#blur pieces face reveal
Note
are you Spanish? you look like it a little I think:-)
Spanish? No really - how come i look like Spanish? Maybe it's the blur version that made it,i mean i'd love to know which ethnicities i may look like but it's also focus blurred so you can't say about it a hundred percent 🤍
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Another Chance
𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You go into labour and all you know is that you need Miguel more than ever.
𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader
Mentions of childbirth. Dad Miguel. Comfort. Fluff. Happy father’s day to the best of the best!
“I'M GONNA KILL MIGUEL O’HARA!”
Usually, that sort of threat would send everyone that was standing around you into an uproar. But given the extremely specific set of circumstances, they merely exchanged understanding glances, returning their attention to the task at hand.
“Jess… I’m going to kill him.”
The pain of the contractions felt too unbearable and gritting out empty threats was the only relief you could find right now.
“You have my blessing,” she nodded, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But for now, we need to deliver the baby."
It was too early. This wasn't supposed to happen right now... not like this.
A spider-nurse approached you with a fetal heart monitor to strap around your belly. Your already accelarated heart nearly imploded at the sight, fearing what the machine might reveal.
"Jess... I can't do this..." your voice broke.
Where is he...
Where is Miguel?
Your friend glared at you with kind eyes, swipping a piece of cloth along your sweat-drenched forehead. "You can and you will."
As another contraction tore through your body, you barely managed to grab the railings of your bed with a huff of pain. The spider-nurse was done setting the monitor and was now probing your arm for a vein.
"Where is Miguel?" you managed through laboured pants. "Lyla... where is he?"
The AI's hologram appeared from the watch on your wrist, that Jess promptly removed. You gave her a confused look, but it was probably for the better.
"He should be here soon. The anomaly is—" Lyla was cut off immediately by Jess.
The heart monitor was switched on and the room went suddenly eerily too quiet, save for your gasps.
Tense seconds rolled by that felt like excrutiating hours, until the sound of a thudding heart was heard.
"Slightly accelerated heartrate going at 191 beats per minute," spider-doctor informed. "The baby might be in distress."
Panic took over. "Do something! Miguel!"
The team attending you were working relentlessly, but no consolation came. The pain was borderline unbearable and your fear for your child's life.
... and Miguel was not here.
"You need to push," one spider-nurse said.
"Push," Jess urged. "You're doing great," she added with a warm smile.
She kept trying her best to soothe and guide you through the untimely turmoil, but it wasn't until your eyes caught a flash of two sets of claws tearing through the barrier of time and space in the middle of the room that you allowed yourself to slump back into your bed.
A cry of relief broke from deep within you as a fully suited Miguel O'hara emerged through the portal, sprinting to your side. The mask vanished instantly as he framed your face with both hands.
"I'm here."
You started sobbing uncontrollably when he planted a kiss to your forehead.
"Boss, she's fully dilated," spider-doctor spoke. "We really need her to push now."
"Miguel... this wasn't..." you stammered, gritting your teeth as the crescendo of another contraction began. "Where... I—”
He hushed you and anchored you through the pain. "You have to push, okay?"
Compared to a few minutes ago, Miguel's presence was nothing short of absolute comfort. But it wasn't enough the push away the fear that had overtaken you.
Jess was still by your side, whispering encouraging words as the staff worked in between your spread legs. Your vision blurred momentarily and you felt the sudden and overwhelming urge to push.
"This is all your... fault," you seethed at Miguel.
"On that much we can agree," he said softly, his thumbs brushing away the tears that mixed with sweat down your cheeks. "Push."
Blaming him was just a quick way to ease some of the frustration. He wasn't to blame. You had both wanted this.
"I can see the head!" you heard someone announce.
Miguel offered his hand for you to grip as you pushed. "I'll break it," you warned.
"You won't."
"He deserves it," Jess said teasingly.
But Miguel was right. As strong as you were — and the strength that women in labour were capable of mustering — you wouldn't even cause a dent in him. He was strong enough for the both of you.
"What´s taking so long?" his faint voice filled your ears.
"Almost there."
Suddenly, he had cradled your face in his large hands once more, forcing your eyes to fix on his. "You can do this. I'm so proud of you," he said, pecking the tip of your nose.
The air in your lungs was suddenly forced out with a finally throat-ripping grunt.
"It's here!"
You collapsed, feeling Miguel's arm promptly offering support on your back. A screeching sound of distress reverberated through the walls.
"It's a girl," one spider-nurse informed.
Even through your hazy eyes you were able to see Miguel's face, eyes transfixed on the little squirming baby that was being placed on your chest.
She was crying her heart out as someone who has been ripped from all the comfort and security a place could offer.
But now she had you and Miguel.
"She takes after you," you teased with a faint smile. "Already being so dramatic."
He chuckled, eyes permanently glued to the wailing baby. "I'm not dramatic. Just intense."
"Yes. Intensely dramatic.”
Miguel fell silent as he stroked a finger along the back of one soft tiny hand, miniscule fingers wrapping around it reflexively. The cries stopped abruptly.
His face softened and you wondered if he was about to tear up. He had longed for this for such a long time.
"Miguel?" Jessica said, covering your child with a towel.
He seemed too lost in his own thoughts, glaring at his daughter in a way that overwhelmed you. Like it was meant to be.
"I'll be going now," she said, offering you both a warm smile before leaving.
Suddenly, you realised Miguel was inspecting each limb with utmost attention. "What are you doing?"
He cleared his throat, placing a tiny hand on the palm of his. "Oh... uh... just counting how many fingers and toes she has."
"All five?" you offered with a chuckle.
"All five."
"No talons?"
He glared at you as if taken aback, then smiled. "Maybe one day."
"Do you think she'll have your fangs?"
"Oh, I hope not," he said, slowly checking the baby's bare gums. "That would be painful."
You then allowed yourself to take in the sight of your now relaxed daughter that lay on top of you. The wispy beginnings of hair that covered the top of her head were dark. Babies don't tend to resemble either parent when they're born - or so Miguel had once told you - and you couldn't wait to find out.
"What if... she doesn't like me?" he whispered, caressing a puffy cheek.
You almost chuckled, but he was dead serious. "She'll love you."
He leaned to place a kiss to your temple. "Thank you."
"For what?" you asked, feeling your heart bursting with absolute adoration for him.
"For giving me another chance at being a father."
Masterlist
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara drabble#spiderman 2099#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel x oc#spider man x reader
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an eternity, my love
eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)
How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?
When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.
Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.
Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?
You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.
With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.
You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.
Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.
He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.
You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.
After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.
Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.
The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.
And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.
Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.
Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.
You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.
It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.
He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.
Your heart burns.
In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.
It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.
It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.
Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.
Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.
Ruination be damned.
—
Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.
You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.
Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.
But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.
The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.
An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.
He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.
All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.
It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.
And then, he remembers the pang of fear.
He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.
"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.
You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.
"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.
He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.
Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.
The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.
Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.
Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.
“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.
You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.
“Who says I’m nervous?”
Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."
There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.
"I can feel it.”
Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.
"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.
"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.
Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"
You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.
"Brussels sprouts."
Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.
"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.
"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."
He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.
You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.
—
The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.
Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.
Firstly, he's terribly quiet.
Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).
With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.
You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.
There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.
He doesn’t touch you.
Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.
His hands reach out but they do not find you.
At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.
Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.
The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.
As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.
Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.
And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.
A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?
Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.
Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.
The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.
It's a decidedly Azriel thing.
He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.
As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.
It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.
So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.
"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."
My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.
It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.
It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.
It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.
You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.
There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.
Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.
Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.
Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.
Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.
"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."
You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.
"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.
You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.
As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.
"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."
The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.
"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."
You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."
Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."
"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."
Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.
"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"
There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.
One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.
"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."
You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.
When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.
"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.
It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.
Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.
Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.
It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?
“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.
“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”
Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.
On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.
Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.
You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.
Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.
And then— then, you see it.
Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.
You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.
It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.
He doesn't touch you.
The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.
His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.
You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.
"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.
"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."
It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.
You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.
You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.
The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.
And like always, you never hear him coming.
"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.
You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.
He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?
His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.
Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?
"Please," He tries his words again.
His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.
"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."
You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.
"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."
Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.
You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.
Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.
All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.
Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.
You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?
You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.
"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.
"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.
"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”
You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.
"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."
Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.
"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."
“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.
"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.
Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.
"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"
"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."
His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.
The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.
You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.
Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.
He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.
Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.
"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"
"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.
But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.
"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.
"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.
"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."
You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.
"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”
Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.
“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.
“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.
“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”
Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.
“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.
“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”
And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.
His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.
It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.
Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.
He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.
When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.
Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.
“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.
“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.
“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”
Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.
—
some people i thought might want to be tagged :)
@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares
#it got very long... i'm sorry!#we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho#i can't DO IT#azriel a big softie in this one...#i mean he always is :)#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger x reader#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel acotar#acotar#acotar fanfiction#azriel hurt/comfort#miscommunication#idiots in luv <3#i need a writing tag.....
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prison bf series linked here !
hii ! not rly phone sex, but sex nonetheless. i’m rly loving this series <33 prison toji unboxing fic coming someday in the distant future.
content: nsfw + phone sex
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the sudden vibrations of your phone’s ringer rips you from the boundary between sleep and awareness. you groggily reach for the device from it’s place under your pillow, clicking the off button twice to end the call.
the number rings again, then a third time before you finally pick up, ready to tear into the poor soul on the other line. it’s a facetime call from an area code you don’t recognize, probably just a misdial if you’re lucky.
you hesitantly accept and tilt the camera towards the ceiling, shielding your face from the stranger.
“hello..?” you mumble sleepily, trying to get a good look at your phone without revealing too much of yourself. the person’s screen is grainy from the lack of light, probably calling you on an older model.
the stranger’s camera pans down, revealing familiar tufts of straight raven hair. toji stares up at you from his bunk, shirtless with the sheets bunched up to his chest.
“you too good to pick up the phone now?” he asks, clearly teasing. the inmate’s voice is quiet, coming out in choppy rivets as his dated microphone picks up what it can.
“toji!?” you whisper scream, sitting up to turn your beside lamp on. the additional light helps illuminate your figure better, you notice his eyes perk up at the clearer sight of you.
“mmmh, happy to see you babydoll.” he grins, leaning closer to get a good look at you. your eyes are puffy with the promise of rest, giving you that extra bought of softness he loves so much.
“oh shit, were you sleeping? m’ sorry.”
he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“nono i’m awake.” you reassure the older man, taking in the sight of him laid out on the narrow cot. your boyfriend had aged since the beginning of his sentence, though you figure that’s not out of the ordinary for someone serving time. “how’d you even get a phone?”
“s’ a secret.” he muses, clearly finding the situation amusing. “i get to talk to my baby though, isn’t that nice?” he states plainly, shifting to prop his head up with his hand.
“it is, actually.” you mumble apologetically, feeling bad at your initial lack of a greeting. “m’ happy you called me.”
you pause, choosing your next words carefully “don’t you have bunkmates?” you wonder, searching the background for any signs of other men in the dark cell. the promise of being ratted out by a cell mate was one that wouldn’t end well for either of you.
“nah, lawyers said i’m too dangerous to be staying in D-block with everyone.” he states boredly, shifting again to lie on his back with a grunt.
“wh— are you serious?” you whine, already mulling over the countless conversations you’ve had with him regarding his nasty fighting habit.
“pfttt, no?” the inmate chuckles, throwing his head back with a hearty laugh. “last guy in the cell got out on wednesday, ‘s just me in here till’ my sentence is up.”
he stills, looking you up and down quickly.
"fuck." he grumbles, you look real pretty right now."
you sigh in relief, ignoring the compliment to continue grilling him. “so you’ve been getting along with people?” you ask, skill skeptical.
“you know—hah- how i am.” he tells you, clearing his throat before continuing. the screen begins to wobble a little, blurring his figure for a moment. “when have i —fuck- ever been out of line, huh? ”
“i think you were pretty out of line when you went to fucking jail.” you tease, pausing to analyze his hurried breaths on the other line.
“toji? do you feel ok?” you ask, wishing you were there to check up on him.
“yeah—mmgh- why? his camera starts to pan up shakily, phone slipping from his hand. the last of his facade shatters as a pleased groan rings out in the tiny cell.
“fuck.” he whines, “fuck— oh my god. you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”
“show me.” you command, finally piecing everything together.
the older man flips the camera and brings it right up to his hard cock, stroking it from the base up with vigor.
his tip is an angry pink, weeping milky precum down his shaft to glaze his knuckles. the sounds coming from your phone are absolutely filthy, a hot mix of pants, groans and expletives .
“oh my god.” you giggle, propping your phone up to watch better. “is that all for me?” the dips and hills of his abs jolt as he laughs.
“all for you.” he pants, bucking his hips up every time his fist meets his tip.
“is this why you called me?” you tease, watching his cock bob back and forth in his hand. the older man stops to thumb his slit, massaging milky pre into the tip before starting up again. “you just wanted to get off? didn’t wanna talk to me or nothing?”
“no—hah. i mean—.” he groans, clearly too out of it to answer. “fuck. fuck i’m close.”
you squeeze your legs together to quell the ache between your thighs, content to just watch him enjoy himself.
sharing a room with 4 other people means little to no time alone, that much you knew from your visits. it wasn’t rare for him to pitch a tent during your supervised phone calls, squeezing his cock behind a glass barrier while you gushed about your day.
a hearty groan knocks your train of thought loose as ropes of cum stream down his knuckles and onto the sheets. you watch in awe as he milks his dick, slapping it onto his stomach for the added simulation.
you wait until his breaths even out to speak, watching him grab a towel from off camera to clean himself up.
