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bibiana112 · 2 years

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abt ur reblog abt fandom stuff, i will happily oblige to ask if ur brain gave u anymore thought of the no apocalypse junpei finds quark au? love love love aoi's role in it and i think abt it a lot so im curious! literally happy to listen to anything abt it this is my entire shit

Oh!!! Sadly I don't have much on it, no, but I do have the initial little exchange that made me think about it, a lot of times my brain just runs with a back and forth dialogue and if I like it I write it down and only if I like it a lot do I go back and write down the descriptors and rest of the context to how the scene plays out in my head but it's sadly not happened to this as fun as it would be of a scenario to think about my brain checked out after I wrote down Aoi being super embarrassing to Akane by talking about when she was a baby and bossing the two around cause they called him in to babysit for being the only one there who knows anything about tending to another living being

Okay actually I read the thing again and apparently I thought of this as an au on my version of the au where the kurashikis don't do any of the vlr or ztd stuff and just work with sois on random esper stuff after a couple years so they don't have to be on the run anymore but they still have more restrictions than other agents, so there's a little joke that's like hey do you this violates probation? And idk there could be a plot there somewhere also they're at least in their late twenties by that point if not early thirties and Junpei and Akane aren't married cause this isn't canon they don't get officially hitched as soon as they look at each other again

I guess I'll add what I actually have here, hold up I'll give the bare minimum of context so they're not talking in the void

Once the door cracks open and Akane gets up in a huff to greet her brother with one rant after another, none of which Junpei even directs his attention to or try to follow, he gets up from his seat carefully. Holding a little blond baby draped in a single blanket they had lying around in his arms.

Aoi already got the heads up of what's happening from Akane earlier, although she didn't sound as eloquent as usual. Tenmyouji was out and somehow came across an empty lot which somehow had a baby crying in it and somehow it wasn't just him hearing things but an actual child that was abandoned there when he went to look.

And somehow, he thought bringing the kid home with him was the most logical course of action, which Akane couldn't agree with less. There were a thousand other ways he could have helped and as far as she's concerned this is one of the worst ones.

Before they could get into an even messier argument the crying started up again and she elected to call her brother in for backup before she had a Moment™ over how irresponsible it was for her stupid fiance to come home with an infant when he has yet to successfully keep a plant alive on his own.

Despite how set off by such an unpredictable event his sister was, Aoi wasn't seeming terribly unsettled. In fact after he's done helping Akane cool off and sending her to take a breather along with a glass of water for herself, he walks up to Junpei rather giddy. Which Junpei will never get used to seeing from him. He'll much less get used to hearing him make a high pitched voice as he leans in to lend a single finger for the baby to grasp with his whole entire chubby little hand.

"Aww... where did this little guy come from?" He spends a little bit like that, Junpei also smiling fondly while Akane, from far over the corner table, silently judges them both. It's late at night and she got herself coffee instead of plain water. Then Aoi's voice goes mostly back to normal, dropping harshly to an incredulous tone as he pulls his face away like he didn't want the infant to notice the change in tone. Although, his hand doesn't move away. "Seriously though, are you guys gonna keep'em?"

"That's the idea!" "We're *not* keeping it!"

"Ah, I see what the emergency really is. You needed a babysitter while you tear each other to shreds, I mean, sure, at your service. Hey, hold like this." With that Junpei's arms are free, he does watch for what his brother-in-law to be shows him to be the correct way of properly resting them over the shoulder and then how to support the baby's neck and head with how he was doing it earlier.

"Did you give them a bath after bringing them in? Even wrapped up on this it's far too cold outside. How long's it been exactly?"

"Uh, only a couple hours, sun was already down. And no, of course I didn't, how do we even do that? You can't just put him in a shower."

"Well, no duh. You need a little plastic bathtub, eh- honestly even just the sink will do, as long as it's shallow enough to hold them up."

"How do you even know this stuff."

Akane joins them, getting close while paying attention only to what they're talking about. Unfortunately, it's Aoi who's talking.

"Mom and dad had me help dry Akane after her first baby bath–" "Aoi..." Her hand goes instinctively to pinch his arm but it stops halfway, then it stays there as she closes her eyes and inhales deeply defeated by the fact she can't shut him up this easily without risking him losing his balance.

"She was soo tiny. I don't know about being this small, but I think she was heavier."

"Aoi. Aoi. Please, shut your mouth. And I'm pretty sure you just couldn't hold as much weight back then."

"Hm. Maybe." He shrugs. Then completely takes the subject over a one hundred and eighty degree turn. "Do you think this violates probation by the way?"

It's Junpei who answers.

"That's... A fair question."

He didn't think of the legal implications of bringing a baby off the streets to his house which just so happens to be the same place his criminal mastermind girlfriend lives. In fact, he was much more hopeful she'd be all altruistic about it and how it's the right thing to do instead of getting hung up on it being an impractical solution or that he's just fooling himself wanting to skip right to raising a kid together or whatever.

"We are not on 'probation', and we're not adopting a whole human child because of an impulse *you* had, Junpei. Our technically legal position is only yet another reason we should–"

Aoi interrupts her before she can get on a roll ranting again.

"Can you guys argue at the grocery store? This thing is gonna get hungry sooner rather than later and we can't exactly feed them with instant ramen."

"I have other things on the kitchen, I'll let you know!"

"Yeah, well, but I don't figure you treat yourself to baby formula on the weekends, now do you? And a can of energetic won't do it either, jackass. Now, get moving!"

#but yeah feel free to continue workshopping this with me this one's fun akdhksjs #if anyone wants to weigh in too I guess #this was very fun to go back to and write actually :3 #I have so many verbal exchanges between characters with zero context but that I look at and know exactly what's happening lol #my brain just likes to simulate conversation far more than it enjoys actually engaging in it which. c'mon man #but yeah! please lmk your thoughts :3 and thanksies for asking #a tag for asks #dreamy don't look #vlr spoilers #hhhhh god this has to go on the general spoiler tag for caitas sake gosh darn #oh hold up I am actually thinking more about this now that I should be asleep lol #like there was another hing I remembered too of Junpei just being so protective and wanting to stay close #that Aoi has to tell him not to fall asleep holding them or he can smush them #which led me to think how I'm not sure this scene would end with him just going to the store wih akane cause idk if he'd trust that #she wouldn't have instructed him to just take the kid to an orphanage while they're away cause well #no matter how nice he's being or how genuine the situation seems it's still Them. y'know?#I don't think even years of getting used to each other would make that thing in #his brain saying they both would scheme behind his back again if push came to shove go away completely #and he's very right that they would even if it's not actually the case here this once it's genuine #but he doesn't know that

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charmandabear · 11 days

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Office Hours - Chapter Twelve

Summary:

You finally work up the nerve to ask Astarion about his past.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags/Warnings: discussions of traumatic pasts, not just Astarion's, but Tav's as well, specifically partner abuse; depiction of a panic attack; mentions of (canon-typical) violence; spoilers for Heathers the Musical; somewhat feral kissing that honestly at this point shouldn't surprise anyone with these two

This chapter should be fine to read if you're not familiar with the plot of Heathers (movie or musical) but in case you want to read a quick summary, you can get that here.

