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veltana · 18 days

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Unleashed - Avengers!Bucky/Fem!Reader

✦ Pairing: Avengers!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~4,2k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Sex pollen adjacent kinda, smut, a bit fluffy, one shot, possessive!Bucky, co-workers/friends to lovers, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, orgasm denial, dirty talk, praise, creampie, pet names (doll).

✦ Summary: During a mission, Bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions and all he wants is you.

✦ Note: Previously posted on AO3 since I have basically no time or energy to write new stuff. It was titled You’re what I need before but I always hated that title so I decided to re-name it. Bucky is kind of an asshole in this, but it's just because he wants you! As always, reblogs, comments, and asks are very welcome ❤️

Masterlist | AO3

The worst part about watching from afar as a mission goes to shit is that you feel useless. Even as you dispatch medics for the team all you can do is tell them, "Help is on the way."

Captain America shouts orders that you hear through the comms. The wait feels endless until the crew of the quinjet declares that they have spotted the team and there's not much else for you to do but look at your monitors and wait for an update. When you get the call back that the team is secure you breathe a sigh of relief, but then the next message is to prepare the medical staff to receive multiple injuries and chemical exposure. You ask the crew to clarify, but they are too busy, so when you notify the medical center, they prepare a quarantine room.

Sometimes you wish you had a superpower and could be there with them instead of staring at your monitors and doing endless calculations on whatever the team needs. But then when they return they always compliment your work and tell you they don’t know how they managed without you. You try to remind yourself of those moments at times like this.

Once the quinjet is docked and everyone has been accounted for you push away from your desk and remove your headset, taking deep breaths and trying to calm your heart. A moment later a message pops up on your screen, probably because they couldn’t reach you through your comms. [Bucky wants you to come down here]

Your heart does a little flip in your chest, making you scowl. He is your friend and probably injured, you have no idea why he would be asking for you, but it’s not because he feels the same way you do. You grab your tablet and head to the MedBay.

When you get down you take stock of the situation. Nat and Steve have some scratches, Sam's arm is broken and Wanda has a few cracked ribs. Tony is bruised, his suit had taken most of the damage. You look around for Bucky but don’t see him anywhere and quickly deduce that he must be the person currently in quarantine.

When you get to the wing, you’re almost too scared to go in, afraid to see what could have happened to him. Inside, you find a team of medical personnel discussing Bucky's condition with him through a glass wall. His hair looks damp and he's wearing standard-issue quarantine clothing, soft black pants, and a black sweatshirt. When he sees you standing patiently at the side he says. "You can come back later. I need to talk to her more than I need to talk to you. Go away." His voice comes from speakers in the ceiling.

You're shocked by his behavior but smile apologetically as the white coats pass you on their way out. When you get up to the glass you hiss. "Bucky, what is wrong with you, don't be rude.” "You make it sound like I'm never rude otherwise," he laughs. "You're not rude to healthcare professionals, you know better." You glare at him as you wake your tablet. “Now what did you need me for?”

"Do you like me?" he asks. Your mouth falls open and your heart starts to beat faster. You’re happy your vitals aren’t monitored as you quickly collect yourself and try to deflect his question. "Of course I like you Bucky, you're my friend." But now it feels weird to look at him and you find a spot on the wall far behind him to focus on.

"What if I want more than friends?" is his next question and despite your best efforts, hope warms your chest. This is not happening. Of course you toyed with the idea of you and Bucky, he is always sweet to you, and if he has the chance he brings you gifts from the missions. But you’ve told yourself repeatedly that he needs someone stronger, who can keep up with him in the field and you’re not that person.

"Can we have this conversation when you are not high on some HYDRA drug?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from betraying you. They are monitoring everything in the room. And there is a sheet of unbreakable glass in between you both. If you're going to confess your feelings, it won't be like this.

"I'm not high," he huffs. "My mind has never been clearer." "I still think we should have this conversation later." "Doll, look at me." The command in his voice is so strong you don’t think, you snap your eyes to his and they are so blue and soft.

"I will feel the same tomorrow, and the day after, whenever this drug wears off but now is the only time I can't hold my tongue," he explains. You place your hand on the glass and he does the same on the other side. "It will be fine Bucky, I promise," you say just as the door opens and Steve walks in, making you pull your hand back to your side. He's showered, in a fresh pair of clothes and he swings his arm over your shoulder.

"Stop hogging her time Bucky, I know for a fact that she also needs to debrief," he smiles but Bucky looks as if he's seeing red. Through gritted teeth he presses out, "Get your fucking arm off her, punk. She's mine."

You and Steve burst into laughter because it has to be a joke, but then Bucky punches the barrier with his vibranium arm. The glass doesn't crack but both you and Steve stop short and step away in shock. Steve removes his arm and says, "I'll meet you upstairs." Before quickly heading out.

You turn to Bucky and point at him, anger rising in your chest. "What is wrong with you? Steve is your friend!" "That is what it’s like in here every day,” he points to his head. You're taken aback by his statement and his wide feral eyes. Clearly, whatever he was exposed to had messed with his head and he's not himself. “Bucky I need to go,” you tell him, and before he can protest you continue. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile feebly at him and are out the door before he can say anything else.

After debriefing and having dinner you go to bed early. Your head is spinning with the day and most of all, Bucky.

It's way past midnight when you wake to the soft closing of your door. Since you always sleep with a night light the soft warm glow reflects off his left arm and leaves no doubt about who has entered your room. You blink at him but before you can ask a question he rasps out, pleading. "I need you. So bad. Please doll, help me." He moves closer to your bed.

You quickly remove your covers and get up, glad the giant t-shirt covers you to your thighs, ready to spring into action. "Anything Bucky, what do you need?" You stop an arm's length from him, but all he does is reach his hand out to cup your face, letting his thumb stroke your cheek. There is a wild look in his eyes but you keep calm. "I can't get you what you need if you don't tell me," you whisper, meeting his eyes and watching as his brow furrows.

"I need you. Right now. If I don't get to touch and taste every inch of your body I'm going to lose my mind," he confesses in a low voice. His words shock you and you hitch a breath. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. You have this great friendship. If things were different you would not have minded taking it to another level, but with the day in mind and the fact that he somehow got out of his containment room you say, "Bucky, you’re not yourself, you need to get back to-”

"Doll,” he interrupts with a hard voice. “For once, I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. The only thing the drug did, I think, was remove my inhibitions. For once I feel free. My mind isn't controlled by HYDRA or by fear that you'll reject me. All I know is that I crave you and I can't be quiet about it anymore.”

"Bucky… I…" your whole body is flushed with warmth from his words and you're not sure how to respond. "I dreamt about you and couldn't stop myself from going over here. I don't want to hurt you, doll, but I'm not sure this drug will let me leave. All I wanna do is move closer to you.” You swallow hard as he continues, thumb still stroking your cheek. “Ask FRIDAY to get Steve, or the Hulk if you want me to leave."

Instead, you step into him, making up your mind in an instant and resting your hands on his chest. "Stay, I'll be glad to help you with anything you need," you whisper honestly and by the way his eyes widen there was still some doubt in his mind that you would reject him.

Instead of saying anything his vibranium hand grasps your waist and pulls you closer. There is no escaping the smell and size of him and his hands on you got your pussy throbbing for him already.

"I hope you understand what you've agreed to," he whispers, leaning closer. "Once I have you I won't stop, you'll never be rid of me. I'll claim you against every surface of this fucking compound if I need to." That makes you whimper and press harder against him. "Fuck you'd like that huh? Are you a kinky little thing? Like getting fucked where people can see you and hear you moan, do you want people to see my hard dick spread you open?" "Fuck Bucky!" You exclaim and lean your forehead against his chest. Maybe that idea excites you or maybe it is just that the word ‘claim’ sounds so primal.

"You're going to tell me all your little secrets later, doll. But now, I'm going to take what's mine." And with that, he crushes his lips to yours. He backs you towards the bed, kissing you the whole time, letting his hands explore you. When you land on your back, he stands over you with eyes like a predator about to devour its prey.

You shuffle up until your head rests on the pillows, spreading your legs for him. Without taking off any clothes he crawls after you, settling on his knees between your legs and placing his hands on the headboard, crowding you with his large frame. "Mine," he whispers and it makes a shudder pass through you. He ruts his clothed cock against your core, slicking your underwear even more and making you whine, gripping the sheets under you.

"Yes," he almost hisses as the length of his dick presses on your clit and forces a mewl out of you. It's been a long time since you've gotten laid. "Bucky," you plead. "No doll, I'm going to enjoy every fucking second of claiming you, from the outside in. Did you think this would be hard and fast and that I would be gone before you knew what happened?"

He lets go of the headboard to put his elbows beside your head instead, his weight on you, pressing you down into the mattress. "When I leave you will long for me, spend every waking second wishing I was still inside you. I want your cunt to be permanently drenched so I can fuck you whenever I please." He kisses you forcefully and any coherent thought that was left in your head flees. "And when you're too sore to take more of my dick in your pussy I'm going to do the same thing to your mouth and ass."

He rids you off your t-shirt and instead of having to move from between your legs to pull off your underwear, he rips them apart. "Ah!" you exclaim when the force of his movements jolts you but he takes no notice, he just stares at you, letting his hands roam up and down your sides, up to your tits, cupping them and caressing your nipples with his thumbs.

Whimpers are coming from you with every pass of this touch. Then he moves down and lays on his stomach, not saying a word as he sweeps his tongue over your pussy before he starts devouring you with a throaty moan.

It doesn’t take long for the first orgasm to take you, his movements are precise and his words and actions have made you hornier than you’ve ever experienced. Or maybe it's because he is the hottest person you’ve ever laid eyes on and he only wants you.

When you’re finished and sensitive he dips his tongue into your hole to taste you and groans loudly, lapping up the wetness from your orgasm. "Better than I've dreamed of," he says when he pulls away. Now you’re the one that must be high because you can't help but giggle. "You seriously dream of me?" "All the time, doll. Every night when I go to bed I wish you were with me and then you plague my sleep with your soft curves and radiant smile."

You're about to tell him how his laugh makes you warm and fuzzy on the inside but at that moment he sucks your clit into his mouth, cutting out every thought in your brain. He's gentle but not hesitant, it's as if he's feeling you out and when you make a particularly loud sound he continues the same movement, making your whole body go hot.

The second orgasm is intense enough to send aftershocks through for a long while afterward. Bucky lays his head on your thigh as you tremble, caressing your skin and letting the fingers of his right hand skim over your opening.

Despite what he's already given you, you still crave more. His fingertips never come close to where you need them and when you whine at the back of your throat Bucky smiles up at you. "Don't worry, I'm not even close to done with you, but I don't want you to pass out on me.” One of his fingers glides inside, making you take a sharp breath just because it feels so good. Once again he is careful, moving slowly, listening to your breath and your body.

"Please Bucky, I need more.” "No need to beg, I'll give you everything you want… in time," he breathes and kisses the skin on the inside of your thigh. Slowly he moves his finger in and out. You're sure it's a form of torture. The sweetest kind there is. Your breathing is labored and when he finally adds a second, you start to quiver.

He nips at your skin and then kisses it before speaking. "You look like a goddess, doll, eyes filled with lust, your skin is gleaming. I'm going to worship you until you're tired of me.” "Never gonna happen," you whimper. Then his thumb lands on your clit, making you cry out. Everything is so sensitive and overstimulated.

"I don't- Bucky, I don't think I can again," you tell him even though his touches are causing your insides to melt. "Yes, you will," his voice is soft but the command is clear. So instead of trying to speak again, you sink further into the madness that is him playing with you. The third one takes its sweet time but you never feel rushed or stressed that it's taking too long. Bucky isn’t in a hurry.

Then it’s suddenly there, crashing through you. "Fuck Bucky, fuck you're gonna make me come." "So good for me, let me feel you come on my fingers," he urges. "I'm going to lick them clean afterward so make sure you get them nice and wet for me. I want as much as you'll give me." The climax reaches its peak and you come with a cry of his name, body convulsing and your hand shooting down to tangle in his hair.

"Just like that doll," he smiles up at you and holds your gaze when he pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean, moaning while he does. It's a filthy sound, but it turns you on as if he didn't just make you come for the third time. Then he dives in between your legs again, licking at your skin and your soaked hole. Letting go of his hair all you can do is just lie there, writhing, as he somehow coaxes a fourth orgasm out of you.

“Fuck me,” you plead when he pulls back. “I need you inside me Bucky.” This time he takes pity on you and moves away to take off his clothes. When he’s naked he kneels between your legs again and you spread them as wide as you can. "Want me, doll?" he asks with a smirk. He swipes his cock through your mess and then uses his hand to coat himself with you. "Yes," is all you can say. Both you and Bucky stare as he pushes his dick into you, filling you up completely. Of course, he takes it torturously slow this time too.

"This feels better than any dream I've ever had," he whispers almost in awe. You grip his biceps and arch into him, pushing him deeper, faster. That makes him tsk but smiles at the same time as he pushes the rest of the way, finally seating himself. Without giving you a chance to relax he starts fucking you, his cock pushes perfectly against your insides, pulling sounds from you that you haven't made in years.

He sits back on his heels lifting your ass effortlessly until your weight is resting on your shoulders and neck. It's like he is in a trance, pulling you onto his cock over and over again. Your body is his, your mind has fled, and all you see and feel is just him all around you. His eyes keep changing between his dick filling your cunt, your bouncing tits, and your half-lit eyes as if he is not sure where to look. "Mine," he rasps and thrusts hard to empathize the word. "All mine. Say it."

It takes some time for your brain to connect to your mouth and form the words but his gaze never leaves you. "Yours," you whimper. "I'm yours, Bucky." There is a familiar heat low in your belly that's steadily spreading through your limbs. It makes you wiggle and move because it's overwhelming. He is overwhelming in the best sense. Whining you reach down to rub yourself but he slaps your hand away. "I thought I told you, it's mine. I own this cunt. If you wanna touch yourself you have to ask permission." It's as close to a growl as is humanly possible and you don't understand how he can be so cognizant right now, because your brain is like putty. "Can I please rub my clit Bucky, I wanna come on your cock so bad," you cry.

"Good girl," he praises, and when he calls you that, your mouth falls open with a keening sound, gripping the sheets even harder, pulling at them because you want to come so bad. "Do it, show me how you get off when you're alone in bed without me." Everything is slippery and sensitive when you start with your fingers and you immediately know it's going to go fast. With his previous words in mind, you ask. "Can I come?" He meets your eyes with a wicked smile. "Fast learner. Yeah, you can come… when I tell you."

You rip your hand away, afraid you might fall over the edge at any second. The sound out of your throat is almost a sob. "Don't be like that, doll, I thought you said you couldn't do it more times?" "I can-I can! As many times as you want just please let me come." "Fuck, I like it when you beg with my cock in you." But he doesn't say anything else, just continues fucking you. He's not even winded while you're straining your entire body. Your hand wants to move back, anything to relieve the pressure inside you but Bucky was very clear and you don’t want to disobey him.

Then he pulls out and drops you onto the bed, but you don't get to relax because he flips you onto your stomach and pushes one of your knees up to the side before he presses in. His dick hits your G-spot dead on and you scream into the pillow under you. Bucky chuckles right by your ear. "Guess I found it." He's merciless, his hips hit your ass hard and if it weren't for his weight pressing you down you would soon hit the headboard.

"Bucky!" you wail because it's too much. You're losing the last pieces of your mind to the sheer force of the pleasure and you're scared you're never going to be able to come back to yourself. Then his hand presses in between you and the mattress. "Rub yourself on my fingers, make yourself cum. Fuck my cock and come all over me doll." You brace yourself as best you can and move your hips as he keeps almost completely still, just shallow thrusts in stark comparison to what he was doing to you just moments ago.