“feel better?” you ask, so badly wishing you were there to kiss him in the midst of his afterglow.
“so much better.” he sighs, shifting to lay on his side again.
“they definitely heard you. i mean those rooms don’t have doors right?”
“of course they fucking have doors.” he grumbles, clearly embarrassed at the thought of getting caught dick-in-hand.
“did you..” he trails off, rubbing his eyes with a soft yawn.
“too tired.” you state plainly, shifting the focus from your pleasure to his.
“i don’t deserve you.” he mumbles, dark eyes barely open.
“course you do baby.” you whisper. “you wanna head to bed? i’m coming up on thursday to visit.”
“you are?” the excitement in his voice is adorable.
“mhm, might even bring you a charger for that piece of shit burner you swiped.”
the jab earns you a booming laugh, lulling you back to the precipice of sleep.
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tag list ! <3 🏷️
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#prison bf!toji#prison bf! toji#fushiguro toji#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji drabbles#toji fluff#toji fushiguro#toji hcs#toji headcanons#toji x reader#dilf toji#toji scenarios#toji x y/n#toji x fem!reader#zenin toji#toji imagine#toji zenin#jjk headcanons#jjk hcs#toji x reader smut#toji smut#toji x fem reader smut
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1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ
summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.
content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread
💭 masterlist | next part
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”
Your ears were ringing.
After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.
“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.
Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.
Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.
Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.
You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.
“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.
“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.
“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”
“We?”
“Kaiser is downstairs.”
Of course, he is.
Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.
You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.
If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.
“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.
The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.
“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”
In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”
“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”
“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”
Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.
Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”
“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.
“Fuck off.”
“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.
You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.
You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.
You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.
Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.
If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.
Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.
“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.
“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.
“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”
Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.
“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.
Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”
“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.
Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.
It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.
Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.
Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.
But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.
“I swear to god this better be important–”
“Get ready,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“Look out your window.”
Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.
Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.
“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.
You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.
It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.
It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.
“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”
He’s taking me to it? “Why?”
Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.
“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.
You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.
The first one today.
Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.
But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.
You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.
And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.
“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.
Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?
“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”
Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.
Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.
“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”
“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.
Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.
Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.
It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.
You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”
Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”
Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”
“Call me by my name.”
“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”
“The one you used to call me.”
Mikka.
It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.
You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.
“I’m Michael.”
“That’s… long.”
“What?”
“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”
“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.
“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.
He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.
“Same thing.”
“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”
“Your point?” you countered.
“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.
“He was nice to me!”
“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”
You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.
“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.
Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.
“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”
“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.
“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”
“And you? Are you a gentleman?”
Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.
Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.
Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.
When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”
He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.
“Especially not one, doll.”
“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.
Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.
The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.
Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.
Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.
He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.
“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.
The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.
“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.
From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.
After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.
You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.
Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.
As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).
“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.
“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.
“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”
Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”
You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.
But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.
“You should be flattered.”
Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”
“Accepted.”
If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.
At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.
You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”
The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”
“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”
“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.
If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.
Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.
Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.
“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”
If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.
You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.
Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”
“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.
“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”
You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”
“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.
Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.
You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.
“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.
“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”
“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.
Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.
You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.
“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.
Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.
Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”
Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.
And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.
But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.
If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.
Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.
“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”
Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.
You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.
“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.
“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”
“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”
“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.
“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”
“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.
Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.
“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”
What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.
“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”
“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”
The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”
“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”
What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.
He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.
And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.
His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.
Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.
Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.
“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.
As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.
“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.
Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.
“Easy, doll.”
Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.
Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.
Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.
Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.
Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.
He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.
Damn it, doll.
Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.
Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.
The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.
It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.
Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.
It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.
The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.
What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?
Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.
Just then, a knock on the door startled you.
“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”
It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.
Shit.
note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!
#☁️ my ode to you#michael kaiser x reader#blue lock x reader#kaiser x reader#blue lock imagines#michael kaiser imagines#kaiser imagines#michael kaiser x y/n#michael kaiser x you#bllk x y/n#bllk x you#bllk x reader#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#michael kaiser#blue lock fluff#first milestone event!#writing: 004
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Safer to Kiss (part 2) - Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader
read part 1 here!
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader
Word Count: 3236
Summary: the day after drunkenly kissing your best friend and coworker, Spencer Reid, the BAU catches a case. Lots of talking with other members of the team, general group dynamic chaos, and ✨Pining✨
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, normal Criminal Minds violence, maybe some mild cursing? Mostly just pining teehee
A/N: thank you so much to everyone who interacted with part 1! I am so pumped about this lil series, and part 3 is already started 🙈 I love love LOVE hearing from you guys, it makes me so happy and inspired to continue writing. 🥹 also not my gif, all credit to the owner bc LOOK AT HIS LIL FACE
————
Spencer’s hands were on your hips. Spencer’s hands were on your hips. Suddenly the three glasses of wine and 2 glasses of champagne were null and void, because you felt completely sobered by the time your mouth pulled away from his. The reality of the situation hit you like a bus - you, in a drunken stupor, had stupidly, idiotically, irreversibly kissed your best friend. Right on the lips. There was no excusing it as a friendly peck on the cheek.
Your entire face felt hot as you pulled away, and as Spencer’s hands retracted to his own space. You felt wobbly - okay, maybe you hadn’t sobered up - and when you were once again leaning against the railing of the stairs on your apartment building’s stoop, you blinked a few times.
Spencer blinked a few times, too, as if to process what had just happened. He’d tasted like red wine, which you saw he’d only had one single glass of tonight, and spearmint gum. The combination reminded you of spring.
Your best friend tasted like spring.
Your eyes widened, buggy, as if they might pop out of your head, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.
Spencer spoke instead, with an earnest expression on his face. “Y/N-“
“Thanks for getting me home in one piece, okay, goodnight!” You rambled off, the words sliding off your tongue like they were on a luge, all blurring together into one, long megaword. You slid in behind the door and stumbled up to your unit before you could say another word.
You couldn’t believe yourself, replaying the moment on your stoop over and over as you locked the door, leaning against it and running your hand over your face. Spencer’s expression had been completely dumbfounded when you pulled away from the kiss. There was no doubt in your mind that he had been about to politely reject you, in that way that only he could do. I’m sorry, Y/N, but I think we’re better off as friends, he would say, simultaneously humiliating you and ripping your heart in half.
That’s why you’d cut him off, before he could say anything, before he could address the situation, before either of you had to acknowledge that it had actually happened.
You slept poorly that night, your anxiety getting the best of you. It was that look on Spencer’s face, how you just knew he was going to tell you in the kindest, most sensitive tone that he didn’t like that you kissed him. And your Nan’s voice ringing in your head - You’ll find someone someday, Button. You’ll be just as happy as your sister someday, Button.
You tossed and turned, and woke up with a violent hangover. All the coffee in the world was not enough to cure the aftershock of the night before.
Your stomach was in knots, a lethal combination of hangover ickies and irreversible mistake anxiety, and as you took a cab to work, you leaned your head against the seat behind you.
You flashed your badge to security and boarded the elevator to ride up to the sixth floor. The doors opened to reveal Penelope Garcia, clutching a stack of folders to her chest, waiting for you.
“Good morning, pumpkin,” Penelope flashed a smile, then grabbed you by the wrist, practically yanking you along behind her as she headed towards the conference room. Your head was pounding and while you loved Penelope with all your heart, in that moment, you wanted to throttle her. “You look horrible. We’ll discuss that later, and don’t even think about trying to internalize it and brush me off. I might not be a super magic genius psychic profiler, but I can tell when one of my love-bugs has had a wild night and I want details. Unfortunately for you, darling, you have a case. Hotch asked me to pull you directly into the conference room. Everyone’s waiting.”
Usually, when Penelope rambled on like that, you were able to keep up. In this weakened state, however, the words hit you like someone throwing putty against a wall, and it took a minute to process. You found yourself standing in front of the closed door of the conference room, with slackened posture and narrowed eyes. “Okay,” you managed to murmur before Penelope dragged you behind her, into the conference room.
You could feel the team’s eyes on you as you slumped into the empty seat. You avoided eye contact with everyone, especially Spencer, projecting to the room that you were not to be asked about your disheveled appearance and obvious headache. You spared a glance at Spencer. He looked perfect, as per freakin’ usual, with a purple button-up dress shirt and a dark tie over it. He sat up straight in his desk chair, as if last night hadn’t affected him in the slightest. You hated that.
Hotchner cleared his throat. “Let’s begin. Garcia?”
Penelope’s eyes lingered on you, fluttering from you to Spencer, and you watched as she seemed to resist the urge to say anything. “Ooookay,” she spoke, drawing the word out as she stood before the table. She used the TV remote to present the case’s info on the monitor. “We’ve got a local case today, my fine furry friends. Three men killed in three weeks,” you took a drink of the water in front of you as Penelope presented three driver’s license photos on the TV screen. “All bodies have been identified. Twenty-three-year-old Harvey Gibson, twenty-nine-year-old Kyle Moore, and twenty-eight-year-old Malcolm Greene. All three were found in alleys in downtown D.C, cause of death multiple stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and genitals.”
You choked on your water when you saw the last photo. Malcolm Greene, as in, Malcolm Greene, the guy you spoke to last night at the art gallery? You remembered spotting him from across the room, and thinking about how Spencer had said he’d gone on a date (albeit, an unsuccessful one) over the weekend, and you wanted to prove to yourself that you could be interested in other men. And then you’d gone over to Malcolm, spoke to him for an embarrassing two minutes and twelve seconds, and walked back to Spencer with a red face. And now he was dead?
Concerns about your relationship with your best friend aside, your eyes met Spencer’s across the conference table and the two of you seemed, for a moment, to fall back into your old dynamic, having a somewhat telepathic conversation with just your expressions.
That’s the guy…? Spencer seemed to say, his brows furrowed slightly.
A subtle bob of your head was how you responded. Yep, that’s him.
Spencer’s mouth formed a straight line, a mannerism that everyone around the table seemed to notice.
“Reid, Y/L/N, what’s going on?” Derek piped up, inclining his head to the side curiously. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”
Spencer’s mouth opened as if he were about to spill the beans, but he paused, seemingly deciding not to rattle off whatever he was going to say. Instead, he gestured to you.
“Spencer and I went to an art gallery after work last night,” you sighed, feeling your cheeks turn pink. “I may have… flirted, briefly, with Malcolm Greene.”
Derek let out a low whistle, and you saw Emily and JJ share an amused look. Rossi was even cracking a smirk.
Only Hotch remained as stoic as ever. “How long did you speak with him?” He asked.
“Two minutes, twelve seconds,” you and Spencer said simultaneously, and your eyes snapped to his across the table. You swallowed the lump in your throat and somehow felt your whole face turn even redder.
“Some smooth-talker you are,” Derek snickered, and you shot him a glare. Penelope, standing behind him, smacked his shoulder. “Did you get his digits that fast?”
“I don’t really see how that’s pertinent to the case,” you protested, sitting up straight and crossing your arms over your chest.
“It’s just like any other witness interview, Y/N,” Hotch reminded you calmly, shooting the rest of the team a warning glance. “Even the most minute detail could help.” He seemed to realize that you were humiliated, and that the rest of the team’s eyes on you were not helping the situation. “We can talk about it later,” he compromised.
“So, multiple stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and genitals, huh?” Rossi offered as a rough transition back to the topic at hand. Across the table, you heard Emily stifle a laugh.
“Yes, sir. All bodies were posed in a classic casket fashion, arms folded across their chests, eyes closed,” Penelope reported.
“Sign of remorse,” JJ noted, jotting it down on her pad of paper.
“Any cash missing from their wallets, or jewelry missing off their body?” Hotchner asked.
“No, sir, all wallets were found in the clothes of the victims, presumably where they had been kept untouched,” Penelope answered.
“So, not a robbery gone wrong,” Rossi concluded.
“The disposal of the bodies feels inconsistent with the cause of death,” Spencer pointed out, twirling his pen around his finger. His cadence was quick and pensive. “Multiple stab wounds to those particular areas of the body indicate intense rage at the time of the murder, disposing them in alleyways seems to be a choice of opportunity and convenience, but posing the bodies is a sign of remorse, like the UnSub suddenly realizes what he’s done and regrets it.”
“Do the victims have any friends or family in common?” You asked, crossing your ankles beneath the table.
“As far as my preliminary scans can tell, all three men were completely unrelated,” Penelope said. “The only common denominator is how they died and how their bodies were disposed of.”
“Not entirely,” Emily pointed out, standing up and using her pen as a pointer, gesturing to the three ID photos on the screen.
“Don’t these guys all look… strikingly similar?” Emily proposed. All men were white, with aquiline noses, dark hair, and dark eyes. “In fact, don’t they all look exactly like someone we know?”
You took in a sharp breath, just as Penelope let out a small gasp and Derek let out a soft chuckle. “They’re all pretty boys, like Pretty Boy,” Derek laughed.
“So our UnSub has a type,” JJ added.
Derek smirked. “The UnSub and Y/N both have a type.”
Your face turned bright red, and your jaw tensed. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you for a fleeting moment, and before you could say anything, Hotchner stepped in. “Let’s get going on this. Reid, JJ, and Morgan, I want you at the crime scene. Prentiss, Rossi, and Y/L/N, come with me to the local police precinct and interview family and friends. Garcia, too.”
There was an array of agreements murmured, and everyone began to disperse. You wanted to shake Derek by the shoulders for his little comment, especially after all the teasing you took when you realized the man you briefly spoke to last night was now dead.
