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aemondsbabe · 3 months

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Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing.

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day.

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129.

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this.

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs.

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end.

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid.

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him.

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed.

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness.

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises.

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy.

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael.

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation.

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively.

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line.

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?”

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head.

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.”

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet.

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

“Look, I’m –”

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.”

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room.

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command.

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?”

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!”

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door.

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind.

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots.

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term.

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night.

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet.

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached.

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from.

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles.

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint.

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants.

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear.

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub.

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you.

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else.

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin.

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes.

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling.

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator.

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.”

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub.

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy.

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms.

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile.

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly.

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud.

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk.

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink.

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad.

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes.

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away.

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously.

“A normal amount?”

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –”

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.”

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist.

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more.

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him.

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced.

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch.

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher.

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair.

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand.

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily.

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length.

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.”

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear.

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper.

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs.

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly.

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise.

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees.

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck.

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.”

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head.

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more.

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?”

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?”

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny.

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out.

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head.

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit.

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions.

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!”

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit.

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips.

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop.

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin.

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving.

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin.

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him.

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down.

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit.

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock.

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest.

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you.

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters.

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.”

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips.

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy.

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle.

“W-What?”

“You have a phone, yeah?”

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?”

“Yes?”

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers.

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly.

“Film me.”

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased.

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.”

“Yeah? You wanna?”

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.”

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips.

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again.

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans.

“You don’t want to anymore?”

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.”

“‘N what would that be?”

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest.

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest.

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.”

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home.

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.”

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.”

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly.

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you.

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster.

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot.

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones.

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him.

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours.

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer.

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath.

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk.

“Something funny?”

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest.

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss.

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk.

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush.

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs.

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile.

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?”

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…”

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?”

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.”

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly.

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?”

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment.

“You’re sure?”

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.”

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly.

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time.

11:47 AM.

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor.

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look.

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!”

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame.

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly.

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more.

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.”

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!”

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud.

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort.

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime.

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael.

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath.

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.”

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up.

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?”

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.”

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for.

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.”

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall.

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?”

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.”

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him.

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown.

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video.

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again.

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open.

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system.

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard.

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers.

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings.

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up.

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club.

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory.

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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pathologicalreid · 6 days

Note

Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #margot's requests #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid whump #criminal minds whump

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feyascorner · 3 months

Text

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it.

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back. Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot.

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst

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milliesdiary · 1 year

Note

i cant stop thinking about aemond fucking you so sweetly and just worshipping your body, making you cum multiple times

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; aemond spoils you like the princess you are.

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; princess!reader, p in v penetration, mentions of fingering and oral, just pure smut ♡

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; hi! i just had to write this little drabble :) please reblog and comment with your feedback. it means the world to me and keeps me motivated! be sure to consider following to stay updated ✨

"Breathe, Princess," Aemond grunts lowly, his hands holding onto your hips as you balance on his lap. When you fully press down on his erect cock once more, he guides you and lets out a satisfied hum. You start moving your hips, slowly — painfully slow — grinding his thick shaft deep inside your sopping cunt.

“M-My Prince!” you gasp out. Everything is so sensitive; you have already cum two times, once from Aemond stuffing his long fingers into your pussy and the mind-blowing oral he performed afterwards. You’re close to another orgasm, and you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so clouded by pleasure.

“Aemond,” he corrects, that one violet eye of his glinting with unadulterated desire and a tinge of fucking amusement.

Aemond pulls you down for a scorching kiss — his ability to tolerate the sight of you taking him so well is quickly vanishing. The whole thing is fucking messy, just a collision of teeth and tongues as he licks at your bottom lip. His head spins as a result of the sensuality of your kisses, and when he starts to grind up into you, your fingers fly up to tug on the silver strands of his long hair.

The sting on his scalp makes Aemond lets out a strangled breath, and his thrusts deepen as he growls out, "You are beautiful." He enjoys the sound of your high-pitched whine in response, and his pride grows as he observes how fucked out you are already.

"I possess a considerable amount of desires," Aemond says in a hushed tone. "I want you. Your hand in marriage. I want to suffocate you with my dedication. Every inch of you."

You wish so greatly that you could exchange the same words, reassure him of your affections; but you’re too jaded, too caught up in Aemond. That fire inside of him burns with a flaming wrath, yet he is gold.

You can only think of one thing:

What an honor it is to be valued by him.

A stifled grunt escapes Aemond's chest as you grind your hips over his agonizing length, and he furrows his brows. The way your walls cling to his shaft and draw him in until his swollen, enraged tip is pressed firmly against your cervix has completely captured his attention. You're just so wet and tight, leaking all over his cock.

To bring you forward and press his lips against yours, Aemond’s large hand extends to the nape of your neck. Your lips passionately slide against his, and you might just die from the sensation.

“If I am a monster, it is because of the malice of man,” Aemond murmurs into your mouth. “It is only because of your love that I can be spared.”

And this is the moment you have no regrets.

Those in the kingdom made fun of you for selecting Aemond, a man built of barbed wire, equally as sharp and dangerous. How can you explain to them that it is the barbed wire that has protected you all this time?

His fingertips clench around your neck as you attempt to move on instinct, and all you can do is you scream out a pathetic "Aemond!" as you break free from the frantic kiss. “Gods, please. Don’t stop!”

“Keep begging, my love.” Aemond almost chuckles, his lips mouthing over the curve of your breast. "It suits you."

His fingers start to circle your clit and you gasp, clinging to him as his calloused thumb hooks against it and he continues to gently rock into you in excruciating pleasure.

You both gasp as the sensation of him being so completely inside of you, your choked exhale shuddering as they pass through your lips.

“Good girl,” Aemond purrs, his smirk predatory and devilish, made worse by his expression full of mirth. He’s so fixated on how your cunt is trying so valiantly to milk him for all that he is worth, focused on the way your eyes slam shut with pleasure and your jaw drops open. Before you can tell him how much you love him, he gently rolls his hips to lead you up and down his burning-hot length. He begins to place kisses along your jugular, the hot puffs of breath fanning across the skin there, his speed on your clit increasing.

“I’m so close!” you whimper, your hands trembling as they grip his shoulders. Aemond hum in acknowledgement, the corners of his slightly lips twitching upward.

“I am in your blood, in your veins, your psyche. Your entire being—body, senses, and divinity is mine. Can you feel it, Princess?”

“Yes!”

You’re about to cum, hanging right on the precipice of falling over the edge. The heat builds up in your belly, prepared to burst and dust you both with screamed moans and detonate explosive stars behind closed eyelids. You let out a broken cry of his name, urging him brush his mouth against your lips.

“You stole my heart, my love,” Aemond whispers. “Don’t dare give it back.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #aemond smut #hotd x y/n #hotd smut #aemond x reader smut #hotd imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon smut #millie’s works — 📓

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cheollipop · 8 months

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*slams hand on Sleepover Buzzer* been thinking about San being so busy with promotions and concerts that one night when he gets home he simply can n o t help himself. He remembers you giving the okay for somnophilia, and when he sees you’re wearing the necklace that means it’s okay to fuck you in your sleep, he just can’t help himself.

Just imagining him trying to be so so quiet as to not wake you up as he tries to roll his hips gently into your cunt, but poor baby is just so needy and desperate that he’s making so many whines without realizing it, his hips moving harder than he means them to, and wakes you up. Poor baby is just trying to get off because he missed you so much and couldn’t wait until morning to slip inside you 🥺

But congratulations on your 2k followers!! Here’s to hoping there’s many more to come(😏)!! 🎉 🥳

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

ANON YOU'RE CRAZY FOR THIS SKJDBKSN first ask and you give me this???? no regard for my mental health huh- anyway, I'm gonna pretend i didn't have an insane amount of fun writing this ahem. but thank you so much!!! you're too kind <3 I hope you enjoy reading~

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

w.c.: 0.9k

tags: smut, consented somnophilia, san is just so needy and desperate :(

nsfw under cut—minors dni!

He shifted restlessly on his side, stuttered exhales fanning over the back of your neck, eyes trained on the dainty, silver necklace hanging off its circumference. Pressing his pelvis to your lower back, San seeked reprieve as he stretched you open, two fingers stuffed into you with no intention to give pleasure, but simply to prepare you to take his leaking cock.

Part of him felt guilty—what was supposed to be his first day off in weeks eaten up by a last-minute interview, continuous promotions taking him away from the comfort of your arms and into endless crowds of screaming fans, your thought-out dinner eaten alone and a bed half-empty, your eyes pulled shut before San could walk through the front door.