I have officially retconned chapter 9 that Karlach got the home brewed beer from Lakrissa, not Aradin.

I can't believe I got the chapter out on both AO3 and Tumblr on the same day! It's been a few chapters since this has happened lol. As per usual, the screenshots are from @zipzoomzaria, although with me recently downloading the free cam mod I cannot take ENOUGH screenshots. I'll be uploading those soon.

Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Astarion’s chest feels cool beneath your cheek as you slowly blink yourself awake. You listen to the sound of his breathing for a few moments – not a necessary impulse for him, just one he never unlearned. You eventually turn your head upward to see him looking at his phone. He notices you stir and a smile spreads across his face as he puts his phone down.

“Good morning,” he lilts, rubbing your shoulder gently with his thumb. You strain your neck up towards him, wordlessly asking for a kiss. He leans down and obliges, his chilled lips working against your warm ones, still sticky from sleep. You adjust your arms so you can wrap your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his curls. He presses his palm against your lower back, pulling your chest flush with his. His movements are unrushed, languid and sensual, and you’re just enjoying the soft feeling of his skin against yours.

“Morning,” you hum sleepily, slow blinking like a contented cat. He props himself up on an elbow and as his visage comes into focus, you realize just how put-together he looks. He’s already wearing his glasses and his hair looks as carefully coiffed as usual. You frown. “How long have you been awake?”

“How do you want me to answer that?” He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly like I sleep.”

Right. Elves trance instead of sleep. You probably could have paid more attention in your humanoid biology class in high school.

“So what do you do all night while I sleep?”

“Read, mostly,” Astarion says with a shrug. “Sometimes I grade. Just killing time, really.”

“Don’t you ever get, like, bored?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Sometimes. More often than not I simply enjoy being near you.” His candor makes you flush, so you deflect with a teasing laugh.

“Ew, you like being near me? Gross.” You grin as you pull him back down to you, your hands curling around his neck and you kiss him, soft and slow. He slides his hand under your knee and pulls your calf around his waist. Your usual insatiable lust for him is tempered, and you just want to bask in his coolness like you have all the time in the world. He pulls away, brushing your hair behind your ear, and looks at you over his glasses with those blood red eyes of his.

“What would you like, love?” he murmurs, and you yawn reflexively.

“Coffee, before anything else,” you reply, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. You roll out of bed and adjust your bra and shorts that got twisted overnight. You pad into the kitchen with Astarion close behind you, and he perches himself on a barstool while you pull out the instant coffee and set the kettle to boil.

“Darling, no, instant coffee?” he sneers as you scoop it into your mug.

“Don’t be elitist, it doesn’t make sense for me to make a full pot every morning when it’s just for me, and Keurigs create a hellish amount of plastic waste.” You turn up your nose at him, and he stands to take the mug out of your hands.

“This is not elitism, this is self-preservation.” He dumps the granules into the sink, earning a quick “Hey!” from you. “I’d rather like to be able to kiss you without the taste of rotten dirt in your mouth.” He picks up his phone from the counter and pulls up DoorDash.

“My breath doesn’t get that bad,” you mumble and cross your arms obstinately.

“Perhaps not to a mortal, but trust me when I say this will be better for both of us.” You glance over his shoulder and watch as he loads up the cart with expensive artisan coffee beans, a French press, and a stainless steel coffee grinder.

“Astarion, I can’t afford all that,” you press, trying to take his phone out of his hands.

“Then consider it a gift,” he lobs back at you, holding his phone above your head so you can’t reach it. You plant yourself on a barstool and sulk for a moment before actually processing what he said.

“Wait, so you can tell when I’ve eaten or drunk something made with low quality ingredients?” Your brain spins the rolodex of all of the times you kissed him after having some trashy food.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says with a regretful frown.

“And the night at the bowling alley when I was drinking that terrible beer?”

“Not particularly pleasant. But worth putting up with, because, well,” he clears his throat and flashes a coy smile, “it had been a while.” Your ears flush and he saunters over to you, planting a kiss just below your earlobe. Your hands rest on the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“But… coffee,” you pout, and he takes your hands and pulls you over to the couch.

“If you’re patient, my dear, it’ll be worth the wait,” he coos, sitting you down and pulling your legs onto his lap. “And speaking of waiting.” He brings your hand to his lips, running his nose along the blue-green veins in your inner wrist. “Do you mind terribly if I have my breakfast while you’re waiting for yours?”

Your breath catches in your throat as he gently grazes the point of one fang across the sensitive skin. “You’ve never fed from my wrist before,” you breathe, almost as though speaking too loudly might spook him.

“Does that make you reconsider?” His eyes flick up towards yours but his lips remain on your wrist, ghosting over the flesh. You shake your head, transfixed by his subtle movements. His lips stretch into a smile before he sinks his fangs into you, the sharp pain sending a twin bolt to your heart and your core before melting away into that sublime numbness. You’ve never watched him feed before, and you’re almost taken aback by how beautiful he looks. His lips pressed to your wrist, his hair falling into his eyes, his back expanding and contracting as his breath quickens. He must sense your gaze because he looks up, his red eyes sparkling. Your heart rate spikes, and it only takes a few seconds for him to smile against your wrist, reacting to whatever your sudden arousal changed in your bloodstream.

It feels too soon when he pulls away, despite the oncoming lightheadedness suggesting otherwise. Unlike his usual animalistic expression he wears after drinking your blood, he has a sated, almost goofy look to him. You giggle and swipe the red droplet from his bottom lip and suck it off your thumb.

His sleepy gaze moves to you, but when he sees you licking your blood off your finger, his features sharpen into the more predatory look you’re used to. He shifts your legs so that he’s towering over you, and you have no choice but to sink down into the couch on your back. He presses a knee between your legs and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He descends onto your lips and you taste the blood that still coats his. You arch your back into him and he slides his hand beneath you, pulling your center closer. He slides his knee upwards, pushing your thigh with it, and rolls his hips into your now spread cunt. You groan into his lips, hands scrambling for purchase on his bare shoulders. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and you’re about to wriggle out of them when there’s a knock at the door.

You both freeze, then suddenly you remember. “My coffee!” you squeal excitedly, pushing Astarion off of you. “They probably just left it right outside the door, babe, can you grab it while I reheat the water?” You clamber over the back of the couch and over to the kitchen while Astarion shakes his head at your antics.