You were on your way back to your desk when you felt a light touch on your elbow. When you saw it was Spencer, you bit the inside of your cheek. “Can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you shook your head.
Pointing pathetically to your desk, you responded, rather articulately, with, “The case…”
“Yeah, I know. The case. But, Y/N, we have to talk about last night,” Spencer said, looking down at you. Even though you were actually tall for a woman, Spencer still had at least four inches of height on you. Maybe five. “I mean, you just, like, escaped from me the first second that you could. Was it…?”
You furrowed your brows, confused as to what Spencer was trying to say. “Did you mean to kiss me?” He asked.
This was it. This was the out. He was giving it to you, whether he knew it or not. This was the opportunity to take it all back, to say it was a mistake. You could blame it on the wine, on your Nan’s phone call, on Malcolm - what was he gonna do, sell you out?
The chance to save your friendship with Spencer Reid was right there, and you stood there and you looked up at Spencer with your mouth open, words ready to spill out, when -
“Hey, Reid, you coming, man?”
Saved by the Morgan.
You saw Spencer’s jaw tighten, and he exhaled sharply. You were still frozen, unsure of what to say, of how to say it, so when Spencer simply frowned at you and then turned around to join Derek, you weren’t surprised.
You ran your hands over your face, still reeling, foggy from your hangover, thoroughly embarrassed from the entire situation.
“Y/N,” Rossi’s voice piped up, and you turned to see him with an arched brow. “C’mon, we gotta get going,” he gestured for you to follow him.
You sighed, your shoulders slumped, as you joined Rossi. You boarded the elevator with him, just the two of you, to head down to one of the Bureau’s black SUVs. “What’s going on with you?” Rossi asked, furrowing his brows.
In terms of group dynamics, David Rossi was like the team’s mother, in comparison to Hotchner, who was most certainly the patriarch of the BAU. You loved Rossi. He was kind, fairly level-headed, and he always stuck his neck out for the people he cared about. He also was pretty funny, and could make a killer lasagna. All those merits aside, you so did not want to talk about it.
“Not right now, Dave,” you shook your head, leaning against the wall of the elevator, running your palms down your thighs.
Rossi nodded understandingly, but you had an inkling he wasn’t about to just drop it. “I get it. Hungover, in a weird spot with Reid-“
“I’m not in a weird spot with Reid,” you corrected him, and Rossi smirked, knowing he had gotten you to crack. You shot him a (mostly) playful glare. “I had maybe a little too much to drink last night. And I maybe had, accidentally, perhaps…” you groaned, rolling your eyes at the idiocy of your actions the night before. “I kissed Spencer last night. It only lasted for, like, a minute, and right when it was over, I freaked out and went inside my apartment, and now things are just, like, weird between us. And I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, kiddo,” Rossi began, and you pursed your lips. He always hit you with a kiddo when he was about to tell you something you didn’t want to hear. “As a person who has been with many romantic partners-“
You feigned a gag.
Rossi just chuckled and continued. “I think you have to ask yourself - how do you want Spencer to react? Would you prefer to bury this and never speak of it again, or is this the catalyst you needed to finally tell him how you feel?”
You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean, tell him how I feel?” You asked, playing dumb. Maybe Rossi was just grasping at straws.
“Oh, c’mon, kid, we’ve all seen how you look at each other. The only person who doesn’t know that you’re in love with Spencer is, well, Spencer.”
You felt your entire face flush. “You’re not serious,” you chuckled in disbelief.
Rossi looked at you and batted his eyelashes in a very feminine expression. The expression dropped and he said, “You make this lovestruck school girl expression at him at least once a day.”
“I do not!” You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, just as the elevator dinged, signaling your arrival to the Quantico lobby.
“Yeah, kid, you do. It’s pretty cute, actually. You’re like two lovesick puppies, chasing each other’s tails.”
“He does not think of me like that, Rossi,” you insisted indignantly, your voice taking a more hushed tone as the two of you walked at the same quick pace through the lobby, and outside towards the garage of Bureau vehicles.
The sun hit your face just as Rossi spoke again. “You’re such a good profiler, Y/N. How do you not see it?”
You decided not to dignify Rossi’s opinion with a response. Rather, you just shook your head and continued towards the garage to meet up with Prentiss and Garcia.
When you arrived at the police precinct, Garcia set up in the conference room, and you, Emily and Rossi each took turns interviewing the next of kin for the victims. You interviewed the mother of the first victim, Harvey Gibson.
An art student at Georgetown, steady boyfriend for three years he planned to propose to on Christmas, no criminal record, called his mother every other day. He was a good kid. Comforting his mother, walking her through all the questions the police had asked her three weeks ago — it was always a lot. But with your head already fuzzy and your mind on other Reid-related things, by the time you escorted Mrs. Gibson out of the police station and thanked her for her time, you felt heavy.
It didn’t help when the team reconvened about an hour later, sitting around a conference room at the local police station. You could tell Spencer’s eyes were floating to yours every so often, but you refused to meet them. You were working right now. You couldn’t let the revelation with Rossi distract you from your job.
Penelope took the lead, addressing the entire team. “So, our original thought of the three victims being unrelated actually has turned out to be incorrect,” she began. “Not only do all three of our victims look alike, but they all visited the same art gallery twenty-four hours prior to their murders.”
“Not the one we went to last night?” Spencer asked.
“No,” Penelope clarified. “From Emily’s discussion with Malcolm Greene’s brother, along with tracking the location of the other two victims’ cell phones prior to their deaths, we can determine that all three victims visited a different art gallery - The Restful Owl, just two blocks over from where you and Y/N went last night.”
“So, the victims all meet a certain physical description,” JJ recapped. “Brown hair, brown eyes, early-to-late twenties, and all visited The Restful Owl art gallery.”
“The gallery seems like a solid lead,” Hotch agreed. “All three victims were interested in art in some capacity - Harvey Gibson was studying art, Kyle Moore worked at an art museum, Malcolm Greene was a collector.”
“Perhaps the ruse the UnSub used was related to a particular piece or artist,” Spencer proposed, wrapping and unwrapping his fingers around his pen. “We should get the security tapes from each victim’s visit to the gallery, observe who they spoke to, how they reacted to specific pieces. Maybe the UnSub lured these men to the sites of their deaths by promising them a deal on a work, or something of the sort.”
“Good idea,” said Hotchner. “Prentiss, Morgan, follow up with the gallery. If there’s a specific person or piece all three victims stopped to interact with, I think our next step is pretty clear.”
“What’s that?” Penelope asked.
“We send in someone who just so happens to be exactly the UnSub’s type to the art gallery as bait,” Rossi concluded.
All eyes, including yours, moved across the table, landing on Spencer.
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#basketonthedoorstepofthefbi#criminal minds spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid self insert
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Wounded Love
Summary: Astarion and Tav are both struggling with their emotions as they journey through the Shadowlands. When Astarion gets injured, Tav takes it upon herself to nurse him back to health, in more ways than one.
Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader.
Word Count: 5.3k
Tags: Astarion gets hurt, Emotional Constipation, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Massage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Tav takes care of Astarion, sub!Atarion, Light Dom/sub, bordering minimal really, Porn With Plot, Biting, Blood.
a/n: this is an old draft, so forgive me if there are any typos! Love ya🤍
WARNING! +18 CONTENT, MINORS DNI
It had been a stray hex, a capricious twist of magic that had hurt him, as told by the doctor responsible for his care in the Last Light Inn. The tendrils of the hex had woven an intricate spell, rendering him unconscious. Right now, as his chest rises and falls rhythmically, you feel something like pain and protectiveness stir in your chest. Although you are aware that your connection is currently purely physical, you can't help but feel a flutter every time your eyes meet or a tightening in your chest whenever he faces danger.
Looking at his peaceful sleeping form, you reach out to touch his hair, keeping it out of the way of his eyes. Your fingers trace the contours of his face and down his jawline. You wonder what kind of dreams come to him in these tender moments. Dreams you would love to share. To know all the things that go through the elf's mind.
His eyes suddenly open, and you get slightly startled, your hand hanging mid-air.
"What are you doing?" He raises one judging eyebrow, and squints at you through his eyelashes, but doesn't move out of your touch. His lips are curled into a small, tight grimace, probably still in pain from his recent wound.
You reach for the mug of water near the bed. "You look so peaceful when you sleep. Maybe you should spend more time like that. I like you way more when you are quiet," you say, a teasing tone lacing your words.
Astarion rolls his eyes, but he's also smiling a little.
"Yeah? Well, if you're so keen on me sleeping why not do me a favor and knock me out? The pain is unbearable as of right now," he says, but his voice is still soft and quiet, almost as if talking is painful You know there is a bit of truth there. He takes the mug and gulps down the water, then sets the piece back down on the bedside table.
He does appear miserable, even though his beauty remains as striking as ever. His eyes, usually filled with energy and mirth, seem drained of life, carrying heavy bags underneath. Though he is already pale, right now he looks paler than ever, and even his distinctive white locks, typically immaculate, fall disheveled and unkempt over his shoulders.
Your chest tightens at the sight, a vivid flashback of watching him fall during the combat flooding your mind. One moment, he was bravely battling alongside Karlach and the next, he was sprawled on the ground, so unnaturally still that it hinted at something had gone fatally wrong. The memory of that moment lingers—the scream tearing from your throat, the frantic dash to reach him—where the world outside, the lurking shadow monsters, and your companions; all became a blur, drowned out by the overwhelming fear of losing him.
You release a shaky breath, and try to appear nonchalant "Well, I happened to leave my Warhammer outside, but if you give me a moment, we could arrange it," you say, a hint of playful sarcasm masking the genuine worry beneath.
Astarion snorts. "Please, I don't need the Warhammer. Just a firm slap should do it." He says while shifting on his bed.
The movement makes the bedsheets rustle and reveals the bandages encasing his torso. His chest had sustained the most damage, with a deep cut that refused to heal and oozed a dark, murky liquid.
"You were out for a tenday," you inform him. "A stray hex hit you during combat and left you out cold. The wound didn't close, even with your vampiric and elf powers, so it had to be taken care of manually."
"Well, that's just great." Astarion mutters. Then, he speaks up again, this time seemingly with some concern, "I'm alright, right? I'm not going to die? I mean, I know I can't die, but..."
You chuckle softly at his words, a mix of fondness and relief washing over you. "Not under my watch. I am an incredible healer, after all".
"And quite humble, at that," Astarion mutters, but there is a small smile on his face. Then, there is a beat of silence, as both of you take a moment to collect your thoughts.
Astarion's smile fades, and his eyes search yours for something, a reassurance perhaps. You can see the vulnerability hidden beneath his usual facade of confidence and charm. It's rare to see him like this, stripped of his usual bravado. Leaning closer, you reach out again to gently brush a strand of white hair behind his pointy ear.
"Hey," you say softly, placing your hand on his cheek. "You're going to be alright. We took care of your wounds, and Halsin says you just need some time to recover." You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you reach out and gently grasp his hand, intertwining your fingers. "You scared me, you know," you admit softly. "Seeing you fall like that... I thought I had lost you."
Astarion seems to freeze in place at that, as if he is unsure of how to react. You chuckle nervously, realizing you may have unintentionally crossed an unspoken boundary. Emotions are not your forte, after all. For a moment he simply stares at your intertwined hands. Then, he looks up to meet your gaze, and you see a flicker of some unreadable emotion there.
"Lost me? Come now, you should know by now it takes more than a measly hex to finish me off." His tone aims for nonchalance, but there is an edge to it that gives away his vulnerability. You offer a small, sheepish smile.
"Yes, well, you didn't die. So quit that moping and drink your water, or I'll let Shadowheart take a crack at healing you."
"From my point of view, this just means you just have to keep a closer eye on me from now on,"
You let out a small sigh and give him an exasperated look "I think I have done my fair share of caring for some time."
A look of realization crosses his face as if a puzzle piece has finally fallen into place. "Wait, did you stay here for the entire tenday?" he murmurs, his eyes widening with surprise and curiosity.
You clear your throat awkwardly "I mean, you were unconscious. Somebody had to keep guard, keep tabs on you, change your bandages..." you say, with a casual wave of your hand "Plus, I wanted to make sure you were alright. I'm not a complete monster."
But you are aware that it's not the whole truth. The real reason is that the thought of him lying in bed, wounded and vulnerable, causes a pain in your chest that you don't want to acknowledge.
Astarion's eyes widen slightly at your words, surprise mingling with something else. Gratitude, perhaps? It's hard to tell with him sometimes, but there's a softness in his gaze that tells you he appreciates your presence more than he lets on.
"Well, I suppose I should thank you then," he says, his voice softer than before. "I wouldn't have expected you to stick around."
You shrug nonchalantly "Had to make sure you didn't get yourself killed again," You reply teasingly, attempting to lighten the mood.
Astarion chuckles a sound that warms your chest. "Ah, so it was purely for selfish reasons then."
"Of course, can't have our token charming vampire biting the dust just yet"
Astarion rolls his eyes, a smile on his face "Charming vampire, am I? You really know just how to flatter someone."
"You're also our only rogue," you reply.
Astarion smiles. "So not only am I charming, but I'm essential too. Guess the group just couldn't do without me. Perhaps you should write me a thank you note instead."
You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh, don't worry. I'll be sure to draft up a heartfelt ode to your indispensability."
His smile widens, the playful back and forth easing the tension that lingered between you. It feels good to see him like this, even if he's still recovering from his injuries.