His leather belt slid off the moving duvet, clanging softly over the crumbled pants on the floor by the bed. San’s movements halted, peering over your shoulder and releasing the breath he was holding once your resting features came into view. Scissoring his fingers once more, the hushed squelch of your cunt mixed with the spit he’d used as a makeshift lubricant sent a wave of burning arousal down to his core.

He pressed his lips to your clothed shoulder as he wrapped the fingers that were once inside you around his cock, pumping it quickly while he inhaled your scent. The whiff of his cologne sifted through his nostrils, and only then did he realize the familiar colour of his hoodie hugging your figure, an involuntary groan echoing in the back of his throat.

He didn’t bother with checking if you’d awoken, running his dripping cockhead through your folds once, twice, before sinking into your welcoming heat. It was as though the weeks of being apart from you—and the built-up tension they resulted in—had melted off his shoulders as soon as you had him wrapped up within your walls. San’s hands scrambled to pull your pants further down, leaving them around your knees and swinging his bare thigh over yours. He wrapped an arm around your middle and rolled his hips, his eyes fluttering shut as a wave of pleasure overtook his senses, repeating the motion until the languid pace ceased to be enough. Pulling you closer to his chest, the soft cotton of his hoodie gliding over the button-up he didn’t bother taking off, he bucked his hips into your sopping cunt with building desperation, weeks of yearning piling into every thrust as he rocked your sleeping body back and forth.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing out needy groans onto heated skin while he chased a high he’d been unable to reach in your absence, his hand providing him with nothing but unsatisfactory orgasms followed by disappointment and longing. But now, with you enveloping his senses, your walls clenching around his throbbing length unconsciously and whimpers escaping your slumbered lips, he found it hard to hold back. He adjusted his position, bending his knees behind yours and bringing one of your thighs over his hip, the new angle allowing him to sheath himself fully within you. A broken moan reverberated between the four walls, masked under the loud melody of skin-on-skin as San fucked into you relentlessly, the tingling in his lower belly prominent as he rapidly ascended towards his high. Your breathing quickened, fidgeting growing longer in intervals as San brought you mind-numbing pleasure in your sleep, not quite ready to release yourself from the clutches of your dream.

But San was so close, his stuttered moans airy and high-pitched as he drove his cock into your clenching pussy, revelling in the sleepy whimpers he drew out of your parted lips. You were starting to wake up—eyes squeezing shut before relaxing, body slumping back into his warm chest, your hands squeezing around the veiny arm he had secured around your waist. But he didn’t stop, didn’t pause to greet or kiss you, too caught up in an orgasm merely a breath away, his cock throbbing uncontrollably within your warm walls.

“F-fuck, Sannie,” a soft groan as you brushed off the remnants of your slumber, and San was unloading three weeks’ worth of longing into your heat.

He folded himself over you, pushing your chest down onto the mattress and bucking his hips into you twice, stuffing you full of his length as he pumped a pool of hot cum into your used pussy, rolling his hips to give you everything he had. He held you down as you writhed under him, his cockhead pressing into your g-spot while it spurted watery ropes of his seed between your walls. Pleads and whimpers muffled into the pillowcase, breathless curses flooding out of San as you clenched around him, a stream of cum leaking out of your stretched hole.

San’s lips peppered kisses over your clothed back, remaining still within you while he came down from his high, warming his cock inside you while you whined for more. He took in your flustered features when you peered back at him over your shoulder—eyebrows furrowed and beads of sweat reflecting the moonlight—begging him to keep moving, rocking back into his body to give yourself pleasure.

Wrapping an arm around your middle, San rested his chin over your shoulder and nuzzled his nose into your temple. His cock—still soft and sensitive, barely twitching in interest—dragged over your fluttering walls, San’s smile stretching against your cheek.

“Sannie's got you, darling. 'Gonna fuck my baby hard enough she forgets I was ever gone, how's that sound?”

#panda's 2k sleepover o(≧▽≦)o #choi san x reader #choi san smut #choi san x y/n #choi san x you #choi san scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #san x reader #san x y/n #san smut

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papercorgiworld · 7 days

Note

I pretty please request a little fic abt Enzo being jealous, you write him so well 🙁

“I’m your brother’s best friend, I'm allowed to be jealous.”

A jealous Enzo Berkshire x Nott!reader imagine

Cedric asking you out has innocent Enzo freaking out.

Warning: a little bit of smut, little bit

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Blaise asks as he looks at Theodore who stares at you and Enzo entering the great hall laughing. “What?” Theo asks lazily. “That Enzo’s drooling over your sister?” Theodore snorts. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Rather Enzo than Matt.” Mattheo’s brows furrow as his eyes roll to Theo, raising his hands offended with his mouth still stuffed with food. “What’s wrong with me?” Mattheo says after quickly swallowing his food, but is quick to add: “On second thought, don’t answer that question.” Blaise chuckles but returns his focus on Theodore, asking silently to answer his earlier question seriously. “Enzo’s a good guy.” Theo explains. “I kinda hope they’ll end up together. He’ll be good to her and she’ll be good for him. Enzo doesn’t get into fights and he’s not a possessive psycho. He’ll treat her right.” Mattheo’s eyes knit together again. “Why do I feel so attacked?” Theodore ignores him and continues with a hushed voice since Enzo and you are approaching. “I kinda hope he’ll finally make a move.” Blaise raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Don’t hold your breath mate.” Enzo plops down next to Blaise. “Hold your breath for what?” Theodore smirks. “For Dumbledore to give slytherin points for something.” A soft laugh leaves your lips. “Never happening.” Enzo’s eyes focus on your smile as you fill your plate. That smile.

Enzo was madly in love with you, but you were Theo’s little baby sister so he assumed you were off limits for him. However, Cedric Digory wasn’t friends with Theodore so there was no reason for him to stay away from you. You and Cedric had been good friends for years, much to Enzo’s dismay and every year you got prettier and every year Cedric showed more interest in you and every year Enzo ended up hating Cedric more.

***

“Oh all bowtruckles in a tree! He asked you out!” Luna's eyes go wide, not believing what she had just heard. You nod and smile, leaving the classroom. “Yes, I know, crazy, right?” But your joy instantly disappears when you see Enzo approaching, his soft demeanour changing with every step he takes. Enzo was the best, but every year you noticed how he got more and more annoyed with guys showing interest in you. He also had made it very clear that nothing would ever happen between you two because bro code and stuff. Honestly, the most ridiculous thing ever, especially since your brother had the hottest friends ever. Right now, you were seriously getting annoyed with Enzo, what did he expect of you, to stay single forever? Not happening. “Who asked who out?” Enzo forces a smile as his eyes move between you and Luna. You sigh. “Cedric asked me out.” You say, bracing yourself for whatever irrational argument Enzo was gonna throw at you. “Ah, yes, that ‘good’ friend of yours that I’ve been warning you about since forever. I told you that guy is only after one thing-” You make eye contact with Luna and raise your eyebrows, before interrupting Enzo. Leaning a bit his way you whisper: “Well, I hope so, because honestly Enz, I’m only after one thing as well.” Your voice sounds bittersweet to Enzo and he watches you and Luna walk away giggling. He clenches his jaw as he considers his options. Talk reason into you, impossible. Punch reason into Cedric, not my style. Or be a tattletale and spill the news to your brother...

***

“She’s going on a date with Digory!” Enzo yells as soon as he enters the slytherin common room and spots Theodore. Theo looks up to see a fuming Enzo approach. “You should do something.” Enzo says, calming down a bit, but also annoyed by the lack of response from Theo. “Like what?” Theodore asks eyebrows knitting together as he folds the newspaper he was reading before Enzo stormed in. “Tell her not to go. The guy’s bad news.” Theodore lazily stares at Enzo. “The guy’s a Hufflepuff, he’s barely news, let alone bad news. And tell her not to go… You obviously don’t know much about siblings, but let me tell you this: they don’t listen.”

“What! You’re just gonna let her?” Theodore was getting a little frustrated with Enzo’s tone and Mattheo could barely keep himself from laughing at seeing Enzo so upset. “Yeah, as long as she doesn’t date Mattheo I’m good with it.” Theo says with a bit of a sterner voice and Mattheo frowns feeling offended a second time today, but Enzo’s clearly angry with Theo and shakes his head. “You rather have her date someone like Cedric than one of your friends?!” There’s silence but Enzo’s just so terrified of you going out and falling in love with someone while he’s left pining, that all his feelings boil over into anger. “What kind of a shit brother are you!” At those words Theodore gets up in a second, almost pressing his head against Enzo’s to make sure Enzo gets the message. “I’m not a shit brother and I never said that I'd rather have her date Cedric than one of my friends, just not Mattheo but trust me Berkshire if you keep this crap up then you’ll be out of my sister’s life in no time.”

