrapper after you take his coffee and he groans as he chews it, not realizing how hungry he was. You stand there in silence and Dieter hands you the wrapper after the AD calls for everyone to return to set. He inhales deeply, mentally shifting into his character.

You sit in the chair he vacated, that is still warm from him sitting there. Watching as he takes his mark and his co-stars also get into position. It’s always interesting to watch Dieter work, the truth in the saying that all artists are slightly mad being very true. You think he is amazing.

Dieter grunts as soon as the director calls action, working on remembering his blocking and the choreography. People think that acting is easy, that it doesn't take a lot, but Dieter's life has been acting and it's exhausting physically and mentally. He gets lost in his character as he works his way through the scene.

You have memorized the lines and the action sequences. Seeing the hard work he has been putting in come to life as he goes through the scenes. Sometime they cut and reset, but you are so impressed and fucking turned on by his competence in this role, it makes you press your thighs together.

Dieter is sweating when he finishes his scene and he strides off set when the director calls cut, taking the bottle of water you have ready for him. He desperately wants a shower so he's relieved when the director calls it for the day and he hands you the water bottle. "Need a damn shower and some weed." He declares, walking off set and you follow him.

You know that he’s tired so you don’t try to talk to him. Just follow him back to the trailer and you pick up his costume as he strips it off, taking it back to wardrobe as he gets into the shower. His comfy sweats and crocs are set out and you have ordered dinner to be delivered to the house by the time you get there.

Dieter stands under the water, eyes closed as he tries to imagine his life when he’s older. He will be too old to be a movie star, too old to be considered another more than a washed up legend. His legacy will be his Oscar and nothing else. He hates the idea of not having anything else written in his eulogy. He hates the thought of being alone. He imagines if he gets the balls to say how he feels about you. Sure, he’s not conventional but he loves you. You don’t care about the fame or the money. You see him, you know him. He imagines being old, watching his kids grow up with you beside him. He wants that. He just needs to tell you for real and hope you don’t crush his crumbling heart in your hands.

Once you’ve returned the costume, you pick up the changes to the script and the blocking for tomorrow, going back to the trailer to pack up the bag you always carry for Dieter. He’s still in the shower, which is a little unusual but you just think that he’s sore. You’ll offer to give him a massage once he’s smoked a little and relaxed. It’s been a long day.

Dieter finally turns off the shower, stepping out and wrapping the towel around his waist. He washes the makeup from his face with the organic cleanser you get him and he comes out to find you waiting for him. “Shit.” He hisses, rubbing his eyes, “I just know I’m gonna lose you.” He admits, trying to ignore how fucking pretty you look waiting for him.

You frown, not sure what the hell he is talking about. “Are you okay?” You ask, stepping closer to him and wondering if he might have taken something without you knowing. He's been doing so good with not taking random pills, but this is Dieter. “You aren’t going to lose me unless you wander off.” You joke playfully, reaching out and touching his arm.

He flinches and shakes his head, “no. No. You’re gonna go and all because I can’t control- I can’t stop thinking - fuck!” He yells and you jump, making his frown deepen. “There’s - it’s just all in my head bouncing around all the damn time.” He admits, waving his hands around his wet curls, “you’re gonna leave because you don’t - it’s gonna ruin everything but I can’t stop myself.” He admits and you frown, shaking your head, “Dieter. What’s wro-?” You don’t get to finish before he blurts out, “I’m in love with you!”

Your mouth drops open slightly, shocked by his outburst. His eyes are filled with sorrow, grief. As if you’ve already rejected him. “Dee…” he shakes his head “I knew it.” He mumbles and you step closer. “Know what?” You ask, tilting your head. “That I’m in love with you too? That I’m scared that you’ll find someone else? That you’ll be bored?” You ask, voice shallow and fearful. “Because that’s all true.”

Dieter stares at you in shock, thinking for a second that he’s high or this is some dream. He swallows harshly and reaches for his towel, dragging it from his body. “Dieter.” You whisper in confusion and he reaches for your hand, bringing it to his chest. “I’m yours. All of me is yours and I stand in front of you now naked and totally exposed, physically and emotionally. I’ve been in love with you for - well, since you started working for me but I think I told myself that I couldn’t indulge in you, couldn’t ruin you, until that first night we slept together and I - no one else came close to you. I love you and I want you. You’re the only person I can ever see myself growing old with.” He admits, his heart pounding under your palm.

You bite your lip and your eyes fill with happy tears. “I always worried that you would move on. That I wasn’t enough.” You admit softly. “But I want you. Perfectly flawed you. I think you are amazing and I don’t want to be with anyone else but you, Dieter.”

Dieter offers you a soppy smile when he realizes you feel the same way. “You are - Jesus. Seriously?” He asks and you nod, offering him a soft smile as you reach up with your other hand to cup his cheek. “I love you.” He declares before he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

You can’t help but giggle against his lips, throwing your arms around him and dragging him closer. He loves you. He’s whiny, sometimes annoying and always needy, but he loves you. You pour yourself into the kiss, your heart pounding in your chest.

His fingers dig into your waist as he pulls you against him, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he lets it sink in that you love him. “Wanna- wanna grow old with you. Well, older.” He says when you pull back and he points at himself, his wrinkles that he’s insecure about.

Leaning in, you press your lips to the wrinkles and smile at him when you pull back. “Only if you’re willing to steal your costume after you finish shooting.” You joke, kissing him again.

Dieter chuckles, “now that I can agree to.” He promises, caressing your back. “Definitely going to steal that one to take home.” He promises, “for now though…let’s go home and have dinner before I spend all night making love to my girlfriend.” He nudges his nose against yours.

“I ordered dinner to be delivered,” you tell him as you pull back and smile at him. “We’ll smoke a little and then I’ll ride you before rubbing your back.” You tell him the plan as you turn around to reach for his clothes. “How does that sound, baby?”

“Fuck, you really are my soulmate.” He murmurs, looking at you in awe. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.” He orders, slapping your ass. “Uh, you might want to get dressed.” You say and he chuckles, nodding as he grabs the sweats you laid out for him. “Don’t want anyone else seeing the goods. Yours and only yours.” He winks at you as he pulls his pants up and grabs his shirt, pulling it over his head while he slides into his crocs. “Sports mode.” He jokes as he pulls the straps up over his ankle.

You roll your eyes, laughing at the complete dork that you love. He’s quirky in about a million ways and sometimes drives you crazy with his antics, but you don’t want him any other way. Especially if he’s going to roleplay a Roman general with you for the rest of your life. “Let’s go home, babe.” You tell him, grabbing the bag. “We’ll practice your sex scene until we get it right.”

“Fuck yes.” He cheers as you walk out of his trailer and he takes your hand, not caring about anything other than showing you how he feels about you. “Food, weed, then some crazy lovemaking.” He decides and squeezes your hand, “you know…I have a costume left over from Cliff Beasts we could try out.” He teases and you snort, “that’s just your robe. You used your own for the character.” Dieter smirks, “could be sexy if we roleplay it the right way.” He suggests, “these cliff beasts are so large-a.” He does his accent and you sigh, “I hate that that works on me.” Dieter grins, “gonna be a damn good life together, baby.” He declares and you giggle, “yeah it is, Bravo.”

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #the bubble #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo imagine

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

hiii! this is my first time requesting and I just love your writing so much, you are so talented!

I was thinking about telling early season spencer (3-4) that he has a “slutty waist” and he’s all shy about bc he doesn’t even know what that means.

i’m on spencer’s waist tiktok right now and this popped up in my head😭

It's a bleary observation that you're too groggy to be making in the early hours of the morning, but Spencer hears it anyways, "You've got a slutty waist, Spence."

He actually thinks he mishears you at first, eyes narrowing as he turns from where he'd been tying his tie in the mirror, "Huh?"

"Your waist," You grumble, turned on your side now - still, mercifully, buried beneath the covers with several hours left to sleep - to watch him where he stands, "It's slutty."

"Slutty?" He echoes in disbelief, and you wonder if it's the first time the offensive word has ever passed through his lips, "What does that- what? My waist?"

"Yeah," You nod as vigorously as your sleep-clogged muscles will allow you to, "Look at it, it's all skinny and tight and- and it moves when you walk."

"Are you drunk?" Spencer asks, looking partly aghast and partly amused, "Or- or did you take really strong sleeping medication? You're loopy."

"I'm fine," You manage, brain beginning to fire on more than just one meager cylinder, "Come kiss me, you slut."

"Please stop calling me that," Spencer begs bashfully, cheeks lit up a bright pink. but he complies in record time. Maybe it's to shut you up faster, but he hunches over the bed where you're laying to kiss your sleep-tacked lips.