His fingers slide along your clit, his cock brushing your G-spot over and over again. You're breathless, sweat breaking out along your skin, but the climax you're chasing will be well worth it. You just know it.

"I can't fill you up until I’ve felt you come around me," he grunts, his voice tight with holding back. You whimper, the feeling of fire flushing your whole body, and building up to an eruption like no other. "Yes, yes, yes," he chants low in your ear. "That's it, come for me, make me proud. Fuck it feels so good." And he starts moving again "I'm going to fill you fucking full of my cum. That's it!"

The heat in you breaks and you come with a shout of his name, shaking under him. It gets even more intense when Bucky finishes right behind you, groaning your name. He collapses on top of you but his hips are still moving, slowly, as if he doesn’t want it to ever end. Neither would you but your body is wrecked.

When he finally rolls off, you're so close to falling asleep, but he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. "Pee." He points and you want to tell him that you know the drill, this isn't your first time, but all that comes out is a grumble before he closes the door behind him and you sit down on the toilet.

When you're done, you stumble out and have a moment of panic, thinking he left. But then the door opens and Bucky returns with two bottles of water, handing you one before leading you to the bed and sitting you down on the edge. Gratefully you drink and lean against his shoulder before asking. "How do you feel?" "Better than I have in a long time," he answers, kissing your forehead. You chuckle. "Yeah I have a magical pussy, it can cure anything," you joke and it makes him laugh. "You should get back to quarantine," you comment. "Before anyone notices." He shakes his head. "No I'm staying here, I'm never leaving you again." He takes the bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table together with his own. Then he crawls beneath the sheets and you go after him, letting him envelop you in a tight embrace before you fall asleep.

Alarms blare and you wake with a start. "FRIDAY what's going on?" you ask out into the room. “Sergeant Barnes has escaped his confinement.” The voice echoes through the room. You sigh and glare at Bucky grumbling beside you, like the loud signal is just a regular alarm clock. "FRIDAY please inform the team that Bucky is here and everything is fine."

A second later the sound dies and with a sigh you get up to pull on yesterday's discarded t-shirt and find a pair of pants. Right when you're done there is a knock on the door and Steve asks, "Everything okay in there?" You open the door enough to show yourself. "We're fine, he broke out during the night and came here." "Oh," Steve says and there is a hint of blush on his cheeks.

Then you feel a presence behind you and Bucky’s arm goes around your waist. "Mine," he says and you can't see him but he's probably glaring daggers at Steve who backs away. "We'll be okay, I'll alert FRIDAY if I need help," you tell Steve. When you close the door Bucky turns you before pushing you up against it and kissing you hard. "Mine," he mumbles against your lips. "Fucking caveman," you tell him. He grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder. "I'll show you caveman," he says and carries you to the bed

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mistiell · 7 months

Note

Hello!! Since your requests are open and I absolutely love the way you write him (despite there only being one—), may I request some sort of angst to fluff for Astarion with a reader that accepts his advances but doesn’t seek him out because they know that he’s only doing so for protection/convenience?

Like; yes, the reader does care deeply for him. They could even say that they love him. But they don’t want him to do anything just because he feels as if he’ll be denied kindness and sustenance if he doesn’t. So they’re very reserved and keep to themselves, treating him very kindly when he propositions them, but doesn’t do anything more than what he asks.

Omg, thank you so much!! I worried I might have portrayed him in a way that was ooc but I'm glad to see people like the way I write him!! lol WC: 1.6k

---

Astarion has manipulated and romanced countless people over the centuries. He knows what he’s doing. The routine differs depending on the person, of course, but he has it down to a science.

You shouldn’t be any different.

Since the first time you let him feed on you, it’s become a sort of routine he regrettably relies on to stay satiated. It’s been nearly a month and a half of sneaking to and from your bedroll every few nights, and he’s begun to worry that you’ll tire of it – that you’ll get sick of the fatigue and the lingering ache in your shoulder that clings to you well into the morning after.

This particular morning, he sees it in your sluggish movements and absentmindedness. Karlach has to call your name thrice before you finally turn to her with a small, “Hm?”

“Gods, has the tadpole migrated and blocked your ears?” The tiefling chuckles, cuffing you on the shoulder on the same side Astarion had fed from the night before. With a pained grunt, you wince, brow scrunching in discomfort as you roll it out a little.

Karlach gasps, “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright.” You smile, but when Karlach leaves, it falls as you rub at the juncture between your neck and trap muscle. If he doesn’t find a way to keep you on the hook, there’s no chance you’ll let your late night meetings continue.

So, when the two of you are sitting by the fire after setting up camp for the night, he decides to offer up the only thing he can think of to keep you interested.

“Ugh, Gods. There is nothing to do around here.” He huffs, prodding for an opening.

You snort, taking a sip out of your water skin, “You can say that again.”

There it is.

“You know,” He leans just far enough into your space to make you fluster, smirking, “We could always make our own entertainment?”

Eyes darting away from him, your throat bobs, “What do you mean?”

He leans in a little more, making sure to glance at your lips as he purrs, “I think you know what I mean, darling.”

“I think—,” Your voice cracks up an octave and you clear your throat, embarrassed. It’s rather cute, “I think I do...?”

“You think so, hm? Tell me what I mean, then.” Your mouth opens and closes a few times, and he can hear your heart beating fast against your ribs. He chuckles coyly through his nose and leans forward to brush the tip of it along the apex of your cheekbone, lowering his voice to a seductive whisper, “Might it have something to do with,” His fingertips find the top of your hand where it rests on your knee, ghosting up under your sleeve and over your wrist as he breaths, “Touching, maybe?”

A shudder runs through you as you swallow hard, “May— Maybe...,” He’s not expecting it when you pull back and look at him apprehensively, “But... I mean, are you sure?”

The question takes him aback; throws him off balance. No one’s ever bothered to ask before. It makes him wonder if he’s off his game, if perhaps his act isn’t as convincing as it normally is.

He shakes it off, grinning at you coquettishly, “Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.” It’s not the first white lie he’s told you, and it certainly won’t be the last.

You wet your lips, searching his expression for any sort of hesitance. He’s careful to make sure there’s none to find. When you’re satisfied, you smile shyly, “I’d like that” “That’s what I like to hear.” He hums, standing before offering his hands, “Shall we?”

You take them, and as he leads you somewhere more secluded, he counts it as a victory.

Weeks pass, and he’s sure to propose a little fun between feedings to keep in your good graces. One thing that he’s noticed is that you never really ask him to do anything more than what he’s suggested. He expected you to come to him every once in awhile after the first time he’d bedded you, maybe ask for a piece of him when you’re bored or in need of some stress relief, but... you haven’t.

He also expected you to have at least some demands, but aside from voicing your preferences in the heat of the moment, you haven’t asked him for a damn thing. For a moment, he wonders if he’s losing his touch, but he shakes the thought off as quick as it comes. The implications of it make his stomach churn.

If not his body, what else does he have to offer?

“Astarion?” You call as you approach him where he stands near his tent.

He startles, then clears his throat to play it off. “Yes, darling?”

You smile apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, my dear.” He doesn’t understand why you’d apologize for something so small, or why it makes his undead heart twist uncomfortably in his chest, “Did you need something?”

“Come with me?” You ask, offering a hand, “I have something I’d like to show you.”

This is it. You’ve finally come to offer yourself up instead of it being the other way around.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” He hums, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him into the forest. A rather odd location to lay, but he’s definitely worked with stranger.

Weaving through trees, you lead him to a small clearing with a blanket spread out over the grass in the center. You only let go of his hand when you reach the edge of it, toeing off your boots before carefully plopping yourself down on top of it.

“So this is what you had in mind, hm?” He grins, following suit after you pat the spot next to you, “A romantic romp under the stars?”

“Oh! Uhm, no.” You titter, and he frowns.

“Then what did you have in mind, pet?” He asks, watching you twiddle your fingers.

“I-.” You huff, rubbing at your mouth and glancing away, “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and I thought we could watch it together.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, “It’s stupid. You don’t have to stay, obviously, but... I thought it could be nice.”

What the fuck.

“You... brought me all the way out here, just to watch the stars?” He asks, sounding bewildered even to his own ears.

You look back at him nervously, nodding, “I did.”

What the fuck.

He should say something, but for the first time in a long while, he’s completely lost for words. His brows draw together in confusion, and when he speaks, his voice comes out wrong; too soft, too shaky. “Why?”

You stare at him, worrying your lip for a moment before starting carefully, “You don’t need to sleep with me to buy my kindness, you know. I enjoy our nights together, of course, but I’d like you just as much without them.”

Now he’s really at a loss. His stomach lurches with the anxiety and embarrassment of being seen without meaning to be. He feels vulnerable; exposed.

“Of course I know that.” He scoffs, attempts a smug grin. His voice shakes as he says it, “What’s not to like?”

You huff a small, singular puff of laughter, “Right.”

Something flashes above, drawing both your attentions. Stars shoot across the blackened sky, streaking it with white and blue and purple. You gasp, eyes so wide, he could watch the whole spectacle through the reflection dancing over them.

You lay back, using your forearm as a pillow as you watch the sky intently. He follows soon after, a strange silence falling over the two of you.

He tries to focus on the sight above him, but your words have a hold on his mind like a vice grip. It’s been so long since anyone has shown him kindness without some sort of transaction involved. So long that he can’t even recall it ever happening.

He stares hard up at the sky, mouth twisting down in apprehension. He swallows thickly before murmuring, “Would you really?”

He sees you turn your head to look at him out of his peripherals, brows drawn together in confusion, “Would I really what?”

Embarrassment flares and writhes in his gut; his nose wrinkles at the feeling. He feels utterly ridiculous as he replies, “Still like me if I didn’t...”

He can’t find a word that sounds right. You understand anyway.

Some strange, melancholic sort of horror flashes over your face before you will it away, nodding resolutely.

“Absolutely.” You flip your hand so it lies palm up on the blanket. An invitation, not a demand, “You mean more to me than sex, Astarion. I don’t care what we do or don’t do, as long as I get to be with you. Whatever that entails.”

A lump forms in his throat and his eyes burn. He knows if he looks at you, he’s not going to be able to keep the tears at bay. He looks at your hand instead, staring for a moment before slotting his fingers between yours. Squeezing, he hopes you’ll take it as what it is, “Thank you. I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t know how to navigate this. I think I want to try.”

You squeeze back. He takes it as, “I’ll wait for you.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3

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ghouljams · 1 month

Note

“#distribution system is a pillow Princess/sub!ghost fic”

😳 h-holy shit. I think the world went white when I read this. Like a flash bang went off. Oh my god.

You hold his face between your hands, your thumbs gently stroking over his scarred cheeks. Your eyes are so soft, they look at him like he's something fragile, something precious. Ghost holds your wrists like a lifeline, desperately begging to be grounded in this moment. Your lips move without sound, he wishes he could hear it, could hear your voice like the trumpets of revelations. The light shines behind your head like a halo, it must be a halo, divinity shining through your skin. Everything hurts.

"Stay with me," He begs, his throat dry and his bones aching.

"Of course," You pet over his buzzed hair, your voice as soft as early spring, "I'm not going anywhere."

You kiss his temple, let him settle his hands on your waist and lean into the touch, hungry for it. You're not going anywhere. He's not either, this is the last stop. He can just be here. Ghost traces his fingers over your skin with reverence, his eyes on yours as you tip his head back. It's good, you're finally in your rightful place over him, larger than life in all your kindness. He could let you swallow him whole, he wishes you would. Then he could be a part of you, a part of something worthwhile, something good and kind. Whatever he's done in life-

"Stay with me Simon," You murmur, as if he'd ever want to be anywhere else. Of course, he wants to echo, of course. You lean to brush your lips over his cheek, it hurts, white hot just under his eye. You slice your line through him, ask again, your voice so distant and yet so close beside his ear, "Stay with me."

His lips move around your name, breathe in, exhale. His hands hold you, drag over your skin as he tips his head to press his lips against your neck. Can he have this? Is this allowed? Are apostles meant to worship their god through such sinful means? He slides his hand between your legs, rubbing his fingers through the wet heat he finds there. You're so soft.

You whine, such a pretty noise, and he kisses you again. He mumbles your name against your skin, traces his lips against your pulse, desperate to feel your life. Everything he does is for you, every breath he takes, every beat of his heart, each blink, each touch of his fingers. Nothing matters to him like you do. You're so warm, dripping over his hand, the noises your sweet pussy make when he presses his fingers into you are perfect, and obscene.

"My Simon," You breathe, "You're so good for me." It hurts between his ribs, cracks his sternum, you could take him apart with so many words. "You never tell me what you want," You coo, "Never ask for anything."

"Want to make you come," He mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of it, he doesn't deserve to ask for your love, but he can approximate it, "want to be useful to you."

"You are, Simon," You whisper, he jerks against you at the jolt that goes through him, "because I love you."

It spins in his mind like tires stuck in mud. It's not right. He wants it too badly for it to be right. You couldn't. Even when he was leaving you couldn't. Ghost swallows. It's cold in here.

He blinks his eyes open to a hospital ceiling. Everything hurts. He reaches his hand to feel whatever is covering his left eye with a grunt of pain. His fingers twitch and another sharp jolt of pain zips through him.

"I wouldn't," Price tells him. Ghost turns his head to look at him, adjusting to the new blind spot. He's sitting in an arm chair beside the hospital bed, his chin perched on his palm, fingers curled over his mouth and leg bouncing. Ghost wonders how long it's been since his last cigar. Price sniffs. "Down two fingers, gonna hurt for a while."

Ghost turns his head to look back at the ceiling. The fluorescents buzz, a whine only he ever seems able to hear. At least the sky would've been a nice thing to end on.

"Nearly lost you on the table," Price continues, Ghost can hear him standing, "I'll let the nurse know you're up."

Ghost swallows again, tries to feel his tongue in his mouth, so dry it may as well glue itself to his teeth. "Where's my wife," He croaks. Price's footsteps stop, something heavy falling over the air. There are a thousand things he could say, a thousand comforts he could offer.

"You're not married," He tells him, and leaves.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x you #f!reader #I know I've kept it gender neutral so far I'm sorry #I'll get back to that but I love hearing Ghost say “my wife”#captain john price #price is truly the villain of this fic and I love it #the ghost distribution system #sub!ghost

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loganlermanstanaccount · 7 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

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#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #heavy angst #mutual pining

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mountainsandmayhem · 7 days

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Wonderful Tonight

Marcus Pike x Pregnant Female Reader - 18+

Summary: Marcus Pike takes care of his very pregnant wife, shaving her legs (and more) and then treats her like the delicious meal she is. CW: pregnancy, shaving, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (you can't get pregnant while pregnant, but all of you better be wrappin it up!), praise, pet names (baby, honey, etc.), multiple orgasms. This is fluffy romantic smut. AN: I write one piece with feelings and suddenly I'm Mrs Romance over here! I gotta say that I'm falling deeper and deeper for Mr Marcus Pike, JUST LOOK AT THAT FACE!!! I feel like their wedding song would have been Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, hence the title. Thank you @syd-djarin for reading this over for me. @survivingandenduring, I'll be waiting for my edits lol. Dividers by @saradika-graphics Word Count: 3.9k

A faint groan stirs Marcus awake, he takes a few seconds to fully come to, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Trying to listen for that sound again, unsure if it was a dream or not. He reaches across the plush white bedding of the king sized bed looking for you, his beautiful and very pregnant wife, only to find the bed empty.