Enzo’s so angry that he can barely process what Theodore is saying, but he’s sane enough to walk away and not pick a fight with his friend and the brother of the girl’s crushing on.

“Why always use me as the definition of trouble?” Mattheo complains, making Theodore roll his eyes. “Cause you are, I just hoped we had at least one sane friend in our group, but apparently Enzo’s just as dysfunctional as the rest of us.” Theodore sighs, unclenching his fists and sitting back down.

***

You leave your classroom to find a shaky Enzo pacing the hallway. When he spots you he immediately walks over to you and you can see the nervousness in his eyes. “What's wrong?” You ask as his hand firmly wraps around your arm. “We need to talk. Now.” His voice is urgent and his eyes avoid yours. “Enzo calm-” “No, it’s important.” Enzo snaps at you and pushes a door open, shoving you into a broom closet. “You can’t go out with him.” Enzo states as soon as he closes the door behind him. There’s a dim light that lights his pained face just enough for you to see. “Enzo-” Your voice is soothing, but Enzo’s too afraid of what you’ll say so he continues to rant. “It physically hurts when I think of you being with someone else, loving someone else. So just, I beg you, just don’t go out with him.” He sighs and moves a hand over his sweaty forehead. “I almost had a fight with your brother, because I’m freaking out and I’m freaking out because I know Cedric is a good guy and you like him and you’ll love him and forget about me and I- I-.”

You grab his face and place an urgent kiss on his lips, hoping you’ll keep Enzo from spiralling any further, but to your surprise he suddenly spirals into a whole different direction. Eagerly kissing back, one hand finding the small of your back as he takes a step towards you pushing you against the wall of the small closet you’re in. “I need you.” Enzo breathes lips only inches away from yours and his eyes piercing you, silently begging you to let him love you. “Let me have you.” His husky hungry voices make your knees go weak. “Have me, Enz.” You whisper, meeting his lips with an equal amount of hunger. What took you so long. He kisses you until you're out of breath then he leaves sloppy kisses on your jaw, before sucking at the flesh of your neck like you taste divine to him. His hands lustfully trace every inch of your body, squeezing the flesh of your thighs and ass. “I’ll make you love me.” Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the sound of his determined voice. Not that you needed him to do anything, you had already fallen for him before he had even seen you as someone more than just Theo’s sister. However, you were more than enjoying Enzo working for your love.

***

You straighten your skirt and do your best to comb your hair with your fingers to look as decent as possible after what Enzo had just done to you in that tiny closet. “You look fine.” Enzo ensures smiling at you adoring your beauty as you stand there nervously watching if anyone has seen you two leave the broom closet. You force a weak smile and Enzo can’t help but get nervous as well. Though not about getting caught with you, but about whether or not he had convinced you to not go out with Cedric. Even having you moan and cry his name wasn’t enough to reassure him that you were his. He needed to know. “Are you still going out with him?” Enzo blurs and your eyes meet his. Is he for real? “Was this really all because Cedric asked me out?” Enzo shrugs, a bit embarrassed about how he had acted. A soft chuckle leaves your lips. “Really Lorenzo Berkshire you got jealous?” His hands sink into his pockets and he stares at the floor, thinking of a good response. “I’m your brother’s best friend, I’m allowed to be jealous.”

You frown at his silly excuse. “Pretty sure Matt’s my brother's best friend and even if you were that’s not an excuse at all. Neither does it excuse what you just did to me in that closet.” Enzo takes a step closer to you and meets your eyes. “What do you want me to say?” Your eyes drown in his. “The truth Enz.”

He takes a deep breath, before confessing. “I’m so incredibly jealous, because I’m in love with you.” A happy smile tugs on your lips and Enzo’s delighted at how happy you are with his confession.

“You know… I never said yes to Cedric.” Enzo’s eyes widen and his mouth almost drops. “What?” A sweet laugh escapes you at the view of his shocked face. “I only ever said that he asked… I wanted to say yes, but I couldn’t because I’m in love with you.” Within a split second Enzo’s lips crash onto yours. You had just made this man the happiest in all of Hogwarts.

Word count: 1771

Picture link: https://pin.it/2LVDPbwNS

#slytherin #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #papercorgiworldwritings

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dontyoufeelitangel · 28 days

Text

Happy Easter Adam

This contains major Christian/religious themes and traditions, if you aren’t comfortable with that I advise scrolling.

Easter was something you and Adam would always celebrate together.

On this holiday Adam tended to get very emotional, same with other holidays like Christmas and such.

All year round Adam was a party animal. Jumping from concert to concert, sleeping with groupie on top of groupie. It was only on holy holidays like this that Adam would refrain from his party rocking persona. On holidays like this, he’d spend his days with you.

On Valentine’s Day he took you out to a nice fancy dinner, and on that night you both started your lent sacrifice.

No candy.

Simple enough for you, but Adam thrived on three simple things.

Ribs, alcohol and artificial sugar.

So when lent started he almost broke it three days later.

How did he almost break it?

Adam -the first man Adam- had a major hangover, so in turn, he wanted to crush up a Tylenol and put it in a Fun-Dip packet.

Oh god he’s slow , you’d think to yourself

You quickly had to grab the candy packet from him, he protested but nothing to extreme. His hangover was drowning out his energy and ability to argue with you.

“Why don’t you take the medicine with some juice honey?” You had offered him.

He had survived his lent sacrifice, now he had to make room for Good Friday,,, another nightmare for him, no meat.

Of course Adam had priorities, he spent his Good Friday sending prayers to his holy father.

You found it adorable that no matter how hard he partied and how unholy some of his actions could be, he still made room to do some good on the holidays.

He was fine on Good Friday, up until dinner,

“What do you mean no meat?” He questioned you as he made his way to the dinner table.

“Honey, Jesus sacrificed his flesh today, we must give up meat. It’s only for today, I promise you.” You put your hand on top of his and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“That’s a human thing babe! We’re already dead! I don’t see why we can’t just have some,” he tried arguing with you

“ oh hush! I made stuffed bell peppers and pasta with cauliflower,” you put a plate in front of him.

“If you don’t want to eat it, then fine, don’t eat it. You’ve spent all day praying, don’t throw that away because you want some meat. I know you Adam, I know you can do the right thing.” You crossed your arms and looked at him sternly.

“Fine fine” he muttered and started cutting his stuffed bell pepper.

Today was resurrection day, commonly known as Easter.

Early in the morning Adam prayed to his holy father and even made a visit to the big man himself.

That morning you two went out for coffee,

Normally you’d settle for any cafe but today Adam took you to a rockin cafe, or so he called it.

“It’s really cool babe! In the cafe they have a record player connected to big speakers. And they like totally let you play whatever record you bring in, so they’re always playing good vintage rock there!” Adam cheered on as he was walking with you.

“The coffee cups are black and they paint on them with these like white paint pens. Normally they just write your name but last time I went I told them to draw lightning on my cup and they did! It was so fucking cool, you really have you see it babe!” Adam continued.

You listened to him the whole walk there, your heart could explode he was so cute. You loved hearing Adam talk about the things he liked, it made you feel like he truly trusted you.

You arrived at the cafe and you had to admit, it was a very rocking cafe.

You both got drinks, Adam got a black coffee with twelve packets of sugar, and you got a tea.

Adam was right about the cups too, you could ask for a drawing on your cups and the workers would do it.

Adam got stars and flames drawn on his cup, you got flowers and vines on yours.

You two took a seat in the cafe and talked while the record player in the back spun, letting out a slow jazz song that you quite enjoyed.

After finishing the drinks you promised Adam you’d take him to get treats, candy and pastries from the store to make up for the ‘no candy rule’ during lent.

When arriving to the store Adam pulled your straight to the candy isle.

When something is created on earth it is also brought to heaven.

So when he stumbled across the peeps, he freaked out.

“These are sick! Little ducky marshmallows, humans are getting really creative down there!” Adam laughed.

Despite his teasing comments about the peeps he continued to grab one of each flavor and popped it into the cart.

You grabbed cupcake mix and frosting along with some sprinkles so you two could bake together later.

By the time you two were done shopping the cart was filled with an assortment of goodies including:

Every flavor of peeps, the bunny peeps, milk chocolate Cadbury eggs, Reese’s eggs, jelly beans, Cadbury crème eggs, chocolate bunnies, chocolate crosses, skittles, cookies, cake mix, frosting, sprinkles, bunny ear headbands, egg painting kits and two redbulls.

What a selection.

You and Adam giggled to eachother as the cashier gave you two weird looks.

As soon as you two arrived home you started the feast. You and Adam downed the redbulls and cracked open the peeps, going down each flavor and rating them.

You both decided the cotton candy peeps were the best, and the birthday cake peeps were the worst.

Adam dared you to play chubby bunny, a game in which you see how many marshmallows you can stuff in your mouth.