"I don't wanna," You lament, letting him tuck you back beneath the covers as he rushes to leave, too flustered to handle another round of your rather brash observations about his body without time for a cold shower. He dashes for the door once he's tucked you in, like the blankets are bindings and would stop you from chasing after him. You watch his retreating form, calling out after him, "Have a good day at work, my little slut!"

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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obsidian-pages777 · 18 days

Text

Pick a Card: A Love letter for an Introvert.[Pick a mythical aesthetic]

Pile 1-Fairy core, Pile 2-Water Nymph core, Pile 3- Witch core. Left->Right

Introduction

These are love letters to each one of you that picks a pile and if you happen to be an introverted soul walking on this earthly realm of existence give this reading a glance. I hope this works as a perfect- pick me up- for anytime of your day, whether you are stuck with massive amounts of boredom, back home from a tough work day or school day or even if you happen to be trying to find that quiet corner that you feel the most comfortable in, in this loud bustling world. Hope this gives you a sense of reassurance and peace.

The Music to help you today is in the link below:

Aurora- Your Blood

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Pile 1

Dearest Gentle Soul,

I write to you today with a heart full of admiration, for I have watched you navigate the winding paths of life with such grace and quiet determination. You have some qualities that you may not always see in yourself, but that shine brightly to those who take the time to look closely.

You have accomplished so much, my fren. The battles you’ve fought, though often silent and unseen by others, have shaped you into the remarkable person you are today. The world may not always recognize the quiet victories, but I see them in every step you take. Each obstacle you’ve overcome has been a testament to your resilience, a reminder of the power that lies within you.

Be proud, for you have come so far. You have faced challenges that others may never understand, and you’ve emerged stronger, wiser, and more compassionate and determined. Your journey is one of quiet triumphs, and though the road ahead may still hold its share of trials, remember that you are more than capable of continuing to rise above them.

With every achievement, no matter how small, you are crafting a life that is uniquely yours—a life built on the foundations of strength, courage, and self-belief. So take a moment, to bask in the glory of all you have done. Let pride fill your heart, for you have earned it a thousand times over.

With all my love,

Your Fairy Companion [wink wink]

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Pile 2

Beloved Introverted Heart,

Today, I find myself compelled to remind you of the extraordinary beauty that lies within you. Your soul tells a tale of someone with a soul as deep and vast as the ocean, filled with nuances and subtleties that are rare and precious.

Your uniqueness is a gift, a treasure that sets you apart in a world that often celebrates the loudest voices. It is your quiet nature, your introspection, that allows you to see the world in ways that others might miss. You notice the details, the small moments of magic that others overlook. You bring thoughtfulness, understanding, and a calm presence that is a balm to those around you.

There is a power in your stillness, a wisdom in your reflection. You are not meant to conform to the expectations of others, for you are a rare gem, one that sparkles brightest in its own light. Appreciate these qualities, for they are what make you so incredibly special.

Do not seek to change or mold yourself into something you are not. Instead, embrace the beauty of your introverted nature. It is in your quiet strength that you find your true power, in your gentle spirit that you touch the lives of others in profound ways. It is okay to retreat from this loud world from time to time. The world needs your unique light, and it shines most brilliantly when you allow yourself to simply be.

With appreciation,

Your Friend from Seas Apart

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Pile 3

Dearest Kindred Spirit,

I see the path you walk, and I am here to tell you that you are doing incredibly well. The cards reveal a journey that is not always easy, but one that you continue to face with unwavering dedication. You work hard, often without the recognition you deserve, yet you keep moving forward with quiet determination.

I want you to know that your efforts are not in vain. Every step you take, every task you complete, brings you closer to the life you are striving to create. It is in these small, consistent efforts that great achievements are born. You may not always see the progress, but it is there, building with each passing day.

Take heart, darling, for you are on the right path. Your hard work is a testament to your strength of character, your commitment to your goals. Even on the days when it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, know that you have the power to carry it. You are stronger than you realize, more capable than you give yourself credit for.

Do not lose faith in yourself, for the journey ahead is bright with possibility. Keep pushing forward, even when the road seems long. Your dreams are within reach, and your hard work is the key that will unlock them. Remember, you are not alone on this path—your angels walk with you, cheering you on every step of the way.

With unwavering encouragement,

Your Witchy Companion.

#pick a pile #pick a photo #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a card reading #pick one #pick an image #pac reading #pick a card tarot

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abyssruler · 2 years

Text

cupid’s chokehold

pairing/s: cyno, diluc, scaramouche x gn!reader

summary: it’s simple, really. one moment you’re laughing, the light of the sun brightening your features, and the next his heart is beating out of his chest, face warm and breaths short, an almost pleasant twist to his gut when you lean close. you look at him with fondness dancing in your eyes, and he realizes, oh, he might just be in love. or — the moment they find out they love you.

note: this is really just an excuse to write diluc being whipped, also this was supposed to include childe heizou and xiao but i lost motivation so here ya go!

CYNO

He finds it hard to believe that you’d be so incapable of writing a simple essay. You once admitted to him how you only got accepted into the Akademiya through sheer luck, but he didn’t believe it then. The Akademiya is known for its strict rules and thorough examination of every student it takes on.

But seeing you struggling not to plagiarize an essay is truly pushing his patience. He’s not one to snap or bark out harsh words to those undeserving of it — and he can think of no one more undeserving of his wrath than you — but it is frustrating to watch you stumble even at the easiest of assignments.

“I think I’ve got it! Oh, I made a little mistake on the spelling there, but this is the one that’ll blow my professors away! Cyno, can you proofread this for me?”

He’ll tell you later that he didn’t mean it, and you’ll accept it without hesitation with an accepting smile — but right now, the searing sun made worse by the humid weather makes a short fuse even for the most patient of saints.

“If you can’t do something so simple, then I see no point in partaking in this fruitless endeavor. The Akademiya is harsh and has no room for error, you would be better off leaving than continue struggling futilely.”

He didn’t mean to come off so harsh, as if he’s belittling all your hard work and effort and telling you that you don’t belong in the Akademiya. But the damage has been done, and your hopeful look turns into shock at his outburst, retreating into yourself and quickly retracting the paper you’d been in the middle of handing out to him. Your face closes off, clutching your essay close to your chest and darting your eyes anywhere but his general direction.

“Sorry,” you say, awkward and fumbling, resolutely not meeting his eyes, “For being annoying, among other things.” Then, you rise to your feet abruptly. He can see the way your fingers are clenched tightly at your paper, tight enough to wrinkle the edges such that he knows you’ll regret later for ruining yet another paper. “I won’t bother you again.”

Your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, almost sounding choked off. You turn and give him a brief glimpse of your face, and he realizes that you’re on the verge of tears.

He catches your arm just before you can take a step forward. “Wait.”

You freeze, muscles tensing beneath his touch. He instantly releases you after he feels how uncomfortable it must have made you. The silence between you is so tangible he can almost see it permeating the air, cloying and thick and utterly unwelcome.

He parts his mouth a few times, going through every possible scenario where he says the wrong thing that pushes you to the edge and makes you hate him forever. The mere thought is enough to steal him of his breath. No, he can’t have that, can’t bear the thought of a world where you aren’t there greeting him brightly in the morning and being so shameless as you fall into step beside him despite his rank and engage him in idle chitchat. He doesn’t think he’s ever told you before, but he looks forward to that part of his day the most.

After what seems like eons of standing in silence, he finally speaks. But what comes out of his mouth isn’t the apology he rehearsed in his head.

“Why did the bike fall over?”

You turn to him with an almost incredulous look, eyes wide with unshed tears that he berates himself for. Then, hesitantly, you ask, “…Why?”

The response comes naturally to him, years of reading through his notes and making them himself has all but ingrained such information in his mind.

“Because it was two tired,” he delivers this with a straight face, tone flat and completely at odds with the nature of his joke.

You stare at him for a moment, lips parted in surprise at the sudden joke. He sees your grip on your paper loosen, shoulders relaxing, mouth twisting into something he can’t quite discern, and then—

“Pft.” It starts out small, quiet as you bring a hand to cover your mouth, before it dissolves into a full blown laugh, the kind that has your shoulders shaking and eyes closed, head tilted back and the sound of your laughter filling his ears. He’s never considered that laughs could produce such pleasant sounds, so it comes as a surprise when yours makes something in him want to lean forward to hear more. Or perhaps it’s just you.

The light from the sun bounces off your skin, making your expression all the more radiant.

And Cyno? Cyno doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a mesmerizing sight before.

You’ve never laughed at his jokes, or rather, he’s never seen fit to tell you any of them, seeing as you’ve always been so at ease around him that telling a joke was never necessary. He’ll have to rectify that, he thinks, watching the way your mouth curves up in a smile, eyes dancing with mirth as you finally meet his eyes.