Usually, worry and panic would rush through him if you weren’t in bed, but you appear to be in your nesting phase and it hasn’t been unusual in these last few weeks for him to find you rearranging the nursery or ordering more things off Amazon at strange hours. You also seemed to have the strangest midnight cravings, like mayonnaise on ice cream, or there was that night he walked on you about to take a bite out of a kitchen sponge.

He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, looking over at his alarm clock. 2:56 am.

The sound of you huffing and grunting floats from under the door of your ensuite bathroom. You sound like you’re struggling or in pain and adrenaline courses through Marcus as he hops up and rushes to the door. His mind racing to calculate the number of weeks pregnant you are and if it’s too soon for you to be in labour or not.

He tries the door handle to find it locked. “Babe?” He calls, rapping his knuckle in the door gently.

“Sorry. I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” you call back, your voice seems off like it’s laced with discomfort. It immediately sets his teeth on edge, you’re not fine, and according to his quick math you’re also at a point where you could go into labour and even though the baby would be a little early, they’d be past the danger zone and the baby would most likely be ok.

“Please open the door. You don’t sound fine.” He says softly, pushing the panic down like the trained FBI agent he is.

You’re quiet for a second before responding in a more stable voice, “Everything is fine. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Are you sure everything is ok?” He asks one more time, he knows your stubborn tendencies and how it usually takes him to ask three or four times before you give in.

It’s silent again behind the door. Just the sound of you huffing like you ran a marathon before a sad little ‘no’ leaves your lips. It simultaneously sends him into fix mode and breaks his heart. He hears your bare feet pad across the tile floor followed by the click of the lock.

He cracks the door slowly to come face to face with you in just your sports bra, naked from the ribs down. Your legs are slathered in raspberry and tangerine scented shaving cream and you have a purple razor in your hand. Your cheeks are pink with frustration and the exertion of trying to bend down. Your hair’s piled on top of your head, a few loose strands falling and sticking along the nape of your neck.

He leans his toned bicep against the doorframe, only wearing his tight black boxers, then crosses his arms and looks at you tenderly. His voice is soft and full of love as he says, “Oh, sweetie. What are you doing?”

The tears of frustration start to pool along your lash line. “I’m gonna give birth and I can’t be a Sasquatch, but I can’t bend over without feeling like my lungs are being crushed by my giant belly.”

Marcus cups your face, wiping away the stray tear and bringing your eyes to his. “Honey, you’re not a Sasquatch. And even if you were, they’re doctors. Come here,” his hand trails to the nape of your neck and he pulls you gently into him, wrapping both arms around you and tucking your head into his neck, “They’re not looking at your leg hair. They’re focused on you and the baby.”

You relax into his arms, belly pressing against his abdomen comfortably. “I can’t go into labour like this,” you say, anxiety wavering in your voice.

Marcus drops his arms from your body and slides past you, slipping his boxers down before stepping into the large, glass walled shower. He turns the nob that controls the rainfall shower head and crooks his fingers at you as a silent call to walk to him.

When you reach him, he starts to unzip the front of your sports bra. “What are you doin’, Mr Pike?” You say softly over the soothing sounds of the shower, watching his thick fingers pull the zipper down.

“I’m shaving Mrs Pike’s legs,” he says as you look back up at him. His chocolate brown eyes soaked you in and made you weak in the knees.

“Marcus, you -“ he cuts you off as your sports bra hits the floor.

“I promise to love, cherish and treasure you,” he starts, lightly pulling you into the shower. He always recites his marriage vows when he can sense you’re about to fight off his help. His way of reminding you that he wants to be there, wants to care for you. He continues his speech as he leads you to the wooden bench, “In all circumstances; good or bad. Forever. Without hesitation or keeping score. From this breath, until my last breath, you are my wife, my love, my partner, and my equal.”

He steadies you as you sit before taking a knee in front of you and smiling up at you sweetly.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It’s the middle of the night and this incredibly sweet man doesn’t even question or fight you. Just supports and loves you with his whole being. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Baby, you’re growing a person for us. You deserve so much more,” he holds his palm out and you place the razor in his hand. His other hand wraps around your swollen ankle lifting it to rest your foot on his knee. Before you can say much he starts making slow, gentle strokes of the razor up your leg.

You’re both silent for a moment, him lost in the sight of your soft skin as he shaves your leg, you lost in him and the way he’s looking at you as he drags the sharp razor so tenderly across your skin. The steam from the shower wraps around the two of you, encasing you in your own little cloud. The rest of the world and all your worries are temporarily blocked out until all your thoughts are just Marcus. Sweet, loving, emotionally available, Marcus Pike.

He reaches for the detachable shower head and drizzles warm water down your shin and calf, using his free hand to rinse away the excess shaving cream. You go to move your leg away but he grabs your ankle to keep you there. After switching off the water he puts it back and looks up at you, placing a light and lingering kiss on the inside of your knee before placing your foot back on the warm tile floor and grabbing the other ankle.

The shaving cream has washed away from the steam and backsplash from the rainfall behind Marcus, so he grabs the bar of soap and lathers up your leg. You watch again as he focuses all his attention on carefully shaving your other leg. Using the same little strokes, rinsing the razor more often than you would if you were doing it yourself.

After rinsing off the excess soap he glances up at you. “Better?” He asks soothingly.

“Ya,” you say, trying to convince him that your legs were your only worry, but he knows you better than that. He knows that when you flick your eyes away from his and your spine just slightly stiffens you want to ask something but are afraid or nervous to.

“Honey, what else do you need?” His hand kneads the swollen and sore muscles of the calf that’s still propped on his knee.

“Well…” you trail off as you start to blush.

“Mrs Pike. Are you going to ask me to shave your pussy?” He says with a devious little grin. Eyes lighting up like a horny teenager, placing your foot on the floor.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say quickly. “I’m just worried that -“

He lightly covers your lips with his palm and Reminds himself to stay calm. he’s thought about how sensual it would be to shave your most delicious areas, but he knows you have some insecurities about body hair, and he didn’t want you to think you had to be clean shaven for him to find you sexy. Because truthfully, you could be a Sasquatch and he’d still want you. “Oh no, baby. I want to. I really REALLY want to.”

You lightly kiss the inside of his palm as he smiles hungrily at you. Just as your insecurities start to cloud your thoughts Marcus places his hands on your belly and rubs gently. “For the record, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, clean shaven or not. I love the taste of your pussy when it’s like this, it’s sweeter and feels soft against my skin. Plus, I love the way you cry out when I tug on it. So don’t think for a second that my excitement over getting to shave her means I prefer it that way. I don’t. Ok?”

You crash your lips into his, tangling your fingers through the slightly outgrown hair at the nape of his neck. He tastes like toothpaste still from before he went to bed as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, his soft wet tongue swiping against yours. The two of you stay like that for a while. Lazily making out in the middle of the night in the shower. His hands trail from your belly to your back, gently massaging the muscles of your lower back and then your hips.

He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you catch your breath. “I’m going to get a new razor and your special shaving cream. Ok?”

You nod against him. “Are you ok on the bench, honey? Do you need a towel to sit on?”

“No, I’m ok. We can move if the ground is uncomfortable, Marcus.” He’s always beating you to ensure the other is comfortable.

“Be right back,” he winks. You watch him walk out of the shower to the vanity. The water droplets on his back run down the toned and slender muscles that line his back, they catch in the curve of his ass before running down his tight cheeks. You find yourself squeezing your knees together at the sight of your naked husband. He truly is so beautiful, inside and out.

He slips back into the shower and kneels before you, sitting back on his heels. “Slide to the edge, baby.” His hands come to your hips, guiding you forward. He licks his lips and looks up at you through his thick lashes, big brown eyes dancing softly around your face. “Spread your legs for me.”

Normally, saying something like that would sound dirty, or like a command, but it floats gently over the splash of the shower. Soft, caring, and so sweet that you melt back onto your hands, parting your knees wide for your husband. His eyes glaze over slightly as his lips part, your glistening soft folds on display for him. He blinks a few times and takes a slow breath, reaching for the shower head again, cupping the water in his hand and drizzling it along your pussy. The breath catches in your throat, something about this feels incredibly sensual, and it doesn’t help that Marcus is looking down at your pussy like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Is the water ok? Not too hot?” He asks.

How did you get so lucky, but more so, how did anyone divorce this man in the past?

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” your voice waves, it’s breathy and full of arousal. He blinks up at you and smirks. He knows this is turning you on, and he plans to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as possible.

He applies the cream and grabs the razor, popping off the flimsy plastic guard before getting to work. His hand rests above your mound, pulling back gently to make the skin taut. He uses little strokes, rinsing the blade between each swipe of the razor. You close your eyes and let your head fall back as he continues. Once he’s removed all the hair from the top, he rests his hand on the now smooth skin just above your clit and gently pulls back. A soft whimper passes your lips, he’s so close to your most sensitive spots. But he said he’d help you shave, so he continues, swiping the razor in the same short strokes down one lip, and then the other. By the time he’s done, your breathing is rapid and shallow.

“You doing okay up there, baby?” He asks, placing the razor on the bench beside you.

You moan a soft ‘mmmmm-hmm’ as he reaches for the detachable shower head. You open your eyes, watching as he tests the water on his hand and wrist before holding the stream over your pussy. You gasp at the feeling of the warm water pressure flowing over your now swollen clit. Marcus smiles up at you, the dimple on his cheek forming and setting you on fire. He clicks the button on the side of the shower head, increasing the water pressure and holding it closer to your core.

“Marcus,” you whimper, leaning back further. Gravity lolling your head backwards.

“That’s it. Just relax, honey.” He says in a hushed voice, his free hand gripping and massaging the soft skin of your inner thigh higher and higher until he’s at the top. His thick middle and ring fingers coming to tease around your entrance.

“Oh god. Please, Marcus.” You say through bated breath. Your swollen breasts and belly rise and fall with your pleas.

He dips the tips of his fingers inside you, feeling your walls pulse and flutter. Taking his time to slowly fuck his fingers into you, inch by inch. Slowly. Lovingly. All while watching how you react. Watching the way your mouth falls open, eyebrows raising slightly, lips going soft as you moan his name.

Once his fingers are all the way, he curls them forward just as he clicks the button on the shower head, increasing the water pressure to its highest setting. You let out a long, husky wanton moan that echoes off the black tiled walls. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your legs start to shake, as your body almost launches you towards your release. Every muscle seems to go slack and it waves through you, pleasure reverberating from your aching clit, spreading to every cell in your body.

“Marcus. Oh fuck. Don’t stop, Pike. Please.”

You feel lighter, even as your heavy belly bounces as you grind shamelessly into Marcus’s palm and the spray of the shower head. He feels the grip of your slick walled pussy start to relax as you crest over the edge of your orgasm and start to come down. He pulls the stream of water away from your clit, the warmth of his large hand cupping you, his two thick fingers still working you slowly to the bottom of your high.

“You’re such a goddess, baby.” He says proudly. The praise wraps around you like a warm blanket as he slides his fingers from you carefully. “I wanna take you to bed and watch you do that again.”

You find the strength to arch your neck forward and look at him. You smile sleepily and nod, allowing your beautiful husband to take your hand, shut off the water, and lead you to bed. Before helping you climb in, he moves his hands to cup your face, placing his lips against yours. His chest rumbles with a content sigh as your tongue swipes hungrily along his soft bottom lip. One of your hands scoops under your belly, lifting it to relieve the pressure on your lower back, the other reaches for his hard cock. You grip around the base gently and stroke him slowly, matching the energy of the kiss.

“Mmmm, I like that baby,” he says between kisses, “But I’m not done with you yet. Let’s get you into bed.”

You climb in as gracefully as possible, praying silently that you don’t look like those sea lions that you watched on your honeymoon in Alaska a few years ago. You lay down on your back as Marcus climbs on top of you best he can, stretching to keep kissing you, doing his best not to put any of his weight on your bump. This position immediately puts pressure on your body, making you feel short of breath.

Your hands push at Marcus and you sit up slightly, seemingly fighting for breath. “Ugh,” you groan frustratedly, “I can’t breathe like that. I’m sorry. This is so unsexy.”

“Unsexy? I’m rock hard for you,” he says, looking down and then back at you with a smile. “You lay how it’s comfortable, how about that?”

“Pike, I’m only comfortable on my side with that crazy pillow under my leg.” You say, defeated and anxious. “I need you though.”

He thinks for a second, chewing his cheek as he surveys the pillows available. “Ok, what if you lay on your side, bottom leg straight, top leg hooked up and resting on the pillow?”

You smile at him lovingly, “Is that really gonna be sexy?”

“Honey, I’ve never been more turned on by anyone in my entire life. You’re glowing. I’m amazed by you every day.” He fluffs the pillows around you as you turn away from him, bending your leg up as high as your belly allows. “Is that comfy, baby?”

His fingers trace up and down your spine slowly as your body starts to sink and relax into the soft mattress. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips come to your neck, kissing the soft spot behind your ear, down your neck and then along the top of your shoulder, fingertips swirling along your back and ass cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed, moaning at his sweet caresses. His lips continue to kiss your skin and down your back, as he spins his body so his feet are at the head of the bed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says into your skin between kisses. “So strong. So selfless. I love you so much, Mrs Pike.”

Your whole body seems to tingle with anticipation of where he’s going to kiss next, you feel his hair tickle the inside of your top leg as he maneuvers his head between your thighs. You lift your leg higher, desperate to feel his mouth on your already sensitive pussy.

“Please, baby,” you gasp, arching your back slightly. “I need you to…”

His warm soft tongue licks a slow and teasing stripe from your asshole to your clit. A tortured moan leaves your lips, hips bucking into his face. Marcus lets out a silent laugh at your reaction. He’s always loved how your body responds to him. The very first time he made you cum, both of you still fully dressed as you made out, hips grinding into his as you shook, he knew that he wanted to see that for the rest of his life.

“Good girl, let me taste it.” He laps at you again, still just as slowly but with more pressure. Asshole, to entrance, to clit. Once. Twice. The third time his thumb comes to press into your now dripping pussy, tongue flicking around your nub slowly and with perfect pressure.

“You taste so good,” he moans between licks. “Such a good girl for me. You’re gonna cum soon aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yesss. Don’t stop, Pike.” He doesn’t stop, he never stops. Not until you’re either begging him to or you’re pushing him away.

“Never, honey,” he mumbles into your wet folds, and that’s when the tight elastic behind your mound snaps, and you cum hard and loud. Your inner walls grip his thumb tightly, pulling it deeper.

“M-Marcus…hnnggg…oh my god. Yes.” You’re lost in the euphoria. Every ache and pain from your pregnancy is temporarily erased and replaced with nothing but pleasure. Sparkling, warm pleasure.

It slowly starts to become too much, slipping into overstimulation. “Marcus. Stop, baby.” He’s always in tune with your body, his thumb already starting to slide out, tongue replaced with light kisses.

You whine as he pulls away, already missing him and the intimacy. “Please fuck me,” you say over your shoulder, his blown out coffee coloured eyes almost black. He slips his body alongside yours, the arm closest to the mattress slipping under your head. He grips his dick with his other hand, pumping it while running it up and down your slit, collecting your arousal.

“Ready, baby?” Marcus asks, kissing the top of your shoulder.

“Just fuck me already!”

If you weren’t pregnant he’d flip you onto your belly and drive into you, probably pull your hair and tell you to cut the attitude. But he knows he has to be gentler right now, so he slowly pushes the thick head of his cock into you. Inching in slowly, almost punishingly. “Don’t be a brat, baby. You know we have to be softer right now.”