He pulls the front door to your apartment wide open and a startled half-gnome stands there holding a paper bag full of coffee supplies. Their eyes travel down Astarion’s half-naked form, lingering momentarily on the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. They flush a violent purple before muttering a quick, “Sorry,” and shoving the paper bag in his hands. They practically sprint down the hall as Astarion calls, “Have a lovely day!” with an impish wave.

“Astarion, you scared the poor thing half to death,” you scold as he closes the door, and he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“Probably more exciting than anything else they’ll see today, I did them a favor.” He brings the coffee supplies over to the counter and hooks his thumbs into your shorts. “Now, where were we?” He presses into your back and kisses the crook of your neck.

“Can I at least have my coffee before an orgasm?” you groan breathlessly, and Astarion chuckles.

“Who said that’s my intention?” he hums into your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Historical evidence,” you throw over your shoulder at him as you shimmy out of his grip. You pull out the various implements and stare at them blankly. You shift your gaze to Astarion and frown. “You bought all this stuff, show me how to use it.”

“Fine. Sit.” Astarion pushes you onto the barstool and begins to open the boxes with the French press and the coffee grinder. You watch him while he stands over the counter, and your eyes trace over the elaborate scarring across his back. You suddenly realize you’ve never been able to get this good of a look at it, he’s usually so carefully guarded. You’ve been afraid to bring it up again since that first night he told you about it.

You chew on your lip while he assembles your coffee, anxiously weighing the pros and cons of asking him about it. You want to ask him more about his past, but you can’t even fathom what it’s like for him to have lived more than three times your entire lifespan and still have an eternity to go.

He hands you the mug and looks at you expectantly. You snap out of your mini reverie and look down at the coffee in your hand, a few shades darker than you’re used to.

“Thank you, although I usually put in a little more milk than that,” you admit sheepishly.

“With that offal you had been drinking, I don’t doubt it. Try it first, I’ll put in more if you want.” He puts his hands on his hips as you eye him suspiciously. You take a tentative sip, bracing yourself for the acrid bitter taste, but are met instead with something smooth and rich. Still bitter, but tempered by a creaminess that has nothing to do with the milk. You look up at him with a pleasantly surprised look on your face.

“Okay, I hate to say it, but you were right,” you groan reluctantly. He smirks and tilts your chin up to give you a tender kiss.

“Still as sweet as ever,” he purrs, and a light flush rises to your cheeks. Then your mind wanders back to your earlier train of thought, and your brow furrows.

“Um, Astarion, can I ask you something?” Your voice is a little dryer than you’d like it to be. His eyebrows shoot up over his glasses, and he nods. You take his hand and lead him over to the couch, curling your knees into your chest and holding your coffee mug in both hands. “Can you tell me more about… about your scars?”

Astarion exhales a breath of relief. Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn’t that.

“Er, yes, well… How much do you know about vampires?” He looks at you carefully and you blink in surprise. Very little, and you’re surprised it didn’t occur to you to look up more.

“Besides the basics, I guess, no sunlight, mirrors, garlic,” you rattle them off in your head. He giggles when you say ‘garlic.’

“The garlic is a myth, but you’ve got the basics, yes. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m able to bite you without consequences? Well, besides the dizziness, I suppose,” he adds with a sly grin.

“I guess not, no,” you frown, wishing that he would just tell you instead of this weird quiz.

“I am not technically a full vampire – I’m a vampire spawn. I was turned while on the brink of death by a vampire named Cazador Szarr,” he spits the name like it’ll poison him if it lingers too long in his mouth. “I was his slave for two hundred years, compelled to do anything and everything he commanded. Most of the time it meant luring victims back for him to feed.” Astarion’s eyes glaze over, and you slide out your foot to gently touch his knee. You’re at a loss on how you can possibly comfort him for something this traumatic, so you let him continue in his own time.

“And once, it meant lying still while he carved this into my back over the course of a night. He claimed it was a poem. He made a lot of revisions as he went.” He scowls at the memory. “I only found out that it was something written in Infernal after his death.”

“How did you escape?” Your voice is small, hardly able to comprehend what he’s telling you.

“Oh, that’s actually quite a fun story.” He lights up suddenly. “His six other spawn and I rose up to overtake him. It took years of planning, and we were under the constant threat of being caught. But we were successful, and we tore him to pieces.” His eyes sparkle with a bloodlust that you haven’t seen before and your heart pounds in your ears. You had said that you want to see the more predatory side of him, and you’re getting your wish. His face softens and his gaze refocuses on you. “That was about 100 years ago,” he concludes with a wry smile. He puts his hand on your foot next to his leg and pulls it into his lap, and you curl your toes against his hand.

“Well,” you exhale, still processing his entire story. “That certainly puts the trauma from my shitty ex into perspective,” you say with a pained smile, trying to make light of it.

“Suffering is relative, the enormity of mine doesn’t reduce yours.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, a silent question. He’s leaving it open for you to tell your story, but refrains from pressing.

“Well, it almost seems mundane in comparison,” you start with a heavy sigh, and he squeezes your foot lightly to encourage you to continue. “I’ve only had one even remotely serious relationship, and he was a piece of shit. Well,” you reconsider as you think of what those early days with him were like. “At first he just seemed like one of those ‘lovable asshole’ kind of guys, plus he had a Yorkshire accent, so clearly I have a type,” you say with a feeble laugh.

“No, a northerner? Darling, want better for yourself,” Astarion grimaces, and you glare at him.

“Like I said, I have a type,” you sneer. “But after a while, it became clear that he didn’t particularly respect me, I think partially because I was studying theatre and he was in STEM. He constantly talked down to me, he hated it any time I disagreed with him, and he would go out of his way to piss me off because he thought it was funny.”

You see Astarion wince, slowly putting the pieces together. You don’t particularly feel like rehashing the night you saw Taming again, so you continue.

“His friends weren’t terrible, though, and he was never as awful to them as he was to me, so I thought it was my fault. Like, if I were just somehow less annoying, or smarter, or more interesting, then he would suddenly stop being an asshole. There were some nights,” you swallow thickly, surprised by how difficult recounting this is. You thought you had worked through all this with Jaheira. “Some nights he was so persistent that I would just let him have sex with me so he would shut up and go to sleep.”

You feel Astarion tense beneath your leg, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard you’re worried his teeth might shatter. You quickly continue to try to put him at ease. “I sometimes wish I could go back to my 20-year-old self and just give her a huge hug and tell her that she’s worth more than that dick. But I’ve grown a lot since that relationship, and probably because of that relationship if I’m being perfectly honest. Wish I could have learned those lessons without an abusive asshole, but we play the hand we’re dealt.” You shrug and stare blankly at the dregs at the bottom of your mug.

When Astarion speaks, his voice is icy and measured. “And what’s this man’s name?”

“Aradin. Aradin Beno,” you answer, keeping your eyes cast down. Your gaze shoots up to Astarion with a sudden realization. “You’re not allowed to kill him, Astarion,” you warn. You would have been joking had you said that thirty minutes ago. But after learning exactly what he’s capable of, a genuine spike of fear runs through your heart.