And he’s suddenly struck by the thought of how much he likes seeing you like this — hair mussed from the wind, exhilaration lining your lips, breaths short from laughing too hard, and gazing at him in delight.

And maybe he’s overthinking things too much, maybe the pounding of his heart and the sudden intake of breath is a result of something else, but he wants to believe it’s because of you.

Later, he’ll come up with a proper apology, something a little less joking and a little more serious. But right now, you’re looking at him like he’s the only person in the world, and that’s all that matters.

DILUC

The sun is particularly hot today, bordering on sweltering, but still, you insist on accompanying him in this menial task of picking grapes.

Diluc has always preferred solitude since he came of age, doing things alone and being lost in his thoughts have become things that he finds strangely pleasant, almost calming. But you’ve never been one to settle in silence, always needing to voice your thoughts and fill the room with chatter about all sorts of topics. It’s something he should dislike, all things considered due to his preference for quietness, but you, he finds, have always been an exception to what he considers the norm.

He wonders why.

“And just then, a hilichurl comes out of nowhere and starts throwing rocks at me — rocks! They have crossbows and shields and those battering things, but that one chose to use rocks to attack me! It’s like he thought I wasn’t even worth the effort!”

He idly plucks a group of ripe grapes from a vine, listening to you retell your encounter with a hilichurl that led to you discovering its camp that held a precious chest, only to open it and find nothing but cabbages. You bemoan how it was a total waste of effort, all that fighting just for a few pieces of vegetables you don’t even like.

A small, amused smile flits its way into his lips. It doesn’t escape your notice.

“So you think my suffering is funny, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

He turns away and briefly considers the merits of admitting to smiling, not at your plight, but at the various inflections in your tone as you regaled him with your story and the little laughs you let out when you got to a funny part and the way you looked at him with a smile so wide it crinkled the corners of your eyes, reflecting the light from the sun in its near-blinding intensity.

When he turns back to face you, he’s met with fingers on his lips and something small and round being pushed into his mouth. His teeth bites down into it, tender and sweet. A grape, he realizes, meeting mischievous eyes set upon a face that’s full of promises for future teasings and pranks.

The pads of your fingers are soft against his lips. His eyes wander against his will, landing on your lips twisted into a smirk, and his mind conjures an impossibly dangerous thought. Perhaps your lips would feel softer against his.

And then heat is creeping up his skin, searing red across his neck that reaches his cheeks and stops at the tips of his ears.

It’s nothing ostentatious. Not like the stories told in books where they meet each other’s eyes across the room and falter as their hearts beat as one, where they meet in the carnage of a battlefield, offering each other’s hands and knowing without a doubt that they will only ever have their backs for each other until the day they die. It’s not even one where he holds your hand and feels the way his heart leaps at the contact as he realizes what it might mean.

But this is still as meaningful, still as beautiful, suspended in time and carved in stone upon his memories until the winds of time erode it away.

A gentle breeze blows past you, and he catches the barest hint of a scent that consumes his mind and fills it with thoughts of nothing but you and your fingers lingering on his lips and how he’s never wanted to kiss a person more than he does now.

And oh, oh.

It’s a fanciful thought, but he imagines if his life were to become a book, then it should be one with an ending that intertwines with yours.

He considers that, for such a book, it would begin like this — the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Diluc Ragnvindr is in love.

SCARAMOUCHE

If Scaramouche were the kind to think thoughts that would have him put below the pedestal he’s placed himself at, he’d think there must be something wrong with him.

“Did you really think you could have defeated those monsters all on your own? You’re lucky I was nearby, otherwise you’d be nothing but a bloody splatter on the ground.” His words are as harsh as ever, carrying that biting tone that’s labeled him unapproachable and unlikeable to most anyone — that is, most anyone who isn’t you.

He doesn’t understand you, the reasoning behind your actions and words and generally everything about you that makes you so infuriating. It grates at him, not knowing something, especially when that something pertains to you. Though why that would even matter is beyond him.

You smile at him, a sheepish little thing, utterly unrepentant and unaware of the possible consequences your actions could have brought. Not that he cares if anything happens to you. He’d just rather not deal with the trouble of handling your papers should you die under his service.

(That was, admittedly, a very weak argument that he’ll chastise himself for later. A Harbinger would have more pressing work to do than handle every paperwork about a dead subordinate. Not that the fact about him handling your papers upon your death was untrue, only that it’s only your paper among his countless other subordinates who’ve died that he’ll bother doing.)

Your mask fell off somewhere in the middle of that rather pathetic fight. It’s a breach of protocol to not be wearing your mask while on duty, but Scaramouche chooses to ignore that particular rule. He’s a Harbinger, he’s the one who decides the rules. Having to order you to go fetch your mask to put it back on would be a waste of time and effort. Much more efficient to simply speak this way, he reasons. It’s most definitely not because he wants to see your eyes and the myriad of emotions that pass through them. And even if it is, it’s only a way for him to better read your expressions and discern whether you’re lying or not. He can’t have anyone betraying him the Fatui.

“I apologize, my lord. It seems I’m still unaccustomed to my new uniform.” Your voice carries a sort of lilt to it that makes it more tolerable than most people he’s ever spoken to. It’s not a compliment, lest his mind go against him and begin creating false narratives, it’s an observation rooted in fact. The sky is blue, the stars are false, and your voice isn’t unpleasant to listen to.

He does frown at your explanation. “Unaccustomed? It’s hardly that different from your previous uniform.” He would know, of course, he spent hours watching you in it. Not that he was watching you simply for the sake of watching, no, never, he was merely criticizing your choice of color scheme and the scuff marks and dried blood that never quite went away no matter how many times you washed it. You’ve complained to him enough times about it in a way that no subordinate should to their lord, but he was in a good mood then, so he let it slide… among countless other things he let slide.

You pull at the collar of your uniform. “It’s a bit constricting. I think they may have gotten my measurements wrong—”

He scoffs, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “And you didn’t think to tell me? What use would I have for a recruit who can’t even move properly because of a tight uniform?”

“Well, you did tell me not to bother you anymore with my inane concerns, so I figured you wouldn’t want to hear about this…my lord.” The last part is added almost as an afterthought. He decides to let it slide.

He does recall something along those lines, sometime when he was in a foul mood and had no patience for your presence and the contradictions it brought in his behavior. He remembers being lost and dumbfounded the next day when you turned to leave after giving your report instead of lounging on his office’s couch and telling him about your day and the gossip you recently heard. He hadn’t actually meant for you to stop talking to him, but he was too proud to say so to you, which resulted in a week of silence on both parties. It was completely unbearable, but Scaramouche would sooner cut his own head off than admit it.

“Fine. You’re allowed to speak such drivel to me again, since you clearly can’t function without any sort of assistance from me.” It’s easy to twist the situation as if you’re the one who’s been dying to talk to him normally again instead of the other way around.

You laugh beneath your breath, something bordering on a giggle — a giggle, of all things. The last time someone had the audacity to giggle in his presence was…was a long time ago. Something he won’t dwell in.

“If you insist, my lord,” you say, an almost teasing twinkle in your eyes, and Scaramouche has never been more grateful exasperated that you aren’t wearing a mask. Who do you think you are to show such an emotion like happiness in front of him?

He’ll let it slide though. Just this once.

“Let’s return to the camp. I don’t want to be seen any longer with you looking the state you are now.” He deliberately ignores the fact that people will only see the two of you together once you’re back and not at this lone clearing. You turn to place your mask back on and he lets you. Wouldn’t do much good to have others see your face and plot whatever nefarious schemes their minds will cook up, like talking to you or, gods forbid, flirting with you—

And then he stops, completely frozen in place and unable to hide that shock that bleeds through his carefully crafted mask. He’s lucky you’re standing behind him, otherwise he’d have to kill you for seeing him in such a state. Not that he believes he’ll be able to go through with it, but the thought is needed though not necessarily appreciated.

He turns to you after he’s gotten ahold of his expression, eyes scanning your features and, with an almost sickening lurch in his stomach, finds that you’re not exactly unpleasant to look at.

Your hand reaches out for his arm with worry, and he nearly reels his hand back at the sheer audacity you have for assuming he is someone who needs worrying for but—but.

He rather likes the feeling of your fingers brushing against his skin.

So he lets you close your hand around his arm and look at him with through a mask he knows harbors a concerned look behind it. He nearly laughs at the notion of someone being concerned for him, but alas, you’re such an anomaly that even he can’t bring himself to mock even the worst trait you possess.

You are truly the most vexing person he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Perhaps if you keep touching him like this, he’ll let that one slide too.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #cyno x reader #genshin cyno x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #gn reader #serious x airhead

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Note

Yay I was the anon who asked if you watch the new John Wick film, I hoped you enjoyed the movie!