You wiggle your ass back, trying to get more. You need all of him. When he’s finally seated all the way inside of you he holds still, sucking on your neck. “Be good, or I’ll just stay like this all night.”

“No, please, baby. Please move.” Your belly makes forward movement impossible so you’re just pinned between your bump and Marcus. “Pike, please.”

He quickly pulls back to the tip and then slides back in. You cry out into his bicep. “Again. Please. Again.”

“Fuck, I love it when you beg,” he whispers, fucking in and out of you a few more times. It’s deep and slow, always with a little extra punch of his hips at the very end. “Sound so pretty when you moan for me.”

You reach down to rub your clit, him encouraging you with his words. “That’s a good girl. Touch yourself for me.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re both on the edge, ready to tumble over together. To get lost in each other's pleasure. He moans deeply in your ear, whispering praises as you cum on his cock, holding off as long as he can before you feel his warm spend fill you. You’ve completely melted for him, unable to move or keep your eyes open. You both lay quiet, his softening cock still buried inside you, breathing heavily together. You both drift off, spent and happy and so unbelievably in love that it’s hard to believe something like this can exist.

Marcus wakes up a few hours later still inside you. He slowly slips himself out, peels his body away from yours and tucks the blankets around you. He leaves you a little handwritten note that he’s going to get French toast and bacon from your favourite place.

Ya, it’s definitely hard to believe that a love like this is yours.

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag

@pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes

@jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

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@ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #pedro is daddy #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #the mentalist

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zorosdimples · 8 months

Text

WHEREVER YOU ARE

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ brief descriptions of violence. a little angsty at first but it’s fluff i pinky promise!

word count ༄ 796

notes ༄ i’ve been feeling so deeply about zoro lately—i cried over him a few nights ago. this is embarrassingly soggy; i poured my heart out for him. tagging my dearest ai @gojoest <3

home.

a soft breeze carries the word, a gentle whisper that ruffles zoro’s hair and curls over the shell of his ear, fading once the message rests uncomfortably on his tongue. the sea shimmers under the moon’s loving gaze, the lulling lap of waves the only sound that reaches the starlit deck. he should be chilly in the crisp salt air, but as he glances down at you—wrapped in his protective embrace, head resting against his bare chest and the steady beat of his heart—he realizes that he has never felt warmer.

home is a word that has never meant much to the swordsman.

from an orphanage to the dojo to the furthest reaches of the east blue, zoro was born a wanderer, cursed to roam land and sea with little more than three swords and a fierce dream. hunting humans and exchanging souls for bounties that could barely cover a warm meal, a glass of sake, and a dirty bed—it was a monastic existence, devoid of comfort and pleasure. but that’s the price you pay when you make a deal with the devil. greatness isn’t bestowed upon the righteous; greatness is something you must fight for with steel claws and blood in your maw. may the most vicious creature win.

home is make-believe for a demon. it’s a tale told to frightened children who don’t yet understand the cruelty of the world.

joining luffy did not cure zoro’s restlessness. it did not make him a better man—it only redirected his cruelty. the piles of flesh and bone he left in his wake loomed over him still; he trudged through a sticky stream of ichor in his nightmares. destruction in the name of something is destruction all the same. he could feel the shackles of solitude slipping, but he was (and still is) set in his ways. it’s difficult to unlearn that which you believe yourself to be. a lifetime of isolation bred a bone-deep loneliness that he couldn’t bleed out of his chest or escape when he cracked open his rib cage and welcomed eternal darkness.

home is a luxury a man—a monster—like him does not deserve.

you draw zoro from his thoughts as you shift in his lap to face him, wrapping your legs around his waist, smoothing your palms across the strong planes of his stomach. your delicate caresses dance upwards, an act of reverence as you trace over the story of his life.

puckered scars, rippling striae, dappled moles, smattered freckles; these etchings on his tanned flesh tell of his victories and mistakes and birthrights. when you reach his broad shoulders, one hand darts up to rake through his mint green strands, fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that has him chasing your touch. your other hand tinkles his earrings, the golden chimes playing their hymn as they reflect the glimmering moonlight.

zoro’s lone eye is enraptured with your movements, and when your sweet gaze meets his, you press a featherlight kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “what was that for?” he asks with a rumbling chuckle. his hands—rough, capable of atrocities—unconsciously rub up and down your sides with worshipful tenderness.

“i love you,” you confess airily with a smile, as though those aren’t the most devastating words the swordsman has ever heard.

if zoro wasn’t a selfish man he would weep at your words. he would tell you to find someone better, he would show you the mortal weight of his sins, and he would keep his distance from a soul as radiant and kind as yours. but decades of want have conditioned him to be greedy.

hearing that phrase—though zoro has heard it from your lips hundreds of times—has a grin rivaling the brightness of the moon split his sharp features. cradling his face, you stroke his dimples with your thumbs. his hands settle on your waist and tug you toward him, your bodies pressed together like hands in a prayer. he crooks his head so your mouths are a mere breath apart.

“i love you, too,” he murmurs before claiming your parted lips with his own.

zoro still has little more than three swords and a fierce dream. but he also has three warm meals a day, more glasses of sake than he could ever want, and a clean bed to crawl into at night. he’s no longer an orphan; with the straw hats there is friendship and laughter and adventure. if asked, he will insist that he’s not a good man, that he’s a demon. but he’s fiercely loyal to his family—he will cut down anyone that stands in their way to freedom.

and then there’s you. with you, zoro has a love he has never felt before. as far as he’s concerned?

wherever you are is home.

#i hope you all enjoy bc this was SO self indulgent #and very emotional to write #i’m exposing myself here #crawling back into my hidey hole from whence i came #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #zoro fluff #roronoa zoro #one piece #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x you #zoro <3 #༄ kae writes

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sharksssm · 6 months

Text

I Want You (As A Bear)

On AO3 Warnings: Halsin is a bear, smut in wild shape, smut, blood, biting, injuries, no beta we die like men.

It wasn’t often you found yourself in a situation where you were so exposed, cold wind nipping at your body in places usually covered with armour, daggers usually stashed at the places on your thighs now covered with goose bumps. However, what you hoped would happen tonight wasn’t something that could be explained with the word ‘often’, and the wind was the only thing that convinced you that this could be a situation at all. Earlier, wondering through Wyrm’s Crossing, Halsin had mentioned in passing to Jaheira that he was struggling to contain his inner bear, that smells were carrying in the wind and lingering so much longer than usual. So, thinking back to that night you shared, how you had been so hesitant to embrace him as a bear, and how understanding he had been… well, you decided he should be able to have you the way he desired, as you had him. You’d been preparing for at least a tenday, trying to figure out how you would have to manoeuvre to fit him as a bear, how he’d even want you to be positioned. Eventually you’d pushed your pride down far enough to ask Astarion, who despite initially laughing at you to the point you were terrified the rest of the camp would come and ask what was going on, was taking every opportunity he could over the last few days to brainstorm (and test) as many positions he could think of, including a significant amount that you didn’t think were possible for a bear to do.

That led you to now, shivering in the forest, standing in the wind that you knew was blowing toward camp, already rubbing your thighs together, both for warmth and because the log nearby had been used by yourself and Astarion just that morning to do unspeakable things under the guise of getting berries for breakfast. You paced briefly, pushing Astarion from your mind. You were here for Halsin after all, thinking of Astarion right now, as difficult as it was, wouldn’t be fair on your lover. A twig cracked behind you, and you raised your arms to hug yourself, not afraid at all. Even without your daggers, without your armour, you had faith in the weave that ran hot and crackling through your bloodstream. Besides, not much out here could harm you, and the speak with animals spell would remain until you rested. A hand, large and calloused, wrapped itself around your waist, and you immediately relaxed into the broad chest behind you.

“My heart, what a surprise.” You inhaled through your nose, the smell of leaves, the campfire and something altogether foreign to you that you could only assume was bear invaded your senses. “And just for you, Halsin. I overheard you and Jaheira earlier… I had hoped you would find me.” There was a beautiful fondness in his eyes as you turned around, the look he always gave you. You swore you could feel your goosebumps disappear as he drank you up with his gaze. His hands enveloped your waist completely, his thumbs rubbing circles on your lower ribs, what sounded like a growl sounding low in his throat. “I did more than find you, I smelled you. Not just you, but your arousal.” He all but purred. His hand travelled down your bare stomach, fingertips just reaching the delicate hair above your sex. Your knees felt weak as he buried his face in your hair and inhaled. You can’t help but wonder what he smelled, what you smelled like when you’re ready for him like this. A stab of nervousness bursts through you - are you ready? One thing you couldn’t prepare for was the size of him. His hand faltered, could he smell that too?

“My heart, what are you thinking?” He turned you to face him, your heart in your throat at the way your neck had to strain to look up at him, and his bare chest. Gods, his chest. “I’m thinking...” you trailed off, running your hands down his chest to play with the opening of his pants, working on their undoing “… that I would like you, as a bear.” It was his turn for his breath to catch, your smaller hands finally undoing his pants and working its way into his underclothes. Your brilliant eyes caught his, seeing something different in his eyes, a primal want that you’ve only seen once, although last time he withdrew from you to fight it off. You clasped your hand around him, or as best you could anyway, and put your other hand on his face, pulling him in for a kiss finally. His mouth met yours passionately, his hands pulling you close to him as your tongues wrestled for dominance, not that it took long for you to give in to him. You would always submit to him, to your bear, your Halsin. You pushed the thoughts of possessiveness from your mind as you disconnected from him, dropping to your knees on the ground, suppressing a wince as a stray pebble made its presence known to your kneecap. Your hands gripped his waistband and pulled his pants and undergarments down, as he stepped out of them to aid you. You leaned forward, holding your eye contact, as you licked a line from his base to his tip, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue. You’d never done this to anyone before Astarion, and once Gale, not that he’d be willing to admit it to anyone but you and learned quickly that the two of them enjoyed vastly different things, so you only hoped Halsin would enjoy some of the things you learned from the two of them. You swirled your tongue around the tip, positioning your hand around the base of his cock, the gap your hand couldn’t quite cover impossibly big from this angle. Gods, he really was a huge elf. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took as much of him into your mouth as you could, a groan erupting from the naked man above you, and your sex twitched in response, a signal you were ready to be filled, though you’ve known that for a while, even if your body hadn’t caught up. You pushed him ever further into your mouth, your hands on the backs of his thighs for leverage, and set yourself a pace that you desperately hoped you could maintain with the feeling of your jaw stretching to its limit to accommodate as much of him as you could.

His hand rested in your hair as his breathing picked up, and you held his thighs as hard as you could pulling him into you. You could feel his muscles tense, as though holding back, and he twitched in his mouth. You recalled Astarion’s voice in your mind, when you were with Gale. “Squeeze him right at the base, don’t let him let go yet. You’re in charge here.” You pulled off Halsin’s cock, a wet pop and a string of saliva leading to his cock making your hole clench as your grip tightened around the base of his cock. He gasped, his hips twitching towards you and his eyes opening and immediately looking at you, surprise all over his expression. “I want you to let go inside of me, my love.” Halsin dropped to his knees before you, pulling you onto his lap, your legs falling either side of his hips. His cock nestled between your lips, pressing against your hole, his lips sought yours again and took your breath away just as you took his away only moments before. He ground himself against you, slowly and teasingly, allowing the had of his cock to catch against your hole, but never letting it inside. He pulled back, relishing in your flushed face, the way your redness spread down onto your chest. “Are you sure you want me as a bear? I know it is not most people’s preference, especially since you are so small my love.” You whimpered against him, rolling your hips for any sort of friction against your body, nodding fiercely. “I want you Halsin, all of you, all for me.” The growl erupting from his throat sent tingles through your body as he moved you off his lap, leaving you on you back in the soft dirt and grass. His body moved back, light enveloping him as hair burst from his body, his limbs and face changing in almost the blink of an eye until stood before you was a beautiful bear, all soft fur and claws. The bear stalked forward (you didn’t know bears could stalk) until it stood before you, between your legs. You quivered in anticipation, waiting for Halsin to take the lead. His forelegs bent, almost as if bowing, and before you knew it his large tongue was lapping at your hole. You gasped, trying to squirm away from him, but his large paws pressed your hips to the ground, his claws drawing the smallest pinpricks of blood from along your hip bones. You moaned as he dipped inside of you with his tongue, as though testing if you're even capable of taking him like this. You could feel yourself approaching orgasm, rapidly, as his nose nudged your clit over and over as he drank you up, his tongue alternating between thrusting inside you and teasing round your fluttering hole. You could see his cock when you looked down, animal and foreign looking, and imagining it inside you tipped you over the edge. You ground yourself into the Halsin-Bear's face as you came, the vibrations from his deep growl overstimulating your already very stimulated clit. As you came down you could hear Halsin's voice in your mind. I want you over that log, the one with you and Astarion's scent on it. I want to drown his scent out, I want your thoughts to be of only me when you look at that log. I will have you all night until I am all you can think of, all you feel when you touch yourself, until I am the reason you cannot walk back to camp. How could you refuse?

******* Your hips bucked against the felled log you were bent over, hands scrabbling for purchase against the cold hard ground. There was nothing to hold on to except the last remaining shreds of your sanity, and at this very moment you were thanking any god you could think of (and potentially some devils) that you had a single moment of clarity to throw your undershirt over the log to avoid splinters. You had assumed Halsin would take you the second you scrambled over the log, resting your hips on it to keep your ass in the air for him, but instead he had buried his snout back into your folds, seemingly determined to draw you to orgasm over and over. You panted and writhed as his tongue pushed against your entrance, dripping onto the forest floor as he pushed you violently towards your 4th (5th?) orgasm of the night. The coil in your stomach felt ever tight like it would never go away, and you were sure this orgasm would tear you apart, split your muscles and your entire body right down the middle. Halsin’s wet nose and fur pressed against you as he somehow harshly sucked your clit, curling your toes and eliciting desperate sounds you didn’t even know could come from your mouth. Still no orgasm came, the sweet pain pleasure of overstimulation battling against your own body to avoid the bud of nerve endings from ripping more pleasure where you had none to give. Nonetheless, Halsin placed a paw on your ass, pushing your hips down into the log and continuing his beautiful ministrations, edging you closer and closer to your breaking point, filthy things spilling from your lips in infernal every time Halsin rolled his tongue around your over-sensitive bud.

One more my beloved, and I’ll give you what you want Your entire body tensed, toes curling and legs shaking as he growled into you, slick claws running up your folds, and you could feel yourself start to break, the edges of your vision blurring. Your mind wasn’t capable of coherent thought, the only thing running through it was Halsin’s name, like a chant or a prayer, blasphemy of the highest order. He was everything, the forest, the sun, you felt the knot in your stomach tighten ever further. Your legs ached from how tight the muscles were, you felt your pussy clench and suddenly, your mind snapped. You felt so disconnected from the world as your legs shook uncontrollably, liquid gushed out of you onto Halsin’s tongue as he relentlessly fucked you with it. Raspy moans and whimpers escaped from your lips as your body went limp, your hips twitching, knocking painfully against the log in front of them lamenting how goddamn empty you were. You begged for him, no clue what language you were spilling from your lips only that it was begging for his cock, begging for him to fill you and breed you over and over until he couldn’t anymore. His tongue licked up your bare back as you brainlessly murmured your desires, your prayers to him lost in translation between his native elvish and your native infernal. His cock caught at your entrance, thick and weeping, as his paws became visible either side of your shoulder, caught in your peripheral vision as he nuzzled into the back of your neck.