“But why?” he says in a whiny voice. “I can make it look like an accident, I promise!”

“No, no murder!” You kick your other foot out at him, and he grabs your ankle in a single swift motion. His sudden movement makes your mouth twitch as you suppress the smile spreading across your lips.

“Does the prospect of me being a killer make you feel something, little love?” he drops his voice and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t want to admit just how much it does, so you choose to remain silent instead. You watch him with unblinking eyes as he prowls over you, taking your empty mug out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table. The way his eyes sparkle and the flash of his fangs tells you that he knows exactly what it makes you feel.

“Are you? I mean– have you? Besides the one, I guess,” you stammer as your heart threatens to pound out of your chest. He looms over you, pressing his thigh down between your legs.

“Would it be better or worse if I said yes?” His lips hover over yours, and the noise that slips out of your throat is a little embarrassing. He closes the distance and kisses you roughly, slipping his hand beneath your lower back and digging his nails into your skin.

You’re certain you would feel differently if you saw it in person… but the mental image of Astarion covered in blood after just having torn Aradin limb from limb sets you off. Something surges through you and you suddenly flip Astarion onto his back. You straddle his hips and crush your lips together, struggling to control your hungry kisses. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling hard. He claws into your thighs, pulling you down onto his rapidly growing erection, and you groan into his lips. You move your mouth down to his neck, biting down, and your whole body seizes when you hear his breathy moan in response.

He pushes up off the couch, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist while you cling to his shoulders, your assault on his neck never relenting. He carries you back to your room and throws you down on the bed hard enough to bounce slightly. He looks borderline monstrous as he crawls back onto you, pinning all four of your limbs down so escape is impossible.

Your breathing grows heavy as he ravages you, your hands messily grabbing at any part they can reach. He tears at your bra with his teeth and you moan loudly, panting uncontrollably. He bites your skin, not to feed but to mark you, to cover you in punctures and bruises that brand you as his. You arch your back into him, asking for more. You want him to tear you apart, to leave you broken and consumed. You whine, your breath wracking through your lungs.

But before long, your vision starts to darken around the edges. You feel your heart pounding in the well of your throat – not the way Astarion makes your heart pound, but the way your anxiety does. You get lightheaded and your muscles grow weak as Astarion, unaware of your change in faculties, bites down on the soft tissue of your breast.

“Wait,” you call weakly, and grabs your hair and pulls your head back, pressing his lips against your ear.

“What was that, love?” he growls as his pointer finger tugs on your shorts.

“Star, stop,” you croak, and his entire demeanor shifts. He pulls back to look at you, his red eyes round and shining with concern. You’re a little surprised when the tears fall from your eyes unbidden, streaking down your temples and into your hair. You start hyperventilating, shaking as you lose control over your breath. You shove your fist into your mouth, hoping fruitlessly that the pain might ground you.

After a moment of staring at you helplessly, Astarion pulls you into his arms and you curl up face down into his lap, choking out sobs as you grip his thighs. Your throat tightens and you feel like you’re being strangled by your own larynx. You gag as your stomach heaves, trying to expel itself from out of your mouth.

Astarion rubs your back, rocking you gently. A soft stream of “shhhh” and “it’s okay, love, you’re okay,” pours out of his mouth. He breathes in and out slowly, and you eventually find your breath enough to steady it, lengthening your inhales and exhales to match his. You lay there trembling for what feels like hours until you manage to push yourself back up into a sitting position.

“Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was about,” you chuckle feebly, wiping tears and snot from your face. Astarion starts to reach out to touch your cheek, but he pulls his hand back hesitantly.

“Darling, you don’t need to apologize. Are you… are you alright?” he asks, voice unsteady. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until your vision goes starry, then take his hands in yours.

“I am, yes. I’m sorry. I know you said I don’t need to apologize,” you add quickly as he opens his mouth to protest. “Like, I’m sorry that it happened as much as I’m sorry that I probably freaked you out.”

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, and you furiously shake your head.

“No, gods no. The opposite, actually.” You attempt to flash him a smile, but it just comes off as tired. “I think it just became too much too quickly. And I guess I’m not as… worked through… the Aradin stuff as I thought I was.” You frown at your clunky phrasing and he more confidently reaches out to stroke your cheek. You press your face into his palm, holding his hand to your lips as you take a few more long, grounding breaths. You finally drop his hand and look down at your torn bra, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, er… sorry about that,” Astarion smiles sheepishly.

“Honestly I’m more impressed than anything else,” you laugh as you start to try to scooch off the bed to get another shirt. Astarion puts his hand on your knee to stop you and walks toward your dresser. It takes him a few tries to figure out the right drawer, but eventually he pulls out a tank top and hands it to you. You inexplicably turn away from him as you put it on, suddenly self-conscious in front of this man who has seen you naked maybe a dozen times.

You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, your dangling feet not quite touching the floor, and reach out to him with grabby hands. He steps closer to you and lets you embrace his waist wordlessly. You press your nose into his ribs and take a steady inhale. His scent is so much more concentrated from this angle, all sweat and pheromones. He runs his hand through your hair and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again. He feels the wetness on his skin and pulls away suddenly.

“What? What did I do?” He sounds genuinely panicked and it gets an honest laugh out of you.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just…” in love with you. Fucking hells, you haven’t even let yourself think those words before. You push the thought down, so very far down – you’re not even remotely in a position to confront it right now. “Do you think you can hang out for a bit? You don’t have plans today, do you?” You take a shaky breath. “I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

“Yes, my sweet, of course.” He takes your chin and tilts your head up so you’re looking up at him. “But will you please eat something? You’ve had nothing but coffee and I’m sure the blood loss isn’t helping.”

You smile and nod, standing to give him a proper kiss. The sudden movement does, in fact, make you wobble a bit. He grips your arms and glowers at you as your eyes scan down his bare chest and legs.

“Do you want, like, clothes? Maybe I can ask Shadowheart to run to your apartment and get you a fresh set?” You don’t mind staring at him half naked, but you figure you might as well give him the option.

“Well, as a matter of fact, do you think she would mind terribly feeding His Majesty? He gets awfully cranky if he doesn’t have his regular meals.”

“Huh, I wonder where he picked that up?” you ask with a coy smile and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re one to talk. Go eat.” He pushes you through your bedroom door. “And yes, please ask Shadowheart.” You laugh as you stumble through your living room to the kitchen. You pick up your phone from the kitchen island and pull up her number.

-Shade, are you busy? Can you do me a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge favor?

-what

It’s a bit on the early side for her, so frankly you appreciate the answer at all.

-Can you run to Astarion’s apartment to grab some clothes? And also feed his cat?

The typing bubble pops up and disappears a handful of times. Then, she finally replies:

-...what?