You've been through so much together, fighting against the darkness that threatens your world. And in those moments of battle and chaos, there's a strange comfort in he familiarity of this banter, with its playful jabs and sly remarks. You do this routine a hundred times, dancing around each other's feelings and skirting the edges of any true intimacy. And yet, it's still nice to pretend sometimes. Still nice to pretend there's nothing underneath all the playful words, that maybe this is all you need. But for once, when you are looking at him, you want to reach out to him. To tenderly kiss his forehead, rest your head on his strong shoulders, and be enveloped in his embrace and not just for physical pleasure. But you know better than to act on those desires. He has been so wounded in the past and it's not just the physical scars that linger. His past is a complicated web of pain, betrayal, and mistrust. You've seen the way his eyes darken when certain topics are brought up or how he flinches away from certain touches. So you will wait patiently until he opens up when he is ready, relishing in these small moments in the meantime.
"Well, charming vampire, it looks like I'll have to find some more enemies for you to sink your fangs into for breakfast," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes.
Astarion grins, a little wolfishly with his fangs on display, "Oh, I think I know just who to take my fangs to," he says, his eyes appraising your neck.
You feel a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze. You roll your eyes and smirk. "Oh please, Astarion. I'm not that easy to sink your fangs into."
He leans forward, with a wicked smile on his lips "Oh, is that so?" Astarion says smoothly. A twinkle of desire flashes in his red eyes as he speaks, which only ignites your own thirst. You feel your heartbeat quickening, breath hitching in your chest. "You want to put that to the test?" His voice is lower now, a bit of a growl starting to creep into his tone.
You can feel the bed's cool, smooth sheets against your skin as you lean forward, your chest brushing against Astarion's. The energy between your bodies feels like a tangible force, one that you can almost reach out and touch. His face is so close, his red eyes bright and mouth slightly open, showing off two sharp fangs that would terrify most people but only send shivers of anticipation down your spine. There's something primal in the way you're looking at each other, and you can't help but feel a familiar wave of excitement and fear wash over you. Astarion's eyes flicker to your lips for a moment. You are waiting, wanting him to make the first move, your breath shallow and quick.
"Well? Still think you can bite me that easily?" you quip, teasingly, although your heart is pounding so loud you are sure it's deafening for him.
A mischievous smirk plays on Astarion's lips, his red eyes sparkling with amusement. Despite his injury, he moves gracefully and with supernatural quickness, catching you off guard. In the blink of an eye, you are pinned to the bed beneath him. Your back sinks into the soft mattress as Astarion's weight presses down on your body. His left arm is pressing into the skin of your collarbones, as his other hand holds your wrists above your head. Every touch from him sends electric jolts through your body.
Astarion's breath is hot against your skin as he leans in closer, his lips grazing your ear. "Oh, I am more than capable of biting you," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "I might even leave you with a few bruises," he adds, his voice an intimate rasp that sends shivers down your spine.
Your heart races at his words and the thought of what he could do to you, at the weight pressing down on you.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Astarion murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck and leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
You let out a soft gasp as he nibbles on your skin, causing goosebumps to rise along your arms. His touch is electric and every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire. Without hesitation, Astarion's fangs sink into the soft flesh of your neck, and you let out a gasp as a mix of pleasure and sharp icy pain courses through you. You can feel yourself growing lightheaded as he feeds from you, his fangs sinking deeper and his grip on your wrists loosening as he savors the taste of your blood. The sensation sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.
Time seems to stand still as you remain locked in his embrace, your bodies tangled together on the bed. As he finally withdraws his fangs from your neck, he lingers for a moment, his lips brushing against the wounds he's left behind. You can feel the slight throbbing where his teeth had punctured skin seconds ago. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you feel him press his forehead against yours, his breath fanning against your skin.
You giggle a little, still coming down from the high of vampire venom.
"I will never get tired of that," The words slipped from his lips in a breathy murmur, one that was filled with awe and contentment.
"All it takes is a little blood to make our wounded vampire happy," You tease, giving him a small peck. His lips still taste a bit metallic, but you don't care in the slightest.
Astarion chuckles, "Ah, darling, we both know I am not the only one who enjoys that…"
He presses his body against your own, his lips suddenly ravishing yours with an intensity that steals your breath. The heat of his mouth sears through you, igniting every nerve and sending primal shivers down your spine. You cling to him desperately, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer until your bodies meld into one and your hands tangle in the soft curls of his hair. At this moment, nothing else exists except for the electric chemistry between you, overwhelming and all-consuming.
Out of nowhere, he recoils and lets out a sharp hiss. Concerned, you examine the bandage on his chest and notice a small black spot forming. "Oh shit," you curse under your breath.
You quickly slide out from under him and stand next to the bed. "Lie down," you tell him firmly, "I'll take care of it."
"I'm okay," Astarion lies, but complies, lying down on the bed with a sense of resignation. The soft sheets crinkle beneath his weight as he settles into a comfortable position. You hurriedly gather supplies before returning to his side, adrenaline and concern fueling your actions. With skilled hands, you begin tending to his wound as Astarion watches on with curious eyes.
"If you keep ogling me like that, I may just end up with a hole in my head," you quip.
The corners of both your mouths turn up in matching grins. The intensity of your gaze locks and it feels like the air is alive with electricity. With precision and care, you unwrap the bandage and clean the wound, hands steady despite your worry. As you finish dressing the wound, you can't help letting out a sigh of relief after realizing it was just a small tear, nothing too serious.
It's then that you notice you have been straddling his body over the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed and your cheeks flush furiously.
Astarion looks at you with a cheeky smirk, "Something the matter, dear?" he asks, his voice low and sultry.
You can feel your face turning even brighter red, but you try to shrug it off. "No, nothing's wrong."
Astarion lets out a low laugh, enjoying your flustered state. "Oh, I beg to differ," he teases, sitting up and leaning against the headboard.
"Shut up," you mutter, trying to keep your embarrassment at bay.
Astarion chuckles softly, a warm sound that makes your heart flutter. Why does he always make your heart flutter?
"Well, I have seen you in way more compromised positions than the one you are in right now," he says, a hint of mischief in his tone. "You're not one to be shy."
You can't help but blush even more at his words. His hand starts caressing your thigh, and your breath hitches slightly.
"I must say," Astarion continues with a sly grin, "I've never had such skilled hands tending to me before."
You roll your eyes at his flirting. "Well, I have been trained in basic care since I was young," you reply with a smile playing on your lips.
He raises an eyebrow in surprise. "And how else are you planning on taking care of me, exactly? Because I remain deeply wounded." he says with a mock pout.
A mischievous smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as you reply, "You'll just have to wait and see."
Meeting his intense gaze, you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. A sudden spark of inspiration ignites within you and you eagerly suggest, "How about a massage? I have been told I am really good at those."
He raises an eyebrow, "A massage, huh? It doesn't sound too bad."
A chuckle bubbles up from your chest and you swat him lightly on the shoulder. "Only 'not too bad'? I'll have you know, I'm excellent."
Astarion smirks, "Prove it then," he challenges, stretching back onto the bed, arms folded behind his head in a display of pure ease.
Squaring your shoulders in determination, you stand from the bed and walk to the other side of the room. You rummage through a drawer filled with various herbs and oils until you find what you're looking for - a small vial of calming lavender oil you had seen Halsin storing a few days ago. You just hope he won't miss it too much.
"You better not fall asleep on me," you call out teasingly as you make your way back towards him, shaking the vial in your hand for emphasis.
In response, Astarion chuckles lowly and flips onto his stomach without a word, waiting for your touch. The scent of lavender fills the room as you rub your hands together, warming up the oil before applying it to his skin.
As your hands start kneading into his tight shoulder muscles, he releases a sigh that is half groan, half purr. "Your touch is simply divine," he moans, his voice low and husky. "You really do possess a gift for caressing."
With a proud smile, you continue to massage his shoulders and neck, feeling the tension ease away. His eyes are closed, lost in the pleasure of the moment. Your heart swells with happiness to see him so content and relaxed.
You lower your hands slowly, massaging along the curve of his spine and drawing another low moan from him. The rhythm of your touch, the scent of lavender, and the quiet of the room come together to create a sense of calm and tranquility. You let your fingers brush against the edges of his scars, caressing them tenderly. Instead of flinching away, he leans into your touch, allowing you to continue your gentle exploration.
You continue to knead his muscles, working out any remaining knots and tension. And then, you lower your head and press a soft kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder, right above the bandage. Astarion lets out a surprised gasp at the unexpected touch of your lips. He turns his head slightly, his eyes opening to meet yours.
"Can't resist taking advantage, can you?" he teases with a small grin.
"I simply relish having you at my mercy for once," you whisper against his spine, taking in the sweet scent of lavender oil on his skin.
Astarion's lips curve into a playful smirk at your words. "Oh, do you now?" he asks in a husky voice, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
You nod confidently, trailing light kisses down his spine and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "I always enjoy being in control," you reply, your tone laced with teasing.
He lets out a low chuckle, "And I always relish when you take charge," he purrs, his eyes closing in satisfaction.
With a last kiss, you gently pat his side.
"Now you turn for me."
Astarion eagerly flips onto his back, his eyes shining with anticipation. As you straddle him, you notice he has been affected by your previous ministrations, his hardness pressing against your core. A triumphant smile tugs at your lips. Astarion merely smirks up at you, not bothering to hide his interest.
"Seems like your skills extend beyond basic care," he teases, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
You choose to ignore his comment and instead focus on the task at hand. Pouring more lavender oil onto your hands, you begin to knead his pectoral muscles, applying firm and steady pressure, avoiding the bandage covering it. Your hands roam over his chest with practiced ease until they find their way to his abdomen. You glide your fingers over each taut muscle, taking delight in the way his body responds under your touch.
"Enjoying yourself?" Astarion teases with a smirk.
A warm rush of joy spreads through you as you trace your fingers along the curves of his navel, softly giggling. His hands instinctively tighten around your hips, a desperate attempt to regain some control of the situation. A sly, self-satisfied smirk spreads across your lips as you slowly slip your hand lower down, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband of his trousers, towards the source of his growing excitement.
His breath hitches at your touch, his eyes now wide with surprise. "Oh, I see what's happening here," he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "You're getting into this caretaker role, aren't you?"
Your smirk deepens as you gently massage his hips, ignoring the suggestive implications of his words.
"I did say I'd take good care of you, didn't I?" you reply nonchalantly, as I continue with my performance.
Astarion lets out a soft chuckle and reaches up to cup your cheek affectionately.
"You certainly did," he murmurs, gazing up at you in admiration. "But what about you? Who takes care of you, dear?" he mumbles.
Your heart fills with sadness, at the thought of him only thinking of sex as an exchange, more than a pleasurable thing. You lean in to press a soft kiss into his neck, feeling his skin cold under your touch.
"Just trust me," you whisper, voice low and sultry, "I want to make you feel good." His breath hitches again, and you can feel him growing harder beneath your touch. "Trust me," you repeat softly.
You press your lips against his, softly at first, then deeper as he responds with equal fervor. Your hand swiftly opens his trousers, digging inside to grab his hardness, and starts a rhythmic movement, gliding up and down the full length of his member. As it reaches the tip, you twist your wrist slightly, eliciting a whine from deep within his chest. It's a sound you've never heard from him before, one that sends shivers down your and makes your core throb.
His body tenses beneath you, the feeling of your hand wrapped around him drawing a low curse from his lips. He arches into your touch, his grip on your hips tightening as he struggles to remain composed. He presses his lips against yours, the kiss becoming more fervent and demanding. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him, as if he can't get enough.
"Easy," you coo softly against his ear, an intimate tone wrapped around the single word as if it were a promise. Astarion's hands flex on your hips repeatedly, fingers digging into your flesh in a bid to ground himself. "Let me take good care of you," you assure him again, your voice low and breathy against his skin. His body tenses under your touch as he lets out a groan.
His breaths come in ragged gasps, punctuated by small moans of pleasure. "Faster," he pleads with a desperation that ignites a fire within you.
"My beautiful baby, so good for me," you murmur into his ear, your voice rough with desire and adoration. Without hesitation, you bring the pointed tip of his ear between your lips, savoring the delicate contours as you run your tongue along its edges. His body shudders in response, a high whine escaping from his throat as he gives in to your touch.
"Oh, sweet hells," he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.
You release his ear and lay back to take a good look at him, and you smile to yourself when you see his disveleshed hair, and red eyes hooded. And then, without hesitation, you sink down between his parted legs as your lips part and encircle his throbbing member. The taste of him fills your mouth, a mixture of salt and skin and something uniquely his. You take him fully into your mouth, relishing the sounds of his moans and gasps as you move your lips up and down his length. You swirl your tongue around him, teasing and coaxing every delicious sensation from him. His hips thrust upward, and his hands grip your hair, pulling you closer, but you resist, teasing him with your tongue. Your own body is humming with need and desire, but you push it aside to focus completely on him.
You slowly remove him from your mouth, teasingly drawing out the moment. "Beg for me," you whisper seductively, reveling in the power you hold over him.
Astarion's breath hitches as you pull away, and he meets your eyes with a mix of surprise and desire. He moans a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through you, and his hips buck upward, thrusting into the air. His hardness stands tall and proud against your palm, straining for release. It’s slick with your spit, and with a reddish hue that reveals his recent feeding. So damn beautiful.
"Please," he pleads "Please, please," he tries to repeat, but his words come out in a garbled, unintelligible moan as you take him deep into your throat and swallow hard, feeling his member pulse and throb slightly in your mouth.
His entire body trembles, his breaths quickening to the point where they are almost non-existent. His hands clamp onto your hair, yanking you towards him with a savage strength as he thrusts relentlessly, pushing himself deeper and deeper inside of you until it feels like he might tear you apart.