Can I request some yandere marquis de gramont headcanons? (it can be romantic or platonic)

man was the biggest prick that i had seen in a while from a movie lol

Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

A/N:You read my mind Anon lmaoo - I was literally planning on writing some HCs for the Marquis <3

Despite the initial conception one may have about Vincent's dedication to a lover – that being none – he's actually surprisingly...loyal.

While he has the playboy exterior, enough money to soak up the oceans of the Earth and all the allure that comes with his occupation, he secretly feels as if he has nothing at all.

What he wants, what he really, truly wants, is to feel something new. Something he’s never experienced before.

Love.

Not just for himself - for someone else.

His brush with John Wick made him realise how empty his life was by comparison to the Boogeyman, who lived and almost died for the memory of love.

And that stuck with Vincent. Affected him more than he’d like to admit.

But, his heightened status above most others has left him isolated with few who wish to know him in a capacity beyond acquaintances for fear of incurring his wrath with a misplaced word or an overstepped boundary.

Thus, love is almost an impossibility for the Marquis.

And then he met you.

And grew obsessed intrigued. Fast.

He likely met you in passing completely separate from his usual crowd – which is to say hunters and murderers.

And he's taken aback by you; your beauty, your charm, your personality. In a way that, while many others have tried, have never breached Vincent’s superficial interest.

Or perhaps you nurse that same melancholy void he harbours; the desire for something more. Which, divulging it to him, a complete stranger, the Marquis finds oddly endearing. Vulnerable.

He’s enchanted. The void in his chest seems to tighten somewhat. Heal.

You’ve given him what no other has before. Genuine, friendly, interested conversation. All without even knowing who he is.

Now, having to rush off, apologising with a smile for taking up his time with “Trivial banter,” Vincent watches your retreating form.

He has his sights set on you.

Over the next few days, while conducting business and going about his everyday life, Vincent’s mind keeps crawling back to you, those fateful minutes wherein he felt he knew everything about you and nothing at all.

Though, he doesn't actually want to admit it at first.

While, yes, he does want to experience true love, he is entirely unwilling to acknowledge the disgustingly human need to feel something.

So, he tries to hide it. Bury it beneath his work, French desserts and luxuries you've never even heard of.

But, over time, you spring back up in the forefront of his mind when you are no longer content with being a voice in the background. A memory of a time where Vincent felt as if he’d truly been seen.

And Vincent, passing off his secret enthusiasm as boredom, a mere meandering of memories, ‘allows’ the odd thought of you to trickle in here and there.

You are a form of medicine. Whenever Vincent feels something undesirable brewing in his chest, he finds himself back with you on that bench in the park, your warmth and presence sun rays against his face as he’s transported from one of his many mansions to beside you once more.

And, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, you scratch the right spot in his psyche that material gain just can’t. Not in comparison to the human touch you have.

Gramont’s so used to people regarding him with favour or fear that it still takes him aback now how kindly you treated him, not knowing who he is or what he does.

You had nothing to gain from your kindness. And yet you still gave it to him.

Healed him with it.

Vincent’s daydreams start to grow more intense the longer he thinks about you.

An emulated conversation. Additions and projections of the recollections of your encounter, no matter how brief. Anything to let Vincent feed off the feeling you gave him when he’s exhausted the phantom of your first encounter.

There comes a point, weeks after you first met, where Vincent spends more time in these memories, both real and fabricated, than in the conscious world. And they strengthen, pulling his focus from his work, from his duties.

At first, this manifests as a glazed look in his eyes, one which, to all those who knew of him, could pen as the typical, uninterested Marquis stare.

He wears the same one in the comfort of his private rooms, one where nobody can see what he’s thinking. But now, people can see Vincent couldn’t care less about the projected bounty of this one killer from Wales; he just wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His men have started to notice, too.

And, one evening, Vincent decides to lay upon them a task.

“I need you to find someone for me,” he says, his chin resting atop clasped hands. There is no jest, nor leniency, in his stare.

The task itself sounded easy enough. But with only a physical description to go on, not even having gotten your name, Vincent, for the first time in his life, is anxious.

Anxious his men won’t find you, no matter how deep his connections run.

Anxious that, while he’s lived in his dream world for the last month, you’ve since disappeared. Been killed, perhaps, or exposed to some freak accident.

Vincent pains at the feeling in his centre whenever he considers this a possibility. It tears the scabbing void in his chest wide open again.

Sometimes, while he lies in bed, the thought that might have perished somehow, that his men will have misinterpreted his specific instructions not to interact with you, only report on what you’re doing, plagues him.

He knows his men are loyal – that they’ve never failed a task before now. And he clings to the hope that their winning streak won’t run dry one of these nights.

One day, sat in his office, glancing over a document he’d tried reading for the last half hour yet couldn’t because, surprise, you were distracting him, one of his men came into the room.

“We have them, Sir,” he said, the image of victory. Vincent couldn’t help but scan his suit for any sign of blood. Your blood.

To say Vincent was excited is an understatement of epic proportions.

At first, he’s just numb.

Then, a few minutes later, his chest burns and sparks with an electric passion one acquires when meeting an idol.

Vincent wishes to deploy himself immediately. But he knows this is a waiting game.

So, he remains far enough away from your life that you do not suspect a single thing is wrong.

You don’t even glance over at the guy who’s been tailing you for the last few hours.

You don’t think twice about the stranger who’s been sat in perfect view of you in the cafe for the last two weeks.

You don’t even consider that the guy you bumped into earlier is responsible for your house key going missing.

Now, with access to your inner sanctum and your daily routine burned into his mind like a holy scripture, Vincent makes his move.

He stages meetings between the two of you.

Starts ‘bumping into you’.

At first, you simply recognise him, ask him how he’s doing and what he’s doing in the area.

And, Vincent, the man with an answer for everything, finds himself doing something he never has before.

He fumbles.

Even when he imagined you in a most vivid detail, nothing compares to this moment, where what he says has consequences, where he has one shot at getting this right. Or risk your uncertain stare.

He can feel fear rising in his chest as he stutters. Only once, but enough to knock him down a few pegs in your mind’s eye. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But, he completes his task, albeit not as pristinely as he wished.

He asked you out to coffee.

And you, with a signature smile, accepted.

And now, your fate is sealed.

Vincent beats himself up over his ineptitude of speaking to you like he did in his head: suave, cool, collected.

And, given the fact that he’s never had to take accountability for anything he’s ever done, he tries to blame it on someone else.

Not you, though.

Never you.

Regardless of this minor hurdle, as Vincent sees it, he purses this…friendship with you.

He isn’t used to the concept. Not in a visceral sense, anyway.

The saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’ comes to mind when describing Vincent’s relationships.

There is always a power imbalance, no matter who he’s speaking with.

He is always above them, and they are always below him.

But that’s when they know him. Know his dynamic.

You, you have absolutely no idea who he is, or what he’s capable of.

To you, he’s just Vincent, the owner of a successful manufacturing business.

No, Vincent couldn’t quite ditch the theatrics. He still needed an out to impress you – to have a valid excuse as to how he owns so many nice cars, how he never wears the same designer suit twice.

He doesn’t tone it down with the suits, by the way.

He’s too enthralled by the fascinated look you wear when you’re taking in the patterns, the chains, the craftsmanship.

Which, to his surprise, makes his face warm.

People have only ever looked at the label of his outfit, never the ensemble itself.

That’s just another of the ways you make him feel seen.

You tell him so much of yourself, yet not enough to break your mystique.

Vincent knows more about you than you think, and he uses this to create another version of himself – one which likes the same records as you (though, he unironically does enjoy them. But, he knows he likely wouldn’t unless you listened to them, too), has the same preferences for how you fold your clothes, whether you should brush your teeth before or after breakfast.

And Vincent devours every detail you grant him like a meal, saving them, storing them, testing them out in his newest daydreams when he gets home, his heart thrumming and his breathing short as an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness and anxiety overtakes him.

And yet, there is little he can offer in return.

Nothing that isn’t a lie, anyway.

He keeps you as far away from his work as possible, hence he meets you in such public spaces.

His men are always stationed nearby, disguised as civilians. Should the need for bloodshed ever arise.

Eventually, your weekly coffee meet-ups evolve into something else.

Vincent, after asking one of his men (under strict confidentiality) ”What do you do when you…like-like someone…?” starts taking you to restaurants.

He tries not to scare you off with anything too fancy, but he can’t help but feel part of himself die whenever he thinks about how dull the food here in this 5-star restaurant is compared to his usual dining preferences.

But you’re happy, thanking him for the meal with a gratitude that isn’t borne from a life-or-death scenario.

You’re not paying for these dates, by the way. Vincent won’t let you.

“I brought you here; I’m paying.”

He also has a tendency to go overboard with the gifts.