-Please Shade, it’s important. pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaassssseeeeeeeeeeee

-Moon Maiden, yes, calm down. I’ll come over to grab his keys.

“Okay, she said yes,” you tell Astarion as you put your phone back down on the counter and grab a sleeve of cinnamon raisin bagels from the drawer. He watches you carefully as you assemble your breakfast, almost like he doesn’t trust that you’ll actually do it if he looks away.

It doesn’t take long for Shadowheart to walk into your apartment without knocking. She’s wearing an oversized Next to Normal t-shirt and shorts. Her eyes first settle on Astarion sitting at the island in just his underwear and she stares blankly. When her gaze shifts to you, and she sees your puffy red eyes, she turns back to Astarion in a fury.

“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses, and you throw out your hands to stop her from committing murder. She stops just short of getting slathered in cream cheese from the knife still in your hand.

“Nothing, no, he’s good, I swear. Perfect, even.” You glance back at him abashedly. “No, it was just… Aradin stuff.” You mumble the last few words, and watch as Shadowheart’s anger deflates and then flares twice as high.

“Oh? Do I need to hunt this piss kid down?” she seethes, pumping herself up for a fight.

“No, she has forbidden murder, I already tried,” Astarion drawls, and Shadowheart’s expression dulls to a scowl.

“Fine,” she grumbles, then turns back to you. “Where am I going and what am I getting?”

“I’ll text you his address, just a change of clothes. Oh, and where do you keep His Majesty’s food?” You start typing out the message and Astarion takes your phone from your hand.

“It’ll be simpler if I give you instructions,” he says as he types out what looks like a novel. “Make sure you go to the fish market on Bleeker, not the one on Mayweather. And if they don’t have the nice fatty tuna, you can get the yellowtail, but only if it’s been caught within the hour. If they don’t have either, then ask for Thodric, he’ll know what to get.”

Shadowheart stares at him with a mixture of confusion and revulsion. “The little rat’s getting Fancy Feast and he’ll like it,” she finally says when Astarion hits send. You shoot her another pleading look and she groans. “Fine. Anything else for Your Majesty?”

“Oh, His Majesty is fine, but could you also grab my maroon cardigan and–”

“Gods, really?” she snaps. You’re chewing on your bagel when you finally process what she’s wearing.

“Wait, isn't that shirt–” you begin and she whirls around, her loose silver hair swinging down her back.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” she barks as she slams the door shut behind her.

***

You and Astarion spend the day together mostly in comfortable silence. Shadowheart does, in fact, give His Majesty the fresh fish he so desperately requires, but she only brings Astarion a pair of jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. He grumbles a resentful thank you, even if she didn’t bring him the maroon cardigan.

You’re lying on the couch leaned up against Astarion, who has borrowed your tablet to grade papers while you answer work emails on your phone. You get another reminder from the chair about season selection and you groan.

“I swear, we’re not going to have a season next year if we can’t fucking agree on something,” you bemoan, dropping your phone and rubbing your eyes wearily. “Plus, the rest of them feel like we need to settle on a musical first and then build the season around that,” you gripe, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“Well that’s nonsense, the musical is always just a garish over-produced spectacle,” Astarion scoffs.

“But it’s the thing that makes the most money, so we are kind of dependent on it, as much as I hate to admit it,” you concede reluctantly. “Alfira really wants to do Heathers, and I read it, I just can’t get behind it as much as the rest of the faculty. I want to make sure the classical play is in conversation with it, and I can’t think of an interesting choice.” You slide your eyes to Astarion with a smirk. “Lucretius suggested Hamlet and I would literally rather fling myself out a window than direct Hamlet.”

“Well now, I don’t believe self-defenestration is necessary,” he laughs. “But you’ve only read it? Aren’t you the one always going on about how theatre is meant to be seen and not read?” He mocks you a little too well and you smack his knee.

“Fine, I guess I’ll see if there’s a recording available,” you mutter, picking your phone back up and googling it. “Oh, there actually is. A proshot is available… on the Roku app? I swear to the gods, there are too many apps these days.” You sit up and turn towards Astarion. “Will you watch it with me? Pleeeeaaaassee,” you add in a whine when he gives you a pained look. “If we don’t like it we can make fun of it together, I promise. That’s a better deal than you’ll get from 95% of theatre people.”

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad enough you’re going to make me see it in the fall, you’re going to make me watch it again now?”

Your heart leaps at how casually he mentions still being together in the fall, but you quickly shake the feeling off. Instead, you divert his attention by offering, “What if Karlach and Shadowheart watched it with us? Karlach should probably watch it too, honestly, and then you and Shade can commiserate together as non-theatre people.”

He glares at you for another moment before putting his glasses back on and huffing a great sigh. “Fine,” he relents, adding with a glare, “you’re very lucky that you’re cute.” You giggle with delight and text Shadowheart.

-Do you wanna come over with Karlach tonight and watch Alfira’s pick for the fall musical? You can bond with Astarion over your love of expensive wine and the annoyances of dating someone in the theatre department.

-🍷👌🏻

You laugh at her response and go back to leaning against Astarion’s side, a small shiver running up your spine as he squeezes you a little closer to him.

***

Shadowheart and Karlach come by later in the evening, Shadowheart with two bottles of wine and Karlach loaded with snacks. They move around your kitchen, taking out bowls and glasses, while you take a sudden new interest in the ingredients for Doritos.

“And is it like, highly processed ingredients?” you frown as your eyes scan over the lines, some of the words familiar to you and some of them not. Astarion shrugs.

“I haven’t kept a detailed list of what’s fine and what isn’t, if that’s what you’re asking,” he drawls, looking over his glasses pompously, and you huff.

“Well then I’m going to eat them just to spite you,” you threaten, attempting to open the bag of Doritos menacingly. The gesture falls flat when you crunch down on a chip and it crumbles down your shirt. He takes the back of your neck in his hand and pulls your lips to his, his tongue swiping up cheese dust. You flush and he pulls away, contemplating the taste.

“Well it’s certainly not the most pleasant,” he finally decides, and you dejectedly put the chips down and pick up the wine Shadowheart has just poured. Astarion looks down his nose at the bottle.

“Decent choice,” he intimates with an approving look, and Shadowheart gives him a sideways glance.

“Ah yes, I heard you were a bit of a wine snob.” She tries to match his haughty energy, and doesn’t do a half bad job. “I saw what you brought,” she says, referring to the bottle still on the counter from last night. “It looks… fine.” The corners of his lips twitch upward and you can tell that he likes her, despite their constant bickering.

You and Astarion settle yourself on the couch while Karlach and Shadowheart sit on the floor. Karlach leans against the base of the couch, one knee propped up and an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders. You smirk at your best friend, remembering your conversation of her insisting that she likes to sit on the floor, despite the fact that the two of you always sit on the couch together. Astarion, legs crossed and arm around you, pulls up the Roku app on your TV and finds the Heathers proshot.