Beg. You whimpered, your throat dry in anticipation and exhaustion. “Pdyiwy” you sobbed, only infernal making sense to you right now. He rocked against you, huffing into your hair and almost purring at your strangled sobs when the head rubbed against your overstimulated clit. I said beg. You squeezed your eyes shut, head dropping so your chin almost touched your chest, arms struggling to hold you up off the floor. “P-Please! I need you Halsin, fuck me.”

Halsin growled, and pushed against you, his body too animal to aim himself as he rutted against you, his cock head catching on your hole and slipping out a few times. You were too fucked out to help, as you ground yourself back into him, desperate for the stretch of him, and with a purr you connected with him finally, moving perfectly for him to slip into you. The stretch strung, his cock which was significantly above average as an elf only enhanced as a bear, but you ground down on him despite his holding back. He pulled back, and thrust back into you, your voice cracking as you groaned and tried to push yourself back onto him. “Please, don’t hold yourself back, I don’t care if it hurts.”

His breath, hot and animal on your neck, seemed to halt for a moment, before a deep, rumbling growl slipped from him and he ground his hips forward in a quick, harsh motion. The stretch was delicious, a pricking sharp pain inside you mixed with stabs of pleasure at the blistering pace Halsin was fucking you at, never pulling out more than a few inches before slamming himself back inside you, as if he couldn’t bear to take himself from your heat for more than a few seconds. He ground against you, muzzle pressed to the back of your neck. You didn’t remember much of what you researched on bear mating to prepare for this, but you were sure that if you were another bear, he would be biting you to keep you in place. That thought rocketed straight to your sex, making you squeeze down around his cock and you could swear you felt large, terrifying teeth against your neck. The pain had all but subsided now, you subconsciously knew you’d have scrapes from the wood all over you, bruises from stones on the ground, but how could you feel any of that when all you could feel was this. Halsin’s rutting stuttered every now and then, his breath coming out in wild puffs, teeth bared now, pressing to the back of your neck. Your breathing was laboured, moans and whimpers your only sounds, words and sense long since fucked out of you. You could feel that familiar knot on your stomach, but alien this time, feeling more like Gale’s ball of weave than an impending orgasm. You were sure that this orgasm would destroy you, you’d die happy and clenching around your lover’s cock, unable to even comprehend your own demise because of how fucked out you were.

Your breath hitched as Halsin’s hips stuttered, grinding into you once, twice, and then a warmth filled you, his hips still moving to fuck his seed as deeply as he could, suddenly feeling him abruptly dismiss his wild shape while still inside you. A large calloused hand suddenly wrapped around one of your horns, pulling you off the log and onto your knees, back against his chest. Cock still inside you, his other hand found it’s way to your clit, rubbing harsh circles around it. “One more my heart, you’re so close for me.” His gruff voice whispered in your ear, your whimpers drowned out by a high-pitched noise in your ears as you catapulted before what you were sure was your blissful death. The hum in your ears drowned out Halsin’s sweet nothings, the sounds of nature around you, you felt the painful pleasure of your overstimulated sex rocket through your body. The sounds coming from you were foreign and animal, and emphasized even more as you felt the last thread of your sanity snap. Your vision blurred completely as you gushed over Halsin’s hand, your body almost convulsing as you came, his hand on your horn and you leaning on his chest the only reason you were even upright. You vaguely noticed the night sky, and someone moving your body to the water’s edge.

When you came to, Halsin was cleaning your body with a cool wet rag, smiling down at you as your eyes finally focused. “Welcome back, Art.” You looked around – it appeared you were in the same place, at the same time of day. Alive. “Halsin I-“ He shushed you, putting the rag down and running his hands through your now undone hair. The collection of delicate gold chains which usually hung from your horns were in another clean rag next to it. “You are fine my love, it was overwhelming for me too. We probably should have discussed my affinity for overstimulation beforehand.” You ran your hand down Halsin’s face, drawing him in for a kiss. “I enjoyed it very very much. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Halsin aided you in redonning your camp clothes, sneaking kisses every step of the way, checking in with you, casting a healing spell that fortunately couldn’t do anything about the ache between your legs. With what was before you, the challenges, you had no idea when you’d be able to do this again, and you wanted to remember and feel it for as long as possible. He did end up carrying you back to camp, setting you in your tent with a deep kiss goodnight, stressing your need for sleep if you were to continue your journey tomorrow. As you drifted to sleep, you felt the emptiness between your legs, rubbing your things together elicited an electric shock through your body that warned you against doing that again. You were 100% sure you wouldn’t be able to deal with someone touching your clit again for at least a tenday, if not two. Now to break that news to Astarion.

Bonus: Astarion had been waiting for Art to return all night, he was nothing if not a gossip and gods, he wanted to hear everything. But when he watched Halsin carry Art back, and Art's knees all but wobble the few steps into their tent? He needed more than gossip, he needed to tadpole that information out of Art. He started the dash across the few tents between his and Art's, confident everyone was asleep before a deep voice rang out across camp with his name. Astarion's eyes flew up to meet Halsin's, where he stood half in and half out of his tent with a smile on his face. "I may not have a tadpole, but I can show you exactly what happened anytime you want." Astarion, for once lost for words, nodded enthusiastically and silently slipped into Art's tent to the sound of Halsin's rich laughter.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #halsin #halsin smut #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #named tav #wild shape #bear!halsin x tav #bear!halsin

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adnauseum11 · 25 days

Text

After Action Review (John Price x Reader)

You and John talk through your argument.

2.1k words

cw: none - light angst and fluff!

Feedback welcome!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog.

The slow glide of John’s fingertips over your exposed lower back is what ultimately wakes you. Your consciousness is slowly swimming back to the surface when your attention is pulled towards the sensual drag of his skin against yours. It’s almost enough to make you forget the knife’s edge of tension that currently exists between you. You barely manage to restrain yourself from stretching along his side and purring, his fingers conjuring delicious hazy memories.

Instead, your hand lands on his ribs, using him as leverage to shimmy yourself back a few inches and create some distance between your bodies. John lets his arm drop away, offering no resistance.

“What’s happened?”

You immediately ask, invoking the sort of short hand conversations you and John routinely have, bracing yourself on an elbow to groggily look at his face. His eyes are still closed, the sweep of his dark lashes sending shadows over his cheeks in the weak early morning light. Your eyes are slowly drawn to the bandage around his forearm, the white of the gauze a contrast against his skin. The reality of the past few days lands on your shoulders, urging you to wake.

“Going to have to narrow it down for me, love.”

His deep voice is sleep roughened; his tone still vaguely dreamy, not following your meaning.

“Your arm, John.”

John cracks an eye cautiously, finding you perched on your elbow staring at him with concern.

“Just a scratch, it’ll be fine in a few days, darling.”

“And your head? Any better?”

“Still behind my eyes but not as bad.”

You take him at his word, patting his ribs reassuringly as you shift further away from him.

“Alright, I’m going to make tea. I’ll bring you one?”

You’re rolling out of bed before he answers, knowing he won’t turn one down no matter what state he’s in. He hums in agreement but otherwise doesn’t move, tracking you with his heavy-lidded eyes through the room. In fact, he still hasn’t moved when you return, carefully setting the steaming mug down on his bedside table, eyeing his now dozing form. He’s sprawled his long limbs out in the bed, the indent of your body next to him in the sheets still partially visible.

A prone John is a true anomaly, the man almost always on the move in some respect. It speaks to how poorly he’s feeling that he’s still in bed, basically laid out. You wonder if it might be better to leave him alone to recuperate while you blow on your tea, assessing him. He cracks his eyes open again and finds you staring down at him, undecided.

“I’m alright”

He’s insisting, reading your face without you saying a word.

“You’re clearly still feeling rough, John. You should rest today.”

“No, I want to sort this out, I don’t like having you upset with me.”

He’s arguing, looking up at you from the pillows, his eyes looking less bloodshot and more alert. Still, he stays put in bed, watching for your reaction.

“Don’t give me reason to be upset with you then.”

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting you safe.”

And just like that, your heart rate kicks up and you are right back in the thick of it with him like the past few days were a bad dream. A surge of adrenaline makes your fingers automatically clench around your mug.

“John! I’m upset with you making unilateral decisions! How am I supposed to keep myself safe if I don’t have all the information at hand? And just deciding to take off? I’m lucky David made the spare room up for me last minute!”

“I only want to protect you, love, I didn’t think upsetting you with details was the right thing to do with so much going on.”

“Yes! Of course I want details! Jesus John – I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this.”

That has his attention and he finally pushes himself into a sitting position with a grunt and a badly hidden grimace, pushing his fingers through his sleep rumpled hair slowly. You can feel a ball in the pit of your stomach and shift from foot to foot, feeling unsettled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…it was one thing to be your friend when you were off doing this dangerous stuff but now – maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not cut out for it. I don’t think I managed a full breath until I saw you yesterday, I was so worried. And I deserve to be a partner, not just someone to be managed.”

You have to pause to take a sip of your tea before your shaking hands spill the hot liquid, your emotions hammering through you. John pounces on the interruption, his face is drawn and serious.

“I’m not taking more contracts. This was a one-time thing, darling. The break-in, the mission, it’s over now. I’m done. Properly retired.”

You look at him, unconvinced and he scratches his jaw, his lips pressed together in a thin line before he continues.

“But you’re right. I’m used to making decisions for people and being in control of situations- “

You can’t stop the sarcastic laugh that bubbles out at that understatement. He pauses and then carries on, clearing his throat.

“I’m still adjusting to civilian life, darling. Patience.”

“John, you thinking you’re in charge of everything is nothing new. Get real. I just thought you would consider me before you made a decision like taking off for a mission with a few hours’ notice. I’m not worth the time it takes to have a conversation? You made me feel like an afterthought, what I wanted didn’t even matter to you.”

“Of course it matters to me what you want. Darling, you’re all I think about. When I got home and you weren’t here-”

“Doesn’t feel good, does it? To not be considered? Why should I tell you my plans when you don’t include me in yours?”

You can’t temper the petulant tone that bleeds through your voice even though you hate how it makes you sound like a whiny teenager. John groans, rubbing his palms over his face and the motion reminds you that despite holding his own he’s still not recovered. You sigh and take a step away from the bed, shaking your head in annoyance. You can feel your heart pounding against your breastbone, the effort of trying to make John understand your point of view making your entire body thrum in agitation. If you could pace without spilling your tea, you would.

“Just…get some rest, John. Let’s try to figure this out later- “

This raises his alarm, and he leans forward, his eyebrows raised and face earnest. Suggesting more space to John seems to be akin to suggesting he cut his own hand off and he reacts strongly.

“No! No, you’re right. I should have looped you in on what was happening even if I thought it would upset you. I should have talked to you when I got the call about the mission. I thought I was doing the right thing by shielding you, but waiting for you to get back and not knowing what was going on…I’m not a fan of the shoe being on the other foot. Message received.”

John’s tone is pained, his hand reaching out for yours instinctively. You pause, considering for a moment. The stricken expression on his face is pulling on your heart strings, making your resolve bend. He’s genuinely contrite, your ill-fated last-minute jaunt to your brother’s home seemingly killing two birds with one stone after all. He takes another breath and pushes on, his voice softening and dropping into his lower register.

“I’m sorry darling. I should have been honest with you, and included you in the conversation. I thought I was protecting you. I’d do anything for you, love, you have to know that. It’s always about you. Please. Stay.”

His hand slowly wraps around your free hand, the warmth of his touch radiating up your wrist. You let him; your barely touched tea cradled in your other hand. Your eyes find his and you lock gazes, the hesitancy in you melting slowly under his steady scrutiny. You let him reel you in, setting your mug down on the bedside table before he drags you over his lap and back in to bed. A muffled squeak forces itself out of your lungs as John twists over you, pressing you down into the pile of pillows and curling around you as if he’s afraid you’re going to make a break for it.

“John, you muppet, go easy.”

You’re gripping his bicep, your hair tousled and John’s half lidded eyes on your face. He ignores you and his chest rumbles against you as he speaks, brushing your hair back from your face gently with his fingers.

“I don’t scare easy love, but I nearly lost it when I got home and couldn’t find you.”

John’s words come more easily when he’s got his hands on you. You idly think how you’re the opposite, needing space to corral your thoughts. You can’t summon the heart to separate yourself from him at the moment though and try to stay focused.

“I was hurt John, I just wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. I haven’t been that upset with you in god knows how long. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do darling. I love you. I only ever want what’s best for you. You have to believe that.”

“I really don’t like how you went about it.”

“I know, it was poorly done, love. I’m going to do better if you’ll let me.”

You hum in agreement, finally giving in and stroking your palm over his wiry beard, smoothing the stray hairs back into place. John’s eyes drift closed again at your light touch. It feels fragile, the truce between you, like the slightest jostle will upend it. You need reassurance that he meant what he said earlier.

“No more contracts?”

“None. You’ll tell me when you go somewhere next?”

“Yes, but I think I’d prefer it if you come with me. It was hard being there with David’s family. I mean, they’re lovely and it was good to see them but... they were so happy together and I missed you so much. I was so worried John. I love you too.”

The tears come almost immediately, choking off your throat. John’s palm cradles the back of your head as you tuck your face into his shoulder, wiping your cheeks on his shirt. You force the rest of the thought out, your voice unsteady.

“I hate that we fought before you left, if anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself - “

“Shh, it’s alright. That part of my life is over now, love. We don’t need to worry about that, yeah?”

The slow stroke of his thumb over the base of your skull is soothing and you jerkily nod, dislodging the tears on your bottom lashes. John kisses your forehead, his bristly whiskers tickling your delicate skin.

“I’m sorry I derailed Christmas, darling. But I’m glad if you went anywhere, you went to see David. What did he say about you moving in?”

“I didn’t tell him; I didn’t want to get in to it.”

You admit, your voice wobbling slightly, the unspoken ‘on my own’ hanging over the end of your sentence. You busy yourself twisting your fingers in the sleeve of John’s shirt, his big palm stroking your side, following your curves. John waits a beat before he speaks.

“Are we going to be alright, love?”

“I-I think so, you’re going to talk to me, yeah? I want to be involved in decisions.”

John hums in agreement, his palm resting on your hip as he kisses your forehead again. You release his sleeve from your grip and press your palm against his chest, tilting your head back so you can see his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Just stay with me for a little while?”

“Of course.”

You stroke his beard again, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips. One easily turns into two, and your hand retraces its path into his hair. You can feel John droop against you, the tension bleeding out of his body as you massage his scalp again. The two of you share air for a few moments, foreheads pressed together, cocooned in the pillows. You give one last peck to his lips before cradling his head to your chest and stroking his hair slowly. John is seemingly content to let you pet him, nestled against the soft curves of your body. Eventually, you can tell when sleep starts to tug him under again, his breathing slowing and evening out. You stay curled around each other until late in the morning, when your stomach starts to cramp from hunger, forcing you to gingerly extract yourself and scavenge in the kitchen while John dozes on.

Next Chapter

Ao3

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aliceinborderlandscrolls · 1 year

Text

Dream Of Me

Chishiya Shuntarō x reader

Your last night in the Borderlands

Fluff / Angst

“Have you seen Chishiya?” I heard Kuina ask.

My eyes lit up as I slid in beside her, all of us crouched down and hiding behind cars.

“Shuntarō? You’ve seen him?” I asked as my eyes began to quickly look at my surroundings, “Where?”

“A couple blocks that way.” Arise admitted, but began to panick as I stood up, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go find him.” I stated, but before I could run off Usagi grabbed my arm.

“We need you here to help take down the King of Spades.” She spoke calmly.

“But…” I trailed off.

My eyes held worry for the man that has always been within arms reach since the start of the games. I couldn’t help the knowing anxiety that has flooded my chest since we got separated by the very King of Spades who means to end my life now.