Adam made it to nine marshmallows and you only got to five.

Adam nearly choked as he attempted to shove another marshmallow into his mouth, his poor attempt sent you into a laughing fit causing you to spit out all the marshmallows.

Seeing you enjoy yourself so much made Adam smile, he was so glad he got to spend resurrection day with you.

After opening up the rest of the candy and eating some you asked him if he wanted to make cupcakes.

“Um, is that even a question? Fuck yes!” He jumped up running to the kitchen. You flapped your wings and followed behind him.

The cupcakes had been baked and how it was time for decorating, he adorned the cakes with yellow frosting and put jelly beans and peeps on top of his.

You on the other hand put baby blue frosting on yours and wrote happy resurrection day! With gel frosting on top of your cakes.

After decorating the cupcakes he offered to make dinner for you.

You gladly accepted.

While he cooked you cleaned the mess you two had previously made. Sugar and candy wrappings thrown everywhere in you and Adam’s living room.

For dinner Adam had prepared carrot, asparagus and potatoes with ham for the main dish.

And oh god, he made the lamb cake too…

Despite the fact you two JUST make cupcakes not even two hours earlier he decided to make a lamb cake.

The lamb cake was a tradition you and many other winners around heaven shared.

It was a lamb shaped cake dish that you bake the cake in, then once the cake is done you’d decorate it like a lamb.

Adam was a decent cook. There was no doubt that the cake would taste delicious, it’s the decoration of the cake that was questionable.

The lamb was given white frosting and a face made out of jelly beans.

The white frosting was smeared on in a way that made the poor lamb look like it was balding, and the face was melting off.

The lamb looked like it was begging for mercy, Adam tried to make it look cute though, by adding red colour to the cheeks to make it seem as though the lamb was blushing. It ended up looking like the poor thing had chicken pox.

“I made it for you” Adam stated.

You smiled

“Awwwwe honey!” You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a small kiss on his nose.

“It’s cute” you tilted your head and looked him in the eyes, a genuine smile painted your face.

“You really think so” he smiled wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I know so, now let’s eat.” You let go of him and sat down at the table.

He had gotten the plates of dinner ready for the two of you and he had set them down on the table making his way to sit down next to you.

You grabbed his hand and closed your eyes,

“Lord, thank you for this wonderful day, this lovely meal. Please bless the hands that prepared it. Lord thank you for your sacrifices and thank you for blessing me with this amazing partner” you prayed.

You and Adam both said amen in unison.

You went to pick up a fork but Adam placed his hand on yours, then gave you a quick peck on the head.

You smiled at him while he started eating,

You were very grateful you had him, and for everything he is.

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whiskeynwriting · 1 year

Note

Hiii! Idk where to start but I love your stories sooo much (especially daddy whiskey one shots and all) as much as I love your Pedro characters stories I have to ask do you plan to write more for cod men??? (a cpt.Price girl is asking 👀)

Don’t Go

Captain John Price x Female Reader

◆

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Major age gap (reader is 23, Price is 42), sex work (reader was a sex worker), brief violence, injury, hostage situation, semi-established relationship, dirty talk, size kink, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, brief mention/discussion of stds (reader and Price do not have any)

◆

A/N: You BET I have plans for more COD men babayyyyy and I am SO glad you specified your love for Price (;

And yes, I am already thinking about making a part 2. Lmk your thoughtssss

◆

John Price Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

Unfortunately, missions like this were routine. They’d been through many hostage situations before, countless negotiations for a person or group’s life. Going through the motions was relatively easy, as long as they had a plan. And when didn’t Price have a plan?

“Why’ve we stopped?”

“Soap’s takin’ a little longer to clear this room.” Price responds in a hushed tone, not turning toward Gaz when he speaks. He keeps his eyes forward, and his head clear. “That’s all.”

Once Soap has scanned the room, he retreats, footsteps silent as he returns. Blue eyes meet another set, shaking his head at the other captain. And just like that, they’re moving forward again.

The heavy thud of Ghost’s footsteps hit the roof, and even though the three men are on the top floor, Price still chuckles at the sound of Simon’s weight. “Bloody oaf.”

Holding up his left fist, the trio come to a halt as Johnny approaches the door to another room, one at the very end of this hall. They’ve cleared every floor in this building, and haven’t found a single soul. But they know the person they’re looking for is here… somewhere.

“In here!” It’s immediate, Soap is shouting before he even clears the room. His first mistake.

As soon as his voice hits the air, a flurry of men are on him. A handful charge at the soldier, two of them shooting at the open door. Immediately, Price and Gaz duck, storming the room in crouched positions. Three of the men engage in hand-to-hand with the soldiers, Price successfully shooting the two men with guns. Johnny’s knocked to the ground with a crooked nose, though his situation is handled quickly when Gaz takes care of the man that threw the hit. While turning to check on his comrade, Price takes a blow to the back of his head, turning to elbow another man in the face before grabbing his vest and hauling him over his shoulder, throwing him to the ground. A quick shot to the forehead is what ends the fight, Gaz’s hand becoming bloody as he takes out the last man.

It’s then that it dawns on him, Johnny’s words. In here. Immediately, his head whips around the room, attempting to find the person they’ve come to save. It’s then that he locks eyes with you. His chest rising and falling steadily, breaths ragged and heavy.

You.

The perfect image of you, once again.

In the corner of the room, surrounded by dark shadows and dust, sits your small frame. Tied to a rusty chair, your hands and feet are bound, your arms and legs bruised with your face bloody. A small, pleading noise seeps from you, bleeding around the edges of the gag stuffed into your mouth.

He almost can’t believe it; he’s shocked. So much so that it stops his movements, turns off the soldier part of his brain. Which is astonishing.

“Sir?” Soap asks, still on the ground.

The sound of Johnny’s voice snaps him out of this strange haze. Without responding, he’s rushing toward you, gait long and large as he marches across the floor. He can’t bring himself to say anything as he kneels, hands reaching for the fabric wrapped around your face. Staring into your terrified eyes, the gag is the first thing he removes, your mumbles insistent before him.

“John.”

His hand finds your face, your cheeks, holding you tenderly. John’s eyes are full of concerned bewilderment. This isn’t how he last left you.

Quickly though, he’s working on untying you, fingers taking apart the restrains on your hands and ankles. Now that he’s closer, he can see more of your injuries. You have a split lip and a bruised cheek, the sight horrifying him. Your knuckles are bloody, and so are your wrists. The ties cut deep into your skin, you must’ve tried so desperately to get away.

“C’mon, love.” Reaching out, his fingers find your armpits, urging you to stand. He watches you wince, a small grunt coming from your chest. “I know, I know it’s not easy.” His voice is soft and reassuring, and he wouldn’t be touching you so openly if he wasn’t already aware of the absolute angel that you are.

“Boys,” Turning, he addresses the two men, gesturing for their presence.

“Cap.?” Soap asks, still trying to catch his breath.

John releases you of his hold, allowing you to sit while he stands. Removing the gear around his waist, he hands them to Johnny and Gaz. “Take these.”

And they don’t question it; all they do is add it to their packs.

“I’m gonna need your cover.” All he has is his pistol, but with what he has in mind, he won’t be able to reach it too quickly.

“I’ll be on your six.” Gaz nods, “Ready?”

“Almost.” Turning, he comes back to you, kneeling before your limp form. “Ready, darling?”

Looking into his eyes, those deep blue hues you’ve missed so dearly, you nod. Listening to your small whine again is painful for him, but it’s for the best. He needs to get you to safety.

Situating his back to you, he keeps himself crouched, tapping his shoulders as a signal for you. With a deep breath, you reach for him, sliding your hands over the broadness of his body. Leaning forward, your arms loop around his neck, your legs spreading to wrap around his waist. And then he’s bending forward, reaching down to hold the bottoms of your thighs just beneath your knees.

“Hold on.” He grunts, standing slowly as he feels you cling to his body. Once fully up, he shuffles you further along his back, turning his head and asking, “You alright, love?”

“Yes.” Your face is right beside his, and you can smell him again. It’s beneath the scent of gunpowder and sweat, but it’s still there. He’s still here.

“March on.” He orders, and the boys follow their command.

Stepping forward, you gasp quietly at the sight of the fallen men scattering the room. Price’s head turns to the side then, his voice speaking firmly to you.

“Close your eyes.” He says, stepping over their bodies. “You don’t need to see this.” And just like Soap and Gaz, you do as you’re told.

Leaving the building is easier than he thought it would be. He expected more men to storm the levels, but it’s just as empty as it was when they cleared it. Carrying you down four flights of stairs is easy for him, your weight a sort of comforting presence. He doesn’t feel like it’s a nuisance to care for you, he wants to.

“Oi,” Soap shouts over the wind. “What’re you doing?”