September first, 1989. Dear diary:

A spotlight comes up on a young half-elf woman wearing a bulky denim jacket, big scarf, and a long hippie skirt. Veronica, it quickly becomes clear, is one of the more unpopular kids in school, along with her best friend Martha Dunstock.

“Wait, Veronica isn’t already one of the Heathers? And she’s already friends with Martha?” Shadowheart asks. The eponymous “Heathers” are the archetypical mean girls who rule over Westerberg High.

“No, is that how it is in the movie?” you reply. “I’m only vaguely aware of it, I just read the musical.”

“Interesting,” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, she’s supposed to already be in the Heathers, and she doesn’t even speak to Martha until the last scene of the movie. I guess this way she gets a classic movie montage makeover.”

“That tells a very different story,” Astarion says, bouncing his foot slightly. “Following a protagonist who starts wealthy and popular rather than one who is an interloper into a position of power.”

“I wonder why they changed it,” Karlach says, and you nod in agreement.

“I can almost guarantee it was because of the success of Mean Girls and not simply a narrative choice they wanted to make,” you add, wrinkling your nose with distaste.

“Maybe,” Shadowheart takes a thoughtful sip of her wine. “Mean Girls was so heavily influenced by Heathers that it does seem like a nice homage.” She pauses for a moment, then giggles, “You know, I used to think that I had a crush on Christian Slater and I wanted to be Winona Rider, but it turns out it was the other way around.”

“Honestly, I think that tells me all I need to know about you,” Karlach teases.

Honey whatcha waiting for? Step inside my candy store. Time for you to prove you’re not a loser anymore.

The trio of Heathers pose centerstage, their synchronistic dance moves and bright color coordinated outfits creating a striking stage picture.

“Visually, it’s a nice stylistic choice,” Astarion notes, “but I wonder if the aesthetics will detract from the effectiveness of these three as antagonists.”

“Maybe,” Karlach says with a shrug. “But you know that Carm would have a field day with these costumes,” she adds, turning to look at you over her shoulder.

“Oh she absolutely would,” you agree, looking at their sharp blazers, plaid skirts, and thigh high socks. “But I think Astarion’s has a point, they’re almost too appealing to convey any real villainy. Plus, so many of these lines have become such an iconic part of pop culture that they’re almost meaningless. When the main Heather shouts, ‘Shut up, Heather!’ it feels more like she’s quoting a famous line than bullying her friend.”

“I’m sure Alfira will want to address that in the room,” Karlach nods.

Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah!!!!

After committing the social suicide of not bullying her unpopular best friend, Veronica decides she wants to go out with a bang – literally – and sneaks into the bedroom of resident bad boy JD. You still get an uneasy feeling about him as a character, but you’re trying to parse out your judgment of yourself versus your analysis of the text.

“Sorry,” Karlach shakes her head and holds out her wine glass, pointing at the screen. “Did we just witness that girl have a musical orgasm?”

“Surprisingly more common than you’d think in musical theatre,” you laugh, and Astarion pulls you into him until his lips are on your ear.

“Would you like to be my dead girl walking?” His voice is a husky whisper, sending a shiver reverberating through your body. You press your lips together and dig your nails into his knee to keep both of you in check.

-Oh my gods, I just killed my best friend! -Oh, and your worst enemy, so– -Same difference!

Veronica may have been the one to unknowingly hand a mug full of drain cleaner to the most popular and powerful of the mean girls, Heather Chandler, but JD was the one who knowingly handed it to Veronica.

“So they just immediately kill their primary villain?” Astarion scoffs in surprise. “Bold choice, I wouldn’t have expected it from a musical.”

“Oh don’t worry, she’ll be back,” you laugh. “Hey Karlach, who do you think should play Heather C?”

“Oooh, that’s a good question. I feel like it has to be Arabella, right? Who else has got the chops?” Karlach tilts her head to look at you.

“Arabella would also be really good as Veronica though,” you respond, shuffling through all of the theatre majors in your head. “Do you know if Mol is going to audition?”

“Maybe, but I think she wants to stage manage this fall.”

“Oh that makes sense, she’d be great at that,” you nod in agreement.

He’s hungry for a hunk Of the junk in your trunk

“Oh, weird. I don’t remember this song in the script I read,” you say with a frown. It was a while ago when you read it, but you’re pretty sure that this moment – when the high school jocks Kurt and Ram corner Veronica alone – felt a little more comedic and a little less sinister.

“Yeah, same,” Karlach says. “I feel like it was much sillier. Something about balls?”

“I think the hook was ‘you make my balls so blue.’” You try to force a laugh, but what’s playing out on screen is making you uncomfortable. The visual of the jock, Kurt or Ram, you can’t remember which, lewdly humping the air in front of a terrified Veronica doesn’t sit well with you. “This song being about date rape raises the stakes very differently from it being a blue balling joke.”

“Yeah, that’s so much more intense.” Karlach’s frown deepens as Veronica tries to pull her skirt down lower while the boys grab at her aggressively.

“I mean I get it, it’s a much stronger choice narratively, but we’ll have to be careful, give proper warnings and stuff.” You take a sip of your wine and Astarion gently rubs your shoulder.

“Okay, darling?” he hums in your ear. You nod but pull his arm around you a little tighter.

I worship you. I’d trade my life for yours. I’ll make them disappear.

There’s something so much more menacing about JD’s sung lines after having killed the jocks, Kurt and Ram, who tried to sexually assault Veronica. It makes your hackles raise, in part because you can see how toxic it is, but also because you can’t deny that it stirs something inside you. Just earlier today, you threw yourself at Astarion at the mere mental image of him murdering your abuser.

It’s okay if it’s just fantasy, Jaheira’s words ring in your head. Sure, someone saying that they worship you and committing homicide over it isn’t healthy in real life. But in a fantasy that isn’t hurting anyone?

But… how do you decide what’s harmful and what isn’t?

Can’t we be seventeen? Is that so hard to do?

After JD murders Heather Chandler and both Kurt and Ram out of a sense of misplaced righteousness, Veronica begs him to hold on to his youth a little longer and not let the trauma of his mother’s suicide make him grow up so fast.

You feel Astarion’s chest shaking slightly against your back. You glance up at him and his eyes are shining.

“Babe, are you crying?” you whisper and he glares at you.

“What? No. Shut up,” he spits as he wipes away a tear. You strain your neck and kiss his cheek.

VERONICA! Open the– open the door please, Veronica, open the door. Can we not fight anymore, please?

The repercussions of JD's streak of murderous revenge finally catching up with Veronica, she hides from him in her bedroom while he attempts to cry, scream, and sing his way back into her heart.

“This is the one,” you call out. “This is the song that’s all over TikTok with teenage girls saying that she should’ve opened the door.” The context is no different from when you read it – his violent outbursts mixed with unhinged sobbing still make for an energy that you don’t quite know how to respond to.