You tell him your watch is broken ? Here are five designer timepieces imported from a selective brand whose clientele is vetted and chosen by the CEO himself.

Of course, you can try to refuse these gifts – tell Vincent that you “Can’t possibly take them from you; it’s too much !”

But he plays the guilt card well.

“No, I insist,” he says, pushing them into your hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

If you actively wear or use anything he buys you, he’ll be overjoyed. Prideful.

You’re wearing something he got for you. That basically means you’re saying you belong to him.

Of course, he does get a little carried away with his…delusions. But he means well !

He’s just territorial.

Vincent can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

And can also be a vicious creature when he doesn’t.

He only presents one of these sides to you.

The other is reserved for his more…private affairs.

When he started feeling more intensely about you, his mind wandered to some rather unsavoury places – places that, usually, VIncent would walk through without batting an eye.

But now that he, dare he say...liked you…he felt as if he’d been drenched in cold water whenever he imagined you doing anything risqué.

So, with the steadily growing number of these thoughts, these images of you, piercing his mind, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He beds people who look like you.

The two of you aren’t dating yet; haven’t even held hands (though Vincent agonises over finding the right opportunity to do so).

But he still feels wrong. Like he’s cheating on you.

His sanity tries to prevent him from thinking like this, tries to keep itself intact by urging Vincent to pursue another mindless conquest.

Your name does slip out between his panting, though.

Much to the chagrin of whoever’s beneath him right now.

He wonders what you’d look like, what you’d feel like in this same position. What your preferences are.

There’s only one way to find out.

He tries turning up the boyfriend factor after he decides now’s the time to pursue you. Properly.

He sits a little closer to you whenever you invite him over for movie nights, holds you for just a little longer whenever you engage in your traditional parting hug.

And he can’t help but think about how much he wants to stay with you like this forever.

And permanence is a rare commodity for people in his line of work. No matter how many bodyguards he has, or how skilled he is.

Nothing is certain.

Which is why, one evening, lying awake in bed, he decides to act.

He knows it’s a risky manoeuvre, but he can’t deny how careless he’s been with you these last few months.

Not that you’d know, but his men have intercepted five people who’ve tried to kill you, take you – or worse.

All just to get to him.

He can’t leave you in the wide open world like this. He can’t let you be at risk. Not because of him.

So, that night, his heart in his mouth as he commands his men to “Find (Y/N). Bring them to me.” Vincent awaits your arrival.

And, eventually, he hears you. Clamouring in the halls outside his office, screaming and fighting. Resisting.

Vincent can’t help but crack a smile, knowing how defiant you are – how stubborn you can be in your method.

As the heavy footsteps of his men come to a stop outside his door, your screeching is blunted only by the thick wood.

And, doors open, here you are, shoved into the room.

Your captor revealed.

You look at him with what you could construed as almost-neutrality, your bewilderment a damper to your anger, your fear.

“Vincent,” you say, breathless. You take a staggering step towards him. His men take a step towards you, reaching for weapons concealed by their coats.

Vincent raises a hand, and they retract.

He looks at you.

His eyes are filled with nothing less than adulation, misplaced happiness in a situation you view as dire.

“Sit,” he tells you, casting a glance to the seat before his desk.

With little else you can do, you obey.

And your world begins to unravel.

Vincent, in the lamest, most gentle of terms, explains that he is “Not who you thought I was,” – that he does “More for a living than make vases and luxury dishware.”

“I,” he says, watching your eyes carefully, glassy and holding no less potential for terror. “Am the Marquis.”

Vincent stands, and when he sees you flinch, something in him withers. Hurts.

He shoves it aside.

“I am responsible for making sure that the right outcome is brought to the right people.”

His hands behind his back, pacing the length of your field of sight, he swallows.

You’re judging him now. In a way you never had, you’re judging him.

His desire to display how grandiose his lifestyle is doesn’t seem so forthcoming anymore, hiding, shy.

This is more difficult than he anticipated.

“What does that mean ?” you say, voice tight and quiet.

Vincent’s fist clenches. He doesn’t want you like this. You should be happy he’s rescued you ! Albeit from threats you didn’t know pertained to you, but still !

“I’m…” he starts. His gaze wanders to his men, who, with perfect understanding, leave.

You almost don’t want them to go.

“I’m a reaper, of sorts,” he says. He draws closer, taking a step in your direction. You bite back the urge to flee.

“A face to a cause.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, instead watching you with what you think is scrutiny (but couldn’t be further from it), you ask, throat dry, hoarse from your screaming. Crying.

“What cause ?”

Vincent bites the inside of his lip. And, for the first time, he can feel himself cracking under your gaze.

You’re scared. He knows you are. He just wished he didn’t have to see it painted so blatantly on your features, downturned with grief should everything end on this night.

Where was your smile ? Your crinkled eyes, your sonorous laugh, your upturned lips ?

“I fix problems,” he says. There’s no way he can put his occupation lightly. “I used to do it with knives. Guns, a pencil, perhaps – whatever was at my disposal.”

He’s closer now, approaching. His arms are at his sides. And he stands before you.

You don’t want to look up. You want to look – be – anywhere but here.

But Vincent doesn’t let you.

“But now,” he says, and he gets to one knee. His hands trap you, on either of the arm rests of the chair. Yet he does not possess the face of one who is a captor, instead a mask of total capitulation to a feeling he couldn’t even begin to understand before you showed him.

“I do it with diplomacy. With people who are much better suited to that life than I.”

His voice is soft, quieter than before. There is a hint of a smile at his lips, pulling the corners, beginning the total eclipse of his eyes from full to crescent. An offset to the anxiety bubbling in his centre.

Your hands in your lap, he takes them in his, slowly, gently, fingers resting atop yours.

And he squeezes them.

Holds them. Just as he’d always wanted to.

“Why–” you swallow a sob, turn your head so you don’t let him see your face scrunch into the epitome of fright. “Why am I here…?”

Vincent’s lips part. His hand slips up to your jaw, urges you to look at him.

He’s forbearing. A butterfly.

Nothing like how his men handled you.

That in itself could almost convince you that he’s not such a bad guy. Even after all he’s told you.

“Because–” your face in his hand, he looks up into your eyes. Barely contained tears fill them.

“Because you’ll be safe with me,” he promises. There’s an unencumbered optimism in his eyes. A dangerous one at that.

“Because I can’t trust that my men can protect you when you’re so far away – alone – in the city.”

“What do you mean, Vincent ?!”

You don’t mean to snap. But since you’d just been kidnapped and the truth behind the matter is no clearer to you, you can’t help it.

Vincent almost seems to flinch, his eyes narrowing just for a second. He returns to you with his puppy stare.

“There are people out there who know who I am. What I do.”

He squeezes your hand again, his other still wrapped about your jaw.

“The problem now is that they know you, too.”

He swallows thickly, looking down for a split of a second. Guilt.

“And it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve just left you alone, let you live your life…but I can’t undo that now.”

He laces his fingers between yours. And you’re too frazzled to refuse.

“What I can do, what I will do–” his hand comes to the point of your chin, holds it gently between his fingers like glass.

His gaze falls to your lips, and you try to ignore it.

“Is keep you safe. Here. With me.”

You’d have laughed if you didn’t believe everything he’d just said.

It all just made sense to you.

The lavish gifts, the people watching you that you hadn’t dared notice before because you’re just being paranoid. The hard glares Vincent would grant to all that passed you by in the rooms of higher society.

And now, everything shatters. You cry.

“Oh, non, mon Cher, don’t cry–” Vincent moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you pull away. Retract from his kindness.

"You're insane–" you’re breathless, gasping between sobs

"Not insane.” VIncent tells you. He stands so he’s perfectly level with you, his eyes piercing yours. And, just as he had many times before in your presence, he smiles. Genuine and heartfelt. Then, a statement. A declaration.

“Just… in love.”

#vincent de gramont #john wick #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #bill skarsgard x reader #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #bill skarsgard #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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bg-brainrot · 7 months

Text

Unraveling Plan Meet Immeasurable Insecurity (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Rating: Teen

Summary: Tav tries their damnedest to propose, only to be rebuffed by Astarion at every single turn.

Tags: Astarion POV - alternating w/Rogue!Tav, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, insecurities

A/N: based on a request from a kind anon on Tumblr– "Would you ever consider writing a one-shot where Tav tries to propose to Astarion but keeps failing multiple times. But Tav doesn’t give up and raises the stakes higher and higher. Astarion will completely remain oblivious because he still has some self esteem issues (why would anyone want to marry him?) and is really confused why Tav is acting nervous around him."

I ended up taking it in a slightly different direction (based on the man’s self esteem issues as you pointed out, anon). Set an undetermined amount of years post BG3, post saving Karlach from Zariel, post-Lae’zel finishing the githyanki uprising so the gang's all here. I hope the kind anon still enjoys it!