I shook my head, “Chishi could be hurt. I’m not going to lose him to this stupid game-” I stated as began to move.

“He’s fine!” Arisu assured me, his voice sharp and panicked, “He’s safer where he is than here with us.”

I felt torn as too much turmoil struggled inside me.

“We need you.” An said seriously.

After a moment of heavy debate, I relented my mission with a sigh. I knelt to the ground, keeping a look out for any chance of the King of Spades seeing us.

“If you say he’s alright Arisu then… What do I need to do?” I asked.

“We need to draw him away from the other players.” An suggested.

“Alright.” I nodded, “Fine, but as soon as we beat this guy, I’m going to go find Shuntarō.”

“Ah, to be young and in love.” Kuina teased.

I gave her a look, “You’re younger than me?”

“Only by two months.” She muttered.

I raised my eyes before returning my attention back to our friend, “Let’s do this.”

…

I couldn’t feel the concrete underneath my body as I coughed up dirt and blood. My mind felt fuzzy and my breath labored as I listened to the King of Spades chase after Arisu.

I hope he will be alright.

I knew I needed to get a hold of myself and fast. I was loosing too much blood from the two bullet wounds I bore in my stomach. Not to mention the few cracked ribs I received from the ruthless beating. At least I was able to break a few of his fingers… I humored myself with the thought.

I wiggled my own fingers to see if I would be able to get up and felt relieve in the small movement.

I grunted in pain as I slowly sat up. I lifted my arms to take off my torn shirt and use it as a gauge to wrap around my stomach. Once I felt it was secured enough, I grabbed on to a railing beside me and heaved myself up with a frustrated cry.

The sound of my name stopped me from taking anymore steps out of this cursed alleyway.

“Kuina… An.” I breathed out, “Are you alright?”

“Could be better.” An hummed.

“I agree, this hurts like a bitch.” Kuina grunted in pain the moment she laughed.

Worry flashed over my face at the two, “What can I do?”

An shook her head, “There is nothing you can do.”

The sound of the blimp exploding shoved us signaled that Arisu had won and the King of Spades was no more.

An continued, “Only Arisu can save us now. Soon this hell will be over…”

“I need to…” My face trailed off as I gripped the railing, a new found urge to get to Chishiya taking over my heart.

“I know.” Kuina smiled, “Say hi to him for me.”

I nodded with a small smile before beginning my journey in the direction Arisu had pointed towards earlier. I could only hope that he was still somewhere over there… I wasn’t exactly sure on how much time I had left.

It was night by the time I reached a large opening filled with multiple abandoned cars. The blood from my wound was beginning to seep through my shirt from the exertion. I was worried that it wasn’t a clean shot through and that the bullet could still my inside. It sure felt like it was.

“Shunta?” I called out his name again, it coming out as a cry as I struggled to keep myself standing.

I was beginning to lose faith from the thought of never see him again. Never hear his condescending gravely voice or his beautiful patronizing eyes. Would never be able to see his intelligent mind work or the way he would look like a cute chipmunk when he ate. Or feel his lips against mine that he poured every ounce of feelings and love he had for me.

“Please…” I tried to wipe the tears from my eyes to no avail.

I was beginning to lose hope… Until…

“Over here.” He said and it was then that I saw his outline.

He was on the ground, leaning against a car and it was when I stumbled closer that I could make out dark patches in his jacket. He held his side protectively, but his face looked as calm as a clear sky.

“Oh Chishi.” I cried out, stumbling to the ground beside him.

My hands shook over his wounds, unable to do anything as I gazed teary eyed at him, “What happened?”

“Niragi.” He lightly shrugged, “My conscience decided to get the best of me today I suppose.” He gestured to my lack of clothing, “Though I didn’t realize you’d have your shirt off.”

I shook my head with a short laugh, wincing at the pain as I fell into him, careful not to touch his side. My head fell onto his uninjured shoulder as I allowed myself to cry.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” I spoke as well, “I wish I would’ve jumped out of that car that day.”

“You would have been killed, easily.” Chishiya spoke simply.

I scoffed at the blunt honesty, immediately regretted it afterwards as I held onto my side.

Chishiya ignored me. “I need to check your wound.”

“My fate is up to Arisu and winning against the Queen of Hearts.” I stated, “What happened to Niragi then? Did he…”

“Still hear.” I heard his voice a little bit away.

“If I was able to get up right now, I would-”

“You’d kill me. I know.” Niragi’s voice was sarcastic and I swear I could see his eyes roll.

Chishiya brought my attention back to him, “I need to remove your shirt.”

“This isn’t the time for that.” I tried to joke, but I could see the glare in his eyes, “It’s nothing, really.”

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing, I can tell it’s a bullet wound from the blood seeping through your poorly wrapped excuse of a bandage.” Chishiya sat up a bit with a grunt, “At least you made it this without dying. Means that the bullet didn’t hit anything vital.”

“Such kind words for a dying person.” I rolled my eyes.

Chishiya only raised his eyebrow, “Do you want to know if the bullet is still lodged in there or do you want to die?”

After a pause he did something I never thought he would do…

“Please.” Chishiya pleaded, something very unlike him.

I saw the worry held in his eyes a relented with a soft nod, “Okay.” I turned away, my face hearing up as his fingers gently grazed my skin.

He gently untied my shirt and peered closely to see an exit wound, “You’ll live.”

“Thanks doctor.” I muttered.

I could hear him grunt as he tore a piece of his shirt off and properly bandaged my wound.

“I’m… Glad that you didn’t… That I got to see you one last time.” He spoke softly.

Tears filled my eyes, “Me too Chishi…”

I leaned back against him, taking in the cool night air.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” I wondered.

“It’s Arisu.” Chishiya stated plainly.

I pressed my face into the crook of his neck, “I don’t mind dying like this…”

Chishiya didn’t say a word opting to secure his arm around my side. Minutes seemed to turn into an hour. My eyelids felt heavy as I began to doze off.

A gentle nudge prompted me awake, “Seems like he had it in him.” Chishiya said as a voice echoed above us.

“Choose to remain here as a citizen or leave the game.”

“What will it be?” Chishiya asked as if the answer of our fates belonged to me.

I already knew my answer, I just hope that we would still be together regardless of the outcome.

“I… I would like to leave.” I admitted.

“Then it would seem that I would like to leave as well.” Chishiya gave his final answer.

My grip tightened around his jacket and I couldn’t stop the overwhelming flow of tears, sorrow, and relief.

His hand brushed gently over my side, “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t…” I sobbed, “What if we forget about this place? I don’t want to forget you. Please tell me we won’t forget each other.” My words were grasping on pleading as I clutched onto him.

“I can’t tell you that.” Chishiya answered truthfully causing my heart to break.

I buried my face further into his neck and cried.

“I can tell you this.” He said and my ears picked up on the sound of his calm voice, “Nothing will keep me from finding you.”

“Promise?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“On Niragi’s life.” Chishiya chuckled, earning a scoff from afar.

Seemed Niragi was still alive as he spoke his wish of wanting to leave.

“Chishi…” I whined.

“I promise.” He stated truthfully.

I say up so I could look him in the eyes as I said, “Then all I ask of you until then is to dream of me.”

He nodded as our foreheads touched. His lips softly brushed against mine before my eyelids began to grow heavy once more.

“See you soon my heart.” Chishiya whispered.

…

Chishiya opened his eyes being faced with a bright light. Everything felt soar and numb all the same. He released a sigh before looking around the hospital room. His roommate for the next couple weeks had been sleeping and so he rang for a nurse to fill him in on his condition.

It wasn’t too long before he heard rustling beside him. Chishiya glanced over to his roommate without the faintest recognization.

“Why are you staring? Do you want something from me?” The stranger asked.

“Apparently, your heart stopped too.” Chishiya stated.

He stared up at the ceiling as he asked, “How the hell do you know that?”

“It seemed to have happened to me as well.” Chishiya answered.

He chuckled, “What a fucking coincidence.” The burned man glanced at his roommate, “I’m Niragi.” He introduced himself.

“Chishiya.” He returned.

It was silent for a minute before Chishiya spoke again.

“Since… you almost died Niragi.” Chishiya tilted his head towards him, “Do you feel like something has changed to you?”

“I’m not entirely sure… I guess I looked a lot flashier before the incident.” Niragi mused, “How about you? Do you feel different?”

“I have wasted my life until this moment. From now on I think I will live a more useful life.” Chishiya hummed.

Niragi took a breath, “You were a good for nothing jerk too then, huh?”

Chishiya stared at the wall ahead of him, “Yeah.”

“You also mutter in your sleep.” Niragi continued, “I couldn’t make out anything except the word, promise.”

“It’s strange, I don’t remember what the dream was about.” Chishiya answered his brows furrowed slightly, “But it felt important.”

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a-jynx · 5 months

Text

forgetting the universe (astarion/reader, astarionxgale)

i hope you enjoy this new fic!

tw; mention of blood drinking, mention of death/character passing, heavy on the angst, smut, somemore angst, and hopefully some comfort! And a lot of back and forth on feelings from Gale. Bloodweave lover!!!

*Gale's thoughts are BOLD & italicized *Gale in disguise is Italicized

A gentle shake woke him. A noise of disgruntle urged through his lips as he turned over, stuffing his face back into his bedrolls' sorry excuse of a pillow.

"Five more minutes," he huffed, scrunching his nose. A scoff could be heard above him as he was harshly shaken. Snapping his eyes open, he sat up on his elbow and looked to the assailant. "Do you mind? Some of us need-"

"Gale."

Oh.

Swallowing thickly, he faced the soaked face rogue. Another nightmare... "I- I hadn't realized," Gale coughed, feeling heat rush his cheeks. "Are you alright, Astarion?" His voice low, afraid to scare off his vampiric companion. His usually well-done curls now limp around his eyes and ears. Brilliant ruby-colored eyes now dull and wet as Astarion swallowed, shifting closer to the wizard. Crimson stains were brushed across the vampire's lips.. He must've recently fed. Gale hummed at the thought, quickly shaking his head and finding himself pressed closer to his companion. His friend...

"I'm forgetting them," Astarion whispered, a strangled noise coming from his throat as Gale blinked. Them. Of course.

"I'm forgetting my lover already." Tears streaked down his cheeks as Gale sighed, turning his body towards the man. His hands shook as he pulled Astarion into his chest, his thumb trying to soothe away whatever pain ails him. Astarion turned further into the warmth given to him, sighing as he pressed his nose to Gale's neck. His pulse quickened.

"Show me them."

"What?" Gale leaned away, running from the shiver that coursed up his back as Astarion licked at his stained lips. "I know I woke you from a deep sleep, but try and use that," he gently flicked at Gale's temple. "Oh, so plentiful brain trapped behind your precious locks." His voice ended on a whisper, yet there was a hint of... Desperation?

Gale swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. Astarion's eyes jumped to his Adam's apple bobbing, something flashed across his crimson eyes. "Alright, just this once though..." The wizard murmured into white curls, feeling his tongue grow heavy and his mouth dry as he inhaled. "Just this once..."

A whisper of Disguise Self swirled around Gale's body. Tendrils of purple wrapped around his body and draped him in softer tones, his beard slowly shortened, if not disappeared altogether. His deep brown eyes shined against the soft candlelight. Astarion breathed a sigh, new tears ushering his cheeks. A trembling hand caressed the wizards' cheek. His feather-like touch brushed across the scar that decorated his past lovers' flesh. He could see the freckles he once counted with kisses, stating that he was counting the stars to his universe.

So, why would you take yourself away..?

Tears dripped onto the bedroll squished between their bodies. Your heat grew as Astarion drew closer - he could hear the thrum of his heart drumming against his ribs.

"Why? Why would you leave me?" The vampires' voice cracked as his sharp nails dug into the shoulders before him. A sharp whine left your parted lips while clenched teeth held back the hiss.

Gale had not a clue. One night, three - no four - months ago, you had got missing. The party searched for four days and three nights. He was the only one brave enough to face Astarion during the search; asking if he needed anything. He was always met with resistance or anger. The next morning that found your body... Mangled. The blood Astarion once treasured to suckle from your neck, now laid out and splattered the land before them.

The following night, Gale had been the one to comfort the angry rogue. Watching over him as he guzzled down bottle after bottle of whatever he could find. He had been so in love with you... He thought you to be immortal.

The world has a cruel way of checking ones' reality.

"I never chose to leave you," you all but whispered into his space. His lips hovered over your own. The smell of iron and wine strong on his breath. Your eyes fluttered closed as your lips pressed together. They moved together, teeth nipping and his fangs digging into your fattened bottom lip. Leaning back on your elbows, you fell away from Astarion's assault, brandishing your neck as he followed the juncture, pressing hot, open mouth kisses across your flesh.

"I- By the God's- I wouldn't leave you." Your voice shook as he nipped at your collarbone, suckling at the flesh until a dark bruise settled on your skin. "I loved you." A whimper fell from Astarion's lips as he tugged at your clothes, his hands shaking as the fabrics melted away from your body.

"You love me." His voice countered, causing a hitch in your throat. His body hovered over you, watching as your chest rose and fell quickly. "Say it. Say you love me." His voice held bite as he stared into your eyes, tears now dried and replaced with something... Carnal.

"I-" Your voice died, catching in your throat. Astarion's brows furrowed, leaning down and pressing soft kisses to your stomach, a hum leaving him every time your muscles lurch from his touch.

"Say you love me," he whispered against your taut skin. Glancing up through his low lashes while his tongue peeked out from his fangs, licking at the sharp tip. "Say you'll never leave me and... And that you need me as much as I need you." Astarion's voice wavered, as you stared down at him, tears prickling your waterline.

He was breaking...

"Astarion,"

"No! No, I am your Star, and you are my Universe, remember...?" His voice quivered as you swallowed thickly, blinking as a tear slipped down your cheek. Licking at your drying lips, you nodded. Give this to him. Give him the comfort he's begging for...

"I love you."

This is wrong.

"You are my mighty Star, and I am your whole Universe."

I'm not them.

"I need more than ever, please, my Star."

Pull back. Let go. This isn't how I wanted to do this!

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed as if remembering each syllable that escape your lips. Listening to your words as if they were gently caressing his skin. Just as his fingers caressed your flesh, gentle red lines etched across your thighs as he sighed.

"Thank you." The words whispered into the air before he shot up your body, slamming his lips into your own. Teeth clashed as he maneuvered his hips to grind against your own. Deep groans erupted from deep within your chest causing a smirk against your lips. Your lips followed as he leaned away, interrupting your journey with his fingers brushing against your swollen, darkened lips.

"Open."

Your tongue lolled out, accepting his digits with a hum. He watched with a smirk as your spit slickened up his fingers, and with a nod he slowly dragged them from your mouth, chuckling darkly as a string of spit connected you still. Settling back on his haunches, he dragged your body closer as your ass rested against his thighs.

"Hips up, and do try to keep it down," he grinned, flashing his fangs with a lick. "Our companions are trying to get their beauty rest." As the last word left his lips, his fingers prodded at your entrance. Your eyes widened as your hand shot out, digging your nails into his forearm.

By the God's-

"Fuck," whimpered through your lips as his slick knuckles slid in and out of you. Your spit had given you little lube as you gasped, feeling a second finger slid beside the other. Each thrust caused you to keen, your toes to curl as his fingers scissored and his thrust quickened. Your mind began to cloud over. You felt Astarion's weight shift further onto your stomach, causing your body to curl further into itself as his lips pressed softly to yours.

"Let go, let me see you." His words melted as you inhaled a gasp, flinching as his fingers pulled from your warmth. You blinked as you watched his hand loosen the hold of his pants, causing you to whine at the sight before you. His cock sprung free, teasing your lower stomach with the tip as his precum oozed freely.