“I’m pretty sure they know it’s satire, it’s really over the top,” Karlach shrugs.

“Most of them probably do,” you say with a frown, remembering a concerning post that you saw somewhere that said ‘musical JD really loved Veronica while movie JD was just a manipulator.’

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Astarion says, pointing with his nearly empty wine glass. “You’re telling me that young girls like this behavior? Why?”

Shadowheart snorts. “Apparently there’s something appealing about a pathetic wet cat of a man,” she laughs, and Astarion pouts.

I wish your dad were good, I wish grownups understood. I wish we’d met before They convinced you life is war.

Veronica is pleading with a gun-wielding JD to not blow up the school during the pep rally when something suddenly clicks for you.

“Oh my gods, that’s the thesis statement, that’s what this whole show is about.” You sit up with the realization. “It’s not about mental health, or bullying. I mean it is,” you falter a bit, the wine sloshing around your brain. “But at the root it’s the parents’ fault. All of the adults in this show have been neglectful at best and selfish and bigoted at worst.”

“You know, if you want a good classical play with that theme,” Astarion shrugs, “then you should propose Romeo & Juliet.” Your jaw drops and you whirl around to face him.

“Holy shit, you’re so brilliant, I love you.”

Hey yo, Westerberg, tell me what’s that sound? Here comes Westerberg, comin’ to put you in the ground!

Your whole body freezes as the blood drains from your face. Somewhat delayed, you slap a hand over your mouth to keep you from accidentally revealing anything else. Astarion stares at you, his mask completely expressionless. Karlach and Shadowheart seem to remain oblivious to the monumental tension between you and Astarion.

Westerberg will knock you out And send you straight to–

Fuck.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion ancunin #professor astarion #aatarion fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion/reader #astarion x you #astarion/you #bg3 modern au #astarion smut #bg3 smut #baldurs gate 3 #office hours

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quin-ns-moved · 2 years

Text

Crazy For You (Tangerine x Reader)

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: you sneak onto the bullet train to wish tangerine good luck in your own way

Tags: (18+), humor/banter, flirting, kissing, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, wall sex (technically it’s a door lol), risk of getting caught, porn with very little plot, bullet train spoilers (not really but just in case)

A/N: went and saw bullet train and I am obsessed with this man!! I just had to write for him cus I’m having massive tangerine brain rot right now he’s so fine

Cross-posted to ao3

Edit: check out my new blog with more writing @quin-ns

They were on the train, they had the White Dragon’s son, and Lemon had the briefcase. They were good, everything was going according to plan.

That is, until he got a text.

‘look up’

His brows furrowed at the message. Then he looked up.

“Everything alright, Tangerine?” Lemon asked him, watching in confusion as his counterpart smiled.

Tangerine stood from his seat without a word and made his way to the door leading to the little space between carts. It opened and in a matter of seconds he was staring down at you with an amused albeit confused look.

“What are you doing here?” he asked you.

“I came to see you, obviously,” you told him as if he should’ve been able to guess—which he should’ve. “It’s a dangerous mission, I wanted to wish you luck.”

“You came all the way to Tokyo to wish me luck?” Tangerine questioned, sensing an ulterior motive.

“Well…” you stepped closer to him, leaving very little space between the two of you. You had to look up just to see his face. “Maybe a little more than that,” you confessed.

Tangerine shook his head. “You are absolutely crazy, you know that?”

You grinned. “Crazy for you, maybe.”

“That was really cheesy,” he commented, feigning unamusement.

You shrugged. “I know.”

Then, you grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him down to your height, allowing you to press your lips against his. Tangerine fell into the kiss easily, his lips moving against yours.

It was over all too soon for his liking. You took a small, excited breath and smirked at him. Then, you turned your head and looked through the little window on the door.

Lemon had spotted you and you laughed, offering him a wave. You couldn’t hear him, but you saw as Lemon scoffed out what you hoped was a laugh then turned back around.

“You should text him and let him know you’re gonna be occupied until the next stop,” you told Tangerine, looking back up at him. “I know he worries about you.”

His brows furrowed again in intrigue. “Occupied, huh?”

“I confess.” You took his hand and led him into the next cart. You pressed up on your toes to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t come all the way here just to wish you luck.”

That’s when Tangerine noticed you had stopped in front of a bathroom. You reached for the door and opened it. “They’re surprisingly clean,” you commented as you stepped inside. You faced Tangerine, who was still standing just outside the door.

“Well?”

“You are definitely crazy,” he said decidedly. Then, he stepped into the restroom and closed the door behind him.

You had to bite back a smile when you heard the lock click.

“Y’know, if I started working with you I could see you all the time,” you mused aloud. “I get along with Lemon, I’m good with people, and I can fire a gun.”

Tangerine stepped close to you. “Last I remember, you called my work ‘stupid, reckless, and dangerous’,” he recalled teasingly.

“Yeah,” you admitted, closing the gap between the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “But then I thought about it… and I miss you too much when you’re gone.”

Tangerine sighed. “You know I’d love to have you with me all the time, but like you said before. This work is dangerous and I could never live with myself if something happened to you.”

It was true. Tangerine knew that if you accompanied him on missions, he wouldn’t be able to focus. He’d be too worried about all the horrible things that could happen to you. And if one of them did? He didn’t even want to think about it. While he worried about Lemon, he knew Lemon could look out for himself. And sure, maybe you could too, but his overprotectiveness of you wouldn’t allow him to even give you the opportunity. So yeah, Tangerine needed you where he knew you would be safe.

“Plus, I like knowing that I have you to look forward to when I come home,” Tangerine added.

You let out a dramatic sigh, but it was lighthearted. “Fine,” you agreed. “But I even thought of a name for myself.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Tangerine wondered, looking down at you with interest.

“Cherry,” you revealed. “Y’know, since you’re Tangerine, Lemon is Lemon… it fits the theme.”

“That’s clever.” Tangerine sounded amused.

You hummed, clearly proud of yourself. Your fingers reached to brush the ends of his soft, curly hair.. “I know. I’m clearly a genius.” The teasing sarcasm in your voice made him exhale a laugh. “And if you were smart… you’d kiss me while we still have time.”

The tone in the small room changed then. Your seductive words ignited the flame inside of him, reminding him of why the two of you were where you were in the first place.

He leaned down to kiss your waiting lips and a soft moan escaped at the need behind it.

“We have to be quick, I get off at the next stop,” you reminded in a breathless whisper against his lips. The realization that there was a ticking clock finally set in with Tangerine.

His hands were all over you in a flash, grasping at any available flesh to feel your skin against his. His kiss was rough and passionate, tasting you and expressing his desire. His mustache scratched your nose a bit but you didn’t care, all you could focus on was his tongue exploring your mouth.

No matter how clean the restroom was, he wasn’t touching the ground. Good thing there was a perfectly good door behind you—it looked fairly sturdy. Tangerine backed you up against it, his lips never leaving yours.