Word count: ~5.6k

Astarion first has an inkling that something is the matter when you sneak away from him.

Odd, he thinks, watching your retreating back. Usually they invite me along for this sort of skulking about.

But he understands, better than most, what a bit of privacy could afford someone who hasn’t had any in so long. So he watches you leave, pretending all the while that he hasn’t noticed a thing. Best not embarrass them, of course.

He brushes off the incident as an anomaly– after all, you continue to be your usual self upon your return. Neither of you speak of your absence, and you seem rather pleased with yourself, so he is pleased for you.

The next time he notices something is off he grows a tad more worried.

This time you don’t disappear, but you do spend a concerning amount of time staring at his hands, expression pensive.

“Darling,” he starts. He quickly tucks his hands under the Elfsong table that you both sit at and leans forward. “What are you doing?”

You blanch at the question– an uncharacteristic reaction to be sure. “Oh,” you sound startled, as if you’ve been caught doing something quite naughty. “Nothing at all. Just wondering if you’d done anything new with your nails? They look… nice.”

It’s a lie, that much is clear to Astarion. But it’s not typical that you lie so poorly. And why should you lie? No matter, you look flustered and gods does he love it when you look flustered– it happens so rarely that he feels the need to truly relish it. “Don’t they?” he asks, flourishing his hands in front of you now. “How did you know? I dipped them in an essence of ooze to thoroughly moisturize them.”

“Really?” Your bewilderment almost brings a laugh out of him.

“Gods no, my dear,” he says, reaching out from under the table and for your hands. “You seem quite out of sorts. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him.

Odd, he thinks again. Where is their usual daring now?

He’s forced to dismiss the thought as you flag down a waitress, ordering yourselves another bottle of wine.

Astarion becomes genuinely concerned when you return home late one night.

The two of you have grown comfortable together in your house, just on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, in a cozy corner of Rivington. The location allows you to continue your work with the guild, gives him plentiful access to any criminals that needed exsanguinating, and your former companions are never far.

It does mean that you will sometimes stay late in the city, working well into the sunlight hours– but you also know to send him a message on the days you stay out late. Otherwise your poor, beautiful vampire will waste away in worry.

“Where in the nine hells are they?” Astarion curses aloud on this particular dawning day. He’d tried sending a message to you, only to receive nothing back. He’d sent another to Shadowheart, again to silence. He considers trying someone less responsible like Karlach, when you finally burst through the front door.

“Oh! Astarion,” you say, surprise plain on your face. As if he wouldn’t be here, in your shared home no less, waiting for your arrival. “What are you still doing up?”

He watches you silently for a moment as you tuck something behind your back, straighten out uncomfortably. Then, with all of the annoyance he can muster, he rolls his eyes at you. “It’s lovely to see you too, my dear. It’s not as if I was worrying my gorgeous head off at the thought of you dead in some rank Baldurian gutter.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, shuffling around the room in a rather suspicious manner. “I lost track of time. I figured you would go to bed without me.”

Astarion can’t remember the last time he went to bed without at least knowing where you were. Even if he could, he suspects he really would rather not. “Darling, you know I need my warm-blooded lover by my side to enter my reverie. Besides, what could have possibly taken you so long?”

You hesitate, and something tugs at Astarion’s insides. He feels a sudden sense of fear, a dread that he may regret asking you this question.

What if you’re upset at him, and this was your way to maintain space? What if you’ve finally, rationally taken a look at your situation and determined that no, you’d really rather not love a monster like himself? Or worse, what if you’d found someone else, someone who could bask in the daylight alongside you? Gods, the idea sends his undead heart plummeting.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth to answer, he rescinds his question, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. I merely wanted to make sure you were alive. You’re looking as sprightly as ever, so I shall head to bed.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, heading to bed in a dramatic swirl and even more sensational thoughts.

He’s right, he knows it to his core. You’ve found someone else, someone who can give you the life he never could. More than anything he wishes he had the courage to confront you, especially as all of your odd behavior clicks into place.

They snuck off to find a lover.

They were staring at my hands in the hopes that they were someone else’s.

They stayed out late to relish in another’s company.

They’re aloof because they’re leaving me and it’s all a matter of time.

It’s as plain as day. How could he have been so very, very blind?

You had concocted a nice, simple plan.

It involved a ring, a smattering of your closest friends, and a particularly prickly vampire. Ideally, the plan ended with the vampire agreeing to marry you.

Gods. The idea thrills you as much as it scares you: you are actually going to propose to Astarion.

After years together, you and Astarion are practically already married. This is merely a formality in your mind. But of course, for a man like Astarion, it's a formality that means only the utmost effort must be put in.

But, as it always goes in your life, your nice, simple fell apart.

The problem you're finding is that, after weeks of preparation and secretive planning, the man is being oddly distant. Distant and dismissive. It's almost as if he knows something is afoot, and he's utterly determined to make sure it doesn't happen.

Five times now he has thwarted your attempts at a proposal.

"Astarion," you had started the first time. "Would you like to take a walk in the park with me tonight?”

The look he’d given you was equal parts wary and panicked. So much so that you thought maybe you’d misspoken. But his response was measured enough. “No, thank you, darling. I’m afraid I’m quite spent today.” He gave you a yawn to illustrate his point, and you dropped the subject for the night.

You had had to send a message to Shadowheart to call off the trail of poisonous flowers that your friends were laying out for your stroll.

The next time, you had tried being a bit more casual in your attempt.

“Would you enjoy a day at the spa, Astarion?”

Again, he gave you a look that confused you. Frightened face, hackles raised– his only response was, “Why, darling, do I look that ghastly to you?”

“You know that’s not what I–”

“No matter,” he’d waved you off. “I am afraid I’m busy today.”

You’d sent a message to Karlach, telling her that the reservation of Baldur’s Gate’s spa was no longer needed.

The third time, you’d called in some more magical help.

“Astarion, what do you say to a moonlit picnic atop the roof of the Elfsong? We haven’t had one in a while.”

Appalled– utterly and truly aghast is the only way to describe the face he’d made. The words that followed didn't make you feel better either. “And why would we do that again after such a long while?”

Your stomach had roiled, worry settling in at his tone. “I thought it would be a chance to reminisce together.” Your tone stayed light, your smile just as friendly.

“It’s far too cold to bother with reminiscing,” he’d said, glowering at you. Looking at the hard set of his jaw, this is when you’d begun to worry that you’d done something to upset him.

“Is everything alright?” you’d asked, reaching out for his arm.

“It’s fine,” he’d replied, curtly, retreating from your grasp. “I just don’t want to be colder than I already am.”

You’d sent a message to Gale, instructing him to call off the magical skywriting over the Elfsong.

For your fourth attempt, you knew you needed someone with a slightly more forceful personality– and to perhaps lean a little less romantic.

“Astarion,” you’d begun, inflecting your tone with just the right amount of panic. “Lae’zel’s found a flock of mephits along the beach of Wyrm’s Crossing. She needs our help.”

“Mephits?” he’d asked, looking at you cautiously. “In Wyrm’s Crossing?”

“Yes,” you’d replied, nodding hurriedly. “We need to go now.”

He’d clicked his tongue at you and shaken his head. “As if Lae’zel couldn’t crush them all with a single swing. Seems to me like she’s grown lazy after all of her heroics.”

“Astarion,” you’d chided. “You know she will incredibly cross at us if she finds out you declined to help.”

“I’ll survive,” he’d said, returning to the book on his lap, hands turning paler than usual in a tense vice grip. “Probably.”

After, you’d sent a message to Lae’zel, instructing her to do as she pleased with the stash of fireworks on the beach.

The fifth time you’d grown genuinely, truly worried that something was wrong with Astarion because, by the gods, the man had refused to commit crime with you.

After so many failed attempts, you’d figured that you needed to go back to the roots of your relationship– to a simpler time when petty theft gave you some time alone together.

“I heard a rumor through the guild,” you’d said offhandedly over dinner. “A newly minted noble in the Upper City has quite the horde of wealth and very little security. What do you say that we pay them a visit, perhaps ‘relieve’ them of some of their wealth?”

Astarion had faltered, clearly tempted by your offer. But after nearly two weeks of avoiding going anywhere with you, he didn’t outright agree either. “And why would you need me for this particular job?”

The question had taken you aback. You’d never needed a reason to invite him along for crime of all things. It made you near certain that he knew what you were up to and that something about it was distasteful to him. Sweet hells, it made you nervous. “I, erm… well, I could use an extra pair of hands to carry it all, I suppose?”

“I could lend you my pack then,” he’d said, narrowing his eyes at you.

Why is he trying to avoid me? Have his feelings changed? you’d thought in fear. Aloud, you’d only doubled down. “Well, the company might be nice. And you know that your lockpicking is, somehow, better than mine.”