Shaking your head, you dug your nails further into his skin, no doubt leaving crescents in your wake. He tsked, moving back and allowing your body to relax against his thighs once more. You flinched as he spat into his hand, slicking up his cock with a mixture of his saliva and precum. You felt your mouth began to water.

"Steady breathes, my Universe," he murmured, grasping his cock and teasing your entrance with the tip, smirking to himself as your muscles jumped and your brows furrowed at the feeling. "Relax for me, enjoy our mixed bliss together." He pressed into you, tilting his up as if in prayer. A deep groan erupting from his slack jaw, oh you felt like heaven...

Gale's eyes snapped open as Astarion gently thrusted. Prodding his cock further into the wizard below him with low lidded eyes. The dark brown disappeared into his head as the vampiric rogue bottomed out with a smirk and a coo.

"You lost your disguise, oh, Great Gale of Waterdeep." Astarion cooed teasingly as Gale huffed, trying to keep his breathing steady from the intrusion.

"I'm, fuck, I'm sorry Astar-" A sharp thrust cut off Gale's voice, causing him to keen at the deep feeling. His body fought to tense up as Astarion kept shallow thrusts moving the man below him, grinning as the usually cocky wizard lost his words.

"I told you," Astarion pulled out fully causing a whine to leave Gale, his teeth clenched as his eyes drifted open, meeting the darkened vermilion. "I am your Star," he pushed back into Gale before gripping the wizards' hips and deeply thrusting. Gale's body jumped with each thrust as his mouth went slack, his eyes pinched closed in pleasure.

"And you are my Constellation." Astarion whispered, his thrust becoming sloppy. Gale keened at the words; he could feel tears brewing behind his lids, but he couldn't break the piece of heaven he had right now. He needed this. They both did.

Gale flinched as a hand reached up, caressing his scruffy cheeks as Astarion's grip squished them together causing his lips to purse. "Look at me and tell me you do not feel this," his voice cracked as his hips met flush against Gale's ass. His free hand reaching between their bodies and grasping Gale's stiff cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip as precum leaked like a waterfall. Leaning over, Astarion spat onto the tip causing Gale to lurch as his hand worked him quickly, rotating his wrist while listening to the slickness work over the wizards' cock.

"I-" Another thrust punctured his words.

"You were the only comfort I've known since their passing. The only one I craved on nights where the nightmares lingered too much," Astarion choked out as Gale glanced to his face, meeting his once again glossed over eyes. Trembling fingers reached out, brushing a limp curl behind the Elf's ear. Astarion grit his teeth and slammed a final thrust before spilling into Gale, shivering as the warmth shivered down Astarion's back. His hand worked over Gale's cock quickly, leaning down and gently sucking at the tip as his body quacked, leaning back Astarion watched as his cum shot across his stomach, tears dripping down his slightly flushed cheeks.

"You were all my brain consumed after their death." Tears splattered onto Gale's cum covered stomach. He gently leaned back, pulling his cock from Gale's body and watching spurts of cum dribbled down his back.

The crickets and rushing river joined in on their gentle breathing, small huffs as they sat and stared at one another. Astarion cleared his throat, wiping his cheeks and chin as Gale swallowed thickly around the lump growing in his throat. They cared for one another, now in more ways than one. But... It couldn't work.

Could it?

"Astarion, I-"

"I know... This was a one-time thing." He huffed with a sniffle, tucking a curl behind his sharp ear. Gale frowned. Why.. Why did he sound disappointed? "I came to you in a vulnerable time, and you assisted me with it. Thank you, Gale of Waterdeep." Astarion teased with a grin, shifting to his feet as Gale sat there, watching.

"Astarion, I... I'm truly sorry for your loss." He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his stomach knot with dread whilst still feeling the warmth left inside him, cum and tears drying across his stomach.

Astarion sucked at his teeth, nodding before moving towards the tent entrance. He paused, his fingers digging into the tents' fabric before huffing out a breath and pushing out into the night, leaving Gale with his mind warped and his gut mangled.

Settling back into his bedroll, Gale felt his eyes begin to water. Squeezing his eyes tightly, he allowed the tears to cascade down his cheeks and disappear within his beard. Tangling his hands together, he picked at the torn flesh around his nailbeds while flashes of Astarion and you danced across his mind. The two of you were so happy together. Jealously bubbled in his chest as he slowly opened his eyes, staring at the top of his tent with ache.

Sitting up, he reached over and pulled his robe over his head, standing and snuffing out the candle before him. Pushing out into the still night, he glanced towards the fire and seeing the coals smoldering away whilst everyone rested in their tents. Gale found his eyes lingering towards Astarion's tent, another bubble of anxiety plowed up his back. Twisting his hands together, Gale marched towards the vampiric companion's homely refuge.

He stood before the flap, watching as candlelight danced from within. Inhaling deeply, he pulled back the flap and moved into the warmth. Astarion's attention snapped towards him, the book in his hand now forgotten on his lap. "Gale..? Back for a second-"

"I do love you."

They sat stunned at one another. Gale's eyes wide as he gnawed at his bottom lip. Astarion stared at the wizard with somewhat glittering - hopeful yet cautious- eyes. Astarion slowly stood, allowing the book to tumble from his grasp as Gale stood stoic, his jaw tightly set. He moved closer, eyes darting around the brunettes' face - studying him as he lifted a gentle hand, caressing the loose locks.

Gale hummed. "I do love you. I.. You lost someone truly dear to you, and I am sorry for that, however, the day you came to me for comfort those months ago - and tonight - I couldn't help but feel like it was meant to be a blessing in disguise," his voice travelled a mile a minute as Astarion's brows furrowed, causing him to triple back.

"Not that them dying was a good thing! By the God's, Mystra give me strength - I just meant-" Astarion pressed his index against the stumbling man's lips as a soft grin fluttered across his own.

"You're rambling again, darling."

"Right. Apologizes." Gale chuckled as Astarion dropped his hand, gently grasping his before sighing.

"I... I understand what you are saying, Gale, but could we really make this work?" His voice dropped as Gale's brows furrowed, his hands now caressing the bundle of hands in front of him, dragging the rogue closer.

"We can make it work. They would want you to be happy-"

A smile split his crimson-stained lips apart, the tips of his fangs peeking out. Tilting his head up, their lips connected.

Soft. Gentle. No rushing, no teeth clashing against one another in a rush for a taste of one another. Gale sighed against the iron-tasting lips, pressing his forehead against Astarion's temple. He could feel his heart thrumming against his chest as he held his companion close. Astarion suddenly stepped back, tugging Gale behind him to the bedroll below. Their arms wrapped around one another, Astarion pressed tightly into Gale's chest with a content sigh.

Their shared breaths mixed with the nights' gentle sounds. Their holds tightening on each other as the world seemed to grow quiet while they breathed each other in, feeling the weight of one another in their arms. Gale curled his head against Astarion's loose curls, breathing in the Bergamot and rosemary mixing with the iron scent still lingering on his skin.

This is what you would've wanted.

You would've wanted them to find each other and seek comfort. Especially Astarion. He had fought so hard to keep you, but the world ripped you away... Only to gift Gale in your place. It had been cruel, yes. But, in the back of his mind, Gale believed you pushed them together in the end. Tugged them together so that they may find peace in this chaotic life that you left behind.

With a final glance into the white curls below, Gale pressed a soft kiss to the vampire's crown before whispering into his hair, "I promise to love you, my Starlight."

#astarion x reader #astarion x gale #bloodweave #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale dekarios smut #bg3 #bg3 x reader #gale uses disguise self #astarion angst #gale angst #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale #gale of waterdeep #galestarion #gale x astarion #ALL HAIL BLOODWEAVE!

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deivorous · 11 months

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@despairforme asked:

[ 1 - What is the biggest headcanon deviation from the canon material that you have incorporated into the way you write your muse? Why did you come up with it? ]

Questions for Muns of Canon Muses

Look. I'm gonna be honest. My Grimmjow is soooo different (in my mind) from the general perception of Grimmjow that idk where to even START.

Umm I think the general fandom perception (in the west) is something along the lines of: He's a violent, egocentric, sociopath. He's an emotionally and intellectually unintelligent, alpha male who only cares about combat.

I don't particularly prescribe to... Uh... Any of this model.

I think my most invasive (in terms of his character) Headcanon is that he's an incredibly socially motivated being. He exists in a pack because that's where he thrives, and it drives a lot of his behavior in RP regardless of whether he's aware or wishes to acknowledge it.

Like all hollows, he's lonely. He's suffered severely traumatizing isolation both before and after his death and it left a mark on him that governs much of his behavior. From who and how he interacts with others, to how he expresses his emotions.

His aggression is a product of this loneliness. His ego-centrism is a product of this loneliness. He's not nearly as emotionally unintelligent as he pretends to be - in fact, he's demonstrated on multiple instances that he's remarkably competent in the area (at least for a hollow), and he doesn't particularly enjoy combat. He likes the rewards combat bestows upon him, socially and physically, but the actual act of the fight itself - while enjoyable - is just the secondary goal.

And just for shits and gigs: he's neither alpha nor male.

#[ ooc || out of control ]#[ ask || crack my ribs open to find a heart ]#despairforme #headcanon #idk if this is really a sufficient answer but i think its the one that affects the most things. the smallest domino with the biggest influn #[ hc || pry open the armour plating and get at the soft meat ]

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libby-for-life · 23 days

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So, I got an idea for a request, an Au with Adam as Demeter, the Greek G̶o̶d̶d̶e̶s̶s̶ God of agriculture.

So this takes place right after the whole Lucifer and Lilith Incident. Adam is left reeling from the betrayal of his first friend (yeah "friend") and his other half. The angels tell him that they will make him a new companion, but he doesn't want a replacement, he wonders what he did to deserve them both leaving him (developing those abandonment issues already, I see).

But with a sudden great and mighty crack of thunder and lightning, Adam disappears from Eden and appears in Mount Orthys. He is found by Rhea, who is tired of all her kids haven been eaten by her husband Kronos and decided to take him in, before being found out and promptly being eaten whole, joining the others (except Demeter because she doesn't exist and is replaced by Adam) in Kronos stomach even though he's not thier sibling.

Back in Eden, the entirety of Heaven is freaking out because the first man is just gone. He's nowhere in Eden. He just disappeared under their noses. Once they

calm down, decide since they already made Eve as a replacement for Lilith, they can just make a replacement for Adam. Using Eve's rib, they create Steve and erase Adam and Lilith from history, their titles of first man and woman now belonging to Eve and Steve.

When Lucifer breaks into Eden, he succeeds convincing Eve to bite the apple, but when he tells her to give it to Adam as well (definitely not because he's a yandere for him and is his top priority), Eve asks who Adam is.

Eve: Adam? Who is that?

Lucifer: ...Adam? You know the first man??

Eve: You mean my husband Steve! He's the first man, not whoever this 'Adam' is

Lucifer:....what.

*I've already thought of more scenarios with this Au, but this is already pretty long, so i'll stop it here

Now, you kinda need to give me more, but this is beautiful. I love the idea of Adam becoming a God. Rhea slowly feeds him a special salve that turns him immortal. And while technically he is Adam, the god of agriculture and farming. He also had another name that he went by. The Reaper. It's where the scythe originated from. He reaps the fields and it's up to him on whether you have plentiful food or a drought that year.

He came across Persephone and immediately adopted her as his own once he saw how innocent she was to the world. She reminded him so much of Lucifer of someone he once knew but he couldn't put his finger on it.

She was creative with Spring. Such beautiful flowers came from her. The angels may have may have made the earth, but the gods were what kept it going. Kept it from dying. The angels in Heaven thought that they did a good job making the world and the universe but it was Adam's family that kept it from perishing. He had a family in the gods. They treated Adam as one of their own.

Until one day, Persephone gets kidnapped and taken to Hell. Adam is on a war path. He will find his daughter and the gods are backing him up.

The entirety of Hell shakes and splits open as twelve-foot-tall people radiating power and light storm in, all wielding weapons that, despite not being angelic weapons, are powerful enough to kill sinners.

They will find Persephone.

Meanwhile, Lucifer soon catches wind of these godly beings and goes to confront them. He sees Adam for the first time since the dawn of Eden and nearly has a heart attack. Adam. The first man. He was back.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #greek mythology

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hlficlibrary · 2 months

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HL Fic Library 💙 Disabled Character Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

✨ Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction {E, 153k}

There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.

Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.

✨ And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 109k}

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

✨ We're What's Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite {E, 48k}

“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.”

Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

✨ Seeing Blind by zedi {E, 46k}

Louis finally turns his head in Liam’s direction, knows his face is showing the longing he’s been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. “What the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldn’t want me like that, but I want-” his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. “What do you do when you’re not perfect for the person who’s perfect for you?”

OR the one where Harry’s an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harry’s priorities.

✨ It Feels Different When You’re With Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings {M, 45k}

Harry fell in love with sign language as a kid. He never imagined the first love of his life would lead him straight to his second.

✨ fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry {T, 41k}

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

✨ Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by @allwaswell16 {E, 30k}

It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore.

Or a songfic inspired by the song Chicago

✨ my strange girl by curlockholmes / @dykesteddie {E, 30k}

Harry works in a cafe kitchen; making bagels, snarking with Zayn, and generally trying to exist as an autistic girl working in hospitality.

Louis is the captain of the local women's rugby team who takes a shine to her.

✨ To Give You a Hand to Hold by gettingaphdinlarry {NR, 26k}

When he spoke again, Harry’s voice was low. “Ever think of how many birthdays they don’t get?”

Louis avoided Harry’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Martinez was what, nineteen? Missed a good sixty of them.” Harry took the last of his cake and passed the plate to Louis. “Figure sixty missed birthdays each. Just on our side. How many is that?”

Louis used the edge of his fork to scrape frosting off the plate. “Never thought about it.”

“What would your shrink say?”

“‘Focus on the positive.’”

Harry ran a hand over his head and scratched the back of his neck. “How’s that working?”

Marine Louis Tomlinson is medically discharged when an IED explodes in Afghanistan. Months later, he's reunited Stateside with his Navy medic Harry Styles. The two of them shelter each other even as they refuse to admit they're in the throes of PTSD, until one night nearly destroys them.

✨ the dead things we carry by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics {M, 25k}

September ‘49 He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out.

This is the man who saved Louis’ life.

For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself.

“Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight.

This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real.

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

✨ Don't Act Like It's a Bad Thing to Fall in Love by nightwideopen / @themarshalstale {G, 23k}

Louis was born blind, completely blind, leaving him with nothing but the absolute blackness that his lack of vision produces.

Harry, on the other hand, is deaf. No sound can be registered by the two tiny ears his rowdy, chocolate curls obscure so well.

The first time Louis and Harry meet, it’s sort of an accident.

✨ the sanctity of patience by @scrunchyharry {T, 22k}

When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.

His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.

✨ some evening in springtime by delsicle / @eeveedel {M, 20k}

Fresh out of veterinary school, Louis moves to a sleepy small town in Texas to take over the local animal clinic. But his new life is quickly interrupted by a middle aged rancher with a bad leg and a mysterious past, who really needs Louis's yoga skills.

✨ Blind Faith by @2tiedships2 {M, 18k}

“Harry?” Liam prompted.

“I’m blind,” Harry eventually said, trying his best to keep himself from crying.

Liam was silent for a few moments, before responding, “That’s not exactly news, H. You were blind when I met you a year and a half ago. Have you been in denial this whole time or something?”