"Oh gods," he cries, arching his back and groaning in a way that makes you want to keep going. "That's so good, hells."
His words only drive you further, and you begin to pick up the pace, slobbering and sucking on him like a starving man to a feast. His body tenses as his release approaches, and you can feel him pulsing in your mouth.
"Please, please, oh my god" His words are now a jumbled mess, spewing out of his mouth in a frenzied stream. His eyes roll back into his head, a sign that he is close to releasing everything he has been holding in. "I can't... I can't take much more," he whispers hoarsely, "Please, please, let me cum. Fuck, I need to cum."
With this plea, you can feel the surge of his release, and your body responds with an exhilaration that threatens to overwhelm you. You can feel your body responding to his, your own arousal growing, and you rub yourself through your clothes, imagining the feel of him inside you. But that can wait - right now he needs you to take care of him. It's clear he's getting close now - his breaths are shallow, his moans low and desperate, his hips thrusting upwards in short, sharp jerks. With a final cry, you feel him tense, his entire body convulsing under your touch. You swallow hard, feeling the hot liquid spurt into your mouth, coating your tongue and throat in his essence. You can't help but groan in pleasure as it fills you, and you continue to suck and slurp, greedily devouring every drop he has to offer. His hips thrust upwards, bucking wildly as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. You continue to suck and stroke him, milking every last drop from his throbbing length.
Finally, he goes lax, his body slack and exhausted while his breath comes in ragged gasps. You gently remove his now limp member from your mouth, wiping the remnants of him from the corners with your thumb. As he comes down from his high, his body relaxes onto the pillow, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. You lay next to him, your heart filled with a sense of contentment and satisfaction. You trace patterns on his chest with your fingertips, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths as he continues to recover from his release.
A spark ignites in his eyes as they lock onto yours, and for the first time, you see a glimmer of something. There is a tenderness and adoration in his gaze as if you are the most precious and captivating being in all of Faerûn. You smile and sprawl over his healthy shoulder, looking up at him.
"And here I thought I was the master at lovemaking," he teases. "Ever so surprising, my dear."
"Oh, you're easy to please, my love. But I do admit, you taste absolutely divine." You giggle and place a soft kiss on his lips.
He chuckles deeply, running his fingers through your hair. A moment of silence passes between you before you find the courage to break it with a quiet question, "Did you truly enjoy it?"
Conversation after sex is rare for you, but something about today feels different, almost intimate. Like something has shifted, an unspoken understanding or connection.
There is a pause, and Astarion looks at you, seeming a bit awkward. He appears to be having some sort of internal struggle at the moment. But then, he relaxes a bit and nods his head.
"Yes, I did," he says. He smiles at you. "It was... mediocre. Which is quite good for your usual performance"
You raise an eyebrow in mock offense. "Excuse me? You were practically begging me to cum moments ago!"
"Was that begging?" he asks innocently, "I thought I was just doing a demonstration" His eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at you, his lips curling up into a smirk.
"Oh, really?" You raise an eyebrow playfully. "Well, you sure seemed to be enjoying it"
Astarion chuckled lightly, running his fingers through your hair. "I suppose I did, you know me, I can't resist a good show. And in case you're wondering, that was definitely begging. You just have a unique way of making me forget my manners."
You snuggle closer to him, basking in the softness of his skin. "I'm glad I can keep things interesting for you."
And then, to your surprise, he silently embraces you in a warm hug, pulling you close to his chest. The feeling of his strong arms encircling your frame is unfamiliar but comforting at the same time. You have never held each other in such an intimate way before, but in this moment it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
As the two of you lay intertwined and content, you can feel a sense of peace wash over both of you. For once, no worries or fears are clouding your minds - just the simple pleasure of being together in this moment. You close your eyes and let out a satisfied sigh, wondering if this newfound closeness is a sign of things to come, and the thought brings a smile to your lips, before drifting off into a peaceful sleep wrapped in each other's embrace.
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 fanfic prompt#baldurs gate 3#bg3 tav#astarion x tav#baldurs gate fanfiction#astarion ancunin#bg3 fanfiction#astarion baldurs gate#astarion fanfic#astarion x reader
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No Way Out
dark!rafe cameron x f!reader
Warnings: noncon, domestic abuse, toxic relationship, violence, oral (m recieving), drugs, jealousy, degradation and humiliation, guilt tripping
After you threaten to call the cops on your boyfriend, Rafe reminds you who holds all the cards in your relationship
You flinched hard when the glass flew out of your boyfriend’s hand, shattering on the wall behind you.
“I’ve had enough of your sass, Y/N! Don’t fucking act like you didn’t want that guy all over you. I could see the way you looked at him!” Rafe bitterly yelled at you. He was drunk and no doubt jumpy from the lines of coke he had on the way back in his truck.
More tears slipped past your lashes and you shook in fear as your boyfriend descended on you.
Your stream of anxious apologies fell on deaf ears, “I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to have a nice night with you, Rafe. Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“Bullshit!” The blond shoved you back into the wall and you shrieked when pieces of glass on the floor pricked at your bare feet. “You were trying to disrespect me. Showing off too much of what’s mine. You are fucking mine, Y/N!”
You barely had time to react to his movement, tears blurring your vision of his hand quickly leaving his side to grip your throat, holding you against the wall as you choked and sputtered, trying to break free but afraid to cut your feet more.
“R-Rafe! Please!” Your pleading eyes met his, but they revealed nothing but darkness. You couldn’t stop your voice from shaking, “You’re scaring me!”
“Oh, I’m scaring you? You- you didn’t think you were scaring me at the bar? You’re making me look like some kind of bitch who can’t control his girl. You were acting like a whore.” Rafe spat at you, grip tightening around your throat, further restricting your breathing.
The edges of your vision were beginning to blur and lightheadedness was making your body feel almost numb.
You were gasping for breaths that wouldn’t come and panic began to set in even more when you felt his second hand join the first, increasing the pressure.
You struggled against him harder and he finally let you go, allowing you to collapse to the floor, gulping down air and sobbing. The glass below you cut your legs, the sharp pain a horrible reminder of how far the fight had escalated.
“I can’t- I can’t- I can’t-“ hyperventilation clouded your mind, mouth rattling on mindlessly as you lay on the floor in pain and disbelief.
“Get up!”
“I can’t Rafe- I can’t- I- Ah!” You shrieked as Rafe’s hand tangled into your hair, dragging you through the glass and onto the clean floor.
“You’re fine, Y/N,” he scolded, disappointment radiating in his voice. He leaned down to brush the glass off of your legs and you flinched at the feeling.
It always confused you how quickly he could go from loving to angry back to loving again. The attentiveness he gave you as he cleaned the cuts on your legs made you feel sick.
You absentmindedly realized your hand was now at your throat, cradling where his large hands had been crushing you just moments before. Hot tears pooled and fell down your cheeks.
You glanced at your boyfriend, nervous fear no doubt written all over your face.
“Don’t give me those eyes.” He brushed his thumb across your jaw, wiping away some of the tears that had gathered there. “Just makes me wanna stuff my cock down your throat and watch you choke on it like the slut you are.”
Your eyes widened in disgust and shame burned across your cheeks.
“You belong to me.” Rafe spat out, and the hands that had been carefully cleaning the cuts on your leg suddenly clamped down on the fresh wounds and you yelped in pain. “You are my girlfriend, and if I tell you to do something, you don’t fucking question me, you don’t talk back. Understood?”
The sharp pain he was causing was almost enough to make you throw up, and anger that you hadn’t known was inside you rose in your throat, burning in you and you knew that you had to let it out.
“I’ll…” you sniffled, voice wavering and cracking, barely above a whisper, “I’ll call the fucking police Rafe.”
In an instant, his entire face changed, and you could have sworn there was a moment that you saw genuine fear before it was replaced by a growing smirk.
He chuckled humorously, and your blood turned to ice in your veins. “You think they would help you? You think they aren’t in my dad’s pocket, willing to make any issue I have just go away? No one would believe you, Y/N. Just another dumb Kook wannabe trying to get her slice and slander the Cameron name.”
Instant regret cut through you at his words and you cried harder as you realized that he was right. There was no way anyone would believe your word over his. He had all the money, all the influence. All the power.
You flinched away from him as he drew a hand near your face, but he forcefully grabbed your chin, angling your face up towards him. The anger in his eyes terrified you. “You should know better than to make stupid threats like that baby.”
“I-I know Rafe, I’m s-so sorry it was dumb, I didn’t m-mean to,” your tear-stained eyes met his cold, unforgiving glare. His eyes were filled with a fire that you saw all too often.
“Open your mouth you dumb bitch, or I’ll give you something to really cry about.” The blond growled and the fingers digging into your jaw pressed harder, pulling you closer to him and forcing you to your knees.
You knew what was coming, but you couldn’t stop yourself from trembling, nauseous anticipation filling your gut.
The blond fumbled with his belt, and the sound of a zipper sliding down sealed your fate.
Rafe’s fingers tangled into the hair at the back of your head, pulling you forward towards him.
“Open your fucking mouth. I don’t want to ask you again.”
Humiliation washed over you, disgust at him and yourself were the only thing you could feel, besides the hand that was roughly pulling at the roots of your hair.
You swallowed your shame, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you timidly parted them.
Rafe’s free hand wrapped around the base of his cock, as the other guided you towards it, groaning when he finally forced himself into your mouth.
He pushed the head deeper, and you held back a gag at the unwanted intrusion. The salty taste reminded you of your tears.
His cock found the back of your throat, and he held you in place for a few moments, enjoying the sounds of you choking on him and the fearful obedience in your eyes.
When he pulled out, you coughed and gasped for air, only to be cut off when he forced himself between your lips again.
Your tongue pressed to the bottom of your mouth to make room for him. You had always had trouble taking all of his cock. Your apartment was filled with the lewd noises of him fucking your face.
The grip in your hair gave you no place to go but back and forth as spit filled your mouth and dribbled out the corners of your lips. You gagged on him when he pushed too far, but Rafe was well past the point of caring about your comfort.
Without words, you begged with your eyes, burning with tears. When Rafe groaned as he met them, you realized how much he was getting off on your fear.
Your jaw was growing sore, knees aching from the hard floor below you. Whimpers and moans escaped amid sloppy gagging as your boyfriend laid his claim on you.
“Every guy on this island wishes he could fuck you,” Rafe groaned, and you could feel the pace he was thrusting into your mouth growing. “But they never will. Because you belong to me.”
The blond pushed his dick to the back of your throat once again, holding you in place while you choked. With a shudder and a moan, Rafe came, spilling his warm seed down your throat and forcing you to swallow every drop.
“And I am never letting you go.”
#rafe cameron#outer banks#dark!rafe cameron#obx#rafe cameron noncon#dark rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfic#no way out
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omg babe just seen your face reveal you’re literally extremely beautiful <333 you should definitely consider modeling too!
gurll, says a model herself 🦋🤍🤍 but tbh, need the immense height for that one profession lmao - nevertheless,this is soo sweet 🤍🤍
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Hospitality
No one makes better tea than Barbatos.
BARBATOS x afab!Reader
0.9k words | NSFW | Yandere | Non-con somnophilia
Content warnings: Yandere thoughts/behaviours, non-con somnophilia, drugging, stalking.
The Creepy Castle AU [Part 2] PREVIOUS | NEXT
When you enter the guest room provided for you at the Demon Lord's castle, there’s a steaming cup of tea on the nightstand. It’s not the first time Barbatos surprised you like this during one of your visits, and the kind gesture makes you smile.
You pick up the delicate porcelain cup and inhale the fragrant aroma - it’s sweet and slightly herbal, a blend of Devildom berries and flowers you can’t identify yet by smell.
You purse your lips and blow gently across the top. The murky red liquid ripples gently as you cool your drink. Your first sip is hesitant, but you hum appreciatively at the light, honeyed taste. You take another generous sip before setting the cup back down onto its saucer.
There’s a folded piece of clothing on the bedspread. When you lift it in front of you, you realize it’s a nightgown; the fabric is soft and semi-sheer, dyed a beautiful shade of dark blue. It falls just above your knees. You can tell by the feel of it that it’s luxurious, nothing that you would ever buy for yourself and certainly not to sleep in.
You attended a ball earlier this evening at Diavolo’s castle. Lucifer and his brothers insisted you join them. Diavolo welcomed you tonight with open arms.
The night was a blur of dancing and drinking and jubilant conversation. By the time the last guests departed, it was well past midnight and Lucifer readily accepted Diavolo’s offer to stay at the castle. Walking back to the House of Lamentation was a daunting proposition; more than one of his brothers drank too much tonight.
Lucifer and his brothers wandered off to their nearby guest rooms to sleep. Barbatos led you further down the hall and showed you to an exquisite room for your own use. He explained he prepared it for you at Diavolo’s request, to ensure your privacy and comfort. He wished you a good evening before he walked away.
You have nothing with you except a small purse and the dress on your back, purchased earlier that day with Asmodeus. If you twist oh so carefully, you can just reach the zipper and tug it down. The dress slides off your shoulders and glides lazily to the floor and pools at your feet. You drape the dress carefully over the back of an armchair so it doesn’t wrinkle too terribly by morning.
The cool castle air chills your skin and you can feel your bare nipples harden. It might not be appropriate to sleep mostly-naked when you’re a guest of the young prince. You feel ill-prepared for a night away from the comforts of home, but then you glance at the gift on your bed.