Your hands left his neck in order to slip between your bodies. Your nimble fingers landed on the buckle of his belt, working quickly to undo it.

He mindlessly rocked against you, rubbing his bulge against your waiting hand. The contact made him shudder, it had been a while since he’d been with you. He missed you—missed this. He didn’t realize the ache for you was there until he saw you. God, he was lucky to have you.

When his large hand fell to grip your bare thigh you gasped. Tangerine smiled against your lips.

“You wore a skirt,” he commented, just now realizing. He withdrew to look down at your exposed legs below the black fabric.

“I did say we had to be quick,” you replied cheekily.

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” He said, never failing to be amazed by you.

You didn’t get a chance to respond because his lips were crashing into yours. At the same time, Tangerine’s other hand landed on your other thigh. Both hands then tucked under and he hoisted you up, pinning you between his body and the door. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

One of Tangerine’s hands moved between your legs. His thumb brushed along your clothed core gently, making you gasp. Then, he pulled your underwear aside and began pressing one thick finger inside of you. You were already wet for him, which made it easy to slide his finger in entirely—and then another.

You moaned gently, your head falling back against the door.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he commented under his breath.

Words failed you as his thick, skilled fingers worked you open—getting you ready for him.

You lost track of time, succumbing to the feel.

Then, very sudden to you, his hand left you. You whined at the loss, lifting your head slightly.

Between your bodies, you could see his hand frantically moving to push his pants and boxers down around his thighs. You felt his cock spring free and a quiver of excitement coursed through you.

He lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your center.

“You ready?” he asked, being the gentleman he always was.

“Yeah,” you replied in a slight pant. Your legs tightened around him. The anticipation was killing you, but you wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

Your nails dug into his back as he started pushing into you. You bit your lip to muffle the moan that threatened to escape you at the feel of him filling you slowly. He was long and thick, stretching you out in the best way possible.

When he was completely enveloped by you, Tangerine let out a shaky sigh. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your neck, his mustache slightly tickling the skin.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” His voice was breathy and the question was rhetorical.

“I thought I was crazy,” you replied sassily.

Tangerine exhaled a quick laugh as he lifted his head to meet your gaze. You were mesmerized by his shining blue eyes as he said, “that too,” with a flash of white teeth. His smile grew as he continued. “And I fucking love it.”

Then, suddenly, he was withdrawing from your body only to slam himself back inside in one motion. This time, he didn’t stop. Tangerine set a quick pace, his thick fingers digging into the supple skin of your thighs in order to hold you in place for him.

His cock inside you was like heaven, every stroke sending sparks of pleasure through your body. He’d taken the time to learn your body. He knew what spots to hit, what speed to use, how to get you there quick.

You were already falling apart in his grasp. Your head dropped to his shoulder, muffling your moans against the fabric of his fancy suit. Your arms stayed locked around him, holding on because there’s nothing more you could do.

There was a light thump that echoed through the small room as the force of his movements rattled the door behind you.

Tangerine focused on the feel of your body connected to his, knowing in only a few minutes you’d be leaving. He needed to make your time together count.

Your warm, wet walls welcomed him with every rough thrust. Your body shuddered around him, squeezing down on his cock as he forced you both towards the edge.

“I’m close,” you gasped out in his ear.

“Me too,” he admitted. Neither of you were going to last very long but given the time constraint, that was for the best.

Tangerine kept up his motions, bringing each of you closer. You were both far gone, lost in the sensation.

Until a loud pounding on the door behind you echoed through the room.

Your eyes went wide, looking at him, unsure of what to do.

“Occupied!” Tangerine yelled hoarsely, not slowing down. He didn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to (which he didn’t). You would have laughed if you weren’t trying to conceal your moans even more than before. You couldn’t risk getting caught, you’d both be thrown off the train.

Someone cursed in Japanese, but the knocking stopped. Whoever it was, hopefully they were gone.

The world outside was quickly forgotten as one of Tangerine’s hands moved between your legs. The cold brush of one of his big, gold rings against your warm skin made you shiver. The pad of his thumb found your bundle of nerves and the pressure he applied made gasp.

He leaned in and tilted his head, resting his lips by the shell of your ear. “You know what I want,” he whispered, making you shiver. “Are you going to give it to me?”

Your answer was nonverbal. His cock hit the right spot inside of you over and over, and combined with his thumb in your clit, you were a goner.

Your whole body tensed and tightened around him. You grasped him tighter, trying to hold yourself steady as your whole body convulsed around him. Your head fell back and one hand flew to cover your own mouth, muffling the cries of pleasure as your orgasm washed over you.

Tangerine was not far behind, pinning your pliant body against the door as he chased his own release. You didn’t mind being used, he’d made sure you got yours first. He always did.

Moments later, his thrusts got sloppy and you felt him shiver. He slammed into your waiting body one last time, then held you against him as his cock twitched inside of you.

The hand that was previously covering your mouth slapped over his, silencing his deep moan as he spilled inside of you.

After a few moments, you withdrew your hand. You watched him breathlessly, taking in the look of pleasure on his face. The sweat brimming his hairline, the slight flush in his cheeks, the way his curly hair had fallen slightly in his face.

“See something you like?” he quipped between breaths.

“You know I do,” you replied smoothly.

The two of you stayed like that for a few more breaths before Tangerine was pulling away from you. He helped you back to your feet, pulling your underwear back into place and adjusting your skirt.

He then tucked himself back into his pants and redid his belt. He glanced in the mirror that was on the far wall and ran a hand—the one that hadn’t been between your legs—through his hair, pushing it back into place.

You opened your mouth to speak, but beneath your feet you felt a slight jerk and realized the train had come to a stop.

“Perfect timing,” you commented instead.

Tangerine let out a sigh, disappointed your time together was over. You pulled him into a quick kiss, which he responded to.

“Be safe,” you told him when you parted from him.

Your concern made him smile. “For you? Count on it,” he replied.

Then, he was watching your back as you unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. You slipped out quickly, needing to get off the train in under a minute. Once he was alone, Tangerine sighed again.

Someone then stepped into the doorway, an older looking lady, who began speaking to him loudly. Probably yelling at him to get out.

“Fuck off,” he snapped back, pushing past her to get back to his cart.

He caught a glimpse of you on the train station platform and much to his luck, you saw him. You blew him a kiss as the door closed. Then, you were gone. It made his heart ache a little, he was man enough to admit that to himself.

Tangerine found his seat again and came face to face with Lemon—who looked very unamused.

“Welcome back,” he greeted sarcastically. “We’re on a serious mission, I hope you had your fun.”

The annoyed tone in Lemon’s voice made him crack a smirk. Because guess what? He had.

#my writing #tangerine x reader #tangerine #bullet train #bullet train imagine #bullet train fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson #lemon

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