“I thought you said security was sparse,” he’d countered.

“Sparse doesn’t mean nonexistent.”

“Not much of a challenge then, is it?”

You had wanted to scream into the astral plane. Wanted to flip the table over his pretty pale face. Wanted to tell him, ‘You know what, I didn’t want to marry such a stubborn vampire anyway!’ – but you did none of those things. Because you love this man and, even when he’s being difficult, you do want to marry him.

So you had gritted your teeth and said, “Very well then. I shall borrow your pack.”

You’d sent a message to Wyll later to call off his father’s help with the upper city guards.

For your sixth attempt, you decide you first need to reconvene with your council– also known as your former companions.

When you’d first met with them at the start of this whole ordeal, you’d snuck away from Astarion. It made you feel a bit guilty, sneaking around, hiding things from him, but the entire proposal was meant to be a fun surprise– one you are starting to suspect is a misguided effort.

You profess as much aloud now that you’re meeting up with the five of them again, seated around the table in Jaheira’s kitchen. “Maybe there is no sixth attempt. Maybe I’ve overestimated the love between us.”

“Don’t say that,” Wyll says, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly in reassurance. “Your love is strong. And together we will find a way to make this proposal work.”

You smile up at the man, one always so willing to believe in the power of a good love story. You’re almost sorry to be disappointing him– and the smut peddlers. Really, you’re sorry to be disappointing all of your friends. Each of your companions had been eager to help you in your endeavor, in their own ways, of course.

Gale had congratulated you prematurely at first, misunderstanding your Sending spell. But when you’d clarified, asked him for his help, he’d only been incredibly enthused, arriving the very next day, offering all manner of suggestions.

Karlach, for her part, was only ever excited, practically bouncing off the walls that two of her best mates may potentially tie the knot. At the low, low price of allowing her to be your person of honor, she was entirely at your disposal.

Lae’zel had been confused initially. In her mind, you were already committed to a life together. What was the purpose of this… proposal? Of marriage? But when you’d explained to her a bit, she’d been curious– and excited at the potential of catching Astarion off guard.

Shadowheart had seemed surprised when you’d asked. You weren’t already married? Alas, she’d gotten the plot of one of the many bawdy novels about you confused with real life. No matter, she was happy to help.

And, well, Wyll– when he returned from Avernus he’d been disappointed that you weren’t at the very least engaged yet. It was no shock or awe to him when you visited him for help. In fact, he had only given you a wry smile and said, “I knew you would be the one to cave.”

As for Jaheira, well, she was allowing you to use her house as a headquarters, but had proclaimed early, “Invite me to the wedding and I shall be there, but until then– well, this is for you lot to figure out.”

And gods were you having trouble figuring it out.

“I don’t know, Wyll. I’m worried Astarion may never revert back to normal at this rate,” you say, shaking your head.

“Was he ever normal?” Shadowheart asks with a soft snort. “Besides, he can be awfully dense at times, you may just need to ask him outright.”

“There is not a single realm in which Astarion says yes to a simple proposal,” you say, brows furrowing. “You know he’d want something flashy.”

Gale raises a finger sagely before countering, “Well, my friend, sometimes what we want and what we need are two different things. I’m inclined to agree that you may just need to pop the question.”

“What if…” you trail off, your worries from the past weeks bogging down your thoughts. Somehow, despite everything you’ve been through, this seems to be your toughest challenge yet. “Do you think he knows what I’m doing and is simply too afraid to reject me?” you ask the group, turning to each of them with pleading eyes. You’re honestly not sure you can take his rejection, especially after the last five rebuffs.

“Not a chance in the hells,” Karlach answers. “I think he’s being a right idiot, actually. And if he knew what was happening, he may even say yes before you can so much as get the question out.”

“Really?” Your mood lightens a bit, her harsh words slashing through the hardened doubts that have settled over your heart.

“Is it any surprise to us that Astarion is incapable of seeing the truth before him?” Lae’zel says, rolling her eyes. “Such sharp skills, yet completely dull in the face of our efforts.”

“Again, we may just need a softer touch,” Shadowheart suggests, tilting her head at you.

You’re not sure what a softer touch might be, and, from the silence that follows, neither are any of your companions.

Your resident wizard is the first to break the silence. “I could always create a simulacra–”

“Gale,” Wyll interjects, politely. “I’m afraid I don’t think that’s much softer.”

“Right,” Gale says, leaning back in his seat.

Another long moment of silence and you’re truly starting to feel defeated. You hang your head a bit, thoughts filled with the image of a certain beautiful, pale elf’s mouth curling at you in distaste, forming a pronounced ‘no.’

“Soldier,” Karlach starts. You look up to see her smirking at you. “If he won’t willingly join you anywhere. I think we both know what you need to do.”

–

They are going to sink the final nail in the metaphorical coffin.

For nearly two weeks now, Astarion has successfully avoided his lover’s attempts to get together in a public space– likely what they saw was the best, most civil way to dispose of him. But, foolish as it is to cling to something like a withered love, Astarion doesn’t want this relationship to end.

Perhaps, if I can do this for long enough, they will change their mind, he thinks. Gods, that sounds pathetic, even for him.

Astarion was running out of excuses, and, worse yet, running out of willpower. What is the use in fighting the inevitable? he thinks, as he walks down the streets of Baldur’s Gate. It’s a moonlit night, and he’s on the prowl for a criminal to bite– he needs something, anything to distract him from his woes.

He turns the corner, on high alert.

Then again, a more selfish part of him counters. Why shouldn't you fight for your love? They were the first good thing to ever happen to you in this damned world.

That’s when he spots them– the-first-good-thing-to-ever-happen-to-him is hiding behind a bush directly before him, facing another alleyway. There are very few reasons that they would be out at this time of night, in the middle of this particular street of Baldur’s Gate. While they could be on a mission for the guild, he had last seen them at home, reading by the fire. It’s clear that they followed him, are waiting to ambush him.

Is this it? he thinks, eyes narrowing. His chest hurts, more than ought to be possible given his lack of beating heart. Is this how desperate they are to be rid of me? May as well go out with flair, I suppose…

Astarion sneaks forward, careful to remain outside of your field of view. He settles behind you in the darkness of the bush, watching you as you look out for him. Despite the ache in his heart, the clenching of his stomach, he can’t help but think of how lovely you look under the moonlight– of how lucky he has been to have had you.

If this truly is it, he thinks. I can’t wallow or cry. I shall hold my head high and consider myself fortunate to have met them. To have loved them. At least, he hopes he’s capable of such a performance. Because right now, quietly crouched next to you, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to beg you to reconsider.

But no. He refuses to look pathetic– not after the life he has lived.

So, after waiting with you for a few minutes, he leans forward into your personal space and asks, “Darling, what are you doing?”

Astarion is ready for your instincts to kick in, so when your knife is drawn in a flash and you’re lunging for him, he’s easily dodging backward, holding his hands up in peace. “Now, now darling, I thought we were past the knives at throats.”

“Astarion?” you ask, startled. “Sweet hells, you haven’t snuck up on me like that in years.”

“Yes, well,” he says, avoiding your eyes now. He’s surprised by how much gazing into them has weakened his composure already. “You also haven’t looked so utterly distracted by your own thoughts in years either.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ignoring his words. “I thought…”

Yes, dear, what did you think? he wants to ask, to catch you in the act with a cruel moment of revelation, to hurt you as much as you’re about to hurt him. But when he brings his eyes back to yours, he knows he can’t do that. While he’s still capable of maiming, killing, all manner of atrocities– he cannot hurt you. So he only says, “I was out hunting and I saw you hiding in a bush. What are you doing here?”

“I–” you falter, seemingly torn. Perhaps you’re having second thoughts. Perhaps this is his chance to keep you from breaking his cold, crumbling heart.

“Do you need assistance, dear?” he asks, ready and willing to show how much he would do for you. Anything, honestly, if it means you’ll stay by his side.

“Gods, I keep mucking this all up,” you mutter, head hanging in uncharacteristic defeat. “Maybe Shadowheart was right.”

What did that damned cleric do now? Is she the one you’re leaving him for? He’s about to make a reflexive, snide comment about her veritable barnyard of animals, but stops when he sees you sheath your blade. When you wipe a hand over your face in frustration.

Oh. You’re miserable. You wouldn’t look like this normally. You would never be this nervous, this stressed to see him– not unless his very presence had turned toxic. “I should go, shouldn’t I?” he asks, throat tight.

“No!” you say, reaching out a hand to keep him from leaving. Your grip is tight, painful in its panic, but he doesn’t complain. How could he when you look like this?