The nightgown fits perfectly and the material is silky against your skin. You pull back the blankets and slide into bed, sitting against the headboard with a tired sigh. You cradle the teacup in your palm and take more small sips. The warm liquid relaxes you, and soon you’re sleepy and can drink no more. You set the nearly-empty cup back on the nightstand and shimmy down the mattress to get comfortable. Once your head rests on the soft, cloud-like pillow, you close your weary eyes.
When your breathing slows and you descend into deep sleep, the candles that light the room blow out. The shadows come alive when you're bathed in darkness. Sin slips through the cracks of stone, the walls giving way so no more barriers exist between you.
Greedy eyes drink in your sleeping form and the sheets are tugged away, revealing your soft, touchable skin draped in midnight blue. The sheer fabric clings to each dip and groove and curve when you breathe.
He knew you would look lovely in this.
He dares to reach towards your sleeping face - his once-steady hands now shaking with anticipation, the urge to explore too overwhelming to resist. Beneath the supple leather gloves he wears, he can still feel the warmth of your skin that makes the craving he feels for you bloom deep in his belly.
His hand traces the fragile column of your throat and over the slope of your breasts, fingers gliding over the dips and curves of your chest and waist. The swell of your hip fits so perfectly in his hand. He dares to trail his thumb along the top of your thigh and into the warm space between your legs. Wandering fingers skim the lacy underwear you left on. He feels a hint of dampness there, and he wonders what sinful dreams his tea has given you.
He shifts the fabric aside and your light scent is even stronger now, sweet and musky and all his. He teases the edge of your folds and revels in how soft and warm you are. His movements are gentle, smoothed by the barest traces of slick gathering on his gloves. He wonders how greedy he can be tonight–
You squirm in your sleep and he pulls away quickly as though burned by the temptation of getting too close. You unconsciously rub your thighs together and he already misses his place between them. He savors his consolation prize when he slips his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean until he’s devoured every last drop of you. He barely suppresses the urge to moan.
He needs to go, now, or he never will.
He slips back into the hidden passageway buried within the castle walls and becomes nothing but a shadow once more. He leaves no trace behind, except for the dregs of sleeping herbs in the bottom of your teacup.
#series: the creepy castle#obey me barbatos#obey me barbatos x reader#barbatos x reader#barbatos smut#obey me smut#omswd smut#obey me barbatos x mc#barbatos x mc#obey me barbatos x you#barbatos x you#obey me yandere#yandere barbatos#obey me x reader#omswd x reader#obey me fanfic#x reader#tw noncon#someone dropped this 🚩#afab!reader
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halloween (1978) is of course a genre-defining piece of slasher horror, but its theme that fascinates me more than the standard sex and gender discourse is that of suburbia. cars and telephones are major motifs in the film; in the broad-lawned world of haddonfield, neighbors shut their blinds on fleeing final girls, and it is only with cars and phones that the characters can seek connection and help. cars in this film represent agency and place in society. the sheriff’s power is written on the hood of his lawfully issued car. the girls are granted limited agency and a caveated place in society when their parents allow them to borrow their cars; they are in a tenuous position where they must hide their adult behavior—smoking in the car, or having sex—lest their parents remove their conditional agency and place in society by no longer letting them borrow the car. the film’s huge emphasis on how little credence, freedom, and power children are given in suburban society raises the stakes of these teenagers potentially being socially reduced to children. and, finally, michael myers drives a stolen car with driving lessons he acquired in secret: he takes agency despite never having been granted it. michael’s motivations are an ultra-simplified rehash of norman bates’s; what he wants or does is not important, but it is important that he is able to do it without being granted agency or a place in society. he is a blank slate who has never existed in the world as an adult, and yet he is able to drive without permission, enter homes without permission, punch through doors as though they are not there. he approaches through the blurred background of shots, rather than appearing in the foreground like other characters do. the horror of michael myers is that he resists the rules and categorization suburban society lives and dies by, and so it is appropriate that he is only weakened enough to be chased away when first his father and later laurie pull off his mask, revealing his face and making him vulnerable to naming, categorization, and personalization. although most of the themes of halloween (1978) are extremely popular and well-trodden roads in the film world, its presentation of american suburbia and the horror it is weak to is well-conceived and well-executed
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♡ Aemond as your boyfriend ♡
(modern) headcanons
meetings in the middle of the night, piercing glances and desperate kisses, Aemond is a little bit obsessed about you
when he's with you, the hard lines blur, revealing a softness that he's kept hidden from the world
when he kisses your palms, he does it slowly, with such devotion. one finger at a time, his eyes never leaving yours
and when you’re not close he needs to know where you are, who you're with, and what you've been doing. he acts like it’s just concern, but there's a possessive edge in his questions
when you're around other people, especially if they're attractive, he becomes extra possessive. he won't outright tell you he's jealous (duh), but you'll notice how he puts his arm around you or touches your shoulder, keeping you close. and that little smirk of his appearing
he holds your hand gently, his thumb brushing against your skin
Aemond doesn't usually like sleeping with someone glued to him, but with you, he makes an exception. over time, he even grows to enjoy it, finding comfort in your warmth
he spoils you, he'll run hot baths for you, and when your shoulders are sore, he'll give you massages (that often lead to something more…just sayin) and let me tell you he’s surprisingly good at it, using his hands to work out every knot while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. he makes you feel important, he makes you feel wanted
when you're asleep, he can't help but touch you. he caresses your cheeks, runs his fingers through your hair, or traces the outline of your hips, silently watching and swallowing you whole with his eye
going back to spoiling you…he might leave a piece of tasteful, expensive jewellery by your bedside, or bring you bouquet of red roses out of the blue
though he may appear distant at times, he's actually attuned to every word you say. he absorbs your conversations, and if you express even the slightest interest in something, you can be sure he'll get it for you
even though he’s serious with others (and often very stiff), he loosens up with you. he might put on a sheet mask when you're watching a movie, just because you asked him to, and he’ll do it without complaint
and about movies, he'll watch every horror movie with you, never flinching at the jump scares or gory scenes. but he's secretly thrilled when you curl up into his arms, hiding your face against his chest, squeezing him tightly. He'll calmly whisper when the scary moment has passed, gently coaxing you to look at the screen again, reassuring you that it's safe to watch now
also I think that he’s the type to show up at your window at 3 AM dressed in black, just because he missed you and your heart races at the sight of him smiling at your surprised expression
he takes you in his arms and kisses you like he's been starving for it, his hands tightening around your waist as if he'd never let go. and every time you gasp in his lips, he loses his mind a little
about intimacy…Aemond is not shy, he likes it rough, raw, and intense. he grips your neck with just the right amount of force, whispering filthy words into your ear that send shivers down your spine. his touch is possessive, he's fascinated by your body—obsessed, really
his mouth finds every inch of you, trailing a line of wet kisses down your lovely skin. he adores the way you squirm beneath him. when he thrusts into you, it's with a force that leaves you breathless, and he bites your nipples with a primal hunger
his hands explore with a kind of need that leaves bruises, but you crave that pain. he is unrelenting, his fingers digging into your hips, your thighs, anywhere he can find purchase
yet!! for all his intensity, he is mindful of your pleasure. he ensures you come first, savoring every ripple of your climax, holding you tightly as you shudder against him
he releases his hot ropes of cum deep inside you (if you’re up to it), and even then, he doesn’t let up. his hips continue to move deliciously, slow and deliberate, milking every last drop of his orgasm. wanting to stay inside you for as long as he can, it feels so good inside you
Aemond’s gaze stays fixed on yours, his breathing ragged and uneven
and after, he treats you with the gentleness of a lover who understands the aftermath of such raw sex. he cleans you up, wiping away the sweat and sticky remnants, kisses your forehead, murmuring how beautiful you are, how good you are for him, but even in those quiet moments, you can feel the intensity of his desire, a fire that never truly goes out. he’s restless when it comes to you
in moments like these, when Aemond is close to your naked body, his hands tracing the contours of your soft skin, he becomes vulnerable, as if the touch of your flesh unlocks something deep within him
you see he often struggles with his emotions and how to put them into words, hence his presents and little gestures, but in moments like this when the world is reduced to just the two of you, he breaks open a little, revealing the depths of his feelings
love is not a word he uses lightly. so when he whispers it to you for the first time in the quiet of the night, when the only sound is your shared breathing and the rustling of sheets
your heart skips a beat. it's not just a word—it's a confession, a declaration of something timeless. the weight of it is enough to crush you, and when he says it, you know he really means it
as he speaks, you can feel the hesitation in his voice, the rawness of his emotions. it's hard to open up to someone like this, despite he tells you that he would do anything for you, that he's at your service
it's funny because at first, you'd think he had you wrapped around his finger, completely under his control. but as time went on, you realised it was the opposite—he was the one utterly at your mercy
these intimate confessions, shared in the darkness, become a sacred bond between you. it's not just about physical closeness; it's about laying bare the heart, exposing the vulnerability that he hides so well from the world
after Aemond's confession, you feel a profound shift in the atmosphere, a change in his touch. it's as if, for the first time, he don't want to just fuck you, he wants to make love to you, you in his arms
you melt into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels almost reverent
the urgency and roughness that usually accompany your moments of passion are replaced with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Aemond's hands explore your body with a gentleness that surprises you, tracing delicate patterns on your skin. his lips move across your shoulders, your collarbone, and then up to your lips, kissing you with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. it's a kiss that tells you that you are cherished, that you are loved
his movements are unhurried. he holds you close, his forehead resting against yours as he moves within you, his gaze never leaving yours
the way he holds you, the way he touches you—it's all so gentle, so intimate, and it feels like he's pouring his soul into every gesture
when it's over, Aemond holds you even closer, his breath warm against your skin
the rest of the world fades away, and it's just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet comfort of the night
@venmondiese ! ! !
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
you can find more of my works about aemond ♡here♡
#aemond targaryen#aemond headcanons#aemond smut#aemond fluff#hotd headcanons#prince aemond#aemond one eye#house of the dragon aemond#hotd#hotd imagine#modern targaryen#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond x you#aemond boyfriend#hotd headcanon
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𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝
Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.
Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see.
Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.
The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded.
Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back.
There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.
You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you
Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown.
You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual.
You stare frozen.
When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies?
When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat?
He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers.
There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.
It's two...
Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple."
Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.
"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll.
"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today.
Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked.
They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment.
the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine.
Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.
Allusions to the dark side.
A hidden reference that crawls inside you.
Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here.
The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll.
Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.
A Promise ring.
An augury.
There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered.
Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.
No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm.
Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn.
There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.
Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts.
"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.
"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her."
Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."
"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?"
You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to.
They never could truly see just how similar they were.
Two sides of the same coin.
One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.
Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage.
Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself.
"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?"
he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space."
"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".
"I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing.
"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.
You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin.
"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles.
You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre.
You do love them.
A rather arduous conclusion to reach.
Maul and Anakin.
Palpatine's apprentices.
Your lovers
Yeah, that sounds about right...
💜💜: @athanasia-day @hotpinkboots @jenn-patterson-69 @nickiiiixoxo-blog @the-chains-are-the-easy-part
#yandere anakin skywalker#dark anakin skywalker#yandere darth vader#yandere anakin skywalker x reader#yandere darth vader x reader#yandere star wars#yandere star wars x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#darth vader x reader#star wars x reader#anakin skywalker#star wars#yandere darth maul#darth maul x reader#darth maul#maul x reader#yandere darth maul x reader#anakin skywalker headcanons#darth maul headcanons#star wars imagine#yandere#yandere x reader#yancore#yandere x you#yandere aesthetic#yandere maul#yandere maul x reader#star wars darth maul#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons
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what a pretty flower.
the single morning glory stands out, fresh spring sunlight accentuating its indigo hue, glimmering like a shooting star just behind the chain-link fence. in the peripheral of your vision, it almost seems to glow; solitary and ephemeral, as if coaxing you into stepping closer.
and you can’t resist its call.
suguru blinks, a little dazed, when he feels your hand slip from his. the warmth of your intertwined fingers follows closely behind, and the loss of contact leaves him feeling slightly vexed, replaced by the gentle chill of the air.
he doesn’t get an explanation, either. attention entirely fixed on that mesmerizing indigo blur, you don’t say a thing — and with an eager kind of giddiness, you skip over to the fence, ready to fish it out.
suguru just sighs, mildly amused.
it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really. if you see something that captures your attention, suguru has come to learn that you’ll drop just about anything to go get a closer look. does it exasperate him, ever so slightly? sure. the involuntary twitch of his fingers reveals as much, almost as if coaxing him into waltzing over and grabbing your hand again.
but suguru is a patient man. especially when it comes to you. and, above all else — any habit of yours is endearing to him, even ones that include you leaving his side for a moment or two.
so he simply watches over you from afar, knowing you’ll return on your own; with your jacket tucked between his arm and his torso, a can of cold, too-sweet coffee in hand. suguru hasn’t put his lips on the aluminium in about five minutes, saving whatever’s left for the inevitable moment you start whining for just one tiny sip, please?