“No, Liam,” Harry cut in. “This is different. I’m not legally blind like I used to say. It’s not just my night vision. The tunnel from my tunnel vision has closed. I’m fucking blind! I moved halfway around the world in the hope of finding my soulmate and it’s obviously not happening now. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not even a soulmate is going to want to put up with a blind alpha."

✨ Our love is special because it's you and I (series) by sweetkisses {NR, 11k}

"So what are you studying?" Harry asks.

"Accounting." Louis says quietly.

"Sweet. I don't know much about accounting but I do know that it means you must be pretty damn smart." Harry says nodding his head.

"Thanks." Louis giggles out and Harry didn't know it was possible for him to be more beautiful. "What, um, what are you studying?"

"Law." Harry says and lays his legs out in front of him as he places his hands behind him and tilts his head towards the sun.

"You must be pretty smart if you're studying law." Louis mocks with a smirk. Harry didn't expect the next words to ever come out of his mouth but this boy just does things to him.

"Two smart people make a genius couple."

or the four times Harry sees the beautiful boy in the wheelchair

✨ Heart Eyes by @snowy38 {E, 10k}

He fidgeted nervously, long fingers pushed through his soft fringe, fingertips lingering on the thick curls that he felt formed there. He hoped his hair looked okay. He hoped he looked okay.

He hoped-

“Oi oi!” Niall’s loud, Irish voice cut into the small space along with the loud chatter of the party; the door assumingly opened. He swallowed.

“Fuck off!” A northern accent complained; the sound of bodies wrestling before it went quiet again; the clunk of the lock confirming to him that his suitor was now locked inside.

Harry knew the voice. He knew. And if he hadn’t known the voice, he would have known the smoky, sweet scent of the boy before him. Seventeen years old, friends since they were eight, and they’d never been pushed into the kissing cupboard together before.

✨ Deep Within The Mystery of Your Eyes (I Am Home At Last) by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey {M, 10k}

It's a world where you discover your soulmate after skin contact and finding your world exploding in colour. Louis has been blind his entire life. He makes do quite well, thank you very much, and he's glad that he doesn't have to see colours fade in and out of his world. Harry trains disability dogs, and, during a chance meeting with Louis at a local market, he discovers that Louis' his soulmate. He comes up with a wild scheme - train his current dog to be the perfect dog for Louis - in order to keep Louis in his life, and maybe convince him they're soulmates.

✨ the pain never leaves, but neither do you. (series) by Anonymous {M, 10}

Harry has fibromyalgia and Niall is an idiot, leaving Louis to bump into Harry at 6am in a hospital corridor. It ends up as something much more wonderful than Harry ever could have expected, stood with a walker in his ratty PJs after a nasty flare-up, and he finally finds someone who can love him just the way he is.

✨ I Roll 'til I Change My Luck by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus {T, 8k}

Dating is hard enough when you're gay. When Louis reveals to his Tinder matches that he uses a wheelchair and has a service dog, things tend to get even more complicated. Too bad the guys on dating apps aren't as sweet and understanding as his best friend Harry...

✨ Struggle by @1diamondinthesun {NR, 3k}

Louis had accepted long ago that he would always be alone in the world. Yet he often wondered what defined us as people: the cards we’d been dealt, or how we played them to survive.

Or, Louis is living with a chronic illness and growing tired of going it alone.

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shelbgrey · 1 year

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Your Breaking My Heart (Neville Longbottom)

Paring: Neville Longbottom X Ravenclaw!Lestrange!Reader

Summary: a secret that you've been hiding from your Boyfriend Neville is finally revealed.

Potter MasterList

I felt my stomach turn when I saw the daily prophet. The front page showed my mother and her sinister and psychotic smile. My heart pounded against my ribs as Neville slammed the paper down. “they'll find her Nev” I mumbled.

“she'll pay for what she did” I said taking his hand. He had yet to find out Bellatrix was my mother. I regret never telling him and I truly did but after finding out she was the one behind Neville's parents demise I couldn't bring myself to tell him.

Not even my cousin Draco wanted to tell anyone. It was like a dark family secret. As far as the school was concerned I was Draco's sister when in reality my mother didn't want me and Draco's mom did.

“how did she even escape?” Dean scoffed taking the the paper away from Neville's line of site.

I gulped and pushed my plate of food towards Ron knowing my best friend would scarf it down in seconds. I looked over my shoulder towards my cousins table and saw he looked paler than ever as he stared at the daily prophet. His "girlfriend" Pansy and quite the opposite reaction. She didn't like me too much and she made it that perfectly clear many times. She looked over at me and snikered.

“flower?” Neville said softly making me turn back around. “hmm?” I asked resting my chin in the palm of my hand.

“are you alright?” he asked softly. “I'm fine” I said giving him a fake smile he saw right through. I know he did. It's getting harder and harder to keep it a secret and the pain of regrets keeps stinging my heart.

Suddenly someone came up between me and Neville slamming the daily prophet on the table. “bloody hell Malfoy, have you seen this?” it was Pansy and she had a concerned face that was obviously fake.

“what do you want Parkensons?” Harry asked bitterly. Pansy shrugged “just wanted to know how Y/n's reunion went with mummy” she snikered. Neville and our friends looked at us in confusion.

“y/n is a Malfoy” Neville Said looking at me confused. I looked down and fiddled with a loose string on my sleeve.

“y/n, what is she talking about?” Hermione asked softly. Neville gently touched my hand and is shot up from the bench. “I'm gonna be sick” I said racing out of the great hall.

Hermione quickly followed with a fuming Draco on her tail. “what in God's name did you Do!” Draco growled as he passed the Slytherin girl.

When I got to the bathroom it felt like I just spilled my breakfast and my guts in the toilet. The world felt like it was crumbling around me. I let out a sob as I slid down the wall of the bathroom. As my but hit the ground Hermione slowly opened the door with Draco behind her.

“y/n?” she asked softly. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in them as I let out another sob. Hermione wrapped her arms around me and let me cry as Draco paced back and forth in front of us.

“I'm gonna rip her lungs out!” he growled. Hermione shushed him quietly. “malfoy please...”

After about ten minutes of tears and ten minutes of Draco's plans of Pansy's demise I finally had the guts to look up at the world around me.

“y/n... Is it true? Is she your mum?” Hermione asked quietly. My expression turned sour, not towards Hermione but to the person who gave birth to me. “she not my mum... She just the woman who gave birth to me... She doesn't even care about me”

“what happened? Is she after you?” Hermione asked. Draco scoffed and crossed his arms. “honestly I doubt the nut even remembers”

I looked down and spoke. “she gave birth to me and I guess she just got one glance at me and decided she did not want me... Draco's mother, my aunt did so the malfoy's raised me”

“so your cousins... Not siblings” Hermione asked. Draco snapped his fingers and pointed to the Gryffindor. “ding ding... Ten points for Gryffindor Granger cracked the case”

I rolled my eyes not wanting to hear my cousin insult my friends. “Draco stop”

“My mother also torchored Neville's parents...how am I supposed to explain to the boy I love that my mother basically killed his parents... How am i-i” I started to shake the more I thought of it tears started to form as I looked at Hermione pleaded for help.

“I-I don't know” Hermione sighed. For the first time ever the genius Gryffindor had now answers. She so desperately wanted to help but I was right, how do you explain something like that.

After a few minutes of silence Neville stormed in with concern painted over his face.

“Love, what happened back there?”

I sighed and looked over at Hermione. She nodded pulled Draco out so me and Neville were alone. As soon as they were gone tears pooled my eyes as Neville stood before me.

“I'm sorry...”

Neville not knowing how to respond asked the question everyone wanted the answer too.

“is Bellatrix Lestrange your mother?”

“yes..”

Neville nodded trying to keep his cool as his heart beat increased. “why didn't you tell me?”

I shrugged not wanting to meet his heartbroken expression. How could I explain any of this. My mother practically destroyed his mother.

“I don't know”

Neville shook his head. “that's not good enough” he tried to walk away but I grabbed his sleeve.

“Neville, please” I whimpered as tears flood down my red cheeks. Neville not knowing what to do or how to deal with this raging anger snatched his hand away and slammed the door shut behind him.

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

“figured I'd find you here” I mumbled as I walked into the greenhouse. Neville didn't look up and continued to silently water his plants.

I sigh and walk deeper into the muggy building. Neville avoided me all together as I tried to explain myself... Hell there is no explanation or excuses for what I hid from him. I deserved it but he needed to know I was sorry...I needed to know I wasn't gonna lose him.

I sighed. “nev you can't ignore me forever”

Neville slammed the watering can on the tabe making me jump back slightly. He finally looked up at me but his eyes held nothing but anger. “I have nothing, Nothing! To say to you... You lied to me! I shared everything with you and you didn't have the decentcy to tell me about your mother!?”

I never seen him this angry, hell I've never seen him angry period, but his rathed scared me. I gulped and slightly back up till my back hit one of the tables. “I didn't know how to tell you” I mumbled as tears pricked my eyes.

Neville scoffed and agressevelly ran his fingers through his hair as he paced. “didn't know” he mocked quietly. He then stopped and stared at me with hate and sadness.

“why are you even here?” I shrugged and looked down. “I don't know... ” I mumbled not meeting his gaze.

Neville scoffed. “I don't know either” I looked up at him as tears pooled my eyes.

“I-I needed to know if your still... If we're..” I couldn't find the right words as the weight just got hevyer and hevyer.

“together?” he asked like he was surprised I would even ask that. “I-I don't k-know... Right now I just need to process this”

I nodded staring At the grass covered floor. Without another word and walk towards the door.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “no matter what you'll always be the only good thing in my life... Rather you decide to stick with me or not” after that I left.

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

“hello, I'm hear to visit Mr. And Mrs. Longbottom” I said softly to the secretary. The lady looked up surprised. The only visitors the couple got was Neville and his Gran.

She stacked her papers quickly and stuttered in shock. “umm.. Relative?” she asked. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked down. “Frank Longbottom is my Uncle” I said trying to come up with a good lie. The secretary nodded giving me a visitor pass. I thanked her and left the front desk.

Her soft voice made me stop “umm I may warn you about your uncle” I stop as she said that. The hole situation made my stomach turn. I don't need to be remind about what my mother did to my boyfriend... ex boyfriend's family.

“I'm aware of the situation.... Thank you for the concern” I said nodding to her and walking towards the room where they were most likely in. Neville told me about it.

I silently stared at the white door with guilt. On the other side of the door was the broken family. My mother... My family and blood was responsible for it. I wasn't like her and I was scared to death to be like her... Which is probably why I was led hear. By my mind? Ravenclaws use their heads or maybe it was something sapy like my heart.

My hand reached for the door knob and slowly opened it. I was surprised about how bright it was. It was happy in a depressing sort of way. You could look at it as a sterotipical nut house, but the only way I could discribe it as this. It looked like a daycare center. It had the sun shing in the windows and some of the patents were playing board games or mindlessly watching cartoons like Tom and Jerry or loony toons.

I looked around and finally I saw them in the corner. You couldn't miss them. Not because of how they acted but you could just tell. Neville looks a lot like his mum. Dispite the emptiness in her eyes she was beautiful. She set at a small wooden table coloring. It was very child-like. She sat indian style and scribbled with crayons. Her husband... Neville's father just paced back and forth as his fingers traced the bricks that the wall was made of.

I quietly sat down in front of her and smiled. “hello Mrs. Longbottom” she didn't respond and scribbled some more. I looked at her parchment and there was dozens of sun flowers.

I sighed and fiddled with my fingers on the table. A neverus habit I've had since 1st year. Mrs. Longbottom looked up and slightly poked my hands with a yellow crayon. I slightly chuckled but at the same time I wanted to cry. If Neville saw my fidgeting with my hands he'd know I was nervous and hold my hand.

“I'm sorry this happened to you” I mumbled as tears pricked my eyes. “... I'm so sorry”

She looked up at me like a small child wood and handed me blue crayon. I smiled softly and took the crayon, Kindness definitely runs in the family. Mrs. Longbottom smiled like a child even if her child held nothing but emptiness. But Neville had her smile.

--------(Neville's pov)--------

I walked into the front entrance silently. The secretary that always sat in the front office smile at me. “hello Neville... Here to see your parents?” I smiled softly and nodded holding up the Sunflower I brought for my mother.

“oh and Neville” the secretary said making me stop. “your father's niece is visiting today.. You might see her” looked at her confused for a second. As far as I was concerned the only family members left was me and Gran. I quickly shook it off wanting to know who lied to see my parents. “thank you” I said before walking off.

I didn't know if felt angry or scared. I couldn't think of anyone who would sneak in. The only people aside from Gran who knew was Y/n and Harry. I knew Harry wouldn't visit out of respect for me because I told him not to. Y/n on the other hand well...she'd be really dumb to show up now.

To be honest I wasn't angry at her anymore. In her defense she didn't know and I hate myself for hurting her. I wanted to talk to her so badly but I couldn't bring myself to look at the girl I broke. I hate knowing I caused her tears. She was always been there for me and at her time of need I stomped on her heart.

I turned down the hallway and into the room I knew the nurses kept them. I stopped in my tracks of what I saw. My mother was mindlessly coloring while y/n sat across from her. I was about to walk off. The sight made my heart clench.

“you would be proud of your son” that made me stop. I looked at he two and leaned on the door frame so I could listen.

--------(1st pov)--------

I guess I hoped she'd perk up at the sound of her son's name, but nothing. I sighed and played with the blue crayon she gave me. “when I'm scared I don't talk either...”

I admit that not knowing Neville was listening. “you may feel like your alone and there's no one to listen but... There is” I looked up and the mother was still coloring flowers. “you don't have to speak.. I realize how difficult that is... Well you don't even have too.. Maybe you can just show me in one of your drawings or something”

She had yet to respond. I sighed. Someone then came and placed her hand on my shoulder. I looked up and it was one of the nurses. “I'm sorry but visiting hours are almost over” I sighed not realizing how much time I spent.

I looked at the couple and tears formed my eyes once again. “I'm sorry..” I said nothing eles and started to walk away.

I didn't notice quite yet but Mrs. Longbottom slowly followed me mindlessly. I turned around and she silently handed me the piece of parchment she was coloring on. I smiled when I saw the childish but beautiful sunflowers. “thank you ma'am”

I walked out of the room and I immediately bump into someone. "I'm so sorry" I looked up and saw it was Neville. He looked so tired and broken. He chocolate brown eyes didn't look alive anymore just sad. “hi Neville” I mumbled looking down.

“didn't expect to see you here”

“I'm sorry.. I promise I'm leaving” I tried to leave but Neville grabbed my hand. “please don't leave” I looked at him with sad eyes as he let go of my hand.

“I should be the one aplagizing” he mumbled looking down. “you've always been there for me and always had my back... A-and when you needed me most I-I turned my back on you”

He looked down ashamed and started to tear up. Neville had always been a sensitive guy and that never bothered me. I found it quite adorable but his tears made my heart hurt more. The whole situation did.

“it's okay Nev” I moved closer to him and placed my hand on his cheek wiping the tears. He seemed to lean into the touch but he backed away. “it's not okay... This whole situation... This fight isn't okay”

“the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you” he said locking his brown eyes with my e/c ones. “I worked too damn hard to be with you and things got tough I left”

I closed the gap between us and held him tight. I snuggled my face in to his chest and held him like I was afraid he'll disappear. I missed the way he held me. I missed the safety I felt when I was with him. He may seem shy and weak to everyone else but he was the strongest boy I knew and he never shyed away when it came to protecting me and our friends.

“I missed you” I mumbled. “I missed you too Love” I felt his head nussel my hair then kiss the top of my head.

“we'll get through this together... I promise you” Neville mumbled as he held me righter.

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