“Just signaled for the helo.” John answers, setting you down. He keeps an arm looped around your lower back, helping you to stand.

“It’s too early for that!” Johnny argues, and Price doesn’t like the way he’s yelling in front of you. “We’re not done yet!”

“She needs somewhere to go!” John spits out in response, glaring daggers at his teammate. And you can feel the muscles in his chest and stomach flexing as he shouts, can feel his arm tighten around your lower back.

“By herself?!”

“I’ll be with her.”

Internally, you light up, leaning further into him.

“Captain,” Ghost states, having cleared the building’s exterior. “We need you.”

Not too far in the distance is the helicopter, its blades whirring even above the wild wind. Glancing up, Price takes note of its approach, knowing he’s got about a half a mile hike to meet it at the landing pad.

“Finish it without me.” Eyes flashing between his teammates’, he nods firmly. “You can do it.” Soap opens his mouth to argue again, but John is grabbing him by his tac vest before he can get another word out. With his voice deep and expression stern, he says, “I’ll be here. Just finish it.”

Following his orders with an aggravated sigh, Johnny returns it with a, “Yes sir.”

After that, John doesn’t wait. Sweeping you off your feet, he holds you in his arms this time, jogging lightly toward the now landed chopper. He’s missed this; well, not this - but the way you feel in his arms. Internally, he’s reveling in the way you cling to him. He’s saved you, yet again.

Half a mile is nothing for him, and your weight doesn’t slow him down in the slightest. He holds you tightly, not wanting your injured body to move too much. Honestly, he’s not even sure how you got into this mess. Briefly, John wonders what would have happened to you if he hadn’t come, but he shakes that thought right out of his head. He needs to stay focused.

“Alright, here we are.” John’s voice is deep and harsh, still in military mode. “Easy does it.” Crouching, he sets you carefully on the bench, laying you down. Immediately, you try to sit up and assess your surroundings, but a gentle push urges you back onto the seat. “Stay there.”

Aside from his name and a simple yes, you haven’t said anything to him, and that sparks worry in his mind. Kneeling beside you, he immediately begins checking you for wounds, any type of injury. And clearly, you have many.

“Christ,” He murmurs, shaking his head. “What did they do to you?”

Reaching for a med kit, he slides it out from beneath the bench, popping it open so he can clean and bandage you. It’s not his best work, but it’ll do for the time being.

“Don’t think you have any breaks.” John states, still doting on you. And quietly, you let him, feeling smitten all over again.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself take a breath, feeling safe in his hands. How on earth was he the one to come save you? What magical being blessed you with this outcome?

“This is the best I can do until we get you back to base.” Looking up, the memory of his last name pops back into your brain. The tag on his uniform jogging your memory, Price.

“You’re likely to be in shock.” Pulling out a thin, metallic-looking pack, he unfolds it to reveal a blanket. “C’mon, let’s sit you up.”

With a hand on your back, he helps you move upright, wrapping the foil around your shoulders. Still on his knees, he sighs, looking up at you. But your gaze is elsewhere, your head tilted toward the floor.

Moving onto the bench, he settles in beside you, wrapping an arm around your back to pull you into him. He can’t help it; he feels so deeply for you. He knows you’ve been through so much, even before this event. So, he doesn't ask any questions, aside from one.

“You alright, love?” Turning, he kisses your head, lips pressing into your hair as he keeps himself there.

“Yeah.” You reply shakily, and even though the circumstance is less than desirable, he’s happy to hear your voice again. “Yeah.”

“It’ll be alright.” John whispers over your hair, “We’ll get you out of here.”

The very same words he said on the night you met.

“But… you already paid.”

“Keep it.” He insisted, digging into his pockets. Pulling out a handful of bills, he gave you those, too. “And this, too. Get out of here.”

When he’d asked for a woman of your features, he didn’t expect you to be as beautiful as you were, or as young as you were. It broke him, the knowledge he now had. A woman so young doing whatever she could to keep her head above water, barely in your early twenties and just trying to support yourself.

“I… I don’t… I don’t know how.”

The most innocent, stunning thing he could have fathomed was standing right in front of him, broken and lost. He needed to help you, he felt it was his duty to. You had little to nothing, aside from what John had given you. But he continued to overextend himself, doing his best to find a woman’s shelter that would take you in, and then paying the expenses. Just room and board, and the drive there. He was the first man in your entire life to show you such kindness. And now here he is, showing it to you again.

“Those men can’t hurt you.” John now whispers into your ear. “Not anymore.”

They’d tried to bring you back, the men running the establishment. It just so happened that they also ran the largest cartel in the country, a prime target for the team. And now, the head of the group is being captured as you sit resting against the captain’s chest.

It’s not that the others didn’t have a heart, they were all worried for you, too. But with John constantly at your side, it was clear you were being taken care of. Even when the rest of the team goes to their respective rooms, shedding their gear before hopping in the showers, Price doesn’t leave. Gunpowder and sweat and dirt cover his body, some of it smeared on his face, but that’s not his priority right now.

“Does she have any breaks?” He asks from the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His brow and lips are in a permanent frown, concentrating on the way the medics handle you.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” The one cleaning your wounds answers.

Another washes your body in a sponge bath-like fashion, stripping you down to your underclothes to do so. For your privacy, they ask John to leave the room for this, but you protest with a rapid shake of your head.

“Stay,” You stutter out, turning your head toward him. “I want you to stay.”

“I’m here, love.” Feet propelling him forward, he kneels beside the table you’re on. Grabbing the hand you reach toward him with, he kisses it. “I’m gonna stay.”

Looking up at the medics, he inquires, “Where will she be?”

“Block D, hall 3 in room 18.”

“Deep in the building, eh?” He comments, glancing back down at your pretty face. “I’ll take her there.”

“It’s protocol that we -”

Cutting them off, his voice is deep and stern, that rough accent making you sigh. “I said I’ll take her there.”

And when you’re properly cleaned and given a fresh set of clothes, that’s exactly what he does. After convincing him that you can walk, he trots down the halls with you at his side. His own quarters are in block C, so you won’t be too far away from him.

“Here’s the room we’ve secured.” He states, unlocking it with the key the medics gave him. “It’s only temporary,” Shoving open the door, he allows you to take a look inside. With hesitant steps, you walk in, still listening to him. “But it’s safe. I promise you.”

It’s not much, not at all. It’s super small with a single bed against the back wall, with nightstands on either side. To your left in the corner sits a desk with a chair, and… that’s it. But right now, it’s more than enough. You’re not staying at a luxury hotel, it’s just a place to keep you safe.

“Alright,” John’s voice prompts you to turn around, watching as he grabs the handle to the door. “Here’s the key,” Reaching out, you take it, wide eyes staring up at him. “I’m off, darling.”

“Wait,” Your hand reaches out, falling on his arm. “W-Why?”

“I need to put my gear down, love. Get all this grime off me.”

He’s met with silence, and pleading puppy eyes. Your hand is still on his bicep, stepping a little closer to him. You hate to be a nuisance, but you really can’t help it. The thought of being alone right now is terrifying to you.

John’s sweet eyes flicker back and forth between yours, a small and gentle smile growing on his face. “You wanna come with me?”

Taking the key back, he makes sure to lock the door before ushering you away to his room. His hand falls to your lower back, his body towering above your own as he strides forward beside you. In barely two minutes, you’re at his door, watching him unlock and open it for you.

The captain’s room is far bigger than your own. Nothing huge, but a nice size for sure. There’s a queen-sized bed off to the left with dressers on either side, and across from his bed sits a full wardrobe. In the far right corner is his desk, with a window above it. Your room didn't have any windows.

“Make yourself comfortable, love.” John nods toward his bed, and is met with your sweet smile. “Ah,” He grins, reaching out to gently tap your chin. “There she is.”

His words and gestures make your cheeks warm; you’re so flattered by him. And as he starts to take off his boots and gear, you make your way over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

“J-John?” Even though he’s been sweet, you can’t help but feel like a burden.

“Yeah, love?” He uses that word so often with you.

But he doesn’t look up. Kicking his boots off, he leaves them at the door, trotting over toward the wardrobe as he begins removing his gear.

Swallowing timidly, you stare up at him, watching him undress.“Thank you.”

Grinning, Price huffs out a chuckle. Sliding off his long-sleeve, he tosses it into a nearby clothes bin. “No need.”

“What do you mean?” For some reason his words prompt a sense of sadness inside you, with almost a hint of insecurity.

“Just doin’ our job.” Casually, he shoves down his slacks, stepping out of the cargo material. But then he’s turning to you, those blue eyes piercing your gaze. “If I knew it was you, I’d have been there a lot sooner.”