(he’ll roll his eyes, and tell you not to drink yours so quickly next time, but still hand it to you with a smile he’ll make sure you don’t see.)
suguru’s gaze is unspeakably fond, as he idly admires how the sunshine wraps you in its embrace. you almost seem to sparkle, in his vision, like a butterfly dancing in the wind — fluttering just barely out of reach, too fragile to touch. too beautiful to sully with human hands. maybe it's a tad dramatic, but suguru couldn't care less.
the air is warm, full of life. cicadas chirp from afar. within his veins, his blood buzzes with joy and cheap caffeine, and everything smells like spring. like something new, something delightful. something that makes him think of you.
suguru watches as you crouch down, watches how your nimble fingers struggle to fit through the narrow gaps of the chain-link fence. he can’t see the little frown that tugs at your lips, and he can’t hear your little muttered grumbles — but he can somehow feel your frustration, all the same. something about the way you ducked your head just now, the way your fingers tap against your bended knee.
but then, finally, your valiant efforts bear fruit. with a number of failed attempts that you’d rather not mention, you manage to pluck the small flower, bringing it to your side of the fence without too much of a fuss. suguru doesn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes must be bright, lips curled up into a victorious smile. one that always makes him feel a little weak in the knees.
dusting pollen and tiny pieces of grass off your knees, you stand up straight, wasting no time in turning on your heel and making your way back to his side — with the precious morning glory in tow.
suguru waits, patiently, for you to return to him.
when you do, he doesn’t even get a chance to speak; you part your lips before he can give you the usual raise of his eyebrow, soft tilt of his head, teasing inquiry of did you see something nice, sweetheart? all he can do is lean a little closer, making sure he hears every word your lovely voice graces him with. seeking the feeling of your breath against his skin, the warmth of your body when it’s tucked into his side.
(but he can’t get too greedy. so suguru keeps his distance, eyes rich with affection, looking at you like you’re the first flower blooming out of spring.)
and you speak, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, eyes shining with something giddy and honeyed — all too eager to see your idea through, the idea that crossed your mind the moment you laid eyes on the little flower.
”suguru,” you smile, sweet and excited. ”lean down.”
a blink, and a questioning look sent your way. your boyfriend shoots you a lazy smile, paired with a raise of his eyebrow that you’ve come to associate with him and his love.
despite the vague confusion painted on his features, suguru obeys your command without hesitation. always so willing to indulge you. he bends forward, compliantly, until he’s at eye level with you — face just a little too close for comfort, dark hazel eyes staring into yours in a way he knows flusters you terribly.
the butterflies in your stomach erupt at the intimate proximity, wings tickling your ribcage like soft petals sputtering after being rooted up from the ground — but you don’t allow yourself to falter.
(it’s a little tough, though. he looks so pretty, with the spring breeze caressing his cheek, soft streaks of sunlight falling over the contours of his handsome face. so, so pretty.
but there’s something that would make him look even prettier.)
so, with a gentleness that never fails to have suguru’s heartbeat hitching in his throat, your palm goes to smooth along his jaw. his eyes never leave your face, gazing intently at the way you press your lips together in concentration, barely resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss you. patient, as he waits for you to be finished.
it’s a tender motion: the pads of your fingers against his sunkissed skin, tucking the little flower behind his ear, its stem resting between his soft, silky locks. the indigo colour blends together well with his black hair, like a shooting star blooming in the night sky.
you lean back to admire your work.
”hmmm...”
suguru bites back a chuckle, at the intense contemplation etched onto your features. seemingly very deep in thought, you furrow your brows and absentmindedly stroke your chin — studying him with a serious expression, a tilt of your head and narrowed eyes, as if you’re an art dealer examining a painting on display.
(you’re so silly, he thinks. the thought is positively overflowing with fondness.)
finally, you seem to reach some kind of conclusion; and your eyes soften, crumbling a little at the corners, painted over with something suguru can’t quite place. whatever it is, he suddenly finds it a little harder to breathe — all that love crammed into the confines of his chest, clogging up his throat. your eyes crinkle when you smile, oh so sweetly, burrowing your way deeper into his heart.
(you’re already in so deep he doubts he could ever dig you out.)
”yeah,” you exhale, a little breathless. still admiring how pretty he looks, with the morning glory in his hair. like a princess, your princess.
your pretty, pretty boy.
a smile rests on your lips, laced with adoration. suguru feels his heartbeat pick up with a jolt, and he somehow doubts it’s just the caffeine; the sensation only deepens when your smile shifts in the light, melting into a soft grin.
”purple suits you best.”
suguru blinks. giving him no time to respond, you turn on your heel and continue walking, expecting him to follow. thoroughly satisfied after seeing your sudden objective through to the end — he looks just as pretty as you knew he would.
but suguru has to take a moment to simply watch, as you skip on ahead. always excited and off in your own world. the sun personified, he often thinks, peeking out after a rainshower, shining as you please. bringing light and warmth wherever you go.
maybe he would feel embarrassed, if he was another person. someone more insecure in their masculinity, less in love with you.
fortunately, that is not the case. suguru lifts a hand to stroke the flower, delicately, careful so it doesn’t loosen and flutter away with the wind. his heart feels warm. cheap caffeine and sweet thoughts rushing through his veins.
”— suguru?”
his gaze flits up to meet yours, where you stand a little further ahead, confused eyes looking into his own. a little tilt of your head is all it takes for him to move; catching up to you in long strides, a smile on his face.
”sorry. got lost in thought.”
you take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with his own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. as if your hands belong together. his smile widens.
”don’t like it?” you ask, nodding vaguely in the direction of the morning glory. suguru squeezes your hand reassuringly.
”not at all. thank you, baby,” he soothes, a teasing tilt to his smile. eyes hopelessly softened. ”does it look good on me?”
a little chuckle flows from your lips. breathing out a silent response — don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. but you opt to indulge him, all the same, turning towards him with an affectionate gaze. ”of course,” you coo. ”you’re the prettiest.”
suguru can’t bite back the soft grin that blooms on his lips, and he wonders if you notice the red hue crawling up his neck — faint, but awfully telling. to distract you from it, recognizing a glint of familiar mischief in your eyes, he reaches a hand out to pull your cheek. gently, not enough to hurt you.
the little wince that escapes you tugs at his heartstrings, though, even though he knows you’re just being dramatic to make him feel bad. he can only hope the teasing smile he sends your way will be enough to fluster you, his eyes smoothed over with a deep sincerity.
”you’re one to talk.”
it takes a second or two for his words to sink in. and he can pinpoint the exact instant that they do, from the way you avert your gaze, swiftly, face heating up adorably. suguru stifles a coo.
a little huff leaves your lips, vaguely embarrassed — muttering something unintelligible under your breath. you let go of his hand and take a couple long steps forward, to avoid his teasing gaze.
suguru follows behind, dutifully, with a fond chuckle. it scatters away in the spring breeze, dancing up into the blue of the sky, caressing the morning glory in his hair.
he takes your hand in his, once more.
you don’t let go.
#challenging myself by writing drabbles that dont turn into 10k fics#youve heard of the babygirlification of satoru gojo well get ready for the babygirlification of suguru geto#soft sugu my beloved !! <333 hes so dreamy. so bf coded. my pretty princess .#he is so….. acts of service. words of affirmation . do u see my vision#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jjk fluff#geto fluff
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guitar practice
summary: wednesday always seems to put someone or something above you, luckily her roommate is always there to pick up the pieces
warnings: angst
a/n: i might make this into a series i’ve got some good ideas, thank you for all the support on my last post !
“wednesdays child is full of woe” you supposed that should be her mantra as you lock eyes over the top of your guitar, your not sure when your gothic girlfriend started pulling away but recently she’d been spending more and more time investigating with tyler galpin you haven’t spent time in your studio together in months her usually ditching your practice time in favour of gallivanting around the woods but not today.
today she sits dutifully at your side as you tune your beloved instrument, eyes never leaving the side of your face it’s starting to get difficult to hide the blush creeping up your neck so before you’ve even thought about what your doing you turn “do i have something on my face?” inwardly cringing as it comes out harsher than intended, she hums ignoring your last statement “would you accompany me to the weathervane after practice? i’d like to” she sucks air in through her teeth narrowing her eyes “i’d like to take you on, a date.” she nods her head seeming satisfied with herself.
you freeze a lopsided grin stretching across your face “id love to nes” she hums in response again stretching out her fingers to meet yours, still on the tuning pegs she ghosts her fingers up your arm and bumps your cheek with her knuckles affectionately “my investigation has hit a wall and i suppose it has been a while since we had some time together” you freeze again, but this time not in a good way heat and anger flush through you at the statement “ah so you only want to spend time with me when you’ve got nothing else to do?” she removes her hand quickly “y/n we have spoken about how important my investigation is, must you spend the time i give you acting like a spoilt child” you sit stunned at her words
anger.
betrayal?
hurt ?
they all blend together as you stand your guitar falling out of your lap and onto the floor with a painfully loud clatter, tears blur your vision as you look at her passive face unblinking, no, uncaring “really wednesday im a spoilt child for wanting you to spend time with your girlfriend? you think i enjoy you running off with tyler all the time? no. but i try to trust you no matter what my head tells me” your voice breaks and you take a sharp breath in refusing to let her see you break.
you take a step back not breaking eye contact with her
“must you be so dramatic y/n?”
you don’t dignify her with an answer taking another step, she still hasn’t moved you let out a dry chuckle “let me know when i move up your list of priorities” with that you turn on your heel and all but sprint from the room tears rolling down your cheeks.
your not sure where your legs are bringing you until your in front of a familiar dorm wednesday and enid’s room, enid. you knock quickly hearing the pop music pause the door swings open revealing the bubbly werwolf you watch her face brighten then fall at the sight of you, throwing yourself into her arms you choke out a sob her arms instantly coming around you rubbing soothing circles in your back “y/n what happened, talk to me comon let’s get you inside” walking backwards not breaking the hug she flings the door shut.
you rush though the explanation as she picks out one of her biggest hoodies for you to change into, your sat on her bed by the time she finally decides what clothes to give you “she doesn’t deserve you n/n” enid sighs as she pads over to you wiping at your tear stained cheeks with her thumbs “your staying with me tonight i don’t want you feeling like this alone get changed and get into bed” you comply happily and when you come out of the bathroom sporting the pink fluffy sweatshirt and pink mini shorts she cheers and opens her arms wide for you, you settle against her tucking your head under her chin and for a second you think maybe tyler can have wednesday if this is how it’s going to stay.
#wednesday addams#enid sinclair x reader#jenna ortega x reader#lgbtqia#hurt/comfort#wednesday addams x reader
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a confession
summary: dreaming about losing the one person you couldn’t was bad enough, but now you can’t look at him without seeing that very image. and your counterpart isn’t gonna take that lightly.
word count: 3.5k
warnings: language, descriptions of blood and death, nightmares, PTSD of a sort?, angsty and then fluffy, friends to lovers cus im a sucker for it hehehe
a/n: i sincerely apologize for all the old (as in i initially wrote them a while ago) fics i've been posting, i've been working on this one oscar fic but i'm so demotivated to write it since i haven't seen scenes of a marriage and i need to a bit to write it :/
but enjoy din in honor of season three!
The kid tugged on your shirt, reaching for the piece of meat you were dangling over his head, garbling angrily. You laughed at his antics, lowering the treat and letting him eat it ferociously. Your gaze drifted to the hull door again, worry gnawing in your stomach in the wake of Din’s absence.
As if thinking of the man summoned him, the hatch creaked to life, lowering to reveal your companion. Your shoulders slumped and a smile caressed your lips at the sight of him in all his glory. You rushed over, taking the quarry in a hurry to have him to yourself. The quarry grumbled as you yanked her by the arm, shoving her in the carbonite chamber with no hesitation.
You slammed a hand on the button to your left, sealing her in. You turned around then, bouncing on your toes in excitement to spend time with your favorite person in the universe. You expected to see him standing near his armory, disposing himself of a few of his weapons. But instead you found him crumpled and on the floor, frantically fidgeting with his chest plate. “Din?!” You scrambled over, helping him pull off the offending piece of armor.
You worked diligently to get off the rest of his armor, growing increasingly worried at his labored breathing and shaky hands. You pulled off his shirt, bracing yourself for the damage-
No.
No amount of preparation could brace you for this.
A bullet wound punctured through his paling skin, gnarly and red. “Din, oh my god-“ you shot up to grab the bacta, huffing at the mere seconds you lost from getting up and grabbing it. You fell to your knees, tears falling freely from your eyes as you willed yourself to move as quickly as possible. “You’ll be okay.” You murmured.
“I-“ Din tried to gasp out words, but was cut off by a sharp inhale of pain.
“Don’t speak, please.” Your voice was hitched with alarm as sprayed him with bacta.
“Y/n.” He was barely breathing now.
“No,” you shook your head and sprayed more bacta. “You are going to be okay. I won’t let you die out on me-“
“Cy- cyare.”
“No, Din, do not give up on me!” Your hands cradled the beskar helmet. “I can't do this without you-“
“I’m s-“ his chest barely lifted and his grip on your hand was loosening. “Sorry.”
“Din Djarin, don’t you dare-“ your eyes fell to his chest, watching it inflate one last, shaky time before settling down to a stop. His hand dropped from yours, lifeless.
“No,” you gathered his hand in yours again. “No no no no-“ you dug through the med kit, looking for anything that could bring him back to life. Your fingers shook and your vision blurred and your heart pounded in your ears, but you still came up empty handed. You cradled his body in your arms, sobbing hysterically at the loss of the man you loved.
“Din, you stupid oblivious idiot, I loved you. I still do, and I always will.”
You shot up abruptly from your makeshift bed, nearly screaming at the sudden change of scenery. Your face was soaked with tears and your body with sweat as you regained your bearings. Your previously tense shoulders fell in relief when you couldn’t find your beskar covered companion covered in blood on the floor.
You stood up from the floor, running a hand through your tousled hair. The fresher was a few steps away, and you walked in to come face to face with yourself in the mirror. You could see the bags hugging the bottoms of your eyes, as well as the small sheen of sweat and your red eyes from crying. Your hands shook slightly as you attempted to tame your appearance.