More than anything, he wants this worry that lines your face to fade, the jittery movement of your hands to abate. So maybe it’s up to him to spark the beginning of the end… “Did you… have something you wanted to tell me?” he asks, swallowing down the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I…” you gulp, bringing your second hand to join the first, loosening your grip. You raise your head, and he sees the tumult in your gaze. At the very least, you must care about him somewhat to stress yourself this much. “Astarion, please don’t be upset.”

How could he not? But, somehow, he manages a sad smile at you anyway. “As if I could ever be upset with you, my love.”

Then you drop to a knee in front of him.

–

“Astarion,” you say, voice shaking a bit with nerves. “I had wanted this to be something lovely. Something meaningful. But… I guess you love ruining plans, don’t you?”

“What,” he breathes out, confusion plain on his face. His red eyes dart between yours, as if trying to process a sudden, large shift. You suppose it would be a shift in your relationship, even if you were practically married already. If he even decided to say yes.

You release his arm with one hand, reaching into your side pouch for the small square box that’s waiting for you. Fingers less dexterous than usual, you fumble over clutching it, opening it single handedly. You’re not used to looking this foolish, and you can feel a heat over your cheeks, an anxious shake to your movements.

But before too long the box is open, a shining platinum band resting inside.

It looks like everything you’d hoped for in the moment– its inlaid red rubies catch the moonlight just beautifully. You’d spent weeks agonizing, wondering if you had picked the right one, imagining what it might look like were it to be placed on his perfect pale finger. Here and now, with this man standing before you, you know it would look exquisite.

“Astarion,” you start again, courage returning to you with that knowledge, some of the words you’d prepared coming back to your mind. “These past years together have been the best years of my life. You’re my best friend, my dual blade, and I love you more than I can even say. I don’t know what our future holds, but I would consider myself lucky to walk towards it with you at my side. So…” You pull the ring from the box, holding it up to the man you love with a smile. “Would you, Astarion Ancunín, do me the honor of marrying me?”

Astarion Ancunín, despite years of quick quips and sultry words, seems to be frozen in place, unable to speak.

You’re used to these moments, when he needs to process, but you’re not used to them when you’re on one knee, waiting for a response. “Astarion?” you hazard.

“You’re…” he says, face slack, mouth barely moving. “You’re proposing to me?”

It’s not a no, but it’s certainly not the reaction you’d be hoping for. “Erm, yes. Is that… distasteful to you?” You can feel your hand recoil somewhat, your smile slip.

His expression remains blank, lips slightly agape as he continues to take in the scene before him. “You– you don’t have a new lover? You’re not planning to leave me?”

“What?” Now it’s your turn to be flabbergasted. “Astarion, what are you talking about?”

The sigh that leaves him then could collapse a small house. “Sweet hells,” he says, face and body relaxing. “I thought… I thought that you were acting odd, like– like–”

“Like I was trying to surprise you with the magnificent proposal you deserve?” you respond, suddenly understanding his behavior and growing a smidge annoyed. “Like I didn’t want to propose to you behind some damned bushes?”

Astarion looks around, as if just now realizing where you are, what is happening. “Yes, now that you mention it, like that.”

You want to be upset, but then the man above you laughs. It’s light, breathy, and utterly relieved. “You were really worried, weren’t you?”

“Oh my sweet love, I was about ready to jump into an Oubliette,” he says, shaking his head ruefully.

“You thought I would leave you, just like that?” you ask, brows furrowing in concern. Maybe you should have just proposed in your living room.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he says, looking down at you with a tinge of sadness in his smile. “I doubt that this was the life you were looking for, darling. As a matter of fact, are you… sure about this?” He eyes the ring in your hand, all but forgotten in his confusion.

You proffer it again, raising your hand a bit higher this time. “The only life I’m looking for is the one with you in it, Astarion. I am quite sure.”

His scarlet eyes dart between yours questioningly, and you merely stare back, staunch in your words and intent. “Even if I’m a fool that forced your hand– left you kneeling in the dirt?”

“We’ve done worse things on dirt, Astarion,” you say, smiling widening at the memory of the first time he’d told you he loved you. “If you’d like me to get out of the dirt though, you could answer my question: Would you marry me?”

Once more, he looks between your eyes, this time his are wide, open– daring to believe that his darkest fears are just that. Fears. Ones that you would vanquish without a second thought. How could he have been so blind to that. Moisture pools at the corner of his eyes at the realization.

So he drops to his knees, reaching for your face with his hands. In a single movement, he’s pulled you toward him, captured your lips with his with an undeniable longing. A longing to hold you in his hands for as long as he is able. A longing to taste your lips on his, each and every day. A longing to never be without you, to be yours until death do you part.

You respond to his kiss in kind, lips pressing against him with your own pent up longing. He distantly hears the ring’s box fall to the floor, feels your hand brush past his ear to clutch his hair. You kiss him like he’s the answer to every question you’ve ever had and he feels a small tear run down his face as his eyes squeeze tightly shut.

Gods he would never tire of kissing you.

I ought to respond, he thinks in the back of his head, as he moves his lips against yours.

Is this not response enough? he argues, not wanting to break apart from you, for even a moment.

No, it wouldn’t do to have any confusion, not after the past two weeks.

So, before he can forget himself, he pulls back from you, far enough to look into your eyes. “That was a ‘yes’ in case that wasn’t evident.”

You laugh, short and breathless. “Oh good,” you say, leaning back further and bringing up the ring between you. “Then may I?”

Astarion removes his left hand from your face, holds it out to you with a large, gleeful smile. “You may.”

You slip the ring onto his finger. It fits well, matches his eyes, looks positively sumptuous– as always, you know him too well. “It’s stunning,” he says, angling it one way then another.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, smiling at the sight. “And that you didn’t catch me when I tried to sneak it past you.”

The vampire laughs, shaking his head free of his own silly thoughts. “I smashed your plans into tiny little pieces, didn’t I?”

You don’t say yes, but the look on your face is evidence enough. “I’ll tell you all about what you missed out on later. For now, we should, erm, go get our friends.”

“Go get our friends?” he asks, wondering what in the hells they have to do with all of this.

“Yes,” you say, planting a kiss on his hand before moving to get up. “They’re all in place for another one of these ill fated plans.”

“Ah,” he says, following you up. Then, realizing what you’ve said, he looks at you with concern. “Just what were you in this bush for?”

To your credit, you look abashed. But your words do nothing to lessen his concern. “Seeing as you were refusing to come with me, well, anywhere, we had to pivot our strategy.”

“Darling,” he starts, his tone a deceptive sweetness. “Whatever does that mean?”

“It was Karlach’s plan,” you say, as a means of explanation.

“Oh good. I’m sure whatever it was was perfectly sane then.”

Scratching at the back of your neck, you finally admit the plan, “I was going to give them a signal when you passed. Gale was going to make an illusory double of me getting kidnapped by the rest of them in disguise, then hopefully you would take chase to go save me, they would lose you just as you got to the Elfsong where I would be waiting…”

Astarion looks at you sharply, his mouth a disapproving line. “Really?”

“In retrospect, I can see the flaws in the plan,” you say, palms open. “But in my defense, I was getting desperate. Either way, we ought to go get them. Karlach seemed just about ready to explode from hiding that long.”

“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “This is what we get for having such imbeciles for friends.”

“Funny,” you start, holding out a hand to him. “They said the same about you.”

He takes your hand with an exaggerated eye roll, but can’t help the smile that comes over his face at the feeling of your fingers twining with his. “It’s a shame you had to resort to them for help.”

“I really needed it. You know, I have killed more people than I can count, but you have been my most challenging mark by far,” you say, dramatically as you begin to walk down the alleyway.

“Worse than the giant, world-ending brain?”

“Oh yes.”

The two of you walk in silence for a few steps before Astarion feels compelled to say one last thing before reaching your friends. “Darling, I truly am sorry I ruined all of your plans, but I must ask: Please don’t try to surprise me like this again.”

The expression on your face deflates a little, and you say, “I thought you would like something grand?”

He brings your hand up to his lips for a soft, reassuring peck. “Normally, yes. But, I love you so very much. I’m afraid it clouds my usually impeccable judgment.”

You don’t comment on his judgment, instead focusing on his proclamation of love. “I love you too. So, hopefully, there isn’t a second proposal.”

“One can only hope,” Astarion says with a laugh. “And, if there is, perhaps it’s my turn to do the proposing?”

“Love, if you surprise me, I may kill you,” you say, plainly.

“A risk I’ve always been willing to take, my dear,” the man replies, pulling on your hand. “Now, come. I think I can spot Wyll’s peeking eye from here.”

Hand-in-hand, the two of you walk toward your waiting friends, ready to tell them the good news.

It wasn’t the grand proposal you had envisioned. Nor was it even a particularly romantic one. But, somehow, it was still perfect, still loving, still the beautiful new beginning to the rest of your lives together.

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