At this point, he’s in his boxers, reaching out to grab and sling a clean towel over his shoulder. When he turns back to you, your breath stalls. You’ve never seen him so bare. But it doesn’t feel… sexual. The air is calming and friendly, intimate. You feel honored to know he’s this comfortable around you.

John looks deep into your gaze, leaning down in front of you with a sigh. For the first time, nearly his entire body is on display. The curly hairs on his chest, the ones trailing down his navel, the chorded muscles in his forearms and the bulges of his biceps. His chest looks firm, and you know he’d be warm. The muscles in his stomach are outlined, too, flexing slightly as he breathes.

“Alright now,” He says, “I’ve gotta do this part myself, yeah?” It makes you chuckle, feeling bashful before him. “I’m off to shower, but I won’t be long.” Standing, he throws a little wink your way. “Promise.”

Though, he wishes he could take you into the shower with him. He knows the medics did a fine job washing you up, but he’d do it again in his own way. Slide his hands along your body, kneeling on the ground while lathering you with soap and kissing your belly. He wonders if you’d let him kiss you again, if maybe he could touch you. But he doesn’t ever want you to think that’s what this is. That he’s just helping you for… that.

When John is finally gone, the room seems darker, stiffer. Leaning over, you turn on his nightstand light, the soft yellow hue comforting you. He’d closed his closet, cleaning up his space before leaving. You wonder if he’s always like this, always so tidy and clean. With the smell in his room, it seems so. There’s the faint hint of tobacco, something you’ve never seen him smoke but you now assume he does. But overall, the scent of sandalwood fills your senses, that and scotch. He has a full decanter on his desk. Alongside an antique radio, maybe one he’s used for correspondence.

What smells even more like John is his bed, it’s like it’s calling to you. Scooching further up, you settle in, keeping yourself above the covers but laying your head on his pillows. The inhale you make is intoxicating, it’s him.

The smell lingered in your room when he visited you at the brothel, too.

Price didn’t touch you when you first met. He couldn’t bring himself to. You were a beautiful girl, and you still are, but your youth stuck in his mouth like glue. How could a woman so young work in a place like this? But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see the appeal. You’re a gorgeous thing, with a body that curves in all the right places. From the length of your hair down to the twinkle in your eye, you were so charming, and you didn’t even know it.

“How old are you, love?” He finally asked, still standing near your closed door.

Fidgeting with your fingers, you glanced up at him nervously. “Twenty-three.”

At this, he huffed out a laugh of disbelief, eyes falling to the ground.

“How… how old are you?”

He hesitated, raising his brows in a sarcastically amused way. “Nearly twice your age.”

That was the night he refused your services, and offered you every ounce of material payment that he had. And he promised to come see you again. He told you to take care of yourself, and that he’d be back. He’d help you find a better life.

And he made good on his promise. The very next day, he was back in your room, claiming to pay for your services but not laying a finger on you. All you did was talk, discussing your lives and ways to make them better. He offered his help, his knowledge, being that he was twenty-plus years your senior. It was incredibly relieving to have such a dominant male figure in your life that was also kind, and loving. John didn’t care because he had to, or because he knew he’d get something in return. John cared because it was in his nature to.

“Have you ever been with a woman before?”

“Plenty.” John chuckled, eating the dinner he’d packed for the two of you.

Smiling, you glance down at your plate of food. “I mean… here? In a place like this?”

This time, his answer is said with a low sigh, nodding his head as he mumbles quietly, “Plenty.” But then he’s lifting his head, waiting for your eyes to meet his again. “But none of them have ever been as lovely as you.”

It was on the third night that you made a small advance, helpless to the attraction you had for him. He was incredibly handsome, smart and kind, skilled and strong. Saving up money for your escape was going to take a few days, but you didn’t mind, not as long as you had his company.

He accepted it, allowing you to crawl slowly onto his lap. You were entirely clothed, and so was he, but it did nothing to dull the heat in your bellies. You straddled him, bringing his uncertain hands to your hips. Your movements were careful and calculated, you didn’t want to overstep with him. And you didn’t. With your delicate hands finding either side of his face, fingertips petting at his finely-groomed hair, he leaned in. John’s hands were gentle and kind, and so were his kisses.

Gradually, he built up the nerve to move his hands, fingers sliding along your lower back and caressing your covered skin. The first night you met him he smelled like sweat and smoke, but every night since then, he’d smelled fresh. He kept his appearance up for you. And kissing him then allowed you to smell and taste the freshness of his breath, the hint of bourbon on his lips.

“You don’t deserve this.” He mumbled against you, eyes still closed as he pressed his lips to yours.

“I deserve you.”

John never saw himself as a man that would spend nights in brothels. But that night, he did.

It was the next day that he took you to the woman’s shelter, about forty miles north of where he stayed. During the week he cared for you, he made it his mission to keep you safe, to make sure no other men would lay their hands on you. But watching you walk away that day, it really killed him. He couldn't protect you anymore, but he had to keep his faith, faith in his plan and the fact that this was the best route for you. He did his best for you.

Snapping out of your haze is the abrupt opening of John’s door. It’s him, walking in with only a pair of sweats hanging on his waist. His navy blue boxers are peeking out along his hips, the hair on his chest gleaming with a small hint of dampness.

The mutton chops along his cheeks lift up with his smile, how cute. He likes seeing you all cuddled up on his bed. With a small grunt, he settles in beside you, resting his back along the wooden headboard of his bed. And then you do something that makes his heart soar; you lay your head on his lap.

Looking down, he grins, brushing your hair out of your face. “Haven’t been gettin’ into any more trouble, have ya?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” Comes your quiet reply, trying to force humor into your voice.

Looking up, you admit quietly, “I missed you.” It’s been six months, and you didn't know if you’d ever see each other again.

Inhaling sharply, he replies with a sympathetic nod, “I missed you too, angel.” Gently, he pets your head, doing his best to ease any of your worries. “Still just as beautiful, aren’t you?”

It was hard for him to let you go, and honestly, he’s glad you wanted him to stay with you, whether it be in his or your room. If he were here by himself, he knows he’d just be thinking about you.

Internally, you ponder your reaction. He’s been a bit flirtatious since your reconnection, and it makes you buzz inside. And honestly, it makes you want to reciprocate. Taking a beat from your first sensual act, you lift yourself, gradually crawling onto his lap.

With a big smile, he watches you move, feeling your limbs wrap around his body in a firm hug once you’re fully straddling him. Those strong arms hold you tight against his chest, feeling your face nuzzle into his neck. Breathing in his scent, you sigh. Now, you really do feel safe.

Lifting your head, you inhale a breath, taking in the sight of him. Of his bushy facial hair and pretty blue eyes, his smooth lips and clear skin. Just like before, when you first did this, you can feel his muscles resting beneath you. And with him shirtless, they’re more prominent than ever before. The hair on his chest makes you grin, the muscles in his chest and abdomen firm and warm, just like you remember them.

“John…” Fingers gliding over his beard, you release a heavy breath. And he does, too.

“I know,” He says, licking his lower lip. “C’mere.”

With his hand on your cheek, you let him guide you in, meeting his lips. It feels like a mini zap of excitement but it also feels like home. His scruffy facial hair rubs against you, trailing over and tickling your lips as you accept him.

When both your palms find his face, his right hand drops back down to your waist. Gently, he squeezes you, a light moan vibrating across your lips. A great sensation of satisfaction overcomes him. He’s contemplating keeping you this time. And you’re hoping for the exact same thing.

Now that he’s in your arms again, you don’t want to let him go. And if you have to, then you don’t want to have any regrets. You want him; even if it’s just for tonight, you want him.

John moves his lips over your own nice and slow, taking his time with you. He’s soft and gentle, listening to your quiet hums and eventual moans as they spill into the room. Repeated connections make your insides stir, your fingers curling into the hair along his jaw as he continues to make you breathless.

Amidst the excitement of it all, your hips begin shifting over his lap, testing the waters of your intimate act. And to say he’s shocked by this would be an understatement. With everything in him, he wants you to continue, wants you to do it naked, but instead, he stops it. Feeling his hand plant firmly along your hips, he successfully ceases your movement.

“You don’t have to do that.” He tells you gruffly, looking into your eyes. “You won’t ever have to do that again.”

“Do what?” You’re whispering, the moment feeling tender. Like it could shatter at any moment.

“Fuck a man for payment.” His words are blatant, raw.

“I, I don’t…” Gulping, you release a shaky breath. Everything leading up to this point has given you the impression that he finds you attractive, that he’s interested in you. So, why is he rejecting you? “You don’t want me?”

His response is immediate. “Don’t ask me that.” John doesn’t ever want you to feel pressured into that, not in general and especially not with him.

“You don’t?”

“Princess,” Releasing a harsh breath, those cerulean eyes bore into your own, a sense of longing swirling within them. “Of course I do.”