Your hands.
You whipped them down and into your line of sight, flipping them this way and that to check if there was any blood. When you found none, you deemed yourself presentable enough to leave the room.
You ventured back into the hull and through your daily chores, falling into mindless motions. You hummed a tune, hoping it would erase your previous nightmares.
It was so real. You could feel the brush of his gloved fingers, smooth and worn, smell the mix of the woods and metallic blood, see every flash of the hull lights on his beskar. You could hear his labored breathing loud and clear, even though you weren’t dreaming anymore. You could hear the nickname he’d never called you in real life but the one you’d found out was a word in Mando’a.
You shouldn’t be dreaming about this, it was crazy. You and Din weren’t- he didn’t feel the same. Din was quiet, but he was assertive. If he felt something, he would tell you. Right? Had the years of solitude caught up to him? He was never nervous, he caught people for a living. There was no way he would be worried about this. You were delusional, you decided. This was crazy and he didn’t feel the same.
You realized at that moment that you hadn’t seen Din all morning. Your breath caught again as you shoved down your fear, telling yourself it was for the better. You didn’t know what would spur from you after seeing his helmet, whether it would be waves of relief or crushing pain.
The sound of a garble echoed from your right side, following the sound of the hull door opening. You could hear the heavy footsteps of the very man that had been occupying your thoughts all morning.
Speak of the devil.
Your hands tightened around the sheet you’d been folding, holding your breath for the words he’d never say. You held still in the exact same position, the only part of your body moving being the rise and fall of your chest. Din’s movements slowed to a stop, and you could feel his gaze on you. “Sorry we’ve been gone,” he started, causing you to jump in surprise. “I went to take the kid for a walk.”
Your jaw tightened, but you managed out an “it’s alright.”
He paused again. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, forcing your hands to work again at folding the sheet.
You expected him to let it go. He always did: never pushed and prodded, just let you mellow out until your feelings subsided. But instead he came up beside you, grabbing one edge of the sheet and folding it in towards yourself. You swallowed sharply and drilled your eyes into the sheets, only nodding in thanks.
He huffed. “Y/n.”
“Din.” You responded in the same even tone.
“You're gonna tell me what’s going on? Or am I gonna have to pry?”
You grabbed his end of the sheet, finishing the fold. “Leave it be.”
“You’re not looking at me.”
You turned to place the sheet down at the edge of the bed. “Astute observation.”
He scoffed. “That’s not normal. You always look me in the eye.”
“Din,” you paused facing away from him, hands starting to shake. ”please.”
The next moments were a blur. One second he was behind you, the next he was in front of you, merely two inches away. You didn’t react quick enough, weren’t able to tear your gaze away from him. Your eyes met the thin strip of his visor, and oh boy-
The blood, running along the rim.
The way his head fell backwards in pain.
The shallow breaths, accentuated by the modulator.
“I’m- I’m sorry.”
You tore your eyes away with a startled gasp, turning and sprinting down the open hatch door. You had to get out, you had to get away from it. Everything about him was too much like a nightmare, it was too real. The image had to be imprinted onto the back of your eyes, it was so vivid.
You willed your breath to slow and calm as you walked, but even the thought of that was hard. You ventured a little ways away from the Razor Crest, finding a nice rock expertly placed between two trees. You settled against it with a rattled sigh, gazing out into the forest. If you squinted, you could see the ocean from here: it’s shimmery sheen and the deep cobalt blue that filled it.
The thought was calming. Seeing the wilderness in a way you hadn’t before, learning to appreciate the little things you’d been lucky enough to see and experience on this never ending ride with Din.
Din.
Shit. The calm left you as soon as it came, swept away by gnawing guilt and unsaid feelings. All those things he would have been able to experience, all of the things you needed to tell him but never quite could. It was too late.
You shot up abruptly, sending a sharp pain to your head and tunneling your vision. You shook your head with a groan, deciding to venture away from the spot that now reminded you of him. Of what you could have shown him-
No. You scolded yourself for going down that track, focusing on putting on foot in front of the other. You met the silver metal of the Razor Crest some five minutes after, leaning against it in hopes to take some of its cold for yourself. The feeling also calmed you, but you were sure it’d be gone as soon as it came. This was Din’s-
The crunching of boots cuts your thoughts short.
You considered running. It would be fruitless, though, even if he couldn’t see your legs right now; he was undoubtedly faster than you. You considered yelling at him to stay away as well, but did you really want him to? You compromised, turning and giving him your back. You curled into yourself, hunched over slightly as he rounded the corner.
To say Din was confused was an understatement. You’d been acting weird all morning, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something to upset you. Even now, when he passed the last of the ship obscuring his view, you hid from his gaze. What did he do? What should he do? He didn’t like this, the cold shoulder, not one bit. He had to fix this.
You could feel it on your back, his inquisitive gaze. You knew what the silent look meant. You sighed quietly as you waited for his evaluation, knowing he’d nail it on the dot. You waited for the quick sentence, the sounds of his footsteps squelching receding into the distance.
But he didn’t do that this time.
This time was different. He knew it, you knew it. You both knew that this wasn’t just a dream about losing your family or having to run away from your home or the kid, it was deeper, the pain was deeper. You knew from the sharp intake of his breath that he wasn’t going anywhere unless he got a real answer from you, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to give it yet.
His hand landed on your shoulder in the midst of your thoughts, causing you to jump. “Maker, Din-“ you started your sentence, but were abruptly cut off by him spinning you around. You kept your eyes firmly at his feet, not wanting to spark another burst of panic. “Y/n.” His voice was surprisingly soft compared to his normal brisk tone.
You nodded.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s really nothing you need to concern yourself with, Din, I’ll be fine.”
He paused, and you wondered if he was going to take your sentence and leave you be. “Bullshit.”
Your eyes widened, and you nearly threw your head up to meet his visor. Din had sworn before, but never at you. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice was hard.
“I’m telling the truth.” You were not.
He chuckled, actually chuckled. “You’re a really bad liar, you know.”
“I know. I used to be really good.” You deflated.
Din squeezed your shoulder. “You gotta talk about it, y/n, trust me. Solitude and nightmares are not a good combo.”
“You’re not gonna like it, Din.”
“Try me.”
Your hands clasped together so you could fidget with the ring on your finger. “It was- the kid and I were waiting for you after a mission. You were taking a while, I remember, and we were starting to get antsy. And then you came back and I was so excited to see you and I grabbed the quarry-“
“I wouldn’t let you do that.”
You huffed.
He sighed. “Sorry, go on.”
“I grabbed the quarry and put him in the carbonite chamber that you think I don’t know how to use but I do, and then I turned around,” your breaths became shaky. “You were on- on the floor. You were bleeding and you were barely breathing and you were struggling and you kept trying to talk and I was telling you to shut the fuck up because I was trying to save you and I tried and tried but I- I couldn’t. You were dead. You were gone and I couldn’t do anything and I tried everything in that stupid first aid kit, I tried the bacta and the gauze but you were- you weren’t with me and I swear my heart was ripped right out of my chest.”
Your shoulders slumped in shame but also in relief, in letting go of that burden you’d been carrying for less than four hours but had ripped through every fiber of your being. Your declaration hung heavily in the misty air, Din not moving a single muscle. You assumed he was processing your words, but right now those very words were gnawing at your brain.
You waited patiently as he contemplated, or at least you thought he was. The slight incline of his helmet was leading you to think that, but he was slightly hard to read at the moment. You began to kick the ground as you stood rather awkwardly, not making full eye contact and rather looking over his shoulder.
The shake of his helmet in your peripheral told you he was in fact alive and awake, easing some pressure you hadn’t even noticed was on your chest. His hand still rested on your shoulder, which twitched as if he wanted to move it but decided otherwise. “Wow.” He said finally.
Your eyes went wide in fear. “You don’t have to say anything, we can go inside and pretend this never happened. I can do that.”
“No, no, it’s alright,” his helmet tilted up and away from your face. “That was just a lot.”
You smiled sadly, your eyes meeting the leafy ground. “Yeah.”
You two simmered in the silence for a while longer, him surely going back to thinking in his head. You didn’t know what to expect at this point: Din had surprised you so many times in the past ten minutes that you weren’t sure any of your old rules applied anymore. And frankly, that was making you very nervous.
You were trying to train yourself for the unexpected when Din made his next move. His hand left your shoulder to cup your jaw, tilting it upwards to meet his visor. Your eyes automatically went left to trace the reflective surface of the Razor Crest, eliciting a huff. “Why won’t you look at me?”
“Because if I do, all I can see is your lifeless body and the smear of blood from where I grabbed your face.”
“Um, okay,” He frowned in defeat and then in confusion. “Wait, why are you so scared of losing me?”
You huffed. “Are you serious? Because I care about you, Din. More than I should, probably. You gave me a home, and you treated me as somebody. How could I not care, how could I not worry about losing you?”
Silence, and then-
“So you’re in love with me?” His voice was aloof, but you could hear the nervousness seeping in.
Your head rotated to meet his visor, calculating the tilt and his stance. Your brain reeled and tried to shove your nightmares into your head, but you pushed them away from the foreground. “I am, got a problem with that?” You willed to match his tone with your own.
He drew back slightly, and you fretted, but you held your ground and waited. You weren’t going to run away from your feelings this time. He held your stare, stepping towards you. “Not at all.”
You swallowed. “Alright, I guess that’s settled.”
“Mhm.”
“So..”
“Yes?”
Oh, so he was gonna make you say it? “Din. C’mon, don’t be this way.”
“Be what way?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No, care to enlighten me?” You could hear the smile.
You gritted your teeth. “Fine, never mind. I’m going to check on the kid.” If he didn’t want to say it, then it wasn’t coming out.
You shook his hand from your jaw and pushed past him, making sure to bump his shoulder on the way out. Your breaths were heavy after the confessions and the lack of his own, fueling into anger as you stormed into the ship. The Child sat in his hammock, staring right at you. His pearly black eyes felt like they stared through you and relayed everything that had happened out in front of him.
You sighed, venturing over to him and sitting on the edge of Din’s cot. “What did I just do, Kid?”
He garbled eagerly.
“Yeah yeah,” you leaned against the frame. “I know.”
He garbled again.
“Jeez, you don’t have to be rude about it! I know I fucked up.” Your eyes were shut in frustration.
The kid was silent.
“Kid?”
The sound of the hatch door closing was the only response, and you opened your eyes to see the Mandalorian staring right at you.
Blood dripping down his-
No. Stop.
You shook your head to clear the nightmares, but it wasn’t working as well as you were hoping it would. You opted to tilting your head back again, closing your eyes. The silence ensued, and you could feel the heat of his gaze. “You gonna say something?” You asked, not moving.
“Yeah, I was.”
“Was?” You tilted your head.
“You look tired. Maybe later.”
You opened your eyes. “I’m listening.”
He sighed, and you could see him fidget with his gloves out of the corner of your eyes. “Do you know what you just declared to me?”
“That I loved you, yes.” It was out in the open now, no reason avoiding it.
“And if I say I love you too, you know what that means?”
“That we’ve got a romantic bond?” The Kid peeked over the edge of the hammock to stare at Din.
“No,” you scoffed and he glared at you. “Well, yes, obviously, but what I meant is that you’re committing to me, and vice versa. We’re bonded. For life.”
You nodded, looking at his visor, which was turned upwards. “Okay, yeah. What about it?”
“That means seeing-“ he met your gaze. “Seeing my face.”
Your eyes widened. “Your face?”
He nodded.
“No way,” You stood up and walked over to him, the shock tinting your vision. “Are you joking? Cus it’s not funny.”
“No, I’m not.” His voice sounded confused by your actions.
You pondered the hesitance in his voice with a fine toothed comb. “Do you not want to?”
“No, I want to, it’s just-“
You nodded. “No one has seen you without it.”
“No one in a very long time.” He confirmed.
“Whenever you’re ready,” you grabbed his hand. “You can tell me you love me if you do, you can take off your mask and show me that beautiful face of yours. Whenever you want, okay? I’ll be here, I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” You smiled up at him, going to turn around, but then his hand was gripping your hip and halting you.
“I love you.”
Your head tilted in confusion. “But what about what you said-“
“Yeah. That’s right now.”
You full on grinned. “Really? Um, okay.”
“Are you ready?” His hands rested on the edge of his helmet.
“Never been more ready.”
And then you heard a whooshing sound, hardly audible over your pounding heart. Your hands twisted together as you waited in anticipation, excited and nervous. The prospect of putting a face to his voice and his name was thrilling, and the fact that you were the first to see his face in years? That left you with a fuzzy warmth in your stomach.
You couldn’t pull your eyes away as the beskar was pulled upwards, revealing his face. Your gaze followed the path of the helmet as you saw his sharp jawline, the little speckles of his two day aftershave, the mustache that he seemed to be keeping in well order, the contour of his nose, his deep brown eyes, the mop of hair that was unruly but had been matted down by his helmet.
You met his eyes again, finding them on you wearily, his lip caught between his teeth as he gauged your reaction. Your breath caught at the real eye contact and the way he couldn’t conceal his feelings. You could see the nervousness in his face, even in his stance. Everything about him seemed so clear now, and you broke into a wide smile.
“You’re beautiful.”
#i need to write for din more often#also this is so dramatic lol i apologize#the mandalorian#the mandolorian x reader#the mandalorian imagine#din djarin#din djarin imagine#din djarin x reader#din djarin fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal characters#din djarin fluff#um idk what other tags to use lol
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