“Then be with me,” It comes out before you can stop it, but you don’t regret it. “Please be with me.”

Shuffling on his lap, you move in even closer, holding his handsome face in your hands.

“I’ve missed you so much, John. I, I’ve never had someone like you in my life.” All he can do is stare into your eyes, and his stare is full of so much genuine love for you. “I know I can be a burden, I know you’ve had to take care of me, but… I like it, I really like it, baby.”

A heavy breath is forced out of his nose at that word, the first time you've ever called him baby.

“You’re never a burden.” He tells you firmly, shaking his head. “You’ve never been a burden to me.” And it’s true. Everything he did, he did willingly. “I want you to depend on me. Because I’m here.”

“I know you are.” And now, you’re whispering, bringing yourself in to rest your forehead against his.

The dim glow of the room makes the moment feel that much more special to you. His fingertips continue to caress your back, now dipping beneath the edge to feel your skin.

“That doesn’t mean you have to do this.”

“I know that!” You state passionately, “Who says I have to? I haven’t, ugh.” Closing your eyes, you release a quiet yet frustrated breath. “I haven’t done that in months.”

“Good.” John’s response is stern, “That was my hope for you.”

Sliding your hands down his face, they land on his chest. “John, it’s okay if you don’t want me. But I need you to know that I want you; and if I could, I’d keep you.”

Your words stir every emotion inside his chest. It’s all he’s been wanting to hear, all he’s fantasized about since the day you left. He can’t count how many times you’ve floated into his head, day or night, friendly or sexual; it’s like you never truly left him.

“Well, who says you can’t?” Leaning up a bit, he moves into your space, hands becoming possessive as he grabs you.

With a small breath, almost a gasp, the edges of your lips turn up into a grin, fully leaning into him.

“Think you’re gonna leave again?” He asks gruffly, dominant hand rising to the back of your neck. Now, he’s less than a hair’s breadth away from your face, dark blue eyes dipping down to your lips before returning to your twinkling orbs.

“I don’t want to.”

“Yeah…” Looking between your eyes, he gives his head a single shake. “I don’t want you to either.”

Pushing you forward is the force of his hand on the back of your neck, your lips meeting once again. This time, the hand on your hip urges you forward, John sighing heavily into the kiss. Both hands remain on his handsome face as you let him move you like this, rolling your hips over his.

“You sure you want me like this?” That low voice asks with a laugh. “Old captain in the military?”

“You’re exactly what I want.”

Not allowing a response is the movement of your mouth, the gentle slide of your tongue. Your body movements seem urgent but the way you kiss him is tender, languid and sweet. And now that you’re truly mouthing at him, the tent in his pants is more than apparent.

Your collective motions have become heated, John’s kisses becoming passionate and sloppy. Timidly, his hands wander down to your legs, squeezing the soft flesh of your outer thighs. Because you know he won’t do it himself, at least not yet, you reach down to slip your longsleeve up and off your head.

“A burden,” Price huffs, eyes dipping down to your chest. “Do you know how lovely it is?” Another sloppy kiss, another heavy breath. “How lovely it is to take care of a little girl like you?”

“John,”

Pressing yourself to him again, he feels the softness of your chest over his, and he groans. You’re still wearing a sports bra, but with how eager you were to take your top off, he knows he’ll be able to rid you of that soon.

“It’s perfect, so perfect.” Sliding one of his hands down, it lands on your backside, massaging you kindly. “Feeling needed by you.”

He hasn’t been wanted in this way for so long, longer than he cares to admit. Women in brothels weren’t the same as you, they didn’t want a relationship with him. But you yearn for him, he can so clearly see it.

“I couldn’t stand to see you leave.”

“I know,” Remembering that day hurts your heart, you were convinced you’d never see him again. “I didn’t want you to go.”

“You’re a strong girl.” He expresses, his praise heating your body. “Could’ve made it without me.”

“But I don’t want to. I don’t want you to leave again,” Rolling your hips over his lap, you can feel the occasional pulse from his tip. “Please don’t go, not again.”

“I’m not,” John’s lips have barely left your own, only for a short breath and a handful of words. “I’m not going anywhere, princess.��

Securing one strong arm around your lower back, he changes your positioning. With gentle movements, the captain turns, laying you down on your back in the center of his bed.

“I’ll show you what it’s like.” He promises, kissing your cheek while settling above your body. “Show you how a real man treats a woman, yeah?”

Smiling, you run your hands up the sides of his face, fingers carding through his hair.

“Yes, baby.”

“Oh,” John groans low, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. “I like the sound of that.” Making his way down your throat, your collarbone, and now to your chest, his eyes find yours once again. “Can I take this off, love?”

Thick fingers toy with the edges of your sports bra, your expression going soft as you nod. You love hearing him speak to you like this. And after you’ve given him permission, he’s sliding it up and off your beautiful body, hearing your small breaths hitch.

“Oh, Christ…” Immediately, his eyes are on your breasts, leaning back a bit so he can cup you with both hands. “Such a beauty.”

Diving back down, his open mouth finds your chest, giving your soft flesh sloppy yet passionate kisses. Gasping, you find yourself arching against him, into him, cradling his head as those smooth lips wrap around the peak of your breast.

“John, yes…”

“That feel good, sweetheart?” Licking the pad of his thumb, he then rubs it against the nipple he hasn’t yet sucked. Glancing up, he witnesses your euphoric expression, your head tossed back and lips open in a silent moan.

Happy with this, he gives your solar plexus a kiss, continuing to work his way down. He gives time to every space he can reach, using his mouth to appreciate your breasts, your ribcage, your belly and pelvis. Occasionally, he’ll nip at your thin skin, but never enough to leave a mark.

“What about these?” Pressing his lips to the hem of your sweatpants, he speaks his inquiry gently, so quiet you almost couldn’t hear it.

“Yes, John. Yes, please.”

As he slides them down, he continues his worship of your body, licking the sweet flesh of your grabbable thighs. When your pants are discarded, and you’re entirely naked for him, he leans back to take it all in.

Laying a hand over your lower belly, he rubs up and down, sighing. “You’re perfect.”

“Baby…” Your own hands find his forearm, caressing him.

“I want you all to myself,” Bringing himself back down, he shuffles between your legs. “You know that?”

“I know.” You confirm, your words light and airy as his breath fans over your naked sex.

“Darling, she’s so pretty…” And he’s talking about your pussy, the way it flutters when he spreads your delicate lips. “Can I touch her, love? Looks like she’s waiting for me.”

The gentle roll of your hips is all it takes for his tongue to drag up your sensitive center. You never expected him to ask permission like this, and for each little thing. But you understand it; he doesn’t know what you’ve endured in the past, and he wants to be a gentleman. He won’t take what isn’t given to him.

The rough hairs of his beard scrape against your inner thighs, rubbing over your skin as his mouth moves. It’s continuous, the firm drag of his tongue up your center while his first and middle fingers keep you spread. And the taste of you on his tongue is making him go mad, your tangy-sweet flavor finally available to him. Settling in, he savors it, wrapping his arms under your legs and over your pelvis, grabbing onto your hips when you begin to wiggle beneath him.

Every shudder, every little whimper, he pays attention to. If it’s the last thing he ever does, he wants to make sure you feel good.

“Oh, right there, huh?” He inquires cockily, feeling you jerk in his touch when the tip of his tongue dances over your clit. “Right above the hood…” And then he’s doing it again, fingers tightening their hold while you writhe from it.

Your moans are wanton, desperate, your hips rolling up toward his face whenever he leaves to take a breath. But it makes him smile all the same, your neediness.

“J-John,”

“Gotta be quiet, love.” He mutters, leaning in to suck on your lips. “Mm… boys are right down the hall.”

“I-I can’t, I…”

You can feel your thighs shaking, and so can he. Pinning your legs down, his broad shoulders keep them open, his mouth incessant as he continues to taste you. He switches from tongue-fucking your center to swirling the tip of it around your clit, but when he suctions his mouth to that little bundle of pleasure, that’s when you lose it.

“Baby, babybabybaby.”

He’s sucking on you, and doing so sloppily. The soft wetness of it echoes throughout the room, your fingers curling into his plain bedspread as you do your best to relax.

“Quiet, now.” He chastises gently, feeling the tremble in your lower belly. With sweet touches, he pets at your upper pelvis, soothing you. “Quiet for me.”

Your small cries are nearly helpless, every desperate whimper spilling from your lips. He’s licking your clit, that wet, warm tongue rolling against it. And everything about it is so perfect, the way he’s touching you, the way he’s handling you and speaking to you.

“John, I’m gonna,” Releasing an airy laugh, you finish with. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“C’mon, then.” He encourages without a lick of hesitation. “Why don’t you do it for me, eh? Right in my mouth.”

“Fuck me,” Reaching down, your fingers find his hair, curling into those gorgeous brown locks.

Rutting up, he lets you use his face, rolling your hips over his mouth while he lays his tongue out for you. The entire act has his body vibrating with energy and excitement, and you haven’t even touched him yet. It’s the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that’s what’s really getting to him.

When you really start to shake, his hands lower to your backside, squeezing you harshly as you reach your peak. He’s groaning into you, listening to your shrill cry. And with as loud as it is, he can tell you’re doing your best to be quiet.

Clinging to him is what keeps you grounded, what keeps you from floating too far away. It shivers through your body, blooming from your hips and spreading everywhere. When you start to jerk too much, or move too far away, his hands are back on your hips, keeping you down. But he works you through it; he’s patient and continues to lick you, even when your body begins to come down.

“Precious thing,” His face is wet with you, his beard; you can tell from the feeling of it rubbing along your inner thighs.

Opening your legs wider, you inhale a steady breath, keeping your eyes closed as you relax. Below, John licks his lips, placing one last, tender kiss before climbing over you.

“Come on,” He coos, kissing your cheek with slippery lips. “Come back to me.”

Even through his sweatpants, you can feel how big he is, how heavy he’s hanging between his legs. “John,” You whine from it, opening your eyes to find his. Reaching up, you caress his face in your hands, even though it’s wet with your slick. “Please.”

“Please what, gorgeous?”

“Please fuck me.”

He’s surprised by your wording, he’d assumed you’d say something softer to him. But he likes it; it shows that you’re becoming more comfortable like this.

“Christ,” With a grunt, he’s sitting up and leaning back on his heels. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Grinning, his fingers curl into the hem of his pants and boxers, sliding them down his muscular legs. You giggle when he side-steps out of them, his weight dipping on the bed. But your giggles quickly subside when you see him, leaking and red.

“Oh…” Leaning up with a small moan, you reach out for him, your delicate fingers wrapping around his shaft. “Baby.”

“You like it?” He wonders aloud, glancing down.

He’s thick in your hand, and lengthy. He’s cut too and nicely trimmed, a small bit of hair still remaining. Which you like; John’s body hair makes you feel hot inside.

“Yes.” It comes out as a small whine, a breath of disbelief. You can’t believe you finally have him like this. “Baby… you’re so big.”

“You flatter me, angel.” He grins, shaking his head. But that cocky attitude fades when you swipe your thumb over his tip, his sticky precum sliding over his reddened head. “Fuck me.”

Huffing out a few breaths, he lets you do this, lets your hand stroke him languidly. “I, uh…” Glancing up, you give him your sweetest expression, prompting his stutter to continue. “Don’t, I don’t have a condom, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay, baby.”

“Still want me?”

“Mhm.” Your reassuring smile is a gift to him, a breath of relief falling from his lips.

“I… hate to ask, but…” Clearing his throat, he reaches down, stopping your motions. “Haven’t got anything to worry about, have I?” Now that he’s thinking about it, he probably should've asked before going down on you. Hindsight is 20/20, but your answer reassures him all the same.

“I’m clean, baby. They tested me at the shelter, came with the health program you paid for.” Something about your words make him feel proud, knowing he was able to successfully care for you.

With a blissful grin, you reach out for him, grabbing his shoulders and gently guiding him back in. Slowly falling back to the bed, he settles above you once again. John’s talented lips find you again, his naked pelvis resting above your own. His kiss is brief, eyes glancing down as he angles himself between your legs.

“I’m so thankful for you.” Whispering into his ear, you grin, kissing the shell of it.

With a low breath, something like a groan, John buries his face into your shoulder, the sloped tip of him rubbing against your outer entrance.

You haven’t had sex in more than six months, and your traumas are definitely still there. But everything about John screams safety to you, safety and security. And you want him to have you.

Lifting your legs, you rest the soles of your feet on his bedding, your arms encircling his neck. John’s humid breath fans against your shoulder and throat, a small moan floating from his chest when he truly slides in. His tip stretches you, but not painfully so, thanks to his extensive foreplay. But the deeper he dives, the fuller you feel, and from the emotions of it all you think you could cry.

“John,”

“I know, sweetheart. Almost there.” He coos lovingly to you, releasing a heavy sigh when his pelvis meets the sensitive space between your legs. “That’s it, that’s it, darling.”

Fingernails scraping into his back, you whine when he rolls his hips, not at all pulling out but just grinding into you. Both of those large arms slide beneath your back, holding you tightly against his muscular frame.

“Like that,” That gruff voice tells you, his hips now retracting. “Those cute little whines.”

“Baby, more.”

“Eager thing,” He comments, returning to your warmth at a slightly quicker pace.

“I’ve been eager for you since the day I met you.” Comes your breathy admission, nails trailing down his sculpted back.

His pace is passionate, sensual and sweet - exactly highlighting tonight’s mood. Every time he leaves your sex he’s diving back in like he’d never get a taste of it ever again. Even without force, he’s hitting you deep, throbbing against your warm channel whenever he feels you clench.

“H-Harder, baby.” You’re whining, gasping beneath his weight. “Please.”

Lifting himself slightly, John’s left hand reaches down to your hip, putting his entire weight into keeping you still. With his other, he lifts it to rest on his forearm, breaths ragged and heavy as he shoves himself into you. And he does it exactly as you requested, not going fast but applying more pressure and intensity.

“Oh, I’ve wanted you.”

“I want you, John. Please, let me see you ag -” But then you’re crying out, feeling his tip punch against your sensitive spot. “Again, please let me see you again.”

“You’re staying here until I say.” He declares, “You’re staying with me.”

Absolute relief washes through your bones, your limbs tingling with continuous waves of pleasure and it’s from him, all of it is from him.

“We’ll move your things.” John promises, grunting with every thrust. “In here, we’ll bring them here. Keep ‘em with you and me.”

“Really, baby?”

“You think I’m gonna let you out of my sight? Darling, you’re mine.” The rough drag of his length along your walls is debilitatingly blissful, the wetness from his tongue and your high aiding in the smoothness of his thrusts. “You’ve been mine from the start.”

It’s overwhelming, his words and the things he’s doing to your body. You’ve wanted this for longer than you can remember, to be held in a man’s embrace. But not any man, not a man that treated you like a commodity. A man like him. Who cared for you, mentally and physically, who did his best to protect you and nurture your well-being. To keep you with him, to help you grow and in turn, help him.

“L-Love you, John.” Head snapping up, those stunning blue orbs search for your own.

What did she say?

Meeting his eyes with an all too tender expression, you repeat fully this time, “I love you so much.”

Your name is breathed out of his mouth, the hand on your hip leaving to find your cheek. He cups you firmly, lowering himself to meet your lips. And you like it better like this, when you can hold him.

“Sweetheart,” The crack in his voice makes your lips break out into a wondrous grin, his emotions seeping out of him. “I loved you then,” Kissing your cheek, he leans in, pressing his forehead to your temple. “And I love you still.”

And John absolutely basks in the presence of your love, in your sweet words and the way you cling to him. You’re his now, his to care for and protect. And he hopes he can give you that, he knows he can give you that.

“I’ll treat you right, angel.” He’s devoted to you; a woman has never had such a hold on him before you. “I’ll keep you safe, keep you happy, yeah?”

Fingers curling into his hair, you lift your hips, meeting his every thrust. And it makes him choke on his own breath, makes his throat go dry from how harshly he groans.

“Let me be that for you, let me take care of you.”

“John, yes. I want, I want that. Want to be with you.”

“Then you will be.” He can feel the way you pulse around him, the way your nails scratch at his skin and the way your lips suction to his neck. It’s all-consuming, you’re pulling him in. He’s falling into an abyss that he never wants to be free of. “I’ll give you the goddamn world, princess.”

“Just don’t go.” Moaning, you feel the muscles in his stomach tense, the erratic jut of his thrusts. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Forcing himself into you a half a dozen more times, and he’s spilling inside, shoving himself in as deep as he can go. And even through all the ringing in his ears, he hears one thing. Only you.

Thoughts of what could be flash through his mind, a life with you. Pleasure bursts through his core as he rides out his high, rocking his hips into your center, keeping your body close. You’ve left at least a handful of hickies on his chest, marks he’s eager to see in the morning. But he can wait for that, his goal right now is to cherish you.

Painfully, he’s reminded of the image he was met with when he rescued you. Gagged and bloody, bruised from top to bottom while tied to a rusty chair. He’ll never forgive himself for letting that happen to you.

“Never.” He promises, chest heaving as he attempts to steady his breaths. Both hands slide around your body once again, pressing your breasts against him. Your soft giggles make him grin, his facial hair tickling your skin. Sweetly, he kisses you, looking into your eyes as he says, “Never again.”

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